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minniesfiles · 2 months ago

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A THOUSAND SORRIES

Your phone died without you realising it while at your high school reunion party. So when your best friend requested an old classmate to drop you home, you didn’t realise how much it would shake your relationship with your husband, who you swore would’ve never doubted your loyalty.

❧ PAIRING; seungcheol x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; established relationship, arguing, swearing, crying, seungcheol is a little bit of an asshole, hurt with a lot of comforting, maybe a little overdramatic, fluff

❧ WORDCOUNT; 8.7k

[ part of the Silent Treatment series ]

𐚁₊⊹

▍7 MAY 2024

“Shit, it’s almost one,” you muttered, eyes slightly wide as the glowing red digits on the wall clock stared back at you.

You were still perched on the velvet sofa at the back of the club, your head buzzing slightly from a mix of alcohol and adrenaline. Everyone around you was still laughing. Some sloppily dancing and others in tight huddles catching up over half-spilled drinks.

The night completely ran away from you. You and your friends had gotten too caught up in celebrating your high school reunion, hosted by one of your classmates who now owned the club, to notice how late it had gotten. And more importantly, you were too distracted to notice that your phone died — nearly two hours ago.

You closed your eyes and mentally kicked yourself. Who leaves the house with only fifty-percent battery? You, apparently. And it would’ve been fine — if Sujin didn’t insist on hijacking your phone for photos all night. “Your camera’s way better,” she said as she snapped an infinite amount of blurry selfies and group shots.

If you had that last five-percent, you could’ve booked a taxi by now, or at least texted your husband to let him know you were alive and not passed out in a gutter. But nope. You handed over your lifeline in exchange for better lighting and wider angles.

Still, you had to admit, the night was worth it. Ten years. That was how long it had been since you last saw these faces. Physically, some had changed beyond recognition, but there were moments where their seventeen-year-old selves peeked through. The way Beomseok, the school’s heartthrob, still threw his head back when he laughed. Or how Soyoung, the well-known bookworm, always over-explained her stories like she was giving a TED Talk.

Even the ones you never really liked, like that one girl who always made everything about her, brought a strange and unexpected wave of kindliness. Maybe it was the nostalgia. Maybe it was the drinks. Either way, you didn’t feel the irritation you used to. Just a weird fondness.

You let your mind drift back through the night — from the ridiculous dance-offs to the messy karaoke renditions of songs you didn’t hear in over five years. It was like slipping into a familiar old sweater, frayed in places but still comforting.

But now, reality knocked you back in your senses. You promised your Seungcheol you’d be home before midnight. He wasn’t the jealous type, but you knew he worried. And with your phone dead, no cash on hand, and no clue where your friends had scattered off to, you were stuck.

You scanned the club again, hoping to spot Sujin, maybe even your other friends at the very least. But nothing. Just bodies moving to the beat of some remix you didn’t recognise. You sat back and exhaled. You really didn’t know how you were getting home.

Sooner or later, you finally spotted Sujin over by the cocktail bar, half-laughing at something the bartender said as she swayed in rhythm to the music. The moment you saw her, relief washed over you like cold water, and you made your way towards her.

“Sujin,” you said, tapping her shoulder gently.

She turned around, a little startled. Her brow furrowed as she tried to hear you over the music. “Yeah?” she responded, a bit breathless.

You leaned in close, trying not to yell. “Do you know anyone who can drop me home? My phone’s dead and it’s getting really late. Seungcheol is probably losing it right now.”

Sujin’s expression shifted. She bit her lip and looked around as her eyes scanned the crowd of familiar strangers. “Ahh…” she muttered, her voice trailing off as she thought.

You could almost see the gears turning in her head. Then suddenly, her eyes widened. Her face lit up like someone just handed her the perfect answer.

“Minseok can drop you home!” she said, turning back to look at you.

“You know him, right?”

Of course you did. All too well. Minseok was your seatmate in physics back in your final year of high school. He was an astrology-obsessed nerd with a mop of hair always falling into his eyes and an inexplicable knack for blurting out random facts that you never asked for.

He once told you Mercury was in retrograde as you were about to fail a quiz, as if that was somehow helpful. Another time, he whispered a breakdown of Saturn’s rings during a fire drill. It wasn’t that he was mean, he was just…a lot. A walking trivia machine with no off switch. As harsh as it sounded, you didn’t miss him — not even a little.

“Seriously?” you said, half-horrified, half-resigned.

Sujin shrugged. “He’s sober. He came alone. And he’s not drinking, he’s literally sipping soda with lime like it’s a martini. He’s the safest bet.”

You groaned internally. Out of all the people, it had to be Minseok. You weren’t in the mood for a ride filled with awkward silence or worse — cosmic lectures about Venus retrogrades and your ‘energy aura’.

But desperate times, right?

Before you could protest, Sujin was already waving him over. “Hey, Minseok!” she called out.

You turned your head slowly, catching sight of him as he made his way through the crowd. He looked different, older obviously, but still very much him. His posture was straighter. His hair was neater, and he was dressed well in a simple button-up and dark jeans. Somehow, seeing him walk towards you didn’t feel quite as dreadful as you’d expected.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you?” Minseok greeted with a warm smile. You blinked in surprise. Not just at how relaxed he looked, but at his voice. It was deeper than you remembered. Smooth, even. Less nasal and less grating. Tolerable. Maybe even nice.

“I’m good. How about you?” you asked, offering a faint, polite smile. “I see you don’t wear your glasses anymore.”

He let out a low chuckle. “Ahh, I gave up on them and switched to contact lenses. It was a life changer,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like it was the most casual thing in the world.

“I see,” you said with a slight nod, unsure what else to add.

Before the silence could settle, Sujin jumped in. “So, Y/n needs a ride home. Can you drop her?”

“If you don’t mind,” you added quickly, almost reflexively. You didn’t want to sound like you were expecting anything.

Minseok didn’t hesitate. “Of course not! Let’s go,” he said, tilting his head toward the exit with a smile.

Your shoulders dropped as the tension left you in a soft breath. “Oh thank god,” you muttered, offering a more genuine smile in return.

You followed him out into the night where his car was parked a few yards away. Once inside, you gave him your address and he nodded before pulling smoothly onto the road.

The car ride was awkward, undeniably, but the soft music playing in the background drowned out most of it. He tried to make small conversations with you, only for you to give back short answers to avoid the awkwardness from growing. And he seemed to catch on to that, and decided no to press on too much.

╴╴╴╴╴

A few minutes later, Minseok pulled up outside your home. The street was quiet and dimly lit by the streetlamp. The neighborhood had long settled into silence — everyone asleep in their cosy homes.

You stepped out of the car and pulled your coat tighter around you as the cold air bit through the thin fabric. You turned back towards the driver’s side and leaned in slightly.

“Thank you so much Minseok. I really owe you,” you thanked him sincerely.

He gave you a small smile with his hands still on the steering wheel. “It’s okay Y/n,” he said softly, then added a chuckle. “It was nice seeing you after all these years.”

“You too,” you replied, returning the smile. You both waved each other a last goodbye before he drove off.

Turning to your house, you saw that the porch light was on. So were the lights in the living room. No surprise. Seungcheol was still awake.

As you stepped inside and started to kick off your shoes, you heard your husband’s voice hit you like a slap to the face. “Do you know what the fucking time is?” Seungcheol snapped from the hallway.

You froze mid-movement, caught off guard by the sheer aggression in his voice. You flinched while your hands were still on your laces. The look on his face was enough to stop you cold.

Rage was plastered across his face. His jaw was clenched so tight you saw the veins popping on his neck. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, like he hadn’t blinked in an hour. He stood there in his grey sweatpants and worn-out hoodie, but nothing about him looked relaxed. He was a coil pulled too tight.

Seungcheol never cursed, rarely even raised his voice. He always tried to stay calm and level-headed. So to see him like this, it threw you off.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you said as you inched closer. Your voice was shaky, but your instinct told you to close the distance. You wanted to calm him, to hug the anger away.

When you reached for him, Seuncheol stepped back and shoved your arms off gently, but firmly. That simple gesture was enough to make your chest tighten.

“And why weren’t you answering my calls or texts, huh? Do you know how fucking worried I was?” his voice rose.

You flinched at the harshness in his tone, and your shoulders curled in slightly as if to shield yourself. “My phone died,” you said softly. The words tasted pathetic the moment they left your lips, because you knew it was a poor of an excuse to explain yourself.

“That’s it?” he snapped.

“Your phone died? Then you could’ve borrowed someone else’s! You could’ve taken two damn seconds to call me and let me know you were alive Y/n!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the volume of his voice.

You could have called. But it didn’t even cross your mind. You were too distracted. You weren’t ignoring him. It just didn’t feel urgent. Until now.

But how could you say that without sounding selfish?

You didn’t say anything. You just stood there quietly, hollowed out by guilt. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes stinging with tears. You could feel it. You could feel your throat tightening, and that familiar ache building just behind your eyes.

“Please don’t be mad. I’m home now.”

You reached for his hand. This time, not out of instinct, but desperation. You needed to hold onto something.

But he pulled away.

That was the moment something inside you cracked.

“Who was that guy who dropped you home, huh?” he suddenly questioned.

You froze.

Of all the things he could have said, this wasn’t what you expected. The question didn’t match the man you knew. The man who never batted an eye when someone flirted with you. The man who used to laugh it off and pull you closer like he had nothing to prove. Jealousy had never been in his nature. At least, not until now.

Your eyes narrowed as you studied him. He just looked at you, waiting.

You frowned, feeling something inside you start to burn. You would’ve answered him directly, but the fact that he even asked, it flipped a switch in you. A part of you that stayed patient through his yelling had enough.

“What do you mean?” you asked flatly. You weren’t playing dumb. You genuinely wanted to know — why that was even his question. Of everything that happened tonight, this was what stuck with him?

“That guy,” he said again, slower this time, as if you were the one not understanding. “The one whose car you got out of. Who was he?”

Clearly he saw you. But you weren’t surprised.

You blinked at him in disbelief, followed by a humorless laugh that slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

The laughter died as quickly as it came. “Seungcheol? What are you trying to say? That I fucked him?”

You knew you were being dramatic, but the sting of it, the audacity of his doubt, made your heart sink. You just spent the last ten minutes apologising for something that wasn’t even completely your fault.

“That’s not what I meant!” Seungcheol quickly defended. But there was a small hint of guilt in his eyes. Like he knew he went too far but didn’t know how to walk it back.

“Then what did you mean, huh?” your voice cracked now, finally matching his in volume. ��You tell me what you’re implying!”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it. A beat passed between you. A silence filled with things neither of you were willing to say out loud.

“I saw you,” he finally said. “You were smiling. You looked so…comfortable with him.”

Sure you were grateful for Minseok for giving you a ride home, but being comfortable with him was the last thing you felt. So you could not believe how ridiculous he sounded right now.

“So what?” you stared at him.

When he had no answer to give you, you took a breath in to steady yourself.

“First of all, he’s not a stranger,” you said.

“His name is Minseok. We went to school together. He was Sujin’s suggestion because my phone was dead and I had no ride home.”

Seungcheol still didn’t speak. He just looked at you with his jaw clenched.

“And second of all,” you continued, walking closer to him.

“Don’t you dare turn this into some bullshit theory about me cheating. You know me better than that. Or at least, I thought you did.”

“I do know you,” he said, but the words sounded unsure now. “I just—I was scared Y/n.”

“I know,” you said, softer now, but still firm.

“And I’ve already apologised for not calling. I should’ve found a way. I get that. But you don’t get to throw baseless accusations at me just because you were scared.”

Seungcheol ran a hand through his hair as he paced a bit around the hallway. “I’m not saying you cheated. I just—seeing you with him, then coming home late, not answering me—it messed me up. I waited for hours, just imagining the worst. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t think.”

“I get it,” you repeated.

“But do you hear yourself? You think I’m out sleeping around because I got a ride from an old classmate? Because I smiled at him?”

Seungcheol sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it sounds stupid now.”

“It doesn’t just sound stupid Cheol,” your voice cracked, shaking your head. “It sounds like you don’t trust me.”

You gave him a last, glassy-eyed look before you walked past him. And as you did, your shoulder unintentionally bumped against his.

Seungcheol didn’t say a word. He didn’t even stop you. He just stood there, still and guilt-ridden, as he watched you disappear upstairs.

His face went pale, and his chest felt tight. He opened his mouth to speak, maybe to call your name, or maybe to say sorry. But no sound came out. What would it change? The damage was already done. He said the one thing he could never take back.

Seungcheol knew he messed up. He knew he crossed a line that might be too late to step back from. But in that moment, all he could do was stand there — frozen in the ruins of a conversation he never should have started that way.

You, on the other hand, tried so hard to stay composed. You willed your feet to keep moving, step by step up the stairs, while holding back the sobs building in your throat. Your chest felt like it was caving in.

But the second you reached your shared bedroom and closed the door behind you, everything broke loose.

You dropped onto the edge of the bed, like your body couldn’t carry the burden of your bottled up emotions any longer.

Your body began to shake as the first sob broke free. The first sob that escaped from your lips was sharp and strangled, followed by another. And another. Soon, they were pouring out of you uncontrollably. You curled in on yourself as your hands gripped the bedsheets, trying to stop the ache in your chest from spreading further.

But it was useless. The pain was too much.

You never imagined hearing those kinds of words from him. Not Seungcheol. Not the man who once told you he trusted you more than anyone in the world. The man who always said he didn’t need constant reassurance because “you’re my person.”

You weren’t crying just because he yelled at you. Or because of the jealousy. It was what it all meant. It was the implication behind his words, and the doubt in his voice. To you, it made you feel like you weren’t someone he could fully trust.

That hurt more than anything else. Because after everything you had been through together and every moment where he told you you were his safe space — it now felt like none of it mattered apparently.

Downstairs, Seungcheol sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands. The house was too quiet now. Except for the faint, muffled sound of your sobs upstairs. The sound shattered him more than anything. He knew you were trying to keep it in. You always did. But it wasn’t working tonight.

He could practically feel your pain from where he sat. Every cry of yours echoed in his ears, louder than anything else. His hands curled into fists at the thought of it — at the reality of him being the cause. He used to be the one who made you smile, and wipe your tears. He promised to never make you cry.

Now look at him.

Seungcheol hated himself for it. For letting his emotions get the best of him. For turning on the person he loved most. He would’ve fought anyone who made you cry like that — anyone — and yet tonight, he was the one who broke you. And now he didn’t know how to fix it.

He let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the sofa as his eyes trained on the ceiling like it could somehow offer an answer. But all he found there was more regret and more silence.

The sound of your crying didn’t stop. If anything, it became softer and more defeated. And that scared him more. Loud cries were pf pain. Silent ones were of emptiness. He knew the difference.

He replayed the argument in his head over and over. His words and how your expression changed, and the way you flinched. He saw it all. It wasn’t just what he said. It was how easily it came out, wnd how little thought he gave before hurting you.

The worst part was that none of this came from a place of true doubt in you. He didn’t really think you cheated. The thought didn’t even occur to him until his anger morphed into a kind of jealousy he hadn’t even felt before. He was just finding an excuse to lash out on you for being late and not answering his calls. He knew he shouldn’t have. And instead of dealing with it like a grown man, like a partner, he lashed out like a child.

Seungcheol cursed under his breath and stood up abruptly. He paced around the living room as he thought about going upstairs. Apologising. He wanted to tell you everything he should have said instead. But what would he even say? “I didn’t mean it”? That felt too small. Too late even.

But still, he had to try.

Reluctantly, Seungcheol made his way upstairs. Your cries had now dulled into soft, broken sniffles that barely reached past the bedroom door, but they still echoed in his ears like sirens.

He paused just before the door as his hand hovered over the knob. He didn’t know if he was ready to face you, not after the damage he caused with words spoken in both anger and fear. He always promised to protect your heart and to never break it. But now here he was, standing on the other side of a door that never felt more like a barrier between you.

Maybe he should’ve waited longer and gave you space to breathe. But space also meant distance, and he didn’t want distance, especially not tonight. Not when things already felt like they were slipping. He didn’t want you to think he didn’t trust you. He didn’t want you to think his doubt meant he didn’t love you. Because that wasn’t it. Not at all.

He turned the knob slowly and gently pushed the door open.

There he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, with your back to him. You wiped at your face quickly when you heard the door open, like you were trying to erase the evidence of your pain before he could see it.

But it was too late. Your eyes were red and glassy, and your movements stiff and tired. Without saying a word, you got up and walked across the room towards your vanity.

Seungcheol stood at the door. He wasn’t sure if he should come in or back away. But after a beat, he forced his feet to move.

“Baby…” he started softly, his voice cracking a little. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to start. Everything he wanted to tell you felt too small compared to the hurt he saw on your face.

You didn’t respond.

He took a few more steps, watching as you sat down at the vanity and began removing your makeup. You moved like you were a robot as you dabbed at your eyes and wiped your cheeks. You didn’t even look at him. To you, he might as well have been invisible.

“I’m sorry,” he said, stopping behind you. His voice was quiet and careful. “I didn’t mean what I said. Really. I was just…”

But you still didn’t respond.

The wipes in your hand were tossed into the bin beside the vanity with a bit more force than necessary, but your face stayed calm. Not cold. Just blank. That was somehow worse. The silence was deafening, like it was screaming at him louder than any words you could have thrown.

He didn’t push, though. He just stood there and watched helplessly as you rose from the chair and brushed past him without a word towards the wardrobe. You pulled out a clean pair of pyjamas, underwear, and a towel. Then you turned and made your way towards the bathroom.

Seungcheol was left standing in the middle of your bedroom like a ghost. Like a man who broke something sacred and didn’t know how to fix it. He slumped onto the bed with elbows on his knees and head in his hands. His shoulders sagged and his chest felt tighter.

He played it back again. Every word. Every raised tone. Every look of disbelief and hurt on your face. And he hated himself even more for it.

All he could think about was how you didn’t yell. You didn’t throw anything. You didn’t argue. You just…shut down. That was how he knew it hit you harder than even he realised.

The sound of running water from the bathroom filled the room faintly. It was the only thing that broke the silence now. He sat there for what felt like forever, unsure if he should leave, or if he should knock and ask to come in.

But he knew you needed this time. Time to process. Time to breathe.

His heart ached.

He wanted to walk into that bathroom and pull you into his arms. He wanted to apologise properly. To kiss your forehead and promise he’d do better. That he’d never let his fears cloud the love he had for you again. But something told him words weren’t going to be enough. Not after the hurt he had caused.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol stayed sitting on the bed, waiting. The silence was too suffocating, and he rubbed his hands together as nerves ate away at him. He didn’t move from the edge of the bed since you closed the bathroom door behind you. Part of him still wanted to go ant knock, to beg for a second chance right there.

But he knew better. You needed space, and for once, he was going to respect that.

When the bathroom door finally creaked open, his head snapped in that direction.

You saw you walking out slowly in your fresh set of silk pyjamas. Your damp hair stuck softly to your shoulders as you gently dried it with a towel. Your face was calm, but still unreadable. There was no trace of any emotion. No glance in his direction nor any words.

It was like he wasn’t even there.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing heavier by the second. The atmosphere was thick and tense. He opened his mouth to speak, but before a single word could leave, you turned on the hair dryer. The loud whir filled the room, drowning him out completely and silencing any attempt at conversation before it even began.

He watched as you dried your hair. There was nothing rushed about you, yet everything about you screamed restraint. You were containing your anger, holding back your pain. He could see it, even if you refused to show it.

When the hair dryer finally shut off, the silence that followed was almost louder. You didn’t look at him. You simply walked past the bed, flicked off the lights, and climbed under the covers without a word. As the room dimmed, the shadows softened everything but the ache in his chest.

Seungcheol stood there in the dark for a moment, unsure if he should follow or give you space. But the need to be close to you and to feel your warmth pulled him forward.

He climbed into the bed behind you slowly and carefully. Your back was facing him and your body was curled slightly away. He hesitated for a moment as his heart pounded. Then, inch by inch, he scooted closer. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you towards him, like he’d done so many nights before.

But, it didn’t feel the same this time.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck and breathed you in. You still smelled like the same shampoo he always teased you for hoarding in bulk. You still felt like home. But the stiffness in your body and the lack of response said everything he didn’t want to hear.

“Please baby,” he whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry.”

And he meant it. God, he meant it with every fiber of his being.

But you didn’t respond. Not with words. Not with a sigh. Not with a look.

Instead, your hand gently grabbed his wrist and nudged him away. You shifted forward, creating space between your bodies. He lay there, stunned, as his arm fell limply back to his side.

The cold hit him instantly. Not the air though, but the absence of you. The absence of your warmth and of your forgiveness. His heart dropped so far down, and so painfully, that he had to close his eyes to keep himself from falling apart.

To say his heart broke would be an understatement. It shattered into pieces. It hit the ground so hard, he swore he could hear the smash.

His eyes burned. He blinked to try to stop the tears before they could fall. But one slipped free. Then another.

Seungcheol didn’t cry often. He was strong and always the one to give you confidence during your doubts. But right now, he felt like sand slipping through fingers. Powerless to hold anything together.

He messed up. Bad. And he knew it.

He laid still. He was unsure if he should try again or stay silent. He stared at the ceiling in the dark, wondering how the hell he was going to fix this.

He’d apologise again in the morning. He’d make you your favourite breakfast. He’d give you space if that’s what you wanted, or hold you tighter if you let him. He just needed you to know that he never meant what he said. That no guy in the world could ever replace what you were to him. That his words were laced with panic and not reality.

He needed you to know that he was terrified of losing you, and in trying to keep you safe, he might have pushed you too far.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours. Sleep never came. Not for him.

Seungcheol listened to the rhythm of your breathing. He hoped that it would calm him. But it didn’t. It only reminded him how far he felt from you, even in the same bed.

He reached out once more, hesitatingly, and let his fingers hover inches from your back. Then he withdrew, letting his hand fall beside him again.

Tomorrow, he’d try again, and you hoped you would give him a chance.

▍8 MAY 2024

When Seungcheol woke up the next morning, he felt a slight chill immediately run through him. He shifted under the covers, and his body instinctively reached out across the bed to find you. But his hand landed on nothing but cold sheets. The side of the bed where you usually slept was empty.

Frowning, he pressed his palm against the mattress. It was cold — too cold. And he realised that you’d been up hours ago

Panic was slowly stirring in his gut. He rubbed his face tiredly, trying to get rid of the haze from his eyes as the soft sunlight bled in through the curtains. Maybe you were downstairs. Maybe you were just drinking tea or sitting in the living room. Maybe everything was fine. Maybe—

But the moment he sat up, he knew it wasn’t. The house was too quiet. Unnaturally so.

Normally, he’d hear you in the kitchen as you prepared breakfast for the two of you. And the smell. He could always smell the chamomile tea you made for him first thing, because you knew he needed it to start his day. You always made sure to have a cup ready for him. You’d have that soft, sleepy smile that made everything else in the world seem irrelevant.

Today, there was none of that.

There was no sound or smells. Not even the warmth of your presence.

Seungcheol’s heart was thudding uncomfortably in his chests as swung his legs over the bed. He sat there for a few seconds, hoping, praying that he’d hear something — anything — that would tell him you were still there.

But the silence was deafening.

With slightly trembling hands, he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. There were no messages from you, nor any missed calls. Just one new message from Sujin.

[SUJIN]:

You’re lucky I didn’t break your legs. How could you do that to her? She didn’t deserve any of it, Seungcheol. You better figure out how to fix this.

He stared at the message as the words burned into his brain. Sujin’s anger was expected. She was always protective of you, and sometimes even fiercely so.

He sent a quick message asking if you were with her, and patiently waited while biting onto his nails.

[SUJIN]:

Don’t worry about her, she’s safe.

Seungcheol let out a shaky breath of relief. While he was glad to know you were somewhere safe, it did nothing to calm the restlessness in his heart.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. His mind kept replaying everything from the night before — every word that came out of his mouth and every look on your face.

One of the reasons your relationship lasted so long and grew so strong was because of the deep understanding between you. You were always patient with each other. You were both always willing to listen and to step back when needed. You weren’t perfect, no couple was, but you respected each other enough to work through it all.

Arguments happened before, of course. Insignificant things, frustrations and disagreements. But never like this. Never so intense. Last night was different, because it felt like it reached somewhere much deeper than either of you ever touched before.

Seungcheol knew you weren’t someone who lashed out easily. You didn’t lose your temper or escalate fights. You were always thoughtful, even when you were hurt. You didn’t run from problems — you faced them with a calm strength that he always admired, even when he was too stubborn to show it.

In fact, to Seungcheol, you were always the more tolerant one between you both. You gave more grace. You forgave quicker and you loved harder. You were the one who always held the ship steady when the storms hit.

And that’s what made this morning so gut-wrenching.

For things to escalate so badly — for you to leave without a note or a word — that wasn’t you being dramatic. That was you protecting yourself. You were drawing a line he should have never forced you to draw.

The realisation twisted like a knife in his gut.

It wasn’t you being overly sensitive. It wasn’t you misunderstanding him. It was about him. His fear. His words. His failure to trust you when you deserved nothing less than unwavering belief.

The fight alone wasn’t the reason you left. You left because somewhere in the middle of his anger and unknown jealousy, he made you feel small. He made you feel in a way that questioned your loyalty. He hurt you badly.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

He couldn’t even lie to himself and say it was a misunderstanding. He crossed a line, and now he was standing on the wrong side of it with no way of knowing if he could bridge the gap.

Seungcheol leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He knew it would take more than just showing up at the door with flowers. He knew it would take more than empty words thrown in a moment of panic.

It would take time. Especially patience.

And he would do whatever it took to earn his way back. Even if it meant starting from the ground up.

╴╴╴╴╴

Seungcheol spent the next four hours doing everything he could to distract himself. He scrubbed every surface of the house until his hands were sore. He picked up things that didn’t even need cleaning. He even reorganised drawers that were untouched for months. He did anything to keep himself moving, anything to keep his mind off from the deafening silence filling the space you both used to share so easily.

When there was nothing left to clean, he threw himself into work. He opened his laptop and started answering emails he would have normally ignored. But he couldn’t focus. His mind was elsewhere entirely.

He could have gone into the office. He could have pretended that it was a normal day. But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. Because if he left the house, he’d miss the moment you came back.

That was when you’d come back.

Even as the hours dragged on, and hope started to thin like mist, he stayed. He stayed waiting. Regretting and hurting.

He checked his phone more times than he could count. He left you countless messages and calls in hopes that you would answer. And his heart jumped every time there was a vibration, only to be disappointed a second later. There were no answers from you. Only old notifications and an unread message from Sujin that was probably telling him to go fuck himself. Which was understandable.

But the silence from your end was killing him.

Just when he thought another second of waiting would crush him completely, he heard a soft click of the front door opening.

He nearly dropped the laptop off his lap in his scramble to stand up. He made his way quickly towards the hallway, nearly tripping over himself in the process.

And there you were.

You were bent over as you quietly slipped off your shoes. You were still in your pyjamas from the night before, with an oversized black jacket thrown over them.

You looked small and fragile. Exhausted.

He felt his heart twist painfully.

Your hair was slightly messy, and your face — God, your face — was red and puffy. It was obvious you hadn’t stopped crying, not for long anyway. You sniffed softly, blinking away fresh tears as you shoved your shoes aside without even sparing him a glance.

Seungcheol felt something inside him break.

“Baby,” he called out softly, voice cracking slightly as he took a cautious step forward.

But you didn’t respond. Not even paused. You just walked right past him.

He turned and followed you to the living room, helpless and desperate.

You shrugged off your jacket and placed it on the arm of the sofa, while your back was still facing him. You still didn’t look at him. You didn’t say a single word.

Seungcheol felt his chest tighten painfully, and his throat growing thick.

“Baby, please,” he choked out as he stepped closer.

Still, you said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, almost too quietly.

The words felt inadequate. They were empty compared to the hurt he caused. But he needed you to hear them. He needed you to know that he was willing to say it as many times as you needed. That he would spend the rest of his life making up for what he said.

“I know it’s not enough,” he continued, struggling to find his voice, “for the amount of hurt I’ve caused you by my words, but…” he trailed off, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat.

“I’m truly sorry,” he finally said.

You still didn’t turn around.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he said. The words were tumbling out now, more urgent and desperate.

“But I should have never said what I said. Never made you think I didn’t trust you. Fuck,” his voice cracked, fighting the tears he refused to let fall.

“Baby, I didn’t mean any of it. I really didn’t,” he cried.

He took another hesitant step closer. And he watched your shoulders tense, and how still you were, like you were holding yourself together by a thread.

He wanted to reach out and touch your hand. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and promise he’d never let anything like this happen again.

But he was terrified. He was terrified that if he pushed too hard, you’d pull even farther away.

“I was scared,” he admitted, his voice shaking.

“That’s not an excuse. It’s not. I let fear get to me. I let it make me doubt the person I trust more than anyone else in the world. And I hurt you. I hurt you when I should have been the one protecting you.”

Still nothing. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and deafeningly, long between you.

Seungcheol stood there feeling utterly helpless as his heart beat so painfully he thought it might break apart completely.

He wished he could rewind time. He wished he could take back every stupid and reckless word that came out of his mouth. But he couldn’t. All he could do was stand there, hurting and hoping that you would give him even a sliver of a chance to make things right.

He dropped his head, and his arms hung uselessly at his sides.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right now,” he said.

“Maybe not even tomorrow. Or the day after that. But I’ll be here. I’ll wait. However long it takes. I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

A tear finally escaped, trailing down his cheek. But he didn’t bother wiping it away.

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, voice cracking again. “I would never.”

For a moment, nothing happened. You didn’t move, nor speak.

Seungcheol felt like he was suffocating. The longer you stayed silent, the tighter the air felt in his lungs. The fact that you wouldn’t even look at him shattered him more.

You didn’t have to scream. You didn’t have to say a single word. Your silence was already deafening enough that it echoed louder than any insult or accusation he had ever faced.

He stood there for a moment, watching you. He could feel the distance between you. You were right there in front of him, but you felt so far away.

And that was unbearable.

So he stepped forward, cautiously. He reached out, almost hesitantly, and wrapped his arms gently around your waist from behind. You didn’t resist. You didn’t lean into him either. But you didn’t pull away. And to Seuncheol, it was the tiniest mercy he clung to it like a lifeline.

He pulled you in slowly, pressing your back against his chest. He hoped that the warmth of his touch could speak where his words failed. He leaned down and buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling a shaky breath.

Then, he started to sob. Quietly at first as his shoulders shuddered.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and thin. It was all he could manage at first.

“I’m so fucking sorry baby.” The words tumbled out again more desperately.

Seuncheol didn’t care if he sounded pathetic. He didn’t care that he was crying or pleading. All he cared about was the wall between you — the silence. If falling to pieces at your feet meant you’d speak to him again, he’d do it a thousand times.

“Scream at me,” he begged softly, his breath hitching. “Curse me. Heck, hit me. Just…please, say something baby. Anything.”

Still, you didn’t speak.

But then he felt the slightest shift in your body.

Your shoulders relaxed ever so slightly under his touch, and your head tilted just enough for him to feel your cheek brush lightly against his. You weren’t rigid anymore and you weren’t fighting his presence.

“Say something baby, please. Anything. I want to hear you,” Seungcheol pleaded with a shaky voice, tightening his arms around you. He could feel his heart pounding erratically against your back.

But you didn’t answer. You stayed still and silent. And the air felt too thick to breathe. He rested his forehead against your shoulder, eyes shut tightly as he tried to keep it together. His grip wasn’t forceful, but there was urgency in it.

A long minute passed in the choking silence. Then, just when he thought it would stretch on forever, he heard a soft whimper.

Seungcheol stiffened, and his heart began staggering. He slowly lifted his head, and listened.

Another whimper followed, then a sharp, broken breath. And then — sobs. Real, raw, heart-wrenching sobs.

You broke down in his arms.

Seungcheol froze, and soon panic began to swallow him.

“No, no, no…” he whispered as he quickly turned you around to face him.

“Hey— hey, baby” his hands moved to your face, cupping it gently. “Look at me, please.”

Your cheeks were damp and flushed, and your eyes swollen and red. And the moment he saw you like that, something inside him shattered. He never saw you cry like this. Not even during your worst arguments, not even during your lowest moments.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered as his thumbs brushed under your eyes to catch the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “Please. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, my love.”

His voice cracked mid-sentence, and his throat burned as if the words were scraping against the regret lodged there. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he mumbled as his breathing ragged, and his forehead gently pressed against yours now.

But you only cried harder.

Your body folded forward, and your forehead pressed into his chest as your sobs muffled against his shirt. He immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you like you were something fragile.

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispered again. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.”

He said it in a way to not just reassure you, but as if repeating it could somehow undo it. As if it could take back the words he let slip when he lost control.

You didn’t respond. But your fists clutched at the fabric of his shirt as you held him just tight enough for him to know that you weren’t pushing him away. Not entirely.

And that was enough for him to completely fall apart.

He stood there as he rocked you gently. Tears were spilling from his own eyes as your cries rang within the quiet house. He didn’t care that he was crying. He didn’t care about anything but you.

He’d never felt so powerless in his life.

“I thought I was losing you,” he confessed quietly.

“Last night…I panicked. When I saw that you weren’t picking up my calls or answering my texts, and then seeing you get out of someone else’s car…I lost it. And instead of asking if you were okay, I accused you. I doubted you. I hurt you.”

You hiccuped through your sobs, still clutching his shirt. You hadn’t spoken yet, but your pain said everything.

“I’ve never regretted anything more than that moment,” he said, voice breaking.

“I should’ve trusted you. I do trust you. I just didn’t trust myself to be enough. And I let that insecurity punish you instead.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, even though your eyes were still closed and streaming with tears. “You didn’t deserve that. You never have. You’ve always been the one who held us together. And I— I let my worst fear make me the one who tore us apart.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, not quite a word, but enough to make him freeze.

His hand trembled as hebrushed your hair back gently. “Please talk to me,” he whispered.

“I know I don’t deserve it right now, but…I just need to know if there’s even a piece of you that still wants to fight for us.”

He would understand if you didn’t. He’d hate it, and it would destroy him. But he’d understand.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, and for the first time since you walked through the door, your eyes met his. The look you gave him wasn’t angry. It was exhausted. Shattered and deeply sad.

It broke him all over again.

“I was scared too,” you finally said, your voice hoarse.

“I never thought we’d come to such a point. And I was scared that the person I trusted the most didn’t believe in me. That…you saw me the way strangers might. Like I could just…be thrown away.”

“No,” Seungcheol said quickly, shaking his head.

“Never. I don’t see you that way. I never have, and I never will. It’s all my fault for being so insecure when there was no reason to be.”

“You really hurt me,” you said in a whisper as more tears welled up in your eyes.

“I know,” he replied softly, forehead pressing against yours again.

“And I will spend as long as it takes proving to you that I’ll never let it happen again.”

╴╴╴╴╴

The two of you were cuddled up together on the sofa. You were wrapped up in each other with your bodies entangled in a way that words couldn’t describe properly. Because for the first time in what felt like forever, the quiet between you was simply peaceful.

You talked softly. It was obvious how tired you were with how your voice was low, but it was still full of honesty. The rawness of the last twenty-four hours still lingered, but neither of you ran from it.

You repeated how scared you were and how betrayed you felt, and Seungcheol listened to you without interrupting. His apologies kept streaming, and not just verbally but through his tears and trembling touches. Especially in the way he held you like you — like you were the most precious thing in the world.

Eventually, your words began to slow down. You started to speak less and less, and your sentences trailed off as your head rested more fully on his chest. He could feel your breath even out before your body slowly went limp.

You fell asleep on him mid-thought.

Seungcheol looked down at you and just…smiled. Not because he was relieved, nor because the hurt disappeared, but because you were here — in his arms. You trusted him enough to let your guard down again, even if it was only for a moment.

It meant a lot to him. More than anything.

He brushed his fingers gently across your cheek, and tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You shifted slightly in your sleep, your face scrunching just a bit before relaxing again. He chuckled under his breath and continued to trace your jawline with the back of his knuckles.

You were exhausted. He knew that.

Everything that went down last night drained you. You didn’t sleep properly, didn’t eat much either, and your body was finally demanding what your heart didn’t let it take: rest.

Carefully, Seungcheol slid out from beneath you, trying his best not to jostle you awake. You stirred just a little as your hand weakly clutched the hem of his shirt.

“It’s okay love. I’m right here,” he softly whispered, and you relaxed again before letting him go.

He stood up and stretched his back slightly, before he turned his gaze down to you. You looked so small curled up on the sofa like that.

Without another second of hesitation, he leaned down and gently scooped you up into his arms.

Your head fell against his shoulder as he lifted you. You didn’t stir much either. Seungcheol just let out a quiet sigh as he adjusted his grip and carried you towards the bedroom. He made sure that his footsteps were soft so you wouldn’t wake up.

When he reached the bedroom, he gently nudged the door open with his foot and walked over to the bed. He then placed you down slowly. His hands lingered at your sides for a second longer before he grabbed the blanket and pulled it over you, tucking it around your frame.

It was only three in the afternoon, but the sunlight peeking through the window gave everything a golden hue. He stood there for a moment, and just watched you breathe. You looked peaceful again. Not fully at ease, nor healed — but calm. And that was enough, for now.

You badly needed the rest.

And if he had anything to do with it, he’d make sure you had all the time in the world to feel like you had nothing to worry about.

Seungcheol sat on the edge of the bed, and his eyes never left your face. He reached out and brushed his fingers along your forehead, gently moving the strands of hair that had fallen across your features.

You always looked beautiful to him, but in this moment, you looked ethereal. Vulnerable, yes. But resilient too.

He leaned down slowly and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a promise that he would do better. Be better.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

He stayed beside you for a while, just watching. He sat listening to the way your breath slowed even more as you fell into a deeper slumber. The lines of tension in your face smoothed out and your lips parted slightly, while your hands loosened beneath the blanket.

Seungcheol didn’t want to leave your side, but he didn’t want to disturb you either. So after a long minute, he stood up quietly and took one last look at you before backing towards the door.

Before leaving, he turned back around, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

He loved you so much it hurt sometimes. But for the first time since yesterday, he felt like maybe there was still something worth rebuilding. And he was going to fight like hell to rebuild it. Brick by brick.

a/n; please like and reblog 🫶🏽

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alastorss · 1 year ago

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⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Alastor's antlers are embarrassingly, pathetically, unbearably sensitive.

He can't for the life of him figure out why—it's not like any of the other transfigured creatures wandering around the underworld were made this way. Most other animal-like sinners don't seem to care about or even acknowledge their characteristics.

Yet here he is, purposefully hiding them away just so that no one will discover his terrible weakness. Oh, what he would give to be like the others if only to ignore their incessantly uncomfortable presence on his head.

Perhaps it was a curse from heaven that made him this way, or karma that he was repaying from his life. Either way, he can't stand being touched.

At least, that's what he thought.

There's no malicious intent behind your hands, no glint in your eye that makes the primal instincts in his head scream at him to melt into the shadows. You're as gentle as can be, fingers running delicately along the intricacies of his antlers and stopping just at the ends of them.

"They're beautiful," you whisper with your eyes blown wide. Your shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath, probably from the adrenaline of standing so close to an Overlord like this. And Alastor, no less.

Your reliable hotelier. Your first real friend in the hotel. The one whose smile cannot be trusted.

But for some reason, you can't shake the feeling that he's looking at you with pure, genuine appreciation even if his smile is a little wonky.

"Why, thank you, darling!"

He jerks away from you quick as the wind, standing tall once again and towering over you. His expression has morphed into something more strained—you can tell by the way his face creases up as his eyes narrow.

He was the one who decided to invade your personal space while the two of you were arguing. He just didn't think that you would be so bold as to get distracted by his antlers and have the gall to reach out to touch them.

The worst part? The absolute worst part of it all is that no one in all the time he's been in Hell has been gentle with him like that.

Add that to the list of things he despises. Or likes. You're confusing him now.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You have some nerve, he thinks.

Your hands have found a new home resting atop his head, with your fingers combing through his hair and tracing up and down the curve of his antlers.

It becomes a nightly routine—him on the barstool or sitting in front of the piano and you standing behind him with your fingers tangled in his hair and your chin on his head, perched right between the horns. Others in the hotel have started to raise a brow, but you don't seem to care.

So when you finally decide to break routine, sitting on the opposite end of the couch from him, his eye twitches.

There isn't even an audience tonight, everyone else already tucked into bed save for Husk behind the bar who's too busy with a bottle to care. The silence between you is heavy as lead.

"Is something the matter?" Alastor finally abruptly asks, eyes narrowed at you from the side. You shift uncomfortably.

"Why would something be the matter?"

He's not in the mood for games right now. "This is the first time you've sat away from me in months," he observes.

You look at him, surprised by his hostility over this. "Well, Lucifer told me that you don't like—"

"Lucifer," he interrupts, head now whipping to the side so he can fully glare at you. "Knows nothing."

You blink at him, stunned. With the way he's acting, he almost seems... annoyed that you've decided to stop being so handsy?

Silence overcomes you again as you just stare at each other, completely at a loss of words. Alastor finally realizes his snappiness and composes himself once more, exhaling through his teeth.

His smile softens at you, missing its usual edge. You know him like this the best—head in your lap and antlers exposed. It's familiar to you in a way that it could never be to anyone else. At least, you hope that's true.

"He knows nothing," the radio demon says one more time for good measure, eyes drifting shut under the weight of your hands.

Alastor has never liked to be touched before. But maybe there is a first time for everything, and maybe the safety of your touch brings him enough ease that you're the first he admits he can tolerate.

His smile says it all. He's content like this, even if he would deny it with his chest if you ever told anyone else.

"Okay," you breathe. "I believe you."

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor fanfic #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor fluff #alastor hazbin hotel #faye's thoughts — ☁

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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

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Send The Pain Below

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: After you return from a mission severely injured, Bob can’t help but offer you as much help as possible.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts cause Bob. Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (kind of?), Mentions of Injuries/Blood

Author’s Note: Hey y’all! I had this on my WIP list and wanted to get it out, this wasn’t a request I just randomly wrote this and literally didn’t have a clue on how to end it to be quite honest lol. But I didn’t want it clogging up my drafts, and the idea was good in theory.

Word Count: 4,859

The elevator doors of the compound slid open with a quiet hiss, and you stepped out like your body might give out if you stopped moving for even a second.

Your boots landed heavy on the tile, your limp was masked only by sheer willpower and the remaining adrenaline you had running through your veins. Every step sent a bolt of pain up your legs, through your hips, lancing into your ribs and shoulders like tiny barbed wires that threaded themselves deeper with each shift. You didn’t stop to breathe–because it felt like if you tried to, your ribs were going to break.

Throughout the entire ride up to your living quarters, you hadn’t been still for a moment. You paced the tight space of the elevator like a caged animal–shaking, twitching, trying to outrun the memory of the fight. The metal walls had felt too close, too quiet, too loud with your thoughts.

Now, in the open hallway, your ears were still ringing. All you could smell was blood and dirt–iron and ash clinging to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. You didn’t know if it was your blood or someone else’s. You didn’t want to try and figure that out though.

“Hey, I called medical, they’re waiting for you.” Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room. He knew you were coming. He had been communicating with you through your comms the entire mission, and he had gotten a call from the extraction team who gave him a heads up on the damage you had taken.

”I’m fine.” You muttered back. Your steps were stiff, bordering on robotic. Blood had soaked through the fabric at your waist and dried in large dark patches. You were grateful you wore black tactical gear, because if you didn’t it probably would’ve looked like you worked at a butcher shop. One sleeve was ripped open, revealing a long, nasty cut that ran from your bicep to your elbow, and your back felt like it had been slammed through a concrete wall–and it actually had, or at least maybe in your haze you had convinced yourself that happened.

It was your first solo mission. A simple infiltration, Valentina had said. The mission description screamed that it was going to be quick and easy, you had planned it out so much, and you did everything right.

But it hadn’t been enough.

You rounded the corner into the living room, and all the conversations and commotion died instantly.

“Holy shit, Y/N.” Yelena said under her breath, getting up from the couch. You continued to drag yourself towards the washroom, ignoring the comment.

”Y/N, you’re not fine kid, come on–let’s not try to act tough right now. You need to go see medical.” Walker added, following suit with Yelena. You didn’t slow your steps, nor did you look back, because you knew if you stopped now you’d be glued to the floor, and you wouldn’t be able to keep moving.

You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back as you made your way towards the washroom with one hand trailing the edge of the wall to stabilize yourself. Your vision was swimming–edges soft, depth distorted–but you knew this floor, this hallway, this layout, and thankfully you could walk it blind if your sight gave out.

“Y/N you’re literally leaving a trail of blood across the floor, this isn’t a walk it off type of situation here.” Ava commented, joining in on the pestering, her voice sharp and worried. Yet you still didn’t answer them, you just kept moving.

”Is she even hearing us?” Walker asked, his voice dropping an octave, then a door in the hallway opened and Alexei poked his head out of his bedroom, disheveled and confused from the commotion that was happening, tying his robe around his beefy upper body. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and right when he saw you there was an immediate look of concern that appeared on his face.

“Dorogaya,” He called gently, his brows pinching “You walk like dead woman.” You clenched your jaw hard enough at his words that it made your teeth ache.

“Let someone help, yes?” He added, his voice softer now, as if his words might land easier that way, “You don’t get glory for dying on your feet.” You felt your fingers curl slightly against the wall, but you didn’t trust your voice enough to respond–not with the heat gathering behind your eyes, not with the pain that was spiking again through your spine.

”She’s not listening to anyone,” Ava muttered behind you, voice tight. You didn’t hear the rest of what they said.

The voices behind you melted into background noise–blurred and echoing like they were underwater. You just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Focused on the hall ahead, on the door you shared with Bob at the end of it. Your hand skimmed the wall, dragging along the paint like it was the only thing anchoring you upright.

The blood trail you left behind was uneven, smeared where your boot dragged slightly on the right side. You didn’t even feel the cuts anymore–not sharply, anyway. Just a dull throb beneath the surface of everything, like your whole body had been submerged in concrete and it was slowly starting to harden around you.

When you finally reached the door, you shouldered it open, and stumbled into the washroom. The light was too bright. The silence–too still.

You stood there for a second, just swaying feeling a wave of dizziness come over you. Then you slammed the door shut, and locked it, enclosing yourself in the small space you and Bob inhabited together.

Then it was just you.

You, and the sound of your breath–shallow, rattling, uneven, and crackling–shaking in your chest like it was a broken metronome. Now that you were alone you could also hear the light above you buzzing faintly, even though there was still a bit of bickering happening outside the door.

You moved stiffly to the switch for the fan and turned it on, letting the low hum kick in above your head. It vibrated in the walls, just enough to mute the sound of your breathing. Then you shuffled over to the shower, reaching in to turn on the hot water in one swift movement, hissing when your shoulder screamed out in pain. The pipes groaned slightly before water burst from the head, pounding into the tile like a rainstorm. Hot. Loud. And endless. Steam immediately began to fill the space, and that’s exactly what you needed–warmth, something to ease the pain that was about to come in full force.

All you wanted right now was solitude. You wanted to lick your wounds like an animal crawling into the shadows–quiet and wild and unwilling to be witnessed. You needed to hurt where no one could see it. Needed to unravel in private, where the grief could live without apology, and the shame could breathe.

You turned back toward the center of the washroom, your vision still swimming, limbs trembling slightly from the effort it had taken just to reach this far. The steam was already clouding the mirror, mercifully dulling the image of yourself–like even your reflection was sparing you the full truth of what you’d become.

You didn’t want to see it. Not clearly. Not yet.

Your fingers fumbled with the front of your vest, the fabric stiff and heavy with blood. It took two tries to get the buckle unclipped–your fingers were sticky and slippery, or maybe they were just numb–and when the strap finally gave, the release jolted your injured shoulder hard enough that your breath hitched through clenched teeth.

You pressed your lips together, hard, swallowing the sound before it could escape.

The velcro at your chest peeled back with a slow, wet rip, and the vest shifted. The weight of it–soaked through, dense and clinging–pulled down at your frame like it wanted to take you with it to the floor.

You reached up to shrug it off, and a bolt of pain exploded across your ribs. Your body locked up immediately, breath freezing in your lungs. For a moment, your knees threatened to buckle completely.

You caught yourself on the sink, gasping.

Your palm left a smear of blood against the porcelain.

Tears burned behind your eyes–not from sadness. From sheer, helpless agony.

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

You stayed hunched over the sink, chest heaving, shoulders trembling with the effort it took just to stay upright. The pain was beginning to spike higher with each passing second–as if your body, now freed from the armor, had decided it was safe to let you feel everything all at once.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, just briefly. Your reflection was almost gone now, consumed by steam. Just a shape. Just a shadow of what was left of you.

You reached out blindly for the medicine cabinet.

The metal clinked as you opened it, and your fingers searched through the shelves with shaky, clumsy movements until they found the bottle. White cap. Red label. Tylenol.

It was something and it was all you had.

You unscrewed the lid with fingers that barely cooperated, spilling two pills into your hand. You didn’t have the strength to care about how many milligrams it was or if you’d already taken some earlier–which for the record, you didn’t. All you knew was that the pain had to come down–just a little–before you could finish what needed to be done.

You popped the pills into your mouth and chewed.

Bitter.

Chalky.

The taste coated your tongue like poison. It hit the back of your throat like ash.

You reached down, turned the faucet on with your uninjured hand, and leaned in to catch a handful of lukewarm water. You brought it to your mouth quickly, sloshed it back, swallowed hard.

The pills scraped down your throat like gravel.

You stayed there for a moment, hunched over the sink, your hands braced on either side. The water kept running. The fan kept humming. The shower roared behind you, thick steam curling around your legs, climbing your spine.

You wanted to rest. Just for a second, but you knew you couldn’t.

Not while you were still covered in blood. Not while your pants were still clinging to your thigh like a bandage made of fabric and failure.

You let the water run. You didn’t have the energy to turn it off.

Your fingers drifted down toward your utility belt next. You unclipped it slowly, fumbling with the strap at your hip until it loosened and slid free. The belt thudded heavily to the floor, landing beside the vest. It sounded final. Like a chapter closing.

Then came your pants.

You didn’t want to look.

You already knew what was underneath–your thigh had been burning since the moment you’d hit the floor in that alley. Your hip had felt wet and wrong the second the rebar tore your side open.

Still, you slid your thumbs into the waistband and began to shimmy them down—inch by inch. Pain flared instantly.

The cut across your thigh had stuck to the inside lining. As the fabric peeled away, it reopened with a slick, wet sound and a wave of heat that flooded your vision with white.

You gasped again, one hand grabbing the counter to stay upright. Your breath broke mid-exhale, and the sound you made was something just shy of a sob.

Blood rolled down the side of your thigh in a thin, fresh ribbon.

You stood there half-undressed and trembling, your legs streaked with red, your body steaming in the mirror’s haze, and your throat thick with everything you were still trying to hold back.

————————

Outside in the hallway, the team hovered like ghosts–uncertain whether to press in or give space, tense with the kind of helpless energy that made people argue just to feel useful.

Walker had his ear against the wall, arms crossed, one brow furrowed as he strained to hear through the sound of the water. “I think I heard her,” he muttered. “She made a sound…Not good.”

“I told you she should’ve gone straight to medical,” Ava said under her breath, pacing a slow, tight line across the hall. “We should just go in there.”

“No,” Yelena cut in, her voice quieter but far more final. “She locked the door. Let her have a minute.”

“You saw her,” Walker snapped. “She doesn’t have a minute, are we gonna break down the door if she passes out?!”

”No, I’ll just phase through and unlock the door you idiot.” Ava shot back, and before Walker could rebuttal, Bob’s door creaked open, causing everyone to turn their heads to look at him.

He stood in the frame like he hadn’t even realized they were all there. He was barefoot, dressed in a baggy dark grey scrub set, similar to the ones they found him in when they met him in the O.X.E Vault–when he had admitted he found them comfortable you had gone out and bought him a few pairs. His light brown hair was tousled, and extremely flat on one side like he had just peeled himself off his mattress. He looked like he had just rubbed out a decade of sleep from his eyes as he stretched.

”…W-What’s going on?” He asked, his voice slow and sleep-warm, like it hadn’t yet left the fog of dreams. He blink slowly, shoulders hunching forward slightly under the baggy scrub top. Walker turned to him first, running a hand down his face, exasperation cooling into something just a little more worried.

”Y/N is in the washroom,” Bob’s brows drew together in confusion, almost as if he was urging him to go on, “She came back from a mission looking like absolute hell–like barely walking and bleeding everywhere. She locked the door and hasn’t said anything to us since.” Yelena crossed her arms.

“She won’t let any of us in either…” Bucky said, as everyone began to exchange glances at one another, “But how about you give it a try?” Bob’s arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric of his scrub top, like his body was trying to move before his mind could catch up.

“…M-Me?” He asked, voice quiet–half-hoarse with sleep, half-tight with something else he hadn’t figured out how to name. His eyes flicked toward the washroom door, then back to the group, unsure. “W-Why me?”

Yelena was the one who answered. Calm. Certain. No hesitation.

“Because you’re her friend. And she trusts you.”

Bob’s shoulders twitched at the word–friend–like it didn’t feel big enough to carry the weight of what you were to him. It didn’t feel small either. Just…Not right. Not complete. Not everything.

“She listens to you…She likes being around you and she trusts you…” Bob looked down, jaw shifting slightly. His hands came up, one running across the back of his neck, the other tugging anxiously at the loose sleeve of his shirt. He could feel the familiar burn start to gather low in his chest–the one that always came with too many emotions pressing up at once, begging for escape.

He wasn’t good with being needed. He wasn’t used to being the person someone called for when everything fell apart.

But you’d never made him feel like a burden.

Not once.

Even when he couldn’t meet your eyes. Even when his hands shook too hard to pour water. Even when he curled up on the floor and told you he wasn’t sure if he was real. You stayed. You held his face in your hands and called him Bob in a voice that made it sound like that name had never belonged to anyone else. You were his calm…And now he needed to try and return the favour.

He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” He whispered,“I’ll try…Just…B-Back away for a second okay, or g-go down the hall.” The team scattered almost immediately, as Bob took one shaky breath and padded forward, every step louder in his ears than it should’ve been. He cleared his throat and knocked gently on the door.

”Hey…Y/N…I-It’s me,” He said, barely louder than the sound of the fan humming on the other side of the barrier between them. He pressed his hand flat to the wood, almost like he would be able to feel you through it, “I–I know you probably don’t want to s-see anyone right now…I get it, I–I do…But…” He faltered for a moment, glancing down the hall seeing the rest of the team watching him.

”B-But can I come in? Please?” There was a pause. A long one, but he didn’t move, he waited until there was a sign to either go, or come in.

And then–the lock turned.

His heart thudded, heavy and thick against his ribs, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He pushed the door open slowly, the rush of steam hitting him in a wave. It curled around his ankles, ghosted against his chest, and painted the room in a blur of heat and wet air. The mirror was almost completely fogged, and the fan overhead did nothing to stop the fog from swallowing the space whole.

And then he saw you.

You were standing by the sink, half-turned, wearing only your sports bra and underwear. Blood was smeared down your leg in stark red streaks, tracing the lines of torn muscle and raw, reopened skin. Your shoulder was mottled purple and yellow, your arm wrapped around your ribs protectively like the pressure might keep something from falling apart.

Your face turned toward him when he entered. Slowly.

And even though you weren’t crying, not exactly, your eyes were glassy–rimmed with something bitter and deep, something that looked a hell of a lot like defeat.

“J-Jesus,” Bob whispered, the breath barely making it past his throat.

His stomach dropped. His hands clenched uselessly at his sides, eyes scanning every part of you like he didn’t know where to look first.

Your cheek had a shallow cut beneath the eye, already beginning to swell. Your lip was split. There was dirt caked under your nails, your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat and blood, and your expression–when your eyes finally locked on his–was exhausted in a way he’d never seen on you before.

You looked like you had fought through the end of the world and barely made it out breathing.

“Y/N…” He breathed, and for a second he couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t function. His throat tightened so sharply it almost made him cough. You shook your head slowly–once, twice–like each motion cost you something.

Bob flinched.

Not because you scared him, but because you looked like you were unraveling and still trying to hold it all in place. Because even just shaking your head seemed to hurt. Because you’d finally let someone in, and he didn’t know if he could be the person you needed, but God, he wanted to be.

He shut the door behind him gently, a soft click that sealed the two of you into that steam-filled quiet, then turned the lock. The air was thick, and his scrubs were already starting to cling to his chest, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were still moving over you–your thigh, your ribs, your face–and something in his jaw worked like he was trying not to cry for you.

“I–” He started, then stopped, trying again a second later “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but…M–Maybe we should go to medical, just for a minute. Y-You’re bleeding pretty bad and I–”

”No, Bob.” Your voice was sharp. Not cruel, but tired. Bone-deep tired. Your eyes were hollowed by it. “I don’t want to go. Don’t ask me again.”Bob’s lips parted. He froze like you’d slapped him with the words.

His hands came up instantly–palms out, defensive, the way someone does when they know they’ve stepped over the line. “Okay. Okay. I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–I just…”

His voice cracked, soft and breathless, and his lashes fluttered quickly like something was stinging behind his eyes. “I–I just didn’t know what else to say. I just–I wanna help.”

You didn’t answer right away. You turned back toward the mirror, wincing slightly, your weight shifting between your feet like even standing was a negotiation.

Bob took a step forward. Then another.

“C-Can we at least get you cleaned up?” He asked, voice gentler now. “Just… Just so we can see the damage a little better? I–I promise I won’t touch anything unless you say it’s okay…And I–I won’t bring up medical again…”

You blinked at your own reflection. Or rather, at the smeared suggestion of it–nothing but a shadow behind fog and grief and wet heat. Your throat bobbed, your lips parted, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the roar of the water pounding the tile behind you.

Then, slowly–like each movement had to be dug out of you one inch at a time–you nodded.

Just once.

Bob exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the door opened. “Okay,” He murmured, so quietly it barely reached you. “Okay.”

He moved carefully, like you were a wild animal that might spook. His hands stayed visible, slow and shaking just slightly. His voice was raw and steady all at once. You watched him in the mirror as he stepped around you to reach the shower, his eyes flicking back to your face every few seconds like he was checking to make sure he wasn’t doing something wrong.

He pulled his scrub top over his head. His chest was lean and pale, the faint trace of old scars visible across his ribs. He didn’t look at you while he did it–he wasn’t doing this to be seen, only to be with you. To match your vulnerability. To show you he wasn’t going to ask you to do something he wouldn’t do beside you.

Then the pants went next, dropped quickly to the tile with a soft thund. He stepped into the shower in only his boxers, reaching up to adjust the temperature with a small frown, his brow furrowing as steam curled around him. Then, gently–so gently–it was his voice again.

“C’mon. I’ve got you.”

You turned, just barely, and let him take your hand. His fingers laced through yours so softly it nearly broke you. You stepped forward, and he guided you into the stream like you were made of glass and grief and things that couldn’t be named without breaking apart.

The moment your skin hit the water, the heat scalded into every nerve ending that had been screaming silently for hours.

You cried out.

Your knees gave out without warning, your body folding in on itself with a sudden, sharp gasp of pain.

“Woah–woah, hey, hey–I’ve got you–” Bob’s voice cracked mid-sentence as he caught you, his arms sliding around your waist and shoulder just in time to keep you from hitting the floor.

You collapsed against him with the weight of everything. Your cheek pressed to the curve of his collarbone, your ribcage shaking with shallow, broken breaths as the water soaked your skin, turning the blood on your body to long, diluted streaks that ran in ribbons down your legs, and floated around his.

Bob eased you down slowly. The tile kissed your knees, too cold beneath all the heat, but his arms stayed around you–tight, protective, and stable. He let himself sit with you fully, legs folding beneath his weight as he cradled you in his lap, one hand braced gently at your lower back, the other spread over your ribs, careful not to press too hard.

His chest rose and fell against your shoulder, each breath a little too quick, a little too uneven. You could feel his heart hammering, not with fear, but with something else–some horrible, aching emotion that had nowhere to go but into the way he held you.

You tilted your head up slightly–just enough to look at him.

And the look on his face made your breath catch in your throat.

Bob wasn’t crying. But his eyes were wet, the rims pink, his brows drawn in tight with something that looked like devastation barely leashed. His jaw was clenched, not out of anger, but because he looked like if he let it go, it would all fall out–every emotion, every worry, every broken piece of what this had done to him.

”Don’t cry Bob…I’m fine.” Bob leaned in closer at your words, his brows tightening even more–not with disbelief, but with something gentler. Something so heavy with care it made your chest ache worse than your ribs.

His forehead came to rest against yours, water beading and dripping between your skin, breath warm and unsteady against your lips. His voice was just a murmur, barely there beneath the drum of the shower.

“Please d-don’t lie to me…” He whispered, closing his eyes. “I c-can’t…I can’t see you like this and not do something, I–”

His voice broke completely then. And it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic or violent. It was quiet devastation—the kind that crumbled inwards, the kind that shook hands and pressed foreheads and curled arms around broken bodies in the dark.

And then something in the air shifted.

It was subtle at first–so small you didn’t register it until it started to crawl up your spine.

A hum.

Not from the fan.

Not from the pipes.

Not from the water.

From him.

From the center of Bob’s chest, where it pressed faintly to yours. A vibration–gentle, low, like the world taking a breath. It was warm. Not hot like the water. Soft, like standing in sunlight after a long, cold night.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

His arms stayed around you, trembling slightly but strong, his breath hitching once more as he whispered, “I–I would take it if I could. I’d take all of it, Y/N. I swear I would…” You blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then the numbness hit.

It started in your cheeks, right under where Bob’s forehead rested against yours. A strange, tingling sensation, like static running under your skin—like the prickle of limbs falling asleep, but deeper. Warmer. It began to spread across your jaw, down your neck, over the pulsing ache of your ribs. You stiffened slightly in his arms.

“B-Bob…” Your voice came out thin. Cautious. “Something’s… wrong. I—I think I’m—”

You pulled your head back.

Just an inch. Just enough to look at him.

And that’s when you saw it.

His eyes–his eyes–weren’t the soft blue they usually were. They weren’t even shimmering yellow like when the Sentry burned through him, lit up and alive and untouchable. No, this was something else entirely.

They were light.

Not glowing with light–made of it.

Warm and impossible, like the moment just before sunrise. Liquid gold, honeyed and bright, but threaded with something deeper–something eternal. Like looking into a star too close. Like watching the sky open.

Bob didn’t even seem to realize it. He was staring at you like you had changed. Like something was wrong with you.

His brows furrowed suddenly, breath catching. “What the hell…”

You froze.

“What?” you asked, voice sharp and shaky all at once. ��Bob—what is it? What’s happening?”

His eyes searched your face, wide and stunned and almost afraid to believe what he was seeing.

“Your face…” he whispered, “Y/N… it’s–”

He reached up–slowly–and touched your cheek.

His fingertips brushed the skin just below your eye, where the cut had been. Where the swelling had bloomed purple and raw. There was nothing there now. Not even the tenderness. Just heat from the shower. Just clean, unbroken skin.

“It’s healed.”

You blinked again.

And now that he said it–you felt it.

The pounding in your ribs was gone.

The throb in your thigh, the searing line from your bicep to your elbow, the burn from the rebar in your side—it was all gone.

Your body felt heavy, yes, but no longer from pain. Just from the realization.

You looked down at your arms, your legs, your skin, now mostly clean under the steady pour of water–and new. Whole. No dried blood. No open wounds.

You looked back at him.

“Holy fuck…You healed me…Is the…Is the Sentry back or something?” He shook his head in confusion.

”I–I don’t know…I didn’t e-even know he could do t-that to other people…”

2K notes · View notes

illyrianbitch · 5 months ago

Text

Are We Still Friends? — Part Five

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: A chance encounter offers a break from your tangled thoughts about Azriel. Meanwhile, Az reaches a pivotal realization.

Warnings: training, sparring and weapon use, severe overthinking, longing, brief use of recreational drugs (lovely 'mirthroot')

Word Count: 7.1k

Part Four | Series Masterlist | Part Six

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Even in the early hours, the heat was suffocating.

You’d been half-tempted to cancel on Mor, to crawl back under the covers and enjoy the blissful cool of your room. But you knew better. Mor would’ve winnowed straight into your bedroom, dragged you out of bed, and reminded you that you’d made a promise.

So now, here you were, on the training grounds, sweat already collecting at your brow, watching Azriel and Cassian spar on the far side.

Both of the males were dressed in their usual head-to-toe leathers, though Cassian seemed just as bothered by the weather as you. You’d noticed he’d trained shirtless more often lately, something you attributed to the presence of his mate, but today he was fully covered. It probably had something to do with the steady, focused gaze Az held. Something to be cautious of. Wary.

Unlike his brother, Azriel’s expression was detached, as if the sun didn’t touch him at all— like he was completely unbothered by the sweltering heat. His wings shifted slightly against the back of his leathers, but that was the extent of his discomfort, if any.

You’d never visited Illyria in the summer months, never experienced the full brutality of its heat. Perhaps it was there, under that oppressive sun, that Azriel had learned to manage heat in such attire. But, then again, Az was entirely too skilled at masking what he actually felt.

Something about him, now before you, made you want to continue staring—his wings, the way his body moved with the smoothness of a predator, the effortless strength in the curve of his form. Lately, everything about Azriel had been doing that— distracting you. Overwhelming you. Calling to you like a siren song. His voice, his smile, the way he moved.

A laugh from Mor pulled you from your thoughts.

"It’s a shame the healing balm worked so well," Her voice teased from behind you. You turned at the sound, watching as she tossed a sword from one hand to the other with an ease that was almost poetic. "Seeing you turned me into a softie, you know. All those bruises and that pouty face— I had to go easy because I felt bad for you.”

You snorted, catching the blade she tossed your way. "Oh, so that’s the only reason I beat you last week? Because you were going easy on me?"

Her grin widened. “Yeah. But Runa got too many hits on you. You’re rusty. So maybe I’m not doing you any favors by going easy." She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Cassian’s been going too easy on you, too."

“Or maybe,” you shot back, stepping into the ring, “I was just going easy on a citizen.”

Mor’s laugh was loud and unapologetic as she followed you. "You’re saying that like you didn’t know exactly who she was when you threw the first punch."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you squared up to her. “Okay, can we maybe stop reminiscing over my recent regrettable actions? Please?”

“Never.” She slid into a stance with ease. “But if you beat me, I’ll stop laughing about it for a week.”

“Only a week?”

“That’s all you’ll get, babe.”

You rolled your eyes, lips still curved in a grin. “Fine. Deal.”

And then, without hesitation, Mor lunged. Your blades collided with a sharp ring, the sound vibrating up your arms. You let the adrenaline of the fight pull you out of your thoughts, focusing on the female in front of you.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that before anything else, Morrigan was a warrior. Graceful, clever, and impossibly skilled. The kind of fighter who didn’t rely on brute strength but on speed, precision, and an uncanny ability to read her opponent. Skills she’d learnt to outmaneuver and beat males that may have been twice her size, twice her age. And if you looked hard enough, past her glittering makeup and the plethora of gold jewelry she adorned, you’d notice the scars scattered across her body, small slices from knives and swords that didn’t have enough time to heal during the first war.

Mor didn’t hold back, her strikes coming faster, sharper, until your muscles burned from the effort of keeping up.

From across the ring, Cassian’s booming laugh carried over, followed by what sounded like a gruff remark from Azriel. You glanced over almost instinctively, your eyes following the movement of Az’s shadows. They twisted around him, stretching into the shaded spaces between Cassian’s body and the ground, curling around the general’s feet in an attempt to constrict his movements.

Mor’s grin widened as she caught your sword mid-swing. “You’re distracted,” she said.

You twisted to break free, stubbornly meeting her gaze. “Am not.”

You tried to return to the rhythm of the fight, but Mor was right. You were distracted. Every glance in Azriel’s direction made your heart race, your mind spiral. Even from across the yard, you could feel the heat of his presence. It threw you off balance. And before you knew it, Mor disarmed you, sending you crashing to the ground with a grunt.

“Like I said,” she hummed, smirking as she extended a hand to help you up. “Distracted.”

“Maybe a bit.” You winced, rolling your shoulders as you stood straight. “I have too much on my mind. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Mor tilted her head. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, wiping at the sweat on your brow. “That’s the last thing I want to do, actually.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing you before she nodded. “Well, we just got some new weapons last week—I’ve been dying to test them out.”

You raised a brow. “What kind of weapons?”

Mor shrugged. “Not sure. Rhys says they’re lighter. I think you’ll like them.” She grabbed your discarded sword, tossing both it and hers onto the rack with ease. “You’re too cautious for a regular sword anyway. You don’t like getting hit.”

“No one likes getting hit.”

“True,” she said, laughing slightly as she bumped your shoulder. “But you’re smart about it. Always letting them exhaust themselves first.”

“Go get them,” you nodded to her. “I want to try them out.”

Mor grinned. “Good. Then I can start kicking your ass with them, too.”

She turned to leave, and you watched her go, ready to grab some water. But then, just as you were about to turn, you felt it—a presence behind you. You knew it in your bones, from the soft breeze you swore his shadows danced in, that it was Azriel. Still, when you turned and saw him standing there, you felt unprepared, like something in your chest tightened, hot and sharp, like heartburn. You shoved it down, burying it deeper, just like you had been doing all week.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You’re really gonna let her beat you like that?”

You ran a hand over your face, trying to settle your racing pulse. “What can I say, it’s been an off couple of weeks.”

It was hard not to notice how close he stood, the way his presence seemed to fill the space, pushing the air around you in a way that made it harder to breathe.

“Yeah,” Azriel glanced at you, and his expression softened just a fraction. “Are you okay? I mean, now?”

You nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just hot. Overwhelmed.”

He studied you, his brow slightly furrowed, but there was something else behind it. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You can’t possibly be comfortable,” you said, gesturing at his leathers. “Aren’t you boiling alive?”

Azriel tilted his head as if considering your question, then replied evenly, “I’m alright.”

“You’re lying,” you replied, narrowing your eyes at him. “You have to be.”

That earned you a faint smile, a quick twitch of his lips that you might have missed if you weren’t already watching him too closely.

“You’re welcome to try them on,” he said smoothly. “See how they feel.”

You blinked, a small flutter echoing in your chest at the teasing edge in his voice. You frowned and said to him, “I’m wearing the exact same thing as you.”

“Mine are different.” His smile tugged again. “They’re cooling leathers.”

“Really? That's a thing?”

The look he gave you— a mix of amusement and something else— told you everything you needed to know. You scowled at him, but there was no real heat behind it. “You’re messing with me.”

When your eyes met his again, they were practically glowing in amusement. He shrugged, and his shadows seemed to dance with the motion— still clinging close to him, hiding from the sun, but seemingly content despite it. He gave you a quick, warm smile— as if he were afraid for the rest of the public to see.

“I am,” he replied, leaning closer. “My leathers are, sadly, just as basic as yours.”

The sunlight caught in his hair when he stood like this, painting it with faint golden streaks. Along with your growing frustration at the heat, your stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of him. You fanned your face with one hand, trying to ignore the ache building in your chest. You blamed the sun for making it tight.

You suddenly became aware of your presentation—of the disheveled way you must have looked. Your hair had fallen loose during the sparring with Mor, strands clinging to the sweat at your neck, a messy halo around your face. You reached back, gathering it in both hands, attempting to tighten the hold of your hair tie. As you twisted it around, the elastic snapped, the sharp sting of it flicking against your skin.

“Shit.”

A quiet sigh left you as the broken tie dangled uselessly from your fingers. Of course. As if you didn’t already feel like disaster enough. You pushed your hair back again, fingers combing through the tangled strands, debating whether to leave it down or try to secure it with something else.

You realized, quickly, that perhaps this small inconvenience was a blessing in disguise— a reason to walk away from the conversation, to regain control of your scattered thoughts. You opened your mouth to excuse yourself, to say you needed to go put your hair up, but before you could, Azriel spoke.

“Wait.”

You paused, turning back toward him as he reached into one of the hidden pockets of his leathers. When he pulled out a hair tie, your eyebrows shot up.

“What—”

Azriel’s expression was uncharacteristically sheepish as he handed it over. “You always wear the same one. I noticed the band was wearing out. It was only a matter of time before it broke.”

“You… noticed that?”

His shadows shifted around him, curling between you two, and he subtly gestured toward them with his chin. “They did.”

Your fingers closed around the band as you stared at him. “So you’ve been carrying this around just in case?”

He nodded and you blinked at him, unsure if you should laugh or melt into the floor. “That… is very considerate of you.”

Az glanced at you, quiet for a moment, before he replied. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to snap and pick a fight with someone because you're overstimulated with your hair clinging to your skin. I’m just trying to protect the public.”

You rolled your eyes at that, though the thought of your family endlessly reminding you of your actions over the past few weeks made the corners of your mouth twitch. The infamous calm you’d prided yourself on—gone. You’d be hearing about your fight with a citizen for at least the next century.

“Shut up,” you said, but your heart still stuttered painfully. “But, also, thank you,” you added, focusing on twisting your hair into a knot to avoid meeting his eyes.

“Better?”

Your throat felt tight as you looked up once more, meeting his molten gaze. “Yeah,” you said. “Better.”

Azriel nodded, stepping back to give you space again. But you caught the faint curve of his lips, the small, quiet smile that made your chest ache.

You felt some relief as the wind ruffled your now-updo, but your thoughts circled.

Azriel had proven to be a male of his word. He’d spent the past two weeks showing you, in every way he could, that he was sorry. It wasn’t loud or showy—Azriel never was—but his apology seeped into the small, thoughtful things he did. Helping with reports, lighting your room’s fireplace when it got too cold. Nothing demanding, but everything that proved he was trying.

It almost felt normal again, like you and Azriel had fallen back into your usual rhythm. Your routine.

Almost.

“Good luck,” Azriel said, nodding toward where Mor was returning with the new weapons. He leaned in slowly, his shadows drifting between your shoulders, curling in the pocket of shadow created by your closeness. “And, if you want… we can go flying afterward. To celebrate you beating Mor.”

The idea of being so close to him, of having him hold you to his chest, feeling his heartbeat against yours as he carried you, made your stomach churn, made you feel nauseous. Nervous. But you nodded anyway, smiled like it was just another plan, like old times. It felt tight. Diplomatic.

“Okay,” you managed to say.

Azriel smiled, and you heard Mor’s voice asking what you were conspiratorially talking about. You didn’t answer, didn’t bother to pay attention if Azriel answered, either. The new, sleek steel weapons she’d returned with felt different in your hands. Lighter, faster. Mor had been right—these suited you better. But it didn’t matter. You were too lost in your head, too tangled in your thoughts.

Even if Mor had kept her eyes closed, she still would’ve won the next fight. You weren’t focused enough to stand a chance. There was a brief, confused look in her eyes when she realized how easily she’d taken you down once again. But she didn’t press, not even as you yielded for the day and ran home, slipping into a cool bath with the hope that it would clear your mind of everything that tainted it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You stacked the last of the reports on the living room table, smoothing your palm over the top page before grabbing a scrap of parchment.

Rhys—went through the latest proposals and highlighted the ones most viable. Let me know if you need anything else.

You stuck the note on the pile and stepped back, scanning the work you’d spent the past few weeks compiling.

Rhysand would be by later to go over them with Azriel—discussions about Hewn City’s reformation efforts, the best way to bridge the centuries-old divide between the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams. You’d done your best to outline a path forward, to present the grievances of its citizens in a way Rhysand could use to negotiate.

Your fingers drummed idly against the edge of the table before you caught sight of your wrist. The small hair tie sat there, snug against your skin. And although it was nothing, just a simple band, it felt as if it were burning. You weren’t sure why you were still wearing it—why it wasn’t in a pocket or left in your room, ready to be summoned when needed. You ran your fingers over it, jaw clenching as frustration rose in you, sudden and sharp.

At what, exactly? You didn’t know.

You did know, however, that it was likely related to Azriel.

You’d been avoiding him since the other day at training. Since he’d given you the small elastic now circling your wrist.

It wasn’t intentional, not really, but you’d been thinking too much. Feeling too much. Uncomfortable in your own skin, hyperaware of yourself and Azriel in ways that made your stomach twist. Like pressing against a tender bruise.

The anger you’d been holding onto—the indignation that had burned hot and bright in the aftermath of your fight—faded much faster than you’d expected. You still wanted to be angry, to hold onto the grudge that felt like armor, but Azriel made it impossible. His kindness had chafed against you, rubbing away at the edges of your resentment till all that was left was an overly aware sense of him. Of his presence, his care. His devotion to something as simple as your forgiveness.

You’d forgiven him within a week, had taken all of his baked goods with open arms, had expressed appreciation for the times his shadows brought you snacks during your late nights with Rhys and Feyre, going over negotiation plans for the reformation efforts.

But Azriel was being too nice now. Too thoughtful. Too much. And it was starting to wear you down.

You were noticing him in ways that felt deeper, heavier, and far more dangerous. It was overwhelming, this shift in perspective—like seeing him in a new light that illuminated details you’d never thought to look at before. The slope of his shoulders, the way he always seemed to be aware of you, even when he wasn’t looking at you. You felt blinded, too rushed to adjust to this new, backlit version of Azriel.

It stressed you out— made you want to sit down and create a list, sort through the pros and cons like some sort of strategy meeting. Analyze the feelings bubbling in your chest until you could pin them down and find the most equitable, profitable, and logical path forward. The right direction to take.

Realistically, you should wait it out. Let the feelings settle and fade before they could complicate the beautiful, solid friendship you’d built over centuries. You weren’t even sure what you were feeling. You couldn’t risk something so vital over emotions you didn’t fully understand.

The front door clicked open.

You turned at the sound of footsteps, eyes falling on Azriel’s figure as he stepped inside. His hair was a little mussed, dark strands sticking to his forehead like he’d flown through the midday heat. A faint flush tinted his cheeks, and for a moment, you wondered if the sun was still blazing in the midsky—if the warmth on his face was from exertion or simply the sun pressing down on him.

He took two large strides before his hazel eyes landed on you. His expression shifted, then, brightened, as if he hadn’t expected to find you here. The soft tug at the corners of his mouth, almost a smile but not quite, was enough to send your pulse into a sharp, erratic rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, lightly. “You’re home.”

“That I am.” You smiled and met his eyes. “Hi.”

He hesitated for a moment, then stepped farther into the room, something small and wrapped in plain paper in his hand.

“I’m glad I caught you. I have something for you,” he said, holding it out to you.

You blinked, glancing between him and the package. “What is it?”

“Some tea,” he said, his gaze flickering to yours before darting away. “For sleep.”

“For sleep?” you repeated, taking the package carefully, his shadows greeting you with a gentle circle around your wrists.

Azriel nodded, his hand falling to his side. “I noticed the other day. When you were sparring with Mor. You were leaning more on your left. You do that when you’re tired.”

Your chest tightened, your fingers curling instinctively around the package. “It was that noticeable?”

“Yeah,” he said. “ To me at least. I thought this might help.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, the simple thoughtfulness of it wrapping around you like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You opened the package carefully, revealing a small tin filled with pouches of tea. You swallowed, staring down at the item in your hands.

“Thank you. This is…” You trailed off, your voice failing you. “This is really sweet, Az.”

“Let me know if it helps,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, his wings twitching behind him. “If you like it, I’ll get more.” He gave a small, almost tentative, smile. “Or maybe I’ll try it myself.”

You nodded, clutching the package tighter. “Okay. Yeah. I will.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. You turned, intending to step away, to put some distance between you and the sudden awkwardness settling in your chest. But as you moved past him, Azriel stepped closer, just enough that the space between you disappeared. For a moment, you were not quite touching, just close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the faint scent of night-chilled air and cedar.

And then his hand caught yours. When you glanced back at him, his expression had softened, a sense of concern flickering in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, intimate. Like he was sharing a secret despite you both being the only ones in the room.

Your breath caught. You could see the faint crease in his brow, the way his gaze searched your face like he was trying to find his answer there, in your features. “Yeah,” you said quietly, even though your heart was pounding.

“Are you sure?” he pressed. His thumb brushed over your skin absentmindedly, as it usually did when he soothed you on bad days. Your breath hitched at how intimate it felt now, how aware it made you of his touch. “Are we okay?”

You blinked, frowning at his words. “Yeah, of course. Why would you ask that?”

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I just…I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately.”

“I’ve been busy,” you replied quickly, but the excuse felt hollow even as you said it.

“Yeah,” he murmured, but something in his tone made you think he didn’t believe you. After a moment, he added, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” you said after a pause, and it was the truth. You weren’t angry at Azriel, not anymore. It had completely faded, morphed into something else entirely.

You felt guilty about how you'd been acting, how you'd resorted to avoiding him in an effort to make yourself feel better. Because, despite you telling him otherwise, you knew Azriel was interpreting your distance as proof that you were still mad.

Azriel nodded, but his expression didn’t quite relax. His hand tightened slightly around yours. “But you’d tell me, right? If something was wrong?”

“Of course.”

His gaze softened further, his eyes almost pleading. “Because I always want to know,” he said quietly. “If something’s wrong. I want to know.”

You couldn’t breathe. His hand was still on yours, his thumb brushing soft, slow circles over your skin like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. You were going to vomit. You were going to be sick. You had to leave. You had to get out of here before you did something reckless, before you said something you couldn’t take back.

“I know, Az. But, I should… I need to go,” you said, stepping back and gently pulling your hand from his. “I have a lot of errands to run.”

Azriel blinked, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Oh. Okay.”

You clutched the package tighter to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you backed toward the door. “Thanks again for this. Really.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then stopped, nodding instead. “Let me know if it helps.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a tight, polite smile before slipping out of the room.

When you made it upstairs, you grabbed a coat, barely paying attention to which one, and were out of the townhouse before you had the chance to run into Azriel again. You didn’t know where you were going—only that it needed to be away from him.

For a strange, fleeting moment, you found yourself wishing you were angry at him again. Wishing he was being stubborn and unfair instead of sweet and thoughtful. It had been easier then, even when it hurt, because at least you’d known how to deal with it.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Velaris buzzed with midday energy, alive with movement and the sounds of life. The streets teemed with couples strolling hand in hand, children darting between legs, their laughter woven into the hum of conversation. You wove through it all in a haze, your mind spinning like a top. For a brief moment, you scowled at the love surrounding you—wondering if it had always been this prevalent, this visible, this... everywhere.

You hadn’t come up with a plan since leaving the townhouse, still unsure of where you were going—or if you even wanted to go anywhere at all. All you knew was that you needed to keep moving. Moving meant you were occupied. And being occupied meant you could at least try to ignore the noise—both the loud thoughts and the feelings twisting inside you. But no matter how fast you walked, how hard you tried to lose yourself in the busy streets, the fluttering in your chest wouldn't let you forget.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what it meant, even as you fought with everything you had to deny it. But maybe... maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe Selene had gotten into your head and now you were overthinking everything—reading too much into Azriel’s kindness, his care. You’d seen it before, convincing yourself of something that wasn’t true, spiraling until you couldn’t trust your own judgment.

You didn’t see the person you bumped into until it was too late. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, shaking yourself from your thoughts, but when you looked up—

“Oh,” you said, startled. You blinked at the male before you. “Hello.”

The golden light caught his hair—a rich, burnished brown that framed sharp, handsome features. Made them seem almost celestial.

Adrin smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, two small dimples forming at his cheeks. “Y/n. Hello.”

“Adrin,” you said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“No harm done,” he said easily. His tone was light, but there was a flicker of concern as he studied your face. “Are you…doing all right? I heard about what happened.”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It's a long story. But everything is okay.”

Adrin tilted his head, and although the smile was still there— that warm welcoming smile— his brows drew together slightly. “You seem…bothered. Long day?”

You huffed a small laugh, rubbing absentmindedly at your chest. “Something like that.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “I know the feeling. It’s been one of those days for me, too. I was about to try and make it better—clear my head a little.” He hesitated, then added, “You could join me, if you’d like.”

You blinked at him. “Oh, no, I don’t want to interrupt your plans—”

“You wouldn’t be.” He was quick to shake his head. “Really. I’d like the company.”

You hesitated. Thought through the idea. You liked Adrin. And while you wanted to run—hide away, retreat into the quiet of your own mind—you knew it would only make your thoughts spiral faster. But being around your family, or anyone who might see through you immediately, made you itch with unease.

Maybe this was exactly what you needed. The chance to be with someone who wouldn’t pry, someone who seemed genuine in his invitation.

“Sure, yeah. What are you thinking?”

Adrin’s lips twitched into a small grin. “I might have just the thing we both need.”

An hour later, you found yourself at his apartment, stretched out on his balcony overlooking the city. The air was cooler here, quieter, the noise of the streets below softened into a distant hum. The smell of mirthroot curled in the space between you, something so distinctly warm and earthy.

You breathed it in, already feeling lighter, like you were melting into your chair—but in a good way, not like earlier, when the heat had pressed against you relentlessly.

You took a slow pull from the rolled mirthroot stick Adrin had handed you. For the first time that day, your shoulders eased.

“Feeling any better?” he asked.

You exhaled slowly, watching the plume of smoke dissipate into the air. A soft laugh escaped you.

“Oh yeah. I kind of forgot how much I like mirthroot. This is dangerous.”

Adrin chuckled, and you glanced over at him, watching as his lips curved into a lopsided smile—only one dimple visible now. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

You tilted your head, studying him further. “I wouldn’t have expected you to be into this,” you said, gesturing to the rolled stick in your hand.

His brows furrowed. “Why's that?”

You shrugged, still smiling, your face warm—not from embarrassment, but from the pleasant haze settling over you. “I don’t know. You’re from the Dawn Court. You’re a healer. You just seem disciplined. Like, above this.”

Adrin let out a full, rich laugh, the sound making your grin widen. “Please. Let’s go through that again. I come from Dawn. I’m a male healer. A pacifist, even.”

You paused, letting his words replay in your mind before it finally clicked.

“So it makes total sense,” you said, correcting yourself.

Adrin nodded sagely, and another small round of laughter followed, easy and unhurried. You realized how much you liked that about him. That his presence wasn’t demanding. That he let things be light. Maybe that was why it was always easy to converse with him whenever you’d stopped by Madjas.

You inhaled again, letting yourself sink further into the feeling, into the rare quiet of your thoughts. Even now, though, even floating, something tugged at you. Some part of you that refused to be fully untethered. The rational side of your mind begged for a break from the relentless circling of your thoughts, but you shoved the worst of them away, opting instead to focus on the ones that didn’t hurt.

“Hey,” you said suddenly. “Can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Sure.” Adrin straightened slightly, tossing you a quick glance as he brought his mirthroot to his lips.

You hesitated, but the mirth haze had worked through your nerves, made you bolder, more loose lipped. “Do you have a crush on me?”

He choked on his next inhale, coughing before looking at you, eyes wide. “Sorry?”

“Nevermind. That was weird. Sorry,” you said quickly, looking away, waving it off. “Forget I said anything.”

But he shook his head, smiling faintly as he leaned in slightly. “No, it’s okay. I’ve always appreciated how forward you are. Honest. It’s refreshing.”

You blinked at him. “Really?”

He nodded. Then he paused for a moment, contemplating. “If you’re asking if I find you attractive, the answer is yes. I think you’re beautiful.”

Something in your chest tightened.

“But,” he continued, “I wouldn’t say I have a crush on you. That feels… shallow. I don’t know you enough to call it that. It would be liking the idea of you. I don’t like doing that.”

His honesty was just as refreshing as he claimed yours to be. It loosened something in your chest—some small guilt that had settled when Mor first suggested you go out with him. Guilt at the idea that someone you’d grown to enjoy might want something from you that you couldn’t give.

If only everyone was this articulate. If only Az—

You shoved the thought away and exhaled slowly. “That’s… a really nice answer.”

Adrin smiled again, but this time, it was smaller, softer. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” you admitted, shaking your head. “It doesn’t.”

“Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. I have no expectations here. I enjoy the friendship we’ve built—if you’d call it that.”

“Of course I would,” you said softly. A small chuckle escaped your lips as you raised your rolled mirthroot and nodded toward the one between his fingers. “And if I didn’t consider you a friend before, you’re definitely one now.”

Adrin’s laugh rang out, warm and melodic, filling the space between you. It was soothing, like the sound itself carried the calm of his healing touch.

You settled into a comfortable silence, the easy rhythm of conversation lingering between you as you both watched the city below. But then, without warning, your mind wandered once more.

This time, it drifted toward the upcoming event Rhys was hosting—a formal gathering to show appreciation for allies and those who’d supported him. At his own home, too. A gesture of humility. You could already picture the glittering decorations in the River House, the couples dressed to the nines, gliding together in effortless, practiced harmony.

Usually, those scenes didn’t bother you.

You’d never minded attending events alone, enjoying the freedom to slip in and out of conversations as you pleased. But now, the thought of walking into that hall, of watching so many people in love around you… It grated. And you knew exactly why. Azriel’s words, his reasoning for changing while dating Selene—how everyone was falling in love, moving on—echoed in your mind, and you hated how tightly they clung to you.

They’d made you feel like something was wrong with you for not actively seeking out love. For being content with being single. Alone.

You glanced at Adrin.

“Adrin,” you said, clearing your throat. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I don’t believe so. Why?”

“There’s an event—Rhysand is hosting. It’s an appreciation for those who help him. I was wondering if you’d want to come with me. Considering everything you’ve done to help Madja… and us.”

His brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his expression before he smiled. “Really?”

You nodded, waiting and watching him as he thought through his answer.

“The company of a friend is always nice for events,” he said finally.

Your heart stilled at his use of the word "friend.” It felt reassuring. Safe. A reminder that he truly didn’t hold any expectations, just as he’d said only a few minutes prior.

“Yes,” you replied softly, a small smile curling your lips. “It always is.”

“I’d be honored to go. Thank you for the invite, Y/n. I’ve never been to big events like that.”

You laughed lightly. “If you keep letting me smoke your mirthroot, you can come to every event with me forever.”

He grinned, shaking his head, his hair falling across his forehead in an effortlessly charming way. “Is that what I’ve become now? A drug dealer and a friend in one?”

“Yes,” you teased. “A breath of fresh air, really.”

You both fell into another comfortable pause, settling into the easy rhythm of each other’s presence. You wondered what was going on inside Adrin’s mind. His eyes had grown distant, like he was retreating into his thoughts. He had mentioned having a long day too. You hoped he was feeling better now, just as you were, that perhaps your company had offered him what his had offered you—a reprieve.

Adrin reminded you of someone else in your life. Someone with teal eyes and the same easy, friendly humor. You smiled at the fleeting thought that crossed your mind, something quick and bright, like a shooting star.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel’s meeting with Rhysand had taken longer than expected, forcing both males to venture to the Hewn City itself. By the time he returned home, the city of Velaris was already asleep.

Azriel felt conflicted as he passed by your door, his shadows lingering just long enough to confirm that you were safe and asleep in bed. He was relieved, glad that you were finally getting the rest you needed, but a deep, quiet disappointment gnawed at him.

He was planning to catch you one last time today—to talk, even for a moment. To tell you about the meeting with Rhys and how brilliant your plans were, how he was praising them despite you not being there to bask in the compliments. He knew you loved the feedback, knew you loved hearing how your hard work paid off. It always did.

But Azriel knew, even then, the conversation would feel off.

Things had felt off since the night he apologized—and even his shadows had confirmed it wasn’t just in his mind. That he wasn’t simply overthinking.

You’d said you weren’t mad anymore, that you two were okay. But Azriel still felt, still knew, that something was wrong.

Things weren’t normal. They weren’t hostile, and Azriel was beyond thankful for that, but it wasn’t comfortable like it used to be. You seemed to be hesitating around him. It gutted him to think that he had made you wary, made you overthink how you acted around him. He’d stripped himself of his own comfort.

Azriel stepped into his room slowly, feeling the weight of the day begin to catch up with him the moment he crossed the threshold. The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, leaning against the frame as he let the quiet settle around him.

The familiar emptiness of the room greeted him. His dresser was bare, the surface wiped clean once again. Mor had, strangely excitedly, offered to clear it out for him when she first learned about Selene’s betrayal. Despite the anger simmering inside him, Azriel had made her promise not to take any drastic measures—he didn’t want her to engage with Selene at all. Mor had reluctantly agreed.

Azriel took a few more steps into the room, and with each movement, the exhaustion that had been nagging him all day seemed to settle more heavily on his shoulders—his body was sore, his mind buzzing with a thousand half-thoughts.

His shoulders slumped as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands moving to rub his face, fingers dragging through the mess of his hair.

Azriel hadn’t placed all the items Selene moved, the minimal decorations he owned, back where they belonged yet. But he opened his bedside table and grabbed the one thing he was thinking about—the strange clay creation of him you’d made.

His mind wandered to the night he cleaned your wounds and apologized.

He’d traced the change back to that moment.

Azriel didn’t know why he felt disappointed, why he had expected something different from that interaction. He’d apologized, finally, as he’d intended to—though too late, he told himself, because you’d gotten hurt. But you had accepted it, had looked at him with that same softness he’d come to admire, and accepted it. You’d cracked a joke. You both laughed. It had felt simple again, natural, like Azriel had finally found his way back to himself. But something in him sank when he’d said that one line—when he said he didn’t know why he’d entertained the idea that you’d ever have feelings for him.

He wasn’t sure why, but it tasted so wrong—sour, like something rotten.

He let himself sink further into his thoughts.

Azriel had never seen himself as lovable. At least, not in the way everyone else was.

From the moment he was thrown into that dungeon as a boy, he’d believed he deserved every punishment, every scar, every moment of suffering. The people who should have loved him—the people who were supposed to care—had only taught him he was a burden, something broken and unwanted.

When he left that darkness behind, it followed him, reshaping him into something sharp and unrelenting. A weapon. He became what was needed, what a High Lord required, committing acts that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He wore those deeds like armor, each one another layer of the male he thought he had to be.

Love, he assumed, had to be just as hard. How could it not be? He was unworthy of the softness others found so easily. While Rhysand, Cassian, Amren, and Mor managed to find it, to hold onto it despite their own sins, Azriel had only ever known heartbreak.

So he told himself that love—for him—would never be simple. It would require blood, pain, sacrifice, and suffering. He thought love needed to ache in his chest, leaving him hollow and desperate, clawing for scraps of something he couldn’t quite hold. That it had to be fought for with every ounce of strength he had. And maybe even that wouldn’t be enough.

Something had changed, though, regarding how he thought about love.

His fingers brushed the rough edges of the clay figure in his palm. It was uneven and messy, painted in smudges that bled into each other. The proportions were laughably off—the wings crooked, the body too long—but it fit perfectly in his hand nonetheless.

He held it carefully, turning it over as his chest tightened. You’d made this for him, drunk off your ass and laughing with the others, your hands coated in clay. You’d sculpted a miniature version of him without a second thought.

And though it wasn’t a gift, though you hadn’t even mentioned it after that night, Azriel kept it. Kept it somewhere safe, somewhere he could easily grab it and remind himself that if someone as kind as you could love him, care for him the way you did, then he must not be as awful as his mind often tried to convince him he was.

You’d seen the worst of him—all the jagged edges and dark, unspoken parts. He was the softest with you, a side of himself he never showed anyone else, but somehow also the worst. You’d heard the things he’d done, seen him caked in blood that wasn’t his, and still, you had sculpted him. Still, you thought of him when you were having fun.

Azriel had begun to realize that, in reality, love seemed to be… patient. Gentle.

The love his family had found was hard at times, yes, and needed to be fought for, like everything important. But it was kind. Natural.

And so Azriel thought long and hard, the clay figure resting warm in his hand, his shadows curling and twisting softly around him. They whispered your name, over and over, like a quiet, delicate prayer.

And that was when everything clicked into place.

That deep longing he felt to see you, that comfort he found in your presence, the ability to be open, bare, seen, and unafraid—

That feeling was love.

He was in love with you.

And he suddenly couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note: hey yall.... how we feeling?????

so like im invested. and also i kinda love Adrin like yesss gimme a stoner healer man who respects a persons boundaries and doesnt crush on the idea of them before knowing them!!!

and yesss for azriel being in love!!! hes gonna be struggling with this new realization, fighting the Voices in the corner of his room and being jealous over things he doesn’t need to be jealous over. mmmmmm delicious

i do believe….there may only be one (1) part left 🫢

as always— thank you for reading 🫶🏻

and don’t forget your daily clicks for palestine !

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2K notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 2 months ago

Note

hi!

Can you do one where reader gets injured but doesnt want to bother anyone so she doesnt sag anything. The catch unsub, and maybe spencer notices something is off but is not sure. Eventually she loses so much blood and collapses on spencer or something like that. Not sure how it ends. Fluffy and angst

thankkkssss

xoxoxoxo

collapse — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship , reader is hurt , lots of blood , mention of stitches , reader got stabbed a/n: hi hi !! hope you like this <3 i might've gotten carried away

The adrenaline was the only thing keeping you upright.

You bit down hard on your lip, the metallic tang of blood blooming across your tongue as you suppressed a groan of pain. The unsub thrashed violently between you and Spencer as he fought against your grip.

Your side burned—a deep, throbbing ache—but you refused to loosen your hold.

Just a little longer.

To your relief, the unsub finally stilled, his resistance crumbling as Spencer adjusted his grip and shoved the door open with his shoulder.

Spencer’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

You could see the concern etched into the lines of his face—the way his brows furrowed, the slight downturn of his lips. You had taken a nasty hit during the struggle, but you had brushed it off, insisting you were fine.

You weren’t fine.

But now wasn’t the time.

You forced a soft smile, willing your voice to stay steady. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

Derek was already at the car, his expression hardening as he took in the unsub’s snarling face. He reached out, wrenching the man from your grasp and shoving him into the backseat with a muttered, “Nice try, pal.”

The moment the weight was gone, your knees nearly buckled.

You leaned against the car for support as the world tilted slightly. Spencer stood in front of you, close enough that you could see the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.

“Are you sure?” he pressed, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You swallowed hard, willing the black spots at the edges of your vision to fade. “Yes, Spence. I’m okay.”

You pushed off the car, determined to prove it—to him, to yourself. You took a step forward, reaching out to touch his arm, to reassure him—

And then, everything gave out.

Your legs crumpled beneath you, the pain exploding in a white-hot burst as your vision blurred. The last thing you registered was the warmth of Spencer’s arms catching you, his voice cracking as he shouted your name.

Then—

Darkness.

Spencer barely caught you in time, your weight slamming against his chest as his hands scrambled to keep you upright.

“Hey—hey! Look at me!” His voice was too loud, too sharp, cracking under the weight of sudden terror.

Your skin was pale, your breathing shallow. His fingers brushed against your side—and came away wet.

Blood.

His stomach dropped.

“Morgan! Hotch!” The words tore from his throat, raw and desperate.

Derek whipped around, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. “What the hell—?”

“She’s bleeding!” Spencer’s hands were shaking as he lowered you to the ground, his mind racing through symptoms, probabilities, how much time—

Your eyelids fluttered weakly, struggling to focus on his face.

“Sorry…” you slurred, the word barely audible.

“No, no, no—don’t apologize, just stay awake, okay? Look at me.” His palm cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin in frantic, soothing strokes. “You’re gonna be fine. Just keep your eyes open.”

Hotch was already on the radio, calling for an ambulance, but every second stretched into an eternity. Spencer could feel your pulse under his fingertips—too fast, too thready.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He should have noticed. He should have known.

His breath hitched as your eyes started to close.

“No—hey, no! Stay with me!” His voice broke, fingers tightening around yours. “Please.”

Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed.

The sound should have been a relief. But as the paramedics rushed toward you. Spencer couldn’t breathe.

“We need to move—now!”

Hands reached for you, but Spencer’s grip tightened instinctively, his fingers tangled in the fabric of your shirt. A paramedic pried his hand away—gently but firmly.

“Sir, we need to treat her.”

He forced himself to let go.

The seconds it took to lift you onto the stretcher felt like hours. The moment they strapped you in, Spencer was moving, climbing into the ambulance before anyone could stop him.

“I’m not leaving her.” His voice left no room for argument.

The doors slammed shut. The ambulance lurched forward.

And then—there was nothing but the sound of the heart monitor’s steady beep and the too-slow rise and fall of your chest.

The paramedics worked quickly, cutting away fabric to reveal the wound—a deep, angry gash just below your ribs, still bleeding.

His stomach twisted.

The EMT pressed a fresh bandage to your side, and even unconscious, you let out a weak whimper.

Spencer’s hand shot out before he could stop himself, his fingers tangling with yours. Your skin was ice-cold, your grip limp.

“Hang on,” he whispered, voice cracking. His thumb traced frantic circles over your knuckles, as if he could somehow transfer his own warmth into you. “Just hang on, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

The ambulance hit a pothole, jostling you slightly. Your face contorted in pain, and Spencer’s free hand hovered uselessly above your shoulder, desperate to comfort but terrified of hurting you more.

“Can’t you go faster?” he snapped, his voice fraying at the edges.

The paramedic didn’t look up. “We’re almost there.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes darting between your face and the heart monitor. The numbers taunted him—too low, too slow.

This was his fault.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known. He’d watched you take that hit during the struggle, seen the way you’d stumbled afterward, the way your hand had pressed discreetly to your side. But you’d smiled at him—soft and reassuring—and like an idiot, he’d believed you.

A sudden twitch of your fingers against his snapped him back to the present.

His breath caught. “Hey—?” He leaned closer, his free hand brushing your cheek. “Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

The ambulance screeched to a halt. The doors flew open.

And just like that, you were ripped away from him again, whisked into the bright, sterile chaos of the ER.

A nurse stopped him at the doors. “You’ll need to wait here.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue—but the doors swung shut in his face.

Alone in the sterile, suffocating silence of the waiting room, Spencer Reid— man who always had an answer—could do nothing but stand there, your blood still drying on his hands, and wait.

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead. He couldn’t sit. Couldn’t breathe.

So he paced.

Back and forth, back and forth—wearing a path into the linoleum like a man possessed. His hands flexed at his sides, fingers stiff with dried blood. Your blood. The sight of it made his stomach twist.

The team came and went in shifts, each checking on you, each casting worried glances his way.

Then, the adrenaline crashed.

Exhaustion hit him like a physical blow, but he refused to sit. The hospital chairs were too stiff, the silence too loud, the waiting unbearable. His mind, always too sharp for its own good, raced through worst-case scenarios.

He should’ve seen it. Should’ve known.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the static in his head. Spencer hadn’t even heard him arrive.

The unit chief stood beside him, his usual stoicism softened by the faintest crease of concern between his brows. “Any updates?” he asked as his eyes flickered toward the treatment doors.

Spencer shook his head, his throat too tight to speak.

Hotch didn’t push, before stepping aside as Garcia burst through the entrance, her heels clicking frantically against the linoleum.

“Oh my god, is she okay?” Her voice was high with panic, eyes red-rimmed behind her glasses. She zeroed in on Spencer immediately, her hands fluttering toward him like she could physically tether him to the present. “Spencer, talk to me—”

“They haven’t told us anything yet,” Hotch answered for him.

Garcia’s lower lip trembled. “But she’s tough—she’s gonna be fine, right? She has to be—”

Morgan arrived next, his usual swagger replaced by a grim tension. He took one look at Spencer’s ashen face, the blood still streaked across his sleeves, and exhaled sharply through his nose, but he didn't say anything.

Spencer's gaze was fixed on the clock above the nurses’ station, barely noticing anything around him.

Twenty-seven minutes.

Too long. Too long.

Rossi appeared with coffee no one drank. JJ murmured reassurances no one believed.

And Spencer paced.

At the fifty-three-minute mark, a doctor finally emerged.

Spencer’s heart stopped.

She looked at him first—of course she did—and offered a small, exhausted smile.

"She's going to be okay."

The words struck Spencer like a physical blow to the chest. Oxygen flooded back into his lungs so violently it burned, his knees nearly buckling under the sudden weight of relief. Behind him, Garcia gasped - a wet, shuddering "Oh thank God" muffled against Morgan's sleeve as she fisted her hands in his leather jacket.

Spencer remained frozen. Rooted to the spot.

Because the doctor was still speaking, her lips forming words that dissolved into meaningless static before they reached him.

—significant blood loss—

—no organ damage—

—lucky the blade missed the artery—

Lucky. The word turned to ash in his mouth.

There was nothing lucky about how your body had gone limp in his arms, your blood seeping through his shirt as he'd screamed for help. Nothing lucky about the way your eyelids had fluttered weakly before going still—

"—kept asking for you."

His head snapped up so fast his neck cracked. "What?"

The doctor's expression softened around tired eyes. "During moments of consciousness. She was disoriented, but she kept saying your name."

Something vital fractured behind his sternum. You'd asked for him. Even half-conscious. Even bleeding out.

"When can I see her?" The demand ripped from his throat, jagged and desperate.

"She's in recovery now. Give us another hour to get her settled, then one visitor at a time."

An hour. Sixty more minutes of this agony. Spencer's fingers twitched at his sides, still tacky with your blood.

"Reid." Hotch's voice dropped into that particular tone that brooked no argument. "Sit down before you collapse."

Spencer barely registered the hard plastic chair biting into his back. His hands trembled violently in his lap - the same hands that had failed to notice your injury, failed to protect you—

Garcia thrust a paper cup of lukewarm coffee between his shaking fingers. "Drink this," she ordered, her usual bubbly cadence replaced by steel. "

The coffee tasted like ashes, but he drank it anyway, if only to stop the trembling.

The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly. Each second stretched into eternity. Around him, the team moved quietly - Morgan pacing like a caged panther, JJ making hushed phone calls, Rossi leaning against the wall with a tension that belied his casual stance.

And Spencer sat. And waited. Counting each breath, each heartbeat, until he could see for himself that you were truly alive.

The hour passed in agony.

At first, there had only been relief—a dizzying, all-consuming wave of it that left Spencer lightheaded. You were alive. That was all that mattered.

But as the minutes crawled by, other emotions began creeping in, slithering through the cracks in his composure like poison.

Anger.

It started as a spark, small but insistent.

How could you not tell him?

The question burned through him, relentless. You’d lied to him. Smiled right at him, blood soaking through your shirt, and told him you were fine. He could still hear the way your voice had wavered—just slightly—when you’d said it. He should’ve known. He should’ve—

His hands clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms.

And then, worse than the anger at you—the anger at himself.

He was a profiler. It was his job to notice the details, to see what others missed. He’d watched you fight the unsub, watched you stumble afterward. He’d seen the way your hand had pressed to your side, the way your breathing had turned shallow. But he’d let you brush it off. He’d believed you.

Idiot. The self-loathing settled heavy in his chest.

Across the room, Morgan shot him a look. “You good, Reid?”

No. He wasn’t.

“Peachy,” Spencer bit out, the word brittle.

Garcia frowned, reaching for him, but he stood abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. He needed air. Needed to move.

The hallway outside was quiet, sterile. He braced his hands against the wall, head bowed, breaths coming too fast.

He’d studied every microexpression, every twitch of every unsub they’d ever hunted—but he hadn’t seen this. Hadn’t seen you.

What if the unsub had gotten another hit in? What if—

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral. Spencer didn’t turn.

“She’s alive,” Hotch said, quiet but firm. “That’s what matters.”

Spencer’s jaw worked. “She could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t.”

Because she got lucky. The unspoken words hung between them, heavy as a verdict.

A nurse appeared at the end of the hall. “Agent Reid? She’s asking for you.”

The nurse's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she led him down the hallway, the sound grating against Spencer's frayed nerves. His pulse hammered in his throat with each step closer to your room. When they reached the door, he froze in the threshold, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Thank you," he muttered to the nurse, barely recognizing his own voice.

The door clicked shut behind him.

And then—your eyes flew open, locking onto his like you'd been waiting.

"Spencer."

Your voice was rough, but the relief in that single word nearly undid him. A shaky exhale escaped you, as if you'd been holding your breath until this moment.

Each step was measured, unsteady, as if his body had forgotten how to move without trembling. He had counted every agonizing second until this moment, had played it over in his mind a hundred times—how he would rush to your side, how he would take your hand, how he would finally know you were alive.

But now that he was here, his legs wouldn’t cooperate.

And then he was at your bedside, close enough to see the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lashes fluttered weakly with each blink. His throat tightened.

"You're awake," he whispered, the words cracking under the weight of everything he wasn’t saying.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets—a weak, aborted movement, like you wanted to reach for him but didn’t have the strength.

"Told you I was fine," you murmured, voice hoarse but laced with the faintest tease.

A broken sound escaped him—half-laugh, half-sob. His hand finally lifted, hovering just above yours before he let it settle, his touch feather-light, terrified of hurting you.

"You collapsed," he said, the words raw. "You—you bled out in my arms."

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching weakly beneath his. Then, with effort, you patted the empty space beside you on the hospital bed—an invitation, a silent plea for closeness.

For a heartbeat, he hesitated. His gaze flickered over the IV line taped to your arm, the bandages peeking out from beneath your hospital gown, as if weighing the risk of hurting you against the unbearable need to be near you.

Then, carefully—so carefully—he sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight barely disturbing the sheets. His hands trembled as he reached for you again, but this time, you were the one who bridged the gap. Your fingers brushed over his knuckles, tracing the dried blood still smudged there—your blood—before curling loosely around his palm.

"But I'm okay now," you murmured, your voice soft but steady.

His breath shuddered out of him. He turned his hand beneath yours, intertwining their fingers with aching gentleness, as if you were something fragile. Something precious.

"You scared me," he whispered.

"I know. And I’m sorry," you whispered.

A flicker of guilt passed over his face, but before he could spiral further, you added with a weak smirk, "The nurses told me about a tall, pretty guy not letting them work properly."

They hadn’t, of course—but you knew him. Knew he’d hovered, frantic and pale, demanding answers they couldn’t give fast enough. Knew he’d probably been seconds away from reciting medical journals at them just to feel some semblance of control.

Spencer blinked, then huffed—a startled, breathless sound caught between indignation and reluctant amusement. "I—that’s not—" He faltered, then exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. "Okay. Maybe."

You grinned, despite the dull ache in your side. "So you admit you’re pretty?"

His cheeks flushed, but his grip on your hand tightened—just a fraction—like he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on. "I admit," he muttered, "that you’re impossible."

"And yet," you teased, shifting slightly—then wincing.

Instantly, his expression sobered. His free hand hovered over you, uncertain. "Don’t—don’t move, just—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist, guiding his palm to rest gently over your uninjured side. His breath hitched as his fingers skimmed the dip of your waist—careful, reverent, like he was relearning the shape of you.

He bit his lip, his thumb brushing once, twice, over the soft fabric of your hospital gown, as if to reassure himself that this part of you, at least, was unharmed. Then, with a quiet exhale, he murmured, "The rest of the team is waiting outside. I’m pretty sure Garcia got you a bunch of different plushies."

You could practically see it—Garcia bursting in with an armful of absurdly cheerful stuffed animals, each one louder and more ridiculous than the last.

"How many are we talking?" you asked, lips quirking. "Enough to start a zoo?"

Spencer’s mouth twitched—almost a smile. "At least three with googly eyes. One of them might be a neon pink llama."

You snorted, then immediately regretted it as pain lanced through your side. His hand tensed against you, his face flooding with concern.

"Hey—easy," he murmured, shifting closer instinctively. His other hand came up to brush a stray hair from your forehead, his touch lingering. "No more making fun of Garcia’s questionable taste in plushies until you can laugh without wincing."

"That might take a while," you admitted, but you were smiling again—small, but real.

Spencer’s gaze softened. "I’ll wait."

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. Then, Spencer uttered the words like they'd been clawing at his throat:

"You lied to me."

His voice was quiet—too quiet—but the hurt in it cut deeper than any blade. His fingers still rested against your side, but they'd gone stiff, like he couldn't decide whether to pull away or hold on tighter.

You swallowed. "I didn't lie. I just... didn't mention the part where I was actively bleeding out."

His jaw clenched. "Semantics."

"Spencer—"

"No." His hand finally withdrew, raking through his hair instead. "You smiled at me. You said you were fine. Do you have any idea what it was like, watching you collapse like that? Thinking—" His voice cracked. "Thinking I'd just let you die?"

The raw pain in his words stole your breath. You reached for him, ignoring the protest of your stitches. "Hey. Look at me."

He did—reluctantly—and the guilt hit you like a punch. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale with exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "I didn't want you to worry. I thought I could tough it out until we got him cuffed."

"That's the problem," he said hoarsely. "You don't have to tough it out alone. Not with me."

Your throat tightened. "I know. And next time—"

"There won't be a next time," he interrupted, voice fierce. Then, quieter: "Please."

You caught his hand again, pressing his palm to your cheek this time. "Okay," you murmured against his skin. "No more lies. Even the stupid ones."

He let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "...Even the stupid ones,"he agreed.

And just like that, the weight in the room shifted—not gone, but lighter. Bearable.

Outside, Garcia's voice suddenly carried down the hall, "—FBI, ma'am, I promise the emotional support alpaca is essential to her recovery—"

Your gaze drifted down to his hands—those beautiful, trembling hands still streaked with rust-colored stains. The sight punched through you harder than the wound ever had.

"You should wash up," you whispered, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the dried blood caking his knuckles.

Spencer flinched as if burned. He hadn't even noticed. But now the evidence clung to him like a second skin, flaking when he flexed his fingers. Your blood. The realization sent a violent shudder through him.

"Right," he choked out, standing abruptly.

He made it two steps before turning back, his voice cracking. "Don't— Don't disappear while I'm gone."

The joke fell flat, undercut by the raw fear in his eyes.

"I'll be right here," you promised, patting the sterile sheets. "Go."

The bathroom fluorescents buzzed overhead as Spencer scrubbed at his hands with surgical precision. Steam rose from the scalding water, turning his skin an angry red. He didn't stop until every last trace was gone.

The water ran pink, then clear, swirling down the drain with the last physical remnants of your blood.

Then — voices. Loud. Familiar.

Garcia swept in first, arms overflowing with plush animals—including, as promised, a neon pink llama with absurdly large googly eyes. "Oh, sweetheart!" she wailed, nearly tripping over her own heels in her haste to reach you. "Look at you, all brave and beautiful and—oh my God, is that a bullet wound?!"

Morgan followed close behind, rolling his eyes. "She was stabbed, Garcia."

"Details!" Garcia sniffled, dumping the stuffed animals onto your lap with surprising gentleness before cupping your face. "The important thing is, our favorite badass is still kicking."

JJ appeared next, balancing a tray of suspiciously green hospital Jell-O. "We brought contraband," she said, grinning as she set it on your bedside table. "Well, contraband adjacent. It's still hospital food, but it's the lime flavor, so…"

Rossi lingered near the foot of your bed, arms crossed, but his usual smirk was softer than usual. "You gave Reid ten years off his life, kid."

"I know," you admitted, your gaze flickering toward the bathroom door.

Hotch stepped forward. "You did good work today," he said simply. "But next time, maybe mention when you're bleeding out."

The apartment was quiet when Spencer brought you home.

He'd already fluffed the pillows on the couch, laid out your favorite blanket, and arranged a small army of Garcia's plushies along the back—including the neon pink llama, which now sat proudly on the armrest like some kind of fuzzy sentinel.

You barely had time to take it all in before he was at your side again, hovering. His arm hooked gently around your waist, his touch feather-light, like you might break.

"Sit," he murmured, guiding you down onto the couch with the same careful precision he usually reserved for rare first editions. "Do you need water? Pain meds? I bought those crackers you like—"

"Spencer." You caught his wrist as he started to turn toward the kitchen, tugging him back gently. "Breathe. I'm okay."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering over you—checking, always checking—before exhaling sharply. "I know. I just…" His hands flexed at his sides, restless. "I need to do something."

You understood. This was Spencer Reid, after all—the man who needed equations to make sense of the world, variables to control. And right now, the only equation that mattered was you, alive and here, and he had no idea what to do with the leftover terror still humming under his skin.

So you gave him a task.

"Okay," you said softly, nodding toward the blanket. "Then sit with me. And tell me about the book you’ve been reading."

Something in his shoulders eased. He sank onto the couch beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours, and reached for the blanket.

"It's about quantum entanglement," he started, his voice warming as he draped the fabric over your legs with meticulous care. "The theory that particles can become linked, so that what happens to one affects the other, no matter the distance."

You smiled, leaning into him. "Sounds familiar."

His breath hitched. Then, slowly, his arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you carefully against his side.

"Yeah," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "It does."

Outside, the world kept turning. Cases would come, and wounds would heal.

But here, tangled together on the couch, you were perfectly, irrevocably linked—and nothing, not even blood or time or space, could change that.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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sttoru · 11 months ago

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𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. dom!sylus x female reader. smut, pwp. gun play. degrading. cowgirl position. power trip. hunter - prey-ish? reader gets called ‘sweetie, kitten, sweet girl, slut.’ not proof read !

“careful, sweetie,” sylus’ husky voice rings in your ear. your hand trembles as you hold onto the large hand that’s pointing a gun right at your chest. you’re sweating—not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

the scene was a familiar one. you’ve been in this position before - on his lap - with a gun involved. yet this time you’re both so intimately connected; your clothes scattered around the velvet chair, your hips trembling as you ride him. the same man you swore you hated.

“it’s quite funny, no?” sylus inquires, unable to hold back a grunt when you stare at him with such a drunken look in your eyes. you’re drunk on the adrenaline, the barrel of the loaded gun pressed against your flesh. a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips, “how the tables have turned.”

your hips don’t stop moving. you pull them up and push them back down, the back and forth rhythm not to be missed as well. he fills you up too well—his pink tip prodding at your sweet spot with precision. it doesn’t help your case at all. especially when you’re whimpering and moaning about how good it feels.

it’s you who’s supposed to hold that gun up to his chest. that’s how it went last time, but alas. this is your second failed attempt to show your dominance over him, onychinus’ leader.

“it’s also quite pathetic to see you give in so easily to me, kitten,” sylus continues, teasing and belittling you. he presses the barrel right above your heart, his finger right on top of the trigger. your breath hitches and yet you can’t help yourself—your body seeks the pleasure by itself. he scoffs, “so desperate. is it that good? does it feel that good to have me all the way inside you?”

you shiver at his words. you can’t respond when you’re busy moaning the name of the silver haired man. he’s so big, you’re absolutely cock drunk on him. you don’t want to admit it. you refuse to, though the answer to his question is still as clear as day.

“sh-shut up,” you try to retort through a choked up moan. the lewd noises of your wetness swallowing him up to the base repeatedly, with each thrust, echoes through the room. it’s not like sylus can deny the fact that it turns him on to see you like this neither; he’s rock hard.

sylus shakes his head with a low chuckle. “you seem to have forgotten that you don’t have the upper hand right now,” he sighs, the metal of the gun gliding up your skin to your chin, tilting your head back. your eyes widen and your hand squeezes his larger one that held the gun.

he bites back a groan when your sloppy cunt tightens up around him instinctively, “do you need me to remind me of your place, sweetie?”

“or do you simply like putting yourself in harm’s way?” sylus adds, his free hand guiding your hips in a strangely gentle manner, just so his fat cock could hit all the right spots. “either is fine by me. i love to tame disobedient prey like you.”

he leans his head back and his red eyes roam over your body. your skin is glimmering with sweat, the dim light in the room giving it a soft glow. his gaze stops at your bouncing tits for a second before returning to your face.

“i—i just want..” you stammer through whimpers. you can barely think, your thoughts are an absolute mess. you don’t know if you should fear the fact that your life is being played with while you’re in such a compromising position, or if you should just enjoy the addicting sensations the situation brings along.

sylus encourages you to keep on talking by tapping the barrel of his gun beneath your chin again, his right eye faintly glowing a brighter red. you gulp as you bounce on his dick. you know your inner desires and needs have already been exposed to sylus—he probably knows what you need, yet he’ll still make you say it to him directly.

“i just.. need you,” you finally manage to form a proper sentence. you’re unable to take your words back. you don’t care at the moment; you’re focused on chasing that sweet high.

sylus’s long fingers tighten their grip around your hip. he closes his eyes for a second to recompose himself before opening them again. “who knew you’d be such a needy slut,” he mutters underneath his breath, trying to keep calm when you admitted to needing him in such a whiny tone.

“need me, hm?” sylus grins as he finally got you to be vocal about your true needs. “need me to fill you up that bad? to pound you brainless? to have you submit to me while i show this slutty cunt of yours what it’s like to have me fucking it?”

the words fall off his tongue with such ease. the sudden dirty talk and change in tone makes your stomach do flips. his free hand reaches up to tug your hair back harshly while he whispers that in your ear.

“yes, fuck—yes, need it so bad,” you nod mindlessly. you don’t care about anything as you’re riding him. you’re willingly handing your destiny over to sylus—which drives him insane. the thrill of having that power over you makes his finger tremble on the trigger. the power trip is messing with his brain.

his eyes darken for a few seconds while he regains his composure. he can’t wait to flip you over and have his way with you.

sylus grins before kissing your ear and neck, bucking his hips up to hear you mewl from pleasure. he pulls away from your skin to look at you with his signature smirk, teasing you once more, “then, who am i to deny my sweet girl?”

#sttoru writes.#sylus smut #sylus x reader #love and deepspace smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace x you #lds x reader

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wyniepooh · 10 months ago

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Loving him was never enough

you don’t have what logan needs, but he still takes all that he can.

Cage fighter!logan x reader. Mentions of violence. Porn with a little bit of plot. mdni; 18+

thinking about being logan’s plaything in his cage fighting days.

It’s not uncommon for the fighters to have a girl around their arms as they enter the ring, and though Logan usually resists against the fan girls who clamour around him in a frenzy, he figures a sweet thing like you could only do him some good.

Not only does it piss the other fighters off, (they hate to see the king of the cage also have a pretty girl like you beside him) turns out, you’re not half bad for company either.

You’re an anxious little thing, brows furrowed and eyes teary before every match. Logan doesn’t bother telling you that he’ll be fine, that he’s going to win guaranteed, that his punch is as hard as metal. Literally.

He hates to admit it, but he finds it endearing, the way you’re so worried for him. through his nonchalant front, he still wipes away your tears with his large hands before every match and reassures you, cooing, “I’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

When logan gets in the ring, the fight goes exactly as he expects it to go. The other guy is destroyed before logan even shows his true strength. In a spiteful and humiliating position, the fallen guy comments something like, “I’ll fuck your pretty girlfriend dumb.”

Logan hears, of course, and though the guy is already bleeding and sprawled over the mat on the ground in a pathetic display, and though logan definitely didn’t consider you his girlfriend, he throws the announcer to the side and pounces. Through gritted teeth and a bleeding forehead, he catches your eye, shaking his head lightly before knocking the other guy out.

You wait for him in the small public washroom afterwords, arms crossed and pouting. As Logan approaches the door and sees your stiff pacing around the room, he knows you’re mad. And he knows it won’t stay that way.

“‘was so worried, logan,” you practically run towards him, “why’d you have to go after him like that? he could’ve really hurt you.”

He scoffs and flashes you the fresh wad of cash. “Hurt me? Please.”

He stays still for as long as he can bear while you dab at the wound on his head with your sleeve, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice the red cut slowly healing by itself. When you try to touch his face, to run a finger down his cheek and his stubble, he grabs your wrist harshly to stop you.

You’re confused, confused as to why he allows you to trail along to his every fight and wipes your tears with such a gentle hand, but refuses to let you in. He doesn’t give you much time to think, though, because as soon as you part your lips to speak, he’s picking you up from under your arms and sitting you down on the cold sink counter.

there’s an aggressive desperation behind his kiss, probably produced by the adrenaline of the recent fight and triggered by the soft whine he heard from you when his teeth knocked against yours. His hand reaches down between your legs and drags your panties to the side, and before long, you’re biting his shoulder and mumbling, “‘gonna cum, logan, please, let me cum.”

He does, drawing out your short orgasm with a few more pumps of his fingers and a graze over your clit. When he’s done, you’re practically already numb, head limp on his shoulder as you hear the metal clinking of his belt.

“You want this?” He asks, holding your head up by your chin as he tilts his head and raises his brows. “You want me?”

You nod feverishly, half-lidded eyes flickering as you breathe, “yes, logan. need you.” Your head falls back against the mirror, and he looks down with a grin at the sight in front of him.

he hooks his arms around your knees to bring you closer before you take him to the hilt in one go, burying a mewl into his shoulder as you wrap your legs around his waist. The first thrust burns, always does, but only he can make you forget the pain in an instant. Soon, your hands are tangled in his hair, his beard is rubbing against your neck, and you’re begging, “please, lo, need it so bad. “ Logan fucks exactly like how he fights, thrusting into you so sharply your ass is sliding back on the metal counter with each movement of his hips.

He’s done this enough times to know what makes you whine and dig your fingernails into his back, but he still demands, every time, “that feel good, baby? you like that?” Of course, you don’t have to answer for him to know that it does, that it does feel good, so incredibly good, and that he’s hitting all the right spots in the body only he knows so well.

You aren’t the only one filling the room with lewd noises. Logan is panting too, the echoes of his each and every grunt reflecting off of every corner in the room and into your ear. It only makes your cheeks flush hotter, only encourages your hips to move more eagerly to match his pace.

It’s always when he’s just about there that Logan pulls back and looks down at where the two of you are connected, slowing down his strokes to slowly watch his bulging cock sink deep into your slopping cunt.

It’s the only opportunity with logan that you get to really look at him, to see the raw expression of euphoria on his face, teeth bared and mouth open. Some strands of previously gelled hair are stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his eyes rolling back with each press of his pelvis. Your eyes trace the sweat on his shoulder, the hair on his chest peaking from behind his white wife-beater, and the vein on his stomach that connects to the one on his dick.

You gaze flickers back at his face, and you extend a hand to guide his head towards you. He tries to turn away, as usual, and you hate that you know he’s holding back; limiting the noises he’s making, the pace he’s taking.

“Just use me, Logan. I know you want to,” you plead against his lips, inhaling a gasp as you press your lips onto his. You expect him to pull away, to push your head to the side and focus on finishing the other task at hand, but this time, he only pulls you closer, one hand around your waist and the other on the back of your head. He doesn’t give you much time to be shocked before he resumes his previous pace, drilling into you with the same vigor, albeit a bit more sloppy than before.

Logan pulls back to catch his breath, and at the same time, you clench tightly around him. A low groan escapes him, a noise so animalistic and fervent that you reach your high right then and there, shrieking as your legs begin to shake.

He’s close too, you can feel it in his breathing, so you let him fuck you beyond your orgasm, even if it’s getting to be too much and you’re losing your thoughts by the second.

“nobody— ah— fucks my girlfriend,” he suddenly growls, lifting you up from under your arms and shoving you against the tiled wall. He squeezes your cheeks, forcing you to look into his hazel gaze as he spits, “n-nobody fucks you like I do.”

He plummets into you deep, leaning his lips in and making you swallow one last groan of his before you feel his warm release fill your insides.

When he’s done, Logan is supporting all your weight, your limp arms splayed around his sweaty back. You whimper at the emptiness as he pulls out, feeling his cum languidly drip down your inner thighs.

You’re too exhausted to realize what he just said, to react to what he just referred to you as, and as the fog of pleasure slowly unclouds Logan’s head, he’s glad he fucked you stupid enough to forget.

a/n: anyone else feel like they’re incapable of writing good smut? Hey Google how many other synonyms could there possibly be of the word ‘thrust’?

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whorelaud · 6 months ago

Text

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (08)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content mature content, nsfw; making out, nipple sucking, teasing, hickies, praise, dry humping (?), pet names, sexual tension, fluff!! sneaking around, fights and arguments, angst

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 07 ! 08 ¡ 09

Your skin burned; heat radiating off your entire body throughout the whole meeting. Rafe’s gaze pierced holes through you, unable to keep his eyes away from you, even with your father mere inches away, the small distance barely separating you.

The meeting soon came to an end, a sigh of relief escaping your throat the moment the elders shot up from their seats, shaking your parents’ hands as they bid goodbye’s. You scrambled to hide behind your mom, awaiting Rafe and your brother’s leave; just in case the latter puts you in the spot, offering to drive you back, and make things even more awkward than they were.

After the incident with Ryan, you both tended to be more careful, sneaking around to spend time with each other once everyone fell asleep (like literally… you’d make Rafe double check whether Ryan fell asleep, not choosing to put yourself at risk with the situation). It was oddly thrilling, though your words spoke otherwise, you found joy in telling Rafe off as he drags you to a dim corner away from everyone’s eyes, a rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins the moment he connects your lips with his, the gesture assuring you in a way; pushing your worries down the pit of your stomach.

Ryan was also keeping watch, although Rafe brushed off his assumptions, the latter insisted the phone was yours, growing more suspicious when Rafe snatched it before he could get a hold of it. Hiding the whole thing from your brother felt as if something bitter lodged in your throat, one you couldn’t bring yourself to swallow down.

It was horrible, with the thrill and giddiness came worry and guilt, that even if you were happy, the voices in the back of your head would hold you back, reminding you of the hell you created out of yourself. You were at a point where all you could do was wait, enjoy each moment in hopes of it lasting forever, merely going with the flow for the sake of happiness you’ve forced yourself to appreciate, though it wasn’t worthy of, no amount of assuring convincing you otherwise.

The deadline for your trip was approaching, with each passing second, minute, hour. And for that, you chose to push down your emotions, enjoy the company of your friends while they were within reach, knowing you weren’t going to see them for the next months; years, even. And Rafe, yeah, the mere thought of dealing with the long distance had you stressing, unable to handle him being a few hours drive away.

In that short while you spent with your friends had a lasting impact, influencing a big part of your life, one you weren’t aware was missing. It was as if this trip was meant to heal you, pay off all your pain in sorrow with the company of others, even if not much was being done, as you spent most of your time hanging out on the beach near the Airbnb.

You were still grateful, though, impatiently waiting to get home after your friends suggested a girls’ night out. You swiftly agreed, because who were you to refuse? Besides, you didn’t fully dislike the idea of it, as it would probably help get your mind off things.

You hurried to get changed upon your arrival, sprinting up the stairs with the intention of saving yourself a bit of time. You took an everything shower, styled your hair, did your makeup, and picked something out to wear, not wanting to delay your leave any longer, and waste the precious time your friends spared you.

Everything was fine, until it came to finding your desired pair of shoes. A puzzled expression settled on your face once you realized your Converse were nowhere in sight, almost as if they vanished into thin air. You searched the entirety of the closet for them, growing panicked when Cleo soon seeked your presence, asking whether you were ready.

“I can’t find my converse,” you answered, eyebrows knitting with frustration. “I’m sure I put them here, where did they go?”

“Your converse?” Clep questioned, tilting her head as she observed the now mess of a closet. “I think I saw them in the garage, are they white?”

“Yeah,” You perked up at that, standing to your feet in an instant. “Why are they in the garage?”

“Girl, I don’t know.” Cleo chuckled, shaking her head. “You should grab them, we’re leaving in a few.”

“Lifesaver.” you sighed, planting a brief kiss to her cheek before you were off to the garage, entering from the door attached to the kitchen.

You fanned away the dust fogging your vision, attention shifting to the sun invading the space through the slightly open garage door. You quickly got to searching for your shoes, yelping with excitement when you spotted it lying around, along with your pair of white crocs (God knows how these ended up here). You hurried to put them on, struggling in the process, and sighing with relief after you managed to insert one of them around your foot.

Your action cut short, breath hitching as a familiar hand sneaked around your waist, halting you in your spot. You wasted no time to turn around, eyes widening in shock when your gaze landed on Rafe, a knowing smile leisurely dancing around his lips at your reaction.

“You showed up.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. “You took so long, I didn’t think you would.”

“What are you doing?” Your lips parted in a gasp, shoving the latter by the shoulder. “The garage door is open, Rafe. What if someone saw you?!”

“What, I can’t see my girl now?” His gaze flickered to your lips, leaning his arm over the chair you made yourself comfortable on. He then leaned forward, capturing your lips in a soft, yet deliberate kiss, instantly interrupted once you shoved him away. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“Missed me?” You repeated through gritted teeth, “Were you the one who stole my shoes?”

“What? No!” He said in between giggles, the cockiness in his tone immediately giving away the white lie. “You know I would never.”

“You idiot!” You huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “You’re gonna get us caught if you keep doing this.”

“You barely make time for me now,” he pouted, watching as you strived to put the other pair of shoes on. “I had to take action, since someone is playing hard to get.”

A scoff escaped your throat at the snarky comment, firmly tying the shoelaces into a knot before you stood to your feet, straightening your back to catch glimpse of Rafe, whose eyes followed your every move.

“What if I never wore my converse?” You snickered, pursing your mouth into a thin line to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Then what, would you have still waited for me?”

“Without a doubt,” he replied with no hesitation. “I knew you’d wear them, though; you always do.”

“Whatever,” you playfully rolled your eyes, disregarding the way your face flushed with heat, expression giving your shyness away. “I need to leave.”

“So soon?” His eyebrows curled with disappointment, as he pressed one of his hands to your hips, using the gesture to pull you closer. He tilted your head with the tip of his fingers, instantly crashing his lips into yours in a teasing kiss, teeth lightly grazing over your bottom lip before he pulled away. “I jus’ got ahold of you,” and another kiss, “care to spare me a few minutes?”

“This is not working on me, Rafe.” You pushed him off, though you fully melted in his hold, wanting nothing but to get a taste of his lips again. “You know I can’t, Sarah will kill me if I’m late.”

“There you go with Sarah,” he huffed, rolling his eyes as he moved away, giving you enough space to get through. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” You giggled, scrunching your nose at his reaction. “I’ll be back soon, don’t be upset.” You glimpsed around, eyeing the place carefully before you grabbed his face, not giving Rafe time to process the situation before you were leaping him in a soft kiss, one bidding him goodbye, and leaving him craving more. “Bye, I’ll miss you.”

At that, Rafe grins, admiring as you walked away, now creating somewhat of a distance between you two. He waved his hand in your direction, swaying his body back and forth with mere giddiness. “Text me!”

You nod in response, chuckling before strolling your way in your friends’ direction, instantly flashing Sarah an apologetic smile upon catching glimpse of her sulky expression.

Rafe stretched his arms over his head, letting his eyes fall shut as a groggy groan escaped his throat, the action falling interrupted when he turned in the door’s (the one leading to the kitchen) direction, and spotted Ryan, whose glare puzzled Rafe, unable to read his mind, and know what he was thinking.

“Ryan,” He nervously started, “How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” the latter mumbled, exhaling through his parted lips. “Wanted to check why this door was open.”

“Oh,” Rafe relaxed, partially due to the explanation, pausing before he continued. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, “I got takeout, wanna eat?”

“Sure.” Rafe nodded, following in Ryan’s steps when he took his leave, and making sure to close the door once he was inside. His eyebrows quirked upon his gaze landing on the table, confused on why there was no food plated on the hardwood. “Where’s the food?”

“On the porch.” Ryan dismissed, escorting Rafe outside. He took a seat on one of the chairs, quickly joined by rafe as he reached for one of the boxed foods splayed on the table. “Help yourself out.”

Ryan didn't need to tell him twice as he dug in, munching on his food while admiring the rocky waves. It was a beautiful sight, calming Rafe in a way, though that didn't last forever as he took notice of the latter, who stuck to playing with the noodles instead of eating.

“Why aren't you eating?” Rafe asked, addressing Ryan with his chin. “Do you not like it?”

Ryan remained silent, gaze yet fixed on the food in his lap, letting silence seep in before he cut through it. “I saw you earlier.”

“Me?” Rafe scoffed through a mouthful of food, leaning back in his chair. “When?

“In the garage, with my sister.” Rafe almost chokes when Ryan replies, mouth stilling for a moment. “You know, Bug; the same girl you referred to as a sister.”

Fuck. He knows.

Rafe’s heart drops at that, fully abandoning the food he had in hand, tossing it on the table as he casually spins in Ryan’s direction, a mere attempt of maintaining a calm expression, as if he wasn't a panicking mess deep down.

“What do you mean?” He feigned oblivion, blinking far too many times for his liking.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rafe.” Ryan stifles out a sarcastic laugh, turning to face Rafe, who despite his cool expression, turned red with nervousness. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I don't.” Rafe lied through his teeth, gulping when Ryan straightened up, getting off the chair in an instant.

Ryan gave Rafe no time to process the situation, swinging a punch to his face, immediately causing the latter to stumble back, fully taken aback by the gesture.

Sure, they’ve had their fair share of arguments, but it never got this bad; to the point where they needed to involve violence.

“You’re fucking my sister, huh?” He then punches him again, and in that moment, awareness washed over Rafe, as he realized this was it. The truth was out, Ryan found out. “Out of everyone, you go for my sister?!”

Rafe sat there, didn't even bother swinging back, or defend himself, hence he knew he deserved it. He hid this for far too long, letting the guilt build up instead of owning up to it and being honest with his best friend. He let Ryan yank him up, then throw him to the floor, then proceeded to relax as he threw another punch to his face, completely wrecking his features with bruises that formed within seconds.

“I thought you were my best friend,” Ryan grunted out, now pressing Rafe to the floor with his knees locking him in place. “I told you,” a punch, “not to fucking” and another, “touch my sister!”

Rafe almost laughs at the statement, choosing to swallow it down, as his friend was already furious; he’d completely lose it if Rafe were to open his mouth, let alone laugh.

He couldn't help it, though, giggling when he caught a glimpse of Ryan’s upset expression, perhaps not taking the situation as seriously as he truly should.

Ryan pauses at that, eyebrows curling with confusion, as to why the latter suddenly erupted into a fit of chuckles. “Why are you laughing?”

“God, you’re ridiculous.” Rafe muttered through a breath, causing Ryan to perk with pent-up anger.

“What did you say?” Ryan mumbles through gritted teeth, failing to hold himself back.

Rafe straightened in his position, groaning once he pushed Ryan off, letting the latter fall to his side. His lips gaped in pain, hissing when his fingers brushed over the bruise near his mouth upon noticing the blood gushing out.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Rafe asked, a smug smirk slowly tugging at his lips.

“You want me to fuckin’ kill you?” Ryan spat out, face fuming with anger. “You think my sister is a whore? You can sleep with her and call it a night? Huh?”

Rafe’s teeth clenched at that, tugging Ryan by the collar of his shirt. He yanked him back, veins trailing a path to beneath his buzzed hair, unable to contain himself, nor fight the urge to maintain patience.

“Don’t cross the line, Ryan.” He threatened, tone serious, as well as the expression smothering across his face. “Say shit like that one more time and I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’hear me? I could easily take you down; kill you if I wanted, but I won't, ‘cause you're my best friend.” He then paused, seeking Ryan's gaze through his foggy vision before he continued. “I won't let you assume shit, okay? You can't say bullshit like this and expect me not to say anything.”

“Assume? You’ve been hiding the whole fuckin’ thing from me.” Ryan scoffed, ridiculed by Rafe’s words. “You know how I get when I’m angry, Rafe, don’t fucking tempt me.”

“Let it all out, Ryan.” Rafe let go of him, holding onto the chair for support to get himself off the ground, quickly standing to his feet. “I like her, and I’m willing to do anything to be with her, even if I lose myself doing it.” Rafe grabbed his phone from the table, along with his wallet, as he inserted them in the back pocket of his jeans. “I’m not letting her go, no amount of convincing could change my decision.”

Ryan sat there and watched, gaze following Rafe as he strived to take his leave, immediately disappearing out of the latter’s sight. Telling (?) his best friend felt like something heavy getting off his chest, though he still had plenty to worry about. It was nice, knowing he won't have to hide his feelings away anymore.

He planned to keep the incident between him and Ryan for now, not wanting you to find out, just for a fight to break down between you and your brother. For now, the least he could do is avoid you, favorably till his bruises healed.

And that’s exactly what he did. Rafe never left his room, even after you came back, sticking to texting you instead, and refusing to see you, though you hinted your want to meet him.

The latter wasn't budging, brushing off your attempts by changing the topic, and before you knew it, night has approached, later followed by you falling into deep slumber, only realizing you fell asleep after randomly waking up in the middle of the night to your phone abandoned on your pillow, after your many shots of convincing Rafe to see you.

He’ll come around, you were probably going to see him during breakfast tomorrow.

Or at least you hoped.

Rafe never showed up for breakfast.

You were confused, cluelessly staring at your food while your friends filled the room with chaos, failing to notice the disappointment sprawling across your face.

You’ve grown used to the teasing comments Rafe would throw in your direction, wishing he was there to at least keep you company. You miss him, so much, it was driving you crazy. Throughout your nearly two months of staying here, this is the longest it's been since you last spoke to Rafe, or seen him in person; and that alone had you spiraling with frustration.

Something was wrong. It wasn't a typical lazy morning for Rafe, as he always manages to squeeze in a bit of quality time, despite how hectic his schedule would get. This time around, he didn't even bother explaining the reason behind his sudden disappearance, remaining a mystery with each time your curiosity grew.

That of course, lasted till the afternoon, when you fortuitously stumbled upon Rafe as he sneaked his way out to the bathroom, not catching glimpse of you down the hall; staring him down with a million thoughts wandering through your head. He clicked the door shut, taking the opportunity for granted when you strolled your way in his direction, disregarding the fact that others could see you, and only focusing on Rafe, while you patiently waited for him to exit the bathroom.

The sound of the door unlatching made you perk up, breath knocking out of your chest when your gaze landed on Rafe, who froze, a look of discomfort instantly spreading on his face. His face, it was bruised, freckled with purple patches that covered a decent amount of his features, you almost didn’t recognize him.

He muttered out your name through a breath, not looking too fond of getting caught in this condition, clearly uncomfortable with you trying to read his expression like you knew exactly what happened, and how he was feeling. With a gulp, the latter started again, tone evident, in contrast to his emotions. “What are you doing here?”

“What happened to your face?” You asked, reaching out for his face, merely for the latter to dodge it as he grasps your wrist in between his fingers, holding it firm and in place.

“Nothin’, I got drunk and accidently got into a fight.” Rafe lied through his teeth, loosening his hold around your hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You didn’t leave the house yesterday, Rafe.” You exclaimed, in response to his deceiving statement. “Who did this to you? Was it Topper? Did he show up while we were gone?”

“C’mon,” he clicked his teeth, giggling to brighten the mood. “You think I’m that weak?”

“This is not a laughing matter, Rafe!” You huffed, eyebrows knitting with frustration. “You were jus’ fine, how did you get all these bruises?”

“Baby, it’s nothing, like I said, I got drunk and–” his sentence was cut short as he jolted back, the muscular figure in view causing you to gasp before you stumbled back, eyes immediately widening in shock upon catching sight of Ryan, now pressing Rafe to the wall.

“‘Fuck are you doing, Rafe?” He asked through gritted teeth, tightening his hold around the collar of Rafe’s shirt when the latter remained silent, leisurely fluttering his eyes shut in response. “Didn’t I warn you, can’t you jus’ fuckin’ respect me for once?”

Rafe scoffed at that, angling his head back as he stifled out a laugh, hands landing on top of Ryan’s, before he shoved them off, slyly fixing the collar of his shirt. “You’re full of shit.”

“What did you say?” Ryan moved forward, fingers clutching into a fist at Rafe’s words, aiming to swing at him, merely for you to interfere with the arm you pressed to his chest.

“What is going on here?” You questioned with disbelief, gaze flickering between your brother and Rafe, hoping for an explanation, an answer, at least.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Rafe assured, addressing you with a tight-lipped smile. “Jus’ go back to your room, I’ll catch you later.”

“Motherfucker,” Ryan spat back, venom filling the void in his tone. “You’re doin’ this to piss me off, aren’t you?”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now…” you muttered under your breath, confusing no one but yourself. “Why are you fighting?”

“Why are you involving her?” Rafe mumbled, jaw clenching with anger. “Might as well jus’ tell everyone else, huh? Yeah everyone, my sister and my best friend have feelings for each other, and I’m a lil’ bitch that can’t handle things not going my way, so I decided to break things off between them, then beat my friend into a pulp to feel better about myself.”

What?

Your lips parted in an inaudible gasp, halting in your tracks at the truth, and the reason behind their argument. Fuck, Ryan found out.

He’d have to find out one day, you knew that, but right now? Your heart instantly sunk to your stomach, breath heaving with each exhale departing your lips, unaware of what to do with yourself, and the new information that practically slapped their way into your brain.

By the looks of it, Ryan did not handle the truth well, hence the proof was evident on Rafe’s face.

“I asked one thing of you, Rafe.” Ryan stated, “One thing; don’t fucking touch my little sister, and what did you do? You go n’ kiss her? What, you expect me to sit back and be happy about this?”

“What do you wanna do?” Rafe’s face twisted with irritation, arms moving in front of his chest as he straightened up, now invading Ryan’s personal space. “What, you’ll try to separate us? I already fucking told you, I’m not letting her go, Ryan. I– I like her, so much; you of all people should know how serious this is for me.”

“Go fuck yourself for all I care.” Ryan choked out a sarcastic laugh, “I know you, you’re a fucking asshole, and a scumbag who only cares about himself, don’t come talkin’ about serious shit, I know you won’t treat my sister well.”

“You’re overstepping it,” Rafe started, tone serious, a slight warning for Ryan. “Don’t make me do somethin’ I’ll regret.”

“Yeah?” Ryan mocked, getting under Rafe’s skin. “What are you gonna do?”

“Stop talking.” You interrupted, sighing aloud with exasperation. “Just shut up, what if someone hears you? What will you tell them?”

“But–” Ryan started.

“Don’t.” You beat him to it, fluttering your eyes shut before you continued. “Go to your rooms, and handle this privately, please. Don’t start saying dumb shit only to regret it later on.”

At that, both of them fall quiet, letting silence seep through the air, atmosphere heavy with tension that could kill. Ryan took a moment to collect himself, before wandering back to his room, knowing if he spoke he wouldn't stop talking.

As for Rafe, the latter stared into the void, watching as you walked away, knowing he can’t speak up, in case he says something and ruins things for himself, messing them up more than they already were. Instead, he observed as you disappeared off to your room, lingering for just a moment, in hopes of seeing you for a few seconds, a mere glimpse, if that was too much to ask for.

Disappointment washed over his chest once he realized you were gone, hopelessly heading back to his room, with the intentions of locking himself in there forever, maybe until he reflects on the dumb decisions his mind keeps suggesting, letting the voices in his head take over each time he was in the slightest bit agitated. However, that wasn’t long, as he was pulled out of his head when a soft knock erupted through the door, that if not for the silence, Rafe wouldn’t have heard it.

His brows curled with puzzlement, hesitating to unlatch the door, only twisting the doorknob when another knock came through. Rafe’s chest raised at the sight of you, straightening up when he came in view, slightly taken aback by your presence. His gaze trailed down to the first-aid kit in your hold, heart quickening in pace upon realizing your reason for disappearance.

The air filled with comfortable silence, Rafe didn’t dare cut through it, merely moving to the side to let you through, with you quietly accepting the invitation as you let yourself inside. Rafe shut the door, before he followed in your steps, deliberately approaching you as if not to startle you, admiring while you unpacked the boxed medicine in the process.

A smile threatened to tug at his lips, fading in an instant when you turned, addressing him with your sharp gaze, that he somehow couldn’t read, falling blank since earlier.

“Sit.” You ordered, dipping a q-tip in the rubbing alcohol that came with the kit.

Rafe did as told, shoulder bumping into yours in the process of getting himself to the bed. He made himself comfortable on the edge, angling his head back to make it easier for you to apply the medicine.

You tapped the ointment to the bruise near his mouth, hushing out an apology when he hissed in pain, continuing to clean up the wound, though it was probably too late now. You still wanted to do it, though, guilt settling in the pit of your stomach once you found out it was your brother’s doing.

“I knew it.” You whispered through a shuddered breath, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect him to be this upset when he found out.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Rafe spoke, regretting it as he grunted in pain, his now disinfected wound burning when he moved his mouth. “It’s fine, I know how he gets when he’s angry.”

“You’re both idiots.” You scoffed, a smile twitching at the corner of your lips. “Why were you provoking him, then?”

“For fun.” He chuckled, letting tension linger in the air.

You continued disinfecting the bruises, almost crumbling as his arm instinctively found the curse of your waist, fingertips rubbing soothing circles to the exposed flesh around your side. You tried not to react to the touch, feigning oblivion to his legs locking you in place, giving you no chance to escape him, or the desire pumping through your insides.

“You’re so pretty.” Rafe’s voice abruptly broke out, earning your attention as you stopped what you were doing, feeling heat crawl past your neck, all the way to your face.

“Well, you’re not.” You teased, covering your flusteredness, wrapping up the first aid kit once you were done. “You’re busted, don’t get beaten up again.”

Rafe squeezed your hip at the playful statement, chuckling along with you, though that gesture of his was desperate, speaking for all his wants and needs. “I’d gladly take another beating for you.”

Your heart raced in your chest, mouth pressing into a thin line to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. You hated how sappy the snarky comment was, making you feel shy like a girl with her first crush, as if you’ve never experienced anything romantic before.

“You’re an idiot.” You hushed out, almost gasping when Rafe’s fingers lightly tugged the waistband of your shorts, leisurely slipping them underneath, just enough to receive a reaction out of you.

A hum of content rummaged out of his chest, tilting his head back even more, until the yearn in his gaze was visible, and in view, unable to hide it anymore. He fluttered his eyes up at you, pupils dilating with need, as new found tension seeped through, unlike the other times something bloomed between you two.

This time, it was different, body submitting each time his touch would linger, clearly expressing the keenness heavy in his heart, now finally able to showcase it through action, with no one to interrupt, nor guilt to interfere.

No thoughts were thought, no words were said, both of your minds were blank, full of emotions, and hushed desire. A breathy sigh stuttered out of your chest, fingers lightly grazing Rafe’s arms as they leisurely trailed up his shoulders, till you reached the crook of his neck.

You engulfed his neck in your hands, thumbs gently pressing to his adam’s apple when you tilted his head back more, hinting that you were just as eager as he was, unable to put an end to the yearn eating through your heart, eventually aiming to do something about it.

“Fuck.” Rafe muttered under his breath, fingers landing over yours.

He wasted no time, immediately standing to his feet as he captured your lips in a kiss, knocking a breath out of your chest in the process. You stumbled back, slightly taken aback, though you quickly adjusted to the situation, slowly moving your lips over Rafe’s, able to taste the blood on his mouth.

It was bittersweet, raw, full of emotions, speaking louder than you can put into words. Rafe’s lips moved with a motive, hot breath fanning over yours as he licked and nipped at your mouth, taking the gasp you let out for granted to slip his tongue in between your parted lips, and letting the warmness of your mouth engulf his own.

His tongue met yours halfway through, a whine muffling its way out when his teeth grazed over your lip, aiming to explore every part of your mouth, even if it meant spending the rest of his life here in this moment. You tasted so fucking good, hell, eve better than the last time he’s kissed you.

Rafe was drunk on your lips, not a thought behind his eyes as he stumbled back, littering sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your hot mouth in the process of sitting himself down, tugging your head downwards with him. You almost chuckled at the gesture, action interrupted when he pulled away, eyes hazing with pure lust.

Loud breaths heaved their way out of his chest, lips parting with a glossy layer of spit. His hooded pupils dilated with yearn, hands exploring your body like no other, unable to keep them to himself. His fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, sloppily pushing it up before his mouth found the plush of your stomach.

Your head tilted back with pleasure, eyes forcing shut as you took in the sensation of Rafe’s tongue swirling around the low of your stomach, nibbling on the skin for a reaction out of you. He’d linger for a second, planting a soft kiss over the spot to soothe away the pain, and hell, did it feel good.

He savored every bit of skin, whatever kept his mouth busy was not preventing him from caressing your body, worshiping you like you’re the only thing that matters. And you were, in Rafe’s eyes, things could not get any better, he’s wanted nothing but to do this, taste you, do this without the voices in his head lecturing him over the consequences of his actions.

“So perfect.” He muffled, thumb pressing to the material of your bra, while yet holding your shirt in place. “Fuckin’ killin’ me, everything you do drives me crazy.”

“Rafeee," you whined, (holding onto his non existent hair) fingernails digging to his shoulders, the sensation earning a grunt out of Rafe, yet littering love bites to your stomach.

He nipped and kissed the soft flesh, one of his hands kneading the plush of your ass, using the pressure of his hold to push you down, causing you to almost fall as you landed in his lap, immediately straddling him, and making yourself comfortable.

You adjusted yourself around the boy, almost shuddering when his hardon brushed over your ass, swallowing down your nervousness when his gaze leveled with yours, not breaking eye contact. His stares burned holes through you, you felt shy, and the need to get away before you melt in his arms.

A sly smirk tugged at his bruised lips, tongue toying with his teeth as he leisurely tugged your shirt with both of his hands, slipping it over your head, until you were left with the thin fabric of your bra.

His eyes hungrily trailed to your cleavage, throat running dry when he gulped, vision going blurry at the sight of your boobs perfectly sitting in place, begging to be touched and caressed by him.

“You sure about this?” He asked for consent, letting his gaze flicker to yours for a brief second.

“Mhm.” You nodded, sweeping him in a quick kiss, forehead connecting with his once you pulled away. “Now do somethin’ please.”

“No need to say it twice, baby.” He whispered, licking into your mouth. One of his hands sneaked its way to your back, landing around your bra, swiftly unclipping it, until the straps fell loose around your arms.

A wave of nervousness came crashing, watching with haste as Rafe froze, eyes flickering to your half-exposed nipples, now freckled with goosebumps due to the chilly breeze invading the hidden flesh.

Rafe carefully hauled the strings down, till they were off your arms, freeing your chest from that stupid bra. Rafe’s mouth salivated at the sight, the bulge in his pants twitching with need. They were perfect, I mean, come on, Rafe was no virgin, but seeing you like this has no reason making his mind race with all sorts of thoughts, like a loser about to have sex for the first time.

This was better than his imagination, so much better than letting his head wander off to how you’ll scream his name when he fucks you, tits bouncing beautifully while you ride his cock. It was a sight, one that made him feel dumb, and idiotic, for even thinking he can have you.

“God,” he groaned, cupping one of your tits in his hold. “Such a fuckin’ brat, always makin’ me feel dirty.”

Your back arched, chasing after the fraction of his thumb rolling your now hardened nipple in his fingers. You were insanely turned on, the sensation making your brain fuzzy, now dizzy all over. And if you thought that felt good, then you were wrong, completely jerking in Rafe’s arms when his mouth captured your nipple in between his lips.

His mouth glided over the skin, coating it with a layer of hot spit, as he swirled his tongue just around the hard nub, causing you to yelp with pleasure. His teeth lightly grazed the sensitive flesh, mouth pooling with thirst, cherishing every second of this like a man starved.

He sucked and nibbled, marking your flesh, and hissing when your hips rolled down, panties soaked with your juices. You couldn’t help it, despite Rafe’s hand pressing to your side, you continued, chasing after the sensation of his cock brushing over your ass through the thin material of your sheer sleep shorts.

“Fucking hell, doll, ‘that feel good?” He asked, squeezing your tit when you stuck to nodding. “Words baby, lemme hear you.”

“Feels so good, Rafe.” You muttered, Rafe’s crotch brushing over your clothed, slick folds with each time you grind your hips down.

“There you go.” He mewled out, “Be a good girl n’ show me how good I make you feel.”

Your body tingled all over at the statement, grinding down with all your might, as you feel your climax building up. Rafe, too, took notice of that, halting your hips in place to earn your attention.

“Wait.” He mumbled, lips parting in a shaky exhale.

“What?” You asked, fluttering your eyes open to catch glimpse of Rafe.

“Don’t.” He warned, “Wanna make you feel good.”

Oh.

“Hmm?” You hummed, slightly feeling shy under his gaze.

“We have all night, baby.” He stifled out a teasing laugh. “I wanna take my time; appreciate each and every inch of you.”

Rafe’s lips collided with yours in a soft peck, thumb rubbing soothing circles to the curve of your jaw.

“Let me take care of you.”

That was it. The only assurance you needed. You wanted this, more than anything.

Fuck the world, hell might as well get fucked too.

smut continuation

a/n all support is v much appreciated!! this one is my fav despite how poorly written it was 😭 i tried to portray the fight scene and the tension in a somewhat decent way but this is all i can manage sorry fellas </3 but yeah phew ryan finally found out... didnt handle it well but 😜 anyways!! next part might be an extra of their first time... pure smut continuing this chapter so lmk if you guys are interested HAHA won't guarantee it being good but... yeha!! its not a necessary read, doesnt add anything to the plot, but i still kinda want to do it yeahh!! with that being said, lmk your thoughts on this chapter <33

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harrysfolklore · 7 months ago

Note

BLURB ABOUT MAX BECOMING WORLD CHAMPION 😩

i wrote this in like 20 minutes it probably sucks but MAX IS THE WORLD CHAMPION AGAIN AND I LOVE HIM SM

Your hands are shaking as you watch the final laps unfold on the screens. Your fingers find the small "33" necklace he gave you years ago – before the switch to number 1, before the championships. Some habits die hard.

When Max finally crosses the line, the explosion of noise is deafening. GP's voice breaks with emotion: "MAX VERSTAPPEN, YOU ARE THE 2024 FORMULA ONE WORLD CHAMPION!"

"Fucking yes!" Max shouts over the radio. "Thank you so much, guys. This one… this one was the hardest yet. I love you all!"

You're crying and laughing simultaneously as his car approaches.Max practically vaults over the barrier, nearly tripping over his own feet in excitement. "We fucking did it!" he yells, lifting you up and spinning you around. His race suit is soaked with sweat, but you couldn't care less.

"I never doubted you for a second," you say against his neck.

He pulls back, grinning. "Liar. You were freaking out after Singapore."

"Shut up and kiss me, World Champion."

He does, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. The photographers are having a field day, but this moment is yours.

After the media obligations, you find yourself in the back of a car with Max heading to the team party. The Vegas lights streak past the windows as he holds your hand, thumb absently tracing circles on your skin.

"You know what's funny?" he says quietly, the adrenaline from earlier settling into a softer contentment. "After Abu Dhabi 2021, I thought nothing could top that feeling. But this…" he brings your hand to his lips, "this one feels different."

"Because you had to fight harder for it?"

"Maybe. Or maybe because I know exactly what I want to do next." There's something in his voice you can't quite read, but before you can ask, the car pulls up to the Bellagio.

The party is in full swing when you arrive. The entire Red Bull garage has taken over one of the hotel's exclusive clubs, and someone (probably Daniel) has convinced the DJ to play "Super Max" for the third time. Max is immediately swept into the celebration, accepting drinks from every direction.

"To the four-time world champion!" someone raises a toast, and the room erupts in cheers.

You watch from nearby as Max does shots with his mechanics, his face flushed with happiness and alcohol. He keeps looking over at you every few minutes, that soft smile you love so much playing on his lips.

"He's been fidgety all day," Lando mentions, appearing beside you with two glasses of champagne. "More than usual race nerves."

Before you can respond, Max is pulling you onto the makeshift dance floor, attempting to spin you around despite his questionable coordination at this point.

"You're drunk," you laugh as he nearly trips over his own feet.

"I'm happy," he corrects, pressing his forehead against yours. "Dance with me?"

"Since when do you dance?"

"Since I'm four-time world champion and I can do whatever I want."

You're both laughing when he suddenly becomes serious, glancing around the room before taking your hand. "Come with me for a minute?"

He leads you away from the noise, out onto the terrace where the famous Bellagio fountains are creating their water symphony against the night sky. The air is cool for Vegas, and Max shrugs off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders.

"Max?"

He takes a deep breath, and you notice his hands are shaking slightly. Max Verstappen, who can handle a Formula 1 car at 320mph, is trembling.

"I had this whole thing planned," he starts, running a hand through his hair. "Was going to wait until we were back home, do it properly. But standing here now…" He reaches into his pocket, and your heart stops. "I've been carrying this around since Monaco. GP's been calling me an idiot for waiting so long, and he's probably right."

"Max…" your voice catches as he drops to one knee.

"You've been there through everything – the good races, the bad ones, all the championships. You understand this crazy life, and you make it better just by being in it. I love you more than racing, which if you know me, is saying something."

You're both laughing through tears now as he opens the small blue box, revealing a stunning ring that catches the light from the fountains.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes," you manage to say through your tears. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"

His hands are shaking as he slides the ring onto your finger, and when he stands, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. Behind you, you hear the terrace doors burst open and cheering erupts – the entire team had apparently been watching through the glass.

"Finally!" Daniel shouts, leading the charge with champagne bottles. "I've been guarding that ring since Monaco!"

Max keeps you close as everyone surrounds you with congratulations, his arm firmly around your waist.

"I love you," Max whispers in your ear as the celebration continues around you. "Even if I needed four world championships to get the courage to ask."

You look up at him, at this man who can be so fierce on track but so gentle with you, and smile. "I love you too, World Champion. Always have, always will."

The party continues well into the night, but now it's a double celebration. You keep catching glimpses of your ring under the lights, still hardly believing this is real. Max hasn't let go of your hand, and every time someone offers congratulations, his proud smile grows bigger.

"You know what this means?" Charles says with a smirk, raising his glass. "We might actually have a chance next season while he's distracted with wedding planning."

"Keep dreaming, Leclerc," Max laughs, pulling you closer. "I'm just getting started."

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pucksandpower · 8 months ago

Text

Royal Pardon

Charles Leclerc x Arthur’s best friend!Reader

Summary: Charles isn’t a violent man at heart, but when he saves you from being harassed while celebrating his Monaco win, he quickly realizes that there’s not a single line he wouldn’t cross if it means keeping you safe

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, violence, and injury

Note: a break from your regularly scheduled October programming because Charles just won the United States GP and that calls for a celebration

The music pulses through the club, a steady, hypnotic beat that thrums in Charles’ chest. He’s never felt like this — untouchable, invincible — as if tonight could stretch on forever, an endless loop of victory and laughter.

He’s just won Monaco.

Monaco. His Monaco.

The thought alone makes him smile, a small, private thing that he hides behind the rim of his champagne flute.

Around him, the crowd swirls in a blur of lights and shadows, everyone shouting their congratulations over the music, pulling him into hugs and clapping him on the back. Arthur is here somewhere, of course, dragging you along because where else would you be? The two of you are like shadows, inseparable since childhood.

Charles can still see you, just barely, out of the corner of his eye, chatting with a couple of Arthur’s friends near the bar. You’re laughing, a sound that somehow cuts through the noise and settles in the back of his mind. It’s a good sound, one that feels familiar, like home.

“Charles, mate!” A voice shouts, pulling him back. Max is there, leaning in with a grin that’s all teeth, like he’s just as buzzed on adrenaline as Charles is. “I swear, you’re going to be insufferable after this. Monaco, finally!”

Charles laughs, shaking his head, though the truth is he probably will be insufferable. But can anyone blame him? He’s worked so damn hard for this, pushing through every setback, every disappointment. And now, here he is, celebrating the win of his career in the only place that really matters.

He’s about to respond when someone else pulls him into a hug, a flurry of excitement and congratulations that Charles barely processes. He doesn’t mind, though. Tonight, it feels like nothing can touch him, like nothing could ever bring him down from this high.

But then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first, just an itch at the back of his mind, a sense that something isn’t right. He glances over to where you and Arthur were standing, but Arthur is gone, nowhere to be seen. And you … you’re not laughing anymore.

Charles’ stomach twists. You’re cornered against the bar now, a man leaning in too close, too aggressive. Charles can’t see your face clearly through the throng of people, but the way you’re holding yourself, tense and small, tells him everything he needs to know.

His blood turns to ice, freezing the euphoria in his veins. He can’t hear what the man is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The way the man’s hand snakes around your waist, the way you try to push him off with trembling hands — Charles’ vision goes red.

He’s moving before he can think, pushing through the crowd with a single-minded focus. The people congratulating him moments ago scatter as he brushes past them, their laughter and cheers fading into the background noise.

“Hey!” Charles’ voice cuts through the music, sharp and commanding. The man doesn’t even turn at first, but you do, your eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears. Charles feels something break inside him at the sight, but he channels it into a fury that propels him forward.

When the man finally notices Charles, it’s too late. Charles is on him, grabbing the man’s shoulder and yanking him away from you with a force that sends the man stumbling backward. “Get the fuck away from her,” Charles snarls, every syllable dripping with venom.

The man barely has time to react before Charles slams him against the wall, the impact rattling the bottles on the shelves behind the bar. Charles’ forearm presses against the man’s throat, cutting off whatever protest he might have had.

“Charles, stop!” You gasp, your voice choked with a mix of fear and something else, something that twists the knife already lodged in Charles’ chest. He doesn’t stop, though. Can’t stop. The image of the man’s hands on you is burned into his mind, and all he can think about is making him pay, making him hurt.

The man struggles, clawing at Charles’ arm, but it’s useless. Charles is stronger, fueled by a rage that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for too long. The man’s face turns red, then purple, and still, Charles doesn’t let up. His grip tightens, and he leans in closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and deadly serious. The man’s eyes widen, a flash of genuine fear crossing his face, but Charles doesn’t care. He wants him to be scared. Wants him to know that there’s no escaping this, no escaping the consequences of what he’s done.

“Charles, please!” Your voice breaks through the haze of anger, and it’s only then that Charles realizes how close you’ve gotten. You’re right there, your hand on his arm, tugging gently, desperately trying to pull him away.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and sees the tears streaming down your face, the fear etched into your features. It’s like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, shocking him back to reality. The club, the music, the people — all of it comes rushing back in a disorienting wave.

Charles blinks, his grip on the man loosening just enough for the man to gasp for air. He’s still furious, the anger simmering beneath the surface, but he’s no longer blind with it. He takes a breath, then another, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Charles says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. He shoves the man away from him, watching with cold satisfaction as he stumbles and nearly falls to the floor.

The man doesn’t stick around. He scrambles to his feet and disappears into the crowd, no doubt eager to get as far away from Charles as possible. Good. Charles hopes he never sees the man again, because he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop himself if he does.

For a moment, Charles just stands there, his chest heaving with the effort of reining in his emotions. The crowd has started to notice the commotion, a few curious onlookers craning their necks to see what’s going on. But none of that matters. None of them matter.

All that matters is you.

Charles turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” His voice is gentler now, full of concern that wasn’t there a moment ago.

You nod, but it’s a shaky, uncertain thing. “I-I’m fine,” you manage, though it’s clear you’re anything but. You look like you’re about to collapse, your legs barely holding you up.

Without thinking, Charles steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. You don’t resist, you just sink into him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And maybe he is.

“It’s okay,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You’re safe now. I’m here.” He holds you tighter, as if he can shield you from the world, from everything that just happened. And for a moment, it feels like he can. Like nothing bad can touch you as long as you’re in his arms.

You don’t say anything, just press your face into his chest, your breath hitching with the remnants of your tears. Charles presses his lips to the top of your head, a gesture that feels both instinctive and impossibly intimate. He’s never held you like this before, never been this close, but it feels right.

The music still pounds in the background, the lights still flash in a dizzying array of colors, but it’s all distant now, muted. The only thing that matters is you, and making sure you’re okay.

Charles pulls back just enough to look down at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “Where’s Arthur?” He asks, his voice still soft but edged with a protective concern.

“I-I don’t know,” you admit, your voice small. “He was here a minute ago, and then …” Your words trail off, and Charles doesn’t need you to finish the sentence to know what happened next.

He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his anger in check. Arthur should have been here, should have been looking out for you, but he isn’t. Charles isn’t sure where his brother is right now, but he’ll deal with that later. For now, he needs to focus on you.

“It’s okay,” he says again, though the words feel inadequate. “You’re with me now. No one’s going to hurt you.”

You nod again, but this time it’s a little steadier, a little more certain. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words barely audible over the music.

Charles shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, his voice rougher than he intends. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

The weight of those words hangs between you, a promise that feels more real than anything else in this moment. Charles knows, without a doubt, that he means it. He’ll protect you, no matter what. Even if it means facing down every threat, every danger, with the same ferocity he showed tonight.

He takes a deep breath, trying to let go of the lingering anger. The night isn’t over yet, but he’s not sure how much longer he can stand to be here, in this place that suddenly feels too crowded, too loud, too full of people who didn’t notice, didn’t care. Charles’ grip tightens on your shoulders as he scans the room, trying to spot Arthur in the sea of faces. But it’s a lost cause — the club is packed, and he knows Arthur could be anywhere.

“Come on,” Charles says, his voice a bit steadier now. “Let’s get out of here.”

You don’t argue, just nod and let him guide you through the crowd. The bodies pressing in around you both feel suffocating, the music that once electrified the night now grating on Charles’ nerves. He keeps a firm hold on your hand, as if letting go might mean losing you to the chaos.

As you near the exit, the cool night air becomes a welcome relief, a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat inside. The streets of Monaco are quieter now, the party shifting indoors as the night grows late. Charles doesn’t stop moving until you’re both far enough from the club that the noise fades into a dull hum, barely audible over the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks.

He finally releases your hand, only to immediately wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. You’re shivering, whether from the cold or the shock, Charles isn’t sure. Either way, he holds you tighter, wishing he could do more, say more.

But the words don’t come easily. They never have. So instead, he just walks with you, slowly, allowing the night air to calm the both of you. You lean into him, and he can feel the tension gradually leaving your body, though you still seem a little too fragile, too breakable.

Charles isn’t sure how long you walk like that, side by side in the near silence, before you finally speak.

“Charles, I …” Your voice is hesitant, unsure. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t been there.”

He stops walking, turning to face you, his expression serious. “You don’t have to think about that,” he says, his voice firm. “I was there. And I always will be.”

You look up at him, your eyes searching his face for something — reassurance, perhaps, or maybe just understanding. “But what if next time-”

“There won’t be a next time.” Charles cuts you off, his voice harder than he intends. He takes a breath, softening his tone. “I won’t let there be a next time.”

He can see the worry still etched on your face, the remnants of fear that haven’t quite faded. He wishes he could take it all away, erase the memory of that man and the way he made you feel. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there, to protect you, to make sure you know that you’re not alone.

“You’re safe,” he repeats, quieter now, but with no less conviction. “As long as I’m here, you’re safe.”

You hold his gaze for a long moment, and he wonders what you’re thinking, what’s going on behind those eyes that have always been so easy for him to read. Eventually, you nod, and some of the tension in your posture seems to melt away.

“Okay,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

Charles nods too, though a part of him still feels on edge, like the danger hasn’t completely passed. But he pushes that feeling down, focusing instead on you, on the fact that you’re here with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Let’s go,” he says again, but this time, his voice is softer, more gentle. He takes your hand again, lacing his fingers with yours, and starts walking, leading you away from the club, from the noise and the memories that he hopes you’ll never have to revisit.

As you walk, the tension between you both begins to ease. The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of the sea, and for the first time in what feels like hours, Charles allows himself to breathe.

He glances over at you, your profile illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. You look calmer now, more like yourself, though there’s still a shadow of what happened lingering in your eyes. Charles’ heart aches at the sight, at the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from that, even if he was there to stop it from getting worse.

But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he just keeps walking, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your knuckles, a silent reassurance that he’s here, and he’s not going anywhere.

Eventually, you reach the familiar streets that lead back to your apartment. The night is quiet now, the revelry of earlier giving way to the peaceful stillness of a city that’s finally starting to sleep.

When you reach your building, you both stop, lingering on the sidewalk as if neither of you wants the night to end just yet. Charles knows he should say something, anything, but the words are stuck in his throat, too heavy and too complicated to untangle.

You’re the one who breaks the silence, your voice soft but clear. “Thank you. For everything.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says, echoing his earlier words. “I meant what I said — I’ll always protect you.”

There’s a pause, a beat of silence that stretches on just long enough to make Charles wonder if you’re going to say something more. But you don’t. Instead, you step closer and, without warning, wrap your arms around him in a tight hug.

Charles is momentarily stunned, his breath catching in his throat as he processes the warmth of your embrace, the way you cling to him like he’s your anchor in a storm. He hesitates for only a second before his arms come up around you, holding you just as tightly, if not more.

The hug lasts longer than it probably should, but neither of you seems to want to let go. When you finally do, you pull back just enough to look up at him, your eyes searching his with a softness that makes his chest tighten.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice equally soft, as if speaking any louder would shatter the fragile moment between you.

You give him one last, lingering look before turning and heading into your building, the door closing softly behind you. Charles stands there for a moment, staring at the door, as if willing it to open again, as if hoping you might come back out and say something more.

But you don’t, and eventually, Charles turns and starts walking back the way you came, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he’s not sure how to deal with.

The night is still, the only sound the distant crash of the waves against the rocks. Charles lets the quiet seep into him, trying to find some semblance of calm, but it’s difficult. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, keeps flashing through his mind, a constant reminder of how close you came to being hurt.

He knows he should feel relief — that you’re safe, that the night ended without further incident. But instead, all he feels is a gnawing sense of guilt, of not having been there sooner, of not being able to protect you from everything.

Charles clenches his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he walks. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there, doesn’t want to imagine the fear and pain you might have endured.

But he can’t stop the thoughts from coming, can’t shake the anger that simmers just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over at any moment.

As he rounds the corner to his own street, Charles makes a silent vow to himself. He’ll be more vigilant, more careful. He won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. He’ll be there, always, to protect you, no matter what.

And if anyone tries to come between you and your safety again, well … Charles isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back next time.

He reaches his apartment, but he doesn’t go inside right away. Instead, he stands outside, staring up at the stars barely visible above the city lights, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and turns to unlock his door, stepping inside and letting the door close behind him with a quiet click. The apartment is dark and silent, but it doesn’t feel like home tonight. It feels empty, hollow, as if something is missing.

And Charles knows exactly what that something is.

As he heads to bed, his thoughts are still on you — on the way you looked at him tonight, on the way you clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. And somewhere, deep down, Charles knows that you’re more than just Arthur’s best friend to him.

But he’s not ready to confront that just yet. Not tonight.

So he pushes the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the promise he made to himself: to always be there for you, to protect you, no matter what.

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

***

The morning sun stretches over Monaco, its golden rays catching on the waves that lap against the harbor. The city is just beginning to stir, and for a moment, everything feels like it should: calm, peaceful, normal. But as Charles hits his stride on his morning run, his mind is anything but calm.

The events of last night replay in his head on a loop, the image of you — shaken, scared, fighting back tears — burned into his memory. Every step he takes feels heavier, weighted down by the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

He’s tried to push it down, to focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound of his shoes hitting the pavement, but it’s no use. The rage is still there, as fresh and raw as it was the moment he saw you in that club.

Charles turns a corner, heading down toward the harbor where the yachts bob gently in the water. The morning air is crisp, a stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in his chest. He needs to clear his head, to shake off the lingering sense of helplessness that clings to him like a shadow.

But then he sees him.

The man is walking casually along the harbor, hands in his pockets, his face a picture of smug indifference. He looks like any other tourist enjoying a morning stroll, not like someone who was grabbing you, hurting you, just hours ago.

Charles stops dead in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, he thinks he’s imagining it, that his mind is playing tricks on him. But no, it’s him. The same face, the same sneer that Charles wanted to wipe off with his fist last night.

Something snaps inside Charles. The anger he’s been trying to control, trying to bury, erupts like a dam breaking, flooding his veins with adrenaline. His vision narrows, locking onto the man who dared to touch you, who thought he could get away with it.

Without thinking, Charles changes direction, his strides long and purposeful as he closes the distance between them. The man doesn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in whatever thoughts a man like him could have. But then, as Charles gets closer, something makes the man glance over his shoulder.

His reaction is immediate. The smug look falters, replaced by a flicker of recognition, then quickly by a lazy grin that only fuels Charles’ rage.

“Well, well,” the man drawls, stopping to face Charles, clearly not sensing the danger. “If it isn’t the big hero himself. What’s the matter, Leclerc? Didn’t get enough attention last night?”

Charles doesn’t answer, his jaw clenched so tightly he can feel his teeth grind together. He’s close enough now to smell the lingering stench of alcohol on the man’s breath, the same breath that spewed vile words at you.

The man chuckles, a sound that grates on Charles’ nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You know, she had it coming,” he says, his tone almost conversational. “The way she was dressed, the way she looked at me — what did she expect?”

That’s all it takes. The words cut through Charles like a knife, sharp and searing, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, shoving him back against the railing of the harbor.

“What did you say?” Charles’ voice is low, dangerous, barely more than a growl. His knuckles are white where they grip the man’s shirt, every muscle in his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

The man’s grin only widens, unfazed by the fury in Charles’ eyes. “You heard me,” he sneers. “And you know what? There’s nothing you can do about it. We’re in public, Leclerc. You’re a famous guy — can’t have your precious image tarnished, can you?”

Charles’ lips curl into a smile, but it’s not the kind that reaches his eyes. It’s cold, calculated, the kind of smile that sends a chill down the spine. “You think I care about that?” He asks, his voice dangerously calm.

The man’s bravado falters just a bit, uncertainty flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down. “Yeah, I do. You’re not gonna do anything. Not here, not in front of all these people.”

Charles laughs, but there’s no humor in it, just a bitter edge that makes the man shift uncomfortably. “You really don’t get it, do you?” Charles says, his voice softening into something almost pitying. “This is Monaco. And I’m Charles Leclerc.”

The man’s face pales slightly, but he still tries to hold his ground. “So what? You think being a driver gives you a free pass to do whatever you want?”

Charles’ smile widens, though there’s nothing friendly about it. “Exactly.”

Before the man can react, Charles yanks him away from the railing, dragging him along the harbor. The man stumbles, trying to pull away, but Charles’ grip is ironclad, unyielding. The few people who are out this early watch with interest, some even clapping or calling out congratulations as they recognize Charles.

“Hey, what the hell?” The man protests, his voice rising in panic as he struggles against Charles’ hold. “Let go of me!”

Charles doesn’t respond, his eyes focused straight ahead as he forces the man to walk, his grip tightening whenever he feels him start to resist. The man’s attempts to free himself are pathetic, laughable even, compared to the strength Charles has built up over years of training, of pushing his body to the limits.

As they pass by a group of people, one of them cheers, “That’s the way, Charles! Show him who’s boss!”

The man tries to appeal to the onlookers, his voice frantic. “Someone stop him! He’s crazy!”

But no one moves to help. They just watch, some amused, others indifferent, as Charles continues to drag the man through the streets of Monaco like he’s nothing more than a piece of trash that needs to be disposed of.

“Where are you taking me?” The man demands, his voice trembling now as fear starts to seep in. “You can’t do this! I’ll-I’ll call the police!”

Charles’ laugh is cold and devoid of any warmth. “Go ahead,” he says, not slowing down for a second. “Tell them Charles Leclerc is dealing with a problem. See how far that gets you.”

The man’s protests grow weaker, his struggles more desperate, but it’s clear he knows there’s no escaping this. Charles is too strong, too determined, and the reality of his situation is starting to sink in.

The two of them reach a more secluded part of the harbor, where the buildings are fewer and the noise of the city fades into the background. There’s no one around to witness what’s about to happen, no one to hear the man’s cries for help.

Charles comes to a stop in a narrow alleyway, shoving the man against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. He leans in close, his face inches from the man’s, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.

“You made a mistake last night,” Charles says, his tone icy. “You thought you could get away with it because you were in a crowded club, because she was alone. You thought no one would stop you.”

The man’s eyes are wide with fear now, all traces of his earlier arrogance gone. “I-I didn’t mean-”

“But you did,” Charles cuts him off, his voice like steel. “You meant every word, every touch, every threat. And now, you’re going to pay for it.”

The man tries to push Charles away, his movements frantic, but Charles is relentless. He grabs the man by the throat, pinning him against the wall, his grip just tight enough to make him understand how serious this is.

“You think I can’t do anything to you because we’re in public?” Charles hisses, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “You’re wrong. In Monaco, I can do whatever I want. And no one will stop me.”

The man’s hands claw at Charles’ arm, trying to pry his fingers away from his throat, but it’s useless. Charles is too strong, too focused, his anger giving him a surge of power that the man can’t hope to match.

Charles leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You hurt someone I care about. Someone I’ve known my whole life. And for that, I’m going to make sure you never forget what happens when you cross me.”

The man’s breath comes in short, panicked gasps as he realizes the gravity of his situation. He tries to speak, to beg for mercy, but Charles isn’t interested in hearing his excuses.

“Please …” the man finally manages to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. “I-I’m sorry …”

Charles’ eyes narrow, his grip tightening for a moment before he abruptly lets go, letting the man collapse to the ground in a heap. The man gasps for air, his hands trembling as he scrambles to his feet, his eyes wide with fear.

But Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the collar, dragging him deeper into the alley, where the shadows swallow them both. The man’s struggles are weak now, more out of instinct than any real hope of escape.

“People like you,” Charles says, his voice low and menacing, “think you can do whatever you want. But here’s the truth: you’re nothing. Just another coward who preys on the vulnerable. And cowards like you don’t get to walk away.”

The alley is cold and dark, the early morning light barely reaching the grimy corners where Charles drags the man like a lifeless doll. The sounds of Monaco are distant now, just a low hum that fades into the background. The only noise that matters is the ragged breathing of the man at Charles’ mercy, and the echo of their footsteps on the uneven pavement.

Charles stops abruptly, his grip still tight on the man’s collar. He looks around, taking in the silence, the isolation. This place, this forgotten corner of the city, is perfect. No one will find them here. No one will hear what happens next.

He shoves the man against the wall again, harder this time, the force of it knocking the breath out of him. The man lets out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with fear, the bravado from earlier completely gone.

“Please,” he stammers, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean-”

Charles cuts him off with a sharp punch to the gut, and the man doubles over, wheezing. “Don’t bother,” Charles says coldly. “You’re not sorry. You’re just scared. There’s a difference.”

The man tries to straighten up, but Charles doesn’t give him the chance. He lands another punch, this time to the man’s jaw, the crack of bone echoing in the alley. The man’s head snaps to the side, blood already beginning to trickle from his split lip.

“You like hurting people, don’t you?” Charles asks, his voice calm, almost conversational as he paces in front of the man. “That’s what you were doing last night, right? You saw her and you thought you could do whatever you wanted.”

The man groans, trying to push himself up from the ground where he’s fallen, but Charles is on him in an instant, his knee pressing into the man’s chest, pinning him down.

“You thought she was alone,” Charles continues, his voice still eerily calm as he looks down at the man struggling beneath him. “You thought no one would stop you.”

He leans in closer, his knee digging into the man’s ribs, making it harder for him to breathe. “But she wasn’t alone. And now, you’re going to pay for what you did.”

The man tries to shake his head, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “I’m sorry,” he gasps out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know-”

Another punch, this one to the side of the man’s face, silences him. Charles doesn’t care about his excuses, his lies. All he cares about is making sure this man understands the pain, the fear that you felt last night.

He grabs the man by the hair, forcing his head up so their eyes meet. The man’s face is already swelling, bruises blossoming under his skin like dark flowers. “You think this is bad?” Charles asks, his voice low, dangerous. “This is nothing compared to what you deserve.”

The man whimpers, his hands weakly trying to push Charles away, but it’s no use. Charles is relentless, his grip like iron as he drags the man up and slams him back against the wall.

“You like to take what you want, don’t you?” Charles says, his breath hot against the man’s ear. “Well, let’s see how you like it when someone takes something from you.”

Without waiting for a response, Charles delivers a brutal kick to the man’s knee, and the sickening sound of bone cracking echoes in the alley. The man screams, a high, desperate sound that only fuels Charles’ anger.

He watches dispassionately as the man crumples to the ground, clutching his leg, his face contorted in agony. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Charles asks, his voice devoid of any sympathy. “Now imagine how she felt. Imagine how scared she was, how helpless.”

The man tries to crawl away, his movements sluggish, hindered by the pain, but Charles isn’t done. He grabs the man by the ankle, dragging him back, his face set in grim determination.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Charles says, his voice flat, emotionless. “Not until I’m finished.”

He pulls the man up, slamming him into the wall again, his grip never loosening. The man’s head lolls to the side, blood dripping from his nose, his mouth, but Charles doesn’t care. He won’t stop until the man feels every bit of the fear and pain he inflicted on you.

“You think you can just walk away from this?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost a whisper, but there’s a dangerous edge to it that makes the man’s eyes widen in fear. “You think you can just go back to your life, like nothing happened?”

The man shakes his head weakly, but Charles doesn’t believe him. He knows men like this, cowards who prey on the vulnerable, who think they’re invincible because they’ve never had to face the consequences of their actions.

“Wrong,” Charles says, his voice hard, unyielding. “You’re not walking away from this. Not ever.”

He lands another punch, this one to the man’s ribs, and the man gasps, the air knocked out of him. Charles steps back for a moment, watching as the man collapses to the ground, coughing, wheezing, barely conscious.

“Look at you,” Charles says, his voice filled with contempt as he circles the man like a predator. “Pathetic. All that confidence, all that arrogance — gone. Now you’re just a scared little boy, begging for mercy.”

The man’s eyes flutter open, bloodshot and filled with pain. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a low, pitiful moan. Charles crouches down beside him, his eyes cold, calculating.

“Did you really think you could get away with it?” Charles asks, his voice soft, almost gentle, but there’s a cruel undertone that makes the man flinch. “Did you think no one would care? That no one would come for you?”

The man doesn’t answer, his body trembling, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Charles watches him for a moment, his anger still simmering, but there’s a part of him — a small part — that feels a twisted sense of satisfaction. This man, this coward, is finally paying for what he did.

But it’s not enough. Not yet.

Charles reaches down, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the bruised flesh. The man’s eyes go wide, panic setting in as he struggles to breathe, his hands weakly clawing at Charles’ arm.

“You’re not going to forget this,” Charles says, his voice low, dangerous. “Every time you look in the mirror, every time you see those scars, you’re going to remember what happens when you cross me. When you hurt someone I care about.”

The man gurgles, his eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp in Charles’ grasp. For a moment, Charles considers finishing it, squeezing the life out of the man until there’s nothing left. But then he releases his grip, letting the man collapse to the ground, gasping for air.

The man barely has the strength to lift his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. “You … you can’t … do this,” he wheezes, his voice weak, barely audible. “I’ll … have you arrested … for attempted murder …”

Charles stares down at him, a cold, humorless smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down the man’s spine. “Go ahead,” he says, his voice dripping with contempt. “Try it. See how far you get.”

The man’s eyes flutter closed, his body trembling uncontrollably as the reality of his situation sets in. He’s helpless, broken, barely clinging to consciousness. And Charles knows that the man’s threats are empty, born out of desperation, a final attempt to grasp at some semblance of control.

“You’re nothing,” Charles says, his voice cold, final. “No one is going to believe you. Not after what you did. Not after what I’ve done to you.”

The man’s breath comes in short, shallow gasps, his body shuddering with pain and exhaustion. Charles watches him for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before he finally stands up, looking down at the broken, bloodied man at his feet.

“Consider this a warning,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “Stay away from her. Stay away from Monaco. If I ever see you again, I won’t stop next time. I won’t show mercy.”

The man doesn’t respond, barely clinging to consciousness, his body slumped against the wall like a discarded puppet. Charles takes one last look at him, his eyes cold, before he turns and walks away, his footsteps echoing in the silent alley.

As he steps out into the morning light, the anger that had consumed him begins to fade, replaced by a cold, detached calm. He knows what he’s done, knows that he’s crossed a line that most people wouldn’t dare to. But he doesn’t care. He did what he had to do, what you needed him to do.

And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

***

The atmosphere in the police station is tense, a quiet hum of activity threading through the open space. Officers move about, their conversations muted, eyes occasionally flicking toward the door where Charles Leclerc is expected to enter any moment. There’s a palpable discomfort in the air, a mix of respect and unease. No one wants to be the one to arrest Charles Leclerc. And yet, protocol demands his presence.

When Charles finally walks in, the room seems to still. Heads turn, eyes widen slightly. He’s dressed casually — sweatpants, a loose-fitting t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers. Despite the nonchalance of his appearance, there’s an unmistakable tension in his shoulders, a hardness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

The desk sergeant, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a lined face, stands up hastily. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins, his tone overly formal, almost reverent. “Thank you for coming in on such short notice. We’re, uh … we’re very sorry about this.”

Charles offers a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “What’s this about?” He asks, even though he already knows.

The sergeant hesitates, glancing around nervously. “We, uh, received a complaint this morning,” he explains, his voice wavering slightly. “From a … an individual who claims that you assaulted him.”

Charles’ lips twitch into something resembling a smile, though there’s no warmth in it. “He’s not wrong,” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “I did.”

The sergeant’s eyes widen slightly, and there’s a nervous shifting among the other officers in the room. This isn’t how these things usually go. “Monsieur Leclerc,” the sergeant begins again, more carefully this time, “we understand that this man may have … done something to provoke you. But we have to follow protocol. We need to ask you some questions.”

Charles crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regards the sergeant with a cold, detached stare. “Protocol,” he repeats, his voice dripping with disdain. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

The sergeant shifts uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Did you, uh, did you physically assault the complainant?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the officers around them, as if they can’t quite believe what they’re hearing. The sergeant blinks, clearly taken aback by Charles’ bluntness. “And … do you regret it?”

Charles laughs then, a dark, humorless sound that sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in the room. “Regret?” He echoes, shaking his head. “No, I don’t regret it. In fact, I’d do it again.”

The sergeant’s face pales, and he looks around as if searching for some way out of this conversation. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he begins again, his voice trembling slightly, “I don’t think you understand the situation. You’ve just admitted to a serious crime. We … we can’t just let you go.”

Charles’ expression hardens, his jaw clenching. “Yes, you can,” he says, his voice cold, unyielding. “And you will.”

The sergeant opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, the door to the station bursts open, and the man from the alley stumbles in. His face is still bruised, his movements stiff and pained. But there’s a look of triumph in his eyes as he spots Charles standing there.

“There he is!” The man shouts, pointing a shaky finger at Charles. “That’s him! That’s the bastard who tried to kill me!”

Charles turns slowly to face the man, his expression unreadable. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with tension. The man, emboldened by the presence of the police, takes a step closer, his voice rising with every word. “You think you can just walk away from this, Leclerc? You think you’re untouchable? I’m going to see you rot in prison for what you did!”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. The man falters slightly, confused by the lack of reaction. Charles taps the screen a few times, then puts it on speaker.

“What are you doing?” The man sneers, though there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “Calling your lawyer? That’s not going to save you.”

Charles doesn’t bother to reply. The phone rings once, twice, before a familiar voice answers on the other end.

“Charles,” comes the smooth, authoritative voice of Prince Albert of Monaco. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off the man as he responds. “Your Highness, I’m at the police station. There’s a man here trying to press charges against me for something I did last night.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Prince Albert’s voice, calm and steady, fills the room through the speakerphone. “I see. And what exactly did you do, Charles?”

Charles’ eyes narrow as he stares down the man, who is now looking increasingly nervous. “I made sure he understands that there are consequences for hurting people I care about,” Charles says, his voice low, menacing. “I made sure he knows that no one lays a hand on her without answering to me.”

The silence in the station is deafening. Every officer in the room is holding their breath, waiting to see what happens next. The man’s face drains of color as he realizes what’s happening, who Charles is talking to.

Prince Albert’s voice is measured, careful. “And you believe this was necessary?”

“Yes,” Charles replies without hesitation. “It was necessary.”

There’s another pause, and then Prince Albert speaks again, his tone decisive. “Then I trust your judgment. You did what you had to do. Consider this a royal pardon. I’ll have an official document delivered to the station within the hour.”

The man’s mouth falls open in shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You … you can’t do this!” He sputters, his voice rising in desperation. “He assaulted me! He nearly killed me!”

Charles finally lowers the phone, ending the call. He slips it back into his pocket, his expression as cold and unyielding as ever. “You heard him,” Charles says quietly, his eyes locked on the man’s. “You’re done here.”

The man looks around wildly, as if searching for someone to back him up, but all he finds are the wary, sympathetic gazes of the officers. No one is going to help him. No one is going to defy Prince Albert.

The desk sergeant clears his throat, stepping forward. “Monsieur Leclerc,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “it appears that you’re free to go.”

Charles doesn’t smile. He simply nods, his gaze never leaving the man who stands trembling before him. “Good,” he says softly. “Because I have more important things to do than waste my time here.”

The man opens his mouth to protest again, but the words die on his lips as Charles steps forward, his presence overwhelming, almost suffocating. “You should leave Monaco,” Charles says, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I change my mind about letting you live.”

The man stumbles back, his bravado crumbling as fear takes hold. He casts one last desperate glance at the officers, but they all turn away, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s alone in this, and he knows it.

With a final, defeated whimper, the man turns and flees from the station, his steps hurried, unsteady. Charles watches him go, his expression unreadable, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and satisfaction.

The desk sergeant shifts awkwardly, unsure of what to say. “Uh, I … we’re sorry for the inconvenience,” he stammers. “It’s just … we had to follow procedure …”

Charles waves a hand dismissively, already heading for the door. “It’s fine,” he says, though there’s a hardness in his voice that suggests otherwise. “Just make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

The sergeant nods quickly, grateful for the reprieve. “Of course, Monsieur Leclerc. It won’t happen again.”

Charles doesn’t respond. He steps out into the sunlight, the tension slowly draining from his body as the warmth of the day washes over him. The streets of Monaco are as busy as ever, people going about their lives, oblivious to what just transpired inside the police station.

He takes a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, grounding himself. The day is far from over, and there are still things he needs to do, but for now, the threat has been neutralized. The man who hurt you is gone, and Charles made sure he’ll never come back.

As he walks away from the station, Charles can’t help but think of you, your face, your voice, the way you smiled at him when you were just a little girl. He knows he’s crossed a line today, done things that most people wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t condone. But he doesn’t care. He did it for you.

And he’d do it all over again if he had to.

***

Charles stands outside your apartment, a paper bag of takeout in one hand, his other raised to knock on the door. He hesitates for a moment, nerves he didn’t expect twisting in his stomach. It’s strange, feeling nervous about seeing you. He’s known you for years — watched you grow up, shared countless family dinners with you, laughed at your jokes, teased you about your school crushes.

But this … this feels different. Everything feels different now.

He finally knocks, a light tap that he knows you’ll hear. A few seconds pass, and then the door swings open, revealing you standing there in a casual outfit, your hair pulled back, a soft smile on your face.

“Charles,” you greet him, your voice warm, familiar. “Come in.”

He steps inside, glancing around the cozy space. It’s a small apartment, but it’s yours, filled with little touches that scream your personality — bookshelves overflowing with novels, a blanket draped over the back of the couch, a half-finished puzzle on the coffee table. It’s homey, comfortable, and it smells like the vanilla candle you always seem to have burning.

“I brought lunch,” Charles says, holding up the bag. “Figured you might be hungry.”

You smile, your eyes brightening at the sight of the food. “You know me too well. What did you get?”

“Your favorite,” he replies, setting the bag down on the table and beginning to unpack it. “Pasta from that little place near the harbor.”

“Perfect,” you say, moving to grab plates from the cupboard. “You always know how to spoil me.”

Charles chuckles, though his mind is far from the light-hearted conversation. There’s something heavy sitting on his chest, something he knows he needs to tell you, but the words stick in his throat. Instead, he focuses on the food, dishing out generous portions onto each plate.

You both sit down at the small dining table, and for a few minutes, there’s nothing but the sound of forks scraping against plates and the occasional hum of satisfaction as you enjoy the meal. It’s comfortable, easy — just like it’s always been between you.

But then, as if sensing his unease, you break the silence. “So, I heard the craziest thing this morning,” you say, your tone light, almost teasing. “One of my friends told me that you were almost arrested yesterday. Can you believe that?”

Charles’ fork pauses midway to his mouth, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected you to bring it up so casually, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. He forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Oh? What did she say?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “She said she heard you were involved in some kind of fight and that the police were called. I told her she was crazy. I mean, you wouldn’t hurt a fly, right?”

There’s a playful glint in your eyes, but Charles can’t bring himself to join in. Instead, he sets his fork down, the sound of metal against porcelain unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He looks at you, his expression serious, all traces of his earlier smile gone.

“Actually,” he begins, his voice low, steady, “it’s true.”

Your smile falters, confusion flickering across your face. “What do you mean?”

Charles leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he meets your gaze head-on. “I was at the police station yesterday,” he says, the words heavy, deliberate. “They called me in because that guy — the one who … hurt you — he tried to press charges against me.”

You stare at him, the shock evident in your wide eyes. “Wait, you’re serious? This isn’t some joke?”

“I’m serious,” Charles replies, his voice calm, almost too calm. “I’m not proud of what I did, but I’m not ashamed of it either. He deserved what he got.”

For a moment, you just sit there, trying to process what he’s telling you. You set your fork down, your appetite suddenly gone. “But … Charles, what did you do?”

Charles takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I made sure he understood that there are consequences for his actions. That he can’t just walk away after what he did to you.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for your glass of water, taking a sip to steady yourself. “You … you didn’t …”

“I didn’t kill him,” Charles says quickly, sensing your fear. “But I hurt him. Badly. And I don’t regret it.”

You’re silent for a long moment, your mind racing. The Charles you know — the Charles you grew up with, the one who used to give you piggyback rides when you were too tired to walk — wouldn’t do something like this. But then again, this isn’t just anyone we’re talking about. This is you. And for Charles, you’re different. You’ve always been different.

“I did it to protect you,” Charles continues, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with what he did. I couldn’t …”

He trails off, his gaze dropping to the table, his shoulders slumping slightly. It’s as if all the fight has drained out of him, leaving behind only the raw, honest truth of his actions.

You swallow hard, trying to make sense of everything. “But … you could have been arrested. You could have gone to jail.”

Charles laughs, a bitter sound that holds no real amusement. “Not in Monaco,” he says, shaking his head. “Not for this.”

You furrow your brow, confusion evident in your expression. “What do you mean?”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I talked to Prince Albert. He gave me a royal pardon. The guy had no chance.”

You blink, stunned by the casual way he says it, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. “A royal pardon? Charles, that’s … that’s not normal.”

“No, it’s not,” Charles agrees, his tone somber. “But I don’t care. I’d do it all over again if it meant keeping you safe.”

The weight of his words hangs between you, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. You’ve always known Charles was protective of you, but this … this is something else entirely. He’s crossed a line, and there’s no going back.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the tension in the room thick, suffocating. Charles watches you, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for you to say something, anything. He’s prepared for you to be angry, to be horrified by what he’s done. But he wasn’t prepared for the look of sadness that crosses your face, the way your shoulders slump as if the weight of the world has suddenly fallen on you.

“I don’t know what to say,” you finally whisper, your voice shaky. “I never wanted you to do something like this for me.”

Charles leans forward, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. His touch is warm, steady, and for a moment, it grounds you, pulls you back from the edge of the panic that’s been rising in your chest.

“I know,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t what you wanted. But it’s what I needed to do. I couldn’t just stand by and let him hurt you.”

You squeeze his hand, your grip tightening as if you’re afraid to let go. “But what if you had been arrested? What if you couldn’t get out of it? I couldn’t bear the thought of you being locked up because of me.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Charles replies, his voice firm, resolute. “I told you, I’d do anything to protect you. And I mean it.”

You look up at him then, your eyes searching his, trying to find some sign that this is all just a bad dream, that you’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. But all you see is the truth — the raw, unfiltered truth of what Charles has done, and why he did it.

“I don’t know if I should be angry or grateful,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve always been there for me. But this … this is something else.”

Charles smiles then, a small, sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to be anything,” he says softly. “Just know that I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

For a moment, you just sit there, holding his hand, the silence between you heavy with unspoken words. There’s so much you want to say, so much you want to ask, but you can’t seem to find the right words. Instead, you focus on the warmth of his hand in yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his eyes never leave yours.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, you lean across the table and press your lips to his. The kiss is soft, tentative at first, but it quickly deepens, the tension that’s been building between you finally finding release.

Charles’ hand comes up to cup the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer. The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed — desperate, passionate, full of all the emotions that have been bubbling beneath the surface.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you try to catch your breath. Charles’ eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide, and there’s a look in them that you’ve never seen before — something raw and vulnerable, something that makes your heart stutter in your chest.

For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence heavy with the weight of what just happened. Charles’ hand is still in your hair, his thumb gently stroking the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel his breath on your lips, warm and steady, as if he’s trying to anchor himself in this moment, to hold onto it for as long as he can.

Eventually, you pull back just enough to look into his eyes, your own heart pounding so loudly in your ears that you’re sure he can hear it too. “Charles …” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not sure what you want to say, what you’re supposed to say. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.

Charles doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that same intense gaze, his eyes searching yours for something — reassurance, maybe, or understanding. Slowly, he lowers his hand from your hair, his fingers trailing down the side of your face before he lets it fall to his lap. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling cold, and you almost want to reach out and pull him back to you, to kiss him again and forget everything else. But you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and try to gather your thoughts, your mind racing. “What … what does this mean?” You finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He looks down at his hands, his brows furrowing in thought. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “All I know is that I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve known you my whole life, but … this is different.”

You bite your lip, trying to make sense of it all. “I’ve always cared about you. You know that. But I never thought …” You trail off, unable to finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air between you.

Charles finally looks up at you again, his expression softening. “Neither did I,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But now that it’s happened … I don’t think I can go back. I don’t want to.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words settling over you. There’s a part of you that wants to be cautious, to protect yourself from whatever this is, but there’s another part — one that’s stronger — that wants to take the leap, to see where this could go.

“I don’t want to either,” you whisper, the admission almost too much to say out loud. But it’s the truth, and once it’s out there, you feel a sense of relief, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

Charles’ eyes soften even more, his smile widening slightly. He reaches out, taking your hand in his once more, his grip warm and steady. “Then let’s see where this goes,” he says, his voice low and full of promise.

You nod, unable to keep the smile off your face. “Okay.”

For a moment, you both just sit there, hands intertwined, the food on the table long forgotten as the reality of what just happened begins to sink in. There’s still so much you need to talk about, so many questions that need answers, but for now, this is enough. The kiss, the confession, the promise of something more — it’s all more than you ever expected.

Charles gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes never leaving yours. “Whatever happens next, I want you to know that I’m here for you.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I know,” you say softly. “And I’m here for you too.”

He nods, his expression earnest. “Good.”

The silence between you is comfortable now, the tension from earlier finally dissipating. You feel a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that everything will be okay, no matter what comes next.

Finally, Charles glances at the table, his smile turning sheepish. “We should probably finish our lunch,” he says, his tone light.

You laugh, the sound easing the last of your lingering nerves. “Yeah, we probably should.”

You both pick up your forks, and the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, the ease between you returning as if nothing has changed. But you both know that something has. There’s a new understanding between you, a new connection that wasn’t there before. And as you finish your meal, stealing glances at each other across the table, you can’t help but feel excited about what the future might hold.

***

Monaco at night is a different kind of magic. The streets are quieter, the buzz of the day replaced by the hum of luxury cars and the distant sound of waves crashing against the harbor. The city glows with a soft, golden light, the kind that makes everything look a little more romantic, a little more surreal. And tonight, with you tucked into Charles’ side as you walk home from dinner, it feels like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you.

You’ve been together for a few years now, and yet there’s still a thrill in the way he holds you close, his arm draped around your shoulders as if he’s claiming you all over again. There’s something comforting in the familiarity of it, the way your bodies just fit together, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be.

The conversation between you is light, filled with teasing banter about the dessert you shared at the restaurant — how he insists you ate most of it, and you argue that he’s the one with the sweet tooth. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes with knowing someone inside out, with having weathered storms together and come out stronger on the other side.

But as you turn down a quieter street, the atmosphere shifts. It’s subtle at first — a flicker of movement in the corner of Charles’ eye, the sense that you’re being watched. And then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the night, crude and jarring in its tone.

“Hey, baby, how about a smile?”

You freeze, your muscles tensing instinctively. The voice belongs to a man leaning against a lamppost, his eyes raking over you with a leer that makes your skin crawl. You feel Charles stiffen beside you, his arm tightening around your shoulders protectively. But before you can react, the man pushes off from the lamppost and approaches, his hand reaching out to touch you.

It all happens in a blur. The man’s fingers graze your arm, and you flinch back, your heart racing. But before you can fully process the disgust that courses through you, Charles is already moving.

The look in his eyes is one you recognize — a dark, dangerous glint that you’ve only seen a handful of times, but each one burned into your memory. It’s the same look he had that night at the club, the night he became more than just your protector, the night everything between you changed.

He’s about to lunge, his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash all the anger simmering beneath the surface. But you place a hand on his chest, stopping him just in time.

“Charles,” you say softly, but there’s a knowing edge to your voice, a familiarity with the situation. “Should I call Prince Albert? Let him know you might need another pardon?”

Charles pauses, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the tension eases. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, a dark, almost feral smile playing on his lips.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice low and laced with a dangerous amusement. “This must be the fourth one this year.”

You can’t help but laugh, the sound lightening the mood, if only for a second. “Actually,” you correct him, your eyes sparkling with mischief, “it’s the fifth.”

His smile widens at that, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. But the humor doesn’t last long. The reality of the situation pulls him back, and his expression hardens once more as he turns his attention to the man who dared to touch you.

“Stay here,” Charles says, his tone leaving no room for argument. It’s the voice of a man who’s about to do something he won’t regret — something he’s done before.

You nod, trusting him, knowing that whatever happens next, it’s out of your hands. And as Charles steps away from you, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of satisfaction, a sense of justice in knowing that this man is about to face the consequences of his actions.

The man, oblivious to the danger he’s in, sneers at Charles, clearly unbothered by the presence of another man. “What are you gonna do, pretty boy?” He taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. “You think you can scare me?”

Charles doesn’t respond immediately. He takes his time, closing the distance between them with a measured, almost predatory grace. And when he finally speaks, his voice is as cold as ice.

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Charles says quietly, the words laced with a threat that hangs heavy in the air.

The man laughs, the sound grating and unpleasant. “Oh, I know exactly who you are,” he sneers. “You’re that driver, right? Leclerc? Big deal. Doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

Charles tilts his head slightly, as if considering the man’s words, and then, to your surprise, he laughs — a dark, cruel sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You think being in public will protect you?” Charles asks, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think because there are people around, I won’t make you regret ever laying a hand on her?”

The man falters, some of his bravado slipping as he realizes that Charles isn’t backing down. He glances around, perhaps expecting someone to come to his aid, but the street is empty, save for a few onlookers who are too far away to hear the exchange.

Charles doesn’t give him time to think. With a speed that takes the man by surprise, he grabs him by the collar, yanking him forward with a strength that belies his lean frame. The man stumbles, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he realizes he’s in over his head.

“You should have walked away,” Charles murmurs, his voice dangerously calm. “But now … now you’re going to pay.”

The man struggles, trying to push Charles away, but it’s futile. Charles is a professional athlete, his body honed for strength and endurance, and the man is no match for him. Within seconds, Charles has him pinned against the wall of a nearby building, his forearm pressed against the man’s throat.

“Get off me, you psycho!” The man chokes out, his voice panicked as he claws at Charles’ arm.

But Charles doesn’t budge. He leans in closer, his face inches from the man’s, his eyes filled with a cold, calculated fury. “You’re going to regret ever touching her,” he says quietly, his words laced with venom.

And then, without warning, he drags the man away from the wall, pulling him down the street with a force that makes it clear this isn’t just a warning — it’s a promise. The man tries to resist, tries to fight back, but it’s no use. Charles is stronger, faster, and more determined, his grip unyielding as he hauls the man toward a darker, more secluded part of the street.

You watch from a distance, your heart pounding in your chest. Part of you wants to stop him, to tell him it’s not worth it, but another part of you— the part that remembers the fear and helplessness you felt when that man touched you — wants Charles to follow through, to make sure this man never does this to anyone else again.

As they disappear around a corner, you take a deep breath, trying to calm the whirlwind of emotions inside you. You trust Charles, you know he’ll be careful, but you can’t help the worry that creeps in, the fear of what might happen next.

Minutes pass, each one feeling like an eternity, and then finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. You look up, your breath catching in your throat as you see Charles emerging from the shadows, alone.

His expression is unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy as he walks back to you. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

Then, without a word, Charles pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he’s afraid to let go. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice muffled against your hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “You don’t have to apologize,” you say softly, your hand cupping his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He smiles then, a small, tired smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m okay,” he says, though you can hear the weariness in his voice. “But he won’t be bothering you — or anyone else — again.”

You nod, knowing there’s more to the story than he’s telling you, but you don’t press him. Not now, not when he’s holding you so tightly, as if he’s afraid to let you go.

“Let’s go home,” you say gently, taking his hand in yours.

Charles nods, his grip on your hand firm as he leads you back down the street, away from the darkness and into the light. And as you walk together, side by side, you can’t help but feel a sense of relief, a sense of safety in knowing that no matter what happens, Charles will always be there to protect you.

2K notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 5 months ago

Text

Run through my heart

*pairing: illegal racer driver Jungwon x good Girl

*trope: frat/bad boy x good girl

*synopsis: Jungwon at only 20 is in the top 5 of the state for being one of the drivers of illegal races all over Korea but what would happen when your best friend and Jungwon’s best friend’s girlfriend invited you to see an illegal race? Jungwon is totally the opposite of your ideal boyfriend but with his bad boy charm but also gentlamen vibes you will be able to not fall for his charm?

*tags: A lot of humor,fluffy,jungwon loves to flirt with girls especially with the protagonist, pervy Jungwon, both the protagonist and jungwon love to tease each other, masturbation (f. receives it in public) fingering, pussy drinking,unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl)+18,pet names (good girl,princess) (wildcat)

(English is not my native language)

10.5k (🐈)

💌The request and ideas were written by @jayjw16enxp for this story (thanks a lot for your help)

The smell of burnt tires permeated the cold night air, mixing with the metallic scent of petrol. The headlights of the illuminated cars created light games that made the road look like a movie scene. You were standing next to your best friend, hands crossed on your chest in your padded leather jacket, You were grumpy since your best friend in the car had told you that for that night you would not go to Karaoke and eat fried chicken but to see Jay’s bff running and you had a skeptical look on cars in line.

"I don’t know why I came," you muttered, watching Jay waving animatedly with a group of guys near a black Nissan Skyline. "The underground races? Seriously? This is the height of your genius?" you told your best friend.

Your best friend laughed, settling down next to Jay. 'Come on, relax! It’s just a different evening, try to have some fun!, you’re here with Jay and me, nothing will happen to you, and in less than two hours you’ll be in your warm bed thinking about the adrenaline that you’ve experienced, trust me for once, Y/n'

"Having fun? Getting into trouble? Great idea. If someone from the press studio finds out my scholarship will disappear instantly, I’ll ask for financial damages to your boyfriend full of money." You shook your head, adjusting your hair behind an ear for the nervous. You were about to make more biting jokes when a soft, vaguely amusing voice interrupted his thoughts.

«You don’t seem like the type of place. Who did you take Jay to see an illegal race? The little mouse in the library?»

You snatched him up, and you saw him Jungwon. His eyes were sharp as razor blades, his smile bold and just curved his lips. He wore a leather jacket that reflected the lights of the headlights and leaned with ease to a shiny black car, probably his own a car that looked fast even when it was stationary.

You were caught off guard by her presence for a moment. "I am not," you replied, crossing your arms. "And apparently, you don’t seem like the type to... break the law either."

Jungwon laughed, a low and slightly dangerous sound. «It’s up to someone to add a little adrenaline to these monotonous lives, otherwise you know how boring life would be without a bit of a kick.» He pulled away from the car and approached you slowly, with the cat’s step of who knows exactly what effect it has. «And then, it is not so bad, right? Look at this crowd, the energy. Aren’t you a little curious to feel your blood pumping much stronger inside you especially your body to make you feel the sensation of adrenaline, of the anxiety and fear of being discovered in such a place where surely good girls like you should not be?»

"Not enough to put my life on the line for a four-wheeled ego race or to risk my money on a guy who’s gonna be even smaller than me," you said, clenching your lips.

Your words, however, did not shake him at all. He seemed to enjoy himself even more. He leaned slightly towards you, his eyes as bright as those of a cat having fun with its prey. «Interesting,» he said quietly. «Usually people either fear me or admire me. You, on the other hand... You’re a beautiful mystery, who would have thought that the good girl had such a sharp temper.»

You raised an eyebrow, determined not to be intimidated. "Maybe because I’m not interested in impressing a guy who thinks he’s a hero just 'cause he can drive fast'."

Jungwon stepped back, raising his hands in surrender, but the smile never left his face. «Touché. But don’t underestimate the speed. It’s a feeling that changes you and makes you feel alive. Maybe you should try it at least once.»

"It will never happen," you replied

«Never say» he muttered with a small smile before a voice called his name in the distance. He turned, gazing at the crowd, then looked back at you. «Hold on to your skepticism, 'good girl'. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll change your mind.»

And with that phrase and a smile full of arrogance, Jungwon walked away, leaving you with a mixture of irritation and something more difficult to define. Something that made you feel a shiver down your back, even if you didn’t want to admit it.

"God, it’s unbearable," you mumbled between your teeth as your best friend burst out laughing next to you.

'Unbearable, of course,' said your friend, giving you an elbow. 'But admit it, he has left you speechless. Both because he knows his stuff but also because he is crazy hot with that bad boy aura but at the same time with those cat eyes that look at you attentively as if you were his next prey'

You’re sunburned, your cheeks are starting to pinch. "Don’t even joke about it."

But in your stomach, a spark had been lit, and you weren’t sure that you could put it out so easily.

The roar of the engines was ringing in the air, covering up any conversation. You watched with wide eyes the cars lined up next to each other, ready to snatch like wild beasts. The headlights lit up the asphalt, and for a moment everything seemed to be still, as if night held its breath.

Jay was standing next to you, his arm resting protectively on your shoulders and his girlfriend’s. <<Relax,>> he said, a reassuring smile on his lips. <<It’s all under control. No one will touch you.>>

"I’m not worried about myself," you mumbled, even though it wasn’t entirely true. You felt like a fish out of water, but there was something in the atmosphere, the electric energy of the crowd, the roar of cars, the tension before the shot that made your heart beat a little faster. Maybe it was fear, or maybe... excitement...that was the feeling Jungwon described earlier?

The deafening music that had flooded the road until a few minutes earlier suddenly ceased, leaving only room for the roar of the engines. All eyes were on the racers. Cameras and phones stood up, ready to capture the start of the race. Jungwon was in the front row, his face calm and focused as he held the wheel.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. There was something hypnotic about him: that arrogant ease, the confidence in his movements. It was as if the adrenaline ran through his veins instead of blood. He didn’t even seem nervous.

<< So, what do you think? > asked Jay, lowering his voice so that only you could hear him.

"What?" you replied, trying to mask the disturbance.

<<About him. Jungwon. He’s good, isn’t he? >

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to look indifferent. "I don’t know yet. He has to prove it."

Jay laughed, shaking his head. <<You’ll see.>>

The air vibrated when the start signal blinked. The cars sprinted forward with a deafening roar, the tires leaving black tracks on the asphalt. You held your breath as you watched Jungwon take the lead immediately, zigzagging through the corners with impressive precision.

The track was an urban course, full of tight curves and straight lines that tested the skills of each driver. Jungwon steered with almost inhuman ease, cutting corners to the millimeter without ever losing speed.

<< Look how he enters the curve,>> said Jay enthusiastically. << No one drives like him. He is not afraid of anything.>>

You watched him, fascinated, the other cars tried to keep up with him, but nobody could keep up. It was as if the machine were an extension of his body, and he knew exactly how to push it to its limits without ever losing control.

After two laps, it was clear that he would win. No matter how much others tried to get over him, Jungwon was always one step ahead, calculating every move with surgical precision. When he crossed the finish line first, the crowd burst into a roar of exultation.

Jay clapped loudly, pulling you and his girlfriend into a hug. <<I told you!>> he exclaimed, laughing.

You were very quick. "He’s good, I admit. But he’s too young for all this. It’s ridiculous to think he could be so good, he just turned 20."

«It’s not ridiculous,» said a voice behind you.

You turned and there he was, Jungwon, still with his helmet in hand and the arrogant smile that lit up his face. He looked triumphant, but in his eyes, there was a challenge.

«I’m twenty, not ten», he continued, leaning nonchalantly against a parked car. «And it doesn’t matter how old you are when you’re the best.»

You crossed your arms and smiled shamelessly. "The best? In your head, maybe. People talk, you know? Not everyone is so convinced of your abilities."

Jungwon laughed a low and funny sound. «Let them talk. The numbers don’t lie, i'm in the top 5 of the state racers. And trust me, it wasn’t easy to get there.»

"If you say so," you replied, trying to ignore the shiver that had passed through your back as you looked into his eyes.

«You must not believe me,» he said, taking a step closer. «But sooner or later you will understand. Speed is not just about money or perfect cars, it’s about the heart.»

The evening seemed almost quiet. You were sitting on an old wooden stool, holding in your hands a mojito that was melting too fast. Your best friend, laughing next to you as Jay strutted in the distance, probably telling someone how good Jungwon was.

'It’s not so bad, isn’t it?' said your bf, giving you a slight push on the shoulder.

"It still doesn’t convince me," you replied, sipping your drink. "Too much confusion, too many people... Not my world."

Your bf laughed. 'I know, but sometimes you have to try new things. Maybe there’s something here that...'

The girl’s words were interrupted by a sudden and deafening noise. Screams, immediately followed by the unmistakable sound of police sirens. The crowd exploded into a chaos of excited voices, bodies pushing and shoes pounding on the asphalt.

You got stuck, your heart was pounding. "What’s going on?"

'The cops, they’re here!' shouted someone, and the crowd began to scatter in all directions.

You looked around, lost, looking for your bff with your eyes, but before you could understand what to do you felt a strong hand holding your arm. You turned around and found Jungwon staring at you with a serious, almost impatient expression.

«You,» he said, bowing without waiting for an answer. «Come with me.»

"What-? Wait! No!" you tried to protest, but he didn’t give you the time. He dragged you through the crowd with fierce determination, dodging people and fallen bottles, to his car parked near the main road.

Jungwon opened the passenger door and almost pushed it in. «Get in.»

"I don’t even think so!"

The sirens came even closer, and you had no choice. You sat in the seat with your heart in your throat, slamming the door just as he was getting into the driver’s seat and turning on the engine.

«It’s written on your face that you’ve never been to such meetings,» he said as he set off. «Too scared to move.»

You stared at him. "I’m not scared!"

«Oh, you are,» he replied, and before you could fight back he put the gas on. The machine slammed forward at a speed that took your breath away. You clung to the seat, white knuckles, as the landscape began to flow at an impossible speed. The sirens were still behind you, but they got farther and farther away.

"You’re going too fast!" you shouted, trying to make yourself heard above the roar of the engine.

Jungwon did not answer, his face focused while he was dodging other cars and taking sharp turns without ever slowing down. His calm was frightening.

"I said slow down!" He turned his head slightly towards you, a funny smile that curved his lips. «What is it, speed scares you? I thought you were more brave.»

That was the drop of water. Without thinking, you raised your hand and slapped him on the arm. "Slow down!"

Jungwon laughed, the sound was low and incredibly calm for the situation. «It doesn’t work like that, princess. With the police on your tail, you run or lose.»

You stared at him, furious and terrified at the same time. "You’re out of your mind!"

«Maybe» he replied, giving the pedal a further push. The car accelerated even more, and you felt your heart go up in your throat.

«Tell me where you live,» said Jungwon, suddenly serious.

You exhibited, still tight to the seat. "Why?"

«Because if you don’t tell me, I don’t know where to leave you. Unless you want to stay with me all night.»

Your cheeks burned. "You’re an idiot."

«I take it as a compliment.»

With an exasperated sigh, you gave him the address. He nodded, turned the wheel with impeccable accuracy, and put a side road in.

The speed was only slightly slower, but not fast enough to feel the ground under your feet.

When it finally arrived in front of your palace, your heart was still beating like a drum.

He stopped the car, putting an arm on the steering wheel as he looked at you. «All together, see? It wasn’t so bad.»

You struck him with your eyes, but you did not answer. You opened the door and came down, almost stumbling as your legs trembled.

«Good night, princess», said Jungwon with a smile as he looked at you.

"Good night a horn," you mumbled, slamming the door. But as you ran home, you couldn’t ignore the fact that, despite everything, a part of you had felt that adrenaline... and you almost liked it.

The atmosphere at the university was unbearable. Every conversation seemed to revolve around Jungwon: the young prodigy, the boy who had rushed like lightning in the last run and left everyone speechless.

You sighed every time you heard his name. It was everywhere. In the boys' talks, in the girls' whispers. Even the professors seemed to mention with a veiled interest "that young pilot of whom everyone is talking".

But to you, Jungwon was just an arrogant boy with a passion for risk and a smile that irritated you more than it was allowed. Yet, there was something you couldn’t get out of your head: the night of the escape. The speed, the shiver, the way you felt alive... and vulnerable. It was a feeling you hated and, in part, wanted to forget.

One afternoon, as you were desperately trying to ignore the avalanche of messages in the groups on Jungwon, your bff approached your desk with a complicit smile and a colorful poster in hand.

'Look here,' she said, waving the paper before you.

You looked up from the book. "What is it?"

'One race,' he replied enthusiastically. 'But not a big one. It’s a training for the top 5, a private event. Only a few can attend.'

"So why show it to me?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Cause I want to go there,' she replied with a smirk. 'And I thought you could come along. You know, as my partner in crime.'

"Not even in my dreams," you cut short, back to the book.

'Really?' sat down next to you, lowering his voice in a provocative tone. 'Are you sure? Maybe you can take the opportunity to thank that guy who saved you last night.'

You were blocked. Those words hit a nerve. You promised to thank him, despite everything. After that night you didn’t see each other anymore, and not that you cared particularly... or maybe yes?

"I’m thinking about it," you murmured at the end, leaving your satisfied bff in her place.

Two days later, you were exactly where you swore you would never be: a private track just outside the city, surrounded by a select few spectators. There was no crowd or chaos, only the roar of cars preparing to go down the track.

Despite initial reluctance, you could not deny that the atmosphere was fascinating. The shiny asphalt in the sun, the smell of burnt rubber, and the electricity in the air. It was all so... different.

You settled next to your best friend, who chatted animately with Jay. But your eyes were immediately caught by a figure in the distance: Jungwon.

He was there, with his pilot’s suit half open on the chest, helmet under his arm, and that cheeky smile printed on his face. He was laughing with a group of girls who seemed to be hanging on his lips.

You were staring at him, unable to look away. It was impossible to deny: he was beautiful. Perhaps too beautiful. His cat eyes shone with a light that seemed magnetic, and the dark and slightly ruffled hair fell perfectly on his face as if they had been designed for him.

And that suit... God.

"Oh, no," you muttered, looking away. You couldn’t, you didn’t have to admit it was nice. He wasn’t. He wasn’t even your type.

'Are you all right?' she asked, giving yourself a curious look.

"Yes," you answered, clenching your fists. "It’s all right."

But as Jungwon put on his helmet with a fluid gesture and approached his car, you noticed that your heart was beating faster. And it wasn’t the noise of the engines.

Coming fourth wasn’t exactly the result he wanted, especially considering he had raced against Heeseung and Sunghoon, two legends in the underground races. He had given everything, but against them, it was like fighting a storm.

As he stepped out of the car and took off his helmet, his gaze wandered through the small crowd of selected spectators. He looked for Jay, knowing that he would be somewhere with his girlfriend.

When he found it, however, Jungwon was stuck for a moment. Next to Jay was she: the good girl.

She was still, her arms crossed and the expression swaying between embarrassment and a strange determination. Although the light of sunset played with his features, giving his figure an almost ethereal aura, it was evident that he was not at ease in that environment.

Jungwon approached, his disappointment for fourth place temporarily forgotten. Curiosity shone in his feline eyes. «Wow, who sees again,» he said, a sneering smile that curled his lips.

You looked at him with your usual exasperated expression, but with a slight blush that colored your cheeks. "Hi, Jungwon."

«I didn’t think these places were your kind» he continued, slightly bowing his head. «Have you decided to add a little adrenaline to your monotonous life?»

Roll your eyes, ignoring the provocation. "I’m not here to have fun."

«Oh, then why are you here?»

Take a deep breath, determined to say what you had to. "I’m here to thank you."

Jungwon stared at you, surprised. «Thank me? For what?»

"For having me... Saved, if you may say so, the other night," I replied, looking down for a moment before raising it to meet his eyes.

For a moment he laughed, shaking his head slightly.

«Saved, eh?» she said, approaching by a step. «I would say that I have only given you a moving passage.»

"Call it what you will," you replied, trying to keep your cool. "But still... thank you."

Jungwon stopped laughing and stared at you, his eyes twinkling like something that looked like a challenge.

«And what do you think I want in return?» he asked, his voice low and almost hypnotic.

You looked at him, confused. "In return?"

He leaned slightly towards you, his face so close that you felt the warmth of his breath on your skin. Then, with a whisper that made your blood freeze in the veins, he said: «A kiss.»

Your eyes widened. "You’re kidding, right?"

Jungwon straightened, smiling with the same arrogance as ever. «I never joke, princess.»

You stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was serious or not. Finally, he crossed his arms and raised his chin in defiance. "Then you will be left without thanks."

He laughed as if his answer amused him even more. «We will see» and walked away with a sure pace, leaving you there with your heart still beating wildly.

It was a quiet evening, of those you preferred. Your best friend had gone out with Jay, and for once the apartment seemed to be in a pleasant silence. You were sitting on the couch with a cup of hot tea and a book, finally free to enjoy some peace.

But that peace broke suddenly when the intercom rang, making you jump. You were not expecting anyone. You did a little bit of showing, but then you went and checked the screen.

Your breath was blocked. On the monitor was Jungwon, hands in his pockets and that relaxed expression that seemed to say "I’m always in the right place at the right time."

"What’s he doing here?" you murmured, nervously tightening the oversized pajamas you wore. He put his hand on your mouth, trying to collect your thoughts.

Despite everything, you opened.

Jungwon’s steps rang up the stairs, and before you could get ready, he was standing at the door, tall, confident, and with a slight smile on his face.

«Hello, princess,» he said, leaning on the door frame.

You looked at him, confused and with a mixture of irritation and nervousness. "What are you doing here?"

He did not answer. He entered without being invited, taking off his shoes naturally as if he were at home.

"what.." you stopped when you saw him walking around the apartment, observing everything with curiosity.

«Nice place,» said Jungwon, passing a hand on the kitchen cabinet and then taking a look at the sofa. He moved with the grace of a cat, calmly exploring every corner.

"You can’t come in like that," you protested.

«Why not? » he answered, turning to look at you. «I’m doing nothing wrong.»

You crossed your arms, trying to keep calm. "You still avoided the main question: what are you doing here?"

Jungwon came a few steps closer, reducing the distance between you. His gaze was piercing, and the sneering smile had never left his face. «I have come to take my thanks.»

The heart missed a stroke. "What?"

«I told you, didn’t I? I don’t leave anything halfway.» He leaned slightly toward you. «And I don’t accept excuses.»

You roast, feeling completely overwhelmed by his presence. You tried to appeal to your rational side, but couldn’t find the right words. "I... I don’t understand why you’re doing this. I owe you nothing."

Jungwon tilted his head as if he was weighing up his words. Then he laughed softly, a low, warm sound that made her shiver. «You’re always so sweet, aren’t you? And scared.»

"I am not afraid," you protested.

«Oh, yes you are,» he replied, getting even closer. His eyes shone with malice, but there was something else too, something deeper that you could not decipher.

I stepped back, but you found yourself with your back against the kitchen table. You were trapped, and Jungwon seemed to know it.

«So?» he asked you, with a smile that seemed like a challenge. «What about my thanks?»

You looked down, your face was red. "I don’t know what you want from me..."

Jungwon laughed again, this time more softly. He raised his hand and pulled a lock of hair from your face. His touch was light, but enough to hold your breath.

«All right,» he said, in a strangely gentle tone. "Perhaps I’ll let you choose how you want to thank me. But remember, princess, I never forget.»

With those words, he finally left and returned to snooping.

Jungwon was still looking around, moving like a curious cat, when his gaze fell on the couch. Without thinking too much, he dropped with a soft thud, stretching as if he were the master of the house. «Nice and comfortable here," he commented nonchalantly.

You were staring at him with your arms crossed, trying to keep a serious tone. "I didn’t invite you to get comfortable, you know."

He ignored you as his eyes were set on a book left on the pillow next to him. With disarming speed, he grabbed it.

«Let’s see what our princess reads,» he said, flipping through the pages.

"No! Give it back!" you exclaimed, approaching quickly.

But it was too late. Jungwon read aloud one of the most sappy passages in the book, imitating an overly sweet voice. "And he stared at her intensely, unable to resist the temptation to kiss her..."

You suddenly blush, embarrassed. "Stop it, give me back now!"

Jungwon burst out laughing.

«I never thought you were a fan of romantic novels. Aren’t you the one with the study books?»

You came to grab the book, but he pushed it away, holding it high above his head. "Jungwon, I told you to give it back!"

In an attempt to catch him, you swerved, falling on him on the couch. Both of you ended up lying down, you on top of him, the forgotten book on the ground.

For a moment everything seemed to stop. You looked up and met his feline eyes, so close that he could see every detail of their depth.

With a slow gesture, he raised his hand and stroked your cheek, the thumb that touched your skin with disarming delicacy. «Soft,» he murmured, almost in silence, as if he was making an incredible discovery.

Your heart was beating fast, and your face turned even more red. "J-Jungwon..."

He slightly tilted his head, his gaze curious and fascinated. Then, with a speed that caught you by surprise, he made you a slight tickle on your hips, making you burst into an involuntary laugh.

"Hey!" you protested in laughter, trying to move, but Jungwon kept teasing you with that funny smile.

«I like your laugh», he said, stopping at last. His voice was warm and low, and for a moment the atmosphere among you changed.

Before you could say anything, Jungwon leaned slightly towards you, his feline movements controlled. Then, with a confidence that seemed to leave no room for doubt, he laid his lips on yours.

The kiss was soft, but firm. There was no hurry, just a gesture full of respect and curiosity. You felt his big hands leaning around your back to hold you closer to him and with a sigh you let his tongue enter your mouth; It was the best kiss you had ever had and Jungwon looked so good at everything he did and you felt the heat of the contact immediately that broke down all resistance.

When you left, Jungwon smiled at you, his eyes shining with something you still couldn’t define. «Now I can consider myself thanked,» he muttered, the mischievous tone but strangely sweet.

Jungwon looked at you with a smile that mixed mischievousness and tenderness. «You know, I must admit,» he said in that witty tone that you now knew well, «you’re quite good at kissing, princess.»

You opened your eyes wide, the redness immediately rising to your cheeks. "Jungwon!" you protested, lightly hitting him on the shoulder.

He laughed, the low and relaxed sound that always seemed to make fun of you, but in a surprisingly affectionate way. Before he could fight back, he wrapped an arm around your waist and gently pulled you to himself, causing your head to rest on his neck.

«Then relax,» he muttered, as he slowly stroked your back.

Part of you couldn’t help but wonder: How can I feel safe with him? Jungwon was everything that represented chaos, risk, and defying the rules. Yet there, in his arms, was a calm you could not explain.

«Do you feel safe?» he asked you as if he had read your mind.

You did not answer immediately, clenching your fingers against the fabric of his shirt. At the end, you whisper, with a thread of voice: "It makes no sense, but yes."

Jungwon smiled, and his warm breath tickled your hair. «Maybe because I’m less dangerous than you think.»

Before you could answer, Jungwon moved slightly, breaking contact. He stood up, stretching with a grace that seemed almost feline. «But now I must go.»

You looked at him, still sitting on the sofa. "Doing... illegal things?" you asked, your voice a little jokey but also a bit serious.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. «In a way yes. I have to do something very illegal for the human being, imposed from above.»

You stared at him, confused. "What?"

«Study», he replied with a sly smile.

You blinked, incredulous. "Study?"

Jungwon nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. «Right. You don’t seem convinced.»

"I’m not," you admitted. "You... study? Really?"

«Of course. I study law.»

His words left you breathless. "Law?" you repeated, incredulous. "You? The boy who runs illegally and seems to ignore every rule... Do you study law?"

Jungwon laughed again, amused by his reaction. «I know, I know. It seems a contradiction, doesn’t it? But what can I do? I have a passion for rules. Only I prefer to decide when and how to follow them.»

You stared at him, trying to process that new information. "You are... a living contradiction."

«Interesting,» he smiled maliciously at you. Then, he slightly bowed his head. «And you are adorable when you are confused. See you, princess.»

And with those words, he left, leaving you sitting on the sofa staring at the door. And you thought that Jungwon was a riddle that you didn’t know how to solve yet.

After days of life seemed back to normal, you were immersed in your journalism studies, trying to forget the chaos that Jungwon had brought into your life. You were focused, determined to keep your head on her future, away from distractions.

But when your colleague at the university newspaper asked you to write a piece about clandestine racing, you suddenly found yourself back in the center of that world from which you had tried to get away.

'Are you sure you want to do it?' asked the colleague. 'It doesn’t seem like your environment.'

You raised your chin, determined. "I can do it. I’ll go with my best friend, no problem."

And so, that Saturday night, you found yourself again immersed in the racket noise. The pre-race was a chaotic party: deafening music, neon lights that illuminated the improvised track, people laughing and drinking everywhere. Your best friend, she seemed perfectly comfortable, but you don't.

Despite everything, you took your notebook and you started working. You had to do a detailed report, so you started to observe the machines and transcribe nicknames, technical notes, and the general atmosphere.

"The Panther" had a black and shiny livery, and "The Eagle" a silver car that seemed to slip in the air. Each pilot had a nickname, an identity that made them bigger than life.

But when your gaze was set on a machine unmistakable, your heart stopped. It was there, in all its glory: the hood painted with shiny stripes that reminded of claw scratches, and the name he had already heard whispered by Jay: The Wildcat.

Next to the car was him. Jungwon.

Your heart sped up when you saw it. Lying nonchalantly beside the car, he wore a dark leather jacket left unlaced, revealing a tight-fitting T-shirt that highlighted his dry physique. The messy hair looked even softer in the neon light, and the cat eyes shone with a mix of challenge and fun. He was not alone. Three, maybe four girls were standing near him, laughing and flirting openly. One of them had put a hand on his arm, and he didn’t seem at all annoyed.

The pen you held in your hand stopped. You felt a wave of conflicting emotions: annoyance, jealousy, irritation, and that bit of insecurity that you could never get away from when it came to confronting other girls.

'Are you all right?' asked your bff, noticing your sudden silence.

"Yes," lying, looking down, and pretending to take notes in your notebook.

Jungwon seemed perfectly in his element. Every movement and every smile seemed to be designed to attract attention, and it worked perfectly. Everyone was watching him, and he knew it.

When one of the girls came closer to him, laughing and putting a hand on his chest, you felt yourself burning inside. You turned, pressing the notebook against your chest. It shouldn’t have mattered. It didn’t.

But then, as if he had felt your gaze even amid the chaos, Jungwon looked up and saw you.

His smile stopped for a moment. The feline eyes were fixed on you, curious and perhaps surprised.

You held your breath, unable to look away.

Then, Jungwon’s smile returned, slower and deeper. She pulled away from the car and stepped over to you, the girls who were quietly protesting about the sudden lack of attention.

You were juggling between the machines, trying to ignore the knot of emotion that had formed in his stomach after seeing Jungwon. You kept taking notes in his notebook, writing down details about the race, the drivers, the nicknames... but your heart could not calm down.

You were focused on describing a car with a fiery red livery when suddenly you heard a hand grab your notebook. You slammed your eyes and you saw it.

Jungwon was there, a few steps away from you, with that cat-like look in his eyes that seemed to be light inside. His eyes shone with mischief and amusement, and his lips curled in a sneering smile. «Hey, princess,» he said goodbye, holding the notebook carelessly in her hand. «I missed something or are you trying to write a book about us?»

"Give it back, Jungwon. I’m working."

He slightly tilted his head, studying it. «Working, eh? You didn’t find a minute to come and say hello? All the other girls did it.» His voice was a mixture of provocation and challenge.

You’re sticking your jaw, trying to keep calm. "I didn’t come here to make friends, Jungwon. I have other things to do."

Your words made him smile. He leaned slightly towards you, your eyes straight in his. «Let me guess... Are you jealous?»

You blinked, surprised by her question. Then you sat down, raising your chin with determination. "Not. Why should I be jealous?"

Jungwon stared at you for a moment, his smile widening as if he were having a great time. «I don’t know, but usually the girls who look at me like that have something to say.»

You get stiff, feeling your face getting warmer and warmer. "I wasn’t looking at you in any way. I have other things to think about."

He laughed softly, a sound that seemed to wrap her like a caress. «Sure, princess. As you wish.»

You ripped the notebook out of his hands. "Stop calling me that. And let me do my job."

Jungwon pulled back, raising his hands in surrender, but his smile did not fade. «All right, all right. But don’t take it too hard. You know where to find me if you change your mind.»

And with a last look that seemed to promise trouble, he turned around and returned to his car.

The race was a whirlwind of emotions. You were with Jay and your bff, watching the chaos of cars sprinting under the spotlight. The engines were roaring, and the adrenaline felt palpable in the air. Jungwon was third, fighting ferociously to reach the podium and win that prize which meant more than just money.

You couldn’t deny that she was nervous. Every tight turn, every overtake, every calculated risk made her hold her breath. The gaze was instinctively set on Jungwon’s car, recognizable by its aggressive stripes and proudly painted number.

But then it happened.

The Panther made an illegal move. A sharp cut to the trajectory, too close to be a simple mistake. Jungwon’s car skidded, losing control, and went off the track with an impact that made the silence in the air resound. No one laughed, no one spoke.

"Damn it!" cursed Jay, sprinting into the pit area to see what had happened to Jungwon. You looked for Jungwon, but he was as if disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness of the track. The crowd around you had already started to celebrate, shouting for Heeseung, Sunghoon, and the Panther’s victory as the spotlight turned on the winners.

You were lost. You couldn’t think of anything but the car that was off the track and the guy driving it. Where was Jungwon? Was he all right?

"Hey," a deep voice brought you back to reality.

You turned around and saw a boy coming towards you. It was the pilot of the Panther, the one who caused the accident.

"What is a pretty girl doing here with a notebook in her hand?" he asked, looking at you with interest.

"I’m working," you replied coldly, holding the notebook to my chest. "I’m a journalist, I have to write about the race."

He laughed, a sound that had nothing genuine. "A journalist, eh? Well, maybe you could write a piece about me. You know, I’m the star of the night."

You stared at it, the obvious annoyance on your face. "I don’t think I’ll write about who plays dirty to win."

The boy’s smile cracked slightly, but before he could answer, a movement behind him caught both of their attention.

«I don’t think he wants to write about you,» said a familiar, low, and tense voice.

Jungwon was there. Hair sprawled, a small wound on the eyebrow that bled slightly, and an expression that promised trouble.

The Panther’s pilot smiled, raising his hands in surrender. "Oh, there it is. I thought you were still licking your off-piste wounds."

He didn’t have time to finish the sentence. Jungwon advanced with a lightning move and punched him straight in the face. The boy staggered back, a hand to his nose.

«If you want to win, do it playing clean» growled Jungwon, his voice low but full of anger.

Stood still, my heart beating like a bat. You had never seen Jungwon so full of fury and determination.

He turned to you, his feline eyes staring at you with an intensity that made you hold your breath.

«Is everything okay?» he asked you, his voice suddenly quieter.

You are slow and unable to formulate a response. He watched you for a moment longer, then turned to the pilot of the Panther, who was still recovering.

«Never come near her again,» said Jungwon, his voice dangerously low. And with those words, he took your hand and led you away from the crowd, leaving chaos behind.

You found yourself catapulted into the car of Jungwon, almost without realizing how it happened. He was furious, his face tense and his cat eyes shone with a disturbing intensity. His hands held the steering wheel tightly, and the silence in the car was broken only by the soft hum of the engine.

You look around nervously, trying to figure out where you are going. You did not dare to speak, but you could not ignore the charged energy that was breathed into the air.

In the end, Jungwon stopped in a poorly lit parking lot, away from the chaos of the race and the festivities. He turned off the engine but said nothing for a moment. He ran his hand through his hair, visibly irritated, and then turned to you, approaching dangerously.

«What the hell were you thinking, Y/n?» he growled, his voice low but full of anger.

You stared at him, confused and slightly intimidated. "I... was working. I just asked questions and took notes for the piece I have to write."

Jungwon came even closer, his eyes peering at you. «Working? With that ridiculous little skirt and the top that leaves everything in sight? Where is the good girl I kissed the other day?»

You looked at him, surprised and irritated by her reaction. "Sorry?! What’s the matter, Jungwon? It’s not your concern what I’m wearing. And, for your information, I’m still the same person, even if I don’t dress like a nun to come to these stupid races!"

He raised an eyebrow, the sneer smile returning to his face. «Ah, so now you like to be a rebel? Interesting.»

"It’s not about rebellion!" you broke off with your arms crossed. "And stop judging me. It’s you who runs illegally, not me."

For a moment, Jungwon stared at you in silence, then his smile went out, and his gaze became more serious. «I don’t want you to get into trouble. Not with people like that, and certainly not in a place like this."

You were silent, struck by the sincerity in her voice, but you didn’t want to give it up. "I’m not a child, Jungwon. I can take care of myself."

Now your faces were a few inches apart. «You don’t understand, do you? It’s not just about looking after yourself. I can’t stand the idea that someone else could even look at you like that guy did.»

You suddenly felt confused and vulnerable under his intense gaze. "Jungwon..."

But he didn’t give you the time. With a strong gesture, he took you by the face and kissed you, his lips pressing against yours with overwhelming confidence, but not without sweetness. It was a kiss that spoke of unresolved emotions, confusion, and desire.

You stood still for a moment, but then you let go, returning the kiss. You didn’t know what that meant, but at the time, in his arms, you felt inexplicably safe, even though Jungwon represented everything he had to avoid.

The anger, tension, and that strange, irresistible attraction that Jungwon seemed to be kindling in you all exploded at once. You grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and pulled him towards you, kissing him again with more passion, as if you wanted to make him understand once and for all how confused she was, but also how lost you were for him.

Your hands trembled as they sat on Jungwon’s sculpted chest. You felt the muscles twitch under your fingers as if he was struggling to keep control. The heat emanating seemed to burn her skin, but she did not want to stop.

Between one kiss and the next, he pulled away slightly, his lips still dangerously close to hers. «Wait,» he muttered, with a smile that seemed to hide a thousand secrets. «Move slightly from the seat.»

You looked at him, confused, as he moved swiftly into the passenger seat. She pointed with a sure nod to his lap. «Sit here.»

You stared at him with wide eyes, heart pounding in your chest. "Jungwon, we’re in public..."

He chuckled, the sound low and incredibly charming. «Nobody is watching us. And even if they did... who cares? Trust me.»

After a moment of hesitation, you moved in embarrassment, and you sat on his legs. Your arms instinctively clenched around Jungwon’s neck, as he laid his hands on his hips, holding you firmly against him.

«See?» he whispered, in a tone that had a disarmingly sweet sweetness. «There is nothing to be afraid of.»

He, on the other hand, seemed comfortable, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed a darker depth. His fingers began to trace little circles on your hips, and his smile became more intense.

«You’re so beautiful,» he said, his tone suddenly serious, as he stared at you as if you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world. «You don’t realize what you’re doing to me, do you?»

You shook your head slightly, unable to find the words.

He tilted his head, his gaze becoming darker but at the same time incredibly sweet.

«I don’t want anyone to look at you the way I do. Is that a problem?»

"Jungwon..." you mumbled, but he didn’t give her time to continue.

He drew his lips to your ear like a kitten huddled in its den, sank his face against his neck, inhaled your scent, squeezed you tighter, and began kissing you and making little pacifiers.

«You are so sensitive,» he murmured, as he heard how you tried to deny the moans of pleasure. «I love to see how you react to me, I bet no one has made you feel like this in your life, princess.»

This time she touched the edge of your lace panties slightly.

"Jungwon.... not here," You said as you felt his big fingers sear your panties.

Your words seemed to light something in Jungwon. His smile grew wider and more dangerous, and a bad boy’s flash lit up his face. «Oh, princess» he whispered, tilting his head slightly as his hands slid into her life. «I want everything of you... but I’m not sure I can wait.»

Before you could answer, his fingers moved with an exasperating slowness under your skirt, and he began to draw light circles as you felt that slowly you were already excited for him. You held your breath, feeling the heat that spread throughout your body.

Jungwon, amused by your reaction, drew little circles with his fingers, stroking the slightly moist fabric. «So wet»

You whispered in a tone that mixed sweetness and provocation. «Is this all for me?»

You nodded weakly with your face becoming increasingly red.

He came near your ear again, letting his warm breath caress her skin. «I would like to take everything of you now, but not in this car. Not like that. You deserve more.»

Despite his words, he did not stop at all. He started touching your pussy but a grin formed on his face and looked as if there was someone outside and with a strong movement touched the lever that was under the seat and lowered it. «Lie down Y/n, I will make you feel good while I kneel.» Jungwon laid you down in the seat and began to slide his hands on one of your legs, lifting it to leave a kiss trail up to your thigh, Stopping occasionally to admire your soft skin that was illuminated by the moon and the intense look you were throwing at him. «I promise you that I will make you feel so good, you can’t be touched by any boy from today»

He moved his head under the skirt took the piece of your panties between his teeth and slowly pulled it down, moaning audibly as he watched a series of excitement drip from your heart. His cock was already pulsing in his pants but today he just wanted to make you feel good, there would be other opportunities that he would be well.

You looked at him a lot embarrassed but also extremely excited when you saw him with your panties in your mouth and pulled his hair and carried him back down into your pussy.

"Jungwon, I’m... you can lick it pls» Jungwon started laughing and tricked his tongue on your inner thigh, capturing your excitement on his tongue. «Fuck, baby, you’re so good. Let me eat your pretty pussy» You slightly widened your thighs and moaned instantly when he licked and licked, without even thinking about it, before reaching his hand behind you with his arms stretched out to pull you closer, guiding your hips down with force "Jungwon," you panicked. Your brain got a little confused as it pushed your thighs away, then lifted them up and away so that you could bury your face deeper between them. «Look at you, you’re getting your pussy licked in the middle of nowhere by the only guy you find irritating»

Jungwon took a second to smile at you, stroking your slimy thigh with his cheek, and pressing a small lingering kiss on your warm skin. His tongue was hot and wet against your pussy, practically melting against your folds, making long and deliberate passes up to your clitoris before you concentrate on it and suck it with a fervor that sent waves of pleasure.

Unable to hold your voice, you began to emit gasping and stuttering moans, unintentionally lifting yourself into his mouth as he licked and sucked your clitoris, feeling your cheeks burning more and more long he looked into your eyes.

"I am... oh my God, please" greedily caress your clitoris pulsing in quick and deliberate circles with the thumb, automatically bringing two fingers to your pussy, your greedy hole sucked them up to your knuckles, without hesitating to push them in and out of you. Once your legs hooked to her waist, she quickened and pumped the rhythm of her fingers, your moisture now so palpable that it was beginning to leak out of you.

«Come princess, only for the wildcat» you exhaled, licking your lips and savoring the remains of yourself on your tongue, Striking him in a way that made you fight the urge to let your eyes roll down to the bottom of your skull and come between his fingers and with a gesture he took her to his mouth and sucked her as if it were the best thing in this world.

Yes, he got up slightly and felt his cock and balls extremely tight and hard in the pants but it was worth it, he had just made the "good girl" come off the university and knew that she would think for not how long to this episode of him bowing to her to suck their pussy.

You had spent a few nights writing your piece, trying to maintain a balance between your natural contempt for the illegality and that subtle attraction for the adrenaline-fuelled world that you had discovered recently. In the end, you delivered your article to the local newspaper, knowing that it would create a sensation, especially among the pilots.

You described the atmosphere in vivid words, talking about the roar of engines, the smoke from tires on the asphalt, and people who seemed to live only for those moments.

Extract from the article:

"There is something irresistibly hypnotic about seeing those riders challenge everything and everyone, putting their lives on the edge of a razor for a ride of glory. But despite the obvious danger and illegality, I can not deny that I also felt the heartbeat accelerate, the shiver of every curve taken to the limit. It’s a world that makes you want more, even when you know you shouldn’t."

You also mentioned the most famous pilots, dedicating a part of his article to the young and mysterious Wildcat:

"Among the many, one stands out for his early talent and rebellious attitude: Wildcat. At just 20, he has shown a mastery of the steering wheel that defies logic. But it’s not just his ability that makes him interesting: there is an energy in him, an aura that makes him unmatched. Despite his age, he drives like he was born to do it, and there’s a dangerous confidence in his feline eyes that makes you wonder what lies behind that provocative smile. Who knows if, behind the bad boy mask, there is something more... is a bad boy as everyone says or is different with the people he loves?"

Jungwon, sitting on the couch at home, had read the article carefully. The newspaper folded on his knees, his eyes shone with a strange combination of annoyance and amusement.

'So he thinks I’m hiding something, eh?' he murmured to himself, "And it describes that adrenaline so well... Maybe she’s not so different from me after all.'

Then he stopped to read another part:

"It is clear that risk is an integral part of this world, but perhaps this is what makes it so irresistible. Once you enter, it’s hard to get out of it, especially when you meet people who seem made for living without rules. And although I do not share this lifestyle, I cannot deny that there is something fascinating about observing those who are not afraid to challenge any limit."

Jungwon laughed slowly, was it perhaps a hint of what happened in the car between the gold two the other day?

'Good girl, eh?' mumbled. 'You’re so convinced that you don’t want to be part of this world, but underneath I know you like it. And I’m the only one who can take you beyond that limit, Y/n

He decided that he could not let go of the matter. He had to see her, tease her personally, and above all make her understand that no one could talk about him in that way without suffering the consequences.

You had just come out of the shower and heard the bell ring. Your best friend was not in, and you were not expecting anyone. And on the screen of the video intercom was: Jungwon, with the folded newspaper in his hand and that dangerous smile you now recognized too well.

You opened the door, trying to keep calm. "What are you doing here?" You asked, crossing my arms.

Jungwon didn’t answer immediately, just entering with a disarming security. «So you wrote an article about the bad boys of the city Y/n? Pleased with the comments you received?» He said in a low, sharp voice, waving the newspaper before you.

"It’s just my job," you replied, trying to keep a professional tone.

Jungwon chuckled and slowly approached, leaning slightly towards you until your faces were a few inches away. «No one speaks of me in this way. Not even you.»

You instinctively backed away, but he followed you, the paper still in his hand, his eyes shining with an intensity that made her tremble. «Wildcat, eh? Feline eyes, dangerous smile... tell me, were you writing or fantasizing about me? what is it you missed already my touch?»

"Don’t get your head in the sand, Jungwon. I just brought the truth."

«Truth?» he repeated with a grin, getting even closer. «And what is the truth? That you like this world? That you like what I make you feel?»

You felt trapped, and your heart was beating too fast. "I... I don’t..."

Before you could finish the sentence, Jungwon dropped the newspaper on the counter and took you by the side, lifting you up easily and making you sit on the kitchen island. He stood between your legs, his eyes fixed on his.

«Spare me the apology,» you whispered, his voice full of desire and a touch of possession. «I know exactly what you’re trying to hide. It’s in your eyes every time you look at me.»

You tried to talk, but before you could say a word, Jungwon leaned over and kissed you with an overwhelming passion. His hands seized your hips with force, pulling you even closer as if he wanted to erase all distance.

The kiss was different from the previous ones: there was not only passion but also a kind of affirmation. He wanted you to know that you were his, that no one else could get close to you like he did. «Never again write about me in that way,» he whispered against her lips, her voice low and hoarse. «I don’t want anyone else to know how good I am at making you feel this way. This is just for us.»

Jungwon caressed your face sweetly, a striking contrast to his possessive grip on your hips.

You felt his fingers trace the skin of your hips under your shirt until it reached the breast that was completely uncovered because you had just washed, His fingers were slightly cold to contact your breast and Bud tickled you and made you slightly arch your back. «You are already so sensitive to me and i touched you only with a finger what will happen when you fuck princess?» Jungwon took off your shirt and started kissing you and tickling your breasts, your poor nipples were turgid and with one hand he held you still and with the other, he massaged you alternating to tighten your left breast. He sucked you as if he was obsessed with your breast but had other things for the head that he wanted to do, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him and he with one hand ran through your leg from the knee to the inside of the thigh, making you lose breath, a smug smile took shape on his lips as he tilted his head watching your reaction as his fingers approached your core, the tips traced him around your pajamas shorts and groans at the touch of his fingers around your core still dressed.

"Jungwon...I need" Your hand moved to touch his cock through the pants of the suit, making him moan, pulled down your pajama shorts, and when he saw that you already had your panties slightly wet a grin set up on his face, «God, already so fucking wet for me» and you kept massaging his cock, and I also took him off in his pants and made him spread a little 'the stain of the pre-ejaculate in his boxer shorts.

He took you in his arms as you kissed and kissed, and brought you to your room and laid you gently by the edge of your bed, you were perfect for him, It was months that he dreamed of fucking you and having you all to himself and finally came the time to see that the good girl who everyone loved at university was not so much a good girl when she was with him. He quickly removed your panties and his fingers finally touched your clitoris, winding around the bundle of nerves, throwing it every time you moved your hips trying to get more friction; «look at you, you are already so eager to have my fingers around you, where has the good girl gone?» You groaned and tried to move easily but Jungwon as usual was teasing you.

"Jungwon, stop being like that. We both know that underneath you were pleased with that article" Jungwon looked at you with serious eyes and without saying anything two fingers entered your already sensitive core, making you shudder.

“Fuck, oh yeah!" Jungwon started pumping your fingers slowly though and you moved so much that you accidentally touched his cock in his boxer shorts with one hand he held you tight and with the other, he touched you but Jungwon had other plans with you.

«The other day in the car I made you come, now it’s your turn to show me what you can do, I really want to see if the good girls can be good with dicks» You looked at Jungwon slightly embarrassed and opened your mouth to the surprise of his words.

Choking a groan as his fingers curled inside you again. Your hands moved quickly to lower his boxer shorts, releasing his huge cock, making you open wide eyes but your mouth was even more flooding with desire for him.

Your hand quickly distributed the pre-seminal liquid, and your thumb gently moved it while you watched his reaction, smiling at seeing that you were making him enjoy only with his cock in hand, whimpering as he added a third finger, By widening even more. Your pussy was already sore and super sensitive by the overstimulation of his fingers and you kept on teasing their cock and sucking it "Jugwon, please" the guy in front of you laughed slowly and he also mooed something incomprehensible

and said: «What do you want, use that beautiful mouth you love to tease people to tell me what my princess wants» moaning loudly when he pumped all three fingers around your pussy it was beautiful but you wanted more.

"I want...I want you, pls" When he heard those words he let out his fingers and spread your legs and your pussy was super shiny, stimulated, and ready to take his dick. His tip only went in a little to drive you crazy, but there was not much you could do while he held your legs apart and on the edge of the bed. Your hands went into his hair, pulling it slightly as you watched Jungwon’s cock disappear inside your pussy, slowly driving you crazy.

It didn’t matter if you begged him he would take it his way, he quickly pulled out all his cock before you could even get used to it if he was back in full again, and repeated it a couple more times before his hand that had been on his member before, It would move on your clitoris making circular movements as it kept burying itself deep inside you and pulling everything out. Moaning, invaded your room and you pulled him even closer to you with the other hand he stroked your cheek and put his thumb in your mouth, and sucked it slightly

«good girl» Nodded while you felt his cock now in your stomach clothing you and it was a wonderful feeling to see Jungwon so lost of you and inside you.

«Look at you, I want you to look at me and groan my name as I hear you hold me with that sweet little pussy of yours, yes?» You nodded and groaned as it hit the exact point of your G-spot and felt the overstimulation of his thumb touching your now swollen clitoris.

«Come for me, come around me, be a good girl, and come all over my dick.»

"Jungwon, please...oh fuck!"

Your high quickly found you while he kept jumping inside of you looking for his release, and you felt his seed and his cum inside you gushing out of your pussy after a while he got rid of his cock around you and gave you little kisses in your neck and made you lie down in the bed and put on his shirt and went straight to get wet clothes to take off everything, the sticky sperm from your legs and after a little while he lay down next to you and hugged you and cuddled to you placing his head in your neck and leave you small kisses and light caresses.

«I hope it didn’t hurt, princess. I... I never felt these things for a girl and you» didn’t end up gently putting your lips on hers and he smiled at you.

"I have never had these feelings for anyone but Jungwon, i don't want this thing to be just for fun…”

Jungwon hugged you and held you close to him

«No, you have not for months now mine and you have not even realized it. This thing is not only for fun for me, I want to make it work because when I win I need my journalist of trust who describes me as his Wildcat!» You laughed and it was extremely true that you and Jungwon could not be so different but at the same time, you were complementary.

Comments and reblog are appreciated❤️

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goyardgoyangi · 10 days ago

Note

I am in LOVE with your street racer Sukuna!!! It's so good I wanna cry

I dunno if you take requests but I'd love to see how he'd react to someone hitting on you in front of him (or someone hitting on HIM in front of you)

Hi anon thank you for gooning over street racer! sukuna with me <3 mwah mwah MWAHHHHH here is a snippet from a fic i wrote that's similar to ur req 😚😝

someone hitting on you in front of street racer! sukuna

You expected champagne. Maybe even a full-on victory lap with Sukuna—him pulling you into his arms, wild with adrenaline and pride. You pictured the whole thing: arms around your waist, a cocky grin, the taste of sweat and sweetness when he kissed you in front of everyone like you were his prize.

Instead, second place earns a clenched jaw and dead silence on the ride to the restaurant.

Everyone else is buzzing—his team practically bouncing on their heels, thrilled he even placed at all. “Second in your debut? That’s crazy,” you hear someone say, followed by a solid clap to Sukuna’s back. It doesn’t shake the mood off. If anything, he just gets quieter, retreating further into his own storm cloud.

He slides his sunglasses on as he takes the wheel of the sleek black Porsche Cayman he refused to let anyone else drive. His hands grip the leather like it’s got something to answer for.

You peek at him from the passenger seat. “You were amazing out there.”

“Didn’t win.”

“It was your first pro race.”

“I don’t race to be almost the best.”

You sigh. He’s impossible when he gets like this—stubborn, coiled, biting at the edges of his own ambition. But under the frustration is something else. Something raw. So you reach across the console, slipping your fingers between his.

He doesn’t say anything, but he laces them tighter.

That alone makes you smile.

The restaurant is warm and buzzing—low lights, exposed brick, loud conversation rolling off the walls. You slip into the seat beside him at the long table, and he stays pressed close, his thigh brushing yours, hand resting just barely on your knee beneath the table.

He hasn’t touched his food. Keeps nursing a drink like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You looked so good out there,” you murmur again, leaning close enough that only he can hear.

Finally, he glances your way. Just for a second. But it’s different this time. Softer.

“You looked better,” he says, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch—half a smirk, almost a smile.

You nudge his knee under the table. “You know, I almost ran onto the track.”

That earns a full smile. “Yeah?”

“Wanted to kiss you through your helmet.”

He chuckles. Then bumps his shoulder against yours. “Next time.”

You’re mid-laugh when a voice cuts in.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you here.”

You blink up at the guy—button-down shirt, expensive shoes, that unmistakable air of confidence that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. He isn’t part of the crew. Doesn’t even have a lanyard. You’re already annoyed.

“I’m with the team,” you say politely.

“With the team,” he echoes, amused. “That include him?” He nods toward Sukuna without making eye contact.

You straighten. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat where the guy just smirks, oblivious or stupid. Probably both. “Honestly, are you here for the cars, or a boyfriend?”

You shoot him a tight smile. “I’m only here for one person.”

“Damn,” he says. “Wish I was him.”

You don’t get the chance to reply.

Sukuna stands.

The chair scrapes against the floor and the whole table quiets. Conversation dies as six-foot-something of fury plants himself squarely between you and the guy, casting a long shadow across the floor. His expression is calm—but in that wrong way. Like the calm right before lightning splits the sky.

“You got three seconds to walk away,” Sukuna says. Voice low. Controlled. “Before I stop playing nice for sponsors.”

The guy stammers out something—hands raised, steps back. You don’t even hear what he says. Just the sound of retreat.

Sukuna doesn’t chase. Doesn’t puff his chest. Just turns back to you, jaw tense, eyes scanning your face for anything off. His hand finds your thigh again under the table—firmer this time, anchoring.

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Are you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His thumb starts rubbing slow circles against your bare skin. You can tell he’s still stewing. Still not letting it go.

“I was already pissed about second,” he mutters. “Didn’t need some idiot acting like you’re—” He swallows. “Like you’re not mine.”

You reach for his hand under the table and link your fingers again. This time you lift them to your lap, keeping him close. Warm. Real.

“I never am,” you say. “Not to anyone else.”

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simplyhale · 13 days ago

Text

club classics j.a.

jack abbot x fem! reader

summary; after what was supposed to be your night off in weeks you are brought right back to the pitt. the only man that is able to help you afterwards is the one you've been hooking up with.

notes; divider is from @uzmacchiato they have stunning ones! do i think i'll probably do a part 2 to this? maybe? have i only been able to think about the pitt and the rookie for the past two months? yes. i couldn't stop listening to brat and thinking about jack abbot so here we are. i hope yall enjoy and let me know if yall would want to see the part 2 because it may or may not include smut.

words; 2394

gif cred;

— ｡⋆ ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Tonight was your first night off in what felt like forever. Truly it had only been a week. But working nightshifts your internal clock was all messed up. You had finally been able to join your friends on a night full of club-hopping. Sweat marks all over your clothes . All the stress left your body, and your brain shut off. Instead, you just listened to loud pounding music that was filling every inch of your body. Allowing your body to move in ways that loosened your muscles like nothing else could.

Well not nothing else.

A part of you was sad that you wouldn’t be able to see him. But the voice saying you needed a break was much louder. Plus it was backed up with the reminder that you had his number, meaning if you really did want to see him, he was only a text away.

When I go to the club I wanna hear those club classics

Just as that thought was pushed to the back of your mind, the alcohol took over, sending you onto the dance floor with not a single care in the world. Correction: The only care was that the next song had to live up to the current one.

But the Pitt had other plans.

It wanted you back one way or another.

You weren’t exactly sure how it started. Adrenaline had made the beginning all a blur. But when you came to, you were already on the other side of the bar top. grabbing a hold of one of the white bar rags. The screams and gasps went in one ear and out the other. You reached down to the bartender who had slid down the back wall holding his neck with a large glass shard poking out of it. “Don’t touch it!” His hand quickly moved from it, as blood had already started to pool.

You held enough pressure against the space to try to slow the bleeding but not enough to move the shard. “Someone better be calling 9-1-1!” You shouted mostly meaning it towards your group.

“What the hell do you think we are, idiots!”

Your smile was cut short by the panicked man in front of you. bringing you right back into reality and sobering you up fully. “I’m an E.R. doctor. On the other side is a whole handful of other nurses and doctors. All I need to do is shout and they’ll be here.”

“The station is on the other block, and they said they’d be here in three minutes!”

“All you need to do from here to the hospital is focus on breathing, staying awake, and not moving a single muscle. You can do that for me, right?” He started to shake his head but quickly stopped when he remembered what you said. “Right bad word choice.”

The whole ride was a nightmare. Not only was his vitals dropping, but the paramedics decided to take the bumpiest route. When the two paramedics were wheeling him in you were straddling him, holding the shard steady while also trying to do one-handed compressions. Besides doing CPR to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” the only sound that actually registered in your head was Ellis' voice. “What the hell is she doing up there?”

“Y’all gunna keep on watching or actually help?” You remarked not taking your eyes off the glass. Knowing that if you moved it anymore then it would definitely hit something. You didn’t need to actually know if you were close or not. All the movement to get here was enough for you to know that it was too close for your liking.

“You heard her, trauma one!” Jack’s voice ordered, sending a new wave of energy through your body.

Hearing an array of different voices around you call out different things. Hearing Jack saying who to call: ENT, Trauma, anesthesiologist. Ellis and Shen listed off all the different things they would need. It was seconds, or maybe minutes, before Walsh was coming through the double doors taking a look at him and you. Nothing was fully making its way to you. You were too busy with trying to get his heart to start beating again.

That was until you heard his voice, cutting through thick muffled silence in your ears. “Give us the rundown.”

“I didn’t see how it happened but saw the remains of a shattered handle of vodka around him. Went through four different rags. As soon as we pulled in, I barely felt his pulse. It’s like the fucker knew or something.” you remarked, shaking your head, hearing him let out a small, airy laugh under his breath.

But you heard it.

Turning your attention back to the man's chest and see the grey wires and black wires coming out. Some were for an EKG and others were for his vitals. “Hold compressions.” His voice said as you did, holding the shard into place but at that moment, you let your fist unravel. The joints in your hand screamed for release. When one of the nurses announced he had a pulse, your body relaxed, not fully as the shard needed to stay put. “Thank god, you know how hard one-handed compressions are? Now how am I getting off without nicking anything?”

Eyes were now all on Abbot who nodded his head a few times, clearly trying to think through every solution he could as fast as he could. “Alright, Shen intubates after the sedatives kick in. If it's too hard to see, then we’ll go through the neck. Ellis will control the bleeding. You say what’s in your way, or what you need out of it. Hopefully Trauma finds their heads out of their asses and finds their way down here.” You didn’t need to look to know that Walsh was rolling her eyes at the comment, hearing her press buttons on her phone.

“Great plan, except what about the person still on top of him?”

Your attention was drawn over to your side where Jack was now leaning on the railing, dropping the metal down and out of the way. “I’m going to get you off, but you need to try and not move the shard.”

Looking at him directly in his eyes, “I’m drunk not wasted, Doc.” He let out an airy laugh as he slowly wrapped his arms around your upper waist. The feeling of his cold skin against your hot skin started making your mind spiral. All the times tangled in between each other’s sheets. The mess of limbs on the couch for when the need for the other in that moment was stronger than the need to make it to the bed. You knew for a fact that Jack could hold you up. From the times he carried you into the bedroom with your legs around his waist. To the few times he had you against the wall, head buried in between your thighs and your fingers digging into his hair.

“On three?” You nodded, his voice swiftly bringing you back. Loosening your grip of the glass, making sure it would stay in place as he counted. On three, he pulled you up, flesh against his chest, twisting the two of you to the side so everyone could at least get their hands into work. Moving his hands down to your waist, trying to keep you steady after your small wobble from side to side. It was like the rush of moving you had moved the remaining alcohol in your system and you were back to your nice buzz.

“Come on, I’ll clean your hand.” He guided you to a private room with a hand steady on your lower back.

Settling down at the foot of the white bed, watching as Jack went to the cabinets with a sink in the corner, gathering all the supplies he would need. Pulling the rolling stool over, he positioned the two of you so your leg was in between his. He placed everything onto the spot next to you. Taking your hands into his own and looking over it. His hand was cold, probably from all the times he had washed or used hand sanitizer on them. Compared to your warmth, thanks to the alcohol that was still in your system, your whole body felt warm. His hand was gently yet steady. Moving it back and forth in the light, seeing just how bad the damage was. “You got lucky,” He announced, rolling back and getting a bed pad.

“Did I?” You held up your arm slightly upwards, trying to slow the blood flow. He raised his brows at you, not just the sight of you but your flirtatious tone. Pacing the pad onto his thigh, followed by your hand, causing heat to quickly flush your face. “Careful Doc, last time my hand was here, one thing lead to another. And then to another.” He smirked and you had to ground yourself to not jump onto him and kiss that smile.

At least not until he fixes your hand. A bit of silence passed as he brought the peri bottle up to view, “Want a count–”

“Just do it.” You cut him off, preparing yourself for the sting to come. His eyes watched you for a moment before looking down to your hand propped on his thigh.

When the clear liquid hit the tiny cuts your nails are gripped a hold of his shoulder. “Son of–” Your face scrunched up in pain, letting out a quiet hiss, trying not to yell a string of curse words that everyone could hear. “Aaanndd..” He strung out his words after double checking the wounds and giving it one or two more sprays. “And I’m done. You okay?” Your head was hung low, eyes shut as the sting pain started to dull out. Slowly opening your eyes to see you were eye level with him. He was waiting for you to answer, and wasn’t going to continue until you did. “Yeah, just forget how bad that stings.”

“Well, you already know what comes next so the worst part is over, right?”

Slowly patting the few cuts you had on your fingers dry, applying some Neosporin onto them before slowly and carefully wrapping your fingers. All the while, you couldn’t take your eyes off him. Not because you were watching him to make sure he did a good job. You were a four-year resident and knew by now that Jack Abbot knew what he was doing.

It was the touchiness.

Each touch was filling your veins with a buzz that had you squirming in your seat. Hopefully, he blamed it on you being just cold. Which you were. It was always set to below freezing in the ER.

The silence was loud. The buzzing of the overhead light mixed with your heart beating in your eardrums almost killed you. His silence did. Nothing on his face told you that he wasn’t into you. Nothing showed that you had read into the wrong signs. Everything the two of you had done was nothing but mutual hookups.

Nothing more.

He wasn’t even saying anything. He was just looking at you, still touching your skin. That’s when he gave you a sign. His hand that was holding your wrist slowly moved to hold your hand, feeling his thumb tracing your knuckles.

Licking your suddenly very dried lips, pressing them together before smiling at him. “Hopefully you still liked my outfit, even if my top is covered in blood.” His eyes slowly took you in, the fabric clung onto your body like it was just one size too small. But his eyes then settled on the large blood stain that covered half your stomach, a few streaks on your chest from where the drenched ends of your hair met the white fabric. “Yeah, I think we’re going to have to cut your shirt off. Wait here I’ll get you another.”

“Why? I have a spare shirt in my locker. Just cut this one off and I’ll get it and let you go back to the chaos.” You spoke, stopping him half way to the door.

Turning to face you, it was clear he wasn’t down with your plan. Tossing the trash he had balled up followed by his gloves. “You wanna walk out there, in front of all your colleagues, in a bra and micro shorts?”

You stood up slowly; the easiest way to not make everything in the room spin faster. Taking a few steps closer to him as you spoke. “Aw, you do listen to me after all!”

He pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath. “You act as if I’m walking out there naked. I’ve worn worse to the club.”

“To dance all night?”

Nodding your head with a toothy smile, “That’s right! Never gonna stop ‘til the morning light.”

Letting out yet another heavy sigh. Finally looking back at you after what felt like years. You didn’t realize until this moment how much you actually loved and craved that stare of his. “You make me fucking crazy, ya know that?”

Raising two hands up in defense, “Don’t blame me for your psychosis.”

“You are my psychosis.” He quickly bit back; taking another step forward, leaving only a single inch between the two of you.

A beat passed; the two of you just looked at the other. Staring at the other. Waiting for the other to make the first move. Thanking the small amount of alcohol in your system you took the chance. “Say the word, Jack and this stops.” He looked at you almost making you deflate inside yourself. A tilt of his head with that stare of his had you shifting your weight onto the other leg. Leaning into you, his lips brushing against your ear. “No. This stops only when you say so,” His voice rasped against your skin. “This doesn’t even start until you say so.” Swallowing the sudden dry spot in the back of your throat. Looking over to where his face was, trailing your eyes from either one of his before looking down at his lips. Each look being followed by a hot and heated memory of the two of you together. Eyes suddenly back on him with a blink before opening your mouth. “So.”

#maddie speaks ✩‧₊˚#dr jack abbot #jack abbot #the pitt #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #jack abbot x female reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot fic #i need this man’s hands around my throat

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heavenlybodies333 · 18 days ago

Text

Acting on your worst behavior -S.R part I here

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

You’re late.

You’re shaking.

And you’re pissed off at the world in that way that only heartbreak can make you.

Your bag’s half-zipped, makeup tossed in without care, your outfit borderline inappropriate for the temperature but perfect for the frat house theme party you were headed to. Glitter on your collarbone, a gloss on your lips that wasn’t there fifteen minutes ago.

It’s been three weeks since Hotch forced it to end. Since Spencer stopped answering your texts. Since he started following the rules and you started breaking every single one you could.

Because fuck it, right? If you’re already going to hell, you might as well enjoy the way down.

Your crop top was too tight, your skirt too short, your pupils too blown to be sober. You hadn’t slept more than four hours total this week, and your body was running purely on adrenaline, prescription stimulants, and whatever trauma your daddy issues were metabolizing into fuel.

And speaking of…

You don’t even hear the door open—you’re too focused on digging your keys out of the bottom of your bag when you sense him behind you. You felt the soft pressure of a hand settle against your lower back. Familiar. Intimate. Unwelcome.

You jumped, turning around too fast, heart hammering.

Spencer.

Of course it was Spencer. He stood there, all unreadable intensity, curls still damp from the rain and his FBI windbreaker slung halfway up his forearm like he’d rushed over. Like he’d been worried.

You blinked at him, blood fizzing with panic and stimulants. “What the hell, Spence?” you snapped. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to.” His voice was low, careful. His eyes scanned your face. “You okay?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just late.”

He frowned, stepping closer. You took a step back.

“I’ve been calling you.”

“I’ve been busy.” You turned away from him, digging harder into your bag for your keys. “Maybe you should call your new academy girlfriend instead.”

There it was. He’d known when he agreed to go out for drinks with Prentiss and JJ that they were trying to get his mind off you and introduced him to an old colleague that she’d gone to training with.

He stiffened. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah I bet.” You finally yanked your keys free, too hard. Something else flew with them—shit—a prescription bottle clattered to the floor between you.

You both froze. You dove for it, but he was faster. He picked it up and turned it over.

“No stop—” you reached, but he was already turning it over in his hand. His sharp eyes scanned the label in a flash, and then slowly, slowly lifted to yours.

His whole expression changed—concern melting into something furious. “Are you serious right now?”

“Give it back.” You reached for it. He held it out of your reach.

“This isn’t even your prescription—”

“Leave me alone.”

“This is Adderall.”

You tried to snatch the bottle from his hand. “Wow. What a genius deduction, Dr. Reid. Must be that PhD at work.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Why do you care?”

He stepped in closer. “Because you’re shaking.”

You barked a bitter laugh. “No shit. I’m running late.”

“You’re tweaking. Your pupils are huge and your hands won’t stop moving and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“Jesus Christ, Spencer.” You yanked the bottle from his hand, shoving it back into your tote like a cornered animal. “Mind your own business.”

“You are my business,” he snapped. “Or did you forget that part when you decided to pop pills from some horny frat boy who probably thinks Cocaine is a cocktail garnish?”

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the guy who fucked me in Quantico’s security camera blind spot and then ghosted because my dad told him to.”

Spencer’s mouth opened slightly. “That’s what this is about?”

“This is about everything,” you hissed. “You left me. He punished me. And now you’re back out there playing golden boy while I rot in fucking cold case hell and try to keep up with a double course load while my body’s falling apart—”

He grabbed your wrist.

“Look at me,” he said, voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your eyes flashed. “Let go of me.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell’s going on with you. Because you’re not the girl I knew. And if this—” he motioned to the pills “—is how you’re coping, then I’m not letting it go.”

“I’m not yours anymore,” you snapped. “You made that very clear.”

“You’re taking someone else’s amphetamines,” he said flatly. “Do you have any idea—”

“I said drop it.”

His voice was low now. Dangerous. “How long?”

You didn’t answer.

He stepped forward, jaw tight, voice clenched like a fist. “How long have you been using?”

You glared at him. “I don’t owe you anything.”

He scoffed, eyes dark. “Bullshit. You owe me everything. I got thrown into that meeting with Strauss for you. I got suspended. I defended you. I loved you—”

“Oh, spare me,” you snapped. “You loved the idea of me. Until my dad gave the word and you folded like a fucking lawn chair.”

You avoided his eyes. Your heart was beating too fast. Every sound, every light felt sharp.

“How long?” He repeated, stepping closer, voice trembling with fury.

“Stop it, Spencer,” you muttered. “Just stop. You don’t get to care.”

His jaw locked, breath shallow. “Are you high right now?”

“No,” you lied. “I haven’t even taken one today.”

“Jesus Christ.” He raked a hand through his hair, stepping back like he couldn’t look at you without catching fire. “You’re lying to my face.”

“I’m still going to that party,” you say, voice breaking.

Spencer’s face twitched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” You tilted your head. “Do what I want for once?”

“You’re high, you’re spiraling, and you’re trying to push me away so you don’t have to feel what you’re actually feeling.”

“No.” You stepped up to him, chest brushing his. “I’m trying to get to a fucking party. You remember what it’s like to have friends, don’t you?”

You grab your bag, shove past him, before pressing the elevator button as the doors ding open you say one last thing, “Don’t follow me, Dr. Reid.”

You’d managed to reapply your gloss with shaking hands in the car, snort a line in the driveway, and flirt your way through the front door of Kappa Psi like everything was fine.

But it wasn’t.

You were spiraling.

Even worse, you knew it—and you didn’t care.

Frat lights flickered in and out of focus. Someone shoved a Solo cup in your hand. You couldn’t remember who. You drank it anyway. Another pill got pressed into your palm. It wasn’t the usual blue you trusted. It was pink. Oval. Something you didn’t recognize.

You took it anyway.

Fifteen minutes later you were in an alley behind the frat house, curled into yourself with your back against the cold brick wall and your phone shaking in your hand. Everything was spinning—lights bleeding into your eyes, stomach turning over like it was trying to reject your entire existence.

You tried to dial someone else first—your roommate maybe? You weren’t even sure. You misdialed. Twice.

Then, like muscle memory, your thumb hovered over his name. Spencer Reid.

It rang once. Twice.

He picked up immediately.

“Hello?”

You couldn’t speak. Not at first. You were crying, but you couldn’t feel the tears. Your teeth chattered as you opened your mouth and tried to say his name, but it came out broken.

“Hey—hey, slow down.” Spencer’s voice was tight, urgent. “Where are you? What’s happening?”

You could hear him moving, grabbing keys, door slamming.

“S’cold,” you slurred, chest hiccuping. “I—I think I messed up, Spence—”

“You’re okay,” he said, voice shaking now. “But I need you to tell me what you took. Did you take something new? What was it?”

“I don’t know—somebody gave it to me—said it was fine—I didn’t know, I didn’t—”

You dropped the phone. It clattered onto the pavement as you leaned forward and threw up violently, hands scraping at the rough ground. You coughed, heaved, vision swimming.

He was already in the car, his phone running the trace Garcia had sent to him—last known ping, three blocks behind Sigma Chi, the back side of the fraternity garage cluster that faced the woods.

He didn’t breathe right the whole ride.

Didn’t think—because if he thought, he’d see the worst: you unconscious in a gutter, your pulse weak, a toxicology report that ended careers and broke your father’s soul.

He skidded to a stop when he reached the alley.

His headlights caught the outline of a slumped figure just beyond the garage.

You.

You were collapsed on your side, your dress riding high on your thigh, knees scraped from falling, your arms braced against the concrete as you tried—and failed—to keep yourself from heaving again.

“Jesus,” he whispered, throwing the car into park and sprinting.

“Hey—hey, I’m here,” he said, hand trembling as it swept your hair from your face. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Your head lolled toward the sound of him, tears shining down your cheeks.

“S-Spence,” you croaked, voice raw. “Wasn’t mine. It was… pink. M’stupid. M’sorry—””

“Shh.” His hand cupped your cheek, feeling your skin clammy, your pulse fluttering in your neck like a dying bird. “No apologies. Just breathe for me.”

You gagged again, body trembling with the withdrawal crash—your nervous system overloaded from the Adderall, the Valium trying to slow it, whatever the hell someone slipped into your cup pulling the strings in every wrong direction.

Spencer steadied your shoulders as you retched, rubbing your back with long, slow strokes with one hand while fumbling for his phone with the other.

“I need a bus to west block 3200,” he said into the speaker. “Twenty-two-year-old female. Drug interaction. Unclear substance. Not stable. Yes—I’ll keep her conscious.”

Your fingers clutched his jacket like a lifeline. He swore under his breath as he looked at you—your dilated pupils, your dry lips, your too-quiet whimpers.

“What the hell are you doing to yourself?” he whispered into your hair. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”

The ambulance showed up fast, too fast for Spencer to process what it meant—how serious this was, how you could’ve died if he hadn’t picked up, if you hadn’t called him at all. They got you on a stretcher with practiced ease, medics asking rapid-fire questions he barely heard over the roaring in his ears.

What did she take?

How much?

How long ago?

As they lifted you into the back of the ambulance, your hand briefly caught his wrist, weak and cold.

“Don’t leave,” you murmured, barely audible.

“I’m not,” he said, climbing in beside you. “I’ve got you.”

He held your hand the entire ride to Dale City Hospital.

And then, when the doors opened, reality came rushing in—gurney wheels rattling across linoleum, beeping machines, harsh fluorescents. Nurses asking for your name, your ID, your emergency contact.

Spencer swallowed hard.

Hotch.

He stepped into the quietest corner he could find and pulled out his phone. His fingers hovered, then pressed call.

Hotch answered on the second ring.

“Reid?”

Spencer exhaled shakily. “She’s at Dale City General. She was drugged. There was… more going on than I thought. A lot more.”

Reid could hear Hotch taking a deep breath trying to control his temper, “How bad?”

“She’s unconscious. Breathing, stable for now, but she’s—she was high on multiple substances. Some she didn’t even know she took.”

The silence on the other end was brutal. Then: “I’m on my way.”

Spencer didn’t move for a long moment after the call ended. He just stared down at the tiled floor, jaw clenched, hand still faintly shaking.

Within twenty minutes, the team was there. Hotch arrived first, face grim, then Morgan, Prentiss, and JJ trailing behind him. The sight of them hit like a cold wave. Spencer stood when he saw Hotch approach the nurses’ station, asking for your name in a voice tight with rage.

“They’re still pumping her stomach,” Spencer offered quietly. “She was in the alley behind the frat garages. It looked like she took ecstasy, probably some downers, and she’s still detoxing off amphetamines. Maybe benzos too. She’s been… hiding it.”

Hotch’s jaw ticked. “Where are her things?”

Spencer blinked. “They… they brought it in with her.”

Hotch was already walking toward the nurses' station.

JJ reached for his arm. “Aaron—”

He didn’t stop. “I need my daughter’s belongings. Her name’s on the record.”

The nurse looked at him warily, but one look at his badge—SSA Hotchner—was all it took. She returned with a large clear plastic evidence-style bag.

He took it without a word and moved to the side, his team trailing behind. He unzipped it.

Silence.

Inside: a tangle of makeup, loose change, a cracked phone.

And the pills.

Not bottles. Baggies. Not just Adderall. Coke. Valium. A pressed pill that looked like MDMA. Xanax bars. Something in blister packs without a label.

Morgan’s jaw locked. “Jesus.”

Hotch’s fingers closed around the baggies like they might shatter in his grip.

“You’ve gotta stay calm,” Morgan said gently, stepping in. “She’s not going to get better if you lose it now.”

Hotch’s voice was razor-edged. “She’s twenty-two.”

“I know.”

“She could’ve died.”

“I know.”

He turned to Spencer, eyes dark. “Did you know?”

Spencer’s face was raw. “Not like this. I—I found one prescription bottle earlier tonight. I confronted her. She lied. I followed her to the party—she called me crying from an alley and I couldn’t even understand her.”

Hotch stared at him, rage and heartbreak flashing in his eyes. “So you knew. You knew, and you let her walk away.”

“I tried to stop her.”

“You should’ve called me then.”

“I didn’t think she’d—” Spencer caught himself. “I’m sorry.”

Hotch shook his head slowly, mouth set in a grim line. Spencer opened his mouth. Closed it. “I didn’t know it was this bad. I—I knew she was struggling, but I thought it was just the Adderall.”

Hotch’s voice dropped, low and furious. “You thought.”

“She lied to me too, Aaron,” Spencer snapped back. “I found a prescription bottle tonight that wasn’t hers and tried to stop her from going out, but she wouldn’t listen. She ran.”

“She ran because she’s scared,” JJ said gently, stepping between them. “Because everything in her life feels like it’s falling apart. And I know you’re angry, Hotch, but—”

Hotch said nothing more. He sat down in the waiting room chair, your bag of evidence still in his hands, like he couldn’t let go of it until you answered for it.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was how dry your throat felt—raw, stripped of moisture. You blinked into harsh hospital light, trying to orient yourself. Your tongue felt thick. Your stomach roiled.

And then, like a curtain pulling back, you saw him.

Your dad.

In the chair beside the bed, elbows on knees, his expression unreadable.

You groaned, immediately dragging the blanket over your head.

“Fuck.”

“Save it,” he said. His voice didn’t rise. That somehow made it worse.

You swallowed hard. Your hands trembled in your lap.

“I don’t remember much,” you rasped.

“That’s the problem.”

Silence.

You peeked at him through your lashes. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Hotch said tightly. “I’m furious.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “Where’s my bag?”

He didn’t answer.

That was your answer.

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

“Oh my god.”

He stood and slowly approached the bed, pulling something from the chair behind him.

The clear bag.

The pills.

You turned your face away in shame.

“Do you want to explain this?” he asked, holding it up.

“No.”

“You’re going to,” he said. “You’re going to explain all of it. Why I had to get a call from Reid in the middle of the night saying you were unconscious behind a goddamn frat house. Why I had to watch a nurse hand me a bag full of narcotics with my daughter’s name on it.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You didn’t mean to?”

“I didn’t know what it was—”

“But the rest of it? The coke? The benzos? The Adderall that isn’t even prescribed to you?” He held the bag tighter. “You didn’t ‘mean’ that either?”

You bit the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood.

Hotch stepped closer. “You could’ve died.”

“I know.”

“No. I don’t think you do. You have no idea what that would’ve done to me. To Jack. To Spencer.”

He stared down at you, jaw flexing. “You’re going to get help. You don’t have a choice.”

You swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears. “And if I say no?”

He didn’t blink. “Then you don’t go back to school. You don’t go back to Quantico. You don’t go anywhere but rehab. Understood?”

You didn’t answer.

He dropped the bag back onto the tray with a hard thud and walked to the door.

“You’re lucky to be alive.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you lay there, eyes burning, heart hammering against your ribs, alone in the silence of your consequences. And from knowing that maybe this time… you went too far.

a/n: I’m in therapy y’all this is just how I cope plz don’t b alarmed😭

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