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artemisiasmuse · 2 days ago

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sex ban | toxic rafe x toxic reader

cw: obvi mdni 18+, toxic jealous rafe, physical violence (not towards the reader), sex ban lifted!, p in v, multiple rounds, unprotected (don’t do this), munch of the year rafe, crying during sex, squirting, headlock, oral receiving for both of them, mentions of blood, again these bitches are crazy

~ 4k words

an: this was so filthy i think i need to go to church (im not even christian) also don’t know if how i described the positions made sense but we move T_T

“you can’t be serious?” rafe looked up from his hands, you’d cleaned off the blood all the while being extremely pissed off. you couldn’t believe he beat someone to a pulp, again, just for checking you out. you hated how good he looked covered in blood, hated how even now you could feel your underwear getting sticky from your arousal.

“i am, no sex for two weeks, maybe then you’ll stop being such an asshole!” surely you were joking, there’s no way you’d hold out on him that long. he knew he wouldn’t survive without your pussy and he prayed you would give up after a few days. his prayers weren’t answered.

two weeks passed with the ease of a thousand pounds dropped onto rafe’s shoulders. he was irritable all the time, practically blue-balled the entire time, and couldn’t stand being in the room with anyone that wasn’t you. at some point, after he begged to at least eat you out, you stopped letting him come over at night even. rafe was practically vibrating with need, yet you seemed so unaffected.

he had a fucking reminder set on his phone for midnight when the two weeks was over, of course he was already on the way to your place at 11:50. you expected nothing less, unlocking the door for him preemptively, and he huffed out a breath when he found you sitting on your couch watching tv like it was nothing. like you didn’t care. rafe was so pent up he might come from a single stroke of your tiny hand around his cock, but here you were, calm and collected. you muted the tv when you saw him, he sat next to you, leaving a gap he normally wouldn’t, and began to apologize.

“baby it’s been two weeks, i’m sorry okay? i’ll do better.”

“you said that last time.”

“i mean it this time, i won’t beat anyone up, unless you want me to.” you roll your eyes at his addition, turning your body to face him. rafe’s eyes tracked the way your shirt rode up your thighs, realizing it was actually his shirt. his mouth felt dry, he hadn’t been so hard from so little since he was a fucking preteen.

“okay.” you conceded, you kinda had to, rafe looked a lil too good like he knew the exact outfit that would make you forgive him easily. his hands were veiny and a ring accentuated his long thick fingers, fingers you missed dearly. yours just weren’t cutting it any more, he knew exactly how to touch you, fill you, make your mind numb. and that was just his fingers, his pink tongue had slipped out to lick at his lips and you can’t focus much longer, all the memories flashing by.

“okay?” rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he couldn’t believe you were taking him back so easily. he didn’t dare move or touch you until you confirmed.

“uh huh, your apology is accepted.” you nodded slow like molasses, your eyes already glazed over with need. he couldn’t tell, he was so caught up in his own desire. and as the word left your pretty lips, the spell was lifted.

“fuck come here” the words are empty, his large hand closes around the back of your neck and pulls you to him, his lips finding your own. you’d kissed the past two weeks but this is different, this is urgent. he’s sloppy with it, tongue peeking out into your mouth, tasting you, sucking on your tongue. it’s less of a kiss and more of a bite, he wants to consume you. you groan into his mouth, unsatisfied with the distance between you two and you move to straddle him. rafe pulls back at that, no he wouldn’t let you, he’d much rather have you on your back, he pushes you down by your neck, the slight pressure makes you keen. there’s no chance for you to sit back up when he’s leaning over you, settling between your legs and kissing you back down.

his kisses trail off, bites and open-mouthed kisses trailing your neck till he reaches your collarbone. your shirt is discarded with a blink of your eye and you wonder if he’s moving too fast. you can barely keep up when a mouth latches over your nipple, sucking harshly. “fuckkk i missed my girls” a lewd pop releases it from his mouth, giving attention to the other one and you arch into his touch. his large hand closes around the now sore nipple, pinching and massaging while he sucks on your tit like his life depends on it. the cold metal of his ring soothes the sting of his bites and you moan his name in desperation. the stickiness in your underwear is getting embarrassing and you feel like a fire is burning in your core. there’s no need for you to ask, rafe wants to eat, he’s been starving for weeks and your pussy is the only thing that can satiate him. after littering your chest and neck with hickies he kisses down your stomach, marveling at how soft your skin is, how he should never take an inch of it for granted any more. when he finally reaches your pink lace panties, he realizes it’s too much work to take them off you. that would require him getting off you and he really couldn’t afford to move an inch away. his fingers trace the flimsy material and he decides very quickly, tearing it off you with ease, and you hear the rip before you feel it. you don’t even notice him stuff the material into his pocket from the shock.

“rafe!” you don’t know if you’re mad or even more turned on but you wiggle under his gaze, blue eyes glued to your puffy and slick cunt. the tv screen illuminates enough for him to see his pretty girl is soaked. he nearly drools.

“getting in the way of my meal, i’ll buy you new ones.” he murmurs, not even looking away once, you huff at his words, and push his head down. he doesn’t need any encouragement, he’s nearly cumming in his pants from the sight of your pussy alone. if he could he’d take a polaroid of it and keep it in his pocket forever.

rafe is a man possessed, pushing you up the sofa length to make space for him between your legs, he hikes one up the cushions to rest on the back of the sofa, the other onto his shoulder so he can fit between them. you don’t even know if you exist to him any more because he’s smiling at your pussy like it’s his girlfriend instead. he shoves his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal, it’s honey to his senses and his eyes flutter shut at how good you smell. then his tongue flattens against your pussy and he might just cry. you gasp at the feeling, wet and hard across your opening and clit, so brief you think you imagined it. rafe moans at the taste, let’s you coat his tongue before he goes back in for seconds, swirling his tongue along your weeping cunt until he’s thoroughly cleaned his plate. he’s moaning at your taste, tears pricking his eyes as it stains the back of his teeth, his hands grip your waist to drive you down to his tongue. he knows you’re gonna run from it, you always do. finally his tongue fills you up, delving into and cleaning you out, the feeling of the muscle squirming inside you makes you writhe in pleasure. “taste so fucking good, never letting this go again,” he slurs into you. you can feel yourself get wet again and he feels precum stain his boxers as more of your ichor slips down his throat. it’s not enough, he wants more, his right hand joins in, one finger curling into you along with his tongue and his thumb idly swirls along your clit. the combination of his tongue and finger fucking you and his drunken moans, make you come on his tongue embarrassingly fast. you’re gushing into his mouth more and rafe doesn’t even budge when you push at his forehead, the overstimulation stings and your poor walls flutter around his tongue, trying to drive him out, he only goes crazier. his tongue slips out a trail of saliva and your slick connecting him to you before he attaches his lips to your clit. you shake at the sensation, not yet come down from your previous orgasm. he sucks and laves over your clit, setting your body aflame. he takes the opportunity to slip another finger in, stretching you more than anything in the past two weeks, and he can tell your pussy is going to feel amazing on his cock. you’re struggling to take two fingers and he can’t help but moan at the thought. you hate how quickly he brings you to your next orgasm, your legs threatening to close around him and he makes a noise of disapproval. your mind feels numb now and you jump at his touches. rafe gives you a few seconds to recover, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, but when he tastes you again it’s not his fault he needs another hit. you’re a bit shocked yourself when he releases his hold on your legs and sits back. your wide round eyes making him chuckle at your disbelief. “you’re gonna sit on my face baby.” he resounds and you blink at him twice before sitting up, you wince at the way you’re drooling onto the couch and how you suddenly feel empty. rafe positions himself with his head poised for your pussy to sit on. you gawk at him.

“won’t i crush you?” besides your question you’re raised up ob your knees almost hovering over him, he could just-

“shut the fuck up.” he pulls you close and pushes your hips down to sit you down himself, your sloppy cunt meeting his lips and he’s in heaven. he wants to die like this, suffocated by your pussy. you try to shift your weight back onto your knees but he doesn’t let you, holding you down by your ass. when he licks up into you, you lose your resolve entirely. if he was a mess before, now he’s a goner. he’s spitting up into you, making out with your cunt and swirling his tongue along you, along every inch he can. your rock your cunt over his face, lost in pleasure and when his nose bumps your clit your legs nearly close on his head, he groans at the pressure. you’re practically dripping into his mouth and it’s all he could ask for; tears falling down his face just mix in with the mess of liquids running down his face and pooling on his neck and chest. you continue to rock against him, your cushiony thighs closing around his head and rafe feels himself twitch in his pants, he’s so fucking close just from eating you out. but he can’t even find it in him to care, no he’s crying from how good you taste, he’s past the point of caring. when you finally cum around his tongue he comes in his pants, moaning as you scream his name. you’re shaking uncontrollably, riding out your orgasm and thrashing along his face. your thighs press tightly against his head and he continues to drink you in, until finally your legs give out and you fall off him.

“pussy so good i came in my pants and you’re gonna clean it up.” you look at him in a daze, your body moving on its own accord, moving to your knees on the carpet. your body’s shaking but you still manage to claw at his buttons. “good girl.” he smiles down at you, chin and lips wet from your release and he’s not even dreaming of wiping himself clean, he wants it to stain him, seep into his pores. a whine crawls up your throat as you work his pants off, he’s sitting on the couch in front of you and you want to help him so badly. his cock finally springs free and he breathes out in relief, the cool air making him more sensitive after his release. the worst part is he’s still fucking hard. your eyes round at the sight of him, come lining his length, dribbling down the veins and blushed pink top. it’s so pretty you can’t help but stare. rafe slips a hand around your face, pulling you in, making you stop your staring and instead get to work. you might be drooling from the sight, it’s hard to tell because your mouth closes around him and everything is already so wet. a sick squelch resounds in the air as you lick up and down his length, he fights the urge to thrust into the wet tight heat of your mouth. you make sure to clean up his balls, your hand jerking him off while you’re down there, “fuck you’re doing so well baby.”

“missed this rafey” you hum at the taste of his come, thick and gooey on your tongue and the vibration makes him twitch in your mouth. rafe feels so close already, you’ve already cleaned him up, now you’re just cock drunk, taking him down as far as you can and pressing kisses to his tip. he doesn’t want it to end like this no, he’d rather fill you up properly, so he pulls your head off his length with a pop! and you glare at him and whine, like an insolent puppy whose toy was taken away. there’s a delicious sting from the hair he pulled and heat pools in your stomach again, you can’t tell if you’re wet or if it’s rafe’s saliva you like to think it’s both.

“come here.” rafe hoists you onto his lap, giving you two seconds to adjust before he lifts you both up and makes his way to your bedroom. his shirt comes off along with yours and you clamber up the length of your mattress to rest your head on your pillow while you still can. from how angry and hard his cock still is you know it’s gonna be a long night.

“remember your safe word right?” rafe flips you over, your momentary comfort gone just like that, he presses against your back hard. your ass perks into the air while he arches you just so. he’s waiting for your response, because one look at your pussy, glistening from another wave of desire, rafe knows he’s going to find it impossible to hold back. he’s vibrating with a need to fuck you already, dribbles of precum spurting out of him against his stomach. what a waste, there’s a perfect little hole that could use it. he smacks your ass once, lightly just to remind you to use your words.

“yes, fuck me please.” your voice is muffled against your bedsheets, but he hears it perfectly. when his tip presses against your tight hole, he thinks he might be religious. not to god or anything else, just you. you’re sucking in him, holding your cheeks apart for him like you know he likes and he groans at how you feel like silk around him. your cunt’s so warm and tight, rafe thinks he might never leave you again. once his tip is in you remember how to breathe, the initial stretch finally over. he can’t give you the time you need to adjust, he might start crying again, or worse come early. rafe pushes the rest of his inches in, bullying his way in, pressing you into the mattress just so your cunt could give in. you scream at the feeling of him being all the way in, the angle making him nestle against your g-spot while his tip rubs against your cervix. you feel ropes of pre spurt inside you and you feel tears slip down your cheeks from the pain, you know it hurts, you just can’t find it in you to care.

“s’good,” you’re mind is numb, the only thoughts are spiraling around your boyfriend and his stupid long cock. a sick ring of come and your slick circles the base of his length, his pubes soaked from both of you. he can’t hold back any more, not when you’re wiggling your hips for more. rafe pulls out all the way and slaps back into you, pulling you into him just so he can really fill you all the way. the force of his thrust and the way he tip nudges along your walls, grazing where you needed him most, as you screaming in pleasure, your poor pussy closing on him just so he can stay inside. not that it matters he’s hammering in and out of you so fast you think you might get whiplash. his hips drive you down into the mattress, stuffing you as much he can so you don’t run from it, like you’re already trying to do.

“fuck fuck fuck! too much hng rafe i can’t-“ the slap of his hips against yours are almost bruising, he’s pulling you back by a tight hold around you and it’s hard to breathe. there’s a pressure building in you that you don’t recognize and it’s almost painful how bad it feels to go unaddressed, something must be wrong. but rafe can feel himself getting close, just from your pathetic whines and screams.

“you can and you will.” there’s no room for argument when he’s flipping you onto your back, your head jostling and you blink away the tears in your eyes. you want to see him, want to look into his pretty eyes, rafe can’t help but laugh at your desperate expression. no, he’s no too far gone.

“dumb little girl, i could tell you were turned on, you know?” he maneuvers you onto your side, spooning you and pulling your leg over his so he can slip back in. the new angle steals your breath as you try to focus on what he just said, panic seeping into your system.

“wh-no i wasn’t.” you shake your head insolently, he’s rolling his eyes at your meager denial. his thrusts start out slow, testing the limits of how far he can reach, and it’s not far. a huff of annoyance teases the shell of your ear and you gulp at his proximity.

“tell me the truth and i’ll let you come.” it’s a whisper, soft and sweet, you know what’s to come will be anything but.

“fine! you looked so hot covered in blood-“ he grabs under your knee and lifts it up, slamming deeper into you cutting you off. “oh my god-“ rafe can’t handle not being all the way in, he loves the way his head kisses your cervix, how his veins have molded you to fit them, how he can feel come slipping out of you and dribbling down his length since there’s no space for anything. an addiction, one that he won’t give up. “that doesn’t make it-rafe!-okay!” you manage to get out between thrusts

“yeah yeah i get it.” he’s had enough of your lecturing, the arm that’s not holding your knee, loops around your front, closing around your neck and throat. his thick bicep presses against you in a headlock and he leverages the tight grip to pull you back into him, shutting you up finally. the only sounds that can be heard are of your pretty pussy squelching and gasping for him to be back inside. there’s the occasional moan from you when his grip loosens and the curses and groans from him, but mostly the room sounds like a porno. you’re not sure if you came or you ever stopped coming but your pussy feels warm and fuzzy, like it’s just given up on trying to decipher pleasure and pain.

“can’t come-fuck-need to” rafe frustrates himself with how quickly he feels like he needs to come. his balls are pinched tight, aching for release but he can’t stop, he needs to make it right, make it perfect. rafe won’t admit it anyone else but he’s so in love with you he hates coming without looking in your eyes. his hold on your neck releases and you slump forward tears and drool staining the mattress.

“pretty baby, you’ll give me one more yeah?” somehow rafe knows when you’re cumming, you stopped noticing. you nod dumbly, blurry eyes vaguely make out his face as he finally lets you rest on your back. your body aches and your legs haven’t stopped shaking, but you still welcome him with open legs. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead, shoving into you again, his thrusts aren’t so hurried this time, he’s savoring it. the slow drag of his tip inside of you warms you. you stop crying when he lifts your legs, pushing your knees to your chest, he wipes your tears and kisses down into you. the position is familiar, one of your favorites, and you kiss him back, it’s salty and messy but you can taste the words i love you.

“most beautiful girl in the world, fuck ,how did i get so lucky?” he peppers your face with kisses, giggles erupting from your lips and he can’t believe you’re his.

“love you rafey.” you say it so sweetly anyone would think he’s not 9 inches deep inside you, in a mean mating press.

“i love you angel, can i come inside?” your eyes light up, you both rarely do it since birth control is horrible on your body, but you can’t help but love how it feels.

“please…fill me up.” the words make his dick twitch inside you, more precum dribbling out of your cunt.

“fuckkk gonna get you pregnant, then everyone will know you’re mine.” he’s mumbling to himself, rocking back and forth and a whine leaves your lips. you should be concerned with how possessive your boyfriend is, you know that, but the image he paints in your head is too tempting.

“please.” you kiss his right arm that supports his weight next to your head and he smiles down at you. rafe takes it as his signal to pull out and fuck down into you, your mind blanks. it doesn’t take more than a few hard thrusts for the pressure building inside you to finally snap, seeing white under your eyes as you gasp and scream his name. you’re squirting onto him before you realize it, soaking his chest and dick and he keeps fucking you through it until you stop. rafe can’t help but lose himself as you do it, fucking down so brutally you think he might rip your cervix, if it’s even possible, the overstimulation claws at your senses and you fight the urge to push him away, scratching down his back instead. rafe feels his balls pinch and he can’t hold back any longer, you’re pulsing around him riding out your orgasm and he shoots gooey ropes inside of you. thick and never ending, coating your walls and slipping out the sides, the angle at least keeps most of it in, just like he wants it.

“can’t believe you squirted.” when he finally stops spurting into you, he pulls out, your legs falling to your side as you wince at the aches in your body. without the cloud of pleasure you can feel how sore you’ll be tomorrow.

“sorry” you mumble, turning to where he lays beside you and he shakes his head.

“nah baby i’m gonna make you do it every time.” a wolfish smirk graces his features and you decide you’ll never do a sex ban again. you won’t survive it next time.

#rafe cameron #artemisiasmuse #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe x you #rafe cameron headcanons #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron hard thoughts #rafe smut #obx smut #obx fanfiction #rafe obx

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my-castles-crumbling · 1 day ago

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hair - february 10 - black brothers - @black-brothers-microfic - word count: 425

“Hey, Sirius?” Regulus asked, quite sure he was going to pass out.

He’d been building up to this for weeks. Talking himself up to this moment, sending letters to Pandora and Dorcas and Evan and Barty, trying to get the courage to speak his mind. But he was terrified. Sirius was the only family he had left, and if he hated him….but he also wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep quiet.

Sirius, completely oblivious, stared at the chessboard in between them and pointed at a few pieces, whispering to himself, before murmuring, “Yeah?”

“What…” he swallowed and steeled himself, “what would you do if I cut my hair short?”

His brother’s eyes flickered up to him once and back down to the pieces. “Nothing. I mean, you’d probably look a bit like a boy, but I’d get over it. Why?” He picked up a pawn and moved it.

Regulus let out a shuddering breath. “What if…what if I wanted to look like a boy?” he asked, gnawing at his lip so roughly he tasted blood.

This time, when Sirius looked up, his eyes lingered. “What? Why?” he asked, his voice not judgemental, but curious.

Gods, he was going to make him spell it out. Regulus looked away, stomach roiling. “Because I…” he swallowed again, wanting to melt into the floor. “Because I am….a boy,” he answered, voice barely a whisper.

There. He’d said it.

For what felt like forever but was probably only a few seconds, Sirius said nothing. But he nodded and cleared his throat. “Alright, then. It’s your turn, yeah?”

Regulus met his eyes and gaped. “It’s-what?”

“It’s your turn. I’m about three moves away from slaughtering you, mind,” Sirius repeated, completely casual.

“Did you just hear what I said?” Regulus demanded, sure he was dreaming.

“Yeah, I mean…not much for me to say about it, yeah? I start calling you my brother and- oh! You probably want a different name, yeah?” Sirius rambled, still completely unbothered. “But other than that, it’s whatever you want. Just tell me what to do to help and I’ll do it,” he shrugged. “After I beat you in this game, of course.”

He took a long time to digest that before replying. “Regulus,” he mumbled. “Hmm?” Sirius hummed, distractedly looking at the chessboard again.

“My name’s Regulus.”

“Alright. Regulus, then. Make a move so I can kill your king, yeah? Then we can cut your hair and do whatever else you need,” Sirius grinned.

And, giving his brother a small, relieved smile, Regulus moved his queen.

Note: obviously being trans/transitioning is much more than just a haircut. this is just one small optional facet.

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muniimyg · 20 hours ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ boxer!jungkook⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist closed

boxer jk x neuro doctor oc

post fight vibes

meet cute

note: possibly a mini series but idk

after his home and the ring; jungkook's third home is the hospital.

yet, one thing he will never get used to are the bright lights.

fuck.

they’re always so fucking bright.

it doesn’t matter if he’s in for nearly busting his brain or if he’s just here for a casual IV drip—each time, the lights are insanely bright.

the hospital room is too white too.

too sterile for someone like him.

his eyes flicker down to his knuckles. they’re split and bruised, resting against his stomach, rising and falling with each slow breath. his lip is cut, swollen at the corner, and when he rolls his shoulders back, he winces—just slightly—like he's trying not to show it.

suddenly, the doors burst open and his head turns towards it.

you walk in.

navy blue scrubs, white doctors coat, and your hair is tied high and back.

it’s… love at first sight.

your cheeks are so perfect. that’s the first thing he notices about you. they have this puff that makes him wonder if anyone has ever complimented you on them. next, are your lips. they’re perfectly shaped—so kissable. maybe he’s just that fucked in the head but everything about you looks so perfect. like your eyes are the exact size they need to be. you button nose where your glasses sit so cutely…

god help him.

maybe he got beat up a little too much this match.

jungkook swallows drly as you approach him. you pull out the scans and show him on the monitor. you glance at them and then at him. for a moment, you’re silent and he doesn’t know if he should be saying anything.

should he introduce himself?

better yet, can you introduce yourself?

"you're concussed," you say simply.

jungkook blinks at you, like he was expecting more.

"that bad?"

"you've had worse." you say it simply as you click on the monitor and pull out old scans from months ago. your eyes widen as you look through the ones from the past 3 years. pausing at one scan from 2019, you use your pen to gesture around the areas where he’s been concussed before. “this old one? probably your worst one.”

he huffs out a laugh, shifting in his seat.

"my brain is still here, though. couldn’t have been that bad, huh?"

you don’t humor the joke.

"debatable."

his grin widens, even through the soreness. "harsh, doctor…”

“doctor ___.”

“___,” he breathes. “that’s pretty.”

“doctor ___.” you correct.

“right,” jungkook folds. then, the moment shifts. he can’t help but blurt; “... you sure you're not just mad you had to sub in for my usual guy?"

"not mad," you say, flipping through his chart. "just not impressed."

he laughs again, low and raspy, like this whole thing is funny. like the fractures and bruising on his scans are nothing more than a bad grade on a test.

"aren't you too young to be a doctor?"

you glance at him, raising a brow.

"aren't you too young to have this many head injuries?"

his smile lingers, but he doesn’t say anything for a beat like he's trying to come up with a clever response. like he's trying to read you.

"did you win?" you ask instead.

"huh?"

"your fight."

his grin flickers—surprise, maybe. or amusement.

"yeah. of course."

you nod, flipping the chart closed.

"is it worth it?"

he tilts his head, the movement slow. calculated. like he's trying to see if you're serious. truth be told, he can’t read you. not your tone or your facial expression. it intrigues him… how could someone be so warm and so cold at the same time? you’re lukewarm… but it’s refreshing. it’s scratches his fucked up brain somehow.

"i'll tell you," jungkook muses, "if you go out with me."

you scoff.

"that's okay."

he waits.

"some things are worth asking about," you say, pushing your chair back. you stand up and lean over to check over his vitals. as you fix his IV, you squint as you notice his knuckles. for some reason, jungkook suddenly fights to urge to reach for you. his fingers twitch. you see it. you brush it off and say; "some things aren't worth the answer."

you don’t miss the way his lips part slightly, his brows lifting in surprise.

you don’t stick around to see if he has a follow-up. you grab your clipboard and head towards the door. as you push the door open to leave, you bid him goodbye.

"rest up, mr. jeon."

the next time jungkook is back, it's not you.

"dr. ___ isn’t in today?" jungkook asks, trying to sound… anything but how it came out.

namjoon doesn’t look up from his notes.

“you met her?”

“yeah,” he breathes. “can’t get her out of my head ever since.”

namjoon chuckles as he takes out his slit lamp and examines jungkook’s eye movement. as jungkook’s eyes follow the light, nam joon continues;

"why’s that?”

“dunno,” jungkook confesses.

namjoon can’t take jungkook seriously. he’s never been the type to care about girls since they’ve always come to him one way or another… but knowing you, he should’ve known jungkook would take interest.

“miss her or something?" nam joon teases. “love at first concussion?”

“not my first concussion… and i was just wondering. shit, man.” jungkook shrugs, trying to move past it. suddenly, he’s embarrassed.

namjoon hums, like he doesn’t believe him (because he doesn’t).

"she doesn't date patients," namjoon says, flipping a page and writing down notes from jungkook’s checkup. "definitely not ones with a brain like yours."

jungkook blinks. "is it that bad?"

namjoon grins. "she spends her days saving patients who get injured unwillingly. you? boxing? that's a choice. you're her least favorite kind of patient."

"but am i her type?"

namjoon laughs and shakes his head.

"your brain is fucked up."

when jungkook’s checkup finishes, he says goodbye to namjoon and exits the room.

then, like fate, he sees you in the hall when he's leaving. you're walking in the opposite direction, clipboard tucked against your hip, eyes scanning over charts.

jungkook doesn’t think.

he moves.

jungkook catches up to you and taps your shoulder. as you turn your head to respond, he steps forward and in front of you instead. suddenly, you face him.

"you."

you blink up at him, unimpressed. "me."

"i'm not concussed anymore."

"i'm glad,” you smile at him softly before you lower your gaze back to your charts. “have a good day mr. jeon—"

"i won that match," he says, like it's important. like it means something.

you pause.

"i'm a good boxer," he continues, standing taller. "i don’t get injured that much. when you saw me last… i let the guy get in a few hits. whatever… it was for show, i swear to god… but if you go out with me, i promise to always win and never get a head injury ever again."

you stare at him.

he waits.

you exhale, shifting your clipboard to the other hand. then, before he can say anything else, your fingers push into his hair, ruffling it gently.

his breath hitches.

you drop your hand and step past him.

"i think you're still a little concussed," you murmur.

“i’m not,” jungkook says, voice soft. “one chance.”

you tilt your head at him and for a moment, you really contemplate. his lip looks almost healed. his knuckles are only bruised now… for a moment, you want to give in.

“do you ever lose?”

he scoffs. “no.”

you nod and begin to slip away. jungkook stands there confused at the growing distance. as you walk away, you tell him;

“maybe you should learn how to.”

“why? so you can feel better about rejecting me?"

jungkook tilts his head, lips twitching. he lifts his foot to move to you but you shake your head at him. he stops his tracks. cutely, you mimic him and tilt your head too, feigning sympathy.

"no, so you stop getting concussed."

he grins, sharp and easy. "i told you, i don't get injured that much."

"right… just enough to keep me employed."

his laughter comes quick, like he wasn't expecting that.

"damn," he mutters, shaking his head. "you got a sharp tongue, doc."

you exhale through your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve given him, and start toward the door. with one hand, you wave him off, like he’s not worth the breath it takes to keep talking.

but just before you step out, jungkook hears you murmur over your shoulder—low, teasing, like you’re indulging him for just a second longer.

"good thing you’re used to taking hits, jeon."

jungkook’s smile lingers long after you’ve disappeared down the hall. for a moment, he contemplates on running after you and continuing to annoy you… and then, for the nth time today… he thinks.

he’ll be back.

injured or not—he’s coming back just for you.

#bts fanfic #bts one shot #jungkook one shot #jungkook blurb #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #jungkook meet cute #jungkook fluff #jungkook boxer au #jk boxer #bts boxer au #bts scenario #jungkook scenario #jungkook fic

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zorosangell · 3 days ago

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hii i just viewed ur intro and omg we have the same favs !! they’re both so silly i love them smm. this idea has been in my mind for like the past month, what would zoro be like with reader who’s the exact opposite of him? she’s super sweet, gentle, patient, etc,..

i can imagine reader speaking for zoro because of how rude he can get, or zoro getting frustrated bc of how kind she is to others but ofc u don’t have to do this, and always take ur time!

⛥ﾟ・。 sweetheart

synopsis: after winning a candlelit dinner for two, zoro tries his best to ask you out... though you don't seem to catch the hint.

cw: i think i got a cavity writing this, fluffy fluff, lovey zoro, in-love zoro, tender zoro, lovesick zoro, sprinkle of jealous zoro, reader's a bit dense (not bimbo territory but close enough), reader is adorable.

a/n: i genuinely believe he would be sooo awkward in a romantic setting. i love suave zoro down bad but awkward zoro holds a special place in my heart

"Zoro, don't let me go!" you squealed, eyes screwing shut as your body went stiff as a board.

"I have to let you go," he chuckled, an amused smirk rising to his lips at your panic. "How else are you gonna learn?"

"No! No, no, no, no! I'm not ready!"

"You can always just stand up if you sink. Ready?"

"No!"

"3... 2... 1—"

"No, I can't do it!"

"Wait, don't—!"

Another shriek of terror ripped from your lips as your hand shot up to grab the swordsman by the arm, yanking him into the water with a large splash as your body began to sink.

Swiftly, Zoro rose to his feet, shaking the salt water out of his eyes as he quickly yoked you out of the shallows by your ankle, raising you up with one arm.

"Did ya have to take me with you this time?" he huffed, brows flattened.

The moment you came up, you took in a large gasp of air, letting out a few harsh coughs as you frantically attempted to catch your breath.

The action banished all playfulness from the man, and instead sent a sharp pang of fear through his chest.

"Hey, hey, hey," he softened, shifting his grip to hold you bridal style, lightly patting your back. "Easy. Did you open your mouth again?"

You nodded, wheezing as you swiped a few soaking strands of hair from your face.

'Nice going, (y/n)...'

The swordsman was supposed to be teaching you how to swim, but now, not only did you embarrass yourself once again—for the fourteenth time, to be exact—but you looked like a drowned rat doing it.

"Oh, gosh, Zoro, I'm so sorry!" you apologized, finally able to speak. "I just got so nervous and before I knew it I was falling and—!"

"Hey, it's alright. That's what practice is for," he assured, carefully lowering you to your feet.

With a sigh, you hopped down, wringing out your hair with an annoyed huff.

It brought a smile to the swordsman's face.

You were so adorable.

Your puffed cheeks.

Your soaked hair.

Your furrowed brows.

You looked like a wet kitten; one he wanted to squeeze and pinch the cheeks of.

"You wanna try again?" he suggested.

"I don't think I can," you sighed, glancing at the setting sun. "It's getting dark and I promised Nami I'd help her out with her hair."

A proud grin found its way onto your lips, Zoro's heart adding an extra beat to its rhythm at the sight.

"She's got a hot date tonight, so me an' Robin are gonna help her pull out all the stops," you released your hair, allowing it to swish past your shoulders. "But you can walk back to the ship with me if you want."

That reminds him...

'Shit.'

"Uh... yeah," he nodded, awkwardly glancing around.

As you continued to fiddle with your strands, he discreetly tugged a flyer and two tickets out his swim trunks, looking over the sopping wet papers for about the hundredth time.

ONE TIME OFFER ONLY: CANDLELIT DINNER UNDER THE STARS

Want to have a special night with a special someone? Want to make magical memories that'll last a lifetime? Enter our island's annual Tournament of Strength!

Whoever can lift the most wins an all-expenses-paid dinner on the beach under the stars!

(Formal attire required. Officials are not responsible for any injuries retained during the competition)

Zoro had competed in the tournament earlier that day, and to say he won by a landslide was an understatement.

He won by a hospital building.

Literally.

He uprooted and bench-pressed the local hospital.

The swordsman knew no one on the little, out-of-the-way island was beating that, and he needed those tickets.

But now that he had them in his hand, a new sensation he'd never known before suddenly introduced itself to his stomach.

Nerves.

Roronoa Zoro... the notorious pirate hunter... the man with a bounty over a billion... the man known throughout the seas for his ruthlessness... was scared to ask out a girl.

It was almost laughable, were he not so frustrated with himself.

'C'mon! It's just (y/n)! Man up and do it!'

With a sigh, he glanced at you, noticing you were still distracted by your swimsuit.

Perfect.

Whistling, he dropped the flyer in the ocean, allowing the waves to slowly carry it toward you.

"Huh?" you raised a brow, feeling something brush against your leg. "A piece of paper?"

Bending down, you picked it up, being mindful of its wetness as you didn't want it to tear.

"Huh? Oh, man. People really need to learn how to pick up after themselves," Zoro nodded, trying and failing to feign ignorance.

'Idiot!'

"Yeah, I can't stand it when people litter," you agreed, completely oblivious.

"Yeah, totally. It's the worst," he rested his hands on his hips. "But... what's the paper? Something important?"

"Nah. It's just an event flyer."

"An event flyer?"

"Yeah, I'm surprised someone dropped it. All the girls in town were gushing about it earlier today."

"Yeah... what do you think about it?"

"I think someone probably got excited and dropped the flyer."

"Not that. What do you think about the flyer?"

"The flyer? Um... I think it's nice. I like the little star designs on the corners."

"No, not that. The—"

"Hey, sweetness," a random man appeared out of nowhere, eyeing you up. "I've been meaning to talk to you."

Turning around, you raised a brow, pointing to yourself.

"Me?"

"Who the hell are you?" Zoro asked, not bothering to extinguish the annoyance in his voice.

"I'm just a guy who'd like to talk to the lady for a moment," he glanced to you, flashing a sleazy smile. "If that's alright?"

"Oh, sure, I guess," you shrugged, turning back to the swordsman. "Be back in a sec, Zoro."

"(y/n), I—"

But the two of you had already walked off, forcing the swordsman to let out a groan of frustration.

None of this would be happening if you just manned up...

'Shut it.'

Not wasting a second, Zoro trailed after you both, hanging back a good distance so you didn't notice him.

You walking off with another man left a bad taste in his mouth, especially given your innately trusting nature.

It wasn't that he believed you couldn't handle yourself, or were weak in any way, he just preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

Besides, he didn't mind acting as your bodyguard.

Enjoyed it, actually.

Other than Luffy, Zoro didn't trust anyone to protect you to the fullest and farthest extent that he did.

And that wasn't even a dig to his crew.

Many just thoroughly misunderstood the lengths this man was willing to go to... the pain he was willing to put himself through, for you.

Except for his captain.

When you and the man finally came to a stop, Zoro stopped as well, watching intently as the two of you talked.

"A date?!" you exclaimed, shocked.

"Yeah, sweetness," the rando nodded, grinning widely. "I've been watchin' you all day, and have been meaning to ask."

"First of all, I would prefer if you'd stop calling me that. My name is (y/n). And second, I don't know you that well...?"

"Mark," he filled in for you.

"Mark... we've just met. And I'm sorry but I just don't really feel comfortable going on a date with you."

"I know that, sweetness, but we could always get to kn—"

As the man's eyes flicked past your head, his blood ran cold, gaze suddenly locked with the first mate of the Strawhat crew.

Zoro was furious, sizing him up with a glare reserved only for those guilty of unforgivable crimes in his eyes.

This crime in particular making the poor bastard deserving of capital punishment.

"Ugh, it's (y/n)," you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest at his failure to listen, completely oblivious to the war going on behind you. "Jeez..."

"Sorry, sweetness!" he blurted, quickly turning around and speed walking away.

"You don't have to apologize for asking, but at least get my name right!" you called after him.

With perfect timing, Zoro walked up to stand beside you, returning your smile to your face.

"Hey! Sorry about that. That guy was super weird," you sighed, turning to him and allowing your shoulders to sink. "I've really gotta get going now. Nami's gonna kill me if I don't help her."

You moved to step around him, about to break into a half-jog/half-sprint.

It was now or never...

"Wait, (y/n)," Zoro stopped you, quickly grabbing your wrist.

You halted, raising a brow and glancing at him with a confused expression.

"Hm? What's up?"

Inhaling through his nose, the swordsman took a deep breath, calming his racing heart.

"That flyer... the one I was asking you about earlier... it was mine," he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "I was holding onto it because I wanted to ask you about it."

Intrigued, you completely turned to face him, tilting your head.

"Ask me about it?"

He nodded, a faint tinge of red rising from his neck to his cheeks.

"Why?"

"Well... I won the contest... and got the tickets to the fancy dinner..."

Your eyes widened slightly, becoming starry.

"And I wanted to know if you wanted to... possibly go with me... tonight?"

Tensing his muscles, he braced himself for anything.

A punch.

A scoff.

A harsh no.

But to his surprise, you did none of those things, instead letting out a giddy squeal as you nearly jumped on top of him, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Of course!" you cheesed, utterly over the moon. "Zoro, I'd love to! Oh, my gosh, are you kidding?!"

He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, a wide grin stretching across his lips as his shoulders sank with relief.

Thank God...

"I have the perfect dress in mind! That blue one I bought in town today! No, wait! The green one! It'll match your hair!"

Suddenly, you gasped, remembering something deathly important.

"Crap! Nami's hair! I forgot!"

Quickly, the swordsman put you down, allowing you to give him a big peck on the cheek before you broke into a sprint.

"I'll see you later tonight, Zo! I can't wait!" you waved, your smile blinding as you began to weave through umbrellas and other beach-goers.

And, if one were to look closely, you could see hearts in the swordsman's eyes.

Zoro had it baaad, no doubt about it.

And he'd gotten to the point where he honestly didn't even care anymore.

He'd allow you to gush all over him and chat to your heart's content if it meant he could see that smile again, and see you so unabashedly happy.

You were a sweetheart, and deserved the world.

And he'd be damned if he didn't try his hardest to give it you.

#zorosangell #one piece #one piece x reader #roronoa #roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro #zoro x reader #op

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oceantornadoo · 19 hours ago

Text

ch11 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: a little piss bc reader is refused a toilet. some light torture scenes and violence.

“Where. Is. She.” Ghost slams John against the wall, his forearm to John’s throat. The man’s snarling, an unrestrained beast in a mask. The world zeroes in on the gaze between them, the terrible acceptance that they have a shared weakness. A shared weakness who is gone, potentially dead. All they can do is beat the rotted carcass of this feeling until it breaks.

Thirty minutes earlier

For the past two hours, there’s been something vibrating under John’s skin. It was there when he pulled Gaz by his collar in the store, searching the man’s eyes for deceit. It was there when he eventually let him down, satisfied with the steel reflecting back at him. It was there when someone handed him his wife’s phone, the screen filled with unread text messages from him asking to get dinner and talk it all out. It followed him all the way to the Castle.

Gaz relocates them quickly, saying he has more devices back at home. John’s home, your home, your shared home. The whole car ride John’s knee shakes up and down, nervous energy permeating the air. All he does is replay your last conversation over and over.

“I am trapped, John.”

“No matter how I feel about you now, I didn’t pick this marriage.”

“I can’t even tell if you like me for me or my proximity.”

“I need to go to work before I say something I’ll regret.”

The words swarm through his head like wasps, picking at the insecurities he hides everyday. The worries that you wouldn’t pick him in a normal world, that this has been pillowtalk to pass the days. If you love something you’re supposed to let it go, but he can’t decide between being noble and hoarding you until you forget what life was like before captivity. And of course, all of these thoughts assume you’re alive. He hasn’t let himself consider the full possibility that Shepherd has hurt you in ways that would defile your mind and your body, never leaving you whole again. It all coalesces into an evil energy, vibrating under his skin as the London streets roll by outside the car.

Gaz leads John into the security room with words not meant for him. Murmurs to the house staff, directions ordered over ear pieces. They blur and buzz in John’s eardrums, these damn wasps becoming parasites. He’s too old to consider hunting you himself, knows that he has to trust his man, but the urge is there anyways. Thoughts of escalating into straight warfare, bombing Shepherd’s home without any care for the innocents within.

That’s what he’s thinking about when Ghost arrives, dragging in coattails of vengeance and dread.

Now

“Stand down, Ghost. This ain’t helpin’.” He croaks out against the pressure in his throat. Ghost’s eyes flare, soulless black pits that see too much. They search John’s, within and around, poking and prodding at the emotions he’s been holding in for the hour since he learned his wife is gone. Whatever Ghost finds is enough, John deemed worthy not to die by the loosening of Ghost’s grip. They pant as one, wishing they had never let themself love a woman enough to destroy their dynasties for her.

The world resumes as Ghost turns away. No one mentions the threat, the way John would have let the guilt drown him if Ghost didn’t. John should have pushed harder, should’ve accompanied you to the store instead of letting you go in his shirt with a faint goodbye on your lips. Like you knew what would happen and went anyway, just to see how far his heart could stretch until it tears.

MacTavish is murmuring low calming words to Ghost, unintelligible over the hum of computers and screens. In this room, all pretense is given up, one man’s hand stroking the other’s. To have a half of a soul live outside the body is a dangerous thing, even more when attacks come from all sides. If he squints, there’s a flash of your glare in Ghost’s, the same half-tilted frown hidden by the mask. It’s like you’re haunting him, no, taunting him with the fact that he’s lost you and now he has to deal with your ghost. It’s all his fault, but he lets the pity fester inside instead of releasing it on everyone else.

“Update, Garrick?” Another croak, a near two minutes after the incident. This is why Gaz is his heir - all he does is hand John the nearest iPad without a mention as to what happened. John reads the screen fast, a list of possible abandoned warehouses near Shepherd locations. It makes sense but the timing is all wrong. He’d expected this if things had been quiet, but there was another scrap between Price men and Shepherd men last night. This kidnapping must have been calculated by someone separate, someone like Phil with a solo mission. He should’ve killed the man when he found out he was working (almost) alone with his wife.

“It’ll be somewhere symbolic. Shepherd likes to make a statement.” Garrick mentions. John hands the tablet silently to Ghost, an offering of peace. In the corner of his eye, he can see MacTavish conferring with Mare, the head of the weapons team, speaking a language only the two of them know. The man frowns, then shakes his head at something Mare says. “Dinnae work like tha’.” It travels over the distance of the room, confusing John enough that he walks over to learn what’s happening.

“Report?” Mare is a bit skittish but cool-headed in times of need, the reason he hired the first ever woman on a Price Family leadership team. He trusts her and her chemistry degrees, plus her sense of urgency. “Sir, we’ve just received word that the weapons stores have been compromised.” It’s like a pin drop, other conversations falling silent as she speaks. “Meaning?” He asks, toeing the line of impatience. “Shepherd’s men struck last night, around the same time as the street fight. We believe it was coordinated between that and the kidnapping to hide it as long as possible. They cut the WiFi, so we only found out during the shift change. All the guards were killed and the weapons taken.”

John prides himself on acting like a real corporate boss, restrained and professional. However, this is his last fucking straw. “You’re saying Shepherd took my fucking weapons, then my fucking wife? How the hell does this happen?” Ghost grunts at the word ‘wife’ but John ignores it, too focused on the situation at hand. Instead of answering, Mare’s eyes flit around the room. Since it was converted from two bedrooms, it fits up to thirty people and is currently at capacity. He can read his employee too well, and knows she’s nervous about the many ears around. While he usually trusts his people with his life, it’s been an odd day and he decides to err on the side of caution.

“Mare an’ everyone related t’ me, this way.” There’s an elevator to the upper floor in the back of the room. Ghost and MacTavish fall in line, but Garrick seems frozen and unsure. “Gaz, that includes you.” They don’t acknowledge the head nod, brushing elbows as John hits the elevator button. Once all five are in, John hits the emergency stop between floors, leaving them in purgatory. “Speak.” He instructs Mare.

“There’s a mole. It’s the only way they could have gotten in. I designed that facility myself, sir, and there’s no way they could have gotten in with the tools and soldiers they have. Unless our intel was wrong, and I don’t think it was, we have a rat.” Her words echo in the metal chamber. She meets MacTavish’s eyes and he nods in confirmation.

“Price.” Ghost grunts, his first words in a while. “It’s someone in that room. They’d hav’ to be on yer security.” John nods at his words and turns to Gaz. “How much longer to narrow down locations?” The man still seems flustered by John’s earlier words and needs a nudge to the shin to spit it out. “An hour, tops. We’re thinking of an abandoned weapons facility or church. Something about what he stole, weapons or marriage.” John grunts at the symbolism of it all. “I’m the first one there.” He demands. “Sir, I-” John turns to look his second in the eye. “I’m the first there.” Gaz nods. John turns back to Ghost and MacTavish, staring at him with twin glares of violence.

“Right, men. We got a rat t’ catch.”

“You don’t know what I’d do to find ya and keep ya.”

John’s words echo through your mind as you eye Phil, standing in the corner with a water bottle. You haven’t peed since this morning, 12 hours ago, and he knows. Taunting words sung with a Southern accent, promising a toilet in return for the weapon codes. He’s banking on your embarrassment, that you won’t want to piss yourself in this hellhole. Too bad for him you don’t like to listen to what men tell you to do.

“C’mon, sugar. Know ya got t’ go. Give me the codes an’ I got a nice lil’ bathroom for you. Even has one of those bidets.” You shake your head, refusing. Your bladder is pushing against your stomach, tension growing with every breath. It wouldn’t be too bad if he hadn’t kept feeding you water. You think you’re on bottle six now, what seemed like a blessing turned into a curse.

“Fine. Time f’ another one.” He unscrews and steps to your side, checking your handcuffs before coming near your mouth. It’s like he’s under orders not to hurt you physically. There’s been no beatings, no threat of knives or guns. He needs you alive, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The weapons require both a code and an eye scan, something you can’t fake with a dead body. Johnny created the code section and Gaz added the eye scan later, his coding skills a thing of beauty. His quick thinking is the only thing keeping you alive.

Water pours down your throat. He presses down your tongue to force you to swallow every last drop. When he leans over you, it’s like rose-colored glasses have been removed. His blond hair is limp, face sweaty with concentration. Gone is the charming assistant, bright and fun. You bet he needs you to stay alive for his own safety, his life relying on it.

As water slips into your belly, the pressure to pee goes stronger. With a dirty hand, he pushes on your stomach, and you whine in discomfort. He shouldn’t be touching you, especially in a place so sensitive. The loss of body autonomy is your biggest fear, whether it be motherhood or this. Only John would understand, you think, berating yourself for being so stupidly stubborn. That’s when you make up your mind, to still have control over the one thing you can.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re fuckin’ disgusting, you dirty bitch.” The piss soaks your jeans and, with enough force, dribbles on his shoe. Phil jumps away in disgust, eyes hardened into flint as he glares at you. “Fuck you.” You spit out. A glob of it lands near his shoe, making him jump again. You almost pity how weak he is enough to torture a woman for a living. Almost.

“You’re gonna be sorry you did that.” He bites back. Phil glances at the mirror and for the first time in hours, you let yourself feel a lick of fear. You’re pretty sure you know who his boss is, someone too violent for the games you’re playing. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” Is what you can muster. Instead of answering, he shakes off his shoe and knocks on the door. When it opens, there’s a person in full PPE, holding a metal tray with a filled syringe. You jolt back, but the chair is bolted to the ground and doesn’t allow you to move.

“Wait, please, Phil-” He’s fast, shooting something into your arm. Everything goes dark after that.

Gaz was right. It only took an hour.

But it takes longer than that to rule out each location. It’s been 24 hours, and they haven’t found you yet.

John insists on checking out every place by himself, as does Ghost. They’re even-keeled enough to split up to make it go faster but insist on Gaz scrounging up more earpieces so they can keep in constant contact. They slept in shifts too, six-hour blocks once it hit midnight, so they weren’t trudging through their search. Johnny stays back to work with the engineers on testing the security system he designed, while Gaz comes along with whoever is searching. The four of them stay on their own radio channel like a task force, acting more military than mafia.

They start from the inner city and expand outwards. It’s methodical. It’s calculated. It’s the exact strategy Gaz planned months ago when the marriage was proposed. He’s the clearest headed out of all of them but there’s still a bite to his tone, a tension in his shoulders, a furrow in his brow. If John wasn’t so out of it himself, he’d be glad that his right-hand man seems to care for his wife.

They sweep warehouses top to bottom. John tugs on every alliance he has, every favor owed. They get pledges of loyalty from smaller gangs, who do their own searches as well. It’s so much and yet not enough because John Price does not have his fucking wife in his hands. Your shampoo scent is not in his nose, your laughter is not in his ears, your waist is not in his grasp. You are gone and he is at fault for not protecting you.

“Focus, Price.” They’ve both slept and are now in their third church in the past 90 minutes. It’s abandoned like the rest of them, creaking doors and blown out windows. They’ve gotten into a rhythm now, sweeping the building efficiently. You’re not there. They finish in twenty minutes, Gaz outside on the phone with the rest of the crew. When they emerge, he stands tall at attention.

“Sir, we’ve got a hit.”

“How you feeling, hun?” The world is woozy, half-tilt on a rollercoaster. You sway from right to left, only steadying when firm hands grasp your shoulders. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring in technicolor. You’re somewhere else, with paintings on the walls and carpet on the floors. That’s when you do a body scan and realize you’re not in the clothes you were kidnapped in.

You jerk away from the man touching you. The wooden chair you’re strapped to falls to the floor and takes you with it. He tries to pick you up, moving in a blur of dark grey, but you thrash away like a fish out of water. His touch is poison, and you fear it was him who undressed you, him who saw you naked against your will. “Get away from me!” You screech, vocal cords sore from disuse. The man’s hands are gnarled crooked things, clawing at your shoulders until your chair is straight again. You try to flinch but your miniscule reactions are still slurry from whatever you were injected with. Once you’re straight, you bite back a gasp.

It’s him. The General. Shepherd.

Square face with a buzzcut. Weathered and old with a cruel gleam in his eye. He sits back down into a chair in front of yours. This one is red leather, squeaking comfortably with weight as he sits down. The man was in the army in a past life, hence the styling of The General. He wears dark slacks and an army-like jacket. The bravado of it disgusts you. A title like that should be earned, not worn like play clothes. You put on your brave face and sneer at him, a cat backed into an alley.

“I see why John likes you.” He looks you up and down like he can see through your clothes. You flinch against your will. “You don’t deserve to say his name.” You bite. He laughs jarringly. “Fucking brat is what you are. Even got Phil under your spell.” That’s news to you. It’s certainly at odds with his behavior. You don’t react, easing your features into a smooth mask.

“I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t have the codes.” He stares at you dead-eyed. “Not necessary. We don’t need the codes.” He’s bluffing. You’re willing to bet your life on the hard work of Johnny and Gaz. There’s absolutely no way, no workaround. That’s when you get an idea.

“Oh yeah? You’re just going to put me in front of the eye scanner and go from there?” He frowns like you’ve figured out his plan. You almost laugh. “Too bad. You’re still missing a step.” That reels him in. Shepherd sits forward, elbows on his knees, searching your gaze for a lie. You raise your brows defiantly. “What, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out?” He squints harder at your words.

“My brother’s old school. Doesn’t trust technology, or anybody else.” It’s certainly true. Simon’s well-known for not trusting people. Even the General looks intrigued. “What are you sayin’?” He murmurs. It’s like you’re holding a prophecy in his hands. Men are so easy.

“There’s a key.” He scoffs and looks away. “And I’m Robin Hood.” You shrug, leaning back as much as you can into your chair despite the ropes tying you to it. “Believe what you want. I’m just saying, my brother has more checks than you can imagine.” Another truth to reel him in. He scratches an invisible itch on his knee, then gets up. He pulls something from his pocket, and you flinch, thinking it’s a gun. He laughs at your reaction. “Fucking brat.” He murmurs. Shepherd turns to the corner of the room and calls someone, talking in low tones.

When you examine the room, it sends a shot to your heart. You’re in a church. There’s blood red carpeting with paintings everywhere, but it’s not wellkept. There’s dust and no windows, the lighting frail. Perhaps recently abandoned?

Shepherd is back, knife in hand. He thrives on watching you flinch and thrash as he comes closer. You stop when he’s in your face, knife trailing down the length of your nose. “Where’s the key?” You answer without hesitation. “My father’s grave.” It’s the kind of sick shit Ghost would do, and Shepherd knows it. That’s when the knife slips through your ropes, freeing you. There’s a gun in his other hand pointed straight at your head. “You’ll take me to the key. And if it’s not there, so help me God, I’m blowing your brains out on your father’s grave.” You nod, short and shallow.

It’s only halfway up the dilapidated wooden stairs when you hear it. Pounding footsteps and a low British tone. Shepherd was stupid enough to trail behind you, and even stupider to stop at the noises as well. That’s when your years of self-defense classes with Johnny kick in, quite literally.

You aim a kick to his head. He dodges, of course, but all that body mass has to go somewhere, and quite slowly. It knocks him off balance, a half-step down, giving you enough leverage to elbow the nose. One of the most sensitive places on a man, as Johnny told you. The door above you opens as Shepherd gets one more insult in as he goes down.

“Fuckin’ bastard.”

Yes i was thinking of the 21 savage song snitches and rats

Also sorry for comparing motherhood to torture i just really needed to justify reader peeing LOL

Oops shes a girlboss SORRYYYYYY

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1d1195 · 1 day ago

Text

Pucking Rookie IV

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~8k words

From me: slow burning!!!

Warnings: ANGST violence. CW: Signs of abuse.

Summary: Harry is very hot. Very sweet. VERY protective.

“Hey everyone,” she greeted brightly. “How’s everyone today?” She asked while setting down a tray of eight glasses and two pitchers of water on the table.

“Wonderful, baby, so excited to have you.”

She nearly knocked the glasses over (fortunately, since they were water glasses, they were only plastic). She made eye contact with him and felt her heart completely stop for a few beats. Kael smiled wickedly in return.

Fuck.

She kept her smile in place. “What can I get you to drink?” She asked. After eight years, she already knew what he wanted so she focused on his teammates.

“We were hoping to see The Chargers tonight,” Kael told her. “Do they come here often?”

She didn’t respond. “We have a few specials tonight, so if you have any questions, please let me know,” then she sauntered away to place the drink order.

“Already know what I want, baby?” He called. “That’s so sweet!”

She ignored him. Taking deep breaths she headed to the kitchen. Louis wasn’t in yet. Harry didn’t know she was working. Which meant the rest of the team thought she wasn’t working too. Marc and Michael probably had their suspicions that she was with Harry. So, no one knew she was there. Not really.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was probably just going to be an hour. He had his team with him. It wasn’t like they could have a private conversation in the middle of a restaurant. Yeah, he would probably tease and torture her for the better part of that hour, but she could be civil. She could pretend. She had for ages. He didn’t know she was working for The Chargers—she was sure he had an idea that she might be. But the afternoon set it in stone.

He was such a dick. It was the first time she had seen him face to face since she moved out. Everything about him made her skin crawl and she hated it. Every touch and kiss between them seemed tainted now. All those good memories, dates, hockey games, everything felt ruined. Each interaction was colored now with the hindsight that he didn’t love her. Not the way she did. Not the way she expected him to love her for ever and ever. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t deserve that. She knew she didn’t deserve that.

So why did he make her feel undeserving of it ever again?

Kael and his teammates came and went fortunately. Just as she predicted. Only a little over an hour. She refrained from speaking directly to Kael and focused on the group as a whole.

When Kael left, she was well past the feeling of relief. There should have been a stronger word for how liberated she felt. She used the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and took a moment to process everything. It was just like Kael to come in and make her feel like shit without even trying. Louis was supposed to be in, so at least she had that going for her.

“Hey love,” Louis called. “Everything good?” She probably looked a little shaken, so she wasn’t surprised he asked. She felt shaken.

“Good,” she smiled assuredly. She flitted around the room, ducked behind the bar, and went about her day. It was a busy night, and she wasn’t going to let Kael sour her shift that he had next to nothing to do with. So she didn’t. The next hour ticked on quickly and she was feeling more herself as the time stretched between Kael’s departure and the present.

“Hi baby,” he cooed.

Her arms felt numb almost instantly, she was lucky she didn’t drop her tray. Her fight or flight swept her and just made her freeze. She turned as she had earlier in the day and looked at him. “Hi,” she said curtly. He was alone, which made her nervous.

“I figured you must get a break soon. I’d like to talk.”

“Not for a while. And it’s busy,” at least that wasn’t a lie. “So I might not take one tonight.”

Louis was hurrying about from kitchen to back room, to front of house. It was busy as it could be, but she wanted to keep an eye on him. If Kael got her alone, she wasn’t sure she would be able to control her emotions as well as if she had someone that knew she was not in a situation she wanted to be in just by looking at her. Louis wasn’t Harry, but he would know all the same that she was uncomfortable.

Kael smiled brightly.

Well, at least someone that cared ifshe was uncomfortable.

“I’ll wait,” he offered.

“Great,” she deadpanned.

She went to the back room and wished that there was a group of Chargers there. If she called any of them, she knew they would break curfew and be there for her in a heartbeat. The thought of Kael anywhere near her would make Callie incensed for ruining her day. Niall would be protective in his own way and focused on her. Asher and Lang would get her away from The Locker Room and make sure Kael never set foot there again.

She could hardly imagine what Harry would do to him.

But she lied. She told Harry that she wasn’t working. The routines the boys had had in place prior to her arrival with the team had been disrupted more than she ever anticipated. It was nice they cared but it wasn’t fair to them to upheave their lives for her. She was just the photographer for the team. Their coach’s niece. They didn’t ask to have someone they needed to babysit.

She was an independent, self-sufficient person.

“You okay, love?” Louis asked.

She nodded and flitted around the room taking order and tried not to think about the feeling of Kael’s stare on the back of her head.

It was perhaps another hour, and Kael was true to his word in staying put. Fortunately, The Locker Room remained steadily busy. She didn’t have to lie about not taking her break. She foisted him off on another waiter who grew a little tired of him asking for her each time he went over. “Baby,” he snatched her hand as she went by.

She pulled away. “Kael, I’m busy,” she marched away before he could reach for her again.

Without warning a multitude of memories where he snagged her hand over the years filtered through her mind. His grip tight on her arm or hand. Never in a way that any outsider would notice. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered to herself. She was going to call Harry. His wrath would be well worth it. At least Kael was scared of Harry and the team. Especially if he was outnumbered. She was shaking a little as she headed for the kitchen hoping to catch Louis at least.

“Hey,” Kael said grabbing her again as she passed too close to his table. This time he caught a real hold of her arm and pinned it to the table. To any other onlooker it would look like he was just keeping her in place holding onto her hand in almost a romantic kind of way. No one would see how his fingers dug into her skin, how she was feeling the ache of the hard wood against her knuckles and wrist bone like she just lost an arm-wrestling contest. “I just want to talk.”

She wanted nothing less. “Hey, Louis!” She called quickly and loudly enough so that he would be able to hear her over the din of the whole place regardless of where he had gone off too.

Within seconds Louis was there from the back room.

Harry was right beside him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her arm on the table. Her mouth popped open in shock. She had no clue he was there. Most obviously, she didn’t want him to see this. “Oh fuck,” she whispered and tried to pry her hand away from Kael’s. She squirmed slightly as he refused to release her. He cupped his other hand gently on top of her arm trying to get her to stop.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be here. He was only supposed to come to her rescue because she couldn’t figure out what else she was to do. She was going to hide in the kitchen and wait.

Harry wasn’t supposed to be around Kael.

“Styles,” Kael practically sang. He didn’t release her arm. “Didn’t know you were here. Tough loss today. I hope it’s the same tomorrow, to be honest.”

He didn’t take the bait. His nostrils flared. “Let go of her hand Crowe,” Harry snarled stepping closer to him.

“We were just talking, right baby?” Kael smiled and took his free hand to cup the side of her face. She turned her face away and brushed it away from her skin.

Harry continued to approach him—up close and personal. If they were on the ice the cages of their helmets would have been touching. “Let her go, right fucking now,” his shoulders were heaving.

“It’s fine,” she croaked. Harry didn’t even acknowledge her.

Was he trying to keep it together? Not make a scene, maybe? Harry was quick to anger—like most hockey players. He probably would have torn Kael limb from limb by now if this wasn’t a local place where fans and the rest of the team went.

“Let go of her,” her he repeated, his voice was so deep. His body shaking.

“Harry, I’m fine—”

He ignored her still and Kael continued keeping her in place despite her squirming. She wanted to whimper as he squeezed her tighter and pressed her hand harder into the table. To the untrained eye, you wouldn’t know. But Harry was watching like this was his favorite movie and they were at the climax of the plot. He saw the way she winced and her body bend slightly as he pressed harder. “Mind your fucking business, Styles,” Kael shook his head. “This doesn’t involve—”

“She is m’business. Especially when you’re fucking hurting her,” the whole bar area went silent as they realized one of their favorite celebrities was about to punch the lights out of one of the best names in hockey. “If y’don’t let her go, m’gonna rip your hand off, Crowe. And m’gonna enjoy it,” he promised shaking his head. “Let go of her.”

She wanted to move more but was utterly terrified. Harry could get in serious trouble. Kael wasn’t particularly dangerous, but his grip was making her whole arm ache. Harry’s threat made her stomach swoop; he was so ready to protect her. Of course that was nice, but she wanted to cry. Hurting one of the top professionals in the league (even if Harry was also at the top) was a great way to get a hefty suspension and fine if he was caught.

Just another way she was going to upend his perfectly normal, happy life.

“Harry, stop,” she begged.

“Yeah, Harry, stop,” Kael mimicked. But she inhaled sharply, pulling and moving again uselessly to try and get away from the grip he had on her wrist. She whimpered despite herself as the pain continued. “Mind your business Harry,” he snarled. “M’talking to my girlfriend.”

Harry didn’t acknowledge the comment. “Stop fucking touching her, Crowe.”

“She’s mine. I’ll do whatever I want to her.”

Harry stared at him, his gaze flicking to her wrist still pinned to the table. She was still squirming, looking to get away. Louis reached for her and Harry put his hand on his chest and pushed him away. He walked to the bar, grabbed a shot of whatever the bartender was pouring. His head tipped back as he sucked the liquid down. The quiet clink of his glass hitting the bar was the only sound in the room. Silently, Harry plucked the rings he wore when he wasn’t playing hockey off his fingers. He tucked them into the inside pocket of his jacket. It felt like the seconds were ticking by in slow motion. Not even the pain from Kael’s tight grip on her hand was enough to draw her attention away from Harry’s movements.

She swallowed, her eyes pleading with Harry not to do it. It wasn’t that bad. She could take it. The pain she was feeling now was hardly anything in comparison to what he could do. This was nothing.

“One more time, Crowe... Let go. Of her,” Harry’s voice was even. Measured. It had the tone of I’m not asking again.

“She’s mine, Styles. Find someone else to stalk.”

Harry smirked, shook his head, and his eyes flickered to hers for only a second. Then they were back on Kael. “Oh. No. No she’s very much not yours.”

As slow as the seconds had ticked by, they all came rushing back at full speed; maybe time even sped up. Harry delivered a lightning-fast punch to Kael’s nose causing him to gasp and drop her hand as he instinctively reached for his face. With the toe of his boot, Harry tipped his chair before Kael could get his bearings, and he fell flat to his back. The chair broke into pieces with his weight. He gasped, trying to right himself and protect his nose from bleeding everywhere. Harry reached down before Kael could get a grip. He yanked him up by the collar and front of his shirt. A stupid, ugly orange and blue sweatshirt that Harry was delighted to wrinkle hard in his hands. Before Kael was barely on his feet, Harry hauled him backward. Shoved him hard into the bar so the edge dug into his spine, no doubt. Without pause, Harry delivered a solid punch to his cheek, a heel stomp to his foot, and knee to his stomach.

Kael bent forward, gasping for air and Harry’s breathing was as even as if he was sleeping.

Her hand went to her mouth and the other to her stomach as she tried to hold herself together. Everyone looked in pure shock. Surely someone was supposed to try and stop Harry. Even if he was a hockey player for the town that everyone loved. But given he incapacitated Kael in a matter of thirty seconds it wasn’t like anyone wanted to try and stop him. Even Louis was speechless and looked in horror. “Are y’gonna touch her again?” He didn’t say anything, which was the wrong answer as Harry twisted him in an instant, pressing his face down into the bar, pulling his arm back behind his body. “I said, are y’gonna touch her again?”

“No,” he rasped.

“M’letting y’keep your hand. Don’t make me regret it,” he snapped and shoved him a final time into the bar. He dropped a few hundreds on the bar for the damage and his drink. “Louis, keep the change,” he muttered over his shoulder without sparing another glance at Kael. “S’time t’go, Bunny,” he murmured lowly for no one else to hear but her. He placed an arm around her waist, and tugged her toward the exit. Every pair of eyes followed them.

“B-but m-my shift—”

Without missing a beat, he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and stuffed it in the front pocket of her apron. “Let’s go,” he repeated and ushered her outside.

Harry opened his passenger door and gestured for her to get in.

She looked nervous, which made Harry uneasy. This strong, brave woman who bantered with unruly hockey players and dealt with fans and drunk patrons looked a bit lost. “What about my car— I mean... your other—”

“Get in the car, Rookie,” he ordered.

She followed his direction. Harry waited until she was safely buckled inside before closing her in. He locked the door for the short walk around his car, only unlocking it so he could slip inside. Once seated and buckled, he turned the car on and immediately exited the parking lot. After driving in silence for several moments Harry dropped his hand on her thigh like it was an instinct.

He didn’t ask if she was okay. Which was kind of him, because how could she be? Her heart was thudding in her chest, her wrist hurt, and her brain was a mess. Harry’s hand on her leg should have made her uncomfortable given he didn’t ask. But it was almost too comforting, and she dreaded the idea that he would have to let go of her eventually.

“Don’t y’dare cry over him, bunny,” his voice was tight.

She sniffled, not realizing she was, in fact, crying. She swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Sorry,” she whispered looking toward the window.

Harry shook his head and sighed. His hand squeezed her leg while he pressed his head back into the seat hard—if the head rest wasn’t there and he didn’t have to watch the road, she was certain his eyes would be facing the ceiling of his car, searching for strength somewhere above him. His jawline seemed sharper than ever as he clenched his teeth. “Y’don’t have t’apologize.”

“Thank you,” she croaked quietly. “For doing that, I...” she swallowed hard. “I don’t really know what I would have done,” she admitted. The scenario didn’t seem to play out in full if Harry wasn’t there. Yeah, Louis would have helped, but this was different. Harry didn’t say anything. She pulled his wallet out of her apron and placed it in one of the cup holders between them. “I don’t want—”

“It’s yours.”

“Harry, it’s not that—”

“Bunny, I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you all afternoon. Since I met you, really. I can’t stop. I used t’think ‘bout nothing but hockey. But s’like you’re the only thing on m’mind now. M’happy when I see you around the rink taking pictures. M’happy when y’try t’skate on m’pond. I love our lessons, and I want t’have y’in my house all the time. M’happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve been in years, and I didn’t even know I wasn’t completely happy. I can’t have one-night stands anymore. I tried, I did. You’re a long shot. I know that. Someone who deserves a guy so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player as evident by the piece of shit that hurt you in so many ways,” His voice is quiet. “S’not a secret I like you. A lot. If we can only be friends and roommates—because m’sure as hell not bringing y’back to that sorry excuse of an apartment—then s'what I’ll do.”

There was only a brief beat of silence while she contemplated all he said. “I worked really hard on my apartment,” she whispered.

This seemed to soften him a little. He sighed. “It’s adorable, Bunny. It is. But m’constantly worried you’re going t’be kidnapped, robbed, or worse. You can move in this week,” he insisted. “I have the day off after tomorrow and I was going t’spend it at the gym t’lift with the guys so we can pack and move your shit all the same instead.”

“Harry, I don’t think that will work... I have to pay out the rest of my lease if I move out early.”

“That’s bullshit,” he scoffed. She didn’t say anything. Because she kind of agreed that it was bullshit. But she couldn’t move in with Harry. Not when he just admitted he liked her the way she did. It set her heart into a dramatic flutter. Being legally bound would hopefully be enough of a reason for Harry to agree to let her stay until her lease ran out. Then she could figure out her next steps. “Fine,” he decided after a moment. “The black debit card in m’wallet will take care of it.”

She snorted unable to hide her shock. “Harry, you can’t—”

“M’done arguing with you ‘bout this, Bunny.” She frowned and looked at her hand, turning her wrist and wincing ever so slightly. “Is your wrist okay?” He asked.

She shrugged and answered instinctively. “It hurts; but I’ve had worse,” she gasped at her own mistake almost instantly. “Oh fuck, I mean—” she stopped speaking. It didn’t matter. It was too late. Harry saw through it and understood exactly what she meant. He clenched the steering wheel tighter and he swallowed. The bob in his throat looked like he was drinking a glass of nails.

“Did he ever hurt you like this before?” Harry’s voice was an octave lower than she ever heard it. His eyes narrowed as he stared forward.

She didn’t want to make matters any worse, so she didn’t speak. Didn’t move. For several seconds, the car seemed so silent it was as if the tires weren’t even on the ground anymore or if she was breathing.

“Harry,” she whispered eventually.

Harry took a deep breath not liking the tone of her voice and pulled off to the side of the road.

“What are we— Harry!”

Before she could understand what was happening, Harry was outside and opening his trunk and the car doors locked her inside. Instantly, he pulled out one of the back-up sticks he had in case his two in the locker room broke in the middle of a game (or if he wanted to practice while he was home on the pond out back). He slammed it hard on the pavement multiple times grunting as he did until the stick snapped. Then he grabbed a second and repeated this process again, swearing and cursing like he was imagining Kael was under the stick.

Once satisfied with his destruction, he collected the broken pieces and dropped them in the back before sitting in the driver’s seat again, his breathing only slightly elevated.

She stared at him wildly. Her eyes were wide and beautiful. “If he touches you again, m’killing him,” he said simply. It was a promise. His breath was heavy from the exertion.

She nodded; Harry put the car in drive and continued back toward his place. His hand went right back on her thigh, which she still found comforting and warm, even though she had only had the luxury of his hand on her for no more than a few minutes. “Okay,” she whispered hoping there wouldn’t be an again to speak of.

Harry let the silence linger again. “My apartment is the other way,” she reminded him.

He rolled his eyes. “I just told you, Rookie, y’not living there anymore.”

“Oh my God, Harry. You can’t be serious.”

He snorted. “No. I am. As a heart attack.”

“Harry I can’t move in—”

“Of course, y’can. I have like five bedrooms. Pick one. Pick three for all I care.”

She swallowed. “What if I pick your bedroom?” She was attempting to lighten the mood, maybe. Harry wasn’t sure. Or maybe she was trying (and failing) to be annoying. But Harry was never annoyed by her. He was amused at worst. She was adorable. Every little thing she did was adorable.

“Then it’s yours,” he shrugged. He was hardly home during the season anyway. With his niece, Mum, and Gem out of town, he wasn’t home much in the off-season either. He could easily move into another room if she wanted his. In fact, he probably would give her his room. It wasn’t the only one with a bathroom, but it had a nice tub that he knew was being wasted without proper use and it felt like she deserved a relaxing night to soak in the tub until she got pruney and everything else that stressed her in her life disappeared.

“I thought you didn’t bring women home to stay,” she reminded him.

“Never had one that I wanted t’bring home,” he shrugged.

She pressed her head to the window. He was quick. Didn’t miss a beat. “I’ll stay tonight, but I’m not moving in. My uncle is going to kill you.”

He shrugged. “S’a long line of Glacier Wolves who’ll want t’kill me before him.” She giggled softly under her breath. Harry glanced at her peripherally and smirked at the little smile that graced her lips. “M’niece is over a lot in the off season,” he told her. “Gem and Mum come by too. So s’had women there before.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Then, yeah. Never had a woman I wanted to bring home,” he repeated. Harry parked in his driveway, turned to her, his hand still on her thigh and honestly, she never wanted it to move.

“Are we still friends?” She blurted. He just admitted he liked her. It was no secret she liked him too. It could make things very awkward going forward so she wouldn’t blame him if he really didn’t want to be friends any longer.

“What a weird fucking question, Rookie,” he shook his head.

“Can you just tell me?”

“Yes, we’re still fucking friends. Despite the fact I would love t’be more.”

She closed her eyes. “He really fucked me up, Harry,” she whispered. “He... he wanted some trophy girlfriend that doted on him and worshipped him for being a good hockey player. He didn’t want me to be my own person. He didn’t want me to have my own hobbies or interests. Like I was nothing, a nobody—”

“Rookie,” he whispered.

“—and I just let him treat me that way. Because it was easier than confronting it—”

“Rookie.”

“—So I don’t want to keep falling for you because you... you’re so talented and you will overshadow me and you should. But it’s so fucking cold living in the shadow of someone else and I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

He winced. “Bunny,” he wanted her to stop.

“I don’t love that nickname either,” she sighed. “I want to. It’s cute and it’s even cuter when you say it. But the connotation of being a puck bunny is just more of what Kael insinuated and I don’t—”

“I don’t think you are a puck bunny. S’not why I call you that. Y’wrinkle your nose like a bunny when y’concentrate. S’the first thing I noticed when I met y’taking pictures rink-side. And you’re always going and going like the little Energizer bunny. But mostly, s’because you’re so fucking cute like a bunny. S’honestly nearly nauseating sometimes.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She swallowed trying to keep all the feelings of falling for another hockey player at bay. “So, I make you sick?”

He smiled. “Excessively.”

“And you want me anyway?”

“Excessively,” he whispered cupping her face. She leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, and sank into the way his hand caressed her cheek for a moment.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and looked at him shyly. “You probably know that he cheated on me,” she reminded him. “And the worst of it, I don’t know if it was the first time, and I don’t want to know. Because I already felt stupid for letting him belittle me and letting me forget parts of myself.”

Harry tilted his head back fully staring at the ceiling for a moment. “Yeah...” And now Harry knew this wasn’t the first time he had hurt her either. Whether it was intentional or not.

“And...” she swallowed. “I don’t think you’re like him... if you take anything away from this conversation, please know that I think you’re nothing like him. You’re up front about most of everything. He kept things from me. But... you’re you and you could have any woman you want in any city you want. I don’t fault you for that—I really hope you know that... but I don’t want to be a number anymore, Harry. I don’t want to feel like an idiot, and I don’t think you would intentionally make me feel like an idiot but—”

“Bunny,” he interrupted, turning back to gaze into her eyes so intensely it felt like everything around them disappeared except for the space between them. The seriousness in his green eyes made her stomach flip. They seemed darker. Like the color was changing to a darker shade to explain how serious he was and how he meant every word that spilled from his mouth. “I think you’re brilliant,” he whispered. “In every facet of your life. I’ve thought about nothing but hockey m’whole life. It has been eat, sleep, and breathe ice, pucks, and sticks. The second I met you, every thought has been ‘bout you,” he reminded her. “If I never played another game of hockey, I really think I would be okay s’long as y’were around.”

Her heart felt like it was broken and whole all at the same time. It was too sweet. She bit the inside of her lip. “Well, I don’t want that,” she whispered. “You’re quite good,” she reminded him.

He chuckled. “The point remains, Rookie... I want you t’have everything y’could possibly want. I want t’do anything I can t’help y’achieve anything y’want t’do.”

She looked at her lap. “I can’t believe you went to get a drink.”

“I really didn’t think y’would be there... was hoping I’d run into Louis and maybe he would know if y’were okay. Y’never answered my texts. Didn’t tell me y’made it home.” he frowned. “Why did y’lie t’me, Bunny?”

She took a deep breath. “The whole team has been so nice to me,” she whispered. “I’m not really used to that...” she trailed off. “Callie got so many penalties, you had to interrupt your post-game cool down to walk me to your car, everyone wants to take shifts to watch me... you have to drive me home, give me one of your car... I’ve seriously disrupted your lives... and it was all just too much today. I don’t want to bother you guys. You didn’t sign up to have a kid or a pet you need to watch. Uncle Charlie didn’t have to give me a job with a hockey team. I feel like I didn’t earn anything. It’s so sweet that all of you care, but it’s weird for me...”

God, she was cute. Even sad she was cute. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Y’haven’t disrupted our lives,” he promised. “We’d do this for anyone.”

“That’s comforting I suppose.”

“C’mon, s’late... we have a game tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Course, Rookie,” he squeezed her leg one more time and then got out of the car. (As she predicted, she hated the feeling of Harry’s hand anywhere else but her thigh.)

Entering his house, Harry kicked off his shoes and headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She texted her group chat with Michael and Marc as she flopped onto the couch until she got more direction from Harry.

I’m at someone’s house for the night so don’t worry about me.

Michael reacted to her message with a thumbs up.

It better be a HOT hockey player.

Michael reacted to Marc’s message with a thumbs down.

Good night, Marc!

I want every INCH of detail

That earned a vomiting emoji from Michael. I do NOT want any details.

GOOD NIGHT MARC

Harry hated that he had a big house. If they were at her apartment, they could have been squished in her bed right then. She wouldn’t be down the hall and half of Harry’s mattress wouldn’t have felt so cold. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Fortunately, his phone vibrated almost immediately. Like she somehow knew he was awake.

Are you awake?

M-hmm

Can we get breakfast, please?

Harry would throw himself down a set of stairs for her if she asked. “You could jus’ come in here t’ask,” he called.

“I’m creating boundaries!” She answered from a guest room. “Besides this bed is comfy and I don’t want to get up,” she giggled.

“Well, I don’t want boundaries,” he grumbled to himself. He wondered if she slept without pants on. Not that it mattered. He was turned on by the thought of her naked in his bed or if she was in a full snow suit.

“What did you say?” She called.

“Nothing,” he grumbled and pressed the palm of his hand over the front of his shorts willing the blood to rush anywhere but his dick at the thought of her in a goddamn snow suit. “I just have t’shower,” he mumbled.

“Okay, I’ll be here,” she sighed, and Harry could picture her snuggling herself further into the mattress. Maybe it was for the best she was in another room. If she was there looking all cute and cuddly on his bed, he would have to quit hockey. He would probably spend the rest of his life worshipping her on his mattress in every possible way.

Plus, his dick would never be anything but hard.

“Jesus, fuck,” he sighed to himself under the spray of the warm shower. He tried to think about anything but her pretty self in the other room. In his house. In his bed. In his clothes. She was probably changing into her uniform from the night before, so at least he wouldn’t see her in the shirt and shorts he gave her to wear for bed.

He shook his head and focused on shower and not what it would feel like to press her against the tile or—

“Fuuuuck,” he touched his forehead against the tile. Hockey. Defense. Goals. Niall. That’s good. Niall, gross. Callie—FUCK Callie. Asher owes me ten dollars for betting Lang wouldn’t say “good effort” in their pool game the other day.

His shower took twice as long to shower because he had to actively think about something other than his pretty friend. Once he was out, he slipped into a pair of sweats and one of his long sleeve practice shirts. As he put on his deodorant, he realized it took him an embarrassing amount of time to realize what she was doing as he got dressed. “Rookie, you are not,” he called as he hurried down the hall.

“Not what?” She asked innocently.

“Doing my dish—Rookie, what the hell!”

“They were just there! And I was bored, Harry. Plus, you didn’t say I couldn’t!”

“I told you last time.”

“Well yeah, but that was last time.”

“Please stop,” he begged and rubbed a hand over his face. “We’re supposed t’be going t’breakfast.”

“Well, I figured while you took two years to get ready,” it couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes max but maybe his effort to not think about her in his shower took longer than he thought, “I would make myself useful,” she shrugged and set the final dish on the drying rack beside his sink. She turned the water off and ran the dishtowel over the counter and edge surrounding the sink. She turned, leaning against the counter. Her black and silver uniform top for The Locker Room was on her again. Her leggings from the night before clung to her legs like a second skin.

He wondered how she could look so cute after working a hectic, busy shift, then slept all night and it barely looked like she had a hair out of place. “What?” She asked looking down at her shirt. “Do I have something on this? We’ll have to stop at my apartment first if I do. I’m not going out with you to breakfast when you look hot and I look like trash,” she frowned.

He snorted. “Y’don’t look like trash, Rookie.”

“Well, do I smell or something?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You’re beautiful. Stunning really,” he shrugged one shoulder and reached out to touch her face. He skimmed his thumb along her cheek wishing he could lean in and kiss her until they were both breathless. He smiled softly enjoying the way her cheek warmed under his touch. For someone so snarky, she was awfully shy. “Let’s go,” he tilted his head toward the main hallway. He made his way before she could read into it as he was sure she was wont to do.

Harry opened her passenger door and smiled wickedly at her as she got in. “What?” She asked, her eyebrows pinching together.

“You think I’m hot,” he sang.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Harry chuckled, closing her inside.

Kael didn’t play because he was injured. The report sustained it happened at practice the day before but everyone on The Chargers bench knew. Kael kept his gear on but moved to the end of the bench for the starters and lines of his teammates that would be playing. He hardly cheered, hardly moved.

The rest of The Wolves sent death glares to everyone on the team. Harry was checked into the boards more times than he could count. But every time he caught sight of the pretty photographer twirling her wrist in between photos, he felt grateful for each hit. She continued to take pictures, placing her camera into the cutouts of the glass around the ice.

Kael hid from pictures from his own media specialist, the news outlets, and even the fans during the game and in between periods.

“Coward,” Asher growled as they left the ice and headed to the locker room at the end of the game. The group that typically resided in the back of The Locker Room was livid when they found out from Harry that Kael hurt her. They too must have seen the way she twisted her wrist around between pictures. Harry wondered if she noticed she was doing it. It ate at him that it wasn’t the first time that piece of garbage hurt her. There was nothing Harry could do—well, maybe if he ever did figure out time travel, he could. But for now, he could take the hits from Kael’s stupid team and make sure the pretty photographer was okay.

Besides.

He may have had a tough game physically, but Harry was truly on cloud nine.

“Sweetheart, you good?” Lang called from the front of the line heading back toward the locker room.

“I’m good!” She answered.

Harry didn’t even care that Niall was walking alongside her and not him. Or that Callie gave her arm a squeeze when he walked by. It didn’t bother him that Asher was as irate as him either.

Because the word Styles was on her body. It was purposeful. If Kael paid attention, he would see it. He would know she supported Harry, regardless of how outlandish it was (or wasn’t) that he defended her last night. Harry knew the second he saw it, that Kael was going to look at the pretty girl with his number on her and start fuming in his seat. Maybe that’s why his team aimed for him so vehemently throughout the game as well.

Whatever, Harry could take it.

It was well worth it to see his name on her jersey.

Harry realized it was his time to shine after they went out for breakfast. He drove her to get her car at Louis’. He followed her home to the shady apartment building. He wasn’t in the mindset to leave her for any bit of time given the night before. Maybe not for a good few days either if he had it his way. They had away games coming up so they would be all but trapped together on a plane, a bus, and in a hotel so that was in his favor.

He really hoped she would be in a nearby room at the hotel. Or better yet, there wouldn’t be enough rooms, and he could share his with her.

“Why’d you choose eleven?” She asked when she came out of her room after getting ready. She was fluffing her pretty hair and tugging at the hem of the jersey that she had put on. It took a moment to register in Harry’s mind that she was talking to him and was anticipating a response. In her mind, it was no big deal that she was nonchalantly wearing his name and number. That she was by far the prettiest thing he had ever seen. The sweetest person he knew.

He swore his heart skipped a beat as his vision refocused on the lovely girl wearing his name on her back.

He cleared his throat. “S’the first number I ever got,” he shrugged. “But now I say m’so good, m’number twice.”

She grinned and laughed quietly under her breath as she put earrings on with The Chargers logo. “I like that. You are very good. I’ve seen a lot of hockey myself. I like to think I’m a good judge of ability.”

When Harry was younger, he thought if he could have a superpower, he would want to time travel. As he got older it changed a bit, he wanted super strength so he could be the strongest hockey player. Read minds so he could predict the movements of opponents on the ice. Since he met her, he returned to the tried and true: if he could time travel, he could figure out twenty seconds after he kissed her if she hated him or kiss him back, he would have done it right then.

He smirked. “So m’the lucky one today?” He asked pulling on the sleeve.

“I don’t know, does wearing someone’s jerseys constitute as lucky for the day?”

He nodded. “Yeah, very much so, Rookie.”

“Then sure; you’re very lucky, Harry,” she rolled her eyes.

Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his smile from splitting his face in half. He turned away slightly and caught sight of a string of pictures on her little kitchen bar. “What’s all this?” He asked, picking up a photo and inspecting it. It was one of the ones she took while Harry was practicing before the rest of the team showed up. Another photo she got laying down on the ice of Callie’s skates when Harry wanted to rip his teammate’s arm off for holding her so close that day. One from Niall’s empty net. Another of Asher’s locker, his jersey on display. A close up of the C on Lang’s jersey. One of just the empty rink—no fans, no players, nothing.

“Oh... I don’t know,” she looked away shyly piling them together. “I was playing with the idea of making a series of photos,” she flipped one over to indicate the back showed the number three in the line. “You guys are attractive and stuff, but I thought there was a lot of beauty in the little things behind the bench, you know? It’s not just fights and points. The rink is so pretty,” she shrugged.

Harry grabbed her hand before she could stack any more of them away. He looked at each of the pictures painstakingly selected from the hundreds of photos she took each day. The way the light shone off a helmet, the way a shadow fell on the bench. “They’re beautiful, Bunny. Why don’t y’do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make it a series?”

She shook her head. “No... I don’t know. Not many people care about sports photography,” she shrugged. “Not like this anyway.”

“Rookie, I think every team owner and manager in the league would pay t’have this set in their arena.”

“No way, there’s not a single headshot of a star player. In sports, the only thing that really sells by far is you guys and your pretty faces,” she patted his cheek. “It’s tragic, I have some incredible photos of a few baseball diamonds at sunset. But there’s no fans and no players so it just wouldn’t sell well.”

“Show me,” he urged.

She sighed and put her jacket over “We’re going to be late, Harry. Uncle Charlie is already going to be annoyed with me that I’m wearing your jersey. And so will the rest of the team.”

“They all had their turn, Rookie, y’made me wait forever,” he grumbled. They didn’t have to be annoyed. They didn’t have a crush on her the way Harry did. They all knew that. His teammates were his family, but they made him cranky no less; teasing him about how smitten he was about their photographer.

She smiled sadly. “Harry,” she sighed. “I’ll show you another time.”

“Promise?” He pleaded.

“Promise?” She repeated in disbelief. Harry was nearly thirty years old and sounded like he was in kindergarten.

“Promise you’ll show me,” he said pointedly.

“Alright, yeah," She shook her head, sighed with a smile still on her lips. "I promise.”

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sincerelybubbles · 2 days ago

Text

"I love you" warnings: none, fluff, written forever ago and reread and edited to shreds ||||

The first time Spencer says, "I love you," it’s an accident.

It happens in your kitchen again, but this time it's quiet. The smell of coffee lingers in the air, and the soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound between you. You're leaning against the counter, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes, while he stands a few feet away, watching you with that careful gaze of his, the one that makes you feel like he's analyzing you but not in a clinical way. No, Spencer looks at you like he’s memorizing every tiny detail, tucking it away in some secret place in his mind where he keeps things that matter most.

You’re mid-yawn when he says it, so casual you almost miss it.

"I love you," he murmurs as he passes you a cup of coffee, like it's just something that slips out when he isn’t thinking.

Your fingers nearly fumble around the handle, and your whole body goes still. Your stomach twists in on itself, because you've thought about this moment a thousand times. How it would feel to hear it, how it would sound in his voice. You just didn't expect it like this—so offhanded, so natural, so completely without fanfare.

Spencer doesn't realize what he’s done at first. He takes a sip of his own coffee, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and in an instant, you see it—the delayed reaction, the widening of his eyes, the way his throat bobs as he swallows too hard.

"Oh," he says, like he's just processed his own words, and the air in the room shifts. "I—" He swallows again. "That wasn't—I mean, it was, but—"

You bite your lip, unsure if you should help him out of his flustered state or let him dig his own grave for another second.

"You mean it?" you ask, voice small. You hate how insecure you sound, but it’s there, that creeping uncertainty that whispers: maybe he didn’t mean to say it at all.

Spencer's hands tighten around his mug. "Yes," he says, barely above a whisper. "I mean it. But I didn’t want to say it like that. I wanted it to be special."

Warmth unfurls in your chest, battling the self-doubt that always seems to lurk just beneath the surface. You set your mug down before you drop it and step closer, reaching up to touch his cheek. His skin is warm under your fingers, and you feel him exhale, long and slow, like he’s been holding his breath.

"It is special," you tell him. "Because it's you."

Spencer lets out a soft laugh, a little self-deprecating, shaking his head. "You deserve something more than an absentminded confession over coffee."

"Stop that," you scold gently. "You always act like you have to prove something to me. You don’t. Just being with you is enough. You are enough."

His eyes flicker with something deep—something you almost can’t bear to look at because it’s so raw. He nods, absorbing your words like he’s trying to believe them, and then, after a beat, he tilts his head.

"Do you…?" He trails off, hesitant, the Spencer who still second-guesses when it comes to emotional things.

You take a breath, feeling your pulse in your throat. The truth is, you've known for a while. Maybe since the moment he showed up at your work with lunch, or when he called just to make sure he hadn’t done something to mess things up. Maybe it was the first time he kissed you, or maybe it was even before that, in the little moments where he let himself be fully himself with you.

"I love you," you say, because it’s true, and because he deserves to hear it.

Spencer blinks at you like he can’t quite believe it, and then, before you can say anything else, he kisses you. It's not hurried or desperate. It’s slow and reverent, like he’s savoring the words on your lips. His hands come up to frame your face, gentle but firm, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. "I’ve never had this before," he admits, so quiet you almost don’t hear it. "I don’t always know what I’m doing."

You smile, brushing your thumb over his cheek. "Neither do I. We’ll figure it out together."

He nods, closing his eyes for a moment, just breathing you in. And then he exhales a soft, "Okay."

It’s not a grand declaration, not fireworks or an earth-shattering moment. But it’s real. It’s steady. It’s love, spoken in small moments, in morning coffee, in nervous laughter, in the spaces between words. || you can consider this a continuation of "it's a date" if you squint.

#criminal minds #cm #bubbs.writes #x reader #spencer reid #fluff #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #cm x reader #Spencer reid #reid criminal minds #first I love you #I love you #I miss him #i need him

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aurorasgate · 2 days ago

Text

homecoming tears caleb x reader

my little take on calebs return because i'm too much of a baby to not have cried a lot more over it. hurt/comfort, mentions of grief, no pronouns used for reader

there’s a ringing in your ears, loud and as unsteady as the heart beating inside your chest like a drum. both of which are somewhere between too uncomfortable to be a dream and the start of a nightmare in the making. if you could think straight, calm down only a little bit, you’d have the thought to pinch yourself to wake you or tell you how real this all is. that it isn’t just your mind playing tricks on you and caleb really is right in front of you, alive and well and not going to disappear when - if - you wake up.

it continues as you go through the motions of gathering your things from the fleets barracks and follow him to his car where he helps you inside with a kind and familiar smile, one you know is meant to help calm you, until the sound makes your head ache and you reach out for calebs hand on the center console that separates you, hoping that feeling him will help ground you. it does and doesn’t. because yes, you know the warmth seeping into your palm from his soft skin, it’s your caleb who looks back at you with violet eyes that were engraved into your very soul many years ago, but for so long you’ve known you would never seen them again, never feel him again, and find it hard to quell the mix of shock that those things aren’t true any longer and the grief of losing him that has held you tightly in it’s claws since the explosion.

his mouth moves but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. it’s not until you feel his hand envelop yours and at the sound of your name from his lips that the ringing finally starts to lessen and his voice breaks through. “just hold on a little longer okay? we’re almost home.”

home. you haven’t had a home you two shared together in so long. no place to return to where there would be reminders he had been there too, that he would be coming back. you’d thought you never would again.

your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth and makes it hard to reply so you don’t say a word and instead take the sliver of reprieve he had given you from your head and heart ache to try to make sense of any of this, to tell yourself this isn’t a dream or a mirage and that from now on, each day you wake up, he’ll still be here with you.

caleb survived. this whole time he’s been alive while you mourned at his grave to a point where you thought the pain of it might swallow you whole and that regret had become a permanent part of you knowing you would never get the chance to tell him how you really feel for him, to do all the things you hadn’t let yourself before. there’s so many questions sitting at the back of your throat and the bottom of your heart, so many things you don’t know how to begin to process; a clash of undeniable happiness, the healing of wounds and the way they start to bleed again until the point of pain and confusion.

your motions are little more than robotic as you get out of the car and walk behind him into the place he had called home but couldn’t be more unfamiliar to you. when you see how dark it is, barren of things you’d have thought he’d still own, you wonder how unfamiliar it might be to him too.

standing only a few feet from the door that had closed automatically behind you, you hold your bag of things close to your chest while caleb turns on the lights. like they are the only things grounding you and keeping you from crumbling into a million tiny pieces but you don’t know how long they’ll be able to keep you together.

“go ahead and pick a room pipsqueak,” he says, setting his keys down on the kitchen counter that looks like maybe it’s never been used before but when he notices you haven’t moved from the front entryway, his tone quickly changes. “hey,” soft and comforting but it does nothing to help you right now. “what's wrong?”

clutching your bag tighter till the lumps and straps of it could imprint themselves on your skin through your clothes, you meet his worried gaze and swallow the heaviness weighing down your words. “caleb.. i..” your voice is shaky at best, a perfect symbol for the feelings swirling inside you like a tempest. “i just can’t believe you're here.. alive.”

he closes the distance between you in a few long strides and reaches out for you, cupping your cheek in his palm. he’s warm, so warm, his hand calloused and large like you had remembered it. like you worried you might forget one day when so much time had passed without him. “i’m here,” a promise said with so much certainty. “and i’m not going anywhere ever again.”

tears prick at the corners of your eyes, a start of the release of the tremendous storm from within you finally manifesting into something tangible, something that you would have even less control over now that it’s pouring out of you in unruly waves and a downpour that first looks like a like drizzle. a few tears quickly turn into dozens more that caleb wouldn’t be able to catch or stop. not now. it’s consuming you, helping you to speak but with no chance to think or process your words before they’re tumbling out of your mouth and your body quickly follows suit.

“why caleb - why didn’t you come find me sooner?” dropping your bag, it lands on the tips of your toes the same moment your balled up fist meets calebs chest. you’re a sobbing mess in the matter of moments, looking at him through teary vision and speaking with so much pain behind your words you feel the ache of them reverberate back into your chest, ready to take you under and drown you in them. “would i have ever known if i haven’t snuck into the fleet? or would you have just left me to mourn over you forever while you got to play colonel?!”

he looks as afflicted as you feel but still in control of his emotions, more than you could possibly try to muster right now. “it’s more complicated than that. i had to join the fleet and i couldn’t contact you - couldn’t bear to put you through that pain again.”

“you don’t know anything about my pain caleb!” you spit the words like venom and you can see in his expression, in the way his hand on your face twitches, how much they affect him. “you have no idea how many times i wished for this all to be a bad dream.. to wake up and have you still be with me but instead woke up to the agony of you very much being dead. you have no idea how many times i went to your grave and could barely stand to leave because it’s as close to you as i thought i was ever going to be!” you try to push away from him, using your hand on his chest to shove him away and your other to remove his touch from your face. he doesn’t budge so easily, instead wrapping an arm around your waist to bring you closer and continuing to wipe your tears. “let me go!”

“no,” he replies, so full of understanding and care and you don’t know if it’s making it better or worse. he couldn’t possibly let you go, doesn’t think it’s within his strength to do so. it never has been before. his chest has always hurt when you’d cry and being the one to bring you to tears is what he loathes the most but it would never stop him from trying to comfort you or wiping away your tears. “not right now. not when you need me.”

“ha!” it's a pitiful and angry sound, a perfect mirror to how you feel about yourself right now. “where were you all these months i needed you then?! when i was crying just like this because i thought i’d never get to see you again?” you try again to get away from him, you can’t breathe or think straight, can’t do anything but crumble in the face of this storm but caleb doesn’t let you go far. doesn’t let you drown. “how can you so easily come back and act like i haven’t spent every moment in pain over the fact i thought you were gone forever?!” both of your hands are on his chest now. he doesn’t flinch at the force of them or try to remove them and before you know it, through your sobbing and weakening body, they’re clinging to him like a lifeline. you bury your face into his chest, his shirt quickly becoming soaked in your tears and snot, wrinkling under your tight hold.

caleb says your name softly, his hand cradling the back of your skull and keeping you pressed against him. “it was painful for me to be away from you too.” more than he could handle, worse than what he’d experienced before in any physical sense.

“it’s not the same..” you hide behind the pillar of strength he’s offering you, let the storm rage and crash against him while tucked into the safe place of his arms as exhaustion starts to replace every other thing you had been feeling up until this point with the help of his embrace around you and the familiar scent of him invading your senses. this is real. he’s really here and he promised he wouldn’t leave you again.. “at least you knew i was alive - knew you could see me again if you really wanted..”

he holds you tighter then, his lips pressing in the crown of your head. he knows it's not the same but he also thought he was sparring you more pain by staying away, no matter how difficult that was for him. “you have no idea how badly i wanted to see you.” his hold is almost too tight now but you welcome it, want more of it. “it was agony to be away from you and hide this from you.”

“caleb..” you bury yourself further into him. everything hurts; your body, your heart, your head and somehow he is the soothing balm that makes it all better and the very source of it to begin with. you want to press him more, want to know everything that has happened to him while you’ve been apart but as you weep like a child in his arms, the words are lost and all you can do is hold on to him like your life depends on it. like he might disappear again if you were to let go.

you don’t know how much time passes before you’re being swept up off your feet, cradled against his chest and safely in his arms with your own so quickly and tightly wrapping around his neck to keep him as close to you as possible. he doesn’t tease or complain about the mess you’ve made of his outfit or your tears that soak into the skin of his neck. caleb doesn’t say anything as he walks to the couch and settles down onto it, removing his arm from under your legs to reach for a blanket that he drapes over you before adjusting you on his lap and holding you within his complete embrace again.

your sobbing slowly turns to small hiccups and scattered tears rather than a downfall of them but you don’t let him go. you can’t let him go and wonder if perhaps he is feeling the same when his hold on you doesn’t waver for a moment and he doesn’t try to move from underneath you.

“what if..” your voice is so weak, quiet enough you wonder if he’ll hear you at all and not knowing if you ever want him to. “what if tomorrow comes and you’re not here? what if i’m just dreaming.. what if you die again..” how will i survive losing you twice..

his arms around you tighten, as if he’s trying to make you one with him, bury you in the safety and truth of his very chest, where his heart beats for you and could never leave you again. not before he’d bring down the whole planet and whisk you away to a new one where it could only be the two of you. “i’m not going anywhere ever again. nothing will keep me from you or tear us apart,” caleb answers quietly, as if not anything or anyone else in this world was meant to hear his words but you. “i will be here tomorrow and everyday after. i promise.”

“c-can we stay like this for now? please..”

a soothing hand smooths over your hair and like it was even possible, presses you closer to him. “we can stay here, like this, for as long as you need and when tomorrow comes, i’ll make you breakfast and hold you again. until you know it’s not a dream and can believe that i’m not going to leave you ever again.”

#caleb #caleb x reader #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #love & deepsace x reader #lads caleb #lads x reader #l&ds #l&ds x reader #l&ds caleb

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wendichester · 3 days ago

Text

⊹౨ৎ ₊˚ i'm home,

summary. dean comes home after weeks away.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 1216

notes. slight smutty ; mdni!

The front door swings open with a heavy thud. The sound is sharp enough to make your breath hitch, but you know it’s him—there’s no hesitation, no fumbling with the lock. Just the unmistakable weight of Dean stepping into the house.

Your heart jumps. You weren’t expecting him. You never do. His job—whatever the hell he does in that mysterious, classified “military” role he claims—keeps him away for days, sometimes weeks. He doesn’t have a schedule, doesn’t give you warning. He just shows up, worn and bruised, carrying the weight of something you don’t fully understand.

And yet, the second you hear his duffel bag drop, you’re moving.

You rush toward the door, socked feet slipping slightly on the hardwood, your body already reaching for him before you can think. And then there he is.

A mess.

Blood stains his shirt in dark patches, dirt streaks his jawline, and sweat clings to his skin. He smells like engine grease, like gunpowder, like Dean. His knuckles are raw, split open in places, his lip swollen, a thin cut riding high on his cheekbone.

But he’s here. He’s whole. And the smile he gives you—crooked, exhausted, so full of warmth it makes your chest ache—tells you everything you need to know.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice like gravel, and suddenly you’re breathing again.

“Dean.” His name comes out as an exhale of relief, as you throw your arms around his neck, pressing yourself into him. He grunts at the force of it but doesn’t hesitate to pull you in, wrapping you up tight. His fingers splay across your back, holding you against the solid heat of his body, as if he needs the reassurance just as much as you do.

“Missed you,” you murmur against his neck, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against your lips.

Dean lets out a breath, his grip tightening. “Missed you more.”

You pull back just enough to take him in—his tired green eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the exhaustion he wears like a second skin.

“You look like hell,” you whisper, reaching up to brush your thumb over the cut on his cheek.

Dean huffs a laugh, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. “You should see the other guy.”

Your chest tightens. You don’t know what battles he fights, what enemies he faces out there, but you know one thing—he always comes back. To you.

“You’re here,” you murmur.

“I’m here,” he echoes, voice low and sure.

His eyes flick down to your lips, and that’s all it takes.

His mouth crashes against yours, swallowing the words you might have said. It’s desperate, aching, a kiss that feels like a promise and a prayer all at once. His hands roam over your back, up your sides, gripping, holding. Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly, and he groans into your mouth.

You barely register the way he starts moving, guiding you backward until your back meets the bedroom door. He kicks it open, walking you inside without breaking the kiss, without letting you go.

His hands slip beneath your shirt, palms rough and warm against your skin, tracing the curve of your waist before tugging the fabric up and over your head. He drinks you in like he’s been starved, his eyes dark, pupils blown.

“God, you're so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw, your neck, nipping and sucking in a way that has heat curling low in your belly.

You reach for his shirt, but he beats you to it, yanking it off and tossing it aside. The sight of him—battered, scarred, but so breathtakingly solid—makes your pulse stutter.

“You’re hurt,” you whisper, tracing just under the wound on his upper arm that was poorly patched up. Messy stitches, made by his brother Sam—which you had yet to meet.

Dean catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your fingers. “I’m fine,” he assures you. “Better now.”

He backs you up toward the bed, lips meeting yours again, slower this time, more reverent. His hands work their way down, slipping beneath the waistband of your leggings, pushing them past your hips. They fall to the floor, and then he’s lifting you, laying you down with careful hands.

He follows you down, settling between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the best way. His lips never leave yours, not even when he reaches for your panties, tugging them down and tossing them blindly—where they land somewhere near the dresser, forgotten.

His fingers trace along your thighs, slow and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

“Dean,” you breathe, arching into him.

He groans, pressing his forehead against yours. “You have no idea how much I love hearing you say my name like that.”

He kisses his way down your throat, teeth scraping over your pulse, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands roam your body, memorizing, relearning, making up for every second of lost time.

When his fingers dip between your thighs, you whimper, hips rolling up into his touch.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans, watching the way you fall apart for him. "You always this needy for me?"

You nod, breathless.

His lips twitch, but his eyes are dark, heavy with something raw. He leans in, voice dropping.

"Missed you so much," he murmurs, dragging his mouth down your stomach. "You have no idea."

Then he’s between your thighs, and all you can do is feel.

The heat of his mouth, the slow drag of his tongue, the way he groans like he’s the one being wrecked by it. He holds you down, grips your hips like you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You don’t know how long it lasts. Could be minutes. Could be hours. But by the time he finally drags himself up your body again, you’re panting, dizzy, wrecked.

Dean smirks, kissing you slow, deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Then, just as slowly, he lines himself up and sinks into you.

You both gasp, foreheads pressing together as he stretches you open, fills you in a way that makes you feel whole.

His breath is ragged, his hands trembling where they grip your hips.

"You okay?" he rasps.

You nod, nails raking down his back. "Yeah."

Dean exhales sharply, then moves.

It’s slow, deep, each thrust measured, deliberate, like he’s savoring it, like he wants to remember this. His hands roam your body, his lips press hot kisses against your shoulder, your neck, your jaw.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, voice breaking. "You know that, right?"

Your heart clenches. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

"Always," you whisper against his lips. "I'm all yours."

Dean groans, rolling his hips deeper, dragging another gasp from your lips.

The world melts away.

Hours later, you’re tangled together beneath the sheets, your body still humming, your limbs heavy and satisfied. Dean’s arm is slung over your waist, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns against your hip.

You shift, turning to face him, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “You should sleep.”

He huffs a tired laugh, eyes barely open. “Not yet.”

Your lips curve. “Why not?”

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Because I’m home.”

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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marsdql · 2 days ago

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Keep It Together [Y.JW]

Synopsis: Struggling with your boyfriend’s new choreography, you throw a tantrum in front of his members, only for him to shut it down. His strictness stings, but when he realizes he hurt you, he softens—reminding you that he’s not just your leader but your biggest supporter. | @teddybeartaetae

Stern Boyfriend!Jungwon × Bratty Dancer!Reader | genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Established Relationship | wc: 1.3k

The practice room was filled with the steady rhythm of the bass, the sound reverberating through the floor as the team worked through their latest choreography. Everyone moved fluidly—well, everyone except you.

You weren’t a bad dancer. In fact, you were one of the best among your peers. But for some reason, today just wasn’t your day. The steps weren’t syncing, your turns felt sloppy, and your footwork was just a beat off. No matter how many times you tried, you just couldn’t get it right.

“Okay, let’s run it again!” Jungwon called out, his natural leader mode in full effect.

The members groaned but got into position anyway. You sighed, shaking out your limbs before the music started again. This time, you were determined to nail it.

Except—you didn’t.

Halfway through the sequence, your movements tangled up again, and you tripped over your own feet. The frustration that had been simmering beneath the surface all practice boiled over in an instant.

“Are you serious?!” you yelled, ripping your in-ear out as you stomped away from the group. “This choreography is so stupid! Who even came up with this?!”

A chorus of surprised reactions followed.

“Oop,” Sunoo muttered under his breath.

“Heeseung, get the popcorn,” Jay whispered.

“Someone’s about to throw hands,” Jake chuckled.

Ignoring them, you ran a hand through your hair, pacing as your breaths came in quick, angry bursts. Your chest tightened, frustration crawling up your spine like fire. It wasn’t fair. Why was everyone else getting it so easily while you looked like a fool?

“You’re being dramatic,” Sunghoon said, tilting his head.

That was the last straw.

“Shut up, Sunghoon!” you snapped, throwing a towel in his direction. He dodged it effortlessly, laughing under his breath.

You, on the other hand, were fuming. You wanted to scream, throw something, maybe even flop on the floor just to get your point across. Your fists clenched, body tensed, and you were seconds away from doing something embarrassing—

But then a firm hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Enough.”

Jungwon’s voice was calm, but there was an undeniable edge of authority beneath it.

You froze, breath hitching as he pulled you toward him. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm—unwavering. His dark eyes met yours, sharp with disappointment, and suddenly, all the fight in you wavered.

“Everyone’s watching,” he said quietly, voice low enough that only you could hear.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the room. The others weren’t even trying to be subtle as they watched the scene unfold, some looking amused, others slightly concerned.

“You’re acting like a child,” Jungwon continued, voice unwavering. “This isn’t how you handle frustration.”

Your jaw clenched, lips pressing into a tight pout. You hated being scolded, especially in front of the others. Your first instinct was to argue, to defend yourself, but Jungwon’s firm stare made you hesitate.

“I—I just don’t get it,” you mumbled, voice losing some of its earlier fire. “I’ve been practicing for hours, and I still look stupid.”

Jungwon’s eyes softened slightly, but his voice remained strict. “Then you try again. You don’t throw tantrums and embarrass yourself in front of everyone.”

That stung.

Embarrass yourself? Was that really how he saw it?

You pulled your wrist from his grasp, suddenly feeling small. Your earlier frustration morphed into something heavier, sitting like a rock in your chest. You didn’t even feel angry anymore—just… humiliated.

“Whatever,” you muttered, stepping back. “I’ll just figure it out myself.”

The teasing atmosphere in the room shifted. The others seemed to pick up on your mood change, their smiles faltering. Sunoo looked at you warily, and even Sunghoon—who had been poking fun earlier—straightened up, sensing that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore.

Jungwon exhaled, his posture loosening just slightly. “Y/n—”

But you were already grabbing your water bottle, turning away so they wouldn’t see the sting in your expression.

A few seconds of silence stretched before you heard footsteps approaching.

Then, warm hands settled on your shoulders.

You didn’t have to look up to know it was Jungwon.

His grip was much softer this time, his thumbs brushing against your skin in slow, comforting circles. You stood still, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice no longer stern. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You stayed quiet, staring at the floor.

Jungwon sighed before gently turning you around, his hands sliding down to hold your wrists. His grip, once firm and commanding, was now soft and careful.

“You’re not embarrassing yourself,” he said, his voice lower, meant only for you. “I just don’t want you to beat yourself up like this.”

You swallowed hard, feeling your earlier frustration ebb away, leaving only exhaustion behind.

“You were so mean,” you muttered, pouting.

Jungwon let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “You needed to be stopped before you threw yourself on the floor.”

You huffed, but the warmth in his tone made it hard to stay mad. His thumbs rubbed slow circles against your wrists, grounding you.

“Listen,” he said, voice gentle now. “You’re frustrated because you care. That’s not a bad thing. But throwing a tantrum won’t help you get better.”

You knew he was right, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Still, as you glanced up at him—at the way his usually stern expression had softened just for you—you couldn’t hold onto your pride anymore.

“Will you help me?” you asked quietly.

A small, knowing smile tugged at Jungwon’s lips. “Of course.”

With that, he pulled you into a quick hug, pressing a soft kiss against the top of your head before stepping back.

“Alright, let’s go again,” he called out, his leader voice returning.

The others, who had been trying (and failing) to act like they weren’t listening, quickly got back into position. Sunoo gave you a thumbs-up, while Sunghoon mouthed, “Sorry,” with a sheepish grin.

You rolled your eyes but smiled a little. This time, when you danced, Jungwon stayed close, guiding you through every step.

As the others took a break, Jungwon stayed close, resetting the music just for the two of you. His hands found your waist again, his touch softer than before—careful, almost like he was making up for how harsh he’d been earlier.

“Ready?” he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded, though a part of you was still a little sulky. “I guess.”

Jungwon sighed, then suddenly pulled you in by the wrist, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. The warmth of it lingered, and you barely had time to process it before he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. Jungwon wasn’t the type to apologize unless he really meant it.

“I was too harsh,” he admitted, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I just didn’t want you to get stuck in your head, but I should’ve handled it better.”

Your lips pressed into a small pout. “Yeah, you should’ve.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Are you gonna stay mad at me forever?”

You held out for a few seconds, arms crossed, but when he leaned in and bumped his nose against yours playfully, you couldn’t help but smile a little.

“There it is,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Much better.”

Jake, who had been watching from the side, snickered. “Man, it’s crazy seeing Jungwon be all soft with someone who isn’t Jay.”

“Yeah, I thought he was about to scold y/n into the ground,” Sunoo added.

Jungwon shot them a warning glance. “Do you guys need extra practice too?”

They quickly shut up, but you could still hear them snickering.

Jungwon turned back to you, his fingers intertwining with yours for just a second before he gave your hand a squeeze and let go. “Let’s try again,” he said, his voice warm now, no longer strict. “No pressure this time. Just dance with me.”

And this time, when the music started, you didn’t overthink it.

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dumb-ster-fire · 2 days ago

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Inner Circle Banter x fem! reader - Part 2

Azriel x mate!reader

a/n: I saw how people loved the first one so I made another.Here is more unhinged Y/N 🫶🏻

warnings: NSFW language

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

The Inner Circle was a mess. A hilarious, drunken mess.

Y/N lounged on the couch, her head thrown back in laughter as Cassian dramatically slurred his way through a story that had long since lost any coherent plot. Mor was draped over Amren—who, despite being the smallest among them, was somehow holding her liquor the best—while Rhys was slumped back in his chair, lazily swirling the wine in his glass as if he were still trying to uphold some dignity. Feyre was giggling into her own drink, her cheeks flushed, while Nesta sat beside her, eyes glassy but still managing to look unimpressed.

Azriel? Oh, Azriel was leaning against Y/N, his usually composed self utterly gone as he pressed his face into her shoulder, murmuring something unintelligible. His shadows were sluggish, barely responding to him, as if even they were drunk.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her skin, voice thick with alcohol.

Y/N grinned, poking his cheek. “I know, Az. You told me five times already. And then you tried to fight Cassian because he ‘breathed too close to me.’”

Cassian, still dramatically sprawled over the arm of the couch, scoffed. “I was breathing! What was I supposed to do? Stop??”

Azriel lifted his head slightly, his hazel eyes narrowing. “Maybe.”

Y/N bit her lip to keep from laughing, her fingers brushing through his hair as he huffed and nuzzled closer again, clearly deciding he was too drunk to keep arguing.

Rhys, ever the instigator, lazily gestured between them. “You two are disgustingly cute. It’s offensive.”

“Bold words from a man who practically worships the ground Feyre walks on,” Y/N shot back, smirking.

Feyre laughed, elbowing her mate. “She’s got you there.”

Meanwhile, Mor had somehow convinced Amren to take another shot, which resulted in Amren standing on the table, proclaiming in her small but fierce voice, “I was a GOD before any of you existed!” before promptly sitting back down like nothing happened.

Nesta, watching all of this unfold, slowly took another sip of her drink. “I hate all of you.”

Cassian slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning sloppily. “You love us.”

Y/N, still cuddling a very tipsy Azriel, raised her glass. “To being an absolute disaster!”

The Inner Circle cheered—or, in Azriel’s case, just hummed sleepily against her shoulder—as they all drank, fully embracing the chaos of the night.

Mor, absolutely hammered, slumped against the couch with a lazy smirk as she eyed Y/N and Azriel. “So, Y/N,” she slurred, twirling the last bit of wine in her glass, “is Azriel your type?”

Y/N, equally drunk but ever the menace, grinned wickedly, barely missing a beat. “Ah, yes,” she said dramatically, lifting her hands like she was painting a masterpiece. “Gentle and loving but also will choke and spit on me… chef’s kiss.”

Silence. Then absolute chaos.

Cassian howled with laughter, nearly falling off the couch, pounding his fist against the armrest. Rhysand actually choked on his drink, eyes wide in stunned amusement. Feyre’s face turned a deep shade of red, trying so hard not to spit out her wine. Even Nesta looked momentarily stunned before she smirked behind her glass.

Mor gasped, covering her mouth before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles. “Oh my gods, I love you,” she wheezed, slapping Y/N’s thigh.

Azriel? Poor, poor Azriel.

The male had been lazily leaning against Y/N, all content and warm in his drunken haze—until that. His entire body tensed, and his head snapped toward her, his hazel eyes wide as if she had just announced their sex life to the entire continent.

“Y/N,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, his ears tinged red.

“What?” she giggled, batting her lashes at him. “It’s true.”

Cassian, still cackling, wiped a tear from his eye. “Brother, you are so screwed.”

“Literally,” Mor added between snickers.

Rhys, who had finally recovered, grinned like a cat who had just been given the juiciest piece of gossip. “So, Az, anything you’d like to confirm or deny?”

Azriel glared daggers at him, but before he could even attempt to salvage his dignity, Y/N leaned in, her drunk mischief on full display, whispering against his ear, “Don’t worry, babe, I didn’t tell them about the rope this time.”

Azriel let out a long sigh, leaning fully back against the couch, clearly accepting his fate.

Meanwhile, Mor lifted her glass. “To Azriel being the perfect balance of soft and filthy!”

The Inner Circle cheered, and Y/N—still smug and delightfully tipsy—leaned back against her mate, smirking like the absolute menace she was.

Azriel was suffering.

Not in the way he had suffered on battlefields, or through centuries of pain and shadowy burdens. No, this was an entirely new kind of torture—one that involved his mate being an absolute menace, his so-called family reveling in his humiliation, and him being too drunk to properly shut any of it down.

Y/N, meanwhile, was thriving.

She was still perched in his lap, looking far too pleased with herself, while the Inner Circle continued their drunken revelry. Cassian, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, still wasn’t over it. “Choke and spit on me,” he wheezed, practically collapsing into Nesta, who rolled her eyes but was biting back a smirk. “That was legendary.”

“I mean, it’s good to know he meets expectations,” Mor teased, swirling her drink.

Rhys, ever the opportunist, lounged back with a smirk that screamed trouble. “You know, I always suspected Az had a secret wild side. But this?” He exhaled, shaking his head. “This is delightful confirmation.”

Azriel groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch. He’d faced wars with more dignity than this.

Y/N, full of unholy glee, kissed his cheek again. “You love me,” she sing-songed, absolutely insufferable.

Azriel lifted his head, fixing her with a look that was equal parts fond and exasperated. “…I do.”

Cassian let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh shit, he admitted it. In front of witnesses. It’s over for him.”

Feyre, shaking with silent laughter, raised a brow at Az. “Honestly, I didn’t expect this side of you.”

“I hate this side of me,” Azriel muttered, reaching for his drink as if that would somehow erase the conversation.

Y/N, with the biggest shit-eating grin, leaned in again, whispering just for him, “Liar. You love that I’m saying this in front of them.”

Azriel, deadpan, took a very long sip of his drink.

Mor smirked at Y/N. “So, when are you teaching me how to get a mate to be the perfect mix of sweet and depraved?”

Y/N, without hesitation, threw an arm around Azriel’s shoulders, smirking. “Step one: Find a stoic, broody male with a secret filthy side. Step two: Break him.”

Cassian actually howled at that, nearly falling off the couch. Rhys was howling too, wiping at his eyes. “Oh fuck, she got you so good, brother.”

Azriel just sat there, silently suffering, as Y/N nuzzled into him, smug and victorious.

And, gods help him—he did love her for it.

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

The night only spiraled further into chaos.

Cassian, still wheezing from laughter, slammed a hand down on the table. “Alright, alright—we have to make this official.”

Y/N perked up in Azriel’s lap. “Make what official?”

“The breaking of Azriel,” Cassian declared grandly, gesturing wildly with his half-empty glass of whiskey. “For centuries, he was the untouchable, brooding mystery. Silent, deadly, repressed.” He pointed at Y/N with the authority of a drunk philosopher. “And then you showed up and turned him into a man who admits his feelings, growls at people who look at you too long, and—” He paused dramatically. “—is apparently a choking enthusiast.”

Azriel groaned and buried his face in Y/N’s shoulder, while Mor cackled, Nesta snorted into her wine, and Rhysand grinned like the bastard he was.

“You make it sound like I did witchcraft on him,” Y/N teased, idly playing with Azriel’s hair.

Cassian pointed again. “I knew there was something supernatural about you.” He turned to Feyre, suddenly serious. “Feyre, paint a picture of Az’s descent into sin.”

“Please don’t,” Azriel muttered into Y/N’s shoulder.

Feyre, biting back a smirk, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I could capture his internal struggle—the battle between his old, broody self and the broken man who now worships at the altar of his mate’s chaos.”

Rhys beamed. “That’s art.”

Azriel groaned louder.

Y/N, full of mischief and absolutely loving this, turned and whispered against his ear, “You do worship at my altar, don’t you?”

Azriel lifted his head just enough to give her a look—one that promised payback. But she only grinned wider, completely unrepentant.

“Alright, final proof that Az has been fully corrupted,” Mor said, raising her glass. “Y/N, what’s the filthiest thing he’s ever said to you?”

Azriel straightened immediately. “Nope.”

Y/N tapped a finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Hmm… Oh! There was that one time—”

“Y/N,” Az warned, voice low and dark.

Y/N, completely ignoring the danger, continued, “—where he told me exactly how he planned to—”

Azriel moved.

One second, Y/N was sitting in his lap, the next, he had her thrown over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. She let out a surprised yelp, then laughed, pounding a playful fist against his back. “Az! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he said simply, standing up. “Goodnight, everyone.”

“BOOOOOO,” Cassian and Mor jeered in unison.

“Coward!” Rhys added.

“At least let her finish the story!” Nesta called after them.

But Azriel was already carrying Y/N out of the room, ignoring every taunt, Y/N still giggling and squirming in his hold.

“Azriel, you love me!” she sing-songed again, clinging onto him as he walked.

He gave her a firm smack on the ass, making her yelp. “Oh, I know.”

And then, to the Inner Circle’s absolute delight, Y/N’s laughter echoed down the hall.

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

Azriel had barely taken three steps down the hall, Y/N still slung over his shoulder, when she purred, "You know I love it when you spank me."

He froze.

The Inner Circle-who had definitely not left yet

-erupted.

Cassian nearly fell out of his chair. "OH MY GODS!"

Mor howled. "| KNEW IT!"

Rhysand, the absolute bastard, actually clapped.

"Confirmed!"

Nesta just rolled her eyes, sipping her wine. "Of course she does."

Azriel, who had thought he was saving himself from further embarrassment, had severely underestimated Y/N.

Y/N, still hanging over his shoulder, giggled and wiggled her hips just to tease him. "Mmm, and you do it so well, Shadowsinger."

Azriel gripped her thighs harder, his shadows curling around them in warning. "Y/N," he growled lowly.

But she just smirked. "Are you blushing, love?"

Cassian lost it. "OH MY GODS, HE TOTALLY IS!"

Azriel let out a slow breath, then, very calmly— very deliberately-adjusted his grip and smacked Y/N's ass again.

The sharp gasp she let out made the room go dead silent.

Then she let out a little pleased hum, wiggling again. "See? Told you I loved it."

Azriel vanished them in shadows before anyone could scream again.

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

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