#(spiral. duty. argument)

[rafecameronssl4t]

ok hear me out........

dcc!reader watching Rafe get hurt during a game. Maybe they get into a small fight before the game and it gets into Rafe's head a little too much and throws off his game mindset

Feel free to totally ignore this if you're not vibing with the idea! Anyways I love all of you're writings, keep up the amazing work queen!!!!!!

Duties to whom? || Nfl Player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: thank u for the request i love it!!!

Warnings: angst,

Word counts: 1,795

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

The locker room felt stifling, the tension between you and Rafe thick enough to choke on. You stood in front of the mirror, carefully fixing your lipstick with steady hands despite the storm brewing inside you. “Just get out,” you said bitterly, dabbing at the corner of your mouth before tossing the tissue onto the counter.

Rafe, still in his uniform, stared at you in disbelief. His hands were on his hips, his chest rising and falling as though he’d just come off the field. “What?” he snapped, his tone laced with frustration. You turned your head slightly, catching his reflection in the mirror. “Have you forgotten that we have jobs to do, Rafe?”

“Jobs?” he repeated, his voice rising as he took a step closer. “We haven’t even finished—” “Well, I’m finished!” you cut him off, spinning around to face him fully. Your eyes burned with the remnants of the argument that had spiralled out of control. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so just go.”

Rafe’s scoff echoed in the small room, his head tilting back in exasperation. “Unbelievable.” You turned back to the mirror, refusing to meet his gaze. The silence stretched out, broken only by the faint hum of the stadium crowd filtering through the walls. “You always do this,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, but the accusation hit its mark.

“Do what?” you shot back, spinning on your heel. “Stand up for myself? Refuse to sit here while you act like you’re the only one who’s stressed? God forbid, right?” Rafe ran a hand through his damp hair, his frustration palpable. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.” “Then what is it about, Rafe?” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Because I’m tired of having this same fight over and over again. It’s exhausting.” For a moment, he didn’t respond. His jaw tightened, and he looked at you as though searching for the right words, something to break the cycle you were both caught in. “You think this is easy for me?” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“Balancing all of this? The games, the media, us? I’m trying, okay? But every time I slip up, you act like I’m the bad guy.” You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “Just please,” you said, voice cracking as you turned to face him. “Get out, Rafe. I can’t perform like this!”

Your words hung in the air, and for a second, his expression flickered with something softer—regret, maybe—but it was quickly replaced by a storm of his own. “And you think I can?” he roared, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “you think it’s any easier for me?” “Well, you’re going to have to, aren’t you?” you snapped, your voice sharp as a whip.

The anger in your tone startled even you, but you didn’t care. You were too far gone, too wound up from his relentless push and pull. You turned back to the counter, furiously zipping up your makeup bag with enough force that the sound echoed in the quiet room. The air between you was suffocating, charged with unspoken feelings and unresolved tension.

“I don’t even know what you want from me anymore,” Rafe muttered, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “I want you to stop!” you said, turning around to face him, your boots clicking loudly on the concrete floor as you moved. “Stop acting like everything’s about you! Like your stress is the only thing that matters. I have a job too, Rafe, and you—” Your voice faltered for a moment, but you pushed through.

“You’re making it impossible for me to do it right now.” He stared at you, his jaw tight, hands resting on his hips as if he was holding himself back from saying something he’d regret. You didn’t wait for a response. You couldn’t. Grabbing your pom poms, you stormed past him, your boots echoing with each step. “Good luck out there,” you threw over your shoulder, the words biting and sarcastic.

“Yeah, thanks for the support,” he called after you, but there was no real venom in his voice. Just frustration, layered with something that sounded an awful lot like defeat. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t afford to. Not with the performance waiting for you just outside the tunnel and the man who could unravel you with a single glance standing behind you.

~

From the moment Rafe walked out onto the field, you could tell his head wasn’t screwed on properly. Even as you called out formations and checked on the other cheerleaders, your eyes kept drifting toward Rafe. Something about his movements was off—less sharp, less calculated. The usual precision that made him one of the best in the league wasn’t there, and you knew exactly why.

The argument in the locker room had been raw, cutting deeper than either of you realised at the time. You thought you’d tucked your emotions away, but the nagging guilt wouldn’t let up. And now, watching Rafe stumble through a game he’d normally dominate, it was clear he was still carrying the weight of your words.

This wasn’t how you wanted him to play—frustrated and reckless. By the second quarter, it was painfully obvious to everyone that Rafe wasn’t himself. His passes were less precise, his footwork shaky, and his frustration was evident in every misstep. The crowd, normally electric in their cheers for him, began to murmur uneasily.

“C’mon, Cameron,” one of the announcers said over the loudspeakers. “What’s going on with him tonight?” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as you watched him try to shake it off, slapping his helmet and pacing on the sidelines. You could see it in his body language—he was spiraling.

And then it happened. Midway through the third quarter, the Cowboys’ defensive line broke through, faster than Rafe had anticipated. He dropped back, eyes scanning the field for an open receiver, but his timing was off. His hesitation cost him. A linebacker barreled into him with full force, slamming him to the ground.

It happened to close to you, the impact was deafening, the sound of bodies colliding and helmets crashing together making your stomach lurch. The crowd gasped, the air heavy with tension as the trainers and medics rushed onto the field. You froze on the sidelines, your routine momentarily forgotten as Rafe crumpled to the ground.

You watched as he tried to sit up, his hand clutching his shoulder, pain etched into his features. The trainers helped him to his feet, and he waved off their attempts to cart him out, insisting he could walk. But the stiffness in his movements, the way he cradled his arm, told you it wasn’t minor. You didn’t even think about it.

The moment halftime hit, you were running toward the tunnel, ignoring the whispers of the staff your and the curious looks of the crowd. When you found him in the medical room, he was sitting on the edge of a table, his shoulder iced and his jersey pulled halfway off. He looked up when you entered, his expression darkening for a moment before softening as he took in your worried face.

“You’re supposed to be with your team,” he said flatly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. “And you’re supposed to be on the field,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Are you okay?” He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Took a hit. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” “Rafe…” Your voice broke slightly, and you stepped closer, your eyes scanning him for signs of serious injury.

Rafe looked away, jaw tightening. “I wasn’t focused,” he admitted, his tone low and bitter. “That hit? It’s on me. I let our fight get to me.” Your stomach churned. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I didn’t think—” “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he cut in, his eyes finally meeting yours. “You didn’t think. You just threw all that at me and expected me to shake it off like it didn’t matter.”

You flinched but held his gaze. Your guilt surged, and you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Finally, you reached out, your hand brushing against his uninjured arm. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to throw you off. I was just… angry, and I took it out on you.” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Rafe let out a heavy sigh, running his uninjured hand through his hair.

“Look, I know I wasn’t perfect out there tonight. But I can’t play when my head’s a mess. And you…” He trailed off, his voice softening. “You’re always in my head, and maybe that’s not always a good thing, but it’s the truth," A soft chuckle escaped his lips, breaking the tension, and despite yourself, a small smile cracked across your face. You stepped closer, hesitating before resting your hand on his good shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “For making it harder. For not realising how much you care.” Rafe glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours. “We’re both under a lot of pressure, but we can’t keep doing this." You nodded, your throat tight with emotion. “I’ll try harder. I promise.” He gave you a small, tired smile, the tension between you easing just slightly. “Me too.”

The sounds of the stadium filtered in from the hallway, a steady hum of cheers and announcements. It was a stark reminder that both of you had jobs waiting, responsibilities to uphold no matter what had just unfolded between you. “I gotta head back before Kelli and Judy ask for my head,” you sighed, the weight of your position tugging at you. But before you turned away, you leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

It was brief, but it held everything you couldn’t yet put into words—an apology, a reassurance, a promise. Rafe’s lips quirked into a lazy grin as you pulled back, his usual cockiness tempered by the warmth in his eyes. “I’ll survive,” he teased, his voice rough but lighter than before. “You know me—tough as nails.” “You’ll be okay,” you murmured, your hand lingering on his uninjured shoulder for a moment longer.

It was a gentle touch, meant to steady him, to remind him that no matter what had happened earlier, you were still here. He nodded, his grin softening into something almost boyish. “I always am.” With a reluctant sigh, you turned and made your way back toward the tunnel, the click of your boots echoing in the corridor. You could feel his eyes on you, watching as you straightened your shoulders and stepped back into the bright lights of the stadium.

[thebarneschronicles]

The Barnes Chronicles Masterlist

Welcome to The Barnes Chronicles Masterlist!

Hi there! I’m so glad you’ve found your way to my little corner of the internet. Here, you’ll find all of my writing for Bucky Barnes stories, conveniently organized in one place. Whether you're in the mood for fluff, angst, or something a little spicier, I hope you’ll find something that speaks to you.

I also accept requests! If you’ve got an idea for a fic, feel free to send it my way— I'm always looking for new ideas to bring to life. Thank you for all the love and support; your reblogs, comments, and likes mean the world to me!

Now, go ahead and explore The Barnes Chronicles. 💙

ONE SHOTS The Edge of Patience

Word Count: 1.8k

You’re no stranger to the overprotective nature of your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes. After a heated argument about wanting to join him and Sam on their missions, you knowingly push his buttons until his patience snaps. What starts as a battle of wills turns into a raw, unrestrained encounter—punishing, heated, and entirely irresistible.

A Quiet Escape

Word Count: 6.3k

During a holiday stay at Clint Barton’s home, you’ve been desperately trying to steal a moment alone with Bucky—your super-soldier boyfriend—but the Avengers are constantly interrupting. Between Clint’s kids, Steve’s “bromantic” grocery runs, and Nat pulling Bucky into sparring sessions, it feels like you’re constantly fighting for his attention. Frustration finally boils over when you confront Bucky about your lack of privacy, only to discover he’s just as eager for some alone time as you are - and willing to do anything to get it.

Stuck With Me Word Count: 3.3k When Bucky returns home after a mission, his unexpected transformation leaves you speechless and you can’t help but tease him about it. As playful banter shifts to deep, tender moments, your desire and frustration collide in an encounter that leaves you breathless, unable to resist the pull of a love that refuses to age. Nine Lives Word Count: 9.4k

Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Out of Depth, Into You

Word Count: 8.3k

Bucky Barnes was supposed to get in and out. Simple. Clean. But Hydra had other plans.

An ambush leaves him broken, bleeding, and barely standing—and you’re the only thing keeping him upright. Trapped in a safehouse, patching him up with shaking hands, you realize the truth you’ve been avoiding: you almost lost him. And that scares you more than anything.

Because Bucky isn’t just your mission partner. He’s yours.

And maybe… just maybe, he’s known it all along. --

SERIES

Closer To Home Series A shared universe of Bucky Barnes x Female Reader stories exploring love, trust, and the journey of healing.

As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think. Closer To Home Closer To Home II Closer To Home III

Closer To Home IV Closer To Home V Closer To Home VI

CTH Blurbs Navigating the Ordinary What starts as a lunch invitation quickly spirals into an unexpected errand to the local CVS, where playful banter about modern absurdities and a deep dive into his dating history lead to unexpected revelations. For Science Science demands answers. And when your boyfriend happens to be a genetically enhanced super soldier, well… some questions are simply too intriguing to ignore.

[apricot-blossomss]

hihi!! may i please request an apollo x reader where he pleads for them to take them back after a minor argument, and apollo, in the heat of the moment and feeling petty, breaks up with reader

☛ apollo broke up with you over a stupid argument and begs you to take him back

☛ sfw, angsty, fluffy ending; tw: self deprecating thoughts; thank you for 100 followers!

He messed up. Badly.

His hand shook over the paper but he couldn't think of another verse. Or rather: there were so many swirling around in his mind, expressing regret, loathing himself, worshipping you and asking for forgiveness, that he couldn't find one to write down. With a frustrated groan, he buried his head in his hands.

"Lord Apollo?"

"Hm?" He said, begrudgingly looking up from his miserable laments and at the Muse Clio. She, as well as her sisters, had free access to the god's sacred gardens, though he would have preferred solitude right now. And he could not bear her pitiful looks, even though it was Clio's standard expression.

"I was sent by your high father," she said and came closer to the bench were the god had sprawled out all the heartbreak and breakup songs he had written in the last forty-eight hours.

"Sit," he said without putting away his pen. Instead, he started writing, but even though his words would have brought the highest poets to shame over the mediocrity of their verses, it still didn't feel enough for you. If he wanted to get you back, he'd have to do it properly, with the most masterful piece he had ever written.

Clio sat down on the small part of the bench that wasn't covered in music and lyric sheets, letting her eyes scan over them. Jeez. Whoever you were, you had to have done quite the number on the god. When she looked at him, he was feverishly scribbling on a fresh paper, looking like a madman. "Your father," she began carefully. "urges you to leave these gardens to tend to your godly duties."

"Tell him to shove his urges up his ass," Apollo grumbled and earned a skeptical look. "Come on. I'm sure you'll find a nice way of expressing the same sentiment."

"I have another message, from your sister," she added and he grimaced, a bitter feeling at the back of his throat. "Tell her I won't have her mockery." The muse fell silent, sad, worried eyes tracing his features.

"You can leave now," the god said in a monotone voice and without another word, Clio was gone. As so often in the last fort-eight hours, Apollo felt the tears sting in his eyes once more and leaned back to drape an arm over his face. But the darkness only brought the image of the fight back.

How could he have been so stupid, so hurtful and petty? It was an argument about a fucking a/c unit. It hadn't even been an argument initially. Just harmless banter, until he had overstepped and said something hurtful. And when you snapped back, he had felt hurt and lashed out. Stupid. He was so stupid. The whole thing started spiraling out of control until he had shouted back the fateful words.

"If you can't take a joke, maybe we're not right for each other"

The guilt ate him up from the inside. The image of your widened, teary eyes was burned into his brain, he saw it every time he closed his eyes, and every time he did, his heart squeezed so painfully that he wished someone would take mercy on him and shoot him with his own arrow. And no ink in the world would draw the pain out. Only one thing could- you.

You scrubbed aggressively at your kitchen sink, even though it really was not to blame for your current situation. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself as you forcefully scoured at a stain at the side of the sink. But it wouldn't wash away a bit. "Fucking thing," you muttered, scrubbing even harder. Finally, you gave up and took a deep breath through your nose. "Fucking shit"

Your doorbell rang and you ignored it. Like the last two days, you would self isolate and obsessively clean your house- that was how you coped with having the most stupid, petty idiot of a god as a boyfriend- now ex-boyfriend. The thought stung. And even more so, because as much as you would like to pretend it was, this wasn't all on him. The bell rung again, and you sighed, throwing your towel in the sink and opening the door with a little more vigor the necessary.

"Can I help y-" The words died on your tongue. Cool, silver eyes had you forgetting how to articulate a single word as the woman in front of you looked you up and down. She was gorgeous, in a wild way. Dark hair braided and of truly majestic posture, in a flowing dress and a bow over her shoulder. You felt your whole being shiver at the sheer might of her presence- something you only felt with Apollo, only that it felt much warmer and exciting with him. Your mouth knew before your brain registered her appearance. "Lady Artemis"

"You," she said, and the tone of her voice had you stiffen up, as if she had shouted. Her scrutinizing stare had you sweat and you dug your fingers into the palms of your hands nervously. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Th-thank you," you stammered, too panicked to think of anything else to say. Was she here to take revenge on you? Apollo would never allow that, that you were sure of. But who knew whether they cooperated?

"Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation," she said coldly, but it didn't sound like an insult. The goddess studied your expression and sighed, a hint of exhaustion in her tone. "It must be something else about you then. Something that warrants this level of drama."

"I was hardly the one who started it," you bit back and regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Biting down on your tongue, you winced at your stupidity. "Please forgive me, that was out of line." Great. Insulting her brother in front of Artemis was surely the best move.

"He thinks the same." You looked up at her and were surprised to find her smiling a very slim smile. "You should see him, he's an absolute mess, drowning in his guilt."

"Oh," you said, without a hint of worry or remorse. Instead, you felt a sense of relief. He cared. He felt guilty. He was drowning in his misery. Artemis lifted her brow at your neutral expression and you shrugged. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"You are appreciated, alright," the goddess said under her breath as she remembered the tortured sappy breakup songs her brother had been bothering everyone with. Sickeningly enough, he was really good at those, so everyone was getting depressed. Even though Artemis tended to spend her time away from Olympus, she herself could feel the effects of this misery. And she was sure many gods would breathe a sigh of relief once the whole mess was settled.

"Look," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she was having a migraine, which of course wasn't possible for gods. "Can you just take him back, mortal? He's awfully broken up and making everyone miserable."

"I'm not asking him to take me back," you said stubbornly. You may have had your part in the argument, but he was the one who ended things and your pride didn't allow for you to crawl back to him. "If he wants me back, he can tell me himself, I'm very sorry."

There was a short but noticeable silence. Then: "I understand." The goddess smiled. You were starting to live up to her expectations. "But he's just as stubborn as you and he won't get his ass down here until he has crafted 'the perfect song' to ask for your forgiveness." The thought did make your insides flutter. "How about a deal? I'll take you to my temple and make him fix this on the spot."

Not daring to refuse the proposal, you nodded and her hand got a hold of your upper arm. "Close your eyes" Instinctively, you followed her instructions. Even though you felt nothing, not even a hush of air, when you opened your eyes, you were in the most magnificent hall you had ever seen. Marble all around, with a high, open ceiling and trees invading it through the windows. A mix of ancient monument and forest.

When you turned around to ask the goddess whether this was Olympus, she was gone. You were alone, as small as an ant between the towering walls. They were so monumental it was almost claustrophobic- or rather, the opposite. Just as terrifying. The space made you feel tiny and insignificant and with those feelings came an unexpected dread:

What if he didn't want you back?

Why would he? He was a god, he could have his pick of hundreds of millions of people, people that were prettier than you, smarter than you, more exciting than you. It was like the walls were threatening to crumble, your breathing picked up and you tried to breathe through your mouth slowly, but not getting enough air only accelerated your sudden panic. What if he came in here and told you to go, that he didn't need you, didn't want you? That you couldn't even take a joke and you shouldn't be with one another? The scrutinizing look in her eyes as Artemis had looked you up and down was burned into your memory. Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation.

He wrote you songs, you tried to remind yourself. He was being petty, that why he broke things off. Artemis says he regrets it, she said he wants you back. But you couldn't believe it- not really, no matter how often you tried to tell it to yourself. He wants you. But why would he? He loves you. Why you? There was no clock in the temple, of course, but it had been some time already . Would he even show up?

The tall stone doors were opened with such force they met the walls in a loud bang. Flinching hard, you shot around and saw him standing there, in between the doors that were creaking in protest of being handled with such force. You met his eyes and in that moment you knew you had already forgiven him. If a gods eyes could be bloodshot, his were. His usually effortlessly perfect hair was disheveled and his hands covered in ink. They hung powerlessly at his sides, as if they didn't know what else but the door to use their strength on. He looked like shit, and you felt love swell in your chest.

But you couldn't let him know. Pressing your hands to your hips, you lifted your chin. "I knew you'd come back" Liar "I just wouldn't have thought it would be this quickly," you said, sounding much more self assured than you had ever been in your life, much less now.

The god walked towards you, as if he were dream walking, raising a hand like he was about to caress your cheeks but slumped down in front of you instead, kneeling before you on the marble floor. "I am a fool."

"Yes," you said, nodding and gulping down the burning in the corners of your eyes. Because you couldn't stand the self loathing in his features, you studied a blooming cherry tree that was waving through one of the tall windows. When you felt hands on your hips, your own hands shot down but when they met his, your fingers curled around his and he let out a long breath.

"I am such a stupid, stupid moron," he emphasized and you finally managed to look down at him. The genuine regret in his eyes took your breath right out of your lungs. "Please... my love..." His hands closed around your smaller ones and he brought them to his face to put his head in his hands. You let him. "Please, forgive me. I was so stupid, please, take me back. Love?"

"Hm?"

"I'm so so sorry"

Not trusting your voice, you started caressing his cheeks and he sighed into your ministrations, kissing the palm of your hand softly. Teary eyes shone up at you and you looked back. Just when you opened your mouth to formulate an answer, he tightened his hold on you, while simultaneously reaching behind himself to grab a stack of scribbled-on paper out of nowhere and pushing it into your hands. "I tried to make the perfect one for you, but I failed. I'm sorry, my love."

As you read through the words, your heart started beating loudly in your chest. In disbelief, you read them through as the god still clung to your body. "Are these ... about me?" you whispered as your eyes skimmed over words of adoration and love, of appreciation and utter devotion, of little things you did that you had never noticed, or you had thought mundane- but he hadn't.

"Yes," he breathed. He didn't make a sound when he rose to his feet, though still hunched over in shame. His warm hands massaged your waist as they were carefully scanning your expression for your reaction. "Do you like them?" You had to like them, or he would lock himself in tarterus and throw away the key.

"I-" you stammered, voice hoarse. All your doubts, all your anxiety of being good enough... as you read through the words, they slowly erased them bit by bit. Your fingers were shaking so hard the paper trembled in your hands and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes. "Love?" He sounded worried, and you had to make yourself look up from the beautiful words to smile at him. "Yes, I like them. They're beautiful."

Thank god. "I'll make it all up to you, I swear," he said gravely, taking your face into his hands. "I will compose and sing operas to your magnificence, I will grant you every wish, I will never make you cry again, I promise"

"You just did," you laughed through your tears and pressed the stack of paper to your chest. "Can I uh- can I keep them?"

"Of course, silly. They are yours," he hummed, looking into your eyes with a look in his eyes you couldn't quite place. Maybe longing. Desperation. "Please, my love, take me back and I shall never make you suffer again."

"Alright," you said, smiling up at him and wiping away the saltine wetness on your cheeks. "And- I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, you didn't mean it like that and I was just being stupid and overthinking and- I'm sorry."

Vehemently, Apollo shook his head and shushed down your apologies. "No no no, love, this was on me, just on me. I hurt you, I made you cry and I ... I can't get that out of my head." His voice sounded strained.

"Apollo?" Now, it was his eyes threatening to overflow with tears. "Why did you come back?" He looked at you as if you had just said the most bewildering thing ever. "I mean... you could have just left me. But you didn't." A small, bitter laugh escaped you. "I lied, you know? I didn't know if you would come back, I thought you might just not care that much."

"How could you ever think that?" he asked, as if he really couldn't believe it, and you laughed. "Because I hate myself?" It was meant to be a joke, but your puffy eyes and sniffs didn't do a lot of convincing on that end, you feared. The pained look in his eyes almost made you cry again, not even for your sake, but for his, because how could someone look this tortured and not break apart.

"You are the most amazing woman- the most amazing person- I have ever had the privilege of loving," he confesses. "I love you."

The genuinity in his words took your breath away, and you didn't get a chance to get it back because his lips crashed onto yours in a heated, desperate attempt to convince you of his words. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you kissed him back feverishly as relief flooded your whole body and you started relaxing in his arms. He could feel you slumping against him and chuckled into your heated kiss, angling your head just right for him to deepen the kiss, holding you securely and dipping you down. You giggled, fully entrusting him with yourself, and he smiled through the kiss.

"You are divine," he groaned, placing kiss after kiss on your swollen lips and you laughed lightly before the way of it was swallowed by his loving ministrations. "Says the literal god."

"APOLLO!"

Flinching, you broke away from the kiss just enough to see a very pissed off Artemis standing in the doors of her temple and glaring at her brother who frowned right back. "You're interrupting, sister."

"You are in my temple! How dare you do this in my temple you little shit?" When she whipped her head around to you, you buried your fingers in Apollo's tunic, already seeing your life flashing before your eyes, but against all expectations, she gave you a genuine smile. "If you don't want to take him back, I might still have a spot for you under my followers, you could join my huntresses, dear."

"That is a very gracious offer, but I fear I have to decline it, I'm sorry," you apologized and she tutted, though she didn't seem resentful.

"Ha!" Apollo grinned and she smacked him. He let her, grinning boyishly and hositing you up into his arms. You didn't protest, you were too dazzled by his unbelievably bright smile that had your heart explode into a thousand bubbles that popped all over your stomach, tingling. "Love, how do you feel about getting out of here?"

Waving at Artemis, you couldn't help your own smile. "Bye! And thank you, my lady!" She gave you a small smile and exchanged a look with Apollo that was more firm. Smiling at her, he glanced down at you and tightened his hold. "I know."

"Go!" his sister told him, shoving his shoulder, and in the flash of a second, you were surrounded by trees and flowers and sweet smells. A garden. Unmistakably divine, because no mortal place could be of such beauty.

Apollo set you down on a golden bench and sat down himself, pulling you into his warm arms. A long sigh left your mouth as you smiled at him, at his beauty, his smile, his shiny eyes. It felt so intimate, the way he was smiling back and pressed a kiss to your temple, huffing out a warm breath against your skin that was slowly warmed up by the sun. "Where are we?" you finally asked.

"My gardens," he answered, caressing your face with trails of sweet kisses. "Do you like them?" You nodded, admiring the colors as he was worshipping your face with his lips.

"Do you want to have them?"

"What?" you laughed, turning to look at him and fully convinced that he must be making a joke. But the expression on his face was undoubtedly honest. "N-no thanks," you mumbled and rested your hand on his shoulder. Your fingers interlaced with his.

"Do you know what Artemis told me before she happened to mention you were waiting for me at her temple?" Shaking your head, you started playing with his fingers when his captured your ring finger and his lips ghosted over your ear in a way that had you shiver in spite of the warmth of his sunny gardens. "She told me if I wanted you back forever, and if I loved you as much as I said, I should just put a ring on it."

"What?" you laughed instinctively, because you had built a wall around the topic for the both of you. What you had with Apollo wasn't permanent- it couldn't be, because you weren't permanent. What was he even talking about?

"I mean it," he said, so earnestly that the laughter died on your tongue. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed his lips to your knuckles, your ring finger. "I would drag myself through eternal suffering for a life you. If you preferred a mortal life, I'd leave Olympus for you. I would kill anyone who hurt you, anyone ever made you feel small. I'd do everything for you, and I don't want to regret anything more."

Breathlessly, you searched his features for deception. "Apollo... you had thousands of lovers before me. Why me?"

He looked thoughtful and absentmindedly drew circles on your thigh. "You're right. I have loved plenty, and I have loved deeply every time. But even though it was genuine, it was never long, and that always worked for me, in some way." You felt the caress of his adoring eyes on you as you stared at your hands, trying to process his words. "It wouldn't work with you, never. And I would never be okay with it. I want you forever- or at least for as long as possible, as long as you want to."

There was a downside to dating Apollo, and it was the fact that your stammered confession and your attempts at wooing him with loving words crippled pathetically next to his flawless love poetry, his sure words and articulation. You really didn't know how to possibly give him an answer, other than leaning up and kissing him, as gently as the summer breeze, and thinking: if you could have this forever, what more could you need?

When you broke the sweet little kiss, you couldn't suppress a giggle and he raised an eyebrow at you. "It's just..." you grimaced. "I can't believe we broke up over an a/c unit."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[silentcaps]

They found out someone hurt you

tags: hurt/comfort, reader trauma, protective partner

cast: cyno, razor, scaramouche x fem!reader

tw: emotional distress, implied harassment

side b: barbara, diluc, itto

CYNO

His colleagues glance at him and smile — like they already know everything. Even the things he doesn’t. Cyno is surprised that bits and pieces of the situation reach him through work chatter, the noise of the Grand Bazaar, and even from patrols deep in the forest — but never from you. It’s as if you don’t trust him enough to share your troubles. And even if that thought cuts deeper than he lets on, Cyno respects your choice and doesn’t bring it up himself. Instead, to keep from overthinking and spiraling, he throws himself into tracking the perpetrator — a real hunt. After all, no one escapes justice when it comes from the General Mahamatra.

Still, he can’t avoid the subject entirely. When he sees you again, he mentions that the criminal has been caught, hoping it’ll bring you some relief. But what he sees instead is pain flickering across your face — and that stuns him.

“Did I do something wrong? Should I not have gotten involved?”

He doesn’t understand your reaction. Maybe he should’ve stayed close, offered comfort instead? But it seemed like you were keeping the issue from him on purpose — to process it in your own space and time.

“I thought… it would hurt your reputation. You care about it so much…”

When Cyno hears the anxious thoughts you’ve been wrestling with all this time, something shifts. He cups your cheeks, catches your gaze, and says with quiet certainty:

“No, of course not… I wouldn’t turn my back on you just to protect my reputation. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Though not someone used to touch, Cyno opens his arms for you — and doesn’t let go until you’re the one to pull away.

RAZOR

Raised by the laws of the wild, Razor doesn’t quite understand why what happened has shaken you so deeply. But he tries to comfort you. Slowly, step by step, he moves closer and tilts his head, gently nudging your shoulder like a she-wolf nuzzling her pup. The silence that follows — your total lack of response — unsettles him more than anything else in the world. A low whine, full of frustration at his own helplessness, escapes from his chest. Razor curls up at your feet, keeping just enough distance to not intrude, but refusing to leave your side. Whatever caused this pain doesn’t matter to him right now. What matters is that you’re hurting. And he’s made it his duty to bring back your sunshine smile and that voice that rings like a bell.

Later, Razor goes to Lisa with questions. After a patient and thorough explanation, after the truth settles in, his fists clench until his knuckles turn white, and his teeth grind together. He grabs his claymore, ready to tear the whole city apart if that’s what it takes to find the monster responsible. He doesn’t fully understand why, but the image of someone’s hands touching you without your permission drives him insane. There’s nothing he can do about it — not directly — but Lisa promises to look into it and talk to Jean to make sure no one else gets hurt.

He returns to your home. The curtains are drawn, everything’s untouched, and you’re buried under heavy blankets. It’s clear you haven’t left your room or eaten all day. Razor sits on the edge of the bed to let you know he’s there, and in a voice cracked with emotion, he says the only thing that feels right:

“I only have Lupical. I protect my Lupical. No one hurt. I fight for Lupical. Keep safe. I want make you feel good. Food gives strength. Makes happy. I make meat. Tasty smell.”

SCARAMOUCHE

Scaramouche doesn’t deal well with tears. During arguments, the moment he notices them, he either sends you away or walks off himself. It doesn’t make him a terrible person — some emotions just hit too hard and leave him feeling powerless.

“Calm down and explain it properly, I can’t make sense of your whining.”

That line comes up a lot. Not because he wants to hurt you — but because that’s how he tries to get to the point and help. Fix the problem. Give you money. Beat someone up. But not offer soft words. And definitely not hugs.

But today is different. Your cheeks are soaked in tears, and you don’t even seem to notice. You’re staring off, empty. Scaramouche forces himself to step closer. He asks what happened. And as he pieces together the broken parts of your story, something inside him snaps. Some pathetic insect thought they had the right to touch you — the parts of you that belong to him, wholly and without question.

Between shaky breaths, you confess that you can still feel it — those touches clinging to your skin like filth that won’t wash off.

“Show me where.”

His cool, familiar fingers follow wherever you point. He presses, massages, grounding you with each motion. Then he leans in and kisses every inch of skin you marked, slow and deliberate — replacing the memory of someone else's hands with his own, painting over it, erasing it.

“Imagine it’s only me touching you. Nothing else. No one else.”

He’ll find the bastard later — drag them out from under the earth if he has to — but right now, helping you is all that matters.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - Epilogue

Source for pic

Trouble - Epilogue 🔞

Word Count: 6362

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: And here we are... at the end of another installment of my Meet-Cute series. My gosh, three are done and two to go! I guess I never thought I was going to write all of them and I can't take you guys enough for all the support! But hey, I'll leave that to another post! For now, I hope you enjoy the epilogue of this thrilling story. Let me know all about it, please, I'm dying to know if it was satisfying!

Masterlist

Healing isn’t linear.

You thought you were on the right track after moving in with Zoro. You started taking your meds, shared your feelings with your friends, checked in on Shanks every day. More importantly, you don’t keep anything from Zoro anymore.

And you’ve both been very happy. 

Until it all crashes down again, and all the healing you’ve done goes up in smoke, like it meant nothing, and you’re right back where you started: afraid, trapped, small, and vulnerable.

It’s the little things that trigger you. And you find that out the hard way.

-*-

Zoro insists on returning to work, even though his injuries are still healing. He and Mihawk have a terrible argument over the phone until his captain clears him for desk duty with limited hours. 

It’s not what Zoro wanted, but he’ll take it. Since he can’t exercise as often or as hard as he would like, he’ll take this distraction. Besides, you’ve been telling him that you still want to help your father around the farm, as much as you feel capable of doing, and he gets bored being alone with nothing to do. 

It’s on one of those mornings, when the chores are done, Zoro is at the station, and you and Shanks are sharing a mug of coffee by the porch steps that you take another step forward in your healing process. 

“Dad…” You begin with a sigh and Shanks sets down his mug so he can give you his full attention. “I’m sorry.”

He hears the smallness in your voice and cocks his head to the side. “About what?”

“About not feeling at home in your house… I… It’s just…”

Shanks places his arm over your shoulders and pulls you towards him. “You don’t have to explain, Bug. I get it. You don’t even have to apologise for it! All I want is for you to heal and be happy, you know that.”

You do know that. But it still feels like you’re abandoning your father, and it weighs on your chest constantly. 

With a trembling inhale, you blink away your unshed tears. “Yes, Dad, I know that. But… this is the house I grew up in, and it hurts that I can’t call it home anymore. You’re here, and I can’t bear to be inside for more than a few minutes. I’m sorry.”

Shanks pulls back so he can look into your eyes. He has a genuine, though sorrowful, look on his face when he utters your name softly. “Home is not a place.” Your eyes widen as he kisses your forehead. “I could be living on a ship, or anywhere across the world, and home wouldn’t be there… you’re my home.”

“Home is not a place…” You repeat, and he nods. 

“It’s okay if the house you grew up in doesn’t feel like home anymore, Bug. It truly is.” Shanks sets one hand over your heart, still smiling. “Let your heart find your home.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears from flowing down your face as Shanks wipes them away with his thumb. Then you hug him tightly as your chest feels a little bit lighter. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.” 

You pull back and stare into his eyes. Lately, and as you’ve been feeling brighter and better, there have been fewer shadows in them, like he’s managing to push the guilt away, so you know that as you heal, your father heals with you.

You’re his home.

“Okay, Dad, I’m going upstairs to fill a bag with clothes, just like I promised my therapist. Baby steps.” You can’t deny that you’re nervous about spending time in your room. You’ve been inside a few times, but only for a few minutes and never alone. Your therapist proposed baby steps to help you face the most triggering situations, and you’ve been trying that. 

That’s why you’ve been helping Shanks around the farm. You had lunch at the farmhouse too, the other day. Granted, you helped your dad cook and then you both ate the meal outside, but it was still progress. 

The walls don’t seem so suffocating, the air is lighter. You can do this. 

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

You nod and get up, dusting off your behind as you take a deep breath and face the door, trying to push the image of the dead cat pinned to it to the back of your mind. 

“I can do this, Dad. Baby steps.” You start walking and then stop, turning around. “Well… maybe you can wait in the living room so I can call you if I need you?” Asking for help is also a baby step, and you take it.

“Sure.” Shanks smiles, collects the mugs of coffee, and heads inside with you. He’s trying to act nonchalant, but you can hear the mugs jingling with the slightest tremor from him. “Oh,” he exclaims suddenly. “Some of your city friends sent you some flowers, I guess the news spread there too, because…” He doesn’t say it, but you make the connection: Ichiji. “I placed them in your room. You know I don’t care much about flowers, and they were for you, so…”

You smile and nod as you start to climb the stairs. “Thank you, Dad!” You haven’t said much to your friends from the city. They’re mostly Ichiji’s friends anyway, but maybe you should text and thank them? Could there be a note on the flowers so you know who sent them?

The thought gets pushed aside as you face your closed door, your heart hammering against your chest as you chew on your lips. 

Baby steps.

You got this.

With a heavy inhale, you turn the doorknob and enter. 

The room is bright, your father has been opening the windows every day to let in the sun and fresh air. Other than that, it seems untouched. Cold, like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. 

But there’s no suffocating oppression, no feeling of entrapment. You got this.

And then your eyes fall on your desk, where the flowers stand, and you freeze. Fresh red roses. A huge bouquet of them.

It’s not King, it’s not him, he’s dead.

Your mind knows this, your brain understands that the bouquet came from your friends. King is dead, it wasn’t him, he wasn’t inside.

He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead!

You can’t breathe. Your chest feels tight, and it hurts as your heart hammers away in an erratic, accelerated rhythm. 

It’s not him!

Your body trembles violently, and you slump on the floor, bringing your knees to your chest and shutting your eyes. 

But you still see them. The red roses.

King.

“D–Da–Dad!” You manage to croak out, turning your head towards the open door so he can hear you. Your pills are downstairs, and just the thought of getting up seems daunting. In a matter of seconds, Shanks is kneeling by your side, whispering your name and asking what’s wrong.

“Bug, hey, hey, it’s alright! I’m here! Come on.” He tries to move you, to lift you, but you push him off, shaking your head frantically. You don’t feel safe, don’t feel like you can move, you’re frozen and shaking. There’s only one person that can help.

“Zo…”

Shanks nods and takes the phone out of his pocket, the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes more prominent again.

Zoro picks up the call immediately. “Zoro, she needs you.”

“On my way.” You hear his clipped answer before he turns off the call. He knew what you were doing today, and even if he didn’t, you don’t think Zoro would ask any questions after the words your father just told him. 

You need him. And that’s all he needs to know. 

Shanks holds you and tries to soothe you as best as he can, but he doesn’t understand what triggered you. You have been in your room before, even though you weren’t alone, but you managed somewhat. 

Now it felt like you were reliving the trauma, your shoulders shaking, knowing that you need to get away from this triggering situation, but not managing to do it with your dad. Shanks is safe, you know that, but Zoro is…

Home.

He must’ve broken all speed limits because he arrives at the farmhouse in record time, calling your name as soon as he enters. Shanks answers him, signaling where you are, and you hear dry thuds as he races up the stairs.

He’s breathless and clutching his side when he arrives upstairs because his wounds still bother him, but his eye falls on you immediately. 

You can barely do more than sob and tremble.

Shanks falls back to give Zoro space and starts pacing the room, his fingers running through his hair, and you know he feels as helpless as Zoro felt all those weeks ago. But you can’t seem to focus on anything other than the overwhelming anxiety and the fear that King is somehow still chasing you. 

“Hey, Troublemaker. Still making trouble, huh?” Zoro kneels beside you, his voice soft but frayed, as he treads carefully. His fingers brush your hair as he tries to coax you to look at him. 

You just hug your legs tighter, trying to disappear.

Then Zoro looks around, and his eye widens as he sees the bouquet. “It’s the flowers, Mr. S. Get rid of them.”

Shanks looks confused for a moment, his gaze alternating between Zoro, the desk, and you. But he snaps out of it and does as Zoro tells him, taking them away from the room, away from your sight. And Zoro tries again. 

He calls your name softly, but when that doesn’t work, he sits down and shifts your body so your back is leaning against his chest instead of the wall. Then, he hugs you from behind, his legs around yours as his arms envelop you in a crushing hug. Zoro buries his face in the crook of your neck and tries to slow your breathing by coaxing you to breathe at the same time as him.

After a few minutes, when he senses that you’ve calmed down a little bit, he speaks. “I won’t ever let anything or anyone hurt you again. Hear me?” You nod softly and shrink further into his protective embrace. “Wanna talk about it?”

You inhale a very shaky breath, and Zoro searches his pocket for a few seconds before extending a bottle of pills. “I brought you the emergency pills.” You bite your lower lip, stifling a sob. He remembered your pills. Of course he did.

So you take one because you know you can’t be strong all the time. And then, you turn a little bit in his embrace, just so you can look at him. “The freaking roses…” You say, upset.

“You knew they weren’t from him.” Zoro states, and you nod.

“And it still triggered me.” Zoro nods, his hand finds yours, and he intertwines your fingers. “What if… what if I never stop being afraid, Zo?”

He tightens his hold on you and lowers his head until your foreheads bump. “Then I’ll just keep reminding you that you’re safe. That you’ll never be in danger again. I won’t allow it.”

“That’s not exactly fair to you.” You whisper, and the words still manage to scratch your throat, because how can it be fair for him? Why does he have to be strong for both of you? Why does he have to be the one to ground you and bear all the weight?

Zoro huffs in exasperation. “Tch, like I give a shit about fair, Trouble. You’re stuck with me now, no way out.”

A small chuckle leaves your lips. “Like that’s a bad thing?”

“I hope not.” He smirks smugly and kisses your lips softly. “Still want to grab your stuff, or do we come back another day?”

“I can do it.” You whisper. The roses are gone, you took your medication, and Zoro is here. You can do this. He’s not the only one that needs to be strong. “I want to do it.”

“You got this.”

-*-

Zoro leans against the wooden railing of the stairs, crossing his arms over his chest as his eye never leaves your open door. He’s giving you space to deal with this alone, while still being close enough in case you need him again.

His jaw clenches, and he grits his teeth. Fuck all of this. He can’t stand to see the pain in your eyes, can’t stand the haunted, frightened look on your face everytime something triggers you. If he could kill King again, he would. Over and over and over again.

Motherfucker. 

No matter how hard Zoro tries, he can’t shake away the rage gnawing at his insides, reminding him how he should’ve done better. How he should’ve protected you better. He wasn’t strong enough, or fast enough. 

“Fuck.” Zoro mutters.

“Fuck’s right.” Shanks murmurs as he approaches and mimics Zoro’s stance, leaning against the railing, eyes bored into your bedroom door. Then he hands Zoro a beer. Zoro hesitates, then takes it with a small thanks. 

Both men stand in silence, the words left unsaid linger around them until Shanks sighs after a sip of his beer. “I should’ve been here. I’m her father and I couldn’t even protect her.”

Shanks doesn’t have to say the words for Zoro to recognize guilt in them. The same kind of burden he carries, regret and shame mixed together, sticking on his body like a second skin, like something he can’t wash off. 

“Well...” Zoro takes his own sip. “I was here. And it still wasn’t enough.”

Shanks looks at him, maybe he, too, understands that they share the same sentiment. A bitterness over wanting to turn back time, to change something that can’t be changed. 

“I would give anything to take this pain away from her.” Shanks mutters with a vulnerability that Zoro never saw in him in all the years since he’s known him. 

“Same…” Zoro’s voice sounds raw and vulnerable too and he tightens his grip on the railing, like that can ground him here. 

Silence stretches again. All that can be heard is the rustling of clothes as you store them into a bag, sometimes a heavy sigh as you try to ground yourself. But you don’t call for either of them, so they leave you alone with your demons. 

“Thank you.” Shanks finally says. 

“I…” Zoro clenches his teeth. It feels wrong for your father to be thanking him when you still got hurt. “Yeah.”

“I know you wish you could’ve done more, trust me, kid, I wish for the same every damn day,” Shanks’ hand on Zoro’s shoulder squeezes with understanding. “But you saved her, you bled for her, you were willing to die for her. And that’s all a father can ask. So thank you.”

Zoro nods again, his eye never leaving your door as his throat suddenly feels tighter. Then Shanks chuckles and removes his hand from his shoulder, picking up the beer again and finishing it in one long gulp. “You love her.” 

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. And one that Zoro has no intention to hide from anyone. 

“I do.”

“I know. You have since you both were kids. I could see it a mile away, you idiot.” 

“Oi!” Zoro grits his teeth again, annoyance taking over the sentiment of mutual understanding pretty quickly.

“I trust you.” Shanks sighs and smiles at Zoro, nodding towards your door before straightening up and inhaling deeply. “I trust you to protect her.”

Zoro barely has time to reply before you stride over to them, a weary smile on your lips and a duffel bag hanging over your shoulder. Zoro nods at Shanks, then removes the bag from your hands, carrying it himself. “Ready to go?”

You smile at him and nod. “All good.”

Shanks sighs once more before hugging you a little longer than necessary, then kissing your head. “Anytime you wanna pop up, door’s open, Bug.”

You kiss his cheek and then pull away. “I’m not moving to another island, Dad. We’re literally ten minutes away.” You both chuckle but Shanks’ smile is bittersweet. And so is yours. You know his words have a much deeper meaning, and you’re so grateful to him.

-*-

Healing isn’t the same for everyone. But Zoro is so strong.

Almost two months have passed since the nightmare ended, and there are more times when you feel good than when you feel bad, it’s true. But Zoro is never shaken. 

He’s returned to work full-time, and Nami and Robin got you a part-time job at the firm where they work, just something to fill in the endless void, since idle moments send you spiraling into unwanted thoughts. 

He trains. Harder and harder every day, and he’s just unshakable. Your rock.

Your nightmares still come. Not every night, and they’re not always insufferable. There are more times when they merely jolt you from sleep than times when they completely freeze you. And you take that as progress. 

What you don’t realise at first is that Zoro only acts strong. Zoro seems healed because he never truly lets you see the depth of his wounds. He’s more broken than you know, much more than he lets on. 

And he carries this weight alone. 

The only reason you realise this is that one night, when your nightmare forces you to awaken and search for the comfort of your rock, you find his side of the bed empty and cold. Sitting up, you let your eyes adjust to the dim light before spotting him. 

Zoro sits at the edge of the bed, hands buried in his hair, and elbows resting on his knees. His body is taut and tense, ready for a fight. He’s visibly shaking, though no sound escapes his lips. You call his name softly, but he doesn’t acknowledge you, so you shuffle to his side, hesitate, then wrap your arms around his torso, resting your cheek lightly against his bare back. He’s freezing.

“Zo…” You call out softly again, tightening your grip, trying to pull him back from whatever hell he’s in. 

With a shudder, he inhales deeply, his face still lost in shadows. 

“Tell me what’s wrong.” You urge, feeling small and vulnerable because this isn’t like Zoro at all. 

After a moment of silence, when you think he's not going to share anything, he starts talking. His voice is hoarse, rough and frayed, filled with emotion. 

“I see him every night when I fall asleep.” 

Your breath catches, and you press closer. “King?”

“Yes.” Zoro nearly growls, his chest rising and falling in painful gasps, his fingers dig deeper into his skull, as if that’s the only way to keep his rage contained. “I relive the moment in my head every night, but… when I fight him, I lose. And then… he doesn’t kill me, I just… have to watch as he hurts you, touches you, and–” He doesn’t need to finish. “You keep calling for me, screaming my name, begging for my help, and I can’t move, I can’t fucking do anything!” 

Zoro’s voice breaks as his whole body shudders violently and you hug him tighter, tears streaming down your face. 

“I can’t stop him!” His breath falters, and he gasps for air. “I just fucking watch as he takes you over, and over, and over.” Zoro drops his hands from his hair and clenches them into trembling fists. It’s like the words physically hurt him. “Every night I wake up and I’m just so angry! I want to tear the fucking world apart, because I can’t stop him, and he hurts you every fucking time!” Zoro’s shoulders heave with exertion, he’s trying to keep his rage locked tight, to be strong, trying not to break.

“I’m fucking useless. Weak. And I can’t save you.”

Your chest aches, and your eyes burn with more tears. This is your rock, your home, your shelter. And he’s falling apart. All this time, you thought he was fine, that he was handling it. But in reality, he was just faking it. Being strong for both of you when he can’t even keep himself together.

You shift, climbing onto his lap and straddling him. Cupping his cheeks, you gently force him to look at you. 

“Zo, look at me.” He does and you see it again, that hollowness in his eye, the shadows darkening it. It haunts you. “You’re not useless. You were never weak. And you did save me.”

He shakes his head, a pained sound escaping his lips. “It wasn’t enough. He still touched you, still saw you, still hurt you.”

“It’s not your fault.” You press your forehead against his, your fingers pressing tight against his cheeks. “It’s not your fault! You saved me, Zoro. You did. Stop blaming yourself for things that were never in your control. I’m here, you’re here.” You pull back slightly, searching his eye. “And now we move on. Or he keeps winning. We need to move on.”

Zoro holds your stare, his jaw clenching. His chest still heaves, like he’s fighting an internal war, wanting to believe your words, but not wanting to let go of his own guilt. 

“You saved me. He doesn’t get to have your soul too, Zo. He’s already taken enough.”

Zoro swallows hard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he briefly closes his eye, letting your words sink in. At least you hope they’re sinking in. 

“You don’t have to be strong for both of us, you know? You’re allowed to break and to doubt. You’re not weak because of it.” You peck him softly as he opens his eye. “We get to make each other stronger, okay?”

He nods. Vulnerability still lingering in his eye. Then he hugs you, pulling you closer and tighter against him, to make sure you’re safe, real, and his. You hold him back, your fingers tracing soft patterns through his hair, trying to calm his shaking.

Zoro doesn’t cry, but his body breaks with violent shakes. And you let him, you hold him through it. 

After a moment, Zoro’s hands loosen their hold as he takes a deep breath. They slither under the shirt you’re wearing - his shirt - and caress your waist, climbing upwards to your spine. 

A shiver courses through you at the feel of his calloused touch. He’s warm now. Zoro’s lips press against the hollow of your throat, his hands lowering to your bare thighs, caressing, taunting, igniting a fire.

A low gasp escapes your lips as Zoro’s tongue teases your collarbone, then trails up your neck. You mewl and clench your legs around his sides, eliciting a soft groan from him. 

“Zo…” Another gasp escapes as Zoro’s hands climb again, teasing both nipples at the same time. “You sure?”

It’s still early in the recovery process, and you don’t want to create unwanted frustrations. You’ve tried to be intimate more than once before, but Zoro’s injuries were still too severe, no matter how much desire you felt for each other. 

He groans again, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss in which he demands and you willingly give. Then he pulls back long enough to answer you. “Yes, I‘m sure.” Zoro kisses you again, more teeth, more tongue, more groans. “We’ve waited long enough.”

You sure have.

He pinches your nipples again, and you buck your hips against his crotch, feeling how hard he already is.

“Fuck.” Zoro whispers as he pulls the shirt over your head. “Fuck.” He repeats as he takes a good look at you, then his lips latch on to your pert bud, his tongue circling it languorously. 

“Don’t act so surprised.” Your giggle turns into a breathy gasp as he sucks, your hand caressing the planes of his muscles. “You’ve seen me naked before.”

“Sure.” He answers in a coarse voice. “It still takes my breath away every time.” And then you’re both shuffling to take off the rest of your clothes. Zoro sits you back onto his lap, his hands gripping the back of your thighs as he claims your lips again. 

He pulls you flush, and you feel his girthy cock pressing against your clit. “Fuck.” This time you let out and Zoro chuckles. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” he mimics you. “You’ve seen it before.” Zoro grabs his cock and slides the tip against your nether lips, gathering slick and teasing you, making your breath hitch. Smirking, he stares into your eyes. “Guess it still takes your breath away.”

With a huffed laugh, you crash your lips against his again at the same time as he slides his cock inside you. Parting the kiss, you arch into him, your hands griping his shoulders tight as you adjust to the stretch. Zoro’s forehead dips towards your shoulder, and he grunts in pleasure once he’s fully sheathed, sending another shiver coursing through your body. 

You tighten your legs around him, hugging him, pressing closer in an intimacy that goes far beyond physical connection. Zoro’s hands press your hips as he guides your movements.

“Oh, Zo… that’s…” Biting your lip, you stifle a loud moan. He’s reaching deep, his cock dragging slowly against your walls and repeatedly hitting you just right.

“Yeah, I know.” He answers back with a rough voice, his fingers digging deeper into your skin. This is different from the first time you had sex with him. This is making love: slow, tender, healing. “I got you.”

He picks up the pace, and you meet his thrusts with your own, unable to hold anything back as pleasure builds up in your core, burning your skin, inflaming your desire. Zoro gropes your flesh, his fingers digging into your plush thighs as he thrusts faster. 

You feel pleasure cresting, ready to crash into a wave of rapture, and increase your moans, unable to hold anything back. Zoro’s got you, exactly like he said, so he slides his hand between your bodies, and his thumb finds your swollen nub as he presses and circles it relentlessly. 

“Zoro!” You cry out before bliss surges through you, shaking your body as heavy gasps leave your lips.

Zoro rides your orgasm with you, with sloppy, uneven strokes before he, too, comes undone, hugging you against him as his head disappears into the crook of your neck, behind a litany of hushed words and whispers of your name. 

You both stay still, chests heaving in the aftermath, slight shocks of pleasure still rippling through your body as Zoro is still buried inside you. You take a deep breath and pull back from his embrace, cupping his cheek so he can look at you again.

“You okay?” He nods softly, and you smile. There are fewer shadows in his eye now, and he knows your question was deeper than the physical exertion he just put himself through. 

“We’ll be okay.” He states and kisses you softly. “Together.”

Later that night, you both have dreamless sleep. You know you’ll still face rough nights, sleepless ones, or nights filled with horrible dreams. But as long as you’re together, you can both face it.

Because the nightmare might’ve ended, but you weren’t the only one who survived it.

-*-

The day is bright, warm, and uneventful. 

“Watch out!” Usopp cries loudly as Zoro deflects a ball away from your face effortlessly before cursing at your long-nosed friend and Luffy. 

So, not quite uneventful, but how could it be when you and your friends are all hanging out at the beach?

“You alright?” Zoro asks, still frowning. 

“Didn’t even touch me, Zo.” You giggle as he sits next to you, his feet digging back into the sand as his hand wraps around your thigh and pulls you closer. You have come to terms with the fact that Zoro will be extra protective from now on, and also with the fact that it will always be extremely endearing. “Thank you.”

He leans to kiss you, and you sigh into him. Six months have passed since King. You still carry your meds around as a safeguard, but rare are the days in which you have to take them. 

Mihawk closed the investigation on your stalker since they caught the accomplices and King is dead. Sometimes, reporters still lurk about, trying to get that scoop you never gave them, always failing to get past your guard dog - Zoro laughed when you called him that - especially now that the half-year mark has passed. 

Nami decked one reporter right on the nose a couple of weeks back because he couldn’t take no for an answer. She made the news instead of you, but she wasn’t the least bit bothered by it. Zoro approved. 

While there are still days when you find yourself looking over your shoulder, trembling when you get a sudden text, or double-checking the locks on Zoro’s door before heading to bed, the days that flow freely are the most common. 

And your friends make sure you have plenty of those in their company, because their company is never dull, boring, or uneventful. This time, it was Vivi’s idea to spend a day at the beach. 

And what a wonderful idea it was.

“This feels nice.” You say, closing your eyes and letting your head rest against Zoro’s shoulder, basking in the sun.

“The beach?” He asks as he looks around at all the chaos: Sanji yelling at Luffy, who’s running away from the grill with a piece of meat between his teeth; Kaya helping Chopper put sunscreen on his back and drawing a smile before rubbing it in; Usopp and Barto having a sandcastle contest, to see whose is the best; Brook teaching Vivi how to play the violin; Nami and Robin trying to enter the water slowly, only to be splashed by Sabo and Franky teasingly. “Or the shenanigans?”

You let out a laugh, drinking in all the interactions, letting them warm your heart. “Well, both, but that was not it…” Turning around, you pass your fingers through his green locks and stare into his eyes. “I missed feeling light.” Zoro hums in understanding. “Unburdened… free.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, foreheads bumping. “We’ve earned it.” You nod as you kiss again, softly this time. He’s right, you’ve both earned this peace.

“Come on in, you two! The water is amazing!” Nami calls from the sea, waving her arms at you and Zoro. Then she squeals in delight when Franky sets her on his shoulders so they can have a battle with Robin and Sabo. “Stop sucking face! You’re disgustingly cute!” She shrieks before turning back to try and topple Robin. 

You giggle as Zoro pulls back, calling her a witch and mumbling something about not being cute. 

With a mischievous grin, you get up, face the sea, and look over your shoulder. “Race you, Mosshead!” Then you start to run without looking back, because a grunt and a curse let you know Zoro’s already on his feet, ready to pounce. You don’t even make it halfway into the sea when he wraps one arm around your waist and spins you effortlessly. A loud shriek that turns into a heartfelt laugh fills the space between you as Zoro sets you down, grinning.

“Guess you’re going to naughty jail for real this time, Trouble.”

You place the back of your hand on your forehead and arch back dramatically. “Oh, heavens, whatever shall I do now?” He grins and you poke his nose, smirking playfully. “But since I’m here, and you’re my jailor, you’re gonna have to whip out those handcuffs now…”

Zoro clears his throat as his eye widens, but to his credit, he still maintains his composure. “Yeah, I will. If you misbehave.”

You lean in, brushing your chest against his, riling him up on purpose. “Guess you’d have to teach me a lesson then, wouldn’t you… officer?” The way you sultrily lick your lips, teasing him, has his ears turning red in less than a second. “Or should I call you sir?”

Zoro’s brain short-circuits for a second, and now his whole face is red. Then you start to laugh and he shakes his head, a real laugh emerging from his lips - that deep, rumbling sound that shakes his chest and the smile that opens up his whole face. You love his laugh. 

“You’re impossible!” He exclaims, and you’re about to retort when he picks you up like a sack of potatoes and enters the sea with unforgiving speed, not even giving you time to adjust to the difference in temperature, taking a deep plunge with you in his arms. 

You break the surface with an indignant gasp and try to dunk his head underwater as he laughs at your pathetic efforts. When the laughter dies down, his smile lingers, and he pulls you closer, whispering your name with devotion. “You did it. You made it.”

He’s talking about the healing process, you know that. And he’s right. You’re almost there. And even though some days might set you back, you know that in his company, you can overcome anything.

“No, Zo. We did it.”

-*-

Two weeks. Zoro was gone for two whole weeks.

He had been drafted to another training retreat, no cellphones, no email, just the occasional landline phone call, and it was nowhere near enough. You missed him like crazy. He had considered refusing, claiming that he could not leave you alone. He was sure Mihawk would understand and write up his excuse, if necessary, but you forced him to go.

You knew he needed the training to build his strength back up, and you couldn’t depend on him for all eternity. You knew there would be times when you would have to be alone. So it was a test for both of you. 

The nights were the hardest part, but you managed by curling against Zoro’s pillow, which still smelled like him. Shanks and your friends made sure you were alright and not feeling lonely, and even your therapist checked in on you, but you didn’t suffer any crises, you plowed through. 

It was a victory.

And now, as you wait in the parking lot of the police station, absently chewing on your lower lip and barely containing your excitement by bouncing on the balls of your feet, you can’t stifle the giggle that escapes your lips as you see the bus approach. Raising your handmade sign that reads: ‘Welcome home, Officer Mosshead’, in bright neon green lettering, you grin. You already know he’s going to hate it.

Which is exactly why you crafted it. 

The bus slows down as it enters the parking lot, and the loud psshh it releases as it parks is a prelude to the wild thrumming of your heart. The families gathered around, waiting for Zoro’s colleagues share the same anxiety as you, as wives, husbands, and children wait for their loved ones. 

When the doors open, you raise your sign high with a sheepish grin. There’s already laughter bubbling up from the officers that exit the bus, some of them shout behind in warning to others, so, when your green-haired boyfriend finally emerges, duffle bag swung over his shoulder, he’s already wearing a scowl from all the teasing.

You squeak as his eyes land on you, and though you’re far away, you can practically hear him grumbling curses. 

You’ve missed him. Damn it, you’ve missed him so much.

Unceremoniously dropping the sign on the floor, you start to sprint towards the bus, swiftly evading people as you see the wild green of Zoro’s hair coming closer and closer. 

And then you trip over your own feet, stumble forward, arms spread wide as you brace for impact, but you manage to regain your balance and resume your sprint. When you look at Zoro, he’s sighing in relief, arms stretched as if he wanted to catch you, even though you’re still far. You laugh, and he shakes his head, a grin curving his lips as you take the final steps towards him. 

You leap into his arms without thought or consideration, and he catches you effortlessly, groping the back of your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, burying your head against the crook of his neck and squeezing him against you. 

“Zoro!” You exclaim, breathless as he stumbles back from the force of the impact and hits the side of the bus. 

“Hey, Troublemaker!” He grins at you as you pull back to look him fully in the eye. “Making trouble?”

The laugh that parts your lips is freeing, familiar, wanted. “Yes! So much trouble, you have no idea!”

He laughs too, a laugh that now comes easier to him, at least when he’s with you. “Tch… paperwork on my desk by Monday, right?”

You begin to laugh again, but Zoro takes your lips in his in a breathtaking kiss. The noise he makes when you slip your tongue out to seek his sounds like longing and desperation mixing together, and you grip him tighter and harder, enough to ground you. Your fingers thread through his hair and grip as you both deepen the kiss. 

It’s only when Zoro’s coworkers start to make whooping sounds and tell you both to get a room that you two part, but not before Zoro flips them off with a grunt. Your foreheads bump together, and you caress his cheekbone with your thumb.

“I love you, Mosshead.”

“Oi!” You giggle because he gets annoyed so easily, but his smirk tells you he’s just putting on an act. “I love you too, Trouble.” Warmth spreads in your chest as you get lost in Zoro’s eye. “Let’s go home,” he says.

You nod, feeling light and free. Because, like Shanks said, home is not a place. Home is not the farmhouse, even though now it starts to feel less scary, less tainted, less haunted; home is not Zoro’s quiet apartment, filled with domesticity and happiness; Home is not a place. It's him. 

Zoro is your home. 

THE END

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[galedekarios]

emmrich & regret

emmrich: rook? darling? i wanted to say... rook: yeah, about that argument... emmrich: (sighs) it's no time to apologise, is it? rook: we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise.

currently thinking about the fact that this is the last thing that emmrich and rook truly talk about before everything falls apart on tearstone island and they can't even do it in private, because the one chance they had, their moment to do so turned into an argument.

and not only did one friend die.

and not only is another friend missing, presumably also dead.

no, on top of all that tragedy -- that affects them all because the companions do care about each other. no matter who you picked, it's tragic: emmrich's picknick with harding and the long talks about their pasts, his discussions and warmth with bellara, his respect for neve and the little ways she cares so much, his friendship with davrin and the way both learn from each other in how to care for those in their care -- rook is gone, too. vanished.

and the last private moment they had ended in a heated argument.

i am willing to bet that "we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." is something that haunts emmrich during those long, long weeks that rook is trapped.

"we'll talk back home, emmrich. i promise." - not only is the use of 'home' very poignant and loaded and heatbreaking, but... they never do get to talk. then they never do get home. it's only he who does.

it's a promise broken.

it's a huge regret.

it's one of those little things that seem overwhelming in the face of loss and grief. the little things that you never got to do. the little things that you never get to make right. the little things that you never get so say. the way should have, could have, would have makes you spiral.

and emmrich would know, does have experience with it after losing his parents so abruptly, as well as within his professional duty's as a watcher, yet i think that would weigh heavily on him.

he's not prepared to lose rook. we see that time and time again in his human path and in his lich path as well:

emmrich: i will lose you to time, rook. what if i can’t bear that for eternity? - emmrich: i’m afraid i’ll mourn you forever.

i think it also explains very well why he insists on the visit to the necropolis, despite what's looming over the group. at first i thought it's a bit frivolous at this point in the game, until i realised why. he does it to be truly absolutely sure that all traces of whatever solas did to rook are gone:

emmrich: rook, dearest, please trust me. i must take you to the necropolis before we confront elgar'nan. - rook: did we have to risk visiting the necropolis? emmrich: i needed its subtler enchanments to detect what we must know. emmrich: there's no mark of the curse solas left on you. emmrich: darling, i thought i'd lost you forever in the fade. rook: if you and the others hadn't pulled me out...

emmrich doesn't want to repeat his (perceived) mistake. he doesn't want to lose them again, to leave things unfinished and to regret again.

and while i did wish we had an additional scene where we actually do have a chance to both address the argument rook and emmrich had in a meaningful way, addressing what happened after as well as emmrich's fears, it makes this final line in the romance scene all the sweeter:

emmrich: whatever is in store for us - together, my darling. that's how we'll face it. rook: i know.

[stellaspectral]

Hello again! Your work is just amazing , couldn’t help throw in a second wee request I hope that’s okay!

Bayverse/ 2007/ last ronin

Leo or Raph with fem reader

Angst to comfort

Long term established relationship, have a massive argument over whatever , a very very bad argument Almost relationship ending argument , and reader storms off when the turtle says something that is so hurtful .

no contact from either party for days , then an accident happens at readers work and the turtle of choice can’t get in contact ( readers phone died) just pure panic and regret and stress from Leo/ Raph , they go to readers apartment to find it empty, que even worse stress , in the midst of the panic reader walks in with takeout or something , still upset from the argument days before and slightly confused to see how stressed and close to tears their partner is. Que to reader being swept off their feet and wherever else you deem fit! If you want a little spice in there go ahead aswell!

Thanks for reading this!!

A/N: Thank you for the sweet compliment about my writing! I went with 2007 Leo for this one since I haven’t written anything with him solo x reader. I also let it get a bit spicy at the end, but not full-on smut (though I’d be more than willing to write something more explicit with ‘07 Leo in the future 👀)

Enjoy! 💖

The Sharp Edge of a Word (angst)

💙 2007 Leonardo/Female Reader 💙

CWs: Heavy angst, verbal argument, miscommunication temporary break-up, perceived character in peril, panic attacks/anxiety spiral, hurt/comfort, and a spicy reconciliation (implied sex, but not super explicit.) All characters are aged-up.

You can’t pinpoint the exact spark that ignited this inferno, only that it’s been smoldering for weeks. A build-up of unspoken resentments and miscommunications.

And now it’s escalated with a terrifying speed.

Leo stands opposite you, his usual calm fractured, his eyes blazing with a frustration that mirrors your own. “You deliberately twist my words,” he grits out. “You make it sound like I don’t care, like you don’t matter.”

“Do I, Leo?” you shoot back, your own voice trembling with a mixture of rage and unshed tears. You clench your hands so tight that your nails dig into your palms. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like I’m just … convenient. Someone to come home to when the world-saving is done for the day. Am I even a priority, or just part of the background scenery of your real life?”

The accusation hangs heavy, unfair perhaps. But born from a deep-seated fear that has festered in the quiet moments when he’s been distant, preoccupied.

“That’s not what I’m saying!” He throws his hands up, his voice cracking with agitation. “My family, my responsibilities as a leader, the constant threat we live under—these aren’t choices, they’re necessities! This is who I am, what I have to do to keep everyone, including you, safe!”

“And where do I fit into that grand, heroic narrative?” you cry, the tears finally breaking free, hot and stinging. “A distraction? A liability? Or an afterthought when the adrenaline wears off and you remember I exist?” You hate the shrillness in your voice, the desperate plea you hear in it.

His jaw clenches, a muscle there ticking furiously. His eyes, usually so full of warmth when they look at you, are now cold, hard. Then he delivers the blow, the words precise and devastating, striking the air from your lungs.

“Maybe you just don’t get it. Maybe you’re not capable of understanding the pressure, the stakes. My family, my duty … has to come first. It always will. If you can’t accept that—if you can’t handle what this life demands—then maybe … maybe this, us, was a mistake.”

The world tilts. Then silence. Absolute, deafening silence where your heart shatters. A mistake. Your years together, the love you’ve built, the sanctuary you thought you had in each other—is a mistake?

“A mistake?” you whisper, the fight completely draining out of you, leaving behind a gaping, icy void.

You see a flicker in his eyes—something akin to panic dawning, a horrified realization of what he’s just said. But the poison is already seeping in, the damage done.

It’s too late.

Numbly, you turn. Your hands, clumsy and shaking, sling your purse over your shoulder. “Fine,” you choke out, refusing to make eye contact with him, “if that’s how you feel.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

The quiet click of his bedroom door as you close it behind you feels more final, more crushing than any furious slam ever could.

You leave behind the sound of his voice calling your name.

You exit the sewers and drive back to your apartment on autopilot. There, every photo of the two of you, every trinket he’s ever given you—are all fresh stabs of pain. And that night, you don’t sleep.

You lie in your bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every word, every second, every expression on Leo’s face with masochistic accuracy. The worst part isn’t the argument. It’s how easily he said it.

A mistake.

By morning, your pillow is damp, your chest hollow. You move through your apartment like a ghost, barely noticing the sun bleeding in through the blinds. There’s a message on your phone: Leo. Just your name, spoken in a tone that’s almost … pleading. You don’t listen to it, just delete it.

You call in sick to work, citing a migraine, which isn’t entirely a lie. You don’t eat and you struggle to sleep. Lying in bed, you again stare at the ceiling, replaying his words. Your phone lies face down on the kitchen counter. You simultaneously dread and pray for it to light up with his name.

The following day, you force yourself out of bed, shower, and get dressed for work. You need the distraction, the mundane routine to keep the tidal wave of sorrow at bay. You catch your reflection in the mirror—pale, with dark circles already blooming beneath your eyes—and a fresh wave of anger surges through you.

He had no right to cast aside years of love and devotion, labeling it all as nothing more than a mistake.

The anger is a welcome shield, far better than the hollow ache. You leave your phone on the counter again. If he wants to reach you, he knows where you live.

By the third day, the anger has hardened into a grim resolve. This is it. This is your life now. You can do this; you have to. You’re a whirlwind of frantic energy, answering emails, filing reports, and volunteering for the tedious tasks nobody else wants, throwing yourself into your work.

Anything to keep your mind from wandering back to the devastating finality in Leo’s eyes.

For three days, you vanish from his world. No texts, no calls, no visits.

And in those three days, Leo unravels.

He’s called. He’s texted. Left voicemails he instantly regretted, then sent others with apologies. He can’t get through to anyone at your work. The reception desk tells him you’re not answering your extension. They won’t confirm if you’re even still there. His stomach churns.

When Donnie offers to help trace your phone, Leo nearly agrees—then refuses. It feels like crossing a line.

He’s a catastrophic wreck. The initial anger from your argument had quickly given way to a gnawing guilt, then a profound regret. Those words—he hadn’t meant them. He’d been lashing out, being defensive. Stupid. He’d told himself you needed space, that he’d give it to you.

But with each passing day, the space felt less like a cooling-off period and more like an ever-widening abyss.

His brothers watch him, their concern growing. They notice the difference—how quiet he’s become, how uncharacteristically hesitant his movements are during training. Even Raph doesn’t poke at him like he usually would. Donnie offers logical explanations. Mikey leaves cookies outside his bedroom door.

But Leo just drifts.

He barely trains, barely eats. Just paces, the image of your heartbroken face seared into his memory. He replays it all too—your tears, your voice cracking, the way your hand trembled on the doorknob before you walked out.

On the fourth day, the dam of his resolve breaks.

It’s late afternoon when Mikey bursts into the dojo, holding his phone, his face pale. “Leo! Dude, you gotta see this.”

He shoves the phone into Leo’s hand. It’s a local news live stream. A fire. A commercial building downtown, smoke billowing from the upper floors. Your building. Your office.

The world narrows to the small, bright screen. The reporter’s voice is a meaningless buzz in his ears. He sees the location at the bottom of the screen, sees the fire trucks. He hones in only on phrases like “evacuation in progress” and “several minor injuries reported.”

Panic, cold and sharp, pierces through him. He’s dialing your number before he even processes the thought, his breath catching when it goes, yet again, to voicemail. His blood runs cold. Of course it goes to voicemail; you haven’t answered him in days. He tries again. And again.

“Cell towers in that area are probably overloaded,” Donnie says, his attempt at comforting. “It’s possible her phone battery died, or she left it behind in the evacuation.”

The words he spat at you echo in his mind: Maybe this was a mistake. What if those were the last words he ever said to you? He stumbles back, feeling like for a moment, he’s about to faint.

“Leo?” Raph’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, laced with alarm.

“I have to go,” Leo chokes out.

“Whoa, hold on, Fearless,” Raph says, stepping in his path. “Let’s think for a sec. We don’t know anything yet.”

“That’s the point, Raph! I don’t know!” Leo’s voice cracks, the carefully constructed shell of the leader shattering completely. “She’s not answering. I need to … I have to see.”

Raph looks at him—really looks at him—and sees the raw panic, the fear in his older brother’s eyes. So he steps aside. “Go,” he says. “We’ve got your back.”

The journey to your apartment is a blur. Jumping across rooftops, Leo’s heart pounds as he moves with desperate, reckless speed. He pictures you hurt, scared, alone in a hospital. Pictures you thinking he doesn’t care, that he meant what he said. The thought is a fresh shard of glass in his gut with every leap he takes.

He reaches your building, scaling the familiar bricks to your fire escape. He slips open the window latch he helped you rig so he could get in and out easily, then drops silently into your living room.

His world stops.

It’s empty. Your jacket’s gone. No lights. No noise. The silence wraps around him like a noose. The sight of the undisturbed quiet is a thousand times worse than walking into a scene of chaos. It’s an absence. A void where you should be.

“No,” he breathes, a knot of ice forming in his stomach, a crushing weight settling on his chest.

He checks every room, his hope dwindling with each empty space. And there, on the kitchen counter, is your phone. Face down. He was calling a phone that wasn’t even with you.

Strength draining from his limbs, he leans against the counter, his head bowed. He is too late. He let his pride, his anger, get in the way, and now you’re gone. A choked, dry sob escapes him. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to block out the image of the burning building. Of this empty, silent apartment.

He failed. Failed to protect you, failed to love you right, and the last thing you will ever know is that he thought you were a mistake.

The sound of a key turning in the lock makes his head snap up.

You’ve always known Leo feels deeply, despite the iron wall of discipline he wears like armor. You just didn’t know what it would look like when that wall cracks.

The door swings open and you step inside, juggling two large paper bags of Chinese takeout. You kick the door shut with your heel, muttering to yourself. When you finally look up, you freeze. Because there in your kitchen is Leo.

But it’s not the angry, defensive Leo from your argument. This Leo looks shattered. His face is pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot, glistening with unshed tears. He breathes hard, bracing his hands on your counter as if it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“Leo?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. The anger you’ve been nursing for days begins to evaporate.

He doesn’t answer with words.

His arms are around you, lifting you off your feet before you can react. You let out a small gasp as he crushes you against his plastron, his face burying in the crook of your neck. You feel a tremor run through his entire body, the shudder of a man who has been to the edge of his personal hell and back.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he rasps, his voice thick and broken against your skin. “I saw the news … the fire … you weren’t answering …”

He carries you to the couch and sinks down, still holding you tightly in his lap as if you might vanish if he lets go. His hands are in your hair, on your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he searches your eyes, his own brimming with a relief so profound it’s painful to witness.

“My phone’s dead,” you explain, your mind slowly catching up as you place the bags on the coffee table. “I left it here. I was … I didn’t want to talk to you.” The admission feels small and petty now. “There was a fire in the server room. We all had to evacuate.”

His arms are still around you, and he’s so close it’s like he’s trying to meld his being with yours. He’s shaking. Actually shaking. His breath stutters against your shoulder. “You weren’t answering,” he says into your neck, voice broken and raw. “I thought—God, I thought I lost you. I thought you were gone.”

You go stiff. The memory of the fight is still fresh, still sour in your chest. But the way he’s holding you? It unravels something tight and painful behind your ribs.

You pull back just enough to look at him, to see the sincerity warring with the lingering terror in his eyes. “But you said it,” you whisper, the words still sharp enough to cut. “You said we were a mistake.”

His face crumples. He lets go of you with one hand to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. “No,” he says, his voice thick with self-loathing. “That’s not true. I was … I felt like you were questioning everything I am, and I said the most horrible, stupid thing I could think of to make you hurt as much as I did. The second it left my mouth, I wanted to swallow it back down. Saying that to you was the single biggest mistake of my life.”

He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as another shudder wracks his frame. “These last few days, thinking I’d driven you away for good, were torture. But this last hour,” his voice breaks, “this last hour, believing you were in that building … believing I might never get to take it back … That wasn’t torture. That was the end of everything.”

His eyes open, and you see the truth of it there: Leo’s sheer, undiluted terror of a world without you in it. It shatters the last of your anger, the last of your hardened resolve, and the tears you’ve been holding back finally fall. But they’re not tears of pain anymore. They are tears of overwhelming, gut-wrenching relief.

“You’re not an afterthought,” he continues. “You’re not a distraction. You’re the place I go to breathe. You’re the reason I can face everything out there. You’re the anchor that keeps me from getting lost. Without you …” He shakes his head, unable to finish the thought.

You lift a hand, your fingers tangling in the blue fabric of his mask, pulling him closer. “Leo,” you murmur, your own voice trembling.

That’s all it takes.

His mouth finds yours. Full of apology and fear, and a love so fierce it steals your breath. You kiss him back with everything you have, your hands clutching his shoulders. He breaks the kiss only to pepper more across your jaw, your cheeks, your eyelids.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against your temple. “I am so, so sorry.”

“I know,” you breathe, your heart aching. “I’m sorry, too. I pushed you.”

“Don’t,” he says, pulling back to look at you again. “Don’t apologize. You were right to be scared. I get so lost in my duties, I forget to show you what you mean to me. I’ll do better. I swear I’ll do better.”

Then, without another word, he slides one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back, standing and lifting you effortlessly. You let out a surprised yelp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. He carries you out of the living room and into your room, laying you gently on your bed.

He follows you down, covering your body with his. “I’m not letting you go,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, your hands coming up to frame his face, your thumbs tracing the powerful line of his jaw.

He peels away the layers of your clothing and his gear until there is nothing left between you. He looks at you, his eyes dark with an emotion so powerful it makes your stomach flutter.

“You are the most important thing in my life,” he says, the words a quiet truth in the dim light of your bedroom. “You are my first priority. Always.”

Your heart melts. “Leo …”

His words are a vow, spoken into the fragile space between you, sealing the crack that had nearly split your world in two. His hands slide from your body to brace on either side of your head, caging you in. “I was so stupid,” he breathes. “To risk this. To risk you.”

He moves between your legs, nudging them apart with his knee. The feel of his skin against yours is electric, a fire starter against the kindling of your frayed nerves. “Look at me,” he says, and you obey, your tear-filled eyes locking with his. “You are my world. You feel me? This is where I belong. Right here.”

You arch your hips, causing a tremor to run through him. “Show me,” you whisper. “Show me I’m your priority.”

And then he does.

[magic-shop-stories]

bts (ot7) reacting to reader storming out after argument (angst to fluff please)

💌 Reply:

Thank you for sending in this request!

I had a great time writing it, and I hope it is what you were looking for. I tried to make a mix of angst and fluff, so be ready for some emotions before the comfort kicks in.

Feel free to me know what you think and I hope you'll enjoy! 💜

NAMJOON

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You confronted him about missing your anniversary dinner for a last-minute speech and he rationalized: “It’s for sustainability, you know how vital this is.” When you snapped, “What about us?” he cited statistics about “relationship longevity and global impact,” unaware you’d spent weeks planning the date to celebrate finally feeling secure after his past workaholic neglect.

Breaking Point

“You’re just like my parents, always choosing the world over me!” You hurled his favorite philosophy book at the wall and stormed out.

NAMJOON’S REACTION

Emotions

Confusion

“Why can’t they see the bigger picture?”

Guilt

realizes he used data as a shield when your voice cracked

Panic

texts “Wait...” but deletes it

his hands shake

Actions

paces his studio

rearranging books to “organize his thoughts”

finds the anniversary reservation confirmation in his jacket

7 PM, table for two, “Celebrating Us”

Self-Loathing Spiral

“I’m a hypocrite. Preached ‘love as action,’ but failed to act.”

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Calls Jin

“Hyung, she’s gone...”

Jin sighs

“Remember when I missed Jungkook’s show for Variety? He didn’t speak to me for a week. Go find them, you idiot.”

Yoongi’s Advice

texts him a voice note of your favorite song with a caption: 

“Less thinking. More feeling.”

Where He Looks

Park Bench 

where he first said “I love you”

Bookstore 

your frequent

clerk says you bought a one-way bus ticket

Han River at dawn

sees your silhouette on your bench

the one he’d nicknamed “Our Oasis"

THE REUNION

he’s drenched from rain

hair sticking to his forehead

you’re shivering under a thin shawl

“I… I brought your favourite book.” 

he holds out the book

repaired with tape

“I highlighted a new passage.”

you ignore it

 “Why’d you come?”

his voice breaks

“Because the ‘world’ I want to save is you.”

Resolution

Letter

inside the book, a handwritten note:

“Page 121: Where I should’ve said ‘I’m sorry.’

Page 204: Where I should’ve kissed you instead of debating.

The margins: Where I’ll write our future—if you let me.”

Actions

wraps his coat around you

pulls you into his chest

“Talk. I’ll just… listen.”

Cuddles

you fall asleep in his lap as he murmurs Rilke poems

his fingers tracing your hair

“I don’t need answers. Just you.”

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

JIN

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You’d planned a weekend getaway for his birthday, a quiet cabin trip he’d mentioned craving for months. Last minute, he canceled to fill in for a sick colleague on a show, he was now hosting, joking, “Duty calls! Don’t worry, I’ll bring back legendary stories!” When you snapped, “You always choose everyone else over us!” he deflected with a laugh: “Yah, since when are you so dramatic? It’s just one trip!”

Breaking Point

“I’m tired of being the punchline in your life!” You threw his favorite novelty mug (“Worldwide Handsome”) into the sink, shattering it, and stormed out.

JIN’S REACTION

Emotions

Defensiveness

“They’re overreacting. It’s just work!”

Guilt

notices the cabin reservation pinned to the fridge

“Happy Birthday, My Universe” (scrawled in your handwriting)

Panic

texts: “Come back, I’ll make kimchi stew!” 

then cringes

“Why did I say that?!”

Actions

stress-cooks enough japchae to feed an army

then dumps it in the trash

plays Super Mario to distract himself

rage-quits when he loses

mumbles: “Should’ve picked Luigi. At least he tries."

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Jimin Calls

“Hyung, they’re at my studio. Crying. Fix this.”

Jin jokes weakly

“Can’t you just… hug it out for me?”

Jimin snaps

“This isn’t funny. They think you don’t care.”

Jungkook’s Advice

shows up with beer and a glare

“Hyung, you’re being a bad hero. Go fix it.”

Where He Looks

Comedy Club

where you had your first date

empty except for a bartender who recalls you sobbing

Han River Ferris Wheel

finds your scarf tangled in a fence

damp from rain

Jimin’s Studio at 2 a.m.

you’re asleep on a couch

tear-streaked

clutching a photo of your cabin plans

THE REUNION

he’s in a ridiculous banana-patterned pajama set (your gift)

hair a mess

you wake to him kneeling beside the couch

he's holding a rebuilt “Worldwide Handsome” mug

glued together clumsily

gold paint smudged

“I… I brought your mug.” 

his voice wavers

“It’s ugly now. Like my priorities.”

you glare

 “Why’d aren't you on TV?”

he swallows

“Because my best joke is you… and I’m terrified of bombing.”

Resolution

Gesture

leads you outside to a rented food truck parked nearby

“Jin’s Cabin-on-Wheels: 24/7 Kimchi Stew & Cuddles.” 

inside, fairy lights, mini fireplace

a playlist of your favorite ballads

Actions

feeds you stew, blowing on the spoon like you’re five

“I’ll be your Luigi now. Second player. Always.”

Cuddles

you fall asleep wrapped in his arms

he hums “Epiphany” 

his thumbs wiping leftover tears

“I’ll cancel everything. Just… stay my universe.”

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

YOONGI

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You confronted him about skipping your 10-year anniversary dinner to finish a track for a collab. He dismissed it, gruffly muttering, “Deadlines don’t care about dates.” When you snapped, “You’re turning into your father, married to work, not me,” he froze, eyes flashing. “Don’t… don’t compare me to him,” he hissed, slamming his laptop shut. You retaliated: “Then act different!” before storming out.

Breaking Point:

“You’re so scared of being like him, you’ve become worse!” You threw his noise-canceling headphones at the wall, cracking them. The sound of the door slamming echoed like a gunshot.

YOONGI’S REACTION

Emotions

Rage

at the comparison to his father

a raw nerve he’d never let you touch

Shame

sees the anniversary gift you’d left on his desk

a vinyl of his parents’ wedding song with a note: 

“Play this when you’re ready to choose us.”

Fear

“What if they’re right?”

Actions

smokes half a pack on the balcony (he swore he'd never smoke again; you made him and quit together)

replaying your words

texts you:

“Come back”

then deletes it

fixates on repairing the broken headphones

fingers trembling

“Stupid. Stupid."

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Jimin Intervenes

calls, voice uncharacteristically cold

“Hyung, they’re at the old dorm. Crying. Fix this now or I’ll drag you there myself.”

Jin’s Reality Check

leaves a voicemail: 

“You’re not your dad. But you’re acting like a prick. Go apologize before I write a diss track about you.”

Where He Looks

His Studio

finds the anniversary vinyl scratched

needle stuck on a loop of his parents’ song

Convenience Store 

where you’d shared midnight ramen during hard times

Old Dorm

sees your silhouette through the window

curled on the dusty couch

where he first confessed he “might” love you

THE REUNION

he’s disheveled

hoodie soaked from rain

repaired headphones dangling from his hand

you don’t look up

“I… fixed them” 

he rasps

holding out the headphones

“Listen.”

you shake your head

“Why’ bother coming? I thought you need to finish another track...” “Because I did turn into him”

he admits, voice breaking

“But you… you’re the only thing I ever chose right.”

Resolution

Track

forces the headphones onto you

new song plays

sampled cries from your figh

layered with his parents’ wedding melody

morphing into a soft piano refrain

voice memo cuts in: 

“I’m sorry. I’m terrified. But I’m yours.”

Actions

kneels, pressing his forehead to your knee

“I don’t know how to be a husband. But I’ll learn. Just… teach me.”

Cuddles

you fall asleep to him humming the piano refrain

his arms locked around you like a vow

“I’ll burn every track if it means keeping this rhythm.”

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

J-HOPE

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You’d expressed frustration about him prioritizing dance rehearsals over your birthday dinner, the third time he’d canceled plans that month. J-Hope tried to lighten the mood with a playful spin and a joke: “Come on, you know I’m married to the rhythm! Let’s reschedule. I’ll even do the Gangnam Style horse dance!” When you snapped, “Stop turning everything into a joke!” his sunshine smile dropped for a second, but the he was grinning: “Yah, where’s your hope? I’ll make it up to you!”

Breaking Point:

“I’m tired of being your backup dancer!” You threw his cherished "Hope World" hat at the mirror, cracking it, and stormed out.

J-HOPE’S REACTION

Emotions

Panic

“Why couldn’t they see I was trying to make it fun?”

Guilt

finds the birthday gift you’d hidden

a custom dance shoe charm engraved “My Forever Partner”

Self-Doubt

“Am I… am I just noise to them now?”

Actions

plays your shared playlist (“Hopeful Beats”) on loop

pacing until the neighbors complain.

texts a string of emojis (🌞💔🕺)

then erasing them

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Taehyung's Call

“Hyung, they’re at the dance studio with me. And they’re crying. Fix this. Now. Or they'll finally leave."

J-Hope jokes weakly

“Should I… bring confetti?”

Taehyung hisses

“No. Bring your heart. For once.”

Jungkook's Advice

sends a meme of a crying penguin with text: 

“Even penguins mate for life. Step up, loser.”

Where He Looks:

Café 

where he first taught you the "Chicken Noodle Soup" dance

empty except for a barista who recalls you muttering:

“No more jokes and sunshine.”

Park with the light-up fountain

finds your lost key under a bench

Dance Studio at midnight

where you’re slumped under the mirrored wall

tear-streaked

hugging his cracked Hope World hat

THE REUNION

arrives breathless

hair messy

wearing the ridiculous matching sweat set you’d gifted him last Christmas

you don’t look at him

“I… brought a new routine,” he murmurs

voice trembling

cues a song “Spring Day” 

you glare, tho weakly 

“Go away, why coming?” “Because without you,” he whispers, “my rhythm’s just… noise.”

Resolution

Dance

performs a raw, unchoreographed routine

no spins, no smiles

just aching, clumsy movements mirroring your pain

ends on his knees, hands outstretched

“I’ll follow your beat now. Show me.”

Actions

slides the dance shoe charm onto your finger like a ring

“Partners don’t lead alone. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Cuddles

you collapse into him

his heartbeat syncing with yours

he hums “Chicken Noodle Soup” off-key

“I’ll cancel every rehearsal. Just… stay my duet.”

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

JIMIN

Trigger

You confronted him after he forgot your anniversary, not just the date, but the handwritten letter you’d left on his pillow that morning. He’d been distracted, rehearsing a solo performance for weeks, and when you snapped, “Do I even matter anymore?” he laughed nervously, ruffling your hair: “Aish, of course you do! I’ll make it up to you—double dates, triple cuddles!” But his phone buzzed with a choreographer’s message mid-sentence, and he glanced at it, murmuring, “Just… give me five minutes.”

Breaking Point

“You’ve always got five minutes for everyone else, but never for us!” You threw his favorite silver necklace, the one he’d gifted you after his first solo win, onto the floor, the chain snapping. His smile vanished as you stormed out.

JIMIN’S REACTION

Emotions

Panic

“Why did I laugh? Why did I laugh?!”

Guilt

finds your letter under his pillow

“To the man who taught me love is a verb. Happy Anniversary.”

Self-Loathing

“I’m worse than a hypocrite. I’m a failure.”

Actions

calls you 12 times

leaving voicemails that start with jokes and devolve into tearful rambles

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...pick up, please...”

punches a practice room mirror

then sobs as he bandages his hand

smearing blood on your letter

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Jungkook’s Intervention

finds Jimin hyperventilating in the dance studio

“Hyung, they’re at the train station. I’ll drive. Now.”

Yoongi's Advice

texts him a photo of your shared locket (half on Jimin’s neck, half on yours)

caption: “Fix this. Or I’ll steal your spot as their favorite.”

Where He Looks

Rooftop Café 

where he first confessed

empty except for a waiter who says you paid for two coffees but drank alone

Your old Dance Academy 

where you met

finds your old photo torn and taped to the mirror

Train Station

sees you slumped on a bench

one-way ticket in hand

clutching the broken necklace

THE REUNION

he sprints through the station

hair wild

bandaged hand bleeding through gauze

you stand as the train announcement blares

“Don’t go,” 

he pleads, voice raw

“I’ll—I’ll dance for you. Every day. Just… don’t go.”

you freeze

“Why should I stay?” “Because I’m nothing without you,” he chokes. “All those stages? They’re empty if you’re not watching.”

Resolution

Gesture

pulls out his phone

plays a voice memo titled “Jimin’s Truth” 

his shaky voice sings “Promise” acapella

lyrics rewritten: “I’ll be your audience, your mirror, your always…”

Actions

kneels, pressing the repaired necklace into your palm

“I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend forever earning you.”

Cuddles

you miss the train

he wraps you in his jacket

humming into your hair as you cry

“I’ll cancel every show. Just… let me be your encore.”

--‐-‐----------‐‐--------------‐--------‐----------------------------

TAEHYUNG

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You’d planned a stargazing trip to celebrate the anniversary of your first date, a tradition where he’d once whispered, “You’re my favorite constellation.” But he canceled last minute, lost in a shooting project he called “Eclipse of the Heart,” muttering, “The moonlight’s perfect tonight. I’ll make it up to you, yeah?” When you snapped, “You care more about capturing light than being here!” he sighed. “Love’s a long exposure, baby. You’ll see.”

Breaking Point

“Stop hiding behind your lens and just look at me!” You smashed the SD card from his camera, filled with timelapses of sunsets, not your face, and stormed out.

TAEHYUNG’S REACTION

Emotions

Defensiveness

“They don’t get it. Art is how I love.”

Guilt

finds the star map you’d drawn for the trip

labeled “Our Galaxy”

Fear

“What if I’ve framed them out of the picture?”

Actions

takes 100 photos of empty spaces you once filled

your side of the bed, your coffee mug, the vacant passenger seat

texts cryptic song lyrics: 

“The view’s too bright without your shadow.” 

deletes them

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Jin’s Intervention

calls, uncharacteristically stern

“They’re at the planetarium. And they’re not alone, some guy’s explaining Orion. Fix this before it's too late.”

Jungkook’s Advice

sends a photo of Taehyung’s own caption on a decade-old post: 

“Love is the only exposure that matters.”

Where He Looks

Abandoned Train Yard 

where he took your first portrait

finds the Polaroid you’d torn

painstakingly taped back together

Art Gallery 

where he once exhibited “Soul in Monochrome”

sees your initials scrawled angrily on a guestbook page: “Framed out.”

Planetarium:

finds you under the projected stars,

a stranger beside you pointing out Cassiopeia

his anger ans jealousy immediately kicking in

THE REUNION

he strides in

camera slung around his neck

wearing the tattered flannel you’d gifted him

the stranger excuses himself awkwardly

“I… brought a new exhibit,” 

he rasps, projecting a montage onto the dome

every photo you’d ever taken together

blurred except for your face

you cross your arms

 “Why’d you come?” “Because,” he murmurs, “my favorite constellation… is the one in your eyes.”

Resolution

Gesture

hands you a vintage camera loaded with a single photo

a double exposure of your face overlaid with the star map

“You’re my forever focus. I just… forgot to adjust the lens.”

Actions

leads you outside

where he’s recreated your stargazing spo

blanket, telescope, and a playlist titled “Our Universe” 

“No more eclipses. Just us.”

Cuddles

you fall asleep under the stars

his heartbeat syncing with yours

he hums “Winter Bear,” 

fingers tracing constellations on your skin

“I’ll burn every negative. Just… stay my light.”

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

JUNGKOOK

THE ARGUMENT

Trigger

You confronted him after he missed your birthday to train for a charity marathon he’d impulsively signed up for. He’d brushed it off, flexing with a grin: “Gonna crush this, it’s for kids in need! We’ll celebrate big after, yeah?” When you snapped, “You care more about everyone else than us!” he scoffed, “You’re overreacting. It’s just one day!” You retaliated by swiping his alcohol bottles off the shelf, glass shattering as you hissed, “Go marry your finish line, then!”

Breaking Point

“You’re so obsessed with being perfect, you’ve forgotten how to be human!” You slammed the door, leaving him staring at the birthday cake you’d baked, now smashed on the floor, icing smeared among shards of broken glass.

JUNGKOOK’S REACTION

Emotions

Defensiveness

“It’s for charity, why can’t they see that?”

Guilt

spots the melted candle from your cake stuck to a bottle shard

your note “Make a wish… for us” half-burnt

Self-Loathing

grabs a cigarette (a habit he’d quit years ago)

hands shaking

“Fuck. I’m exactly who they think I am.”

Actions

texts “Wait...please” repeatedly

deleting each one

punches the wall

splitting his knuckles

Relapse

smokes on the balcony

ash mixing with cake crumbs

stares at the marathon flyer: “Run for Hope”

THE SEARCH

Involving Members

Namjoon’s Intervention

finds him chain-smoking

disheveled

“Hyung, it’s for kids, how is that wrong?!”

Namjoon sighs

“Saving the world starts at home. You’re losing yours.”

Yoongi’s Pragmatism

tosses him car keys

“They’re at the track. And quit the cigs. You’re not a martyr.”

Where He Looks

Charity Office

sees your donated birthday gift

a check with: “For the kids. -Anonymous"

realizes you’d supported his cause all along

Trail

finds your torn birthday note 

crumbled in a trash can

“Wish: Less heroics, more us.”

Track

sees you sitting on the bleacher

hoodie soaked

clutching the charity race bib he’d left behind

THE REUNION

sprints to you

reeking of smoke and regret

you don’t flinch

“I… dropped out.” 

he rasps, voice raw

“The only kids I wanna help… are ours someday.” “Why now?” “Because charity’s empty if I lose you." 

he chokes, tears mixing with rain

“I’m not a hero. I’m just… yours.”

Resolution

Gesture

hands you a new charity donation receipt

in your name, matching his marathon funds

“You’re my cause now. Let’s run this together.”

Actions

kneels, holding you close 

“You’re my finish line. Always.”

Cuddles

you collapse into his chest

his heartbeat erratic

he whispers, “I’ll burn the cigs. Just… stay my always.”

[repressionmd]

a selection of housefics i love!

i will make a part 2 when i reach character limit :D currently there is just 11 fics here but i WILL be updating!

Playtime's Over or The One Where Cuddy Forces House to See a Child Psychologist - mskullgirl

author summary: Following the events of "Skin Deep" (season 2, episode 13) House spirals out of control and stops eating and sleeping. Cuddy eventually offers him a deal; five sessions with Dr. Addams, the hospital's resident child psychologist, in exchange for three months off of clinic duty. What could go wrong? word count: 48k my notes: SO GOOD!! such a fun analysis of house and it has potentially my favourite accidental child acquisition of all time

Everything He Wants - the_northwind

author summary: House discovers that Wilson is a better coping mechanism than Vicodin. There's no way this could go wrong. A rewrite of the season six finale and beyond where instead of Cuddy, Wilson goes to House's apartment after the crane collapse. word count: 11k my notes: has one of my favourite hilson fic argument scenes. they're dysfunctional and messy and SO in character i couldn't recommend enough

Hypothesis - IreneSpring

author summary: At the beginning of the month, James Wilson decides to break out of his depressive spiral by having an affair with the first woman who is not needy. By the end of the month, he is facing an existential crisis decades in the making. word count: 15k my notes: haha wilson you are gay (jokes aside this fic is actually so fun and silly and made me LAUGH at the hoops our wilson jumps through to eventually realise he didn't get anywhere anyway)

Under My Skin - rhythmofsnow

author summary: Thirteen has a meltdown. House is there to ground her through it. (Post 5x05 "Lucky Thirteen") word count: 1.4k my notes: caring house my beloved... autistic solidarity my even more beloved <3

Composed - ferretwhomst

author summary: compose verb /kəmˈpəʊz/ 1. calm or settle (oneself or one's features or thoughts). 2. write or create (a work of art, especially music or poetry). or: a sick, restless Wilson finds himself in need of House’s company late at night. House indulges him. word count: 2.2k my notes: SO BEAUTIFUL.... wilson is so gay and so melodramatic and house matches his freak so well and WRITES HIM A PIANO PIECE....... they're so soft with each other idk its just beautiful. please read this

Soothe me now, soothe me, old friend (eng) - culturenana

author summary: Wilson would love to – Wilson would like to do so many things, make the most of countless wasted opportunities, erase every mistake, since his time has shortened without any warning, cruelly consuming itself under every cough. / House holds him close as if he is about to slip from his arms, and neither of them has the courage to discern what this thing between them is. There is no excuse or rational diagnosis that could cover it up. word count: 7.2k my notes: oh my god this fic made me want to bawl its so beautifully written and i have been shying away from post-finale fics purely to save myself the heartbreak but im SO glad i didn't do that with this one. they mean everything to me ;-;

'Samson's Mistress Cut His Hair, Thus Removing His Strength' - Sparklesinthewater

author summary: Set in season 3. Stacy doesn't come back. Tritter doesn't interfere. But the drugs and the infarction keep getting House into trouble anyway. Wilson is trying his best (but his best may not be what's best for House). / Or, House gets himself a girlfriend. Life goes downhill from there. word count: a beautiful 129k my notes: hello? hello!!!! can anyone hear me!! fic of all time!!!! a novel in its own right, and i did in fact stay up till 3.30am finishing it. impossible to put down and did make me want to cry in places. absolutely stunning. would recommend to everyone

a thousand teeth (and yours among them) - itooaminthisepisode (anarchy_opossum)

author summary: Sometimes, when House gets too overwhelmed by his emotions, he gets a little bitey. This is five times House bites Wilson, and one time Wilson finally bites him back. word count: 10k my notes: GORGEOUS STUFF!! amazing characterisation with lovely internal voices <3 they're so them and it makes me so happy

i let you win, i love to lose - sesamie

author summary: a short thing inspired by the thought, "what if amber and wilson's sex tape was ***for house***?" it seems like exactly the kind of toxic manipulative thing amber would pull and bring wilson along for. so here it is! set after the finale of season 4, and wilson and house haven't spoken about everything yet. things are bad between them and that's where the angst in this comes from! word count: 4.6k my notes: this fic did irreparable things to my psyche i mean ACTUALLY i do find myself thinking about it as im going about my day. genuinely was blown away by the sheer power of the prose i'll be honest 😭

we peeled the freckles from our shoulders - flowersinapril

author summary: Greg is twenty-three and James is nineteen when they first meet as counsellors at a sleepaway camp in the Adirondacks. word count: 2.1k my notes: GOD THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL... AAAHHHHHH i dont even have any words. please read this. crops watered joy delivered will to live restored etc. oh my god.

I'd Make a Deal With God (I'd Get Him to Swap Our Places) - TheFandomLesbian

author summary: When Wilson receives his terminal diagnosis, House flees to the hospital chapel. He doesn't know how to pray, but he strikes a deal: his soul for Wilson's life. When Wilson goes into remission, he has no choice but to uphold his end of the bargain. / In which House learns nothing about God, but everything about worship, in the arms of his husband. word count: 11.3k my notes: HOLY FUCK.. obsessed and i mean Obsessed with love as religious Especially when it comes to gregory 'religion is meaningless' house like this was so... good. it was so good. house is so desperate and so in love and its the most delicious thing ever

[donnadiddadog]

the reaper pt 1

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Inner Circle, and there is a decision to have a suicide mission that would help win the war against Hybern - and Y/N has to take charge of it. Azriel cannot let Y/N go just like that.

Word Count: 1.9K ish

Warnings: Mentions of death and soldiers being harmed in war, slight cursing (if any tbh i don't think so). If anything is left out, let me know below!

a/n: First Person (but I use Y/N as a character, not an OC), I am going to convert this into a series cuz I have an idea (this is going to be slightly based on Nesta’s whole spiral in ACOSF in the next few parts). All credit for the prompt and the inspiration of the first half (loosely based on the story part 1) to “Farewell my love” (written by @allthehopesforlove) - you should check it out, too. It's pretty well written (sending you much love @allthehopesforlove<3). Also, the concept of the Eight is based on Manon from the TOG series! I' 'll upload the next few parts by Jan end (I have finals in two days what am I doing here????)

14th Jan 2025, Writing 3

There is no way that the war can be won without this move. That was the consensus as we stood around the replica of the battleground - Rhys was motionless as he assessed the situation and Cassian kept pacing around the tent that swayed with the wind. Mor was leaning against the chair, her injuries preventing her from standing up straight. I looked at Azriel as he stared at the map and tried to figure out.

The move was simple - a 300 soldiers in a formation that would cleave the Hybern army at the centre, at the weakest point. With the seperation of the army into fragments, the Spring, Autumn and Day Court Armies could take over the upper flank and the Winter and Dawn Court Armies taking over the lower flank; the Night Court attacks from the back to prevent anyone else from escaping. The Summer Court would join the 300 soldiers after they had seperated the army and prevent them from joining again which would turn the tide of the war against Prythian.

All 300 would most likely die. A 95% chance according to me, Cassian agreed with that figure, if not implying that the danger was higher. Feyre was watching her mate, I think she was just scared that he would choose to be the one to lead the soldiers now nicknamed the Regiment 300. The final stand.

There were arguments made in favour and against, Rhys and Cassian at each others throats, Azriel trying to calm the whole situation down. I stood there watching them all fight and try to figure it out while the clock ticked. Hybern would not stop their planning, their tactics just because we couldnt get our shit together. The other High Lords were aware of this plan, it was Beron who had assigned the final duty of choosing the Regiment 300 from the Night Court rather than any other Court. He deemed it fair - that it was us who had to shed the final blood. Meant it as an insult but it was right.

I dont remember much because it was a blur. I had slammed my fists into the table, looked them dead in the eye and explained why it couldnt be any of them. How if Morrigan rode out, she wouldnt make it ten steps before falling dead from her horse. How Feyre could not go to war because she was not trained enough yet. How Rhysand cannot go to war because he is the High Lord and his death would mean a constitutional crisis. How Cassian and Azriel cannot go to war because they had to lead the Night Courts attack with Feyre assisting. How Amren was not going to since she had to figure out the Cauldron’s final secrets. And that only left me.

I wasn't exactly a military person, like Cassian was. I was a strategist, I knew the military tactics but nothing more. I wasn't interested in the training part of it. But I was a damn good leader, people listened to me and I could hold my weight for a while in battle if it came down to it. I could do it, I had to do it. It was the only option left and I knew that I would have to do it. If only to see my family, the Inner Circle, see the sunrise day after tomorrow.

Azriel spoke almost as a whisper, “You cannot possible think that I would allow you to go and do that. To go and kill yourself.” Before Rhys could agree with him and argue with me, I looked Azriel dead in the eye and asked him to find another individual to sacrifice then. And he had stopped breathing, his mind turning. But he wouldnt accept it, his eyes betryaed that he would have rather tied me down than let me go. That is the male I know, the one who cannot bear to accept my demise. Oh Azriel, if only you knew how much I hate this decision of mine. Sweetheart, we were supposed to have a lifetime together.

Further arguments were made but I turned to Rhys and spoke to him mind to mind. He turned to me, face to face, man to man. And I reminded him of that phrase that all good monarchs were supposed to live by. I bent the knee, bowed my head and waited for him. He took a sharp breath in and spoke in his regal voice, “Y/N, you have been given command of the Regiment 300. Ride in the name of the High Lord of the Night Court and make your last stand. Defend Prythian and may the Mother be with you.” I rose and bowed to my High Lord as I turned.

I left the tent before Azriel could grab my hand, before he could see the tears drop. Cassian held him against his will and I could hear Azriel bellowing out my name, cursing the gods for letting this happen, attempting to hurt Cassian to reach me in any way, in any form. Feyre held Mor as she mumbled about this not being fair.

The decision was made, I would lead the Regiment 300 tomorrow at dawn. I had summoned the Eight - my military advisors but more than that my closest friends, we had grown up together, seen each other do things that we thought weren't possible, reaching positions and training to higher levels. My most trusted souls. Pieces of my heart each of them. They were going to join me in the suicide mission and I had to see them all one last time before dawn.

I went to my tent to prepare my armor and set my affairs in order. I told my sentry to prepare my horse and get the men together, I would address them as Commander about their suicide mission. That I would join them in their deaths would be my greatest honor. The last stand would be made. And we would win.

I remember the taste of blood in my mouth, the feeling of sweat dripping, the tightening of my hands on the spear. I remember the feeling of my horse running forward, looking to my right and my left to see my friends, my chosen few, surging forward through the mud. I remember it all.

And I remember waking up in that godforsaken tent with that male looking at me with hazel eyes full of concern and I knew what had happened. I had forsaken my soldiers, the regiment had been abandoned. I led them into war and I deserted them to die.

Slapping his arms away and throwing it off me, I ran out of the tent. Running to see that the sun was almost setting. We had set out at sunrise, it was now sunset. No, this cannot be true. Where are they? Please don't let it be true. I gasped at the sudden pain in my side, noticing that I had an injury to my left flank. The arrow hit me when we first made contact with the army.'

The battleground was barely half a kilometer away, clutching my side to prevent any bandages from falling, I ran the distance trying to see what had happened. I heard Azriel calling out to Rhys and the rest. They were alive but I didn't care about that right now, I had to check on the Eight, my regiment. It was mostly a downhill journey, with a few slips due to loose rocks. I kept my head down to not see what was ahead, I didn't want to lose hope, and I didn't want to accept what had surely happened.

I smelt it before I saw it. I didn't hear it because they were all dead with spears and arrows jutting out of their bodies. No, that is a lie - I did hear it. I listened to the vultures and crows in the sky and on the ground. Feasting. I reached the base of the slope and I looked up at the battleground. A crematorium. A graveyard. The site of my greatest failure.

And I tried catching my breath, looking at the bodies, at the mangled flesh and bone, at the blood that soaked the mud as my bare feet made contact with it, at the horses whose legs had been twisted and intestines hanging out, at the soldiers with cracked skulls, one with his leg blown off, and another completely impaled on a spear.

I couldn't feel anything, my face was numb, and my hands were numb. I was numb. I trudged along because I had found my entire regiment dead but I had to check on the Eight. I had to see their dead eyes so I could tell them that I would join them soon. That is my punishment, that is the price for this mistake. Blood will appease blood.

So I walked to the start of the bloodshed, the site where the regiment hit the Hybern army for the first time. Where I was supposed to lay dead and broken. I was the leader of that regiment, the commander who had told them that this was our last stand. Yet I was alive and they were dead. I stepped on something and I heard a crunching noise. I took a second, hyperventilating before I looked down and saw it. I saw her.

I had found what I was looking for - the Eight lay together in a small circle, almost as if they were trying to hold each other’s hands in their last moments. It seemed that they had tried to create a triangle to penetrate the defense. It had worked but it worked because they fought to the death. The rest of the regiment must have gone through breaking the army from the inside out and the move worked. The Summer Court must have shortly followed. And they didn't stop until they had won the war.

I fell onto my knees, into the mud, and I was shaking, with grief, loss, and despair. And I picked up her body to try to bring it close to mine, to try and hold her one last time. She was long gone but it seemed as if this would help, somehow reduce her pain and make it easier for her to go. I can only imagine what it was like when she had to go, how alone she felt, how betrayed and disgusted she felt that the Commander had been saved, not them.

If I could I would have saved you, I am sorry, it should have been me, I should have died. I don't deserve to live, I will join you.

I screamed those words into the air as I held her and crawled to the rest, begging for them to wake up, to not forgive me but to punish me, telling them that I would join them. That I was the betrayer, the reason for their deaths. That they should never forgive me.

I cried into the mud with their bodies next to me. My wound had already been bleeding profusely and I thought it to be poetic justice that I, too die next to them from a wound I received at the battle that they died in. Except they would die a warrior’s death and I would die a coward’s death. Right next to them.

This is what I deserve. And there was only one person to blame for this.

Azriel.

[egcdeath]

never go to bed angry

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: under the immense pressure of the suburbs, you and patrick deal with the fallout of an argument. 

word count: 1.9k

warnings: domesticity, PTA, a little angst, mostly fluff, you have a (currently unnamed) child, you’re a little emotionally constipated

author’s note: shoutout to 🫀 anon for breaking my writers block and inspiring this fic! i’m thinking that this will be part of a series of vignettes so let me know if you’d like to be tagged in any future fics! 

Every couple that had been married for a long time always gave you the same piece of advice: Never go to bed angry. 

Though this advice seemed simple, it was much easier said than done. Since your move to suburbia, the den of your home had become somewhat of a second bedroom to Patrick, a place where he could retreat in the aftermath of your arguments.

While you hadn’t argued much while you were hopping from city to city, living out of hotel rooms with your daughter and your athlete husband, the pressure of your small town had changed that completely. Now, your Cold War style arguments felt commonplace, and often left you sleeping alone in a bed that felt far too big for one person. 

Like many recent nights, tonight was one of those nights. You and Patrick had gotten into a small disagreement after he’d been much too outspoken at a PTA meeting, stirring up unnecessary drama with a few other parents for no real reason. That small disagreement spiraled while the two of you drove home, with Patrick insisting that his dispute at the meeting was completely necessary. You strongly disagreed. 

Your disagreement wasn’t made any better once you arrived back at home. The minute you relieved the babysitter of her duties, Patrick went right back to insisting that he was in the right in a situation where he was very obviously in the wrong. He continued to bring this up as he cooked dinner, leaving you no other option but to remove yourself from the situation. 

For the rest of the evening, you kept your negative thoughts to yourself. Clearly, your disagreement wasn’t very productive. 

While you were technically still in an argument, it was by far one of the more tame arguments you’d been in—which was why it came as such a surprise when you stepped out of the shower to find Patrick’s side of the bed vacant and pillowless. 

Disappointed, but not particularly surprised, you sat down in bed and patiently waited for sleep to take you under. 

Turning to your side, you secretly hoped that your daughter would burst into the room, seeking solace in you and her father after having a bad dream. As much as you’d love her company, you knew that this outcome was unlikely, since your daughter was starting to grow out of her phase of coming to you after having a nightmare. 

Part of you wished that Patrick would stroll right back in, ready to argue with you and plead for you to fight for your relationship. Though there was a time in your relationship where most of your arguments ended that way, Patrick hadn’t been doing much of that lately, realizing that you would rather ice him out than confront him with your feelings. With that in mind, you realized that you were likely on your own for the rest of the night. 

You sighed as you curled further into yourself, missing the weight of Patrick’s muscular arm holding onto you possessively and the practically unbearable heat of his body behind you. Even if you ended up separating during the night, it was rare that the two of you didn’t start your bedtime routine with a romantic cuddle. 

You glanced at the door to your bedroom, as if you could produce your husband from thinking about him hard enough. Despite your best efforts, Patrick did not come out to talk to you, nor did your daughter. 

In an abrupt movement, you sat up and got out of bed. You hastily began to walk towards your door, knowing that if you thought too hard about your actions, you might end up backing out. 

You shuffled out of your room, listening for the telltale sound of Patrick’s soft snores. When you didn’t hear them, you kept moving forward, passing your daughter’s bedroom and peeking into the room to find her sleeping peacefully. You reminded yourself that you weren’t just doing this for you, but for the sake of your family. 

The den was your next stop, where Patrick was lounging on his makeshift bed for the night. He looked up at you from a book as if he was surprised, although he’d certainly heard the sound of you making your way through your home. Maybe he thought you were stopping by the fridge for a midnight snack after your tense dinner ended in neither of you eating much. 

“Hey,” you greeted casually, as if you weren’t in the midst of a tense, domestic battle. 

“Hi,” Patrick replied, setting his book down and blinking up at you. You knew him well enough to recognize his confusion. You were never the person to break the ice after an argument, so what you were doing now clearly took him by surprise. 

“Can I sit?” you asked, feeling a little awkward standing above your husband. You slipped your hands into your pockets, hoping that having something to do with your hands would quell your anxieties. 

“Of course,” he said, scooting over on the couch-turned-bed and patting the spot he made for you. 

“I always forget how soft this is. We made a good furniture choice,” you commented as you sat, making polite small talk that easily danced around having to apologize or talk about your feelings. 

“It’s like we picked it knowing that I’d be sleeping on it every other night,” Patrick joked, though you didn’t find it particularly funny. “Sorry,” he followed up once he noticed your lack of laughter. 

“No, it was funny,” you assured him, not wanting to make things any worse. “It was just…” you trailed off. 

“Too soon?” Patrick asked, picking right up where you left off. He always seemed to be better at expressing these things than you were. That was one of the many things you loved about him. 

“Yeah. Are you staying out here tonight?” you asked, hoping your question would tell Patrick that you didn’t want him to sleep in the den without explicitly expressing it. 

“Depends. Do you want me to?” he asked, leaning over and pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear. You leaned into his gentle act of affection. 

“No?” you replied after a bit of hesitation. You didn’t want to pressure Patrick if he was angry enough with you to stay away from you, but you also didn’t want to be alone. 

“Honey,” Patrick began softly. “Just be honest with me. Do you really want me to sleep in here or come back to our room?”

You blinked at him, unsure of why it was so difficult for you to just be forthcoming with your emotions. It was always so much easier to express yourself when Patrick anticipated your needs. Surely, he knew that you wanted to sleep next to him. You always did. 

“You should come back. If you want,” you added the last part abruptly, hoping you weren’t pressuring him one way or another. 

“What do you want?” he pressed you further. 

Just as you opened your mouth to respond, you heard the familiar pitter-patter of your daughter’s feet. The two of you turned your attention to the girl, who was currently clutching a stuffed animal and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. 

“Did you guys build a pillow fort without me?” she asked, sounding a little offended as she approached the two of you. 

“Never! We were just about to invite you,” you lied easily, somewhat appreciative for the interruption in the midst of Patrick trying to teach you how to be direct. 

“Uh-huh,” she said, unbelieving as she crawled into your lap. Even as young as she was, she’d already taken on her father’s sass. 

“We’d never make a pillow fort without you, Bug,” Patrick told her, moving to sit next to the two of you. 

“Clearly, you just did,” she said with a pout. Her theatrics reminded you of Patrick, and how he always seemed to have his emotions written all over his face. You broke into a soft smile as you thought about the resemblances between your beloved husband and daughter. “It’s not funny, mommy.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, it’s not,” you assured her. “How about this: We can go back to sleep tonight, and tomorrow we’ll all work together and make the most amazing pillow fort ever. Deal?”

“Hmm…” she pondered, putting her hand to her chin as she pretended to think about it, though she’d already made up her mind.  “Deal.”

As soon as you began to move your daughter off your lap, Patrick swooped in and grabbed her, picking her up and standing up at the same time. “You and Mr. Teddy are gonna have so much fun tomorrow,” he told her as he carried her to her room, your daughter giggling as Patrick booped her nose. 

“What are we gonna do?” she asked. 

“Maybe another tea party? What do you guys wanna do?” he asked, their voices fading as they made it back to her room.

You figured that you would take this opportunity to gather Patrick’s bedtime belongings back to your bedroom. If Patrick really wanted to know what you wanted, it couldn’t get more straightforward than you wordlessly moving all of his items. 

As you walked back to your bedroom with blankets and pillows in hand, you caught a quick glimpse into your daughter’s room, where Patrick was quietly talking to your very sleepy child. You wanted to linger, to watch him and remind yourself of how special your family was, but you decided against staring for too long. 

Still, it was an extremely cute sight. Overwhelmed with many emotions, you felt grateful that you picked Patrick to start a family with, despite some of the drama that the two of you stirred up. 

When Patrick returned to your bedroom, you were fluffing out his pillow on his side of the bed. He opened his mouth to speak, surely preparing to ask you about his moved belongings. Not wanting to deal with that conversation, you beat him to the punch with a simple, “C’mere.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, as he obediently climbed into bed with you. He looked at you expectantly, as if he was waiting for the next directions that would leave your mouth. Unfortunately for him and fortunately for you, you weren’t in the mood for words. 

You practically launched yourself at Patrick as you pulled him into a hug, tense PTA meeting, car ride, and dinner completely forgotten as you melted into his solid embrace. When the two of you slotted together like puzzle pieces, it was hard to remember why you were mad at him in the first place. 

Maybe you should talk about your argument, or how difficult it was for you to talk about your feelings, or how your husband’s outspokenness at meetings was beginning to take a toll on some of your friendships with other moms in the neighborhood—but none of that really mattered to you once you were back in Patrick’s arms. 

“I love you,” he told you as you buried your nose into your neck, soothed by his familiar scent and solid, comforting body. 

It was exactly what you needed to hear, a reassurance that at the end of the day, he would still be by your side, no matter the antics you’d put each other through. 

“I love you too.”

It wasn’t addressing the elephant in the room, but in that moment, it was enough.

[siriuslysmutty]

Wedding Night (Part 3 to this)

Cw: Toxic relationship budding, marrying for duty/Price knocked you up (past tense), angst, suggestive content, mentions of f!recieving. I had fun,

Price has been uneasy since the vows were exchanged in the military chapel. You can see it in the tension of his shoulders as you exchanged vows before the preist who was furious when your witness, Lieutenant Riley, refused to remove his mask. And the obsurdity that when he did remove the balaclava with a skull on it, a black N-95 remained with grease paint smeared all over his face, an arguably worse look.

You've been in the field with your husband long enough to know that he feels that the air is amiss between the two of you. He's got one of his gut feelings. That look of suspicion he gives you is all to familiar.

Now you stand eerily still behind him. How much in the last month had your life spiraled out of your control. From the moment you'd opened that barracks door your fate had been sealed by your Captain who disregarded your input for simply knowing better. Bullshit. Utter. Fucking. Bullshit.

You still can't believe you'd allowed it, enjoyed the way he pinned you to your mattress and pounded into you like no one ever had. All month shame had you meek. Holding your tongue for fear that it would get out that you let your Captain between your legs. You'd heard the rumors echoing mockingly in your mind, quivering everytime he aporoached with the confused feeling he'd stirred.

But as he unlocks the door to your hotel suite for the night, to keep up appearances, he'd insisted. Ever rightous. Too perfect. To pristine.

The last few days spent preparing to be married off to an officer with an iron grip that you'd foolishly allowed to fuck you into compliance had left an irreparible mark upon you. A baby at that. You'd played right into his open palms, expecting that confrontation in his office to be far worse... only to realize the shackle he was willing to put on you.

It was too late for your reputation. Word spread like wildfire about you being knocked up. The entire team knew before the day you'd discovered, shocked.... but Cap hadn't said because even Soap, the Gossip, had asked you who'd been the culprit so he could ring his bell for you...

What a sight that'd be you think as Price presses in and does his preliminary sweep of the hotel room he'd rented for your wedding night.

You trail in behind him, watching him with the same apathetic eyes you'd had for him sijce you'd over heard him with Laswell back in the chapel.

"Jesus, John. You are down shit's creek without a paddle." Laswell had mutter to him when you passed the room he was dressing in back at base when nerves were still twisting like writhing snakes in your belly. "Knocking up a subordinate? That's a new low for you."

He grunted, his low voice carrying despite the whispered argument. "Mm. Not ideal, but I've got a duty to preform, Kate. Made my bed, time to lie in it." Bile had risen in your mouth when he brushed it off so casually.

"It's going to be nearly impossible to keep a lid on this. The transfer? The quick marriage? What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Worked didn't it? Took her from insubordinate to submissive better than anything else has." You thought about running then. Thought about fleeing the church then and there out of spite...

It would have been smarter... easier. But he would track you down if he had any inkling that you were in possession of his child, you knew that.

Submissive? You wanted to spit at that.

You were only submissive out of fear... and that fear was bubbling into a maelstrom of rage at how he described you. You didn't want to just run. You wanted revenge for the way he so casually flipped your life upside down.

He turns to watch you as he drops his overnight bag onto a nearby chair. His eyes narrowed and evaluatory as he loosens the collar of his dress blues.

You slide around to the otherside and have a seat, unlatching the heels Soap had helped you match to the silly white dress you'd picked out as Price had requested.

"What are you up to now," he sighs with long-suffering irritation. It prickles your belly with kindling.

"I don't know what you mean," you hum as he pauses in undressing.

"You've got that mischief about you again." He mutters bitterly and you smile to yourself as your back remains to him. It's brief. He snorts softly when you peer back over your shoulder at him.

"Think you're a bit sleep deprived, John." You purr his name and he narrows his eyes at the use of it. A full pause before he's working his belt open slowly.

"Asking to be fucked again?" He demands bluntly, ornery nature building again at the sight of you. His uniform does little to hide the tenting in his trousers.

A thrill crawls up your throat. Hot, virile need in memory of the last time. Satisfaction alreafy setting in. At least there was one part of this you can enjoy.

"Asking? No." You reply, rising to prowl towards him. "I don't want you to just rut into me for ten thrusts and leave like last time." His eyes flare, ego chipped.

"Last time you weren't my wife, you were my subordinate." He rumbles in warning. You hum only in awknowledgement and he steps up. "You're getting that wicked temperment back. Don't forget I can fuck it out of you again."

You'd need that testosterone out of him before you begin your true revenge of the man who's dismantled your entire life.

You twist your back to him. "Unzip me, will you, John?" He huffs and drags the zipper down your back. His eyes zero in on the exact same lingiere you had last time and it blinds him a bit, you can see it haze his eyes. "You'll have to actually put some effort in tonight if you want to fuck me tonight." You promise him and he raises an eyebrow at the demand.

"Christ," he scoffs with a head shake. You let him shove you back onto the bed before yanking your legs over shoulders as he kneels beside the hotel bed. "Keep that mouth up and I'll fuck it, you fuckin' brat."

You let him drag your panties off and spread your legs open to let him bury his face in your cunt. Wetter than you alluded but he doesn't feel the need to mention it. John Price will get one night of peace. Tomorrow you'll drag him down to the depths of hell with you for ruining your life.

Married, you'll take him for everything he's worth. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Next Part

[theywereafairy]

✨ Coming (hopefully) tomorrow ✨

“Off the Record” – a Javier Peña x journalist!reader fic

slow burn • soft smut • emotional tension • DEA drama

Been working on this for days and my screen is starting to stare back at me lol

She’s an investigative journalist shadowing the DEA in Bogotá. He’s guarded, sharp, done with everything…except her. It’s interviews. It’s arguments. it’s trust earned one moment at a time.

posting soon if i can make myself edit the last part 😵‍💫🫶🏼

Love

Fae🧚🏻‍♀️

but here’s a little teaser to hold us all over:

“You always this intense?” he asked, lighting another cigarette. If that man didn't die from a bullet, lung cancer was gonna get him sooner or later.

“You always this emotionally constipated?”

He grinned, and you felt it in your stomach.

“Do you ever sleep?” he asked next.

“Not well.”

“Drink?”

“Too much.”

“Family?”

“Complicated.”

He tilted his head. “That a journalist word for ‘won’t talk about it?’”

You shrugged. “Only when I’m off duty.”

“You’re always on duty.”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you reached forward and, without ceremony, turned off the recorder.

Then you closed the notebook, slid the pen into the spiral binding, and set it aside. Peña watched you do it. Said nothing.

“So,” you said softly. “Now what?”

He took a drag, exhaled slowly.

“Now you stop pretending you’re here just for the story.”

You swallowed.

You met his eyes. Neither of you flinched.

The air between you went still. Not tense, not warm. Still, like something had clicked into place and neither of you wanted to name it yet.

“You don’t scare me, Peña.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then what do you want?”

He looked down. Then back at you.

“Something that doesn’t make me feel like I’m burning alive every time I give a shit.”

That silence returned. But this time, it wasn’t empty.

[daylighted]

GOT 'EM CUFFED !

beau arlen &. kari.

like clockwork, kari ended up texting beau something every day that, with anyone else, probably would have had an investigative unit on her trail. luckily for her, the dutiful sheriff was capable of taking bribes only in the form of his girlfriend's love and adoration.

work was idle that day, which was incredible, so to speak, because a busy day at the station was never something that anyone wanted, especially the ones working it. beau was working through the stack of paperwork on his desk, taking his due diligence time what with nothing else to occupy his attention.

ding.

a glance over at the phone perched on his desk, the heart emoji next to her name giving way to who it was.

kari ♡ 12:13pm im gonna run this guy over if he keeps poking across the crossway

beau breaks into a laugh, having to cover his mouth to stifle the echoing sound in the small office. no good morning, no i love you, no how has your day been?

just a hint of ominous premeditation while, assumedly, she was stuck behind a stoplight. he picks up the phone to reply when another message comes in.

kari ♡ 12:14pm love you!

he spoke too soon, it seemed. despite the concern for whatever stranger had ticked his girlfriend off, he felt warmth flood through his system at the two simple words.

beau ♡ 12:16pm don't do that. love you too.

the typing bubbles appear and disappear in quick succession, and don't return. beau actually feels a genuine sense of worry. was he seriously going to have to put kari in cuffs today? was his day so strenuous because it was building up to the fact his girlfriend would commit a hit-and-run? surely not.

beau ♡ 12:20pm i hope you're not answering because you're driving and not because you're getting someone's insurance information

a light joke, but he meant it. how awful would it be to have to interrogate kari while she was cuffed, and not in the fun foreplay kind of way? he didn't think he had the strength to do that. he'd earn the title of unjust cop if he had to, just to avoid that reality.

beau ♡ 12:25pm i seriously hope you're just having a very relaxing and uneventful drive right now

beau ♡ 12:28pm i'm not bailing you out by the way

beau ♡ 12:32pm yes i will but i'm not going to be happy

he's about to throw caution to the wind and call when, finally, his phone dings again. he'd just set it aside to try and pretend he was not working through his court argument in kari's defense in his head by finishing his paperwork, but what the hell did paperwork matter in comparison to her?

kari ♡ 12:39pm i got ice cream

the relief is palpable. beau had never, not even once, not even for a split second, thought that he'd really have to take his girlfriend to the station today. no ma'am, no sir.

another text comes in.

kari ♡ 12:39pm you really thought i'd kill that guy ??? 😭

beau grins. kari says it like it's a surprise that he'd jump to that conclusion when his sweet little girlfriend was a bit of a hellion like that.

beau ♡ 12:41pm yes

and then, just to make himself laugh, he sends another one to mimic her earlier texts, the one that'd sparked this spiral of worry at all.

beau ♡ 12:41pm love you!

abt to make these for everyone and their mama now bc this was too fun are u KIDDING !!! this one is for twin, @deansbeer & i hope it makes this weird ass morning a lil better pls 😭

& THANK YOU TO @mahi-wayy FOR INSPIRING THIS & FOR MAKING ME ONE :( !!! I HOPE THIS BECOMES A TREND OR SOMETHING BC IT IS TOO CUTE & FUN GETTING TO SPOIL UR MOOTIES <3

[rheanyraaaa]

broken pearls Robb Stark x Frey!Reader (oc inspired)

warnings: miscarriage, mentions of self-harming, mentions of past sexual assault and somewhat explicit, foul language.

side note: i’ve never watched GOT but i’ve watched my fair share of Robb Stark edits and have some understanding on what’s going on + have read lots of fanfic and done research so i can’t say this will seem super canon or make any sense.

this is my first time ever writing a fic on tumblr i hope you found it somewhat bearable (not proofread so might be so grammatical errors)

“whose heart is filled with love, God only loves that one person.”

summary: you miscarried recently, from stress of the war and Robb’s affair with Talisa. You thought it would stop after you married, but he still lays in her tent, now you’ve lost your baby. The one thing holding you together

You sit on the furs, on the floor by the fireplace, you thought married life to the Young Wolf would be kinder to you, you thought he’d show you things that you never got to understand, you were travelling with him, you were seeing more world then your father ever let you see. Yet somehow, despite the coldness of the Twins, you missed the halls, you missed your sisters and you missed the familiarity of it all.

Everyone here hates you, everyone here thinks little of you, despite being their Queen, you were practically a southerner after all, you could deal with the cold winds more then good enough, you could somewhat deal with the snares of the onlookers, and the looks of disgust. You didn’t get it, didn’t get why they had to do it, and you thought Robb would protect you from it.

It’s been a couple weeks since you spoke to him, you had argued, it was a big argument, you’d throw your whole jewellery box at him, you had gone hysterical mid fight, and probably threw a shoe at him at some point, he tried to calm you down, so did his mother, but you had spiralled. The words you said were unkind, blaming him for the death of his child was unkind. But you didn’t regret it, no you didn’t regret one word that came out of your usually sweet and nonchalant polite mouth, you had been waiting for a moment to break lose, and you felt like your father when you did. You felt like Walder Frey.

Everyone thinks your insane, and here you are sitting infront of the fireplace, on the furs, looking at how the red fire danced over the burning wood, they are probably right. Your eyes watery, red even, eye bags probably forming, but you couldn’t look away, something inside you was broken and has been broken for a long time, ever since you were fourteen, on a ambushed carriage, and three men deflowering you, each having their moment. You had told Robb this when you thought you could trust him, and he promised you he’d avenge you, but your sure he’s forgotten that promise now; sleeping in that bitches bed, no shame, you thought. She’s taken everything from you and you had every right to feel anger against her, she’s taken your husband, taken your mother in law, and is loved by the soldiers, while you are outcasted and considered as nothing less then the Frey wife.

You touch your now empty stomach, the baby that once thrived there all but gone, it was cold when Robb bedded you, but you liked the way he felt inside you, when he moved, or when you did, or the quiet noises he made, and the thin layer of sweat that covered you both, how he touched you, it seemed more respect then love, and after he made you cum he left the tent and probably went to tend to her. The baby was made out of fake love and duty no less, and died with no sympathy from the others.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened.

“Who’s there?” You asked, not looking from the fireplace, you knew it was him, the heavy boots against the floor made it obvious, the noise of the winds propelled outside and the loud clunking of metal armour made your dig your fingers into your side.

“mh, I want to speak to you,” His deep northern accent rumbled.

“Speak then, or do I have to order you to like a dog,” You grumble, picking at your nails, the fire light illuminating the scars over your wrists.

“She’s gone.” He said, his voice more quiet and soft then you’ve ever heard it.

“Who?” You ask, pretending to be uninterested.

“Talisa.” He spoke again, softly, You turn to look at him, trying not to show the slight joy you felt at never having to see her face.

“Finally. Did the winter chill finally kill her? or did a hint of water or rain burn the witch?” You rolled your eyes, and huffed as you continued picking your nails until they bled.

“Enough. She’s not dead. I just sent her away from camp. My mother’s word not mine.” He growled, not looking away from you from one moment. “Why won’t you look at me?” He asked once more, as he stepped closer to where you sat.

“I might burn my eyes I’m afraid.” You chuckled coldly, before actually looking at him.

He chuckled quietly, “You have quite the mouth on your, my lady” He said beside you, looking directly at you, his knee touching yours.

“Why is she gone though?” You barely whispered, more sweetly and more calmly then you’ve ever spoken to him in a long time.

“She caused you pain. You are my wife and you are supposed to be my priority, but duty…. well the war and what I loved blinded me. I need to put you first, I was supposed to put you and the baby first. I’ve lost one I don’t want to lose the other.” He sounded… somewhat sad, but also filled with acceptance and much more mature then he was the last couple of months, he had care in his voice and it made you feel fuzzy.

“You’ve made me feel more than alone. Have you now realised whatever pain you’ve caused me? have you now seen the way you’ve treated me, or has your mother needed to coddle you and make you realise yourself?” You replied sharply, you didn’t want to forgive him so easily, you didn’t want him to think he won.

“My mother was always on your side, and I am truly sorry. I want to try this again, and properly, I want to show you love, and I want to allow you to experience such. You are beautiful, you are more radiant than the stars and the moon, and I want to show that to you.” He responded calmly, looking at you softly, all the gruff in his northern tongue seemingly gone, as he quietly took a strand of your hair and played with it. “You lost the baby and it was my fault. I did it. I want you to know that I accept it, and I always will carry it deep in my heart.” He rumbled on.

“But why did you do it in the first place? make me feel so much pain, I thought you’d be a good man.” You softly cried into the palm of your hands, they were red and sore from biting and ripping the skin.

He slowly crept closer to you, swiping your tears with his huge hands and playing with your hair, humming softly as he pulled you into his chest and let you cry into there instead.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry love.” He said over and over again like a prayer, as you snuggled into him, you hated that you cried infront of him and we’re all vulnerable, you promised you’d never let anyone get close to you but he was breaking all the barriers and you didn’t know how to handle it.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me now, nor anytime soon, but for now on I will sleep in your bed. It will be our bed. And if any man gives you one wrong look or one whisper about you then I will have his head on a spike.” He said more rougher then before, his palm stroking your back as you hid your face in there.

“And we will mourn our baby, properly.” His hand splayed across your now empty stomach. “I am here to do my duty of loving you and protecting you, I am doing my duty as King, and as your husband. I had forgotten my father’s teachings but I remember them now, my love.” He said into your ear, as he looked onto the fireplace, as you nodded slowly into his chest, you definitely hadn’t forgiven him completely yet, but he was understanding, and you knew that one day you were ready to forgive, he just needed to show he cared.

[goatgoesmbe]

Worse scenario of this (yes, it's possible) if Simon never met reader

Ghost x Soap

tw : Soap is dead, depression, suicidal ideation, hallucination, MCD, dead dove: do not eat, bad ending 🧍

Simon was so lost after Johnny's death. He became a husk of a man that could only focus on his duty, live another day just to follow orders.

So when he got injured so bad that he got medically discharged-- he would spirall into depression, hard.

Obviously, he would visit that cliff where Johnny's ash was scattered. He had never visited that place after that tim, not wanting to remember how he had lost someone so important to him. Someone who took his heart and left the earth, leaving Simon to live with a gaping hole in his chest.

But.. he needed to be reminded of it right now. Because before Johnny left, he gave Simon happiness. Something he needed to cling onto right now.

And so here he was, standing there without his signature mask. Eyes dark and hollow as he stared at the scenery below.

Thoughts filled his head to the brim, like air that kept pumping into a fully inflated balloon. A second away from popping, just like he was.

He would be so lost in his head, surrounded by faint whispers in his ear. Amalgamation of voices, his young self sniffling as he took his dad's beating, his mum's cries, gunshots, Johnny's disgusting pig-like snort at a stupid joke, and another gunshot that haunted him the most, along with the flash of image behind his eyelids. Of the one he loved falling to the ground before blood started pooling around said beloved's head.

Question after question appeared. What he would do now? how he would go on after this? and why should he keep going?

The last question lingered. Then it repeated, over and over until it was all he could think about.

Why should he keep going?

Yeah.

Eventually, his mind started to quarrel. The argument against it was so strong that it fabricated a justification in a form of a familiar figure in front of him.

"Ye look like shite" His annoying voice teased.

"Johnny-" Simon breathed after a few seconds of silence.

"Enough o' tha', aye? Come here" Johnny cut him off with that grin he loved so much. Arms spread apart, inviting him for a hug.

Entranced, Simon took a step forward.

And another.

Another.

He was so fixated on having Johnny back in his arms that he didn't notice the earth beneath had disappeared.

And it was too late to realize it until gravity pulled him down.