#just side grabbing on your knees wheezing

[theshadowrealmitself]

Current thoughts: Spiderman laughing so hard at his own joke he thought of that he can’t even share it and the villain he’s fighting is just annoyedly waiting for him to stop, not even fighting him, just crossing his arms like “you done?”

[skzzsya]

my man ?! || lee felix

ᯓᡣ𐭩 felix x fem!reader. genre : fluff & smut.

synopsis. in which your boyfriend gets mistaken for girl but you're the only one to know how manly he is 𝜗𝜚 ⸝⸝ m.list ♡

You’d lost count of how many times people had mistaken your boyfriend for a girl. Maybe it was his soft features, the way his long hair framed his face, or the delicate way he carried himself in public.

And today it happened again, at a café. The barista, an older woman with kind eyes, had smiled warmly at him. "What can I get for you, sweetheart?" He ordered his usual, then you added yours. But before you could step away, she turned to you with an even bigger smile.

"Your girlfriend is so beautiful!" You saw it happen in real time, the moment your boyfriend’s soul left his body. His jaw clenched, fingers tightening around his wallet. You bit back a laugh, barely holding it together as the woman continued gushing.

"She has such delicate features! You’re a lucky young lady." Your boyfriend exhaled, slow and controlled. Then, without correcting her, he handed over the cash and grabbed the drinks. "Thanks," he muttered, walking away without looking back. You followed him outside, and the second the door shut behind you, you lost it.

"Your girlfriend is so beautiful" you wheezed, clutching your stomach.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "If one more person-"

"But, babe, she wasn’t wrong!~"

His head snapped toward you. "You think this is funny?"

"A little bit." You grinned. "I mean… you are beautiful." His jaw ticked.

“Oh, so you think this is funny?” His voice was dangerously calm, but the way he lifted his eyebrow told you exactly what was coming.

Your breath hitched. “A little bit.”

Felix hummed, tilting his head as he looked down at you. “Alright,” he murmured, fingers curling around your wrist.

"You better make this up to me later," he muttered.

—

The moment you stepped inside, Felix shut the door with a quiet click. The air between you shifted, slowly, he turned, expression unreadable as he gazed down at you.

"Strip." he says. Your breath caught. Felix had always been the gentle type, but when it came to this? He was careful but firm. Always soft, but never hesitating. You swallowed, hands moving to the hem of your shirt. His eyes darkened as he watched you peel it off, followed by your bra, leaving you bare under his heated gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, stepping closer. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

You shivered, nodding as his hands brushed over your sides, fingers ghosting over your ribs before settling at your waist. His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss. Not rushed, just deliberate and sweet. His fingers traced lazy circles on your skin, pulling you against his warmth. "You laugh when people call me pretty," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak.

"But I know what you really think." His hands skimmed down, pushing your pants past your hips until they pooled at your feet. You kicked them off, breath stuttering as his fingers slipped between your thighs, teasing over your clothed heat.

"Already wet," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "You like when I prove myself to you, don’t you?" You bite your lip, nodding.

"Words, baby," he reminded you, his voice teasing.

"Yes," you exhaled.

A pleased hum vibrated from his chest. "That’s my princess."

He slid your panties down, guiding you back toward the couch until the cushions hit the back of your knees.

"Sit my love." And you did as he says. Felix knelt between your legs, eyes locked onto yours as he kissed his way up your inner thigh. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, the strands tickling your skin as he moved.

"You always make fun of me," he murmured, warm breath fanning over your core. "But you love this hair, don’t you?"

Before you could answer, his tongue flicked out, teasing over your clit in the softest, slowest motion imaginable. Your head fell back, a gasp leaving your lips. He chuckled against you, sending vibrations through your body.

"Not so funny now, huh?"

You barely had time to process what was happening before he devoured you. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing and circling with precision. His lips sealed around your clit, sucking just enough to make your thighs tremble.

"Lixie-" you moaned, hands going to his hair.

The second your fingers tangled in his long locks, he groaned, the deep, needy sound vibrating against you. You tugged, just a little, his nails dug into your thighs.

"Baby, mhmm" he rasped, eyes fluttering open to meet yours. "Again."

Testing him, you curled your fingers tighter and pulled, guiding his head where you wanted him. Felix let out a moan, pupils dilating before he whimpered, sinking deeper into your heat. The sound alone nearly sent you over the edge.

"Fuck, Felix ah..."

"That's it, angel," he groaned, tightening his grip on you. "Cum for me."

And with one last flick of his tongue, your body tensed, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Your thighs clenched around his head, but Felix didn’t stop, he kept going, drawing out every moan out of your mouth, until you were whimpering from overstimulation. Only then did he pull back, licking his lips as he gazed up at you with a satisfied smirk.

"Still think I’m ‘pretty’?" he teased. Your chest heaved, a dazed smile curling at your lips. "So pretty," you breathed. Felix giggled, shaking his head as he stood.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"Mmh i love you too~." You tugged at his waistband, looking up at him through heavy lashes. "I- need it please." He groaned, already melting as you pulled him down for another kiss. You reached for the waistband of his jeans, fingers brushing over the button. You could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his muscles as he let out a shaky breath.

“You’re impatient, love” he murmured, teasing you again, but the way his hands trembled slightly as he pulled back told you he was just as eager.

“I want you,” you whispered, voice softer now.

Felix groaned, kissing you deeply before stepping back just enough to shed the rest of his clothes. His long hair cascaded over his shoulders as he tugged off his shirt, then pushed down his jeans and boxers, revealing himself fully. Your breath caught. No matter how many times you’d seen him like this, it always stole the air from your lungs. He was beautiful, but not in the delicate, feminine way strangers assumed. He was lean but strong, toned with abs of six pack. His skin glowed in the dim light, a slight flush dusting his cheeks as he hovered over you again. Felix’s hands traced over your body with reverence, fingertips ghosting over your ribs, the curve of your waist, your thighs. He took his time, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

“You’re so perfect,” he says, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then your chest, then lower. “Every single part of you.”

Your fingers curled into his hair again, and he shuddered, eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before he met your gaze once more.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered, you nodded, heart pounding.

Felix reached down, running himself through your folds, coating himself in your wetness before slowly, so slowly, pressing inside. Your breath hitched as he stretched you, filling you inch by inch, never rushing. His lips found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that slipped past your lips.

“Now, do I feel like a girl to you hm?” he asked, forehead resting against yours.

You exhaled shakily. “N-no.”

Felix nodded, letting out an almost desperate groan before he rolled his hips, pushing the rest of the way in. He stilled, letting you adjust, pressing gentle kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your lips. His hands never stopped moving, caressing your sides, your thighs, grounding you in his warmth. Then, finally, he moved. Slow, deep thrusts, each one dragging along every sensitive spot inside you.

Felix wasn’t fucking you. He wasn’t pounding into you with reckless abandon, he was making love to you. And God, it felt good. His fingers laced with yours, pressing your hands into the cushions as he rocked into you at a sensual, unhurried pace.

“Feels so good,” he murmured against your lips. “You take me so well, baby.”

You whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him even closer. The new angle sent a shiver down your spine, pleasure coiling tighter with his slow, precise thrusts. Felix groaned as your walls clenched around him.

“Fuck, angel- just like that.”

His mouth trailed down to your neck, sucking lightly at the skin, leaving faint marks that would disappear by morning. His hips moved in steady, measured rolls, his thrusts pressing so deep, rubbing against that perfect spot inside you. You were falling apart beneath him, he was stretching you so good.

“Lixie-,” you gasped, nails digging into his back. “I- I’m close.”

He kissed you again. “I know, baby. I can feel you.” His pace never faltered, never grew erratic. He wanted you to feel all the love he has for you, to reach your high slowly, beautifully.

His fingers slipped between your bodies, rubbing slow, tight circles against your clit. The added sensation sent you tumbling over the edge, pleasure crashing through you in waves. Felix groaned as you clenched around him, his thrusts growing just a little deeper, a little more desperate as he chased his own release. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.

“Gonna fill you up, baby ngh...gonna make you feel so good.”

And then, with one last thrust, he broke, spilling into you with a soft, breathless moan. His body trembled, muscles tense as he rode out his high, pressing you firmly against him. For a long moment, neither of you moved. Felix stayed inside you, chest rising and falling against yours, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His hair tickled your skin as he pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your temple, your lips.

“Are you good my love?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion and love.

You smiled, still breathless. “More than good.”

Felix chuckled, nuzzling into your neck. “Good.”

He pulled out carefully, rolling onto his side and pulling you with him, not letting an inch of space remain between you. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“You’re not laughing anymore,” he teased sleepily.

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nope heh.”

Felix hummed, already drifting into the hazy warmth of sleep. “Told you I’d prove it.”

And God, had he ever.

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Ehm...this edit inspired me :3

(it's my first time writing this type of stuff please be nice 🙏🏻😽)

[rafesangelita]

I just saw that ur asks were emptied, idk if u remember but I had requested like innocent Bambi reader with Pervy step bro rafe, getting caught or something like this haha, I don’t remember everything but I think this was it

warnings: stepcest, sneaking around, heavy petting, unprotected sex, wheezie being a detective

a/n: yes, i remember anon!! i hope you like how this came out <3

“wait, wait, everyone is still awake!” you whispered, giggling softly as rafe closed your bedroom door. “please, i can’t wait any longer, i’ll go crazy if i have to use your panties to fuck my hand again.” he grabbed your ass, harshly gripping the flesh before littering your neck with kisses. “what are you talking about?” you sighed, eyes fluttering shut. “it’s nothing, baby, forget that i mentioned it.” rafe backed you up until the back of your knees met the edge of your bed. “you want to help me out with something?” he looked down at you, stroking your bottom lip with his thumb.

you nodded, allowing him to place your hand over the tent in his jeans. “you feel this? it hurts so bad, i need you to make me feel better. can you do that?” you peered up at him through your eyelashes, taking his digit into your mouth. “yes..”. within the next five minutes, rafe had your thighs pinned on either side of your head as he pounded into you at an unforgiving speed. “shhh, please stay quiet baby.” he threaded his fingers with yours, admiring the way your tits bounced with each one of his thrusts. “m’trying!” you cried softly, struggling not to let out an occasional whimper.

rafe kissed you in hopes to muffle the pretty sounds falling from your lips. “you can be as loud as you want when it’s just us two, okay?” you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck as he rested his forehead on your shoulder. “you have no idea how bad i’ve wanted to have you under me like this. i’ve woken up hard as fuck all because i dreamt of you taking my cock the night before.” you moaned at his revelation, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear. “rub your clit for me.” you did as he said, the added stimulation making you clench around his length.

just as you were about to tell him you were close, a knock sounded from the other side of the door. both of you froze, eyes wide as wheezie’s voice cut through the air. “y/n? are you okay in there?” she asked, the door knob rattling as you and rafe scrambled to get your clothes back on. “look, tomorrow everyone is gonna be out for dinner, make something up and say that you’re sick so you don’t have to go.” rafe kissed you, cursing under his breath. “hello?! y/n open the door!” you mumbled a quick ‘okay!’ before ushering rafe out. “chill out, wheez.” wheezie looked up at rafe confusingly.

“what is he doing in here? and why was the door locked?” she looked at you suspiciously, making your heart beat wildly in your chest. “oh! i had just borrowed his laptop for something. i must’ve locked the door on accident.” you smiled nervously, feeling small under her gaze. “anyways! i was just gonna see if you wanted to help me bake some cookies for my school thing on friday?” desperate to change the subject, you nodded frantically, hoping she wouldn’t ask anymore questions. “yes, that sounds fun! what kind of cookies did you have in mind?” you leaned against the doorframe.

she glanced past you, her eyes narrowing. “umm.. why is your bed like that?”

[suksatoru]

here with me ⋆˚୨♡୧˚⋆ keigo x you

keigo's real laugh is nothing, if not music.

there's a front keigo uses when it comes to other people—a barrier he wasn't even aware existed. his faux laugh was easygoing. it was short, and it was charming. he used it whenever he was talking to the higher ups or his colleagues. hell, he used it when he spoke to anyone. he's never been able to share the intimacy of a real laugh with another person before.

secretly, he was envious of those strangers he'd hear every once in a while. whether it was on patrol, or if he was just strolling into a coffee shop—ordinary citizens, people, humans, we're always laughing around him.

it could be huffs of air, odd squeaks or giggles—people with heaving chests, people chuckling, people snorting, people wheezing—but keigo knew a real laugh when he heard one.

which was odd, because he hadn't heard his own real laugh until you.

you're tucked into keigo's side, half awake and half asleep as you stumble forward. your eyes are barely open—and you're so drunk that keigo can already imagine the headache his poor baby is going to have tomorrow morning

"c'mon songbird, up up up."

he takes off your clothes and makeup, changing you quickly into your nightgown as you talk. you babble on about anything and everything that comes to your mind as he works—keigo kneels in front of you, smiling softly as he slowly unravels your dress and takes off your silvery shiny heels—he pulls on your nightdress, and grabs your favorite fluffy socks before tugging them up and over your feet

"kei baby," you whisper, and he glances up at you as he finishes taking off the last bit of your jewelery. he places your earrings into the little gold box you have on his desk as his warm hands wrap around your waist. he hums quietly as you suddenly place your palms flat on his chest, shoving him

he falls onto the bed with a soft oof! before sending you a confused smile

"shh...let me think, kei."

keigo folds his legs, amusement shining bright in his eyes as he watches you. your hair falls from its updo in wisps, framing your face as you stand in deep thought near the edge of your shared bed—hand on your jaw as you tilt your head

your smirk forms slowly. it's small, sly, silly and so drunk as you suddenly kneel onto the bed. you crawl towards keigo and fasten your knees on both sides of his hips—straddling him as he blinks up in surprise, not expecting your warm mouth to begin trailing kisses up his neck

sexy, is all keigo can think as a soft sigh escapes his lips. he's just about to kiss you back—when suddenly, you speak up.

"are you my appendix? because i have this funny feeling riiiight here that makes me feel like i should take you out." you whisper seductively, gliding his palm towards your tummy and under your nightgown

keigo blinks once. twice. before he stutters with his response. he tries to form even just one word—but he can't. and suddenly, he's falling apart—he's laughing so hard that he can't fucking breathe.

you blink in response, tilting your head adorably in confusion. you thought that was a good pick up line! but keigo's face is flushed for an entirely different reason other than being flustered, and his lips are stretched into a toothy grin. you're concerned for the lack of oxygen in his lungs when he's suddenly wheezing, and god, his eyes are shining with tears.

"oh-oh baby, i fucking love you."

you're slapping his arm, whining and pouting about how he ruined the moment. but your tone—your very serious face while uttering the absolute worst pick up line keigo has ever heard has him struggling to breathe in his fits of laughter

but you can't even try to be mad. because keigo's eyes are crinkling with genuine joy, and his hands are pressing you to his chest, and this laugh is so authentic—it bubbles all the way from his belly, so heartfelt and silly that you can't help but giggle along with him

"it was good, right? are you feeling—heh, turned on?"

keigo's smile is breathtaking. no wonder he's on so many magazine covers every month. finally—he leans forward, pressing his warm mouth against yours in a soft kiss as he cradles your face with both of his palms

"yeah, baby. never felt more hot and bothered... you know, 'm gonna marry you one day." he murmurs against your lips as you squirm in his lap

"nuh uh. who said i'll say yes?"

he laughs again. it's softer this time, and he maneuvers you carefully back into bed. you look like an angry kitten when you glare at him, but he only grins in response as he tucks you in—tugging the soft comforter up and over your body before getting into bed himself. he pulls you on top of him, gliding his hand up the back of your thigh all the way up until he's at the base of your spine

"you make me very happy, ya'know that songbird?"

you hum in reply, eyes already drooping close as your hold on keigo tightens just the slightest bit. his wings naturally fold to wrap around you—cocooning you in his hold.

he can see you're too tired to respond, your eyes are already slipping close when he presses a kiss onto your forehead

he admires you quietly, thanking the cosmos for allowing him to have this one good thing in life. you're drooling all over his shirt, and keigo wouldn't ever wish to have someone else laying beside him at night.

[stellewriites]

every sort of day

ghoap x gn!reader fluff

when you woke that morning, the bed was empty and the flat quiet. you felt the sheets but they were cold and you huffed feeling a little frustrated that you’d woken up late even if you knew you’d needed the sleep.

pouting regardless, you got up and headed into the kitchen, shuffling along the wood floors in your thick, warm socks. your eyes went to the fridge first like every morning and you grinned when you saw the letter magnets rearranged into a message, i luv u. looking slightly lower you barked out a surprised laugh at the continued message using numbers for any missing original magnets, 4nd ur ar5e.

you shook your head and finally opened your coffee maker, feeling your chest warm when you saw a pod already inside and your mug set just to the side of it. your favourite brand of almond milk had been replenished in the fridge without you realising and you savoured the hot drink once it was made with a satisfied hum.

you’d missed johnny and simon before they’d left to work on base that morning, but they’d made sure to leave their mark behind for you to find.

you settled on the sofa in your boyfriends�� t-shirt and boxers, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. you sent a text to the pair of them, a simple love heart to let them know you’d woken up, and then turned on the tv. you’d been sick the past few days though you could tell you were on the up now, your head not feeling so fuzzy and your throat not scratching as bad. your boyfriends must have agreed given they’d set up the stuff for a coffee; simon was a staunch believer of tea only when ill and he made you stick to it too when he was around.

halfway through your trash tv show you napped for an hour or two, only waking when your stomach grumbled and complained at being empty for too long. wrapped up tight in your blanket, you yawned and headed to the kitchen to grab the soup johnny had made. you spotted it on the top shelf in the fridge and heated it up in the microwave under the brief instructions taped to the side of the tupperware. you were thankful it didn’t need too long, eager to get back to the sofa and the latest season of love island. while you waited for it to heat up you made yourself a tea and sent a photo to simon, smiling when he sent back a simple, good lass 🖤.

you sighed at the smell when the microwave dinged. spicy veg, your favourite and easy to keep down with the gippy tummy you’d had the last few days.

once you sat back down with both items, you hunched over like a shrimp to keep from spilling it, your blanket hung over your shoulders like a shroud.

you messaged simon worriedly when you’d heard nothing from johnny by mid afternoon. you knew they were meant to be in training, finishing off any vague handwavey paperwork they did and catching up with their captain after the last week off on break with you. but still. you worried.

johnny was chatty, even when he was in a meeting or on a helo, he always managed to send you a little something to keep your nerves settled.

your phone pinged and you opened the video simon sent quick sharp.

it showed johnny running laps on his own on a big field, a group of younger recruits cheering him on from the side, slightly out of frame and sat on the grass next to the track. your boyfriend’s face was beet red and his wheezing breaths could be heard even several feet away.

“talked a big game about my training program for the new recruits, said i was losing my touch,” simon’s voice came out of your speakers. he was clearly amused even if you couldn’t see him. he raised his voice for johnny. “‘ow you feeling now, sergeant?"

“cannae feel ma legs, lt.” johnny slowed down on his lap until he was just walking, coming to a stop opposite simon, though still a ways away on the track. “pain in ma lungs is—“ he hacked a rough cough before leaning over his knees.

“still think i’ve gone soft?” simon asked as the video zoomed in comically and unflattering on johnny panting and suffering.

“ah think yer a petty bastard,” johnny grumbled, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard by his lt. cheeky. “ah think ah might’ve pulled somethin’ permanently.” he stood back up and tried to stretch his back with a wince.

“cheer up,” simon said unsympathetically. “and say ‘ello to sunny, they were worried f’ya,” simon said softer.

johnny perked up at the mention of your nickname and you grinned at his wobbly smile on the screen, his chest still rising and falling with his quick, deep breaths. “missin’ ya, sunshine.”

the video flicked around and you were being shown simon’s work mask and his deep dark eyes hidden in the shadows of it. “be ‘ome soon,” he promised.

the video cut off as you heard simon yell at johnny to keep running and you relaxed back with a laugh; johnny would be thoroughly knackered by time he got in so you were guaranteed a puppy pile the second he stepped through the door. you turned back to the tv and settled in for another possible nap, eager for the day to go by so you could see your partners once more.

——

you blearily rubbed at your eyes as you heard the door open and peeked over the side of the sofa to see your boys shuffling in. slowly and clumsily, you made your way over with the blanket still tangled around you.

you let one arm escape the warm cocoon to help simon with his coat, tugging at the sleeve as he shrugged it off. you weren’t much help but he liked that you tried even when you weren’t feeling 100%.

johnny leant in to kiss your forehead and you sniffled with a smile as you looked up at him. simon’s hand was warm where it gently squeezed the back of your neck before trailing down to the small of your back over the blanket.

“kept warm?” he asked before heading to the kitchen and leaving you to be wrapped up in johnny’s arms. once he had a good hold around you he led you behind simon faithfully. your small steps tied in the burrito blanket hindered his longer strides so he swayed side to side on each foot to slow down and stop you from tripping in his eagerness.

“yeah, i’ve been wrapped up all day, hardly moved,” you said.

“lucky for some,” johnny groaned into your neck. “si ran me bloody ragged.”

you laughed and reached and hand up to pet sympathetically at his hair. your laugh soon turned to a racking cough and you ducked your head into your elbow and away from johnny.

he rocked you gently on the spot as he leant against the kitchen top opposite where simon was lining up three cups of tea.

once the kettle popped, johnny led you forward and squished you between his front and simon’s back as the larger man poured the boiling water into the cups.

you let your free arm curl around simon’s stomach, pawing gently like a cat at his bulk beneath the thick hoody until his own hand raised to hold it. he ran his thumb over your knuckles before lifting your hand to kiss the back of it, lingering.

“and did ya eat today?” he asked.

you nodded and hummed the assentive.

“our lovely bonnie, knows how t’ take care ah’themselves when we can’t,” johnny hummed, pleased and proud, into your hair.

“missed you both today,” you admitted.

you felt johnny grin against your skin and simon squeezed your hand tighter.

“ye’d a’been asleep all day, sunny,” he joked.

you pouted. it was true but that wasn’t the reaction you wanted.

johnny tugged you back a few steps and simon let your hand slip from his; the scot guided you out of the kitchen and towards your bedroom, and when you checked over both of your shoulders for simon he chuckled fondly.

simon had all three mugs in his hands and was close behind as johnny gently shoved you back onto the bed, your knees sinking into the plush duvet and mattress as you climbed to the centre.

you got yourself snuggled against the pillows with johnny to your right and then helped simon with the mugs on your left before he too collapsed against your side, shoulder to hip.

“put some honey in yours,” simon murmured softly as you blew on the hot tea. you smiled gratefully and leant in to kiss his cheek. “think we should order in, can’t be arsed t’cook.”

“aye, that’s fine w’me,” johnny agreed as he turned on the tv opposite your bed. he flickered through your watchlist before landing on young frankenstein and pressing play.

you pulled the blanket up high and held on to johnny’s hand, keeping your tea up high to inhale the steam while simon petted at your thigh under the covers. you didn’t know when you’d nodded off, but simon must have taken your mug before it could spill and johnny must have laid you lower on the bed to get you comfy. you woke to the sound of football playing on the tv and you groaned and curled further into simon’s side. he’d always managed to stay still better than johnny could, even if he was just as invested in the game. you felt johnny’s hand rub up and down your side, before gripping the fat of your hip in excitement and patting it softly but rapidly when a goal was scored.

“easy, johnny,” simon reminded him and johnny leant over to kiss your brow with a wet smooch.

“sorry, sunny,” he whispered. “go back to sleep. i’ll be quiet.”

you snorted softly, knowing he’d do his best but would be unable to keep the promise. you managed to fall asleep again regardless with a small smile, cuddled close between the two of them; simon’s arm around you both and his aftershave gently breaking through your stuffed nose.

being ill would be so much worse if you didn’t have these two lugs keeping you comfortable and cared for.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Kidnapped

Lemme just give my baby boi Bucky all the headpats in the world

Summary: You get kidnapped and Bucky has to rescue you

Your head hurts. Badly. And for once it's not because you drank too much the previous night. Lights begin to focus and the muted voices start to become clearer, unveiling the fact that you're currently tied to a chair and the deep cut on your forehead is currently dripping blood into your eyes.

"Look who's awake. About time." One of the masked people yanks your head upwards by your hair and you grunt at the sudden stab of pain.

"Missed me?" You grin, laughter punched out of your system when a fist strikes your stomach hard. Still, you manage to wheeze a laugh out, even as a fist strikes the back of your head hard, causing your vision to spin. "Missed you all too."

"Shut up and tell us where the Winter Soldier is!" The one whom you assume is their leader based on his mask's unique marking grabs your chin, lifting your head so that your gaze meets theirs.

"You want me to shut up or tell you where he is? You've gotta choose one —" You're flung to the side along with your chair, the floor slamming into your already injured side. Blood splatters onto the concrete floor from your coughing and you hear heavy footsteps stomping nearby.

Amateurs. They're terrible at extracting information and it's making you laugh at how pathetic they are. Unfortunately you can't enjoy the show as much as you'd like to because of all the pain you're in but at least there's some show to alleviate it. You focus on your breathing, centering yourself. You have to keep a clear mind, backup will be here soon so all you have to do is buy time. Even without your earpiece, you know that reinforcements will show up at some point. Hopefully before you actually die from your injuries.

You know that Bucky will come storming to your rescue. Probably.

It is rather ironic that your kidnappers only need to continue holding you hostage to find the person they're looking for instead of trying to beat his whereabouts out of you. The pain is getting rather annoying, especially considering how long your injuries will take to heal. This is going to put you out of commission for about a month, and the thought of being stuck in the house for a month is scaring you far more than your kidnappers could ever do.

The floor is rather cold, freezing to the touch really and you would like to not be in contact with the floor, but your kidnappers don't seem to share your sentiment since they keep squatting down to yell at you.

"It's better for your knees if you put my chair upright so you don't have to keep squatting down to talk to me. Also do keep your voice down, I'm not deaf you know." There are times where you curse your witty tongue, this is one of those times.

One moment you're on your side, lying on the floor. The next moment you're sent flying into a wall, the chair nothing but splinters in a pile underneath you. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs. You kick the air, struggling instinctively and dig your fingernails into the arm as hard as you can. which is not very hard considering how much air and blood you're losing. Black spots begin to crowd your vision and you're about to send an apology to your boyfriend for being the sassy idiot that you are when suddenly your body collapses to the floor, lungs heaving as they gulp down as much oxygen as they possibly can.

Coughing, you massage your throat. The bruises are going to be ugly, and Bucky is probably going to explode upon seeing your injuries. You would feel bad for your kidnappers if it wasn't for the fact that they nearly killed you and ruined your nice little record of not getting kidnapped.

"I will not ask again. Where is the Winter Soldier?" The leader roars, slamming you against the wall.

"You know, it's a bit hard to talk when it's kinda hard to breathe." You hit his arm. "Also, I believe he's right behind you."

A loud thud echoes in the now empty room as a metal fist collides with flesh and the leader crumples to the floor at the feet of a furious super soldier. You lean against the wall, panting as you push your hair out of your eyes, wincing when you accidentally touch the wound on your forehead.

"Took you…long enough." You huff, looking up at Bucky.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to do this if you didn't get captured." He scowls, kicking the leader's now unconscious body.

"Try intentionally walking into an ambush by yourself and let me know if you get out alive." You grit your teeth, using the wall to stand up despite all the ringing in your ears and the blurriness in your vision. Your head is starting to hurt worse, and all the blood you're spilling onto the floor probably isn't helping either.

"Well, you're alive right now aren't you?" Bucky scoops you up. "So don't go dying on me or I'll have to clean up your messes too."

"Don't recall having too many messes for you to clean," you tiredly mumble into his chest. Your eyelids feel heavy, black starting to cloud your vision and you want nothing more than to close your eyes and sleep forever but Bucky keeps jostling you, snapping you awake with every step he takes. "You make a terrible groom, can't even carry your bride properly."

"My bride needs to stay awake or they'll die." He frowns, purposely shaking you. "I mean it."

"Try not to sound like you actually care about me or I might start believing it."

Bucky simply grunts, definitely out of annoyance and continues the way too long walk out of the building, jostling you all the way. Your fingers clutch at his shirt tightly as you take in the sights before you, realising that Bucky had single-handedly fought his way in just to get to you.

"Can't believe you didn't invite me for this party. Seemed fun." You groan.

"Wasn't so fun knowing the only person I can tolerate on missions could die before I reached them." He murmurs, worry sparking in his ice blue eyes.

"Tolerate? Pretty sure I make for better company than that." You weakly poke him in the shoulder, giving him a glare that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Dream on, doll." The sound of a jet landing drowns out the rest of his words and he carries you inside, laying you out on a stretcher so that the doctor can tend to your wounds. You give him the finger as he turns to leave and he throws one back over his shoulder.

"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone, doll." With that, he disappears into the cockpit and leaves you with the doctor.

"As if I'd miss that bastard," you mutter to yourself, finally closing your eyes and drift off to sleep, ignoring the way your heart clenches at the thought of Bucky fighting his way through the base just to rescue you.

When you wake, you're back somewhere in Avengers Tower, bandages decorating your head and chest. You partially recall this place being the medbay, and judging from the look on Bruce's face your wounds aren't that bad, at least not now.

"Hey," you croak.

"Welcome back," Bruce smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got slammed into a wall multiple times."

"That's not far off. You'll be back in the field in give or take one month, don't worry." He hands you a glass of water which you accept gratefully.

"Where's Bucky?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

"Missed me that much, doll?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The brunette walks in with the largest smirk you've seem him make, automatic door sliding close behind him.

"Was asking so I could avoid seeing your ugly mug so soon." You bury yourself back underneath the blanket, ensuring that the fabric covered your face.

"How unfortunate that I chose to walk in now." He takes a seat next to your bed, quietly signalling to Bruce for time alone with you. Bruce nods, slipping out of the room and Bucky lets out a sigh. "Doll?"

You make not a single peep, not even when Bucky pokes you through the blanket so he takes matters into his own hands and yanks the blanket off you. You yelp, hands scrambling to pull the blanket back but the super solider is faster and tosses the blanket onto the table behind him before folding his arms over his chest.

"What?" You scowl, mimicking his actions.

"I didn't know your idiocy had no limits." His brows furrow. "What were you thinking, springing that trap with no escape plan? Were you looking to die?"

"If I was, it was a very unsuccessful attempt." You roll your eyes, turning over so that your back faces him.

"Be honest with me." He turns you over, grip softening when he realises how much he's hurting you but he doesn't let go.

"I wasn't trying to die, okay? But if I did, well…" You look away, hating at how your chest constricts when you see the pain in his eyes. "Would've been fine."

"It wouldn't have been!" He snaps. "It's not fine if you just go off and die!"

"Right," you mutter, playing with the sheets. Tears are beginning to form in the corners of your eyes, and you refuse to let him see your weakness. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you try to push your emotions down before they can overwhelm you but the tears keep coming anyways. Dammit.

"Doll I —" He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to see you to die, alright? Or at least I don't want to see you die before me."

You lie there in silence, tears still streaming down your face and staining the pillow beneath. Fist clenching, you stifle a sob. Shit, you really don't want to crumble in front of Bucky of all people.

"You…matter. A lot. To me." Bucky forces the words out, but his gaze is soft, and so is his touch. His fingertips gently press against your skin, little spots of warmth amidst the sudden chill that has set in. "So don't go dying on me, alright?"

"Only if you make the same promise." You mumble and his eyes brighten. Giving you a genuine smile, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Deal. Now get all the rest you need, I'll always be here."

"If you're expecting a 'thank you', I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed." You give his cheek a poke.

"You're welcome." He grins, ruffling your hair. He grabs the blanket, tucking you in with it. "Heal up, or I'll have to go on missions by myself and that would be boring."

"Well, can't have a bored super soldier now, can we?" You smile back at him, grabbing his hand. "Hold on."

He huffs in annoyance, but his eyes say otherwise. "Won't be letting go any time soon, doll."

[titania-sleeps]

Kinktober Day 6: Masochism

watch out for a mermaid drop some time eventually... :3 on a side note when two people are just so toxic and they're so perfect for each other be like:

warning: dom reader, sub yandere, sadistic reader, masochistic yandere sub, your yandere is a fucking brat, jealousy jealousy, minors DNI pls

You bristle in anger. Your yandere lays beneath you, a red handprint stamped on his cheek. You can see that cheeky motherfucker choke back a grin.

Another day and you see him walking with another girl to pick you up from your classes. Sure, he lights up immediately when he sees you and dashes to you like a dog, leaving the girl in the dust. But why does that matter? Every day, it's a new girl thinking that they can take what's yours. Your rightful belonging.

"You think this is funny?" you mutter, eyes lidded and your nails grazing his Adam's apple. He gulps and dares to flash another charming smile at you. Your hand wraps itself around his throat.

"I love it when you're jealous..." he moans, the bulge in his pants beneath you growing.

Your grip tightens and he sucks in his breath.

"Hah... you're doing this on purpose," you seethe, pressing harder on his Adam's apple. He groans, the corner of his mouth twitching upward happily.

You watch as he clenches his fists to keep his arms to his side. So much restraint, yet he still likes to keep flies around him. You lean down, your lips curling into a sneer.

"Fine. Let's play this your way."

You bring your knee up and abruptly drop it on the tent in his pants. He coughs, the air knocked out of him, but that dangerous glimmer in his eyes tells you everything you need to know. You keep your knee there, kneading on it. Harder, then softer, and with every motion, he moans and groans like a bitch in heat.

"Fucking bitch," you spit. You strike his face again. Then you grab him by his hair and lift his head to face you. His hooded gaze stares straight into yours, his face red and his breath heaving.

"I love you," he wheezes, cheek bleeding from your nail scratching him.

You ignore him. "And what if I walk around with a new man in my arms every day, hm? Act like a little whore for the men around me. Wouldn't you like that?" you goad, patting his unharmed cheek with your other hand. You're sat neatly on his abdomen, and you can feel it stiffen below you.

A shadow looms over his loving gaze, his smile becoming almost menacing.

"I've heard that I look great in orange, [Y/N]."

You laugh, dropping his head.

"That's a good boy," you praise, petting his head while crushing his cock with your knee. He throws his head back, eyes rolling up as he cums with a loud whine.

You do enjoy torturing your little toy, after all.

i'm finally sleeping

-> masterlist

-> kinktober masterlist

[maiiuelle]

the hunt

based on this post.. literally could not get this out of my head. nobody can do crazy like my man.

warnings: minors dni!! dom!rafe, chasing, pred/prey dynamic, basically breath and impact play

under different circumstances, you wouldn’t be caught dead knee-deep in the muddy swampland of the cut. but, you can’t stop moving now, the purr of rafe’s truck is growing to a roar behind you.

⊹₊⟡⋆

your legs are burning, and covered in mud and cuts from tree branches grazing by your delicate skin. you don’t know how long you’ve been running, long enough for your lungs to ache so painfully you could surrender.

you almost consider it until you realize what kind of punishment he must have waiting for you. you were bad. rafe is the cruelest man you know, and knowing that, you’d never disobeyed him in fear of how he’d react. until today.

your chest heaves as you push to keep running, each step onto the soft ground is pronounced with more dirt splattering your thighs. for a moment, you think he’s lost you, until a pair of bright LED headlights shine past your head and into your view.

he’s too close, the blood chilling rumble of his truck is approaching fast and the pain throbbing throughout your body is becoming too unbearable to keep going. you veer off of your course, weaving through trees until you find one with a thick enough trunk to hide behind. you slam your back into the wood, chest heaving as you lower yourself to a squat. you press a hand to your chest, desperately trying to catch your breath. the wheezing will only give you away.

you hear his truck stop, the humming of the engine fades out and the door slams, your whole body lurches against the rough tree bark.

rafe whistles. “babe!” he chides, the smirk on his lips clear through his voice. he’s enjoying this. “don’t play this game with me, alright? you know i saw you.”

your heart thumps in your ears, the pitter-patter taking over your senses as you try to think of what to do, but your body is frozen. whether it be from exhaustion, or fear, you’re paralyzed on the root rippled ground.

he may be having a good time chasing you around, but he’s growing impatient by the minute. “you’re really gonna make me come get you? gonna make this more difficult for yourself? huh?” the irritation lining his voice turns your stomach. you’re done for.

“what? you just wanna piss me off a little more, is that it? you like getting on my fuckin’ nerves?” he rants, twigs snapping under his feet as he stalks closer. “you’re a brat!”

you cover your mouth and suck in fresh air through your nose, the overwhelming scent of soil and swamp water fills your senses, only the unnatural sweet aroma of rafe’s luxury cologne suddenly catches in the soft breeze. before the panic can set in, a rough hand grabs your arm and pulls you to a stand, but you trip over your legs in shock and you fall right into your boyfriends chest. your face is met with the cold material of his golfing polo, one of his favorites, only now it’s stained with soot along with the rest of his expensive clothing.

“no, no! rafe!” you begin to plead, feeling guilty about what you’d done, and running. he pushes you off of him, his strong hands controlling your movements as he turns you at his will, holding you with his grip settled on your arms, using the leverage to hoist you up and over his shoulder like you’re nothing. “rafe, stop!” you hang limply, his arm coming to hold you down like he’s carrying a bundle of logs, only he holds your arms tight against your torso. with your arms trapped, and your legs already growing sore, you have no chance of escape.

rafe just scoffs, stomping through the wood back to his parked pick-up. “don’t beg now — like i didn’t just chase you down through the entire goddamn cut. you deserve what you’re gonna fucking get, know that.” he grits, and you whine out a strained cry.

once he reaches the truck, he rounds the passenger side and flicks the back door open. “y’know, at this point i’d at least expect an apology.” without warning, he bucks forward and throws you on your back onto the leather back seat. you stare up at him like a spooked doe, eyes wide as you finally get a good look at him. like you, he’s covered head to toe in mud. his sweaty bangs hang messily over his forehead as he looks down on you, nostrils flaring as his eyes watch your stiffened frame expectantly. “i’d start with ‘i’m so sorry, rafey!’” he teases, his thick finger suddenly coming up to hook under the waistband of your skirt. he invades your space, tall enough to hover over you even though he’s still standing outside of the truck. he gets so close your hands instinctively come up to brace yourself, they ball up in his stained shirt in fear, but you hold onto the slight hope he’ll have some sort of mercy on you.

“rafe — rafe, i am sorry! i just — i was..” you cry, only he smacks his other heavy hand over your mouth before you can get far. even doing what he says, he grows even angrier. he’s completely unpredictable.

“shut the fuck up!” rafe shouts, his hand on your waistband adjusts and he grabs your waist, his grip bruising. “you wanna apologize? yeah?” he pushes, and when you nod he helps you along with his palm over your mouth. “good girl. that’s it.”

warmth spreads through your stomach, pulsing in slow waves as his warm fingers trail up your torso to your tit to palm it gently like a stress ball. his eyes outline your body, while yours stay on his face, watching him take in his prey. it’s odd, you’re terrified and yet so eager to be splayed out in front of him like this.

“fuck.” he groans, the hand on your mouth pivots to your jaw, positioning your head upward to meet his lips. they crash into yours, and you’re desperate to reciprocate, grasping for any affection from him. he breaks to push his forehead into yours, hands suddenly occupied with prying off his mud-caked belt. “take ‘em off, come on.” rafe urges under his breath, clearly running low on patience. in part due to your own mounting desire, you shuffle to push your tennis skirt and panties down to your knees.

rafe forces down his shorts just enough to free himself, eyes raking over you. impatiently, he rips your bottoms right off your legs, balling them up in his palm and chucking them deeper into the backseat before he resumes ravishing you. he’s pinned you to the leather seat with the weight of his body, pressing against you as he forces his lips into yours. the animalistic, hungry way he’s handling you is delicious. your core is throbbing hot against the cold outdoor air, his cock smooths over your thigh, and your head goes blank. you can’t wait any longer to feel him push inside of you. the fear and distress you’d been filled with before has melted completely into submission.

he lifts himself up, one hand coming to position himself at your entrance, and the other pushes your fitted cropped t-shirt up over your tits. he pauses, slotting his tip between your folds, mindlessly making you shudder in need. rafe couldn’t care, he’s taking his time now, too focused on playing with your tits with his free hand, watching them peak through his fingers. imagining what he could do to you. “god, you are so fucking lucky i love you.”

his hips come flush with yours as he plunges into you. your satisfied scream is immediately muffled by his hand coming back to its place over your lips, the force pins your head to the seat.

rafe rocks into you slowly, but with a force that pushes your limp body up the seat with every thrust. you’re so full, it’s intoxicating. you’re taken over by the feeling of him, you close your eyes so there isn’t anything but him, how he’s making you feel. your hands come to claw at his arm, even in your state, you’re desperate to breathe through the hand that’s covering your mouth and shifting over your nose. he’s completely entranced, watching himself disappear inside of you over and over again. he deserved this after all you’d put him through.

but, it’s not enough. his snapping movements are slowly pushing you away, and his frustration swells. “fuck.. fuck!” rafe growls, moving both arms to wrap around your muddy thighs, hooking underneath to pull you impossibly closer to him. your ass is completely hanging off the back seat now, suspended in mid-air held up completely by him. you take the chance to sit up on your elbows, peeking down to where your bodies meet. it’s so overwhelming, you rush to catch your breath, but it’s impossible with the unrelenting pace he’s setting. your poor lungs burn as your throat forces out strangled moans, the stretch of him inside of you feels too good to stay quiet. the sound of your skin smacking together fills the truck, beautifully conjoined with the pretty sounds he’s pulling from you. “yeah, yeah. is this what you wanted?” rafe looks at your fucked out face, your lashes fluttering as you try to keep yourself together. “fucking say it.”

“just wanted you, rafe!” you whine, your pussy pulsing around him as a wave of heat spreads through your abdomen. a moan rips from you, he knows you’re about to burst, and he’s feeling mean.

rafe’s hips smack against yours, punctuating his assault with a hard chap before he completely unsheathes himself. you’re brave enough to pout, crumbling with a whine as you clench around nothing. he grabs your jaw, forcing your attention. “you do some stupid shit like that again, i’m leaving you with the gators.”

and with that, rafe stands up straight, shifting his shorts back into place and stuffing himself inside. once he’s sorted, he plants a hand on the fat of your thigh and shoves you inside. without sparing you a glance, he runs his hand down his face, looking behind his truck to surveil the surrounding woods. he slams the back door, leaving you to stare at the leather interior bewildered. rafe reappears, tugging open the drivers side door, hauling himself inside and bringing the truck’s engine back to life. rafe doesn’t say a word to you as he drives you back to tannyhill, too busy plotting how he’s going to finish you off when you get there.

⊹₊⟡⋆

[teencopandthesourwolf]

read on ao3 HERE

.

He didn't mean to do it. He meant it, with every fucked-up fibre of his being he meant it, but he didn't mean to actually do it. 

Stiles had just—been so very fucking Stiles, in that stupid and irresponsible jump-head-first-into-the fray-on-everybody-else's-behalf kind of way that he has about him, and after the pack had neutralised the danger but everybody's veins still had more adrenaline than blood coursing though them, Derek felt—feels—so fucking livid and so damn grateful and so utterly, utterly muddled that he's grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and is pulling the kid's body into his own, hard, crashing their torsos together like a devastating highway collision with his arms enveloping Stiles's shoulders as a crushed car bonnet wraps itself around a tree. 

Now—at a clearing in the trees on what has been Hale land for generations going back centuries, with Stiles in his space and his nostrils and in his fucking head—Derek is terrified. 

There's a fairly stilted, “Whoa, okay, alright. We're doing this, huh, big guy?” But then Stiles is relaxing into the hug. He sort of melts, actually, snaking long and wiry yet surprisingly strong arms around Derek's waist; so very warm and alive, alive, alive.

“Stiles, you shouldn't have—why do you always have to—you could've fucking died!” he admonishes, although it doesn't come out half as harshly as he means and wants it to. 

Lost, Derek shoves his nose into Stiles's neck and breathes.

Stiles lets him—because of course he does—cocking his head to the side to accommodate Derek's needs.

“Must be a day that ends in Y, huh, Der?” he answers, ever the class clown.

Derek quietly growls his annoyance and relief in equal measure, and even though he senses the rest of the pack has now gathered around them, and hating that he has an audience for this, he squeezes Stiles into him impossibly more.

Stiles wheezes comically then jokes some more, because humour is his default in any situation. “Hey, why don't you ease up a bit there, buddy? Kinda need this work of art that I call a body to stay in one piece if I'm ever gonna save your wolfy-ass again, oh Alpha, my Alpha.”

Derek promptly shuts him up with a slick lick to the jugular before he's really had a chance to think about what he's doing. Surprisingly, the kid shivers beautifully. But even Derek's tongue doesn't keep him quiet for very long. Only Stiles Stilinski could ramble incessantly with a werewolf at his throat.

“Okay, shit, alright, that—ahhhhhhh, that tickles, Fido! Heh, does this mean I'm gonna have to get the collar and chain on y—oh my fucking god!”

Derek clamps his jaws around the most exquisite throat he's ever seen, smelled, dreamed about, and growls out a warning sound that causes the betas to back off and Stiles to go weak at the knees.

Mine, he thinks loudly with a growl.

After a few delicious moments of Derek gnawing on Stiles's tasty throat, and once they're alone in the preserve other than the nocturnal animals and eery sound of the wind picking up from the west, Derek releases his jaws' hold on the sheriff's boy—the boy who runs with wolves; little red riding hoodie; the best human Derek's ever known—and soothes the purpling mark with a lingering press of his lips.

“Oh,” is amazingly all Stiles has got to say. Derek can satisfyingly smell Stiles's arousal, though, his wolf now howling inside of him at the heady scent.

“Yeah, oh,” he answers waggishly after trying his level best to calm the feral instinct he has to pull them both down into the undergrowth and mate the boy, here and now.

He finally manages to pull himself away from Stiles but doesn't release him from his grip entirely.

Fire-red irises find big, brown doe eyes and a smirk that Derek wants to lick right off Stiles's face to replace with a look of pure ecstasy.

“Stop doing stupid things,” he demands.

Begs. 

“Yeah, no, probably never gonna—oomph!” 

Derek kisses Stiles. Kisses him like it's the end of the fucking world, because he's realised that every time Stiles puts his own life in danger, it feels like it might be.

Wildly, Stiles doesn't hesitate this time. He kisses Derek right back, like he gets it.

Now found, Derek takes and he takes and he takes.

Stiles kisses like nobody else in existence, Derek is sure of it. He is earth and wind, fire and water.

Fucking elemental. 

When presumably Stiles needs to breathe, he tears his lips away from Derek's—now swollen and blood-red—and Derek can't help the whine that escapes his. Their foreheads bump as they both pant, attempting to settle as they shake with waning post-fight nerves and a near-feverish desire.

Stiles bargains, “How ‘bout if you keep doing that, I'll get myself a bigger bat?”

Derek both hates and loves the smile that spreads across his face like a rash, entirely of its own volition. 

“How about next time, you just wait for me?” 

“Deal,” Stiles grins and kisses Derek again—and Derek hopes it's the kind of deal that's forever.

.

for @greyhavenisback—love yew, love <3 (unedited, soz!)

.

now edited and on ao3 HERE

[angel1010xx]

ｎｉｇｈｔｍａｒｅｓ

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Pairing: Zoro x Reader

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“Nami, stop!” Running with as fast of a pace as you could manage, you chased after Nami, crying out for her to stop. She was heading straight into a trap—but why wasn’t she stopping? Why couldn’t she hear you? And God, why did your side hurt so fucking bad?

A jolt of pain caused you to fall to your knees, scraping them and your shins against the rough cobblestone road. Your hands went to your side, pressing down hard, and you looked down.

Red. There was so much red.

Tears fell from your eyes as if they were a waterfall, and you shrieked in utter agony and fear. You didn’t have the strength to stand. You didn’t have the strength to move at all. 

Barely managing to lift your head back up, you gazed on as Nami got overpowered by the devil fruit users that attacked the crew. You glanced to your right—there was Chopper, laying in a pool of his own blood, body small and misshaped. You glanced to your left—there was Franky, lying still, limbs missing. 

Dazed in shock from what was going on around you, and from the pain in your abdomen, you hardly registered when two hands fell on either side of your head. Someone was standing behind you. However, you did feel when they twisted your neck, and with a quick ‘snap,’ the pain was gone.  

Thud.

You gasped and wheezed, pushing your upper body up off the floor. Sweat was dripping down your face, and your body was soaked in it. Slowly, you managed to piece together that no, you weren’t dying in battle. You were in your cabin, you had just rolled off of your bunk, and you were in your underwear—no bloody clothes and no fatal flesh wounds. 

Your shoulders hurt from the fall, but this was much better than a nightmare.

Groaning, you began to stand up. It was hot. You were thirsty. Why did the kitchen have to be so far away? I need to ask Franky to put some mini-fridges in the rooms, you mused. 

You grabbed a robe off the hook on the wall, and wrapped yourself in it as you left your cabin quarters. It was cool outside, and it was a welcome change. You took a few deep breaths.

In… out. In… out. Someone please make my heart stop beating so fast.

“Can’t sleep?”

You squeaked in surprise, stumbling a bit while you whipped around to see Zoro. He was sitting while leaning against the main mast that led up to the crow’s nest, a slight flush on his face that was a little damp. You eyed the bottle at his side. “Yeah…” you muttered. “Are you training? This late at night?”

He just shrugged. “Can’t become the greatest swordsman if I don’t make time to train.”

“Training? With booze?”

“Mind your business. Gotta practice being battle-ready under any condition.”

You huffed, pulling your robe tighter around you while you moved to sit down beside him. Zoro silently picked up the bottle and gestured it towards you, and you chose to take it. You put the bottle to your lips, took a gulp, and groaned as the alcohol burned down your throat. “I don’t drink much.”

“Oh yeah?” Zoro mumbled as you handed him back his liquor. “Good. It’s not good for you.” A few silent moments passed while the swordsman placed his attention on your heavy eyes. He gestured towards your face, hand still holding the bottle. “You’re tired. You look like you’ve been crying.” You sighed, then placed your head on his shoulder. “Bad dreams. I’ll be alright.”

Zoro tensed up slightly, but didn’t move to get you off him. Mr. Rough-and-Gruff had a soft spot for his crew, and maybe more so for you. “I have strong friends,” you whispered. “I don’t have to worry about any of them, especially not the king of hell right here.” Zoro chuckled. “No, definitely not.”

You two stayed there, quiet, and comfortable in the moment. Neither of you remember when you two dozed off to sleep, lying against the mast.

*_______*_______*________*

Nami yawned and stretched, still shaking off her sleep as she left her quarters as the sun rose. She had to go find Robin, and Robin had been on night watch, so Nami was heading towards the crow’s nest.

What Nami was surprised to see, was you and Zoro sound asleep on the deck. Your head was still on his shoulder, and your legs were up against the side of him while his arm was around your waist. She smiled. 

Nami turned her head as she heard the door to the kitchen slam open. There, in the doorway, stood a very pissed off Sanji. Wasting no time, Nami rushed him, placing her hand against his mouth and pushing him back into the kitchen. She listened as Sanji shouted a bunch of obscenities—“Damn that mosshead! Defiling a princess! His hands shouldn’t be on such an angel! It’s a crime against humanity!....”

Nami laughed at him. What a sore loser. 

[amoeganism]

HIT BRAKE! sae itoshi

(Sae needs to practice his goals and you… driving)

~3.8k words, humor, fluff, angst if you grab a magnifying glass, use of soccer instead of football (i have too much pride to do that), theyre so polar opposite they unfortunately come full circle and match each others freak

Sae Itoshi returned to Japan with several new things under his belt:

The ability to speak spanish (although his grammar structure can use some help from time to time)

An insane growth spurt

Probably shell shock syndrome

And the scariest new update to a chronic Resting Bitch Face that you had the displeasure of seeing thrown your way when you accidentally ran over his ball driving home. Maybe this is why most Japanese people rely on public transport instead of using their licenses

TWO was the number of times you had failed your driver’s test. Yes, you could always use the bus or ask your friends for a ride, but college doesn’t start for another few weeks and you’re determined by pure stubbornness to be driver certified before starting school. You think you’re doing pretty good so far: no accidents, no being pulled over, no getting cursed, and no one loudly complaining about your skills (no one has trusted you to drive them). The only thing you had left to master was parallel parking. 

It was a legacy in your family to be horrible at city parking.

One of your earliest memories was in the backseat of a rental car in a foreign country while your mother tried to park on the side of the street, only to get honked at by cars and drive against the flow of vehicles in a one-way zone. 

A bag of groceries lie in the trunk of your car as you drive to your family’s home. Humming along to the song softly playing through the radio, you slow down as you near the residential area, confident that this drive will end without a single thing gone wrong. Without speaking, you jinx your thoughts as you jolt when your car goes over a bump and a loud wheeze follows it. Turning your head to the side, your entire body freezes and your eyes go wide upon seeing the pissed off glare of Sae Itoshi, the infamous Japanese soccer player who just returned from Spain with a sexy tan.

With a shaky hand, you roll down your window and immediately start tumbling over your rushed apologies. You don’t even understand what you’re saying but you hope that Itoshi somehow understands. When he doesn’t react, which is what you expected but it hurts nonetheless, you immediately shut up and tumble out of your car before getting on your knees and seeing what you ran over. 

Your hand reaches and pulls out a deflated soccer ball, the entire thing flat with a large hole on the side from when it got run over by your car. You almost feel inclined to inflate it with the tears that are about to spill out of your eyes but the only realistic and socially acceptable choice was to give it to Itoshi and once again, apologize but with words that he and the average person can understand. 

Itoshi mumbles a “it’s okay” before taking the ball (can you even call it that?) a once-over. “I have more at home, I’ll just throw it out.”

“Holy shit I’m so sorry about that I can buy you a new one just please don’t sue me I can’t afford a good lawyer, I’m in student loan debt.”

“...why would I sue you?” he asks, his face slightly scrunched up in confusion. It’s not much different from his normal expression, just a slight crease of his brows but it makes all the difference.

“I didn’t mean to assume that you’re gonna sue me, please don’t sue me for assuming!” You think that you should begin to pack your bags and take out a loan to move to another country. It would be easier to be a criminal than to deal with a conversation with a guy who multiplies your humiliation. “I just thought that you might get your super prestigious and rich and wealthy and prosperous and exquisitely-copious-in-currency soccer team on my ass ‘cause I ran over one of their balls,” you nervously rambled. Your face heats up at every word and one Itoshi divides into two Itoshis and two Itoshis split into four.

“Are you schizophrenic? I thought you were normal back in middle school,” sixty-eight Itoshis say in unison.

Your body freezes, the now one hundred twenty-eight Itoshis all morphing back into one. “Wait, we went to middle school together?”

“Uh, yeah,” he blinks, this time looking even more awkward than you. “We were in the same class for two years straight and I sat next to you the semester before I left. I think I would remember the kid who slept through each period but still got all the answers right when called on.”

“Oh!” You perk up at the recollection of a scrawny red-haired boy from five years ago, one who would try to not-so-discreetly look at your worksheet answers and peek at your notes during class. “You’re the boy who would always copy off my work. I do remember you!”

“Is that all you remember about me?” If Itoshi were any other person, you’d say he looked uncomfortable but all he did was tilt his head a little more to the left and shift on his feet. 

“I mean, the only reason why you remember me is ‘cause I saved your academics without even knowing. Don’t think I didn’t hear our teacher whispering ‘good job’ to you while returning our tests and how you suddenly moved up in our class rankings.”

“Well you didn’t bother to hide anything when you were snoozing away so whose fault really is it?”

“You were gonna leave for Spain, anyway!” you point out, remembering being pissed off when hearing the reason why your seatmate left was because he was some kind of sport prodigy, basically having his entire future as a star secured at the age of thirteen.

“My parents would’ve killed me and held me by my feet if I flunked.” Itoshi grimaced, kissing his teeth and brushing his hair back as it had fallen over his eyes. His cheeks had returned to its usual color, removing the red flush of running and exhaustion.

“Huh, I guess I should be credited for your success. Spain should thank me.”

“Are we forgetting that I’m the one who plays the sport?” Sae’s voice came out harsher than he intended and cut through the playful atmosphere by the first syllable. His demeanor appeared unchanged but he felt himself tense. 

Conversation had never been strong for Sae, only ever talking when he needed to and the most of his words going to his teammates on the field or his little brother. His success was a sensitive subject whether he liked to admit it or not. Spain served as an eye-opener to the teenage boy, being left in a country where no one looked like you and no one spoke your language. The only thing he could rely on was a translator he barely trusted and the expressions of the people around him. 

When you don’t respond, Sae observes your face, noticing how you began to fidget with your fingers just as you had when you first stepped out of the car. You weren’t his previous coaches; you were just a former classmate who he happened to run into, or rather, you drove into. It was too late to laugh and he felt slightly guilty at freaking out someone that wasn’t his brother, an opponent, or a bothersome news anchor. 

“If you want to repay me for the ball, meet me at the sports store nearby.”

“Sorry, but I don’t really know where you’re talking about,” you sheepishly reply, wanting to sink more into the ground with every word. You decide that talking to athletes is more tiring than playing an actual sport.

“Give me your number, I’ll send you the address.”

You hand him your phone, hoping he doesn’t comment on the horrendously cracked screen protector that you had been telling yourself to replace for months. At the same time, you also want him to notice the small possibility of him offering to buy you a new one, taking advantage of rich people or whatever. “I can pick you up if you don’t mind.”

“Should I trust you to drive me?” he asks, carefully looking between you and your car with his turquoise eyes as if analyzing his opponents on a field, only, this was a residential street and the only other player was a balding middle aged man walking his dog. 

“I mean, you’ll be my first passenger so you can find out for everyone else.”

“If I get into an accident I’ll sue you for real.”

“I’ll try not to, I don’t have a job anymore and I’m going to college soon so even if I do please be merciful I swear I have good intentions.”

“Pick me up tomorrow at 11 and I’ll give you a review,” he decides, handing over his phone with the contact ‘Sae Itoshi’ at the top of your phone and the name of a sports store sent to your conversation. You ponder for a moment about asking for a contact picture but you’d like to stay alive for at least one more day so you bid him farewell and sit back in the driver’s seat, hoping he doesn’t hate your taste in music when you turn the radio back on.

—

The Itoshi residence is rather normal, differing from your expectation of a lavish mansion with fountains and fences of gold, given that Sae was a famous athlete and his younger brother Rin was known throughout the prefecture for being a mini Sae. The previous night when you had just finished brushing your teeth, your phone screen illuminated with the presence of a new notification: a text from the older Itoshi.

>make sure you don’t have anything planned for tomorrow

>i’ll need to try each ball out

>you did this to yourself

>shitty driver

A jolt of pain had struck your pride, crumbling your ego at the realization that he was, unfortunately, right about needing to sacrifice your entire afternoon to babysit a (grown) stranger whom you haven’t talked to in years; those conversations were brief, lacking any substance to consider them actual conversations. For a moment, the thought of bailing on him had crossed your mind, the idea of leaving him stranded at his residence while you enjoyed a night in, marinating before a tumultuous college career seemed insatiably tempting. 

Disaster struck when you Googled Sae Itoshi’s net worth, his bank account leading you right to his front doorstep.

“Don’t get into any car accidents,” Sae told you as he dipped his head down to step into the passenger’s side of your car. You were suddenly struck with a moment of insecurity; a wealthy athlete who could probably buy your family and your ancestor’s mummified corpses is sitting in your car and is probably rich enough to get away with murdering you for having half a particle of dust fall onto his lap.

You realized you zoned out when Sae cleared his throat, blinking a few times at you with an unamused expression and eyebrows furrowed in judgment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, man. Just trying to remember the name of the place you mentioned. It’s a technique I use where if I think really hard in the same place I was when I thought of that thought, that thought I had thought of can reappear in my thoughtless mind.” You aren’t sure if you understand what you’re saying but you think you can get away with spouting bullshit if you use enough hand movements like a person on TedTalk.

“What the actual fuck are you saying?” Sae doesn’t seem to believe you but you’re an innovator—you simplify the problem down to something the average person (underling) can understand. 

“Can you give me the address again..?”

“You’re a freak.”

Sae picks up your phone, which was opened to the navigator app, and quickly typed in the name of the sporting good’s shop he had mentioned the day before. It was a small place, smaller than you would expect a star athlete to go to for equipment but you suppose it makes sense at the same time: less people, less paparazzi, less crazed fans, and a selection of items picked specifically for trained athletes. 

“So, uh, are you gonna make me pay for the ball too ‘cause I’m at least, like, five yen in student loan debt,” you sheepishly ask, hoping Sae can appreciate your humility in being a college student, taking a step forward in life by pursuing a higher education. 

“How cheap are you?” Sae scoffs, letting out a sound that started off as half of a chuckle but ended as a constipated grunt, making him sound like a diseased lab-grown goat that was raised by war-stricken alien society. You think Sae should become an experimental musical artist if soccer doesn’t work out, sorta like a fucked up version of Björk who’s slightly less musically talented and a total cunt instead. 

“I’m not cheap! I’m just curious. I brought my credit card just in case. I’m a responsible adult; this is all for budgeting and logging my payments or whatever else people do to save money.”

“You’re lucky you’re funny,” Sae comments as if it’s the most nonchalant thing in the world. For you though, you almost stepped on the breaks and begged him to repeat what he said. It would have been just another condescending compliment from anyone else but Sae Itoshi is notorious for not humoring anyone in the media and you quickly realized, even those in real life. Before you could doubt your memory, Sae opens his mouth again. “You lucked out on pretty privilege. All the bullshit you say would not slide if it came from any other person. I’m convinced the only social experience you have is talking to a mud wall.”

Any negative statement he had made went through one ear and directly out the other, keeping only the compliments for your brain to process. Without noticing, a giddy smile appeared on your face and to Sae, it was wildly masochistic the way you tolerated his foul personality and even relishing in his attention—no matter good or bad. He could almost pity you, deducing your attitude as a lack of self respect, but you somehow manage to surprise him every time.

“Nah, I think I had a lot of friends. I don’t know if we were actually friends but I knew their names so it’s probably good enough. Speaking of, there was this guy named Kota who I knew when I was seven and he seemed pretty cool until I caught him picking at his feet in the middle of class. Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing and if he’s still collecting foot gunk. But yeah, I think you’re just self projecting with the whole ‘no people, only soccer’ thing and moving to Spain with zero spanish skills. Damn, wait, that’s kinda sad. Shit, now I feel bad,” you take a look at Sae, searching for any sort of discomfort or offense but he simply shrugged. 

“It’s whatever, they all bothered me anyways. I was there to play soccer, not make lifelong friends. It’s not like I’m gonna stay in Spain forever. I’m back in Japan to renew my passport ‘cause I know I’m gonna come back eventually.”

“You’ve already made a name for yourself and you’re making insane money that can last more than a lifetime for the average person once your contract is over. It’s not gonna be long before you get onto the Olympic team for Japan. When you do make it on, you better thank me for making sure you kept on playing by bringing you to buy a replacement for a ball I ran over.”

You drove into a parking lot with two other cars directly in front of the sports shop. The building was in the middle of a small plaza, adjacent to an udon shop and a bar. It was undoubtedly an odd place for a sports shop to be and that might have been what caught Sae’s eye in the first place. In the window display, a tennis racket and a pair of soccer cleats are put on display and on the glass door, countless advertisements for events and brands are taped on, each barely correlating to the others.

Right in the corner of the shop is the checkout where an elderly man sits, scribbling something in a beaten journal. There is a stack of newspapers behind him, every issue marked with highlighted annotations and then neatly folded as if it were untouched. Sae greeted the man and turned to find someone else, this time, being a younger man who appeared to be in his thirties or forties. He gave Sae a warm smile and shook his hand, not as a business partner, but as an acquaintance. 

It’s here that you realize you’ll never be able to see the world the way Sae does. In your car he was just another boy in your neighborhood that you decided to get to know. But to others, he was Sae Itoshi, a prodigy who could conquer the world with just himself and a pair of cleats. Although his eyes are dimmed and his apathy anything but silent, his shine was lost to know one and when he boards a plane back to Spain while you settle into college, you think you’d be content calling him a shooting star.

Sae notices that you stopped following him and turns around in confusion, tilting his head to motion you to follow him. It takes a breath before you put your hands in the pocket of your jacket and tentatively follow him. It wasn’t until you walked into the store that you truly realized how out of place you felt and if it were just you and Sae, you might’ve thought to ask him what everything did. He’d call you a dense fuck and tell you that he plays soccer, that he doesn’t deal with anything else. You had even the smallest bit of shame so you kept your mouth shut and continued to trail after him, stealing glances at the stacked shelves until the employee came to a halt.

Before you was a wall, lined with four shelves of nothing but soccer balls, each decorated with the signatures of different brands and their series’.

“The guy said I can try them out in the back.” Sae tapped your shoulder and grabbed onto the fabric of your jacket, dragging you with him like a pet cat. “They have a lot of empty space there. You can help me carry everything I want to try.”

Agreeing turned out to be a mistake. In your arms you struggled to carry six different balls, with Sae dribbling one between his feet as the owner of the stop unlocked the door to the back where Sae would be testing things out. You felt like an overworked butler from some bad comic and in your head, you imagined yourself as a fainting princess—a damsel in distress being overworked by the evil kingdom in which she is supposed to be respected.

“Stop being dramatic,” Sae sighed, noticing your dejected pout and lost eyes. He could almost pity you if you didn’t look comically pathetic in the moment, almost adorable if he wanted to be slightly sentimental. “You can put them all down now. Just sit here and wait. Take a nap or something, you’ll be fine.”

The lack of standards you have would be an issue to address at a later date because the barely comforting words of the ever eloquent motivational speaker Sae Itoshi had you immediately perking up and cheering for him.

“Go! Go! You got this! Get that goal, ugly!”

“Who are you calling ugly? I could knock you out with this ball, you know. If you want to be supportive, don't be a freak.”

“Are you really gonna disrespect the only fan you have at the moment? What if I tweet about this and get you canceled or some shit?”

“Do you really think I care about that?”

“...no…”

“...”

“...”

“Whatever. Do what you want.”

“Kick that ball, little boy! You’re a prodigy! Number one soccer player in the world! Bend that net over!”

—

By the time Sae had finished shooting several goals and alternating dribbling between them at least five times, the sun had set and your throat was sore from bullshit cheering, half of which were incoherent sounds of moral support. Sae grabbed an unopened box of the ball he had chosen and denied a pump when offered one. When he placed the cardboard packaging onto the checkout table, your wallet was in your hand and ready to check out and pay off your debt to the Itoshi. 

However, you were met with a receipt in your hand instead and a farewell from the owner, bidding you and Sae a happy rest of your day. You quickly turned your head toward Sae, mouth agape as your brain twitched, trying to process if he was fucking with you or not.

“Do you want me to pay you online or write a check or what? Wait, why did you pay? I thought I owed you it? My complaining earlier was all joking. I literally popped your old ball. The least I can do is pay for a new one!” You rant, quickly taking your phone out of your bag to open up your banking app but Sae was quicker to take your hand in his and bring it down to where it was before.

“And I was fucking with you too, dumbass. Or are you too stupid to remember back in the car how I didn’t respond to you asking if you needed to pay? Start listening, will you?”

“I think this is the meanest act of generosity I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m not being generous, I’m telling you that you owe me something else.”

“What the fuck?” You’re perplexed by the audacity of this man. You hope his athletic career flops and every brand deal that he has gotten offered drops him. “Are you gonna start charging me an insane amount of interest like a loan shark? Dude, aren’t you rich?”

“I’m not asking for money.”

“Then what is it?”

“Go on a date with me.”

“Are you being for real right now?” You’re still perplexed by the audacity of this man. You’re perplexed by how his words are chosen to form the most foul sentences with sweet meanings. You’re perplexed by how out of all who know him, and all whom he knows, he would take an interest in you. But you’re a selfish person—if Sae Itoshi is offering his beauty and his awful personality to you, then you’ll take it with all your heart. 

You move to Sae’s side, putting everything in your hands into your bag and intertwining your fingers with his, a dumb smile planted on your face. As you skip to the car and swing your hands between the two of you, Sae Itoshi’s grin is highlighted by the golden glow of the setting sun. 

He really can’t wait to come home.

[luveline]

You are so talented I can’t even fathom it Jade! I seriously don’t know how you do it.

Idk if you’re taking requests rn for Spencer still bc I know you write him a lot but I love shy reader and post prison Spencer it’s so cute. I would love to see their relationship growing, maybe her realizing the feelings aren’t one sided by little things he says or does for her or how he reacts if she gets hurt.

No worries if not! Anything you write is a gift honestly. Happy New Year!

thank you sm angel, you're too kind<3 hny! ♡ fem!reader, 1.2k

cw violence and injury

You'll be fine, Spencer had said, patting you on the shoulder. Just trust me. 

This is decidedly not fine. 

You crouch low behind a raspberry chaise turned blood red in the poor lighting. When you entered the building moments ago, it was light. But now the lights are out and you can't tell your friend from foe; footsteps to your left could be Spencer where he'd followed you in, or they could be the UnSub. 

I'm right behind you, he'd said with a borderline rogue smile. You think I'd let you get hurt? 

Breath warms your ear. “Boo.” 

The air gets stuck in your lungs as brutish arms grab you. Your gun points toward your own jaw and your pulse hammers so hard you freeze, a split second, the amygdala overwhelmed. Then the UnSub tries to grab your weapon, and everything you've been taught kicks in. You twist in his arms, throwing your head back out of the line of fire as multiple agents call to you to sound off, and kicking hard at the UnSub's legs, the subsequent soft spot between them. 

You fall hard onto the floor, screaming as a weight lands on top of you.

Spencer shouts your name. “Where are you?!”

A hard palm hits you in the throat. Light bounces off of the UnSub's face as a teammate aims their torch in your direction, but you're wheezing and aching, your throat on fire and too overwhelmed to think. The hand that hurt you leaps for your gun. You hold onto it for dear life, even as he forces it once, twice into the soft of your face, leaving rings of flame behind your eye. You pull it hard from his hands and fling it across the floor out of reach, squirming under his weight, needing to be away, away— 

You pull your knee up and kick wildly, a well timed blow hitting the UnSub in the face with a damp-sounding crunch. 

“I don't have eyes on her!” Emily shouts. 

“I do,” Spencer says. His torchlight floods your area as he shouts, “Stand down!” 

You don't squeal, but it's not a very professional sound as you crawl backwards out of the way. The ring of fire behind your eyes feels ever so slightly above it now. The room is half gone. You wipe your eye and look down at your hand, dark staining your palm in a heavy smear.

“Oh,” you mumble queasily. 

The power never comes back on, but you don't notice until after, when Spencer's dragged you outside to the front yard and lowered you to a soft patch of grass, an EMT beside him dressing your wound. “Did they get him?” you ask. 

Spencer's brow wrinkles with his frown. 

“Remember what we said?” The EMT asks. 

“No?” You wince and hiss as he pulls the wings of a butterfly stitch closed over your eyebrow. 

“You have a concussion. I'm trying to work out how bad it is.” 

You honestly still feel like you're in the dark room. You reach out for Spencer's hand instinctively, needing comfort, a tether to the ground, and he clasps your fingers tightly. “You're okay,” he says steadily. 

“You're smiling at me weird.” You glance over your shoulder at the cop cars and the flashing red-blue lights. “Did you get him?” 

“Emily got him. Just after he got you.” Spencer looks like he might stand from his crouch, but he brings your hand to his chin instead, leaning on it showfully. “It's my fault, I'm sorry. I told you I'd have your back and I didn't.” 

Your chest stirs with the memory of your panic. One moment you'd been underneath him, and aching, and now you're on the grass as the forensics bring in the floodlights, so bright it's like mini suns have come out on either side of the yard. You hang your head to hide from the light. The EMT tells you off. 

“Does your throat still hurt?” Spencer asks you, pulling on your hand gently. “Answer me.” 

“My head is swimming.” 

Your memories fuzz over. When you look up again the EMT is gone. Spencer sits on the grass now beside you unhurried, your hand still clamped between both of his. His thumb rubs at your knuckles and the smooth stretch of skin beside them, apparently content to wait with you. 

“She's okay?” Tara asks, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. 

“Not enough medical. They're gonna look at Agent Walker and circle back. She might have to be admitted.” 

Tara bends at the waist to look you in the eye. “You okay?” 

“I'm fine. Are you okay?” you ask. 

“I'm doing better than you. That's gonna be a terrific bruise.” She smiles at Spencer reassuringly. “Emily wants you. I can sit with her, she'll be in good hands.” 

“She'd be in great hands,” Spencer says simply, “but I don't care. I'm staying here. Please tell Emily she can come here if she needs to talk to me. I'm not going anywhere until they've finished looking at Y/N.” 

Tara grins. “Your funeral.” 

You're slowly starting to feel like yourself again, or more aware of yourself at the very least. Spencer's touch is melding from comforting to heart-rending, his nearness a heat. He looks stupidly good-looking considering what you've just been through, the FBI vest tight on his chest, his sweet brown curls falling into his eyes as he plays with your fingers. 

“I must look awful,” you realise suddenly, a stone's throw from tearful. 

Spencer doesn't glance up at first. “You look beautiful, but the bruise is…” He looks at you through dark lashes. “It's a tragedy.” 

“What?” 

His small smile fades. “How are you feeling? Are things clear, or would you say that I'm out of focus? You're having moderate to severe concussive symptoms.” He shakes his head. “And the bruise is mottling already.” 

“I'm sorry.” 

Spencer laughs softly. After a pensive moment, he brings your hand to his mouth. Maybe he kisses it, maybe he doesn't, but the touch brings a sacredness to his promise, “I won't let that happen again. You trusted me to keep you safe.” 

“I trusted you to tell me if I was ready, and I was. I remembered how to get out of it. I'm still here.” You fluster after you've spoken, feeling brash. 

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face. “You are. You did amazing.” He removes one hand from yours. A featherlight touch coasts down your cheek, brief and encouraging nonetheless. “It's going to be a really bad bruise.” 

“Oh, well,” you say tiredly. 

Spencer's turn to go quiet. He holds your hand on his thigh. “I could kiss it better?” he offers in a murmur. 

You laugh and steal your hand back, unable to take all his attention at once. “Funny, Spencer.” 

He gives you a warm smile. You can't tell if he's kidding or not about the kiss, but his devotion to you while you're hurting is real. You're not sure where that leaves you.

[moon7jay]

Now he knows... (p.sh)

"It's not even funny i don't know what the fuck you are giggling about right now to be honest" You sassed hitting sunghoon's shoulder.

"Because you are jealous of my pet puppy I can't breathe baby"

"It's NOT THAT. Stop saying that. It's how you didn't mention me when jake asked you about the cute females in your life ! like fuck you actually"

Sunghoon guffawed and rolled onto the floor while you continued watching him with narrowed eyes. This was serious for you. He wiped the few tears that gathered at the corner of his eyes and sighed, trying to keep his laughter at bay.

"I just wanted to show off how gaeul has been able to use the snack button you know? It's cute"

He honestly found you adorable as you huffed and puffed at his words, a pretty pout forming on your lips "so i need to install a snack button in my room and press it with my paws everytime I need a snack for you to call me cute? Is that what you're implying?'"

Sunghoon wheezed and rolled around holding his stomach again. You didn't even know that you had a straight connection to his funny bone.

"keep laughing, fuck you and fuck your stupid puppy and that stupid snack button and fuck jake" You grumbled throwing a pillow at sunghoon's laughing form.

"MY NAME WAS MENTIONED AND I DON'T LIKE THAT" jake yelled from outside.

"WELL FUCK THAT " You shouted back and could hear jake grumbling something about sunghoon's taste in women.

Sunghoon pulled himself together, catching his breath and made eye contact with you, still lying on the floor.

"actually she also has a potty bin-

"PARK SUNGHOON I DARE YOU TO FINISH THAT SENTENCE"

Unbelievable. You huffed dramatically and plopped yourself on his bed, your back facing him. All you wanted was to be called cute but your boyfriend loved teasing you to the point where you wanted nothing to do with him. Dramatic much? You asked yourself.

You bit your lower lip to stop yourself from smiling when you felt the bed dip behind you, his hot breath on your neck and arms manhandling your body onto your back while he hovered over your pouty self, his face inches from yours.

"jake doesn't need to know how cute you are baby, you know why?" he asked, resting his body weight on one arm at the side of your head while with the other he started to grope your body. A gasp escaped your lips when he grabbed your tits tightly, your back automatically arching into his touch.

"because then I'll have to tell him about the cute sounds that you make for me" His words were backed up by his actions as he pinched your nipples harshly from over your thin tank top, making you mewl underneath him. He stared down into your eyes that were beginning to water because of his rough touches.

"do you want him to know how cute you sound for me? How you whine so prettily it drives me fucking crazy?" He grunted, capturing your lips into his own messily while his hand travelled down to part your legs open. He grabbed your pussy from above your shorts, making you moan into his mouth.

"since you're so fucking desperate baby, let's show jake how cute you are yeah?" He asked pulling away from your body, standing on his knees while he unzipped his jeans hastily. You were shaking your head and pleading to him with your wet eyes but sunghoon wasn't listening to you now. "N-no I'm s-sorry-please hoon" you begged softly, little sobs escaping your lips in a shameful mix of humiliation and arousal when he pulled your shorts and panties down your soft legs. "let's show him how cute you are while you're being split open on my cock" your hands came up in an attempt to push him away but you couldn't make any progress. Sunghoon chuckled upon noticing your efforts, you were the cutest little thing and he wanted to ruin you. His big hand engulfed your wrists and trapped them above your head, ceasing all your movements. "You wanna fight me baby?" he asked, tongue coming out to lick your tears while with his free hand he guided his dick inside of your pussy. You gasped and moaned loudly upon feeling the intrusion, he was so big, no matter how many times he'd taken you like this, you just couldn't get used to the painful stretch.

"fuck baby" he groaned and started thrusting into your fuck hole in a frenzy, making it a point to drill his dick deep into your core. You tried to supress your noises but it didn't last long. Sunghoon digging his pointy teeth into your neck was enough for you to start letting your sobs out. You knew jake could hear you, the dorm had really thin walls and that's why you and sunghoon only had sex in the dorm when no one else was around. "Bet he's fisting his dick to your cute little moans baby, getting himself off to us having sex" sunghoon panted on your face, grinding his hips deeper into yours. He cursed upon feeling how tight you clenched around his length at his filthy words. He loved how responsive you were. Like a doll for him to fuck and bend however he wants.

"Now he knows how cute you are for me" He moaned into your mouth "bet he's fantasizing about your cute little cunt right now-ah fuck-wishing he was the one buried in your wet heat instead of me, isn't that what you wanted?"

[jenosonlywife23]

We listen and we dont judge

(i dont know how to feel abt this one)

You’re lying flat on Jeno’s bed, staring at the ceiling, bored out of your mind. He’s been gaming for hours, muttering things like “Push mid” and “Bro, are you serious?” into his mic. You swear you’re two minutes away from turning into a fossil.

Then inspiration strikes. A devilish grin spreads across your face as you grab your phone and sneak into his gaming room.

He doesn’t even notice when you prop your phone up on his desk, positioning it to perfectly catch his side profile.

You hop onto the armrest of his chair, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Jeno.”

“Hmm?” he hums, still glued to his screen.

“Take a break and do this trend with me.”

He spares you a glance, eyebrows raised. “What trend?”

You clear your throat dramatically, lowering your voice. “We listen,” you say, full of gravitas, “and we don’t judge.”

He snorts. “Sounds fake, but okay. ”

You think for a second, then smirk. “I once stole my neighbor’s cat because I thought it liked me better than them.”

His head snaps toward you so fast you hear his neck crack. “What?!”

“WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE!” you yell, clapping your hands for emphasis.

He shakes his head, laughing in disbelief. “Fine, fine. My turn.”

Without missing a beat, he says, “I used to practice kissing on my own reflection.”

Your jaw drops. “JENO!”

“What? I was like eight!” he protests, his ears turning pink.

“We listen,” you wheeze, barely able to get the words out through your laughter, “and we don’t judge!”

He narrows his eyes at you, clearly plotting. “Your turn.”

You grin. “I once pretended to faint in school just so I could get out of a math test.”

He stares at you, blinking. “And it worked?”

You nod smugly. “The nurse even called my mom. It was Oscar-worthy.”

Jeno bursts out laughing, slapping his knee. “You’re insane.”

“Your turn,” you prompt, leaning closer.

He pauses for dramatic effect, his lips twitching. “I accidentally called my teacher ‘Mom’ once, panicked, and doubled down by asking her what’s for dinner.”

You scream-laugh, almost falling off the armrest. “NO WAY!”

“She still brings it up every time she sees me,” he mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“We listen,” you gasp, wiping tears from your eyes, “and we don’t judge!”

Just as you’re catching your breath, Jeno frowns, his gaze shifting to your phone. “Wait. Are you recording this?”

You freeze, your hand instinctively flying to cover the screen. “Uh… no?”

The little red recording light gives you away.

“YAH!!” he yells, lunging for the phone.

You snatch it up and bolt out of the room, laughing like a maniac. “WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE!”

Jeno’s laugh echoes behind you as he chases you through the apartment. “You’re deleting that video!”

“Over my dead body!”

It’s chaos, it’s messy, and it’s the funniest afternoon you’ve had in a while.

[biolumien]

friendly blows

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader smile and wave everyone. there may be the slightest bit of suggestive dialogue but that's bc hoshina's a fucker word count: 1091

“Do you take great pleasure in beating the shit out of me or something?” you pant from where you lay on the floor. As you attempt to sit up, you wince, holding your rib. “You kicked me in the fucking rib, Hoshina-”

“Ah, pshaw. Didn’t hit it hard enough to properly break it,” Hoshina says, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ll live. I know your limits better than you, I think. After all, I spend so much time staring at your vitals in HQ anyway… I know what’s fragile about you. And besides, I’m not trying to kill you. You’ll be fine.” He wipes sweat from his jaw, one of his crimson eyes opening as he smirks down at you, a wink. He extends his hand out to you. “Up on your feet, soldier. Got a bit more fight left in ya, I can tell.”

“You’re a bastard,” you grouse, reaching out your hand to grasp his as you begin to pull yourself up–

And then Hoshina retracts his hand, and you fall right back onto the ground.

“Fucker!” you grumble as Hoshina begins to chuckle.

“Ohh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry… had to, had to. If you still have the energy to mouth off I’m sure you have more than enough energy to fight me.” Hoshina teases, though his expression seemed a little more serious. “You’re the one who wanted to fight me, let’s not forget. I’m just giving you your money’s worth.”

You growl, pressing your hands against the training room’s mats as you push yourself up, still rubbing at where Hoshina had kicked you before. You ready yourself into a sparring position, and Hoshina simply just stares at you, a teasing smirk on his face.

Pure cockiness.

You’ve been fighting for close to thirty minutes–it’s felt like an eternity, in any case. He’s seen most of your moves, and the ones he hasn’t seen, he’s been able to predict with relative ease. 

Hoshina moves fast–almost too fast for your eyes to process, his foot swinging out to kick you in the side, and you manage to jump out of the way just in time for his swing to find no purchase. He laughs, winding up his arm to slam a punch towards your face. You hold up your hands fast enough to block the blow and grit your teeth as Hoshina bears down on you with the punch, forcing his whole weight onto you.

“Not bad,” Hoshina says. “You’re getting better at predicting my moves.”

Focusing’s taking too much of your time, so you simply huff.

“Ahh, there it goes,” Hoshina teases. “Can’t mouth off if you’re too busy trying to focus on not getting hit, right?”

A sudden punch to your stomach scatters your focus immediately as he swings his leg, his foot hooking your ankle and causing you to slam against the ground with a thud. 

You cough as the impact takes all the air out of your lungs, and Hoshina leans over you. 

“You alive?” he teases, baring his teeth. 

Fucker.  

“Oh, plenty alive,” you rasp, reaching up to grab him by the collar. 

As he yelps—it’s a cute sound, to hear him caught off guard—you hook your leg around the back of his knee and he collapses against you, barely avoiding smashing your heads together by bracing himself against the mat. After a bit of struggling, you flip your positions so that you’re pinning him against the mat with a hand pressed against his sternum, your legs bracketing his thighs to keep him from moving. 

Hoshina’s eyes are fully open, staring at you as his chest heaves. He pants, and you’re furtively grateful he’s not making some kind of smart remark.  

“What was that, you said? If you have the energy to mouth off… something like that? Where’s all your fight now?” you gasp out, pressing your hand down harder. 

Hoshina wheezes. 

“Oh, believe me, pretty thing, I’ve got more fight left in me than you could ever imagine,” Hoshina says, his eyes meeting yours as suddenly you feel yourself buckling. Hoshina pushes you back with a gentle hand, as if you’re barely any weight to him at all, shuffling your bodies–

“Hey–” you protest as he flips you onto your front, pinning you to the mat with a knee to the small of your back and holding your arms back with a hand. “I got you that time!”

“You did,” Hoshina amends. “You can get some praise for that, if you want. Ohh, you did so well,” his voice lilts as he leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear. “Keep it up, and maybe you can pin me down for longer…”

Your face flushes.

“Going red? How cute,” Hoshina says. “Well… hm. Let’s end training here for today.” He pulls back, letting you get up. 

“You bastard,” you say, your hands coming up to your face to assess how flushed your cheeks are. It might just be because of the training, but you feel like you’re on fire, somehow.

“Mm, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Hoshina says, holding up a water bottle to you. “Here. Good work today.” 

You unscrew the water bottle, drinking about half the bottle, crushing the plastic in your grip as you do. Hoshina watches with bemusement in his eyes.

“I just feel like I’m not getting better,” you say frustratedly. “When I fight you it just feels like I just forget about everything else I’ve learned.” “Aww, don’t let that get you down,” Hoshina teases. “You’re doing great against me. Most people can’t even land a hit on me, you know! And you kept me pinned down for… longer than anyone could say they had before.” He seemed almost embarrassed to admit it, pressing a hand to the back of his neck. 

“You’re making fun of me,” you say. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Hoshina says after a moment, a smile approaching this side of genuine crossing his lips. “You’re doing great against me. I look forward to the day where you can beat me. Let me see your hand for a sec?”

You extend your hand for a second, wondering what he’ll do–

Hoshina simply kisses your bruised knuckles, holding your hand gently. You think you might be dead, hallucinating, or something, with the way your heart stops for a moment–and then the moment’s over, because Hoshina has parted from you, letting go of your hand.

“Text me if you ever want to spar again,” he says, turning away from you. 

“Hoshina–” you start, but he’s already gone.

Fucker.

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER PT5 | MV1

an: AND WE'RE BACK!! WHO MISSED OUR FAVOURITE LITTLE FAMILY! can't wait to hear what you guys think of this part, i've loved being with them this week, this is a shorter chapter but i've got ideas for what might happen next! lmk if y'all wanna see anything in particular

wc: 3.2k

Theo was four when his parents welcomed his sister, and Max very nearly missed it, if not for Danny.

It had been a normal day at the garage, Max elbow-deep in an engine rebuild, grease staining his hands and his focus entirely on the task at hand. His phone, forgotten on the workbench, buzzed furiously with calls and messages. It wasn’t until Danny came barreling into the shop, panting like he’d just run a marathon, that Max looked up.

“Max! Man, what the hell are you doing?” Danny wheezed, clutching his knees.

Max straightened, wiping his hands on a rag. “Uh, working? What’s wrong with you? You look like you’re dying.”

Danny shot him a glare, pointing accusingly at the phone vibrating incessantly on the workbench. “Your wife is trying to call you! She’s in labour, man! She’s having the baby!”

Max froze, the rag slipping from his fingers. “What?”

“She’s at the hospital! Her aunt’s with her, but you need to move! Now!”

Max’s heart lurched into overdrive. Without a word, he sprinted to the workbench, grabbed his phone, and bolted out the door. “Danny, lock up!” he shouted over his shoulder as he jumped onto his bike.

Danny shook his head, muttering, “You owe me for this one, man.”

Max arrived at the hospital in record time, still in his grease-stained shirt and boots. His wife was mid-contraction when he burst into the room, panting, his face a mixture of guilt and relief.

“You’re here,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing slightly before softening at his frazzled appearance.

“I’m here,” he confirmed, rushing to her side and taking her hand. “I’m sorry, angel. My phone was on silent—”

“Save it,” she hissed, squeezing his hand so tightly he thought his bones might break. “You’re here now. Just don’t let go.”

Max didn’t. Not for a second. Hours later, they welcomed a healthy baby girl into the world. Max cried as he held her for the first time, the tiny bundle swaddled in pink resting against his chest. He looked at his wife, her hair damp and her face radiant despite her exhaustion.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

Their daughter, Mary-Ann, came home a few days later to a little house with a white picket fence that they had purchased not long before her birth. It was a modest place, but it was theirs, filled with laughter, love, and the chaos that only a toddler and a newborn could bring.

Theo was adjusting to his new role as a big brother with enthusiasm and curiosity. He followed his parents around, always asking to hold the baby or show her his toys. “She likes dinosaurs, right?” he would ask, clutching his favourite plastic stegosaurus.

“She loves dinosaurs,” Max assured him, grinning as he ruffled Theo’s hair.

Max had seamlessly embraced fatherhood, splitting his time between the garage and his family. He spent his evenings teaching Theo how to kick a football in the back garden and his nights rocking Mary-Ann to sleep.

The house, with its picket fence and flowerbeds lovingly tended by his wife, was the picture of the life Max had never imagined for himself. Yet, here he was, living it and loving every moment.

The day of Mary-Ann’s baptism dawned clear and bright, the kind of perfect day that made everything feel just a little more magical. Their little family was dressed in their Sunday best, Theo proudly wearing a bowtie that his mother had wrestled him into after much negotiation, and Mary-Ann bundled in a delicate white christening gown.

They arrived at the church to find her aunt, Danny, and a few close friends waiting for them, just as they had for Theo’s baptism years ago. Her aunt immediately swooped in to coo over Mary-Ann, her face soft with affection.

“She’s the spitting image of you at this age,” her aunt said warmly, brushing a soft curl away from Mary-Ann’s forehead.

“Let’s hope she doesn’t inherit my teenage rebellion,” she joked, glancing at Max, who chuckled.

The service itself was intimate and beautiful. As the pastor spoke, Theo sat on Max’s lap, squirming occasionally but staying quiet enough to earn whispered praise from both his parents. When it came time for the baptism, Max and his wife stood together at the front of the church, Theo holding onto his mother’s hand while Max held Mary-Ann close.

The pastor asked Theo if he wanted to say anything, and the boy puffed out his chest importantly, his tiny voice ringing out through the quiet chapel. “We’re all gonna be... um... part of Chris-tain-ity now!”

There was a soft chuckle from the congregation, but Theo frowned, frustrated by his own mispronunciation. His brows knitted together, and before anyone could stop him, he muttered under his breath, “Damn it.”

Max’s head snapped around, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at his son. “Where did you hear that, Theo?”

Without hesitation, Theo turned and pointed to Danny, who froze mid-grin. “Uncle Daddy says it all the time.”

The entire room dissolved into laughter, but Max’s expression darkened. “His name is Uncle Danny. Not Daddy,” he corrected firmly. He handed Mary-Ann to his wife with exaggerated care and then fixed Danny with a dangerous look. “Uncle Danny also has five seconds to run.”

Danny’s eyes widened as he stammered, “Now, hold on a second—”

“Five.”

Danny bolted toward the back of the church, nearly tripping over a pew. Max didn’t miss a beat, stepping around the altar and charging after him. Theo laughed hysterically as he watched his father chase Danny out the door, and his mother shook her head, trying to stifle her own giggles.

When Max returned a few minutes later, slightly winded but victorious, Danny trailing behind him with a sheepish grin, the ceremony continued. The pastor, who had been struggling to keep a straight face, resumed his blessing, and little Mary-Ann was baptised without further incident.

As they left the church, Theo clung to Max’s hand, his face lit with excitement. “Daddy, can I chase Uncle Danny next time?”

Max ruffled his hair, smirking. “Not until you’re faster than me, kid.”

The two of them loved the life they had built together and sometimes when Max woke up he had to pinch himself. Just under half a decade ago he was eating dry hotdogs and drinking stale beers in a rundown trailer. Now he was helping his wife. His wife. In the kitchen with his two kids. Not one, two. Max was a father and everyday he woke up he couldn’t really believe. it.

The smell of cinnamon and vanilla wafted through the house as she stood at the counter, carefully icing a tray of perfectly golden cupcakes. Mary-Ann was nestled in her baby chair nearby, happily chewing on a soft toy, and the kitchen felt like the warm, beating heart of their home.

Out in the garage, Max had Theo standing on a small step stool by the workbench, his tiny hands gripping a wrench that was far too big for him. Max crouched beside him, guiding his hands as they worked on an old oil pan together. Theo giggled every time Max made a joke, his high-pitched laughter filling the air.

She wiped her hands on her apron, grabbed a glass of iced tea, and wandered outside to watch her boys. Leaning against the doorframe, she crossed her arms and smiled. “Teaching him how to change oil already? He’s four, Max.”

Max turned, his grease-streaked face lighting up when he saw her. “Hey, never too early to learn the basics, right, buddy?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, smearing a streak of oil across his cheek as he waved the wrench triumphantly. “Mama, I’m helping!”

“I can see that,” she laughed, walking over and kissing the top of his messy hair.

As her gaze wandered around the garage, it landed on their old motorbike, tucked into the corner, its polished chrome gleaming even in the dim light. Her smile turned into a smirk, and she gestured toward it with her glass. “You know, you’re going to have to sell that death trap.”

Max froze mid-laugh, a look of horror crossing his face. “What? No way. We’ve got so many memories with that bike.”

“We have two kids now, Max.”

He frowned, standing up and crossing his arms. “But what if Theo wants it when he grows up?”

She raised an eyebrow, placing a hand on her hip. “He’s not stepping a foot on that thing.”

Max threw his hands up in exaggerated protest. “Oh, so when it’s us, it’s fine, but when it’s Theo, it’s a problem?”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Yup.”

Before he could argue further, Danny strolled into the garage, a familiar plastic container in hand. “Alright, where’s the good stuff? I heard there’s baking going on in that kitchen, and you know the deal—Danny gets dibs.”

She laughed, pointing toward the house. “I’ll bring you some in a second. Just made a fresh batch.”

As Danny leaned against the workbench, Max glanced at him, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey, Danny, you wanna buy that death trap over there?”

Danny raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bike. “How much are we talking?”

Max grinned. “Fifty bucks.”

Danny’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”

Max smirked, holding out a hand. “You buy it, but I still get to use it whenever I want.”

Danny laughed, shaking his head but reaching out to shake Max’s hand anyway. “You got yourself a deal, man.”

Max turned to her with a triumphant grin, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. “See? It’s sold. Problem solved.”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head but smiling as she headed back into the house. “You two are impossible.”

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Max knelt back down beside Theo, who looked up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“Daddy, what’s a death trap?”

Max chuckled, ruffling his hair. “It’s something fun that your mom doesn’t like.”

From the kitchen, she called out, “I heard that!”

While she packed up some of her baked goods for Danny she too thought of how lucky she was. How all her prayers had been listened to. How she finally made it out of that house. How she was going to witness all her own kid’s life milestones with joy and love, not hatred and jealousy. 

The morning of Theo’s first day of school, the sunlight streamed through the windows as the family bustled to get ready. Theo stood proudly in his brand-new school uniform, his backpack almost as big as he was. Mary-Ann, her curls tied up in tiny pigtails, was toddling around in her nursery outfit, clutching her stuffed bunny like it was her lifeline.

Their mother, however, was a whirlwind of emotions. She double-checked Theo’s lunchbox for the third time and nearly forgot to zip Mary-Ann’s coat, all while blinking back tears.

“I can’t believe they’re both going,” she murmured, her voice trembling as she fixed Theo’s collar for the tenth time.

Max, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee, tried to hide his grin. “Sweetheart, they’re not moving out. It’s just school and nursery.”

She shot him a glare. “Don’t start with me today, Max.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Come here, buddy,” he said, crouching down to Theo’s level. “You ready for your big day?”

Theo nodded, his little chest puffed out. “I’m gonna make so many friends!”

Max ruffled his hair. “That’s my boy. And you,” he added, turning to Mary-Ann and lifting her into his arms. “You take care of those nursery teachers, alright? Show ‘em who’s boss.”

Mary-Ann giggled, planting a slobbery kiss on his cheek.

After a bittersweet drop-off that left her sniffling the entire car ride home, they returned to their now eerily quiet house. For the first time in years, it was just the two of them.

She walked into the living room, glanced at the toys still scattered around, and sighed heavily, sinking into the couch. “It’s too quiet.”

Max sat beside her, pulling her into his side. “I told you this morning was gonna hit you hard.”

She swatted his chest lightly. “It’s just… I’ve never been in the house without one of them here. It’s so empty.” She buried her face in her hands, her voice muffled. “What if they need me? What if Mary-Ann gets scared? Or Theo forgets his lunch?”

Max chuckled softly, rubbing her back. “Sweetheart, Theo’s got this. The kid’s practically running for class president. And Mary-Ann? She’s gonna have the nursery wrapped around her finger before lunch.”

She peeked at him from behind her hands, her lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “You think so?”

“I know so.” He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple.

For a moment, she leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence soothe her. But the silence of the house pressed in again, making her sigh.

Max pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, we’ve got the house all to ourselves now.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Max…”

He grinned, running his fingers lightly up her arm. “I’m just saying. We’ve got a whole empty house and a few hours of peace.”

Despite herself, she laughed, smacking his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m practical,” he countered, leaning closer. “We might never get this chance again, angel. Think about it.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe you’re suggesting this right now.”

“I’m just trying to make the most of the quiet,” he teased, his hand slipping around her waist. “And besides, you’re way too stressed. Let me help you relax.”

She laughed despite herself, the weight of the morning momentarily forgotten as he kissed her neck, his stubble tickling her skin.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his lips, her heart finally feeling a little lighter.

And if she counted the exact weeks, that day was how she ended up pregnant with her third and final child.

Nine months later, their family grew again with the arrival of a boy they named Daniel. It was a tribute to Danny, their ever-reliable friend who had, over the years, become less like a buddy and more like an honorary member of the family.

Daniel came into the world with a loud cry and a shock of dark hair, immediately staking his place in the chaos of their household. Mary-Ann, now three and brimming with sass, had proudly declared herself the "boss" of her new baby brother. She often toddled around after him, dragging her favourite stuffed bunny in one hand and fussing over Daniel like a miniature mother.

Theo, at five, took his role as the eldest sibling very seriously. He loved showing off to Mary-Ann and anyone who’d listen about how he could hold his baby brother “without dropping him” (a feat Max closely supervised with a hovering hand). Theo also began peppering Max with endless questions about how cars worked, proudly announcing that he’d take over the garage one day.

The house was louder now, bursting with life and love in every corner. Daniel’s cries, Theo’s endless chatter, and Mary-Ann’s theatrical storytelling meant there was never a dull moment.

Max had learned to juggle bottles, bedtime stories, and car repairs, often collapsing into bed with her at the end of the day, marvelling at the whirlwind their life had become.

On quieter days—though “quiet” was a stretch—she’d watch Max play with the kids in their backyard. Mary-Ann would climb all over him, Theo would ask a million questions about the engine of a toy car, and baby Daniel would sit in his lap, chewing on whatever he could grab.

Sunday mornings had become a cherished tradition for her. Dressing Theo in his little button-up shirts, coaxing Mary-Ann into tights and her favourite frilly dress, and cradling baby Daniel in his soft onesie all felt like sacred rituals. She loved sharing her faith with her children, teaching them the hymns, and watching their faces light up during Sunday school.

But as much as she loved church, there was always a weight to bear. Her parents still attended the same church, their presence lingering like a spectre of the past. While most of the congregation had embraced her family with warmth, her parents had not. They’d sit on the far side of the pews, casting disapproving glares, and every so often, there were whispers—cutting, cruel words spread by those who believed her parents' version of events.

Still, she focused on her children. Theo beamed when he memorised Bible verses, Mary-Ann proudly showed off her colouring pages, and baby Daniel giggled at the choir. Sharing this part of her life with them felt like reclaiming something pure.

That afternoon, the church hosted a children’s Bible study, and she stayed to help with crafts and snacks while Max wrangled the baby. Daniel was perfectly content napping on his dad’s chest while Max sat in the corner, earning approving glances from the other parents for his patience and attentiveness.

As they packed up to leave, her father appeared, stepping out of the shadows like a storm cloud. His eyes were cold, his expression a mask of disdain. He walked past her, close enough that she could feel the venom in his whispered word:

"Whore."

The word cut through her like a knife. She froze, her heart pounding, the air sucked out of the room. Before she could even react, Max’s voice broke the moment.

"Angel, hold Daniel."

She turned to him, startled, as he handed her the baby with a calmness that belied the fire in his eyes. Then, without hesitation, Max spun on his heel and marched toward her father.

The sound of Max’s fist connecting with her father’s jaw was thunderous in the quiet room. Her father staggered back, clutching his face, as gasps rippled through the remaining churchgoers.

Max stood tall, his voice steady but cold. “Don’t you ever call my wife that again. You lost any right to speak to her the day you hurt her and abused your power. She’s a better person than you’ll ever be.”

Her father glared up at Max, but he didn’t dare rise. The weight of his disgrace was palpable as the onlookers murmured, their judgement no longer directed at her but at the man who had insulted his own daughter in a house of worship.

She stood rooted to the spot, Daniel cradled in her arms, her cheeks flushed. She could feel every eye in the room on her, but the only one that mattered was Max’s. He turned back to her, his expression softening, and strode toward her.

Max placed a gentle hand on her back, his touch grounding her. “Let’s go, angel,” he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the anger from moments before.

She nodded, unable to form words, and followed him out, their children close by. As they left the church, she glanced down at Theo and Mary-Ann, both wide-eyed but clutching each other’s hands tightly.

When they got to the car, she took a deep, shaky breath. “Max—”

He cut her off with a kiss to her temple. “Don’t. You don’t owe him anything. Not even your anger.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she leaned into him, Daniel squirming lightly in her arms. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Max tilted her chin up so she was looking at him. “You and these kids are my family. No one, not even him, gets to treat you like that.”

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