#with hurt/comfort... because it's my downfall

[zuko-always-lies]

My comment wasn't about morality or the correct means of handling trauma, it was about relationships and how people behave in them.

Zuko would never dare showing weakness or vulnerability around the likes of Ozai or Zhao, nor would he do so to his crew. Zuko is willing to show vulnerability around Iroh, since Iroh has been consistently supportive of Zuko.

But Zuko is also extremely willing to angst around Azula, to show vulnerability around her. And she, instead of before bemused, manipulative, vindictive, mean, or angry about it, seems to expect it, and to usually do her best to comfort him. What does this suggest about their long term relationship and the patterns within? If Azula is really so awful to Zuko and so manipulative of him, so willing to use the slightest bit of vulnerability to hurt him, why is he so comfortable baring open his heart to her?

On the other hand, Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee have all had really shitty lives themselves, but none of them seem the least bit comfortable (or feel the least bit safe) dumping their trauma and angst on Zuko, and the one time they ever do, Zuko doesn't have the most positive reaction it and is far from supportive of it. All of this suggests that Zuko has never really been a source of emotional support for others, while Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee have.

Obviously trauma plays into all of this, as do gender roles. But my point is about relationships. I find it especially noteworthy, given how the ATLA fandom is obsessed with how mean and cruel and awful Azula is and particularly obsessed with how mean and cruel and awful Azula is to Zuko. But when we step back and start trying to approach things outside of only Zuko's perspective, things start looking a bit different. Sure Azula can sometimes be mean to Zuko (but what teenage girl is never mean to her older brother?). Sure Ozai orders Azula to go after Zuko, and Azula is at least somewhat willing to go along with it and obey the orders of her absolute monarch father. Sure Azula doesn't exactly have the highest opinion of her brother. Sure Zuko and Azula often have a competitive relationship (but Zuko is mostly the one pushing that). But all of that doesn't change the fact that Azula is frequently very kind to Zuko, that he even relies on her as a source of comfort and emotional support, while on the other hand he essentially never does anything nice or kind for her, ever.

Once we strip the narrative's demonization of Azula away, we're left with a girl who is willing to give up her shot at becoming an absolute monarch, willing to share the credit for the greatest victory her country has ever won, so that her disgraced brother can come home with honor, because there's no other reasonable way we can interpret her decision at Ba Sing Se, when she could have easily killed Zuko or sent him home disgraced and in chains. And on the other hand we have said brother, who spends most of the series actively trying to bring upon the downfall of his sister one way or another.

Being mean to Zuko is very low down on Azula's list of sins, and being nice to him is not her redemption. Same for Zuko. Being mean to his sister is far from the worst thing he's ever done, and being kinder to her wouldn't be his redemption. From the perspective of morality this is all kind of irrelevant. But from the perspective of relationships it is very interesting.

Zuko trying to comfort Sokka

"Boiling Rock Part 1":

Zuko: I'm really sorry, Sokka. Sokka: So we came all this way for nothing? I failed ... again. Zuko: Ah, [Holds his chin in thought.] what would Uncle say? [Cut to a frog-view as he looks up at the sky.] Sometimes, clouds have two sides, [Walks over to the railing.] a dark and light, and a silver lining in between. It's like a silver sandwich! [Close-up of a disinterested Sokka; voice-over.] So ... when life seems hard ... [Sokka glances to the side.] take a bite out of the silver sandwich!Sokka's eyes widen when he notices something; close-up of his cheerful expression as he gets up. Cut to a frontal shot of Zuko while Sokka runs up to grab the railing next to him, excitedly looking down to the yard below. Sokka: Maybe we haven't failed after all! Zuko: That's the spirit! [Folds his arms.] I can't believe that worked. [Looks down.] I didn't even know what I was saying. Sokka: No, what you said made no sense at all. But look ... [As he points, the camera shifts to an overhead view of the yard, before rapidly zooming in on a dejected-looking Suki.] It's Suki!

So this is just about the only scene where we see Zuko try to comfort someone else in ATLA (there are a couple other partial exceptions but they're partial), and he sucks at it and has no idea what he's doing. Zuko evidentially has very little experience comforting people. I doubt he ever tried much when he was younger.

Azula and Mai are two characters the Avatar fandom generally looks upon as "evil," "unfeeling," unemotional," "psychopaths," etc. However, interestingly, when we see them try to comfort people, they've pretty good at it. They're not perfect, but they know what they're doing. Evidentially Azula and Mai, unlike Zuko, have a significant amount of experience comforting people.

[calamitoustide]

"are you crying?" from the prompt list (also hi gabby 🤗)

hi zar! so funny story. I completely forgot about this ask and game until I was sitting in class today not paying attention and thinking about this little scene and then I realized it fit the prompt you gave me so I used it. Even though I'm supposed to be focusing on so many other things right now... I wanted to write Regulus with Harry so that's what I did <3

"Papa, are you crying?"

Regulus' breath hitches at the noise. He would've thought if anyone would catch him like this it would've been James, he was kinda expecting it honestly. He didn't think it would be little feet running over to him, and a soft voice so small it weakens his heart every time he hears it. Through his blurred vision, he sees Harry rushing towards him, his little Spiderman shoes lighting up with every step he takes. He takes no hesitation clambering onto Regulus' lap.

"Hi, mon cheri," Regulus murmurs, his voice catching on each word, keeping Harry steady, even if his hands are shaking.

Harry's face scrunches up, "What's wrong?"

Regulus opens his mouth to speak but no explanation comes. His chest caves in more with every breath he takes. He wouldn't give the real one, even if he had one, but he can't come up with a false one either. The panicked breaths and brittle chest are something he's so familiar with, and yet it feels like a new feeling now. It's been so long since it's overtaken him, that he's not sure what to do with it. He learned things to make it better. He's learned the signs so he can call someone to help talk him down. He felt them now too, but he brushed it off. He feels sixteen. He never thought he'd feel sixteen again.

It's stupid. He knows it's not just something that goes away, it's built within him, and yet he had so much hope.

"Papa?" Harry calls out again, his fingers reaching out for the side of Regulus' face. Regulus almost wants to push him away, little tendrils reach for his brain begging him to find a quiet corner far from the light, but he doesn't. He just tries to take another breath, even if it comes out more like a wheeze.

Regulus wants to be able to explain this to him. He wants to explain that he's okay, he's just a little panicked for no good reason. He hates worrying him, especially for things like this. He's too young to see this. Regulus never wanted him to see this.

Harry sits back before suggesting, "Do you want a hug?"

Regulus' chest splits in two. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying again to take a deep breath but it's hard, and the most he can do is a hitched breath before he's consumed by it again. He feels himself nod even if anyone else's touch would feel like sandpaper against his skin right now.

Harry wastes no time wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pushing his face into his neck. Regulus holds him back keeping his eyes closed. He can feel his tears soak into Harry's shirt. He didn't even realize he was crying until Harry asked him about it, he couldn't feel anything, but he feels it now. It's an endless ache, not enough to really hurt him, but he feels it still.

It's been years since he's felt this trapped. He's not other sure what word to use even if it doesn't sound quite right. He grew up as nothing more than a kid trapped in his room. Trapped in a life he didn't want with no options of leaving it. Trapped in skin that didn't feel like his own and a brain that was working overtime to go against him. He's better now. He got out of his parent's house, and he fell in love with a man who showed him all the colors he could only dream of before. He has Harry now. He loves his life. He's even surprised to admit that but he does. He has no reason to feel trapped. He has no reason for his chest to fail him, but here it is caving in again.

Sirius used to tell him there's no straight line for progress. It's not linear. Going backward doesn't truly mean going back, you're always moving forward even if it doesn't feel like it. Regulus doesn't know. He thinks he might've believed it once. He tries to. He tries to be good. He just thinks no matter where he is in his life he'll always be that sad little kid who's trapped in his childhood bedroom. He's afraid it'll never leave him.

"Daddy's taking me to the park," Harry tells him, still refusing to let go. James taught him to not let go first if someone really needed a hug, and Regulus isn't ready to let go yet.

He can't manage to say anything, he only hums instead, feeling the texture of Harry's sweater underneath his fingertips.

"Do you wanna come?" Harry asks him, "We can go on the swings."

Regulus hums again, he wants to say more but all he can manage is, "Sure."

"Good," Harry tells him, "I like when you come."

Regulus' heart aches, but it's a good one this time, he takes a breath. It's shaky but it still fills his lungs all the same. He takes another letting his shoulders drop. He pulls away and finds Harry still smiling softly at him, it's like taking a first breath after you've just almost drowned.

"Better?" Harry asks.

Regulus only manages to nod before kissing the top of his head.

He doesn't have the time to say anything else before James is walking through the doorway, "Kiddo, you ready to go? I thought-" he cuts himself off.

"I'm okay," Regulus beats him to it, letting Harry off his lap.

James' eyes still flicker over him like he's trying to find an open wound he can stitch closed, "What happened?"

Regulus shakes his head, "Just..." he sighs, he knows he can't get out of it. James has never been known to just let these things go. "Worked myself up," he ends up on, "It's okay now."

James doesn't seem convinced, he opens his mouth to say something else but Harry beats him to it.

"Papa's going to the park with us," he says, grabbing at his hand to bring him to stand.

James looks over at him, "Are you-"

"I'm okay," he tells him, giving into Harry's pulling on his arm. He can't make it to the door before James stops him, forcing Harry to slip from his grip making a break for the door.

"Reg..."

Regulus sighs, "I'll talk about it later, okay?"

James' gaze flickers between his eyes before he nods, "Alright," he says, "If you promise you're-"

"James," Regulus stops him, "I'm fine."

Before either of them can say anything Harry's voice calls out from the hall, "Hurry up!"

Regulus smiles softly, "If we leave him waiting he'll kill us you know it."

James rolls his eyes, kissing his cheek, "Yeah, yeah let's go."

James goes through the door first. Regulus stays back to take a breath, he thinks he still feels that crack in the middle of his chest. He knows it'll never go away, but maybe he's okay with that, for a moment anyway. The water doesn't always have to be violent, it can be kind and innocent too.

"Papa! Come on!"

Regulus lets out his breath, dispersing the ocean around him, "I'm coming!"

[cheolaholic]

bound to you; jww

summary; With a subtle fire growing between two vastly different souls, are they doomed to surrender to a bond that binds them together? Or... are they exactly what each other need?

abo universe • mafia au • arranged marriage • fluff, smut, angst • hurt-comfort

pairing; jeon wonwoo x f!reader | wc; 22k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; mafia boss! wonwoo, florist! reader, alpha! wonwoo, omega! reader, reader knows how to fight back/stand her ground even though she’s submissive, right hand man! woozi, beta! svt members (cheol, woozi, gyu, vernon & chan), mentions of JxW, wonwoo is unhinge but not too unhinged, woozi encouraging/supporting wonwoo to be more unhinged, wonwoo wears glasses, very subtle “where is my wife!?” trope, not really sure who fell first and who fell harder, unplanned pregnancy, the honeymoon scene is sweet AND nasty

mature/trigger warnings; dom! wonwoo, sub! reader, big dick! wonwoo, knotting, biting/marking kink, size kink, use of sex toys, g-spot stimulation, breeding kink, unprotected sex (wrap it before you do the nasty), mating press, implied sex marathon when reader is in heat, somewhat of an aftercare, reader is extremely horny when in heat, wonwoo doesn’t mind bcs he’s just as horny and has really high stamina, tummy bulge, creampies, squirting, that one business proposal scene, drugs (heat inducers, heat/rut suppressants), forced drugging, weapons (guns, knives, needles etc), abduction, violence (it’s a mafia au so, yea), mentions of miscarriage, etc

petnames; his (Nonu, Alpha), hers (Doll, Babydoll)

a/n; RAHH, new fic !! hope yall enjoy this because i sure as hell stressed over this fic way more than i should’ve- was also sick as i tried to finish this out and get it out (by its very overdued deadline rip) big thanks to rae ( @nerdycheol) and supi ( @supi-wupi) for beta reading and sharing their thoughts on it hehe ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

In this universe, there exists a city called Ashville.

A modern city that’s under the rule of an infamous Mafia family that’s been around for generations.

In this universe, each individual is born into one of three dynamics: Alpha, Beta, and Omega. These roles are usually found out before they become teenagers, typically around the ages ten to twelve. Not only do they dictate one’s instincts, but it also determines their place in the social hierarchy.

Alphas stood at the very top of the hierarchy, their presence commanding and unyielding. Known as protectors and leaders, their strength and resolve made them pillars of stability and order. They exude an air of confidence, their pheromones carrying an unmistakable weight that both enthralls and intimidates. An Alpha’s instinct could be a double-edged sword – their need for dominance paired with their sense of responsibility.

Betas occupy the middle grounds, acting as stabilizers so that the world doesn’t get thrown into a world of instinctual chaos. Neither driven by the dominating urges of an Alpha nor bound by the vulnerabilities of an Omega, they serve as the mediators. The voice of reason, if you will. Their neutrality is what makes them the glue that holds society together, but could also be the cause of its downfall if they were to commit treason.

Finally, the Omegas, whose roles are often misunderstood due to their vulnerabilities. They’re the heart of the societal order, their instincts centered on nurture, connection, and to a few, rebellion. They are similar to Alphas in terms of pheromones, but what set them apart would be that an unclaimed Omega’s pheromones could attract unwanted attention from unclaimed Alphas, drawing them in like moths to a flame.

Claimed Omegas would bear the bonding bite of their Alphas. But, in the event an Omega is without a mate, either by choice or tragic events; they are forced into prostitution. It is a sad reality and possible outcome to many. Hence, many Omegas forged paths of quiet defiance, proving that they too are strong without a mate.

Click.

"Can you, please, get a bit closer?" The photographer asks, practically begging at this point.

Wonwoo heaves out a sigh while your shoulders slump, tired from having spent the entire morning posing for your wedding portrait. While it was true that you were somewhat excited to have finally found your mate, let’s just say of all the possible occupations you’ve come up with, a mafia boss was not on that list.

Hell, not even the Jeon Wonwoo was on your list.

The mob boss takes a step closer, placing both hands on your hips and the photographer beams at the sight. “Yes, yes! Just like that!” he exclaims, pulling out his camera as he continues to snap more portraits. Wonwoo feels your body tense up from the close proximity so he leans in close to your ear. “Relax, doll,” he whispers, “You’re tense and you look terrified. Nobody is going to believe that we’re ‘in love’ if you keep this up.”

Click.

“I-I’m sorry,” you squeaked, the grip you had on the bouquet of flowers tightening slightly, “ ‘M just nervous…” “Oh, I know you are, doll.” Wonwoo turns his head slightly, nuzzling his nose into your hair and you let out a quiet gasp, “I can smell it. Do I scare you that much, hmm? Having second thoughts because your mate is the infamous mob boss?” He lets out a low chuckle when you shake your head profusely, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you. “Keep your eyes on the camera, darling. Once this is over, you can go right back home.”

Click.

“Shouldn’t we make preparations for the ceremony?” you asked, “What about the cake? The venue? The–”

“Don’t stress your pretty head, doll,” Wonwoo says, giving your hips a light squeeze, “I’ve settled everything and your preferences have been taken into account, too. I’ll contact you for the cake tasting and venue checking.”

“And, it’s a wrap!” the photographer announces with a wide smile, “Thank you so much Mr and Mrs Jeon! I promise you won’t be disappointed with the results!”

You weren’t sure if the photographer was always this… enthusiastic with his clients. Or if he was holding himself back from pissing himself. ‘I’d be terrified too if the Jeons were my client…’

Not one soul didn’t know who the Jeons were. What started off as a small group of delinquents had eventually grown into one of the largest mobs to run Ashville. The man who started it all, Jeon Wonsoong, was a man who could send even the Devil running with its tail between its legs. While most mobsters were practically built on wealth, the Jeons’ were quite the opposite.

Jeon Wonsoong had built the mob of the Jeon family from scratch – from the literal blood, sweat and tears of his companions and oftentimes, those who had crossed him. The Jeons had their respect earned, not given on a silver platter. Many have mocked Wonsoong when he began building a name for the family – claiming that he was too ambitious, that he’d be better off as an underling.

They were the very same people he’s overthrown.

Just a mention of the Jeon family name was enough to drain anyone’s face of their colour.

Decades later, enter Jeon Wonwoo, the one and only beloved grandson of Jeon Wonsoong. Wonwoo already had the responsibilities of being the next mob boss ever since his mother’s pregnancy was announced. Wonwoo grew up watching how the “family business” worked, seeing his father fire bullets through heads after heads of rivals or anyone and anything that could be a threat to the family.

The poor boy was terrified at first but by the time his teenage years rolled around, he’s pretty much grown numb to the fear and squeamish feeling of seeing piles of bloodied dead bodies.

He’s watched the drug dealings, the smuggling – the most atrocious crimes or businesses known to man would be committed by the Jeons’, yet they would refuse to inflict any form of harm onto women and/or children for pleasure.

Wonwoo remembered bringing it up to his father when he was 16.

“Your grandpa is a family man, son. He’d never harm a child for the wrongdoings their parents have done – that’s why he takes them into the family and raises them to be his men.”

“What about crimes against women?”

“Crimes against women is unfortunately something that cannot be stopped, regardless whether or not the perpetrators are in a mob,” Wonsoong replies as he enters the room, one hand linked with his grandmother’s while the other held onto his walking stick, “We may be mob bosses, crime lords – whatever it is they call us, Wonwoo, but, causing harm to women and children for pleasure is a monstrosity I will not allow this organisation to ever commit. Your grandmother was assaulted for choosing me over some rich bastard – your uncles and I broke their arms, castrated them before making them kneel in front of her family to beg for forgiveness.”

“His heart is in the right place,” Wonwoo’s grandmother added on, “While being a mob boss or part of a mob gang is less than ideal for anyone, at least your grandfather shows some levels of decency as a human being.”

“So… in the scenario one of our members has assaulted, or caused harm to women or children in any way, what happens to them? Do they get their bones broken and then castrated?”

“That was back in the good old days, my dear grandson,” Wonsoong chuckled, “Now, they are battered and bruised, fingers cut, and castrated – before being shot thrice.”

Sure, it’s terrifying to have the entire nation’s economy in the palm of a mafia family.

Yeah, the occasional stumbling upon a body being dumped in certain areas could be traumatising. Hell, it even caused mass panic.

But, citizens soon learnt one saying, “Don’t cause the Jeons trouble, and trouble won’t find you”. A fancy way of saying, “If you don’t want to be the next corpse, don’t fuck with the Jeons”.

Because all the bodies found were individuals who have crossed them.

You stare at the wedding venue, brows furrowed as you take in the sight. You knew the Jeons had a taste for dark aesthetic, but you weren’t expecting the wedding decorations to be all black.

You weren’t exactly a superstitious person, but you did believe in the superstition that the colour black brings misfortune.

“Are the decorations up to your expectations, Mr Jeon?” the receptionist nervously asks, “We’ve followed the reference pictures and instructions you’ve given us.”

“Umm… Could I –” your breath catches in your throat when both men turn their attention to you. Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, “Not to your liking, doll?”

“No! No! The decorations are beautiful and the venue itself is grand,” you began, “But… Could we add a little bit of colour?”

The alpha crosses his arms, “Colour? You want to add colour?” He gestures to the venue, “You do realise that everything here is decorated with intention, right? Black represents strength, power, control. It’s to show dominance –”

You cut him off, “This is my wedding, too. Don’t I get a say in this?”

Wonwoo’s gaze hardens at your interruption, clearly not used to anyone defying him; much less an Omega that’s his soon-to-be wife. He narrows his eyes, a way to get you to back down without being too dominating so as to not scare off the beta of a receptionist; but you stood your ground. The air thickens, charged with tension.

“A little colour won’t hurt this black theme you have going on, Mr Jeon,” you state, crossing your own arms and taking a step forward, “You can have all the power and control you want, but I also deserve a say in how this day looks because it’s also my day.”

The silence hangs between you both, the weight of your words settling in. The receptionist watches with a bated breath and for a moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed too far. But then Wonwoo shifts, uncrossing his arms and turns to the receptionist, “Accommodate whatever requests the missus has.”

The receptionist visibly relaxes, nodding quickly as he whips out his tablet and moves to stand beside you as you walk around the venue, listing out the changes you wanted done.

“I love the black roses bouquet you’ve lined up down the aisle, but please add in some red roses. Switch out the black ribbons on the vases for white ones; you can barely see anything!”

Approaching the tables, you pick up one of the black napkins that’s been folded into a rose. You turn to the receptionist, “I want all the black napkins gone. Replace them with a burgundy red.” The receptionist jots down every detail, his fingers moving swiftly across the tablet screen as you continue to inspect the venue. Wonwoo watches you silently, impressed as you move with purpose and an air of confidence – something he rarely sees in an Omega.

You stare at the chairs that are draped in black fabric. “Are we welcoming death? I get the whole idea of this wedding to let it be known that you’re a mob boss, but at least have something that shows you have taste.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your bluntness before the corners of his mouth twitch into a small smirk. There’s a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, but his gaze still holds a steady weight, almost as though he’s studying you.

“Taste…” he echoes, his voice low, as if contemplating your word. “This is a wedding, doll, not some fashion show.”

You gently graze your fingertips over the black fabric, “Exactly, a wedding. I get that this whole… dark and mysterious aesthetic is your thing, Mr Jeon, but at least have a bit of sophistication.”

You turn to face him fully, “I’m not asking for colourful flowers or for them to be placed everywhere or even pink ribbons. Just a little bit of refinement so it doesn’t look like a funeral.”

Wonwoo’s eyes narrow slightly, and he watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He takes a step forward, his hands shoved into his pockets as he peers at the receptionist's tablet. “You’re changing everything, aren’t you?”

You meet his gaze, letting out a shaky breath as you try to maintain your confidence, “Not everything. Just enough for it to… look more like a wedding.”

The air remains thick, but there’s no hostility; just a slow understanding that’s beginning to form. After a few seconds, the Alpha lets out a quiet breath and gives a slight nod. “Alright, doll. I trust your judgement.”

He turns and walks out of the venue, saying he has a business call he needs to answer. The receptionist turns his attention back to you, “What would you like to be done with the chairs, um… Mrs Jeon..?”

You give the receptionist a small smile, “You can call me Miss Park. I’m not yet married to him to be called Mrs Jeon.”

The receptionist chuckles nervously, “Not exactly a chance I would want to take, umm… Missus.”

“Hmm, I’ll accept that term. Back to the chairs – let’s switch the black fabric for a red fabric, similar to the napkins. Have a black sash tied into a bow at the back, is that doable?”

The receptionist nods excitedly, tapping away at the tablet as he realises his commission for this wedding may be enough to seal him a quick vacation. “Yes, of course it is, Missus! Would that be all?”

You take one last look at the venue, glancing up at the chandeliers, “Just soften the lighting and we’re all settled.”

That was approximately six months ago, which means it’s been six months since your marriage to Jeon Wonwoo became official.

Park ___. That's your name, that’s who you are.

A small corner shop florist that was everyone’s go-to for event planning or last minute flowers. Everyone knew you by your flower shop. They knew you by your smile. They knew you as "the flower lady who always got your back!”.

Never in a million years would you think that you’d now be known as Jeon Wonwoo’s wife. Jeon Wonwoo’s Omega. Jeon Wonwoo’s mate.

To be frank, you hated the fact that all your years of hard work were being overlooked now that you were married or bound to Ashville’s most nefarious and powerful mob boss.

Your name, once synonymous with ambition and independence, was now whispered in hushed tones, attached only to his. Your achievements, your sacrifices, all the blood and sweat you had poured into carving your own path no longer mattered. To them, you were nothing more than an Omega claimed by an Alpha who took whatever he wanted.

The weight of your new… identity settles on your shoulders in tons. You imagined several shackles were locked around your limbs, cold and unyielding. It didn’t matter that you had built a name for yourself. Now, you were just his.

And the entire city knew it.

You hated the look people would give you – some with fear, some with pity. Others had a look of cruel amusement, as though they were watching a wild animal realising its cage had no door. That the cage was its new home.

It made your blood boil. You weren’t some weak, whimpering Omega who would roll over and get all submissive at the mere scent of their Alpha. You fought to stand where you were. But damn it all, thanks to the stupid bind fate had planned.

Wonwoo sat beside you in the limousine, both of you having just left a dinner event that was hosted by one of Wonwoo’s allies that was meant to celebrate his wedding. Not both of your weddings, just his. The entire night, you had been paraded around as though you were nothing more than an extension of him – his Omega, his possession, his wife. No one toasted to you, no one acknowledged you beyond hushed whispers and fleeting glances.

You clenched your fists, fingers curling into the fabric of your dress.

“You’re upset,” Wonwoo states, his voice smooth and calculating, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, amused smirk. “What’s bothering you, doll?”

“Don’t,” your tone came sharper than expected, so you took a deep breath to calm your nerves. Your voice was less hostile when you spoke again, “Don’t call me that, please.”

Wonwoo’s smirk didn’t falter, but there was something in his eyes – amusement mixed with the faintest hint of challenge. He tilts his head, studying you as if you were some artifact or priceless painting that’s been put up for display. “Don’t call you what?” he asked, his voice now softer, but the command in his words can’t be missed.

You swallowed thickly, trying to mask the storm inside you as you held your ground. “Don’t call me doll,” you repeated, this time with more conviction. There was a slight tremble in your voice, betraying the raw emotion you were trying to suppress. “I… I’m not a doll, or some object. I’m a person.”

Wonwoo’s remains unreadable, though the intensity of his gaze and his posture didn’t change. But, there was a subtle shift, a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes. “I see my Omega bites back,” he chuckles, his tone teasing but there was a hint of respect behind it. “I must say, it’s quite… refreshing… Or, entertaining, for lack of a better word.”

You frown, “Entertaining?”

His eyes scanned your face, but there was no mockery in his gaze. Instead, there was something more akin to admiration, though when it comes to Jeon Wonwoo, deciphering any of his words or looks was like trying to get pigs to fly. “Well, it’s not every day you see an Omega go head-to-head with an Alpha. Especially if the Omega is now under the Jeon Family.”

“I can play that pretty little housewife you’re picturing,” you mumble, releasing your clenched fists in favour of crossing your arms, looking out the window, “Just don’t expect me to be all pliant and submissive twenty-four seven.”

Another deep chuckle leaves his lips. Something about his words, about how he says you were the first Omega to not heel to traditions makes you feel oddly proud. It was clear he still had his guard up, but at least in this moment, you could tell he’s trying not to push your boundaries or you too far.

“Relax, babydoll.”

Hmm… Perhaps you could accept that pet name. It’s much better than being called ‘doll’.

His voice is less teasing but there was still that underlying sharpness. “You’re still you, despite what society says. That defiance you have there? There’s power in that. Not many dare to challenge the expectations placed on them. Especially Omegas.”

His words sunk in, not as an insult, but as an observation; a praise. It was one that left you feeling both uncertain yet strangely affirmed. It’s the first time in a while that someone, aside from your parents, recognised your rebellion, your defiance as something more than just a nuisance. Let alone an alpha like Jeon Wonwoo.

He reaches out a hand, finding purchase on your thigh. You tense at his touch, the heat of his hand sending a jolt of electricity through your body. But, you don’t pull away, feeling the warmth of his fingers through the fabric of your dress.

“I see that fire you’ve got in you, ___,” he continues, his fingers slowly tracing the curve of your thigh, “And it’s not just for show, too.”

Your tone came out sharper than you intended when you replied, “You think you can control that?”

A sly smirk tugs at his lips, “Control? It’d be fun to break you, sure, but… I quite like the idea of having a feisty Omega by my side. Believe me, babydoll, I know what it’s like to prove yourself to be seen and acknowledged. I had to do the same to prove it to my father and grandfather. You didn’t think I was handed this position just like that, did you?”

"I don’t doubt you had to fight for it," you say quietly. "But I’m not here for a power struggle. Not with you, not with anyone."

He shifts slightly, giving your thigh a firm squeeze. “Look, babydoll, I don’t expect you to bend over my desk or lap whenever I tell you to. But, I do expect you to listen to me when it comes to your safety or if you’re ever caught in the crossfire of my dealings. Is that understood?”

You meet his gaze, feeling a shiver run down your spine. The grip he had on your thigh had goosebumps rising, but the touch wasn’t just possessive; it was also protective. A silent reminder.

“I know you’re more than capable of handling yourself, babydoll. But being capable doesn’t mean you have to face every danger alone, and in my world, in my life, it’s not kind to the unprepared despite their capabilities to be able to stand up for themselves.”

You bite back the words you want to say, about how you weren’t some fragile porcelain doll. That you didn’t need him to look after you like you’re some helpless Omega –

“I’m not asking you to give up the control you have over your life. I can see as clear as day that you’ve been able to manage just fine without an Alpha.” Oh.

“What I’m asking from you is to trust me when it matters. I know this marriage is out of convenience, for the sake of the mating bond, but you’re not someone I’m willing to let slip through the cracks either. Not without a fight.”

His words pulled your defenses down just a little, but you still held on tight to the edges of your resolve. Perhaps it was because of the many judgemental and snide comments you’ve received from others, especially Alphas, in the past that made you want to argue with him. The way he speaks, so calm and measured, you were itching to fight back.

But, something in his eyes stops you. There was no sign of mockery, no superiority – just a raw honesty you’d never thought you’d see in an Alpha. Much less the one that practically rules over the entire city.

“I didn’t ask for any of this…” You voiced out, sounding quieter than you’d intended. “I didn’t ask for you to be my mate. I didn’t ask for you to try and protect me.”

While he doesn’t flinch at your words, there’s a shift in his posture, a subtle tense in his shoulders that tells you he isn’t completely unaffected by your words.

“I know, babydoll,” his tone now tinged with something that feels like understanding, “But, believe me when I say that I am not asking for your submission. I’m asking for your trust. If I wanted to control you, I would’ve made that clear six months ago.”

“Can’t believe those bastards had to wait six months to do this stupid party…” you mumbled, cheeks heating up as you realised you sound like a girl throwing a little tantrum.

Wonwoo chuckles, “Well, our schedules have been overlapping. I think they expected us to go on a honeymoon for a while.”

“Tch, as if I’d ever want to be on the same bed as you.”

“Moving back to the topic earlier, I’m not asking for a leash, babydoll,” his voice is low, almost soothing. “I’m asking you to let me stand by your side when the world gets too heavy. Because it will. And when that happens... I don’t want you to face it alone. All I ask for is your trust and to let me understand you.”

You’re unsure of what to say next, the weight of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. You’ve spent almost your entire life resisting the idea of relying on anyone, but here he is, asking for something as simple as your trust.

The sincerity in his words linger, and for the first time, you wonder if you’ve misjudged the Alpha. Maybe he wasn’t like the others that were trying to force their way into an Omega’s life. Maybe he wasn’t looking to bend or break an Omega so they’d be solely dependent on their Alpha.

Maybe he too was looking for something different. Something that goes beyond fated bonds and forced relationships.

You look at him, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder if there’s a part of you that could trust him.

He pulls his hand away from your thigh, fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to break the contact.

“But, there’s clearly something bothering you, babydoll. C’mon, out with it.”

You hesitate, lips parting, but no words come out. You’re not sure where to start or if you even want to start. Part of you still wants to keep everything bottled up, to keep your walls firmly in place. But then there’s him, sitting beside you with that quiet patience, the intensity in his gaze softened just enough to make you believe he might actually care about what you’re about to say.

You shift slightly in your seat, arms tightening around yourself. “That… That Juyeon guy at the dinner…”

Wonwoo's expression darkens almost instantly, the warmth in his gaze snuffed out like a candle. His jaw tightens, and though he remains still, you can feel the way his entire body tenses at the mention of another Alpha’s name.

“And, what about him, babydoll?” His voice is calm, a little too calm. It’s the kind that you know he won’t like your answer.

You swallow hard, “He… The way he spoke to me…”

You sigh, “Look, I know it’s inevitable that people will start addressing by ‘title’ instead of my name. Wonwoo’s Omega. Wonwoo’s wife. But, I don’t like it being said in a condescending tone. The way he called or referred to me as Wonwoo’s little Omega felt as though I was just another weapon or gun you’ve added to your already large collection.”

You shift a little, the frustration simmering beneath your skin as you try to put your feelings into words. “I don’t want to be reduced to that. To just another thing you own. It’s already hard enough that I had to not cuss him out for trying to feel me up the entire time…”

Wonwoo stills.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. Heavy. Suffocating.

The air between you crackles with something dangerous. His expression doesn’t change, doesn’t twist in anger or morph into something openly furious, but the sheer stillness of him is enough to make the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Say that again, babydoll” he orders, and though it’s barely above a whisper, it’s the sharpest you’ve ever heard his voice. “What did you just say?”

For a moment, you wonder if you’ve screwed up by making such an accusation or statement about his associate. But, you pushed on, “Juyeon… He kept brushing up against me on the table. Placing his hand on my knee, my thigh. He’d touch my back too when he had the chance.”

Wonwoo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

But then, he slowly exhales through his nose, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek as if trying to keep his composure.

“I see.”

Two simple words. And yet, something about the way he says them sends a cold shiver down your spine.

“Wonwoo–”

“Mingyu,” he calls out to the driver.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Tell Jihoon to pass a message to Juyeon. I’d like to have dinner with him tomorrow night. Just the two of us.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Wonwoo!”

“I told you I’d stand by you when it matters,” Wonwoo repeats his earlier statement, his voice softer now, but no less intense. “And this matters.”

You swallow, finding it harder to resist the pull of his words than you care to admit. The stubborn part of you wants to fight him, wants to tell him you don’t need his help, but you can’t deny how much relief it brings to know he won’t just stand idly as you get disrespected.

For the first time, you allow yourself to believe that he might actually be a good guy.

“You… run a clothing line?”

Wonwoo looks up from his desk, his eyes on you as you stand by one of the many shelves he’s lined up on the walls. In your hands was a photo frame with a photo of him and a blonde man standing side-by-side in front of a building.

“Is that very surprising, babydoll?” he asks, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Just because my family runs the mafioso doesn’t mean I have to just run that business.”

Behind the pair was a store with the sign J&W. Wonwoo said it’s a combination of their initials, a collaboration of some sorts. When you asked why he can’t just open one under his own name, his reply was simply, “You really think people would dare to set foot into a shop that’s under my name?”

“This man… Is he a business partner? Shareholder?” A shadow looms over you and tilting your head backwards, it sits comfortably against his broad shoulder. Wonwoo hums, “You could say that. He’s… I consider Jeonghan a friend and if you know me well or long enough, I don’t offer my trust easily.”

“I’m guessing that trust also applies to the hiring process of your bodyguards?”

You’ve counted a maximum of… six bodyguards during your stay at his mansion. Well, excluding his right-hand man, Jihoon, that makes five. “Some… unfortunate incidents happened when I was younger that started my trust issues.”

His voice drops just a little, one hand coming up to rest on your waist. You don’t miss the way his jaw clenches briefly before relaxing, as though catching himself before slipping too deep into memory.

“Jihoon and I have known each other since childhood. Family relations all that so it’s natural I came to trust him.”

“The others?”

“They’ve earned their place and my trust.”

You look down at the frame before tilting your head back up, raising it a little, “And Jeonghan?”

Wonwoo takes the item from your hand, as if examining it before handing it back to you. “Ah, Jeonghan…” A quiet chuckle slips past his lips, “Let’s say he’s a different story… I actually met him through Seungcheol, one of the bodyguards. You’ve probably seen him around – buff, kind of gray-ish hair.”

“The one that’s always butting heads with Mingyu?”

A flicker of surprise crosses his features, “So you’ve been paying attention.” Amusement laces his tone, clearly not expecting you to do so. You narrowed your eyes, “Well, if I weren’t aware of my surroundings, I wouldn’t have been able to survive this long until you showed up, can I?”

He gives your waist a firm squeeze, pressing a kiss to your temple, an action that catches you off guard. “I suppose you have a point, babydoll,” he concedes, voice low. “And I suppose it’s hard to ignore the two when they’re at each other’s throat.”

You roll your eyes. “Well, they’re not exactly subtle… Or quiet. It is interesting to see Mingyu surrender or lower his head, though…”

Wonwoo chuckles, taking the frame off your hands and setting it back on the shelf. “They’re both betas, but Seungcheol does have more of a… I guess more dominant nature. We’d suspected him of being an Alpha initially, but tests proved otherwise.” He adjusts the frame slightly before turning his attention back to you. “Still, that doesn’t stop him from acting like one.”

“And Mingyu just… lets him?”

The Alpha shrugs his shoulders. “Mingyu respects strength. He may not always like it, but he knows when to back down.”

You hum in thought. “And Jeonghan? Where does he fit into all of this?”

“He and Seungcheol go way back if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know the full details, but from what I’ve gathered and from what they’ve told me respectively, they used to work together before Seungcheol decided to have a change in career paths.”

Another squeeze to your waist, “Jeonghan… plays by his own rules. Always has.”

You frown slightly, clearly confused by his words. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a businessman,” Wonwoo says simply, though there’s something guarded in the way he says it. “And like all businessmen, he knows how to get what he wants.”

That doesn’t quite answer your question, but you know better than to push too hard.

“Is he dangerous?”

Wonwoo’s lips curl at the question, but it’s anything but a smile. “He’s charming, I’ll give him that.. And that makes him the most dangerous of all.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know if it’s from his tone or the way his fingers finally slide away from your skin.

The air in the mansion felt… different.

You couldn’t exactly put a finger on it, but it just felt as though there was a shift to your surroundings. Your heart was racing despite it being a calm and quiet day, Wonwoo was out discussing a fashion deal and majority of the staff in his mansion were given specific orders to not bother you unless needed.

Your heart was racing faster than usual, your senses were heightened in a way that made your skin feel alive – and not in a good way. It was in a way that made your head dizzy. It was subtle at first, a warmth curling in your lower belly, an uncomfortable tingle spreading across your limbs that makes your skin far too sensitive to the air around you.

You ignored it at first – or at least, you tried to.

The mansion was eerily quiet. The grand halls, lined with cold marble and towering windows. Despite housing the most dangerous mafioso and his bodyguards, it felt safe. But, it could be because of Wonwoo’s presence and his pheromones.

Now, each step you took felt heavier, every breath felt sharper, and the very air felt charged with something oppressive.

You knew this feeling. You had been trained to recognise it.

But it was too soon. Far too soon.

You’ve kept track of your heat since it was revealed that you were an Omega. You’ve made sure to take your suppressants on time to prevent any mishaps, never missing a single dose. Yet, despite your careful planning and discipline…

Could it be Wonwoo’s pheromones?

It had to be – your cycle wasn’t due for another week, give or take.

You pressed a sweaty palm against the nearest wall, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you. It started as a slow burn in your veins, a heat that swirled in your stomach and spread outwards.

It was definitely your heat. You could feel it creeping up, threatening to consume you if you didn’t act fast.

“Missus..?”

Mingyu.

“Missus, you don’t look so well,” the Beta points out, taking a step forward.

It was times like these that you were grateful for Wonwoo insisting that his staff were Betas. Before you came into the picture, it was to ensure no crossfires ever happened between him and an Alpha staff. Two or more Alphas under the same roof with some kind of “power imbalance” could lead to a hostile environment, and Wonwoo prefers peace and quiet… despite the field of work he’s in.

After you came into the picture, Wonwoo would answer that he didn’t want any unclaimed or stray Alphas pouncing on his Omega.

Mingyu sniffs the air and his ears perk up as he catches a whiff of sweetness in the air. It was sweet like candy and he instantly knew what was going on. Thankfully, his training somewhat prepared him for scenarios like this, albeit it was catered more towards Alphas.

“Missus, do you have any suppressants?” Mingyu, taking a cautious step forward so as not to agitate you. You shook your head, letting out a small sniffle, “I ran out of them… I-I was planning to get them some time this week because it isn’t due for another–”

“Okay, well, I could text Boss to pick some up for you once he’s done with his meeting,” the giant suggests, reaching out a hand to steady you when he notices the slight wobble in your stance. “In the meantime, you shouldn’t be out and about, Missus… Let’s get you–”

“What’s going on here?” Jihoon, Wonwoo’s right-hand, interrupts Mingyu’s sentence. The tall beta freezes, his hand hovering near your arm but not quite touching. His jaw clenched, glancing over his shoulder, meeting Jihoon’s sharp, assessing gaze.

Unlike Mingyu, who was all warmth and concern, Jihoon carried an air of cold efficiency, his presence cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade. The right-hand man’s eyes flicker to you, his nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on 

Jihoon’s eyes flicker to you, nostrils flaring slightly as he picks up on what Mingyu already had. His brows furrow, and a barely-there sigh escapes his lips. “Shit,” he muttered, noticing the way you swayed slightly against the wall, trying to regain your balance.

Mingyu lowered his hand, deciding that it was best to keep a respectful distance from you. “Missus is having a bit of a… situation,” he said, his tone careful. “She’s early and ran out of her suppressants. I was gonna text Boss–”

“Call him.” The right-hand man’s voice carried an authority that was impossible to ignore. While his eyes softened just a touch as your discomfort, they still held that calculative gaze.

The tall giant was hesitant, his thumb hovering over the screen of his phone. Every one of Wonwoo’s staff knew that calling him while he’s in any sort of meeting was serious. Texting was discreet, something that could be swept under the rug or dealt with later. But a call meant urgency. It meant that Wonwoo would have to drop everything, no matter what he was doing, to deal with the situation.

But a look from Jihoon has Mingyu cursing under his breath, tapping the call button and pressing the phone to his ear.

“Missus,” Jihoo’s tone while still authoritative, was softer than before. His gaze flickered to your hands that were trembling at your sides and against the wall. “Give me your hand.”

You’re momentarily confused, blinking up at him then lowering your gaze to his outstretched hand. His voice carried a quiet but insistent command, and despite the overwhelming wave of hormones washing over you, you obediently did so.

“You’ll be okay,” Jihoon murmured, though it seems he was reminding you rather than comforting you. “All the staff here are Betas, I’m sure Boss told you that. Your heat won’t affect us so there’s no need to fear us jumping on you.”

His gaze returns to Mingyu who’s speaking on the phone. “Won’t be long before Boss gets back. I’ll take you back to your room.” You nod your head, though you weren’t sure if it was in response to his reassurance or because you knew that your legs couldn’t walk without someone guiding you.

The walk through the halls felt like an endless blur, the air thick with both the scent of your heat and the tension of the situation. Your heart pounded in your ears, your breaths coming in short, uneven pants. The mansion, usually cold, felt suffocating now.

You barely registered when Jihoon pushed open a door, guiding you inside the room. You entered without a second thought, freezing when the scent hit you.

This wasn’t your room.

Your body recognised it before your mind did – the faint traces of musk, crisp cologne, and something that was deeply ingrained in your instincts. Your entire being tenses as you realised exactly where Jihoon had brought you.

Wonwoo’s room.

You let out a whimper, the lingering remnants of the Alpha’s pheromones made your entire body tense. He wasn’t even here yet, and you were already drowning in him. You stared at the king-sized bed, your body wanting to sink into it, to bury yourself in the softness of the sheets that still held the imprint of his presence. But, the rational part of your mind knew better.

Your sluggish thoughts tried to fight through the dizzying fog, “Jihoon, this- this isn't–”

“I know, Missus,” he interrupts cooly, “But, I'm going to assume this is your first heat that's induced by an Alpha’s pheromones. It'd be best to get used to Boss’ pheromones – not just for your heat, but for your well-being too.”

“Well-being?”

With surprising gentleness, he guides you to the edge of Wonwoo’s massive bed, lowering you to sit onto the cool sheets. It was a stark contrast to your fevered skin. Your mind screamed for you to leave, to fight the Beta and make a run for it to your room – but your body betrays you as it reacts to the lingering scent of Wonwoo’s pheromones. 

Before you can do anything, you instinctively crawl onto the bed, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you as you’re pulled towards the only source of comfort in your current suffocating haze. You somewhat collapsed onto the mattress, burying your face into it and inhaling deeply, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips as your thighs clench with need.

Your fingers curled into the fabric, your entire body as the Alpha’s scent wrapped around you like a vice.

You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be reacting like this.

You should be fighting this, clawing your way out of this haze and demanding to be taken back to your own room where you can suffer through this alone. But your instincts don’t care for logic. Instead, you’re in Wonwoo’s room, trembling and desperate, drowning in a need so raw it leaves you gasping.

You hated how easy it was to succumb.

And then it happens.

A shift in the air.

A choked noise left your lips as his scent filled the room completely, no longer just a lingering trace but a full, undeniable presence.

You sit up immediately, turning your head back to the door behind you before you can even think. It was an instinct, your body responding to an unspoken command before your mind can even have time to process anything.

“Nonu…”

Wonwoo definitely broke several speed limits on his way back to base.

The second he saw Mingyu’s name flash across his phone screen – not a text, but a phone call – he knew something was wrong. He brought the device to his ear, nothing more than a clipped ‘Speak’. Once Mingyu announced ‘Missus is early’, he ended the call and left the meeting without a word.

He didn’t care who was speaking. Didn’t care about the confused stares or hushed murmurs as he strode out the boardroom.

The only thing that mattered to him was getting back to you.

He stopped by a pharmacy, picking up several bottles of heat suppressants and a few cooling patches before speeding the rest on his way home.

Wonwoo storms through the halls of the base, his coat thrown onto the couch, his tie loosened and his jaw set tight.

Everyone knew they had to stay the hell out of his way.

His staff, the Betas, moved to the sides, pressing their back against the walls as he passed. Nobody dared to meet his gaze, not even Seungcheol – especially when the Alpha’s scent was laced with irritation – thick and suffocating in the air.

Grabbing a bottle of suppressants and a packet of heat patches from the plastic bag, he tosses the bag to a nearby staff. “Chan, store the suppressants in the missus’ bathroom cabinet. Cooling patches go in the mini fridge for her skincare.”

Chan nodded quickly, following the instructions.

Approaching his room, Jihoon steps aside from the door and slips past him without so much as a glance back. There was nothing that needed to be said. The right-hand man had done his job. Now, it was Wonwoo’s turn.

He entered the room and his expression was unreadable as he took in the scene before him. His nose twitched as your pheromones had practically covered every corner of his room. Sensing his presence, he watches as you sit up on your knees, head turning back and making eye contact with him.

“Nonu…”

He hears your breath hitch as he draws closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate.

“You really are a handful…” His voice was smooth, almost lazy. But, there was something else beneath it, something dark. It caused a shiver to run through you. Whether from arousal or fear, you’re not sure.

He steps closer, footsteps slow and deliberate. With each step he takes, a spike of awareness shot throughout your body. Your body reacts instinctively to his presence, knees pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache inside your stomach. But, you knew it wouldn’t work.

Nothing did.

Not the cool sheets, not the distance that grew shorter and shorter.

By the time Wonwoo reaches the edge of the bed, your entire frame is trembling. He tilts his head to the side and exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“Nonu…”

Fuck. Your voice sounded so wrecked that the Alpha’s breath stuttered for just a second.

It sounded so needy, trembling with something raw that managed to slip through the cracks of Wonwoo’s self-restraint. His fingers twitched at his side before crossing his arms in front of his chest, the black button up straining slightly against his forearms and chest.

Your mind grew foggy as his scent grew thicker, wrapping around you completely. Before your mind could even process it, your body moved on its own – crawling to the edge of the bed to be closer to where he stood.

Wonwoo didn’t understand why Jihoon would bring you to his room (he does, he just doesn’t want to acknowledge it). You should be locked in your room, alone and away from him. Yet, here you were – right in the center of his personal space, clinging to the sheets like they were the only thing anchoring you to your senses.

The worst part of it all?

You looked like you belonged there.

He reaches out, cupping your cheek and tilting your head up. A small, needy whimper slips from your lips before you even realise. He orders you to stay still and you do, opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue. Wonwoo presses the pill to your tongue and the bitter taste barely registers past the haze in your mind.

“Swallow.”

You obey instantly, throat bobbing as you swallow the suppressant without protest. You opened your mouth again, showing him that you had done exactly as he ordered.

Wonwoo’s jaw tightened.

The fact that you took the suppressant without much fight should have relieved him, but it didn’t.

Because your lips trembled.

Because your pupils remain dilated.

You close your mouth, another whimper slipping free as you nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand that cupped your cheek. Both of you knew the heat won’t subside immediately, that it would take up to hours for the suppressant to actually kick in.

After a few moments, Wonwoo pulls his hand away and lets out a slow, measured breath.

“Good girl.”

Two words.

Just two simple words.

And yet, your entire body shudders.

His eyes darkened for a brief second before he stood to his full height, pulling his hand away as he took a step back. You whine at the loss of his hand against your kin, blinking up at him and Wonwoo swallows hard.

“Don’t.” His voice came out tighter than he intended, “Don’t look at me like that, babydoll.”

Like he was the only thing you needed.

Like he was the only one that could save you.

“Nonu, please,” you whined, “Make the pain go away.”

Wonwoon’s self-control snapped and before he could even think, he was on you. One hand came up to cup the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head up.

And then he kissed you.

Hard.

It wasn’t soft and gentle.

It was desperate – a clash of heat and hunger, of pent-up frustration.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting into his shirt and his grip tightened. Wonwoo presses his lips harder against yours as he swallows every whimper, every soft plea. Your heat was drowning him, making him forget every single rule he had set for himself.

He knew this was reckless. Knew that this could have dire consequences.

But when you moaned against his lips, the noise soft and needy, every ounce of logic flew out the window. His tongue slid against yours, deepening the kiss as if he was attempting to steal the breath from your lungs. His hands moved, sliding down your thighs and gripping them just enough to make you gasp again.

Wonwoo thinks he could still salvage what little control he had as he presses you deeper into the mattress – at least until he hears you whisper his name. The sound was soft, pleading – ruined, even. And he realises that it was already too late.

He’s gone.

“I’ll only help you this one time,” Wonwoo’s voice was low, dangerously low. He sounded controlled, but the way his hand gripped your thighs; the way his gaze dropped to your lips betrayed the inner turmoil he was facing. “Understood?”

You nodded immediately and he narrowed his eyes. But there was no mistaking the way your body arched towards him like it already knew what it wanted. His hands slid up your sides and under your shirt – his rough, calloused hands running against your smooth skin.

Just this once, he told himself.

Just tonight.

Just until the suppressants kicked in.

“Nonu!”

Fuck. The way you cried out so prettily for him had him curl his fingers deeper inside you. He was supposed to be in control, not let his instincts take over. But, damn it, the way you begged his name in that desperate, pleading tone had him losing focus.

Truth be told, Wonwoo always had a distaste for the heat and rut cycles. They were messy, primal; a reminder of how little control he had when it came to instincts like this. His body screamed for release, for dominance, but discomfort clawed at his mind.

But, God, the way you reacted to him. Every touch, every whine of his name, it ignited something he couldn’t deny.

Your back is pressed against his chest, the fabrics clinging to your skin damp with sweat and fever, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All you could feel was how good his fingers were working inside you – skillful and relentless.

The fabrics between you only intensified the ache. Your night shorts were thrown somewhere into the corner of his room, the shirt somewhat bunched around your hips while Wonwoo, still fully dressed, sat behind you with his back against the headboard. His chest felt warm against your back, the steady breaths he let out betraying the tension vibrating through his body.

You keened, one arm thrown back to hold the back of his neck in an attempt to ground yourself. “Nonu…” You whimpered, voice cracked and ruined. “N-Need more. Please, I–”

“I know,” he growls against the side of your neck, voice strained. His lips brushed your skin, not quite a kiss, but the warmth made your entire body shudder. “I know, babydoll. Your poor pussy needs more, right? Your heat has you all hot and aching, doesn't it?”

His free hand rests on your waist, anchoring you against him as his fingers curled again – this time slower, as though he’s searching for something. “She’s begging, babydoll. Dripping and sucking my fingers in like she knows who she belongs to.”

A sharp gasp leaves your lips and Wonwoo feels your body tremble. Your legs try to snap shut and he whispers into your ear, “That the spot?”

You nodded, back arching as his fingertips continue to bully your g-spot. You could feel him pulsing hard through his pants, pressed flush against your ass. Every clothes rut of his hips against you has you crying out – needy, frustrated.

Your thighs are trembling violently now, the tension coiling deep in your gut and it was ready to break. Wonwoo continues to stimulate that spongy spot, his fingers working to open you up with expert precision. “You’re close, aren’t you, babydoll?”

You could only nod, not trusting your words as your mouth parts to let out a high pitched moan as your body surged towards the edge. He presses his fingers until they’re knuckle deep inside you, curling up right against that spot as his thumb circles over your swollen clit.

“C’mon,” he rasps into your ear, “Cum for me.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.

White hot pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your vision blurs and your entire body seizes as you cried out, body jerking against the Alpha behind you as a gush of wetness spilled over his hand and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo doesn’t move. Instead he holds you tighter, hands still resting between your legs but his thumb circles your clit in a manner that was meant to ground you. You're gasping and shaking in his arms, hands trying to push at his wrists, desperate but weak. You aren’t sure if it was overstimulation or if you wanted him to give you more.

His voice was low, full of something far too tender for the way his heart was racing – for the way he’d always acted. “Good girl. Did so well for me.”

Wonwoo looks down at you only to be met by you looking up at him, eyes glassy and lips parted in a silent plea. You were flushed and panting in his lap, slick coating his fingers.

Despite his distaste for these cycles, he knew he’d do it again.

He hated how much he realised he loved this, how he could pull those sounds from you.

But, he loved how he was the only one who could pull those noises from you.

Loved how you trusted him through it.

Wonwoo carefully pulls out his fingers, ready to move you back to your room – then you whimper out his name like it was a prayer meant just for him.

“Babydoll,” he growls lowly, voice rough and filled with warning. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Yet you did.

Maybe it was the scent of your heat. Maybe it was the way you clung to him, silently begging him. Maybe it was the way that nickname you called him rolled off your tongue like he was your God.

He’s quick to have you pressed against the mattress, hips flushed against yours as he finally gives in to the carnal pull. You hear him fumbling with his belt and the sound of his zipper coming undone. The sudden shift in the situation knocks the air straight from your lungs.

One moment he’s cradling you in his arms, the next you’re sprawled beneath him; his hands on either side of your head to not just keep himself up, but to keep you right where he wants you.

Where you need to be.

You gasp out his title – not his name or that cute lil nickname you just gave him, but his title. Your eyes fluttered shut as your fingers claw into the bedding, silently begging for him to just fill you up.

And he does.

In one thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and savours the way you cry out to him, body arching as your pussy clamps down on him.

He leans over you, chest pressed against yours, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Feel that, babydoll? That’s me shaping your pussy so that it only knows how to take my dick.” He pulls his hips back, just until only his tip remains inside before slamming forward, making sure you feel him in your womb. “Wanted me to fuck you? Well, I’m gonna give it to you.”

A needy sob escapes your lips as he sets a punishing pace; and he chuckles lowly, hot breath against your neck. His lips part and he bites down on your neck, hard, claiming the spot with a bruising mark. You gasp, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure through your core, causing your pussy to squeeze him tighter.

Wonwoo growls, hips stuttering for just a moment before he thrusts even deeper, harder – making sure your walls remember every vein, every inch.

“My sweet Omega,” he grunts against your skin, voice rough and possessive. His tongue darts out to soothe the bite. You mewl, feeling the imprint of his teeth as though he was trying to brand you as his.

Your hands scramble for purchase, settling on his back and your nails dragged down his back as he fucks you through every tremble, every whimper.

“You like that, dontcha babydoll?” he sits up, knees digging into the mattress as his hands grip your hips so tightly you were sure it’d start to bruise. All you could do was nod, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes.

“C’mon, babydoll,” he coos condescendingly, one hand sliding up your body to wrap itself loosely around your throat. He didn’t apply any pressure, just letting it sit there as a reminder of his control, his claim.

And it was like a switch flipped.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips, back arching off the mattress as more slick drips out of your pussy, creating a white ring of cream around the base of the Alpha’s cock.

You didn’t mean to react the way you did, and Wonwoo felt it.

The way your walls clenched around him tighter, the sudden wetness coating where your hips met.

“Oh?” his tone was dark with approval, “You like that?”

“S-So good, Alpha,” you choked out, mind growing hazy from your heat and the pleasure, “Love.. Love it so much! Feels s’good!”

His thrusts grew rougher as something primal took over. He removes his hand from your throat, sliding it down your body to rub tight circles over your clit. Your back arches as a sharp cry tears from your throat, body trembling uncontrollably. Slick gushes out from your pussy as you squirt again, drenching his shirt and milking his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he growled, hips stuttering at the milking compression of your cunt. “Shit, I’m close, babydoll. And you're gonna let me fill you, isn’t that right?”

You nodded through the haze, words slurred by pleasure, “A-Alpha!”

That was all it took. With one final thrust, Wonwoo buries himself to the hilt as his cock twitches inside you as he cums deep inside you. 

The room was thick with the scent of your heat and sex, but all Wonwoo could hear was the sound of your soft, uneven breaths – body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure, barely conscious of anything except for the way he filled you to the brim.

He stayed buried inside you for a moment longer, reluctant to leave the warmth of your creamed pussy. But when he hears your soft whimper, noticing the way your body twitching from oversensitivity, he’s snapped back to reality.

Wonwoo groans as he carefully pulls out, a groan escaping his lips at the sight of his cum spilling out from you – coating the insides of your thighs and dripping onto the sheets beneath you. You whimper at the emptiness, at the sudden cold air on your overheated skin.

He doesn’t say anything, only tucking himself back into his pants and stands up.

For a moment, you thought he’d leave you in his room – maybe even go as far as to sleep in one of the guest rooms.

But then, you hear the faint rustling of the plastic bag before the mattress dips beside you.

Wonwoo leans over, gently brushing away the sweat-damp strands of hair from your forehead. You can barely keep your eyes open, the heat and aftermath pulling you under.

Then, coolness.

A soothing, mental chill spreads over your fevered skin as he places a cooling patch on your forehead. You let out a shaky breath, weakly reaching out for him.

Wonwoo takes them in his.

“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice no longer holding that sharp or commanding tone. Instead, it sounds softer. “I’ve got you babydoll.”

His other hand adjusts the sheets around your body, tugging the blanket up to your waist after retrieving your night shorts from the floor. He made sure your legs weren’t tangled, made sure you were comfortable.

You blinked up at him sleepily, cheeks still flushed a shade of red and lashes slightly damp. “Please stay, Nonu…”

He freezes.

For a moment, the only sound was his breath, still a little uneven. You could tell he was torn between his old habit of keeping you at arm’s length and giving into his instincts.

Without uttering a word, he eases under the covers beside you, gently pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, strong and warm, as he nuzzles his face in your hair. “Of course, babydoll. You’ll sleep easier if I’m here.”

Wonwoo never stays. Once he’s made sure you’re in good hands, he'd leave.

But, tonight wasn’t like the others.

Tonight, he stayed – not to keep his distance, but to keep you close.

Tonight, he stayed to protect you.

His.

You felt it then– the way he held you. Not like a favour, but like someone claiming what’s his.

Weeks after that incident during your heat, you and Wonwoo went on with your lives as though nothing had happened. The mansion returned to its usual rhythm – quiet mornings, the hum of the electric kettle.

Wonwoo buried himself in work, occasionally checking up on you as per his mother’s command, occasionally picking you up from your flower shop instead of leaving it to Mingyu. They were… small efforts into making the marriage look less of a business arrangement, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

You busied yourself with your own work, too. But, you’d still go grocery shopping and prepare meals for the people of the mansion (which frankly, was a task you overestimated because cooking for 6 people proved to be a difficult task). They’d thank you, of course – you went through all the time and effort – it’d be wrong for them not to appreciate it and clean up after themselves.

However, you were careful to not let yourself brush against the Alpha for too long. Nor would you let your thoughts drift back to the night where tangled limbs and breathless whispers once filled the space.

While you both went on with your lives, acting as though nothing had happened – there was a subtle shift in the air.

Mingyu was the first to notice it.

Being one of the bulkier guards, he had been stationed at the mansion to keep an eye on things during your off days. It was a simple routine he took a liking to – he gets to have a nice conversation with less scarier missus and it was considered low stake.

That morning started out no different than the others. You passed him in the hallway, offering a soft habitual “Morning, Gyu” as you balanced a basket of laundry against your hip. He nodded in return, returning the smile and his eyes followed you until you turned a corner.

His nose twitched as he picked up the smell of something… sweet. Like the first bloom of spring in the middle of winter.

It was far too faint for it to be a heat cycle, but it still lingered in the air.

Mingyu couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. You looked the same, moved the same. But there was something different about your aura.

Wonwoo only noticed the sweetness of your pheromones once Mingyu brought it up.

He’d pause a little longer when he passed you in the hallway, fingers twitching just a little when your scent clung to the couch after sitting on it for hours. His jaw would flex when you leaned over him to grab something from the kitchen shelf.

Yet, he didn’t say anything.

Neither did you.

You hear the door open just past midnight.

Muted voices. Heavy boots.

You catch a whiff of the faint, metallic tang of blood and turn your head towards the front door.

Wonwoo was the first to enter, as always. His expression is calm, unreadable. His coat hung open, dark with flecks of something you didn’t need to guess. Jihoon followed close behind, quieter than usual. His shirt was stained too, though he’d slug his jacket over his arm to conceal most of it.

He looked… calmer. The tiredness in his eyes were evident, but he didn’t have that frenzied look he always had. There was no smirk, no offhand remarks about which body part he sliced off, where he left it or if he convinced Wonwoo to break every bone of their rivals.

You stayed curled on the far end of the couch, a soft blanket on your lap with a book in hand. “Hi, boys. Long night?” You asked, tone casual but laced with something warmer

“Hey, Missus,” Jihoon responds, brief but polite. “Kinda.. But, we got it under control.”

He disappears down the hallway without another word, tugging off his bloodied gloves. Wonwoo follows a beat later, slinging his coat over one shoulder, a faint dark red smear on his jaw. “Have you had dinner, babydoll?” His voice was oddly warm.

You nodded your head, “Gyu made some aglio olio with steak. There should be some leftovers in the fridge for you.”

Wonwoo nods in response. He continues to stand there, looking at you like he was still figuring out he’s supposed to get used to coming home to this – to you.

You look back at him, and he notices the subtle way your nose wrinkled at the scent clinging to his nose, how your fingers twitched against the cover of the book you’re holding.

“I’ll go shower,” he mumbles, voice lowering. It almost sounded like an apology in disguise.

He walks up the stairs, halting momentarily to look back at you. That scent of yours still hangs in the air – sweet, distracting. Wonwoo stands there for a few more seconds before disappearing in the halls of the house, leaving silence and a rising heat in your chest.

He reappears moments later, now in a loose shirt and pyjama pants – looking more like a sleep-deprived graduate student than a man capable of unspeakable violence. He heads towards the kitchen and you follow him, feet quiet against the hardwood floor.

The house felt too big at that moment, the silence stretching between the walls like it was listening. The Alpha doesn’t say anything, just moving with the practiced ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times – opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of chilled wine. It was like he belonged in the silence.

The overhead light pooled golden over him, catching in the soft fall of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. The loose fabric of his shirt clung to the curve of his shoulder, just barely damp from the shower he just took, and you caught yourself staring – longer than you should have.

“You’re not gonna eat what Gyu made?” you asked, breaking the silence between you both before it could swallow you whole.

Wonwoo didn’t look back at first, popping the cork with one clean motion and pouring himself a glass with a kind of ease that spoke about how often he did this – like he was numbing or avoiding something.

“It’s cold now,” he answers, voice quiet but not dismissive. The wine filled his glass with a smooth swirl of deep red.

Then, without a word, he reached for another glass.

Not for wine.

He filled it with water from the chilled filter on the fridge, the sound soft and steady in the stillness of the kitchen. He sets it down on the counter near you and you blinked. There was no eye contact nor explanation, but the gesture settled somewhere deep in your chest.

You take a step closer, fingers brushing against the cool glass as you pick it up. “Thanks..” You take a sip and set it back down, leaning against the counter with your arms folded loosely. “But, just because the food is cold means it’s bad.”

“I’m not hungry.”

You watch him bring the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. His gaze lingered on the dark liquid, as though he was contemplating something.

“You didn’t even look at the plate,” your voice wasn’t accusatory, it was just gentle – just there.

Wonwoo lets out a breath, not exactly a sigh. “Didn’t need to.”

The silence that followed felt different – it felt tighter.

Then, without thinking, you moved a little closer. Just enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. Just enough for your voice to come out quieter when you asked, “Do you ever let yourself take a break, Nonu?”

Wonwoo’s jaw tensed. He doesn’t look at you when he answers, “I take a break when I sleep.”

“You barely sleep…”

You see a flicker in his eyes – you touched something.

He knew it.

You knew it.

But he didn’t run from it, at least not this time.

“Then I guess I don’t stop,” his reply was low, maybe a little bit more honest than he meant it to be.

You stood there for a beat, the glass cool in your hands – the silence wrapping around you both like a blanket that was too heavy to shake off. Your eyes dropped to the way his fingers held the wine glass, knuckles still faintly pale from tension. The condensation on your own glass trickles down your fingers, as though it was trying to ground you in the moment.

“Are you hurt anywhere, Nonu?” The question came out softer than you meant it to be – it sounded warm and it lingered in the air. You didn’t look at him directly, just watching the condensation slide down the side of his glass.

“No.”

It was clipped. Cold. Dismissive.

The kind of answer that was meant to end the conversation before it could even start. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat. Of course – you weren’t supposed to ask. You weren’t supposed to care – not like that. Not out loud.

He didn’t move at first. Just standing there, knuckles pale against the glass as his eyes locked on some distant point past the kitchen tiles. The silence stretched, heavy and humming, until he sniffs your sweetness in the air again. The sweet scent relaxed his posture, his shoulders dropping just a little and his grip around the glass loosened.

You watched him carefully, heart thudding in your chest and your voice caught before you even knew you were going to speak again.

“Can… Can I sleep with you tonight, Nonu?”

The words hang in the air, delicate and trembling.

It was too soft to take back. Too honest to ignore.

His fingers stilled around the glass, the sound of the fridge humming filled the silence that followed. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it had. Your heart thudded in your chest, loud enough to drown out the quiet.

Wonwoo stares at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes seemed darker tonight, shadowed by something you couldn’t quite place a finger on. He looked tired – not just physically-bone-deep tired, but it was like the world had taken a little more from him than he was willing to admit. Whatever he and Jihoon did out there, it still clung to him like smoke.

“Trouble sleeping lately, babydoll?” His voice was surprisingly soft, low and quiet like he didn’t want to wake the others in the house.

You nodded, looking at the glass in your hand. “The air’s been… weird lately. A-And, it’s hard to sleep without you lately.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the glass, voice barely above a whisper – shaky and raw, “I-I don’t know why but it is… Especially when you’re gone.”

He was still staring, and you couldn’t bring yourself to look up – not when you knew his expression is all it takes to undo you.

Another beat of silence.

One second.

Two.

Then, you hear a quiet breath escape him. His glass clinks on the counter as he sets his drink down.

His voice was soft, “Come on, babydoll.”

His response caught you off guard. When you looked up, he was already turning away, walking toward his room – but his pace was slower than usual. As though he was waiting for you to catch up to him.

Your heart flutters, warmth flooding your chest even as your legs carry you forward. Wonwoo doesn’t say anything when you slipped into his room behind him, the bed dipping under your weight. The mattress sighs softly when you settle in beside him – it wasn’t the first time you shared a bed, but it was the first time you asked to.

You lay on your side, back facing him as you clutched the edge of the blanket like it was the only thing anchoring you. Wonwoo doesn’t move for a while, but you could hear his breathing – steady, though it was a little too measured to be natural. Awake. Thinking.

Maybe regretting this decision.

Your throat tightens, tears brimming in your eyes as you start to overthink.

But then, quietly, just barely there, you feel the blanket shift. The mattress dips again, and your back feels warmer as his body inches close. It doesn’t touch, though it was there.

There was a beat of silence, the tension in the air so thick that you could feel it pressing against your skin.

Then, slowly his arm slips around your waist. It was slow enough to almost break you. Your breath hitches, but you don’t stop him. You don’t move, letting yourself sink into him. His hand rests lightly on your stomach, not in a possessive manner; just there, offering you a grounding presence.

“I don’t sleep well because I worry of the danger you’re in by being my mate,” he murmurs, voice almost buried against the back of your neck. “Not when I come back from that kind of work. Not unless I know you’re safe.”

You close your eyes, something in your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice, a kind of raw honesty he rarely ever let slip.

“I am safe, Nonu,” you whispered, “With you.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the way his arms wrapped themselves around your waist, the way his forehead lightly brushes against your shoulder… It was enough.

You didn’t say another word. You didn’t need to.

Sleep came slowly that night, but this time – when it did, it came easier.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, neither of you woke up alone.

Wonwoo stayed late at the office one night. The quiet hum of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows did little to distract him from the glow of his screen or the dull ache that was beginning to form behind his eyes.

Numbers blurred, reports repeated themselves – he was going through the motions, more out of habit than necessity.

His phone buzzed. His mother.

“Mother?”

“Wonwoo,” her voice was soft, but there was a certain sharp edge to it. “You’re working late again?”

“I am,” he said flatly, not annoyed – just a little confused as to why his mother was calling him.

“Go home, Wonwoo. Be with your mate. She needs you.”

The words stung more than it should have.

“She has Mingyu and Chan looking after her–”

“She doesn’t need them, Wonwoo.” Her voice firmer, “She needs you. Her Alpha.”

“What’s this about, Mother?”

“It’s hard for me to explain this over the phone, Wonwoo. Just… Just go home and be with ___, okay?”

The line disconnects before he could respond. Staring at his phone, his thumb hovers over the redial button, demanding answers.

He never got the chance.

His phone rang again – this time, Mingyu’s name flashes across the screen.

It was never a good sign when his men called him.

He picks it up on the first ring. “What?”

“Boss– Wonwoo– fuck,” Mingyu’s voice was shaking, breathless. “Where are you? Missus is gone. The door was busted in, Chan’s unconscious near the stairs and– fuck– there’s blood.”

The words don’t register at first.

“She’s gone.”

Wonwoo froze in his seat, phone pressed to his ear – Mingyu and Seungcheol shouting on the other end. Something about getting Chan medical help for a GSW to his abdomen. The office lights hummed quietly and everything around him felt… wrong. Too still. Too normal.

It was so… eerie.

Blood. Mingyu said there was blood.

“How messy is the place? How’s Chan?”

He finally stands up from the desk, papers fluttering off his desk, forgotten. His grip tightens around the phone until his knuckles whitened.

“It’s bad, Boss. This place is trashed, fuck.” Shuffling can be heard before Mingyu speaks up again, “Chan said she fought. Oh fuck, one of the guy’s face is clawed off.”

“Gyu!” Seungcheol’s voice rings through the background, “We got a survivor! Tell Wonwoo to come back quickly!”

Mingyu didn’t need to relay the message, already hearing Wonwoo starting up his car.

The Alpha’s jaw clenched so tightly that it started to ache. A sound clawed its way up his throat, something raw and ragged. But, he swallowed it down. “How long ago?”

“About an hour. Maybe less. Cheol and I went out to get some groceries and when we got back, we found the place like this.”

“Chan and Vernon?”

“Chan’s wound up pretty bad, but he’ll be okay. Vernon’s helping Cheol prepare the bastard that survived.”

Wonwoo exhales through his nose. He feels sick. His body wants to move, to run, to destroy something – but his mind was spiraling, trapped in the memory of your last interaction. Cold, casual and detached. Like you were just a roommate. Like he hadn’t felt the way you cling to him during that heat. Like he hadn’t felt you snuggle up close to him when you both fell asleep in the same bed weeks after.

He should’ve listened to his mother.

He should’ve come home.

“Make sure that bastard lives until I get there,” he ordered Mingyu, voice now low and lethal. “Tell Jihoon to get his switchblade ready.”

He ended the call and drove through the streets. The engine roars to life like it felt his fury, the sound tearing through the night as he shot out of the compound. Tires screamed against the pavement, and the city blurred past him – buildings, lights, the occasional flash of red as he burned through the intersections without hesitation.

You were his.

And someone had taken you.

He was going to make sure he’d put an end to those bastards.

Your head pounded.

The room swayed as you blinked awake, wrists bound behind your back and there was a coppery tang in your mouth. A single overhead light buzzed above you, like a spotlight focusing on the main lead, and the rest of the space was swallowed in the shadows.

Concrete walls. Damp floor. Industrial. Underground? Maybe.

You shifted, testing the restraints. You could move, but it’d take some effort to break free from them. Then you hear it.

Footsteps.

You stilled, keeping your head low as several men stepped into the room. You didn’t recognise their scents. They weren’t of anyone familiar to you. They weren’t Wonwoo.

One of them circled you, stopping somewhere behind you. “She’s smaller than I thought…”

“Yeah, but she’s feisty,” came another, his voice sharper. “Don’t let her face or size fool you. Bitch fucking bit me when we took her in. Had to knock her out to make things easier.”

One knelt in front of you, just out of kicking distance but you held back. “You’re awake.”

“Such amazing observation skills,” you snorted, blinking the haze from your vision. “What gave it away? My eyes being open or the fact that I’m glaring back at you?”

It was a shame they didn’t laugh.

“If you’re smart and behave, maybe we’ll go easy on you.”

You scoff, “Please, if you were smart, you’d know you made a grave mistake the moment you busted my front door in.”

The figure leans in slightly, expecting fear but all you offered was a tilt your head. “So, what’s the plan? Some kind of ransom? Revenge?”

The masked man tilts his head, brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re not exactly acting like a scared little Omega.”

“Yeah, funny thing about that – I bark and bite. If you assholes think you can–”

Smack.

A sharp slap landed across your cheek as you were mid-sentence. The sting flared, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you take a deep breath and straighten your posture, licking the copper from the corner of your mouth. “Oh, my bad…” your voice was low, “But you really should’ve known better than to think I’d be the damsel in distress type.”

There were at least three of them when they returned after leaving you alone for hours. They still wore those black face masks, as if that was supposed to scare you.

One carried a metal case and the other cracked his knuckles, another move that was meant to scare you. But what was scaring you the most was how terrible their intimidation tactics were. You sat upright the best you could, back straight against the wooden chair, chin lifted like you hadn’t been bound for hours. Like you weren’t aching in places you hadn’t known could ache.

They didn’t speak at first, only opening up the case. Silver tools gleamed under the low light.

You arched a brow. “Wow. Dontcha think that’s a little dramatic? What happened to just asking nicely?”

One stepped forward and backhanded you, hard. Your head snapped to the side, cheek screaming from the impact, but you refused to give them the satisfaction of crying out in pain.

“Tell us everything you know about the Jeon clan,” demanded the man that opened the metal case. “Security. Other bases. Codes, if you know any.”

You spit at his face.

They didn’t like that.

The first hit was to your stomach – brutal and deep, knocking the breath from your lungs. Then another to your ribs, then your face again. You lost count after five, maybe six.

Still, you didn’t scream.

“Damn, this bitch can take hits.”

Pain blurred the edges of your vision, but you clung to consciousness with everything you had. You thought of Wonwoo. Of how he looked at you when you didn’t think you were watching. Of how he subtly showed his affection thinking you wouldn’t notice.

You thought about how furious he’d be if he were to see you in the state you were in. Wonwoo’s mother had previously mentioned their stand on crimes against women, how if their own had even a strand of hair plucked, the perpetrators would face dire consequences.

When they paused, panting like they’d been doing real work, one leaned in and grabbed a fistful of your hair, tugging on it hard. “Last chance. Talk.”

The smile you gave had one of them flinching. Not because of how badly beaten up you looked, but because it bordered on the line of a psychotic smile.

“The Jeons don’t break, and neither do I. We fucking burn.”

These bastards sure as hell loved leaving you alone. Though you’d consider it to be a mistake on their end.

Your body was wrecked – ribs aching, lip split and bruises were already to form everywhere. But you were still breathing, still alive and that was enough.

You tilt your head back, blinking up at the ceiling through the haze of the pain. Blood dripped down your chin, but your hands were slick now – whether it was from blood or sweat, you couldn’t tell. You twist your wrists again, angling against the metal cuff just the way Wonwoo had shown you during one of his late-night, paranoid self-defense lessons. “If they bind you with steel, look for tension. Give it slack, then break it where it’s weakest. Everything has a weak point.”

It hurt like hell, but you kept going. The metal bites deeper into your skin before it snapped.

You stifle a gasp as the cuff breaks loose with a sharp clink. Your left wrist was bleeding freely now, but you didn’t waste a second. You made your way to the door, and to your surprise, it was unlocked. Either they didn’t you’d try, or they thought you couldn’t.

You slid out silently, stating low. You hear footsteps and muffled voices somewhere down the hall. Realising you needed a weapon, you decided to find their weapons storage. Your head spun, but you pressed forward and duck into the first door you saw.

Luck must’ve been on your side because it led you exactly where you wanted.

Guns were lined up on the tables, the overhead lighting making it seem more ominous than it already was. Your fingers shook as you picked up a semi-automatic handgun – sleek, back, loaded. Wonwoo’s voice echoed again, “Don’t ever hesitate to shoot. That gives them a room to attack. You pull the trigger the moment they come into view.”

You hear footsteps approaching and pressing your back up against the wall, breathing through your nose, waiting. You hold the gun close to your chest, and when the masked man steps inside, you don't hesitate.

Bang.

He dropped like a sack of potatoes, the sound of the shot echoes through the hallway.

There was no going back now.

Shouts echoed down the hall and you made a run for it. Turning a corner, you came face-to-face with two more men. They hadn’t expected you to be armed, by the time they noticed the gun in your hand and reached for theirs, you had already pulled the trigger.

You ran past their motionless bodies, trying to figure out where you were. The layout and interior – you knew you were in some kind of warehouse. Then you smell it – the night air, you were close to an exit.

You burst through a door, grunting in pain from the sheer force you had put on your shoulder to get the damn thing to open. Your knees almost gave out, the adrenaline making your hands shake.

You kept the gun raised, every shadow looked like another threat.

But you didn’t stop.

Not until you were safe. Not until you got back to Wonwoo.

But you weren’t able to get far.

The alley had opened into a dead-end loading yard and your heart dropped the second you saw the rusted fence, the padlocked gate.

A black van screeched to a halt behind you. You spun, gun raised – but hands grabbed you from both sides before you could even aim. You bit, clawed and kicked, but there were too many. They slammed you face first down onto the ground, a heavy knee to your back following. Your cheek scraped against the pavement and the gun slipped out of your hand.

“Hello, ___.”

You froze, your blood went cold.

Juyeon.

You turned your head enough to see him step into view. His suit was stained, fingers missing from both hands – four gone entirely with pink scars crusted where they’d once been. He flexed what was left, grimacing slightly as if the sight offended him.

Wonwoo had done that. You knew it because Jihoon had told you – how he encouraged your Alpha to cut off the fingers on his left hand so they were more… symmetrical.

“You fucking bastard,” you spat, “I’ll have them dismember you–”

His laugh cuts you off. “Still got some fight in you, I see,” he mused. “That’s what my men meant by you’re no ordinary Omega.” He crouches down, eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. “But you’re more useful to me if you shut the fuck up.”

You snarled, bucking under the weight holding you down. One of his men shoved your head back down as Juyeon took out a syringe from his suit. The liquid was thick, glowing a faint blue under the alley lights.

“You know what this is, little Omega?” he asked conversationally, “The labs call it Phase Nine. It’s new. Not on the market nor the black market.”

You went still.

“It’s a liquid heat inducer that’s designed to have your primal instincts override your rationale. It could even break bonded cycles.”

You thrashed, “Don’t you fucking touch me with that! I swear I’ll–”

“Hold her,” Juyeon ordered.

“No!” You kicked wildly, but the hands clamped down harder.

“I said hold her!”

You screamed when he jabbed the needle into your neck and depressed the plunger.

A cold, burning sensation spreads through your veins like ice catching on fire. Your limbs trembled violently and your lungs burned with every breath you take. You heard Juyeon chuckle as darkness begins to swallow your vision.

“Take a little nap,” he whispers, “And when you wake up, your body won’t resist anymore.”

You wake  to the sound of voices – low, mocking laughter. Your head throbbed, and your body felt… wrong. It felt as though weights were chained to your body and your head felt fuzzy. The heat inducers were still coursing through your veins, but you fought the haze, clinging to the remaining sharpness you had in the chaos of your mind.

You feel the fire burn from inside out, every nerve in your body screaming for release.

The door to the room opened and Juyeon stepped in, his fingers twitching where they were still missing. He wore that sharp, predatory grin on his face and how you wished you could slap it right off of his face. His presence was suffocating and the pheromones he was releasing stank up the room so bad you wanted to throw up.

You gritted your teeth and pushed yourself up from the cool, concrete floor. Your limbs felt like lead, but you couldn’t let him get close.

Only Wonwoo could touch you.

Not this disgusting bastard.

He notices the faint fight in your eyes and pauses, a cruel smile crept onto his face as he observes your struggle. “Shit, you are a tough one to break. Lucky for me I got more of those inducers to break you.”

He takes another step forward and your body tensed. “C’mere, Omega,” Juyeon coaxes, his voice so syrupy that it twists your stomach the wrong way. “Let me help you with that heat of yours, yeah? I’ve got something far better than the inducer you’re desperately fighting. Something real.”

You growl, throwing your body into him. Your actions startled him – he hadn’t expected you to fight, not with the drugs clouding your senses. But you didn’t need to be at your best. You needed to make him understand that you were more than just an Omega.

You got a punch in, a brutal hook to his jaw and knocking him back. Juyeon staggered, but he didn’t fall. His men moved, one lunging towards you; but you managed to catch his wrist, twisting it behind his back with a vicious snap, making him grunt in pain.

Another went for your throat, but you kicked up, shoes hitting him in the stomach that had him doubling over, gasping for air. It’s a shame you weren’t wearing your heels, would’ve left a mark on the bastard.

You moved again, a blur of motion and rage. You weren’t thinking nor did you care, you only had one goal – to survive.

Another man reached for your arm. You spun, elbowing him in the face then slamming your knee into his ribs. He staggers, gasping for breath. You were covered in sweat, heart pounding as your body rebels against the inducers.

One of Juyeon’s man was quick enough to grab you from behind, pinning your arms to your sides. “That’s enough,” Juyeon sneers, wiping the blood from his mouth. He grabs another syringe from the table, the liquid inside glowing a sickly blue. “You want to fucking fight? Fine. Let’s see how long you’ll last.”

You hissed, struggling against the man holding you, but the inducers were still tearing through you. The heat was unbearable, your vision swimming in and out of focus. You were starting to lose control.

“Fight all you want, sweetheart,” his voice was mocking as he approached with the needle. “But you’ll break eventually.”

Your hands were still unrestrained, and in that final moment of desperation, you grabbed an old pipe that lay on the ground. You swung it with all your might, hitting the nearest man across the skull. He collapsed with a sickening thud, and you barely had time to register the victory before Juyeon was on you again.

Your body was trembling, soaked in sweat as blood was smeared across your face and hands. The pipe clattered to the floor beside you, slick with someone else’s blood. Juyeon stood across from you, staggering as his face twists into something monstrous. The second that syringe slipped from his grasp during your scuffle, it shattered across the cement.

“You little bitch,” he spat, pulling out a switchblade from his pockets. “You think you’ve won?”

You didn’t answer, hands scrambling for the gun from one of his men on the floor. Your hands shook, but you raised the weapon anyway. Just like Wonwoo taught you.

Never hesitate when it comes to your life.

Juyeon takes a step forward and you pull the trigger.

Bang.

The scream that tore out of his throat was inhuman.

He dropped to his knees, clutching his crotch as the front of his pants soaked red. He writhed, gasping and cursing through clenched teeth. It wasn’t a clean shot, but you didn't want it to be.

Your hands were still trembling as you kept the gun trained on him. “Never… Never underestimate an Omega. Especially me.”

The door slammed open behind you. Boots thundered in, guns drawn and you hear voices yelling commands.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t have to.

You already know who it was.

“Clear the room!” Seungcheol’s voice echoed like thunder. “Get the Missus to safety and lock up any survivors!”

Vernon was quick to reach you, kneeling beside you as his hands tried to gently guide the gun down. “Hey, Missus…” he said quietly, “You’re okay now. We’ve got you.”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to lower the gun. It was as though you feared that if you did, Juyeon would get up.

Then you smelled him.

Wonwoo appears through the smoke of bodies, his eyes immediately locking on yours. The sight of you, his mate – bloodied, shaking and bruised – had him on his knees by your side in the blink of an eye. Sure, you were alive; but you were hurt.

He doesn’t say a word, only pulling you into his arms and holding you like you were the last thing in the world that mattered. You didn’t even realise how cold you were until Wonwoo wrapped his arms around you.

His warmth crashed into you like a wave, and what very little strength you had left was gone as your body collapsed into his. You could feel the way his body shuddered as he held you, his breath ragged against your hair, like he hadn’t been breathing until that moment. His hand held the back of your head, fingers tangling in your messy hair like if he let go – you’d disappear.

“I’ve got you, babydoll,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I’ve got you now.”

You dropped the gun.

And finally, your body let go.

Wonwoo carefully knocks on the door, a way to announce his presence before sliding it open. His eyes meet yours and his shoulders slump when you give him a small smile. “Hey…” was all you managed to say before his giant stature envelops you in a tight embrace. The Alpha nuzzles into the crook of your neck, a quiet whine leaving his lips as he takes in your scent. It’s grounding, calming – proof that you’re here, safe, and his.

You melt into his warm embrace, your hands instinctively finding their way to his broad back. His tense muscles slowly relax under your touch, his soft whines turning into soft hums of contentment.

“I… I was so scared,” Wonwoo admits, “Scared I couldn’t find you, couldn’t reach you in time… I –”

“Nonu,” you call out softly, one hand moving up to comb through his dark locks, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He nods and pulls away, the crease in his brow not fully gone. “Yeah, but… I can’t help to think of the worst case scenario of what could’ve happened had we gotten there any later… ___, the doctors said you were practically battered. There’s even still traces of that heat inducer in your blood.”

You shudder at the memory of having the liquid injected into you, Wonwoo tightening his hold on you. “They didn’t touch you did they?”

“Well, it depends on what you mean by touch..?” It was more of a question than a statement, “They didn’t put their dicks in me if that’s what you’re wondering. I was drugged up and a little woozy, but I managed to fight them off until you guys showed up.”

“So, they did touch you,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to your template. “I’ll deal with those bastards once I head back.”

He cups your face in his large hands, his eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory. “How are you feeling, babydoll? Feeling any better?”

You manage a faint smile at Wonwoo’s concern, your fingers brushing gently over the back of his hand where it cradles your cheek. “I’m feeling better,” you murmur, though the ache behind your ribs and the lingering exhaustion paints a different story. “Just… Just need to pee real quick…”

Wonwoo looks hesitant, but he nods, reluctantly removing his hand from your face.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and push yourself up, determined to manage the short walk to the bathroom without assistance. But the moment you stand, a sudden jolt of pain rips through your lower abdomen. You let out a strangled gasp that makes Wonwoo instantly alert. Your knees give out before you can even call out to him.

You clutch your stomach as your body crumples to the cold tile floor.

“___!” Wonwoo is quick to drop to his knees beside you, arms wrapping around you before you hit the ground. “Babydoll, hey, what’s the matter?”

“It hurts,” you wheezed, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of pain twists through you. “Nonu, it… My stomach hurts.”

He feels his heart shatter at the sight of you writhing in pain, his arms tightening around your waist as he gently tries to ease you onto his lap. “Fuck, okay. I’m calling the nurse–”

“No, don’t go,” your breath was shallow, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt tightly. “Stay. Please.”

“Shit, shit… I’m here, babydoll. I’m not leaving.” Wonwoo’s voice is firm but trembling, his free hand fumbling for the call above him. He presses it repeatedly, urgency written all over his face. “Nurses! Doctors! We need help in here!”

He cradles you closer, rocking you slightly as if trying to soothe you through the pain. “You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs over and over, lips brushing against your forehead. “I’ve got you, babydoll.”

Moments later, the door bursts open and nurses rush in. Wonwoo doesn’t let you go, not until they gently urge him aside to check your vitals and prepare to move you. Even then, his hand never leaves yours.

And when they wheel you away for tests, his gaze follows you – haunted and fierce – already blaming himself for letting you get off the bed in the first place.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Jeon… It seems you had a miscarriage.”

The words hung in the air. The silence that followed felt suffocating, like a weight pressing down on your chest. Wonwoo’s and your mother wrapped their arms around you in an instant, offering you comfort; but everything felt so… distant. Their voices were muffled and the doctor’s face was blurred as the word ‘miscarriage’ echoed in your mind.

Your hands instinctively moved to your stomach, as though you were trying to hold onto something that was no longer within reach.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s tense body stood behind you as if he were a statue that’s freshly carved from stone. His emotions were frozen in place and his silence was louder than anything else in the room.

Suddenly, the pieces began to fit in place.

Why his mother kept nagging him to return home instead of doing overtime in the office.

Why his father kept urging him to look into a bigger home.

Why his mother and mother-in-law kept visiting you while he was away.

Hell, that even explained why Jihoon was more tame.

You were pregnant.

Pregnant with his child.

Your mom and Wonwoo’s mother tried to comfort you with soft reassurances murmured in your ear, but they couldn’t pierce through the thick glass that’s been erected around you. Your mom’s hand stroked your hair, a gesture that was meant to soothe you. But it only reminded you of the ache, of a loss so sudden that it felt as though a piece of you had been ripped away.

Wonwoo’s shaky voice brought you back to reality, “How… How could this have happened? W-When– How long has she been pregnant? She wasn’t displaying any symptoms or even showing!”

The doctor shifts, looking at the clipboard in his hand. “Mrs Jeon was around… seven weeks into the pregnancy. It’s not uncommon for the symptoms to be minimal, especially in the early stages. We suspect that what Mrs Jeon had experienced was a cryptic pregnancy, where the pregnancy goes undetected or unnoticed.”

You feel the Alpha shift his gaze from the doctor to you. “Seven weeks…” His voice was laced with confusion and guilt as he tries to recount every moment he’s spent with you, searching for signs he might have overlooked. He runs a hand down his face, resting it over his mouth as he mutters, “Fuck… No wonder your scent was sweeter…”

“As for what could’ve caused her miscarriage… We can only assume that it was due to the recent… uneventful incident that the Missus has experienced. The emotional, mental and physical distress coupled with the absence of an Alpha must’ve increased her stress levels to a point where it significantly affected her well-being.”

The doctor lowers his head in condolences and exits the room. Both yours and Wonwoo’s parents left soon after, deciding to give you both some privacy.

“Nonu…” you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your broken voice seemed to crack something within him and his rigid frame finally moved. Wonwoo sinks down to his knees in front of you, his hands hesitantly reaching for yours. He held them gently, and despite his warm touch, you could feel the tremble in them.

“Babydoll…” You finally forced yourself to look at him, and the sight added another weight to your already heavy heart. His jaw was clenched as his lips were parted slightly, his lips trembling slightly while his eyes glistened with unshed tears. He’s quick to cup your face when you sniffle out his name again, wiping away the tears that began to spill from your eyes.

“No, no, no…” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “Don’t cry, babydoll… This isn’t your fault, yeah?”

His tender words only made the tears fall harder. The pain in your chest was unbearable, and the sound of his voice made it harder for you to hold yourself together. You shook your head, “N-No… Nonu, it was my fault. I-I should’ve been more alert or at least aware as to why I was –”

“Hey, hey…” He interrupts gently, “Don’t do this, babydoll, please. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You didn’t know, and even if you did, this is something out of your control.”

His thumb continues to stroke your cheeks, wiping away the endless tears that streamed down. “B-But… I-I should’ve.. hic��� told you that I wasn’t feeling… hic… like myself.. M-Maybe i-if you’d known, you could’ve –”

Wonwoo presses a gentle kiss to your lips, leaning his forehead against yours once he pulls away. “Babydoll, please, don’t blame yourself… I… I should’ve been a better husband… I shouldn’t have just left you all alone again after your heat. I shouldn’t have kept my distance from you thinking it’d be a good decision… I should’ve been paying more attention to you, been home with you..”

His confession made your heart ache further. You reached up, your hands trembling as they covered his. “No, Nonu… Please, don’t say that… You've been the perfect husband and –”

“Babydoll, I wasn’t there to realise something was up. Our parents knew it before we did and –”

“We could… We could try again, right..?” Your voice was shaky, filled with uncertainty and carried a weight as though speaking it out loud could shatter what little hope you were clinging to. Wonwoo’s breath hitches, his eyes carrying the same raw, aching vulnerability you felt.

“Oh, babydoll…” he whispers, his lips trembling as he pecks your lips, “Of course we can. We can try as many times as we want, but that’s for when you’re ready – when we’re ready. Right now… Let’s… I… Let me make sure you’re okay.”

You nodded, hands moving from covering his to clutch the fabric of his shirt; as if holding onto him would stop the pieces of your heart from falling apart any further. “We’ll try again,” you echoed, voice trembling but filled with a quiet determination. “When we’re ready.”

Wonwoo hums, tilting his head to the side so he could capture your lips in a tender kiss. His lips moved against yours gently. It was soft, unhurried, and full of unspoken promises. When he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours once again, and his hands move to cradle your face, thumbs brushing softly against your cheeks.

Snow muffled the world outside the cabin, layering the landscape in a blanket of silence and softness. The fire crackled lowly, casting shadows on the wooden walls and painting flickers of gold across the thick blanket tangled around your legs.

It’s only been days since you left the hospital, body still aching quietly – your ribs would hurt just a little when you breathed in too deeply, you could even feel the stiffness in your limbs when you moved too fast. But here, tucked away in the mountains with no one but Wonwoo, the pressure to be okay all the time faded just like the hush of falling snow.

Wonwoo sits beside you on the edge of the bed, his presence warm and steady. He’d just come back from gathering more firewood, snow melting in his hair and a few flakes clinging stubbornly to his coat. You watched him shrug it off, mouth watering at the way his muscles ripple under the thick sweater as he crossed the room to tend to the fire.

God, he looks so good you just wanna pounce on him.

He returns to the bed, slipping under the covers with you like he belongs there – like he’d always been there. One of his arms snakes around your waist, drawing you against his side with practiced ease, careful to not press too hard against you.

He smells like warm cedar, a touch of pine, and that deep, grounding Alpha musk that seeps into your senses like a balm. He exhaled softly, rubbing slow circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Is it too cold?”

You shake your head, almost purring into him. “Not with you here.”

Wonwoo’s expression softens, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Good. I was worried it’d be… well, something you wouldn’t like. The snow, the isolation…”

“You picked it for a reason,” you whispered back, nuzzling into his chest. “It’s quiet up here. I like that.”

He held you closer, his heart beating steadily beneath your cheek. “I needed us somewhere no one could reach. Just for a little while.”

“Because I’m still healing?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be.

“No.” His answer was immediate. “Because I need time with you. Alone. Not shared. Not interrupted. Just… us.”

You hum, closing your eyes and letting yourself be embraced by the most fearsome man of the city. In this moment, where the world was blanketed in snow, where nothing existed but the steady beat of Wonwoo’s heart and the feel of his body against yours, you were safe.

“Nonu?” 

Wonwoo looks down, still curling against his side beneath the blanket, hand pausing on your waist. “Yeah, babydoll?”

You hesitated, feeling your pulse thudding against your ribs. You feel the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the subtle way his scent thickened the longer you laid together in the quiet cabin. Maybe it was the isolation, or the cold outside – or maybe it’s just him.

The sense of safety he gives.

You swallowed, “What… What do you think about knotting me?”

Wonwoo stills, his hand splaying wider on your waist as a means to ground you in place, as though you’d float off if he didn’t. He leans down slowly, brushing his nose against your cheek. “Are you asking me if I thought about it?” his voice is now laced with some darker, thicker. “Or if I want to?”

Your face burned, and you tried to look away, but his hand caught your chin, gently coaxing you to meet his eyes. His gaze flickers down to your lips, then lower, and back. “You know I’ve thought about it, babydoll. Especially that time during your heat, but I had to stop because we were still getting used to each other.”

“What about now?”

His voice drops, “You’re still healing. Not now, okay?”

You let out a shaky breath, “I feel okay, Nonu. Better. And… I want it. I want you”

His hand tightened slightly at your hip, not enough to hurt, but just enough to let you feel the echo of what he was holding back.

“You sure, babydoll?” he asks quietly, “Because once I do that, there’s no going back to pretending I don’t need you. I’m going to be all over you, y’know?”

You reach for your Alpha, fingers curling into his sweater, voice barely steady. “Then let it.”

For a moment, Wonwoo just stares at you. And then the alpha in him stirred – quiet and hungry – as he shifts to hover above you, mouth grazing yours. “My feisty Omega can’t help but to be all soft for me now, hmm?” his voice was rough with barely checked restraint and it was enough to have you dripping. His breath ghosts over your lips, his nose brushing yours as his eyes darken. “Always biting back, but the second I touch you like this…”

His hand slides down your thigh, his touch possessive and curls it under your knee, spreading you open just a little more before pulling down the pyjama pants you were wearing.

“...you melt.”

Your breath catches, fingers curling into his sweater as heat coils low in your belly. Wonwoo wasn’t just teasing, he was marveling.

“Oh, babydoll,” he continues, enjoying the way your thighs tremble when his cold fingers trail up the skin of your bare thighs. “I’m going to bury myself in you and let my knot swell so deep that you’ll forget where I end and where you begin.”

“You’ll take good care of me, right, Alpha?”

Wonwoo groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ll take good care of you, my sweet Omega.”

He kisses you slowly, soft at first – the deeper, hungrier, like the dam had cracked and he could finally taste what he’d been starving for. His palms slid down your sides, memorising every curve, every shiver. He doesn't rush, deciding to not strip you out of the sweater you were wearing to keep you warm.

Pulling away just enough, Wonwoo slides off his glasses and settles them aside on the nightstand. His eyes, dark and intense, were focused entirely on you. The familiar weight of his gaze sent a shiver up your spine. It was as though without the barrier of his glasses, he could see straight through you.

“You’re so beautiful, babydoll,” he murmured, breath brushing against your lips before he kissed you again, deeper, like he couldn’t stop himself. He groaned against your mouth, the soft drag of his lips against yours. His fingers traced the line of your jaw., down your neck and over the curves of your body, like he was committing the shape of your body to memory.

You let out a shaky whimper, hands trembling as you reached for him, tugging him closer. His entire being invades your senses, filling the space between your bodies as his kiss grew more intense, more desperate. You can’t help but respond to his hunger with your own, pulling him closer against your body.

You barely registered the way Wonwoo moved, only the warmth of his body that left yours for a moment. You hear the quiet click of the drawer opening beside the bed. Your voice wavered between surprise and something breathless, eyes widening just a little as your Alpha pulls out a slee black toy from it. It gleamed in the firelight, deceptively elegant. It wasn’t flashy, obviously neither you nor Wonwoo liked flashy. It was plain black, smooth, curved, and obviously meant for one purpose.

"You brought a vibrator on our honeymoon?"

Wonwoo shrugged, “More like Jihoon and Mingyu told me to. They’re… invasive to say the least.”

“How did they even know we’d be doing this?”

Wonwoo gives you a dry, amused look, like you’d just asked why the sun rises. “They’re nosy and overconfident. Honestly, since that night of your heat and when you’d ask to sleep with me, Mingyu said he can smell some kind of budding romance.”

You stared back, “That’s… That’s not a real thing, right?”

He shrugs again, “God knows. Jihoon just enables him. I have a feeling they packed it themselves when I wasn’t looking.”

A pause.

“You don’t check your luggages?”

“They probably hid it under my clothes.”

You snort, “I’m surprised it even made pass customs.”

Wonwoo chuckles, “Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve smuggled through airport security.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Do I even want to know?”

He tilts his head like he’s genuinely considering it. “Probably not.”

You stare at the vibrator in his hand, “So… What use is this to us and did you at least sanitise it?”

Wonwoo sits back on his heels, the firelight casting him in gold and shadow as he pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his forearms. “Of course I sanitised it, babydoll. As for what use, I’m sure you have that figured out.”

You let him part your legs slowly, his eyes instantly dropping to your wet cunt. He caresses your thighs, coaxing them wider and when his scent changed, thickening with quiet arousal, your body responded like it knew what was coming.

“I’d consider my knot to be big,” he said, voice low and even. “It’s gonna take more than just my fingers to open you up.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He eases two fingers into your cunt, tongue darting out to wet his lips when your breath gets stuck somewhere between your ribs and your throat. The drag of his knuckles felt cruel, like he wanted you to know exactly how he’d take you apart.

When he pushes in a third finger, you whimper. The stretch burns at first, before it fades into a more consuming ache. Your hips buck instinctively, his hand on your waist kept you pinned down like you were nothing more than a body to be used.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, shifting closer so his lips brushes against your jaw, “You keep clenching like that and I’m going to think you like being stretched out like this.”

His fingers curled again, and you choked on a cry.

“Atta girl,” he praised, smiling against your skin.

The air was heavy with the smell of sweat, arousal, and something more dangerous. You were trembling underneath him, not just from pleasure but from the oppressive weight of his presence, the way he looked at you like you’re something fragile yet can’t help but want to break you at the same time.

Every curl of Wonwoo’s fingers leaves you breathless, the coil in your lower belly growing tighter. “You’re dripping, babydoll,” he says flatly, drawing his hand back just enough to spread your wet folds with two of his fingers before plunging them back inside. “You’re making a mess and I barely touched you.”

With one final curl of his fingers, your back arches involuntarily as his fingertips press hard against your g-spot over and over. “C’mon, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice filled with arousal. “Cum for me.”

Your body obeys, a loud cry of his name tearing through your throat as your body seizes, pussy walls fluttering around his fingers. Your nails dig into his arm, thighs trembling around his wrist, and all you can do is ride it out as he coaxes every last tremble from your body. He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, breathing hard, and sweat sticking to your skin.

Only then does he ease them out, slowly. He lifts his slick covered fingers to his lips, tongue flicking out to taste you as he keeps his eyes on your ruined expression with a dark glint.

“You taste sweeter than I thought,” he mumbles. Leaning down, he presses a gentle kiss on your lips before spreading your thighs again. “Gimme one more and I’ll knot you, yeah?”

He turns on the vibrator, the black toy humming to life. You watch with wide eyes as he brings the toy to your slick, pulsing entrance. The moment the curved tip presses inside you, your hips jerked. It zeroed in on that spongy spot deep inside you, making your vision blur and your thighs tremble.

One hand keeps your hips still while the other begins to move the toy inside you. Your breath stutters, back arching as the toy presses up and in, vibrating relentlessly against your gspot. Your legs twitch, thighs trembling as you try to squirm away from the intense pleasure, but Wonwoo won’t let you.

He keeps you in place, spread open while he grinds the toy mercilessly against your gspot, your pulsing walls clenching and unclenching around it rhythmically. Slick, wet sounds fill the room, echoing between your moans and the relentless hum of the vibrator. Your knuckles turned white as your hands clutch the sheets, the coil in your lower belly tightening up again.

“Nonu!”

“Gonna cum again?” he asks, voice low and taunting. He pushes the toy deeper and your vision goes black around the edges. A broken sob claws its way out of your throat as the pressure becomes unbearable. “C’mon, babydoll. Show me how greedy this pussy is. I want you soaked for my knot. Wanna feel you gush all over me.”

He twists the vibrator just right, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit and your body convulses around the toy. A loud cry rips from your throat, sharp and raw as your pussy squirts, hips arching off the bed – drenching his wrists, the toy and the sheets beneath you.

Wonwoo groans, eyes dark as they lock on the way your body submits to him so beautifully. “Fuck, babydoll” he breathes, tossing the wet vibrator aside. “You’re ready to take me now. Gonna stretch you around my knot just how you’re meant to.”

He doesn’t even bother to wipe his hand, sliding them under your thighs and guiding them around his waist, lowering himself over you. You can feel the heat of his cock, flushed and heavy, grinding his length against your slick folds. “Gonna knot you so good, babydoll. Fill you so full that everyone who smells you knows you’re taken.”

You lick your lips at the weight of his knot that’s already swelling at the base. You lock your legs around his waist, heels digging into the curve of his back pulling him closer.

That was all the permission he needed.

Wonwoo lines himself up, holding back a growl as the blunt head of his cock bumps against your clit. His jaw clenches, holding back a guttural growl as he pushes in, inch by inch. Your eyes flutter shut as he stretches you, your slick walls sucking him in greedily.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grits out, kissing your jaw. “So fucking wet. Pussy feels so warm that I could die happy right now.”

You whimper, back arching as he bottoms out, his knot pressing against your entrance. He rolls his hips experimentally, letting you feel every vein of his cock, the way his cock drags against your soaked, swollen walls.

His head dips to press his mouth against the curve of your jaw, your throat. “Taking me so well. Fuck, you feel so good.”

His hands tighten on your thighs, pushing them up so your knees are pressed against your chest, angling your hips just right so he can sink even deeper. His leaking cockhead bullies your sweet spot, making you cry out with each thrust.

“Feel how deep I am, babydoll?” He slides a hand between your bodies, pressing down on your lower belly. You moan at the pressure, nails scratching down his clothed back and Wonwoo starts to roughly thrust into your sloppy cunt. The drag of his cock against your walls sends aftershocks through your twitching body.

Wonwoo groans loudly, biting down on your shoulder – not hard enough to break the skin nor the sweater you wore, but enough to have your wet walls squeeze around him. “Shit, babydoll. Your pussy tightens up when I bite you. You like that, huh? Like it when I mark you up?”

You can’t answer. You’re shaking and gasping, all thoughts wiped out by the way his leaking cockhead grinds into your cervix with every thrust, body starting to bounce from the sheer force.

He presses down on your belly again, palm flat and firm. The pressure makes you clench reflexively, his eyes focus on the way your pretty cunt is stuffed snugly around his dick – entranced with the way your puffy lips coat his thick cock with your sweet cream.

“Nonu,” you whine out, feeling a jolt of electricity run up your spine when his abdomen rubs against your clit. “Please! Want your knot!”

Wonwoo growls, forcing his knot past your rim with one brutal thrust and stretching your pussy wide. You cry out in pleasure and pain, nails digging into the fabric of the sweater that he thinks you’d shred it into pieces. You feel it pop past your entrance and lock inside you, your vision going white.

He pulls out halfway only to slam back in, so addicted to how tight and wet you are around him. He loves how your gummy walls are taking his knot, how the lewd sounds of skin slapping and the wet squelching of your pussy fills the cabin. Wonwoo’s thumb finds your clit again, rubbing it hard and fast; grunting in approval when he feels your arousal drip out your stuffed cunt.

“N-Nonu, ‘M gonna cum!” you moan, head thrown back against the pillows as he fucks you harder into the mattress.

“I know, babydoll,” he murmurs, “Can feel your pussy milking my cock.”

Your walls flutter wildly against him. His knot throbs, snug and swollen inside you, ready to fill you up. “Cum for me, my Omega,” he groans into your neck, planting wet kisses as he chases his own climax. “Make a mess on my cock.”

Your orgasm slams into you, white, hot and all-consuming. Your entire body convulses underneath him, pussy creaming his dick. Wonwoo curses under his breath, hips jerking as your pulsing walls trigger his own release.

“Take it,” he pants, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills his cum deep inside. Ropes and ropes of hot cum flood your womb, and you mewl as your mind wanders back to the first time he filled you up.

Your Alpha stays buried inside you, knot locked tight as he releases your legs, hanging them over his forearms. One hand has a possessive grip on your hip while the other rubs your overstimulated clit in slow, teasing circles with just enough pressure to make you jolt.

He grinds his hips against you, knot fully lodged inside you. It’s said that Alphas cum more than they usually do when knotting their bonded mates, and sure enough, Wonwoo was indeed filling your pussy with load after load of his hot cum. Not that you were complaining though. You happily take every drop he gives you with a blissful smile.

The fire had burned down to glowing embers, casting the room in a dim amber. You’re still lying beneath Wonwoo, still stretched wide around his knot, both of you soaked in sweat and slick. You could still feel him twitching inside you, some of his cum slipping past the tight sleeve of your cunt around him. 

He releases his hold on your legs so he can bury his face into your neck, pressing soft kisses to the skin, teeth nipping over your scent gland. His voice was soft when he praised you, “My babydoll did such a good job at taking my knot.”

His hands slide under your sweater, caressing your body in gentle touches. You both stay like that until his knot deflates. But, your body hasn’t had enough yet. Your hips shifted without thinking, instinctive, needy.

Wonwoo chuckles when he feels it, pulling back to look at you – his eyes dilated and darker than before. “You still want another round, babydoll?”

You bit your lip, squirming just a little as your walls flutter helplessly around his girth. “Well, you’re still hard, Nonu~”

His grin is wolfish, but there’s a glint of fondness in his eyes that makes your heart flutter. He hums, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel the slow drag of his length still nestled inside you. “That’s ‘cause your greedy little pussy won’t let go of me.”

He leans down again, pressing a kiss just below your jaw, tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. “Keep squeezing me like that and I’ll knot you again, babydoll.”

You purr, bucking your hips up to meet his.

Wonwoo hisses, shifting his weight and hooking his forearms beneath your knees. In one swift motion he folds you in half, sinking his cock deeper into your pussy. He kisses you hard, tongue sliding against yours as he pounds your soaked cunt, thick cockhead repeatedly knocking against your cervix so hard it knocks the breath right out of your lungs too. You gasp into his mouth, body starting to tremble from the stimulation.

“Fuck,” he moans, “Pussy still so fucking tight. Look so fucking hot full of my cock.”

You cry out when you feel his knot start to swell inside you again. You can only moan and cry as he keeps hammering his cock into your sensitive hole. “Bet you’d take every load I give you, huh? Stuff you so full you’ll be dripping for days.”

Your head lolls back against the pillows, lips parting in a breathless moan. You feel everything – the stretch of his knot forcing you wider, locking you in place, the way his cock drags along your swollen walls.

“Nonu–” you whimpered, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “Full! Too full–”

“But you can’t help but to want me to fill you again,” he groans, gripping your hips with a bruising grip. He shifts the angle of his thrusts, feeling him in your guts as his thick cock pummels into you relentlessly. Wonwoo groans when he feels your pussy constrict around him again. “Ohh, fuck, babydoll. You gonna cum again? Gonna squirt all over my cock like the needy little Omega that you are?”

You can’t answer, the only sounds leaving your lips are your filthy moans. You wail every time he drives his dick in and out of you, grinding his thick knot right against that spongy spot inside you until you reach another climax.

Your whole body seizes as you cum hard, the air being punched out from your lungs. You gush around your Alpha, liquid splashing between your thighs – soaking his sweater and the sheets beneath you. Wonwoo is mesmerised by the sight of you squirting all over his cock, how your eyes screwed shut while your sweet cries filled the room.

“Fucking hell, babydoll,” he growls, throwing his head back as he feels his own climax approaching. “Squeezing my cock so fucking good.”

The milking compression of your walls around him, clenching and unclenching around his knot, like your body was begging for him to creampie you was what drove him right to the edge. With a loud roar of your name, his whole body goes tense. His fat cock twitches and throbs inside you, flooding your already wrecked cunt with spurts of his hot cum. His knot swells further, making sure to keep your soaked pussy filled to the brim.

You cry out, nails digging into his forearms as you feel droplets of his cum drip down your thighs. Wonwoo groans when he feels your walls flutter around his length, grinding his hips slowly to try and push his cum deeper.

When he releases your legs from the mating press he had you in, you let out a moan of relief. Your muscles are barely able to hold up after being held up in that position for so long. Your thighs fall limp on the bed, trembling, and slick with sweat and a mixture of your bodily fluids.

Wonwoo doesn’t move, his cock still buried inside you as he continues to release more ropes of thick cum, coating your walls. He places his palm flat against your belly again, right over the small swell of where his cum is filling you – where his knot is. Then he presses down on it.

You gasp, your entire body jerking.

Your cunt tightens reflexively, milking his cock for more of his cum, and he groans at the squeeze. You whimper, eyes glassy, and droplets of tears cling to your lashes.

Your body goes limp beneath him as Wonwoo hovers above you, back hunched as he tries to come down from the delicious high he had just experienced. He’s still sheathed inside, cock still pulsing, his cum sloshing inside your pussy that he can already feel it dripping down your thighs.

But, fuck, the way you were tightly holding onto him – his pretty Omega all wet and stretched and stuffed to the brim, it had his instincts just snarling beneath the surface.

“Shit, babydoll,” he murmurs, voice thick with pride and affection, “Knotted you twice and you’re still squeezing me like you want a third.”

You let out a shaky chuckle, looping your arms around his neck. “I might,” you whisper, giving him a dazed smile.

Wonwoo shakes his head, “You’re insatiable.”

When he leans down to pepper kisses to your throat, you whimper out his name. “Shh, I got you, babydoll. Let’s wait til my knot deflates before we do anything else.”

You hum, clinging to him as your legs weakly wrap themselves around his waist, body still trembling from pleasure and emotions.

And as the snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the surrounding world in white, you and Wonwoo stay tangled together in the heat of the cabin, arms holding each other like you’d never let each other go.

taglist @livelaughloveseventeen @mrsjohnnysuh @luvjichang @peachytokki @arusio @wooingmandy @scoupsonlycherry

[asxgard]

Omg I love your jack Abbott writings! All of the written so well. So I have a request if theyre open.

Jack x nurse reader who had a fling but it ended soooo badly because emotions weren’t being regulated. This makes reader quit PTMC and work elsewhere when she finds out she’s pregnant. Never tells jack. Cut to a year or two later, and they manage to cross paths where jack realizes it’s his son/daughter, feelings get thrown out the bag, and they all lived happily ever after?

in the wreckage | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: It’s in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon, I hope you enjoy! I struggled between giving him a son or daughter here, frankly because I really enjoyed both in my head. So like it has been in the past, it came down to a coin toss lol

Jack strikes me as both ‘“I walk you to your door and maybe kiss you goodnight on the second or third date” slow, intentional, traditional man and “if I don’t talk about my feelings, they don’t exist” longing, no title, all physical man’ so I float between them lol

Word Count: 3.1k (I blacked out)

Most of my works are 18+ for adult language and content.

Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling jack about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, injuries relating to a car crash, angst with a happy ending, fluff

not beta read

It had started in the heat of the moment, neither of you being particularly careful with your feelings. The collection of lingering glances and secret smiles had brought it all to the surface until it was just the two of you after a bad shift. You had found comfort in each other that night, and several nights afterwards, lost in heat and an unspoken understanding of the horrors you faced each day.

Jack Abbot was a man of many complexities, though you thought that was what had sucked you in in the first place. The mysterious edge always left you wanting, always kept you guessing, and that just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Perhaps because it had started on uncertain ground, always leaving you on the edge of your seat, left the relationship constantly feeling strained. What was worse was that neither of you called attention to it and simply let the insecurities fester. Simply never brought up what you were, or what you wanted to be, or got too personal to be vulnerable, though Jack had more of an affinity for that last one than you did.

You smiled at him less and less in the hallways of the Pitt, overwhelmed by the unknowing eating at your insides. You avoided him at work. He avoided your calls. Sooner or later, one of you always turned up at the other’s door. It became habitual, like a moth to a flame.

It only made your downfall so much worse.

—

You had wanted a clean break, and leaving the Pitt had been like leaving home. It had been necessary after that night with Jack, unable to look at him, let alone continue working with him. Not after what he said — not after you had asked for more and he had calmly, collectively, refused you. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t understand.

It had done more than just hurt and embarrassed you, it had burned.

Like everything had reached its crescendo before stopping cold. All the feelings buzzing around your chest had been too much in the aftermath, so you left. Just left.

The two little pink lines staring at you just a few weeks later were a bitter pill to swallow. A cruel cosmic joke reeling you back to the man you were trying to run away from — leaving a constant reminder of the downfall. Bile had risen in your throat, and you felt a petty feeling rise with it.

He didn’t need to be in your life. You could do it alone. Who said you had to tell him? Perhaps that was wrong of you, a bit too childish, but you were still angry. Still running.

As your belly swelled, your feelings started seeming less bitter and more sweet. You moved out of your crappy one-bedroom apartment and into a fresh start, committing to your choice. Committing to the child in your womb and the choices that had led you there.

There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out, let him know, but you grew embarrassed each time you stared at his contact. You did not want him to feel like you were trapping him after he had made it clear that nothing more could happen between you.

For months you struggled with your decision, trying to wrangle your worries and insecurities about being a single mother. All the work, all the money, all the stress it was going to bring you.

It all seemed to fade away when you held your son in your arms, so small and screaming, and yet your heart filled with joy. He was perfect, with tiny fingers and toes, small tufts of dark hair atop his head. His eyes gave you pause — as they were unmistakably Jack’s.

You cried without really knowing why. Joy, longing, loss, love, or something in between had boiled up and then boiled over. Jack should know, echoed quietly in the back of your mind, he should know he has a son.

It felt too late to say it. You had had months to say something, anything and chosen not to. It was too late.

Despite the hardships you faced as a new mom facing it alone, Daniel was loved fiercely and spoiled when you could manage it. Your friends and co-workers helped when they could, and never let the absence of a father grow when they could help fill the void. Even your old co-workers came to see you and your son, visiting with curiosity soaking their eyes.

If any of them caught on, they didn’t say anything.

—

It felt crazy to you that a year since your son had been born had passed so quickly, so fleetingly. You worked a lot to afford rent, food and childcare, but even still, it felt strange that a year had gone by without fanfare.

Your friend had been a lifesaver when she allowed you to use her backyard for his first birthday party. It would be a small affair, with only a handful of kids Daniel knew from daycare and a few of your friends and their kids. Perlah and Dana even stopped by, giving their well wishes from everyone.

When you ran out of ice for the coolers, you and one of your co-workers, Liam, offered to go get more at the corner store. You left Daniel in the caring hands of Dana and promised to be back in only a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours after you had been blindsided and t-boned by a car trying to run a red light. You felt hazy when the paramedics arrived, carefully trying to apply pressure to the gash on Liam’s leg.

When you were wheeled into PTMC, you felt a flood of panic. Hadn’t you asked to head to Alleghany East? Maybe it had only been in your head. You prayed to whatever was out there that you would only see Robby.

Fate had other plans, it seemed, as Jack was the one who had come to the ambulance doors to assess you.

He stared at you like he had seen a ghost before buckling down and getting to work. He checked your pupils and your vitals, muttering something about a concussion, before checking over the handful of cuts the glass had made when the windows broke.

You were stable, so they wheeled you back into an open room to wait for a head CT. Jack lingered in the doorway, before shooing away an intern who had come to clean your wounds.

“How’s my friend? Is he okay?”

Jack pulled the stool close to you, “He’s just a room over. Nasty laceration, concussion, but Robby’s taking care of him. He’ll be okay.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. You picked up your phone to call Dana.

“I shouldn’t be long.” You told her after explaining what had happened.

“I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Like hell I don’t. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it.”

You sighed, “Thank you, Dana.”

Jack, who had silently been cleaning your wounds, spoke, “So…is it just me you don’t talk to anymore?”

You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him quizzically, “Excuse me?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“I thought you made it clear that was the last thing you wanted.” You said, tone hard, lips dipping into a frown.

Jack let out a long sigh. “It was a bad shift. Bad day. It doesn’t excuse what I said. I was running from it being something real, I’m sorry.” A long pause echoed. “But I’d like to try and at least be friends.”

Friends? It ached somewhere deep in your chest. You could not be friends. You had made that decision over a year before and decided against having him in your life at any capacity. You frowned at him, looking away from his face before you could crumble.

“I don’t think that’s wise.” You said quietly.

He nodded, pulling over the suture kit. That seemed to be the end of it.

You let him finish working while the silence washed over you, thick and guarded. Your thoughts felt cloudy, and your head hurt, your muscles ached, but doubt began to creep in.

Had you made the right decision? You wanted to believe so. With one foot constantly out the door, would he even make a good father? Had you waited too long to even consider telling him? You felt stuck in your head, going over all the what ifs until you felt queasy.

A knock sounded on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Dana’s pleasant smile greeted you, but it was your son in her arms that made you flush with distress. You stared at her with wide eyes, heart picking up speed.

“Someone was worried.” She told you simply, but her eyes flickered to Jack.

Jack looked up at Dana, then at the boy in her arms. The toddler was tucked against her neck, leaning on her like he was trying to sleep. Jack schooled his features easily, though it looked like he was disappointed for just a fraction of a second, which sent you reeling.

“Should I have someone call your…boyfriend?” Jack asked tightly, looking back down at the stitch work.

“No boyfriend.” You frowned, but accepted your son from Dana eagerly. Did Jack think that you’d had a baby with someone else? Good. Good. That was for the best. Bile burned your throat.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. Can you call my parents? I’ll need help getting him home.”

“Of course, I’ll be just outside if you need anything else.” Dana said, eyes moving to Jack and then back to you.

Your cheeks heated and you held your son tightly to your chest. You rubbed his back and hummed softly, though it was more to comfort yourself than him. Maybe Jack would not notice, just finish his stitches and be on his way and you could go on pretending this had never happened.

Though, thinking Jack wouldn’t notice something was a fool’s game. Your son turned his head to look at him, blinking his tired hazel eyes at Jack. Like you had thought when you first saw them, they were like a mirror of each other.

Alarm raced through Jack’s features, eyes flickering from Daniel and back to you, eyebrows raised, breath caught. You stopped breathing, and your joints locked into place like you were bracing for it to all fall apart. He just stared at you.

“How old is he?”

“Jack—”

“How. Old. Is. He?”

“A year…today.” You said quietly. Meekly. Words cutting your throat like they had been glass.

It was simple enough to do the math, and his expression hardened. He stood, and the air shifted to something uncomfortable, uneasy, uncharted, unknown.

“Jack—wait—let me explain.”

“So I take it this is why everyone has been so secretive about why you left.”

“They didn’t know. No one knew.”

He gestured to where Dana stood in the hall.

“No one knew for certain.” You elaborated, trying to defend them. Perhaps you could handle him being mad at you, but not the family you had made in the Pitt. You had never told them, and they had never asked, though from how she had handed your son to you, it was clear Dana had known.

“You were never going to tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Shame bubbled in your gut, low and searing, working its way upwards until tears formed. What you had been bracing for hit you like a punch to the chest — hurting more than that car had inflicted.

“I thought it was the right choice at the time.”

He scoffed and recoiled, his expression flinching between pain and anger.

“Jack—” you sighed, leveling your voice so you didn’t raise it. “—you told me I could never understand you, or the role you played here. That asking for any more from you was pointless…that it had all been a mistake and I needed to move on. I really couldn’t bear to work with you after that, so I left. I didn’t know I was pregnant yet. Was it wrong to keep it from you once I found out? …yes. But I was hurt.” You swallowed tightly, and wiped away your tears, annoyed they were forming.

He walked to the far wall away from you, then paced back toward you before repeating himself, hands on his hips. His expression broached closer to unreadable, which fueled your panic. With a long, heavy sigh, he stopped to lean against the wall. Never one to stray from eye contact, he found your eyes. Heavy, hard, reserved.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trapping you, especially since it seemed like kids were the last thing on your list. I just wanted a clean break. I doubted my decision a lot—”

“And yet, you did nothing about it.”

You bit your lip. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I really messed up, I know that now. Time kept slipping away from me. I was still figuring out parenting — I still am — and to throw co-parenting into the mix? It felt like an impossible climb.”

“If you had never come here today…if Dana had never brought him in…you never would have said anything.”

More tears came as shame burned your face, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

Silences with Jack used to be comfortable, easy, as simple as breathing. The one now settling between you? It ached, it burned, it crushed.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Daniel.”

You swore you saw his eyes grow glassy.

“I made the wrong decision, and I’ll own up to that.” You admitted quietly. “I can’t change what I did or didn’t do, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough for it. I just thought this…this would be easier. For everyone involved.”

“I’m involved now. Don’t fight me on that.”

“I won’t.” You vowed.

—

Trust was built back slowly, through long conversations and with actions followed through. It had been tense and awkward as your son grew to know Jack as his father, though he fell into the role like he was made for it. It only made the guilt over stealing a year of your son’s life from him hurt all over again.

The tension and burning guilt were the hardest thing for you two to overcome. While he never raised his voice, he would grow accusatory when he remembered how much he had lost out on. You would double down on the night you had left him behind — or perhaps it truly was him leaving you behind — and the words he had said to you.

Neither of you were particularly blameless, not really. The relationship that had been was not one formed on a solid foundation, so everything felt like new territory. The pull of will they, won’t they, as Princess had put it, constantly making you question where you stood.

You just wanted to focus on co-parenting effectively, and Jack just wanted to focus on making up for lost time. That felt easy enough.

But something from the past — from the wreckage of what you had been — lingered like some part of you and Jack was haunted. An echo of what should have been fizzled just below the surface.

On the first night you felt secure enough to leave Daniel at Jack’s apartment, you settled in his kitchen to clean up a bit of the mess from dinner. Jack’s guest room had been quickly converted to be a bedroom for his son, pulling together everything he needed without complaint.

Jack wandered back into the kitchen after settling Daniel down for the night. You hummed softly, and Jack leaned against the doorway without saying anything.

“I know this is hard for you.” Jack said, hands in his pockets. “Thank you for giving me tonight.”

You smiled even though a sadness lingered at leaving your son somewhere overnight that was not his home. But this would need to be his home, too, so you swallowed it.

“You two need some quality time,” after I ripped the beginning away from you. “You two will have fun tomorrow.”

“...I got an extra ticket, if you’d like to come with us.”

Hope bloomed, “You did?”

“I’d like to put the past behind us. Move forward together.” He said, eyes never leaving yours.

Forgiveness had come with your son’s echoing laughter and hues of blue shimmering against your skin, as light moved through the water. Daniel pointed up at the sharks in their tanks while Jack held him, watching in his own kind of excitement, a smile cracking against the corner of his mouth.

Jack had grabbed your hand without saying anything.

You intertwined your fingers and let out a long breath of relief.

—

Something like love had come in a flourish after Daniel’s first words: dada. It might have felt like a punch to the gut, another cosmic joke, if it hadn’t lit up Jack’s face in a smile you had never seen before. It warmed the ache in your chest and decided it was okay for Jack to have this first.

It felt like forgiving yourself.

You ended up staying the night, curling up against Jack’s chest while your son slept soundly in the next room. Neither of you wanted to rush what was blossoming between you, or jinx it. If you were going to go for it, you each deserved steady ground to stand on.

“You’re doing really well with him.” You whispered. “I was worried it would feel clunky or unnatural to have you around. But it works.”

He looked at you for a long time. “I don’t want to mess this up, too.”

You softened, “I think that’s what parenthood is. Messing up and trying to do better, every day.”

“Do you think relationships are the same?” He asked, low and deliberate.

“Yeah, I do.”

It felt like a confession.

He leaned down to kiss you, but paused just before his lips met yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wet your lips with your tongue.

“I like what we have. I don’t want to screw it up by trying to be something we’re not.” You said quietly, though you felt the pull of wanting to kiss him.

Co-parenting had been bleeding closer to a relationship for quite some time, but you had not wanted to be the one who spoiled it.

“I’m not going to run this time, not if you don’t.”

You swallowed, focusing on his eyes, “I’m here to stay.”

He captured your lips, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your head and the other settling on your hip. It was hesitant, but full of feeling, of all things left unsaid.

It felt like was a promise.

same prompt, but with Robby: A Fresh Start

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

this inspired two tiny multis:

casual (coming soon) (Dr. Robby)

champagne problems (coming soon) (Dr. Abbot)

whoops

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Hiii! Could you write a one shot with both Caracalla and Geta? The idea is that the reader is their favorite concubine (or legit their wife idk if that's how it works lmfaooo) but she's a witch? Like she's an oracle or something, they keep her around because she brings them luck and what not (they also kinda love her but they're both insane so...)

No worries if you don't want to write this!

The oracle of the emperors

Geta/Caracalla x witch!reader

warning : hurt/comfort, power inequality, kissing, mention of smut (light smutish), family issues

Summary : In times of war, one had to resort to everything, be it rationing, ambushes, burning or fetching the walking omniscient shadow from the alleys of Rome. An oracle surrounded the two emperors and was so much more to them than just a surrogate for the gods.

info : I love the idea, almost an au in Gladiator (maybe more someday) thanks for the request and have fun reading :)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rome was a world city, an empire for decades no for centuries, it would outlast all time. Everything would fall to make way for the glorious holy roman empire and no one would stop it, no country, no army, you just had to keep conquering and conquering.

An idea, a thought, a dream that had burned itself into the minds of the two emperors - they wanted more, had to and needed more. The reign of Geta and Caracalla was to be glorious, but the body cannot bear what the mind dreams of, especially not when its own warlord threatens to withdraw.

You can't keep a man from dying for a lifetime without risking his downfall, a fact that the two also saw...but if the fighting force failed, what could be done to win more easily and quickly?

Gods, oracles and witches, the supernatural, that which could see more than only man could see.

Since the conquests, the oracles had only predicted victories, but why did more and more bases go under, why did the harvests come to an end and why did the emperor's gold seem to dwindle?

Wrong answers were punished with death and the temples remained mostly empty, the only thing that was known to help was the shadow of Rome, the woman who was found before she was even looked for.

Her figure emerged from the streets wrapped in the dark fabric, the rustling of the small bones in her pouch accompanying her as the people looked at her in awe, as much as she was feared she was revered, ,,The sound of water will bring you a poet, just as these bones of death brought me to you...my honorable emperors” she greeted them as she came up the stairs to the palace and saw the golden gods in human form.

Of one she had dreamed his gold would cover the Senate like blood that would not stop flowing and the other she had seen an agonizing spirit that would perish along with all of Rome.

,,You will be placed in our service, no harm shall come to you as long as your words are of use to us,” Geta assured her as he showed her a bedchamber larger than anything she had ever had and still needed some work, for as much as she saw and heard them all, she knew how to interpret the looks in their eyes.

And the looks of the brothers were full of desire.

After a very short time she was surrounded only by the two of them, hardly any other servants or concubines, the campaign was victorious as she had predicted, but her warning also came true.

It only took a full moon for the “poet” to arrive inside the palace and she saw the amused look on Caracalla's face as he grabbed her hand, ,,You predicted it!” he said, and his brother looked at her, a look she took as respect.

When they were with the brothers during the day, she was with Geta, his hand at her side, the human god who wanted to be closer to Olympus through her, ,,You belong to me, here, in the Senate and out there,” he reminded her whenever they took up political matters.

Dark eyes with make-up looked at her whenever she moved the figures on the map, whenever she whispered her proposal to him in the senate and when he drew her to his bedchamber.

Why should she say no? Even a fool would have slept with the most powerful man whose voice was almost as intoxicating as his body, his kiss intense he wanted this power she had, his gold soon adorning her too, gifts in the hope that she would stay with him, touches of lust, he desired her power and beauty until the day she asked the question.

The fire turned bluish and she heard the cry of a monkey asking him, ,,You speak of belonging but this mine, is it none of your brother the Emperor Caracalla's concern?" a question that drove him from her, his face became incredulous and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.

He felt betrayed.

A betrayal she thought he would spear away, but her last prediction that this mine would mean his end must have frightened him, frightened and almost more God-given.

The gifts of gem and gold he made sure she wore, as much as he tried to hold it back she belonged to one god and not two at the same time.

Geta would spend hours in the temples, making people feel at ease and being addressed as a god. it was during these days and weeks that the monkey Dundus would often run up to her and she would see the uncertain look on Caracalla's face.

As much as he was fascinated, he was also afraid of her, ,,Witches are a bad omen...but you helped us,” the younger one said as he ventured into her room and watched, curious about what she was doing there.

Instead of luring him with physical devotion like his brother, she put a motherly smile on her lips, ,,Look even I can make fruit dance” she lured him and he sat down on her chair while she instructed him to close his eyes, she mixed a few simple tinctures and dripped them on the grapes.

A simple reaction of plants, but for Caracalla, who clapped his hands in delight, it was worth almost as much as the whole of Rome, ,,You see, I can't be angry at all, my sweet king,” she murmured to him and hugged him carefully, an embrace he wanted more and more from then on. during the day she belonged to Geta, who soon ignored her warning.

Why listen to a witch when he was a god? The jewelry covered her body, his love visible on her body and at night she took care of the younger one, so much pain and suffering as she held him like a child who would soon take advantage of her when his madness took over, ,,His gold, his jewelry but you're mine, aren't you? I need you alone, not shared,” he ordered, fingers clutching hers helplessly.

A question she answered with a kiss and the game between the two emperors continued to grow daily. The bones in her bowl became more and more when she made new predictions and she went from a god to a delusional one whenever one of them needed her.

Gold and make-up adorned her body and whenever Geta and Caracalla met it seemed as if Rome was on the verge of collapse.

In the midst of this they stood, the most influential authority taking on the two emperors while Rome changed around them, brothers not seeing that the shadow had closed in around them when the first thought had fallen upon them.

She felt at home in the madness of the two and the threads that held everything together, because no one could separate such a love. Yet to everyone else outside the palace she was nothing more than the concubine of the brothers Emperor Geta and Caracalla.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[moonmaiden1996]

Part 5 🗣️🗣️🗣️

You want more???? Well, if you insist...

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part Five

You barely had time to react. One moment, you were standing there, trying to process the horrifying revelation that Nagumo had somehow orchestrated your boss’s downfall, and the next—

Warm fingers wrapped around yours, pulling you along beside him. His hand was impossibly large and shockingly warm, an unexpected comfort that would’ve been reassuring if it weren’t attached to someone as strange and dangerous as him. An assassin, of all things.

Nagumo held your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And before you could jerk away, he was already walking, gently but relentlessly tugging you along. To anyone else, it would have looked like a couple on a casual evening stroll, perhaps heading to their favorite eatery or to the place of their first date.

“Come on, my love,” he purred, his voice rich with amusement. “We have a date to enjoy.”

“No, we don’t,” you snapped, digging your heels in, but even with all your body weight, he simply pulled you along, like you were nothing.

Nagumo didn’t even slow down.

“Oh, but we do,” he said, glancing back at you with that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “You agreed, remember?”

Your eye twitched. “I was tricked into agreeing.”

“Semantics.”

He didn’t let go, nor did he stop smiling.

You twisted your arm, trying to slip free, but Nagumo’s grip was like steel wrapped in silk—unyielding but deceptively soft. It wasn’t painful, not even close, but it was final. "Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself. And as much as I would like to play doctor, I’d much prefer to do so in another capacity.”

He wasn’t letting you go.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

“Let me go,” you tried again, voice low, warning.

Nagumo sighed dramatically. “Why must you resist happiness, my love? It’s just dinner.” He paused, then tilted his head. “Well, dinner and some light assassination talk, but mostly dinner.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “I knew you were crazy. I knew I should have given up caffeine. My mother was right—It is bad for my health.”

“And yet,” he said, smug as ever, “we are still here... must be fate.”

The worst part? You were still here.

And with every step, the escape route back to Sakamoto’s store was getting further and further away.

Nagumo led you down the quiet streets, weaving through the dimly lit alleys like he belonged there. He probably did.

Finally, he stopped in front of a small, hole-in-the-wall noodle shop, its faded red curtain swaying gently in the evening breeze. Warm light spilled out onto the street, and the rich scent of broth and spices curled in the air. Your stomach betrayed you with a loud growl.

Nagumo grinned. “See? Even your body agrees with me.”

You scowled, but your resistance was starting to waver. You could always run after dinner, right?

With a resigned sigh, you allowed him to pull you inside.

The shop was quiet, tucked away from the busy streets. The restaurant was small, empty, with no hope of calling for help from other patrons. The solitary chef behind the counter greeted Nagumo by name and gestured toward a booth at the back of the shop. The smell of freshly cooked broth hung in the air, making your stomach churn—not with fear, but hunger.

Nagumo guided you to a corner booth, finally releasing your hand as you slid into the seat across from him.

The moment you were free, you considered bolting.

Nagumo must have noticed, because he propped his chin on his palm, watching you with that lazy, amused smirk. “Sit tight, my love. I promise I didn’t kill anyone. Plus, the food is amazing. You like soba, right? They have ramen too, with hand-pulled noodles.”

You froze mid-movement. “Excuse me?”

Nagumo chuckled. “That’s what’s been bothering you, isn’t it? You think I killed him after he quit.” He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I didn’t. I simply… convinced him that leaving was in his best interest. Not that he wouldn’t deserve it, such a disgusting man. Should we get pudding too? Treat ourselves, it is a celebration of course.”

You stared at him, your pulse hammering in your ears. “How?”

Nagumo hummed, tapping his fingers against the table. “How, dessert? Or how did I give your old boss the old push?’’ he smiled across at you. ‘’Oh, you know. A little whisper here, a little well-timed accident there. Nothing too dramatic.” He smiled wickedly. “He got the message.”

The blood drained from your face.

Nagumo tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “You should be thanking me. I cleared the way for your promotion, didn’t I? He was awful to you. Lucky for him, I would’ve much rather put an ice pick through his eye socket, but Aoi frowned on that idea.”

You were going to be sick. "Aoi?"

"Sakamoto’s wife. She gave me lots of great advice. She's lovely, you should go out shopping with her sometime. We could even go on a double date.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered, barely able to comprehend it.

Nagumo grinned, delighted by your horror. “And you’re adorable when you’re horrified.”

You wanted to scream.

Your fingers clenched under the table, nails biting into your palm. Your pulse was erratic, your mind screamed at you to do something, anything, to get away.

That’s when you saw it.

The tattoo.

A swirl of ink peeked out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, intricate and sharp, curling along the skin of his wrist. You didn’t recognize the full design, but something about it screamed danger. People had tattoos these days, but the thick black lines, the sharp design—it screamed Yakuza more than it did a rebellious teenager trying to piss off their parents.

It was the final confirmation.

Nagumo wasn’t just some overconfident flirt with questionable morals. He was an assassin.

A real one.

Your breath came faster. Your mind raced. Your fingers inched toward the wooden chopsticks resting beside your bowl. Not a weapon, but sharp enough to give you enough time to escape.

Nagumo was still smirking, still watching you, completely unguarded.

This was your chance.

Your hand shot forward.

In an instant, Nagumo moved.

Before you could even register what had happened, your wrist was caught—flipped effortlessly, twisted just enough to disarm you. The chopsticks clattered uselessly against the table.

You barely had time to gasp before Nagumo’s other hand reached out, cupping your chin with unnerving gentleness.

His grin was gone.

For the first time, he actually looked serious.

And then—

He laughed.

“Oh, my love,” he breathed, eyes practically glowing. “You are perfect.”

You stared at him, stunned, your wrist still trapped in his hold.

Nagumo exhaled, shaking his head with something that disturbingly resembled fondness. “I knew you’d be perfect, but this?” He chuckled. “Trying to stab me in the middle of our date? How did I get so lucky? Beautiful.” He purred, pressing a soft kiss to your wrist.

Your entire body locked up.

He—

What—

“Let me go,” you forced out, but it came out weaker than you wanted.

Nagumo hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist. Then, slowly, he released you.

But not before dragging his thumb lightly across your pulse point.

A deliberate, lazy touch.

Your skin burned where he had touched it.

“You really are something else,” he mused, sitting back like nothing had happened. “I knew you were the one for me.”

You yanked your hand back, your breath uneven. “You’re delusional.”

Nagumo just smiled, resting his chin in his palm. “No, I’m in love with the most perfect woman in the world... Now, let me order for you. I’ve always wanted to do that.” He beamed at you, his eyes scanning the menu with intense focus. “I promise you won’t regret it. I am, after all, the best husband. Let’s get some sake to share. They have a sparkling one you’ll love.” He giggled.

And despite everything, a small, twisted part of you—a sick part of you—thought he looked very handsome the way he smiled so determinedly at the menu, so happy. 

What the hell were you going to do?

I rewrote this three times in the last two days.... I hope I got it right. I am not sure if I am going to do the next chapter focusing on the Reader or Nagumo or both so please stay tuned. Maybe some interaction with the other characters :P

Like. Comment. Request.

[homestylehughes]

boyfriend quinn headcanons

pairing(s): quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: headcanons of bf!quinn!

wc:703

warnings: fluff, cute soft quinn, smut 18+!

authors note: hi guys!! i randomly had this idea this morning so i thought id write about quinn and how i think he'd be as a boyfriend! hes been taking up too much of my mind recently LOL. i hope you guys enjoy!! more fics are coming up later this week! like and reblog if you like <3. as always much love <3

happy reading <3

Sfw/fluff: 

Bf!quinn: quinn would be the type of boyfriend to wake you up with kisses all over your body, tracing his hands all over your back. Quinn would love looking at you while you're sleeping, not in a creepy way, in a loving way, that he couldn't believe that you're his.

Bf!quinn: he would give you one on one skating lesions, holding your hand whenever you feel like you're going to fall. He'd insist that he put on your skates, tying them extra tight and patting your leg to make sure you're okay. Quinn would laugh at you when you get excited about skating on your own finally, giving you a forehead kiss, saying he's proud of you. 

Bf!quinn: After a long day at work, when he knows you've had a bad day, he'll cook you your favorite meal. Even drawing you a bath, that you then insisted that he had to get in with you. He would ask you about your day, you would tell him as you lean comfortably into his touch as he runs his hands all over your body to help you relax. 

Bf!quinn: quinn lovesssss when you wear his jersey to a game, he loves seeing you in the stands in his jersey, cheering for him and the rest of the team. He loves the support that you always give him. Waiting for him by the locker room, giving him the sweetest hug and kiss. Always letting him know that you're proud of him, win or lose. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves how you are around his family, how you think of them as your family. How you laugh and joke with his brothers, talk hockey with his dad, how you embarrass him and smile with his mom. He loves the relationship that you have with them. His family jokes that if you guys ever broke up, his family would be more hurt than you or quinn. 

Bf!quinn: quinn would definitely get baby fever when seeing you around children. Imagining if they were your kids, wanting nothing more than to pull you home, and make his dreams come true. 

Bf!quinn: quinn loves to be babied, he loves when you let him be the little spoon. His favorite way of being babied is when he comes home after a long road trip is throwing himself into your arms, dragging you to the bedroom, quickly getting changed and laying down on top of you. His face finding its way to your neck, nuzzling himself in your body breathing in your scent. He'd quickly fall asleep as you play with his hair, and rub your hands up and down his back.

nsfw 18+ below: 

Bf!quinn: quinn is definitely a munch. He could spend hours in between your legs, even when you try to push him away he always comes back. He could never get enough of your cunt.  

Bf!quinn: He loves marking you up, showing everyone that you're his. He can't help but feel a sense of pride when he looks over the marks. Smirking to himself, knowing you'll yell at him when you see how dark they are the following day. 

Bf!quinn: quinn is obsessed with your boobs, he considers himself a lover of both ass and boobs equally but his downfall is your boobs. Any chance he has to kiss, bite, lick them he takes advantage of it. You can't even count on your fingers how many times you guys have been late to dinners because your boobs are “calling his name.”

Bf!quinn: quinn loves when you take control during sex, it's a side of you that he doesn't get to see a lot but he loves it when he does. The view of you on top of him riding him, never fails to take his breath away. 

Bf!quinn: Your moans? Oh gosh your moans. They make his knees weak, He loves hearing how responsive you are. His favorite is when you moan lowly in his ear, feeling your warm breath fan his face. When you drop your head back and your mouth is hanging open as your body shakes in pleasure. 

Bf!quinn: loves everything about you.

[ticifics]

Heya!! I loved your peter maximoff music fic and if you are back on your peter obsession, can I request something with him and reader going on a date and facing backlash from rude people who don't like seeing a mutant in public?? Make it as angsty or happy as you like! Thank you!!

Silver Blur

Peter Maximoff x f!reader

Summary: “I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”

Warnings: fluffy, hurt/comfort, est. relationship, no use of y/n, prejudice towards mutants, a nasty guy, a bit of 'aggression' (totally deserved), insecure!peter, human!reader

A/N: hey love! i'm glad you liked that fic and i hope you can like this one <333 we have a little bit of angst, but i couldn't make it a tragic ending. and yes, my god, i watched x-men again just to see him and he is without a doubt the highlight of the movie

The diner had a nostalgic feel to it, even though you were too young to be nostalgic for anything there. The neon lights reflected off the chrome counter, the jukebox played an upbeat melody in the background, and the smell of greasy fries and burgers lingered in the air. It was the kind of place that suited him—half retro, half chaotic, a space that seemed to exist outside of time.

Peter sat across from you, silver hair catching the colorful glow, a crooked smile playing on his lips. His silver jacket, an essential piece, gleamed under the fluorescent lights. He was leaning on his forearms, watching you with an expression that made it clear that, if it were up to him, he’d spend his whole life just looking at you.

“You know I’m not supposed to be here,” he murmured, but with no real intention of leaving.

You raised an eyebrow, bringing the straw of your milkshake to your lips. “Peter, you always say that.”

He grinned, and his dimples appeared instantly. “And I’m always right.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the warmth that spread through your chest at the sight of him, all soft and melted for you. He wasn’t anything you ever expected to find in life, but somehow, he was everything you wanted.

And then came the first glance.

The one you felt on your skin before you even realized what was happening.

A woman at the table next to you pulled her son closer, as if Peter were some kind of creature ready to attack him. A couple in the booth across whispered something to each other, eyes fixed on him with a mix of disdain and distrust. The waiter, who had seemed friendly until now, hesitated for a second before setting the plates down unceremoniously, as if touching them was enough to get contaminated.

Peter said nothing.

You knew he noticed. He always did.

But instead of reacting, he just drummed his fingers against the tabletop, looking away. His jaw was tight, shoulders a little more tense.

Hate.

People had so much hate.

“Do you want to get out of here?” you asked, your blood boiling.

He finally looked at you. And God, those dark eyes were a damn downfall. There was still a trace of a smile on his face, but it was different now—one you recognized.

The smile that said “it’s fine” when it really wasn’t.

“No.” He picked up a fry, twirling it between his fingers before popping it into his mouth. “If I left every place where I wasn’t welcome, there wouldn’t be much left, huh?”

Your chest tightened. He said it like it was a joke. Like it didn’t hurt. Like he was used to it.

And maybe he was.

But you weren’t.

You let go of your straw, crossing your arms over the table. “If anyone says anything, I—”

Peter let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. “You’re gonna defend me?”

“Obviously.”

He tilted his head to the side, silver hair falling over his forehead. His eyes glimmered, and a real smile returned.

“You’re perfect, you know that?”

This time, you were the one to look away, feeling your cheeks burn.

But the discomfort around you was still there, pulsing like a second skin.

Peter played it off well.

So well you almost believed he really didn’t care. That the stares didn’t get to him, that the whispers didn’t burn under his skin. But you knew Peter Maximoff. And Peter Maximoff was many things—fast, chaotic, ridiculously charming—but he wasn’t unbreakable.

You saw it in his eyes.

You saw it in the way his smile started to fade, in the way his fingers traced distracted patterns on the table, never stopping. You saw it in the way he got quieter, like he was disappearing into himself.

And you saw the exact moment he started to think he shouldn’t be here.

Not just in this diner.

With you.

He dropped his gaze to the table, idly playing with the cold fries on his plate. “Hey…” he murmured, without that usual easy, teasing tone. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you were with someone else?”

Your heart stumbled.

“What?”

He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m not saying you should, it’s just that… I think about it. A lot.”

You felt a lump in your throat.

“Peter.”

He looked away.

“I mean it. Look at you.” He gestured in the air, like he was presenting you to an invisible audience. “Beautiful, smart, cool as hell—it’s ridiculous. You could be with anyone. Any normal guy.”

“Normal,” you repeated, feeling something simmer beneath your skin.

He let out a quiet laugh, but it was empty.

“I’m a failure, you know that? I have nothing. Still live in my mom’s basement. I steal stupid shit because, I don’t know, my brain doesn’t know how to work any other way. I’m weird. And, to top it all off, I’m not even really human.” He looked down at his hands, long and nimble fingers, as if they carried something dirty, something that couldn’t be fixed. “And you… you’re everything.”

You clenched your fists on the table.

No.

No, you weren’t going to accept that.

“Peter, look at me.”

He hesitated, but obeyed.

“You’re not doing this.” Your voice was firm. “You’re not pushing me away with this bullshit speech.”

He opened his mouth, but you were faster.

“You are not a mistake, Peter. You are not a burden. You are not—” your voice faltered for a second, but you held his gaze, reaching out to take his hand, feeling his long, nimble fingers hesitate before intertwining with yours. “—a monster.”

His eyes widened, like you had just hit him square in the chest. Like he had never even considered the possibility of someone saying that out loud. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, just stared at you, dark eyes filled with something between shock and desperation, like he was trying to understand how the hell you could see all the good in him when he saw nothing at all.

You leaned over the table, completely ignoring the murmur around you, the strangers’ presence trying to creep into the night that belonged to the two of you. Your fingers traced the pulse at his wrist, following the line of a vein that was beating too fast, as fast as his erratic heartbeat. His face was close now, so close you could count his silver lashes, see the reflection of the diner’s neon sign dancing across his dark eyes, hear the way his breath hitched when you squeezed his hand tighter.

“You’re mine,” you murmured, each word sinking into his skin like a promise. “And I’m yours.”

His throat bobbed.

“Did you hear me, Peter?”

He blinked, dazed, like he was processing it slowly, like the idea of belonging to someone—of someone wanting to belong to him—was too distant, too impossible to be real.

So you did something that left no room for doubt.

You leaned in and kissed him.

His lips were cold from the milkshake, but his mouth gave in immediately, warm and intense and tasting like something he never, never believed he deserved. His body tensed for a second, like he was about to run, but then his hand squeezed yours tighter, and he leaned in for more, like he was trying to memorize every detail of the feeling before someone could take it away from him.

But then, the voice came.

Sharp, filled with disgust.

“You mutants never know your place.”

The world froze.

You pulled away slowly, feeling Peter’s skin stiffen under your touch, feeling his fingers turn cold around yours.

The voice came again, this time even more venomous.

“People like you aren’t welcome here.”

You turned around.

The man was big, broad shoulders, disheveled hair, his eyes carrying a very specific kind of rage. A rage that didn’t come from anything concrete, nothing he could truly explain. Just pure hatred for something he didn’t understand.

Peter didn’t say anything. He just stared, an eerily serene expression on his face.

His silence only seemed to make the man angrier.

He let out a low, sarcastic laugh, leaning over the table with a dirty smirk. “Look at you. You know you’re a freak, right, kid?”

Your blood boiled.

You didn’t care about the stares, didn’t care about the whispers or the way people seemed to subtly move away from your table, like Peter was a threat, like he was something to be feared. You knew he had dealt with this for years. You knew the words rolled off him like water, that he was too fast to care, that the best response was always a joke.

But not now.

Not when some disgusting man thought he could open his mouth and spew all that hatred like he had any right to.

You felt your chest rise and fall too fast, felt your fist clench at your side, ready to say something, do something—but then you felt it.

His hand. His long fingers slid over your wrist, a steady grip, a silent squeeze that said “no.” Peter held your hand.

And then the man turned to you. And smiled. A filthy, disgusting smile, all yellowed teeth and rotten intentions.

“Bet you’ve never been with a real man. I could show you a good time, girl.”

Peter’s hand slipped away from yours.

It was immediate.

You felt it before you even realized. The air shifted, thick with electricity, like the second before lightning splits the sky.

When you looked at Peter, he still seemed calm. But it was the dangerous kind of calm.

His mouth was still relaxed, his shoulders still loose, but his eyes—God, his eyes—held no amusement now. They were fixed on the man before him, burning like embers, scanning every inch of him like he was deciding the best way to take him apart.

And then Peter smiled. A lazy, lopsided grin, a glimmer of mockery dancing behind the threat.

“Wow.” Peter whistled. “Did you rehearse that in the mirror, or did it just come out like that?”

The man’s face darkened. Peter grinned.

“Because if it just came out like that, congrats. You’re a natural asshole.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Just one second. Just a silver blur.

The man didn’t even have time to react. One moment he was standing—and the next, he was on his knees.

The entire diner went still. Glasses rattled on the tables. The air was split by the sharp sound of impact.

No one saw Peter move.

The only thing left was him, standing in front of the man now kneeling on the floor, fingers delicately gripping the collar of his worn-out jacket, like he had placed him there as easily as setting down a cup.

Peter’s eyes glowed under the diner’s red neon lights, the shadow of a smirk twisting his mouth.

“Let me tell you a secret.” His voice came low, slow. “If you open that filthy mouth again, I’ll make you swallow every word.”

The man froze.

Peter’s smirk widened.

“And trust me,” he slid a finger over the guy’s shoulder as if brushing off dust, “I’m very fast.”

The man tried to move.

Another silver blur.

And suddenly, the guy was sitting on the counter, feet dangling in the air, not even knowing how the hell he got there.

The entire diner gasped.

Peter clicked his tongue, resting an elbow on the counter, relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

“Need a map, buddy? You look lost.”

The man blinked. His hands pressed against the counter, as if trying to find balance, as if trying to understand.

Peter just smiled, and before the guy could open his mouth, he tilted his face, lowering his voice to something more intimate, almost confidential.

“Let me guess.” He rested his chin on his hand, eyes lit with a cold amusement. “You’re not feeling so brave anymore, are you?”

He snapped his fingers. Another silver blur, and the man was back on the floor.

His breath came fast, erratic.

This time, he didn’t try to speak.

Peter smiled, as if finally satisfied.

You threw a few bills onto the table, not counting, not looking, just leaving them there, as if money had any significance in the middle of that mess, as if it could pay for the man’s discomfort, for the disgusting words he had pretended didn’t affect him.

And then you turned.

He was already waiting for you. His face still slightly tilted, eyebrows raised in a mix of impatience and expectation, as if silently asking if you could finally leave.

You nodded.

And in the blink of an eye, the world disappeared.

Your stomach flipped, and your heart jumped to your throat. It was like being pulled by an invisible force, a train too fast to follow, to process—cold air cut against your skin, sounds blurred into the distance, and then, suddenly, everything stopped.

Your feet touched solid ground. The world stopped spinning.

But your body didn’t know that yet.

You blinked a few times, trying to adjust your vision.

The sky was dark, speckled with stars, the moon casting its silver glow over everything around you. The grass beneath your feet swayed gently with the wind. You were alone, no artificial lights, no whispering voices, no disgusted stares burning against his skin.

Just the two of you.

Just him.

Just Peter, now looking at you with raw concern in his eyes, eyebrows furrowed, lips slightly parted, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start.

“Hey.” His fingers touched your face with impossible gentleness, pushing strands of hair away from your skin, thumbs brushing slowly over your cheekbones, as if searching for something. “You okay?”

Your breath was still uneven, the adrenaline from what had happened at the diner, from the impossible journey to this place, still rushing through your veins like a reminder of how fast he was.

But he was here. Dark eyes, watchful. Fingers still on your face. His concern hung in the air, dense, almost tangible.

You closed your eyes for a second, inhaling slowly. “Just… a little dizzy.”

Relief flickered across his face. He let his hands slide down your arms, from your shoulders to your elbows, a warm, steady touch, like he was grounding you here, with him. Then he stopped—his gaze shifted.

You felt it before realizing what it was. The wind blew, sharp against your exposed skin, and before you could react, you felt something warm and soft drape over your shoulders.

His jacket.

The silver fabric still held his body heat, still smelled like him.

Peter adjusted it around you, his fingers lingering on your collarbones for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

The silence between you was different now. Heavy. Charged. You looked at him, and he looked away.

His eyes didn’t meet yours. His jaw was clenched, shoulders tense, fingers idly playing with the zipper of his hoodie—a nervous habit you knew all too well.

Peter was never one to keep things to himself. He filled every silence with fast words and unfiltered jokes.

But now, he was quiet.

And that said more than anything he could have said.

You took a step forward, feeling the jacket move with you, his scent wrapping around you.

He noticed the movement but didn’t move.

Your fingers touched the side of his face, guiding him to look at you.

And he did.

His eyes were dark, deep, filled with something he was trying to hide, but that overflowed anyway.

You knew that look.

It was the look he had when he saw the prejudice he had faced since childhood spill onto you. It was the look of someone blaming himself for something that wasn’t his fault.

You sighed, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw, moving up into his silver hair, threading through the soft strands. He closed his eyes for a second.

Rested his forehead against yours.

Sighed.

“I hate this.”

His voice was low, restrained.

You didn’t ask what.

You already knew the answer.

He hated that you had to hear that kind of thing.

Hated that your name had been spat from the mouth of a disgusting asshole.

Hated that you had been dragged into it.

He hated that the world didn’t accept who he was.

And he hated even more that it hurt you.

You held his face more firmly, forcing him to look at you again.

"I love you."

His eyes shone.

You traced your fingers along the sharp line of his jaw, the space between his cheek and that ever-present dimple, the corner of his mouth—mapping him with care, as if reaffirming something he should never doubt.

"I don’t care what they think. I don’t care what they say."

You leaned in closer, and he stayed still, like he was absorbing every word, like he needed to hear them.

"You’re mine, remember?"

Peter swallowed hard.

A muscle jumped in his throat.

His chest rose and fell in a slower rhythm, his breathing heavy.

And then, he moved. His fingers found your face with urgency, his mouth pressing against yours without hesitation.

The kiss was slow, deep. Filled with everything he didn’t know how to say. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you in, holding you like he needed to feel that you were there, real, whole.

When he pulled back, just enough to breathe, his eyes were softer.

The weight on his shoulders seemed a little lighter.

He nudged his nose against yours, a small smile dancing at the corner of his lips.

"I’m yours, huh?"

You smiled back.

And when you answered, your voice was absolute certainty.

"Yes."

Peter smiled.

That smile. The one that was just yours. The one that made his dimples appear, that made his eyes crinkle slightly at the corners, that left him looking hopelessly in love. The one you would never get tired of seeing.

He kissed your forehead, slow, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary before pulling away.

And then he laced his fingers through yours, holding your hand firmly, like he knew that even without words, that touch said everything he wanted to say.

And somehow, you knew exactly what it was.

Peter didn’t like the world.

But he liked you.

He liked you a lot.

[aventurineswife]

Okay I just had an adorable idea, what if Blade and child!reader had a relationship like Jinx and Isha, specifically a scenario similar to when Jinx broke Isha out of prison because that warmed my heart too much.

Lost Souls, Running Together

Summary: Captured and imprisoned by a rival faction, Blade finds himself shackled and weaponless, awaiting an uncertain fate. But he isn't alone. You, a child who had somehow carved a place in his broken world, refuse to leave him behind. With determination and reckless bravery, you break into the prison to rescue him, proving that even in his shattered existence, he isn’t beyond saving. As the two of you fight your way to freedom, Blade is faced with an unfamiliar feeling—something dangerously close to hope.

Tags: Blade x Reader, Found Family, Child!Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Protective, Soft Blade (but in his own way), Angst with a Happy Ending, Unspoken Bonds.

Warnings: Mentions of Violence, Blood (mild descriptions), Injury (minor), Imprisonment, Emotional Turmoil.

A/N: so I haven't reached that part of the series... 🧍‍♀️ Also I changed this a bit!

It was a dimly lit prison, cold and unforgiving. The metallic scent of damp walls mingled with the stale air. Blade had been following his usual path of destruction, a force that left behind little more than destruction and despair. He was an embodiment of pain, resentment, and broken promises. Yet, there was one thing that complicated the infinite void of his existence—a child.

You, a lost soul like him, had found Blade in the ruins of a once-thriving village, long after the scars of his past had set in. Something about you intrigued him, something innocent amidst the ruins of his fractured mind. Over time, you had grown to depend on him. You would often watch as Blade trained, your wide eyes following every strike, every movement of his broken sword, your heart filled with a strange admiration for the tortured man.

It was in a moment of weakness, when his mind was clouded with thoughts of destruction and vengeance, that you had reached out to him, offering a fragile warmth. He hadn’t known what to do with it at first. His existence had been one of isolation—only bitterness and rage to keep him company. But you, with your bright eyes and unwavering faith, began to change that. It had taken time, but Blade had come to rely on you more than he ever anticipated.

Now, in a high-security prison beneath the endless abyss, Blade’s world had turned upside down.

He had been captured by a rival faction, a brief lapse in his attention causing his downfall. He stood now in a cold cell, shackled and surrounded by guards, his broken sword confiscated. His mind buzzed with frustration, his red eyes burning with anger.

But the thought of you was the only thing that kept him tethered to some semblance of control.

You had learned of his capture quickly, far quicker than Blade had anticipated. Despite your young age, you were no stranger to danger, and you had taken matters into your own hands.

The small, sturdy figure of you crept through the shadows of the prison's hallways, your eyes glinting with determination. You had no weapon, but there was a fire inside you, one that burned as brightly as Blade’s own destructive fury. You had to free him. There was no other option.

“Hey, you!” one of the guards shouted, stepping forward as you passed by. But before he could even raise a hand, you darted out of his line of sight, your movements swift and quiet like the wind. The prison was vast, but you knew the layout by heart. Blade had once taken the time to teach you everything, not as a master would teach an apprentice, but as if you were a partner—a partner in everything.

You finally arrived at his cell, the heavy iron door blocking your way. You didn’t hesitate. With nimble hands, you began to tamper with the lock. It was a delicate task, but you were determined. The moment the lock clicked open, you threw the door wide open.

Blade’s eyes met yours, still burning with that quiet fury, but they softened upon seeing you. There was a brief flash of surprise, and then a fleeting look of relief.

“You…” he rasped, voice rough from the long hours in captivity. His gaze flicked to the guards approaching in the distance. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to get you out,” you replied, your voice firm, though your small body shook slightly from the adrenaline. You held out your hand to him, a quiet promise in the gesture.

Blade’s gaze softened further, though he said nothing. The weight of everything he had endured—the endless battles, the endless chase after vengeance—seemed to melt away in that single moment. For the first time in a long while, he could see something other than pain and bloodshed. He could see… you.

Without a word, he grasped your hand, his grip surprisingly gentle, despite the unrelenting force he was known for. You tugged him forward, leading him toward the exit.

The guards, realizing too late what had transpired, began rushing toward you. Blade’s mind was sharp, his body still quick despite the chains on his wrists. He moved swiftly, dispatching the guards without so much as breaking a sweat. His sword, now in his grasp once again, cut through the air with lethal grace.

But despite the chaos surrounding you, Blade’s focus remained on you. You had risked everything for him, and in return, he felt something deep within him—something akin to a quiet peace. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t entirely alone.

With your help, Blade tore through the prison’s defenses, finally reaching the exit. The cold wind greeted them as they emerged into the open night sky.

You were panting, but you grinned up at him, unafraid of the darkness. Blade couldn’t help but look down at you with something resembling affection, though it was a complicated, twisted thing.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. His voice was low, but there was a warmth behind it—something he hadn’t felt in years.

You didn’t respond with words. Instead, you simply nodded, knowing that words would never be enough to describe the bond you shared. It was unspoken, raw, and real—just like everything else between you and Blade.

As the two of you disappeared into the night, you knew one thing for certain: no matter what the future held, Blade wouldn’t face it alone. You would be there with him, every step of the way, just as you had always been.

And that was all that mattered.

[deathbxnny]

"The sun always comes back in the morning." | Arlecchino x Wife!Fem!Reader

Please refer to my Genshin Masterlist in my Navigation Masterlist under Arlecchino's name for the previous parts of this, as I can't tag them for some reason.

Woo... man, this is the finale of a truly great series that I'm almost sad to see go... but I hope you guys will enjoy this and thank you once again for X Anon for their important and phenomenal contributions to our little community! (Read their ask HERE.)

Anyways... buckle in, because this may hurt. (I cried whilst making this ngl lmao)

Content: Bitter sweet ending?, doomed Yuri, wlw, wife reader, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader is afab and has she/her pronouns!

((Not proofread))

"Are you... sure about this, Mother?"

Lyney breathed out after a long, deafening pause. The flickering flames of the fireplace illuminated the room and filled the silent gaps between his barely audible words. His two siblings sat at his sides on the couch, bodies stiff and rigid, faces illuminated by the merciful warmth of the fire whilst their hearts ran cold.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Everyone knew it would happen eventually. They were just too scared to face the truth, wanting so desperately to disillusion themselves than to to see what was really happening.

And you couldn't help but smile at that knowingly, the corners of your lips shaking. You made them this way. You hid the truth from them for so long. Selfishness was never a part of you. It was their well-being and feelings you always put first.

But it was time for the truth.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Freminet was the one to break first. The tears came flooding in, his body shaking uncontrollably whilst he keeled over into the embrace of his trembling hands. His soft sobbing filled the room, but the other two stayed strong, eyes focused and unmoving.

But the pain... oh, the pain.

It was unbearable, and your heart broke at the sight, but you knew this was right. It was time to finally reveal everything. To show your cards and tricks, allow them to see behind the curtains of your perfectly crafted play. You knew better than to believe that they didn't know at this point, after all. Not after what happened just a week ago.

The tension was thick and suffocating, the rest of the children in the house picking up on it and drowning in it knowingly. The end was near. Doom was coming. And no one could stop you now.

"And none of you are at fault for it."

Lyney took off his hat slowly, and you could see the slightest shake in his hand as he gulped down his agony. You knew he blamed himself, thinking he wasn't good enough for his Father and, therefore, the reason for your downfall. But that wasn't it. "... How could it come this far...?" He asked finally, although he knew the answer already deep down. He just had to hear it from you.

Your head turned to a nearby window, the moon shining beautifully in the night sky. What you'd do to disappear in its light than do this. "Sometimes, things such as these can happen when you ignore the early warning signs of a catastrophe... it was... always destined to fail." Lynette sunk into the cushions further as though to escape from your words and reality itself. But she heard every word and understood. She always did. "This is simply how life is, however. We both always had different views and opinions on everything. We... never saw eye to eye. That's ultimately the reason as to why I have decided to do this, children."

More silence, that was filled with Freminet trying to get himself together whilst Lyney closed his eyes in defeat. He knew the consequences of a divorce from his father. They all did. And that may even have hurt them more than it hurt you. But it was alright. They will get through this. Somehow. Gently patting his brother's back, he sighed softly.

"We understand, Mother. As much as it pains us." Tears burned in your eyes, and even then, did you not break. Your children should see your strength and follow it, as they always did. Ultimately, your sacrifices and love for them weren't entirely for nothing. You had raised them into good, kind children. Something your wife couldn't stand at times due to seeing softness as weakness. But you didn't care anymore and prayed they'd keep that part of you in them forever. Even just out of spite.

You nodded and stood up, your shadow casting largely over their sunken and weakened frames as you made your way to the door. They knew what would come next. And it made Lynette finally speak up, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you... had another chance at life... what would you be?" You turned your head and smiled again, nearly chuckled too. You understood what she was asking, as out of place it may have seemed to be.

Your eyes met the moon again and then mountains in the distance. A childish wish came back to mind, one you buried when you took on your role as the "Mother." When all there was, was you and Clervie dreaming of a life beyond the stale walls of your prison. Neither of you ever escaped them in the end, you realised grimly now.

"... I'd be an adventurer traveling endlessly through all of Teyvat... yes, I think that's what I'd be."

You left the room with those haunting words, your gaze focused on the walls and hallways of your home as you walked to where you needed to go next. You've spent years in this house, putting your own blood, sweat, and tears into all of your endless hard work. Your reward was dead children and an endless graveyard to fill. And for what? Was love really all that held you here? Who were you beyond your role as the mother? Who were you as a singular human? Clervie's shadow was haunting you, watching you from the corner of your eyes in the stead of cruel mother. She'd rest once you did. She promised that.

And it was time for you to do just that at last.

The Knave prided herself in being extremely insightful.

She had eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing ever came as a surprise to her. But you... you were the exception. She never knew what came next or what was going on in your mind ultimately. She could only guess your suffering by the endless tears you've shed and the painful fire that burned in your eyes. Yet it never went further than that.

A fatal mistake, she realised grimly.

Was it too late to fix it now? She didn't know. This was the one thing she couldn't plan for nor predict. For once, you had the power in your hands. You never did before. And it secretly irked her more than she liked to admit. But the near panic and sorrow that surged in her usually cold heart overrid the annoyance and replaced it with something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Dread.

So much dread.

Is this what doom felt like? Is this what it felt like to lose? She hated it. She hadn't felt it in so long. She couldn't stand it! But it was her fault. Peruere understood that. Yet Arlecchino was still in denial. She refused to believe that this was it. There had to be a way to fix it. There just had to. You always forgave her for everything. You knew how she was when you married her and even before then did you never shy away from her demeanor.

Couldn't you understand that the Harbinger had no choice to be this way?

Arlecchino's confidence crumbled as fast as it came, when she saw you calmly sitting there on your once shared bed, the peaceful acceptance in your eyes soul crushing. She wasn't a fool. She understood. She really did. But it didn't mean that she couldn't try to-

"Sit down."

Your voice steady and calm, as though you weren't about to end everything. She obliged, however, visibly unmoved and unbothered as always, but you knew her too well. Peruere could never hide from you.

Sitting down on the nearby vanity chair, she crossed her legs and waited for you to speak. She had to fight for you now more than ever. She... she had to do something. She was losing you. She- "-Do you remember when we used to sneak out at night to see the moon?" She didn't respond. "I remember it well. Those were the small moments of freedom I starved for... a freedom I always starved for. We all did. And for a moment, we thought we had finally escaped for good, didn't we? For a while, we believed we had done better. We had become better."

The tears in your eyes finally betrayed you, and you didn't know why. Was it the reality that was finally dawning on you? Or the heartbreak you knew would be much greater than you could ever handle? You didn't know, but it didn't make you stop talking. The words flowed out of your mouth, the damn finally breaking after so many damned years.

"We never got out of that cage, Peruere. You have become it instead. We never had a chance from the start, and I... cannot do this anymore. I can't stand the ghost of the past haunting me. I can only take so much. I just wanted to see the moon for all of eternity with you and Clervie and yet-" A crack in your voice, a sob escaping your throat. You were overwhelmed by the emotions that ran through you. There were so many of them. Sorrow, grief, sadness... relief. So much relief.

"-We never got out. We have become what we hate the most. And I refuse to be a parf of this llay any longer. My children deserve to feel the breeze as they spread their wongs and fly out of this hell, even if I have to fall for it first." Then came the rage. It was scorching and hot. "For all the ones that have been injured. For all the ones that died. For all the ones I had to bury with my own two hands. They all deserve better. We all did."

Tears ran down your face, fire burned in your eyes, and rage made your body tremble. Arlecchino could just watch you in disbelief. She had never seen you this way. Not once in her life... what was this feeling? Was it loss? Was she losing?

"... It's over. It will all end now." You stood up and carefully presented the papers to her. Papers she had never thought of ever having to see or sign. Silence filled the room, aside from your labored breathing and the clicking of a clock on the wall.

And then she spoke for the first time. "... You... understand that you will have to leave if you do this?" She saw the muscles on your neck tighten, more tears welling in your eyes. "You were right all along, if it makes you feel better... I was never made to be the "Mother." I'm a weak disgrace of one... but I've accepted that a long time ago. I have raised my children to my best abilities, and I'm proud of it until the very end. My image will haunt you in their eyes and their hearts for the rest of your life. I will never leave."

When she looked up at you, then you saw the woman you married years ago appear again for the first time in years. "I... you..." She was speechless. She was actually speechless and powerless for the first time in her life. You just stared down at her, not backing down.

Your decision has been made. And Peruere realised then what her last action of her love for you had to be then. She had to open the gate to the cage. Even if that meant that the bird would never come back.

"... Very well, my love. As you wish." She said as she took the papers from your shaking hands.

The docks to the Aquabuses were always busy, as people rushed to get on and off the vehicles. You often had passed by them and wondered what it must've felt like to travel far away from here. The envy you felt for the foreign passengers that disappeared over the swell of the horizon was one you had always pushed away... until now, as you wanted on your own bus out for the first time in your life.

Clutching a simple leather suitcase in one hand, you turned to look at your children with a pained smile. "This... is my stop, I believe." You said gently, the morning breeze rustling through your clothes and hair. Lyney took off his hat and nodded at that with a sigh, the acceptance grim in all of their eyes. But they were happy deep down. Relieved that at least you got to get out before things got much worse. Maybe one day they'll find the courage to do the same. Not today. Not tomorrow, either.

But one day.

The Knave hadn't come along to say goodbye, but you didn't mind. It was fitting in a way. No goodbyes were needed. You had given her your inner farewell a long time ago.

Once the older two siblings took their turns to hug you tightly, it was Freminets turn. His lip was trembling, his eyes red from the many tears he had shed. But he had one last mission to fullend. A small form of rebellion. "Take this and drink it once you're on the Aquabus. It will give you strength for your travels, Mother." He said as he pressed a small vial of familiar liquid and a folded paper into your palm. You stared down at it knowingly, and Lyney closed his eyes painfully at the sight of it. You all knew what the liquid did.

But you were willing to play pretend one last time.

"Thank you, my love. I'll... write you letters." They all gave you weak smiles, and you took the opportunity to press a kiss to Freminets forehead, his eyes closing with tears escaping them treacherously. Such a terrible actor, but you weren't any better either. Like Mother, like son. "Stay strong, all of you."

Stepping onto the Aquabus, you settled down as it began to pull away from the station. And only then did the three finally break down fully. You could only sit there and watch for the first time. It took all of your strength not to jump into the water and swim back to comfort them like you always did. But you knew what you had to do. Their small act of rebellion would not go to waste like this.

Once they were almost out of sight, you finally popped the vial open and hesitated as it touched your lips. You watched their small forms in the distance, tears welling in your eyes before you finally drank it. Repeating their names over and over again, you hoped to not forget them this way.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney... Lynette... Freminet?

Lyn... ette... Fremi...?

.........

.......

.....

...

..

.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The Melusine conductor asked you, making you blink in surprise and look around in confusion. "I... yes, I am fine. My apologies... I must've... zoned out." You hum carefully, your eyes spying a foreign folded piece of paper in your hand. Opening it curiously, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"The sun always comes back in the morning. -LLF"

Odd. You didn't know what it meant nor how you got here in the first place. But it felt right, either way. "I feel like I've forgotten something, though." You added on in thought. Your head hurt, and you simply used it as an explanation for your odd memory loss. Perhaps you were just tired. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

"Oh! Is it something you require urgently, ma'am? I can turn the bus back around to the station if needed!" The helpful Melusine chirped, yet you shook your head at the suggestion.

Leaning back in your seat, you watched the sun rise over the horizon. Your mind was scrambled and disoriented, but one thought prevailed against all odds. You were an... adventurer. Yeah, right, that's what you were. And you were on your way to... well, wherever the flow of your heart takes you.

"No... It's alright. I'm sure it wasn't anything important anyway."

[wandasaura]

BURN

summary — when years of abuse piles up, and you’re face to face with your ex in a familiar manhattan court room, olivia and amanda remain by your side through it all

warning(s) — mentions of sexual assault, discussion of rape and domestic violence, physical abuse, emotional/mental manipulation, trauma, mentions of child abuse/childhood sexual assault, cursing, derogatory names, panic attacks, anxiety, angst/hurt, comfort, soft olivia benson, protective amanda rollins, sonny carisi is my italian baby and what about it, verdict reading, john buchanan warning, men/minors dni

authors note — and we’re back for part two of stay alive (reprise), requested on ao3. once again brought to you by high aura and not proof read/edited

“Can I ask you a question, Councellor?” Your voice carried through the courtroom, catching through the wind and propelling itself through the room until it disintegrated upon contact with the double doors behind Olivia. You’d been up here for an hour. Carisi throwing questions at you that only further stripped you down, left you naked and exposed in front of your decorated squad members. John Buchanan trying to take away your account and rewrite the narrative to fit your girlfriends — ex girlfriend. Olivia had sat beside you when you’d blocked her contact and her mothers — retelling of events, was one of the most humiliating things you’d been forced to endure for ‘justice’, the frustration of it leading you to quick emotions that had every potential to hurt this case. This she said, she said case that never should’ve been anything more than a simple conviction and plea deal.

You’d been willing to drop the assault charges if she just admitted to the rape.

She hadn’t though. You should’ve assumed she’d try to get away with it, even though you were a New York City detective trained to weed out the sexual predators tainting Manhattan. Even though you had Olivia Benson in your corner and she was relentless on a good day. Regardless, she’d looked Dominic Carisi dead in the eyes and denied accountability, instead spinning wild narratives that painted you as the crazy, traumatized, cop in your relationship. She hadn’t even had the maturity to call you a Detective when she’d told everyone in the interrogation room you’d asked her to fuck you till it hurt. You didn’t. You never had. But it felt futile to stand listening in Olivia’s offices and tell Amanda that at the time. She knew it, Olivia knew it, Carisi knew it. You’re sure John Buchanan knew it as he sat beside her with his hands clasped, the only reason your girlfriend could even afford him as her defense is because of your paychecks that you split in thirds and distribute amongst yourself, your savings account, and her. You’d given her everything. All that you had left and had rebuilt after somebody else tore your world apart.

You shifted your gaze to the judge, Elizabeth Donnelly, and she inclined her head just slightly in interest, She nodded her head, affirming that you had her permission to ask the defense a question at all. Buchanan didn’t hesitate to accept once he’d seen Donnelly nod approvingly, always ready to somehow talk himself up, never afraid of what could be at the forefront of a witnesses mind. That would be his downfall one day, even if you failed to bring him down a peg like you aimed to do now.

“Do you enjoy asking your colleagues for help? You just recently went through a lawsuit of your own. Your son. What was that experience like for you?” Your voice was firm, laced with that edge only Olivia could pull from deep within you when she joined you in the interrogation room. You preferred to gain your intelligence through compliance and trust. You were the stations star victim cross whenever it was particularly sensitive. Olivia cherished, assured that you never loss that intent to connect and understand, but she’s knows there’s more to you. She’s found your bark, but she knows there’s bite in you too, it’s just hidden beneath decades of trauma and reopened wounds.

Buchanan blanches at the reminder of his son's trial — it ended with him walking out scott free, but that was not the principle you tried to hone in on — and blinks at you uninterestedly. “Relevance, your honor?” He snapped his gave back to Donnelly, but if there was one thing you had going in this courtroom that felt like a slowly sinking ship with you tethered to the cabin, it was your relationship with the Judge. Elizabeth Donnelly would go as far as she could to stretch your point without tainting the laws of the courtroom. Her fairness would not give or gain, she’s never sacrifice your trial in such a way, but that meant her patience for this case was through the room. She’s scrape over once sentence of evidence a day if it meant sending you out with the verdict you deserved.

You are a New York City Detective, a prized addition to the police force. The favor is in you, but the jury is a wildcard. You hold your breath at the thought of the jury.

“Move it along, detective.” She instructed pointedly, her firm gaze trailing to look at you. There was only support in her eyes, shining brightly like the sun. With every day, you think it gets easier to handle this, but then you remember what this is, and it breaks you down from the inside again.

“It’s just a question, Counsellor. Did you enjoy having to ask your buddies for a favor?” Buchanan sighed, because evidently you were not going to be shut down by Donnelly who raised an eyebrow in the same curiosity. It was an odd question, one that hardly anybody thought to ask. Why were you asking? Buchanan couldn’t figure it out, and you know that infuriates him more than anything.

“I suppose it did, Ms. Y/L/N.” He refused to call you detective, refused to acknowledge that you amongst the group of people that got this city out of shit and scandals. In some way, you’re sure your devotion to the force has touched his families. This city is big, but its so small. You can’t fathom how he sees any case as a stomping ground, any person as collateral, any victim as a liar until he’s walking away without a win and only a paycheck from his client.

“Detective.” You seethed, unable to stand it anymore. Carisi had told you to let his taunts fall off of your shoulders, he’d warned you that Buchanan plays mind games, that he’s ruthless and looking for bloodied hands, and you’d known that. For an hour, you’d let him call you whatever he wanted, kept your composure when he’d tried to insist you liked kinky rough sex because you’re a lesbian and that’s the only way you can get off. He’d made you out to sound like a vile person, not even a detective, because it was like admitting you were that title gave his case something it didn’t already have. The minute he acknowledged your role, the jury was swayed in your favor. You’d pieced that together, but it didn’t make sense to you right now. Winning this case didn’t make sense to you. You just wanted someone to believe that it happened again. You wanted him to believe, because right now, he’s the loudest opposing force and your heart cant handle living another four decades knowing theres an egotistical man out there siding with your rapist because of a paycheck. It makes you feel dirty. Dirtier than you already felt. “I am a Detective. A special victims detective beneath Sergeant Benson. And that is the only thing I have ever wanted to be since the first time I was raped at twelve-yeas-oldold by my mother’s husband. So, Counsellor, this is not how I want to spend my Wednesday. There are people out there who could use my help, because they don’t have another way out. The last thing I want to do, is be unmade on this stand like I don’t stand in front of teh barrel of a gun and with pedophiles every day just to make sure your granddaughter, doesn’t end up like me. Your client, she raped me. Just like she bashed my head into the fireplace we hung stockings on last December. Just like she threw a wine glass at my head because after I made her dinner after removing a seven year old from her abusive hours ago, I was tired and forgot to do the dishes she left scattered around the apartment — my apartment. The one that I pay for, that I signed the lease to, that I pay every utility bill for with my job as a Detective. That was not a reason for her to rape me. Maybe I like rough sex, maybe i’ve never even considered it, you are not at liberty to prod into my sexual fantasies and shame me for the hypothetical of it all. If you think rough, consensual sex leads to your body being stitched together by a nurse because you were so overlooked in the entire thing — used as nothing more than an object — than I worry for you, Counsellor. Her assault left me with third degree teas, rough sex does not lead to three stitches because she raped me so brutaly I had third degree tears. Do you know the force it takes to tear the perineal area all the way down to the anal sphincter muscle. Oh, you grimaced Counselor, was that to much information for you?”

“That’s enough, Ms. Y/L/N.” He tried to concede, to wave you off and shut you up like he’d been doing since Carisi stepped down, but you couldn’t. Not when you were finally speaking your mind. Judge Donnelly didn’t look bothered by your outburst, infact, you think you might even notice a sheen of pride glazing over her typically set and forced eyes. You cant look out into the audience. You can’t find Amanda and Olivia because Fin sits between them, and Kat sits off to the side. You can’t look down at Carisi, because you know he’s looking at you the way he looks at Bella in the pictures of them as kids. If you look at them you break, you lose the spark of anger that’s fueling you to finally, finally defend yourself against her.

“It’s Detective!” Your voice is shrill, and you're vaguely aware of how your throat vibrates with the force of your correction. “I will not sit up here and be unmade any farther by you! Or you! You, who rebuilt everything that had been broken after I went through this the first time, who came to therapy with me when it felt suffocating to remember that at twelve, i’d lost the one thing I was meant to decide to give away when I was ready. You and your words flooded my senses! Your defenses and your excuses and your apologies left me defenseless, and I’m trying so hard — so goddamn hard — to see what I did at the start, to see how I used to loved you, but I never loved you. I loved the narrative you painted in my head with blood. I loved the way you held me after you beat me because nobody had ever apologized for hurting me before. I can’t do it anymore! You raped me! You beat me! For years! You fed me clorophil because you thought it’s as clorophorm and you wanted to fuck me while I was unconscious. Even though you know that’s what he did! Even though you know he’d choke me out and then do whatever he wanted. I’m done! Your lies are transparent. They’re evident in everything you say. You told me you were a paranoid liar, and you should be! You should be! You raped me! Your biggest fear is being abandoned, and I tried for so long to never let it come to me walking away first, but I’m done. I’m erasing myself from the narrative you’ve spun, fed to anyone who will listen, forced down my thraot until I started questioning if I had it wrong. I don’t. I never did. You nearly crushed my windpipe. You bruised both of my knees. I needed twenty-three stitches between everything you caused. You forfeited any right to my heart, my life, my bed, when you decided I was just something you could manipulate.” You seethed, eyes directed at your ex, the woman you would’ve given the world to when you’d been drowned in her blue sorrow. The water had looked so beautiful from up high, you didn’t know how deadly it would be.

Her eyes flamed with rage, a look you’d seen a million times. “You stupid bitch! All you’re fucking good for is a cheap fuck. You’re damaged goods! You’re lucky that I wanted you at all! You let your step-father fuck you, you really think any of these insufferable morons would believe that I raped you? You’re crazy! Everyone knows that getting raped twice basically means you were asking for it!”

“Judge!” Carisi and Buchanan raised at the same time, but you didn’t even realize that she’d admitted it, that you’d gotten too deep into her head, into her traumas, that her anger had unleashed the truth you’d been so ferociously trying to unmuddle.

“I hope that you burn.” You spat, shaking your head, standing up from the stand, no longer willing to be everyone’s entertainment for the afternoon. You’d need to return, they’d need to read the verdict, but for now, you were done. You couldn’t sit in that room for another minute.

You found the bathroom in a haze, moving on autopilot as you entirely bypassed Olivia who tried to reach out for your hand before you could flea. You don’t recognize anything as you weave through people in the courthouse, somehow finding the bathroom but you think that’s solely because it’s never been moved in the years that you’ve dedicated your life to law enforcement in Manhattan. The beige and grey scenery didn’t help, only forcing you to feel like you were spiraling farther and farther from the current moment. You couldn’t decide if the grey stall doors looked so dark because they were, or if your vision was swimming with dark spots as you held your breath desperately. If you let it out, if you exhaled everything that had been weighing on your chest, you think you’d die. It would crush you, smother you, drown you in the pain of constantly loving and being hurt. At every phase of life, you’d been shown that you’re nothing but disposable and dispensable.

The bathroom door pushes open, blonde hair and caramel highlights cutting through your vision in the reflection of the mirror. You couldn’t look at yourself. Your eyes had been fluttering to everything else. You don’t know if anyone else noticed that toilet paper in the third stall, a red heart drawn onto the first hanging square, but your eyes had locked onto it, unwilling to move away and be forced to submit to Olivia’s affection. She’d drown you. She’d break you. She couldn’t. You had to get back in there. This wasn’t over yet. It felt like it was never going to be over.

”I can’t breathe.” The words don’t sound like your own, nor do you recognize your mouth moving at all. You don't know when holding your breath became not being able to breathe, but as you try to draw in a gulp of air, everything gets caught in your throat and a desperate sob stumbled out, hoarse and utterly devastating. “I don’t— I can’t—“ Your hands grab at your throat, at the skin that’s not even begun to heal from when her hand had wrapped around it unforgivingly. Your nails claw at the bruised skin, something that should’ve made you wince, but the dull ache of pain was diluted by the panic circling your eyes like sharks in the water.

“Alright, alright, hey,” Amanda concedes, whatever praise she was ready to bestow upon you pocketed for a time when you weren’t turning purple beneath your own hands. Her touch pulled yours away from your neck, and every nerve in your biceps flexed with burning pain as you fought against the nurturing guidance. “No, no, hey, don’t fight me. It’s Amanda. Just Amanda, only Amanda.”

“I can’t breathe!” You sobbed, finally recognizing her blue eyes, accepting their comfort even when it felt like sandpaper being rubbed directly against the healing laceration on your forehead.

“What are the ten amendments?” Amanda asked, grabbing your cheeks, only when she was certain the unexpected touch wouldn’t send you right back into the pits of unreachable panic. She couldn’t help you if all you could hear was the heartbeat in your chest, nor could she guide you when your vision was clouded with blood and darkness. But, she was pulling you down, letting your feet find the ground at a pace that wouldn’t entirely unravel you.

Benson inched up beside you, her hand waving over the automatic paper towel dispenser. You flinched at the sound it made, almost certain if you closed your eyes you’d see shattering glass. You’d never thought they’d sounded alike before, but you cant mistake the harmonized pitch of the dispenser and shattering glass. Water runnings breaks that train of thought, and your mind can barely grasp onto Amanda’s question, but it tries.

“F-Freedom of religion, speech, press, um, I-I don’t know!” You tried to explain, but Amanda shook her head, her hands on your cheeks pulling your gaze back to her, not letting you subconsciously worry about whatever Benson was busy doing at the sink.

“Freedom of religion, speech, press, and what else? What’s the rest of the first amendment?” Amanda’s thumbs brushed against the tear tracks on your cheeks. You hadn’t worn makeup, no energy to spare on the task, and you’re grateful. You would’ve looked even worse than you do now with mascara running down your cheeks like rivers.

“Um, petition and assembly.” You couched, craning your neck to miss Amanda’s face. You felt like a child, your face snotty and damp, your hand now covered in a cough that had sent a deep pang through your tired heart. Amanda didn’t bristle in the slightest, only let her lips twitch slightly. Coughing was good, it meant you were getting air in. The purple sheen was beginning to twinge, flush with peach tones again.

“How about the second?” She asked, and this time, the answer was at the top of your head quicker. The fog was clearing slowly, disappearing into the back of your head for later on when it was more appropriate to cry on the shoulder of your Captain and partner.

“The right to keep and bear arms.” You mumbled, sniffling, reaching up to wipe at your nose that was tickled with dripping wetness. You didn’t have a chance to make contact with your bruises and battered skin, Olivia’s hand grabbing yours and pulling it back, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth as she inched toward you with a damp paper towel. Oh, so that’s what she was doing.

Rollins guided you through the remainder of the ten amendments, all while Olivia dragged the paper towel over your tears and nose, and assured that your rage hadn’t pulled any of the stitches in your face. Their coddling did eventually clear your mind as much as it could’ve, and when Amanda realized that your eyes were actively tracking hers, reacting to the inflection in her tone, she smiled.

“You did good in there.” She praised, and you figured that’s what she’d been dying to say all along. Now, you could nod, could begin to process what you’d done. You stood up to her, to him, to everyone who had ever thought less of you because of the circumstances you’d been forced into. You’d never yelled at someone like that before. Not unless it was a heated interrogation and not even iced tea from your favorite bodega could save your mood.

“I knew you could bite.” Olivia chimed in, and you offered a soft chuckle at her admission. You hadn’t laughed in a while, Amanda and Olivia would take that as a minor win. Suddenly, Bensons arms gripped your biceps, not a single hesitation in her features. You’d lashed out at them multiple times in the last few days, unable to help whenever a flashback randomly came over you, or something snapped and you remembered how it felt to not have a choice in contact. They’d both learned to be cautious, to be gentle and slow. But she didn’t do that now, and you didn’t even realize that you didn’t flinch. “You took your power back.” WHen she jostled you slowly, your head bobbing, not expecting the quick motion of your chest while your feet remained stationary, it dawned on you fully.

You’d finally let yourself accept what had happened, what had been done to you, and you cursed them out for it. You’d let them know it hurt you, even if your step-father wasn’t around to hear the message, something inside of you know that he got it — that he was suffering, wherever it was he found himself now. Your ex, with whatever verdict was found, would suffer with the weigh too her actions because you know that this will eat her up inside. Maybe not what she did, you can’t speak to her guilt or lack-there-of, you hope that with time she’ll realize, but if not, you know that just the simple fact of you besting her in open court will live with her eternally. You can find peace with that if its the only justice you get.

You stiffened when the door creaked open again, but then Sonny’s blue eyes found yours and you relaxed. Your chest panged with guilt at the red rim in his eyes. “The jury’s back. I can ask Donnelly for another five.” He said softly, looking only at you.

You shook your head, your shoulders falling backwards. Even if you didn’t want to do this anymore, more than ready to call it a night in Jesse’s bed while the toddler sleeps between Amanda and Carisi, but you can pretend that your walls are made of steel for another twenty minutes or so. You could see this through. You have the power, even if it still doesn’t feel like you wanted it to. “I’m ready.”

“I never doubted that for a second, kid.” Carisi nodded, turning around and marching back to the courthouse. You sighed, turned toward the mirror, and let Olivia fix your hair whilst Rollins gave you another pep talk, probably the seventh one you’ve received in the last four days. Even if you didn’t love it; didn’t love that they had to be in this position with you, you adored the sentiment behind her steady and unrelentless support.

In any other circumstance, you would’ve shouted after Carisi not to call you kid, but he’d been the one to wake you up that morning when he’d heard you tossing and turning, sobbing in your sleep so loud it trigged the baby monitor that him and Amanda had turned off seeing as Jesse was in their room on the nights you felt like Noah needed Olivia’s attention more than you needed a place to crash. The nightmares didnt happen often, if you were able to fall asleep, usually it was peaceful (albeit short) but whenever they did, someone came running, usually with a gun in hand. Amanda laughed at the trauma they all carried, but you were too deep in the tidal wave to laugh. Either way, it felt wrong to protest the nickname when Carisi had caught you with your head squishing one of Jesses beloved stuffed animals.

You stood beside Carisi, facing Elizabeth Donnelly. Olivia and Amanda sat beside you, both of their hands clutching the wooden banister separating your anxious bodies. “Has the jury reached a verdict?” Donnelly asked, and your gaze shifted, only just looking at the jury for teh first time. You hadn’t realized how they looked at you with such conflicted emotion, but not the ones you’d anticipated. Not disbelief, not disgust, not…amusement. They looked at you with pity, but teh kind of pity that came when you heard something truly devastating. The kind of pity that didn’t feel sinful, just heavy, because you know its deserved, you know nothing you can say will change the fact that terrible things happened. But, there was something else in their eyes, something that you couldn’t name, but felt empowered by. Without a single word, you knew the verdict, and your heart soared.

“We have, your honor.” A man stood, and it dawned on you that this was real, and suddenly that certainty dwindled. He extended a page of verdicts, watching it be passed along until Donnelly held it. You held your breath, only until Sonny’s leather loafer nudged your kitten heel, his eyes ablaze with protectiveness. You exhaled slowly, and your sure that somewhere behind you Amanda is staring holes into the back of his head, proud and in love with his care and consideration.

When the paper is passed back, you know that its time. That it's now or never. “On the charge of assault in the first degree, what is your verdict?”

You held your breath, but the words were spoken anyways. Carisi didn’t nudge you this time, he held his breath with you until both of your braids could process the single word utterance; guilty.

“And on the charge of rape in the first degree, what is your verdict?” Donnelly asked, her tone clipped, and if you weren’t so absorbed in hearing the verdict yourself, you’d have thought she was just as anxiously anticipating the call, the seal of your abusers fate.

“Guilty.”

You don’t recognize the wailing of your assaulter as she’s cuffed and dragged out of the courtroom. You don’t process the weight of Carisi’s hand clapping against your back, or the defeated look of John Buchanan as he shook his head and dipped out of the room — a piece of him knowing he never questioned you in the first place, but at the end of the day this was his job. You sobbed, loudly, ugly, unabashedly, and then you weren’t crying alone. Arms wrapped around your waist, around your torso, they squeezed your rib cage, your belly, any part of you they could touch. Somebody’s chest trapped Carisi’s hand to your chest, somebody’s tight embrace pulled you into the banister until you were flush against it. You didn’t care. It was over. You won. Everyone knows, but also, everyone knows. It was your story or it was hers, and you’d won. She’d never be able to say you were dramatic. You had your justice, even if there was still a wild road of recovery ahead of you. You weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone this entire time.

”You did it.” Benson’s voice whispered in your head, her lips pressing against the side of your head in a fond kiss. You let your eyes close, let the sobs stop. You did it. You won.

[heliosunny]

hiii, your work is amazing and I love the way you portrait characters, could I maybe request yan!fyodor with a darling that struggles with self harm? how he would react to it if their darling hurt themselves as a coping mechanism or any other scenario but if it’s too dark you don’t have to write it of course i’ll understand! :)

There's nothing I wouldn't dare to try as long as I find it within reach darling.

Fyodor had always known you were fragile.

It was written in the way you carried yourself, shoulders slightly hunched, fingers twitching when you thought no one was watching. It was evident in the way your gaze would drift, lost in thoughts he could only assume were far darker than you let on.

But he never pried. Not immediately.

Why would he? A master strategist does not rip a secret from its hiding place. He waits, watching patiently, until it reveals itself.

And one evening, it did.

You had been careless. You thought you were alone. A moment of weakness, your sleeves rolled up just a little too far, and he saw.

A glimpse of red, raw skin.

His reaction was not dramatic. There was no sharp intake of breath, no widening of violet eyes in horror. Instead, he merely observed, head tilting ever so slightly, as if studying a fascinating piece of art.

"My love… what have you done?"

His voice was soft. Almost fond.

You flinched. Quickly, you yanked your sleeve down, but it was too late. His gaze had already captured you, held you prisoner in his quiet amusement.

You had seen many expressions from Fyodor, mockery, arrogance, that soft smirk when he was toying with someone before their inevitable downfall.

But this smile? This was different.

"You hurt yourself" he mused, stepping closer, hands still calmly tucked behind his back. "And yet, you try to hide it from me. How cruel, my dear."

"It’s not important."

His head tilted further, as if humoring you. "Not important?"

You didn’t answer. And that was fine. He already knew what came next. He never forbade you from doing it. No, that would be too simple, too obvious. Fyodor was far more patient than that.

Instead, he made you question it yourself.

"Tell me, my love…" he began one evening, seated comfortably in his chair as you stood across from him. His violet eyes flickered with quiet amusement. "Does it help?"

The way he spoke made you hesitate. He wasn’t mocking you. He wasn’t disgusted. If anything, he sounded… curious.

You swallowed. "Sometimes."

His lips curled in a thoughtful smile. "I see. You inflict pain upon yourself, yet the relief is fleeting. A temporary solution for a permanent suffering, no?"

You looked away.

"Then… why not something more effective?"

Your brows furrowed, confused. "What do you mean?"

Fyodor reached for your hand, gently, effortlessly. His fingers traced over your knuckles before flipping your palm upward.

"If pain is what soothes you" he murmured, "why not let me be the one to grant it?"

He did not hurt you, no. He merely suggested, the way a devil offers a deal—so tempting, so logical, that you could almost convince yourself it was your own idea.

"Wouldn’t it be easier, my dear? To leave such things in my hands?" His voice was velvet, wrapping around your ribs, coiling into your lungs.

"I could make it so much simpler for you."

You yanked your hand away.

"That’s— That’s not why I do it."

His laughter was soft. Patient.

"Oh? Then why?"

You hesitated.

Because you couldn’t answer. Not really.

-----

You hadn’t meant to meet him.

It was a brief moment, an accident born from circumstances neither of you controlled. You had merely been outside, alone for the first time in what felt like forever, when the infamous Dazai Osamu happened to cross your path.

His sharp brown eyes took you in too quickly, and you knew—he saw.

"Ah," he hummed, tilting his head. "I know that look."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"The look of someone trying very hard to pretend they’re fine."

It was… strange. He spoke so easily, as if he had known you for years.

For the first time, someone looked at you and didn’t try to control, didn’t try to manipulate. Dazai wasn’t kind, necessarily, but he was familiar. He understood in a way no one else had.

And for some reason, before you could stop yourself—you told him things you never told Fyodor.

You shouldn’t have.

Because Fyodor found out.

"You met Dazai."

His voice was calm.

You turned, heart hammering. He sat in his usual chair, fingers laced together, expression unreadable.

But you knew him well enough to recognize the shift in the air.

A quiet threat, veiled beneath his usual serenity.

"And?" you challenged, forcing yourself to stand your ground.

His lips curved. "And you spoke to him."

You didn’t respond.

"Why?"

A simple question. But one that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

"It was nothing important."

His gaze softened, and for some reason, that was worse.

"Ah… my love." He sighed, shaking his head. "You wound me."

He stood, approaching you with unhurried steps.

"I thought we had an understanding."

Your breath quickened.

"Do you not trust me?" he continued, voice gentle. "Do you believe I cannot soothe you in the way you need?"

You shook your head. "That’s not it—"

"Then why turn to him?" His fingers brushed against your cheek, a lover’s touch masking a noose tightening around your throat.

You clenched your fists. "It was a mistake."

"Yes," he agreed. "A mistake."

His gloved fingers trailed down your arm, slow, deliberate—until they reached your wrist. His grip remained featherlight, but you knew he could break you if he wished.

"You understand why I cannot allow that again, don’t you?"

You nodded.

"Good girl."

And somehow, in that moment, you felt guilt.

Not because you had spoken to Dazai.

But because Fyodor had endured it. Had been patient with you, despite your transgressions.

Your lips parted, and before you could stop yourself—the words slipped out.

"I’m sorry."

His smile widened.

And just like that, the web wrapped tighter around you.

Because now, you were the one apologizing to him.

At first, Fyodor’s patience seemed unchanging. He remained soft-spoken, ever indulgent, a shepherd gently guiding you back into his arms. But something felt different. A shadow in the way his fingers lingered when he touched you. A weight in his gaze, as if he were waiting for something inevitable.

You thought you were imagining it.

Until one night, when you woke to find yourself not alone.

A dim candle flickered on the bedside table.

And Fyodor sat at the edge of the bed, watching you with violet eyes that gleamed in the low light.

"Did you think I wouldn’t know?"

Your blood ran cold. "Know what?"

His smile was faint.

"You tried again."

No... You had been careful. You had waited until you were alone, ensured that no trace of your actions could be found. Yet now, beneath the thin fabric of your sleeve, you felt the sting of fresh wounds.

He knew.

Before you could react, his hand latched onto your wrist.

His grip was like iron.

"Shall I see it for myself, then?" His voice was still calm, but there was something new beneath it. Something dark.

"L-Let go."

His fingers didn’t loosen. If anything, they tightened, fingertips digging into your pulse. You felt it. His power.

"You are testing me, my dear" he murmured, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

"I have been patient. I have been kind. But tell me—must I truly remind you of what happens when my patience runs out?"

You opened your mouth—then froze as he leaned in, his lips mere inches from your ear.

"Shall I break something this time?"

"W-What?"

His grip on your wrist shifted, slowly, deliberately bending it just enough for you to feel the hint of tension.

"If you are so intent on hurting yourself," he whispered, "then allow me to do it for you."

The unspoken implication struck you like ice-cold water.

He wasn’t saying he would kill you.

But he would make you regret it.

"Perhaps a broken bone?" His fingers trailed up your arm, slow and deliberate. "Or maybe I should take something away instead. Hm?"

His free hand moved to your throat, thumb pressing lightly, just a whisper of pressure.

"Would you like to learn how fragile you truly are?"

Terror gripped you, drowning out everything else.

"Stop" you whispered, voice barely audible.

He sighed, as if disappointed. "Then stop making me remind you."

And just like that, his grip vanished. His hands fell away, and suddenly, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

The only evidence of his warning was the lingering ghost of his touch and the way your pulse thundered in your ears. Fyodor straightened, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat.

"I do hope," he murmured, "that I won’t have to repeat this lesson."

And with that, he was gone, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the walls.

And you sat there, heart hammering, mind spinning, body frozen in place, realizing just how close you had come to something you could never undo.

You had seen patience. Now, you had seen the edge of it.

[bitchface24-7]

Hi V! I was wondering if you felt comfortable doing a fluff fic of reader x viktor or jayce comforting reader on her period ?

All goods if you can't!!

I really enjoy your writing and I live all the attention to detail you put into your stories !!

THIS SUCKS… - VIKTOR & JAYCE X READER

synopsis: you're on your period, you feel bloated, agitated, and your stomach hurts. You can't tell if you're hungry, if you're cramping, or if you really need to shit. Your lovely boyfriend sees you struggling, and takes care of you the best he can.

warnings: menstruation (obviously), pain, fluffy fluff of our boys taking care of us.

genre: m/f or gn/m

p.s. I'm going to write this in the style of bullet points. Also, why not get both? This isn't Jayvik, so if you prefer one over the other, you can just read one part. Love ya! ❤️

VIKTOR X READER

You dread everytime your menstrual cycle hits you. It's painful, messy, and makes you agitated at the littlest things.

It makes you unintentionally be snippy with Viktor, something that upsets you even more since he hasn't done anything to deserve that treatment.

He's incredibly understanding. As someone who deals with chronic pain he understands that pain can make you act in ways that you typically wouldn’t.

Your pain may not be 24/7, but he knows it comes once a month for a week straight.

He has pain killers, a heated weighted blanket, and light food that surprisingly fills you up ready for you.

He’ll even make you sweet milk when you ask for it.

You typically do parallel play, he’ll continue to work, but he’ll make sure he's in the same room as you.

More times than not, he's cuddled up with you in bed, your pleading eyes and pouty lips will be his downfall. He can never say no to you.

Viktor makes this part of your life so much easier, and you can't thank him enough for it.

(its actually his way of thanking you. You take care of him all the time. Adjusting his spinal brace, his leg brace, making sure he has his cane. Helping him take off his assistive devices when he asks. Making sure he eats, he sleeps. He appreciates your care and love more than you'll ever know. So he tries his best to help you when you need it.)

JAYCE X READER

Jayce has a good idea how to take care of menstruation aches and pains. He's practically Cait’s older brother. He was around when she went through puberty.

It was not a pretty sight.

He knows you'll crave sweets, chips, sushi, fried chicken, really anything super flavourful and bad for you.

He knows teas help with cramps, so do heating pads, and lightly massaging your lower abdomen.

He knows you'll alternate between wanting to be alone, and being cuddled.

He knows you'll accidentally get snippy, feel bad, and want to hug him.

He knows it all.

It’s like it was ingrained into him on how to take care of you. He just appreciates that the hellish years he had to deal with a pubescent Cait paid off in the end.

(no he swears she was going to kill him at one point)

Being able to cook delicious food because of his mama makes it even better. He’ll make so much food you honestly wont know where to start. But they'll for sure be something there you can stomach.

They'll always be there to take care of you ❤️

Hi Anon! Thank you for the compliment! Sorry this is much shorter than you probably expected, I just don't deal with my period often? I go like one to three months in-between cycles and I just take care of myself when it happens. I medicate myself and essentially sleep away the pain for a day and a half, then I'm back to normal, I’m just bleeding now as well.

The longest time I went without a period was six months back in 2022 (I was 20 and had gotten it in November after my assumption of extremely early onset menopause LMAO, after that I got a tracker app to help me remember when I get it) and no I was not pregnant. Unless I’m Mother Mary reborn, that wouldn’t be possible.

[solxamber]

Heartbyul, "for you anything" , comfort pls 🥹🙏🏽 could you please make the character say it? Have a nice day 💜💜💜

i didn't know if you wanted hurt/comfort so I made just fluffy

Light of My Life || Trey Clover

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

The door to Trey’s room creaked open, and the two of you stumbled inside like a pair of zombies. Both of you were utterly drained from the day.

"Never… again," Trey muttered, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

You groaned in agreement, tossing your bag onto the floor and collapsing next to him. "I swear, the freshmen are plotting our downfall. Why is it always us?"

"Because no one else has the patience to deal with them," Trey replied, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know how hard it is to stop Ace and Deuce from throwing cake at each other while Cater’s livestreaming? And Riddle’s just in the corner writing his execution list? I had to confiscate a fork as a weapon today."

You snorted. "I spent half the day as NRC’s official delivery mule. ‘Hey, can you bring this to the library?’ ‘Oh, while you’re at it, can you swing by Sam’s shop?’ ‘Hey, Prefect, got a sec?’ Spoiler alert: I didn’t have a sec."

Trey sighed, his head lolling back against the couch. "Rough day."

"Yeah," you agreed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Can we just… sit here forever?"

There was a pause, and then Trey shifted slightly.

"I’ll make dinner," he said, starting to rise.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Trey, no. You’ve been refereeing a food fight all day. Sit down."

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "No way. You deserve it."

"But you’re just as tired as I am!" you protested.

He placed a hand on your cheek, his eyes warm and unwavering. "For you, anything. You’re the light of my life, you know that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. "Trey…"

"Don’t worry about me," he said, his smile widening as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. "Just sit tight. I’ve got this."

You watched him go, feeling simultaneously touched and terrible. It wasn’t long before the delicious scent of your favorite dish began to waft through the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

When he returned with two plates, you reached out and gently tugged on his sleeve. "Hey. Thank you."

Trey sat down beside you, handing you a plate and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Always."

As you ate together, the exhaustion of the day began to fade away, replaced by the quiet comfort of each other’s company. Trey might have been tired, but he looked content—his shoulders relaxed, his smile easy.

And as you leaned into him, your plate balanced precariously on your lap, you couldn’t help but think: maybe the chaos was worth it, so long as you had Trey by your side.

Masterlist

[mimi-cee-genshin]

A Slight of Hand Makes Colour - Lyney x f!reader

Summary: You think Lyney hates you. He's never used his charm on you. Lynette's response? If you look behind his ear, just under the stands of his hair, the answer will magically appear. (A cute and heartwarming getting together fic that I hope will make you smile.)

Other info: fluff, cute, some hurt/comfort, some pining, family, getting together, yes I know it's "sleight of hand", 2.5k words

*****

"Does Lyney hate me?"

You sat in front of the cafe with Lynette, enjoying a late night drink, and typically you'd be enjoying the silence and scenery together. But your thoughts slipped out of your mouth before you could snatch them back, ruining the peaceful moment you were having.

"Forget what I said," you said, eyes darting back to your drink.

Lynette placed her cup down and put a new cake slice on her plate. "Why do you ask?" she said with no hint of shock on her face.

"No. It was a stupid question." You took a sip, hoping she'd drop the topic.

"I see… Have you finally begun to wonder why Lyney has never used his charm on you?" she asked.

Your drink went down your throat the wrong way and you began to cough. "How did you know?" you asked, a little embarrassed.

"I could tell from how you were eyeing him as he welcomed our newest guest," she explained.

Nothing got past Lynette. You knew better than to try to hide anything from her. You'd often wondered if her greatest talent was actually reading minds.

She was right. You had never noticed the slight difference in Lyney's behavior towards you, even though you had known the twins for a long time now. He had always treated you with care and respect, but lately, you felt ill whenever he showered others with his suave words. You used to be happy just to see him smile.

You sighed, knowing exactly why you felt this way. You just didn't want to admit it.

"I think it's the right time to tell you this," Lynette said.

"Hm?" you asked. "Tell me what?"

"There's a reason why Lyney acts differently around you," she said.

You raised your brow, but you placed your cup down anyway and to listen for her next words.

"I'll give you a hint," she said. "If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way."

What? It was always hard to tell what Lynette was thinking because of the lack of emotion on her face. But even if she'd crack a joke once in a while, she wouldn't do so when you had a genuine concern.

Lynette took another sip of her cup and returned back to standby mode, drifting somewhere within the stars.

You weren't sure what to make of her comment

*****

It was four in the afternoon and the workshop needed to be cleaned before you could start any work. You took the vacuum, which Lynette fortunately didn't break yet, and removed the sawdust on the floor from this morning.

Next, you wiped down the workshop's two-way mirror, knowing Lyney would need it to test another trick today. The majority of the cleaning fell on you, which you didn't mind. You used to be a maid after all – a maid to a cold and cruel mistress. You had never expected to see the twins again after her downfall.

Lyney walked to the entrance after the doorbell had rung and greeted the lady here for a delivery. You smiled as he chatted up a storm with her, always happy to meet new people, and he even added a magic trick to top it off.

"And that concludes today's mini show," he said, returning his hat on his head. "With your lovely shirt and trousers, I hope to see your excellent style at my next performance."

Ah. Another compliment, another knot in your stomach.

At the door, Lyney received the package which reached just above his eyes when he carried it. You placed your rag down and got the other package that was left at the front door.

"Thank you, Y/n," he said with a smile.

It was a short and simple statement of appreciation, which you typically didn't mind. Yet, he didn't say, 'Thank you. Whatever would I do without you.' Nor did he say, 'You're just as reliable as always. Why, I must ensure that you never leave us!' You'd often hear these words when he talked to your co-workers.

But not with you.

You placed the package on the table beside the retrofitted vase and the room went quiet. The two of you typically didn't mind a comfortable silence, but today felt different. You went on with your work anyway, cleaning up the scraps on the work table as Lyney worked at his desk. He didn't even hum a tune as he usually did when the others were around. It was only silent with you.

You sighed, thinking you would've noticed earlier if you were as observant as Lynette. You weren't sure if the subtle difference in behavior was something you should be concerned about.

Once you were done cleaning, you peeked over Lyney's shoulder as he sketched out a mechanism he'd need for a trick. He smiled at you and pointed to the drawing, explaining to you how the system worked.

"But if I place this gear here, its axel would obstruct the door of the hidden compartment," he told you. "I'm not really sure how to solve this one."

"I see…" you said, pulling out a stool beside him. "You said the axel needs to be at least an inch long... Could you add a slot for it on the door itself?"

He placed his pencil's end on his cheek. "That could work since it's hidden anyway," he said.

He continued to alternate between thinking and drawing, often erasing his paper and even getting another sheet to redraw it. You had always admired the work he put into his shows. You enjoyed watching him passionate about his craft.

"If you look behind his ear, just under his strands of hair, you might figure out why he treats you this way," Lynette had said.

You lifted your hand up to brush his hair away from his right ear.

Lyney's pencil stopped moving and his hand was frozen in place. "W-what are you doing, Y/n?"

You were right. There was nothing there. You didn't expect anything, but you thought maybe there could've been a secret magic trick the twins set up for you. There was nothing of that sort.

And then you saw it.

"Lyney, why is your ear…"

His hand rushed to cover his ear. "I-It just turns red sometimes. That's all," he explained. "It's unfortunate that most of my tricks are done at a distance, so I don't have any plans to create tricks that involve me turning red."

"What are you even talking about–"

His hand… He was tapping his finger and counting down from five. Lyney would only do this to activate his 'performance mode', when he needed to calm his nerves.

"Lyney, is there something wrong–"

"Oh, would you look at the time... The sun is about to set," he said, leaving his chair.

"Lyney, wait!"

Crash!

The pieces from the broken vase were scattered next to your knees and under the table. Memories flooded back of your mistress's twisted scowl and piercing eyes, and you quickly bowed your head and apologized. Your breathing became shallow and your eyes didn't leave the floor.

A fan of cards appeared in front of your face.

"Now you see them, and now you…"–he pulled the cards together–"Hey, hold on a moment, why didn't the vase disappear?" Lyney said before sighing. "I guess we'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

You looked up to see Lyney's smile and outstretched hand.

"Would you like to be my assistant for today?"

You had never forgotten how you first met Lyney. Two magicians on a secret mission and your mistress and her husband had a lot to hide. And yet, Lyney had taken the time to redirect your mistress's anger and given you a hand, just like he was doing now.

You took his hand and stood to your feet, not once leaving your eyes from his.

"Now, where were… uh…" he said, breaking eye contact. He released his grip from you hand, but you held him even tighter. "You're not going to let go, are you?" he said, running his hand on the back of his neck.

"No," you said. "I'm not."

You wanted an answer. You wanted to hear it – that this man in front of you was attracted to you. A wonderful magician who won you over not only because of his magic tricks and charisma, but also because of his kindness, hard work, and love for his siblings. And yet this same person whom you admired all this time had the tips of his ears burning red at your gentle touch.

"Lyney…" you managed to say. "Do you like me?"

He sighed and laughed a little. "I guess the cat's out of the bag. There isn't a way for me to escape out of this one, is there?"

You shook your head.

He gave you a gentle smile. "Do you remember our second meeting?" he said. "When you showed up at our rendezvous point?"

Panic had covered his face when he saw you instead of Lynette, his posture revealing he wouldn't hesitate to attack you if you had harmed her in any way. You had to quickly explain how you hid Lynette in a storage room after she almost blew her cover.

"You had come up with a detailed plan that helped Lynette escape and sacrificed your own food for her as she hid. And you did all of this while you were terrified of your mistress. How could I not have fallen for you then and there?"

You had never realized that Lynette noticed you gave her your food. You would've done it for anyone, knowing what the punishment would've been if she was caught.

"Anyway, that's the story of my one-sided love. We should really fix up the vase that had fallen earlier," he said, quickly returning to the scattered pieces.

"Lyney, but…"

"Be careful now, or you might get hurt. I wouldn't want to see any tears on that beautiful face of yours–" His eyes saw the mirror behind you before he covered his face. "Um… pretend you didn't see that."

You grabbed his face and pulled it back, observing his red blush up close.

"Uh…" he said, eyes darting away. "What are you doing–"

"You know, I wondered why you never used your smooth words on me," you told him. "Why did you hide it?"

He took your hands from his face and placed them back by your sides. "Nothing good would come out of it," he said with a sigh. "Especially with my association with the Fatui."

"And what if I want to take the risk?" you said, still clinging onto his hand.

"What?"

"You've always meant a lot to me Lyney, even before my feelings turned romantic," you told him. "I've taken risks for you before. And I'm willing to do it again."

He lifted his other hand to fix a strand of hair on your head, gently pushing it back and getting a better look at your face. "You shouldn't do that to yourself, Y/n. You deserve more than that."

"We can work together," you said. "Just like we always have."

He pulled his hand out of your grip. "I… I can't," he told you. "I can't do it. How…" His voice wavered as he turned away from you. "How can I take care of you too?"

A door clicked open and you turned to look behind you. Lynette had walked into the workshop from the other room.

"Oh…" Lyney looked at her with a nervous smile. "Did you see all of that?"

Lynette pointed to the two-way mirror. You wouldn't be surprised if she heard the whole conversation.

"Lyney," she said. "Do you remember when we jumped off the cliff, and you shielded my fall before going unconscious?"

"What?" he said, turning towards her. "How could I forget? That was the day you received your vision."

Lynette placed her hand on her chest. "You've taken care of me so much for as long as I could remember," she said. "But I love you too and care dearly for Y/n as well. So if any issues arise because of your relationship with her, let me help. I'll protect you."

"I…" Lyney lowered his eyes.

"I'll be alright, because as always…" she began.

"... Lynette is by my side," Lyney finished. Yet his shoulders sagged. "I… I don't know Lynette. What if something goes horribly wrong? I don't want Y/n to take the fall too."

"Don't worry," she told him, shaking her head. "I've already gotten some ideas to get you two out of any sticky situation. Keep it a secret as long as possible and I'll prepare for any contingency plans for whatever comes up."

"I'm still not so sure…" he said.

"Both of you are also discreet and know how to keep secrets," she continued. "The rest of the family would be excited and 'Father' would be fine with it as long as she doesn't hinder any missions. We both know that won't be a problem."

You stared at Lynette, amazed she thought all of this through. She really wanted this to work out, wanted us to work out.

Lyney placed his hand on his chin and thought for a long while. Both you and Lynette gave him a chance to think and didn't mind the silence he needed.

"So what's your plan?" he finally asked.

"For now, the biggest issue is that Lyney needs to figure out how to stop blushing." Lynette turned to you. "I figured that giving you the hint would get Lyney the help he needed with that."

"You gave her a hint?" exclaimed Lyney. "About my blushing? Lynette… I told you to keep it a secret."

"It was going to show sooner or later," she said. "Better here in the workshop than in public."

"Oh Lynette…" Lyney whined. "I can't believe you were the one who started this."

The tips of your mouth tugged back into a grin, seeing Lyney's arms relax a little. "So is that all he needs to do?" you asked. "Just stop blushing?"

"It's not that easy," Lyney said, a bit embarrassed. "Which was why I've been cautious with my words around you."

"Then why don't you practice now?" you said with a smile.

"What?"

"Practice flirting me until you can stop going red."

"I… uh…"

"What? Is the great magician who's a master at winning hearts actually at a loss for words?" you teased.

"I can't help it. You leave me breathless," he whined, sounding more like a complaint than a flirty remark. Yet his face turned red once again. He looked up at the two way mirror behind you and covered his face with both hands. "Okay, I need help," he said through his fingers.

"Keep practicing on me," you said with a smile.

"Can't we start tomorrow?"

"Nope. You need to make up for all the times I got jealous."

"You got jealous?"

You giggled as you scooped up his hand. "Of course I did. I just wish Lynette had given me the hint earlier."

*****

I hope you liked it. Please check out my other fics if you're interested. :)

[bokettochild]

What's your take on Legend's thoughts on the Master Sword. From what we see, he has a great deal of respect for her, even calling the Master Sword by female pronouns where most others just refer to the sword as 'it' as if she is just an inanimate object and mot a sacred weapon housing a spirit

Okay, well, remember that you asked for MY take on it, not the factual one ;)

So, obviously Legend's relationship with anything regarding being a hero is a bit messier than a lot of the rest, and the Master Sword is not excluded from this.

Given the inherent tragedy of Legend's existence, and the legacy he was born to, (AKA a world where heroes' dying/falling/being corrupted isn't just remembered but the NORM) one would think that the kid's probably got a ton of resentment for anything that makes him more like his predecessors and perhaps, like Time, he'd resent the key attributes of hero-hood in Hyrule: the Triforce, the goddesses, and the sword.

But legend is a li'l shit and he likes to defy expectations: he's friends with the goddesses, has had the Triforce of courage since he was a wee tot, and he actually respects and cares for the Master Sword.

I think it was I Have Questions For You where I said that Legend likely sees a reflection of himself in the state of the sword.

The Master Sword, for all intents and purposes, was forged by the Chosen Hero and then put away in a temple, and while it was moved to the Temple of Time, it's still held in a place of reverence and safety in the games set earlier in the timelines. Legend's is the first game to feature it lost out in the woods with no guards or protective measures or even walls, and while we have no cannon reason for this, the fact remains that it was left there and it was allowed to fall into disrepair so bad that, when eh first found it, Legend couldn't even wield it (he had to continue using his uncle's sword instead).]

My theory? After the Hero of Time's death, both his body and his sword were buried in the Lost Woods; where he came from, and mostly forgotten while the rest of the world moved on. I have a particularly angsty headcannon that in the Downfall Timeline, Ganon himself managed to kill the hero USING the Master Sword, and that's why she was outcast rather than being kept close by the royal family for future use. After all, if she can be turned against them, it's best to let her fall into nothing more than legend.

All that to say, I like to imagine that when Legend found the sword, she was still stained with the blood of the last hero, but just the same, he was still stained with his Uncle's blood.

Because let's face it, prior to Legend finding the Master Sword, his life was a literal hell-scape. he was a small child, who just watched his guardian/parent be brutally murdered in front of him, and then was framed for everything wrong in the kingdom at the time, which caused every adult he should have been able to turn to for help and comfort to instead try and hurt him. He was probably tired, hungry, hurting, and definitely still scared (rabbit form isn't for nothing) when he finally managed to find the Master Sword, the thing Zelda told him could fix everything and- and she's just as broken, and tired, and hurt as he is, just as abandoned, just as forgotten and demonized, all alone and stained with the blood of someone who mattered to her.

I think Legend felt connection.

He didn't just leave her behind as a sword with no worth, despite it being stated, in game, when you draw her, that she's no good against your enemies. Instead, he takes her with him and tries to find a way to fix her, to bring her back around.

Legend reforged Fi himself, albeit with help from the dwarves. He took her from her lowest into something magnificent, even if it's no longer the same as she used to be. just the same, she took him from wandering and fearful child to a hero; they reforged each other, tempered each other into what they are now.

I think, for Legend, his entire identity is more tied to his sword than to his title. She is, in every way, an extension of himself, not just another tool he uses.

Unlike any heroes' before and after, legend never had to prove his worth to her. there was no test, no trial, no life-risking necessary for him to take her. Perhaps this was because Fi knew she wasn't much herself back then, but given how stubborn and set in her ways that she is made to be, it's more likely that she didn't feel the need to try a child, and given the purity of heart we know is inherent to the Hero of Legend, who's every adventure is him giving of himself for others with nothing to gain in return, I thinks he simply saw him as worthy as was, albeit in need of some refining.

I like to think she was gentler with him though, unlike with the older ones. Both because she's seen more, already failed Time, and worn down herself, but also because she would have quickly realized that harshness wouldn't work well on a rabbit-natured hero.

So we have two beings, blade and wielder, who came together at their darkest, and re-defined each other and shaped them into something new, powerful, beautiful, all while still being inherently broken. There's a poetry there, I think, and I have a feeling that's not beyond them; they know what they are, to each other and themselves.

So, there is no saying how Legend feels about the sword really, because, in a way, she's part of him. She need improvement but she's amazing as is. She's just a sword, but it's in the same way that he's just an average nobody. She's a person as much as he is, but where she ends and he begins has been blurred.

He loves her though, I think. And in a way, I think that's the closest to self-love and care that he's come in a long time.