#CLUTCHING MY CHEST STRUGGLING TO BREATHE GASPING FOR AIR

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

↻ ◁ | | ▷ ↺ 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 | 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐨𝐜 | 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞

Summary: The first mission Armory and U.S. Agent go on together does not go as well as they would have liked. (wc: 2270)

Warnings: swearing, predivorce!walker, suicide mention, blood mention, weapons and violence, juno is just my little bean, no thunderbolts spoilers yet

✎……john walker...your complexity, scewed morals, and beard have bewitched me....

The mission was a fucking shitshow.

Valentina said it would be easy —  fun even.

Juno stumbled out of the complex with her chest tight and breaths short. Dragged along by a scientist who was stronger than he looked, his arm locked around her throat and a gun pointed at her head. It was hard to breathe, to think, let alone gain control of her powers. She could feel it. Reacting without her consent. A knife there. A gun here. Conjured out of thin air all around her. All out of reach and none of them helpful. 

Where the fuck was Walker?

“Will you shut up!” the scientist hissed at her, pressing the muzzle of the pistol harder against her temple. “Stop struggling! I just…We just need to get to my car. I can figure this out at home. Talk to Valentina…Use you as collateral.”

If only he knew Valentina Allegra De Fontain didn’t give two shits whether Juno lived or died.

She slapped at the arm clamped around her neck. Clutched and clawed, trying to pull it away with her dwindling strength. Her head felt far too light for her liking. More weapons. Each of them fell to the ground with a clang. Her body was trying to help her in any way it could. Self-preservation. 

Where the fuck was Walker?

She guessed he didn’t give two shits whether she lived or died either.

A gunshot went off. Rang in her ears. The scientist's body fell to the damp ground before she did. Propelled by the momentum of the bullet through his skull. Juno landed on her hands and knees, gasping for air. Like from another room, she heard footsteps thunking through shallow puddles. On the fringes of her consciousness, she could feel her power still trying to save her.

Juno heard the knife sink in before she saw it. Heard the wet thunk as the blade found its home. 

“Fuck!” Walker screeched as he looked down at the hilt buried in his shoulder. “What the fuck!”

“I’m sorry! God, I’m so sorry!” she coughed out as she sat back on her haunches.

“You stabbed me!”

“I didn’t mean to!” 

Walker tested the knife, jiggled the handle, and winced. Hissed through his teeth. Then he looked down at her with a deadpan expression. “You can help me get it out once we’re back at the safe house. Right now…We gotta finish the job. Help me get him inside.”

Juno nodded, adjusted her mask before rising to her feet. Each of them hooked an arm under the scientist’s shoulders and dragged him back inside the complex. Tossed him inside his lab where he was making who knew what. Something dangerous, volatile. Something that Valentina didn’t like. Hence why Juno and Walker were there in the first place.

Cleaning up yet another of OXE’s messes. Overglorified janitors.

After that, they started setting up the charges. Juno made them as they went around the room. Handing them to Walker who secured them on the walls. Packs of C4 with a synced detonator set to each one. Walker complained the majority of the time. Groaning about his shoulder. Muttering about how he couldn’t believe she stabbed him. Which only served to make her feel worse. And part of her thought that was his goal in the whole thing. She didn’t say a word as she created the detonator itself, and they left the building.

Once they were inside their vehicle, some nondescript little hybrid, Juno set off the explosives. They barely heard the boom and the sounds of crumbling concrete before they took off in the direction of their safe house. 

Juno pulled down her hood and ripped off her mask as she drove. Pushing back her hair and the sweat from her eyes. She glanced over at Walker, sitting straight in his seat, poking at the knife handle again.

She wanted to tell him not to touch it, but the words got caught somewhere in her throat. Tangled up on her tongue. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish once or twice. He didn’t seem to notice. 

“Can’t believe you stabbed me,” he grumbled, and when she didn’t respond, he went on: “I was curious why Valentina said you didn’t get partnered up very much, but now I see why. What’s the point of an Armory if no one gets to use it without being knifed? I told her I didn’t need a partner on this one and —”

“I didn’t mean to,” Juno whispered, timid and soft.

That shut him up for a moment. “When does it…When does it get out of control?”

“When I’m not…When I’m not in control of myself,” she answered, adjusting her grip on the steering wheel. “My emotions.”

“Like when you’re being choked out by some desperate nerd?”

She hated it, but that made her grin. If only a little bit. “Yeah. Like that.”

Walker hummed. And the rest of the drive was silent. They heard silence in the distance, but they wouldn’t be suspected for the crime. Evidence had already been planted in that scientist’s apartment that he was planning on killing himself along with all his research. It would be an open and closed case. Good thing for them and a good thing for Valentina. 

The safe house was nice. A penthouse with a view of the Bengaluru skyline and tropical trees. It was all wood and glass and modern and surprisingly well decorated. Brightly colored sofas. Abstract art. Plants. This one was luxurious in comparison to other safehouses in OXE’s portfolio.

As soon as they were inside, Walker dropped onto one of the sofas. Not really caring about the dirt and grime all over him. Juno made a beeline for the bathroom where she knew a well-stocked first aid kit would be stashed.

“Can you hurry up?” he called loudly, almost whining.

U.S. Agent had to be one of the more confusing partners that Valentina had ever assigned. One moment he was being a controlling asshole and the next he was…She wouldn’t call it kind. A crack in his facade — he cared on some level. Like when he asked about her powers and losing control. Or like when she came out with the first aid kit and he smiled at her. Smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time someone did that.

She set down the kit at his left side, where the knife was lodged, and he coughed. “So, uh…I can’t move my arm without feeling like it’s on fire. Could you help me get my helmet off?”

Juno did as he said quickly. Probably a little too quickly. Sitting down beside him on the couch, she reached for the strap under his chin and undid the buckle.

“I…I really am sorry,” she spoke quietly as she lifted the helmet off his head.

Blond, nearly red hair flopped onto his forehead. Wet with sweat. He had a cut on his lip from a guard who got a punch in — right before Walker kicked him into the nearest concrete pillar. Juno could still hear that man’s bones cracking. 

“It’s alright,” he replied with another grin, “Not my first time.”

“Getting stabbed?” 

“Yeah. Happened a few times. You ever — ever been stabbed?”

She nodded as she opened the kit. “Mostly by myself.”

“You might wanna get a towel from the kitchen. Can’t exactly cut me outta this suit — gonna have to stop the bleeding at least a little before I get the jacket off.” She got up and did as he said, even though she was already thinking about doing it. “You given someone stitches before?”

“You don’t exactly make knives out of thin air without having to give yourself stitches,” she said, dropping back into her seat with the aforementioned towel.

“Fair enough. Now what you’re gonna do is —”

Without letting him finish, Juno ripped the blade out of his shoulder. Walker let out a short but powerful yelp before she covered the wound with the towel, pressing in as hard as she could. He glared at her, jaw set, and she looked down into her lap. 

“It’s better — when you don’t anticipate it,” she muttered.

“I know that,” he gritted out.

She held the towel to his shoulder for a few minutes. And those minutes were filled with silence. No words. Just Walker staring at the wall and Juno’s heel bouncing on the floor. She watched as his gloved hands squeezed his knees, some rhythm she couldn’t quite make out. Once she felt the bleeding had stopped enough, the towel was set aside, and she helped him get out of the jacket of his suit. At least OXE was nice enough to make his suit a two-piece — hers was one big body suit with a blacksmith’s apron that was a pain to get off.

Underneath, Walker was wearing a white t-shirt, now with a red patch at the shoulder. This too, they pulled over his head with him hissing in pain. Juno got to work on patching him up after that. Stanching the last of the blood flow, sterilizing the needle, and threading it with some of the polymer fibers used in hospitals. And Walker didn’t feel the need to give her instructions.

“I thought you were a super soldier,” she spoke quietly as he took over holding the towel to himself. “Don’t you like…Heal quickly or something?”

“Well, yeah, but — still takes me a few days. It’s not instant,” he said.

“Huh.”

Then she began the stitches. Her hands were steady and worked quickly. A benefit from years of practice. And Walker was steady beneath her, too. He even reached over and grabbed the remote, and started surfing for something to watch. His skin was warm. She could feel an old scar just below this wound that would become a new one. Mottled at the edges but smooth. From the shape, probably a bullet. Or maybe shrapnel from a grenade? It was hard to tell.

Juno glanced down at his torso as her hands continued to work. Grenade shrapnel then. He was more scars than skin. All white and sunken in, and telling a story of sacrifice and pain. But underneath was hard muscle and some softness around his edges. Her eyes snapped back to the nearly finished stitches.

“What’s your real name, Armory?” Walker asked quietly.

She looked up into his face then. He wasn’t looking at her. He was paying attention to the basketball game he was watching on the TV. 

Right. She hadn’t given him her name. Just Armory. The title that OXE had given her, along with her suit and her first mission. The name she liked to hide behind. 

“No one’s called me by that name in a long time,” she answered truthfully, more openly than she had since she was small.

It nearly took her by surprise that she said it. Hit her in the chest like something soft but deadly. Her heart picked up its beat as she glanced up at Walker’s face again. He still wasn’t looking at her, and she preferred it that way. He didn’t need to see her when she was ten and still trusted the world to be kind.

“No one at home then?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

Walker raised his hands in surrender. Flinched only slightly when she tied off the last stitch and cut the fiber. He tried to get a look at her handiwork, but he could barely see it where it was located. She thought it was some of her best work. He gave her a thumbs up before he rose to his feet, muttering something about a shower. Watching him retreat down the hallway, shirt in hand and tentatively touching his shoulder, her heart flipped. Walker was an asshole, but he was also kind — in his own way.

“Juno,” she finally decided to say, quietly, like a secret. “My name is Juno.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m John.”

Her studio apartment smelled musty. Closed up. Barely lived in. The place needed dusting desperately. But that could wait until tomorrow. It was a good thing she didn’t own a cat. 

Juno dropped her duffle bag on the floor with an unceremonious thunk. She closed the door behind her and switched the deadbolt. At least it was a shorter mission this time. At least her partner had actually talked to her like a person instead of a weapons vending machine.

A shower. A takeout order. Sweatpants and a comfort movie on the TV. Maybe she should get a cat. It would be snuggled up on her lap right then. Purring and nudging her hand with its soft head. Telling her without words how much it missed her. It might be nice…To be missed.

Halfway through her Thai, her phone vibrated next to her on the couch. 

Valentina.

Every comfortable feeling she was beginning to have drained from her.

“Yes?” she spoke quietly, roughly.

She coughed. Tried to clear the phlegm and disuse.

“You sound awful. How was the mission?” Valentina replied.

“I already called in with my brief,” Juno said, setting her takeout box on the couch beside her.

“God, you really don’t know how to do small talk, do you?” Valentina sighed, and when Juno didn’t respond, she went on, “I have a new job for you.”

Juno’s face pinched up, fingers pressed into her temple. “I just got back.”

Valentina nearly laughed. “Do you really think that I care? Or — Or the guy who’s screwing my day cares? No. We do not. Besides, this is a really juicy one. Argentinian jungle. Sleeping outside…”

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[skzophreniic]

⍣ ೋ cw: tease tease tease. explicit sexual content. unprotected sex. overstimulation. fingering. oral. breeding kink. daddy kink. manhandling. power play. degradation/praise. mdni.

notes: in which you read something about chan having a daddy kink on stayville and run with it.

The afternoon was one of those perfect, lazy ones—the kind where time barely mattered, and the world outside your little bubble felt distant. Rain drizzled against the windows, a soft, rhythmic hum, and Chris was warm against you, his body curled into yours on the couch. His hand rested on your thigh, his thumb rubbing gentle, absentminded circles as you both scrolled through your phones, comfortably lost in the quiet.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Chris glanced over at you, his gaze filled with something soft, something only meant for you. He squeezed your thigh lightly, his thumb lingering for a second longer. “Hey,” he murmured back, voice low and fond.

You don’t even hesitate. “Is it true you like being called ‘daddy’?”

The air shifted.

Chris stiffened slightly, the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against your side coming to an abrupt stop. His eyebrows knit together as his phone lowered, and he blinked at you. “Huh?”

You bit your lip, barely holding back a laugh at his reaction. “I mean, I keep seeing things online,” you continued, keeping your tone casual, even though you were fully enjoying this. “Stay seem really convinced that it’s, like… a thing for you.”

Chris just stared at you. Then, in one smooth motion, he locked his phone, placed it on the coffee table, and turned his full attention to you.

“Give me your phone.”

You gasp, clutching it to your chest. “Absolutely not.”

“Give. Me. Your. Phone.”

“You can’t stop me from knowing things, Christopher.”

He’s fast, snatching for your phone. You let out a yelp, trying to yank it away, but he was faster, snatching it clean from your grip. “What did I say about staying out of Stayville? It’s dangerous there.”

You shrug feigning innocence. “I was just scrolling, and it came up.”

“What exactly came up?” He squints at your screen, scrolling with exaggerated judgment.

You whine, reaching for it, but he holds it high above your head, his other arm locking you against his chest. “Chris! Give it back!”

He ignores you, still scrolling, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to absolute horror. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You bit your lip, barely suppressing your laughter as he scrolled.

Chris ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Why are they like this?”

“Because you—” you poked his cheek, “—give them material.”

He caught your hand, holding it against his chest. “I do not.”

“You so do.”

Chris huffs, clearly exasperated but also too amused to fully commit to his indignation. “I literally just exist, and they make up the most unhinged things.”

You give him a pointed look. “Chris, baby… be so for real.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I—” He pauses, struggling. “Maybe I… give them some material.”

You grin triumphantly. “There it is.” You shift so you were leaning into him, your chin resting against his shoulder. "So, you're saying it's not true?"

His jaw twitches. He hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long, and that was all you needed.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes widening in exaggerated delight. “It is true.”

Chris groaned again, dramatically flopping backward against the cushions. "It's not. I hate you."

"You love me," you corrected, poking his side until he squirmed. "And you also love being called—"

His hand clamped over your mouth before you could say it, his palm warm against your lips. "Don't." His eyes were dark, but his voice held that unmistakable lilt of warning.

You blinked up at him innocently, but the mischievous glint in your eyes betrayed you. You licked his palm.

Chris yelped, pulling his hand away like he'd been burned. "You animal."

You were cackling now, barely able to breathe through your laughter as he wiped his palm against your hoodie like you’d just infected him with some incurable disease.

"You're disgusting," he grumbled, but his lips were twitching.

"You love it."

"I tolerate it."

"You love it," you repeated, beaming at him. "And you definitely love being called—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Chris tackled you, rolling you beneath him on the couch, his hands pinning your wrists against the cushions. His nose was barely an inch from yours, his breath warm as he spoke. "Finish that sentence, and I swear—"

You blinked up at him, the challenge practically dripping from your smirk. "What? You’ll punish me?"

His eyes narrowed, but the way his lips twitched betrayed him. “Careful.”

“Oh no,” you gasped, feigning terror. “Are you gonna make me behave... Daddy?”

Chris groaned, letting his forehead thud dramatically against yours as a laugh bubbled out of him. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m your favorite,” you corrected, beaming up at him.

He huffed, though the way his gaze softened betrayed his amusement. “Unfortunately.”

______________________________________________________________

It started small.

A passing whisper in his ear when you walked by. A smug little smirk whenever you said his name just a little too sweetly.

An innocent stretch while calling out, "Daddy, can you pass me the remote?" like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Chris played it off the first few times. He’d roll his eyes, let out an exasperated sigh, and mutter, “You’re insufferable,” before going back to whatever he was doing.

But you saw it. The way his jaw would clench, how his fingers would flex like he was restraining himself. The flicker of something darker in his gaze that vanished as quickly as it came.

You weren’t dumb. You knew Chris. You knew that teasing him like this was playing with fire, especially because he was always so soft with you. You had him wrapped around your finger—he kissed the ground you walked on, always so patient, so gentle, even when you pushed him.

But patience had limits. And you were determined to find his.

You started pushing.

By now, you were convinced he was doing everything in his power to ignore it—to ignore you. But you saw through it.

You saw the way his jaw clenched every time you purred Daddy in that syrupy-sweet tone. You noticed how his fingers twitched when you batted your lashes at him, playing the role of the innocent little thing you so clearly weren’t. You caught the way his ears turned red when you leaned in too close, lips grazing his ear as you murmured, Thank you, Daddy—for the smallest things, like opening a jar or holding the door for you.

And yet, still, he hadn’t snapped.

So, you pushed harder.

One night, while sitting next to him at the dorm, you absentmindedly played with the chain around his neck, your fingers tracing the curve of his collarbone. The others were watching a movie.

Chris, ever the affectionate boyfriend, had one arm lazily draped over the couch behind you, his focus mostly on the screen—until you leaned in, lips barely brushing his ear.

"You’re so good to me, Daddy."

His entire body went rigid beside you.

A sharp inhale, a slight clench of his jaw—before, once again, he exhaled through his nose, choosing to ignore you.

You almost pouted.

But when you glanced up, you caught it—the flicker of something dark in his eyes before he blinked it away.

Oh, you were getting to him.

Later that night, as you lounged in bed, he propped himself up on one elbow, voice deceptively light. "You think you’re real cute, don’t you?"

You grinned, stretching languidly against the sheets. "I know I am."

Chris’ fingers traced slow, lazy circles against your hip. "You like testing me, huh?"

You hummed, shifting to face him, lips just shy of his. "What, you don’t like it?"

For a moment, you thought he might finally snap—but instead, he exhaled through his nose, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before rolling onto his back. "Goodnight, baby."

Disappointment.

You had expected him to at least call your bluff. Maybe flip you over, put you in your place. But no—he was still Chris, soft and loving, never pushing past what you allowed.

Still, it wasn’t enough.

So, you planned your final move carefully.

______________________________________________________________

Chris was tired. Not from work or the chaos of the boys—no, this exhaustion had a name.

You.

Weeks of teasing. A soft “Daddy” here, a sweetly smug smile there, and Chris held onto his patience with a white-knuckled grip. But you pushed—again and again. And he didn’t snap. Not yet.

He was at the studio with Changbin and Jisung, trying to focus when a knock interrupted. Jisung answered, revealing a delivery guy holding takeout bags.

“Uh... delivery for Daddy?” the guy announced, glancing at the receipt.

Silence.

Jisung and Changbin lost it, cackling while Chris stood frozen—expression dark, jaw clenched. Slowly, he took the bags. “Thanks,” he bit out, the door clicking shut.

Ignoring their laughter, Chris pulled out his phone and typed a message with deadly calm:

Be home by the time I get there. Do not make me come find you.

He pocketed his phone and left, tension coiled tight in his shoulders.

You weren’t home when he arrived. You could practically feel the moment his patience snapped, like a distant thunderclap on the horizon. But you didn’t rush. No, you dragged it out—lingering at a late-night café, scrolling through your phone with a smirk, ordering another drink just because you could. Chris wanted you home? Then home was the last place you’d be.

By the time you finally decided to return, it was late—far later than it should have been. The air outside was thick with the weight of your own defiance, every step toward your front door deliberate, measured.

You knew he was inside.

The apartment was eerily quiet when you pushed the door open, the usual hum of music or the soft murmur of the TV absent. Just silence. Heavy. Waiting.

You barely had time to set your keys down before you felt it—that unmistakable presence.

Chris sat in the dimly lit living room, sprawled on the couch like a king on his throne. One arm draped over the back, the other resting on his knee, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm. His eyes found you immediately, dark and unreadable. Not a single muscle moved, but the energy around him crackled.

“Baby,” you greeted, with a casual smile. “You waited up.”

Chris didn’t answer right away. He just watched. Studied. The air felt thick, suffocating in the silence.

And then—slowly, deliberately—he leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs, voice dangerously calm.

“Where were you?”

There it was. That quiet fury, simmering just beneath the surface.

You shrugged, toeing off your shoes. “Out.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, his gaze unwavering. “Out.” A beat of silence. “You got my message.”

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, refusing to let the weight of his stare shake you. “I did.”

Chris exhaled through his nose, fingers flexing against his knees. Still eerily calm. Still watching. And yet, something about the way he held himself—the way his jaw ticked, the way his shoulders sat so unnaturally still—sent a prickle of unease down your spine.

“You do that on purpose?”

You took a step closer, tilting your head. “What if I did?”

Chris let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. He pushed off the couch, moving toward you with slow, measured steps. The closer he got, the smaller the space between you felt—until he was right there, close enough that his warmth seeped into your skin.

His fingers brushed your chin, tilting it up just enough to meet his gaze fully.

“You think this is funny?”

Your breath hitched. “Maybe a little.”

Chris hummed—a low, unimpressed sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers lingered against your jaw, deceptively gentle, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. You could feel it there—your own heartbeat, hammering wildly beneath his touch, betraying the nonchalance you were so desperately trying to hold onto.

“Is that right?” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “You think it’s funny to ignore me? To push me?”

Oh, you were in trouble.

The kind of trouble that made your stomach twist, that sent heat prickling down your spine, that made your pulse stutter when Chris’s thumb pressed just a little harder against the rapid thrum of your heartbeat.

You knew exactly what you were doing—poking at something primal, something restrained, something that you weren’t sure even Chris had fully let himself acknowledge.

And yet, even as he loomed over you now, eerily calm, his gaze dark and unreadable, you still pushed.

You smirked. “I think it’s fun.”

Chris exhaled sharply through his nose, like he was barely holding something back. His fingers traced along your jaw, slow, deliberate, before trailing lower—down the column of your throat, pressing just lightly enough that your breath caught, that your lips parted in an unspoken challenge.

“Fun,” he echoed, his voice a whisper of something dangerous.

You swallowed, and his eyes flickered down, watching the movement with quiet intensity. His hand lingered for a moment longer before he took a step back, putting space between you that somehow felt heavier than his touch.

Then, he smiled.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t warm. It was something else entirely—something that made your stomach flip, that sent heat curling low in your belly.

“Alright,” Chris murmured, his tone infuriatingly casual. “You wanna play?”

His hand fisted in your hair, dragging your head back as his mouth crushed against yours—no hesitation, no warmth, just teeth and frustration and the weight of every time you’d pushed him past his patience. His tongue shoved past your lips, licking deep, swallowing the soft gasp you barely had time to let out before he was pulling back, teeth catching your bottom lip and tugging, like he wanted to hurt just a little.

Then he let go.

Your scalp tingled from the force of his grip, your lips slick and tingling from his bite, but he didn’t give you a second to process before his hand was on your throat, pushing—not choking, just forcing you back, walking you blind toward the couch until the edge caught the backs of your knees. You wobbled, grabbing his forearm on instinct, but Chris didn’t stop. He kept pushing until you fell onto the cushions, then he was on you, knee pressing between your thighs, caging you in, his palm still firm on your neck.

“You think this is fun, huh?” His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft about it. “Teasing me for weeks, acting all cute, saying shit you knew would get to me?” His knee pressed harder, not enough friction, just enough pressure to make you squirm. “Go on, baby. Laugh. Thought it was real fucking funny before.”

Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the weight of his body so close but still not where you wanted him. You knew what he was doing. This wasn’t the usual game where he’d pretend to resist, where he’d give in after a little bit of teasing. No, he was making you sit in it now. Making you feel the consequences.

Chris leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice dropping even lower. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it. What the fuck do you wanna do with it?”

You exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against his forearm. “Chris, I—”

His hand moved from your throat to your jaw, forcing your head back. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, but his expression was nothing like the soft, eager-to-please boyfriend you knew.

“Try again.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering beneath his fingers. This was new. With you, he was always patient, always indulgent, always so fucking soft. But this? This wasn’t soft. This was something else entirely.

“I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat when he suddenly leaned in, lips just ghosting over yours.

“You what?” he murmured, his breath warm against your mouth, teasing, taunting. “Not feeling so mouthy anymore?”

Your fingers twitched against his forearm, nails digging in slightly. You knew better than to play dumb now. Knew you had pushed and pushed and pushed—until finally, you weren’t in control anymore.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to test him.

You wet your lips, your voice deliberately sweet. “I just wanted your attention, Daddy.”

Chris inhaled sharply through his nose. His grip shifted, fingers tilting your chin up higher, forcing you to hold his gaze. “Yeah?” he mused, his tone almost mocking. “That what you wanted?”

You nodded, batting your lashes. “Mhm.”

Chris’ jaw ticked, his fingers flexing—before suddenly, he let go.

For a second, you almost thought he was pulling away. That he was going to do what he always did—roll his eyes, kiss your forehead, and let you get away with it.

But then, his hand was at your throat again, pressing you back into the couch, pinning you there without so much as an ounce of effort.

“You want my attention?” His knee wedged between your thighs, spreading them wide, forcing you open. His other hand trailed down, fingertips barely brushing over your inner thigh—so close, but not close enough.

His lips curled as he pressed the barest hint of pressure between your legs, right where you needed him most. You exhaled shakily, hips twitching toward his touch.

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. “So desperate,” he murmured, almost fondly—before he pulled his hand away entirely.

You whined, arching toward him, but he tsked, pressing you back into the cushions.

“You’ve been running that pretty little mouth for weeks,” he mused, his thumb tracing along your lower lip, pressing in just slightly before dragging down your chin. “So fucking bratty, thinking you could do whatever you wanted and get away with it.” His eyes darkened, his voice dipping even lower. “What made you think I’d let you off easy, sweetheart?”

You shivered, swallowing hard. “I—”

Chris just smiled. “You thought I’d cave?” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Nah. Not tonight.”

His fingers trailed lower again, teasing, skimming along the edges of where you wanted him, never quite giving in. You whimpered, shifting against his knee, seeking friction.

Chris noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he cooed, mockingly sweet. “What’s wrong?”

You glared at him, lips parted, breath uneven. “Chan—”

He tsked again, his grip tightening on your throat—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you feel it. “Wrong.”

You swallowed, cheeks flushing. “Daddy—”

“There she is,” Chris murmured, lips barely brushing yours.

You thought that was it—that he was finally going to give in. But then, he was shifting, pulling away again, dragging out the anticipation.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” he continued, voice slow, deliberate. “You’re gonna sit right here, and you’re gonna take whatever I decide to give you.” His fingers traced along your inner thigh, featherlight, teasing. “And you’re not gonna come until I say.”

Your breath caught. “Chris—”

“Did I say you could speak?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your thighs clenching involuntarily. Chris noticed that too. His smirk deepened.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he mused, dragging his fingers higher, finally pressing them against your clothed heat, rubbing the softest, slowest circles. “You like when I tell you what to do?”

Your pulse thundered beneath his touch, but you forced a pout. “Maybe.”

Chris’s smirk was a slow, dangerous thing. “Maybe?” He pressed harder, just enough to make your hips twitch, to drag a broken whine from your lips. “Still got that attitude, huh?”

You wanted to fire back—something smart, something witty—but his fingers worked lazy, torturous circles, each drag and press igniting sparks of pleasure that made thinking impossible. The smirk didn’t fade as he watched you struggle, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“You wanted my attention,” Chris murmured, dipping his head to press his lips against your jaw—soft, teasing. A mockery of gentleness. “But you keep running your mouth. You think that’s a good idea?”

You whimpered, every nerve alight, but you managed a defiant little smirk. “I think you like it.”

Chris hummed, his mouth brushing your ear. “Oh, I do. I love it when you act out, princess. Just means I get to remind you who’s in charge.”

You opened your mouth to quip back, but his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down your thighs with a deliberate slowness that had you trembling. He didn’t even look—eyes locked on yours, dark and taunting—as he shoved them aside, baring you to his gaze.

“Let’s see how long that attitude lasts,” Chris drawled, sinking to his knees.

He hooked your thighs over his shoulders, strong hands splaying possessively across your hips. His breath was hot against your bare skin, lips trailing lazy kisses up your inner thigh. Every inch of contact had your breath quickening, your resolve fraying. You tried to wriggle closer, but his grip tightened, pinning you in place.

“Impatient,” he chided, his tongue tracing a slow, maddening path closer—so close. “Thought you liked games, baby.”

A strangled whimper slipped from your lips, thighs quivering where Chris held you pinned. The wicked, taunting curve of his mouth made your pulse jump—anticipation coiling hot and tight in your stomach.

“You talk a big game, sweetheart,” he murmured, breath feathering over the most sensitive part of you. “But look at you now—already falling apart and I haven’t even touched you properly.”

Your hips twitched, the barest grind against his mouth, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into your thighs just hard enough to sting. A warning.

“Ah, ah,” Chris tutted, squeezing until you stilled. “You’ve had weeks to run your mouth. Now, you’re gonna stay still and be good for me, yeah?”

The teasing lilt of his voice sent heat prickling along your skin, a shiver rippling down your spine. You wanted to argue, but the words caught in your throat as his tongue traced a slow, teasing circle around where you needed him most.

The soft, wet heat of his mouth was a shock, a lightning bolt of sensation that had your head falling back, a choked moan spilling free. Chris hummed against you, the vibration a taunt of its own, lips curling into a smirk that you could feel more than see.

“Fuck, baby,” he drawled, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. “You’re already dripping. This what you wanted? Attention from Daddy?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped, fingers curling into the couch cushions as he licked another slow, deliberate stripe.

Chris’s tongue flicked over you again—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to unravel you bit by bit. Your hands scrabbled for purchase, nails biting into the cushions as your hips twitched, desperate for more.

But just as you started to grind against his mouth, a sharp smack echoed through the room, pain blossoming between your thighs. You cried out, hips jerking back in shock, but his hands held you firm—pinned and helpless beneath his unyielding grip.

Chris looked up at you with a raised brow, eyes dark and unrelenting. “Did I tell you to move?”

You whimpered, the sting lingering, and tried to catch your breath. “N-No, Daddy—”

Another slap—sharper this time—landed on your swollen, slick folds, sending a shudder through your whole body. Tears pricked your eyes, but the heat pooling in your stomach only grew, arousal mingling with the ache.

“That’s right,” he muttered, tone low and warning. “You’re gonna stay fucking still unless I tell you otherwise. Got it?”

You nodded, lip trembling, but Chris wasn’t satisfied. His hand tightened on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make you squirm. “Use your words, princess,” he demanded, voice rough and unforgiving.

“Yes, Daddy,” you managed to choke out, voice barely above a whisper.

He hummed in approval, pressing a brief, almost gentle kiss to your inner thigh before his mouth returned to you—hot and wet, tongue flicking over your swollen clit with deliberate, calculated precision. Your body arched instinctively, desperate for more, but you forced yourself to stay still, the threat of his hand still tingling through your skin.

“That’s better,” he muttered between slow, lazy licks, his breath searing against your oversensitive nerves. “Such a pretty little thing when you’re behaving.”

Your whole body burned under the praise, the contrast between his harsh treatment and his soft words leaving you dizzy. You were barely holding it together, every flick of his tongue making your hips twitch despite your best efforts to obey.

Chris’s tongue never slowed.

Each flick over your clit sent sparks racing through your nerves, making your thighs tremble where he held them apart. You wanted to move—had to move—but his grip was unforgiving, fingers digging into your skin like a silent warning.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and mocking. “Spent all that time teasing me, and now look at you.”

You whimpered, back arching when his tongue flattened against your clit, pressing hard before dragging down to your entrance. He licked into you, slow and deliberate, groaning like he was the one getting wrecked.

“Taste so fucking good,” Chris muttered, voice muffled by the way he buried himself between your legs. “So wet for me. Bet you’d let me do anything to you right now, huh?”

You nodded frantically, breath coming in sharp gasps. You were already on edge, already burning—weeks of teasing, of pushing him, finally catching up to you in the most devastating way.

Chris pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips slick, chin shining with your arousal. “Use your words, princess.”

“Anything, Daddy,” you gasped. “A-anything–fuck–”

Chris hummed, pleased, before diving back in. His tongue was relentless, licking into you with obscene noises, lapping at every drop you gave him. And when his fingers joined—two thick digits pressing inside without warning—you nearly sobbed.

“Oh, baby.” His voice was low, taunting. “Haven’t touched you in a while, have I? You’re so tight.” His fingers curled, pressing just right, and your whole body jolted. “How do you think you’re gonna take my cock?”

You clenched around him, and Chris laughed.

“Yeah? That what you want?” His fingers pumped deeper, stretching you open, teasing that one spot that made your vision blur. “Want Daddy to fill you up? Make you take every drop?”

Your body was too hot, too tight—you couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but nod and whimper. Chris didn’t like that.

He smacked your thigh, sharp enough to sting. “Words.”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy, I—” Your voice caught as he crooked his fingers, fucking them into you with ruthless precision. “Want you to come inside me, please—please—”

Chris groaned, low and dark. “That’s my girl.”

Your orgasm slammed into you before you could even brace for it, pleasure surging through you in dizzying waves. Your thighs trembled, hands fisting the cushions, body locking up as you came with a broken moan.

But he didn’t stop.

Not for a second.

His fingers kept thrusting, his tongue kept flicking, dragging you through it—and right into another.

“Ngnn—Chri–daddy—fuck, I—” Your voice was broken, wrecked, your body barely able to keep up with the relentless pleasure tearing through you.

Chris just smirked. “Oh, baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Too much?”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, your body twitching and jerking beneath him.

He hummed, fingers fucking into you harder. “Nah,” he murmured, low and smug. “You can take more.”

Your second orgasm hit before you could even process his words. Your entire body locked up, your mouth falling open in a silent scream. Chris groaned against you, tongue lapping up every bit of your release like he needed it, his fingers fucking you through the brutal aftershocks.

Still, he didn’t stop.

Your body thrashed, your hands pushing weakly at his shoulders, but Chris was stronger, more determined, his grip unrelenting.

“Look at you,” he murmured against your soaked folds, voice dark and filled with something dangerous. His fingers slowed, but only slightly, pressing deep, grinding against that sweet spot inside you. His tongue flicked over your oversensitive clit, teasing, taunting.

“You wanted my attention,” he mused, watching the way your body twitched beneath him, the way your thighs trembled, barely able to stay open. “Now you’ve got it.”

You sobbed, your whole body shuddering, overstimulation tearing through you like fire. “Daddy—please—”

Chris groaned, his cock straining painfully against his sweatpants. “Shit, baby,” he muttered, voice strained. “You crying?” His fingers traced over the wet tracks down your cheeks, eyes darkening. “That good, huh?”

You could barely think, barely breathe—and Chris looked like he was barely holding himself together.

It hit you like a thunderclap—shattering, consuming, a pleasure so intense it almost hurt. Chris groaned, lapping up every drop, working you through it even as you trembled beneath him.

Only then did he pull away, lips slick and curved into something dark and satisfied. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gaze locked on your wrecked form—your twitching thighs, your heaving chest, the way your body still shook from the aftershocks.

“Look at you,” he mused, dragging his hands up your legs. “So fucking messy already. And we’re just getting started.”

You barely had a second to breathe before he was tugging his shirt over his head, muscles flexing in the dim light. He undid his belt slowly, deliberately, watching the way your eyes followed the movement with rapt attention.

Chris chuckled. “That desperate for my cock, huh?”

You whimpered, nodding, your thighs still trembling.

Chris reached out, his hand gripping your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his expression something raw and hungry.

“You wanted Daddy’s attention?” he murmured, leaning in, lips brushing yours but not quite touching. “Now you’re gonna take everything I give you.”

Your breath hitched. “Please.”

Chris groaned, his forehead dropping against yours for a beat. Then, his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you as deep as I want.” His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Gonna let me fill you up—fuck my come so deep you’ll still be dripping with it in the morning.”

Your whole body shuddered.

You nodded frantically, every nerve in your body on fire. “Yes, Daddy, please—”

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, fisting your hair as he dragged your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, blown wide with lust, his jaw clenched tight.

Chris smirked, sensing your reaction. He reached between you, stroking himself slow, teasing. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He tapped his cock against your swollen clit, making you jolt. “Gonna take me like a good little breeding toy?”

You nearly whimpered. “Yes—yes, Daddy—”

Chris didn’t give you a chance to brace. He pushed inside in one long, slow thrust, stretching you open around his cock.

Your back arched. The stretch was unbearable, too much, even with all the prep, but Chris just groaned, pressing deeper, inch by inch, watching your face contort with pleasure.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, pressing a hand to your lower belly. “Feel that? Feel how deep Daddy is?”

You did. He was there, pressing into something devastating, making your walls flutter around him.

Chris cursed, his hand squeezing your waist before he snapped his hips forward.

You cried out.

Chris groaned, watching the way you took him, how your body clenched and trembled. “Fuck, look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with something dangerously close to affection. “So fucking good for me, baby.”

His thrusts picked up—hard, relentless, brutal. Your body rocked beneath him, every drag of his cock sending another sharp spike of pleasure through your nerves.

Chris’s grip tightened, his breath ragged. “You’re gonna take every drop, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you so full, gonna make sure it sticks.”

A wrecked sob left your lips, your hips rolling back instinctively, desperate. “Want it—please, Daddy, I—”

Chris groaned, slamming his cock inside in one deep, brutal thrust.

Your mouth fell open, your fingers digging into the sheets, pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Chris didn’t stop. He set a relentless pace, fucking into you deep, his hands gripping your waist so tight you were sure you’d feel it tomorrow.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, watching the way your body took him, watching how your slick coated his cock every time he pulled out. “You were made for this, you know that?” His fingers slid to your stomach, pressing down, making you feel every inch of him inside you. “Made to take my cock—made to be bred.”

You clenched around him, and Chris groaned, his thrusts turning rougher, more desperate. His fingers slid lower, rubbing your swollen clit, sending sparks of pleasure straight to your core.

“You’d look so fucking pretty, baby,” he murmured, his pace never faltering. “So round, so full of me.” He pushed in deeper, making sure you felt every inch, making sure you knew exactly what he wanted. “Gonna keep you like this, keep you stuffed with my come, fuck you full every night until you’re dripping—”

The words sent you spiraling. Your whole body locked up, pleasure crashing into you so fast, so intense, you could barely breathe. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock, your release spilling down your thighs, making a mess between you.

Chris groaned, shoving himself as deep as he could go, holding himself there, letting you ride out the aftershocks. His fingers dug into your hips, his cock throbbing inside you, so fucking close, so desperate.

And then he was flipping you over again, manhandling you like you weighed nothing, pinning you beneath him.

“You’re not done yet, baby,” he murmured, gripping his cock, rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, smearing your release everywhere. “I’m not done.”

You barely had a second to brace yourself before he was pushing back inside, slow and deep, stretching you all over again. You mewled, pleasure so overwhelming it bordered on too much—but Chris just cooed, brushing your hair back, pressing soft kisses to your jaw.

“You can take it, princess,” he whispered, rolling his hips, grinding so deep it made you see stars. “Gonna fill you up, yeah? Gonna fuck my come so deep it stays inside you?”

You whined, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. “Please—”

Chris groaned, something wrecked and raw, his thrusts turning messy, erratic. “Yeah? Want Daddy to fill you up? Want me to breed this pretty little pussy?”

Your entire body clenched, and Chris cursed, his cock pulsing inside you, right on the edge.

“Fuck—” His forehead dropped to yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. “Gonna come inside you, baby. Gonna make you mine.”

His hips snapped forward, his grip tightening—and then he was gone, his whole body tensing as he came with a wrecked moan, spilling inside you, so deep, so much. His cock throbbed, thick ropes of come filling you, making you feel impossibly full.

For a moment, all you could do was exist in it—the heat, the weight of him, the unbearable fullness that made you feel stretched, stuffed, ruined. Chris groaned low, his body twitching against yours as he gave you everything, pushing himself as deep as he could go, holding himself there like he could carve himself into you, like he could make it stay.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, voice thick and wrecked, forehead pressing against yours. His breath fanned across your lips, his nose brushing against yours as he swallowed hard. “Took me so fucking well. So perfect.”

You barely had the strength to answer, your body too wrung out, too wrecked from the relentless waves of pleasure. Your walls clenched weakly around him, still pulsing, still trembling, and Chris groaned, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.

Then, slowly—reluctantly—he pulled out, hissing at the way your walls fluttered around him, still desperate to keep him inside. A wrecked sound left him when he saw the mess between your legs, his come already spilling out of you, sliding down the curve of your ass, pooling onto the sheets.

His jaw tightened. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding them open as he watched the way you leaked, completely spent, completely his.

“Shit,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp curls. “Look at that.”

You barely had the strength to move, your thighs still shaking, your mind hazy, floating somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. Chris kissed your temple, whispering something you couldn’t quite make out, something sweet and soothing as he gently eased you onto your side, gathering you up into his arms. His hands rubbed up and down your back, slow, tender, the complete opposite of how he’d just been fucking you.

“Deep breaths, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing over your sweaty forehead. “There you go. You with me?”

You made a small noise, barely more than a whimper, pressing your face into his chest. Chris chuckled, though it was quiet, full of warmth.

“Too fucked out to talk?” he teased, his fingers slipping into your hair, massaging at your scalp. “My poor baby.”

You whined, and he cooed, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your cheeks, every bit of skin he could reach. “S’too much,” you mumbled, voice slurred, wrecked.

Chris grinned against your cheek, his hand smoothing down your back. “You love it,” he whispered, nuzzling against you. “Love being full of me, don’t you?”

You whimpered, your body shivering despite the warmth of his embrace. Chris hummed, something dark and pleased curling in his chest. His fingers trailed down, over your stomach, rubbing softly, soothingly. He groaned, knowing his come was still inside you, knowing how full you must feel.

“Good,” he whispered, pressing another soft kiss to your shoulder. “So good for me, princess.”

"Let me clean you up," he murmured after a moment, shifting like he was about to move.

But as soon as he tried to pull away, you whimpered, clutching at him weakly. Chris immediately stopped, his expression softening. "Oh, baby," he crooned, kissing the bridge of your nose. "You want Daddy to hold you, huh?"

You nodded, too exhausted for words.

His arms tightened around you, pressing you fully against him. "Okay, sweetheart," he whispered, tucking the blanket over both of you. "M'not going anywhere."

He kissed your temple, his fingers still trailing up and down your skin, featherlight, absentminded.

“So pretty,” he murmured, his voice thick with something soft, something impossibly tender. “My pretty girl.”

You sighed, barely conscious, barely awake, and Chris chuckled, shifting just enough to reach for the wet wipes on the nightstand. He moved carefully, gently, wiping away the mess between your thighs, murmuring quiet reassurances against your skin.

But when he pulled back, his gaze landed on your entrance again—still puffy, still stretched from him, still leaking his come despite how much he’d given you.

Chris groaned, his jaw clenching, something dark flickering behind his softened gaze.

“Fuck,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He was trying—really trying—to let it go. To let you rest.

But then his fingers were there, brushing over your swollen folds, pushing in just enough to spread the mess, to watch the way your body twitched in response. You whimpered, barely coherent, shifting weakly beneath him.

Chris exhaled sharply.

“Gotta make sure it stays, baby,” he murmured, almost apologetic, pressing two fingers inside, slow, deep, watching the way your walls fluttered around them, sucking them in, so perfectly pliant.

You whimpered, half-asleep, but didn’t stop him.

Chris swallowed hard, his cock twitching all over again.

Maybe he’d have to make sure again in the morning.

[cutielando]

allergies | lando norris

synopsis: in which your allergies strike at the worst possible moment

a/n: based on this request!

pairing: lando norris x allergic!reader

my masterlist

The paddock was buzzing with energy, a familiar hum of excitement filling the air as mechanics moved swiftly, journalists weaved through the crowd, and fans pressed against barriers hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers.

It was just another race weekend, another high-stakes event where the roar of engines and the scent of burnt rubber set the scene.

You had been standing near the McLaren garage, chatting with some of the engineers when it started.

At first, it was subtle - a tickle in your throat, a slight tightness in your chest. You dismissed it, blaming the humidity or the strong scent of fuel lingering in the air.

But then it escalated.

Your breath hitched, throat constricting as a wave of panic surged through you. Your vision blurred slightly, and your skin felt like it was burning. It didn’t take long for the realization to sink in.

You were having an allergic reaction.

You had always been careful. Always checked what you ate, what you touched. But somehow, something had triggered it, and now you were in the middle of the paddock, struggling to breathe.

Your hands trembled as you clutched at your throat, trying to find your voice, but all that came out was a wheeze.

Lando was in the middle of a media session when he caught sight of you. He saw the way your body wavered, the way your hand gripped the edge of a table for support.

His heart plummeted at the sight of you struggling to breathe.

“Wait, sorry” he muttered abruptly to the reporter in front of him before pushing through the crowd, his mind solely focused on you.

By the time he reached you, your knees had buckled.

He barely caught you in time, his arms wrapping around your frame as you gasped for air.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he asked frantically, his grip tightening around you as if holding you together would somehow make it stop. “Talk to me, love.”

You tried, but the words wouldn’t come. Your eyes were wide, filled with fear, and it made his own chest tighten painfully.

“Shit” he cursed, looking around. “She’s having an allergic reaction! Someone get help!”

A McLaren medic was already rushing toward you, an EpiPen in hand.

Lando refused to let go of you, holding you close as they administered the shot, his free hand brushing strands of hair away from your sweat-dampened forehead.

“You’re okay,” he murmured over and over, voice thick with worry. “I’ve got you.”

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. Your breathing was still labored, but slowly - agonizingly slowly - it began to ease.

The tightness in your chest loosened, and the panic that had gripped your mind started to ebb away.

Lando exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“You scared the shit out of me” he said.

Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke.

“Didn’t mean to” you said, an apologetic smile on your face despite what you had just gone through.

He let out a weak laugh, though his eyes were still clouded with concern.

“You’re never leaving my sight again” he stated, his tone stating it obvious that there was no room for questions or complaints.

The medics insisted on taking you to the medical center for further observation, and Lando was glued to your side the entire time, fingers laced tightly with yours.

He didn’t care about the race weekend, the press, or the cameras catching every moment of his worry - none of it mattered.

All that mattered was you.

And he wasn’t letting go.

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[jjoppees]

I'm Still Yours

pairing: yandere!husband!Caleb x wife!reader

tags: angst, HINTS of fluff, explosions ig, romance, pregnancy, established relationship-married, obsession, I don't even know if I can call this yandere since it's Caleb LMAO, no other descriptions except for pregnant fem reader, no beta we die like Caleb

Based on this post

Caleb’s heartbeat lulled you into a sense of security as you leaned against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, strong, a reassuring rhythm beneath your fingertips. You pressed your palm to his chest, closing your eyes as his warmth wrapped around you.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over the small swell of your belly. “We’re having a baby.”

You roll your eyes as a soft smile tugged at your lips. “You’ve been saying that for months, don’t you get tired of it?”

“Nope, I’ll probably keep saying it until she’s here.” Caleb bent down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to meet her. My pipsqueak’s going to be a mother.”

Your fingers tightened in his uniform. “And to think the man who accidentally locked and left me in the attic is going to be a father.”

Caleb chuckled, the sound low and rich. “Hey! That was an accident. Besides, I’m going to spoil the little princess rotten, you know that?”

You laughed. “Never doubted it.”

In the blink of an eye, your very world crashed and burned.

One moment, you were laughing from his cheesy dad jokes, the next, he was ripped away from you so soon. That  violent explosion reduced your childhood home into burning rubble. The blast came without warning, its deafening boom swallowed everything in its path. You clutched your belly, your trembling hands desperate to shield the unborn life within you.

Smoke filled the air, searing your throat with every desperate breath. Through tear-filled eyes, you tried to push yourself up, your vision dimming, contrasting the fiery wreckage that had once been your safe haven. You screamed his name, your voice raw and broken, but it was futile.

Your mind refused to accept the truth.

 Your heart almost pounded out of your chest as you clawed at the debris, your hands raw from trying to find any sign of him. The heat charred your skin, and the metallic scent of blood and ash filled your nostrils, but none of it mattered. 

All that mattered was finding him.

You gasped for air, struggling to stay conscious as exhaustion and grief devoured you. Inside of you, Caleb’s permanent reminder stirred, a faint reminder that you were not entirely alone. 

But how could you go on without him? To live in a world that cruelly took him from you? A world that could take your baby too?

Your body trembled as sobs wracked your frame, the realization stabbing you in the heart. 

He was gone. 

The love of your life, the father of your child, the man who had promised to always be by your side—gone in an instant. 

And all you could do was scream his name.

It was suffocating.

Every morning, you woke up reaching for him, only to find the bed cold and empty. The silence of your room was deafening, broken only by the soft whimpers of your newborn baby—Caleb’s daughter. The symbol of the love that the two of you carefully curated over the years.

You were on maternity leave, which meant endless hours spent alone, caring for a child who would never meet her father. A child who had Caleb’s eyes, his hair, his smile. Every time you looked at her, it was a cruel reminder of the very man you had lost.

Some nights, you cried yourself to sleep. Other nights, you sat in the nursery, holding your baby close, whispering stories about her father so She would never forget the man who loved and cherished her before she was even born.

The Farspace Fleet, a name spoken in hushed whispers, an organization so powerful that even the highest-ranking officials answered to their commander—the Fleet Colonel.

No one dared to challenge him. No one questioned his authority.

And now, he was here.

Caleb.

But he was not your Caleb.

He stood before you, his uniform pristine, his expression unreadable and devoid of any emotions. But his eyes—those same eyes you had fallen in love with—burned with something dangerous. Something obsessive.

Your heart pounded. “Caleb…”

His gaze softened as he stepped forward, reaching for you. “Fate can be cruel. In this world, you live. You and our baby.” His lips curled into something akin to relief, but there was a dark edge to it. 

“I won’t lose you again.”

From that moment, he made it his mission to take you back.

He used his power, his influence, his fleet to ensure you and the baby were safe, protected, provided for. But it wasn’t just protection—it was control. Every move you made, every decision, he was there. 

Watching. 

Waiting.

Unfortunately for you, he couldn’t differentiate from protecting you and taking away your freedom.

“I can give you everything,” he murmured one night, standing in the doorway of your quarters. “A life without struggle. Without fear. All you have to do is let me in.”

You swallowed hard. “Caleb, this isn’t right.”

His jaw tightened. “In my universe, I failed. I let you die. Do you know what that did to me?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. “I spent every second of my life without you in agony. Don’t you understand, pips? I can’t lose you again. ”

You looked down at your daughter, sleeping peacefully in your arms. “But I’m not her. And she’s not…”

“She is my daughter. Our little princess, remember?” Caleb’s voice was firm, unwavering. “And you are my wife.”

Tears burned your eyes. “My Caleb is dead.”

His hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that slipped down your face. “We promised to love each other in every universe. The Caleb you knew is still me, and so will the others in every universe. One thing that will never change is the love we have for you.”

You didn’t know how long you could resist him.

He was everywhere. Every time your daughter reached for him, calling him “Dada,” something inside you cracked. Every time he looked at you with that desperate longing.

You felt your resolve wavering.

welp, i tried.

if someone wants to remake this, feel free to do so, just tag me

[amoristt]

euclid

「 ✦kang dae-ho/reader ✦ 」 ・❥・he chokes you for the first time tags: smut MDNI // afab! reader, choking, pwp oneshot, unprotected, rough kinda?? for daeho's standards im sure

a/n: tiny little thang i had to to write bc i couldnt get this out of my head and its eating me alive !!!!!! word count: 1.2k

・❥・ you’re alive- perfect underneath him. a squirming, moaning, mess of a thing dragging your nails down the flexing muscles of his back and pressing your thighs to either side of his hips. warm and soft, every last part of you, down to your very DNA. built for him and the curve of his cock, eager to take it when he’s sliding against your gummy walls and finding the very essence of you against the tips of his fingers. he’s mapping out the shape of you, he’s finding every curve and every valley, remembering outline and the heave in your chest. nothing goes to waste. nothing goes unexplored, all appreciated, all a prayer from within the temple. 

Dae-ho is burning alive. every sound you make is fodder for the incineration he’s scorching in. the bed is creaking with the intensity how he takes you, the wooden frame knocking off the wall in thumps until he has to shush it- reaches up and grasping the frame until every knock is bouncing off his white knuckles. his other hand runs paths over your breast, your collarbone. grazes just below your jaw, and you’re already tilting your head back to bare it. 

the moment his grasp rests on your throat, you’re watching him through the thick fog in your eyes, equal parts lust and anticipation. pulse as quick as a rabbits- beat, beat, beating from underneath his broad hand. vibrating notes of fervor rumbling from your throat into your lips, into his waiting ears with every snap of his hips into yours. 

the clutch of your jugular in his hold does not come naturally to him. he lingers until you place your hand over his, puffy lower lip caught between your teeth in a hunger so true it flashes it’s great maws and swallows his whole right then, right there. he digs his fingers into that endless drum of blood pumping flush through your body and then he sees it- the shift in you. excitement into gratification, eyes losing their focus. he loves when he can see himself within the mirrors of your pupils, but he can’t deny how he’s transfixed to watch you lose yourself. feeling, seeing, experiencing nothing except elated bliss. your legs wrap around his waist, heels driving into his lower back. 

you want this. by the look of you, you need this. evident when you clutch the top of his hand with your own and look up from heavy lashes and urge him to press harder, to squeeze tighter. he ruts into you and hit’s something good, something that makes you arch your back and toss your head into the pillow with a wailing cry on your lips. 

“please,” you manage, struggling to get anything out except wanton moans with the way he drives himself within you. your fingers twisting into the bedsheets, your legs shaking around him, there’s something like tension growing within his gut.

he hears the exact moment your breath cuts short around his grip. rough inhales bottlenecked into wheezes, chirpy mewls snuffed out into rasping gasps for air. you don’t leave the spotlight of his eyes, you never do, but more so now than ever. watches the way your eyes slip shut, feels the way your toes curl, shivers when he takes your smile. smiling, and constricting around his cock so much so that he feels like his own breath is trapping within the confines of his lungs. his knuckles have gone numb between the bedframe and the plaster wall, forgotten by the raging sea of your sex, all things loud and urgent, smearing over his thighs with every clap of his skin meeting yours. 

you’re gripping his biceps and his forearms and anywhere else you can get purchase on, nails digging into his skin in the most delightful of ways. he lets up his grip, listens to you suck in wet, rapid breaths before he traps it in your throat all over again. keens, cries, all rewards you sing for him strangled out. a rush of something infects his body and runs it’s course into the burrow of his brain- this sense of power that’s making him lose himself in your heat. the ability to choose when you breathe, when you don’t, watching you split apart at the seams until you’re nothing but red faced and drooling under his grasp. tightening around his shaft like a vice, begging to keep him there forever. he doesn’t realize you’re cumming until your walls are fluttering around him in waves of euphoria. he can damn near see the stars behind your eyes.

that tension in his belly is growing into something he can’t hold back, pleasure so palpable it could be touched, dragging all the composure out of his body. you’re still gripping him so fucking tight it’s making it hard to breathe, in the throes of your orgasm, unknowingly dragging him to the very edge of that precipice himself. he’s driving you up the bed, pressing you into the mattress with the weight of his body. 

he slams into you once, twice, three times, and then the festering tension within him breaks into this overwhelming wash of intoxicating bliss. finds the very depths of you and the thrill of your walls sucking him in when he can’t help but let go. it’s not his intention to bury himself sound against your cervix when he cums, but he does anyways, in thick spurts of pearly white that's filling you to the brim. his hand leaves your throat in favor of bracing himself on the pillow beside your head, and you suck in ragged breaths. he’d think you were pain if not for the dazed, lopsided grin on your face, spent and fucked.

properly satisfied.

it takes all the power in dae-ho’s body to not crush you when he collapses over your form. he’s leaning on his elbows, your legs still loose around his waist, panting in your neck. pulling out is his least favorite part of sex with you. it’s lonely outside of your body, too uncomfortably cold to bear at times. you don’t speak at first, nails idly dragging up and down his spine under goosebumps form in their wakes. 

“was that,” he has to collect himself, searching for the words. “...was that good?”

“that was amazing, yeah.” you giggle at the waver in his tone and place a chaste kiss to his shoulder. your voice is honey sweet in his ears.

“i didnt hurt you?”

“stop worrying about that. you wont hurt me.”

“i always worry.” 

“i know.”

your fingers are dancing through his hair, melts all else away except for you. his lips find your neck, placing kisses to the sore skin, as if apologizing to the very marks themselves before he rolls to his side. 

Not a second goes by wasted before he’s wrapping his arms around your form, yearning for that warmth to be all over him once more. he pulls your back against his broad chest and buries his face in your hair, and you, you mold into him seamlessly, two conjoined souls, lost on where one ends and the other begins.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us

Summary: Y/N's intern year comes to an abrupt end when she enters a school during an active shooter lockdown. Understanding what happened to her, maneuvering this new reality is impossible - but she might have someone willing to guide her through it all.

Warnings: death, descriptions of a dead body, injuries and blood, SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing

Word count: 2.3k

Lips trembling, her eyes opened slowly. Clutching her chest with shaky hands, Y/N struggles to sit up, gasping for air. Every breath she draws is held, unable to exhale from the shock. Her fingers press against her shirt, feeling…nothing. No torn fabric, no sticky warmth of blood…No searing pain she felt before the fall. Her heart is hammering, yet there’s no ache, no wound. But she remembers it…The explosion of agony, the sharp, suffocating burn of a bullet ripping through flesh – the way the world blurred as she fell. Blinking away tears, she scrambles to her feet. The tremor in her limbs betrays her, knees buckling beneath her. She grits her teeth, steadying herself. If she stays out in the open, she won’t be as lucky next time. The shooter will not miss twice.

A strangled breath escapes her as she slaps a hand over her mouth. Her pulse pounds in her ears as she takes off down the hall, her footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The world around her is wrong—too quiet, too still, as if holding its breath with her.

She dives into an empty classroom, shoving desks against the door with what little strength she has left. But it’s not enough. The flimsy wood and metal legs scrape loudly, barely a deterrent. It won’t hold. If someone wants in, they’ll get in.

Her hands dig into her hair as she paces, eyes darting around. This isn’t what they trained her for – med school never said what to do when you’re the one being shot at! She was supposed to save lives, not run for her own. They never should have let an intern go inside in the first place! She knew it wasn’t safe, that they couldn’t guarantee she’d walk out alive. They didn’t even know if there was anyone hurt!

There has to be a way to get out of the school. Her breath shudders as she pats her pockets. Phone. Phone. Her fingers find nothing but fabric. “Shit.” It must have slipped out when she fell. She didn’t even grab her supply bag.

“Fuck”, she grumbles under her breath. Running a hand through her hair, she looks out the window. The stadium isn’t far. If she could get down safely, she could make a run for it. Staying put is a terrible idea, especially when the classroom isn’t barricaded properly.

Her heart pounds as she pushes the window open. Cold air rushes in, biting against her flushed skin. Her eyes land on the flagpole just outside. Her mother would kill her if she knew.

"MY daughter on a pole? I’d disown you!"

A shaky chuckle escapes her lips, raw and humorless. “Not sure you’d appreciate the irony, Mom.”

A single tear slips down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away.

Taking deep breaths, she grips the pole with both hands, her knuckles whitening. The wind howls around her as she steps onto the windowsill, her stomach lurching.

“Don’t look down!”

Frowning, her eyes lock onto a figure - a guy bellow, standing a few feet away from her landing spot, beckoning her to hurry.

“You can do this!” he calls out

Nodding nervously, she holds her breath as her descent begins.

“You’re doing great!” The man continues cheering, but she can’t bring herself to say a single word in response. Besides, if he keeps being so loud, the shooter might hear them.

The world blurs around her as she slides, her breath hitching with every inch downward. The pole burns against her palms, but she doesn’t let go—not until her feet hit solid ground.

She barely has time to process the relief before she feels him beside her.

 “We can’t stay here”, she states quietly. “The stadium isn’t far. We can make it if we run.”

His eyes widen, looking behind in confusion. Locking his eyes with hers once again, his lips part. Pointing a finger to his chest, he raises his eyebrows.

“We can’t waste time,” Y/N doesn’t wait for him to argue. She grabs his elbow, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket, and pulls him forward.

They run.

The stadium is like a beacon, a promise of safety. She can’t know for sure, but something tells her it’s a lot safer than the school. From there she can find a way to contact police, inform them of the shooter’s last location, and get extracted. And get the guy extracted too.

The guy, whoever he is, runs beside her, his pace matching hers. She barely had time to see his face, too desperate to escape and save him, as well as herself. All she remembers is the blue varsity jacket, realizing he’s likely a jock at the school. Ugh, she hated jocks when she was in high school.

He didn’t say a word when she grabbed him, nor now as he caught her by the wrist when she nearly lost her grip, steadying her as they continued running.

“Faster”, she mutters, voice rough, urgent.

Her lungs burn, legs scream, but she doesn’t stop. The stadium is right there, just a little farther.

Then she hears a voice – no, voices – shouting from ahead. The guy pushes her hard, yanking her into the shadows of the bleachers. They crouch low, listening.

“Are we sure?” A man’s voice, gruff, serious.

“We found her body.”

“FUCK!”

Frowning, she moves closer to the men speaking, realizing they’re policemen. Letting out a sigh of relief, she smiles at the jock beside her.

“Thank God!” She turns to the guy beside her, a smile breaking through the fear.  “C’mon!”

She grabs his sleeve, pulling him onto the field.

“Hey, officers!” she calls, brushing her scrubs nervously as she approaches the policemen. “I…I just got out of there. The shooter was on the 2nd floor! I had a really close call”, she lets out a breathy, nervous laugh.

Nothing.

Not even a single head turns.

Her brows knit together. She waves a hand, stepping closer. “Hello?”

Silence.

Her forehead creases as she reaches out, fingertips grazing the shoulder of the nearest officer.

And meeting nothing. Just air.

Y/N blinks, her hand hovering where the officer’s shoulder should be. But it’s like he isn’t there…like she isn’t.

No.

No, no, no.

Her breath catches in her throat. Slowly, she tries again, pressing her palm forward. It slips right through the thick fabric of his uniform, through solid muscle, through him. A cold shiver crawls up her spine.

“No”, she mutters. Her knees nearly buckle.

“They’ve already done the necessary forensics,” one officer mutters. “Her body will be brought through here, away from the press. It’s going to be a media shit show.”

Y/N staggers back. The words claw at her mind, but they don’t make sense. She’s here. She’s standing. She’s breathing…

Isn’t she?

Her heart slams against her ribs, but there’s no answering thud in her ears. No pulse pounding in her wrists. She whirls toward the guy beside her, this stranger who’s been with her since the flagpole, since the escape. He’s watching her, quiet, unreadable.

“What’s happening?” Her voice shakes. “Why can’t they see me?”

His expression softens.

“Because,” he says gently, “we’re already dead.”

Her body tenses, the weight of his words sinking in like lead.

“That’s impossible,” she grimaces. “I’m being pranked!” she decides. “This is some sort of intern hazing that you’re all taking too far!” Cackling, she tries to touch the officer again only to meet air instead of flesh.

Swallowing thickly, she presses her lips in a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” the guy sighs. “I didn’t realize it until you spoke to me after climbing down.”

Rubbing her forehead, she turns to look at him – properly look at him, for the first time. There’s no denying he’s handsome – the kind of handsome that sneaks up on you, not in the obvious ‘in your face’ way Henry Cavil is, but in a way that lingers… and holds your breath hostage.

His hair is a little messy, framing a face that looks like it belongs in an old school yearbook – classic, effortlessly cool. With a sharp jawline and a kind smile on his lips, his features are boyish in a way that makes her stomach ache.

The letterman jacket clings to his broad shoulders, the fabric worn in the best way, like it’s seen years of games, of wins, of effortless charm. He’s got that all-American, football-star thing going on, but somehow, it doesn’t feel cocky. It just feels him.

And right now, he’s looking at her. Smiling at her.

“How…how are you so sure?” she clears her throat, “I mean, I felt your touch! I felt –“

“Because I died,” he takes a step closer. “I died at the homecoming game in my senior year…it was the fall of 1983. I celebrated my 18th birthday just a week before.”

Closing her eyes, she licks her lips. “I’m dreaming. Or I hit my head hard when I fell and now I’m hallucinating a hot jock who supposedly died before I was even born!” Laughing maniacally, she nods erratically. “Yeah! That’s what happened!”

“Except, it’s not.” Taking a step closer, he gives her a sympathetic look. “I’m Wally. You’re kinda standing where I died.”

Jumping from the spot, she narrows her eyes at him. “And what? Huh? You’re just haunting the school because you can’t get over your glory days?” Shaking her head, she looks up at the grey skies. “I could have at least imagined something more believable. No excuse for slacking in my sleep!”

“It’s hard to accept, but it’s the truth.” Wally steps beside her, pointing to a few more officers coming closer, wheeling a gurney. There’s a body bag, one even Y/N can ignore.

“That’s….that’s supposed to be a body?”

Wally nods.

“My body?”

His fingers graze her wrist and she pulls away immediately. Rushing to the huddle of officers, she walks through them.

The zipper slides down with a slow, mechanical rasp, and Y/N swears the world tilts beneath her feet.

She stares.

That’s her face. Her body.

Her eyes are closed, lashes resting peacefully against pale skin, but there’s nothing peaceful about this. Her scrubs—light blue, still wrinkled from her morning shift—are soaked through with blood. The fabric clings to her chest in a grotesque, darkened bloom, right over her heart.

“Close-range shot,” one of the officers mutters, pulling back the bag further. “Went straight through. No exit wound.”

“Christ,” another says. “Poor girl. Didn’t stand a chance.”

Y/N’s breath stutters, but she doesn’t feel it. Her hands curl into fists as something hot and electric builds in her chest.

“No,” she whispers, stepping closer. “No, this isn’t—this can’t be right.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, the urge to shake them, to scream in their faces overwhelming. But what would it matter? They can’t hear her. Can’t see her.

A laugh, bitter, sharp, bubbles out of her throat. “I’m right here!” she shouts, throwing her hands up. “I just ran across the damn field! I—” Her voice cracks, rage colliding with something raw and suffocating. “I can’t be dead!”

A hand brushes her shoulder. Solid. Gentle.

She turns, eyes burning, and finds Wally watching her, his face filled with understanding. Like he’s seen this before. Like he knows.

“It’s messed up,” he murmurs, his voice steady in a way that almost anchors her. Almost. “But you have to breathe.”

She lets out a shaky, breathless laugh. “I don’t think I can anymore.”

Wally gives a small, sad smile. “Yeah,” he says. “I remember that part.”

She looks at him, at his letterman jacket, his stupidly kind face…this boy who’s been dead for decades—and for the first time, the weight of it all crashes into her.

She really, truly is dead.

“I barely even lived,” she shakes her head lightly. “I’ve spent my life trying to become a doctor. My twenties slipped through hospital shifts.” Holding back tears, she looks at Wally. “I’m twenty-six and I’ve never been in love.” Her voice cracks. “No one’s ever loved me.”

Slowly, he reaches for her hand. His touch is light, careful, letting her decide, waiting patiently as she erases the distance between them. A choked sob escapes her as she buries her face in his chest. For a moment, he’s still. Then he lets out a heavy sigh before wrapping his arms around her small form tightly.

“It’s okay to fall apart,” he murmurs. But he won’t let her lose the pieces that fall now…She’s going to put them back together in time…and he will help her. When she needs a shoulder to cry on, he’ll anchor her, and when she needs strength to keep going, he’ll let her borrow his own.

She grips the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping her tethered.

“You’re not alone,” he whispers in her hair. “I may not have all the answers, but I’m pretty fluent in showing up for people.”

She presses her face deeper into his shoulder, breathing him in. Her arms snake around him too, reciprocating the tightness of his hold on her. He knows he can’t always fix people, but he can sit with them in the dark…and sometimes that’s enough. Even when his hands shake, they still hold steady when someone needs them, and if Wally learned anything from his time with Maddie it’s how the weight of their goodbye made him cherish every hello.

And this hello might be the only certainty in a world full of lonely uncertainties.

PART 2

[wvyik]

a recipe for chaos. d.w. ⊱۫ ׅ ✧

dean winchester x gn! reader

ᰔ summary: dean and you are baking, but he spills flour everywhere. amid the mess, you tease him and share some sweet, flour-covered kisses. he promises to clean up, but not without stealing a few more kisses first.

⤿ warnings: pure fluff, the amount of flour in this fic could trigger a dust storm, pre-established relationship, passionate kisses, contains one lovable idiot who thinks he’s good at baking. (he’s not)

⤿ notes: i’m not saying dean can’t cook… but he might need a lesson or two on how not to create a flour storm in the kitchen. if you’re allergic to cuteness (or flour), proceed with caution.

Dean stood across from you, rolling up his sleeves with the kind of cocky confidence that would have been charming if it wasn’t so misplaced. He smirked, flexing his fingers like a man about to perform some life-saving surgery, rather than, you know, bake cookies. “Alright, sweetheart,” he announced, already taking charge. “What are we making?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed. “You don’t even know?” You plopped a mixing bowl in front of him, watching the way he grinned like this was some kind of challenge he had already won.

“Does it matter?” he shot back, leaning in slightly. “I can make anything taste good.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Last time you made pie, you burned the crust.”

Dean waved a hand dismissively. “That was one time.”

“And your pancakes are always slightly raw in the middle,” you added.

His mouth fell open in mock offense. “Okay, now you’re just attacking me,” he argued, holding his hands up like he was under interrogation. Then, after a beat, he exhaled and threw you a lopsided smile. “Just give me a job before I lose my dignity here.”

You sighed, grabbing the bag of flour and shoving it into his hands. “Fine. Carefully pour two cups into the bowl.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, pressing a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “Carefully?” He scoffed. “You don’t trust me?”

You gave him a long, steady look. No words. Just pure, unfiltered doubt.

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. “Whatever, I got this.”

Famous last words.

Dean grabbed the bag, tilted it just slightly; and then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect comedic moment, disaster struck.

POOF.

A thick, white explosion of flour erupted into the air, filling the kitchen in a dense, powdery cloud. It coated the countertops, the floor, the freshly cleaned sink. It clung to your clothes, your hair; your entire existence, really. But most of all, it swallowed Dean whole.

For a second, everything went still. The silence was so profound that you could hear the distant hum of the bunker’s lights overhead. Dean, now resembling something between a ghost and an abandoned powdered donut, stood frozen in place. Flour dusted his flannel, his jeans, his face. Even his lashes, blinking rapidly in confusion, were covered in a fine white layer.

You just stared at him. He blinked.

And then, you lost it.

A strangled sound escaped you, half gasp, half giggle. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying to contain it, but the sight of Dean standing there, utterly wrecked by his own stupidity, was too much. Your shoulders shook as laughter bubbled out, overwhelming you completely.

Dean exhaled sharply, sending another puff of flour flying from his lips. “I swear to God—”

That did it. You doubled over, clutching your stomach as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. “Oh my God, Dean—”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he grumbled, running a hand down his face, only to smear the flour even further. White streaks now marred his cheekbones, his jawline, the bridge of his nose. It was a mess. He was a mess.

And it only made you laugh harder.

“You look—” you wheezed, struggling for breath, “you look like a powdered donut.”

Dean groaned, shaking out his flannel in frustration. A fresh wave of flour burst into the air, making the entire situation even worse.

You couldn’t breathe.

His eyes narrowed, lips twitching like he was holding back a smirk. “Oh, you think this is funny?”

“Very,” you choked out.

Dean’s smirk turned dangerous. Before you could react, he lunged forward, swiping a flour-covered hand across your cheek.

Your laughter stopped immediately.

“Dean!” you gasped, reaching up to touch your now flour-dusted face. “Oh, it is on.”

With no hesitation, you grabbed a handful of flour from the bag, aiming for his stupidly smug face. But before you could land the hit, Dean was faster — gripping your waist and yanking you into him.

A breath caught in your throat. Your hands collided with his chest, fingers curling instinctively into his flour-covered flannel. He was warm, solid beneath the mess you had created together. The laughter still clung to the air around you, but something else settled between you now. Something softer.

His arms stayed wrapped around you, steady and unrelenting, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your sides. “You were saying?” he murmured, voice dropping just enough to send warmth curling in your stomach.

You huffed, tilting your head up at him. His face was still a disaster — flour smudged along his jaw, clinging to the ends of his hair, but somehow, even like this, he was ridiculously, unfairly handsome.

“I was saying,” you murmured, reaching up to brush some flour from his cheek, “that you look ridiculous.”

Dean smirked. “And you look cute covered in flour.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you, beating a little too fast, a little too hard.

Dean leaned in slowly, his nose brushing yours, his breath warm against your lips. His voice was low, teasing. “What if I kiss you right now?”

Your lips parted slightly, heartbeat thundering. “What if you do?”

Dean hummed, his grin widening just slightly. “I’d get flour all over you.”

“You already did.”

He laughed softly, something sweet and knowing behind his gaze. “Guess I better finish the job, then.”

Then he kissed you.

Soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world. Like this—you—was something to be savored. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, tasting faintly of sugar and something unmistakably Dean. His hands tightened at your waist, grounding you, pulling you into him like he had no plans to let go.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning, Dean rested his forehead against yours. His lips quirked into that easy, lopsided smirk. “Sweetest damn mess I’ve ever made,” he murmured.

You laughed softly, fingers still curled into his flannel. “Yeah? Well, you’re cleaning it up.”

Dean groaned, dropping his head dramatically onto your shoulder. “Not a chance.”

You smirked, grabbing the mixing spoon. “Then no cookies for you.”

Dean pulled back immediately, eyes wide with betrayal. “Okay, okay! Jeez, way to attack a man’s weakness.”

You giggled, turning back to the mess of ingredients. “Yeah? Better get back to work, Winchester.”

Dean grumbled dramatically, dragging his feet toward the counter, but not before sneaking one last flour-covered kiss against your temple.

And, of course, he still managed to get flour everywhere.

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[luvtak]

Venus Felix, lfx x reader

being in love is scary, and felix had never been so afraid to say the words…

in other words, felix is in love!! and he’s too afraid to say it!!

genre/tw fluffagedeon, debilitating levels of comfort and adoration from both felix and reader, casual nakedness, showering together in a sweet way!, angel, honey, way too many references to greek myths, your honor they’re in love!!

wc 1221

Felix wished he could tell you, he wished desperately that he could reach out and hold you against him. He would tell you he loved you, that he thought of you when he said his prayers; Every night, asking God to keep you healthy before he said amen.

You don’t need it, he knows. You’re full of life, of love, of spirit… Sometimes, when the sun hits you just right, he even mistakes you for an angel—so heavenly, you must’ve been a gift.

He loves you, like any rotten thing loves the good. He’d forsake his beliefs if you told him to, he’d worship you like Kytheria in the Temple of Aphrodite; His mouth would beg for mercy while his eyes asked you for more, he would love you until the death rattle claimed him.

But he can’t tell you, can’t bear for you to see him so vulnerable. It’s only been a month. A month of bliss, of kisses and conversation, a month so serene he can’t think of ever letting go… But a month is too soon to tell a precious thing you love it.

You scare easily, he knows. Too often he finds himself frightening you, your frame jumping in the air and your eyes becoming saucers. The first time he kissed you, you shivered like a wounded animal: gasping into his mouth like you were giving him your soul.

In a way you were, breathing life out of his lungs just to give it back. In and out, oxygen into carbon. He remembers how you settled your hands on his belly, feeling it inflate… kiss… deflate… kiss. So sweet you are, as beautiful as any deity, and twice as charming.

Maybe he’ll tell you next month, cause surely he’ll love you more then. Maybe the flowers will be beginning to bloom and the sun will stay awake to see you return home to him. He’ll tell you he loves you when the moon begins to rise and settle kisses over your sleepy eyes.

You’ll love him then, you’ll love him and worship, him the same.

Although this thought doesn’t comfort his shaky stomach. The hot water pounding down around him doesn’t stop the rambling thoughts, he misses you… he loves you.

In a way, he feels inconsolable, like anything he does will just make the feeling worse instead of taking it away. He needs you in an embarrassing way, yearns for your hands to knead the stress out of his shoulders, for your smile to ease the knot in his throat.

If there was a shooting star he’d ask for you, you with your silly jokes and your loving hands. And like God himself, or the universe, or karma giving back, there you are—Lovely in your work clothes, pretty hands tapping on the bathroom door to say hello.

It only takes him a minute to tug you in, wrapping wet arms around your clothed body and pulling under the shower head. Closer than he needs to be, still not close enough.

“Felix! I’m still in my clothes!” You scream, but you’re laughing.

“Don’t worry about it, Angel, I’ll buy you new ones.” he says, still clutching you to his chest, his head sitting on your shoulder… lips swiping across your collar bones.

“Are you okay, Lix?”

“Better now that you’re here.” You can tell he means it, you can feel his hands shaking and where his lips quiver as they graze across your skin. “I missed you so much and everything was terrible…”

Oh your sweet boy, so darling, so bright.

“Felix, I missed you too.” you say, but the words are hard to utter—Confessions always feel like treachery. “Why don’t you tell me about it while I get out of these wet clothes?”

He tells you Chris was mean while he helps you out of your shirt, that Hyunjin was sad which made him sad while he laughs at your waddling legs struggling to break free from slacks. The laughs falter when you get to your underwear, but still he tells you how he didn’t eat enough, how everything went wrong.

Finally, when it’s just you and him, skin to skin, he tells you he misses you again. He tells you it it was a curse to be away from you for too long, but still, he doesn’t tell you the truth.

The real confession waits on his tongue, swiping along your mouth as he finally kisses you hello.

“I’m sorry it was horrible, honey, I wish I could always be with you…” you tell him, fingers combing through his freshly dyed hair.

“But you are…”

Oh Felix, my lovely, cosmic Felix… You think, feeling the sweeping joy settle in your belly. You love him, this miraculous boy who came into your life like a starfall; granting every wish you ever asked. He’s like a shooting star, a dandelion waving through a medley of flowers, a candle to blow out. You love him, in all the scary ways that come with that. “Don't be so shy, angel, I mean it… Can’t you feel it?”

With one hand he brings your digits to his throat, settling over his wild heartbeat, he tangles his other in your hair. You can’t even worry about how much wet hair you’ll lose, knotted over his slight fingers, connecting you to him in another way. Even obscured by the water, he is so beautiful… Looking down at you in reverence rather than conceit.

“I feel it, Lix. I feel it too.” Man he adores you, prayed for you, loved you into creation. It's so scary to love someone like this, like you’ll fall apart without them in your sight.

Felix has never been a coward, has never been too afraid to jump, to dream… but you are so godly, like a thunderbolt handed into his unworthy hand, and a mere mortal like him should always be too afraid to hold it.

He tells himself to find the courage, tell them you love them… he urges himself, gazing into your wide, beautiful eyes, and praying you’ll love him too.

With his eyes screwed shut, he finally tells you—

“I love you,” he says, “I loved you when I first saw you. I loved you last Monday when you snapped at me, I loved you yesterday and I couldn’t tell you. I love you so much, it hurts me.”

You’re quiet for a long time, holding onto his body like a lifeline, breathing in and out, oxygen into carbon. He’s everything, you think, everything good and everything bad—Pandora's box settled into your hands. He’s life.

“I love you too, more than I can say.” Your voice is quiet, muffled against his chest, but he feels your lips make the words. He can feel the I love you wrap around his aching heart, feel the tension in his muscles dissipating after every syllable. “I love you, Felix.” you say again.

You love him, you prayed for him… worshipped him like a statue in some temple.

He loves you, achingly so.

“Thank you for telling me.” He says, catching your laugh in his mouth, showing you he loves you. I wished for you, his kiss says, I wished you into life.

“I wished for you too.” You tell him, and his smile is the sun.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Feat their son, Jack. She had some sort of trouble breathing but didn't want to alarm Toto or anyone else. Because they're busy preparing for the races. Even other drivers & WAGs ask her if she's alright. Ask me if you want more insight. Thanks!! :)) With prompts :

1)"My chest really... hurts..."

2)"I can't really breathe -"

3)"Don't you dare pass out on me."

4)"Careful you don't fall - gotcha!"

You can choose how many you want to use.

You can choose how many you want to use

Ps : from p✌🏻

“Breathless”

i will always write p’s requests first! hope you like it p

The sun had barely risen over the Silverstone circuit, casting a golden glow across the track as cars roared to life in the distance. It was race day, the culmination of months of tireless effort, strategies, and sacrifices. Every member of the Mercedes team, from the engineers to the drivers to the WAGs, was on edge. But it was a different kind of nervousness for you, the wife of Toto Wolff.

Toto was deep in his preparations, leading the team as always, focused and composed. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders as the team’s success and his drivers’ performance depended on the decisions made in those crucial final moments before the race. But you… you were struggling, and he had no idea.

As the day progressed, the increasing pressure of the crowd and the weight of the upcoming race only made it harder for you to breathe. It started off small—just a bit of tightness in your chest—but over time it became harder to ignore. The subtle discomfort bloomed into something much worse, sharp pangs slicing through your ribcage, leaving you gasping for air. You found it harder to breathe, each inhale feeling like you were suffocating, but you refused to let it show. You couldn’t. Not now. Not when Toto had so much to focus on. He couldn’t know.

You sat quietly in the hospitality area, surrounded by the other wives and girlfriends of the drivers, but you barely heard their chatter over the pounding in your ears. You could feel their concerned glances on you, but you forced a smile, clutching your chest and taking slow, shallow breaths, praying it would pass. The last thing you wanted was to be a distraction.

As you sipped your water, Jack, your young son, came over to you, his little face full of concern.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Jack asked, his innocent voice bringing warmth to your heart, even though your chest burned with every passing second.

You forced a smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “I’m fine, sweetheart. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

Jack seemed to buy it, but the others weren’t so easily fooled.

One of the other drivers’ wives, Sophie, leaned in, her face etched with worry. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked gently. “You don’t look well.”

You nodded quickly, trying to mask the pain behind a veil of reassurance. “I’m fine, just… just a bit lightheaded. Nothing to worry about.”

But Sophie didn’t seem convinced. She glanced at you, and you could tell she wanted to say more, but she was interrupted by the loud rumble of an engine firing up on the track.

The tightness in your chest worsened, and you pressed a hand to your ribs, trying to steady your breathing. But it felt impossible. You were suffocating, and the air just wasn’t enough.

You stood up abruptly, trying to mask your discomfort by pretending to stretch. But it only made things worse. Your vision blurred, the edges of the world fading as you tried to push through it. Your breaths became shallow, faster, more frantic. A cold sweat broke out on your forehead, and you stumbled forward, nearly collapsing into the arms of another WAG, who immediately caught you.

“Okay, that’s it,” Sophie said, her voice now filled with urgency. “You’re not fine. Let me get help.”

You shook your head weakly, panic rising in your chest, but you couldn’t argue anymore. Everything was spiraling out of control.

Meanwhile, Toto was deep in a team meeting, his mind on the race, on the strategy, on the stakes ahead. He was so close to achieving his dream for the season, but in the back of his mind, he always made sure to check in on you. Even now, he felt a strange unease tug at him, but he brushed it off. The day was too important.

But then, the call came.

“Toto, it’s your wife. You need to come now,” Sophie said, her voice thick with panic.

His heart stopped, a sinking feeling dropping to the pit of his stomach. He bolted from the room, his legs carrying him faster than he ever thought possible. He had no idea what was happening, but the tone in Sophie’s voice was enough to make his blood run cold.

When he arrived at the hospitality suite, the sight of you, pale and struggling for air, made his chest tighten in an instant. You were leaning against a table, breathing erratically, your hand clutching at your ribs as though you were trying to hold yourself together.

“Toto,” you whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I’m sorry… I didn’t want to worry you…”

Toto’s face went ashen, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t you dare pass out on me,” he growled, kneeling beside you, gripping your shoulders with a desperation you’d never seen from him before. “Please… just breathe, breathe with me.”

You gasped for air, but it was no use. Your chest constricted even more, the pain unbearable. A cold sweat drenched your skin, and you felt like you were slipping away. You couldn’t breathe.

Toto’s voice broke through the fog of panic, his hands shaking as he pressed you against his chest. “Stay with me, love. Stay with me. I can’t lose you.”

The next few moments were a blur. Paramedics rushed in, lifting you onto a stretcher and into the ambulance, Toto never leaving your side. He was frantic now, a man out of control, his mind racing with fear as he clutched your hand, whispering reassurances he didn’t believe himself. He was terrified.

In the ambulance, the oxygen mask was placed over your face, but the damage had been done. Your heart, strained under the pressure, had given out. You had suffered a heart attack—an event that felt so sudden, so unexpected. The pain, the tightness, the feeling of being trapped in your own body—it all made sense now. But the fear in Toto’s eyes, the way he cried quietly while holding your hand, that was something you couldn’t have prepared for.

“I need you, please,” Toto muttered, his voice raw with emotion. “I can’t do this without you.”

You fought for consciousness, focusing on the steady rise and fall of the oxygen as it filled your lungs. Slowly, the tightness eased, and you managed to open your eyes. The first thing you saw was Toto, his face streaked with tears, his expression torn apart with anguish. And then you saw Jack, standing beside him, his little hands clutching his father’s pant leg, looking up at you with eyes wide in fear.

You squeezed Toto’s hand weakly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay… I’m here.”

Toto’s entire body shuddered as he breathed in, the relief on his face immediate, but his hands remained tight around yours. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, tears welling up in your own eyes now. “I didn’t want you to worry. I just… I didn’t want to be a distraction. Not today.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice low and full of emotion. “You are my world, you are my priority. Everything else can wait. Don’t you ever try to protect me from your pain again. I can’t lose you.”

Toto’s words, raw and vulnerable, tore through you. You had been so determined to stay strong for him, for Jack, for the team. But now, in this moment, you realized that the only thing that mattered was the people you loved.

And you were going to fight for them.

Fight for your life. Because Toto Wolff couldn’t lose his family.

And neither could you.

@pear-1206

[eelliotss]

— the way you look at me

‼️sylus x reader, angst!

“A lifetime spent chasing her, only to see in her eyes the very fear she once promised he’d never deserve”

word count = 0.5k

was playing with the photo-booth and got this picture which created a whole angsty story in my head 😔

“Kitten—“

“Don’t come closer!” you scream, hands trembling. “Don’t call me that.”

You stand before him, bathed in an eerie glow, your silhouette delicate and untouchable, like a dream slipping through his fingers. He had imagined this moment for lifetimes, chased it through endless nights, hoping, praying that the universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

But his worst fear is flashing before his eyes.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric over your chest, your body shrinking back, as if you could fold yourself small enough to disappear. You stare at him the way the others always had. The way you never had.

“Yn..” His voice barely makes it past his lips, raw and desperate, unguarded in a way he hasn’t been in centuries.

You flinch.

His chest tightens.

The memories flood in all at once—of your laughter, of the warmth of your hands, of the way you never recoiled from him, even when the rest of the world did. You had been his light, his home, the one place he was never feared.

And now, you look at him as if he’s something to run from.

“You’re—“ you breathe, holding yourself. “You’re a monster.” Your voice is small, hesitant.

Sylus stops mid-step. His outstretched hand trembles.

He looks down to his hands.

Blood.

Blood is everywhere, dripping from his fingers, drenching his clothes, filling his vision. Its raw stench fills his nostrils, clouding his mind.

His gaze returns to yours—widened, filled with fear. He could see the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your pupils dilated, filled with nothing but pure horror.

Through the dim light of the hour, he could see his reflection in your eyes clearly.

A reflection he has seen millions of times before, one he had believed was really him until you destroyed that image.

One he had never imagined he would see in your eyes.

A monster.

A knife to the gut would have hurt less. Drowning in memories of you would have hurt less. Living an eternity without you would have hurt less.

His breath shudders out, his fingers curling into fists. His mind screams at him to fix this, to say something, to make you see.

But you already have. And in this life, you see him as a monster.

You take a step back.

And he has no choice but to let his hand fall to his side.

“Sylus?”

His eyes snap open.

Sweat clings to his skin, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling in frantic gasps. The pounding in his ears drowns out everything else, a relentless rhythm of panic. His hands—quivering, unsteady—clench at the sheets as he gasps for air, lungs burning.

A hand grasps his.

Soft. Familiar. Real.

He turns, heart still hammering, and finds you beside him, rubbing sleep off your eyes. Peaceful. Here. His.

“It’s a nightmare, Sylus, just a nightmare,” you mumble.

For a moment, he just stares, struggling to reconcile the nightmare with the reality before him. His mind screams that the pain was real, that you had looked at him with fear in your eyes, that you had forgotten him.

But your steady breathing, the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, your soft voice attempting to calm him down—this is real.

And so, with a shuddering breath, he lets out a sigh.

He pulls you closer as he presses his face against the hollow of your neck, curling into you. He breathes in your scent, relief washing over him.

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” he whispers.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥: Fresh start

Word count: 4507

Summary: After freshening up, Y/N is warmly welcomed by her pack and her new scent, especially Felix and Han, but the mood shifts when I.N becomes overwhelmed by her returning scent. Chan and Lee Know reassure him, while Y/N feels guilty. Hyunjin then invites her on a grocery run, allowing them to bond despite her nervousness. Upon returning, they find the pack in turmoil due to Seungmin’s hurtful words to Felix. Y/N steps in to mediate, expressing her desire to belong and urging unity. After the confrontation, she finds comfort in Hyunjin’s support while unpacking her belongings, deepening their connection and making her feel more at home.

Warning: Angst/comfort, cursing, hate.

After Y/N freshened up, she made her way downstairs, the familiar sounds of her pack filling the air. As soon as she reached the bottom step, she was ambushed by Felix and Han.

"Y/Nnie! I missed you so much!" Felix exclaimed, his eyes shining with joy as he wrapped her in a bear hug.

"You smell so sweet, Y/Nnie," Han chimed in, pressing his face into her neck, inhaling deeply.

"Hannie, stop licking it!" she squeaked, laughter bubbling up as Han playfully nuzzled her scent gland. "That tickles!"

"Can’t help it! You just smell so good," he teased, grinning at her reaction.

Just then, Chan stepped in, a mix of amusement and exasperation on his face. "You two, cut it out. Let her breathe!"

Felix pouted but let go, while Han feigned innocence. "We’re just showing our love, Chan!"

"Well, your love is suffocating her," Chan replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Now come eat before it gets cold!"

Lee Know appeared from the kitchen, expertly placing down a feast of breakfast dishes. "Seriously, guys, let her eat," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Whoa, bacon!" Changbin yelled, rushing in and plopping down at the table as the rest of the members filtered in one by one.

Just then, I.N stumbled into the room, his face pale and his hair disheveled. "Chan?" he mumbled, gripping the doorway for support.

The room fell silent, everyone’s eyes turning toward him with concern. "Oh my God, what’s wrong, I.N?" Chan rushed over, guiding him to a nearby chair.

"I... there’s a new scent," I.N gasped, clutching his chest. "It’s making my alpha go crazy, Chan. My heart won’t stop racing. I feel so sick."

Panic flickered across Chan's face as he exchanged a worried glance with Lee Know. "Innie, that’s Y/N’s scent. She got her scent back," he said slowly, the realization dawning on them both.

"What?!" I.N’s eyes widened, confusion mixing with distress. "But how? Is she okay?"

"She’s fine!" Chan reassured him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You just need to breathe. It’s overwhelming, but it’s just her. You’ll get used to it."

"Yeah, your alpha instincts are just reacting," Lee Know added, trying to keep the mood light. "You’re okay, just… chill."

“Will he be okay?” Y/N asked, a twinge of guilt creeping into her voice as she watched I.N struggle.

“Yeah, he’ll be fine. His alpha just needs to adjust to you and your new scent,” Changbin reassured her, handing I.N a cup of water. “Here, drink this.”

“O-okay, but do I have to stay away from him…?” she frowned, her fingers absentmindedly playing with Felix’s charm bracelet, a nervous habit she’d developed.

“No, no! I can handle it,” I.N insisted, though his eyes flashed red momentarily as he squeezed them shut, trying to regain control. He let out a soft growl, his nails digging into Chan’s skin as he fought against the overwhelming sensations.

“I.Nnie, you should go back to bed,” Chan said, his voice laced with concern as he felt I.N’s grip tightening.

“I’ll take him, Hyung,” Han offered, rising from his seat, but Chan quickly shook his head.

“No, babe, he’s really heavy. You might tumble and fall,” Chan replied, carefully lifting I.N, who felt almost weightless in his arms despite the tension radiating from him.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Y/N said, her voice trembling slightly. “I can put on the scent blockers so you don’t have to feel like this.”

“NO. Don’t,” I.N huffed, frustration etched on his face as he held his head in his hands. “You just got better! I’m not going to ruin that again.”

Chan exchanged worried glances with the others, feeling the weight of I.N’s struggle. “You’re not ruining anything. We’ll figure this out together. Just breathe.”

I.N took a shaky breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “It’s just… it feels like I’m on fire. I can’t help it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper

“I’ll bring some ginger tea; it should help,” Leeknow instructed, getting started on the tea as Chan hummed and slipped away into the corridors.

“Felix, babe, I need you to show Y/N her room, please, and help her unpack, okay?” Leeknow asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Alright, baby, I got you,” Felix replied, planting a quick kiss on Leeknow’s cheek before heading to the sink to put his dishes away.

“Han, can you go grab more eggs from the chicken coop?” Leeknow asked, pouring hot water into a cup.

“I can do that! Can I take Y/N with me, Hyung?” Han pleaded, giving Leeknow his best puppy-dog eyes.

Leeknow rolled his eyes but eventually nodded. “Okay, but you two be careful. No crossing the forest line, understood?” He shot them a serious look, making sure they understood.

“Yes, yes—”

“Good morning, everyone!” Hyunjin strolled into the kitchen, his aura commanding instant attention. Y/N froze, sitting up straight, while Felix pouted.

“I’m going to the store. Y/N, come on,” Hyunjin said, his gaze locking onto her, causing the room to fall silent.

“M-me?” she stammered, swallowing hard.

“Yes, you pabo. Who else is named Y/N?” Hyunjin smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“B-but I thought you hated me…” Y/N’s voice faltered, her grip tightening around Felix’s hand. She felt a mix of fear and a longing for acceptance from Hyunjin, despite his past behavior.

“Ugh,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, furrowing his brow as he grabbed a piece of toast. “I can tolerate you. Come on before I change my mind.” With that, he headed out, leaving an echo of tension in the air.

“I think you should go, Y/Nnie. It’ll give you guys some time alone,” Changbin encouraged her gently.

“R-really?” she whispered, hope flickering in her chest.

“Yeah, I talked to him, so he’ll behave,” Leeknow chimed in, grabbing the cup of tea for I.N. “Good luck, baby.”

Y/N glanced at Felix, who looked just as confused but supportive. Slowly, she let go of his hand.

“I’ll come with you,” Felix said, shrugging as he stood up.

“But Felix—” she hissed, anxiety creeping in.

“It’s good for you guys to get along. I hate my mates fighting,” Felix whined, pulling her toward the door. “This is a good time for him to apologize.”

“Felix!” she protested, but they were already outside, standing by Hyunjin’s car. He looked at them with an expression of mild boredom as he unlocked the door.

“You two behave. Actually, Hyunjin, you behave. If you hurt her, I swear—”

“Babe, I won’t. Calm down,” Hyunjin huffed, starting the engine.

“Felix, I thought you were coming?” Y/N pouted, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Nope! Hyunjin, drive before she jumps out of the car,” Felix giggled, closing the door just as Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. Before she could react, they were pulling out of the driveway, her scent intensifying with rising fear.

“Relax, will you? Your scent is going to make me pass out,” Hyunjin said, turning on the AC.

“S-sorry,” Y/N muttered, trying to calm her racing heart. She felt trapped between excitement and anxiety, hoping that this awkward outing might lead to something better between her and Hyunjin.

She let out soft whimpers as Hyunjin’s gaze focused on her lap. He was wrestling with his own nerves, trying to figure out how to start the conversation. Why did she have to smell so good? His beta instincts were on high alert, making it hard to concentrate, and he almost missed the turn into the supermarket.

“Okay, listen,” he finally said as he parked the car. Y/N didn’t look up, worried he might think she was challenging him. Sighing, he reached for her shaking hands. “You need to breathe and stop shaking. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as she stared at their hands interlocked in surprise. What was happening here?

“Y/N, I really want to apologize for making your past few days difficult,” he said, his voice softening.

“Apologize?” she whispered, glancing up at him, confusion flickering in her eyes. “But…”

“It wasn’t fair for me to judge you right away. I should have given you a chance before shutting you out. I guess I’m just… nervous. Sorry,” he chuckled, running a hand through his hair and squeezing her hands gently.

“You don’t have to be nervous, oppa,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile. His flustered state was oddly endearing, and she felt a warmth spread through her.

“I’m really sorry for hurting your feelings. You’re part of our pack now, and it’s my job to take care of you. I’ve had my own struggles in the past, and they kind of clouded my judgment… just ask Jisung,” he added with a light laugh.

“I’ve heard about the headphones,” she giggled, feeling the tension lift as her scent brightened.

“Yeah, poor I.N.,” he said with a smirk, rubbing soothing circles on her hand. “The point is, I really hope we can start fresh.”

“It’s okay, oppa. I get where you’re coming from. I really appreciate your apology, and I’m all for a fresh start,” she replied, her voice warm.

“Thank you! And don’t worry about Seungmin; he’ll come around eventually,” Hyunjin said, his tone lightening. He leaned over and gave her hand a quick, friendly kiss, making her blush.

“Aish, so cute!” he laughed, quickly pulling out his phone to snap a picture of her adorable expression.

“NOOOO!” she squealed, trying to grab the phone from him.

“Too late!” he teased, playfully keeping it out of her reach. He turned off the car and opened the door with a grin. “Let’s head inside before they think I actually left you stranded,”

As they got out, she felt a mixture of relief and excitement. Maybe things were finally turning a corner between them.

"I'm just grabbing some paint," Hyunjin informed her as they wandered down a few aisles. He intertwined their fingers again, feeling his beta instincts kick into high gear now that he had one of his omega's by his side. “Don’t leave my side.”

"You paint?" Y/N asked softly, glancing at a few items on the shelves.

"Yeah, I think you've heard the rules about my painting room," he said, quickly looking at her. She remembered the tales of his exclusive space.

“Oh, yes! Can I see a painting?” she asked casually, but he stiffened for a moment, his mind racing.

“Yes, one day,” he replied, trying to maintain his composure as he picked out paints and brushes. “If you see anything you want, just put it in the tray, okay?”

“But oppa, I don’t have money,” she frowned.

“It’s okay, I’m paying—”

“But—”

“Pick something or we’re not leaving the store,” he said with a playful glare. She huffed like a little kid, reluctantly moving down the aisle. She felt a bit overwhelmed; having just gone on a shopping spree a few days ago, she wasn’t sure what to get.

“Don’t go too far, Y/N,” he warned, glancing back at her as she wandered into another aisle.

“Okay, oppa!” she called back, strolling around but making sure to return to him every few minutes. Once he finished, he quickly followed her as she looked for something she wanted.

“Can I get some baking supplies?” she asked when they reached the baking aisle.

“Yeah, go ahead. Do you like baking?” Hyunjin asked, looking up from his phone.

“Yes, I do! I noticed you guys only have trays for brownies,” she pouted, dropping pans into the basket.

“Yeah, because Felix only bakes brownies and cookies,” he explained, leaning over to admire her. She looked beautiful, her skin glowing under the store’s lights.

“Really? That needs to change now that I’m here. I’m going to teach him more recipes—”

Suddenly, a voice squealed, interrupting their peaceful shopping. “Oh my god, are you Hyunjin? Hyunjin from Stray Kids? Camilla, I told you it was him!”

“Ugh, we forgot to wear masks,” he hissed, cursing himself. He instinctively stood in front of Y/N, shielding her while putting on a forced smile.

“Hello, ladies,” he said, waving and bowing slightly.

“Hyunjin! Can we please have a picture?” one girl asked, grabbing onto him without consent.

“Hey, whoa, calm down,” he chuckled nervously, trying to pry her off him. “I’m kind of busy right now, so I can’t really take pictures.”

Y/N felt her agitation rising as she softly growled, her protective instincts flaring. Why were they touching him without asking?

“But Hyunjin! This is the first time I’ve ever seen you!” another girl exclaimed.

“He said back off,” Y/N growled softly again, her eyes shimmering gold. Hyunjin gasped and quickly pulled her under his arm, trying to comfort her.

“Ladies, we’ll be off. Maybe next time,” he said, panic creeping into his voice. He felt Y/N’s tension and wanted to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible. The girls looked surprised but took a step back, realizing they’d crossed a line.

“Let’s go, Y/N,” he said, guiding her away. “I’m sorry about that. You okay?”

She nodded, though she still felt the remnants of her frustration. “Yeah, just... why didn’t they ask first?”

“I know, they really should have respected our space,” he replied, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “But let’s focus on you for now. What else do you want to pick out?”

Y/N pouted slightly, feeling a mix of frustration and gratitude that he was so quick to brush off the situation but she decided to let it go for now. “I’ve got everything for baking, but can I grab a few snacks for I.N? He wasn’t feeling so well.”

“Of course,” he said, shrugging with a smile. “Let’s find him some good stuff.” He followed her around the aisle, his fingers still tapping away on his phone as he texted the group about the situation, balancing concern for I.N with a playful ease as they browsed together.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

𝔹𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕤 𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕖 𝕠𝕗 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕠𝕤💦🍑

Babydaddy🍆💦:

How's shopping going babe? Did she forgive you?

                                                                                                                                                            GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

  Yeah she did and shopping is alright, she's picking out a few baking supplies right now

                                                                                                         

Sunshinetwin#1💛🐣: 

Ohh! she looks so cute Hyung!🥺😍

Sunshinetwin#2❤️🍑: 

Yes she does! tell her i say i miss her😭

Gymdaddy❤️💦🍆: 

You guys just saw her 20 minutes ago🤔🤔

Sunshinetwin#2❤️🍑: 

Yes but still. I miss her☹️☹️

                                                                                                                                                                                GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

We'll be home in a bit. She wants to pick up some snacks for I.N and you guys

Babybread🦊🩵:

Yah! she's so cute i cant handle it.🥰🥰

Catmommy😻❤️:

Are you feeling better innie?

Babybread🦊🩵:

Yes hyung, i've calmed down a bit

GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

what even happened?

Babydaddy🍆💦:

He needs to get used to Y/n's scent or he might go feral on her

GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

Damn! that's tough, you'll be okay baby. i'll come cuddle you when i'm back

Meanie🐶❤️: 

That's a sign for her to leave, i thought you were on my team Hyunjin? why are you with her?

GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

Okay first of all there is no such thing as teams🙄🙄

.

.

.

GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

and Leeknow-hyung and Channie-hyung talked some sense into me and she's actually pretty cool to hang out with. you should get to know her

Meanie🐶❤️: 

I'd rather die.😒

Babydaddy🍆💦:

Behave now.🤨

Meanie🐶❤️: 

Don't tell me what to do.

Catmommy😻❤️:

Who are you talking to like that?🤨

Meanie🐶❤️: 

BangChan who else? Leave me alone Leeknow.

Sunshinetwin#1💛🐣: 

ouu you've done it this time seungmin.😰😰

Meanie🐶❤️: 

Shut up Felix this is your fault

Sunshinetwin#1💛🐣: 

Im sorry Seungmin ☹️☹️

GreekGod👨‍🎨 :

Don't talk to him like that or i'll deal with you when i get home🤨

Babydaddy🍆💦:

No i will.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hyunjin?” Y/N called, tugging at his sweater as he furiously texted on his phone, seemingly lost in his own world. “Hyunjin? Is everything okay?” Her nose scrunched up at the sour scent wafting off him, a mix of anxiety and frustration.

“Hyunjin, your scent—” she coughed, tugging harder at his jacket. Finally, he snapped out of it.

“Hey, whoa, sorry. I was distracted. You okay?” He rubbed her back, trying to calm both himself and her.

“Yeah, I was saying I was done,” she said, shifting on her foot nervously while glancing into the basket filled with their finds.

“Okay, let’s go,” he said, but she didn’t budge, a frown deepening on her face.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He crouched slightly to meet her gaze.

“Are you mad at me? If I made you mad, I can put something back—”

“No, love, I’m not mad. I’m mad at something else, but not you,” he reassured her, feeling a pang of guilt for making her worry.

“You sure?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“Yes, I am,” he replied, pulling her under his arms again, feeling the tension ease a bit.

“U-um, can I scent you?” she asked, playing with his sleeve, her voice soft and a little shy. “Just to make sure?”

“Yes, once we get to the car, love,” he assured her with a gentle smile. They made their way to the register, and Hyunjin didn’t even wait for the total cost; he simply swiped his card and grabbed the bags, eager to get outside.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, leading her out of the store.

Once they were outside, she took a deep breath, feeling the fresh air wash over her. “Thank you for letting me come with you,” she said, glancing up at him.

“Of course! I thought you might enjoy it,” he replied, his expression softening. “And besides, I wanted to spend some time with you. Just us.”

She smiled, feeling her heart flutter. “You really mean that?”

“Absolutely. Now, how about that scenting?” he teased lightly, guiding her to the car.

“Right!” Y/N grinned, her nervousness fading. Once inside, she leaned in closer, inhaling his comforting scent and scenting his neck glands. “See? Much better.”

“Glad I could help,” he chuckled, watching her with warmth. “Now let’s head home and show Felix your new baking supplies. He’s going to be so excited,”

“Definitely, And maybe we can bake together?” she suggested, her eyes lighting up.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m looking forward to it,” he replied, starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot, feeling lighter now that they were back on the same page.

Y/N and Hyunjin stepped into the house, both feeling lighter after their shopping trip. But the moment they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted. A huge argument echoed through the halls, making them pause.

“Man,” Hyunjin huffed, sighing as he grabbed all the bags out of the car. “What now?”

“Is everything okay? Why are they fighting?” Y/N asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Probably because of Seungmin,” Hyunjin replied, unlocking the door just as the argument grew louder. They navigated through the living room, which was empty, and entered the kitchen where Leeknow was cooking lunch.

“You aren’t getting involved?” Hyunjin snickered as he set down the snacks and Y/N’s supplies before reaching for his painting gear.

“Nope, the alphas are handling it. He made Felix cry,” Leeknow said, feeding Y/N a piece of kimchi. “Is it good?”

“Yes, oppa! But why is Felix crying?” she asked, reaching for I.N's snacks.

Leeknow exchanged a nervous glance with Hyunjin before he spoke. “Seungmin said some hurtful things, but it’s okay—”

“It is his fault! She wouldn’t even be here if he hadn’t brought her here!” Seungmin’s loud voice cut through the kitchen, making Y/N wince.

“No, it isn’t my fault! You’re the only one who has a problem!” Felix shrieked, his voice cracking as loud sobs followed.

“Hey! Both of you, cut it out now!” Changbin yelled, his commanding voice drowning out the chaos.

Feeling a mix of curiosity and concern, Y/N found her feet moving before she could think twice. She headed upstairs, Hyunjin right behind her. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone a mix of worry and caution.

“I want to see what’s going on,” she replied, glancing back at him. “Maybe I can help.”

“Y/N, be careful,” he warned, though his tone held a hint of admiration for her bravery.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the argument grew even louder. Y/N stopped in front of a door slightly ajar, peeking inside to find Seungmin pacing, his face flushed with anger. Felix sat on the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks, while I.N stood with clenched fists, visibly upset.

“Can we all just calm down for a second?” I.N pleaded, his voice wavering. “This isn’t helping anyone!”

“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who feels like the outsider here!” Seungmin shot back, frustration evident in his tone.

“Y/N is part of our pack now! You need to accept that!” Felix shouted through his tears, his voice breaking.

Hyunjin stepped forward, squeezing Y/N’s hand. “Maybe we shouldn't go in,” he suggested, his expression serious.

“Wait,” Y/N whispered, feeling the tension in the air. “I think I need to say something.” She took a deep breath, ready to step into the fray.

She squeezed Hyunjin’s hand for reassurance, then stepped into the room, her presence instantly capturing everyone's attention.

“Guys,” she said, her voice steady but gentle, “can we all just take a moment?”

I.N’s eyes widened in surprise, and Felix quickly wiped his tears, looking hopeful. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have to—”

“No, let her speak,” Hyunjin interrupted, stepping beside her. “She deserves to be heard.”

Y/N nodded, gathering her thoughts as she faced the room. “I know things have been tense since I got here. I appreciate that you all care so much, but I don’t want to be the reason for any more fighting. You’re my pack now, and I want us to get along.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—” Changbin started, but she held up a hand.

“I do want to. It’s important to me. I know it’s hard for everyone to adjust, especially with how things started. But I really want to make this work,” she said, glancing at each of them. “You all mean a lot to me already, and I don’t want anyone to feel like they’re not included.”

Felix sniffled, his eyes glistening. “I just want us all to be happy.”

“Exactly,” Y/N encouraged, her voice steady. “Let’s find a way to support each other instead of pushing each other away. I promise I’m not here to take anyone’s place. I want to grow with all of you.”

“This is pathetic,” Seungmin scoffed, crossing his arms defiantly.

“Seriously, what’s your problem with me?” Y/N shot back, her gaze unwavering. “I get that you don’t like me, but the rest of the pack does. So what’s the issue? Can you stop bullying me and just back off?” Her voice carried a mix of frustration and hurt, and the room fell silent, the tension palpable.

“You don’t even know me, so why do you have a problem with me?” she continued, her voice firm but shaking slightly.

Seungmin only scoffed again before storming out, leaving everyone else in the room exchanging worried glances.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Chan sighed, getting off his bed and making his way after the beta. He paused to give Felix and Han a quick kiss on the forehead, offering them a reassuring smile.

Y/N felt a wave of frustration wash over her; she couldn’t bear to see Felix upset because of her. “I need some air,” she murmured and quickly slipped out of the room.

“Hey, are you okay?” Hyunjin called after her, his brow furrowing in concern. He gently grabbed her arm, stopping her from walking away.

“I just… I need to nest and have some time alone. Can you show me my room?” she sighed, looking up at him with tired eyes.

“Yeah, of course,” he replied, his tone warm and understanding. “Let’s go.”

They walked down the corridor together, the atmosphere lightening a little as they made their way to her room. “I’ll drop my stuff in my room and then come help you move the bags from Felix’s,” Hyunjin said, glancing at her.

She nodded, grateful for his support. Once they got the bags with all her new items and reached her room, which was similar to Felix’s but with a larger bed—likely because it was one of the guest rooms—Y/N felt a bit of relief wash over her.

She sat down in the middle of her bags, feeling the weight of the day finally starting to lift. Hyunjin flopped onto the bed, scrolling through his social media while occasionally checking in on her.

Y/N focused on folding her clothes, lost in her own thoughts as she neatly organized everything. Meanwhile, Hyunjin couldn’t resist snapping another photo of her, capturing the moment as she concentrated, wishing he could know what was going through her mind.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence. “You’re really good at this. Need any help?”

She looked up, surprised by his offer. “I appreciate it, but I think I’ve got it. Just give me a moment.”

“Okay, but I’m right here if you need me,” he assured her, a warm smile lighting up his face.

Feeling a bit lighter, Y/N smiled back, grateful for his presence. 

She sighed again as she sat in the middle of the bags, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The tension from earlier with Seungmin still clung to her like a heavy blanket, and she felt overwhelmed. Hyunjin watched her from the bed, his heart aching for her. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t want to intrude.

“Hey,” he said softly again, breaking the silence. “You know, it’s okay to feel upset about Seungmin. He’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated?” she scoffed, folding a shirt with more force than necessary. “That’s one way to put it. I don’t understand why he has to be like this. I haven’t done anything to him.”

“Yeah, he can be a bit of a bully sometimes,” Hyunjin admitted, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed. “But it’s not about you. He has his own issues to deal with. It doesn’t make it right, though.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier for me either,” she replied, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “I just want to feel like I belong here, and he’s making that really hard.”

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with empathy. “You do belong, Y/N. I promise. The others see it, even if Seungmin can’t right now. Give him time.”

She nodded, but doubt still flickered in her eyes. “I just don’t want to be a burden to anyone. I hate that Felix is upset because of me.”

“Felix cares about you. We all do,” he reassured her. “He’ll come around. And as for Seungmin, he’ll figure it out eventually. You just have to keep being you.”

“Being me seems to be causing chaos,” she muttered, trying to chuckle but it came out as more of a sigh.

“Sometimes chaos is part of the process,” Hyunjin replied with a small smile. “Look at it this way: if he’s reacting this strongly, it means you matter. He wouldn’t waste energy on you if he didn’t.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely. Just hang in there,” he said, his voice warm and encouraging. “Now, let’s tackle these bags. You can’t nest properly until your stuff is sorted.”

As they began to unpack again, Hyunjin found himself stealing glances at her, admiring how she focused on each item with care. She was mesmerizing in her own way, and he couldn’t help but capture another photo of her, hoping to remember this moment.

“Hyunjin, are you going to keep taking pictures of me?” she asked, catching him mid-snap.

“Maybe,” he replied playfully, grinning. “But only because you look cute while you work.”

“Cute, huh?” she said, rolling her eyes but unable to suppress a smile. “Keep that up, and I might start thinking you’re flirting with me.”

“Would that be so bad?” he teased, leaning back on his hands, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Maybe not,” she admitted, her cheeks flushing slightly. “But let’s focus on unpacking first.”

“Deal,” he said, and they fell into a comfortable rhythm, chatting and laughing as they sorted through her belongings.

As the last bag was put away, Y/N finally felt a sense of calm washing over her. Nesting was important, and with Hyunjin’s support, she felt a little more at home. “Thanks for helping me,” she said softly, her gratitude genuine.

“Anytime, Y/N.” He paused, glancing toward the door. “Let’s get ready to leave, yeah? Practice starts soon and i think Chan will want us to have lunch before we leave,”

“Yeah,” she agreed.

🌱🍄🌻🥞

Dont forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Finally! we've gotten the long awaited apology from Hyunjin!

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[yannawayne]

ix. the fall and the cage

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: MILD SMUT (will put indicators if people want to skip), Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Suggestive jokes, Doppelgangers AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

His glare locks back to you. “What are you?”

You meet his eyes, the mask you usually wear cracked open by exhaustion and fear.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “But I do know I’m not your enemy.”

Bruce stares. The silence stretches again.

Then, he pulls out a small cylindrical device from his utility belt, something that clicks with a low, mechanical hum. “Then you won’t mind proving it.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

"It's just me."

Bruce doesn’t react immediately.

For a moment, the rooftop is silent. Eerily so. The wind whistles around you, the tension crackling in the air like an approaching storm. Damian’s breath catches in his throat. He watches his father closely, prepared to move the second things go wrong.

Bruce’s eyes, what little of them you can see beneath the cowl, widen, ever so slightly. His jaw tenses. 

It takes him only seconds to put the pieces together. 

He is, after all, the World’s Greatest Detective.

The voice. The presence. The way you stood beside his son, not as a stranger, but as someone who had always belonged.

“…You,” he says at last, his voice low, almost disbelieving.

You nod slowly. “Yeah. Me.”

Bruce takes a slow step forward, not in aggression, but something more cautious. Measured. “How long?” he asks, and there’s something raw beneath the steel of his tone. Hurt, maybe. A sense of betrayal.

You hesitate, “It hasn't been long. Around homecoming."

Bruce’s expression darkens again. “And you or Selina never thought to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to lie,” you say quietly. “But I also didn’t want to be locked in a cell before I had a chance to prove I wasn’t your enemy.”

“And this—” Bruce gestures around, to the aftermath of the fight, to the blood still drying on Damian’s lip— “This is how you prove that?”

“You attacked me,” Damian interjects sharply, his voice clipped, sharp as the blade at his hip. “You didn’t ask questions. You just assumed the worst, as always.”

Bruce’s eyes flick to him, briefly, sternly, but it’s not anger that rises in him. It’s fear. Tightly bound, fraying at the seams. It spills out as aggression because that’s the only way he knows how to hold it.

His glare locks back to you. “What are you?”

You meet his eyes, the mask you usually wear cracked open by exhaustion and fear. 

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “But I do know I’m not your enemy.”

Bruce stares. The silence stretches again.

Then, he pulls out a small cylindrical device from his utility belt, something that clicks with a low, mechanical hum. “Then you won’t mind proving it.”

Before either you or Damian can react, the device hisses. A wave of high-frequency sound and dark energy explodes outward.

The world goes black.

Not just dimmed. Obliterated. The lights of Gotham vanish. The stars are swallowed. The moon flickers out like a candle. And then, worse, your senses vanish too.

Your balance fails. Your skin prickles. Your vision spins even in darkness. It's as though the air is being stripped of meaning, every nerve ending short-circuits. You stumble back with a sharp gasp, clutching your chest as something inside you twists. It’s not pain, exactly. It’s violation. Something ancient and unnatural brushing too close to your core.

Damian curses beside you, struggling to stay upright. 

“It’s a blackout field,” he growls, teeth gritted. “Father! Don’t you dare—”

You drop to one knee, gasping as something inside you pulses off-beat, involuntarily. The organic webs in your system shiver. Not physically. Metaphysically. Like they’re being mapped, indexed.

The device Bruce activated is a diagnostic emitter, one of his more aggressive ones. It scans for foreign particles, unusual bio-signatures, multiversal residue. It’s designed to extract information from metas, especially those with unknown origins. You realize, with a spike of fear, it’s not just trying to detect what you are, it’s trying to expose it.

Your breathing quickens. You feel seen in a way that’s not comforting at all.

“No,” you rasp, clutching your side. “Hurts—”

Bruce's silhouette, ghostly in the blackness, remains motionless. Cold. Watchful. “If you’re telling the truth, you’ll survive the scan.”

“And if she’s not?” Damian’s voice slices through the dark, sharp as the blade still clenched in his hand. “You’ll kill her just to make a point?”

“I’m not killing her,” Bruce snaps. “I’m making sure she isn’t a walking bomb waiting to go off in your bed.”

That word, bomb, stings more than any blow. Damian flinches at it, too.

Bruce’s emotions flicker now in the quiet: anger, yes, but beneath it, fear.

Deep, ancient fear.

The kind that digs in like a parasite and doesn’t let go. You’ve seen it before. It’s not about you, not entirely. It’s about what you represent. Something unknown. Something he can’t control. And if Batman can’t control it, he has to neutralize it.

His voice is lower now, almost strained. “I’ve seen too many people die because I hesitated. I won’t risk it again.”

You force yourself upright, swaying slightly, every cell still buzzing with residual static. “I’m not asking you to risk Gotham. Just... trust him.” You tilt your chin toward Damian. “Trust your son.”

Bruce doesn’t even blink.

You gasp again, eyes wide as a final jolt of energy hits you like lightning to the spine.

And then everything tilts. The rooftop sways. Your head slumps forward. The last thing you feel is Damian grabbing you before you hit the ground, his voice warping into a panicked blur.

Then... nothing.

༻⊰───⋅

??? - ???

You wake up cold.

Metal surrounds you. Fluorescent lights above. A containment area. Sleek, clinical. No visible seams or exits, just smooth, reinforced panels and a faint energy field humming at the edges of your vision. 

“Hey,” a voice says urgently. “Habibti—! Eyes on me. Open your eyes.”

You blink. The world swims into focus. Slow and fragile. The hum of the emitter is gone. The dark has lifted. But your limbs feel like they’re made of concrete.

“Wh—” Your throat is raw as you turn your head, eyes still unfocused. The dim shape of Damian looms close, his silhouette familiar but strange in this sterile, harsh light. You're in a containment cell. A forcefield buzzes faintly, locking you inside, making the space feel smaller with each passing second.

“Wh-what happened?” Your voice cracks on the words, pain flaring in your chest. You shift slightly, the movement slow and deliberate.

Damian is there, his usual intensity replaced with something closer to frustration and... concern. He’s not wearing his mask, and you can see his eyes.

Green, sharp, and cold. 

His nails dig into the forcefield, his jaw clenched tight. 

“Father employed a diagnostic emitter. High-level blackout field,” he says, his voice laced with venom, as though he couldn't bear the taste of the words. “Nearly obliterated your nervous system. The bastard didn’t even flinch.”

You shift, wincing. “He’s scared of me…”

Damian scowls, his lips curling in distaste. “That does not grant him the right.”

Across the batcave, you catch the silhouette of Bruce standing still, like a statue, his posture rigid, unmoving. The device is in his hand, the embedded screen lighting up with data. His face is grim, his lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line as he scans the readout.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of silence, he speaks, his voice subdued but edged with something you can’t place. “No radioactive residue. No multiversal degradation. No artificial structure. You’re not a clone. You’re not a weapon. You’re...” He trails off, as if uncertain how to finish the sentence.

You blink slowly, your mind catching up to the words. “Not normal.”

Bruce’s eyes shift ever so slightly, acknowledging your response. “No,” he agrees quietly, almost as though the admission is a reluctant concession. “You’re not.”

But there’s something in his posture that changes, subtle but unmistakable. A slight loosening of his shoulders. Not trust, not yet, but something far closer to hesitation.

You attempt to move again, your head pounding with the remnants of whatever Bruce used to sedate you. Your body feels foreign, your limbs sluggish, like you’ve been asleep for too long. But it’s the ache in your head that consumes you. You blink hard, trying to clear the fog, but it doesn’t help.

Bruce finally speaks again, his voice softer than before, though still carrying the weight of an unspoken decision. “You left me no choice.” There’s no apology, no anger. Just that same, infuriating calm that always manages to get under your skin.

“This isn’t punishment,” he continues, his eyes hardening slightly. “It’s a precaution. You’ve seen what happens when powers go unchecked.”

You grit your teeth, lifting your head as best as you can despite the ache that pulses with each movement.

"I’m not a weapon," you rasp, your voice hoarse and desperate for him to understand.

“That’s not your decision to make.” Bruce’s words are like a blade, cutting through the air with finality.

Damian growls low, slamming his palm against the barrier between you, his frustration boiling over. “You could have just talked to her!”

Bruce meets your gaze briefly, unreadable. “I am talking to her now.”

Damian doesn’t let up, his fury now a raw shout, almost echoing in the silence. “You kidnapped her!” He gestures toward you with an elegance that seems out of place in the intensity of the moment. “You employed a blackout charge on someone you know personally, someone you know does not mean this family harm—”

“She lied,” Bruce counters, his tone quiet but resolute, his eyes locked on you, unflinching. “She could be lying to you. She put the entire family at risk.”

Damian’s lips curl with contempt. “She protected this family. You simply couldn’t see it, because she did not come with a Bat on her chest.”

Bruce doesn’t respond. And that’s what makes it worse.

༻⊰───⋅ An hour later, Selina arrives.

Damian’s posture tightens immediately, his whole body coiling like a spring, ready to strike. His eyes narrow, scanning the room, searching for a threat.

When he sees her, his muscles relax just slightly, but his scowl doesn’t waver. His hands are still clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

Selina stops just before the forcefield, her figure smaller than usual. She’s hunched, like she’s holding herself together by a thread.

When her eyes find you, they widen with concern, and for a split second, her usual mask cracks. The woman who cares more than anyone knows is there, and it’s almost painful to see. She takes a few cautious steps forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Dammit,” she mutters, voice rough with barely contained emotion. Her hands press against the forcefield like she could just push through it and hold you. “You’re okay, right? They didn’t hurt you? Tell me they didn’t hurt you.”

You shift, wincing. You feel like dead weight, but you try to reassure her, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine. Just... tired.”

Selina raises an eyebrow, the disbelief clear in her eyes. “Tired? Bullshit,” she snaps, stepping closer, her fingers pressing harder against the barrier. Her eyes flick to Damian, then back to you, burning with protectiveness. “I know you better than that. You think I can’t tell when you’re not okay? They locked you in here like a criminal... for what?” She scoffs, throwing her hands up. “Bruce... sometimes I swear he forgets what it’s like to care about anyone.”

Before you can respond, she cuts you off, raising a hand. Her sharp features soften just a little, but there's still frustration in her voice. “I just need to know you’re okay,” she whispers, her hand trembling against the forcefield. “I should’ve... I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve known better.”

“I...” you try to say, but she shakes her head.

“Shh.” Her forehead presses gently against the barrier, a soft breath escaping her lips. “I’m not leaving you here, okay? I’ll figure this out. I’ll get you out of here. Bruce... he doesn’t get it.”

Her voice is steady, but there's a tremor in her hands, a crack in her resolve. For all her strength, seeing you like this has brought her to the edge.

The guilt hits you like a tidal wave. Your head drops, and you blink hard to stop the tears from falling. You were supposed to listen. Selina warned you.

“I should’ve listened to you…” Your voice breaks, barely a whisper, and the weight of it all crashes down on you. The isolation, the fear, the mistake—it floods over you and you can’t hold back anymore. The tears fall, hot against your skin.

Damian watches, his expression darkening as he notices. He leans in, brow furrowed, his forehead resting gently against the forcefield near yours.

Selina watches in silence, her hands still pressed to the barrier, lips tight in a thin line. She wants to reach out, to do something, anything, to make this better. But she can’t. All she can do is stand here and promise she won’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice thick with guilt. “I didn’t mean for this to happen… I didn’t—”

“Shh. I know,” she murmurs softly, her voice full of understanding, but also an undercurrent of something stronger. “But it’s not over. I’m here. We’re getting you out. Just hold on.”

༻⊰───⋅

The hours stretch on, heavy with silence. It's thick, suffocating.

Upstairs, Selina is no doubt locked in some heated argument with Bruce. You can almost hear her voice rising above the din of the Batcave, cutting through the tension. But here, with Damian, the world beyond feels like a distant memory.

Damian hasn't moved. Not really. His body is a taut wire, ready to snap at any moment. His forehead rests gently against the cold forcefield beside yours, the harsh chill of it matching the ice in his veins.

He's still angry—too angry, in fact. 

You're not sure how much time has passed, but you can tell he's exhausted.

The anger, the worry, the helplessness.

All of it is wearing him down

"Damian," you whisper, your voice soft and almost too quiet to hear. Your eyelids are heavy with exhaustion, but you force yourself to keep your gaze on him. "You should go to bed. You haven’t slept since this started."

He doesn't answer immediately. His jaw tightens, the tension in his body practically radiates off him. His hands twitch, like he’s fighting an instinct to destroy something—anything—that will release the pressure building inside him. There’s a simmering fury beneath the surface, something raw and dangerous that’s been festering for too long.

"I don’t need sleep," Damian mutters, his voice low, gravelly, like it’s been dragged through a storm. His eyes never leave the barrier that separates you, dark with something he won't let you see fully. "I know how to micro-sleep. But I won’t close my eyes while this is happening. Not with you stuck in there."

“Damian…” you whisper again, softer, laced with a hint of pleading. “You don’t have to stay like this. It’s... It’s not your fault. I’m fine.”

He scoffs, a sharp, bitter sound that cuts through the air like a blade. His eyes narrowed, the raw emotion within them flaring like an exposed wound. When he speaks next, his voice shakes with a deadly mix of pain and fury.

“Not my fault?” he spits, turning his head sharply to face you, his words coming out like a snarl. “I can’t watch this anymore. I can’t watch you in here.”

You try to hold his gaze, but it feels like staring into the sun.

“I can’t stand seeing you locked up,” he growls, the frustration practically radiating off him. “You’re not some criminal. You don’t belong here.”

The weight of his words presses into you, and you know, deep down, that if he had any way to tear through this forcefield, he would’ve already done it.

“I hate this,” he mutters, voice quieter now, but there's still a burning anger in it, twisted inward. His forehead presses harder against the cold, unforgiving barrier, a cruel reminder of the distance between you. "Hate seeing you trapped, helpless. I don’t care what Bruce thinks. I don’t care what anyone thinks."

His gaze flickers to yours, raw and desperate, and for a split second, you see him—just Damian. Not the stoic, hardened boy with a mission, but a kid who’s barely holding it together. The weight of the world pressed down on him.

“… I need you to be okay."

“I will be,” you promise him, voice stronger despite the exhaustion that threatens to drag you under. "As long as you’re here."

Damian doesn’t respond right away, but you can feel the shift, the slight easing of the tension in his body, like he’s finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again, though this time, it’s less about anything you’ve done and more about the weight of it all. The burden of everything that’s happened. “I didn’t want to drag you into this.”

Damian's lips curl into a strained smirk, but it’s tired, sad. “I chose this. You didn’t drag me in.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “I knew exactly what I was getting into. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Not when it’s my father who’s too blinded by his damn paranoia to see what’s right in front of him.”

Suddenly, there’s a sound. The hiss of a hidden seam opening in the paneling. You blink, shifting weakly toward the noise.

“Alfred?” your voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

The butler steps through a narrow passage concealed within the far wall. The shimmer of the forcefield adjusts slightly to accommodate the entry. He’s holding a covered tray in his hands, a soft towel draped over his forearm. Calm, collected, and somehow solemn.

Damian’s head snaps toward the movement, eyes narrowing. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

Alfred doesn’t even flinch. “And yet, Master Damian, here I am.”

Damian’s scowl deepens. “You shouldn’t risk this. If Father finds out—”

“He will find out,” Alfred replies calmly, his gaze unwavering. “But he will not stop me. Not when someone I care about is being treated like an enemy in their own home.”

He steps up to the edge of the forcefield and looks to you, his face softening. “I thought you might want something warm to eat. The kitchen has been dreadfully quiet without you stealing things when you think I’m not looking.”

Despite everything, a fragile smile tugs at the corner of your lips. “You always knew?”

“I always know,” he says, with that faint spark of amusement that only Alfred can manage, even in the darkest of moments.

Damian steps forward, eyes locked on Alfred’s tray. “She needs to be freed. This is absurd—”

“Master Damian, if you too do not eat or sleep soon, you will collapse,” Alfred interrupts smoothly. “You are no good to her like this, and you know it.”

Damian hesitates, visibly torn.

Alfred softens again. “Let me sit with her, just for a few minutes. Go. Rest. When you come back, she’ll be here. I’ll make sure of it.”

There’s a beat of silence. You watch as Damian wrestles with himself. Finally, he gives you a look, still fierce, but there's a hint of reluctant trust there, too.

“…Don’t let him near her,” Damian warns quietly, a final glance toward the ceiling, toward Batman.

“I have no intention of allowing fear to masquerade as justice,” Alfred replies. “Now go. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Damian lingers a moment longer, eyes on yours. Then he steps away. His footsteps echo up the stairs, quiet, but still filled with fury.

When he’s gone, Alfred finally kneels at the edge of the forcefield. He sets the tray down and pulls out a thermos, unscrewing the lid to let the scent of real broth waft into the air. “It’s not much, but it’s better than intravenous fluids.”

You smile tiredly. “You’re risking a lot coming here.”

Alfred’s gaze is gentle. “I’ve served this family for decades. I’ve watched it grow, fracture, and, on rare occasions, heal. But I will not sit idle while it lets fear dictate cruelty.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He continues, his voice lowering with a weight of years behind it. “Master Bruce… he isn’t thinking clearly. You mustn’t take it personally. He’s terrified. Terrified of what he doesn’t understand. Of what you might become.”

You press your lips together, trying to force the tightness in your throat to ease. “I know, but I want him to know that I would never hurt anyone—”

“I think he knows,” Alfred interrupts gently, his voice warm yet firm. “But logic rarely wins against fear. Especially for a man who’s lost as much as he has. He sees threats in shadows, and you, my dear, have always cast long ones.”

You look down, shame pressing like iron on your chest.

Alfred’s fingers brush the edge of the forcefield, reverent but firm. “But I’ve seen your heart. And I believe in it. Which is why I will find a way to help you."

Your eyes widen. “You’d… betray him?”

“I would defy him,” Alfred says calmly, a fire in his voice now. “Because loyalty should not be blind. And because this family should never forget what it means to protect its own.”

He presses the thermos closer to the barrier, and a small opening appears as if the system itself recognizes Alfred's authority, just enough for the steam to escape, just enough for trust to pass through.

A mechanical click sounds softly, and a hidden seam in the forcefield parts for only a moment, allowing Alfred to slide the thermos and a small, foil-wrapped bundle through. The opening seals again with a quiet hum.

“Rest, if you can,” he says, adjusting the towel on his arm with practiced ease. “Eat what you can. The body cannot weather storms when it’s starved of warmth. Neither can the soul.”

You reach out with trembling fingers, taking the thermos gently, cradling it as if it might disappear. The heat seeps into your palms and travels up your arms, grounding you. The smell, simple, comforting, familiar, brings tears to your eyes before you can stop them.

“…Thanks,” you whisper.

Alfred nods, his face unreadable but his eyes unbearably kind. “There is no need. If anything, I should apologize. For not intervening sooner.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault.”

“Perhaps not,” he murmurs. “But that doesn’t mean I’m absolved of responsibility.”

“I will speak to Master Dick,” he continues. “And Barbara. Perhaps even Tim. There are lines forming in this house. If Bruce refuses to see reason...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

You nod faintly, holding the thermos to your chest like it’s a tether. The food is a small act of rebellion, but it means everything.

Alfred rises slowly, smoothing the front of his coat. “Try to rest. If not for yourself, then for Damian. You know how reckless he gets when worry takes hold of him.” He pauses, a flicker of affection softening his tone. “And make no mistake... he's deeply worried about you.”

You manage a faint smile, weary but genuine. “Yeah. I can tell. He’s already halfway to batshit crazy.”

Alfred chuckles once, a dry and quiet sound. “Then I shall hurry back with something to slow him down. A full stomach and a cup of tea may buy us both a few moments of peace.”

༻⊰───⋅

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Bruce—she’s a kid!”

Bruce didn’t stop walking.

His boots were nearly silent on the stone floor, but Selina heard them anyway. Each step a countdown. Each second, a verdict being prepared.

He moved like someone who’d already made a decision hours ago and had been replaying its consequences ever since.

When he finally stopped, the only sound was the low hum of the elevator leading from the Batcave to the manor behind him, and the soft whirr of the security locks re-engaging in the distance. Still clad in full armor, he raised a gauntleted hand, calm, practiced, and slid the cowl back from his face.

His eyes, when they met hers, were flat and cold. Suspicion lived in their corners, but it wasn’t wild or paranoid. It was the kind that had been earned, honed over years of betrayal and hard choices.

“She’s not who you think she is.”

Selina’s jaw clenched.

Her heels struck the carpeted floor of the lavish living room with sharp, angry purpose as she crossed the space between them, the hem of her coat trailing like a shadow behind her. She grabbed his arm, nails digging into the fabric of his suit.

“Don’t do this,” she snapped. “Don’t pull the Bat-act on me right now.”

She leaned in, eyes narrowed. There was heat in them, rage, but also something softer beneath. The memory of small, stolen moments. Of whispered truths and painful choices.

“I know her, Bruce. I know what she’s been through. And so do you.”

There was a flicker, just a flicker, in his expression. A tightening around the eyes. A breath held just a second too long.

But it was gone before she could say his name again.

“She has enhanced abilities—arachnid in origin. She’s not registered. Her presence in Gotham is unaccounted for.”

“She’s also not blowing up buildings or turning people inside out with her mind,” Selina said, stepping in front of him. “You know what she is? She’s scared. She’s a teenager. She’s my girl.”

At that, Bruce finally met her gaze. His eyes, steely and guarded, held something deeper. A trace of doubt? A flash of guilt? Selina couldn’t tell. It was quickly masked, but it was there.

“She has enhanced abilities. Arachnid-based, if the scans are accurate. She’s a meta. That changes things.”

Selina let out a short, disbelieving laugh, bitter at the edges.

“Seriously?” Her arm shot out, gesturing toward the shadows just beyond the Batcave entrance. “Changes what? That she can stick to walls? Swing from buildings? Your kids are vigilantes too!”

But Bruce wasn’t looking. He stood still, cloaked in silence. The kind that meant his mind was already made up, whether he said it aloud or not.

“I can’t fucking believe you would even consider—”

“Selina, she could be a threat. You know I can’t ignore that.”

“She’s not a threat,” Selina snapped. “I told you—she’s my girl.”

“You’re emotionally compromised.”

“And you’re emotionally constipated,” she fired back. “You’ve known her for years, Bruce. And now one blip on a scanner, and suddenly she’s on your damn watchlist?”

“I’m doing my job—” he began, but Selina stepped in closer, her voice low and lethal.

“Bullshit.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, deadly, deliberate. “You’re doing your usual thing. Treating people like problems instead of people.”

There it was. The quiet truth, laid bare between them.

Bruce didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. His silence said everything Selina had feared: that even now, even after everything they’d been through, his first instinct was to see the girl as a variable in one of his plans.

As a threat. Not a person.

“You hurt people when you forget they’re not just names in your case files,” Selina said finally. 

“Don’t make me pick sides, Bruce.”

She held his gaze, unwavering.

“Because you know I’m choosing her.”

༻⊰───⋅

The thermos in your hands is still warm, its metal surface radiating a quiet comfort that doesn’t reach your chest. You’re halfway through a sip when it happens. 

Click.

Soft, almost silent, but enough to slice through the silence like a whisper against glass. The Batcave’s security systems are shifting.

You freeze, thermos hovering just below your mouth.

Footsteps follow, measured, deliberate. Not the kind that rush or hesitate. No scrape, no stumble. Just the steady rhythm of someone who knows they belong here, even if their presence wasn't expected.

A faint glow arcs across the far side of the cave, catching the edge of her hair. She steps forward slowly, shedding the shadows with every step, until the overhead light hits her face.

“Morgan?”

She grins. Casual and sharp, hands tucked into the pockets of her sleek jacket like this is just another late-night run. “Hey, sunshine.”

Your heart stumbles. “How—how did you get in here?”

She steps closer to the field. “Please. You think I’d let Bruce lock you up without a backdoor?”

Your eyes narrow. “But the system—”

“I rewrote parts of the failsafes months ago,” she says easily. “Just in case someone got… paranoid.”

A seam hisses open in the forcefield, something only Bruce—or, hell, Alfred—should be able to do.

You scramble to your feet, clutching the thermos.

Morgan just smiles.

“Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to get you out. Let's go!”

“Now?” Your voice is low, uncertain. “I thought...? Damian—Alfred—they were trying to—”

Her smile tightens. Something colder flickers beneath. “You really think you’re safe here? Batman locked you up. Damian couldn’t stop him. Alfred had to sneak you food. That’s not safety. That’s a cage.”

You hesitate.

“I’ve been watching,” she says gently. “And trust me—if you stay, they’ll turn on you. Batman's fear spreads. It always does.”

You shake your head. “That’s not true. Damian—he—”

“Can’t protect you if he gets locked out. Something that's bound to happen,” Morgan’s tone sharpens. “And Selina? She made a deal. She was supposed to get you out. But Bruce pulled rank. So I improvised.”

You blink, frowning. “How do you—You’re... you're not messing with me, right?”

“Why would I?” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

You glance toward the stairs.

Morgan’s voice softens again. “Look. I get that you're confused right now, but I’m the only one not treating you like a threat. I’m here. Now. That has to mean something.”

You stare at her. At the forcefield now lowering. At the ease with which she bypassed every safeguard Bruce ever designed.

Then again, Morgan was always good at this stuff. It’s no surprise she did it this fast.

“I…” You take a step forward, uncertainty creeping into your voice, your hands trembling. “What about the others? When do we tell them?”

Morgan’s smile returns, sharp and clean. “We can’t risk it. Not yet.”

Something about her tone makes your skin crawl. But you push it aside.

You’re tired. You’re scared. And part of you wants—needs—to believe her.

Reluctantly, you follow.

Behind you, the Batcave’s lights dim just slightly, the system blinking in silent confusion, as if even the walls are beginning to suspect something is wrong.

Morgan doesn’t look back.

Her hand hovers near her waist, where you now notice a sleek device you’ve never seen before. Not Bat-tech. Not yours. Too polished. Too… alien. Her fingers twitch over it with ease.

You step into the shadows beside her.

Something stirs in your chest. Not panic. Just a flicker of tension. Your instincts are trying to whisper a warning you can’t quite hear. The air hums strangely. The cave itself feels warped around her.

!!!

You feel it.

!!!

But you shove it down.

Now isn’t the time. She’s here. She came for you. That has to count for something.

“Morgan?” you ask, voice soft.

She doesn’t turn at first. When she does, her smile is easy. Reassuring. Familiar.

“Yeah?”

You pause… 

DANGER.

... then smile back. “Thanks. For getting me out.”

“Of course,” she says, already turning away.

“We had a deal, didn’t we? You and me—we always look out for each other.”

You nod, forcing the knot in your gut to loosen.

Just nerves. Just stress.

And you follow her into the dark.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Sooo... I'm back, and I’ve decided to finish this once and for all!

It’s been over a year, hehe... My bad! My senior year really took a toll on me.

I’m currently working on college applications >< I got accepted into everything I applied for, but next year, if all goes well, I’ll be transferring to Auzzieland!

Also... Sorry about the taglist... Kinda lost the list & It's been so long I'm not too sure people are still interested!

[arixella]

Bound By Fear

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x female! reader

a/n: : my reply to comments have been broken and now I just fixed it!

summary: When a cruel enemy forces you and Luffy to fight each other against your will, you both battle through heartbreak, pain, and fear — until love and trust win in the end.

wc: 850

contains: angst turned into fluff, mind control, forced combat, devastating confessions, desperate trust.

It was supposed to be a quick raid.

In and out. Information stolen. Enemy retreating.

But this wasn’t just any enemy. This one had a Devil Fruit that didn’t attack your body — it twisted your mind. Took control. Turned allies against each other like puppets.

You didn’t even realize it happened.

One moment, you were standing at Luffy’s side, heart hammering from adrenaline, his warm hand brushing against yours.

The next?

Your body jerked.

Unfamiliar.

Wrong.

And then Luffy’s voice — sharp, confused.

“(Y/N)…? What’re you—? Wait, my body—!”

You both took a step toward each other.

And then another.

But this time your fists clenched. You couldn’t stop it.

“Stop it,” Luffy growled at the enemy, eyes going wide. “Stop it now!”

The enemy only smirked, hands glowing with a sickly violet light. “You’re both strong. Let’s see how much you really love each other when you’re forced to fight.”

“No—no—NO!” you shouted, but your arm raised anyway, slamming forward.

Luffy barely dodged.

“I’m not doing this!” he shouted, struggling against his own movements. “I won’t hit you—I won’t!”

You were crying already.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t want to—!” Your voice broke as your leg swung at him, landing a kick to his ribs. He stumbled back, grimacing.

“Luffy—!” you screamed.

He was trying to hold himself back, but you could see it — the tremble in his jaw, the way his hands shook every time they curled into fists against his will.

“Stop hurting her!” he yelled at the enemy, voice raw. “She’s not your toy! LET HER GO!”

The enemy laughed.

“Try begging louder.”

And then your fist flew again.

Luffy didn’t block this time. He took the hit.

His face jerked to the side, lip split open, and his wide eyes locked with yours — not with pain. Not with anger.

With guilt.

With heartbreak.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

And then his fist moved.

You didn’t even have time to react before it landed in your stomach, full force. You crumpled forward, gasping.

You couldn’t breathe.

Tears spilled freely now as you clutched your side, trying to stay up. “Luffy… please… stop…”

“I can’t—I’m trying—I swear I’m trying—” he shouted back, voice cracking. “I don’t want to hurt you—I love you!”

And then the enemy gave one final, horrible command.

“Pick up the sword,” they said. “And end him.”

Your fingers moved.

You screamed — not out loud, but inside. Fighting your own limbs, your own instincts, every step dragging toward the blade at your feet.

“No… no no no—”

Luffy’s eyes widened as you picked it up.

“(Y/N)…”

Your whole body trembled as you pointed the sword at him, tears pouring down your cheeks.

“I don’t want to do this,” you sobbed. “Please, Luffy, run—just run—!”

Luffy was scared.

For once, really scared.

Not of you. But of losing you — to this. To whatever came next.

He took a step toward you, even as you raised the blade higher.

“Don’t come closer!” you begged. “I can’t stop myself—please—”

But Luffy just stood there. Hands open. Bloody. Bruised. Chest heaving.

“If you’re gonna kill me…” he said softly, “at least let me hold you first.”

You were sobbing so hard you couldn’t even see.

And then—

BOOM.

The wall behind the enemy exploded in a blast of orange fire and wind.

“Sorry we’re late,” Sanji snarled, already mid-air with a burning kick aimed at the enemy’s head.

Zoro followed in a blur of steel, Robin’s hands burst from the floor to grab the enemy’s legs, Nami’s lightning already crackling.

Within seconds — it was over.

The glow vanished. Your sword dropped to the ground.

And Luffy caught you before you hit the floor.

He held you so tight you could barely breathe, both of you shaking — arms tangled around each other like you needed to feel that it was over. That you were real. Still here.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed into his chest.

“Don’t,” he whispered, pressing his face into your hair. “You didn’t do anything. I’m the one who hit you. I—”

“We were controlled,” you said. “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t me.”

He still held you like you might disappear again.

“I never want to feel that again,” he said, voice hoarse. “That fear. Of you turning against me. Of me hurting you.”

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “You saved me.”

♡♡♡

© 2025 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[cowboybeepboop]

Rough

Pairing: Logan “Wolverine” Howlett x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut 

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: You’re Scott’s younger sister, you meet Logan when the x-men rescue him and Rogue from Magneto. 

Warnings: Choking, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex, p in v. 

a/n: Idk but there's gonna be a part two where you’re both walking the hall and your brother notices the marks on Logan’s back and your dazed/flushed face. I hope you enjoy and if you have any requests feel free to send them my way <3

As you carefully adjust the IV line attached to the unconscious man's arm, you feel a sudden jolt of panic as his eyes snap open. In a flash, his hand shot out and wrapped around your neck, squeezing with surprising strength. 

The room spun as your vision blurred, the grip of the stranger tightening with every struggling breath you took. Gasping for air, you try to push him away, but his other hand shoots out, pushing you against the wall. 

His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into you, filled with a primal fear and confusion that mirrored your own. The X-Men had brought him here after rescuing him and Rogue from Magneto's clutches, but clearly, he didn't know that yet. 

“Please,” you gasp as you struggle in his grasp. “Let go, please.” 

Logan's eyes roam over your face, taking in your features, your expression, the way you struggle against him. His heart seems to stutter in his chest, his mouth going dry as he notices your flushed face, your furrowed brows, how vulnerable you look in his grasp.

But despite these reactions, he doesn't waver, his grip on your neck only tightens, the primal instinct to defend himself overriding any other thoughts he might have. “Who the hell are you….” He said with a deep rough voice as he keeps a firm grip on you. 

Your eyes begin to glaze over as you reach for his hand, fingers lacing around his wrist in a desperate attempt to free yourself. “Please,” you let out a strangled moan at the pressure, a mixture of feelings clouding your mind. 

"I'm.. I'm just trying to help," you manage to gasp out, "I don't want to hurt you, please, just let go.." As you press a hand gently against his chest, Logan's eyes flutter closed at the touch. It's a stark contrast to the feral aggression he had been displaying just moments ago.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. It's as if the touch of your hand against his chest snaps him back to reality. He suddenly notices how hard he's been squeezing your neck, the panic in your voice, the fear in your eyes.

You gasp shakily, head falling to his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. Your hand falls from his wrist, fingertips trailing down his arm. Your head falling on his shoulder and your hand trailing down his arm makes him shiver slightly. He releases his grip on your neck, his hand coming up to gently cup the back of your head.

He can feel your panicked breaths against his chest, the way you're trying to steady yourself. "I'm sorry," he gruffly whispers, his voice rough with guilt.

You back away from him quietly, your back hitting the door frame as you try to sneak out of the room. Logan's eyes narrow, his senses immediately picking up on your movement. Without warning, he catches your wrist, pulling you back toward him.

He cages you in against the door frame, his body pressed against yours, preventing your escape. "Where do you think you're going, darlin'?"

Your lip quivers as you gaze up at him, unable to form a sentence as he towers over you. Logan's eyes narrow as he notices the fear in your expression. He takes a step closer, his muscular form still keeping you pinned between him and the door frame.

He's close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him. He reaches up, gently running a finger along the bruise on your neck, his touch surprisingly gentle. "I'm sorry..." he mutters softly.

Your head leans back in response to his touch, your body relaxing at his apology, a soft noise escaping your parted lips as he runs his finger over the mark. Hearing the soft noise that escapes your lips, Logan's body tenses momentarily. His eyes flutter over your form for a moment, taking in your reaction to his touch.

His fingers continue to gently brush against the mark he left on your neck, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man with such power at his fingertips. "Did I hurt you?" he asks gruffly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Only a little,” you whisper a soft lie, chest rising and falling rapidly at his proximity, his strong touch sending shivers down your spine. Logan's eyes narrow at your response, clearly hearing the lie in your voice. He leans closer, his face only a few inches away from yours. His breath brushes against your cheek as he speaks in a low growl.

"I can smell it when you lie," he says, his eyes locked on yours. His hand moves from your neck to your chin, tilting your head up slightly so that you are forced to maintain eye contact.

Your eyes widen in confusion. “Smell it?” you question him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist lightly.  A sly smirk appears on Logan's face as he notices the confusion in your eyes. He takes another step closer, his body now flush against yours, pinning you against the door frame.

His other hand comes up to rest against the frame next to your head, his muscular arms caging you in. He leans forward ever so slightly, his lips hovering near your ear as he speaks in a low growl. "I have heightened senses, darlin'. I can smell your fear, your excitement...everything," he explains huskily.

You bite down on your lip, suppressing a quiet moan as his body presses into you. “Everything?” your voice is a soft whisper as his hand trails down from your neck, brushing over your collarbone. Desire coursing through you at his warm and gentle touch. 

Logan's smirk deepens as he hears the faint moan you try to suppress, his keen senses picking up on every little sound you make. His hand continues to trail down your body, tracing a path along your collarbone and down to your hip.

"Everything." he confirms in a low growl. "I can smell your skin, your hair, the way your heart is racing in your chest." He presses his lips against your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he continues. "I can smell your arousal, darlin'...."

Your head falls back against the wall as a strangled gasp escapes your mouth. Hands pressing into his abdomen as you try to add a slight distance between you. 

Logan lets out a low chuckle as he feels your hands attempting to push him away, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he leans into you even more, his hips pressing against yours.

"Trying to keep me at bay, darlin'?" he husks, his lips hovering over the shell of your ear. His hand on your hip moves lower, his fingers tracing light circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"But I can smell how much you're enjoying this...." He murmurs, his voice low and roughen "And you can't hide it from me..."

“Logan..” you practically moan his name, heat building in your stomach as his fingers explore your body. Hearing his name fall from your lips in a moan makes a primal possessiveness grow within him. He can feel your body responding to his touch, the heat building in your stomach, the desire.

He leans his head down, his lips brushing against the sensitive flesh of your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses as he continues to speak. "You sound pretty when you say my name like that," he growls against your skin.

His lips brush over your bruised skin, his kisses feeling like a warm apology. “We..” you begin, voice shaky and full of desperation. “We shouldn’t..” you gasp out, biting back a moan. 

Logan's lips pause for a moment against your skin, his tongue darting out to taste the saltiness. He can smell the heat coming off you, the desperation in your voice, and the conflicting emotions that are swirling within you.

He pulls away slightly, his lips moving to the edge of the bruise he left on your neck. "We shouldn't?" he repeats, his breath hot against your ear. He nips at your earlobe before continuing. "Why not, darlin'?"

Your fingers brush over his bare abs, eyes squeezing shut. “Not here..,” you murmur, “Somewhere more private..” Logan's breath hitches as he feels your fingers against his bare skin, his muscles tensing under your touch. A primal possessiveness floods his senses, the need to claim you, to have you all to himself.

He leans his head back, his eyes dark with hunger as he looks at you. "Somewhere more private, huh?" he growls in a low, rough voice. "Somewhere where I can have you all to myself..."

You nod, peeking one eye open to look at his lust filled gaze. Logan can practically taste your desire on his tongue, the smell of your arousal filling his senses. He leans farther into you, his body pressing firmly against yours, his muscles tensing as he tries to keep his own desires in check.

"Then let's go, darlin'. Somewhere we can be alone," he growls, his hand gripping your hip possessively as he begins to lead you out of the room. You pull him in the direction of your room, his fingers pressing into your hip more roughly as you step inside. 

As soon as you step into your room, the door closing behind you, the scent of your perfume and the unique scent that is distinctly yours hits Logan's senses like a freight train. He takes a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he inhales the scent, his eyes darkening even more.

He locks the door behind him, his instincts flaring at the knowledge that you are alone with him, in your private space. You turn to face him, gulping as you take in his strong muscles, eyes lingering on his growing erection. 

Logan watches your gaze roam over his body, his muscles tensing under your scrutiny. He can see the way your eyes linger on his growing erection, the hunger in your expression, and it makes a feral, possessive growl rumble deep in his chest.

He closes the distance between you in a few strides, his body pressing against yours as he pins you against the wall once more. His hands come up to rest on either side of your head, caging you in.

"Like what you see, darlin'?" he growls, his voice low and hoarse. You respond with a hungry kiss, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

Logan lets out a low growl as you kiss him, his body responding immediately to your touch. He deepens the kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you.

His hands move to your hips, gripping them forcefully as he presses you against the wall, his erection pressing against you. He breaks the kiss to murmur against your skin, his breath hot against your ear.

"You taste so good, darlin'..." you moan, hands going to his pants as you pull his hips against yours. 

Logan's chest rumbles with a deep growl as you pull his hips against yours, his erection rubbing against your core, the thin fabric of both of your clothes the only thing separating you.

His hands grip your hips roughly, his fingers digging into your skin. "You're driving me crazy, darlin'," he groans, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to touch you...everywhere."

“Then touch me,” you bite down on your lip, gazing up at him with eyes dark with desire. 

Logan's eyes darken at your words, a feral, primal hunger taking over at the sight of your lustful gaze. He leans down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss, his hands moving over your body, roaming and exploring every inch of you.

His hands slide up your sides, bunching up your clothes as they go. He breaks the kiss to pull the fabric over your head, tossing it to the side, his eyes raking over your naked form.

You subconsciously cover your body with your hands, hiding your bare skin from his piercing stare. Logan notices the way you instinctively try to hide your body from him, a deep frown appearing on his face. He moves a step closer, his hand gently taking hold of your wrists, gently but firmly moving them away from your body.

His eyes roam over your naked form, his gaze taking in every curve, every inch of skin, his own desire making him ache.

"Don't hide from me, darlin'," he growls, his voice a rough whisper. "You're beautiful, and I want to see you." you throw your head back on the wall as he cups one of your breasts, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

A needy moan leaves your swollen lips, your legs spreading as he presses his knee between them. He presses his knee against your clit, the rough fabric of his pants providing just enough friction to make you gasp. 

The pressure builds as he rhythmically rubs into your sensitive point, his fingers continuing to toy with your hardened nipple. Your body arches into his touch, a silent plea for more, as his lips trace a path down your neck to your chest. His tongue darts out, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin, his teeth grazing over your collarbone, making you quiver. 

The combination of pain and pleasure sends a jolt through your core, making you wetter, more desperate for his touch. His breathing is ragged, his control slipping as he feels your heat through his pants, your body begging for his attention. 

As your hips buck against his knee, your hands fight against his grip, desperate to explore the hardened planes of his body. The wetness between your legs has soaked the fabric of his pants, leaving a dark stain that he can feel growing. Logan’s eyes flash with a fierce hunger as he feels the evidence of your arousal against him. 

His grip tightens on your wrists, keeping your hands pinned above your head, as he continues to tease your nipple with his free hand. His mouth moves lower, kissing and biting down your stomach, heading towards the apex of your thighs. The anticipation is agonizing as he nears your soaked panties, his hot breath ghosting over the damp fabric. 

"Please," you whimper, your body quivering with need. Logan chuckles darkly against your skin, his eyes never leaving yours as he finally gives in to your silent pleas. He drops to his knees, the sound of your gasp filling the room. 

His tongue darts out, tasting you, making you moan out loud as he begins to explore your most sensitive areas with a fervent passion that steals your breath away. His hand still holds yours above your head, his other guiding your hips, urging you to grind against his face, to give him all the sweetness you have to offer. 

Your legs wobble as you try to stay upright, your orgasm building with every stroke of his tongue, your need for him becoming unbearable.

With a fierce determination, Logan positions himself under your hips, releasing your wrists and replacing his grip with one that digs into your hip bones. His lips are ravenous as they devour the sweetness of your sex, his tongue flicking and swirling with a skill that sends waves of pleasure crashing through you. 

You moan loudly, your body instinctively grinding against his mouth as he teases and tastes you with an intensity that makes your legs tremble. Your nails dig into his broad shoulders for support as you try to keep yourself upright, the sensations threatening to overwhelm you. 

The room fills with the sounds of your desperate cries and his hungry growls, each stroke of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. You can feel his breath, hot and ragged, against your sweaty skin, the vibrations of his voice echoing through your core as he murmurs his enjoyment. 

The world outside the room fades away, leaving only the two of you and the undeniable passion that burns between you, the intensity of his mouth on your most sensitive spot making you feel as if you could shatter at any moment.

With a cry of pure ecstasy, you cum into his mouth, your body trembling violently as the most intense orgasm of your life takes over. Logan groans with satisfaction as he hungrily laps up your sweet release, his tongue never leaving your sensitive clit as he continues to pleasure you through the aftershocks. 

His grip on your hips tightens, keeping you in place as he drinks from your well, savoring every drop of your pleasure. You're a mess of sensations, your legs shaking and your chest heaving with each ragged breath. 

The room spins around you as the orgasm subsides, leaving you a trembling mess against the wall, clinging to Logan's shoulders for support. His eyes, filled with a feral hunger, meet yours as he pulls away, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

With surprising gentleness, Logan pulls you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he lays you down. You're still reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, your body feeling both sated and desperate for more. He asks, "Can you handle another round, darlin'?" His voice is deep and gruff, the hunger in his eyes undeniable. 

You nod, your body already responding to the promise in his words. He kisses down your body, his teeth nipping at your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When he reaches your thighs, he spreads them wide, his strong hands holding you open as if you were a delicate treasure he's about to claim. 

His mouth finds your core again, his tongue sweeping over your folds, teasing and tasting you with a newfound enthusiasm. His kisses are feverish, his breath hot and demanding as he worships your body, his hands moving to grip your hips, keeping you in place for his pleasure. 

Your legs wrap around his shoulders, urging him closer, as he dives back into the sweet oblivion of your desire. The sensation of his mouth on you is exquisite, sending waves of pleasure that make you arch off the bed. 

His touch is both gentle and commanding, a perfect blend of rough and tender that sets your body alight with need. As he kisses and sucks, his thumb circles your clit, the dual sensations pushing you towards another shattering climax. 

You can feel your muscles tightening around his tongue, the tension building with every touch, every flick of his skilled tongue. You moan his name, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself get lost in the feeling, your body aching for more of him, all of him. 

Logan's growl of satisfaction vibrates through you, the sound of his hunger for you echoing through the room, driving you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

With a sudden jolt of overwhelming pleasure, you try to pull away, the sensations too intense for you to handle, but Logan's grip on your hips is unyielding. His mouth remains locked onto your core, his tongue working tirelessly, as if he can't get enough of your sweetness. 

"Too much," you gasp, your body quivering uncontrollably under his relentless ministrations. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with a primal need, and you see the hunger in his gaze, the animalistic desire to claim you completely. 

He doesn't stop, though, instead his movements become more urgent, his tongue more insistent, as if he's trying to consume every part of you. You beg for mercy, but the only response you get is a deep, rumbling growl from his chest, his teeth grazing your sensitive skin as he continues to feast on you. 

Your body arches off the bed, your legs tightening around his neck as the orgasm builds, a crescendo of pleasure that seems to have no end in sight. Logan's touch is like fire, burning through any shred of resistance you might have had, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him, desperate for release. 

His name falls from your lips in a breathless chant, a plea for him to either stop or take you over the edge, but he shows no signs of relenting. You're lost in a sea of sensation, your mind hazy with need, as he continues to devour you, pushing you closer and closer to the brink of madness with every stroke of his tongue.

With a loud, desperate cry, your body shatters into a thousand pieces as you cum again, the intensity of the orgasm stealing the last of your breath. Logan's mouth remains sealed over your sex, his tongue continuing to swirl and flick with unrelenting fervor, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your quivering form. 

Your hips pull away from his face, but his strong hands keep you anchored, refusing to let you escape the heavenly torment he's bestowed upon you. As the waves of ecstasy begin to subside, his kisses become softer, more tender, his tongue lapping up the last drops of your climax. 

He kisses a path up your stomach, your chest, and finally captures your mouth in a deep, claiming kiss, sharing the taste of your pleasure with you. Your legs fall apart, your body boneless and sated, as he rises over you, his eyes still alight with hunger and desire. 

His erection strains against his pants, a silent testament to his own need, and you know, without a doubt, that this is only the beginning of a night that will leave you both bruised, exhausted, and utterly satisfied.

With a growl of pure need, Logan slides down his pants, his rock-hard erection springing free, the tip pressing into your trembling thigh as he shifts his attention to your breasts. His kisses become more urgent, his teeth grazing over your sensitive skin as he captures one nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing it into a taut peak. 

You arch your back, a low moan escaping your lips as he switches to the other breast, his tongue swirling around the areola before his teeth catch the sensitive bud again. The sensation sends a bolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you wetter and more desperate for him. 

His hands roam over your body, one cupping the fullness of your breast, his thumb flicking the nipple in time with his mouth, while the other slides down to stroke your clit, making your hips buck in response. The feeling of his tongue on your skin, his teeth tugging at your nipple, and his finger inside you is almost too much to bear, a symphony of pleasure that has you panting and writhing beneath him. 

Your hands reach out to grip his shoulders, urging him closer, needing more of his touch, more of his warmth. His eyes never leave yours, the hunger in them only growing as he watches the effect he has on you, his own desire reflected in the dark depths of his gaze. 

Logan's eyes never leave yours as he positions himself at your entrance, his breaths coming in harsh pants. The head of his erection nudges against your swollen clit, sending an electric jolt through your body. You gasp, your legs tightening around his waist as he presses his tip into your wetness, inch by torturous inch, stretching and filling you. 

The sensation is intense, your clit still pulsing from the recent orgasm, making every movement feel amplified. His hips rock gently, his shaft sliding deeper until he's fully sheathed within you. You whimper at the fullness, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of pleasure. 

His hands move to the back of your thighs, lifting you slightly, changing the angle and causing his cock to hit that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. "Oh, Logan," you moan, your voice a desperate plea for more as he starts to move, his hips sliding in a steady rhythm that matches the beating of your heart. 

His movements are slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation, making you feel as if you're going to combust from the inside out. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his growls of pleasure. His thrusts become more powerful, each one sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, your body desperately trying to keep up with the intensity. 

You cling to him, your nails digging into his back as he fucks you with a primal need that leaves you gasping for breath, your body a taut bow of desire. His eyes never leave your face, the connection between you palpable, a silent promise of more pleasure to come.

With a fierce snarl, Logan's hips press into yours, driving his entire length deep inside you with a power that steals the breath from your lungs. He pulls almost all the way out, the drag of his shaft against your sensitive walls making you cry out, before slamming back in, filling you completely. 

His rhythm is punishing, each thrust a declaration of his desire, a promise of the climax that looms closer with every movement. Your body responds in kind, your hips rising to meet his, the friction building a delicious ache that centers in your core. 

Each pound of his hips into yours feels like a brand, marking you as his, and you revel in the feeling of belonging, the intensity of his possession. The pressure builds, your muscles tightening around him, desperately clinging to the feeling of fullness as you edge closer to the precipice of ecstasy. 

His grip on your thighs tightens, his strokes growing more forceful, the slap of his hips against yours a punctuation to the symphony of pleasure that surrounds you. Your nails dig into his back, leaving marks of your own, a silent testament to the power of your shared desire. 

The world outside this room fades away, leaving only the two of you and the fierce, unbridled passion that consumes you both, as you climb higher and higher, racing towards the peak of pleasure that promises to shatter you completely.

As you both near the edge of release, Logan's movements become more erratic, his muscles tensing and releasing with each powerful thrust. His eyes blaze with a fiery passion that's mirrored in your own gaze, your bodies moving in perfect sync. 

The room is filled with the sound of your mingled moans and the rhythmic slap of skin on skin, a testament to the raw, unbridled desire that fuels your every movement. His grip on your thighs tightens, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he whispers, "Come for me, darlin'." 

The words send a shiver down your spine, your body responding to the command in his voice. You can feel your orgasm building, the tension coiling tightly in your stomach, threatening to explode at any moment. Logan's strokes become more demanding, his hips moving faster and harder, pushing you closer and closer to the brink. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo. 

With a final, guttural growl, he slams into you, hitting that perfect spot deep within, and you detonate around him, your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy. His own orgasm follows, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he releases a roar of pure satisfaction, his body shuddering with the force of his climax. 

Together, you ride out the storm of pleasure, your hearts hammering in time with each other's, your bodies entwined in a passionate embrace that leaves you both trembling and gasping for air. And in that moment, there's no doubt in your mind that you belong to him, just as much as he belongs to you, bound by a connection that transcends logic and reason, a bond forged in the heat of desire and the depths of your shared need.

As the intensity of your shared climax begins to ebb, your nails drag into his shoulders, leaving behind red marks that stand out against his tanned skin. Logan groans with satisfaction, his body still quivering with the aftershocks of his release. He pulls out of you with a final, lingering stroke, his cock still hard and glistening with your arousal. 

He collapses against you, his heavy frame pinning you to the bed, nearly crushing you, his hot breath ghosting against your ear as he fights to regain his breath. The room is silent but for the harsh sounds of your mingled panting, your hearts thundering in a symphony of passion that slowly begins to settle into a steady rhythm. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, as if he can never get enough of the feel of your skin against his. 

He rolls onto his back, pulling you on top of him. His kisses become gentle, peppering your neck and shoulder with affectionate pecks as he whispers, "Mine," his voice a gruff rumble that sends shivers down your spine. 

You nod, too exhausted to speak, but the truth of his words resonates deep within you. In this moment, you are irrevocably his, bound by a passion that seems to have no end. 

As your breathing slows and your bodies cool, you know that this is just the start of a night filled with pleasure and discovery, a night where the lines between doctor and patient, between friend and lover, will be forever blurred.

[writingbuckets]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞: 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐯𝐢𝐢

paige bueckers x podcaster!reader

wc: 3.7k

synopsis: Y/N and Paige’s relationship evolves from a slow burn to a deep, committed love as they navigate the complexities of their careers and dreams.

warnings: emotional tension, angst, jealousy, explicit sexual content, fluff, relationship growth

a/n: and we're backkk! there's only a few parts left to this fic, so i've started to write out the beginnings of new fics, specifically some one shots, so anticipate those. requests are open as i'm searching for some new one shot ideas <3

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the wide windows of Paige’s apartment, bathing the living room in a warm, golden hue that softened everything it touched. The air smelled faintly of something savory—garlic and herbs, maybe—and the sound of soft music playing from a speaker on the counter added a lazy, tranquil ambiance to the space. The place felt like her—equal parts cozy and effortlessly inviting.

You were curled up on her oversized couch, legs tucked beneath you, scrolling idly through your phone, though you weren’t really paying attention to the screen. Most of your focus was on Paige, who moved around the kitchen with an ease that only came from familiarity. She’d kicked off her sneakers hours ago, padding barefoot across the tile floor, opening and closing drawers like she already knew where everything was.

“Are you sure you don’t want help?” you called, tilting your head to get a better look at her.

Paige glanced back over her shoulder, strands of her blonde hair escaping from the now loose bun she’d tied the day before. She was wearing one of her UCONN hoodies, the fabric fitted to her frame, the hem brushing her hips. Beneath it, her pajama pants, relaxed and slouching slightly, added to the casual, cozy vibe she exuded, making it clear that she was at ease in the moment, her usual confident exterior softened by the comfort of her home. The look was casual and unintentional, but she somehow managed to make it distractingly appealing.

“Nope,” she replied, her lips quirking into a smug smirk that made her dimples appear. She lifted a knife and pointed it in your direction playfully before turning back to the cutting board. “I’ve got this. Just relax, superstar.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, though you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face. It was a teasing moniker she’d given you after you’d shared the news about landing a sponsorship for your podcast, and she’d been insufferable about it ever since. “I don’t know if watching you struggle to chop vegetables counts as relaxing,” you quipped, leaning your head against the back of the couch to watch her work.

Paige gasped in mock offense, clutching a hand dramatically to her chest. “Wow. The disrespect. In my own home, no less!”

You laughed, setting your phone down on the coffee table. “Okay, Chef Bueckers. Go ahead and impress me.”

Paige gave you a mock salute, her grin widening. “Don’t worry. By the end of this meal, you’re gonna feel so bad for doubting my skills that you’ll be begging me to cook for you every night.”

“Big words for someone who just fumbled a clove of garlic two minutes ago,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned into the corner of the couch.

She muttered something under her breath, turning back to the counter with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry about what happened with the garlic. That’s in the past now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the quiet music. The ease between you two was palpable, and it filled the space with a sense of lightness you’d grown increasingly fond of. It was amazing how natural it all felt—how seamlessly you’d slipped into this routine of spending time at her place, teasing her from the couch while she experimented with new recipes.

Occasionally, she glanced over at you, her smirk softening into something more affectionate. You caught her looking once, and she quickly turned back to the cutting board, pretending to be overly focused on dicing an onion.

“You know,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips, “if you keep staring at me, we might not get to eat until midnight.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paige shot back, though the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.

“Sure,” you replied, stretching out on the couch with an exaggerated yawn. “Take your time, Chef. I’ll just starve quietly over here.”

Paige laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Keep talking, and I might just burn your food on purpose,” she said, tossing a sliced pepper onto the cutting board with a flourish.

“Wow, threatening your guest? That’s bold.”

“You’re not a guest,” she countered, her voice softening in a way that made your chest tighten. “You’re... you know.”

The way she trailed off, the weight of the unspoken words hanging between you, caught you off guard for a moment. But then she glanced over her shoulder again, her smile small but genuine, and the tension in the air shifted into something that felt more intimate than playful.

“You’re impossible,” you said quietly, though your tone held no real annoyance.

“And yet, here you are,” Paige replied, her smirk returning as she turned back to her work.

The scent of whatever she was cooking began to fill the apartment in earnest, rich and inviting. The golden hour light streaming in through the windows caught the edges of her hair, turning it almost honey-like in color, and for a moment, you forgot about the meal entirely, too caught up in watching her.

Paige, as usual, noticed. “Now you’re staring,” she said without turning around, her voice full of teasing smugness.

“Am not,” you shot back, though the warmth in your cheeks said otherwise.

“Caught in 4K,” she retorted, glancing at you over her shoulder with a grin that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you leaned back against the couch, letting the easy rhythm of the moment wash over you. If this was what life with Paige looked like, you couldn’t wait to see where it went next.

The past few months had been everything you didn’t know you needed. What began as slow steps into something new had quickly blossomed into a rhythm that felt effortless, as if this was where you were meant to be all along. The awkward tension of your first date, with its nervous laughter and overthinking, had melted away after that night, replaced by an ease that sometimes made you question if it was too good to be true. And yet, every time Paige looked at you with that lopsided grin or sent a teasing quip your way, you realized this wasn’t a dream—it was your reality.

You and Paige had settled into a flow that worked, balancing your busy schedules with the demands of her games and your growing podcast. It wasn’t always easy, but it was worth it. Early mornings were spent sharing hurried cups of coffee, and late nights often found you curled up on her couch or yours, laughing at something silly on TV or talking about nothing and everything. Somewhere in the middle of all that, you’d discovered how much you loved these quieter moments, the ones that felt suspended in time, like lazy afternoons when the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

Being with Paige had surprised you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. On paper, she was a phenomenon: the Paige Bueckers, basketball prodigy, fan favorite, and media darling. She was a star in every sense of the word, with a presence so magnetic it felt like it could pull the tide. But with you, she was just Paige. Goofy, thoughtful, endlessly witty, and endearingly competitive about everything from who could open a jar faster to who had the better taste in music.

She was the kind of person who would call you at midnight just to tell you she’d heard a song on the radio that reminded her of you. She was also the kind of person who would take ten minutes to pick out the right snack from a convenience store and then tease you for your “unrefined” candy preferences. With her, everything felt easy—like finding the right piece to a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing.

“You’re quiet,” Paige’s voice broke through your thoughts, casual but laced with curiosity as she worked at the counter.

You blinked, her words pulling you back to the present. She hadn’t turned around, too focused on her task, but somehow, she always knew when your mind wandered. “Just thinking,” you replied, trying to play it cool.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about what? Or should I say… who?”

“Wow, conceited much?” you shot back, trying to ignore the slight flush that crept up your neck.

Her grin widened as she turned fully, holding up a cutting board with half of a neatly sliced pepper. “Just admit it,” she said, her tone smug.

“I wasn’t thinking about you,” you lied, though your cheeks betrayed you.

“Oh, really?” Paige placed the cutting board down and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. The playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t letting this go. “So, what was it? World domination? Your podcast’s next big scoop? Which player’s sneakers squeaked the loudest during the last game?”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head. “None of the above. I was thinking about…” You trailed off for dramatic effect.

“About?” she pressed, leaning in slightly as if your answer were life or death.

You smirked, deciding to turn the tables. “About how you always insist on using the tiniest cutting board in existence for way too many vegetables. Seriously, do you not own a bigger one?”

Paige gasped, clutching a hand to her chest in mock offense. “This cutting board and I have history! Don’t disrespect it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was insulting a family heirloom,” you teased, folding your arms across your chest.

“It practically is,” she shot back with a grin. “We’ve been through a lot together. College dorm meals, team dinner cooking fails… it’s seen things, Y/N.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And yet it’s still too small.”

Paige laughed, pushing off the counter and returning to her task, her shoulders shaking with amusement. “One day, I’ll upgrade. But until then, this little guy gets the job done.”

“Barely,” you quipped, earning another laugh from her.

She reached for a pan, humming softly to the tune playing throughout the apartment. Watching her like this—barefoot in her hoodie, completely at home in her own space—made your chest ache in the best way. 

“Careful,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You might actually impress me with your cooking skills.”

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, I will. And when I do, I expect a full public apology for all the trash-talking you’ve done about my culinary expertise.”

You snorted. “Culinary expertise? Paige, I’ve seen you eat cereal straight from the box because you didn’t want to wash a bowl.”

“That’s called efficiency,” she shot back, turning her attention back to the stove. “You wouldn’t understand.”

The playful banter filled the space, bouncing off the walls with an energy that contrasted beautifully with the softer, quieter moments you shared. It was hard not to feel light in moments like this, when everything about her felt so natural and unguarded. Paige had a way of making the world feel a little less heavy, a little more vibrant, just by being herself.

“Paige,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the comfortable silence.

She glanced over her shoulder, her expression shifting from playful to attentive in an instant. “Yeah?”

“I was just thinking…” You hesitated, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Paige turned off the burner and set the spoon down, giving you her full attention. She leaned against the counter, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. “That sounds serious,” she teased gently, though her tone was laced with genuine curiosity.

You smiled, trying to push past the nervous energy bubbling up. “It’s not, really. Just… us. How this feels.”

Her eyes softened, the teasing completely gone now. She pushed away from the counter and walked over to the couch, dropping down beside you. “What about it?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt, searching for the right words. “I guess I didn’t expect it to be this easy. Being with you.”

Paige tilted her head, watching you closely. “Easy in a good way, I hope?”

You nodded quickly, laughing softly. “Yeah, in a really good way. I mean, I knew you’d be funny and smart and all that. But I didn’t think…” You trailed off, suddenly shy under her gaze.

“That I’d be this irresistible?” she offered, a smirk tugging at her lips, though her eyes betrayed her vulnerability.

“Obviously,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. Then you sobered, reaching out to take her hand. “I didn’t think I’d feel this comfortable. Like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Paige’s fingers curled around yours, her grip warm and steady. “Same,” she admitted. “I was worried at first, you know? That I’d mess things up or… that maybe it’d be too much.”

Your brows furrowed. “Too much?”

She shrugged, her thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “With basketball, the attention… my life isn’t exactly low-key. I didn’t want that to make things harder for you. But you’ve just… you’ve handled everything so well.”

You squeezed her hand, your chest tightening at her honesty. “Paige, I knew what I was signing up for. And yeah, maybe it’s not the most ‘normal’ relationship, but it’s ours. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything.”

Her smile was small but radiant, the kind that made your stomach flip. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You leaned in, resting your forehead against hers. “Right back at you.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything, the silence filled only by the soft hum of the kitchen appliances. Then Paige shifted slightly, her free hand brushing against your cheek.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “Me too.” 

Her eyes softened, and before you could say another word, she leaned in, closing the small distance between you. Her lips brushed yours gently at first, a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold everything unspoken between you. The warmth of her lips sent a shiver through you, and as she deepened the kiss, everything around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that quiet moment. It was slow, tender, the kind of kiss that told you more than words ever could, words you desperately wanted to say. When you finally pulled away, your breath was shallow, and the world outside felt a little less important.

Paige smiled, her thumb gently tracing your bottom lip. “I meant that,” she whispered, her voice low and full of meaning.

“I know,” you replied softly, your hand instinctively finding her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer.

The look in her eyes was so tender, so full of affection, that you felt like you might melt under its weight. And you couldn't help but think that for all the unexpected twists and turns life had thrown at you, this—being here, with her—was exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, she slid a plate in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Voilà,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sophistication. “A masterpiece, handcrafted by yours truly.”

You raised an eyebrow, eyeing the dish. “Looks edible,” you said, hiding your smile.

She gasped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? That’s not the enthusiasm I was hoping for. Where’s the applause? The standing ovation?”

You picked up your fork, taking a small bite to appease her. To your surprise, the food wasn’t just good—it was amazing. The flavors were rich and perfectly balanced, the kind of dish you’d expect at a nice restaurant, not from Paige’s kitchen.

Your eyes widened, and Paige immediately noticed. “I knew it,” she said triumphantly. “You love it. Go ahead, admit it.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible. “Okay, fine. It’s good. Like, really good. How did you pull this off?”

Paige leaned against the counter, her smirk turning smug. “Told you I’m full of surprises, superstar.”

As you laughed, the late afternoon sun began to dip lower, casting the room in softer, golden hues. The conversation flowed effortlessly as you ate, touching on everything from her upcoming games to your plans for the next podcast episode. She listened intently as you spoke, her gaze warm and unwavering, and you found yourself marveling again at how easy it was to just… be with her.

When dinner was done, Paige stood and started clearing the plates, but you stopped her.

“Hey, you cooked. Let me handle this.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Deal. But if you break one of my glasses, you’re banned from entering my kitchen forever.”

“Noted,” you said with a laugh, collecting the dishes.

By the time you’d finished tidying up the kitchen, the faint hum of the TV and the soft glow of the living room lights welcomed you back into the cozy space. Paige was sprawled out on the couch, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, she’d taken down her bun and her golden hair was tousled from running her fingers through it. She held the remote in one hand, scrolling through Netflix with a look of mild concentration.

Hearing your footsteps, she glanced up, her face breaking into a soft smile. “There you are,” she said, patting the empty space beside her. “Come here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Crossing the room, you sank into the cushions beside her, instantly enveloped by her warmth as she draped an arm over your shoulders and pulled you close. Your legs tangled together naturally, the scent of her familiar—clean and comforting.

“Miss me already?” you teased, resting your head against her shoulder.

“Always,” she shot back smoothly, her lips quirking into a grin as she pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“What are we watching?” you asked, glancing at the TV, where the endless carousel of titles continued to scroll.

“Not sure yet,” she admitted, her thumb hovering over the remote. “But I’m vetoing any true crime. I don’t feel like sleeping with the lights on tonight.”

You laughed, snuggling further into her side. “Fair point. Let’s go with something cheesy, then. Rom-com or bust.”

“Rom-com it is,” Paige agreed, scrolling until she found a movie with a predictably charming cover: a couple laughing together in a picturesque park. She clicked play without much thought, settling back into the cushions with a contented sigh.

The movie began, its upbeat opening credits accompanied by a lighthearted soundtrack, but your attention drifted almost immediately. Instead of focusing on the predictable meet-cute unfolding on the screen, you found yourself drawn to the small, absentminded gestures Paige made—the way her fingers gently traced slow, lazy patterns along your arm, the way her chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm that matched the quiet calm of the moment.

You tilted your head to look up at her, catching the soft lines of her profile as she watched the screen. Her expression was relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips every time something particularly cheesy happened.

“What?” she asked, not looking away from the screen but clearly sensing your gaze.

“Nothing,” you replied, though the warmth spreading through your chest begged to differ.

Minutes passed like that, the comfort of her presence and the warmth of the room lulling you into a blissful haze. Then Paige’s voice broke the silence, softer now, almost hesitant.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, her voice breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

She shifted slightly, enough that you could feel her looking down at you. When you tilted your head up, her blue eyes met yours, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. There was something searching in her gaze, like she was trying to find the right words.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

You nodded, your heart picking up slightly at the unexpected vulnerability in her tone. “Of course.”

Her fingers stilled against your arm, but her hand didn’t pull away. She took a breath, her chest rising and falling beneath your touch, before speaking. “I didn’t think… I didn’t think I could feel this way about someone.”

The weight of her words settled over you, heavy and full of meaning.

She continued, her gaze unwavering, as if grounding herself in your presence. “It’s like… no matter how crazy everything gets—basketball, the media, everything—you’re this constant. And I’ve never had that before. Not like this.”

Your throat tightened, emotion swelling in your chest. Paige wasn’t someone who opened up easily. She carried so much of the world on her shoulders, and yet here she was, baring a piece of herself that felt achingly real.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached up, your fingers lightly brushing against her cheek. “Me neither,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

She leaned into your touch, her eyes closing for a moment like she was savoring the weight of your hand against her skin. When she opened them again, the vulnerability in her expression was replaced by something softer—an undeniable warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.

“I mean it,” she said, her voice steady but still tender. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

The words hit you with a force you hadn’t expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find your voice. All you could do was shift closer, wrapping your arms around her as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Paige held you tightly, her hand finding its place at the small of your back. Her lips brushed against your temple, lingering there as if to ground herself in the moment.

“I don’t think I could do this without you,” she murmured.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her. “You could,” you said firmly, though your voice trembled with the weight of your own emotions. “But I’m glad you don’t have to.”

A slow, grateful smile spread across her face, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. The space between you felt almost sacred, the air charged with unspoken promises.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten as you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms. The world outside could wait. For now, all that mattered was this moment, and the quiet, unshakable love that filled the space between you.

[bamfkeeper]

Fuzzy.

RQ: 'Hello! I love your writing for kurt and I need more!!! Lol, but I've had this idea in my head for a while, but what if you write something where his partner gets overwhelmed easily or anxious and they touch his fur to ground themselves?' - @misfortunate-love

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Anxiety/panic attacks

A/N: I had a few different requests for this kind of idea so I wanted to write something that I could cover a lot with, so I went with hcs/drabble for this. I hope you enjoy.

WC: 1.3k

A lot of days felt overwhelming, you often had trouble focusing or getting rid of that dreaded feeling. You always felt a horrible sense of an invisible weight crushing you, and you couldn't help but feel overwhelmed all the time.

Things can be so overstimulating for you, too many things going on tend to get you stressed and you have trouble calming down from that high.

You reach for him sometimes, just to feel his hand. The texture helping relax you enough to not have a full blown attack right then and there.

Kurt notices this, and he tries his best to help you.

Kurt's voice is a good way to help distract your brain, his accent makes you think a little more, and sometimes he purposefully mixes German and English so your brain catches.

But what helps the most is his fur.

The warmth. The texture. The feeling.

Kurt knows his fuzzy skin is a comfort to you, so whenever he sees you overwhelmed or on the verge of a panic attack, he brings you somewhere private, and he lets you touch him wherever you like.

Most often his arms or chest.

If you're okay with it, he will do skin to skin too. He never makes it sexual, but both of you shirtless pressing into him, you can't help but rub yourself along his fur. It scratches your brain right and it feels like he's getting rid of all of that anxiety.

"Liebe? What is it?" he asks you, his piercing yellow eyes gazing intently at you as he notices the subtle hitch in your breath. His brow furrows with concern, quickly realizing the situation unfolding before him. "Ah, ah, schatz... it's okay, breathe..." he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

His eyes dart around, assessing the environment for any potential triggers or threats. With gentle, reassuring movements, he reaches out, his strong hands carefully grasping your arms. The warmth of his touch serves as an anchor, grounding you in the present moment as he continues to offer words of comfort and support. He hides it well, but he's a little panicked too.

"I-I can't...b-breathe, Kurt-" you gasp desperately for air, your chest heaving as the overwhelming, horrible panic attack takes over your body. You struggle frantically to hold it all in, your hands trembling as you clutch at your shirt. The weight of anxiety presses down on you, an invisible force that seems to crush your lungs and constrict your throat. Your vision blurs, and you feel dizzy, as if the world is spinning around you.

Kurt's face comes into focus, his expression a mix of concern and helplessness as he clearly sees the distress etched across your features. The suffocating feeling intensifies, and you find yourself gasping like a fish out of water, desperately trying to draw in enough oxygen to keep yourself from passing out.

He swiftly embraces you, his arms enveloping you in a comforting gesture, before there was a quick BAMF…and both of you were teleported to the sanctuary of his bedroom. The room, shrouded in darkness, serves as a soothing, metaphorical blanket, enveloping you in its calming embrace. The dim, gentle light filtering through the curtains, the familiar and reassuring scent that is uniquely his, and the pervasive quiet of the space all contribute to a sense of tranquility. This peaceful environment stands in stark contrast to the cacophony of sounds emanating from the other mutants gathered downstairs, their voices and activities now muffled and distant.

Despite the change in surroundings and the momentary reprieve from the overwhelming stimuli, you find yourself still struggling to regain your composure. Your breath comes in rapid, shallow gasps as you continue to hyperventilate, your body and mind unable to quickly transition from the previous state of distress to one of calm.

Kurt, sensing your distress, instinctively knows exactly what to do. With a swift motion, he tears off his top, revealing his muscular blue form. In any other circumstance, you might find yourself staring in awe, but right now, your vision is clouded and unfocused, speckled as you sunk into your panic attack. "Liebe..." he whispers softly, with infinite gentleness, he takes your trembling hands in his own, his touch warm and reassuring.

Slowly, deliberately, he guides your hands to his chest, pressing them against the soft fur that covers his torso. The sensation is immediate and grounding - you can feel the velvety texture of his fur beneath your fingertips, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. Kurt carefully moves your hands, guiding them along the contours of his body. Each stroke of fur against your skin acted like an anchor, gradually pulling you back from the brink of your intense panic.

As you focus on the feeling, you can sense the fog of anxiety starting to lift. You gradually synchronize your breathing with his, consciously matching each inhale and exhale. His steady, tranquil heartbeat serves as a soothing metronome, guiding you towards a state of calm rather than the erratic state you had been in.

The rhythmic connection you both had demanded the tension in your body to slowly dissipate. Tense muscles relax and you feel sore all over. A small sniffle escapes you, and you notice your voice momentarily catching in your throat, causing a slight hitch in your breath. Your hands rest gently against him, and you become acutely aware of the texture beneath your palms. His soft fuzz tickles your skin in a comforting way, as he had done this many times before in the past.

His familiar touch has always been a source of comfort, acting as a dependable anchor during times of distress. As you continue to breathe in unison, you find yourself gradually settling into a more peaceful state, the panic that had gripped you earlier beginning to loosen its hold.

"There we are..." Kurt replied softly, his voice a gentle caress as he smiled warmly at you. His eyes, filled with tenderness and understanding, met yours reassuringly. "Alles gut..." he murmured, the words rolling off his tongue with a soothing cadence. His lips pressed a series of gentle, peppering kisses to your forehead and temple, each one a silent display of safety and care.

The touch of his affection seemed to work its magic, as he could visibly see the tension in your body start to dissipate. Your breathing, once rapid and shallow, began to slow and deepen. He watched with relief as the panic that had gripped you moments ago gradually loosened its hold, being replaced by a growing sense of calm. Only Kurt could do this, only he had enough knowledge and care to bring you down so quickly and tenderly.

You remained silent, choosing instead to envelop him in a tight embrace, your arms wrapping around his form as you nestled your face into the crook of his neck. The gesture spoke volumes, conveying your emotions more eloquently than words ever could. He understood implicitly, recognizing the weight of your struggles. The constant battle with your mental state was an exhausting ordeal, one that seemed never-ending and all-consuming. He could scarcely fathom the immense pressure you were under, the daily toll it took on your spirit. He got stressed too, but never to this extent. He wished he could take it all away forever.

Sensing your need for comfort and reassurance, he held you close, his strong arms forming a protective cocoon around you. His voice, soft and filled with tenderness, broke the silence after several minutes of holding you. "I've got you, schatz," he whispered, his words a soothed your troubled soul. "You will never have to face this alone, not as long as I'm here." The sincerity in his tone was palpable, a promise etched in every syllable.

As if to emphasize his commitment, his tail gently curled around you, adding another layer of security to his embrace. His entire being seemed to transform into a living fortress, shielding you from the harsh realities of the world outside. In that moment, wrapped in his arms and surrounded by his unwavering support, you felt a glimmer of peace amidst the storm of your thoughts.

Nothing could ever get to you here. Not a damn thing.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover images: Screencap X-Men '97, Pinterest