#but now back to that horrible misery

[quibbs126]

*sigh*

I’m pretty sure I’m only going to pass a single class this semester. I mean thankfully it’s the one that’s worth the most credit hours, about equal to the other two combined, but still. I dropped the other two classes I knew I wasn’t going to do good in, and I’m going to do them during the summer

They say freshman year is the most important year, and I wasted it. I wasted it all. Especially this semester

And it’s all because I’m so lazy. Like, for example, for that one class, we need to read books, and even though I didn’t really read the books for the last two exams and still did well, just following the notes, I had a much harder time following the professor this round, given he was just blazing through the stuff faster than I could write, so I need to get them to fully understand the books. And they aren’t public domain or anything, so I can’t just read them for free online. Anyways, so I can’t find them in the library (or at least ones that aren’t already checked out), and so I was going to check out book stores for them. There’s one close by (I say that, but it’s a 30 minute walk), and it probably has the books, and I told myself Tuesday that I would go get them. It’s Thursday night and I still haven’t bothered to go get them. It’s not hard, I just can’t be bothered to get up and do it

And honestly, it’s been getting harder to do just basic things. It takes so much effort for me to leave my room for something other than classes, even for food. It takes so much effort to do my laundry, only doing it once my sink ledge gets too piled up because I only have one place to put it. It takes so much effort to clean my floors, despite me wanting to do so. It takes so much effort to take a shower, despite knowing I need one. I won’t call my parents because it’s just too much effort. At first it was because I just didn’t want to address me not doing my driving training, but then it just became that I couldn’t be bothered. It takes so much effort to get out of bed. Last semester, I really liked taking walks, and I’d go around 6, my alarm waking me up at 5:30 to give me plenty of time. Now, I don’t get out of my bed until at least 6:30. At first, I didn’t take them because it was winter and all I had was a not particularly thick sweater, and I’d rather not spend an hour in the cold. As time went on though, I just couldn’t be bothered. And when I go up to my bed, mostly because it’s the most comfortable area in my dorm, it takes so much effort for me to just get down

And it takes far too much effort for me to just do my homework. At first this semester, it was just that I forgot, but no big deal, it’s the first week or two, I’ll do it the rest of the semester. And then more weeks pass. And more weeks. And I’m sitting here, having done almost no homework this semester, the only ones I’ve done being countable on one hand, not counting group projects or the like. And I hate being like this

And those two classes I’m pretty sure I’m failing? One of which I already failed last semester and am having to do again this semester, are both lab classes. Essentially you show up, do your work, then you have two weeks to submit work related to it, like the lab reports or just an analysis of your data, with the engineering one also having lectures with homework and quizzes, not too difficult. Like, these classes aren’t hard. It’s just that I refuse to do the work, the simple bare minimum to pass these easy classes. And I’m probably going to have to do them again now

That’s the thing, these classes aren’t hard, I just refuse to be bothered to do even the simplest things, no matter how beneficial they are to me

I haven’t applied for any scholarships, despite me having plenty of opportunities, and the fact that I’m gonna lose my current one for high grades (I need I believe a 3.6, my GPA is close to a 2.1, and is probably going to stay around that, if not drop further), and I can’t be bothered to go and get a job, despite saying for years that I plan on getting one. I can’t be bothered to do a simple few hours of an online driving course to get a learner’s permit

What do I do instead? Watch videos on YouTube, mostly ones I’ve already seen. Constantly search the “cookie run” tag on here for any new posts. Listen to music while coming up with inane plots that I’ve already cycled through several times. Play Cookie Run, mostly Ovenbreak. On occasion do art

I’d rather do inane things than do things that are actually beneficial to my life. And I have so many opportunities to do these things, I have so many opportunities to seek out help for my issues. My university has this counseling and psychological services program that I’ve been suggested multiple times I should book an appointment with. There’s an academic success center in which I could go and try and figure out my problems when it comes to my understanding of my classes’s material, or my time management skills. I’m practically presented opportunities on a silver platter to improve. But I just can’t be bothered

And here I am, sitting for like half an hour, writing about my woes instead of doing something about them. But it’s too late in the day to do anything, and goddamn it, I don’t want to go back to pacing around my room, feeling restless and anxious about my failures. This has at least distracted my brain into focusing on something related to the problem, in the form of writing it down. Let me have this

I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to just be a waste of space and money. But I’m too goddamn lazy to do anything of value, and so I just sit here, wallowing in my misery but not being bothered to do anything about it

And it’s too late into the semester to do anything. Finals are in the next two weeks. I was first told to go to CAPS in mid February. And here I sit, 2 and a half months later, still having not done that. And I suffer all the more for it. It’s too late to make up all that lost work. It’s too late to look for scholarships for next semester, or even the summer, since I’m going to take summer classes

I don’t know how I’m going to feel over the summer, when everything’s said and done. But probably, I’ll forget my woes, and this will all repeat again, with increasingly disastrous results. That’s how it always goes, every day, every week, every month. I go to sleep, knowing I wasted the day, only to wake up, forgetting my lesson, until the day’s gone and it happens again

I don’t know what the point of me writing this was. I think I lost whatever point I was trying to make. But do you get me?

[faaun]

the forest looks like heaven today i woke up feeling the heaviest weight at the top of my heart

[medicinemane]

I don't know... horrible things happen all around the world and it's not a competition

Atrocities are committed against multiple groups in multiple parts of the world at the exact same moment, and none of them erase each other. They all matter, all the people in this world who are being brutalized matter. There shouldn't be any line you draw where one group doesn't actually matter as much as another

You're welcome to prioritize your energy towards helping one group or another, but what's not ok is invalidating or dismissing people who are actively being harmed

Same goes for trying to figure out which social group has things worst (and lets be honest, always using a US lens)

Like... maybe the important thing is to prop each other up and help everyone get on their own feet rather than trying to... pick fights about if physical disabilities or mental illness are less respected (I'm trying to pick a more absurd example but sadly I've seen exactly that argument happen before). Maybe it doesn't really matter and what matters is helping who we can when we can

I'm tired of it, I'm just fucking tired of it. Support people, champion them when the world is just brutalizing them, but you don't need to throw a single other person under the bus to do that

Which seems to be an absolutely impossible lesson for people to learn

[edns]

I have no edgy or whimsical caption for this one I am just sobbing on the floor. Woe

[mad-hunts]

have i ever talked about how barton is genuinely jealous of people who seem happy because he feels so hollow a majority of the time that even when he's 'happy,' he's not really happy? because i just 😭 yeah...

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[comediakaidanovsky]

thought the final weeks before the holiday would be fairly chill but instead i combo'd two separate illnesses with a bunch of social obligations and a director at my job quit so now i'm doing her job and my own and babysitting like ten more coworkers while also trying to be a Good Child and show up for my mom and at least three friends are going through crises and need all of the emotional support and i somehow went from energized and hype for december to three seconds from caretaker burnout in less than a week jfc

[milkweedman]

Man, my doctor warned me these meds could make me clumsy, and i kind of shrugged it off bc im already walking into doors and walls constantly in my own home, but today after i took my meds (1 hour ago, i delayed bc they make me a very bad driver and i had a lot of driving to do) i have already fallen down 3 times and keep ending up on the floor somehow whenever i try to stand up. Its not great

[swordbreakerz]

Tumblr mobile I'm going to kill you for making the posts BRIGHT WHITE even in low contrast and dark mode what is WRONG WITH YOU

[misskirisame]

.

[luveline]

Can I please get the aftermath of a fight with Hotch? Maybe they’re both stressed after a particular case and things got a little heated?

ty for requesting !! fem, 1k

You hate when Hotch shouts. 

Morose, you lay in a slouch on the couch with your hand between your face and the armrest, knuckles aching from the pressure. You’re attempting to self soothe, but your misery is worsened by your own ministrations, your thumb a useless thing on your cheek. You can’t do it like Hotch can. There’s no second meaning. 

You assume him to be in the kitchen where you left him. 

Nobody likes to fight, but you think you might be the most unwilling participant for any argument with him. He’s patient, and mellow-headed the majority of the time, so when he does get heated you can’t help thinking you’ve done something really awful.

You get the worst of worries sitting there. That you’re too much effort for him, that you don’t fit. That he’s going to realise these things and cut you loose. 

Your tears are lazy. Your shoulders shudder with your breathing, but there isn't a sound to them, just heat where they well at the corner of your eye and drip over your nose. You sniffle, pressing the back of your hand to your top lip. 

It’s cold in the living room. Immediately hotter when Hotch sits down beside you. You lift your head on instinct, surprised at his sudden presence, tears jolting down your cheeks like flash floods. When you realise it’s him and what you’re doing, you turn your face back to the armrest with held breath. 

He hesitates for a moment.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you mumble. 

He drapes himself over your contorted frame. Arm weaving under your stomach, face pressing firmly to the nape of your neck, his right hand on your shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he says, hand working into your tense shoulder blade lovingly, his thumb drawing lines. “Don’t cry.” 

“Are you still angry?” 

“No,” he says, his voice ladened with a light sincerity, “I’m not angry.” 

You feel like he’s holding back. Upset again, you attempt to find his hand where it’s cupping the space just below your chest and hold it weakly, smaller fingers on his, looking for a better forgiveness. It doesn’t come. You cry so much it starts to make you feel sick, and concern your weary partner, his frown getting deeper where it’s pressed to your neck. 

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for yelling, honey, is that what’s upset you?” 

You just hate the idea that he could feel against you. It’s like a mixture of regret, anger, and now frustration, because you hadn’t wanted to cry at all, much less be comforted. Although, admittedly, the comforting is holding you together. 

“Come on,” he says, kissing your cheek between words, “let’s sit up before you hurt your back.” 

He sits back and pulls at your arm until you're sitting upright on the sofa. Your gaze falls to your legs, your hand curled uselessly on your thigh, your tears slowly pooling and falling in succession. You scrunch your face up as another wave of misery hits you. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you say. 

“For what?” he asks, far less emotional than you, and yet not completely stony, either. 

“I didn’t mean to cry.” You bring your hand to your face to wipe at your tears and runny nose, irked, not wanting him to see you. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

Hotch leans down to kiss your shoulder, which works to calm you down. Another kiss to your neck and your horrible cloud of emotion starts to clear. 

He can’t hate you if he’s kissing you. 

“I’m sorry I made it a fight,” Hotch says, “I never would have if I thought you’d get this upset.” 

“We can’t not fight just because I might cry.” 

“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t. I never want to make you cry.” 

“I hate when you–” You cut yourself off, the confession sure to make you look small. 

“What?” he prompts gently.

“I hate when you yell because– because you never do.” 

He’d only raised his voice for a few words, and it hadn’t been to your discredit, he’d been telling you to leave it alone. Perhaps if he’d been insulting you it would make sense for you to cry this much, but yelling is part of any argument. You can’t work out why it’s affected you. 

“I feel so stupid,” you confess. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, wrapping his arm behind your back to pull you flush to his side, “I don’t know how it got so out of hand. You’re never stupid, I’m just stubborn. I shouldn’t shout.” 

You twist to be facing him. He frowns at your wet cheeks. 

“Do you want to kiss and make up?” you ask tentatively. 

Hotch doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh at your question —he can tell you’re being serious. “Can we?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. 

He rubs a loving line into the side of your face, and every tight string in you is cut. You kiss him quickly, worried it’ll be a bad one, but find yourself encouraged for a longer one by his hand, your eyes squeezed closed in stress relaxing the longer it goes on. He’s gentle with you, his lips parting atop yours. 

He pulls away. You hide your face in the curve of his neck. 

“Can you forgive me for being cruel?” he asks quietly. 

“You’re not cruel, Aaron. I hate being on a different side from you, that’s all.” 

His first name makes all the difference to him. He sneaks a couple of kisses into your temple and begins to relax as you have, two sad lumps on the couch who only want the comfort of the other. 

You rub loving lines up and down his side, finally feeling better as he breathes his own sigh of relief. 

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 15: Bonnie

Summary: Your heat is over and your pack has moved on with their lives, settling back into the familiar routine. Except, some things have begun to change, and you're not entirely sure if its for the better.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7456 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, oral, handjobs, overstimulation, P in V sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hair pulling, switch Johnny, Johnny's lingerie kink, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, language, mention of nightmares, brief talk about killing and violence, insomnia, fluff, and of course a bit of angst

A/N: This chapter was an absolute bitch to write. I'm not kidding this was a nightmare. I'm happy with the changes I've made though, and how things are progressing. We've made a little bit of a time jump here, but not much. I think I'm getting sick so, posting the chapter before I inevitably pass out again. Oh, and Happy Easter everyone that celebrates.

Want early access to chapters, as well as other bonus content? Consider supporting me on Patreon.

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Your eyes fly open as the alarm blares. They burn as you squint against the bright phone light. An arm reaches over you, the warm skin sliding against your back as he fumbles to turn off the offending noise. 

You let out a quiet groan as you catch the numbers dictating the time on the screen before the phone is placed back on the nightstand. “‘S too early.” You grumble, rubbing at your crusty eyes. 

“Go back to sleep.” John murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before he shifts, climbing over you to get out of the bed. He tucks the blankets back around you before slipping into the bathroom. 

You won't go back to sleep. The last time you'd glanced at the time on your phone had been two hours ago, at 2 A.M. You’ve been awake most of the night, as you have been the last couple nights. You haven't been sleeping well. It was like your heat opened a floodgate and now every time you close your eyes, you're transported back into the past, back when you were a child. Back when things weren't fine. 

You've started trying to avoid sleep, waking constantly during the night from nightmares or from your brain’s own fear of them starting back up. It’s only been a week since your heat ended, and yet you feel no more rested than you did coming out of it. Nothing you’ve tried has worked, not even staying awake until you inevitably pass out prevents your subconscious mind from pulling up the horrible memories of your past. 

Even sleeping next to your alpha hasn’t provided any comfort for your mind. His presence isn’t enough to quell the fear in your mind that the nightmares might come back, that the memories might surface. 

Even he can’t protect you from this. 

You close your eyes as the bathroom door opens again, pretending to sleep as John dresses for his morning workout. He’s quiet, near silent as he moves about the room. It’s almost terrifying how quiet they can be. Though, you suppose, if your survival depends on it, it’s a skill you’d spend plenty of time honing. 

John grabs his phone from the nightstand, running a gentle hand over your head before he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him. You lay there for a few minutes, trying not to let the guilt eat you alive. You should tell them you’re struggling to sleep, that your mind is plaguing you with memories from your past, but you’re afraid of what they might think of you. You’re not the perfect omega, you’re not as whole as you might seem. 

You’re held together with duct tape on the inside. They already have enough to worry about now, they don’t need the weight of your misery thrown on top of the loads they all carry. 

You let out a long breath, turning over in John’s bed. You press your face into the pillow, inhaling the imprint of his scent on the fabric. It’s still warm where he was laying, and you shuffle over into that spot, letting your body go lax as you imagine him still there with you, arms still wrapped around your body. You want to bury yourself in his arms, press against his chest until you sink into him and become one. 

Only then, perhaps you can feel safe enough to sleep. 

You press your face further into the pillow, every inhale filled with John’s scent. It lulls you into a daze, the hypnagogic stage between sleep and wakefulness. 

You jolt as a hand touches your arm, calluses smoothing over the bare skin. You blink your eyes open, letting out a quiet groan. It’s light outside now, the room bathed in white light instead of the yellow tinge of the nightlight John had bought for his room for you.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” John says, gently squeezing your arm. He’s already dressed for the day, hair still damp from the shower. You hadn’t even noticed he’d returned. 

You roll over, rubbing your eyes. “‘S fine. Didn’t even know I was asleep. Breakfast time?” 

John hums, leaning over you. “Almost. You’ve got time to get ready.” 

You blink up at him blearily, your mind still trying to wake up completely after your short nap. You stare up into his eyes, getting lost in their blue depths. You feel like you could swim in them, his deep earthy scent drawing forward memories of camping and swimming in the lake. Memories you could pretend were happy, memories not tainted by fear and grief. 

“Christ,” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, your lips moving against his as you kiss. You trail a hand up his arm, sliding it to his back. His shirt is soft, thin enough that you can feel the muscles in his back as you smooth your hand across his shoulder blades. 

“Wish I could stay here all day.” He murmurs, his face pressing into your throat. You tilt your head for him, a quiet groan rumbling through his chest at your sign of submission. He sighs, pressing his nose against your scent gland for a moment before he straightens back up. “Got a job to do.” 

You let out a groan as you stretch, arching your back. “Fuck your job.” 

“I’d much rather be fucking you.” He says, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip before he stands up, grabbing the shirt you’d worn to slip into his room last night off the floor. It’s one of his, one you’d stolen from his laundry hamper while he was in the shower. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that.” 

You grin, pushing the sheets down before sitting up on the edge of the bed. You rub your eyes tiredly, stretching again before pulling on his shirt, slipping your slippers on. You pad back to your room, changing into more appropriate clothes for breakfast. You’ll be left to your own devices again afterward as the guys return to their normal training schedule. You won’t be napping this time, though, you fear. Instead you’ll be looking for ways to keep yourself awake. 

You and John walk hand in hand to the mess. It’s been a while since you’ve been inside of it, and you find you’ve grown to miss it a bit. You don’t miss the stares, the looks that pass over you and your entwined hands as John leads you to the line to get food. It’s like they know, like they all somehow witnessed what had transpired over the last couple weeks, like they had all been spectators to it. 

John makes your tray for you again, carrying it to the table where the others are already seated. You take your normal spot next to Kyle, both him and John sitting closer to you than before. Perhaps they were picking up on your nervous energy, but even Johnny and Ghost seemed to be sitting closer. You cast a glance between them before digging into your tray. Something had transpired, but you’re not quite sure what. 

You might never get to know. 

It’s quiet as you eat, the coffee bitter and watery, but you don’t care. You’ll suffer anything that might give you a boost of energy to make it to lunch without falling asleep. 

Johnny walks you back to the barracks after breakfast is over, his arm around your waist as you take your time crossing the courtyard. He’s oddly quiet compared to how energetic he usually is this early in the morning. Something must have happened to make him silent. 

“Johnny?” You ask after a group of soldiers jog past behind you. 

He hums, looking down at you. His eyes are still bright, but his brows are slightly furrowed. 

“Is everything alright?” You ask carefully, not wanting to risk pushing any buttons. 

“Aye.” He answers after letting out a sigh. “Jus’ an incident in the gym this mornin’. Nothing ye need tae worry about.” 

You raise your brows at him, silently conveying your desire for more information, if he can give you any. 

“Just some alphas talkin’ shite, like they do. Callin’ ye the 141’s whore. Askin’ if we all take turns or if ye let us all go at once.” He says, his tone practically seething as he leads you into the barracks. “Simon reminded them of their place.” 

You can only imagine how that went. 

Despite their obvious tension at the jabs made at you by the other alphas, you don't feel as angry as you probably should. Being called a whore was a bit demeaning, but part of what was said wasn't entirely wrong. Perhaps it's just some leftover hormones surging from your heat, or maybe being claimed has shifted your feelings towards your packmates, but the idea of being shared by them has warmth spreading through you. The mental images piecing together in your mind of taking them all at once would probably make the alphas that made that jab at you blush furiously. 

“Johnny?” You ask, turning to him when you reach your door. 

“Aye?” He stares down at you, his blue eyes soft as they gaze down into your own. 

“I, uh, I wouldn’t mind if at least part of what they said was true...” You sink your teeth into your lip. “You...uh...you’ve been waiting for a while...for your turn.” 

He gulps, shifting slightly on his feet. You can’t tell if he’s nervous or excited or something in between. 

“Well, I’ve been officially cleared to partake in more...strenuous activities..” 

“Christ.” He breathes, crowding you against the door. For a moment you’re worried he might just do it right here, right now, but instead he leans in, close enough you can smell the coffee he had with his breakfast. “I’d love that, kitten.” He bites his own lip as he stares down at yours. “Let me know, and I’ll be ready for you.” He leans down, closing the short distance between you as he kisses you. 

You lean into him, kissing him back. It feels like the first time you kissed him, except you can feel the hunger, the restraint behind this kiss. You can feel how much he’s been holding back, how long he’s waited to finally have this moment. To think of anyone desiring you in such a way makes your head spin. He wants you for you, not what you can do for him, not what you can give to him. Not even just for what’s between your legs, even if that’s what you’re going to do. 

He wants to be with you because you’re you. He doesn’t have to, he could choose not to, but he does. 

He pulls away, staring down at you. His eyes are darker now, speaking promises of what’s to come. “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.” 

“You're tired.” 

You blink, your gaze snapping to his face. You had been drifting thoughtlessly, quite enamored with a single spot on the floor. You're not sure how long he let you stand there, empty-headed and practically dozing upright. 

You rub your eyes, trying to force your brain back to awareness. “It's early.” You give the excuse, toeing off your shoes. “Been a while since we've done this.”

“You're going to have to work extra hard to gain it all back.” Ghost says, pulling off his sweatshirt. 

Your eyes are immediately drawn to his arms, the strength in them, the tattoos on his skin. You bite back the desire to move closer, to get just a glimpse at one close up. You want to sit and trace them, hear the story of every single one. You want to push his sleeve up, watch the way his muscles bulge and flex, see how far his tattoo goes up his arm. 

You snap yourself out of your thoughts, moving onto the mat before you do something embarrassing like starting to drool. You watch him as he stands at the edge of the mat, brown eyes taking you in as you stand there. Something tickles in the back of your mind, a hint of fear, the sense of sudden danger prevalent. What would you do if he suddenly ran at you? Try to dodge and make it to the door? Where would you go? The med center again? 

“Easy.” He grumbles, sensing your obvious tension.

Your gaze snaps back to him, his posture relaxed as he stays still. “I'm putting a lot of trust in you.”

“I know.” He says, standing almost as still as a statue. You wonder how he can possibly be so still, but you suppose it's something he learned to do. “I should never have broken that trust in the first place.”

Your eyes widen, brows lifting as you stare at him. You didn't expect such a straightforward apology from him. You haven't really gotten one, until now. You hesitate as you stand there in silence, Ghost obviously waiting for your response. 

“I don't know if I can forgive you.” You finally say. 

“You shouldn't.” He shrugs, his gaze shifting to the wall behind you. “Even if you weren't really in danger, it was still a dick move.”

Your eyebrows raise even higher. “An apology and admitting you were a dick? Should I be worried?”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “Consider it an offering of amicability, for Johnny. I know you two are getting close, so inevitably we're going to find ourselves around each other more often than we have previously.”

“Well, I suppose I could accept that.” You say, shifting on your feet. “I don't think you could convince Johnny otherwise.”

“Hardly. He wouldn't listen anyway.” He finally moves, shifting on his feet. “You gonna put your hackles down so I can approach?”

You take a deep breath, relaxing the tension in your body. You don't really have a reason to fear him, despite what he did. He hasn't given you a reason to fear him since then, and he's even gone so far as to apologize in his own way. John wouldn't have allowed this to start again if he didn't trust Ghost not to do something that might put you in danger. 

John trusts him, so you should be able to as well. 

Ghost slowly approaches, your eyes watching him carefully until he's directly in front of you. You stare up at him, holding his gaze. You wish you could see the rest of his face on the off chance it might give you a hint at what he's thinking and feeling. You wonder if that's partially why he wears the mask. 

Ghost holds out his hand and you place your own in his. It's so much bigger than yours, his long fingers engulfing your wrist as he wraps your hand. You could probably do it yourself by this point, but you like making him do it. You like the way his hands hold yours, the roughness of his skin against your own. 

He starts out reviewing things you already know. Punches, kicks, dodging. It doesn't take long for you to get back into the groove of things, moving like it hasn't been nearly a month since your last training session. You notice the fatigue faster than you had during your last session, but you expected that after almost a month, paired with your heat two weeks ago. 

“Now, punching and kicking will only get you so far in a fight.” He says, giving you a moment to breathe. “Almost all fights are going to end up on the ground. Even if your goal is disarming enough to escape, the chances of you and your opponent ending up on the ground is highly likely.” 

He swipes your feet out from under you before you can even blink, nearly knocking the wind from you as you land on the mat on your back. He’s on you quickly, dropping to his hands and knees over you. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him above you, his hulking form seeming even larger from this angle. Your mind begins to run wild, imagining all the things that could happen in this position. 

“Focus.” He grumbles, arms flexing as he presses his hands into the mat where they rest on either side of your head. “You don’t want to be in this position in a fight. You’re too vulnerable.” 

A shiver runs down your spine at his words. You are vulnerable like this. Even with him, someone who doesn’t want to hurt you, it would be so easy. Your head begins to turn, your gaze leaving his as instinct begins to take over. 

“No.” He snaps, gripping your chin to turn your head back so he’s looking in your eyes. “You do that in a fight, you’re not going to see the other side.” 

You gulp, trying to ignore the warmth of his fingers on your face, the firmness of his grip as he keeps you from showing submission to him. That’s not why you’re here. He’s right. If you do that in a fight, it’ll be over before you even have a chance to run. 

“Your legs are far stronger than your arms. Use them to your advantage.” He says, showing you how to get him into the right position to flip him. 

You know he’s helping you as you flip him onto his back. If he really was fighting you, you’re not sure you could have done it, even if you managed to land enough of a hit to disarm him. You wind up on top of him, sitting on his stomach. The position doesn’t help your racing thoughts, and you pray you can keep enough control over yourself so you don’t make it obvious. 

“Use your legs to pin my hands.” He directs you. You shift your knees slightly, trapping his hands against the mat. “Good.” He says, laying still under you. “You can’t hold a bigger opponent down here for long, but that’s not the point. This gives you a moment of opportunity to go for the face or the neck. Stun them and that gives you a headstart. If you have a weapon available, then you have one less person to worry about chasing you.” 

You gulp at his words. It hadn’t even crossed your mind during your training. He had said it so simply, so easily. You suppose it is to him, after years of doing it, after countless moments where it’s his life or theirs. Is that what he tells himself? Is that how he rationalizes it? Is there so much blood on his hands now that killing is as easy as breathing? 

You wonder how they all rationalize it. They all have blood on their hands, they all have killed, and will kill again. Every time they leave and come back, it’s with more blood, more nameless faces on the list of lives they've taken, all in the name of the greater good. 

Is violence and death really the path to the greater good? 

“What?” He asks, sensing your inner turmoil. 

You sit back on his stomach, your body rising and falling with his even breaths. “I don’t know if I could do it.” 

He tugs his hands from beneath your knees easily, resting them on the mat next to your legs. You can feel his fingers twitch as the blood rushes back into them. “You might not have much of a choice.” He says, holding your gaze. There’s a softness in his gaze you have never seen before. “Sometimes it’s the only choice. If they’re attacking you, they’re better off dead. Even if their goal is to take you alive, the things they’ll do to you.” He shakes his head. 

He’s speaking from experience. You know he’s seen things, witnessed the brutality omegas are subjected to at the hands of the worst kinds of alphas and betas. He’s watched omegas die in front of him while he’s sat helpless.

His hand lifts, cupping the back of your head to pull you down closer to his face. You catch yourself with your hands on either side of his head, fighting the urge to tense your shoulders. His hand doesn’t move from the back of your head, his fingers not even twitching as he holds you steady. 

“If they’re willing to do it to you, how many others have been on the receiving end? If you’re not willing to be the last, how many others will come after you?” He says, his gaze intense as he stares at you. “I hope you never have to, but you always have to prepare for the worst.” 

He holds you there for a breath, staring up into your eyes before he releases you, flipping you off of him and onto your back on the mat. He pushes himself up to stand, staring down at you as you lay there, catching your breath and thinking over the last few moments that transpired. 

“Come on. It’s almost time for breakfast.” 

It’s quiet in the rec room. The TV is off for once, only the hum of electricity and the occasional turning of a page the only sound breaking the silence. You and Ghost are the only two in the rec room, both of you relaxing silently as you read. He’s in the chair as usual, and you’re stretched out on the couch. 

You’re only halfway paying attention to your book, still thinking over your conversation with Johnny earlier, and what transpired in the gym during your training session yesterday. You know how much Johnny wants to be with you, and you're more than willing to go that far with him. You like Johnny, more than just as a packmate. It's hard not to fall for him with his confidence and his playful demeanor. You know he's been desperate to take things to the next level too. 

All he's waiting on is you saying the word. 

He will never force you into it. He'll impatiently wait for you to go to him, to tell him that you want it. All jokes and teasing aside, you know he'd never make you feel like you were being forced into something. 

The thought makes you want to cry. 

“Pull his hair.” Ghost’s voice cuts through the silence, nearly making you jump. 

You lower your book so you can see him, eyebrows raising in surprise at his words. “What?” 

“When you finally fuck Johnny, grab him by the mohawk. He likes it.” Ghost says, not even looking up from his own book. 

You stare at him wide-eyed, wondering for a moment if he can read minds, or if you’re just not quite as subtle as you think you’re being. 

“I'll, uh, keep that in mind.” You say, lifting your book again to hide your blushing face. 

The room descends into silence once more, the two of you continuing to read as if nothing had happened, as if that conversation hadn’t transpired. You wish it felt that way in your mind, though. The mental images Ghost’s words have drawn up drowning out the words on the pages that you’re trying to read. You’re trying not to get worked up further, but you can’t help it. After your training session and the thoughts that had come to mind with Ghost, and now these new images of Johnny, you’re sure your scent has begun to sweeten with arousal. 

You need to rectify this, and fast. 

You knock on the door, shifting nervously on your feet. Your hands have disappeared in your sleeves, the weight of your phone in your pocket the only thing keeping you from floating to the ceiling and dissipating into the air from the anxiety. 

Your stomach nearly drops from your body as the door swings open, Gaz standing there in his full glory. 

“Everything alright?” He asks, staring down at you with those big brown eyes. “You look nervous.”

You swallow the nerves, nodding in response. “Yeah, I just...wanted to talk to you for a minute.” 

He steps away from the door, brows still pinched in worry and confusion as he motions for you to enter. You brush past him as you step into his room, taking a look around. You haven't been in his room before. It's slightly smaller than yours and John's, and it doesn't have a private bathroom. There's artwork up on the walls, and a couple of plants on his desk, along with a few personal belongings. It's neat and tidy, not that you expected anything less. 

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, turning to face you after closing the door. 

You take a deep breath, calming the nervous twist in your stomach. You shouldn’t be nervous. It’s a natural thing to bring up to packmates. You blame it on the fatigue from your lack of sleep putting you on edge.

“I wanted to ask you something.” You start, staring into his big brown eyes. They’re so beautiful, so expressive as they stare down at you. “Johnny and I...we’re going to...sleep together soon and...I just wanted to make sure that was okay? In case maybe you wanted to go first?” 

Kyle’s lips slowly lift up into a smile as you stare at him nervously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s been an absolute tosser since before your heat, and he’d only become utterly unbearable if he didn’t get to go first.” He steps up closer to you, grinning down at you. “For the sake of everyone’s sanity, I don’t mind being patient. Besides,” He leans down, his breath fanning your ear. “I at least know what you look like naked, so I can occupy myself while I wait.” 

Your face burns with warmth at his words, a shiver running down your spine. He’s not wrong. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, lost to your heat, naked and stuffed with John’s knot. Your brain flashes back to the start of your heat, the feel of his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama pants. You swallow thickly, meeting his gaze as he pulls back. 

“Enjoy your time with Johnny, love.” He slips his hand into yours, lifting it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, lips brushing your skin as he speaks. “I’ll be here waiting for you when you’re ready.” 

You feel a bit out of breath as you leave Kyle’s room, and you’re sure your scent has sweetened with arousal and excitement. You might have been tempted to just jump Kyle’s bones right now, had it not been for your desire for Johnny, and your commitment to letting him be first again. You know Kyle’s right. You’d never hear the end of it if Johnny didn’t get the chance to be next in line. 

Now you just have to find him and tell him the good news. 

“Ye look nervous. Are ye nervous?” 

“I mean, this is a big step...” You say, wrapping your arms around Johnny’s neck as he shifts you into his lap. You try not to think about how strong he is, how easily he moves you. 

“Ye don’t have tae do this, if ye don’ want to.” He says, looking down into your eyes. 

“It’s not that...” You say, shifting in his lap. “It’s more...there’s no going back after this.” 

He wraps his arms tighter around you. “If I didnae want it, I wouldnae offer. Yer a fucking stunnin’ omega, kitten. Would be crazy not tae want ye.” 

Your cheeks warm at his words, your gaze dropping from the intensity of his own. His stubble tickles your fingers as you trace the line of his jaw, working your way towards his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting his bottom lip as your fingers trace the jagged scar on his chin. 

“Just...go easy on me? At least this first time?” You say, tracing his lips with your fingers. 

“‘Course, kitten.” He says, pressing a kiss to your fingertips. “Wouldnae want to scare ye away.” 

Your eyes widen slightly at the implications of his words, your stomach fluttering with excitement and a hint of fear at what he could possibly be alluding to. His hand lifts, gently grasping your chin, tilting your face slightly. He closes the distance between you, pressing his lips to yours. 

“Don’ worry.” He murmurs against your lips. “Take good care of ye.” 

You hum against his lips, tasting the chocolate he’d been snacking on when you sought him out as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand leaves your chin, sliding down your throat to rest right at the base of your throat, fingers splayed across your clavicle. His thumb rests right on the edge of your mating mark, the pressure making you shiver. 

Johnny pulls you tighter against his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck. He moans against your lips as you shift against him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your ass. It’s not the first time you’ve felt it, but this time it’s different. This time you’re going to do something about it. 

“Fucking christ, take ye right here on this couch, if I’m not careful.” Johnny groans, nipping at your bottom lip. 

“Then best take me to bed, Sergeant.” You say, pulling back slightly to give him what you hope is a sultry look. 

The groan that’s pulled from his lips is downright salacious, something flashing in his eyes as you call him by his rank. He curses, tightening his hold around you before he stands, maneuvering you so you’re tossed over his shoulder. You let out a squeak of surprise that’s quickly replaced by giggles as he packs you down the hall to his room. 

He sets you on your feet once you're inside, closing the door. You look around his room, surprised to see it full of art supplies with drawings and paintings all over the walls. You stare open mouthed, taking it all in. It's messier than John and Kyle's rooms, though there's still a sense of order to it. A chaotic order, but you suppose that explains Johnny perfectly. 

“You draw?” You say, studying the art on the walls.

“Aye,” Johnny says, coming up behind you. “In my free time.”

“I didn't know that.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “They're beautiful.”  

“Thank ye, kitten.” He wraps his arms around you from behind, reminding you of why you came in here in the first place. “Not quite as beautiful as you.”

Your face warms at his compliment and you tilt your head back, staring up at him. “You're such a charmer.” 

“Try my best.” He grins, leaning down and kissing your forehead. “Promise I'll show ye my drawings later.”

You turn in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck. “I know. You're desperate.”

“Been waitin’ weeks for this, kitten.” He groans, grinding against you. 

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You tighten your grip around his neck, jumping into his arms. He manages to catch you, stumbling half a step back as his hands grip your thighs. You wrap your legs around his waist, lifting yourself so you’re face to face with him. 

“Christ.” He groans against your lips, walking forward until he reaches his bed.

He drops you on your back, your body bouncing on the mattress as he settles on his knees over you. His eyes have darkened as he stares down at you, your stomach twisting in excitement. Warmth has started to pool between your legs, your scent sweetening with arousal. 

Johnny’s hands are rough as they slip under your shirt, tugging it up over your head. He groans, eyes fluttering as he realizes you’re without a bra underneath. He curses quietly, something you can’t quite understand as his hands immediately close around your breasts. Your lips part as he squeezes the flesh in his hands, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth. You gasp at the sensation as his lips close around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he’s a man starved. 

Well, you suppose he is. 

He has been waiting for quite a while for this opportunity. Something about it makes your brain tingle, arousal pooling in your stomach at the thought of someone desiring you that much. 

It’s not just him, though. Three of the four members of your pack have expressed their desire for you in such a way. The thought makes your head spin. You’re just a simple omega, and yet, here they are going half crazy over you. 

Johnny releases your nipple with a pop, shifting so he can give the same attention to the other one. Arousal continues to pool between your legs, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. You drag your fingernails across the back of his neck, a shiver wracking through his body, his hips grinding down against your thigh. 

“Fuck,” He gasps, releasing your nipple to stare up at you.

You repeat the motion, dragging your fingers slower. His eyes roll back, hips grinding harder against your thigh. He’s so sensitive, you think, pushing your thigh up against him. He lets out what can only be described as almost a whine, rutting his hips against your leg. 

“Fuck,” He curses again, pushing himself back up onto his knees. “Tonight is about you, kitten.” He takes a deep breath before slipping his fingers under the waistband of your pants, tugging them down quickly and tossing them on the floor next to your shirt. 

He sinks his teeth into his lip as he stares down at your panties, one of the pairs he got you on your shopping trip before your date with John. You had changed into them specifically for Johnny, remembering how excited he’d looked when he bought you five pairs of the lacy garments. He groans quietly as he runs his fingers over your lace covered skin, slowly lowering his fingers between your thighs. He glances up at you, meeting his gaze and you give him a nod before his fingers dip lower, trailing the wet spot on the lacy fabric. 

You part your legs more for him as he rubs you through your panties, quiet moans leaving your lips at the feeling of the friction from the fabric. His eyes are still on you, glued to your face as the pleasure begins to build just from his touch. You buck your hips against his hand, searching out more. More pleasure, more of his touch, more of him. 

“Look at ye, needy little thing.” He groans, his thumb dragging up your slit until he finds your clit, slowly circling it through the fabric. “Barely touched ye an’ yer cunt’s already soakin’ yer skids. Fucking sweet little thing, so needy for me, aren’t ye?” 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, staring down at him. “Are you going to sit there and run your mouth all night, or are you going to fuck me?” 

He grins wickedly at you. “I’m just gettin’ started, kitten.” 

He leans down, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee before trailing kisses up your inner thigh. His thumb continues to stroke you through your panties, applying more and more pressure as he gets closer and closer to your center. He whispers out a curse as he shoves your panties to the side, revealing your glistening folds to him. He leans forward, warm breath fanning your slit before he closes his mouth around you. 

You gasp at the sensation, dropping back onto your back on the bed as he drags his tongue through your folds, flicking it across your clit before he closes his lips around the sensitive bud, suckling at it like he did your nipples earlier. Pleasure shoots through you as he eats you like a man starved, slurping away at your pussy obscenely. 

“Fuck, Johnny!” You gasp, legs trying to close around his head, but he holds your inner thighs, keeping them spread. 

You’re not going to last very long, not with him alternating between sucking at your clit and swirling his tongue around it like that. He’s done this before, and you can’t help the momentary spike of jealousy at the thought of him between any other omega’s thighs now that he has you. 

“Gonna cum!” You whine, hips bucking against his face. 

“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over my face?” He groans. 

You curse, your back arching as he continues to work you up, hands fisting his sheets. 

“That’s it.” He groans against your clit, dragging his teeth over the sensitive bud. “Be a good omega for me.” 

You cum with a cry, soaking his chin as he continues to tease you. He laps at your juices, not slowing any as he works you through your orgasm, even as you begin to shake with overstimulation. 

“I-I can’t.” You gasp, the burning feeling starting to pulse through you as he continues to suck at your clit. It’s quickly becoming too much, the feeling overwhelming you. 

Ghost’s words flash through your mind at that moment, his suggestion yesterday while you both spent time in the rec room reading. You reach down, sinking your fingers into Johnny’s mohawk, gripping the short strands. He lets out a groan as you tug, pulling his face from your pussy finally. His chin is glistening with your release, his tongue darting out to lick your juices from his lips. 

He follows as you tug upwards, drawing him away from your pussy. He crawls up your body until you’re almost face to face, your fingers still tangled in his hair. 

“I said that’s enough.” You say, slightly breathless from your orgasm, but you put as much authority in your tone as you can manage. 

“Yes ma’am.” He practically whines, the muscles in his arms flexing as he sinks his own fingers into the sheets around you. 

The sudden shift in control has something buzzing in your brain, the back of your neck tingling. You’re an omega. You’re not supposed to be in control, and yet, here Johnny is, practically folding in front of you. A thrill shoots through your veins at the thought of what you could make him do, what lengths he’d go to for you simply because you have him in this position. 

“Take your clothes off.” You say, releasing his mohawk. 

He sits back without complaint, tugging his shirt over his head. You take him in, the hard lines of his muscles, the dark hair on his chest, the line disappearing under the waistband of his pants. You lick your lips as he undoes the button on his pants, undoing the zipper before tugging them down with his boxers. 

His cock is hard and practically standing at attention as he kicks his pants off. He’s slightly smaller than John, but not by much. Your pussy clenches at the thought of him inside you, but you’re not ready for that quite yet. You guide Johnny back up to your face, pressing your lips against his. You can taste yourself on him, making him groan as you lick into his mouth. 

You guide him onto his back, trading places with him. He settles beneath you, his hands lifting to your hips, but you push them back as you pull away. You smirk down at him for a moment before you move, changing your position so you’re facing away from him. You trap his hands against the bed with your legs like Ghost showed you, sitting yourself on his taut stomach. He has a clear view of your ass still sporting your lacy panties, your wet folds pressed against his skin. 

“Simon show ye that one?” He asks, flexing his hands under you. He could easily overpower you and free himself, but he doesn’t.

“Uh huh.” You say, wrapping your hand around his cock. 

“Hells bells, what are you two gettin’ into during trainin’?” He groans, obviously starting to picture the lewd things you and Ghost might be doing. You wonder how he’d react to seeing you on top of Ghost like you were yesterday. 

“He’s just teaching me how to defend myself.” You say, slowly pumping his cock. “I’m finding there’s not much of a difference between fucking and fighting.” 

Johnny lets out another groan, but you’re not sure if it’s because of your words, or your hand on his cock. You continue to pump his length, feeling the softness of him in your hand, squeezing gently to feel the vein running along the bottom side. Johnny lets out a choked groan, hands twitching again under your legs. 

“Fuck, I cannae last much longer.” He gasps desperately, his length twitching in your hand. 

Pearly white beads of precum have begun to slip from his tip, and you can’t help but lean down and drag your tongue across his head, gathering some in your mouth. He lets out a whine that rivals ones of your own, his hips bucking as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm. 

“Please, kitten, let me cum inside ye.” He begs, pulling his hands free from underneath you so he can grip your hips. 

You pull away from his cock, sitting up on his stomach. He’s panting, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips. You shift yourself again, turning back around to face him. His eyes are hooded as he stares at you, pupils blown with lust. His lips are parted as he pants, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of holding himself back. You push yourself back until you’re hovering over his cock, pulling your panties to the side with one hand, grabbing his length with the other. 

You groan as you sink down onto him, bracing yourself with a hand on his stomach as he stretches you open. His hands settle on your waist, squeezing your hips as you work yourself down his length. 

“Fuck,” You breathe, pressing your hands against his abs as you sink down completely onto his cock, your hips flush with his. 

“So fucking tight and warm,” He groans, his grip near bruising around your hips. “Fucking feel fantastic, kitten.” 

You slowly begin rocking your hips, using your hands on his stomach for leverage. Your toes are curling already from this angle, the tip of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you with every rock of your hips. Small whines and whimpers leave your lips as you fuck yourself on his cock, squeezing your legs around his hips. They’re shaking already, and you know you won’t last long in this position. 

Johnny seems to notice that as well, his grip on your hips tightening as he starts to guide your movements. You’re starting to sweat from the effort, your thighs burning, but it feels too good to stop. You’re getting close again, the stretch of him inside you paired with the high of having such control over him just a few moments ago driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

Johnny pushes himself up as your movements begin to slow, wrapping his arms around you to shift you in his lap, laying you down on the bed facing the footboard as he slots himself over you. He takes over, thrusting into you, setting a frantic pace. Your head falls back as he pounds into you, your back arching as he folds his body over yours, pressing his face into your neck. 

“Gonna cum for me? Need tae feel ye squeezing ‘round my cock.” He grunts, nipping at the skin of your throat. 

You let out a whimper, nails digging into his shoulders. “Just like that.” You pant, squeezing your legs around his hips. “Don’t stop!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He groans, continuing to rut into you like your pussy is the only thing that can save his life. 

You practically see stars as you cum, squeezing around his cock as pleasure jolts through your body like electricity. Your hips buck against his, grinding together like some sort of forbidden dance as he’s forced into his own orgasm by your walls squeezing around him. His hips stutter before he stills, warmth spurting into you as he cums. You hold him there, his body trembling with yours as he groans into your throat. 

“Fucking hell.” He moans, starting to shallowly thrust into you. He’s still hard, his cock dragging through your sensitive walls as he continues to fuck you despite having just orgasmed. “Never gonnae tire of this sweet cunt.” 

He probably won’t, you think as he continues to slowly thrust into you again. 

You’re in for a long night. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

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[undreaming-fanfiction]

Robin gets horrible period cramps during her employment at Scoops Ahoy, she's in pain, she's annoyed and she's stuck there with Steve Harrington of all people. She just sits in the break room, hoping her misery will soon be over, but of course Harrington can't stay at the counter for five minutes and decides to enrich her suffering with his presence.

She expects a stupid quip from him, something about her slacking off.

Instead, he looks at her with a jock equivalent of sympathy. "Cramps?" he asks and Robin's jaw drops to the floor. "I mean, none of my business, I know, but you look really miserable. Did you take a painkiller?"

Robin just shakes her head, clutching her stomach. "Left mine at home," she mutters. "And I really need to get some...supplies, but I can't even stand up. What a day."

Steve just nods and turns around and Robin thinks he'll leave her alone now, maybe mock her for too much information, but then she sees him through the window - he's temporarily closing the shop.

His majestically hairy head peeks through the window as he asks: "Tampons or pads?"

"...pads?"

Steve nods and disappears from her sight.

Robin is pretty sure she hallucinated the whole thing, but ten minutes later Steve is back, pads, painkillers and a...

"A burrito?" she asks and she has to laugh, she really does, because what the fuck is happening?

Steve just shrugs and grabs a handful of napkins. "No heating pads in a summer shopping mall, so I had to improvise. These things take ages to cool down so if you wrap it, it should stay hot for a while and help."

A few minutes later, Robin is back, having used her "supplies" and Steve urges her to sit down, handing her the carefully wrapped burrito. "I'll cover the counter, but if you need anything, let me know."

Robin wants to tell him many things, such as How did you know all of this?, Weren't you supposed to be an asshole?, How did you come up with the burrito idea? and much, much more. But she's really tired and the painkiller is taking its time, so she settles for the shortest one.

"Thanks, Steve."

(look, we all know Steve had many girlfriends and with his caring nature and observation skills, he'd be a cramps relieving pro)

[otomegamesforlife]

Sympathetic Pregnancy 1/4: [Zayne x Reader]

The boys are in for a surprise when they start experiencing sympathetic pregnancy symptoms—before they even realize you’re expecting! One shots of how the chaos unfolds: Completed:

Zayne: Completely baffled and convinced something’s off with his medical expertise. A03 link here

Rafayel: Turns into the biggest baby (as if he isn't already) A03 link here

Xavier: Positive he’s at death’s door (spoiler: he’s not). A03 link here

In-Progress:

Sylus: Frantically consulting underground doctors, fearing it’s a core malfunction.

Each reaction is uniquely ridiculous, but they all prove just how in sync they are with you—whether they like it or not!

"Couvade syndrome, also called sympathetic pregnancy, is a proposed condition in which an expectant father experiences some of the same symptoms and behavior as his pregnant partner. These most often include major weight gain, altered hormone levels, morning nausea, and disturbed sleep patterns- Wikipedia"

Zayne prided himself not just on his medical achievements but on his ability to diagnose and perform surgeries with precision. Yet now, his head rested against the cold rim of the toilet bowl, his stomach violently rejecting his breakfast. It felt like forever, though he knew it wasn’t—he’d timed the intervals. He had run every test, scrutinized every blood result, and confirmed there was nothing medically wrong with him. So why was this happening?

The sound of your voice, soft yet tinged with disappointment, cut through his misery. “I feel horrible when you don’t tell me you’re sick.”

Disappointment. Out of all the emotions he never wanted to evoke in you, that one was the hardest to bear. He cherished how much you relied on him, how implicitly you trusted him. He wanted to argue, to tell you he didn’t want to worry you. You were often still asleep when this happened, or away on late missions. He just wanted you to rest. But his stomach twisted again, and he retched, finding solace in the warmth of your hand rubbing his back. Despite the disappointment in your voice, the fact that you were there, comforting him, meant everything.

You handed him a cup of jasmine tea, the familiar scent soothing him as he took a sip. The nausea began to ease, allowing him to finally speak. He tried to explain, but even he was unsure of what was happening.

"You—you’re not sure?" Your confusion mirrored the turmoil inside him. He had studied for years, mastered complex cases, but this? He couldn’t pin it down. Zayne closed his eyes, searching for answers, until he felt your arms encircle him from behind.

"Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re extremely competent, after all." A gentle kiss brushed his cheek, followed by a sigh. "God forbid, it’s nothing terminal, yeah?"

"No," he reassured, "all the tests—multiple of them—came out fine."

Your sigh of relief warmed his cheek, and he turned slightly to face you. "Since we’re on the topic of tests, I got the email that you’re scheduled with me tomorrow."

"Yeah, I’ve been extra good lately, so I think you’ll be happy with all the results." That smile you gave him—it always disarmed him. Zayne often marveled at how fortunate he was to have you. If anyone else saw that smile, they’d be foolish not to try and steal you away. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"You’re incredibly attractive when you take care of yourself."

"And I don’t even stand a chance with the best doctor feeding me delicious, healthy food." You pecked his lips. "Plus, I get a workout here and at work." You winked, snapping him out of his reverie. He twisted around, pulling you behind the couch and onto his lap.

"I noticed you missed our workout last night. We can’t let that slide."

A giggle escaped your lips just before Zayne silenced you with a kiss.

You were so confident in your results that you demanded a whole day of exclusive time with him. Zayne couldn’t help but smile—there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He left you at home, agreeing to meet at the new café instead of going together. When he arrived at the office to retrieve your files, Yvonne greeted him with a wide smile, but before he could ask anything, she was whisked away by another urgent matter.

He took your files to his office, intending to send the necessary documents to the association and check them off his list. As he scanned the results, a smile tugged at his lips—you had every right to be confident. Regular check-ups were mandatory for hunters like you, given the nature of your work. It allowed Zayne to monitor your health both as your doctor and as your husband, a dual role he relished.

But then he froze. Pregnant. The word jumped out at him, and he had to read it again. He double-checked the name—yes, it was yours. Needing further confirmation, he booted up his computer, pulling up your test data directly from the lab.

And then it clicked. Couvade syndrome. He was experiencing symptoms because his body subconsciously knew about your pregnancy. He was that attuned to you, to your body… Zayne couldn’t help but dive into the medical journals, reviewing cases he’d read before but now through a personal lens. Everything lined up—the glow you had, his unexplained symptoms. It was real, and it was a relief.

A glance at the clock told him he had an hour before meeting you. Tucking your file out of sight, he shut down his computer. Today wasn’t just about a date—he needed to commemorate the precious gift you were giving him.

He brought you a bouquet—jasmine, as always, but this time with baby’s breath, pink, and white tulips. He didn’t want to celebrate in public, so he headed home instead. When he arrived, you were there, your hair half-curled, looking worried.

"Darling! I thought we agreed to meet at the new macaron shop?" He nodded, handing you the flowers. Your confusion melted into a delighted smile. "I really wanted to meet up there, but I’ll forgive you because you brought me flowers and—” you paused, examining him closely, “you look especially handsome today—more than usual."

Zayne felt his ears warm. He knew he wasn’t unattractive, but when you said it so directly, it always caught him off guard. “You’re distracting me.”

“A good type of distraction, I hope?” You teased, leaning in, eyes sparkling as you watched his blush deepen.

Zayne cleared his throat, looking away for a moment to collect himself. “You were right about your tests; they were excellent.”

"Told ya." You smirked, eyes darting to the bouquet. "Baby’s breath, tulips, and jasmine—haven’t seen that combination from you before."

"Because it represents something else." He took the bouquet from your hands, setting it down before taking yours. "We’re expecting a new addition to our family."

Your eyes widened, disbelief flickering across your face. You squeezed his hand tighter, your voice barely above a whisper. "Really?"

"I just saw the tests. And…"

You pulled back slightly. "Yes?"

"My symptoms—they’re because my body knew about your pregnancy."

You giggled, the sound light and full of joy. "You’re just a doctor through and through, huh?"

"More like my body is so attuned to yours, I picked up on the symptoms." He teased, brushing his nose against yours before kissing you softly.

You paused, a thought crossing your mind. “Actually, Yvonne’s message might be related to this.”

“Yvonne?” Zayne watched as you led him to the bedroom, pulling out your phone. You showed him the article she sent. After he finished reading, a follow-up message from Yvonne appeared: “I heard from my mom it’s a foolproof way of knowing your husband loves you more than you love them.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. "They must have noticed the extra tests I ran lately."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking your hands behind his nape. “The message is more appealing than the article, really. I’ve always known you love me, but this? Foolproof.”

“If you need someone else to validate my love, I’ll have to work harder.” Zayne scooped you up into his arms.

“Darling, we’re still going out, right?”

“If you can still walk after, sure.”

“ZAYNE!”

I know our resident doctor is intelligent but let's face it he could be silly when it comes to himself. He probably didn't even consider it initially.😂

[azrielslittleslut]

Focus on Me

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader had a bad day at work, but Azriel is focused on making her feel better.

Warnings: super slight angst, mostly fluff, soft/domestic!Az

Word Count: 1.6k

a/n: had a rough few days at work, so this fic is total self-indulgence on my part... but to anyone who is struggling right now, you are loved, and I'm so proud of you. You've got this!<3

Enjoy!

You opened the door to your home, the smell of cooking food washing over you. It was a mix of various herbs and spices, and a small smile formed on your lips as you realized your favorite meal was being cooked.

Toeing off your boots, you threw your bag down on the floor and padded into the kitchen. Azriel was standing next to the stove, dressed in a simple back shirt and pants. His black hair was mussed and tangled, his brown skin radiant in the dim light. His shadows were lounging lazily around his wings, content to watch as their master cooked.

"Welcome home," he greeted, turning away from the pot with a bright smile on his face. Your mate was so handsome and perfect, and the tightness in your chest eased a bit as you looked at him. "How was work?"

You sighed as you took a seat at the table. "Horrible. Terrible. Dreadful..." you trailed off, your exhausted mind unable to think of the words to describe your day.

Azriel chuckled softly as he stirred the contents in the pot. "That bad, huh?"

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Az. I hate working there, and every day I dread walking in the door." Your voice lacked emotion, as you had turned your feelings off earlier just to survive the day.

Your job took a lot out of you. It drained you physically, emotionally, and mentally. If it weren't for Azriel, you would have called it quits a long time ago, but he always helped you through it. He was always there for you, supporting you and loving you through your bad days.

Azriel put down the spoon and walked over to you, cupping your face gently in his hands. "I would rather you quit than see you like this, love," he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. "You shouldn't have to endure this kind of misery day after day."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands against your cheeks. "But what would I do without a job?" you sighed, feeling torn between wanting to stay busy and wanting to stay home every day.

Azriel's thumb gently brushed across your cheekbone, his touch soothing. "We'll figure it out together," he assured you, his voice soft but firm. "Your happiness is more important than any job. You deserve to feel fulfilled and valued."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him, overwhelmed by his unwavering support. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion.

"I will always be here for you," he whispered as he leaned his forehead against yours. "But we can worry about this tomorrow. Today is over, and you're home with me now."

"What do I do?" you asked in a small voice.

"Just focus on me, sweetheart."

You nodded your head once as you let his soothing words wash over you, easing your tense muscles. "Okay."

After a quick kiss to your forehead, he pulled away and walked back to the pot. He began stirring as he said, "I'm making your favorite tonight. I felt your emotions through the bond, and I thought this would make it better."

You knew he always spied on you through the bond, but you didn't mind. He was always one step ahead, and you honestly couldn't be happier. Plus, he was able to cook your favorite meal better than anyone, even you. "It smells so good, Az."

You watched in silence as Azriel finished cooking. He slid the plate in front of you along with a glass of water. "Dig in," he said with a wink.

You picked up the fork, but your hand dropped as weariness flooded over you. You hadn't eaten all day because you never had the time, but you were too tired to eat now.

Azriel, ever the observant male, picked up on it immediately. He silently walked over and sat down next to you. He grabbed the fork, along with a generous amount of food, and placed it in front of your lips. "Open."

Your eyes were wide as you followed his orders. A soft moan escaped your lips as you tasted the meal. "So, so good," you murmured, not caring that your mouth was full of food. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, baby," Azriel said with a laugh as he pulled his own plate over, and you watched in amazement as he managed to feed himself and you at the same time. He even made sure that you drank all of your water, as he knew you struggled to do stay hydrated on hard days.

When the two of you were done eating, Azriel made quick work of cleaning the kitchen. He was fast, efficient, and meticulous, and you envied his ability to do such normal tasks with utter perfection.

"How about a bath?" he asked as he walked over to where you were sitting. He scooped you up into his arms before heading for the stairs. "Or we can go to sleep. You pick."

Velaris was at the height of summer, and you had spent most of the day sweating your ass off. You felt dirty, and the thought of lying on your clean sheets made you cringe. "I want a bath first. Then sleep."

Azriel carried you to the large bathroom connected to your bedroom. He gently set you down, steadying you before he walked over to turn on the faucet. You watched as he added some bubbles and scented oils to the water.

"Would you like me to undress you?" he asked in a soft voice as he turned around. You could have spent the time he got the water ready taking off your clothes, but your mind was completely absent.

"Please," you whispered, unable to hide the pure exhaustion in your tone.

His eyes were full of love as he walked over, and you could feel the overwhelming sense of adoration flowing through the bond in your chest that connected you to him.

"You know I love taking care of you," he murmured as he started to help you out of your work clothes. His touch was gentle, his hands moving with a comforting familiarity as he undid buttons and zippers. "I love being here for you, especially on days like this."

You let him guide you, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders with each piece of clothing shed. His presence alone was a balm to your weary soul, easing the tension you had carried all day.

As he helped you slip into something more comfortable, his fingers lingered on your skin, tracing soothing patterns along your arms and back. "You're safe here," he whispered, his voice a soft reassurance in the quiet of the room. "Let me take care of you."

His words were like a gentle embrace, wrapping around you and comforting you in ways that words alone couldn't express. With Azriel, it wasn't just about physical care; it was about being seen, understood, and cherished.

You leaned into him, letting his warmth surround you as you closed your eyes, finally allowing yourself to release the emotions you had bottled up all day. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, offering the solace and strength you desperately needed.

"I love you," you whispered, the words a heartfelt confession that filled the space between you.

"I love you too," he murmured against your hair, his voice a promise of unwavering support and endless love. "And I'll always be here, no matter what."

You let him guide you over to the water, and you moaned softly as the warmth of it enveloped you. You leaned back in the tub, watching through hooded eyes as Azriel undressed himself.

You leaned forward to allow him to slide in behind you, settling yourself back against his warm chest. He took a soapy rag and began to wash you, massaging your sore muscles as he worked. He kissed your neck and shoulders, his soft lips moving against your skin.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he took care of you. "You are strong. You are loved. You are capable. You are mine."

Each word caused you to relax against him, your eyes closing as sleep began to overtake your body. Azriel lifted you out of the tub, his strong arms cradling you against his chest. He made quick work of drying you off before he asked, "What pajamas would you like to sleep in?"

Your sleepy mind struggled to think for a few moments. Eventually, you said, "I'll sleep naked. I want to feel you against me while I sleep."

Azriel smiled softly as he picked you up again, carrying you over to the massive bed. He laid you gently down on the covers, and you smiled sleepily as he helped you settle under them.

You opened your arms for Az as he slid his body next to yours, his warmth melting away the sorrows of the day. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he ran his hands through your hair and down your back in soothing motions.

"Sleep now, love," he whispered, draping a wing across your body, almost like a shield. His shadows swarmed around you, covering you in a protective cocoon of their own.

As you drifted off, you could hear Azriel humming softly, an ancient Illyrian lullaby that his mother had taught him. The soft melody rolling off his lips always helped you sleep on nights like this.

Life was hard, and your job took a lot out of you. But with his reassuring presence beside you, you drifted off to sleep, feeling safe and loved in his warm embrace. Tomorrow might bring new challenges, but for now, in this moment, you were grateful for the peace and comfort Azriel brought into your life.

[meanderfall]

every year, i get smacked hard with seasonal allergies, and every year, i forget how bad it gets