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slutforvoldy · 19 hours ago

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“ YOU'RE LOSING ME. ” ( lando norris ! )

SUMMARY: the reader struggles with the painful realization that no matter how much she gives, lando will never fight for her the way she fights for him.

word count: 1.3k

warnings: angst, lando is a d!ck, gaslighting, communication issues, mentions of y/n

pairing: lando norris x female!reader

tag-list: @oscduck81

a/n: this may or may not be loosely inspired by a real life experience..........

THE ROOM WAS dimly lit, the soft blue glow of Lando’s sim racing setup casting shadows across the walls. The hum of his game filled the silence, the sharp sound of tires screeching on a digital track drowning out the soft, broken sobs escaping your lips.

You lay curled up on the bed, your back turned to him. Salty tears slipped down your cheeks, soaking into the pillow. You weren’t even sure why you were crying anymore—was it sadness? frustration? or just the aching emptiness that was growing inside you?

You knew he could hear you. He always could.

But just like every other night, he turned up the volume of his game. Hinting an unspoken message: I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to deal with you.

And gosh, it hurts.

He always does this. He rarely talks to you despite living in the same apartment. As if there is a big wall between the two of you. As if both of you have two different worlds. His priorities had shifted, and you weren’t part of them anymore. Gaming. Racing. Nights out with friends. Work. Everything came before you. And no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew deep down that he just didn’t care the way he used to.

He used to act differently when your relationship started. You missed the time when it felt like his world revolved around you, when he made you feel like you were the most important thing in his life, but now you don't know when or what went wrong. You can only wonder what happened to the man you love.

Your friends are all begging you to leave.

"Wake up, Y/N!" "You deserve better." "What else is there to hold on to?"

It started to become obvious that the things Lando has been doing have been affecting you to the point that you started seeing a therapist, desperately trying to piece yourself back together.

But the worst part is that Lando never even noticed.

You knew that this was not healthy. You knew you should leave. But things are easier said than done.

The thought of walking away—of starting over, of loving someone who wasn’t him—made your stomach twist. It felt impossible, unbearable.

Despite everything, despite the pain, you still wanted to stay. You clung to the hope that one day he would wake up and realize what he was losing. That he would see you again—as someone he once loved. Someone worth fighting for.

So you stayed. Because letting go felt harder than holding on.

It’s a big day in Abu Dhabi—the moment that will decide the 2024 Formula 1 constructors' championship. McLaren almost has an even tie with Ferrari; therefore, they desperately needed Lando to win. So you take your time to self-soothe after what happened last night.

"You just don’t understand, Y/N. Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’m a busy person?" Lando exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice.

You let out a sharp laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, I’m sorry—if bar-hopping with your friends and getting all over the media with random girls counts as 'busy,' then I must be such an idiot for not taking the hint!"

His jaw tightened. "Those pictures are from a long time ago," he muttered.

"Oh, really?" you said amusingly while scoffing.

Silence stretched between you before you finally snapped. "All I ever wanted was for you to notice me! To talk to me! Hell, to actually see me! Is that really too much to ask?"

Lando ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "I don’t understand, Y/N. I’m giving you all the attention I can."

But it was never enough. It never felt like enough.

You sighed in defeat, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know you wouldn’t understand."

This morning, like every morning, you glared at him with storms in your eyes. But he didn’t notice—he never did. You wondered how numb he could be to not feel your grip on him slipping away. How could you love someone and not see them breaking right in front of you?

All you needed was his reassurance—that despite everything happening, despite the way he treated you, you were still the one he loved. But every time you brought it up, he twisted it around, making it seem like you were the problem. Every conversation turned into an argument instead of a solution, and with each fight, your resentment only grew.

One night, you needed him more than ever. After a brutal argument with your parents, they kicked you out, leaving you with nowhere to go. Lando was the only person you could turn to—the one person you thought you could rely on.

"I tried calling you. I rang your doorbell over and over and over again, but you never answered." Your voice wavered, frustration and hurt bleeding through. "So tell me, Lando—where were you that night?"

"I was sleeping!" he insisted, his tone defensive.

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Sleeping? Really?" You shook your head in disbelief. "I literally saw the notification on your Twitch that you were live with Max!" Your voice cracked as anger and betrayal surged through you. "You left me outside your house for hours!"

Lando exhaled sharply. "Maybe it’s your fault for always expecting too much," he muttered under his breath, but you caught every word.

Your stomach twisted as you stared at him. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe..." His voice became louder. "It’s my fault for not being enough for you," he added, his voice flat.

"Or maybe it's our fault for not making this relationship work properly."

That was your breaking point.

Lando won the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, securing McLaren’s victory in their fierce battle against Ferrari for the Constructors' Championship. You were proud—proud that your boyfriend had claimed another Grand Prix win, proud that his team had finally won. But deep down, you knew the truth: tonight, he wouldn’t be celebrating with you.

You often envied the girlfriends of other drivers—the way they rushed into their arms after a win, how they spent their victories surrounded by their girlfriends and families. But for you, it was different. You longed for that warmth.

Now, it was time to pose for the cameras, to put on a dazzling smile and make your relationship look picture-perfect—at least on the surface. In the photos, you were the devoted girlfriend, the perfect couple. But behind your fake smile, a storm raged inside you.

You had always been there for him—through his highs and lows, his victories and defeats. But when it was you who needed him, he was nowhere to be found.

And as the flashes of cameras captured the illusion of happiness, a sinking realization settled in your chest. You couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep giving all of yourself to someone who never gave anything back.

One thing was clear tonight—you were done hurting yourself for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

You took a taxi back to the hotel alone, your vision blurred with tears as the city lights streaked past. The moment you stepped into the room, you began packing—hands trembling, heart racing. You hadn’t planned this, but deep down, you knew it was inevitable. It wasn’t just impulsive; it was necessary.

As you zipped up your suitcase, your fingers brushed against a worn polaroid tucked between your clothes. Your favorite picture—back when love still felt easy, when he still looked at you like you were his entire world. You held it for a moment, your thumb tracing the edges, debating whether to take it with you.

But some things belonged to the past.

Flipping it over, you picked up the hotel pen and, with a heavy heart, wrote your final words.

I love you forever, Lando. I'm forever grateful. —Y/N

You placed the polaroid on the bed, letting it rest there. Then, with a deep breath, you grabbed your bags and walked to the door.

Before stepping out, you turned back for one last glance at everything you're about to leave behind. All of the memories you and Lando had, either good or bad.

Just like that, you walked out of his life, and with every step, the weight you had carried for so long finally began to lift.

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lyricwritesprose · 5 hours ago

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"Karim?" Joey says very quietly. We're both pretending to use the library computers. Neither of us are. We're here because it's fucking freezing out there and it's warm in here, and the librarians are pretty good about not throwing anyone out unless they're making noise or causing trouble. Freezing doesn't matter to me but I worry about Joey, he's got things going on that turn his self-care skills into pure shit.

"Yeah?" I say, just as quietly.

"Need a reality check."

Yeah, that's one of the things that's going on. Joey gets more or less anchored depending on the day. "Go ahead," I say.

"Thought I saw you fly off yesterday." Joey frowns. "Yesterday? Maybe Monday. Shit, what day is it?"

It's a fast struggle but a surprisingly difficult one. I don't like life on the street any more than the rest of us, but Seriously Bad Things could happen if my real name gets out. I could just lie to Joey. He'd believe me. It might not even bother him that much. He's hallucinated before. All I'd have to do…

Is lie to him about the state of his own brain.

Yeah. No. "Yeah, you saw that."

Joey thinks about this for a moment. He's scrambled at times but nobody ever said he was dumb. He's got a degree in astronomy. Planets sometimes talk to him but when he's on top of his game, he's sharp. "Shit."

"I'd like it not to get around."

"Why the hell not? You could be a star!"

"I could also be an experimental subject or a guy whose family is strapped to a big machine with a laser pointed at them. Prefer to avoid."

"Yeah, but—but why stay here?"

"Same as everyone else, I'm dead broke. Look, even if it weren't for ADHD issues it is really hard to hold down a job when you might have to disappear at any given second to save someone's life. You know? And I won't take money from my sister, she's barely scraping by already." And has mixed feelings about me ever since I terrorized her nasty piece of work ex, since she's bright enough to figure out that I couldn't have done that without some sort of power.

"I guess you can't just rob a bank," Joey muses. "I mean, I guess you could, but—"

I sigh. "The truth is, if some costume figures out how to do that without violence, I usually give 'em a lecture and let 'em go. Just because I won't do it doesn't mean I don't get it. Way I see it, I'm here to protect people, not things."

Joey nods. "Seems like there should be ways you could make life easier for yourself, though."

"Mm. Sometimes. There are some ways it is easier. I don't feel the cold and I don't feel the heat, that's something."

"Lucky motherfucker," Joey says without rancor.

"And, well, you've probably noticed. That things do tend to happen to those bullshit benches."

I see the start of a smile on his face. "The ones you can't lie down on."

"Yeah, those. The dividers get ripped out eventually and nobody knows how, you know? Honestly it's a stupid idea anyway, even if it wasn't for us, who wants a bench where you can't even sit next to your date? A bench where you can't sit next to someone is called a fuckin' chair, and what sort of bitch goes to city hall and says, "I'd like to install a park chair?" Who's ever heard of a park chair? Dumbfucks."

Joey nods in perfect understanding. Then he says, a little hesitantly, "You know the Golden Tomato?"

"I couldn't afford that kind of yuppie food even when I had a place, but yeah, I know it."

"They've put spikes out front. Like, little nubbles in the concrete so people can't sit down under their awning."

I think about this. On the one hand, I've got to be very careful about the favors I do, but this is a good cause…

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if something happens to those, but, Joey? Really keep it under your hat."

"Even if I wanted to tell, nobody believes a schizophrenic," Joey pointed out. "Especially one with the twitches. Fucking bitch doctors." Tardive dyskinesia virtually always happens because some son of a bitch screws up on dosage, and—as Joey can tell you—it's also an instant ticket out of a job interview.

There are reasons I look out for Joey. Beyond, you know. Liking him. Kind of useless as fuck anyway, liking him, I'm ninety-nine percent certain he's straight, but it would take a real shitful asshole to drop a friend just because I'm never going to get in his pants. We've got each other's backs, that's what's important.

"I worry a lot about people getting scooped up and questioned," I admit. I could probably stand to talk to a psychologist about it, actually, but…who? "Don't worry about it. I trust you."

And I will probably never admit to Joey exactly how much that took to say.

You're a superhero. While in your suit, you're beloved by the city, but outside of it? You're a homeless man, unable to get a job nor pay rent because of your duties.

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twstwizard · 3 days ago

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You may not have magic, but you do have these guns💪

You're a bodybuilder/deadlifter

Type: Headcanons, SFW, Platonic or Romantic (Vargas is platonic here)

Characters: Azul Ashengrotto; Epel Felmier; Idia Shroud; Ashton Vargas

AN: Yes, let me be delusional and pretend that I'm buffer then I really am.

Epel Felmier

-This wasn't fair! Well, technically it was since you couldn't do magic but still, it should've been him! Epel is jealous, there's no other way of putting this.

-While envious of your physic, he won't go out of his way to rub it in your face that at least he can do magic. In fact he'll ask about the training routines you do and will actively seek you out as a gym buddy. Felmier won't rest until he surpasses you!

- Sooner rather then later the two of you might also develop a "student-trainer" relationship in addition to the one you already have. While the young man must listen to Vil, he wants to learn from you. All the ways you can help muscles grow, not to mention exercises, some of which he never even heard of before!

- All gyms and muscle masses aside, your presence genuinely helps Epel to feel better not only about himself, but also reminds him that his dorm is still not the end. If you built yourself without magic and keep building yourself even now, when you basically have nothing, so can Epel.

Idia Shroud

-ECK!- NOT ANOTHER TANK!

-Idia is intimidated in a best way possible, the ShutIn must tip his metaphorical fedora to the amount of time it must've taken you to build up such mass.

- During PE classes he envies you the most, while simultaneously trying to use you as a meat shield against Vargas. The young man will actually partner up with you in the class just so you could pretend to do exercises together. You must understand, he is but a Shut In, he can't do those sit ups...

- If you offer to help him get in shape the Otaku will heavily decline, even being insulted by the notion. But Dance Dance Revolution is a whole different thing- Tricking Idia into doing cardio is easier then you might think, or rather he partially allows you to. After all not only do you spend time together and do things the two of you enjoy doing simultaneously, but he also gets to win once in a while.

Azul Ashengrotto

- At first he's indifferent. It's not like some other students in NRC don't have big muscle masses. He respects the dedication and the work you put into it nonetheless.

-PE Classes are a struggle though, much like for Idia. It is comforting however, that you also are incapable of flying on the broom, even if for a different reason. Azul will try and copy the stretches and warm-ups you do, but won't actually do the exercises. He's not weak but he's not you either.

- The merman will in fact help you with meals if needed. Balanced diet is something that Azul prides himself upon, it is only natural he helps you as well. All meals will be made by Azul personally.

-Will take notes on how much you lift and how much you consume, so that in the future he'll be exercising along side you to eat more fried foods. Your more carefree consumption of foodie goods helps him to indulge once in a while without feeling shame.

Ashton Vargas

- Congratulations, you're now adopted by a competent parent and not Crowley!

#twisted wonderland #epel felmier x reader #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #ashton vargas #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #disney twst #twst #twst x yuu #twisted wonderland x reader

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creatingblackcharacters · 1 day ago

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Hi, I wanted your opinion on giving Black (USAmerican) characters culturally Black first names.

I understand Black people can and do have any kind of name that they or their parents choose, but in my own racial experience, I hate when a work has Latino characters but none of them have Latino first names, for example. I'd like to give my Black characters authentic first names, but I don't want to make up a "Black sounding" name and I don't know where to start looking for real frequently used names.

I also believe that names hint at what type of vibe a character has, like a "Timmy" having a different personality to a "Chad" if that makes sense. I'm not sure which name gives off which vibe when it comes to Black American names.

Is this a reasonable thing to consider? And if so, do you have any resources on Black names? Anything from baby name websites to studies on the history of Black American first names would be helpful. I specify "Black American" because while I also have Black Latino characters, I'm familiar with naming trends and meanings for that demographic. Thank you for your advice!

Changing one’s name might be one of the most American things a Black person can do, emblematic of one of the country’s most enduring, if elusive, promises: that where you begin isn’t necessarily where you must end.

One can find themselves introduced to the world as Chloe Anthony Wofford and exit it as Toni Morrison, or begin life as Gloria Jean Watkins and conclude it as bell hooks.

Behind a name lies an expanse of motivations, possibilities and intentions. A name, chosen, repeated and stubbornly asserted, can point to reclamation, remembrance and self-determination, as it did for many kidnapped and enslaved Africans who fought to hold fast to their homelands. For enslaved Americans running away to emancipate themselves, a name change could be just as much about security as self-possession.

youtube

I understand your question, but I feel like by asking what is "specifically Black American" you are forgetting that "Black American" would still be a melting pot of names because we are a melting pot of people, with lots of historical and cultural events having an effect on the names we choose- even if it's not as structured as it might be in Latin America. I think by trying to do what you're saying here (like "names that have vibes"), you have a good chance of slipping into stereotypes and I'm not comfortable encouraging you to think that way. Black Americans often gift their children names that signify what they wish for their child, or how they feel about them- pick a name with some strong meaning, and have that character embody (or struggle against) that!

Try watching these, and see if you have any more questions!

#creatingblackcharacters #black culture #black history

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waynes-readingverse · 2 days ago

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Truly a perfect (and realistic) ending to a wonderful series! This was such a magical ride from beginning to end! Your writing really took me to a different world here, Alex!! 😍💜🌌

And oh boy, my heart was beating fast in my chest when Michael stormed her hotel room, and Sam and Dean weren't there yet. I was glad his anger simmered down a little, but of course, seeing her with Dean then later turned the heat right up again 🙈

“Darling, are you…you scared of me or something?” he asked incredulously. “I know I’ve been working late, not coming home when I say I will sometimes, but have I ever raised a hand to you? Not even once, right?”

The nerve... 🤌🙄

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

The fact Dolores was Jo blew my mind! 🤯 Up until that point, I had made an OC for her in my head lmao

But man, Dean storming in all heroic had my knees weak, girl 😍😍

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed. Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

Such a pissing contest, and I'm loving it lol

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

GO SAM!!! 😎

And for a moment, everyone was happy then, right? But damn if my heart didn't drop during this scene:

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said. Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

You had me so worried!! I was afraid we'd end up in, I don't know, 1968? And they're both married with kids to other people... But I was real glad it was only a few months. Seriously, thank fucking God, you didn't rip my heart out. Phew... 😆

I totally understand why Dean left, though. It wasn't the right time for them, and she needed to deal with her divorce first and Dean with his... demons lol, and that's why I loved this so much! Because it wasn't clean-cut, and Michael wasn't giving up so easily, and she still struggled with her feelings, and all of it made sense and kept it realistic. Truly loved that! 🥹🫶

And I knew from the start when I read the chapter title that the "dried ink" would both refer to her divorce papers and a new marriage certificate 😂💕

“I’m not another man,” Dean said. His tone was firm, but also imploring, willing you to hear him. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m me and you’re you. It’s not about Michael, or anyone else right now but us. And you’ve gotta know…sweetheart, you’ve gotta know that I’m not him.”

That broke me... The reassurance he gives her? Gah 💀

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words.

I also died that she got married so quickly again for a second time! I'd understand her parents' concern lol. Luckily, she met Dean the second time around, or this is the kind of hopeless romanticism that becomes dangerous fast 😂

“For the money. I’m thinking that after all this, you want to stick closer to home, be near your family,” he said. “I’ve got nothing tying me down over there besides the house, so I figure we can use the money to buy one here. With whatever’s left, I could try to start an auto repair shop. Nothing big to start. Just a space big enough for the work. I’m not picky about it. Your uncle could send me the stragglers from his tows, if he’s agreeable to it.”

This was such a smart idea of him, and I loved that he wanted her to be closer to her family! 😍 Surely also scoring brownie points with the in-laws lol

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered. When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again. The train rode on.

Oooof, and that was such a perfect way to end it, too 😮‍💨

Like I said, I hope they truly live happily ever after with a bunch of kids running around the yard, Dean grilling, and her baking apple pie. They deserve it 🥹❤️

Such a fantastic journey, friend!!! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Ready for an angsty-fun filled finale? 😘💖

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “The Very Thought of You” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, tense situations, protective Dean, hurt/comfort, fluff, and spice.~

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 5: Dried Ink

Dean slammed the payphone back on the hook in frustration. He’d tried calling twice from the train station and couldn’t get you at home. It was getting late in the evening and he knew you were off work already. Where the hell did you go?

“She could’ve packed up and left him already,” Sam said. “I gave her the number of a decent hotel I know over in the Village.”

Dean reluctantly stepped aside for the next person waiting to use the phone. The sound of his train clicking by fast on the tracks echoed in the station. A gust of wind shoved at the brothers' backs, ruffling their long coats, as well as Sam's hair.

“You think she did it that quick?” Dean asked.

“One way to find out,” Sam said. “Come on. I’ve got my car waiting.”

It was so very strange to watch the bellman bring your suitcases inside your new room. You’d only ever stayed in a hotel once, for your honeymoon in Philadelphia. Michael took you to the Walnut Street Theater there, and among other things, to see the Liberty Bell. It had reminded both of you about the true cost of freedom.

You let that thought slip away from you with a shake of your head as you started unpacking, hesitantly at first. It almost didn’t feel real.

Fortunately, after sampling from a bottle of scotch you’d found under Michael’s side of the bed (and slipped into your suitcase), you began to settle into the idea. You took a break from hanging up your dresses in the closet to peer out the window to the narrow, busy streets below the fifth floor. Everything looked so small down there, so far away. In time, maybe the heaviness in your heart would feel that far away too.

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. It could be Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand.

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you. “I come home with flowers, two tickets to see a show, ready to take my wife out to dinner, only to find the apartment half empty. Not to mention a letter that…frankly, cut me to down to the core.”

His anger lessened then, turning into dismay; the kind that you never would have expected to see in his eyes. Not after how he’d been acting for the past few months. He came closer and grabbed hold of you by the shoulders. When you tensed and expelled a shaky breath, he blinked in surprise.

You drew enough courage to meet his eyes, so blue, for once so earnest. It made you sick. Because the man he was when he was sober was more like the one you married. Only, you felt the true version of him was more akin to a sleeping dragon, lying in wait to be provoked.

“Neither of us have to lie anymore and pretend this is a marriage. At least, not one worth saving,” you said. “I know, Michael. I know about Dolores…or should I say, Joanna.”

Michael paused. His head cocked as disbelief crossed his features. He stared down at you almost without blinking.

“Did you know her real name was Joanna Johnson?” you asked. “Ring any bells with Brady Johnson, the man you’ve been paying to keep her company?”

Michael frowned. “He’s her brother. He pays her bills—”

“No,” you shook your head. “Look in the folder sitting on the coffee table there.”

You gestured over to it with a nod of your head. Michael was drawn to the path of your gaze. When his morbid curiosity was too much, he finally let go of you to investigate the folder in question. You released a subtle sigh of relief. You began drifting over behind the couch and closer to the landline phone. It rested on a nearby accent table.

Meanwhile, Michael sorted through the contents of the folder and all the information Sam had gathered for you. He’d made copies of all the evidence for your personal records, including the photos he took of Michael and Dolores.

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

No one short of Clark Gable could fake the jolt of shock that crossed Michael’s face. You saw the truth of it in his eyes when he glanced up at you.

“I don’t know why it should bother you, seeing as you don’t seem to care much about wedding vows,” you couldn’t help but snark. You were no longer all that sad though. Somehow, that pitiful look on his face made you feel sorry for him.

Michael seemed to have swallowed his tongue. For a while, he couldn’t dislodge it from the roof of his mouth to speak. But when he did, it wasn’t with anything good to say.

“How did you get all this?” he asked.

Your spine stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, Michael. I can’t do this anymore. You should be getting the divorce papers served to you by the morning—”

Your words were cut off when he rounded the corner of the couch, grabbing you by the arms again. This time, his grip was much firmer and made you gasp.

“What the hell is going on? Have you been spying on me?!” he raised his voice to new heights, shaking you once by your shoulders. “How long have you been planning to leave me?”

The words became choked in your throat along with your fear—one that paralyzed you, and made you feel sick with yourself, small and weak.

The door bursting open again startled you both, but it was Michael who grunted when he was heaved off of you by his shirt and waistcoat.

You stumbled and braced yourself against the back of the couch, but your widened eyes fell on the one man you never thought you’d see again.

“Dean,” you breathed.

He spared you a look of concern through his anger, but Michael soon commanded his attention by trying to break his hold. Dean reeled back his arm and delivered a solid punch that knocked the other man into the wall. Michael leaned heavily against it to keep himself upright, and he had to blink a few spots out of his eyes, not only grimacing at the ache in his cheek. That one blow had rattled through his skull, disturbing old injuries. He glared over at Dean.

“Who the hell are you?” Michael shouted. His shock only increased when he noticed Sam Winchester shutting the hotel room door behind him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m her lawyer, Mr. Milligan, and you’re hereby served,” Sam said.

He strode forward with a packet of papers. Michael took a purposeful step towards him, but Dean shoved Michael back against the wall. It allowed Sam to place the packet in Michael’s disbelieving hand.

Dean went over to you then, giving you a meaningful once-over as you held yourself. He softened when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“You all right?” he said quietly, laying a hand on the small of your back. You still couldn’t quite speak, but you nodded at him gratefully, tucking a wily strand of hair behind your ear.

Michael took notice of it once he peeled his eyes from the divorce papers, and up at you and Dean. Michael’s lips pursed as his posture became even more tense and irate.

“I’m not signing this,” he said, tossing the folder onto the coffee table beside the evidence of his infidelity. He met your wary gaze. “Look, I’m not saying I’ve been a perfect husband, but you’re my wife. That still means something to me. We can…we can still work this out.”

Against your will, hot tears burned in your eyes, and your mouth trembled. The men watched you closely.

You shook your head.

“No. We can’t,” you said. “You’re not the man I thought I married.”

In those blue eyes, you thought you saw the shine of a breaking heart. But all too quickly, it turned into anger and denial. Michael meant to cross the narrow distance between you with a threat on his mind and tight coiling of his entire frame. Dean’s hand slid from your back as he stepped in between, fisting a hand in the other man’s dress shirt and pressing there hard.

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed.

Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

“Dean,” you gasped, reaching out for him. His backward glance at you warned you to stay where you were.

Michael became even more incensed. Again, he was noticing the familiarity between you and this man invading his space, threatening him, and standing between him and his wife. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sam finally spoke up again.

“If you don’t take that file and leave now, peacefully, then this isn’t the only one of your affairs that’s going to come to light,” Sam said.

Michael hesitated. He glanced over at Sam with an angry raise of his brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know very well what it means,” Sam replied. He picked up the folder of evidence he gave you and slipped out a few documents that highlighted an audit of Milligan Meats.

“How does a family business stay so incredibly lucrative during one of the worst times for meat production since the Depression?” Sam wondered aloud. “Maybe it has something to do with those connections you made in Philadelphia, greasing hands like Vondich, from Pittsburg. Or accepting kickbacks from the Torelli family to stock their restaurants with higher quality beef. Who knew that your father had deep, shall we say intimate ties, to one of the biggest mafia families in New York City?”

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

“How did you get this?” he said. Then, as it dawned on him, he looked over at you in betrayal. You hadn’t known about the Torellis, but Sam had been able to sort the last five years of audits for himself, thanks to your investigation of Michael’s office.

“I did my own digging, Mr. Milligan,” Sam said, earning back his attention. “Your wife’s only part in this was asking for my help in securing her divorce. As you can see, I’m very thorough. And these aren’t my only copies of this information. I’m fully prepared to take it to the authorities, today.”

His lie was to protect you, just as much as Dean physically putting himself between you and Michael was. You didn’t know if Michael entirely bought the lie, but eventually, his shoulders sagged in defeat.

He grabbed the papers from Sam’s hand, pivoted on his heel, and turned to leave. However, Michael stopped at the doorway to look back at you.

“This is really what you want?” he asked.

You nodded. “You know it is.”

With that confirmation, Michael took his heavy heart with him when he left.

Sam and Dean helped you repack your things. Neither of them trusted Michael to leave you alone now that he knew where you were. You didn’t want to make such a fuss, but they insisted on helping to put you up at a different hotel across town.

Sam took half of your belongings in his car, where he also had Dean’s one and only suitcase. Dean loaded the rest of your luggage in a taxicab and sat beside you, mostly staring out the window while he smoked. During the ride, you couldn’t help but glance at him every so often. You noted his profile, handsome as always, except now you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

“Dean,” you said quietly. It earned you his attention, as his eyes roamed over you from your familiar beige jacket to your favorite burgundy lipstick.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am,” you nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thank you.”

You tried to convey deeper things with your words, and you thought Dean read your meaning. He hesitated for a moment, but he took up your hand and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said.

Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

Dean held your gaze for a long moment, and let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing’s changed, sweetheart. I’m still a man with a lot to make of himself, and you’re still a married woman, even without the ring,” he said, gesturing to your left hand held in his. “It’s not the right time for us…and I’m not asking you to wait for me to get my act together. It’s not fair to you.”

You were quiet for a while. The cab’s tires continued rolling over bits of gravel in the street, the honking horns and other pocketed sounds of the city falling into a background symphony. You glanced up at Dean, meeting his eyes once more.

“I don’t regret anything,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “I could never.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Me either, baby. Not for all the world.”

He held your hand until the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. Dean leaned over to open the door. He helped you out of the car, but there, he let you go.

You supposed you’d have to be strong enough to walk alone this time.

March 1946

Four months later, it was official.

Oh, Michael sure made it difficult. Sam did make a point to keep an eye on you though. He even hired a client and friend, Benny Lafitte, to accompany you to and from work every day. The burly man was an intimidating presence, but he was kind and respectful. He made you feel safer, especially in the evenings when he kept watch of your apartment for a while, sat out front in his car.

Michael was tenacious. He likely used his connections through town, however nefarious they might be, to find out where you were staying again. He continued to show up outside your hotel room.

Nonetheless, when he sat up against your door all night and realized that you wouldn’t budge, the anger finally drained out of Michael. The exhaustion and guilt set in, perhaps not for the first time.

Then, he drunkenly apologized through the closed door, not knowing you were leaning in on the other side of it. It wasn’t the kind of apology that meant anything, you thought, but the kind that meant to let him save face in your eyes, to persuade you into softening.

You didn’t soften, even though he tried everything to get you to reconsider. He tried gentle words and grandiose gestures, even so far as getting down on his knees outside the door and begging—something you’d never seen him do, not once. Part of you wanted to open the door just an inch if it allowed you to see that sight.

Your tears came, but not because your heart was easing up to him. Your heart was breaking again, knowing this was the end.

He tried reminding you of how difficult it would be for you afterwards, how it might affect your family, your job, everyone’s perception of you. More importantly to him, it would affect how people saw him, a man divorced after barely a year.

Somehow, you found the strength to speak to him slowly from inside the door.

“It’s already done, Michael. And so am I,” you said. “After I saw you and Dolores together with my own eyes, I…I was intimate with another man. I didn’t do it to hurt you, but I still did it.”

His silence was deafening. Not being able to see him actually made this easier though. You sighed.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t go back to us,” you said, “because that would be a lie.”

You couldn’t see it, but his face tightened as angry tears filled his eyes. He felt the weight of his decisions like never before, along with a pulsing, phantom pain in his skull that alcohol could no longer dull. Dimly, he remembered the man he used to be, before. He remembered having a shred of honor to his name, even before he married you. And he did that because he’d loved you. He was sure that he had, somehow…

“I am sorry, darling,” he croaked. “You have to know…”

You nodded, taking a breath to try and steady yourself.

“I know,” you realized. As much as he was able to be, he was sorry.

He picked himself up from outside your door and walked away. He never returned after that.

In those four months, you resolved to move back to Sioux Falls. New York had become your home in the past year and a half you’d lived here, but it wasn’t who you were. You wanted a quieter life. A more peaceful life.

You initially agreed to move to the city with Michael because you had wanted to please him, and make his transition back to civilian life easier in his familiar surroundings. You thought the two of you were building a life together.

New York City was still a heartbeat of a world, but it was no longer in your heart.

Now, you were finishing up on packing your things at the hotel. You left for South Dakota tomorrow, and you already sent your last payment to Sam Winchester a few days ago, along with a handwritten letter thanking him for his help. You felt badly for not going to visit his office in person, but it would be too hard. You would be too tempted to ask about his brother.

Dean.

Just the thought of his name made your heart constrict. You weren’t sure if it was only with pain, though you hoped he was doing well. You tried to remember that you had known him for barely a week. Your mind and your heart shouldn't be so taken up with him.

And yet.

He had seen you at your lowest, belly-to-the-ground low. He had brushed away your tears and hadn’t tried to flatter you with pretty words. He’d made you feel better with simple, raw honesty.

He gave you a window into his past, even though a soldier like him wouldn’t easily pry himself open for anyone, short of his own brother, you suspected. So you’d come to realize, whenever the memory of him greeted you after that day in the park, that he’d given you something special. Perhaps the best night of your life.

Your fingers paused on the brass doorknob to what had been your bedroom for the past few months. It was a modest one, complete with a kitchen and a small two-seater sofa.

Hotels were expensive, but your parents had been kind enough to send you some money to help you. They’d been dismayed to learn of the reasons behind your divorce, of course. They both had been against it at first, but when they heard your voice over the phone, along with the full story, they finally agreed to support you in what way they could, especially by welcoming you back home.

You were looking forward to seeing them. It had only been a couple of months since they’d come to the city for Christmas, but you were ready to go home to some familiarity, and to your family’s support.

You shook your head to get yourself unstuck from all of that. You straightened the wrinkles out of your long skirt and adjusted the collar of your blouse. You had just come home from your last day of work not too long ago, so you supposed you would take a bath and get changed into something more comfortable before you finished packing. Your train left tomorrow, early in the morning.

You were about to head into the bathroom when you heard a knock at the door. Frowning, you wondered who it could be. If it was Michael again, you were not opening the door, and you’d call the police for good measure if he stuck around. You were done entertaining him in every sense of the word.

You went to the door and looked into the peephole. Your brows furrowed. You unlatched all three locks on the door and opened it to the room service maid.

“Hi, Bridget, how are you?” you greeted her.

“Oh, I’m doing well, ma’am. Sorry, I’m a bit behind today, but I’m here to clean the room.”

“Oh, well, now isn’t really a good time,” you said. You had duffel bags and suitcases open, with your clothes, a curling iron, and other things thrown about. Not to mention, you had a leftover sandwich sitting half-eaten on the dining table with a nearly empty bag of chips.

“I’m afraid I can’t come back later,” said Bridget. She tended to talk with her hands, made more interesting by the fact that she held a broom with one hand, and pulled her cleaning cart with the other. “It’ll be too late, and then you’ll be asleep!”

“Look, I’ll just clean tonight, and you can come back tomorrow after I leave. How does that sound?” you suggested.

“All right, if that’s how you want it,” Bridget said with a shrug. She threw her broom on the cart and started pushing it down the hall. She still called back to you over her shoulder, “Goodnight, ma’am! Safe travels for your trip home.”

You shook your head with a weary smile. “Thank you. Goodnight!”

You closed the door behind you and reset all the locks in place. Releasing a heavy sigh, you supposed you should get back to packing. You turned to do just that, when there came another knock on the door. This time it was a heavier sound.

“For God’s sake. What is it now?” you groused.

You went back to look into the peephole. This time, your mouth fell open in a gasp. You undid all the locks again with shaking hands, and you opened the door. There stood Dean Winchester.

He looked nice. Dapper really, wearing a dark blue suit and tie over a crisp white shirt and blue waistcoat underneath. His hair was combed and gelled and parted to the right, and he smelled faintly of a woodsy cologne.

He also looked just as stricken to see you. His eyes were as green as you remembered, and they took in your form from head to toe. They returned to your face, softening slightly, and he smiled.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

God, his voice. It threatened to make you weak.

You shook your head and managed to smile back at him. “What’re you doing here?”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s some welcome.”

“You know what I mean.” You reached out for him, and he took your hand, raising the back of it to his lips in a kiss. All the while, his eyes never left you. Your face flushed hotly, your heartbeat leaping in and out of rhythm.

“I’m here to see you,” he said, matter of factly. As if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Your mouth ran dry. It was difficult to form words, but somehow you managed it.

“Would…would you like to come in then?” you offered.

“I’d like nothing more,” he replied.

The depths in his words made a tingle run down your spine, though you tried to hide your reaction to it. You let him in and shut the door behind you both.

“So you’re headed home, huh?” he asked. He was sitting next to you on the couch with a soda you procured for him, and a cigarette in hand, yet to be lit.

“Did Sam tell you?” you asked.

Dean nodded, smiling ruefully. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

You ducked your head, a bit embarrassed. He tossed his unlit cigarette on the coffee table and tucked a finger under your chin. He raised your head until you met his eyes.

“There she is,” he said softly.

You sucked in a breath laden with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

“I think you know,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I think you need to say it,” you replied, daring him with the directness of your gaze. His hand fell away from your chin, just to cup your cheek as he moved closer. You grabbed onto his arm in reflex.

“I told you, I had to see you,” he admitted.

“Why? Why now?” you asked. “After what you said last time… For goodness’ sake, Dean. Why wait until I’m about to leave?”

“Because,” Dean said. He took a subtle breath, making himself relax. “Because I had to sort myself out, and I had to wait until the ink dried on those damn divorce papers. Because if I’d come any sooner, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

Hope dared to rise high in your throat. Your eyes flit over his face, and finally met his.

“From what?” you whispered.

Dean tilted his head to consider it. He bit into his lip, and then, he made a choice.

He kissed you with abandon. He kept kissing you, stealing your breath, finding new angles to devour you with. He robbed you of any coherent thought in your head the moment his tongue breached your lips to curl against yours. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you grabbed onto his jacket and made indents in the fabric with your nails. His hands moved down your body to squeeze your waist, pulling you flush against him. You moaned into his mouth.

“Dean,” you said, half on a gasp, half on a whimper.

He managed to slow down for a moment. His hand came up to pet your hair.

“No matter what the hell I do, I’m selfish. I just…I can’t let you go,” he said, with furrowed brows.

You shook your head in dismay. “You didn’t need to, you know. I wouldn’t have let you take me home that night if I didn’t think you were a good man…and I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in.”

Your lips tugged at a smile, making Dean smirk as well. That memory had stayed with him too, usually on long nights alone in his house. He tried to remember the sweet smell of your perfume, the feeling of your soft skin, the sound of your pretty moans in his ear. Even now, the thought stirred the well of arousal inside him.

But also, there were other things he missed, like the sight of your smile, your sweeter voice, somehow gentle and strong all at once. He shook his head, thumbing at your cheek.

“The truth is, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the day I met you,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you.”

Your eyes blinked wide at him in shock. His face was steady and even, but his amusement was starting to peek through the longer he looked at you.

“Pretty sure?” you asked breathlessly.

“Well, I’m willing to be more definitive on the subject if you are,” he teased.

You fought a smile, but you couldn’t quite help it. Still, doubt began to creep in from behind.

“I want to believe you,” you said quietly. “But part of me is afraid that these are all just pretty words. If I let another man—”

You tried steadying yourself with a breath. Your watery gaze cut away from Dean, but he wouldn’t let you hide. He gently brought you back, once again guiding your chin. He swept the lone tear from your cheek.

“Please, just tell me the honest truth. Tell me how you feel about us, and I promise, I won’t take it for granted,” he said. He knew he was practically begging, sounding almost needy and weak, but he couldn’t walk away from you again. Not until he knew for sure what you could want from him…what you could want with him.

The seconds of waiting for your answer were more agonizing than the long hours he spent traveling back to New York.

Until finally, you spared him. You shook your head and raised a hand to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over his plush lower lip.

“After you left, I thought about you every morning when I woke up. And I prayed for you every night before I went to sleep,” you said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you too.”

Dean smiled. It was a soft, boyish smile that seemed too young for his face. You loved him all the more for it.

He leaned in…but he hesitated, stopping just shy of your lips.

“Look, I still don’t know if I can be the man you need,” he said. He looked into your eyes. “But I can promise to try, every day, and for the rest of our lives.”

Hot tears once again stung in your eyes, threatening to blur your vision.

“That’s all I could ask for, Dean,” you replied. “I’ll try for you too.”

He smiled slightly, holding you a little closer by your waist.

“Good, because my shoulder still hurts sometimes. Gonna need you to work another miracle or two.”

You laughed and nodded, your hand sliding back up his arm to rub the old injury in his shoulder.

“My specialty,” you teased.

His smile dimmed then, becoming a touch serious, and even rueful.

“And, uh…I don’t sleep so well at times, either,” he said.

You sobered as well. “Me too,” you said. Your lips hinted at a smile again. “But we can keep each other company.”

Dean read the thread of suggestion in your eyes, despite the hint of shyness. His smile began to perk up again.

“I can also be kind of stubborn,” he admitted.

Amused, you tilted your head and ran a gentle hand over his chest. Was he giving you every reason you might say no to him?

“Well, I’m sure I can find a way to soften you up,” you said.

Chuckling, Dean took your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. “Oh, I got no doubts about that, sweetheart.”

He rested your hand back on his chest and thought for a moment more. You just waited for him, patiently stroking his hand with your thumb. You had time to wait.

“You know, I occasionally like to cook too,” he said, with something of an embarrassed chuckle.

Your smile brightened with interest. “Really? Well,” you said, slipping your hand out of his and winding your arms around his neck. “We can take turns feeding each other then.”

Dean really liked the way your mind worked. His hands splayed along your lower back and brought you more flush against his chest. Your face was mere inches from his, tilted up to him in waiting.

Again, he stopped short of kissing you.

“Ah, there’s probably a lot more you should know, but this one’s kind of a big one,” Dean said. That serious tone crept back up in his voice. “I’ve got a plan to make money. It’s not a sure-fire thing, but it’s an honest one. And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll just try something else. I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of you. You don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?”

You smiled at his earnestness. What surprised you most of all was that you believed him. Every word. Because you could see it in the deep green of his eyes. If you trusted him, he wouldn’t let you down. Or at least, he would try his hardest. Try really was all you could ask for.

“Then I’ll take care of you too,” you nodded, stroking his cheek.

Dean’s smile rang true as well.

He finally kissed you again, trapping you thereafter against the sofa.

You sighed and nuzzled your head in a more comfortable position on Dean’s shoulder. The train bound for South Dakota was travelling full speed ahead, four days after your initially booked ticket. The carriage bumped and jostled you both at times, but you felt nothing but peace.

Dean turned his attention towards you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His fingers entwined with yours in his lap.

“Comfortable?” he asked, both genuine and a little teasing.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. Your eyes closed as you let out a breath. He smiled into your hair.

“So what’s it like in Sioux Falls?” he asked quietly, as to not disturb you too much. He just wanted to keep hearing your voice. He’d missed it. He’d missed you.

“Quieter than the city,” you replied, after a moment to think about it. “Slower, but in some ways nicer. I think you’ll like it more than New York, anyway, and I think my parents will like you too…if they don’t think too much less of me.”

“Why would they think less of you?” Dean asked.

You picked your head up and looked up at him a bit bashfully. You raised up your joined hands, where his mother’s wedding bands now rested on your ring finger.

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words.

Dean chuckled, and he wrapped you up more snugly against him and rubbed your back. If you wanted to get technical, the new marriage license was the most recent “ink” to be penned. Sam had been your witness, of course, and he’d hugged you both afterwards. For Dean, Sam’s hug was tight and bracing.

“I’m happy for you, Dean. I’m always here for you. Anything you need.”

“That’s my line, little brother.”

Dean hadn’t known that the two of you needed to take a blood test just to get hitched, let alone that the license wouldn’t be valid for 72 hours. Though it did give you and Dean the opportunity to put your hotel room to good use for those three days. Call it a honeymoon before the honeymoon.

(In fairness, you’d tried to hold out for decency’s sake, but your resolve dissipated even quicker than Dean’s.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll charm ‘em,” he said with a grin.

You snorted. “Good luck with my father. Be prepared for his grilling. Where do you plan to live? What’re you doing for work?”

“Well, the first one we can talk about. The second one, I’ve already got an idea,” said Dean. “I wanted to wait until I saw you again to decide…but I plan to sell the house in Lawrence.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Why?”

You had already been mentally preparing yourself for a move to Kansas after visiting your parents. You never considered that Dean would want to sell his family home.

“After he gets to know you, I don’t see why not. Dean, that’s a great idea and…thank you,” you replied. Your heart was touched that he would sell his family home, just so you could be near your family. You squeezed his hand and blinked past the tears beginning to burn in your eyes.

“Really, you don’t know what it means to me that you’d consider me like that.”

Dean noticed you getting worked up. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, though part of him felt a bit bashful.

“It’s not all that special,” he said. You didn’t budge, however.

“Yes, it is,” you said. You leaned up, wordlessly requesting a kiss. Dean obliged you. He kissed you long and slow and tender.

He broke away after a while, just to look over your shoulder. He smiled. Then he leaned forward, careful to keep you secure in his arms as he locked the door.

“What’re you up to?” you asked in amusement, despite the fire churning inside you.

“It’s a long way to the Midwest, sweetheart. I’m taking advantage of it,” he said. “What do you say?”

A knowing smile began to tug at your lips. “Hmm, depends on what you want to do.”

Dean shifted you onto his lap. Smirking at your small sound of surprise, he made a show of undoing every button that laced down the front of your dress with slow precision. Your breathing shallowed as you watched his nimble hand go one by one.

“I plan to take my time,” he said. “I plan to make us both glad this train is loud enough to drown out just about anything.”

He laid a kiss just above your neckline. The more buttons he loosened, the more bare skin he had to trail his affections, like on the tops of your breasts, and another kiss in between them. Uttering a soft sigh, you held him to you by his hair and threaded your fingers through the brown strands. His other hand squeezed your bottom, earning a stifled giggle from you.

“I plan to map out every part of you, all over again,” he said, “until I can see it all with my eyes closed. Until we’re both sweaty and satisfied.”

He raised his head just to mark a biting, claiming kiss on your throat, making your breath hitch.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asked again.

You felt his growing smile against your skin. You tightened a hand in his hair in retaliation. It was a scandalous proposal, not to mention risky. You two could be booted off the train, for heaven’s sake…

Your breaths were shallow as he slipped a hand under the collar of your blouse, even under the bra to palm at your breast.

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered.

When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again.

The train rode on.

AN: I promised a happy ending, didn't I? 😉✨ What did you think of the "end" of Michael, as well as how she and Dean worked things out? I absolutely loved working on this series and this AU world. Maybe I'll do another '40s AU in the future! 💖

But until then, I have lots of fun things coming up! You'll hear about the next story soon. 😘

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avelera · 17 hours ago

Note

Do you have any tips in how not to end up with Therapy Speak? I had the immense luck to be diagnosed very early (sarcasm) and so was in therapy pretty much my entire life, which means that Therapy Speak is very natural to me and I struggle with thinking into how normal people would speak about this.

(I started writing one version of my answer and it got REALLY LONG so I'm going to try to keep it high level this time lol even if it is still pretty long)

Really, this question comes down in general to, "How to write realistic dialogue," on the one hand but also, "How to write dialogue that propels my story," on the other.

And let me just level-set by saying how I view "therapy speak" when I discuss it here. I see therapy speak as:

A character using clinical terms to describe their state of mind, emotions, or reasons for certain kind of reactions. E.g. "depression" "anxiety" "overwhelm" etc.

A character exploring their emotions in a clinically-aided manner during conversations and/or to resolve interpersonal conflicts or perceived misunderstandings. E.g. "Sorry I lashed out at you yesterday, my anxiety got the better of me but you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."

1 ) Consider your setting and characters.

A Medieval Knight Would Not Say That. <- This is a basic tip and I think an obvious one. If your character doesn't live in a time period or world with access to or knowledge of therapy or good mental health practices, it will take your reader out of the story if they suddenly bust out with, "Sorry I overreacted yesterday, I was feeling overwhelmed because of my anxiety."

Frankly, if a story is set anywhere that isn't after the 2010s in certain therapy-friendly population centers in the US, for example, (the US is pretty unique in its widespread access and favorableness to therapy, even compared to Europe and Asia let alone other parts of the world), therapy would still be rare enough that you'd need to tell my how and why this person had access to it and how and why they expect the person they're talking to to also be versed in this sort of framing of conflict resolution or self reflection.

That said, there's still a lot of places in the world and a LOT of demographics where access to therapy or even exposure to it enough to have an understanding of it is pretty rare and even in the US it's very determined by demographics. For example, a 50 year old male school teacher might be open to it, but a 50 year old male truck driver might look at you like you have two heads if you suddenly start talking about your feelings to them in an open and clinical manner.

Then again, real people are varied and nuanced so it's perfectly possible that your grizzled 50 year old truck driver might be binging self-help podcasts on his long drives and be surprisingly very well versed! It could be a really delightful story beat, but you do have to kinda explain to me as the audience how he came across this knowledge since it would be unexpected for him to have it.

Now, this is not to say that no one outside of those exposed to therapy speak has any exposure to introspection or access to their emotions. But, they might not be armed with the clinical terms or techniques.

2 ) Consider what people would say instead.

And when considering what someone would say, consider:

Do they have the clinical terminology to describe what they're feeling?

Do they have the tools to manage their emotions even if they don't have the terminology?

Do they have the tools, terminology, or even the interest in resolving the conflict?

"I'm having a panic attack!" -> "I feel like a giant fist has closed around my lungs, I can't seem to breathe!" - This could be something said by someone who can describe the feelings of a panic attack but doesn't have the knowledge or tools to know what they're experiencing. This could be a Medieval knight speaking or even a totally modern person who doesn't know what a panic attack is or can't believe that a panic attack could happen to them.

Note 1: If you're writing a period piece, plenty of other eras had ways of describing certain feelings, so a Victorian era person might say "melancholia" and mean clinical depression, or a Medieval person could be bipolar and think, idk, maybe that they're possessed or bedeviled by demons. You should inquire into the tools people would have at their disposal, even if they're inaccurate to our modern understanding.

Note 2: Even when people know about clinical terms they might be unable or unwilling to admit clinical things can happen to them. Admitting you have, say, clinical depression can be very scary for people. It could represent a huge change in their life or their self-perception. So they might say something like, "I don't know, I've just been in a very dark place for months and months now." They might be scared to admit this to anyone at all, not unless it's someone they really trust, and even if they trust this person, they might still lash out if they're told, "Uh, buddy, that's depression. You need help." because of what a big shift this might represent to their self-perception. People don't like to hear there's something "wrong" with them or admit it to themselves. Hence, they might be reluctant to admit this at all or if they do, they might downplay it.

"Sorry I lashed out at you, I was overwhelmed and I took it out on you and that wasn't fair." -> "I don't know, it just felt like everything you said kept pissing me off and now I'm pissed off that I yelled at you when it wasn't your fault, which pisses me off even more!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand the clinical terms AND doesn't have tools to manage their emotions but DOES have an interest in resolving the issue with the other person, albeit not in the calmest manner. This might apply to, say, an angry anime protagonist lol.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the class and I'm not sure if I want you or want to be you, but I haven't come out yet to anyone including myself, so all I have inside me are these big confusing emotions of desire and fear and admiration all mixed together, leaving me unsure of what to do or how I feel about you. I just wish these feelings would go away somehow." -> *Passes crush a note that says*,"Get the hell out of my class!" -> This could be someone who doesn't understand their emotions, doesn't have the tools to express them AND doesn't have an interest in resolving the conflict in a constructive way.

3 ) Consider if resolving the conflict constructively is even good for the story you want to tell.

Stories thrive on conflict. Conflict doesn't need to mean interpersonal drama or screaming arguments or saving the world. But two people sitting down and hashing out all their emotions can act as the climax of the story, in that it resolves and airs out a lot of the simmering tension that could be otherwise used to propel a story further.

For example, a "will they/won't they" love story is resolved when two characters sit down and hash out that they have feelings for each other. That could mark the end of the story entirely. If you feel you've written yourself into a corner, maybe it's because the characters used therapy speak to get everything out there in a constructive way too clearly or too soon and now you've written yourself into a corner if you wanted the story to continue.

(Of course, infinite variations are possible. You could have two characters thoughtfully work out that they DON'T have feelings for each other, only for one to walk away and realize they DO have feelings and now they're worried about revealing those because the other person just laid out so thoughtfully and rationally that they don't have feelings back. Just because people DO communicate doesn't mean the situation can't CHANGE.)

But in order to have characters realistically hold things back, you need to think about the other pressures there might be in their life that would keep two people from sitting down and hashing out every little nook and cranny of thoughts and feelings they might have.

For example, pride or fear - society tends to look down on people, especially male-socialized people, when it comes to openly expressing their emotions. (Or, if you want to divorce it from gendered considerations, let's say a warrior society might or might not be ok with free expressions of emotion that might be considered "weakness".)

Even crying during moments of horrible pain or stress can and has been a source of mockery for many men (and women!), so they could very likely have been socialized out of openly expressing emotions that make them feel vulnerable as a matter of maintaining their pride.

Even if they want to express those emotions, they might fear the negative reaction of the person they're talking to (who could tell them to "stop being a baby!" or "man up!" or "go cry somewhere else!" etc.). This can be especially true for big moments of self-reflection like coming out, or expressing romantic feelings for someone, or expressing that they've been struggling with and masking negative emotions for a long time and are reaching a desperate limit. These are things that can change other people's perspective of you, not always for the better, and the fear of that can prevent people from being open about their feelings.

Personal Note: Too often in fanfic-land, I see fics always coming down on the side of "These fears were silly, the person they're talking to was always going to be understanding and accepting!" which isn't reflective of the real world! Sometimes people, even well-meaning people, might be put off by powerful displays of emotion, or not interested in a relationship through no fault of their own and it DOES make it weird if a friend confesses feelings, and then sometimes people aren't well meaning!

It can be refreshing to see a story that expresses that sometimes these fears of being open and honest about big emotions are valid. Not all family members are cool and understanding about coming out (unless that's the catharsis your story is going for!). Not all people are ok with having someone confess their love for them. Not all people are comfortable with a friend or a comrade in arms saying they're coming close to cracking under the strain.

So these are valid, real life fears, that can serve as valid, real life barriers for why people might not open up to another person and lay out everything they're thinking and feeling as if this person is their therapist.

Generally speaking, the best stories (to me) are the ones that give multiple in-universe reasons why someone doesn't tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in an open, rational, and clinical manner about how they're feeling. The more outside pressures you can layer on, the less visible the hand of the author is, the better. For example:

Time - the characters didn't have time for a long sit down about their feelings. The world is ending/ the big THING is about to happen soon .They had to make the conversation brief.

Not wanting to lose a friendship - Sure, being in a relationship would be great, but losing the friendship if the love confession makes things weird would be terrible.

Not wanting to lose the position/prestige/job you wanted - a warrior or even an office worker might be cracking under the strain of their mental health, but if they ask for help, they could be fired, or shunned, or removed from the mission. They want to keep their position more than they want help, so they'll speak in circles around or minimize the struggles they're facing.

Other stuff gets in the way - when the world is ending or the external events are piling up, it might just not be the right time or place to discuss your innermost feelings. It might be inappropriate to do so if other people are suffering or even dying all around you. Heck, admitting you feel depressed when the person you're talking to just lost a loved one and is in an even darker place might feel deeply inappropriate. So if you've got a lot of characters running around dealing with a LOT of events, sitting down for a therapy-speak conversation might even feel ludicrous to indulge in as many people tend to put their emotions and wellbeing pretty far down on the list of important things to deal with, especially if they haven't been trained or socialized to prioritize them.

Without getting into a more specific story it's hard to give more specific advice. And there's the eternal caveat to all of this that sometimes an open conversation about emotions that is aimed at resolving a conflict or misunderstanding is the point of a story, especially in fanfic which often likes to explore things that canon doesn't do.

Everything should, in the end, be in service to the story you want to tell. This is just my view on some things to think about when trying to write more realistic dialogue. And of course, as always, when in doubt about dialogue, listen to real people and read your dialogue aloud to see if it sounds natural, if natural dialogue is your goal.

#writing #writing advice #maggie rambles #hopefully some of this is helpful??

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deadrobinthoughts · 1 day ago

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† just in case : tim.

⋆˙⟡ "There's a chance I won't see you tomorrow, So I will spend today saying hello, And all the hopes and dreams I may have borrowed, Just know, my friend, I leave them all to you"

⋆˙⟡ request: not technically a request --- but i apparently cater to damian and tim fans. ↦ kalico note: this is based solely on the lyrics "Hello Heaven, Hello"

tim drake never thought he'd be doing this.

not again.

he had been in tight spots before but there was something different about this one. maybe it was the way the weight of the situation felt heavier, pressing down on his chest with every breath. maybe it was the realization that this time, the stakes weren’t just about the mission; it was about something deeper.

something he hadn’t allowed himself to think about for a long time.

he was supposed to be unfazed, detached. the guy who could handle anything, who could analyze situations with cold precision and always come out unscathed. as he stood there, the sound of the clock ticking in the back of his mind, he understood just how much he’d come to rely on something he couldn’t afford to lose.

you.

he had no way of knowing how long this mission would take, how long he’d be gone, or if he’d even make it back. the risks were high, the odds were low, and as much as he hated to admit it, the possibility of not seeing you again was messing with his head.

there was a moment, right before he left, when everything seemed to slow down. the rush of adrenaline, the calculated plans; it all seemed so small in comparison to the thought of not getting to say what needed to be said.

he wasn’t even sure why but something inside him told him to speak up, to not leave with things unsaid. to not leave with regrets.

you were there already, standing by the door, waiting to see him off as you always did. tim opened his mouth, and for a split second, he wasn't sure he could go through with it.

he wasn’t afraid of death, not in the way people are, but he was afraid of leaving things unresolved. afraid of leaving you behind with all the things he hadn’t said.

you had always been there for him, understood him in a way no one else did, and despite everything, he’d kept his distance; out of fear, out of habit. now though, in this fleeting moment, as he stood there, ready to walk out the door, he knew he couldn't simply leave. not without telling you, in his own way, that he cared ( a lot more than he'd planned it ).

more than he’d ever admitted, even to himself.

"i need to say something before i go," tim said suddenly, his voice thick with something he was struggling to find the words for. you tilted your head slightly, your gaze still steady as if you already knew what he was about to say.

he took a step toward you, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought the urge to say the practical things; the things he’d said to others before he left for dangerous missions. the plan. the contingency. the "i’ll be fine" speech that could turn out to be a complete lie.

none of that mattered now. none of those stereotypical things would come close to his thoughts.

instead, he let it out, the words tumbling from his mouth, honest in a way he normally wouldn't be.

"look.. i.. i have no way of knowing how these are going to go once i get out there," tim continued, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "but there’s a chance i won’t be coming back. and if i don’t… i just want you to know, everything i have, everything i’ve built, i leave it to you. the hopes, the dreams.... hell, even the doubts. they’re yours now."

your eyes met his, and in that instant, he could see the understanding there. it wasn’t pity, it never was - he wasn't actually sure you could feel pity. you just looked at him with the same quiet acceptance as the day you met.

tim swallowed hard, stepping closer, the weight of his emotions threatening to break the calm facade he had so carefully built. "i don’t want you to be alone. i don't-- he said the words before he could stop himself, the vulnerability in his voice so unlike the usual calm and controlled tone he often spoke with.

you didn’t speak immediately. instead, you closed the distance between you and wrapped your arms around his neck. it was nothing grand but it was what tim needed in the moment.

"tim," you began softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, “we all have to go at some point, ya know? it doesn’t mean i’m leaving your side. not really."

a silence stretched between you two, peaceful and oddly comforting, and for the first time in a long time, tim felt like he could let go of the weight he had been carrying for so long.

"you know i’m coming back, right?" he asked, holding back the faint smile that threatened to show. "i can’t just leave you with all my bad habits."

you smiled back, something that finally lifted the weight of it all.

"i know."

just like that, tim felt the world slow down for a moment. the mission could wait. the danger could wait. there was no final goodbye, no weighty farewell; only the knowledge that no matter what, no matter how many missions he faced, you would always be there to welcome him home.

as he walked away, stepping out into the unknown, he carried with him a quiet certainty that even if this was their last moment together, it would never be goodbye forever.

as he left, the thought echoed in his mind: everything he had, he had already left to you.

#dc comics #dc scenarios #batfam #batfam x reader #batboys #batboys x reader #tim drake drabbles #tim drake scenarios #tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #tim drake #red robin x reader #robin x reader #red robin drabbles

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lightningqueen11 · 2 days ago

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I need more people to write Aigis and Ryoji as friends, post-game or in some canon divergence au. They are made to be opposing forces, to clash for the fate of the world, but the purpose designated for them by their creators is not the purpose they chose to follow. They become friends in both because and in spite of what they are, because who would better understand their struggles? Neither is truly human, but they are both people. People who doubt their own humanity. They validate each other's struggles in a way no one else could, before affirming that yes, you are a person, you worked so very hard to be a person and I recognize that struggle and say that it is ok if you don't understand all the nuances of humanity right away, I won't judge you, because I am the exact same way.

Yes, Aigis initially saw Ryoji as dangerous, and he was, but I want them to grow past that. I want them to be able to look back at their first clash and think about how much they've grown since then. I want them to tell each other that the fact that they feel remorse for the lives lost is a clear sign of their newfound empathy for others, and that yes it's difficult, grappling with those feelings, but they should face them head on for the sake of those lost lives. I want them to come to see the other as one of their closest friends, the one they can turn to whenever they need.

Aigis and Ryoji should be friends, because they chose to be more than the enemies they were when they first met.

#persona 3 reload #p3r #persona 3 #ryoji mochizuki #aigis persona 3 #persona 3 spoilers

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blakeswritingimagines · 2 days ago

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Heated

Summary: Timo, a successful sports player, and you find yourselves at odds due to Timo's busy schedule and the strain it puts on the relationship.

Warnings: Fighting, Leaving during an argument, Neglected reader, Stuffing feelings, Both being pent-up, Slow burn towards sex, Slow sex, Making love, Marking, PWP, Slighting fingering, PnV

Word Count: 2.8k

Timo Meier was always on the road. As a professional athlete, his schedule was demanding, and he often spent more time in hotel rooms than in his own home. You missed him constantly, feeling as though you hardly saw him at all. The distance between you seemed to grow with each passing day, and you longed for the times when he was close by, able to wrap his arms around you and hold you tight. But no matter how much you wanted to see him, you knew that his job was important to him, and you didn't want to hold him back. So, you tried to be understanding and supportive, even as the loneliness and longing for him slowly gnawed at your heart. There were times when you felt resentment building up inside of you, frustration over the fact that he was always so far away. But you pushed those feelings down, knowing that it wasn't fair to him. It wasn't his fault that he had to travel so much for his work, and you knew that he missed you equally as much.

Despite your efforts to be patient and strong, there were days when you couldn't help but cry, feeling overwhelmed by the constant loneliness and aching for his presence. You missed the sound of his voice, the warmth of his touch, and the smell of his cologne. One day, you just couldn't hold it in any longer. You exploded in a fit of anger and frustration, tears streaming down your face as you confronted Timo. "I'm sick of this. I'm sick of always being left behind while you jet off to some faraway place for work." Timo was taken aback by your outburst, but he tried to remain calm. "I know it's hard for you, but this is my job. I have no choice." Timo was standing in front of you, his eyes avoiding yours as you raised your voice at him. "You're never home! We hardly see each other anymore," you exclaimed, your frustration growing with each word. Timo sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he finally made eye contact with you. "I know. I'm busy with the team and traveling for games. I don't always have a choice in the matter." You felt a pang of guilt for being upset with Timo, knowing that he had obligations to his career. But the loneliness that had taken root in your heart was hard to ignore.

Timo ran a hand through his hair, his expression pained as he heard the accusation in your voice. "I'm trying, but it's hard. The pressure to perform well, the constant training, it takes a toll on me too." You couldn't help as you rolled your eyes. "It's not just about traveling. It's like you're never present even when you are home." Your frustration reached a boiling point as Timo's words echoed in your mind. "Pressure to perform? What about the pressure I feel when you're never around? The loneliness of an empty bed and an empty house?" Your voice rose with each word, your pent-up emotions surfacing. Timo looked at you, his own anger rising to match yours. "Do you have any idea how hard it is for me? " he retorted, "The long hours of training, the criticism from the media, the constant pressure to win?" He clenched his fists, his eyes locking onto yours. You felt a surge of conflicting emotions. You wanted to sympathize with Timo's struggles, but at the same time, you couldn't ignore your own pain. "I understand that you have a demanding job, but what about my feelings? Do they matter at all?" Timo sighed, his frustration mingling with a hint of guilt. "Of course your feelings matter. But sometimes, it feels like everything else takes precedence. The team, the games, the contract negotiations. I can't just ignore all that."

You took a step closer to him, your voice cracking. "I'm not asking you to ignore it all. I'm just asking for some balance. For you to prioritize our relationship too." Timo looked at you, his expression conflicted. "You want me to prioritize our relationship? But what about my dream? What about what I've worked for my entire life?" Timo looked at you, his expression softening as he took a deep breath. "I do prioritize our relationship, but it's just not that easy right now. I'm under a lot of pressure…" He trailed off, his eyes dropping to the ground. You felt a shiver go down your spine, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. "What do you mean it's not easy? Are you insinuating something else?" Timo looked up at you, surprise etched on his face. "No, no, that's not what I meant at all." He reached out to take your hand, but you pulled it away, your mind reeling from his words. Your heart raced as unwelcome doubts crept in. "Then what did you mean? It sounds like you're saying you're too busy to prioritize us." Timo looked flustered, trying to explain himself. "I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying that it's a lot harder to balance everything right now. I'm under a lot of pressure from the team and the media, and it's taking its toll on me. But I still love you, and I do prioritize our relationship. I just need some time and some understanding from you to balance it all." Your doubts and anger boiled over, and you found yourself yelling at Timo. "Time? Understanding? How am I supposed to understand when you're never around? When you're too busy with your career to even spend a few moments with me? If you're choosing your career over me, just say it!"

Timo's frustration matched yours, his voice rising. "You're twisting my words! I'm not choosing my career over you. I'm just saying that it's difficult to balance everything right now. You don't understand the pressures I'm under. I have people depending on me, expecting me to perform at my best every single game. It's not like I can just drop everything and be with you all the time!" You felt a lump form in your throat as Timo's words hit you like a punch to the gut. "So you're saying that your career is more important than me? That I come second?" You stared into Timo's frustrated eyes for a moment longer, your own emotions swirling within you. The argument was too much to handle, and you needed a moment of peace to collect your thoughts. "I can't deal with this right now," you said, your voice trembling. "I need some space." With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Timo standing there, his own anger fading into a mixture of concern and guilt. Timo watched as you walked away, his own anger ebbing away as he realized the weight of the argument. He wanted to go after you, to apologize and explain himself, but something held him back. He knew that he had said some harsh things in the heat of the moment, things that had hurt you. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily as he slumped onto the couch, wondering if he had just made things even worse. You walked outside, the cool night air washing over you as you tried to process what just happened. The argument had left you feeling raw and vulnerable, and you weren't sure how to navigate the complexity of your emotions. You leaned against the railing, staring at the city lights as you took in everything that had gone on and what it would all mean.

Hours had passed since the argument, and you found yourself still out on the balcony, staring off into the night. You had spent the time processing your feelings and attempting to calm down. But no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, the argument with Timo lingered in your mind like a stubborn stain. It was late when you returned home, the silence in the house was almost deafening. You had spent hours outside, trying to make sense of your thoughts and feelings. As you entered the living room, you noticed Timo sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up as he heard you come in, his expression weary. The earlier argument weighed heavily between you both. Neither of you said anything for a few moments, the silence growing thicker with each passing second. Finally, Timo broke the silence. "You're back." You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. Your emotions were still raw from the argument, but seeing Timo sitting there, looking so defeated, stirred something within you. "I needed some time to think," you finally said, your voice just above a whisper.

Timo nodded, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I understand. I've been thinking too." He paused, as if trying to gather his thoughts. "I didn't mean to make it sound like my career was more important than you. I'm just… I'm struggling to balance everything right now." You took a seat across from him, trying to keep your emotions in check. "I know you're under a lot of pressure with the team and the games and everything. But I can't help but feel like I'm being pushed aside when you're never around." Timo sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I know, and I'm sorry. It's just that everything is so overwhelming right now. The games, the practices, the media, the contract negotiations… it never stops. I feel like I'm being pulled in a dozen different directions." You felt a pang of sympathy for Timo, understanding the weight he was carrying. But your own pain still lingered, as you said, "I can empathize with your situation, but it doesn't change how I feel. I miss spending time with you. I miss feeling like a priority in your life." Timo's expression softened as he listened to your words, his regret and guilt evident in his eyes. "You are a priority in my life. I just… I don't know how to manage everything right now. I feel like I'm failing at both my career and our relationship."

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not about failing. It's about communication and compromise. Maybe we need to find a way to balance everything better. To make time for each other amidst your busy schedule." Timo nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "You're right." He paused, then said, "But the truth is, I'm not sure how. My career takes up so much of my time and energy. I don't know how to juggle everything without dropping something." You reached out and placed a hand on Timo's, offering what comfort you could. "We can figure it out together. We just need to communicate and be honest about our needs and expectations. It won't be easy, but if we both want this, we can find a way." Timo looked at you, his expression shifting from regret to something more tender. He took your hand in his, his touch sending shivers down your spine. Your anger and hurt were fading, replaced now by an overwhelming need for each other. "I've missed you," he confessed, his voice low and rough. You felt a flood of emotions at his words, your heart racing as Timo moved closer to you. His arms encircling you, pulling you into an embrace. The tension between you melted away, replaced by a heady mix of desire and longing.

Timo's lips found yours, gently at first, as if seeking your consent. But then the kiss grew more urgent, more passionate, both of you pouring all the pent-up emotions into it. His hands roamed over your body, igniting a fire within you that burned brighter than any argument. You clung to Timo, your fingers tangling in his hair, your body pressed against his. The world outside faded away as the only things that mattered were the two of you. The pain and loneliness of the past weeks were replaced with a desperate desire to hold onto each other, to make amends through touch and intimacy. The layers of clothing that separated you felt like an unwelcome barrier. Timo's hands drifted down to the hem of your shirt, gently tugging it over your head, revealing the soft skin beneath. His eyes roamed over you, taking in your curves and lines, and a low moan escaped his lips. Your hands found their way under Timo's shirt, feeling the heat of his skin, the firm press of muscle. You pulled it off, discarding it to the side, before your fingers trailed over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, the pulse of desire that matched your own. Timo's lips found your neck, his kisses slow and deliberate, as if mapping out every inch of skin he hadn't touched in what felt like forever. His hands moved to your hips, guiding you back onto the couch, pinning you beneath him.

The world seemed to spin as you lost yourself in Timo's touch. He leaned down to kiss every part of you he could reach, his tongue and teeth teasing your skin, leaving a trail of heat and pleasure. His weight on top of you was both grounding and exhilarating, making your head spin as you arched into him, desperate for more. Your hips ground against his, seeking friction, craving more contact. Timo lifted you up effortlessly, carrying you towards the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, his eyes burning with intensity as he stripped off his clothes. You watched, breathless, as his toned physique was revealed inch by inch. Then he joined you, covering your body with his own, skin to skin, heat to heat. Every touch was electric, every kiss like a promise. Timo's hands roamed over your body, his breath hot against your skin. Each brush of his fingertips sent sparks flying, lighting up nerve endings you had forgotten even existed. He whispered words in German, so softly you could hardly make out what they were, but the meaning was written all over his face - worship, adoration, desire. Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, as if they'd never been apart. Every stroke, every caress, every whispered promise sent shivers of delight coursing through you. Timo's mouth claimed yours once more, the kiss deep and consuming, a silent vow of devotion. His hand slid between your thighs, finding you slick and ready, and he groaned into your mouth.

Your legs wrapped around Timo's waist, drawing him closer, deeper. The pressure of his fingers against your most sensitive spot made you gasp, arching into his touch. Pleasure coiled tight within you, building with each pass of his hand, each thrust of his hips. Timo's mouth left yours to trail down your neck, nipping and sucking, marking you as his. The sensation of his teeth grazing your skin sent jolts of electricity straight to your core. "Timo," you breathed, your voice thick with desire. "Schatz.." Timo's voice was husky with need, his breath ragged against your ear. "I've missed this…missed you." His fingers curled inside you, stroking that sweet spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. He rocked against you, the head of his cock nudging your entrance, teasing, promising. With a low growl, he eased forward, burying himself to the hilt in one slow thrust. A cry tore from your throat at the sudden fullness, the stretch of your body around his girth. Timo stilled, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours, his heart pounding in sync with yours. Then he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before thrusting back in, setting a slow but loving pace that drove you both higher and higher.

Your nails dug into Timo's back as he filled you, stretching you, claiming you. The sensation of being whole again, complete, brought tears to your eyes. You wrapped your legs tighter around him, meeting each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips, urging him deeper. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing, and the symphony of your pleasure. Timo's lips found yours again, kissing you passionately, as if trying to pour all his love, all his apologies, all his longing into that single connection. You kissed him back just as fiercely, lost in the rhythm of your bodies, the heat of your passion, the overwhelming need to be close, to be one. Timo's movements intensified, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency as he chased his release. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter, until finally, with a scream of ecstasy, you came undone. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock as wave after wave of bliss crashed over you. Timo followed soon after, his body tensing, his grip on your hips bruising as he spilled himself deep inside you. You collapsed together, spent and sated, your hearts still racing from the intensity of the lovemaking. In the aftermath, Timo held you close, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured words of apology and affection. You knew, without a doubt, that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, as long as you had each other.

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