#story: drinking from an empty cup

[burymagdalene]

A Closed Mouth Doesn't get Fed - S. Reid x Reader

When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (nobody's shocked) 18+ pls pls, always fluffy when they're in love! tags: softdom!spencer ("soft", I need to invent subdom!spencer), he's a bit sassy, established relationship, wet dream, sleepy sex, pining, fingering, praise, teasing, piv sex, creampie, Spencer at your beck and call! wc: 4.3k a/n: Kind of stream of conscious & self serving smut. I always see Spencer's pov of a wet dream & wanted to write about the other side of it! Enjoy!

The plastic straw currently placed between your lips has been chewed into a nearly completely flat state as you sit across from Spencer at dinner. Looking into his more-tired-than-usual eyes, you listen to him drowsily recount some memorable moments from the case he just got back from. 

There’s a single dangling light above you two that's pouring out a muted yellow that combined with the ugly grass mat wall beside you is making the dinner after Spencer’s case finishes rushed and antsy. You want to go home, give him a proper welcoming back, but he just looks so tired. 

You try to pull your sprite through the straw, but it seems you popped a hole into its side with your incessant nibbling, causing the pull to be drawn out and emit a sound close to sucking in air, you sigh and pull away from it.

“You really did a number on that straw,” Spencer chuckles, “you know, I’m surprised you’re seeking sensory feedback in that manner, usually when you’re anxious you fiddle with the wrapper.” He smiles at you warmly.

You’re actually not anxious at all. Spencer’s voice has this way of subtly getting more used and spent after he’s been gone and awake for a while. A meditative hum in the bottom of this throat he gets with exhaustion that sounds eerily similar to the voice he uses in your ear when he’s praising the way you can take all of him or when he’s realised he has to ask you where he can finish too close to when he’s almost tipping over the edge.

“Hm?” He poses again, squinting at your glossed over eyes. 

“Oh! Sorry, no. No, I'm not feeling anxious. It just feels nice. I… can’t finish my drink now though.” 

Spencer reaches over and pulls out your ravaged straw, plopping it in his empty water cup and moving his straw to your cup, continuing his story like his minute display of tender attentiveness didn’t curl your toes slightly in your shoes.

You sip your drink until the cups' empty noises are too loud to continue trying to get anything out of it and your oral satisfaction for the night finally comes to a close as you fidget looking at your boyfriend with zero alleviation.

The rest of your night progresses painfully slowly as the inner turmoil of arousal swirling in your belly gets increasingly hard to navigate ignoring.  

When you look at how Spencer holds his steering wheel (loosely while the wheel slides itself through his palms on a turn) driving you back while rain thuds steadily at the windshield you want to lean your head out of the window for a wake up call. 

When you walk into his apartment that you haven’t seen since he’s left right beside him like it's both of yours you consider, in-depth, the grisly intimate details of domesticity. More specifically, a future shared bed between you two where he’s slowly sliding his dripping cum back into you with his fingers after he pulls out. Baby (making) fever.

It’s a plague of the most impure of heart ideas. You think, if he gave you a penny for your thoughts he would stare at you in eerie silence until you begged for mercy.

You could beg for mercy.

You want to roll your eyes at yourself, you have to wash this day off.

In bed you prop your chin on Spencer’s shoulder and gaze over the case file he’s been studying relentlessly. You feel a bit guilty when you consider closing the file for him to move into a straddle, better yet, when you consider gently rubbing his bulge from overtop his linen pajama pants until he’s whimpering and can't focus on the details anymore.

You’ve never felt so tongue-tied around Spencer than how you do right now. Realistically, you know that if you initiated anything he would either happily agree or kindly decline, not an end of the world situation. Your eyes linger over to his hands and you pull away and lay down sighing.

Internally you suppose that you don’t want to make him feel bad for potentially being too tired or paint yourself as a partner who doesn’t notice and understand your boyfriends cues for looking sleepy and engrossed in his work. You don’t want to be a burden, ultimately.

So you keep your mouth shut and stare silently at the ceiling and toss from side to side while Spencer continues his work by the lamplight.

“What’s up, wiggle worm?” Spencer smiles while keeping his eyes locked on his case. 

You can’t help but grin at the bit of attention he’s still giving you. Knowing that even after his long day today Spencer cannot resist his magnetism towards you, noticing your every move.

“Too bored to be tired,” you mumble out with your eyes closed ���I feel like I have one more activity in me today…” You’re almost too subtle and cryptic with it that Spencer’s social cues skip over your bait. 

Turning his head to you he pets the top of your head and smiles a dopey smile at you, a sight for sore eyes after scanning over his case for too long.

 “Do you want me to make you some tea? I might have green, oh, I guess that’s caffeinated–” 

“Mm-mm.” you non-reply “I’m just going to try to sleep, keep working.” 

Spencer hums and places the hand he was petting you with to your cheek as you lay on your side facing him, his palm working as another layer to the pillow you’re resting on, his thumb (though pinned between your cheek and the pillow) softly caresses you as he shifts the file to his non-dominant hand. 

With his touch acting as a personalized bottle of melatonin, you drift off into a light and lucid slumber, strange waves and blotches of color bursting behind your eyelids in place of your typical dreams. 

This feels way better than a typical dream.

Whatever pink apparition that’s keeping your brain in a sludged malleable state feels exceptionally good. Despite the cold sweat that's pricking up on the back of your neck making you feel akin to a slab of meat in a pressure cooker, this state is leaving your heart racing.

Even the blanket you have wrapped around you feels better, smells better. Hey, you think to yourself, this smells like Spencer. You press your face into it further, the burning intrusion of Spencer’s detergent, the stale cologne left on his collarbones filling your senses almost overwhelmingly.

Too scared to actually tell Spencer how you wanted him earlier must’ve had your brain illustrate its own ghostly representative of what you wanted from him before bed. 

You wrap your legs around the blanket a bit more now. There’s an instinctual roll of your hips that is haywired into your anatomy whenever you feel a similar Spencer-induced haze when you’re awake so you naturally feel implied to go with your muscle memory.

Slow rolls of pleasure throb up your spine like someone is massaging measured passes into your back. Your hips take on a circular motion now, the up and down grinding you had set in place earlier taking too much energy. 

You’re not a stranger to sex dreams. You find yourself painstakingly alone from time to time with the line of work Spencer is engaged in. You dream about him every day of the week regardless, so from time to time you get rewarded with a nearly satisfying dream that takes his spot.

However, Spencer is not gone right now. What you’re experiencing currently is a production of your pent up sexual frustration because you were too shy to let out a reserved beg for your boyfriend to fuck you. 

The pleasure you’re face to face with at this moment has a larger and more embodied sensation than what you’ve experienced prior. Your hands tremble slightly around the blanket you have been rocking yourself against, and you feel whips of pleasure stemming from your gut that is abnormal to these sex dreams.

You just feel so fucking good.

You feel this good when the brutal summer heat overtakes the capabilities of your AC at your apartment and you lazily grind over Spencer on your couch, both riddled with heat exhaustion. You feel this good when you take a midday nap after work with Spencer and wake up humping your mattress with a breathless laugh. You feel this good when Spencers delicate hands lines up his dick with you and teases your clit with it before fucking you slowly.

This particular lucid sex dream is unlike the rest because funnily enough the blanket you’ve subjected your unhurried grinding on sort of feels like it’s pressing back at you, like it's gained sentience in order to get you off. 

The generous veil of sleepy delirium takes up all your senses in such a robust way that the air you’re sucking into your lungs isn’t satisfying you. You gasp in a breath and your eyes crack open a sliver.

You try to blink away the reality you’ve woken up to, trying to savor any last semblance of your raving sticky pleasure before the unmeasurable embarrassment catches up to you.

What you thought was your soft blanket that was supplying you unwavering delirious pleasure, was actually the thigh of your boyfriend, whom you had made a concerted effort to leave alone when you were awake. 

One hand is tightly fisting his pajama shirt (a black shirt with FBI written on the pocket) with so much fervor that his midriff is exposed and the slight hairs leading from his happy trail are exposed to where you look down between your bodies. 

Frozen in fear and embarrassment you keep your body posed in the same position it was in motion as a mere minute ago, the position so delightful that you let out a whine when halting your movements. 

You glance at the undeniable tent in his pants before you brave yourself by looking up at Spencer’s face for the first time since using his left thigh as relief for your pent up sexual urges. 

Spencer has his case file closed with one of his thumbs holding his spot and is staring directly down at your face, eyes almost black with the lack of light reaching the front of his face.

The lamp is still on and he hasn’t really moved much since you fell asleep. In fact, his hand that was softly against your cheek is still there, albeit a bit more damp with drool than it was when you fell asleep. It probably hasn’t even been an hour since you said goodnight. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to spiral into anxiety over how to apologize to him when Spencer speaks first.

“I-I didn’t know if I should’ve woken you up… I assumed you would have woken up when you-” His words sound faint and trail off as if your sleepy grinding and grabbing did a number on him and wasn’t an annoyance. 

“I’m so sorry.” You rasp out, peeling your hips away from his leg, feeling a sticky resistance between where your cunt and sleep shorts meet. 

“Why?” He pinches his eyebrows slightly at you in genuine confusion and the dialogue between you pauses for a moment. You’re scanning his face for any discomfort and just find his regular big beggy doe eyes. Oh.

“You would’ve let me come?” You ask blearily back at his first words to you. 

“Wh-...why would I not let you come?” The corner of his mouth lifts in a tired and flustered smile at the way you’re acting like wanting to fuck your boyfriend is a crime charged on multiple separate counts. “What were you dreaming about?” 

Spencer is still wearing his doe eyes but his tone switches to a probing tune similar to the greasy way guys have asked you to play 21 questions in the past, but in this case it’s making you pull away the bottom of your shorts stuck to you as you push your thighs together. 

“Nothing even,” your voice gets meek with confusion. “Bunch of shapes and colors moving around.” You meet his gentle gaze. 

You’ve seemed to have stunned him a bit. Spencer has spent many nights dreaming of your naked figure in less than appropriate ways, the way his skin is prickling at the thought of you returning that experience fizzles his brain.

Surely the case can be looked over intently tomorrow with fresh eyes?

“Uhh,” he clears his throat, “do you want me to touch you?”

Normally this would be his first response but he’s exhausted and his brain is mush from the long day he had. He’s back to his old factory settings from when you first started dating.

“Yeah… I’ve been thinking about it nonstop today, actually.”

Now this does not make sense to Spencer. 

“You didn’t mention anything?” He looks down to try to retrace your conversations from the day, scanning to see any missed memos or innuendos he might’ve missed. Nothing?

“No… I mean, you’re so tired! You’re working so hard! I didn’t want to… I dunno.”

Spencer briefly considers looking around the corners of his rooms for prank cameras. 

“You were worried about bothering me? Bothering… me? With… you?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

You laugh slightly at his perturbed words and cover your face with your hands. “Didn’t wanna say something and make you feel obligated or anything.”

“You didn’t–” he pauses briefly, his sassy irritability coming up in place of chiding laughter. 

Spencer looks down once more at your face, his own hard on, the image of you moments prior grasping onto him, drooling on him while getting off because you’re pent up from being too polite to mount him. His perfect angel, suffering in silence. A closed mouth really doesn’t get fed.

He leans down and starts kissing you sloppily immediately, the only way he knows how really. Can barely harness his desire when he feels his open mouth against yours. You breathe out your nose like you can’t believe you got here finally.

Hands gripping the back of your neck and side of your face, you were not prepared to go from your “I have to keep my hands to myself” mindset to “I can’t even tell where his hands are on me” so quickly. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s whimpering into your mouth before you, fully laying all of his weight on you like a big dog that still thinks it's a lap puppy. With his precedent put in place, you follow willingly, a trail of small “ah’s” are moaned back at him.

You haven’t shaken off your sleep fully, the room is so dim and Spencer is so warm that the only real difference between right now and your dream is that Spencers rolling his hard dick against the hem of your pajama shorts.

Trailing the tip of your tongue lightly against the roof of Spencer's mouth he huffs out a shocked whine like you did something unfair and pulls back to look at you with tunnel vision.

“How do you want it?” He pants hard.

“Mmf. However.” You’re a bit sick of mulling over the logistics and just want to skip to feeling the expanse of his back under your fingers.

“You’ve had all this time thinking about it and you can’t tell me how you imagined me taking you?”

He’s pulled back fully now, pushing his linen pants down just enough so that his cock pops above it and he wastes no time taking it into his palm. He’s being needy enough that you’d think he was the one tormented with sex dreams, but you’d never complain about his attachment to you. 

It makes your throat dry. The lamp illuminates him in such a picturesque way you’d consider directing a movie scene just like it. Your clit throbs again as a painful reminder of where you are.

“I want it slow.” You sigh out as you watch him palm the very thing you’ve been fantasizing about for the six hours you’ve been together today.

“You want it slow… what?”

“Stop it.” You’re too frazzled by him right now, he knows. Deep down you know you’re going to have to ask properly after dancing around it all day.

Spencer smiles and his jaw drops an inch in pleasure as he starts twisting his fist around the head of his dick now. 

Okay! Maybe you can give into his teasing a bit.

“I want it slow, please.” 

You feel hot with embarrassment immediately but as soon as it comes it dissipates when Spencer gasps and pulls his hand off himself with a displeased grunt. He takes your jaw into his hands as he lays on top of you to kiss you again, the angle of your jaw is being smeared with whatever precum he got on his palm.

Moving your hand between both of your bodies to get to the top of your shorts was slow and crushing as neither of you wanted to part from the other long enough to expedite its trip down.

Nevertheless, Spencer can hear every tiny noise and breath of pleasure you let out in situations like these and props himself to the side on one of his hands as the other brazenly pulls your shorts quickly down from the middle of them where the hem was pressing against your clit.

The ferocity of the cold air that meets your folds is your first indicator of how wet you’re going to be for this. How much Spencer is going to be cooing in awe of you in 3...2…

“Jesus Christ.” 

Your eyes follow to where he’s looking but it's too dark from where you’re lying to truly take in how wet you look, you just know how you feel. And you feel achingly ready.

“Baby, I just can’t believe how wet you get. For me.”

He’s turning himself on with his own words as you plop your head back down to the pillow to squeeze your eyes shut as if to bat away how good his praise feels. Come to think of it, you don’t really think it’s been mentioned in the many conversations you’ve had about likes and dislikes, yet Spencer wields his words like a heavy axe every time.

You jolt when the pads of his pointer and ring finger rub slightly at your opening, gauging with touch how much wetness he’s going to be inside momentarily. Soon later he trails up to circle your clit and when you moan in response he gives the sight of his fingers against you a toothy grin.

The stretch those same fingers give you have your thighs opening up lazily, up to your sides when they usually strain to shut at the too-pleasureable sensation. Even the cells in your legs and the neurons in your brain are begging for Spencer.

Soft squelching is coming from between your legs and you can’t even be bothered to shy away from it, you know how wet he makes you and he sure as hell does, so playing coy is just not in your capabilities right now. You moan out another loud “mmm” as your eyebrows screw together.

“You sound so pretty.” 

You’re not sure if Spencer is referring to the wetness between your legs or your moaning but you drink in his approval of your noises anyway.

“Spence– I really need it.”

“Hm, right. Slow please.”

You oughta slap him. Right now you could be threatening celibacy at his toying, but you can’t even conjure up such a frightening concept. You let out a “hhng” instead.

For the final time, Spencer lays down against you and presses a kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, as he rubs his agitated dick against the new wetness you’ve produced at his playing. Satisfyingly coated, he shutters a sigh and sinks into you.

He is looking down between your bodies while he enters you, his cheek moved and pressed against your forehead as you whimper against his neck. You haven’t checked the clock in forever, a liminal space created in the blue of the deep night that engulfs the both of you.

Spencer is surprised that his skin is blushing now when he’s already fully sheathed inside of you (when he’s been fully inside you countless times). He can never truly believe the pleasure the human body can experience, that he can experience with you.

Once his hips have settled neatly against yours, when you’re mumbling out a “God-” Spencer begins to kiss back down your face again to where his mouth makes a home in your neck.

Not wanting to risk any muffled noises that he could be letting out against your skin, you move one of your hands to pull back his head by his hair, rewarding yourself with a more clear articulation of the pretty moans he was enveloping against your skin.

Fist still gripping his head back, Spencer begins to make slow and deep thrusts into you, the exact ones you’ve been craving in the pit of your stomach, you feel dizzy with arousal. Fluttering around him you gasp as you feel more of your slick tremble out of you, making his intrusion continuously slippery.

Spencer’s eyelids are shutting and opening repeatedly, wanting to fully close his eyes to the mind numbing pleasure, but equally wanting to stare at your face while he gives you what your biological need was trembling for in your light sleep.

He gets re-offended.

“Nuh-never hide- oh shit… always tell me when you want this. I will always, hm, give you this. Ne-ver spare my exhaustion, oh please-”

Your hips start meeting his consuming thrusts as you whine at his begs. What were you thinking? How could you ever stand in your own way of this?

Frantically nodding at his request, not trusting your voice, you move your fingers out of his hair to trace your nails against his back like signing your name in approval at his order.

Spencer moves slightly to cover your body with his completely, crowning in your head with his forearms. Little strands of his hair, slightly damp with sweat, tickle your forehead. You move to wrap your legs around his waist, locking in the position by putting one of your feet over the other.

With your legs on his lower back you begin to push him with your legs, guiding his rhythm, as you deepen his thrusts more. You two gasp in tandem. 

“Touch me please.” You grit out with a raspy voice. Needing to feel yourself come around Spencer is becoming frighteningly high on the list of your necessities currently. You wiggle your hips against his as an invitation.

“M’ course. Pretty.” 

Somehow the most intelligible praises are what get your gut swirling the most. Something about Spencer so lost in pleasure that he can barely talk but still making the effort to compliment you makes you want to make breakfast for him in the morning. Sweet boy. 

“Sweet boy.” You’ve learned your lesson on biting your tongue. 

He leans down to kiss you just as he starts rubbing your clit in fast movements. You could fall into this limbo of almost-there thrusts and soft caresses for the rest of time. You feel overjoyed with gratitude towards your wet dream, for the cock spreading you open.

Spencer inevitably picks up the pace of his thrusts, the slow rhythm driving him crazy. At the increase of speed you and Spencer find yourself whining out “I love you” at the same time. You’d giggle, maybe, if you were in a normal state. But the state Spencer has fucked you into has made this transaction feel like an omnipotent sign from the universe that you are tethered for life. 

His fingers slip around in sloppy circles for a few moments more and you whimper out “coming” in such a strangled way it barely even sounds like it anymore. He gets it instantly though when he feels your walls contract and expand against him, how you whimper and shake your head back and forth like you still can’t believe how good coming feels.

Slowly breathing and speeding up his thrusts even more, he fucks you through your orgasm as he begins his, his cum spreads over himself as he moves it in and out of you. The whines he’s letting out are unrestrained and high pitched while he smooths your cheek with a thumb.

Bordering onto stinging overstimulation now, your thighs wrap around him tightly enough to indicate his slowing down till he’s resting idly in you.

The urge Spencer gets after you two finish to place as many kisses on your exposed skin as possible festers again when he’s trying to distract you from the empty feeling of him pulling out.

“Spence,” you gulp back little saliva, “hah, thank you.”

He shakes his head at you again, goofy smile on his face as he’s already forming the highlight reel of the night in his head, reliving it. 

“I’m never going to be too tired for that. I’m in love with you, I’m not too tired for that.”

“Mmkay,” you start petting the wild strands of hair down from his head that you were tugging earlier “consider that lesson learned.” You chirp in finality, eyes closing with a similar exhaustion to Spencers.

“Mm, let me clean you up.”

Even with eyes closed you know his whereabouts, you can hear Spencer’s feet padding against his floors and you can map where he’s going in his apartment depending on how the hardwood dips underneath him. 

In such a tired state, the cool cloth against you barely jolts you as it usually does, the slightly rough fabric against your sensitive skin doesn’t work to jar you, completely in bliss with nothing that can shake you.

You can’t sleep fully without feeling the dip of the mattress and Spencer’s body settled between sheets. With his addition to the bed again, case file extremely discarded, you can lay cradled to his side where the sleep you fall into is so deep you don’t dream at all.

[autumnscribbles]

come back | r.c

summary: you and rafe get into a fight on a night out, when you’re left to find your own way home, you find yourself in a bad position

warnings: drinking, creepy men, i think that’s about it

wc: 2k

a/n: my first official rafe fic!!! thank you so much to the person who sent in this request, i’m a little rusty but had so much fun writing this! pls send more :) enjoy

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

You let out a loud laugh as JJ continued to tell you one of the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard. Between fits of laughter, you took small sips from your red solo cup. You were starting to feel tipsy, the alcohol coursing through you. It made everything funnier, and you found yourself leaning in towards JJ, unable to control your laughter. You clutched your stomach as he laughed along with you, his own laughter triggered by how much you were laughing. It was always an endless cycle with JJ, when one of you started to laugh, it was over.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you hiccuped, as you stared down at the empty cup in your hand.

JJ patted your leg and nodded at you before you stood up, making your way over to the table where the drinks were. The room spun slightly around you as you clumsily poured yourself another drink. You were mixing it yourself, and chuckled at how heavy handed your pour was. You tilted your head back as you took a sip, nodding to yourself in approval.

As you turned around to head back to the couch you were sitting on, you bumped into a familiar chest. You looked up at your boyfriend, smiling drunkenly at him.

“Hey! There you are!” you cheered, leaning your head on Rafe’s chest as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“Took you long enough,” he scoffed, stepping to the side and approaching the same table you were just walking away from.

“What does that mean?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took another sip.

“It means you should probably lay off the liquor and maybe don’t hang all over JJ like an idiot,” he retorted, his eyes glued to the table in front of him.

You thought it was hypocritical, him telling you to stop drinking as he poured himself another rum and coke. He drank as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted and you never said a word to him about it. JJ had been your friend since childhood, your family taking him in when he had no one else. You grew up together. Your friendship would always be special.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered under your breath as you walked away from him, going back towards JJ.

“Running back to him?” Rafe called out to you.

You turned around, seeing his bright blue eyes darken as he looked at you. His jaw twitched as he clenched it. You knew he was biting his tongue. Holding himself back from saying something he would really regret.

“You know what Rafe? You’re childish. JJ is my friend, and you know it. Maybe you should stop drinking and you wouldn’t be so fucking delusional,” you bit back.

Rafe rolled his eyes and you walked back over to JJ, plopping on the couch beside him again. He looked concerned as he asked you if everything was okay. You assured him you were perfect, and tapped your cup against his as a cheers.

You ignored Rafe as you saw him walk passed you, not even sparing you a glance. You knew you upset him, and that he was bothered. For once, you didn’t care enough to do anything until you got home. You didn’t want to cause a scene, and more importantly, wanted to have fun with your friends.

After a few rounds of pong with John B, Pope, JJ, and Kie, the alcohol was really getting to your head. You realized you hadn’t seen Rafe since your argument, anXd thought maybe you should look for him.

“I’m gonna get some air and look for Rafe,” you said to your friends, voice raised to be heard over the music. They nodded at you before setting up for another game.

You weaved through drunk, sweaty bodies before stepping outside. You breathed in the fresh air, closing your eyes as everything spun.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered to yourself as you stumbled down the front steps.

You assumed Rafe would be outside. He usually stepped out for air when things were tense between you. He used it as a way to calm down. You were surprised when you didn’t find him.

You glanced down the street full of parked cars. You couldn’t spot Rafe’s truck. Did he leave? Would he? You felt tears springing to your eyes, suddenly feeling guilty for what you said to him. You pulled out your phone, calling him. It rang and rang, but eventually left you on voicemail. You shot him a quick text before sitting on the steps, spinning head in your hands.

“Hey…” you heard an unfamiliar voice behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see someone you didn’t recognize. Obviously a kook, based on the polo shirt and khaki pants he had on. You had never seen him at one of these parties before. Or maybe, you just never recognized him.

“Hey,” you muttered, pulling out your phone to see if Rafe answered.

“Lost your boyfriend?” he asked, sitting down comfortably beside you. You felt yourself slide over, wanting distance from him.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just waiting for him.”

“Don’t think he’s coming back, sweetheart. I saw him get in his truck,” he chuckled. “I could drive you home though.”

“I’m good,” you answered shortly.

You stood up, taking a second to regain your balance. You had to go home. To find Rafe. You realized you didn’t have the keys to your place. Rafe had them. You came together and were going to leave together. You guessed you’d just knock until he answered once you got there.

You knew you should tell your friends you were leaving, but in a drunken haze you were too focused to go back inside. You’d just text them later.

The boy on the stairs was in a conversation with a clone of himself, so you started walking. The cool evening hair sent a slight chill down your spine, your shoulders exposed. You tried to walk as quickly as possible without falling.

When you heard footsteps behind you, you reluctantly decided to look behind you. You were surprised to find the boy from the stairs and his friend walking a few paces behind you.

You felt your heartbeat pick up a bit, your hand clutching your phone tightly, willing Rafe to call. You took a turn, and realized they were not too far behind you. Enough distance to try to make it seem like they weren’t following you, but you knew.

You decided you’d take the short cut. You had to go through the woods, but it wasn’t too far. The boys behind you wouldn’t know the path, even if they saw you turn off. You’d just run, you thought to yourself.

As you dashed quickly into the woods, your breath was loud in your ears. You were trying not to panic. You would be fine. You heard the footsteps behind you, branches cracking under their feet as their pace picked up. You’d run as far as you could.

Eventually, you slowed down, catching your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to listen for the boys following you. Your heart beat hard in your ears as you took deep breaths. You didn’t hear them anymore. You were in the clear.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and flashed the light, realizing you had no idea where you ended up. You were surrounded by trees, no path in sight.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You started walking where you thought you had come from, hoping to end up back on the path. You’d tripped over something, landing harshly on the hard ground. You hissed in pain as tears started filling your eyes.

You dialled JJ, thinking maybe you had a better chance of reaching him. No answer. You tried Rafe again, and again, and again.

The third time, he picked up. His voice choppy on the other line because of the bad service.

“Rafe?” you cried, overjoyed that he answered. “I need help I-I was walking home and I cut through the woods to get home but I’m lost.”

“Y/N?” Rafe answered. “Where are you?”

“The woods, I-I don’t know where exactly. Please help me, baby,” you cried.

You couldn’t hear his reply as the call dropped. You cursed under your breath again as you began to cry. You didn’t even know if Rafe heard you. You felt yourself starting to crash, the adrenaline wearing off and the effects of the alcohol hitting you all at once. You felt your eyes flutter shut, and succumbed to the exhaustion.

You eyes opened again to a faint sound in the distance. You sat up, disoriented, your head pounding behind your eyes. You winced as you tried to figure out how much time had passed.

You heard a voice in the distance, and as it approached you realize they were calling your name.

Rafe.

He came.

“Rafe!” you screamed as loud as you could, trying to signal to him where you were.

You heard his footsteps pick up as they got closer, and you kept calling out. Eventually he was in front of you, crouch down as his hands cradled your face.

“Baby, oh my god,” he breathed. “I’ve been looking for you, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I acted like a bitch,” you cried, falling into his chest. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“Shhh I shouldn’t have left you there. I was a fucking asshole. I’m so sorry. What if something happened to you?” he rambled, holding you close.

“These guys were following me so I cut through the woods. I tried to get away,” you breathed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What? Who?” he asked angrily.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sighed. “I just wanna go home.”

*

Rafe brought you inside and into the bathroom, turning the light on.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered. There was a cut down your leg, bleeding from when you tripped. You were covered in dirt, leaves, and branches.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you told him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry baby, I can’t say it enough.”

He turned the shower on, the steam starting to fill the room. He helped you gently peel off your clothes and step in, where he joined behind you. He rinsed off all the dirt and blood, and gently massaged your head with shampoo to wash out the dirt. You began uncontrollably sobbing as the warm water fell down your body, and you were so worn out you didn’t even know why anymore.

Rafe dressed you into your favorite pyjamas and brought you to bed, tucking you in gently. All while whispering that you were okay, that he was sorry, and that he loved you. He set down a glass of water beside you, urging you to drink it.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Cold?” he asked.

You shook your head, reaching your arms out to him. He fell on the bed beside you as you lay on his chest, his heart beat faster than normal.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered to him, your eyes beginning to close. “I’m okay.

“I don’t know how I can forgive myself,” he said. “What if those guys..” he stopped himself before continuing. He didn’t want to voice what he was thinking. It was unimaginable.

“I shouldn’t have ignored you, or walked away when you were clearly upset. It was stupid,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I was just being jealous and stupid. I overreacted.”

“As always,” you chuckled, making the corners of his mouth turn up.

He watched as your eyes began closing, your previously stressed out facial expression smoothing out.

“Just rest, baby,” he cooed as he rubbed his hand along your back. “I won’t leave you again.”

You finally gave in to your exhaustion, just happy to be safe and warm in Rafe’s arms. You didn’t care about the fight anymore, or anything that happened. All that mattered was you were safe. You were okay.

He came back. He would always come back.

[kngrose]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐓 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐈'𝐌 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃...

imagine a situationship with sevika

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts. see part two here. ^^

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.

But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.

But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.

He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.

And then there was her.

It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.

You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.

You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.

How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.

You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.

She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”

Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”

But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.

She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.

The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.

You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.

And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.” 

“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.

You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.

The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.

You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.

The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.

And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.

There’s no turning back now.  

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul

[theonion]

In a harrowing fulfillment of biblical prophecy that left customers screaming as their fast food orders disappeared before their eyes, panicked sources reported Tuesday that every Chick-fil-A store had been raptured.

The massive heavenly event began at 12:02 p.m. EST when a large burst of God’s divine light shot down from the clouds and slowly lifted all 3,059 of the Christian-owned restaurants off the ground and into the Lord’s Eternal Kingdom. Videos posted across social media showed customers as they screamed and fell to their knees in Chick-fil-A parking lots, clutching the empty wrappers, containers, and cups that seconds earlier had held their chicken sandwiches, waffle fries, and soft drinks.

Full Story

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - iii

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." cunnilingus. analingus. spitting. piv. doggy. missionary. rough sex. size kink. breeding kink. biting. mean soap. manipulative soap. smut. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

The ocean calls the seal to return, and you finally heed the growing chill you’ve been ignoring, as well as the complaints of your nearly-empty stomach.

Starvation is not on your list of preferred ways to end your own life, so you check the fridge Johnny said he had stocked. What you find is disconcerting—hoping for snack foods, pre-packaged conveniences, you instead find a carton of eggs, hard cheeses, condiment bottles. Milk in a jug, green herb bundles, sticks of butter, and an unopened package of bacon.

The freezer is much the same. Bags of vegetables and meats like shrimp or scallops. Frozen loaves of bread. Not even a single carton of ice cream. When the pantry also yields nothing more ready to eat—no chips, no cup ramen, no cans of soup—you give up.

There’s a hierarchy of action you’re willing to take to preserve yourself, organized around a precept of energy expenditure—eating spends less than cooking, so you focus on the former and do not practice the latter anymore.

Even though most food has lost its taste by now.

So you lay down on the couch. Sulking, maybe, but it’s the only halfway satisfying thing left to you. You angle yourself toward the shelf of books it faces in place of a TV; it’s mostly romance novels. Bright pink or blue or violet or red spines facing outward, most of them already cracked and creased down through their titles.

Did Johnny stock those for you too—emptying the shelves of a thrift book store for a woman he knew would be alone—or are they just set dressing for his dream of a honeymoon getaway?

You start thinking about the cliffs by the cove.

They’re not very tall. Maybe three stories. You would feel the impact—and it might not even work. You would lay there at the bottom, in the packed sand, broken. But alive to feel every consequence of it.

You might still die, but it would be slow. Someone could find you, and save you. Probably Johnny. You might be permanently broken—worse off than when you began.

It’s not an option.

You could have just bought a gun if you stayed home. It would have been cheaper, and faster—

Anxious energy needles at your legs and prickles along the insides of your palms; you sit up, agitated. Your stomach bubbles as the acid inside slides around with nothing to eat into. You scowl at yourself and retrieve Johnny’s jacket from the floor.

It’s colder outside than before, when you leave the cottage for the third time that day for the walk to Vatersay village. You can see it from the front door of the cottage, only about a mile away, and as you get going, you find a walking trail cutting through the machair grass leading in its direction.

The sky darkens far earlier than you expect, on the way. You hadn’t thought you were far enough north for that. Absent of city lights, the Hebridean starscape peeks through gaps in the moonlit clouds overhead, winking to life as the sun retreats around the earth’s curve. You pause—even your ennui is no match for the cosmos—looking to see if you can find the arm of the Milky Way, but the autumn sky does not seem inclined to show it to you.

By the time you reach the village outskirts, warm rectangles of yellow light are already brightening the windows against a heavy blue night. You get directions to the pub from an older man walking his dog—Last Cull, it’s called. You find it with a carved wooden sign, adorned with the silhouette of a lounging seal, hanging by the door at the front, and walk in.

Johnny said that less than a hundred people populate the island; when you walk in, at least a third of them must be here, and their collective chatter, along with the sounds of drinking glasses clinking or hitting tables, and the warble of classic rock music, all rush at you at once when you open the door, carried on a wave of orangey lamplight and the smell of hops and a burst of thick, hot air.

It’s more life—more sound—than you were remotely prepared for, and you freeze in the threshold. You stand there long enough that, worse, several heads turn to look at you—

The outsider.

You duck your head, and look at the floor as you direct yourself at an empty stool at the bar. Your purse beats against your leg with every quick step, heavy with a tourist’s excess preparation, and following eyes lance you like pins through a butterfly’s wing.

A man in a beanie and mutton chops is wiping a glass dry behind the counter; he looks at you drolly when you sit down.

“W’can I get you?” he asks, surprising you with a distinctly un-Scottish accent.

You blink several times. “Um…”

The bartender is immediately unimpressed. “Liverpool, love. You drinking or eating?”

You flush. “I’m sorry—um—both?”

He nods. He does not offer a menu. “Right.”

He disappears with the same abruptness of manner behind a swinging door, leaking greenish fluorescent kitchen light around the edges and through the circular window set up in the middle.

Whatever waves you made upon your arrival already seem to have dissipated, ineffectual in the long-term; conversation in heavy Scots flows around you, relaxed and indistinct. The pub is warm with body heat, little groups of islanders pulled in close together around pints and tankards and easy conversation.

These people likely have known each other for years; seen each other grow up. Watched time etch lines across one another’s faces. You can’t really understand the words being exchanged between any of them, but the tenor is familiar. None of it is especially important to say to one another, you know—it’s the back and forth that’s the point. The sway and rock of practiced call and answer. Of knowing, when they say something, that a response will be given, even if the response is something that’s been said a thousand times before.

You run your fingers along the dented surface of the old bar. Shift in your stool. Pick at a sliver of skin coming up from one cuticle. A single drop of oil in the middle of an ocean.

The bartender returns to you from the kitchen, no food in hand. Instead, there’s a new expression on his face—a hammer aimed at your protruding nail. His eyes are narrowed; his brows are drawn together.

“You’re Soap’s tourist,” he says.

“Um,” you say, pinned under the intensity of his stare, “no?”

He rolls his eyes. “Johnny MacTavish. Everyone else calls him Soap.”

“Oh.” You cannot guess at all where this conversation might be going. “Yes?”

“He cooks for me some nights,” the bartender says. “He’s in the kitchen right now. He says dinner is on him, and he’ll bring it out soon.”

“He’s here?” you demand, jaw dropping.

“Some nights,” the man repeats. He picks his drying rag back up, and gets to work on another glass. Your association with Johnny—Soap—seems to have unlocked in him a geniality that would otherwise be inaccessible to you. “Lad was right chuffed when you rented out the croft. Hadn’t seen him that excited in ages. Wouldn’t stop talking about it for a month.”

He hasn’t offered you a drink and doesn’t seem inclined to. Still intimidated, you don’t ask.

“He told me I was his first guest,” you say, worrying at your cuticle.

“Mm-hm,” responds. Then he eyes you. “See why he was so worked up now.”

You stop your jaw from dropping for a second time, but only just—the weight of Johnny’s hand ghosts down your back, aided by his scent radiating from his jacket, released from the fibers it’s seeped into by your body heat.

“How—um, how do you know Johnny—Soap?” you ask, awkwardly.

“If he told you to call him Johnny, call him Johnny,” the man says. “Was his captain, once upon a time. Served together in the SAS. Name’s John Price.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Price,” you say.

He grunts. “John’s fine. He been behaving?”

“Um,” you say, entirely unsure how to answer that, when the kitchen door flings open.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaims, apron-clad, rosy-faced, and grinning wide.

He’s exchanged his heavy sweater for a lighter, cream-colored henley, sleeves rolled up his broad forearms. Combined with the cinch of the apron strings around his middle, it highlights and flatters the athletic build of his silhouette. The hem of his kilt flutters around his knees as he hurries over.

“Hi, Johnny,” you sigh.

He balances a steaming dish on one hand and carries some silverware wrapped in a napkin in the other. The plate tilts precariously as he directs himself at you, but the food survives as he slides it in onto the bar in front of you.

“Shoulda told me you were comin’ down, or I’d’ve had somethin’ better ready to make!” he scolds, though he’s clearly too pleased to mean it.

On top of a ceramic plate, the glaze spiderwebbed with cracks from age and constant use, three oblong triangles of fried fish rest atop checked wax paper, attended by a large stainless still cup of large wedge fries that you remember are referred to as “chips.” Beside that is a small cup of some white condiment you don’t recognize. Everything looks fresh from the fryer, as if Johnny could not wait one second to long to bring it to you.

“Oy, lad, how come I don’t get that kinda table service?” someone yells out behind you. “M’ I not pretty enough for you?”

A chorus of laughter answers the teasing. You hunch into yourself.

“Go back to your pint, Angus, ya weapon!” Johnny returns grandly. Then, to you, “Here, this is the best thing for it—”

John Price has already stepped far aside; you and he watch as Johnny retrieves a long-stemmed glass from a shelf, and then pulls a bottle of wine from a low fridge. He sets the glass beside your plate and uncorks the bottle—bicep quivering as he works the screw—and then, thumb in the punt, he pours out a stream of white wine one-handed.

“Tossers over there’ll call me mad but Sav Blanc with a fish an’ chips is pure class,” says Johnny. Then, to your horror, he sets his elbows on the counter in front of you. “Go on, have us a bite.”

You stare at him agog. His cheeks are flushed red, and you’re not sure it’s from the heat of the kitchen or—his gaze flicks to your mouth and back—something far less comforting. He stares back at you, grin unmoving—eyes bright and vibrant and too intense to hold contact with for long.

You look down at the meal again. The fish looks crunchy and thick with golden brown crust; the chips are sharp at the edges and dusted with salt and some sort of green seasoning. The smell is impossible to ignore—hot and floury and oily.

You take a chip and dip it tentatively into the white sauce. Johnny’s eyes dance with excitement as they follow the movement. When you take a bite, the bitter tang of tartar meets your tongue and mixes with the mild potato as you chew.

It is only just shy of hot enough to burn but—it’s good. It’s delicious. It’s the best thing, you realize, that you’ve tasted in you’re not sure how long.

You do your absolute utmost to prevent that from showing on your face.

“It’s good,” you say, and take another bite.

“Barry!” Johnny enthuses. “Now have a dram, go on.”

Rather than allow you to pick up the glass like a normal person, Soap lifts it in one large hand—knuckles and wrist peppered with dark hair—and brings the rim to your mouth. You have no choice but to take a sip as he tilts it toward you, or else end up dribbling white wine everywhere.

You must begrudgingly agree, as it passes across your tongue, that it pairs very well with what you’ve eaten.

You nod at him in lieu of another response; the corners of his eyes crinkle. He sets the glass down and slaps the counter with both palms, pushing himself away from it.

“Enjoy that an’ I’ll be back for ya in a mo,’” he says. With a bounce in his step, he disappears back into the kitchen.

John Price throws you another droll look. “You’re never getting rid of him now.”

When he turns away to address another patron, you scowl at his back.

Johnny comes in and out of the kitchen several times, as you pick at the food. Whatever his usual habits as the pub cook, it seems he’s in a magnanimous mood this evening, bringing orders to every table and chatting with anyone who catches his attention.

And a lot of people catch his attention. Island native or not, it seems that Johnny is everyone’s favorite boy—and it’s hard not to see why. He throws bright smiles at everyone who speaks to him, pats shoulders, trades good-natured Scottish ribbing with anyone who throws it his way. He’s familiar, it seems, with everyone he talks to—or he’s good at making it seem that way.

And the effect it has on everyone he talks to is obvious. Weathered faces, the kind that seem to rest at a permanent, severe frown, rise to beam as brightly as the sun after Johnny spends a minute or two checking in on them. Fond eyes follow him around the pub; the conversations at tables he visits keeps a lively tenor even after he leaves it.

You reach for your wineglass and drink deep.

“There we go!” Johnny exclaims, noticing.

He does not leave you neglected, of course—he keeps circling around, looking at your plate, and then at you, and filling your glass when you empty it. It strikes you as rather sweet until he starts availing himself of a mouthful every time—turning the glass so that his lips cover the marks yours have made on it.

When about half of your plate has been cleared, and Johnny is returning from delivering a tray of sandwiches to another table, he comes up behind you and leans in close, hands curling around your shoulders. Mouth brushing your ear.

“Dinner rush is almost done, bonnie,” he murmurs, butter-smooth and low as banked embers. “Then I’m all yours.”

A tremor runs up the nerves in your spine; you sit up straighter when he pulls away, the fine hairs on the back of your neck reaching toward him as if statically charged.

You catch John Price eyeing you again, expression blasé. You flush up to the roots of your hair and avoid looking at him again.

Eventually, the pub begins to vacate, somewhere close to ten in the evening. No city bar, this one, even on a Friday night. You finish three-quarters of the bottle of wine in between turning the fish and chips into mush and crumbs, finally pushing everything away from you as the last stragglers jingle the bell above the door.

Then it’s just John Price, pulling on a coat, Johnny doing dishes in the kitchen, and you, alone, sneakers hooked to a rung on the barstool.

John Price sticks his head through the swinging door. “We still doing Sunday, Soap? Or d’you have new plans?”

“Course doin’ Sunday!” Johnny yells. “Canny wait!”

“Alright. I’m leaving, lock up when you go.”

And with that, John Price gives you a cursory nod, and makes his exit.

Soon after, Johnny exits the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel, the motions making his pectorals twitch and flex. His apron is gone, the little v of his shirt collar exposing dark, curling chest hair.

The odd pelt—you realize, from your experience this morning, that it’s a seal’s—still hangs around another plaid kilt.

Your heartbeat is hot and heavy in your ears. You stare at him, lips pressed together tightly, a tremor working its way between your shoulders.

He tilts his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. When you meet his gaze again, his smile is set at an expectant angle.

“Drive me home, Johnny,” you finally say, wine and humiliation pulsing through your veins.

He drives you home in silence, and rests his hand on your thigh the whole way there.

You don’t move it. You don’t react, either—even when his pinky flicks against the seam of your leggings, right where it lays against your pussy. He roves his spread fingers and heavy palm all across the length and breadth of your thigh, cresting down over your knee and back up again, squeezing and massaging the fat of your quad.

You don’t say anything. He does not prompt you to do so. The corner of his mouth, when you look to him at your side, catching his profile, is curled.

The silence continues when he pulls up to the cottage—even the wind is light and quiet, as you unlock the door to let the both of you in. The night sky is cobbled with clouds that pass over slowly, letting only slivers of moonlight reach the earth, so inside the croft is dark and murky.

You don’t move to switch any lights on. Nor does Johnny, following close behind you.

Out of sight, it seems your body forgets who—or what, even—is following you. He is only a presence at your back, a body taking up space, and in the darkness, with only your hindbrain to rely on, he could be anyone.

Anything.

You stop in the middle of the living room. He hovers behind you. Not quite touching—but close enough to feel the gravity of him, strong enough to pull you in.

You drop your purse on the couch, and make to shuck his jacket—his hands take hold of the shoulders, allowing you to slide out of it. The deep, even pulse of his breathing is right there at the shell of your ear.

“Bonnie,” he murmurs, husky.

“I’m,” you say, “I’m going to use the bathroom.”

A pause. Then—“Alright,” he purrs.

You escape.

In the mirror above the sink, you look yourself in the eye. What you see is nothing you haven’t seen before—pitiable, needy, pathetic—and it’s nothing you have any desire to confront now. If you think too hard about it—if you ask yourself what you should be asking—there will be no coming back from it.

He’s been dangling this in front of you this whole time. It’s no fault of yours for taking it. This once, you aren’t to blame for what happens next. This once.

You run the cold tap over a washcloth and dab cool water across your face and down your neck. It does little to regulate the heat flushing through you.

If you don’t go out there now, he might leave.

You throw the cloth into the sink basin and open the door.

And Johnny is there, standing right there in front of it, leaning casually against the opposite wall—

Completely naked.

You stop dead.

Gray moonlight falls across his body in a thin haze. The bulky, sculpted planes of it roll with dense muscle and dark hair, which is thick and curly across rounded pectorals and joins in a broad stream down his abdomen. Twisting into a nest at his groin, they cushion a long, wide cock, uncut, half-hard—

That jumps at your appearance.

He meets your eyes. They are silvery and sharp, even in the gloam. Drags his gaze down—leveling it with your tightening nipples. Then he reaches to his side and twists the doorknob to the bedroom.

It swings open. Empty bed in the doorframe.

His cock jumps again. A diamond-drop of moisture beads at the tip.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

You walk in, barely aware of your own footsteps. His bare feet cross the floor behind you, and then the door shuts again.

He does not say another word as he approaches you; you do not turn to face him. You stand as if restrained in place as large, warm hands skim the dip of your waist, slope easily down your hips and up again; he pinches the hem of your sweater and lifts. You raise your arms, lost in the fugue of your pounding heart; he brings it over your head, and tosses it to the side.

Rough hands smoothing over your bare skin, almost like sweeping away dust. He unhooks your bra with startling dexterity—fingers slide beneath the straps and loosen them down your shoulders. Hands dipping down your chest, edging under and replacing the cups around your breasts.

His thumbs press your nipples in, circle around them; you gasp, flinch back against him, and feel his cock, fully erect, nestle in the cleft of your ass. He huffs a laugh into your hair.

His hands return to your waist, and they slide down, pressed open against your sides, as Johnny goes to his knees behind you. He grasps the waistbands of both panties and leggings and—face centimeters away from the globe of one ass cheek—pulls both down in one smooth, soft sweep.

It feels like being skinned. Your heart beats a hammer in the arteries against your throat. You nearly lose your balance, tilting when you lift one foot out of your clothes, before one of Soap’s hands return to your waist to give you ballast. Holding you up like it’s nothing. He squeezes the meat of your hip tenderly, massages the give of it with the tips of his fingers, skin warm and rough against yours.

The moment you’d first caught sight of Johnny in the airport, he’d slotted cleanly into a certain taxon of manhood; one need only to examine his morphology briefly—the mohawk, the muscles, stubborn refusal to cover his knees even as winter fast approaches—to understand that his is the lifestyle of the fast-living. He leers. He gropes. He runs down what he sets his eyes on whether his prey likes it or not.

An organism with cheap pleasure on its mind, and nothing more. Johnny’s bull-focused intentions had stunk acrid and obvious the moment they’d fallen upon you—aimed, you thought unceremoniously, between your legs and nowhere else.

So why, as his hands drag up the backs of your thighs, is he touching you so tenderly? Teasing you open, rather than prising you apart. Touching you as if he’s in no hurry to do anything else.

It feels like an insult. It feels like mercy you didn’t ask for. Without thinking, without knowing you’re going to do it—you slap his hand away.

“Is this going to take all night, or are you going to get around to fucking me sometime soon?” you snap, galled.

An indrawn breath. His or yours, you’re not entirely sure.

Then he rises up, shoves a hand hard between your shoulder blades, and you topple forward onto the bed, flailing, landing face-first, as Johnny knees up behind you.

“So that’s how you want it, then,” he says. Nonchalant. “Aye, I can do that. Come here.”

You don’t have time to scramble away before rough hands grab your hips and yank them back, pulling you up onto your knees, and with no more preamble Johnny shoves his face into your naked pussy from behind. Immediately hot and star-bright; thumbs hook into your outer folds to spread you open moments before his tongue burns a stripe from clit to perineum, no slow build, no warm-up, before he starts eating you out like he’s starving.

You shriek from the sudden contact, hips jerking, but his hold is iron, and the more you resist the more he tightens his grasp, fingertips digging down near to bone. He licks at your folds, at the dips between them, as if he’s pulling swipes of you away on every taste bud, imprecise, mouthing your cleft as if he means to swallow it whole.

When you reach back with one hand to grab his hair—to hold him where he is or shove him away, you’re not sure—he releases one hip and shackles your wrist in his fingers, bending your arm at the elbow and pinning it to your lower back.

“You asked for it,” he growls against you, “and now you’re gettin’ it,” another dig of his tongue around your entrance, “so don’ fuckin’ complain.”

He pulls away and abruptly spits on your asshole before diving back in. With the thumb of the same hand around your wrist, he smears it around, dipping just inside at the same time his tongue breaches your cunt; you feel teeth press against your perineum for a breathless moment before he lets up, and then he prods your clitoris with little jabbing licks, forcing his way up under the hood that fails to protect it from his onslaught.

You have a free hand—you reach back to slap at him again. The theory of insanity proves true; one wrist joins the other, and Johnny uses his own weight to move you as he likes, arms curled over your hips, rocking your entire body against his mouth, lips smacking against you as he alternates between licking up the slick that abruptly starts welling around your entrance and sucking your labia between his teeth.

He grunts and snarls after every brief surfacing for air, every time his tongue touches you again, as if every new taste of you in his mouth is better than the last. His hands tighten into vices around your wrists as he buries in deeper, groaning, shoving his face against you so hard it thrusts your hips forward, which he greedily drags back, and then he flutters his tongue against your clit as if to punish you for his own forcefulness.

“Johnny—” you cry, “Johnny, slow down, slow down—!”

A climax swells within you before you have any time to prepare for it, a closeout curling in so fast that it hits you before you can brace. Johnny thumbs your ass again and suctions his lips closed around your clitoris, tearing a scream from your throat, ripping your orgasm even further out of you as you suddenly, violently convulse.

It jerks you in his grasp, as if whipping you, and then, as fast as it came at you, it recedes; you sag, dizzy and gulping air, but Johnny’s mouth opens around your pussy again as if nothing happened, tongue and lips losing none of their frantic voracity.

“Johnny,” you whimper, “Johnny, I came, you can stop—”

“Don’t give half a shite, am no’ done,” he snarls, accent thicker than you’ve heard it before.

Your breath shudders out of you as he runs the edges of his teeth up your folds, and then, briefly, the flat of his tongue circles your asshole, before dipping back down into the heat of your cunt. He catches your clit again in a quick succession of sucking kisses, loud and wet and pulling at it so hard that tugs at nerves all the way down your legs, spasming through your calves.

Your breath thins in your lungs, escaping you in high, reedy whines, and finally, he pulls his mouth away—only to replace it with his hand. He transfers your crossed wrists into one grasp, wedging all four fingers between the split of your cleft and shaking it vigorously, like a dog might with a small animal clamped in its jaws. He follows this with several rapid slaps against flesh that is already screaming with overstimulation—

And then the head of something hot and hard parts you, circling to find its target, and with as little preamble as he began Johnny shoves his fat, rock-hard cock into you, all the way to the base in one harsh thrust.

It shoves the air from your lungs in one go, leaves you no room to breathe in before he grabs your wrists again, like reins, pulls halfway out, and rams back in again, setting a brutal pace, his thighs slamming against the fat of your ass at a rapid staccato that shakes the old bedframe on its creaky legs.

He barely pulls out as he fucks you this way, thrusting short and hard, your face crushed against the bedsheets as he uses your arms to pull you back against him to meet every thrust. The fattest part of his cock catches your g-spot over and over, bright and hot as iron pulled from a fire, and you can’t even get enough breath in your lungs to do more than whimper every time his hips meet yours.

“This is wha’ she fuckin’ needed, hen, aye?” Johnny snarls. “Hissin’ an’ spittin’ like a stray cat, didnae know wha’s good fer it, jus’ needed a big cock in ‘er wet cunt, didnae she?”

A long, shaky moan is the only response you can give. Fast, fast and hard—he bucks against you wildly, violently, sending shockwaves up your body that jounce your breast and ripple across your blazing cheeks. Your mouth hangs open at a loose angle—if you try to close your teeth, you might accidentally bite into your tongue—

He releases your wrists, and your arms fall hard to the bedspread. Then he bends over your back, planting his hands in the spaces over your shoulders, making a cage with his his body. It changes the angle of his thrusts, lets him force his way in even deeper, kissing the head of your cervix. You climb your hands up the bedspread, claw at his wrists with your nails, but you might as well be a curl of wind trying to knock over a pillar of stone.

“You can bitch an’ whine all you wan’ at me, bonnie,” he says, a nasty thread in his tone, “but I know mean pussy just needs some pettin’ to make it nice again, don’ I, now?”

You try to struggle under him, search for some sort of purchase in the sheets beneath you, and for a moment you think he’s making space to let you; his weight retreats as you rise to all fours, but then one solid, beefy arm closes around your neck in a chokehold. He brings the both of you up, settling you over the cradle of his thighs as he sits back on his heels, clamping your back against his chest.

His free hand snakes down between your thighs, finding your clitoris again with rough, abrading calluses. A hard, grinding roll of his hips, upward and forward, pushes it up into his touch, like the crest of a wave, but gravity gives you no escape on the downwell; he pushes and pulls you as he likes, heel of his hand digging hard into the sensitive edge of your mons.

You scrabble with your hands for something to hold onto—you find the brackets of his wide thighs, wiry with dark hair, and dig your nails into hard, tensed muscle. He only laughs in your ear, speeds the rhythm of his hips, pinches your clitoris between his fingers and drags it around.

“Told ya, bonnie,” he gloats, taking the lobe briefly between his lips, “she wants it—” and he pushes his cock in deep, shaking his hips “—bad as he does.”

He reaches further inward and splits his fingers around his own girth, pressing upward—as if he intends to shove them in too, and choking for air as you are you think deliriously that they might just slip in, no resistance, aided by the wetness free-flowing now around him, dripping in long streams down the inside of your thighs.

Inescable—no matter what you do, it’s nothing to him. You thrash against him, whining through gritted teeth in frustration, but he only moves with you, anticipating every direction you might blindly throw yourself in to get away. You cry out in wordless fury, slapping whatever parts of him you can reach, but it doesn’t matter. There is no purchase for you anywhere, nothing you can use to grab back any sort of control.

He’s too big. Too strong. You finally begin to comprehend it in a way that had been impossible before. Looking at him from a few paces, Johnny is easy to take in; easy to summarize and dismiss when you can see the whole of him at once.

But now, at your back—he feels vast. Enormous. An undulating wall of a hard body flexing against you, mooring you to it, all heat and sweat and sharp, animalistic grunting as it pistons into you from behind. The hand manipulating your clit is wide enough to cover your pussy entirely; the pillar of his body doesn’t so much as shudder as you struggle, instinct overriding desire as you try to escape the lightning-streaks of pleasure he carelessly sends through you.

You are too primed from your earlier climax to possibly last, and Johnny seems to feel it—you flutter and clutch around him, the sensation almost painful, but when both your hands fly to the one between your legs he only increases the pressure.

“You gonna come again, bonnie?” he sneers into your ear. “Jus’ tiring yourself out, poor baby. Fightin’ it so hard, an’ it’s gonna happen anyway.”

It does—he starts slapping your pussy again, right above where his cock stretches you to your limit, quick and sharp, and you break with ragged scream, arms flailing out uselessly, nails finding his forearm around your throat.

“Johnny—” you cry out, “Johnny!”

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear, “steamin’ Jesus, fuck—”

Suddenly he pushes you away from him, and you flail again as you land face-first into the pillows. His cock slips out of you entirely, even as you’re still clenching around your orgasm, but you have no time to react, either to mourn it or be relieved, because Johnny grabs you by the thighs, flips you over in one motion, and drives back in again before it ends.

“Fuck, bonnie, so good, fuck, do it again—”

He throws your legs open, leaving your calves to shake in the air as he fucks you faster. You nearly fold in half under the force of his thrusts, knees hovering nearer and nearer to your ears. Each slap of his hips against yours ricochets up your body, and, with nowhere else to go, back down—you ring like a bell, shaking all the way into your marrow.

“Soap,” you whine, “Soap, it—I—I can’t—”

Suddenly he grabs your face in his hand, so tightly he squeezes your cheeks together, pushing out your lips, and he lurches forward to get in your face. Fury blazes from him.

“I told you,” he snarls, “to call me Johnny.”

It shocks you so much that freeze up, going completely blank. The dark, sharp lines of his brows arch dangerously over flashing eyes.

He shakes your face. “Say it.”

“J—” you slur, unable to shape it in your lips properly, “Johnny.”

His nostrils flare wide. Fury is replaced by triumph. “Good fucking girl.”

He slams his mouth against yours.

The first time he’s kissed you, and he gives you no chance to participate in it. He purses your lips with the pressure of his hand to meld with his, opening your jaw wide enough to thrust his tongue behind your teeth. The force of it presses your head back into the pillow. It’s an attack; it’s an onslaught. And—if the grunts and groans Johnny makes in his throat as he does what he likes with your mouth are any indication—

It’s what he’s really wanted this whole time.

Everything else, he’s enjoyed. But this—his mouth on yours, lips moving together, saliva pooling and seeping between the seams—is the prize he’s aimed for all along.

It touches something inside of you. Something tiny and ugly. A thing that you’ve wrapped up in nacreous layers of shame and guilt, lodged in your soft tissues, and tried to forget about.

It sends your arms to wrap around Johnny’s neck, fingers digging into the shifting muscles of his shoulders. You close your thighs around his waist, crossing your ankles, and roll yourself up into every meeting of his hips with yours.

He moans, higher, and drops his full weight over you. His belly meets yours; his chest crushes your breasts under his. He uses the full brunt of his weight to rut into you, crashing his hips against you, stealing the breath from your lungs—

It’s an old trick you’ve learned from small experience, inhaling when you feel the rush coming—as if climax blooms in the lungs rather than the clitoral head, and filling your alveoli gives it no place to expand. It’s useful to prolong satisfaction, to stave off the end.

Johnny does not give you opportunity try. The only thing he allows you to occupy your mouth with is his, and as hypoxia thins out your bloodstream—as you begin to struggle for air—you go rigid with your third climax beneath him.

However long it lasts, you don’t know. It freezes you in place, in time. It wrenches your head back, arching your spine, tears one long, broken cry from your throat.

“Fuck yes,” Johnny gasps, feeling you clamp down so hard around him it seems you may never release him. He moves to bury his face in your throat. “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck—yes—”

His tempo falters, signaling the end—

Realization—“Wait!” you find some presence of mind to cry out—“a condom! We didn’t use—”

“It’s got a’go somewhere hen, an’ I’m no’ wastin’ it on yer belly,” he snarls, “just—just—yes—fuck—”

Then his teeth come down on your neck, hard, as his hips beat against yours, and then he buries himself to the root with one final, full-body thrust. He shakes his hips flush against yours as he groans long and loud, cock pulsing inside you, wet heat flooding you in jets, so full that it spills back out to drip down between you.

He pants hard into your shoulder. Your own breath labors, vision swimming.

A cloud covers the moon outside. Johnny makes no move to pull away from you—instead his arms wedge beneath you, banding around your back, and he rolls you both to your sides. You feel him kissing the sting his teeth left on your neck, as you lay there together, sweat cooling on your naked bodies.

Eventually, he pulls back enough to look at you. You have no time to arrange your expression, no idea even what you might want to present to him; whatever he sees on your face makes him smile, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“There’s my bonnie,” he murmurs, and the next kiss he gives you is soft and very sweet.

Your lips rise to meet his without you thinking about it.

He strokes your back very gently. Sooner than yours, his breathing evens out. Even as he softens inside of you, he keeps his hips against yours.

“Johnny,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “I know. Just a little while longer. Can you do that for me? Aye, you can, I know it.”

You should say something about spermicide. Plan B. But the look in his eyes is so soft, so content, that you put it away for later. You just hold his gaze as he looks at you like you’re everything that could ever make him happy.

He kisses you again. Soon, the heaving of your chest abates. Exhaustion pours through you in one drenching wave; you turn your head to yawn.

“Go to sleep, bonnie,” Johnny croons, pressing his fingers into the soft part of your lower back. “I’ll clean us up, aye? You just sleep.”

You don’t have the energy to fight anymore. Soon, you’re slipping away—you’re aware for long enough to feel it when he finally pulls away from you, when he runs a warm washcloth between your legs, and then when he slides back into bed beside you and pulls up the covers.

Then you’re gone.

Sometime after midnight, you half-wake.

The moon has moved far enough across the sky that its light floods the bedroom through its one window, casting everything in silver. Your eyes open slowly, blurred with sleep; Johnny is still beside you.

He’s sitting up against the headboard; eye-level with you is his waist, covered by the thin bedsheet. You draw your eyes up his body slowly—there, his navel, dark hair curling around it. There, his chest, full pectorals rising and falling slowly with calm, even breath.

When you reach his face, you find him looking down at you, corners of his mouth curled. You meet his eyes—

The moon reflects in them. Disks of shifting light in both pupils.

Some part of you, buried in your hindbrain, shouts with alarm. It’s far away, cottoned with sleep. Muffled enough by the soreness of three full-body orgasms to be ignored.

Johnny reaches out and drags the back of one finger along the wounded part of your neck. Touch feather-light.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

Vaguely, you remember that you’ve answered this question before, but that doesn’t feel consequential. Any part of you that could protest is still lost to sleep.

As is any ability to dissemble. The truth—the thing you attempted to abandon, that has followed you regardless—slips out.

“Nobody wants me,” you whisper.

So quiet you fear he won’t hear you, and ask you to repeat it.

But Johnny tilts his head. The curl of his mouth softens to something almost kind.

It doesn’t quite get there, because a gleam of satisfaction that you cannot name colors his shining gaze.

“I want you,” he murmurs.

His broad hand covers the crown of your head, and he strokes your hair. The tide of sleep comes back in, and you know nothing more.

chapter 4 early access

[bbrissonn]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 - 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ synopsis: in which you see quinn for the first time since he left for vancouver at your best friend's wedding

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ warning: angst, , arguing, two stupid teenages in love and then two stupid adults in love, swearing, lots of eyes going wide in the first part im so sorry abt that omg, and then lots of people sighing in the second half i cant 😭 NOT PROOF READ

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ disclaimer: i dont know where the tkachuck's wedding actually took place, but for the purpose of this story im just gonna say it was in michigan

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ wc: 10.3k

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ would love to do a part 2 of some of you would be interested in that !!

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ a/n: sorta based of off "the winner takes it all" but the mamma mia verson because it's simply too good. and i was gonna give this a sad ending, but i just couldn't so the end is like not really based on the song

════ ⋆fall 2017⋆ ════

➻❥ ann arbor, mich

you were currently standing in the middle of frat house, drink in hand, as you watched your friends get picked up by guys left and right. but you didn't mind it, you weren't here to find the love of your life or spend time with meaningless hookups, you were here to get your degree. guys occasionally came up to you, but they all had that same smirk on their faces, that 'i want to get laid' smirk, and their cheesy pick up lines.

you always turned them down. you weren't interested in the hookup culture, especially with a bunch of asshole who wouldn't bother to remember your name. and you weren't actively looking for a boyfriend either, you were just living your life, focusing on school, and you were content with that.

but that all changed that night. the first time your eyes met, he was standing with a couple of guy friends who looked like they were having quite an intense discussion. but all his attention was on you. you pretended not to feel his eyes at first, thinking he was just another hopeless guy trying to take someone home. but eventually, you caved and looked over at him.

the second your eyes met with his, they grew wide as he quickly looked away from you, a small pinkish colour taking over his cheek. you ignored it at first, trying to focus on what your friend was saying, but your eyes kept drifting his way. and every time they landed on him, his were already looking at you. but that never lasted long, always growing wide and looking away like he kept getting caught. like he didn't want you to know that he was looking, and every time you did catch up, he grew more and more embarrassed.

at some point, it was his eyes that met his, and he froze. this wasn't supposed to happen. he was supposed to be the one staring at you and getting caught, not the other way around. his eyes grew wide like they always did, but he didn't look away. you took it as an opportunity to send a small smile his way, which he answered with an awkward one of his own.

the two of you kept going for almost the whole night, stealing glances, the boy blushing every time you met his gaze. it was adorable. but he never moved. just stayed there with his friends, sipping on a cup that must've been empty at that point. and it was. so when you saw him making his way to the kitchen for a refill, you took your chance.

his back was facing you when you made it into the doorstep, no one else was in the room, and the sound of the music was significantly lower than in the rest of the house. you stood there for a second, watching as he took different bottle and poured them all in his cup before finally speaking up.

"whatcha drinking?" you asked, making the boy jump slightly before turning around to face you. his eyes grew wide once again as you eyes locked together. his mouth open, then closed, then opened, until it closed for the final time. you smiled at him before walking over to him and looking into his cup. "can i?" you asked, nodding at the cup.

the boy's mouth gapped open slightly as he watched you. he looked down at his cup before looking back up at you, nodding slightly. you softly took the cup from his hand and took a sip, the taste of different alcohol burning down your throat.

"you are not messing around you? jeez." you chuckled as you handed him his cup back.

"i don't..." he began, and your eyes quickly looked into his at the sound of his voice. it was soft, softer than you had expected. "i don't usually go this hard."

"what's the occasion?"

"this was supposed to happen after i had this cup." he mumbled, looking between your eyes and the ground. you grinned slightly at his words, quickly understanding that he was talking about your interaction.

"so, you were planning on coming to talk to me at some point and not just stare and look away the whole night?" you teased, making the boy's face flush red.

"that was the goal, yeah." he answered, scratching the back of his head.

"good to know." you responded. the two of then stood in silent for a whole minute. the boy clearly looking a little awkward as he tried to find the right words to say. "i'm y/n/n."

you never did this. you never went around giving your name to random boys you had just met at parties. but something about him intrigued you. he was different the rest of the boys you had talked to this semester. he was shy and quiet. you liked that about him.

"quinn."

"nice to meet you, quinn."

"you too." he blushed. and there it was again, the split moment of silent where the two of you just looked at each other. just as you were about to say something, your friend rushed into the room.

"y/n/n! we gotta go!" she exclaimed, making you furr your brows.

"what's going on?" you asked turning around to face your friend. her eyes grew a little as she realized she had just interrupted your moment with the boy.

"it's jen. her and marcus..." your friend trailed off, and you quickly understood what had happen.

"gimme five minutes and i'll be out." you answered and your friend nodded slightly before leaving. you turned back around to face quinn with a sad smile.

"i'm sorry-"

"it's okay. trouble in paradise?"

"more like trouble in hell. they're always arguing and cheating on each other. told her that's what happens when you date a frat guy but she just won't listen." you went on, quickly realizing what you had just said. "and now i'm really hoping you're not frat guy..."

"i'm not." he chuckled, making you let out a small breath. "i'm guessing that's why you're here? you didn't look too much like the party type."

"had a feeling something bad would happen. anyways, i should... get going." you said, pointing awkwardly at the door.

"right yeah, it was nice meeting you."

"you too." you stood for a couple of seconds, hoping he would ask for your number. you didn't know why, you never wanted anyone's number, you weren't interested in that. but quinn was different. eventually you started making your way out of house, trying your best to hid your disappointment.

you joined your friends outside, where you were met with a crying jen. then you all started making your way to your dorms. jen and half of the girls in your friend group were all apart of the same sorority, which is probably where they would end up spending the night instead of their dorms. you had met lacy in your english class, and honestly you didn't even remember how you guys became friends, you just did. lacy was apart of the sorority, which is how you met all the girls. and you all quickly clicked, and were now inseparable.

"he cheated again?" you whispered to lacy as you guys started leaving the frat house. the two of you were walking a little behind the group, hoping jen wouldn't hear anything.

"twice tonight."

"jeez." you answered with wide eyes. just as lacy was about to say something, you heard someone call your name from behind.

"y/n! wait!" the voice made your whole group stop and turn around. your eyes grew wide as you saw quinn running up the sidewalk, his eyes growing wide as he realized just how many of you were staring at him. you stood frozen in place before lacy slapped your back.

"go see him! if he comes anywhere near here, he's gonna get scared away by the girls." she harshly whispered and your feet quickly moved to meet him a little further away than the group.

"quinn, what's going?"

"your number!" he exclaimed loudly, making your eyes grow wide at the tone of his voice. "that's what i forgot. when you left, i felt like i forgot something, but i couldn't figure out what. and then my phone buzzed and it clicked in my head, but you were already gone so, here i am." he explained through his breath, making you blush slightly.

"you could've just said you forgot, no need to explain." you giggled slightly.

"wanted you to know that like i wanted to, but my brain wasn't really working in the kitchen so i kinda blanked out and... i'm doing it again." he said awkward, his lips shutting tight.

"gimme your phone." you whispered trying your best to hold back your smile. you were right, he was different.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

after that night, the two of you talked everyday. at first it was just texting, telling each other about your days, asking the other questions about their life. you found out he was played hockey for the school, and he found out you lived in toronto, to which he answered by telling you he grew up there.

suddenly, this boy you had meet a week knew more about you than anyone else at the school. a week later, you were sitting in the dinner, quinn in front of you as the two of you awkwardly ate your dinners. that was your first date together, and three dates later quinn asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you happily agreed.

this whole thing felt so odd to you. you had never really been on for dating, sure you had your fair shares of boys in high school, but for the first two months of your freshman year, you steered clear of boys, and now here you were in the middle of november standing in the middle of Yost arena with your boyfriend's jersey on your back.

but this is exactly what you wanted, you didn't want to be out and chasing for love, you wanted love to find, and it did. and when american thanksgiving came around in november, you found yourself sitting at the hughes' dinning table, quinn's two younger brothers sitting in front of you two, along with their billet brother alex, while his parents sat at each end of the table.

"so, y/n, quinn said you live in toronto? what brought you to michigan?"

"well, my parents are from here, their families live here and they met here. and then a couple of years before they had my older sister they moved to toronto for my mom's job. but i we visit michigan every summer, so i basically grew up here a little too. they both to umich, my whole family pretty much did, so it was kind of a no brainer." you explained. the two younger boys didn't pay much attention to what you were saying, but jack did look over at you a couple of times.

"are they close to detroit?"

"all over the place really, but some of them, yeah." the rest of the dinner went smoothly, some of jack's friends came over a little later in the night and chaos quickly took over the house. but you and quinn were able to find a quiet spot in the basement. you sat next to him, his arm over your shoulder as your head leaned onto him, the two of you watching a movie quinn had begged you to watch. your legs were over his as a blanket covered the two of you.

"quinn?" you head luke's small voice call out as he made his way down the stairs, eventually appearing in front of you two. "can i watch it with you guys? jack and his friends are acting like maniacs up there. even mom and dad left!" the small boy explained, his eyes wide with fear. quinn chuckled slightly before tapping the empty spot next to him.

"come here, bud." he said before focusing back on the movie. luke slowly made his way over to the couch. you sent him a small smile as he made himself comfortable in his spot. the boy hadn't said much to you throughout the night, he greeted you with a shy 'hello' and the pretty much stuck by jack's side the rest of the evening. the two older teens, jack and alex, had been a little more talkative, but they mainly just talked between each other about hockey and stuff. but you didn't mind, quinn had quickly explained that it meant they liked you and were comfortable with having you around. which made your heart grow for the family.

"we should go get ice cream." you suggested as the movie ended, and by the way your eyes flickered between the two brothers, quinn understood that the invite was for the both of them.

"you two go, i'll stay behind and make sure those idiots don't burn down the house." quinn proposed, he had quickly understood that your invite for ice cream with luke was a way for you to get closer to his brother, and he figured you'd have better luck if it was just the two of you.

ten minutes later, you were sitting in quinn's car, luke in the passenger side as you drove to the closest ice cream place.

"so, quinn told me you just started high school. how's that been?"

"it's fine."

"i remember my freshmen math class, it was hell. they made everything so complicated for nothing."

"it's really not that hard." luke said with a bit of pride, making you smile slightly.

"yeah? what about sciences?"

"jack was dramatic when he took it, made it sound like it was harder than climbing mouth everest, but he's just dumb." he said, making you let out a laugh.

"or maybe you're just too smart."

"it's probably both. jack probably only has half a brain cell." he added, only making you laugh harder.

after that night, you and luke had become quite close. you were the sister he never had, and he was the little brother you never had. he reached out whenever he was struggling with something in school, girl advice, and sometimes just to talk whenever he felt like it. and you were always there, you answered as soon as you could and as often as you could. and quinn loved it.

it took a little longer with jack, but by the end of your freshman year, jack had became the annoying little brother, always asking you stupid questions that made your eyes roll and quinn scoff.

as the months went by, your relationship with quinn grew, and you were next to him for every important step of his career. you were there in january when the usa won bronze at the world junior, you were there when umich lost in the frozen four semi finals, but most importantly you were next to him in dallas when the canucks organization called his name. you were there for everything.

in the summer, you had been invited to the infamous hughes lakehouse, where you spent three whole weeks in nothing but bikinis and cover ups, and never taking the time to do something fancy with your hair or put any makeup on. it felt like some foreign place to you, sure your family had lake-houses of their own, but something about the hughes' just felt magical. the second you got to the airport, you were already counting down the days until you got to go back.

════ ⋆fall 2018⋆ ════

➻❥ ann arbor, mich

coming back to umich for your sophomore year felt surreal. jen had finally broken things for good with marcus, something all of your friend was happy about, and you had quinn by your side. and although you guys never mentioned it, you knew this was your last year together at umich. quinn was undoubtedly signing with the canucks at the end of the season. you knew the moment his name got called so high in draft that he was not coming back junior year.

the canucks needed all the help they could to start this small rebuild, and quinn was their next star defencemen, and you couldn't have been more thrilled for him. over the summer, you had seen all the work him and his brother put into the becoming the best they could, and it was finally going to pay off.

but you two never brought it up to each other, always telling yourselves you had plenty of time left. and it wasn't until quinn told you he had once again be selected for the world junior tournament, this time with his brother jack, that it hit you. it was almost january already, meaning that in 3-4 months max, quinn would be gone.

so you took things into your hands. you didn't want to be left behind, your relationship with quinn meant too much to you for his career to be the end of it. but you were not the long distance relationship type of girl. if he going to minesota or columbus, or anywhere near michigan, you wouldn't mind. but he was moving to canada, and not close canada, far canada. there would be a three hour time difference between the two of you, and that was not something you were okay with.

almost as some sort of joke, the world junior's ended up being in vancouver. and after spending three whole weeks in the city, spending quinn's days off along together, and sometimes josh or jack tagging along, there was no way you were letting quinn move here alone. it was almost like you got a glimpse of what your life could be like together here, and you loved it.

so, the second you got back to michigan of usa's heartbreaking lost in the finals, you applied to UBC. you never mentioned it to quinn, not even when you got accepted simply because vancouver had yet to be a topic of conversation between the two of you. to you, it was pretty obvious that you would be moving with him. you two had been together for a little over a year now, and you loved quinn more than anything in your life. and quinn, well you don't know why he never brought it up, so you just figured there was a mutual understanding that you would be moving with him. i mean, why wouldn't you, right?

but that all changed when michigan lost in the first round of the big-10 tournament, meaning their was no chance of them qualifying for the ncaa tournament. their season was over. but all you could think about as you sat in the arena surrounded by minnesota fans was that quinn was leaving. you had made the trip with a couple of other girlfriends, most of you understanding that this probably would be their last game.

now here you stood with them, not far away from the michigan locker room as the plays came out one by one. quinn was one of the last one's the leave, and by the look on his face, you knew. you already knew, but now you were being faced with the fact that it was actually happening.

you had to tell him, now. you hoped it would boost up his mood for the night, and although you would be in michigan until may and he would be in vancouver for almost a month, but you would be together after that.

"i'm leaving." he said as soon as your arms wrapped around his neck. but his stayed by his side, making you frown a bit.

"i know, q, it's okay." you said a small sad smile as you pulled away from him. one of your hands landed on his cheek, your thumbs rubbing his cheekbone softly.

"no- i'm leaving, y/n." he said again, but his tone was different, leaving you confused.

"what're you saying, quinn?"

"i'm going to vanconver, y/n, i'm starting my career, my life." your brows furred at his words. "my dream is coming true."

"i know that, quinn! why are you talking to me like i don't understand? obviously you're going to vancouver, why wouldn't you?"

"but you don't understand, y/n/n." he said loudly, making your mouth close as his voice caught the attention of a couple of people around. "i'm pretty much starting my life over. new city, new people, new friends, new team, new everything, y/n. everything."

"not everything. you still have michigan, your family, me!" you said confused, but as his eyes looked away from you and down at the ground, the realization hit you. "do you not want me to be-"

"y/n..." he cut you off, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. and in that moment, you knew. he didn't want you by his side as he started this new chapter of his life. one you had watched as he created it for himself. one where you had been by his side every step of the way for the last year. he didn't want you in vancouver with him.

"oh." you gasped, taking a step back away from him. you tried your best to keep the tears in, blinking them away.

"i'm sorry, it's just... it's just not gonna work."

you debated telling him about UBC, but as his words registered in your head, it wouldn't change anything. it's not that he didn't want in vancouver, he didn't want you by his side point.

it felt like a slap to the face. like someone had just poured a ice bucket on you. you had been there for everything, supported him through everything. did his homework when he didn't have the time to, helped him study to make sure he passed all his classes and didn't get kicked off the team. you had weekly facetime calls with his brothers, and you visited his parents every weekend even if quinn was out of town. you did everything, and this is the reward you got?

if it weren't for the two of you being in public, you probably would've tried to rip his head off. but instead, you nodded along as he continued talking, only snapping back him as he bid his goodbye and slipped from your fingers. he was gone.

════ ⋆fall 2019⋆ ════

➻❥ toronto, on

you were sitting in your parents living room as the 2019 draft played on the tv. you watched as jack and some of his friends that you had became somewhat close to got drafted. and you tried your hardest not to let the memories of quinn's draft flood your head. and the top it off, the draft was in vancouver.

you hadn't spoke to either jack or luke since your breakup with quinn. and only spoken to ellen and jim once when you stopped by their house to grab a couple of things you had left in quinn's room. he was still in michigan, and luke and jack were both at school when you came, so you only had to see his parents.

they both offered you sad smiles as you made your way inside their house. and concluded your short interactions by telling you you could always reach out to them if you needed anything, which you appreciated, you really did, but you all knew you never would.

and now you stared at your phone, jack's contacts open as you looked at the send button for almost 5 minutes. 'congrats jacky !!! so happy and proud of you, enjoy your night :)' you debated sending it. would he even respond? both him and luke had reached out after the breakup, but you hadn't answered either of them, it would hurt too much. but you came to your sense. jack, who you considered your little brother, was just drafted 1st overall, something all little boys dream about it. it would almost be disrespectful not to reach other after you spent the last year reassuring him that he would go first. so you hit send.

his response came back a couple of hours later. it was short and simple, yet still brought tears to your eyes 'thank you y/n/n, wish you were here ❤️'. you liked his message, but didn't the words to answer him. you wanted to be there, you really did, but it was all so complicated. and there was no way you would be able to step foot in vancouver without completely breaking down.

speaking of vancouver, you had decided not to go to UBC in the fall, there was no point in going. but you didn't want to go back to umich either. the months after quinn left were the hardest of your life. everywhere you went reminded you of him, there was no a single place in ann arbor that you could go that wouldn't make you think of quinn. so, you decided to enroll at the university of ottawa.

which is where your friendship with josh norris and brady tkachuk were rekindled. you had ran into them on a random day in the middle of the grocery store, and the two were quick to bring you into hugs. after that, the three of you become attached to the hips. you cheered them on from the comfort of your dorm every game, went over to their apartments for movie nights. and quinn was never brought up. they never mentioned him around you, never asked you about him. it was like he didn't exists. which was comforting and odd at the same time. the only reason you knew was quinn, he was the link between you guys, yet the absence of his existence felt refreshing.

"does quinn about this?" you asked some time in february as the three of you watched a movie in josh's living room. the two guys, who were sitting on either side of you, looked between each other before josh answered.

"what do you mean?"

"does he knew we're friends and we hangout a lot?"

"no. if we told him he'd probably slice our heads off." brady said bluntly, making josh smack the back of his head. "what! it's true. the minute the two of you broke up he'd send death glares to anyone who asked about you. and then he like forbid anyone to mention you 'cause he'd always get all sad and mushy. like-like that one time at jack's draft, he told everyone you messaged him and quinn almost jumped off the balcony. honestly, y/n/n, whatever you did to that boy fucked up bad."

"i didn't do anything!" you quickly said, shocked by brady's words. josh was looking at his best friends with wide eyes, almost cursing him with his eyes. "he broke up with me, he shouldn't be the one getting his panties all twisted, i should!"

"oh." the two boys said the same, making you look between with raised brows.

"he never told us why you two broke up, so we just figured you did. sorry."

"you were literally there when he broke up with me!" you exclaimed looking at josh, who looked at you like you were speaking a foreign language. "in minnesota!" you added, and it was like something clicked in his head.

"oh. oh! he broke up with you?" he asked, making you scoff and roll your eyes while brady just laughed out loud.

and that was the first and only last time quinn was ever brought up between the three of you, and after a while you barely ever though of him on your own. you stayed far away from michigan, and made sure you stayed on campus whenever the canucks or the new jersey were in town. and eventually you barely ever though of him. well, that was until late 2022.

════ ⋆winter 2022⋆ ════

➻❥ ottawa, on

"hey, didn't know you were coming by." you said as you opened the door to your dorm apartment. brady walked in with some snack in his hands, kicking his shoes off as he made his way to your shared living room. "yeah, sure come on in."

"so, emma and i are starting to plan everything out for the wedding, and obviously we want you there. emma wants you there." he started. you had grown quite close with emma over the years, and you found yourself spending most of your free time at their house with her. "like she wants you there. and i want quinn there." he added slowly, making it all click in your head.

quinn is going to be one of brady's groomsmen, and you could only guess by his tone and wording that emma wanted you to be a bridesmaid.

"oh."

"i mean, obviously we won't, you know, put you guys together. i just wanna make sure nobody's murdering nobody at my wedding." he said casually, taking a bit of his snack after.

"it's fine, don't worry."

it wasn't fine. it was actually the opposite of fine. you hadn't see quinn or any of his family in almost 4 years, what on earth were you supposed to do or say when you saw them. but you figured that would be a problem when the wedding came.

so for the next months you tried your hardest to ignore it. but every time you and the couple talked about the wedding, it was all you could think about. quinn hughes was the only thing on your mind every time you opened your closet and your eyes landed on your dress. scratch that, quinn hughes was the only thing on your mind.

not in a cute 'so excited to see you again!' way, no quinn hughes was the last person you wanted to see. you hadn't see or heard of him since he broke your heart in minnesota. and the fact that you would be seeing him for the first time since was at a wedding felt like an absolute joke from the universe.

all you could think about was where the two of you would be at in your relationship now. would you be married? would you be living in a house together? would you be thinking about having kids soon? it was too much. but you wanted to be there, for emma and for brady who welcomed you with open arms every time you tried to put yourself out there just for guys to dump after getting what they wanted. or that one night when you completely broke down after the guy you had been talking with for a while now asked you to be his girlfriend and you couldn't bring yourself to say because he wasn't quinn, he wasn't your quinn. and you hated yourself for feeling this way.

because you were over him. your heart no longer belonged to the boy, but you weren't over the betrayal and the hurt you felt that day. one day everything was perfect, you were convinced you had found the man you would spend forever with, and the next second he was gone. you felt crazy for this, but sometimes you found yourself wondering if it had ever happened at all. if it was just something you had made up. but it wasn't. he was real, you guys were real. all of it was real.

════ ⋆summer 2023⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

"how's the most beautiful girl doing?" you asked entering the small room where emma was getting ready. you had yet to see quinn or any of the hughes family today, and you were glad. but you knew you could only avoid them for so long.

"feels like she's gonna piss herself." she joked, making you chuckle slightly as you walked up to her, standing behind her in the mirror. she was fully dressed, and the ceremony was starting soon. you just stared at her dress the whole time. it was beautiful, you probably would've had gotten on similar to this one for your own wedding with quinn. quinn. quinn. quinn. all you could think about today was quinn.

"you okay?" the girl asked, making you snap back to reality. you hadn't even realize the tears forming in your eyes.

"huh?"

"oh, sweetie." emma sighed, turning around and wrapping her arms around you.

"this is so stupid!"

"it's not stupid."

"it's been four years. i shouldn't... i shouldn't still be feeling like this." you said, trying your best to pull yourself back together, blinking away the tears in your eyes.

"you also haven't seen the man you thought you were gonna marry in four years. it's understandable." she said, making you flinch slightly at her words. the man you thought you were going to marry. ouch. "sorry."

"no it's fine, you're right. i'll be okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah."

"if you need anything, find matty and he'll... i don't know he's matty he'll find something to cheer you up." she said, making you laugh slightly. the girl joined for a bit before silence fell over the two of you.

"i'm scared shitless to see him." you admitted. "i've been thinking about what i would say or do if i ever saw him. and-and i don't know."

"just go out there and be a bad bitch. he doesn't deserve to feel like you're still hung up on him or whatever, because you're not. you're just hurt and that's okay."

"you're gonna make a great mom one day."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

your hands were shaking as you stood next to josh and matty, the two of them almost forming a wall around you to keep your eyes from trying to find queen. the ceremony was about to start at any moment now, meaning all the groomsmen and bridesmaids were together, and it was only a matter of time before quinn popped up.

"josh!" you heard him call out, and your whole body froze. his voice was slightly deeper than it was before. but it was him. you could recognized his voice anywhere.

"smart thinking sherlock you're like the only one he knows here." matthew said harshly to josh as quinn made their way over to the three of you. matthew wasn't completely familiar with your situation with quinn, but brady had told him enough that he knew the two of you should stay far away form the other.

the hughes boy had clearly not realized that you were the girl standing with them, seeing as he froze when your eyes met together. you knew it was corny, but it was like time stopped and you felt your heart drop to your stomach. it was like you were back in that frat house, meeting his gaze for the first time ever. never would you have thought you would be standing here almost half a decade later, staring into those same blue eyes.

"quinn." josh said awkwardly as he went over to the boy and dapped him up. matthew did the same, and suddenly all the attention was on you, the three of them looking at you.

"quinn." you said sharply, finally looking away from his eyes.

"y/n." he answered, and you saw matthew try his best not to laugh. thankfully, you were saved by the ceremony starting. and you were hoping that would be the last you would see of him that night.

it wasn't. when it came time to take pictures after the ceremony, you decided to stick to taryn's side as the photographer placed all the groomsmen and bridesmaid. thankfully he placed the two of you on opposite sides. but after that, you really did not see him for the rest of the evening. or at least you that's what you tried to tell yourself.

the sun had set a couple of hours ago, and everyone was now inside dancing the night away to different songs. you had made your way outside a couple of minutes ago, wanting to take some time to yourself and cool down from the hotness inside.

you eventually felt a presence next to you, and your breath caught in your throat as your eyes met quinn's figure. he was learning on the railing of the balcony, his eyes looking straight ahead. you soon copied him, drawing your eyes away from him and over to the scene in front of you.

"how you been?" he asked softly, making you scoff aloud.

"really? that's really what you want to say to me right now? 'how you been'?" you said angrily, turning slightly on yourself so you were facing him. his eyes closed at your words as he winced. you were right. you always were.

"i'm sorry... for everything."

"it's a bit late for that, don't you think." you scoffed, turning back to where you were facing before.

"you deserved better than that. i was an ass, and i'm so sorry for how things ended, really." he spoke. his words were soft and true. you needed to tell him. this big secret you hadn't told anyone because you wanted him to first to know.

"i got into UBC." you whispered, making his eyes snap to you.

"what?"

"when we got back to michigan after the world juniors, i applied to UBC and i got in. i knew you were gonna, i wasn't stupid. but after the world juniors, and... seeing what our life could be like together in vancouver, i wanted to be there with you. i thought that you would me there with you. i thought we wanted the same thing, but clearly i was wrong." you explained, and quinn let out a loud sigh at your words, pinching your nose.

"you wanted come?"

"of course i did, quinn. you meant everything to me, gosh, i would've followed to fucking australia if you asked me to." you said, your voice shaky as tears formed in your eyes.

"why... why didn't you say anything? i wanted you there with me, y/n, but you never mentioned it, it was vancouver didn't even exists to you. i wanted you with me!"

"i thought you knew!" you said loudly, making quinn's body stiffen. "i thought you knew, quinn. that after everything, i wouldn't have to explain to you that i wanted to be with. and i never brought it up because i thought you knew that it a no brainer that i would come with you. but you never asked, and you just left. i thought you knew." you added, your voice soft as your eyes met together. you couldn't hold back the tears in your eyes anymore, and neither could he.

"fuck." he whispered under his breath. his hand ran through his hair as he leaned on the railing.

"i would've moved mountains for you. i would've gone with you to the end, quinn." you said, quoting the lord of the rings. but it was your favourite saga to watch together. and the two of used to say it to each other all the time. granted, back then you would say 'i would go with you to the end' and you both meant it, you really did.

quinn couldn't hold back his tears anymore. all the hurt and pain the two of you had shared was for nothing. all this time, you wanted the same thing, and he was the idiot who messed it all up.

" i would go with you to the end, y/n/n." he said, and you knew exactly what he meant. he would go.

"quinn..." you gasped as the boy shifted and his hands landed on your waist. he softly pulled you a little closer to him, his forehead leaning down on yours. "i've moved on." you said as you closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy this moment of closeness with the boy who stole your heart all these heart ago. "you should too."

"i'm trying. but every time i go the rink all i can think about is you. it's been four years, and all i can think about is you. and now- knowing... i can't. you're the love of my life, y/n. and i could never love anyone like i love you." he admitted. your foreheads were still touching, both of your eyes closed as his hands stayed on your sides.

"i cried when a guy asked me be his girlfriend because he wasn't you." you laughed through your tears, making quinn chuckle slightly. "but i have a life, quinn. i'm in ottawa, and i love it over there. i'm happy, i'm finally happy." you added, completely breaking his heart just like he had done to yours years ago.

"i know." he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "i know."

just as you were about to say something else, jack's loud echoed outside. "quinn! dude! you're missing out big time, we just threw brady everywhere and- oh." he stopped his sentence when his eyes landed on the two of you. you had stepped away from quinn, trying your best to wipe away your tears and quinn did the same, but his red eyes betrayed him. "i'm sorry, i should-"

"it's fine, i should, uhm, i should go find emma." you quickly said and before the brother's even realized you were moving you were gone, leaving them alone outside. quinn let out a long and loud sigh as he turned back towards the railing, trying his best not the break down in front of hi little brother. jack stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. he had clearly interrupted an intimate moment between the two of you, one that was long over due. but it wasn't until he heard quinn's chocked sobbed that he moved over to his brother.

"you okay?"

"what do you think!" the older boy snapped, making jack's eyes grow wide.

"sorry." he mumbled, awkwardly standing next to his brother as he looked around the area.

"she got into UBC." he sighed, rubbing his temples. "i broke up with her because i thought she didn't want to come to vancouver, and she got into UBC." quinn laughed, but it wasn't his usual one, this one was filled with regret and pain, something jack had never seen in his older brother. and this was his first time even mentioning the breakup out loud. quinn never told anyone what had happened, embarrassed that he thought you would come with him, and embarrassed by the words he had shared with you and how he handled the situation. he knew he messed up. the second his words left his mouth and he saw the look in your eyes, he knew he fucked it all up. that was clearly not the look of someone who did not care about him. but what was he supposed to do? the words were already said, how was he supposed to say 'you know what never mind, i do want you there with me' after pretty much telling her bringing her with him to vancouver would be a burden? that he just couldn't do.

"oh. you're stupid." the middle brother said bluntly, making quinn scoff.

"thanks."

"no, dude, i'm being so serious. she literally looked at you with the biggest heart eyes ever at the worlds, and she kept rambling about how much she loved vancouver, and you really thought she wouldn't want to move with you? even i'm not that stupid!" jack said, and he was right. quinn honestly had no clue at this point why he ever doubted the fact that you would go with him to vancouver, but it didn't matter anymore. your relationship was in the past, he was in your past.

"i know, okay? i know."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

you shouldn't be here. you really should not be here. you don't even remember how it happened. one second you were at the wedding the next thing you knew you were in a car on the way to jack and quinn's lakehouse in michigan.

which is how you ended up sitting at the end of their dock as everyone kept the party going outside. your feet were barely in the water, your dress tucked up to your thighs, a beer in your hands. soon, you were joined by someone, and you knew exactly who it was.

"hi, luke." you whispered as the boy sat next to you.

"you've been avoiding me." the boy said harshly, making you close your eyes. you were. and you weren't going to lie about it.

"i have."

"why? i mean, you're avoiding me more than quinn, and he's the one who broke up with you not me!" the boy said. he was angry, and he had every right to be. the two of you talked daily when you and quinn were together. and all of the sudden you became a ghost. you never reached out after, but he did. for almost a whole year he reached out. wished you a happy birthday, merry christmas, updated you on his season and his life. but you never answered. you saw his messages, but you never answered. you couldn't find it in you to do so. and yeah, maybe he was like a little brother, but he was quinn's brother, not yours. you knew he got drafted by new jersey, and he knew you had reached out to jack after his draft. so he kept hope that you would reach out to him after his, but you never did. and that hurt him more than anything.

"what was i supposed to say, luke?"

"oh, i don't know, maybe 'i'm sorry i just completely disappear from your life and ignored you for a whole year'? how about that?"

"would that of had changed anything? you would've just told me to go fuck myself and be all bitchy."

"yeah, i would've. 'cause you thaught me to be like that." he said softly. and you felt your heart melt at his words. "i know i'm quinn's little brother, but i thought we were friend's, y/n/n."

"but you are his brother, luke. and every time i think about you, i think about him. we are friends, but you're quinn's brother before anything else." you whispered, throwing your head back with a sigh.

"you reached out to jack." he mumbled, his voice soft and broken. yuo squeezed your eyes shut at his words. he was right. "we were closer, but you didn't reach out to me after my draft. i spent my whole night looking at my phone hoping to see your message." he admitted, taking a large sip of his own beer.

"it had been two years, i wasn't sure you'd wanna hear from me."

"i always wanna hear from you, y/n. you're my sister." he said, his voice still soft but now full of comfort and vulnerability. "you're always gonna be my sister. even if you disappear for four years." he joked, making you chuckle slightly as you opened your eyes. you looked over at him for the first time tonight. you had seen him at the wedding, but never really took the time to look at him. he was taller now, his hairs a little longer and his muscles more visible. he had grown. and you hated that you weren't there to see it. he wasn't little 15 years old luke, he was an adult now.

you didn't know what to say. the way he uttered those words with so much care and love behind them. you were always going to be his sister. you leaned your head down on his shoulder, letting your guilt take over as tears fell down your cheeks. "you're always gonna be my brother, lu. always." you admitted, and that's all he needed to hear.

he didn't want to hear how sorry you were for leaving, how much you regretted ignoring him. he just wanted to know that you still cared and loved for him. that he wasn't childish or immature for being angry when you left, for feeling like maybe you didn't care about him as much as he thought you did.

"how's ottawa?" he asked after a couple of minutes of silence.

"good. really good. it's not michigan or toronto, but it's good." you said truthfully.

"you think i could see when we play?" he hesitantly asked, biting his lip anxiously as he waited for your yes. he felt you nod against his shoulder before hearing your response.

"as long as you get me a ticket to the game." you answered with a smile, making luke chuckle slightly.

"jack said he saw you and quinn talking at the wedding." your breath hitched at his words.

"we're not getting back together, luke."

"i know. i just wanted to make sure you were okay. i asked some of your friends at umich how you were doing when you left, they said we were pretty beat up."

"i'm okay." you started, taking a sip of your beer after. "it felt good, you know. like i finally got the closure i wanted. until jack ruined it." you finished, making luke scoff slightly.

"of course it was him." he said as the two of you laughed slightly. and then silence took over again. "so, what are you gonna do when you finish grad school." you had two years left, and you honestly had no clue.

"i don't know."

════ ⋆summer 2025⋆ ════

➻❥ detroit, mich

it had been two years since the wedding. two years since quinn last saw and heard of you. he knew you luke talked often, he was glad that the two of you had reconnected after the wedding, although deep down he was a little jealous that it was luke and not him. but it was clear that you were happy.

you talked to jack a little here and there too, mainly whenever he would just barge into luke's room while the two of you were on facetime. along with birthdays and holidays. but quinn never reached out. he knew you still had the same number as before, he had secretly went through luke's phone to see if it had changed. it hadn't.

every year your birthday came around, he found himself opening your messages together. he never deleted them, he couldn't. he didn't have the courage to change your contact name. and instead he found himself scrolling through your conversations from years ago, all the i love you's you shared, all the sweet little updates about your days. he'd wake up the next morning with dark circles.

luke never mentioned you around quinn, he did around his parents and jack, but never quinn. and the older brother wasn't sure if he was happy or upset about that. he wanted to know how you were doing, but he always knew the pain he'd feel if luke said you were doing better than ever.

but that all changed one evening. him, his brothers and whoever was staying at their place right now were on the boat. the sun was almost fully set, the sky filled with a multitude of colours. the boys had been taking turns on the back of the boat, while jack was the main driver. he loved to drive.

quinn had barely been on his phone all day, busy enjoying the outdoors with his closest friends and brothers. so he took this moment to catch up on what he had missed. he was sitting at the front of the boat, away from the rest of the group.

he slowly went through his notifications when one from a couple of hours ago caught his eyes.

y/n/n 💗

im moving to vancouver

holy shit. his body froze. he almost wanted to pinch himself just to make sure he was seeing right. but he didn't need to as he clicked on the notification and your message stared back at him.

quinn wasn't sure if the boat was fully stopped and docked before he hoped off and almost ran towards the house, leaving all the guys confused on the boat.

"what's up with him?" trevor asked as the guys all stared at the boy going into the house, the door slamming behind him.

"i don't know, but whatever it is it's not a good excuse to be slamming doors." jack said a little irritated. they had all noticed how the boy kept to himself for the last part of the boat ride, staring into nothing as he barely spoke.

"i think i know..." luke trailed off, as he stared at his phone. he hadn't touched it since he got on the boat. "y/n/n's moving to vancouver." he added slowly, making everyone freeze. silence settled over them and all you could hear was the waves crashing on the boat beneath them. they all exchanged looks before looking over the house, and they all silently agreed to make their way over as quickly as possible.

when they entered, the first thing they heard was the sound of quinn's voice. he was in the living, sitting down on one of the couches, his back facing the group of guys.

"yeah, that's really nice. congrats y/n." they heard the boy say into the phone. they couldn't see his face, but the two brothers coudl only imagine the smile that was plastered on their older brother's face right now.

"in october? like early or late?" they couldn't hear exactly what you said, but they could hear your voice echoing from quinn's phone. the boy relaxed into the couch running one of his hands through his hair. "i mean i'm going back in like mid-late september so i could come pick you up if you need."

after that the boy all retreated to the kitchen, mainly because josh started pushing all of them away from the door of the living room. this was clearly a private conversation, and it was not one that they needed to hear.

"20 bucks they're back together by december." jack was the first to speak as they made it to the kitchen, going straight to the fridge and taking out a couple of beers.

"really? only 3 months?" cole said as he opened his bottle.

"bro, you guys didn't see what i saw at brady's wedding. they were all touchy and crying, and honestly i think the sole reason they didn't get back together right there and then was the fact that y/n/n was in ottawa. so yeah, 3 months max and they're back together."

the group of guys all kept bickering about how long the two of you would take to get back together. some were saying almost a year, others by next summer, but jack was instant that he was correct, rolling his eyes at everyone's guess. but the kitchen quickly became quiet as quinn exited the living room and joined. he didn't hear what their conversation was about simply because he couldn't be bothered to listen.

but when the room went dead quiet at his arrival, he was more intrigued than ever. he stop dead in his tracks as all the guys turned to look at him. "what?"

"y/n/n's moving to vancouver?" trevor was the first to speak up, making jack slap the back of his head. quinn's brows furred at his words, had they been listening to his conversation?

"she texted me." luke was quick to say as he noticed his brother's facial expression. quinn's face relaxed at that, making his way over to the fridge and grabbing a beer of his own.

"we just figured that you knew when you kinda just ran away."

"i didn't run away." quinn was quick to get defensive, something he never really did.

"sure, and i'm queen elizabeth." jack scoffed, making quinn roll his eyes.

"whatever, i'm going to bed."

════ ⋆fall 2025⋆ ════

➻❥ vancouver, bc

your hands were shaking in your lap as you watched the vancouver skyline appear in your view. your plane was about the land, and you had just texted quinn your estimated landing time.

after your phone call back in the middle of summer, the two of you had spent more and more time talking together. you asked him questions about where the most idea place to live would be considering your office. the best way to get around the city without a car, the best coffee shops, dinners. you talked almost every single day. some days more than others, but everyday. but something about felt odd. even though you were talking through the screen, there was some tension between you two that you couldn't quite describe. and some nights as you laid awake at night you'd open your messages, wondering if texting him out of the blue just see how he was doing would be too weird, but you'd be met with a typing bubble from quinn, but the messages never left. there was so much left unsaid between the two of you as you got on the plane, but you both also just knew.

he had helped you found an apartment about 15 minutes away from his. it wasn't anything too big, just one bedroom, one bathroom, on the third floor of the complex. it wasn't much, but it was perfect for your first place.

you were honestly more nervous to see him again, than to actually be moving across the country. but this job offer was one a student could only dream about getting freshly out of university, so there was no way you could turn it down. sure, you had other offers, but none of them as good as this one. and you couldn't lie and say you weren't a little excited to be in the same city as quinn again.

his words had been haunting you since the day of the wedding. 'i would go with you to the end, y/n/n' and you hoped he still would, because you know you would. you hoped that this was finally the moment you would get your happy ending, your happily ever after with him.

then came the time to find him outside, and you were scared. what were you supposed to do? awkwardly smile? go in for a hug? shake his hand? part of you almost wanted to turn around and go back home. but you couldn't.

so, with your bags clutched by your side, you made your way outside. it took almost two full minutes to find him. you spotted him quick easily, he had told you what his car looked like, and there weren't too many like his around. he was leaning against his car, baggy sweats and hoodie over his head as he scrolled on his phone.

you froze in the middle of the sidewalk, he looked the same as he always did. you didn't think he could see, seeing as you could barely see him. so you took a moment to take him in and prepare yourself mentally for what was to come next.

when suddenly quinn's eyes snapped towards, almost like he could just sense your presence. granted you had been staring at him for a bit now, so maybe it was just that. the second your eyes connected, he pushed himself off of his car, and quickly removed the hood from his head, trying his best to fix his hair. you slowly made your way over to him. the next thing you knew you were standing in front of him, your eyes still locked together. neither of you moved or said anything, taking a moment to just take it all in.

you were both to say something, just a small greeting, but quinn beat you to it. before you even had time to process what was happening, his lips were on yours, one of his hands cupping your face, while the other landed on your waist, pulling you close. your eyes went wide before you melted into the kiss. you let go your bags, your hands reaching for his neck as your lips danced together.

you two pulled apart slowly, his forehead leaning against yours you both kept your eyes closed. you felt like you were having deja vu, the last time you were in the position with quinn being at the wedding. only the last time tears were streaming down your faces. this time around, you were both smiling.

you slowly blinked your eyes open, only to find him already looking at you. his eyes were full of softness and passion as he stared into yours. you giggled nervously as you fiddled with his hoodie.

"move in with me." he stated softly, shock filling with body.

"what?" you exclaimed out loud, but quinn was quick to reassure you.

"fuck the apartment, y/n. i have an extra room, my place is closer to your office, i-" he stopped when he saw the look in your eyes. "and i fucked it all up didn't i?" he sighed, making you let out a small breath.

"no, no, no. i just... fuck it."

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

20 minutes later, you were standing in the middle of quinn's apartment. you slowly made your way to his living room, leaving your bags back in the hallway near the front door. you took your time looking around, all the pictures of him in his brothers scattered around his place. but something caught your eye as you looked over at the kitchen.

"you have a sauna... in your kitchen?" you asked confused as the boy joined in the living room, your bags in his hands.

"i didn't know where else to put it..." he mumbled awkwardly making you chuckle slightly. you then felt his hands creeping onto your waist, the heat of his body radiating onto yours. you turned around in his grasp, you smiled shyly as you threw your arms around his shoulder, your fingers interlocking at the back of his neck.

quinn smiled down at you before you reached up to press your lips against. "welcome home, y/n/n."

[thaatdigitaldiary]

JADED. 01. | ⌗ 4.1K WORDS. | PAIGE BUECKERS.

╰ the backstory of sareli and paige, how they met—and what got their “love story” started.

➺ content warnings. sexual contents. uconn!paige. fem!oc. fingering. oral. competitive sex. alcohol consumption. nipple play. very little spanish dialogue. AND AS ALWAYS, LIVE REACTS ARE WELCOME!

➺ links. JADED MASTERLIST. | MAIN MASTERLIST.

➺ from ke, to you 📨. i finally got around to writing part one! i’m gonna be completely honest, this whole series will not be back to back. it’s summer and i’m about to be a busy woman, but being consistent is a goal of mine! by all means no update asks please☹️it’s suuuper pressuring and i wanna take my time so you enjoy this as much as i do. i wanted at least one part out for you guys to get the gist of everything, so enjoy!!

STORRS, EARLY 2024

The air in the frat house was thick with the scent of beer, weed, and way too many bodies packed into one space. The party was jumping—one of the girls from a nearby sorority playing her spotify playlist through the speakers, the bass so heavy it rattled the solo cups stacked on every surface.

Sareli was in a good mood, moving through the crowd like she owned it. Her tight leather skirt hugged her curves, the hem riding up her thighs as she danced, every sway of her hips drawing more and more eyes from across the room.

Sareli thrived off of this shit—the energy, the attention, the way people gravitated toward her without even trying. Extroverted didn't even cover it; Sareli was like a spark that kept nights like this alive.

"Yo, Reli! That's yo' fourth! I'm cutting you off!" Kameron screams over the music, as Sareli twirled with a drink in hand--vodka cranberry, the ice clinking against the plastic.

"Kameron, un par de tragos no me haran dano!"

"What that mean again?" Kameron yells across the floor, cupping her hands to make her voice louder.

"A couple drinks won't hurt me, Kameron."

"Full government is crazy." Kameron says, laughing, as she makes her way to the half-assed bar the frat house came up with.

Sareli threw her head back, laughing, mid-spin when her elbow smashed something solid.

The cup tipped, and a cold wave of crimson splashed across a pristine white jacket. Sareli stumbled, catching herself, and whipped around to see who fucked her flow up.

"Man, what the hell?" The voice was sharp, cutting through all the noise.

Paige Bueckers— basketball prodigy, stalky and sharp cheekboned—stood there, glaring down at Sareli. Her blonde hair was pulled into a a ponytail, lacking the braids she wore every single game. It flowed down her back, ends a little bit darker from her previous hair color collaborations.

Her eyes were locked on the wet stain spreading across her jacket. She brushed at it with her hand, smearing the red deeper into the fabric.

"You blind? Or just too faded to watch where you swingin' them elbows?"

Sareli smirked, unbothered, brushing a curl off of her shoulder with a flick of her wrist. "Maybe if you weren't standing inna middle of a function doing jack shit, I wouldn't have spilled anything," Sareli gestured at the mess, then at the chaos around her.

"You can easily just move."

Paige scoffed, stepping closer, her height giving her that small addition she loved to flex. She towered over Sareli, just enough to seem intimidating, her presence all cocky and unshakeable.

"Aw, okay, you got jokes nd' shit? Jacket's worth more than this cheap-ass leather skirt you spillin' shit all over the place in."

"Stick to sippin' sum' slight if you can't handle the real shit."

Sareli laughed, loud and mocking, tipping her head back so her earrings caught the light. "I see those NIL deals got somebody feelin' brand new?" She mocks, waving her now empty cup in Paige's face, the last drops dripping onto the sticky floor.

"And since you ruined my drink, you owe me a refill. Since you got money nd' shit."

Paige rolled her eyes, but a smirk tugged at her lips, that signature arrogance she was known for peeking through.

"Owe you? Ah nah, you're the one who fucked my jacket up." Paige says, her eyes narrowing.

"You should be on your knees thanking me for not makin' you lick this shit off."

She held up the soaked sleeve, shaking it for emphasis, but her tone was lighter now, the edge softening.

The tension hung there for a beat—petty, electric, and kind of hot when they both thought about it. They both cracked at the same time--Paige with a low chuckle, Sareli with a grin that showed she wasn't backing down.

It wasn't that serious.

Paige shrugged off the jacket, tossing it over a chair like it was nothing, leaving her in a fitted black tank that clung to her frame, showing off those toned arms she'd earned from hours on the court.

Sareli caught herself staring, just for a second, but Paige clocked it immediately, arching a brow.

"What? You checkin' me out now, or you mad you can't pull sum' like this off?" Paige's voice was purely hypnotic, dripping with the confidence she carried.

Sareli stepped closer, closing the gap, her own confidence matching Paige's, step for step. "I pull off everything, thank you. You're staring now, been peeped." Sareli tilts her head, letting her eyes linger on Paige's lips before flicking them back up to meet her gaze.

It was as if the air shifted—less bickering, more heat. The music faded into a dull roar as Paige's eyes dropped to Sareli's mouth, then snapped back up, a challenge sparking between them.

"Bet I could shut that smart-ass mouth up real quick," Paige muttered, voice low and rough, like she was daring Sareli to push her.

"Bet you couldn't," Sareli shot back, smirking. "But I'm really tryna' see you attempt to."

FIVE MINUTES LATER, Sareli and Paige made it upstairs, the party a muffled pulse beneath their feet. Paige had Sareli pinned against the door of some random bedroom, their lips crashing with the hunger of someone who hated losing.

Paige tasted like tequila, her tongue staking claim as her hands gripped Sareli's hips pressing harder into the wood.

Sareli kissed her back just as hard, not giving an inch, nipping at her bottom lip hard enough to make Paige growl low in her throat.

"Fuck, you were such a bitch to me," Paige breathed, pulling back just enough to yank Sareli's skirt down. The leather bunched near her thighs, exposing the black lace thong she'd thrown on for the night.

Paige's fingers hooked into the waistband, teasing the edge before shoving it aside with zero patience.

"Let's see how long this pussy lasts before you're beggin' me to slow down."

Sareli laughed, all breathy and defiant, as Paige's fingers slid inside of her—two at once, curling deep and fast. "Shit... two off rip?" Sareli gasped, head tipping back against the door, but she wasn't about to let Paige work her over that easily.

Sareli's hands roamed on Paige's chest, slipping under her tank to find her nipples, rolling them between her fingers until she hissed, her breath catching.

"We makin' this sum' typa' game?" Paige grunted, her pace picking up, thumb brushing Sareli's clit in tight, ruthless circles. She was relentless, that cocky smirk widening as Sareli's hips bucked against her hand.

"Ima' have you screamin' my name in, like, two minutes flat."

"Time me."

"You're a cocky bitch, y'know that?" Sareli managed, voice breaking as Paige hit that spot that made her knees weak.

Sareli wasn't folding yet. She tugged her closer by the neckline of her tank, sucking on her neck hard enough to leave a bruise she'd have to explain later.

"Bet I can make you cum faster—watch me."

Paige laughed, that competitive side slowly darkening. She used her free hand to grip Sareli's jaw and tilt it back herself. "Prove that shit then, beautiful. But you tappin' out first—I can feel it."

Her fingers moved faster, so slick and precise, making Sareli curse under her breath, the heat building too quick to ignore.

Sareli's orgasm hit like a freight train—hard and fast, thighs trembling as she clenched around Paige's fingers.

"Mmph—Fuck!" She yelped, slamming her hand against the door as her body shook. Paige pulled out slow, licking her fingers clean with smug-ass grin, like she'd just dropped thirty points in a blowout.

"What I tell you," she taunted, wiping her hand on her jeans. "One minute fifty-two. Now, you try."

Sareli didn't waste a second. She shoved Paige's back onto the bed, straddling her hips, and popping the button on her jeans—sliding them down just enough to get what she wanted.

Paige watched her, arms behind her head, all cocky until Sareli's fingers slipped inside of her—slow at first, teasing, then picking up speed. She mirrored Paige's earlier move, thumb circling her clit, watching her abs flex as she fought to keep up the nonchalant persona.

"Mm.. shit. Y-you're pretty good," she groaned, but her voice was tight, that bravado cracking. Sareli leaned down, sucking one of Paige's nipples through her tank, teeth grazing just enough to make her arch into Sareli, her hips subtly grinding into her hand.

"Gonna beat your record," Sareli whispered against her skin, curling her fingers deeper. Paige's breath hitched, hands fisting the sheets, and Sareli could tell she was losing it.

"Ah, fuck—shit—fuck, I'm—" Paige didn't finish, her body doing the talking, shuddering as she came undone in under a minute.

Sareli smirked, pulling back to meet her dazed eyes, her chest heaving.

"I'm guessing that means I win?" Sareli said, voice dripping with cockiness.

"Fifty-three seconds, Paige. Step that game up."

Paige laughed, breathless, sitting up to grab Sareli's waist and flip her onto her back in one smooth move.

"Nah, we're going best two outta three."

"And I don't plan on losing this time."

THE ROOM WAS A MESS, clothes half-on, sheets twisted, the faint hum of the party still seeping through the floorboards. Paige hovered over Sareli, her tank shoved up to her collarbone, jeans still clinging to her thighs.

She was all heated, her skin slick with sweat, and that cocky grin was back, and sharper than ever. "Round two, pretty. You finna eat the fuck outta your words, too."

Sareli propped herself on her elbows, still buzzing from her win, her skirt a crumpled heap at her ankles.

"Only thing I'm eating is this ego you got. C'mon."

Paige didn't waste time, sliding her hand between Sareli's thighs, her touch rougher this time, more determined. "You talk a big game, but your legs won't stop shakin', baby," she muttered, her lips brushing Sareli's ear as her fingers pumped inside of her, so, so, deep. Her thumb flicked Sareli's clit with precision, and she cursed, hips jerking despite herself.

"Shut the fuck up," Sareli shot back, but it came out a weak laugh, her breath hitching as Paige pressed harder. Sareli's hands scrambled for leverage, finding Paige's waist, tugging her closer.

Sareli slipped her fingers under Paige's waistband again, matching her pace, determined to keep up.

"You're sweating already, don't choke up on me."

Paige smirked, her free hand pinning Sareli's wrist above her head, that dominance peering through.

"Choke? This just the beginning, baby. You're the one finna tap out—look at this pussy. Fuckin' dripping."

Her voice was gravelly, that mix of arrogance and lust made Sareli's stomach do back flips.

Paige wasn't wrong—Sareli was close, too close, the heat coiling tight in her core. She wasn't going down without some kind of fight.

Sareli twisted her fingers inside of Paige, hitting that spot that made her falter, her grip on Sareli's wrist loosening for a split second.

"Yeah? Then why you moanin', P?" Sareli taunted, voice strained but smug.

It was a race now--the both of them pushing, pulling, chasing that edge. Paige's fingers were relentless, her breath hot against Sareli's neck as she muttered, "Give it up. C'mon, baby... y'know I gotchu'."

Sareli's vision blurred, thighs clamping around Paige's hand as she shattered again, a choked "Shit!" spilling from her lips.

Paige didn't stop, riding Sareli through it, that smirk plastered on her face.

"One minute ten. You're slacking, mama."

Paige pulled her hand free, sucking her fingers clean again, eyes locked on Sareli's like she was daring her to do better.

Sareli shoved her back, chest heaving, and climbed on top, straddling her waist. "My turn."

Her fingers dove back inside of Paige, three this time, stretching her out as she worked her over, thumb grinding against her clit. She bucked against Sareli, a low groan escaping her lips, but she still remained cocky, grabbing Sareli's hips to steady herself.

"Fuck, you're insane," Paige panted, but her smirk was slipping, her abs tightening as Sareli pushed her closer. Sareli leaned down, sucking Paige's nipple hard through the fabric, biting just enough to make her hiss. "Shit... okay, shit—I'm close," she admitted, voice breaking.

"Sabes que te encanta esto, baby," Sareli teased, curling her fingers faster.

"Tell me what it means before I cum." Paige hissed.

"You know you love this."

Paige came undone with a sharp cry, head thrown back, body trembling under Sareli. She timed it in her head—forty-eight seconds.

"Beat you again," Sareli grinned, pulling back to catch her breath.

Paige sat up, hair a mess, eyes dark with that competitive fire still burning.

"Round three," she rasped, flipping Sareli on her stomach before she could argue. She pressed her against her back, her hand slipping between Sareli's legs from behind, fingers sliding in with ease.

"I'm winning this one."

Sareli moaned into the pillow, pushing back against her, but Paige had the upper hand now, her weight keeping Sareli pinned. Her other hand reached around, tweaking Sareli's nipple hard, sending sparks down her spine. "Fuck... Paige, slow down—" Sareli gasped, but Paige's movements didn't falter. Her pace was brutal, and her breath was hot against her ear.

"Nah, take this shit," Paige growled, her thumb finding Sareli's clit again. "Finna show you how to win sum'."

Sareli didn't last—thirty seconds, maybe less, her whole body seizing as she came again, louder this time, face buried in the sheets. Paige laughed, pulling her slender fingers out slow and flopping beside Sareli, the both of them wrecked.

"You wanna call that shit a tie?" Sareli mumbled, still catching her breath.

Paige grinned, wiping the sweat from your forehead. "Well, one—only if you let me see you again—and two, you let me run that shit back."

"Got it."

"Put your number in right quick, me and my friends headin' out soon."

Sareli put her number in and got dressed, watching Paige's muscles flex as she buttoned her jeans back up.

"I'ma be seein' you, yeah?" Paige asks, biting her bottom lip.

"You will be."

And with that she left, closing the door behind herself.

SARELI WALKED DOWN the house's steps, meeting a very sober and confused Kameron.

"Yo, where you been at? I've searched this bougie ass house for an hour." Kameron says, crossing her arms.

"Bathroom line. Long." Sareli blurts out, plastering a fake smile on her face—knowing her best friend could see right through it.

"Your skirt's inside out, Reli."

Sareli looks down, so high off of her current situation to notice the leather fabric touching the inside of her thighs.

"I, uhm—“

"Sareli Vasquez. Don't play me like I'm slow. Who'd you hookup with?" Kameron uncrosses her arms.

"Alright, alright, relax. I bumped into Paige, and it became this whole thing—and boom, we fucked."

"Jesus, Reli. Hooking up with an athlete gotta be top ten worst things you could've ever done." Kameron says chuckling, but something was slightly off about her voice.

"It was... something. Told me she wanted to see me again, too." Sareli adds, a small grin snaking across her face.

"Oh, yeah—t-that's cool shit, Reli." Kameron mutters, her voice a softer tone now. "Was she um... good?"

"Better than good." Sareli brags.

"You ready to go? Party's dead." Sareli asks, not even attempting to fix her skirt, just ready to go home and boast to Paige about how she’d “get her next time”.

"Y-yeah—we can go. Glad you had fun." Kameron laughs dryly, her entire face dropping with disappointment.

Not that Sareli would notice anymore.

Or did she?

╰ ⌗ tags : @pboogerswbb @cherryswisherz @mariahthealchemist @sierrale8ne @janaelalfysblunt @bueckersbitch @lovegalor333 @juspeaks @flipthepaige @omg-imtumbling @lilpaigeyherbo @mrsarnold @wbbgetsmewetter @lupinqs @linebg0 @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @makethemhoesmad @ashortyluvsports @paigesbabygirl @d3arapril @slut4uconnwbb @avvwritesstufff @xoxosierralane @vamptizm @pb524830 @uwupaige @naeswrrldd @paigebaby5 @ohmybueckers @azziswrld @noisygemini777 @angryflowerwitch @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @jieysiee @forward1212 @jadasogay

[itneverendshere]

it's my right to be hellish - r.c +18

pairing: : kelce's!sister x hockey!rafe warnings: angst; smut.

Empty cans and half-finished drinks were littering the space around you, the night felt perfect. You were tucked comfortably between Rafe's legs, his jacket draped over your shoulders, your head resting against his chest, while the latest round of Never Have I Ever brought loud laughter.

The drinking game had started out of the living room and spilled onto the wide wooden porch. Someone had dragged out an old speaker, and now a half-decent playlist played.

It was fun, being back home. Loud, tipsy fun, buzzing in your chest and making your cheeks hurt from smiling too much.

Rafe kept tracing patterns on your thigh that made it hard to focus on anything except him, Every once in a while, he’d lean down and kiss your temple, absent-minded like he couldn’t help it. 

He’d say something under his breath, usually about JJ or Toppeer being the worst at these games, and you’d laugh while his nose brushed your cheek. His fingers would kept tapping on your knee in rhythm with whatever song was playing.

Your brother was sitting on the steps with Topper, both of them halfway into their fifth drink, arguing about who should’ve been MVP.

They weren’t paying much attention to the game, which was honestly a relief. You loved Kelce, but you didn’t need him locked in on the way Rafe kept touching you, for his own sake.

Cleo was leaned up against Pope’s side, Kie was teasing JJ, who’d already spilled half his drink and was slurring his way through a story about falling off his board.

Everything felt warm and dumb and happy.

Rafe had just whispered something in your ear—about stealing you away later, after everyone passed out—and you were blushing, smiling into your drink, when the next “Never Have I Ever” was called out.

"Never have I ever..." someone called out—Sam. You didn’t know the guy, he was a junior who tagged along after games and Topper dragged him to Kildare this weekend.

"...slept with two people here."

It was stupid, a throwaway, someone laughed. Your brother made a dumb “ooOOoooh” noise.

You didn’t drink.

You didn’t notice at first—your head still leaned against Rafe’s chest, your cup balanced against your leg.

And then—quietly.

“Wait.”

JJ’s voice.

His eyes were wide, cheeks flushed with cheap tequila. “Wait,” he slurred again, blinking hard. “Why didn’t you two drink?”

The way he said it—the emphasis. You two.

Your eyes snapped to him, and that’s when you saw it—his head moving between you and Pope. Turning back and forth, exaggerated like it was clicking for him.

The implication wasn’t subtle and Rafe’s hand stilled completely.

JJ kept going, oblivious.

“Didn’t you guys, like... back in the day? That summer? When we were sixteen?”

Each word felt like a bomb dropping into your stomach.

Kelce’s head jerked up. “Wait—what?”

Pope’s posture went rigid, not looking at anyone, staring at the ground, hoping it might disappear and take him with it.

“I thought everyone knew,” JJ was confused now, trying to figure out what made the mood turn.

Nobody knew. Only Kie, JJ, you and Pope. Not even Sarah.

You were sixteen, younger, unsure of everything but how safe you felt around Pope. It hadn’t been serious or a thing. You liked him a little, sure, but never the way you liked Rafe. He made you laugh, and you used to sit with him in the library, pretending to work on some dumb english project neither of you cared about. You both just wanted a reason to stay longer.

You remembered how close you sat at that table, your knees would brush and neither of you would move, you’d share earbuds and lowkey forget about the book you were supposed to be reading.

It was innocent, sweet. One night, he came over to finish your final paper—Kelce was at a party, your parents were out, it was late, you were both tired and laughing at nothing—and it just... happened.

You didn’t plan it. 

You just looked at him too long, and he looked back, and then you kissed him and he kissed you and—it wasn't anything more than what it was. You lost your virginity to him that night.

The next day, you both kind of... moved on, it hadn’t changed anything. You stayed friends. 

The memory shattered against the present moment, and you blinked back into reality with everybody’s eyes on you.

Your brother was staring, sitting up straighter, confusion creasing his brow. Topper looked like he was waiting for the drama to explode. Kie wouldn’t meet your eyes. Cleo was watching Pope. Sam left.

Rafe hadn’t moved.

You turned toward him, cautious and that’s when he stood up.

No drama or yelling, only tugging his arm as your fingers instinctively reached for him.

“Gonna get a drink.”

He was gone, walking back into the house without another word.

The porch was silent, all you could hear was the music playing low through the speaker, something stupidly out of place.

JJ, finally realizing what he’d dropped, sank lower into his seat, whispering, “Shit… I’m sorry…”

Kelce was still gawking at you—not angry, only trying to process the last five minutes. Topper, for once in his life, was smart enough not to say anything.

Pope hadn’t moved. His hands clasped together between his knees, eyes focused on the floorboards, bracing for Cleo to say something.

“Alrigh’,” Cleo said with a little laugh, voice extremely calm for how tense the porch was, “that was a messy one. Let’s call that a warm-up and move it along, yeah?”

You looked at her and there was no anger on her face. 

“Y’all actin’ like they confessed to murder,” she added, head tilted, eyes briefly flicking to Pope—long enough to tell him we good. 

“I mean,” she continued, sipping her drink and leaning back against the railing, “y’all were sixteen.”

Kie let out a breath she’d been holding. “Yeah. Seriously. Prehistoric.”

Cleo waved her cup. “Next question. Something less nuclear. Who’s got one?”

You could’ve cried right there.

She was giving everyone a way out. Even Pope seemed to uncoil, his shoulders relaxing as he risked a glance her way. She met his eyes and gave the smallest imperceptible nod.

You on the other hand couldn’t relax, Rafe was still inside. And no matter how cool Cleo was, how well she was patching the mood back together, you needed to find him.

You turned to Kie, “I should go check on him.”

She nodded immediately. “Yeah. Go.”

Behind you, the game limped forward again—someone throwing out a weak “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping,” and a few forced chuckles followed.

Cleo leaned back into the railing, her drink raised just enough to signal a toast to no one in particular. “See?”

You moved down the hall, past the kitchen, past the half-empty counters stacked with liquor bottles and someone’s abandoned vape, past where Kelce had tossed his hoodie earlier—and still, no Rafe.

Your heart was in your throat now, fists tight at your sides.

Eventually, you found him inside one of the rooms—door cracked, lights off. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in front of his mouth.

You stayed in the doorway. “Rafe?”

He didn’t look up, and that’s when the real panic started. The messy kind that starts in your stomach and climbs up your spine.

Because he didn’t look mad.

“Can you just—say something?” you asked, “Please.”

Nothing.

And your brain was spiraling now.

He hates me. He thinks I lied. He thinks I’m disgusting. He’s probably rethinking everything. I wouldn’t blame him. He’s gonna walk away. This is it. This is how I lose him and I didn’t even do anything wrong but I still should’ve known, I should’ve said it, I should’ve—

“Rafe,” you said again, louder now. “We weren’t serious. We weren’t—”

His jaw flexed and it shut you up.

What the fuck?

Okay, fine. It was a surprise, but it wasn’t like you cheated. It wasn’t even during, it was years ago. And more than that—Rafe wan’t a saint before you. 

God, the night you two became official, literally that night, you heard a cheerleader gossiping in the bathroom about how she fucked him for two hours in a jacuzzi sophomore year. She’d laughed about it like it was a badge of honor. Said she tried again this year, too—while you and Rafe were already hooking up—but he turned her down.

What was the difference? You weren’t virgins. None of you were pure and untouched, saving yourselves for the perfect person.

Why did it suddenly feel wrong—something you should’ve hidden, something shameful? You weren’t ashamed when it happened, you were sixteen. You didn’t even know who you were yet, but you knew Pope was kind, he made you laugh, feel safe and it wasn’t a life-changing romantic tragedy.

You wanted to ask him how the fuck it’s any different than the girl in the bathroom or the other stories you’ve had to hear secondhand over the years before you got together. But your heart was also twisting and telling you it was your job to fix this.

You shut the guest room door behind you harder than you meant to, not slammed, but loud enough that it made Rafe flinch.

“Are you seriously gonna sit there and say nothing?”

Your voice already sounded wrong.

He chose to keep staring straight ahead, hoping the moment would dissolve if he didn’t engage.

“Say something,” you snapped.

Silence.

That did it.

“Rafe—grow up.

His head jerked toward you then, “Grow up?"

"That's not what I m—"

"You’re the one who kept it a secret.”

“There was nothing to tell.

“You slept with Pope.”

You reeled back like he just spat in your face. “So fucking what?”

His hands were fisted, elbows braced on his knees. “You don’t think that’s something I deserved to know? T-that you fucked a mutual friend? Lost your virginity to him?”

“Excuse me?” He must’ve been out of his fucking mind. “No,” you laughed, disbelieving, “Absolutely not. You do not get to throw that at me like I fucking owe you that confessional.”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying what, Rafe?” you barked, stepping forward. “That because I didn’t sit you down and cry about who I lost it to, that I’m what—dishonest? A fucking liar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s exactly what you said!” You were yelling, it scraped your throat and left your lungs raw. “Who the fuck did you lose your virginity to? Huh?” You jabbed a finger at his chest. “Was it that girl from Figure Eight who used to sneak out of church to meet you behind the dunes? Was it the lifeguard? That barista you ‘don’t even remember the name of’?”

His mouth opened, but no answer came out.

“Exactly,” you scoffed. “You never told me. I never asked, it doesn’t fucking matter. I know—I trust—that what we have now is real.”

“It’s different,” Rafe growled, “You’re still close with him! You had a project together —last month, for fuck’s sake—”

You blinked at him, stunned. “So what?!”

“So it’s not ancient history!” he shouted. “You see him every other day, you talk to him—”

“And? And what?” you demanded. “I’m—secretly in love with him? I’m gonna leave you for Pope because we had sex one time when we were sixteen? Grow the fuck up!”

You knew this wasn’t about Pope. It was Rafe, how he’d never had to feel small in someone’s eyes before, never talked about his parents divorce, and now he didn’t know how to sit with it.

He didn’t answer, and it wrecked you.

You threw your hands out, helpless.

“What do you want me to say? That I wish it never happened? You want me to rewrite my whole fucking life to make you feel better?”

His eyes snapped up at that, wild, the blue in them flickering like flame.

“I want to not fucking picture it every time I see you standing next to him from now on,” he exploded, the first honest thing he said since you walked in.

Your jaw dropped open, breath punched out of you. “You are so—wrong. Jesus, Rafe. You are so fucking wrong.”

He looked like he might break in half from hearing you say it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know, okay? I’ve never done this before. I’ve never—fuck—I’ve never loved someone like this before. It’s making me lose my mind.”

“It wasn’t serious. You and me—this is the most serious thing I’ve ever had.” You pressed your hand flat against your chest, hoping it held your heart together. “I have never, not once, made you feel like you weren’t everything to me. And you’re sitting here, making me feel like some dirty little secret because of something that happened when I was a fucking kid.”

He ran a hand down his face, eyes closed. You saw the tremble in his shoulders that had nothing to do with anger and everything to do with fear.

“Why did it have to be him?”

“What?”

His voice was strained. “Why did it have to be Pope?”

Not the fact that it happened, but who it happened with. What does that mean now?

“We were kids. It wasn’t planned.”

Rafe laughed bitterly. “Yeah. He’s still around, still in your life. Still—"

The way he spat that word out.

You stepped toward him, “Do you think I want him?”

“Was it good?” he asked suddenly, sharply, it leaped out of him before he could stop it. “With him?”

You stared at him, gut twisting. “Don’t do that.”

“I want to know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.” His voice cracked. “Because if it was... if it meant something—"

“You’re asking because you want to hurt.”

You folded your arms across your chest, as if it could somehow shield you from this version of him—this paranoid, desperate, spiraling version you didn’t recognize.

“It meant nothing. You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know.” His laugh was hollow, “You didn’t tell me before.”

“It wasn’t a secret—”

“I never even asked you about your exes,” he spat, turning on you suddenly. “I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to think about you with anyone else. But now—fuck—it’s in my head and I can’t unsee it. I had to hear it from JJ, of all people, at a fuckin’ party. Like it was a joke.”

You flinched, because yeah—you hadn’t thought about it like that.

Rafe’s voice dipped, gutted: “He said you two. Like it’s still happening.”

“It’s not, baby. You know it’s not.”

“You hang out. You text. You sit in his passenger seat and you laugh at his jokes and—”

“And what? What do you think that means?”

His face was twisted, stuck somewhere between heartbreak and humiliation. You saw the insecurity chewing him up from the inside out. You understood what was happening. Rafe had always been the one who knew more, the one with stories you had to smile through, girls you never named but always noticed. But one old hidden memory of yours—one ancient, dusty, barely-relevant chapter—was enough to make him unravel. 

“I know what it sounded like, when JJ said it.” Your voice wavered, “It sounded wrong, like it was more than that, but it wasn’t and it isn’t. You know JJ—he doesn’t think before he speaks. He doesn’t get that it would land like that.”

Even if you understood why he was acting this way, it didn’t make it hurt less that he doubted you.

“I’m with you,” you reminded him through your teeth. "You don’t get to sit there and make me feel like I’m ruining this.”

“You’re not,” he added quietly.

“Then what the fuck is this, Rafe? What are we doing right now?”

He looked at you like you slapped him—but you were past coddling him through this, you were beeling for him and it sill didn’t look like it was enough.

“I didn’t come here to beg for your forgiveness for something that happened when I was sixteen. You want to be mad? Fine. Be mad.”

“You two make sense. Anyone but me."

“What?” It hit you like ice water. “You think I settled for you?”

“No,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes. “I think you picked me even though you shouldn’t have. And one day, you’re gonna realize that. And when you do—”

You're gonna leave him like his mom left Ward.

You didn’t let him finish. “Don’t.”

“You’re gonna leave. And I won’t be mad. I’ll understand, I always knew I didn’t deserve this.”

You went still, heart dropping so fast, you swore it made a sound

“You think that little of yourself?” you asked, “I don’t want anyone else. That chapter’s over, it’s been over.”

He looked at you then, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

“I love you in a way I never did anyone else—and I never will. Do you hear me?” you say, stepping closer. “I love you.”

He swallowed.

“And if you can’t trust that—then maybe we don’t work. But don’t you dare reduce me to a choice I made when I was sixteen because you’re scared.”

“I didn’t mean to—” he choked out. “I didn’t want to…”

“You love me?” you asked.

His eyes shot to you, almost panicked.

“I love you so much it makes me fucking sick,” he said, voice ragged. “And I hate that it makes me like this.”

You flinched because you felt that too. You took a breath that hurt on the way in, looking at the boy you loved—the boy who was spiraling through self-hate and fear.

“I’m so fucking scared of losing you,” he confessed.

You were torn between screaming at him or dropping to your knees and holding him until the shaking stopped. Rafe rubbed at his eyes, hoping to wipe the shame off, and when he glanced back at you, his eyes were desperate. 

You crossed the space between you in three steps.

He had no time to react before your hands were on his face, cupping his cheeks, your thumbs sweeping over the edge of his cheekbones, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me.”

He didn’t at first, so you tried harder.

“Rafe. Look at me.”

When he finally did, there was that ache in your chest again.

“I’m not gonna pretend I know what it’s like in your head. But I do know you. You’d rip yourself to pieces before you ever hurt me on purpose.”

“But I did hurt you.”

You nodded. “Yeah. You did.”

His bottom lip quivered.

“I still love you,” you added, “Even when it hurts when you push and say shit you don’t mean.”

Rafe exhaled a sound that was almost a sob, pulling you into his chest, unable to stand the space between you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, again and again, mouth pressed to your temple, “I’m so sorry.”

You held him, fingers threading through the back of his hair, knowing it always soothed him.

“I didn’t mean to—I just—fuck, I got scared. It’s ugly. I know it’s ugly.”

You shook your head, brushing his hair back, lips trembling as you leaned in and kissed him. His mouth opened against yours, a muffled groan catching in the back of his throat as you deepened it, tasting every ounce of his devastation.

You pushed him back onto the bed and followed, knees straddling his thighs, never breaking the kiss. His fingers dug into your waist and then up your thighs as you pulled back, noses brushing, your breaths mingling in the dark.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reminded him, forehead resting against his.

Rafe exhaled shakily, trying not to cry.

“I’m not gonna leave when shit gets hard.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I know. I know, I—I get this voice in my head and it says, this is where she leaves you. And I believe it. Every time.”

“Believe me harder.” You kissed him again, “You’re it for me. You’ve always been it.”

Rafe pulled you in, holding you against his chest, kissing you over and over—mouth, cheeks, jaw,—whispering apologies into your skin like prayers, voice shaking on every one.

“Don’t push me away again. I need you to try. You can’t shut down when something scares you.”

He nodded, absorbing each word one at a time. “Never,” he swore, “I’d rather die.”

“We’re okay?”

“We are,” Rafe promised instantly, “We are, baby. I’m sorry.”

You nodded, your arms curling around his neck as he sat up, kissed you hard, deeper than before—a vow. His hands were on your back, sliding down, pressing into the dip of your spine, then lower.

You felt his teeth graze your bottom lip, a quiet hum escaping him when you tugged his hair the way he liked, your name leaving his lips as a sigh, a prayer.

Your hips rolled against his without thinking and he moaned, hands tightening on your skin, grinding you against him as he turned his attention to your neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, sucking bruises because he needed to leave marks. 

Those pretty deep plum echoes he yearned to see, indigo and aubergine proof that you were his, that he could still have you after everything, that you wanted him still. 

Rafe rasped your name, forehead dropping to your shoulder, full body jerking up to meet yours. You pawed at the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head within seconds, fingers immediately splaying across his bare chest. His skin was flushed as you dragged your long nails down his torso only to feel the way he shuddered.

He pulled at your shirt just as desperately, tongue only abandoning yours for a second, enough to strip it off and toss it somewhere behind you both. His hands cupped your breasts through your bra, brushing over your nipples until you gasped into his mouth, arching into him, begging without words.

“I need you,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours, pleading. “Please—need to feel you. That you still want me.”

You crushed your lips against his as an answer, letting him taste the promise in it.

“I am yours,” you muttered against his mouth. “Always been yours.”

Rafe wasted no time licking your chest as he unclasped your bra, every second of waiting pure agony. He mouthed at your skin, worshipful, leaving wet kisses along the tops of your breasts before taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make your hips jump against him.

God, the way he looked at you—you were squirming, moving shamelessly, your body begging for him. He grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing, lifting you to rock your soaked core harder against the perfect line of his cock. 

“You have no idea what you do to me…”

You did. You felt it every single day.

The lamplight washed over you both, casting shadows on your rich, warm skin—deep brown with undertones that reminded him of sunset light, the same shade he remembered from that first party last semester, when he saw you laughing under string lights, glowing, and thought, God, she's gonna be mine.

Rafe’s pupils were blown wide, lips swollen while his hands were under your thighs, lifting you enough to stand and shove your jeans and underwear down your legs in a desperate motion. His eyes dropped, breath hitching at the sight of you bare.

His rough hands ran up the backs of your legs, spreading over the curve of your ass. “You’re perfect. You’re—fuck, baby, I—”

You cut him off because if he kept talking you were going to lose it before he touched you properly. You climbed back into his lap, scorching skin meeting denim, the thick ridge of his cock caught the way you needed. The groan he let out went straight to your pussy.

“Off,” you begged against his mouth, tugging at his belt, the button of his jeans. “Now.”

He didn’t hesitate, pants and boxers gone in seconds, and then he was there, painfully hard against your thigh. Your body clenched at the sheer size of him as you looked down between you, pink flushed tip leaking.

You dragged your hand over him and his head fell back, jaw going slack, eyes fluttering shut. His hips bucked helplessly into your palm, breath stuttering as you teased the tip, spreading his precum with your thumb.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, “Only yours.”

He opened his eyes then, grabbing your wrist, pulling away, guiding you to straddle him again. Lining himself up with shaky hands and whispering, "Please... I need to feel you. Need you to take me, baby, please—"

You slid down onto him in one slow, wet glide.

The stretch made your whole body shudder—He was deep, every inch claimed by you, and the sounds he made—guttural, painful—made your eyes roll back.

Rafe’s forehead dropped to your chest while he gripped you hard enough to hurt. “I’m gonna—fuck, I can’t—”

You rocked your hips, teasing, and he cursed again, trying so hard not to lose it. His hands ran up your back, fingertips pressing into your spine.

“Get on your knees for me, baby.”

You obeyed without a word, legs embarrassingly shaky as you turned in his lap and leaned forward onto your hands, ass arched high, heart pounding. Before you settled fully, he yanked you back, keeping your spine curved but tugging your upper body to rest against his chest.

He knelt behind you, your back pressed tight to his torso, thick muscular thighs bracketing yours. One arm wrapped around your middle, the other spreading your legs wider.

He pushed back inside, and you whined—again—because no matter how many times he took you, it always felt like the first. The drag of his cock along your folds made your hips stutter back against him in plea.

Rafe’s mouth was at your ear in a flash.

“Gonna fuck you just like this. Keep you open for me.”

That hand around your stomach slid lower, holding you firm as he rocked his hips—sinking back inside you with a groan like it was killing him. Your hands scrambled for purchase, gripping the edge of the bed, the sheets—anything—as he filled you over and over, the angle so intense it stole your breath.

His chest was pressed to your back, skin on skin, drooling over your shoulder. Slow at first, torturously slow. His hips rocking into you, dragging his cock along every sensitive inch, hitting that spot deep deep inside that makes you clench like an animal in heat.

You shuddered, back arching harder as he twitched inside you again in the span of seconds. He pressed you harder to him, his nose buried in your curls, mouth dragging lazy kisses along your neck.

Rafe's hand roamed your body eagerly—over your belly, your ribs, up between your breasts where he cupped one roughly.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he hissed, rutting up into you, the slap of skin on skin getting louder, “Say it.”

“You—fuck—Rafe, I’m yours,” You gasped when he ground even deeper. “I’m yours, a-always yours.”

You were being used, held open, filled—but loved, too. Worshiped

His hand dropped teased lower, down your stomach but he didn’t rush it. His palm cupped your mound, simply resting there for a moment while he fucked up into you with punishing thrusts.

“Rafe, I need—”

“I know what you need,” he breathed. “…I’ve got you."

His fingers found your clit, slicking through the mess between your thighs before circling it enough to make your eyes roll back. The tease of it made your whole body clamp down around him, and he swore, pace faltering as your walls gripped him like a vice.

Your mouth fell open as he only circled your clit harder.

“Can’t stop touching you,” he murmured, licking your jaw between words. “You’re so fucking perfect. Look at you.”

You could hardly offer a whimper, your head falling against his shoulder again, trying to ride his hand too.

Rafe chuckled low, breath warm on your skin.

“Greedy girl,” he tsked. 

You shook your head desperately. “More."

He grunted into your neck, thrusting up harder, chasing the feeling of you milking him. Your thighs started to tremble like leafs again, muscles burning, as his touch worked you closer, closer, closer.

You came with a strangled cry, body bucking in his arms, your inner walls pulsing hard. Without a single warning, Rafe shifted positions, guiding you down onto your side, still behind you, still inside you.

His arm hooked under your leg, lifting it, opening you wider as he started to fuck into you again—a mean pounding that had your eyes rolling back in your head, into another galaxy.

The new angle hit even deeper, every movement drawing a wrecked moan from your lips. Your body was sensitive, but especially needy.

Rafe kissed your shoulder, “Gimme more, baby. I need it.”

His hand trailed to the inside of your thigh, gripping behind your knee as he pressed it up and back, opening you fully to him. Your cries came out sweeter, tinged with the overstimulation and the love that dug under your ribs.

“I don’t d-deserve you,” he said again, voice broken, forehead pressed to the back of your neck, hips rolling forward.

You turned your head, lips finding his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears.

“You’re not losing me” you kissed the corner of his mouth, and he turned, catching you in a desperate kiss.

“Gimme another one,” he murmured, dragging his cock deeper with slow, relentless thrusts. “You’ve got more for me. I know you do.”

You whimpered, leg still hooked over his arm, the angle hitting that spot that had you seeing stars. “T-too much."

“I know,” he rasped, “But you can take it. Lemme give it to you.”

“Rafe—fuck—” you gasped, squirming in his arms, nails digging into the sheets as you writhed.

“That’s it,” he praised, hips grinding forward against your swollen, aching walls. “Look at you, so fucking wet, so f-fucking tight—begging for it even when you say you can’t take more.”

Your body was already clenching down, your noises dissolving into sobs. Rafe could feel it, your body giving in, could hear the desperation in your gasps, how you kept pushing into him chasing that last drop of control.

You sobbed, thighs quivering uncontrollably. “Rafe—fuck—I’m coming—”

Your whole body snapped tight, stealing your words. You cried out, body locked tight as your seconds orgasm tore through you without any proper warning.

Rafe didn’t slow down. You didn't have time to recover before his hand was sliding down again, his mouth hot on your neck.

If he kept that shit up, he was gonna fuck you into your next life.

“One more,” he whispered, “Please—give me one more. Wanna feel you fall apart on my cock again.”

You gasped, overstimulated but burning for it anyway. Your pussy gushed around him, your body was already saying yes, even if your mind couldn’t form the words. He moved, pulling your hips back, laying you flat on your stomach now as he climbed over you, bracketing your body with his. His cock pushed back into you, still so hard.

“I’ll make it good,” he promised, “Lemme make it good for you.”

You sobbed into the mattress, tears slipping down your nose and onto the cotton as your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed and woozy, but your hips rolled to meet him anyway—because fuck, you needed him.

He was shaking too — from the effort, from the need — but his focus was singular. Your pleasure.

Rafe slowed only to press a kiss to your shoulder.

“Just one more, pretty girl.”

You whimpered, body too sensitive to move but too addicted to stop, back bowed to take him deeper. 

“I can’t,” you drew in a sharp breath. “Baby, I can’t—”

“Yeahhh, you can.” His hand slid beneath your hips again, guiding your body where he wanted it — needed it. “Know you can. You’re fuckin’ made for this. F'me.”

He rolled his hips slow, hitting where you needed him to with surgical precision. He did it again, and again — each thrust dragging a pitful cries from you.

“S'fuckin' sweet, even when I don’t deserve it.”

Your walls fluttered around him, and Rafe whined like it killed him

“Right there,” he muttered like a man possessed. “Yeah, fuck, there she is.” He pressed yet another peck to your back, “Feel that, baby? T-that’s me. That’s allll me.”

You were moaning higher, it was so much —him inside you, the sound of his voice by your ear, coaxing you, commanding you—

He breathed a sinful: “C’mon, baby. Let go f’me.”

You shook your head, but your body betrayed you.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked,” he rasped, “So wet, even now—fuck. I feel it. I f-feel you.”

His rhythm never broke — grinding thrusts, pulsing inside you, fingers stroking your clit with maddening perfection. You sobbed, already floating away, face pressed into the mattress.

“Don’t fight it,” he said. “Lemme fuckin’ feel it.”

“Rafe—oh my god—babyyy—”

“That’s it,” he growled. 

Your body arched off the bed, hands clawing around the sheets, vision going white as your third orgasm ripped through you like lightning. You screamed his name, sobbing, pulsing, dripping, shaking from the force of it.

“Fuuuck—” Rafe gasped, gripping your hips like he’d fall apart without them. “That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl. You’re gonna make me—fuck, not gonna last.”

He tried to pull out, give you a second to breathe, be a gentleman — but the moment his cock started to slide free, your body clenched one more time around him while you let out a desperate sound that made him bite his tongue.

“Shit—don’t do that,” He hissed, “You want it that bad?”

You nodded weakly, unable to spit out words, but your body said everything —still hungry for him even after everything he’d given you.

“Shittt,” he cursed, and then he lost it.

Rafe grabbed onto you like you weighed nothing, driving back with a brutal thrust, and another, frantic, his control unraveling completely. His chest was plastered to your back, his teeth pulling at your skin, and the filthy sounds filled the room— skin slapping, breath hitching, your name falling from his lips.

He choked out: “So fuckin’ tight, baby, I can’t—oh my god—fuck.”

You felt it before he said it — his whole body locked up, pushing so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach.

He cried out — long and wrecked — as he spilled inside you, thick ropes of cum flooding you, until it leaked down your thights, so much. His whole body shuddered with it, one arm squeezing the shit out of you, the other fisting the sheets.

“Mine,” he breathed into your skin, voice trembling, “You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine.”

Each word came with a desperate thrust, the final one hitting so deep it knocked the breath from your lungs, your body locking down around him, trying to keep him there forever.

Rafe stayed there, panting, breath coming in broken bursts as the aftershocks ran through him. His heart was hammering against your back, his grip softening but not letting go. You could feel his cum dripping out around where he was still plugged inside.

He mouthed at your shoulder, less feral than before, coming down from his high, but not ready to let you go.

“Baby,” he rasped, “I didn’t mean to—did I hurt you?”

Your lashes fluttered, you couldn’t speak yet, instead you held his hand where it wrapped under your stomach and slid your fingers between his.

“You okay?” he brushed your sweaty curls off your neck, voice worn from how he’d been growling your name into the air minutes ago. “Still with me?” 

You turned your head to catch his blue eyes —swollen lips parted. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded weakly, but even that small movement sent a pulse of overstimulation through your core. Rafe shifted inside you, and a helpless sound slipped from your lips.

“Fuck—sorry. I know, baby, I know.”

You hummed, with no strength to move —and honestly, you didn’t want to.

“You’re still squeezin’ me,” He muttered in disbelief. “God, you feel so good—don’t wanna leave you yet.”

He rolled over slowly, pulling you with him so you were sprawled across his chest, the sticky heat still between your thighs as he slipped out of you, groaning at the overstimulation.

“Shh, I got you. I got you,” He was already pulling the blanket up to cover your bare body, brow furrowed in that serious way he only got when he was taking care of you.

One of his hands trailed up your back, the other rested low, thumb lazily brushing where his cum was starting to leak out. He looked down, eyes fixed on that mess he made, and something satisfied curled in his expression.

You, all of you— rich dark skin glowing with sweat and cum, curls wild against the pillow, beautiful lips swollen from his kiss — made him curse under his breath. You hid your face in his chest, groaning, but Rafe laughed, still breathless.

His hand came up to your face, tilting it so you’d look at him. That sweet, almost boyish look flickered over the lust now — the Rafe that wanted to be loved back.

“I don’t deserve you."

You shook your head, turning to kiss him, coaxing him back into calm. He swallowed hard, a shaky hum escaping him while he held your face in both hands like you were something he had to earn. 

Precious. “Still mine?”

You nodded, exhausted, ruined, filled. “Still yours.”

From outside the door, a very familiar voice cracked through the silence — unapologetic, and directed at the two of you.

“Shit,” you both hissed at the same time.

“I KNEW Y’ALL WERE GONNA DO THIS IN MY ROOM!” JJ’s voice rang through the house again. “You couldn’t wait—two seconds? Goddamn, y’all had a whole audience before you started ripping each other’s clothes off!”

You groaned into Rafe’s chest, laughing, half-mortified.

“I’m gonna die.”

Rafe didn’t pretend to be sorry.

He dragged the blanket higher, wrapped his arms tighter around you, and muttered into your hair, “Should’ve kept his mouth shut earlier.”

“Y’all traumatized everyone,” JJ hollered again.

You were shaking from trying not to laugh, face hidden against Rafe’s chest, while he rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

“It's his fault. If he didn’t start shit, I wouldn’t’ve had to fuck you like that.”

“YOU’RE STILL IN THERE TALKING!” JJ screeched. “What the fuck are y’all doing, cuddling?!”

Rafe shouted back lazily, “Cuddling the fuck out of her, bro.”

“IN MY BED?!”

“Shouldn’t’ve run your mouth.”

“I’M BURNING THE SHEETS, MAN!” echoed down the hall.

[sapphicandgraphic]

Teacher’s Pet—Drunk on Jealousy

Synopsis: When Agatha receives a letter from another student, you decide to get shit-faced at a local bar rather than examine your jealousy too closely. Agatha is waiting when you come home.

Warnings: One-shot in a longer “Teacher’s Pet” series! This story mentions drinking, fighting, and is mostly hurt/comfort exploring the evolving dynamic with witch mentor Agatha x witch student reader.

“Another.”

The bartender gave you a doubtful look, but poured the drink and slid it across the glossy oak surface.

You clutched the glass between numb fingers, swirling the amber liquid, then tossed it back in one go.

“There’s only two reasons people drink like this,” he said, idly polishing a beer stein. “Women, or women.”

A bitter laugh bubbled up out of your chest. Your voice was dull when you spoke. “You’re not wrong.”

“You have my condolences then,” he sighed. “Must be quite a lady if you’re hitting the bottle this hard.”

“She is,” you said, ducking your head so he wouldn’t see the glossy shine in your eyes.

“Had a fight, did ya?” He asked. “Harsh words?”

You shook your head. “I think there’s…someone else,” you managed, fighting back bile at the very thought.

You didn’t consider yourself a jealous person. You’d made your own way in this world for many long years before crossing paths with Agatha Harkness.

But living with her, learning magic from her, getting to know the most intimate parts of each other…it had rewired your brain chemistry. And now the thought of someone coming between you, interfering with that, it had sent you spiraling.

He sucked his teeth sympathetically.

“My advice?” He said gently. “Go home. Talk to her.”

You opened your mouth to protest, fingers fiddling with the empty shot glass. He shook his head. “You’ve had enough.”

You gave him an incredulous stare. “You’re cutting me off?”

“I’m doing you a favor,” he laughed. “I’ve seen you in here before. You’re a good kid. Too good for this pity party.”

You sighed. Maybe he was right. This was borderline pathetic, after all. How many drinks had you had?

You stood up on unsteady legs, reaching for your wallet to pay. He raised his hand. “On the house,” he said. “Just do me a favor and get home safe.”

He waved as you stumbled toward the door.

The cold night air was bracing. You decided to leave your car in the lot—driving was out of the question. Besides, the walk home would help clear your foggy mind.

Agatha, Agatha, Agatha. That was the only drumbeat, rattling around your skull with every step you took.

You had noticed the letter on her desk a few days ago, glancing at the neat, unfamiliar cursive as you set a hot cup of tea by her elbow. She was poring over an old spell book, long fingers tracing down the page to mark her spot.

She didn’t look up when you placed the cup beside her, but she hummed in distracted appreciation at the honeyed smell. “Thanks, pet,” she murmured, a smile pulling the corners of her mouth. “You’re too good to me.”

You placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a light squeeze, relishing the way her eyes fluttered closed as you applied pressure to the knot near her neck.

“Distracting,” she sighed, refocusing on the page.

You returned your attention to the letter. Something about it made you uneasy.

You’d always had a talent for pickpocketing—it was how you’d survived before finding a home with Agatha—and you easily slipped the letter off the crowded desk. Upstairs, scanning it more fully, you realized it contained an apocalypse, an undoing.

How could a single piece of paper cause so much destruction?

A loud shout interrupted your drunken musings. Up ahead, a group of young men were spilling out of a club. As you passed, one shouldered into you roughly.

“Whoa,” he said. “Watch where you’re going.”

You were itching for a fight, could practically feel the reckless, radiant rage prickling across your skin. But there were several of them, and only one of you. So you put your head down, kept walking.

Then you heard him add, “Stupid bitch.”

You turned, flashed him a dangerous smile. It was the last thing he saw before all hell broke loose.

—————————————

It was well after midnight when you finally returned home, placing your key in the lock with shaky hands. You fumbled for a few seconds. Blood was dripping into your eye, making it hard to see.

You would normally be able to charm the door open, slip in without a sound. But alcohol interfered with your magic, making it slower, more sluggish, more unreliable. That was why the fight had turned a little sideways, why they’d been able to land a few lucky hits. You winced as you finally opened the door, leaning against the frame for a moment to catch your breath.

Okay, maybe more than a few.

The lights were out on the first floor and the house was cloaked in shadow. Presumably Agatha had gone to bed. Part of you felt relieved. You were in no state for confrontation, nerves all strung out and raw.

But another part of you felt lacerated by her absence. You’d been gone for hours. Had she even noticed?

Perhaps this was just further proof that you had misjudged your relationship. You certainly weren’t irreplaceable. The letter had proved that much. Maybe you weren’t even important to the other woman. She was a legendary witch, after all. History books were filled with pages and pages of her deeds and misdeeds. You were nobody, nothing.

You tried to be quiet as you crept across the room, heading for the stairs. Just as you placed your foot on the first step, a lamp flickered on behind you.

“I could swear we had this conversation before,” Agatha said silkily.

You froze, back stiffening at her words.

“I don’t like you going out unaccompanied and wandering home like this, all on your own.” Her words pricked something hopeful in your chest, but you pushed it aside. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Sorry, mistress,” you said, keeping your voice flat. “It won’t happen again.”

Agatha snorted at the formality, but something actually ached in her chest.

It had been almost a year since you arrived on her doorstep, full of power and pain and potential, asking for a teacher. She had nearly sent you away. But something about the  stubborn set of your jaw, the rangy, reckless magic thundering through your veins…it had disarmed her.

She insisted on implementing strict rules in the beginning, doing things by the book. You were her student and she was your teacher. Nothing more. But over time, you worked your way into her head, her heart…what little remained of it, in any case.

“Mistress?” She repeated, trying to keep her tone light. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”

You shrugged, still refusing to face her.

“That’s what you are, isn’t it?” Your voice shook a little, though from anger or despair she couldn’t be sure. “And I’m just a student.”

Agatha frowned. Something was very wrong—she studied your shoulders, noticing the rigid way you held yourself. Almost like you were in pain.

“What’s going on?” She said, abandoning the theatrics. “Where have you been all night?”

You laughed, mirthless and jagged. “Why do you care?”

Her eyes widened. That was the last thing she’d been expecting you to say. And suddenly she’d had enough of this infuriating distance between you.

Agatha pushed herself upright, and in three quick strides she was spinning you around, hands seeking answers that words couldn’t give fast enough.

As soon as her fingers brushed your shoulder she could feel the confusion, the pain, the sorrow at war within you. The storm was so profound that her own chest tightened uncomfortably. Who had done this?

She spun you around, and all other thoughts went out the window. Blood was splashed across your forehead, one eye blackened by a nasty bruise. Your bottom lip was swollen, split in the middle.

“You’re hurt,” she muttered, eyes sweeping over your body, scanning for other injuries. “How bad?”

“Just a few scrapes.”

But even as you said those words, you swayed slightly, sagged against the bannister. Agatha’s hands went to your waist immediately, long fingers curling into the fabric of your sweatshirt.

“I’m fine,” you insisted blearily. “Just let me go to bed.”

Agatha scoffed. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me who did this.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. “I started it, I wanted the fight.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, a look of genuine confusion softening her sharp features.

“Why?”

You shrugged, throat suddenly tight. “It doesn’t matter, Agatha.”

“Stop saying that,” she snapped.

For a moment neither of you spoke, locked in a standoff at the foot of the stairs. Then she placed her hand over your forehead, attempting to seal the tender flesh there. It was a peace offering. You sighed at the warm sensation of her magic soothing your skin like a salve.

“White magic isn’t my strong suit,” she said. There was a note of apprehension in her voice, like she didn’t think this was a good idea.

You hated that Agatha viewed herself this way, and you opened your mouth to argue, to thank her, to say it felt amazing, but you never got the words out. Your eyes rolled back in your head, your knees buckling. Agatha caught you in one swift motion, a spike of fear piercing her heart.

“Dammit,” the older woman swore softly under her breath, cradling you against her chest.

This happened sometimes with healing spells—she had difficulty modulating her power, localizing it to a specific area. She had only meant to relieve your pain. But you were hovering so close to exhaustion that she’d accidentally pushed you right over the edge into unconsciousness.

She carried you the short distance to the sofa, arranging you carefully against the cushions. She gazed at you for a moment, torn, then leaned forward and rested her head against your heart. Closing her eyes, she listened to the pulse, steady and soothing. She took a few calming breaths of her own, matching the rise and fall of your chest.

“Agatha?” Your voice was confused, tired. “What happened?”

“You’re trying to give me grey hair,” she sighed, lifting her head to glare at you. “That’s what happened.”

You smiled, lopsided and precious. “You’d look good grey,” you slurred. “You always look good.”

She felt a ridiculous fondness in her chest. “Drunken fool.”

Agatha went into the kitchen, busying herself at the kettle. She returned with a strong cup of tea, biscuits, and a warm washcloth.

“Sit up,” she ordered, gripping your elbow. You shifted and something fluttered to the floor beside you. Agatha stilled, not recognizing it at first. Then she leaned down and plucked the letter off the floor.

“Aha,” she said, comprehension dawning. “I was wondering where this went.”

You shrank back, squirming guiltily. She set the letter on the table, then brought the washcloth to your face, cleaning the blood by hand rather than risking another spell.

“Am I right in presuming this is the source of all your angst?” The words were laced with an unspoken reprimand, punctuated by her arched eyebrow. You gulped.

“I didn’t know you were taking on new students,” you said. “You never told me.”

She gave you a withering look. “You never asked.”

You opened your mouth to reply, then closed it again.

“What’s the matter, pet?” She asked, and there was a definite teasing lilt in her voice now. “Don’t you like the idea of sharing me?”

Even if Agatha had not been touching you at that exact moment, she would have noticed the powerful reaction you had to those words. The lights flickered and an icy breeze swept through the room, emanating from nowhere, from everywhere, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Beneath her fingers, Agatha felt the surge of raw possessiveness crackling along the surface of your skin, a mix of pure loyalty and longing and love that made her light-headed.

Agatha drew a shaky breath, momentarily cowed by the sheer magnitude of your affection. “All for me?”

You let your head fall back against the sofa, utterly spent, too tired to be embarrassed. “Who else?”

Agatha resumed her ministrations. There were more small cuts around your jaw and neck. She carefully cleaned them one by one.

“If you had bothered to talk to me, rather than pilfering my personal correspondence,” she said pointedly. “Then you would have known I receive such letters quite often and my response is always the same.”

Your gaze pinned her where she sat, and she saw that your pupils were dilated, your jaw slightly slack as you waited to hear the answer.

“Return to sender,” she shrugged. “I have my hands full with you.”

The corners of your lips quirked upward in a hopeful smile. “Is that right?”

She hummed in agreement, never one to dwell on sappy moments. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

She helped you off the sofa. Together you shuffled slowly up the stairs and into your room. She pulled back the covers, fluffed the pillows.

“I didn’t realize you got so much fan mail,” you grumbled, slipping between the sheets.

Agatha gave you an imperious little smile. “Of course I get fan mail,” she said. “I’m a legend.”

She hesitated for a moment, then joined you on the edge of the bed. Her tone softened as she traced your eye, bruised and tender. “Do you really think I would let just anyone move into my home? Learn my magic?”

You bit your lip, uncertain.

“There’s only you, pet,” she murmured, absently stroking your hair. “You’re one of a kind.”

Your chest felt like it might burst at those words.

“Don’t cry,” she warned. “There’s nothing worse than a weepy drunk.”

“Weepy but violent,” you corrected, swiping your sleeve across your eye.

She pressed her lips into a thin line of disapproval. “How many of them were there?”

“Five,” you said.

Agatha gritted her teeth, nostrils flaring as she exhaled slowly through her nose. The thought of you squaring off with an unknown threat all alone made her furious.

“I could strangle you,” she said, eyes flickering over the marks on your face and neck.

“Somebody already tried that tonight,” you quipped, hoping for a laugh. “Didn’t end well for them.”

Agatha’s expression darkened, turning even more serious.

“You shouldn’t have left when you were upset,” she said. “It was reckless. And you shouldn’t be picking fights on your own.”

You stifled a laugh. “That’s a bit rich, coming from you.”

She stared at you through half-lidded eyes. In the low light of the bedroom, she looked ridiculously beautiful.

“Do as I say, not as I do,” she recited. “Isn’t that the line?”

“Sure,” you shrugged, hoping Agatha would drop it. You were suddenly very tired. Your entire body ached.

Agatha didn’t drop it.

“Promise me it won’t happen again.”

You nodded. The other woman placed a fingertip beneath your chin, raising your face until you were eye-to-eye.

“Words.”

You smiled, enjoying the attention. “Promise.”

“Very good,” she said, rising from the bed. “Now, get some sleep. We have an early start tomorrow.”

You snuggled down into the covers. “Night, Agatha.”

“Good night, pet.”

[youreyeson1y]

˗ˏˋ fuzzy ‎ socks and ‎ ‎ ‎ warm ‎ ‎covers ‎ ‎✶ˎˊ˗

pairing: bang chan x gn! reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw: tooth rotting domestic fluff, est. relationship + try not to cringe because love is ew :(‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ note: is this all because of the selcas chan shared? yes, yes it is. (also wanted to post something before I go on hiatus cause of exams lol) ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ word count: ‎ ‎0.96k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ enjoy ! ‎ ‎ bang chan masterlist.

snuggled under three layers of blankets on the couch, you felt perfectly content.

your hands absentmindedly fiddled with the empty cup in your lap, the faint warmth from your drink still clinging to it. a quiet smile played on your lips face as you watched chan throw his hands up dramatically, fully immersed in the story.

“and the host was so shocked when hyunjin started doing that move in the middle of the stage, because who knew there’s another song called sticky?”

“wait,” you cackled, already excited for the clips to emerge. “so you’re telling me that he danced to kiss of life’s sticky in the reality show? damn, can’t believe i missed that.”

chan laughs, the sound filling the room with warmth. a movie was playing on the tv, but you found your boyfriend’s endless stories more entertaining.

sitting on the plush carpet in front of you, chan was wearing a black tank top and grey sweatpants, while you had more layers on than you could count. the room became quiet for a moment, but the hairs on your arms stood up as you saw a mischievous smirk appear on chan’s face.

“no, nope,” you warned him as he stood up, a playful sparkle in his eyes, and you instinctively pull the blankets tighter around yourself. “don’t you dare, christopher bahng.”

“don’t be so mean, ” he pouts, his knees on either side of yours. “do you want your boyfriend to freeze to death out here?”

“well, there’s always the option for sweaters and jackets… or even a tshirt;” you mumble, your face growing red as your boyfriend’s nose touches yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

he gently takes the cup from your hands and places it on the centre table without breaking eye contact, putting you in a trance. as you let your guard down and lean in for a gentle kiss, you jump in your seat with a yelp as his freezing fingers touches your waist under the covers.

the cold sensation sends chills down your spine as you shiver, goosebumps covering your body.

“christopher,” you whine, finally giving a reaction as he melts into your body. “i hate you.” you shiver as he wraps his arms around you, engulfing you in a chilly but warm embrace as he settles under the covers.

despite yourself, you lean into his embrace instinctively.

“i love you too,” he giggles, dimples on full display, as he hugs you tighter. “and why would i need a sweater when i have you to warm me up just as fine?”

you blush, whatever resolve you had melting away.

“whatever,” chan chuckled as he saw you half heartedly roll your eyes. “i’m wearing the socks you gave me, so i guess you might as well warm up your toes too.” you looked at anything but him in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

his laugh made you feel warmer than the blankets ever could.

chan shifted, tucking himself into your side as you both shifted into a more comfortable position. his legs intertwined with yours, rubbing over your fuzzy socks. his arms wrapped around your waist, adding a comforting weight.

the room grew silent, the only sound being your steady breathing and the soft voice coming from the television.

“oy,” you nudge him after making sure he wasn't asleep. “what happens next?”

“huh? next to what?”

“i dunno. i just want to hear you yap.”

the way chan’s face immediately became red was almost comical. he tried hiding his face in the crook of your neck, making him seem more adorable.

“stop…” he whined, his demeanor changing from his usual cool charm to a fumbling mess.

“what? i just love listening to my boyfriend yap, is that a crime?”

“i mean,” his voice came out small. “i’ve been boring you with my stories all evening today. aren't you sick of hearing my voice already?”

he tried to laugh it off, but let out a shriek as you playfully swatted his arm.

“hey!” you pinched his arm for extra emphasis. “don't ever say that okay? listening to you talk is literally the favourite part of my day.”

“you're just saying that,” chan huffed, hugging you tighter in an attempt to hide his flushed face.

“no, bubba, it's true. i love hearing your voice and i love how you literally light up when you talk about something you find funny or are looking forward to.

plus, it's funny seeing you get worked up over the silliest things sometimes; like that one time jeongin told you your beanie didn't go with your outfit.”

if it was possible to fall even more in love with your boyfriend, it was in this moment, watching him completely melt at your words.

“you remember that?” he whispered. it was so endearing seeing him turn into an adorable mess in front of you.

“of course, i remember that! i remember everything you tell me. and that's cause i’m genuinely invested in all your stories.” you grin.

“you're like my personal podcast. and the best part is i get to keep you all to myself.”

chan adorably wriggled his whole body with shyness, unable to handle the attention. you laughed, reaching out to hold his hands which were covering his face.

“have i told you how much i love you today?” he finally said as he peeked from between his fingers.

“well, not enough.” you tease, and he leans in for a kiss.

he didn't need to tell you how much he loved you, because you felt it in the way the biting cold outside faded into insignificance. it wasn’t the fuzzy socks or the layers of blankets keeping you warm, but rather the undeniable warmth of his love wrapping around you.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

a/n: sappy ending yes but it's currently 1:25AM and it's the best i can do rn rahh (also was this fic just me promoting the propaganda that chan is the biggest yapper ever (chan's room, bubble, yt live hello???) maybe. but was this 100% because i am a professional listener and could listen to him yap all day every day? yes.

please reblog and leave comments, they truly mean the world !

bang chan masterlist.

[buggyluv]

Platonic Strawhats x Reader

The strawhats care for you after you get hurt in battle

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You're sweating like a dog but you're cold to the touch. The taste in your mouth is both earthy and metallic. You watch colours swirl around your blurred vision. Nami calls out your name and then it's quiet.

When you finally open your eyes you're unable to move for a few seconds. Your stiff muscles struggle to pull you up. When you manage to sit, you realise you're alone. You're in your room, on the sunny. The air smells like cooked food so you figure it must be dinner time for your family. You look down at the bandages wrapped around your stomach where an enemy blade had been. You couldn't feel much pain, you couldn't feel much of anything. The bandages were clean, you assume Chopper must have changed them for you.

Your crewmates, your family, are present everywhere in your room. Nami's accessories are all over the place, if you didn't know any better you could easily mistake this for her room. It almost makes you teary to think she'd been staying in here with you for the past three days. The floor next to your bed is worn as if one of them, most likely Usopp, had been pacing back and forth. There's a couple of books stacked on your desk, the combination of non fiction and adventure stories makes you think both Robin and Jinbe have been in here to read to you while you were out. There's an empty teacup sitting on your bedside table, you bet a hundred berries it belongs to Brook. You can't see anything of Franky's lying around but you're sure you can recall his voice murmuring to you. You can tell he's been in the room from the faint metallic smell in the air. Which just leaves Zoro and Luffy. You're caught up in the game you've made up for yourself when you hear a deep cough from the doorway. You turn your head to see Zoro standing there, holding a plate of food.

Your calendar has been updated, the pen is neat and the lines crossing out the days are slightly curved. Robin must've been crossing them out for you. You can see that it's been three days since the battle. There is a fresh glass of water and some fruit on the side table next to your bed. You shakily lift the cup to your lips and you silently thank Sanji as you drink down the glass.

“Luffy, Y/n's awake!” he calls. Seconds later, your captain dives through the threshold of your room, reaching out his arms to you. He wraps you up in a hug and places an affectionate kiss on your cheek. Your captain's boundaryless affection was something that had taken a while to adjust to you. Luffy's deep, unconditional, love was something that you and the rest of your crewmates hold dearly. The realisation that Luffy was worried about you, that they were all worried about you, has tears beginning to spill.

The thought of them all around you, making sure you get better despite knowing your injuries would heal just fine, makes your stomach turn. The queasy feeling is common around here. You've been with the strawhats for years but you can't quite get used to their shameless expressions of love. Luffy tells you to stop crying, that there's no need for tears now that you're ok. Luffy backs off to let Zoro place the plate of food on your lap. He's stern when he tells you to eat but there's a soft air to the way he gently leans against the wall, refusing to leave until he's taken care of you. Zoro takes the protection of the crew very seriously, he most likely blames himself for letting you get so badly hurt. It's best to let him see that you're fine and he has nothing to be guilty about. Zoro isn't a ‘talk it out’ kind of guy, he's a man of action.

When Luffy moves to the end of your bed, Sanji comes rushing in. Usually, Zoro would roll his eyes or make a biting comment at the way Sanji dotes on you but he keeps his mouth shut as Sanji cradles your face in his hands. Sanji tells you he was terrified, that he's sorry he couldn't stop the man that stabbed you and that he hopes his food will help you recover. You eat as Sanji, Zoro and Luffy watch in silence. Nami and Usopp had shown up at some point, exhaling in relief as you seem to be enjoying your food. You had been amongst the first to join the crew and the bond you have is unmatched. It's beyond platonic or romantic. .

“Oh thank god you're ok” cries Nami as you finish your meal “I stayed here with you the last three nights, you were murmuring to yourself and it was making me worried”

“I wasn't worried!” exclaimed Usopp, placing his hands on his hips. “I knew that my words of encouragement would help you wake up” he says, making you laugh.

“You're right, Usopp. Thank you” You say, voice weak from lack of use. “Thank all of you for taking care of me” Your thanks is met by frantic refusals telling you not to thank them because that's what friends do. After eating a meal and crying and seeing the faces of the people you love most, you start to feel drowsy. Sanji is first to notice, quickly pulling the plate from your lap and placing it on the bedside table. “I know I've just slept for three days but I'm exhausted”

Nami tells you to go back to sleep and you listen, lying back down. You drift off comfortably without a care in the world knowing your strawhats will be right there when you wake up again.

[1d1195]

Chances

~5k words

From Me: It's been about 2 minutes since my last love at first sight story so I figured that was long enough for another one. Just a silly little thing.

Warnings: A tiny bit of smut. Also she's shorter than Harry (only relevant for 20 seconds, max). Other than that, should be fluff fluff fluff.

Summary: Airports are gross, overpriced, and extremely anxiety-inducing. She hates being there.

But it's also where she sits with a really cute guy who makes her feel like she's flying from the moment she looks at him and before takeoff even begins.

What was it about airports that were so romantic? Everyone knew how gross they were. A petri dish of diseases on every surface. Overpriced food and drinks. Not to mention the exorbitant price of books and magazines. Almost everyone passing through was stressed with worry about missing their flight, losing their bag, losing their kid, or personal items. She was one of them. Even with an hour and half cushion she was worried it would take off or something while she was going to get a coffee.

Which was perhaps why she didn’t notice where she chose to sit at her gate. All that anxiety festering and building in her that only the relief of flopping into one of the seats near an outlet would release. She put her coffee in the little cup holder, tucked her bag beneath her feet and placed the overpriced book on her lap.

Someone called out for another person making her head tip up at the noise.

It was fate. Destiny. Whatever corny thing a romance writer would say it was. But there were only so many places her eyes could fall, and they happened to land on him.

What was it about making eye contact with a guy her age at the airport that made her feel like she was in a Hallmark movie? He gave her a polite smile. One that was downright pretty. Too pretty to be on a man's lips and one that made her heart skip a beat.

Hence why she was thinking about the romanticism of the airport in the first place.

She sincerely hoped she returned his kind smile because at the very least she didn’t want to be rude. But it was all a matter of seconds; this little romance novel scene she was playing out. Her cheeks felt warm with a rush of blood to her skin before she dropped her gaze back to her book. She had to. If she didn’t, she was going to do something crazy like profess how taken she was with him after meeting those stunning green eyes for half a second like the love at first sight she saw in movies.

But was that his gaze she felt heating up her skin? She refused to look up, but the words of her novel blurred together, and she could only think about how blue was one of her favorite colors growing up but green might have kicked that right out of the top spot in that moment.

*

Their flight was delayed which stressed her out beyond comprehension. It wasn’t even that long but if she didn’t have somewhere to be when she landed, she would have felt a lot better. She swore she was the last person to board the plane, and it only fueled her anxiety further.

But if it weren’t for the delay, her being last, or the fact that she was going to miss the rehearsal dinner for her friend’s wedding, the anxiety of seeing the hot guy from the gate was sitting next to her empty seat was surely going to give her a heart attack at the ripe age of her late twenties.

She felt her cheeks burning in recognition as he smiled again at her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

That pretty face that was going to haunt her dreams for a lifetime. “Are you 12A?” He asked. The window seat, fortunately. His voice was warm and gentle.

“Yeah, sorry,” she bit her lip.

He chuckled standing in the aisle to get out of her way so she could get settled. “S’nothing t’apologize for.”

“I’m sure you thought you were going to have the row to yourself,” she sighed and placed her oversized purse on her seat so she could stow her carryon above her head.

“Allow me,” he offered and hoisted the bag to the storage space as if she hadn’t crammed a week’s worth of clothes and shoes inside it for only a long weekend. “S’okay. S’not a big plane. They said it was full.”

Stupid airports and their romantic goggles.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully and slipped into their row.

She noted all of his items were ready: a book tucked into the seat back compartment, a bottle of water stowed there as well, and his phone and headphones that he pulled from his pocket and placed on the tray once he was seated again. She fiddled with her bag, pulling out the items she wanted tucked into the spaces she had easy access to as well. Most importantly, she grabbed the travel package of disinfectant wipes to clean off her little home away from home for the next few hours.

“Oh, that’s a smart idea,” he smirked admiring her tidiness.

“I think Covid taught me that airplanes are one of the most disgusting places on the planet.”

He chuckled. “I suppose s’fair,” he nodded in agreement. “D’you have an extra one?” He asked. She nodded and held the little package out to her row-mate. He took two and repeated her routine to clean. The air vent, the tray table, the belt buckle and arm rest. He used the second to wipe down his headphones, phone, and book with a quick swipe. She held out a little sandwich bag she used for trash while on the plane. “Y’must fly a lot,” he smirked at her preparedness.

“Used to,” she took a deep breath. “I still get kind of nervous.”

“Honestly, would think y’were not human if y’didn’t get nervous.”

The announcements were being made and she focused on the flight attendants and their safety demonstration. Well, tried to. The man beside her was so handsome it was like he demanded to be stared at; it was hard not to comply to such a silent request. He looked effortlessly comfortable and so attractive it was unfair. But maybe it was those stupid airport goggles making her fall in love with someone relatively close to her age and perhaps he was only a little hot.

But as he reached for the air vent again, his sweatshirt sleeve slid down his wrist so that her eyes darted to his forearm and landed on the tattoo on the inside of his arm. It wasn’t even something she would qualify as a sexy tattoo, but it was there. As it appeared in her vision, all her dignity, self-respect, and thought of him being only a little hot, flew right out the window.

Stupid men.

The plane jolted a little as it started its take-off, making her gasp and she gripped the armrest tight. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as it settled into its rhythm. The final announcement that the ascent was going to begin came through the speaker and the plane got quiet as it always did at that time. “Hey, love?”

It was pathetic she recognized his voice already. Pathetic that she was going to respond to the little pet name. They had barely spoken. But the two little words were soft and sexy. In a gentle kind of way. She peeked out of one eye to glance at him. She swallowed thickly around the nerves. “Uh... yeah?”

“I can hold your hand, if y’want. S’just a tight grip y’got on m’arm,” it was so gentle. He didn’t even sound annoyed or pained. She gasped again, released his arm from her goddamn death grip, and covered her mouth. How fucking embarrassing. She didn’t even notice.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“No, s’fine,” he assured her, his smile was so kind. Like she was a wounded bird that he found after it flew into the window. “Here,” he offered pulling her hand from her mouth and laced their fingers together. “M’not a fan of takeoff either,” he explained giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Did he feel how perfectly their hands fit together? Or did she imagine it? These airplane goggles were thick as hell. She was fucked when she got off the plane and never saw him again. They were silent during the remainder of the ascent and once the bell signaled that they could unbuckle, the pilot announced they were at cruising altitude, Harry gave her hand a squeeze again before releasing it.

“Thank you,” the sincerity in his voice made her blush and she was glad it was dark on the plane and the flight would remain dark. Because if she had to see how pretty his face was for the whole flight, she wasn’t going to make it. It was unfair that someone so handsome was seated next to her and she would never see him again. Someone who was thanking her for holding her hand. After she tried to rip his arm hair out.

Did his hand feel cold? Her hand felt cold. It was so ridiculous she just wanted to scream.

She had the worst luck.

*

Harry had the best luck. The pretty girl from the gate was in the same row as him. He got to hold her hand. The flight was only five or so hours long and the thought of it being delayed was miserable. But there she was looking so unbelievably beautiful.

There’s a REALLY pretty girl at my gate. He texted Mitch the second he saw her.

You better not be creepy. Sarah says there’s NOTHING worse than a guy being creepy at the airport.

I’m not going to make my soulmate uncomfortable. I’m just going to ask her every question that pops into my head to get to know her, and then ask how many kids she wants to have with me.

...Best of luck to her.

I’m probably not even going to talk to her :( She looks busy and what are the chances she’ll be sitting next to me? There’s no way I have that kind of luck.

But Harry did have that luck it seemed. The pretty girl was tucked into their row against the window, her head resting against the side of the plane. She was clean, organized, and adorable. He liked how she spoke to the flight attendant. Like she was a hinderance by being a passenger. It was sweet and he admired her kindness and thoughtfulness. She was so grateful when Harry handed her the little bag of pretzels and the drink she got.

“Reading something good?” She asked quietly.

Harry smiled and held it out to her so she could read the back cover. “Something m’sister recommended.”

She intently read the words on the back and nodded. “I think I’m going to add it to my never-ending list.”

God, he wanted to say he could give it to her when he was finished. But he was never going to see her again. So maybe he didn’t have the luck he hoped he did. “How ‘bout you?”

“Um...” she smiled. “It’s nothing... intelligent. It’s a brain-rotting romance thing. I don’t know, I like to read trashy stuff on the plane. Take my mind off it and everything else.”

“I see,” he didn’t ask Gemma a lot of questions, but he knew that meant it was filled with spicy romantic scenes that he could only dream about with someone as pretty as her. But that would be what Sarah called creepy, so he pushed that thought away quickly. “M’not a huge e-book person.”

“They’re good for travel,” she smiled. “I love bookstores, and I think I could build a whole house out of the books I have or want to buy. But traveling... it’s nice to have something compact. But I bought a book at the convenience store before we left. Which is so dumb because the mark up is like an extra ten dollars and I could have gotten it for free on this thing but the Wi-Fi is a bit of a problem sometimes, like I can’t get my new book to—” She paused as Harry listened intently. It was so disarming listening to her talk about books and her e-reader. It was adorable. Her eyes, even in the faint glow from the emergency airplane lights, were lit with excitement. “I’m rambling, I’m sorry.”

“No!” He frowned, shaking his head hurriedly. He immediately missed the excitement in her eyes. “Y’weren’t. I never thought ‘bout how the traveling is easier with it. I had t’forgo a whole outfit t’get m’books in m’bag.”

She smiled and sipped her drink. “I always do that. Except I’m sure you felt how heavy my bag was, I didn’t do it this time. I told myself I wasn’t going to overpack and I just couldn’t do it.”

“M’sister has a hard time with it too.”

“It’s impossible, I think. Especially for an event, you know?”

Was Harry still smiling? He couldn’t stop smiling. She just had this air about her. The air between them was vibrating and it wasn’t because of turbulence. She had to feel it, right? Harry couldn’t be imagining this electric feeling that was pulsing between them. They were just sitting there, staring at each other.

“Can I say something crazy?” He asked.

“Crazy? Are you planning on murdering me?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I jus’...” he paused and scanned her face memorizing the moment wondering how on earth he could meet her again. Maybe he’d be lucky enough to have a plane ride back with her. But there couldn’t be that much good luck. “This is a bit...” he trailed off and he chuckled. His face was only inches from hers. She bit her lip.

“Yeah... it is.”

“S’crazy, right?”

She nodded. “It is,” she whispered back.

“Hi,” he said quietly, a smile growing on his face.

“Hi,” she giggled.

*

When the plane began its descent, he held her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. It made her stomach flutter. As they left their little row, her heart hammered in her chest. How unfair it was that she would never see him again. He grabbed her bag from the compartment above and he walked with her all the way to baggage claim. They chatted a little more. Smiling and giggling. She didn’t even realize he was still holding her hand.

At least the airport goggles were working both ways it seemed.

“You let me go on and on about overpacking and you checked a bag?” He smirked, grabbed her hand again and led her toward the rideshare pickup spot. “Can I say something crazy?”

“Are y’planning on murdering me?” He asked.

“You felt it right?”

“Felt what?” The smile melted off her face and she dropped his hand like it burned her. “Whoa, hey,” he laughed and snagged it quick into his again. “S’bad joke,” he brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly. “Course I felt it.”

She looked at her feet. The seconds felt like hours as she looked for something to say. “I don’t know where to go from here,” she frowned looking back at him.

“Yeah...” He sighed. “It’s...” he sighed. There was so much he wanted to say. So much she wanted to tell him. They needed more time, more space.

She wanted to live on that plane.

Harry wanted to stay at that airport.

She pushed up onto her toes and kissed him. It was crazy. Outlandish. Ridiculous. She cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing his skin. He smiled on her mouth making her want to melt. His hand found her lower back, pulled her closer because in just sneakers she couldn’t reach his lips completely. With her firmly in his embrace, he nipped at her lower lip. It was so sinful she shivered.

The honking interrupted their moment, pulling each other apart. “I have to go,” she whispered looking at the Uber that matched the license plate listed on her phone.

“I know.”

“Hi,” she whispered with a quiet laugh.

“Hi.”

“It was... really nice meeting you,” her smile was so goddamn pretty it was going to make Harry cry.

“It was nice meeting you, love,” he answered. Safely tucked her into the back of the cab. She unrolled the window.

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry,” he said.

“Harry,” she repeated. “Nice meeting you, Harry.”

*

“You have outdone yourself,” she smiled as she turned. The woman before her had a stunning smile, her hair half pinned, her white silk pajamas shimmering in the light. “They’re stunning.”

“You’re one to talk, I’d give you a hug but I don’t want to mess anything up,” she wrinkled her nose. “You love them?” She asked.

“I love them. They might upstage me.”

“I sincerely doubt it. You look stunning already.”

“Do you hate me for not making you a bridesmaid?”

“God, no,” she shook her head. “I’m more of a behind the scenes kind of person anyway. If you need anything today, I’m your girl,” she promised. “I was too far away,” she shrugged.

“Don’t remind me,” she frowned. “These flowers are the things of dreams. You are the best,” she sighed dreamily. “Can I see my bouquet?” Her frown quickly turned into a smile again. “I’ve been dreaming about it.”

She went to the bucket that was at the edge of what would be the ceremony floor and pulled the bouquet from it. She felt so proud and happy with the arrangement she made for one of her long-time best friends. “Seph,” she smiled. “You look beautiful,” she reminded her.

Persephone grinned admiring the bouquet. “You’re incredible... How was your flight? Other than delayed?”

“It was...” she tried to think about anything but the color green. “Good.”

“Oh?” Seph’s perfectly plucked eyebrow arched suspiciously “How good? Did you join the mile high club?”

“Oh my God, Persephone, of course not.”

“Well, you don’t say good like that if he’s not cute.”

A slight pause as she looked at the ceiling and then back at her friend. “He was really cute.”

“You’re a walking Hallmark movie.”

“That’s literally how I felt.” They giggled then she sighed thinking about the kiss she shared with a stranger. It was so unlike her to get all in a twist about a guy she just met. This wasn’t normal. It was like she was still in the airport. There were so many things they didn’t talk about. So many things she didn’t know about him and never would. It was unfair and yet she couldn’t stop herself from feeling like she was still flying. Shaking her head, she turned to her friend once more. “Alright, I have to finish these flower arrangements. Not sure if you know this, but there’s a wedding happening here tonight.”

“Sorry about your airplane man, babe,” Seph squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey, no frowns. It’s your wedding day,” she turned back to the table she was working on before her friend’s interruption. “I think some moments are meant to just... exist in that moment.”

*

Harry had thought about only three things that day. Breathing, cake, and of course the beautiful girl he met on the plane.

You KISSED her?! Sarah asked.

I know... I’ve never met anyone like her.

That’s a real bummer, Harry, honestly. It was and Sarah was right. At first, he was joking, but now he was certain she was his soulmate, and he just let her go. But what choice did he have? Yes, there was the feeling of his heart beating faster. The excitement of making her laugh. But there was the calmness, the tranquility of being beside her. Holding her hand.

Maybe it was morbid, but Harry was certain he was looking for someone to hold his hand if the plane were to go down and maybe that’s what a soulmate really was.

It was easy. Easy to talk to her, make her laugh. It was easy to get to know her and he didn’t even know anything about her. He didn’t know where she was from, what she did, where she was going, but he just knew that she was his and he let her go. There were too many variables. Too many things he couldn’t control.

“Harry, you almost done?”

“Jus’ putting the finishing touches,” he mumbled.

“We’re going to be late!”

“They won’t start without us,” he rolled his eyes.

“If there is a speck of—”

“I’m clean, I’m clean,” he shook his head, coming to the other room and brushing his hands along his coat. “Let’s get married, yeah?”

*

The maid of honor talked about how lucky the pair of them were to find one another. How there were an infinite number of opportunities for them to not have met but there was this special moment destined for each other. Where Persephone would walk into the library to sit in her favorite study spot and if she wasn’t so superstitious she would have just found another table.

But instead, she walked right up to the table, told her future husband he was in her spot, and she was preparing for an exam, and she wouldn’t let him use her favorite seat.

The best man spoke about how he was actually destined to be with the groom for forever and ever which made the entire place laugh.

But talk of luck and destiny just made her feel miserable on the inside. If she asked for his number or where he lived, it would be hours from where she lived. She would be devastated. A kiss was a good ending to her little story. That would suffice.

Maybe he already had a girlfriend. That would work too. Something to make her feel like a horrible person and lessen the blow that her soulmate was somewhere out there never to be seen again. Harry was just a guy that held her hand on a plane and talked about books with her for hours so she wouldn’t be scared. Someone that split his snacks with her even though she didn’t know him.

No. She couldn’t think about him. She had to stop thinking about him. It wasn’t good for her brain or her heart.

It was a beautiful ceremony. That’s what she needed to focus on. Persephone was a gorgeous bride and the event was just... perfect. “I think I’ve given your name and number to just about every single woman here,” Seph said sliding into a seat beside her and kissed her cheek.

She laughed. “Well thank you,” she smiled. “Let me see,” she held her hand out for the one with her new jewelry and she admired the pretty diamond that glimmered alongside the new band of diamonds below it. “Everything is beautiful.”

“This place is beautiful because of you. Just like you said.”

“Oh... it was beautiful before. I just added to it.”

“I didn’t see it though. It’s a bargain if you can envision it like this. I seriously wouldn’t have picked it without you saying you’d do the flowers,” Seph explained. “You saw so much more than I did.”

She shrugged. “I don’t think there’s a place on earth that doesn’t benefit from flowers.”

“Well, thank you,” she squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t be having a wonderful day without you. I know it was a lot to travel out here and—”

“No, no. Don’t even. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Flowers or no flowers.”

Persephone grinned. “Well... in other news... do you see anyone as cute as your airplane man? Lerone has a lot of single friends.”

She smirked and shook her head. “No offense, Seph, but there is no one that’s going to be as cute as my airplane guy.”

“No one?”

Her head snapped up to the voice that she had already planned on dreaming about for the rest of her life. Her eyes met the same green gaze she had the pleasure of looking at for five hours while chatting about books and whispering about nothing of importance (but it all seemed important at the time). There was no way. She didn’t have this kind of luck. If there was a squeaky carriage at the grocery store she was sure to pick it. There was no way that—

“Hi Harry!” Persephone smiled. “Do you two know each other?”

“Something like that,” Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Hi,” Harry grinned at her.

She cleared her throat, adrenaline flowing through her body. “Hi,” she whispered breathlessly.

“Harry baked our cake. He went to school with Lerone.”

“Oh,” she swallowed.

“And I heard y’did all the work with these pretty flowers,” Harry smiled.

“She’s like the flower queen,” Persephone giggled.

“I see.”

There was a pause while they stared at each other. Harry grinning like a madman, he was sure. But she was stunning. A floral dress draped her body, her hair half pinned up. She was so pretty. Somehow even prettier than the way she looked on the airplane and Harry was certain she could never be prettier than the moment she sat next to him.

“Hi,” she laughed.

“Hi,” he chuckled.

“Of all the gin joints.”

Harry took a seat beside her. Persephone had moved onto the next table and yet, she hadn’t even noticed. “I haven’t stopped thinking ‘bout you, love,” he grabbed her hand. “Been thinking ‘bout the plane, y’e-reader, and that earth-shattering kiss.”

Her cheeks heated up and Harry reached out to brush his thumb on her cheek. “This is insane,” she whispered.

“I know,” he agreed.

“I don’t have luck like this,” she explained. “I’m the kind of person that has their luggage get lost. Or my coat will snag on the doorknob. If I didn’t want to be paired with someone in a group project in high school, I could guarantee I was going to be in their group.”

“Y’think it’s lucky you’re meeting me?” He practically wiggled his eyebrows. Trying to sound egotistical but all it did was make her fall harder for him.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Well...yeah,” she swallowed. “I mean... what else am I supposed to call it?”

“It doesn’t have t’be luck. Can jus’ be meeting you.”

“I don’t think it works that way for me.”

“Can I dance with you?” He asked.

“I’m not very good and I think there’s a good chance I’ll step on your toes and—”

Harry was already helping her stand and tugging her to the dance floor. She did step on his toes, not hard, but her quiet “sorry” was lost on Harry. It felt perfect to hold her in his arms. One hand in his, her other at the back of his neck, his free hand on the small of her back. They fit like puzzle pieces. “A florist, hmm?” He hummed right by her ear.

“A baker?” She replied.

He chuckled. “What are the chances?”

*

“D’you have any idea how good y’look?” He groaned. She was in just a T-shirt. Harry’s T-shirt. He propped his head in his hand as he looked at her laying in his bed. His finger skimming just below the hem of the shirt. It barely touched her thighs and the only thing that stood in his way was a scrap of fabric she called underwear.

She giggled. “Back at you.”

“This is insane,” he smiled and pressed his lips to hers.

“It is,” she whispered.

If all her bad luck had been to make this weekend happen, she was forever grateful. This was worth it. Harry was worth it. “When’s your flight?”

“Quarter of five. When’s yours?”

“The same, of course.”

She smiled and tucked her face into his chest. “How far away are you from my shop?”

“Only ‘bout a half hour drive,” he told her. “Why?”

“Just... wondering.”

“Jus’ want t’know how much time and distance is between you and a toe-curling orgasm?”

“Don’t be crass.”

“I wasn’t talking ‘bout you,” he peppered a line of kisses down the side of her face and along her neck, down the curve of her shoulder, even when the T-shirt got in the way. “You are so pretty,” he mumbled pulling at his shirt to touch her soft skin and curves. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so pretty.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I’d remember you,” he smiled pressing his lips to her collarbone. He pulled the shirt off her and he brushed his thumbs across her nipples softly. Making them perk up more than they already were with the cold air from the room and no barrier between her. “Definitely remember this,” he mumbled into her skin.

“I have to pack,” she whispered but her voice was air and her resolve wasn’t there.

“Put it in m’checked bag,” his lips were occupied by one of her nipples making it extremely difficult for her to concentrate. “Jus’ shove everything in there. Then s’a promise I’ll see y’after we land.”

Her heart fluttered. “You want to see me again?”

He popped his head up from licking at her like she was candy. The air was even chillier against the sensitive skin without Harry’s warm mouth wrapped around her. “M’sorry, was I not clear?”

She smirked. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about airport goggles.”

“Airport goggles?” He repeated.

“I have really bad luck, Harry. I just worry that the idea of me in an airport because I’m roughly your age... or like, you know airplane food is a real thing? Not just a joke? Something about the altitude messing with your tastebuds or something. So maybe this is all an illusion, is what I’m saying. Maybe I am really unlucky because when we get back to our real life we won’t have airport goggles and—”

“Kitten,” he chuckled and rubbed his thumb across her lip. “Shh,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss on her mouth.

“I’m just saying—”

“I know,” he rolled his eyes. “I hear you. But m’telling you, there’s no such thing as airport goggles. Even if there are, m’never taking them off.”

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[postmoe]

So, I'm getting around to doing Amphoreus and... we're at the bath house... and there is a special bath house for heroes.... can you imagine being taken in there without anyone else knowing just to be banged senselessly?

With Mydei and Phainon x Reader

girl we on the same wave length. I just added a bit to something i had going but didn't like it enough for the story i wanted lol.

non-con, helplessness, a bit of choking, bathhouse, ambrosia, master/servant dynamicish

Translations off google so (I went the Ancient Greek route)... Dominus - Master. He philtatē - dearest love. (feminine).

.

Amphoreus is full of many heroes, and though they are all strong and worthy of their titles, there are some that put true unease in others.

Like Mydei. Even with Phainon right next to him, trying to lighten the mood in the room, people still fear his sharp looks and dominating muscles. Everyone has seen what these two heroes can do, and no one wants to be on the wrong side of them.

Not to mention how protective they are of each other. Back and forth arguments seem like nothing when their anger is truly displayed, especially at people who speak ill of their partner.

And then there's you, their precious, priceless darling. A warning isn't good enough if you were to be picked on, broken bones, lost jobs, people are still debating whether or not the person who moved lands is dead or still alive.

So, when you're dragged from your station, or told to meet them somewhere, everyone drops everything to make sure you comply. Which is why, even if people did see you be hauled into the heroes bathhouse, you know calling for help would do nothing good.

That's why you stand there, sweat soaking through your white road, nipples poking into wet, sheer fabric, face stoic and hands holding a large jug of wine like it were any other client. They seem entertained enough by each other, hopefully today they will just leave you alone.

However, as Mydei pulls away from the heated kiss, grinning drunkenly your way and leaning his head against the edge of the in ground bath, you know there is no such luck. "He philtatē, come drink ambrosia with us," he practically moans, Phainon grinding his naked body in his lap, kissing and lapping up the sweat of his lovers neck.

You make a point to keep your eyes facing forward, not wanting to give them the thought that you're indulging in their actions, "No, thank you, dominus. I am working right now." That's not to say you would if you weren't on shift, but, it's as good an excuse as any other.

Phainon finally frees his mouth from the other's body, sculling the rest of his drink, red ambrosia trickling over his lips, down the cleft of his neck, and over the pecs of his chest before mixing with the bath water and disappearing. His eyes are hooded, cheeks dusted red with the effects of alcohol and lust, "Why the sudden harsh treatment, He philtatē, you were never this reserved when we first met."

With a bow of your head, avoiding his gaze, you say, "Kindess is part of the job. I welcomed you in, my job is done."

"Boo~" Phainon whines, rolling off of Mydei and sitting next to him in the water. "You're not like this after work or with your colleagues," he mutters, now holding out his empty cup, "Refill, please!"

You're not even going to ask how he knows what you're like when they're not around, already having the sneaking suspicion they've been following you and paying someone to tail you when they're gone. You crouch down to aim the jug into the goblet, only for Mydei to snatch the wine from your hands which makes you cry out a, "Hey!"

Within moments, you're being dragged into the water by a laughing Phainon. You thrash and splash the water as you're manhandled, thick fingers pulling your clinging robe over your head, leaving you in thin panties and the gold chains around your torso to help support your breasts. You're held tightly against his chest, coddled like a sweet pet until you stop moving so violently. Once you calm down enough, Mydei hands a cup to Phainon, who then promptly presses the rim to your tightly sealed lips, "Ambrosia~ Ambrosia for He philtatē~"

His other hand is roughly grabbing your jaw, the ache forcing your mouth to part enough for the liquid to slip through. You grunt, swallowing the sweet drink, a lot of it falling down your front, until the cup is empty. His hand is swaying in front of your face, the motion annoying you so you backhand the goblet, it flying and dunking in the water. He's so out of it that it takes him a minute to realise what you've done, the man laughing and messily petting your head in a playful manner.

Mydei exhales, sinking further into the bath to relax his muscles, "The whole trip he wouldn't shut up about you. 'When can we see (Y/n) again?' 'How much longer until we leave for (Y/n)?' 'Do you think if I send a letter, it'll reach her before we get back?' Couldn't even focus on fighting."

Phainon cheekily pinches your cheek, directing your attention back to him, "Funny he says that. Just whose name do you think he was calling every night we fucked?" You grab at his wrists once they start to slip to your cunt, fingers brushing your clit while your strength did nothing to hold him back. He didn't even acknowledge it, choosing instead to ask, "We have those new heroes, too. Should we introduce them to our private hole?" A wince escapes you as he slips a finger in, your pussy clenching from the intrusion. He swirls his digit around before adding another, "And what of Anaxa? Where is he?"

"Anaxa is still busy, he won't be back for another month," Mydei steps from the tiled ledge and stands in front of you, his large hands stroking over your shoulders, cupping your breasts in his palms and grazing the nipples with his thumbs. His eyes follow every move with a predatory gaze, "They certainly have proved their worth..."

You zone out as they talk about you like some object. Gritting your teeth, frustrated tears mix with the sweat on your face as you silently cry. What sort of a God or Titan or Deity would allow something such as this to happen to one of their subjects? It just proves how lost your soul really is from everyone else's. Everyone was right, you were abandoned by the titans the moment you were conceived.

Mydei pushes himself against your front, sandwiching you between him and Phainon so he can easily kiss your tears away, "Now look what you've done, you made her cry."

Phainon coos against your hair, his fingers hooking inside you to get a jerking reacting out of you, your hips trapped between the two, "It's okay, He philtatē, we won't share you if you don't want to. It actually makes me happy to see your heart is ours alone."

That's absolutely not true.

"Just be good for us tonight or else we might have to get them to 'help' hold you down," Mydei chuckles drunkenly as if his joke was actually something worth laughing at.

It pissed you off how he could just say something like that and get away with it. You pushed a sturdy hand against his chest, halting him from your boldness. (E/c) eyes look to the door, longing for anyone to enter and stop this madness. Your voice is quiet, moisture inside your mouth gone from the alcohol, bath heat and sexual actions of these men, "One day... One day someone will stop you."

The amused rumble from Phainon's chest made your heart sink. Then, when Mydei's fierce eyes sharped as his grin showed too many teeth to bring an intense foreboding to flood your veins, you shrank back into Phainon as he suddenly seemed to be the lesser of two evils. Mydei scoffed and gripped the base of your neck, your chin tilted up on the curve of his thumb and index as he held you just hard enough to make you wheeze and meet his eyes, "That day won't be a day you're alive."

When he finally let go, the world around you went white and your head couldn't tell which way gravity was holding you. Thankfully, you had your two heroes to keep you safe.

[vegan-peppermint]

Frost and Flour

Pairing: Krampus!konigx reader

Cw: size kink, power play, slight cnc, breeding;

Inspired by this post.

Summery: in your village, men would dress as monsters on Christmas stealing women and children and run around the town. Your krampus had other ideas.

Did not proof read, I saw this post yesterday and tried to speed run this fic for it to be ready before Christmas. Might be bad and rushed. Will edit after new years.

Word count: 4k

The snow fell thick and soft, blanketing the jagged peaks of the mountains like a heavy quilt. The air was sharp and bracing, scented faintly with pine and the smoky warmth of wood-burning stoves. This was the village of your childhood Christmases, a place where the world seemed smaller, quieter, and steeped in old traditions. Nestled deep in the heart of the mountains, it felt like a hidden pocket of time where the modern world dared not intrude.

Traditions are the heart of the holidays, the thread that weaves magic into the season and shapes the way people celebrate. In every corner of the world, they bring warmth and wonder: streets lit up with strands of melted honey, the soft glow of advent candles peaking through the frosty windows and the -oh too comforting- aroma of cookies baking in old family kitchens.

But this village had its own unique tradition, one that set it apart from the glittering cities and quaint holiday fairs elsewhere. Here, Christmas wasn't just about warmth and cheer, it carried a shadow, a reverence for the old ways—

both enchanting and a little haunting.

When winter arrived and snow blanketed the wooden rooftops, the young people who had left for the city always hurried back to their childhood homes. So did you. This year, you came earlier than most, arriving in November to help at your family’s bakery. The holiday season brought plenty of special orders, far too much for your grandmother’s old hands to handle alone.

As your hands kneaded the cookie dough behind the counter, your mind was heavy with thoughts and debates. The life you’d built back in the States wasn’t bad—a steady job, a cozy apartment near the city center—but as the warmth of this small, close-knit community enveloped you, a cold stone pressed heavily in your chest. Before sinking any deeper, the bell on the door jingled.

"Hello! Welcome to Frost and Flour, how can I help you today?" you greeted with a cheerful smile.

The man—who, no doubt, had to bow his head to fit through the doorframe—returned the smile, his lips barely visible beneath a fluffy green wool scarf.

"Hallo," his voice came out muffled, the words soft behind the thick fabric. Snowflakes clung to his blonde hair, drifting down like sugar crystals. He shook his head with a swift motion, trying to flick them off, and the gesture reminded you of a puppy entering your shop on a snowy day.

You recognized him, yet you couldn't really match the face to the name. He was the son of the lovely, old woman living on your street, Frau Lieder. Unlike her son, who resembled the mountains that surrounded your village rather than a man, Frau Lieder was as delicate as a breeze, tiny as an ant. Even though she was always quiet and humble, she'd always sit upright and proud when talking about her son, the colonel.

"It's not too late to place an order, no?" He spoke, taking his scarf off revealing his red, frozen cheeks.

"No, not at all. Come in, come in!" You encouraged quickly running to the tap to wash your hands off. "It's really freezing outside! Would you like anything warm to drink? Coffee, or tea?"

He shook his head in refusal, but the way his frozen eyelashes trembled seemed to tell a different story. "How about a coffee? I made too much for myself already," you patted your hands dry on the apron.

The man opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him a chance. Gently guiding him to an empty table, you set down the coffee before him and sat down beside him, placing your own cup next to his to ease the tension. He didn’t seem eager to speak, so you attempted to fill the silence, though your words came out a little more forced than usual.

"You came a long way, didn't you? You look like a snowman," you remarked, trying to break the ice.

He only hummed in response, a soft sound, and you hesitated for a moment before pressing on. "Want sugar in your coffee?"

"It's fine like this, thank you," he said, his voice calm but distant.

An awkward silence settled between you both, thick and uncomfortable. He looked tired so you decided to give up. Not everyone wants to chit-chat, you understood that.

"So, what do you want to order?" You got right to the point.

"Oh, Ja... I need two Stollen," he replied.

"Yeah, we can definitely do that," you said, quickly moving into a list of other things you could offer. You kept talking, listing the flavors and sweet treats, drifting in how they were made and why you made them the best. He seemed taken aback by your sudden burst, but after a while, you saw him relax. He leaned back in his chair, spreading his legs comfortably, and took another sip of his coffee, the steam rising around him like a cloud. His icy blue eyes didn’t leave you as you talked, causing your words to spill faster. They were fixed on you with a piercing intensity, scanning your every expression.

"So I think you should really add the chocolate cookies- we also make them vegan if that's the case-"

"That sounds good," he finally said, agreeing to the order. You jotted it down quickly.

"Great choice, I'll throw in some samples of the others as well!" You grinned, excited for people to try your new recipes.

The cups were filled with coffee still. You lingered as much as you could, writing as to avert his eyes. What's up with people with blue eyes and staring like that? You could still feel his gaze on you as you re-read the same 5 items for the thousandth time.

You shifted in your seat, unsure of what to do with yourself. He seemed to notice, and you caught the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

"Something wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with a playful tease.

You swallowed, trying to regain your composure. "No, just... not used to quiet customers," you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

He hummed, just as you were accustomed. You stood up quickly, feeling the need to escape the weight of the silence, and found something to occupy yourself behind the counter, fiddling with a few stray utensils. The soft clink of ceramic was the only sound until, after a moment, he spoke. "You going to the Christmas fest tonight?" His voice was low, almost secretive.

"Yeah, so excited," you replied with a laugh, grateful for the change in topic. "It’s the reason I came all this way!"

"Me too," he said solemnly, and something familiar downed on you. That’s when it hit you. "You're the one dressing as Krampus, aren't you?" you exclaimed, a bit too eagerly.

The surprise on his face was brief, quickly replaced by an expression that matched your own newfound curiosity. "I—I remember you," you added, turning to face him, a rush of memories flooding back. "Last year, I brought my younger sister too—you stole her and lifted her up in the air—swinging her around. She loved it so much."

"Ah, seems like I did a shit job—kids are supposed to be afraid of me," he chuckled.

You thought about the scary outfit he'll wear tonight, the furs that will coat his big back doubling him in size. How he'll run around, stalking and shouting- you couldn't help but hope he will be chasing you as well.

"Being punished by Krampus sounds pretty good, to be honest—"

You caught yourself too late, the words already hanging awkwardly between you. Maybe if you played dead, he’d just walk away, pretend nothing happened. You refused to acknowledge what you’d said, refusing to even glance at him. Faking a heart attack or any kind of medical emergency sounded plausible—anything to escape the tension creeping up your spine. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable.

You opened your mouth but no words came out.

A Christmas miracle happened right in that moment as an elderly customer entered the shop.

"Welcome to Frost and Flour! How can I help you?" You beamed without skipping a beat, grateful you didn't have to start choking or throw yourself on the floor.

As you listened to the customer and answered his questions, you felt a heavy set of eyes pressing down on your frame. You didn't look at him again, tried really hard not to. He finished his coffee, got up, and left without saying a word. At the last possible moment, the second between the door hitting the frame, his eyes met yours for one last time. And as the door shut with a loud thud, leaving a sudden silence in its wake, you realized you hadn't asked for his name. You looked down at the empty line left at the bottom of his order and wrote:

Krampus.

The sun set down, the sky turned from blue to orange and back to blue again. You had met with some friends at the small Christmas market, wandering around the little wooden shops that lined the square. Laughter and chatter filled the chilly air as you and your friends picked up festive Christmas toys, nibbled on gingerbread, and sipped warm drinks. The air was alive with the sound of the Christmas choir, their voices drifting through the market and adding a touch of magic to the evening.

As time passed and the night grew darker, the atmosphere shifted. The carolers’ songs faded and adults began to gather around the tables, glasses in hand. It wasn’t long before Krampuses started appearing, stalking through the crowd. The sound of children screaming and running to their parents echoed through the square, while some men pretended to be brave, stepping forward to protect their girlfriends. You couldn’t help but laugh as some of your friends found themselves the prey of a particularly mischievous Krampus, who chased them with exaggerated growls, making the whole scene feel like a playful dance between fear and festivity.

"What's wrong?" Your friend asked through laughter. "Come on, why they long face?"

You suddenly became aware of your thoughtful expression and quickly excused yourself. You had been thinking about your Krampus- both embarrassed and hopeful to see him again. "You better cheer up soon, or the krampus will get you!" Another friend teased.

The air was suddenly filled with the deep, resonant thud of drums, each beat like a heartbeat pounding through the square. A group of men pushed their way through the crowd, their rhythmic movements sharp and precise, their boots striking the cobblestones with deliberate thuds. Their dance was primal and hypnotic, an echo of something ancient and untamed. Behind them, two towering Krampuses loomed, their enormous cowbells clanging with a deafening ring that sent shivers through the crowd. Draped in heavy, fur-lined cloaks that swayed with each step, their grotesque masks twisted into demonic faces that seemed to leer at anyone who dared to meet their gaze. The crowd recoiled instinctively, a ripple of nervous laughter and gasps breaking the tension as the Krampuses stalked forward, commanding both fear and awe.

The main drummer, the same one who had parted the crowd in two, struck his drum with a horrendous bang that swallowed all other noise. In unison, the crowd fell silent, their collective breath caught in their chests. Yet, despite the stillness, a distant rhythm lingered in the air—a pulsing thrum that echoed: the rapid, heavy pounding of every heart present.

Thud!

The crowed took a step back in anticipation as the Krampuses looked around hungrily.

Thud! Thud!

The beats served as a count down, a warning and threat before the krampuses will be set free. You were too mesmerized by the show that you haven't realized you were being watched.

Thud! Thud! THUD!

That's when you noticed the taller monster staying still, focusing on you. Shivers creeped unbidden down your spine, cold and sharp, leaving goosebumps as they passed. Your stomach plummeted, a hollow, twisting ache of dread settling deep within you, even before your gaze met his. You didn’t need to see his eyes to recognize it was him—undeniably, inescapably him.

The rhythmic pounding of the drums grew faster, more frantic, but the meaning escaped you, lost in the haze of your thoughts. Blurred figures rushed past, their panicked shouts blending into something you barely registered. Shoulders slammed into you, hands shoved, voices screamed, everything—the chaos, the fear, the blinding motion—blurred and faded, except for that mask. That awful, looming mask. Its hollow gaze pinned you in place, your focus narrowing until it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Then, like the sharp crack of a pin dropping onto glass, the veil lifted. The muffled roars of the crowd became deafening, the banging and fireworks thundered in your ears, and the swell of scared people pressed against you, pulling you back into reality.

Run.

The word tore through your mind, an instinct louder than the drums, louder than the crazy fantasies you had. Run. You have to run.

The adrenaline hit you in full force, blood pumping hot through your veins as your feet pounded against the uneven ground. The small, twisted streets were making it harder for you, but you didn’t dare look back—you didn’t need to. You knew he was there. You could feel it, like a cold breath on the back of your neck.

You knew in the moment you broke eye contact, the second your body shifted to flee, he was already moving. His feet swept through the mud, closing the distance with the precision of a predator. He wasn’t chasing—you realized, with a spike of fear—he was hunting.

Exhaustion hit you hard, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your legs felt like lead, slowing to a near halt. Your body begged for rest, and you made the mistake of glancing over your shoulder. The street was empty—silent. No sign of him, nothing but the faint echo of your own heavy breathing. As you huffed in relief, grateful for the brief moment of peace, a hand clamped down on your waist, and another shot up to cover your mouth, muffling the scream you let out instinctively.

It all happened so fast, the way he grabbed you and spun you on his shoulder as if you weighted nothing. He ran away with you through the crowds, some people cheered and others ran away in fear of being the next victim. He ran past the crowds, past the houses and the gardens. The snow was getting higher and the lights were getting dimmer as the two of you strayed further from the towns fest.

No matter how much you screamed or how many questions you'd ask, he'd remain silent, eyes straight ahead not minding you at all.

"Please, stop! Put me down!" you begged for what felt like the hundredth time.

This time, he paused. With a grunt, he hurled you onto the snow-covered ground, your body colliding with the icy surface.

"You make so much noise," he growled, his voice low and rough. "I wonder how much louder you can get."

You stumbled onto your feet but the slippery ground betrayed you as you slipped again. Above you, the massive figure loomed, his imposing horns casting jagged shadows across the snow.

Your eyes were getting watery and your lip began to tremble. You were scared- your heart thumping and body trembling, that was fear. But the excitement that grew in your stomach and the urge to rub your legs against each other were something else entirely.

"Please," you whispered as a last plea, curling up as to make yourself as small as possible.

"Don't play dumb with me, little one. You deserve to be punished, you'll take what I'll give you and say thank you," he said.

Your eyes moved frantically from his mask to his muddy boots, then up his legs to the hard erection visible through his black pants before meeting the black holes where eyes were supposed to be.

"Please," you cried out doe eyed not sure what you were begging for.

The beast fell to his knees with a heavy sound making you flinch. You tried to push yourself further, but his strong hand grabbed at your ankle harshly. He dragged you by the foot, your skirt rising up as your ass slided on the cold snow. He let go of your leg, hand moving to your inner knee, slowly dragging his nails up your thigh.

"So sensitive," he coes when your skin reacts so eagerly to his touch. You instinctively grabbed at his hand which hovered above your panties. He paused his movement, seemingly amused at your attempt. "Go on," he leaned closer, covering your body with his own, the mask mere inches from your face. "Fight back," he breathed out a threat. "Try and fight me off, little lamb."

His hand slapped your clothed pussy, the weak attempt at a stopping him completly ignored. You let out a loud moan at the sudden feeling of pain.

His calloused hand started rubbing up and down the thin fabric. The daunting realization of how wet being hunted down like pray made you hit you as the panties became drenched.

"Aren't you ashamed?" He teased, fiddling with the zipper of his pants, tugging them just enough to free his large cock. "Being violated gets you this wet, Schatz?"

You whimper and squirm trying to get away from his touch, thriwing your hands at him- scratching and grabbing at his horns and neck.

Pathetic. That’s the only word for it. You know you’re not trying to escape or fight back. No, you’re just edging him on, hoping he'll snap and take out all his built up anger on you.

He easily grabs your wrists in one rapid motion. No matter how much you'd try, pulling with your whole body and then some, his grip would effortlessly stay the same.

"I'm going to fuck you," he announced pinning your hands above your head with one hand. "You will cry and scream and plead- and you will swallow every inch I give you."

He pulled your panties to the side placing his angry tip at the entrance. In the dead of night, under the midnight sky the lewd, wet sound of his dick spreading your juices was so loud.

No waiting, he pushed himself inside your throbbing cunt splitting you open.

"F-Fuck," you plead. "T-Too big, 's too big!" Your gummy walls stretch around his girth, causing your to choke in pain. The resistance slowly fades away as your cunt leaks more with every shallow thrust as he fills you up in ways you've never thought were possible.

"You can take it," he hissed, allowing you to adjust to his size. His cock was throbbing inside of you, pulsating eagerly. "You feel that? Feel what you do to me? I'm so hard for you, Schatz. Don't you wanna make me feel good?"

"Agh~," you cry out as you feel more of his size slipping inside your wet cunt. He let's go of his tight grip bringing one of your hands down to your stomach. His hand on top of yours as he's bullying his cock inside you. You feel him moving, the buldge in your stomach rising and lowering in sync with his thrusts. He growled loudly as you spammed around his dick so soon, moaning loudly and rolling your eyes in the back of your head, finally allowing him complete access as you cum on his fat cock.

"You're the tightest cunt I've fucked in a long time," he said bringing his hands on your hips angling you slightly better. His balls were hanging on your ass and his tip was pushing twords your womb.

If you could think straight, you'd be embarrassed of cumming just from being filled, of the moans and gasps you made with every inch he gave you. But the warmth of the village is distant and the ground behind your back is freezing, you need him- his warmth- to keep the cold from swallowing you whole.

Through teary eyes, you look at him. The faint light spilling from the village clings to his mask and coat, tracing his silhouette in an otherworldly glow, as if he were carved from shadow and firelight. He is no longer just a man draped in beast's clothes;

And yet, his gaze lingers on you, heavy and unreadable, somewhere between a silent threat or solemn apology.

It started slowly, dragging his member out then pushing it back in with slightly more forced than before. Your whole body was pressed deeper into the ground, head bobbling to his increasing rhythm.

One if his hands reached up to your chest, cupping one of your breast through the cotton material of your dress, the other digging into the side of your hip. He found your hardend nipple with ease, rubbing it between his fingers. He'd pinch and drag them only to see them bounce more viciously.

"Shush," he'd scold through heavy breaths. "If you keep moaning like that people will hear you. They'll see you spread wide getting your pussy stuffed, is that what you want?"

When his words were only getting you more riled up, he'd let go of your hips moving it to your loud mouth. He fell onto of you, his heavy body crushing your smaller frame, one hand desperately pulling at your tits while the other pressing hard on your mouth. He pounded into you like a man starved, abusing your needy hole.

You looked so pretty right now, your Krampus thought behind his mask. Your face was flushed, your eyelashes sticking together from tears. Strands of hair, damp from the snow melting behind you, clung to your face, yet your eyes were hazed with pleasure. He got you like this, so pathetic and cock drunk. You tried to say something but your words were muffled.

"Shut up, just a little- a little longer longer-," he sounded desperate, a change in his steady demeanor. "You'll take all I give you, every last drop of cum- Fuck- I'll pump you full of cum, you horny bitch," he groand against your neck, thrusting into you deeper than before.

He fucked you through his orgasm, cock twitching and slaming hot cum inside your cunt, a white ring foaming where your body met.

He fucked you through your orgasm, his dick barelling into you making sure you won't spill a drop of this gift he had given you.

Your legs were shaking around him, hands dirty and tired from clawing at the ground. His chest rumbled against your own.

After he pulled out, he shoved his fingers in its place- pushing his cum deep into you. You'd lick them clean afterwards, after he pulled you back on your feet. Your eyes tried to find his behind the devil mask, as his fingers explored your mouth.

You didn't.

The night didn’t feel as cold as before, the stars no longer just wishes in the sky, but silent witnesses to everything that had unfolded. You didn’t dare move, or speak—not before he would at least. You tensed, waiting for words that never came, as he grabbed you with an eerie calm, lifting you once more, just as he had in the beginning

[oaksgrove]

Charmed by Two

pairing: John Price x singlemom!Reader

synopsis: When John Price steps into your life, he’s not just falling for you—he’s falling for your spirited 4-year-old daughter, too. Without a father figure in sight, Price finds himself enchanted by the little girl’s charm and innocence. As he slowly earns her trust with bedtime stories, backyard adventures, and a well-placed British wit, he also finds himself falling deeper for you. But his determination to impress you both comes with a question: can he truly be the man you both deserve?

word count: 1574

warnings: Fluff, mild angst (discussions of past relationships), Price’s fatherly charm, emotional moments, and a lot of found-family vibes.

John Price had been in plenty of tight spots before—ambushes, firefights, missions that left him questioning if he’d make it home. He’d spent most of his adult life on the battlefield, navigating dangerous situations and making life-or-death decisions. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the delicate operation of holding a tiny pink teacup in his calloused hands,  pinky out, under the watchful eye of a four-year-old who was beaming up at him like he’d just hung the moon.  

"Mr. Price," she said with all the seriousness her little voice could muster, "you’re not holding it right. Your pinky has to stick out like this!" She demonstrated, her tiny pinky jutting out at an angle as she lifted her cup of imaginary tea.  

John chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest, and she giggled in response. "Right, right," he said, mimicking her movements, awkwardly extending his pinky. "Like a proper gentleman, yeah?"  

"Yes!" she exclaimed, her curls bouncing as she nodded.  

"Careful," your daughter warned, her tiny brows furrowing in a perfect imitation of your serious face. "You can’t spill it. This is very important tea."

"Got it, ma’am," he replied, his gravelly voice warm with humor. His pinky stuck out awkwardly as he mimicked her movements, holding the teacup steady. "Wouldn’t want to ruin the most important tea of the year."

She giggled, her curls bouncing as she leaned forward to pour another round of imaginary tea from her plastic teapot. "It’s the best tea in the world," she declared.

Price didn’t miss a beat, bringing the empty cup to his lips and sipping with exaggerated gusto. "Ah, perfect brew. You’re a natural, love. Could open your own tea shop."

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed at him like he’d just handed her the moon. "Really? You’d come to my tea shop?"

"Every day," he said solemnly. "I’d be your best customer."

From the doorway, you watched the scene unfold, your heart swelling at the sight. You hadn’t expected John to bond so easily with your daughter. When you’d first introduced them, you’d been nervous—terrified, even. She was your world, and letting someone into her life wasn’t something you did lightly. But John had stepped into the role with a natural ease that left you in awe.  

It wasn’t just the little things, like playing tea parties or reading her bedtime stories. It was the way he listened to her, the way he knelt to her level when she spoke, the way he made her feel important. He had a quiet patience with her that made your chest ache, especially knowing how her father had never shown her the same.  

"More tea, sir?" your daughter asked, holding out the teapot.  

"Don’t mind if I do," he replied, holding out his cup with a grin.  

She poured the imaginary tea with the utmost concentration, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth. When she finished, she beamed up at him. "There! Now you have to drink it all, or it’s bad manners."  

"Bad manners, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Well, can’t have that."  

He brought the empty cup to his lips, making an exaggerated sipping sound, then smacked his lips. "Ah, that’s the best tea I’ve ever had."  

She erupted into giggles, her laughter filling the room.  

You couldn’t help but smile as you leaned against the doorframe. When he glanced up and caught your eye, his expression softened. He gave you a small, almost shy smile, as if to say, I’m trying my best.  

And he was.  

-

Later that evening, after your daughter had been tucked into bed and the house had fallen quiet, You found John in the kitchen, rinsing out the teacups she’d insisted on washing after the party. He looked up as you entered, a dish towel slung over one shoulder.

"Tea party wear you out?" you teased.  

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "She’s got more energy than I do, that’s for sure."  

"She adores you, you know," you said softly, your gaze steady on him.  

His eyes flicked to yours, something tender and vulnerable in his expression. "Yeah?"  

You nodded. "She talks about you all the time. Says you’re her hero."  

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but there was a weight behind his smile. "She’s a good kid. Smart, too. You’ve done a hell of a job with her."  

"Thank you," you murmured, your chest tightening. "But you’re the one she looks at like that now. Like you’re her whole world."  

His eyes distant for a moment before he turned to you. "I’ve never had anything like this before," he admitted. "Never thought I’d… fit into something like this. But I want to. For her. For you."  

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you reached out to his arm. "You do fit, John. Better than I ever imagined."  

He squeezed your hand, his voice low and steady. "I know I can’t replace… I know I’m not her dad. But I’ll do right by her, for as long as you’ll let me."  

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your heart full. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."  

You smiled despite yourself, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something deeper.

This wasn’t the first time he’d spent an afternoon entertaining your daughter, but it was the first time you let yourself really think about what it meant. He wasn’t just playing along; he was present in a way you hadn’t expected. In a way that scared you.

This wasn’t something you’d planned for. When you’d first met John, you’d been cautious. He was older, gruff, and came with the kind of baggage you knew could complicate things. And you had your daughter to think about—her safety, her happiness. Letting someone into her life wasn’t just a decision for you; it was a decision for both of you.

And yet, here he was looking at your daughter like she was the most important person in the world. It was endearing, yes, but it also scared you. What if this didn’t last? What if he decided this wasn’t the life he wanted?

You closed your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. The logical part of you knew John cared, but the quieter, more insecure part of you couldn’t help but question if this was all temporary. Was he here for you? For her? Or just because it was easy right now?

"Love, you alright?"

His voice startled you, and you quickly wiped your hands on your jeans, pretending you hadn’t been lost in your thoughts. He was looking directly at you, the tiara still perched on his head, though slightly askew. His eyes were soft, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Yeah," you said quickly, offering him a small smile. "Just… thinking."

"You’ve got that look," he murmured.

"What look?"

"The one you get when you’re overthinking something," he said, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "Want to tell me about it?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you glanced past him toward the living room, where your daughter was now busy rearranging her tea set. "She really likes you," you said quietly.

John didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you carefully. "And you’re worried about that?" 

You let out a shaky breath. "She’s already been let down once. I don’t want her to get attached if…" Your voice trailed off, and you shook your head, looking away.

"If I leave?" he finished gently.

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "It’s not just about her, though," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s about me, too."

His expression softened, and he reached out to take your hands in his. "Look at me, love."

You did, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes. "She’s brilliant, smart as a whip, full of life… she reminds me of you."  

"I know I can’t erase what she’s been through," he said quietly. "And I know I can’t promise to be perfect. But I’m here because I want to be. For her. For you. I’m not going anywhere." he continued, his voice low and steady.

You blinked up at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt, but there was none. Tears stung your eyes, and you bit your lip, trying to keep them at bay. "You mean that?"

"With everything I’ve got," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I know you’ve been hurt before, and I know you’re scared, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it. I care about her, and I care about you. Both of you."

Tears welled in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. "I just… I don’t want to get this wrong."

"You’re not getting it wrong," he murmured, stepping closer until his forehead was nearly touching yours. "We’re figuring it out together. Yeah?"

You nodded, exhaling shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek. He reached up to brush it away with his thumb, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Besides," he added with a small grin, "I think your little one’s already decided I’m sticking around. She said I’m her best customer, remember?"

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing. "She really has taken to you."

"And I’ve taken to her," he said simply. "To both of you."

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