#AND SHE LOSES SO MUCH MORE BUT DO WE EVER SEE THE EFFECTS OF THAT? NOOOOO NO WE DONT

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

A couple of things that I love and admire about Sylus ♡♡♡

(This got long so decided to add a cut dhdjfj there is just too much to appreciate when it comes to this man ^^;)

For earlier parts in this "series": go here and here

How mentally and emotionally strong he is. His past never broke him or managed to twist or warp his soul. Which considering his background is incredibly impressive. This is a man that suffered severe trauma pretty much from infancy and onward for thousands of years. He is heavily implied to have been abandoned as a child due to being "weak". He self harmed at an early age. He witnessed the total slaughter of the only kin he'd known. He was nearly murdered himself for no other crime than looking different. He was tossed into the abyss to rot for over a millennia, stuck in place with a greatsword lodged through his chest. All of this happened while he was still a juvenile. He most likely hadn't experienced a single day of real happiness or care in his life up until meeting his sorceress. But even before they get properly close, he shows her kindness and compassion despite never having known any himself. We learn that he has never eaten a human soul, nor harmed anyone that didn't deserve it. When he dies, his soul is revealed to smell like flowers. He never lost his innate goodness. In the present, he also shows that same remarkable inner strength and stability, now even more noticeable with added age and further maturity.

How well he takes care of his people. All evidence points to him being an amazing boss and leader. It's especially touching to see how much the twins admire and appreciate him.

The effect he has on those that come under his wings. They all seem to flourish and come out stronger than they were before.

His aura. His scenes in LAR and his entire anecdote gives me chills to this day.

His perfect jawline. It's immaculate.

His honesty. He never lies to MC. Not even once. He doesn't ever whitewash himself and is upfront about his desires and his greed. Similarly, from what we've seen, he honors the deals he makes with anyone seeking his protection (No Way Out, Elysium).

His straightforwardness. On a personal level, as a ND individual, I appreciate this quality in others immensely since reading subtler signals more often than not isn't my forte and tends to stress me out trying to figure out what they are trying to convey to me. So it brings me comfort to see Sylus be straightforward with his feelings for MC. He may not always be direct with his words – both he and MC like to talk in riddles at times – but his actions and his demeanor always are.

His quick thinking and savvy.

Just his sharp intelligence in general. He is always eight or ten steps ahead of his opponents.

His sheer unwavering confidence and charisma. Both enough to fill the mariana trench.

How he is incredibly emotionally mature. He is calm, composed, never abuses the power he has, never lashes out, never loses control of himself. He isn't bitter, doesn't dwell on the past. He isn't brooding or hateful. And when MC tells him he sucks at something (giving a massage in the specific instance I'm thinking of) instead of getting annoyed or taking it personally, he asks her to teach him how to do it. When she says that he is pestering her, he accepts it and gives her the space she says she wants without arguing even a little. We have never once seen him fight with MC over anything. Nor can I even picture a scenaro where they would, try as I might. They're just too chill/emotionally intelligent to get heated or argumentative.

Overall his emotional strength and maturity shows itself best with MC. He definitely made major mistakes in his treatment of her at the start of LAR out of desperation and a misguided belief that the end justifies the means, but the moment he realizes that he has gone too far and that he needs to stop trying to force their past onto her, he stops. Nor does he ever try to manipulate or hold their soulbond over her head (he never even mentions it to her). Instead, he puts his all into building a relationship with the present her from scratch, on her terms, at her pace. He falls in love with and cherishes the present her, just as much as the past her. That is not to say though that all emotional scars have healed. Of course not. Whenever MC unknowingly makes those oddly specific references tied to the shared past she doesn't remember, it's bound to hurt him. But he handles it amazingly, staying composed. And he still aches for her to remember – but I suspect in large part for her sake rather than his. He wants her to know herself entirely, every single part. She deserves to know her history. But crucially, he never pushes the issue. All he does is make gentle references in the hopes that she might remember. But that's all. At the end of the day, on a personal level, if MC never recalls anything, then he'd be fine with that. He is overjoyed just to be a part of her life again, to hold her in his arms.

And imo the probably biggest instance of his maturity and strength? Being willing to let her go, if that is what she desires. Remember that MC represents everything good, beautiful, and joyous in his life. She is the best thing that happened to him. The one person to love, accept, and want him unconditionally. The sole individual to truly see the real him (the only one that dared or cared enough to try). After his resurrection he has yearned and searched the galaxies for her for an unknown but more than likely vast amount of years. And yet... he is willing to let go, for her sake. Even though it would destroy him on the inside. Because she is so much more important than his own desires.

Following on with the maturity theme, I admire the way he approaches losing. He isn't a sore loser but bears it with ease of mind, which isn't always the case with people like Sylus who are used to coming out on top. But to him, whether he wins at a competition or not doesn't affect his confidence or self worth, and he can readily acknowledge when he's been fairly beaten by an opponent. The only time he truly cares about winning is if MC wants him to. And then he'll make sure to win no matter what.

Another thing I admire is how he is so willing to adapt and adjust for MC and the love he bears her. For instance, Sylus is not by nature or temeprament a patient man. He wants to get things done and wants them done fast. A good example of this is in the most recent event, where he does not have the patience to let flowers grow naturally and so tries to force the process. However, when it comes to MC? He is willing to wait infinite lifetimes. He always walks at her pace when it comes to their relationship, and never pressures her. He gives her as much time as she needs to figure her feelings out. He is an impatient man willing and ready to be endlessly patient for his beloved

For all that he is down bad for MC, Sylus isn't a doormat nor spineless in regards to her. He won't just mindlessly agree and go along with whatever she wants but has a strong will, agenda, and boundaries of his own. He teases and bullies MC (affectionately), gives as good as he gets from her, and doesn't hesitate to call her out and/or fluster her for his own amusement. Leading to the banter we all know and love.

His ability to truly self reflect and grow. I am referencing what happens in and after LAR 1-8, where he disappears for a while after having gotten hit by a harsh but necessary reality check. My belief is that he went away initially to cry, but that he also did some major self reflecting. Afterwards, his behavior toward MC changes quite dramatically. He realized that he fucked up, and is determined to do and be better for her. And he never falters. We stan a person that recognizes they fucked up and learns from it. His character development and growth in general mean a lot to me.

How incredibly skilled he is at driving those mototcycles of his. No wonder MC feels safe riding with him no matter how fast they go or how dangerous the terrain.

That his crimes never affect innocents. Sylus has always made it a point only to harm or kill those who truly deserve it.

Despite how he claims never to have comforted anyone before, he is touchingly good at it. He is incredibly emotionally intelligent and attentive. He is always so quick to pick up on how MC is feeling, and he also knows when it's best to give advice, when it's best to act (ie send her something to comfort her, take her on a joyride etc), or when it's best to simply listen and be there for her. Most of the time he is incredibly in tune with her feelings and her needs.

And he can be so achingly tender when he comforts her. A great example of this is in Where Hearts Live, when at one point MC feels embarrassed and insecure about verbalizing how she feels. He is so patient and gentle, holding her close in his lap and rocking her, softly reassuring her that she can talk to him, that he wants to hear what she has to say. And there are other examples of his kindness, such as with animals and plants. A huge reason why this is so admirable to me is that Sylus is a man that has lived a rough life, and with few exceptions seen and dealt with the worst humanity has to offer. He has had precious few opportunities to witness or experience goodness or tenderness from others. And yet he has no trouble being either to those he cares for. It comes so naturally from him. Again, further proof that he has always at his core been compassionate and kind, and that those qualities have withstood throughout all the hardship and violence.

Lastly, I (naturally) greatly admire his hands. They are mesmerizing. Large and rough, yet elegant and beautiful. I can stare at them for hours and never get tired.

Ok I lied I also need to add his veins. Both on his hands and on his bulging arms.

[constellation-skirmishes]

it's no worries, i've got nowhere to be, but home

it's okay leia. you don't have to be strong all the time. you're allowed to grieve.

i'll always catch you when you fall.

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

What I think is most different and most striking about Sunrise on the Reaping is how CYNICAL it is. To some extent we knew it was going to be. This is a midquel. That the reapings go on and the Hunger Games only ends 25 years later is a forgeon conclusion. We know nothing that happens here is going to work.

The book is about implicit submission, and why, with numbers on their side, the many submit to the few, even when the few are unjust. And it's because, the book seems to say, numbers aren't ENOUGH. the Newcomers alliance is much bigger than the Careers. They should be able to team up and defeat them easily. But they don't. Eighteen of them are killed outright, because the Careers have the strength, the skill and the training. And that's just that.

Plutarch asks why the tributes don't overwhelm the Peacekeepers during training, and Haymitch is rightfully outraged at the privilege of this question. Why don't they? Because they probably couldn't kill them all, and even if they could, what good would it do? It wouldn't stop the Hunger Games. It wouldn't change a thing. No one would even know about it outside that room, because the Capitol would change the narrative. Just like Katniss and the Star Squad can't REALLY take on the Capitol single handed and assassinate the president, the scrappy alliance of kids can't really do any real damage to the system the Capitol has in place. All they can do is choose if they want to die now or later. So why don't they, if there's no difference to them, as Plutarch asks. Because, as Snow puts it. Hope. The slight chance that one of them will come out of it. And, more cynically, the hope that if they are good tributes and obey, their families will be left alone. If they choose to rebel and choose to die now they guarantee retaliation against their families and perhaps their entire district. We see that even in the tributes that attack the Gamemakers in the arena. They rise up, they break that bond of implicit submission--and they die bloody for it.

Why don't they rebel? Because they don't have the privilege to lose.

Even Lenore Dove, the Joan of Arc of Twelve, fails to do any real damage or have any real effect. All she does is get herself a reputation for being a trouble maker, and eventually get herself killed. Was she killed as part of the retaliation against Haymitch, or was her punishment because she's a rebel, and that's what happens to rebels? (and Snow hates covey girls.) but she fails because she IS alone. She focuses on small, symbolic acts that do nothing, but that she hopes will rally the people to action.Unfortunately, the people of Twelve don't want their lives to get any worse, and they don't have the privilege of spending time and energy on revolution the way a teenager girl whose family doesn't need her income to survive does--sadly, Twelve will remain this way, in an uncanny valley where they're beaten down enough to need change, but not enough to have NOTHING to lose. They are not one of the districts that rise up. So acting alone does nothing, teaming up does nothing. How does one fight an enemy with better technology, better weapons, and better organization? Beetee's plan doesn't work out. Of course it doesn't. Could it ever? Was it just borne out of grief for his son? And even if it had, then what? What was the plan? Haymitch's poster gets edited away. The Newcomers fail. Lenore Dove dies. The most you can say is Haymitch himself becomes too important to kill, like Beetee, and Snow let him live to fight another day, but so destroyed that he no longer WANTS to.

So, then, what WORKS?

The answer is, quite cynically, Plutarch's version of the world. Numbers mean something, there are more of US than there are of THEM , but that isn't enough. You need weapons, you can't bring a knife to a gun fight, you need EVERYONE on your side. You need organization, not just a series of disconnected rebellions, and you need an Army, provided by Thirteen, as problematic as they are. The timing just needs to be right. And most crucially, what I think Plutarch and everyone involved here learned is that victory belongs to those who control the narrative. Those who control the flow of information and tell their story. And it's not Plutarch, for all his cameras and his propos and his idea behind The Mockingjay, who eventually does that well.

It's Haymitch.

Who learned to tell a story and sell a narrative with himself and the Newcomers. Who tried to paint his poster in the arena only to see it rewritten in front of him. Who won't make that mistake again. When it's time for the deciding factor in the revolution, it's Haymitch who creates the Mockingjay-- and is he also using Katniss and her image? Yes. but he at least sees Katniss and the human she is inside it, unlike Plutarch who hasn't changed much from the man who makes a grieving family do reshoots over and over so he can get his footage, while congratulating himself for letting Haymitch have his goodbye.

When Katniss sets off the spark twenty five years later, the world is ready. The work is in place. Plutarch, Haymitch, Beetee, everyone can say GO , and this time it'll work. So buckle in, and wait for the Long Game, even though only Plutarch really has the privilege to wait, the rest of them don't have a choice. It's cynical. It's awful. People die. The lone rebels and the plucky girls and the alliance depending on its numbers all fail. Plutarch motherfucking Heavensbee, the richest of the rich the privilegedest of the privileged, pulls off the revolution, takes the credit, and lives to see the end of it, without ever once examining his own privilege, and unpacking the fact that despite his head being on the right side of history, he's never managed to see the Districts as PEOPLE . (and you could argue, ANYONE as people. ) But it's just the only way.

But this book isn't the middle of the series. It's the end. How awful would it be to read if we didn't know that Katniss and the Mockingjay rebellion would eventually succeed. We know that despite the cynism of a failed revolution and all its players, that one day it WILL work out. This book is called sunrise on the Reaping....the sun rises on a world where this is inevitable. But one day it won't be.

[sapphiresaphics]

The biggest misunderstanding about Caitlyn from fans actually comes from season 1, not 2. Fans see Caitlyn break Vi out of prison and talk to Ekko about empathy and think that she’s learning and growing as a character and then when season 2 hits they think all that growth was somehow “abandoned” or “reversed.”

But that’s not true.

Caitlyn has ALWAYS been a spoiled little rich girl who came from a family of rich people who are so used to how much power they have in the city that they don’t regard ANYONE’S feelings or respect ANY rules. Both Marcus and Salow spell this out to us.

Marcus: “She’s a Kiramman! Just like them she does what she wants! I can’t control her!”

Salow: “It’s the name! It bewitches people.”

Time skip Caitlyn is introduced investigating the botched Jinx job at the shipping docks. She is not an official detective and Marcus makes it clear she isn’t supposed to be there. She’s supposed to be guarding her family’s pavilion, but she ignored both her mother’s AND the sheriff’s wishes to investigate a crime because she’s bored.

She breaks Vi out of prison AFTER she’s been effectively laid-off by Marcus, using her connections to Jayce to forge her release papers. Reminder: at this point in the story she is technically not a cop anymore. She’s doing all this stuff with noble intentions of trying to uncover Silco and bring Jinx to justice… but what she’s doing is technically illegal. And the only reason she’s able to get away with it is because she’s a spoiled rich BRAT.

Her privilege shields her from repercussions in season 1, just as they do in season 2.

The difference is that she’s now been traumatized by Jinx. Her bodily autonomy was violated by Jinx kidnapping her when she was literally naked in the shower, she was most likely tortured by Jinx, was tied up and painted on, threatened to be executed at gun point by Jinx, and then to top it all off Jinx murders her mother in a terrorist attack.

And Caitlyn tries to hold it all in. She tries to confide with Vi, she tries to let her hatred go… but both times she is denied her the ability to grieve properly. First by her privilege and not understanding that asking Vi to become an Enforcer would be rejected. And then by Ambessa by funding the attack on the memorial service.

She has no parental figure to guide her, her rage and hatred for Jinx is boiling over… so she resorts to what she always does and what she did back in season 1. She just does what she wants to get her way. She convinces Jayce to develop hextech weapons, she assumes the role of leader for house Kiramman, and she uses her unique position in power to bend systems her family put in place to protect Zaun against them.

Caitlyn in season 2 is very much the same Caitlyn we’ve always known from season 1. The difference is that in season 1 we were rooting for her because we like Vi. She exhausted the same disrespect for authority and people back then but they were in service of things we, the audience, liked. So we gave her a pass. We excused her rule breaking. We ignored her unique brand of privilege because we liked what her privilege could unlock for us.

Season 2 slams that door shut and tells us “no, actually, you weren’t supposed to like this because nobody in power is innocent.”

But rather than learn more about Caitlyn and understand her character better… people are dismiss this all as “bad writing” or “character assassination.”

And what’s more frustrating is the whole “dictator arc.” Because frankly I would argue that by that point Caitlyn HAS learned her lesson about privilege and power, but it’s too late to stop things now. Just as Jayce going vigilante in season 1 was the start of a cataclysmic event, Caitlyn gassing Zaun to look for Jinx results in Caitlyn losing everyone she trusts and respects. Broken up with Vi and alone, she is suddenly granted even MORE power than she’s ever had by Ambessa. And you can see it affect her. In that moment she realizes that Ambessa is the one who spearheaded the attack on the memorial. After seeing what happened between her and Vi, she realizes that by taking this role she will be responsible for even greater atrocities.

She has 2 choices. Let it all go, or use the position of power to her advantage. And just like before in season 1… she chooses the later. Her goal may still be to get Jinx, but she does NOT want to be a part of Ambessa’s dictatorship. This is why she’s so reluctant to join even with all the peer pressure. This is why she’s so slow and hesitant to walk forward. And she only accepts the cape she is crowned with once Ambessa says “your mother will have justice.”

What’s most important about this scene is that SHE KNOWS Ambessa is using her. That’s why when we see her in Act 2 she’s already trying to counter Ambessa’s plans. That’s why she’s constantly challenging Ambessa with “why is peace always the excuse for violence?” That’s why when Ambessa says “you don’t trust me?” Caitlyn responds with a resounding “no.” And that’s why when Vi drops back into her life she realizes she has an opportunity to correct her mistakes. She doesn’t switch on a dime because Vi fluttered her eyes and called her “cupcake.” She switches because she was already looking for an out. And this is why when Vi confronts her in Act 3 she screams “I KNOW.”

Caitlyn’s arc is that of someone who always had privilege and power coming to realize too late how dangerous and harmful that power is. By the time she learns her lesson she’s already entrenched with Ambessa and stuck in this hateful miasma for Jinx. Season 1 was setup for what was going to follow with how her character was going to learn and atone for her mistakes.

And what’s so god damn frustrating about all the discourse around Caitlyn is how reductive and dismissive it all is. So much of the discourse completely ignores the actions she takes to fix things in favor of trumping up the actions she took to get there. All of her transgressions in season 1 are ignored and her own internalized growth is reduced to a joke about Vi calling her cupcake. It’s MADDENING.

[elikajinnie]

hello!! may i request a drabble or a spin off from forbidden taste!heeseung with his reaction or thoughts after taking the antidote for amortentia? and also how he’s desperate to find y/n and why she’s avoiding him for days? 🤭 thank you!! i luv a desperate man 😩

a/n: you may :3 i LOVED seeing this in my inbox when i woke up! And we do all indeed love a desperate man ;)

Warnings: ehm, a desperate man basically?

The fic in question --> click here

--

Heeseung was angry—no, he was livid. The moment the effects of the Amortentia wore off, his mind cleared like a storm breaking apart, and the first thing he thought of was you. Where were you? Why weren’t you there? He had searched and searched, every corridor and corner he could think of, but you were nowhere to be found.

It didn’t help that Yoonhee had been trailing after him, clinging to his arm, tears streaming down her face as she apologized profusely. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far! It was stupid—I know it was stupid, Heeseung, I’m so sorry!”

But Heeseung knew better. He could see right through her feigned remorse. The look in her eyes told him she wasn’t sorry for what she did��she was sorry she got caught. His patience, already paper-thin, finally snapped. He shoved her off and hissed, “Stay away from me,” before marching straight to a professor and reporting her. He didn’t wait to see the consequences unfold; he couldn’t care less. There were far more important things to deal with.

Like finding you.

You, who had been conspicuously absent through it all. You, who he hadn’t seen since after the Amortentia’s haze vanished. A knot of worry had formed in his chest, twisting tighter with every second that passed without an answer. He stormed into the courtyard, seeking out your housemates with frantic determination.

“Where is she?” he demanded, his voice sharp enough to startle a group of first-years nearby. “Where is she?!”

One of your friends finally stepped forward, hesitant but honest. “She’s... she’s been in bed all day. Said she wasn’t feeling well.”

The words hit him like a Bludger to the chest. Guilt and heartbreak washed over him in waves, drowning out the last remnants of anger. You had been suffering alone, likely because of him—because of what had happened, because of everything Yoonhee had done.

He tried everything—everything—to get through to you. He sent letters, each one carefully written, pouring his heart onto the parchment. He sent messages through your housemates, through your friends, hoping they might convince you to talk to him. Every time he saw a friend of yours, he’d stop them, desperate for any sliver of news.

“How is she? Did she eat today?” he’d ask, his voice laced with worry. “Did she sleep? Is she feeling any better?”

It was always the small things—tiny gestures—to show he cared. That he was thinking about you. That he was sorry. He wanted you to know that it had all been the Amortentia, that none of it had been real. None of it had been his choice. And above all, he wanted you to know that he never, ever meant to hurt you.

But no matter how hard he tried, you remained locked away. Your absence stretched between you like an invisible wall, keeping him out. You weren’t just avoiding him—you were avoiding everyone. And it hurt.

It hurt because he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t talk to you. He couldn’t hold you in his arms and kiss away the pain, couldn’t wipe the tears from your cheeks or make all your worries disappear. He wanted to tell you, face-to-face, how much you meant to him, how much he hated himself for letting this happen. But he couldn’t do any of that—not while you stayed hidden away in your common room, unreachable.

So, he waited. He stayed close, always looking for a chance, a moment, a sign. But until then, he would keep trying, keep hoping, because losing you was something he couldn’t bear.

And he did keep trying. Every day, he checked the places you’d usually be—the library where you’d bury yourself in books, the quiet corner of the courtyard where you’d sit when you needed to think, even the kitchens, where you’d sometimes sneak a late-night snack.

But you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere.

The less he saw of you, the less he heard of you, the more desperate he grew. His patience—what little he had left—was wearing thin. He couldn’t focus in class, couldn’t eat properly, couldn’t sleep without his thoughts drifting back to you. He wanted—no, needed—to see you. To hear your voice, to know that you were okay, that you didn’t hate him. The thought of you hating him gnawed at his heart like a cruel curse.

He tried to remind himself to give you time, to respect the space you clearly needed. But it was hard. Too hard. Every day that passed felt like another piece of you slipping further away, and he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

When another one of your housemates brushed him off with a mumbled “I don’t know,” Heeseung snapped. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the frustration and worry boiled over. “How can you not know? You live with her! Hasn’t anyone even seen her?”

The girl flinched but reluctantly admitted, “She’s been in the dorm. She just... doesn’t come out.”

Those words were both a relief and a torment. You were there, within reach, but still so far away from him. The knowledge burned in his chest, twisting into something unbearable. You were so close—just a few walls separating you from him—but it might as well have been an ocean. And he was drowning in it.

Heeseung's desperation grew with every passing moment. He found himself pacing the corridors near your common room, running his hands through his hair, muttering curses under his breath. He couldn’t stand this helplessness, couldn’t stand the thought of you being alone, hurting because of him. The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on him like the weight of the castle itself.

He tried to write another letter, his trembling hands scrawling messy, frantic words onto the parchment.

Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know you don’t want to see me, but please, just let me explain. Please let me make this right.

He crumpled it and started again, feeling like no words could possibly convey the storm in his chest. How could he put into words how much he hated himself for what happened? How could he tell you that the worst part of it all wasn’t Yoonhee’s betrayal or the humiliation of being under the potion’s effects—it was losing you?

He sent the letter anyway, knowing it was just one of many you’d likely left unopened.

The next day, he cornered one of your closest friends in the hallway. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please tell her I’m sorry. Tell her... tell her I’ll wait as long as it takes. I just need her to know.”

The friend hesitated, giving him a pitying look before nodding. But he didn’t trust that it would reach you. Heeseung was running out of patience, running out of hope. Every time he thought about the tears you must have shed, the pain you must have felt, it killed him a little more.

Late one night, he found himself back outside your common room again, leaning against the cold stone wall, staring blankly at the entrance. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. Maybe he hoped you’d come out? Maybe he thought you’d sense him there, that you’d realize he wasn’t going anywhere until you let him in.

His fists clenched at his sides, and before he could stop himself, he let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead against the wall, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll wait. As long as it takes... I’ll wait for you.”

His voice cracked on the last words, but he meant it. Even if it hurt. Even if it felt like he was being torn apart. You were worth it. You were everything.

Eventually, the Christmas Ball arrived, but Heeseung didn’t want to go. The last thing he wanted was to pretend to enjoy himself, but his friends had other plans. They nagged him, teased him, and pushed him to "just have some fun for once." After a mountain of peer pressure, he reluctantly gave in, throwing on his suit and styling his hair without much care.

He still didn’t expect much. The Ball wasn’t going to fix anything—it was just a night to endure. He let his friends drag him along, had a drink or two, and resigned himself to the chatter around him. None of it mattered.

Until he saw you.

Everything else disappeared the moment his eyes found you across the room. You stood at the edge of the Grand Hall, illuminated by the soft glow of the enchanted snowflakes falling from the ceiling. Your dress shimmered, and you looked breathtaking. Stunning. Like a vision he didn’t deserve to see.

And then he realized—you were staring back at him.

His heart stopped. You weren’t avoiding him this time. You weren’t looking away. Your gaze was locked on his, full of something he couldn’t quite place—uncertainty, maybe? He didn’t care. All he knew was that you were here, and you were looking at him.

Before he could even process what he was doing, his feet started moving. His drink was left abandoned on a nearby table as he strode across the hall, weaving through the crowd until he was right in front of you.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

He had waited for you.

But now, he was done waiting.

For weeks, Heeseung had been nothing but patient, forcing himself to hold back when every fiber of his being screamed to see you, to talk to you, to fix things. He’d stayed away when he knew you needed space. He sent letters, messages, and even flowers, trying to show you he cared without pushing too hard.

And still, he never got a response.

But Heeseung told himself he could endure it, because you were worth it. He could be patient, be understanding, because he loved you. He was good for you, wasn’t he? He cared for you in ways no one else could. No one else would wait this long, worry this much, or fight this hard.

And yet, when he saw you standing there, in your pretty dress, something inside him snapped. He had been so good. He had done everything right. He had given you all the space you asked for, all the time you needed. But seeing you now, after everything, reminded him just how much he’d missed you. How much he’d longed for you. How much it hurt to be apart.

He wasn’t going to let you slip through his fingers again. Not when he knew how good the two of you were together.

He didn’t ask for permission when he reached for your hand, didn’t even hesitate—he simply took it, his fingers curling around yours like they belonged there. Because they did. He believed that with every beat of his heart.

As he pulled you toward the corridor, he felt his resolve solidify. He had been patient, more patient than he thought he was capable of, but patience had its limits. He had waited for you to come to him, but you hadn’t. And now that he had you in front of him, he wasn’t going to let you go.

And when you didn’t fight him as he led you into the quiet hallway, it gave him hope. Hope that maybe, just maybe, you wanted this too.

a/n: i love writing his pov :) also im not sure when you put ur perm taglist... so im not adding it here xD already posted so much.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can I make a one shot request of Ena Dream BBQ, Meanie Ena x Fem Reader when Ena is jealous for Reader?

Reader can be a human that somehow got in this unique world so she tries to socialize with the other NCPs ending up getting along with many of them as she always makes new NPC friends this might make the work more easy but also a distraction as well

I hope the idea isn't too long, if you want to change something I'm totally Ok with it 👌✨️

Hope it's okay that I made these headcanons! Writing characters being jealous is always fun haha

..........

Ena isn't one to get too distracted from her job.

Although ever since you two began your mission in the Lonely Door, she noticed something.

It was happening a lot more frequently--something that, with each instance of it occurring, gave her Meanie side feelings of unpleasantness.

It became hard to stay focused. Even her Salesperson side had trouble acting like nothing was amiss and maintaining her charm.

The problem? It's that 99.5% of the people you've met so far were more eager to speak to you rather than her.

At first you didn't see any issues with this (not that your girlfriend gave you any signs that there are to begin with).

Despite being a human, and therefore being an anomaly in all of their eyes, somehow they are more comfortable conversing with you.

You figured that since you're stuck here, you might as well socialize with whoever you meet--and since language barriers didn't exist in this world, you had no troubles or miscommunications.

Ena said something about how maintaining connections was essential to completing your job, so you didn't see anything wrong with talking to a few clients so casually, especially as it helped you get the work done faster and line more chocolates into your pockets.

You made friends out of strangers fast, all of them wanting to know more about your human culture, and you'd share little stories here and there.

Salesperson Ena didn't mind this so much, although she'd lose her typical sales pitch tone and feel a little disheartened if she got ignored. But anytime you asked her if she was alright, she'd perk right back up.

Meanie Ena, on the other hand...wasn't one to express any emotion that wasn't anger, sarcasm, or strictness. But for a while she stayed unusually quiet, so you had no idea.

Or at least until the moment a client outright dismissed her, pretending she's not there when she's trying to conduct serious business.

"We will do our utmost to assist you, valued customer! Could you direct us to where we may perchance find-?"

"Quiet! Can't you see I'm talking to [y/n] here??" They snap, scowling at her deeply, before turning to you with a smile. "Oh, do tell me that story again. I haven't had a laugh like that in eons!"

"Haha, well..I believe I've spoken about it two...three times now? And besides, I have a good idea about where to go. So whenever you're ready.....Ena?" You turned back to her, only to see that she froze up.

She was stuck in an odd pose, geometric fingers twitching, mouth agape in shock with static white noise filling her eyes.

Of course, you knew that she wasn't exactly...a stable entity. She'd have sporadic movements here and there or do something incredibly insane and act like it's totally normal--or you'd have to deal with Meanie yelling out of nowhere.

But this was new. And rightfully alarming.

A snap of your fingers is all it takes to "reboot" her, in a sense, but that's when you see her paler half's scowl.

Deep down, those unpleasant feelings have finally clawed their way to the surface--and like a volcano, her emotions explode in the face of the customer. As though they called your services a scam and prayed to the Genies themselves that you got fired.

"Your business is no longer welcomed! We're terminating this stupid contract--EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY!! Have a horrible, no good, very bad day, jerkface!!" She grabs your arm unexpectedly and drags you off, bringing you somewhere out in the desert, away from all the people you could possibly interact with.

"Ena! What the hell was that all about?" You dust yourself off, looking annoyed. "We just lost out on a good deal-"

"Screw that!! We have deadlines! Deadlines that were, and deadlines that have yet to exist!! But you're just LAZYING around! Cozying up to these ungrateful shits!! We can't get distracted when we're trying to find the Gen--bathr000-oom." She paces around, trying to keep her head from literally spinning out of control.

"....I thought you said having a friendly demeanor was great for boosting our services." You frown. "Unless...you think I'm being too friendly with them?"

"......that's...irrelevant.." She mutters, but this time she doesn't sound so sure of herself.

Judging from the way she hugged her torso and glanced away from you, you had a feeling something else was going on.

And just like that, it suddenly clicks in your mind.

"Wait. Ena, are you....jealous that they're talking to me more?"

She says nothing, although her small huff gave you the answer you needed.

Well, it made perfect sense. She's had quite a negative reputation--one so bad that people acted rude and were more than okay with ignoring her presence--yet she didn't wanna elaborate on why that is.

But you loved her regardless of what others think. She was the one who showed you this wacky world and all it could do, doing everything in her power to make sure you felt welcomed here, and you've put your trust in her.

And you trust that in due time, she'll be comfortable enough to explain everything.

For now, business calls...but apparently she was battling a distraction of her own, one that you are now aware of.

"Oh, why didn't you tell me that sooner, honey?" Pouting, you pat her humanlike shoulder. "I'm sorry. I would've eased up and kept things strictly professional had I known. I didn't mean to make you feel ignored."

"It's...It's fine. I-I got carried away, too...so it's not all on you." She mumbled, fidgeting with her hat. "'m not gonna stop you from making friends.."

You've never seen Meanie so quiet and flustered before--this was a rarity.

And in all honesty, it was quite cute, but you didn't wanna say that out loud-

"Cute?!! Did you just....I'm not...!!!"

You blink, having forgotten that sometimes she could hear your thoughts. Yet you weren't ashamed. "Hey, I stand by what I said--erm..thought. It's cute how jealous you easily get. But I feel really bad, still. So....lemme make it up to you." You kiss her paler side, watching as she glitched out a little, her scowl faltering into a look of shock.

Luckily she didn't have a total system crash.

That's right...she was also getting used to this whole "affection" scene.

"Am I absolved?"

Her reply is a very glitchy and distorted "yes".

Froggy called a few moments later, but you picked up the phone instead as she was still simmering in her embarrassment.

"How's the mission coming along? This smoke is clogging my eeaaaaars..."

"I know it sucks, but we're making good progress."

"That's a relief. But where's Ena?? She should be picking up!!"

"She's fine." You glanced back at Ena, who was now sitting on the ground, her Meanie side staring down at the list of tasks--only to hide her face behind the paper when she caught you staring.

But you just shake your head in amusement. "We're just...taking a short break."

"Eh?? I can sense you smiling. What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing at all."

[elizaleclerc]

Hi, Max and reader are dating (private) for a few years. reader is also working for Oracle (red bull's sponsor) and she comes to a race and surprises max.♥️

this requestttt!!! wanted to twist it a little <3 added lando for some fun flare ; reader & max want to keep it private but can't help but drop hints bc they love the chaos

locked longings ✧ ⁺˳

max verstappen x reader (smau)

summary: a private relationship online with fem!reader and max slowly comes to light

song: the alchemy by taylor swift

author's note: never done an smau before and lowkey underestimated the time it took byeee ; open to more requests for smaus <3 (no face claim imagine whoever i just liked the pics)

ynusername my sweet sweet summer <3

liked by redbullracing, maxverstappen1, and others

-user8456 am i the only one wondering if her and max fell off :(

-user9902 they are probably both hella busy

-user4558 the most gorgeous redbull employee 😍

-landonorris can you bring me a redbull pls

-ynusername no.

-user5041 WAIT ARE THEY TOGETHER??

maxverstappen1 A much needed break, but can't wait get back to racing soon.

liked by charlesleclerc, ynusername, and others

-user4558 max turns into mr.worldwide on vacation

-charlesleclerc do you ever sleep?

-maxverstappen1 no.

-user9681 not the same joke y/n used with lando 😭

-user1141 they are so best friend coded

redbullracing What a wonderful day to get back to racing in Spa!

liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername, and others

-landonorris prepare to lose @/maxverstappen1

-maxverstappen1 says the man starting at p11

-ynusername cooked him omg-

-user4802 i can't tell if max actually likes lando or not 😭

-ynusername don't worry they are buddies!

-user3356 OH?

-user2301 y/n blink twice if you and lando are dating

ynusername back to work as usual! congrats to the big number 1 on the win!

liked by charlesleclerc, redbullracing, and others

-user3105 max not lurking in the comments is rare...

-user4301 maybe bc she's with someone?

-user6882 stop pushing the y/n x lando agenda oh my goddd

-user2240 THE POLAROID AWWW 😇

landonorris Good times in Spa <3

liked by ynusername, mclaren, and others

-user4505 wait...that isn't y/n

-user4802 the y/n lando truthers are crumblingggg

-user3893 OMGG so happy for u lando!!!

-mclaren That's our boyyy! 🧡

ynusername glad i could finally see these gorgeous cars in action this weekend <3 a lovely time with wonderful people!

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, and others

maxverstappen1 💙💙💙

-user3489 the social implications of these hearts

-user2210 that's a real friendly hug there...

-user5572 WOAH WAIT MAX & Y/N

-landonorris can you be my good luck charm next pls

-ynusername hmm i think i'll be busy that day

-user7005 lando what do you know.

maxverstappen1 Happy guy!

liked by ynusername, charlesleclerc, and others

-ynusername the caption, simple, but effective!

-user2804 love them together so much i need the rumors to be true

-landonorris a man of many words

-user1156 y/n and max together would make me combust

-user4401 i need them to be happy together 😭

-user5969 they are TRAVELING together it HAS to be true

-user2131 he's texting her in the last pic fs

ynusername the sign on your heart said it's still reserved for me 🤍

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, and others

-user2202 the taylor lyric OHHH they are so in loveee

-landonorris ugh finally i was tired of keeping my mouth shut

-ynusername yeah bc we all know you're so good at it too

-user3335 I KNEW ITTTTTT

-maxverstappen1 Happy 4 years my love 💙

ynusername love youuu <3

-user1203 FOUR YEARS?!?!

-user6061 keeping it private for 4 years...yeah they are endgame.

-charlesleclerc Paddock romance of the century!!!

[dirtyvulture]

BBB

Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Sergeant!Reader*

18+ only read at your own risk

Word count: 3248

Requested by anon: Hi i love your work..you don't have to do this request if you don't want.. i was kind of was wondering since we haven't heard from Sergeant Nat and reader. If we could hear from them? I was thinking since Nat is always the confident reassured one in that universe like maybe something happens where shes not sure where she stand with reader? Like jealous or maybe reader lets one of her military friends borrow her laptop and they use it to watch porn...and nat finds it and thinks its reader. And nat kind of loses her mind in a way that we havent seen. (Not like crazy but for the first time shes like am i enough). And reader is high key oblivious bc she worships nat. Some communication to sort out and then smutty times. Only if you want. If not i look forward to whatever you post yay. 

AN: *Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

Thanks for the idea, anon! This was a lot of fun to write. :)

This is Part 5 in my Sergeant Beef series. Read the first one here.

“Hey, can I borrow your laptop?” Sam asks, poking his head into your room. 

“Why?” You don’t even look at him, focused on you video game on the tiny television mounted to your wall.

“I dropped mine in the lake, so I had to buy a new one but it won’t get shipped off until later this week,” Sam explains. 

“Okay,” you say, hardly listening to him as you race your little car across the screen to bump the giant soccer ball towards the goal. “It’s in my room on the–”

“I know where it is. Thanks.” Sam whisks in and helps himself. 

“Close the door on your way out!” you call, just in time to hear the door slam behind him. Turning your whole focus back to your game, your fingers mash the buttons to a triumphant win.

***********************************************************************

A few days later, Natasha is over at your apartment. While the two of you had discussed a thousand times moving in together, you had always stalled or walked around the subject. Natasha wasn’t sure if it was because you were nervous what the public’s perception would be of your relationship, or if you preferred your own private space too much to give it up. Ever since the deployment, you had been more likely to retreat and hide away (even from Natasha) when you were upset or moody. She wondered if it was a side effect of your PTSD, but you never seemed ready for that conversation so she left it alone.

For dinner, you grilled some steaks (setting off the smoke detector in your apartment) while Natasha made a side of mashed potatoes and green beans. Afterwards, you went to take a shower while Natashas lounged around and found a movie on Netflix for the two of you to watch. She sits on the couch, opening your laptop and finding the web browser. She looks up Netflix and then browses through the recommendations on your home page, but none of them pique her interest.

She goes onto Google to search what other people are recommending and wades through a sea of titles and descriptions to find one. Swapping back and forth between tabs, she finds a website with a host of titles and flips back and forth until she finds a movie that is both on the list and currently on Netflix. But in the process, she loses track of the tab and accidentally closes it, silently cursing to herself, before going to check the history to find it again.

But what she finds in the history is not what she had been looking for.

Natasha feels almost scandalized when she sees the words “big busty blondes” in your search history, followed by a list of pornsites. While she knew you watched such videos in her absence, she didn’t know what genre you were into, and now a deep sinking feeling of insecurity fills her. She was not blonde, nor was she particularly busty after the years of hard workouts had shrank some of her assets a little. You always told her she had the perfect body, but now she wasn’t quite sure if she should believe you.

“Nat? Did you pick a movie?” You poke your head out of the bathroom. You’re not wearing a shirt and your wet hair is dripping water down your chest, emphasizing the lines of your muscles. Natasha can see the bullet scar on your ribs from the deployment that almost ended your life. But you walked away with every member of your team alive, and your tale of bravery had become something of a living legend in the community. 

She knows you could have any woman you wanted. She had seen the way the recruits eyed you and how bold the other brass were with you. Before your promotion to sergeant, you were often overlooked and completely ignored. Natasha, perhaps a little selfishly, always considered herself the catch in your relationship: she was one of a handful of female sergeants with outstanding credentials, and looked great in and out of a uniform. But maybe she thought too highly of herself. You had developed into a very competent sergeant, were extremely good-looking, and had the most lovable personality anyone could ask for.

What if you didn’t want her anymore? What if you wanted someone younger, or someone you could start a family with? Natasha hadn’t yet disclosed to you her inability to have children, but if the subject ever came up, she knew you’d need no other excuse to walk away.

“Nat? Did you pick out a movie?” you ask again.

“Yes,” Natasha says. “We can watch Trolls.”

“Okay. That sounds fun.”  

You come out in a sweatshirt with matching gray sweatpants and join Natasha on the couch. Instinctively, you put your arm around her shoulder and she snuggles against you, letting you rest your head against hers.

You seem to enjoy the goofy children’s movie, laughing out loud at the jokes and cheering when the main characters hug by the end. But Natasha can’t focus for a second, still thinking about the search history on your laptop. She didn’t even know if it was something she should bring up, but it was already eating her alive to think that she wasn’t good enough for you.

Natasha didn’t know if she would be able to survive without you. She would have to do everything she could to keep you by her side.

***********************************************************************

“Give me a sec,” Natasha calls, hurriedly slipping her boots on. She checks herself in the mirror one final time before opening her apartment door to see you.

“Hi, Nat–oh.” Your expression goes flat.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, her stomach twisting in knots. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

“You dyed your hair,” you say, blinking at the short blonde hair she was now sporting.

“You don’t like it?” she asks, her worry growing by the second. She had dropped a significant sum at the salon on base to cut and dye her hair. Perhaps this had been a severe overreaction on her part. 

“Oh. No, um, it looks very nice,” you stutter. 

Natasha is not convinced in the slightest. Her face flushes red and she bites her lip to stop herself from crying in frustration. “That’s okay,” she mutters more to herself than you. “Where are we going again?” she asks, even though she knows every detail of the outing she had planned with you.

“The gym first, then we can get lunch and go grab groceries,” you list off, seemingly oblivious to her awkwardness. 

“Yes, that’s right. Okay, let’s go,” she replies sullenly.

***********************************************************************

Natasha isn’t sure what else she can do to hold your attention after the hair dying incident. She tries to be extra doting with you, but all of her efforts seem to go completely unnoticed. You only say “thank you” once when she gets you your favorite chocolate bar from the commissary. The next time the two of you are in bed together, Natasha feels like she has to guide you through all the motions and you fuck her with a concerningly low level of enthusiasm. Natasha is convinced you’ve found someone else and just the thought of losing you makes her sick. 

She’s nearly sent over the edge when she finally gets a text from you:

From Y/N: Can you come over tonight? I want to talk

Natasha feels like the rug has been pulled out from under her feet. Sweat breaks out on her forehead and her stomach starts to hurt like she had a bad meal. What if she just didn’t go to see you? Would you really still break up with her over text?

Her body seems to have a mind of her own as she responds:

To Y/N: Ok

***********************************************************************

“Thanks for coming over,” you say, welcoming Natasha into your apartment. She steps in guardedly, wondering if you’re hiding your new girlfriend under the couch. Or maybe she’s already in your bed. She shuffles down the hallway to subtly peer into your bedroom, which is empty.

“What did you want to talk about?” Natasha isn’t one to dance around the elephant in the room. Besides, she doesn’t want to draw this out any longer than it needs to be.

“Oh. Um…” You sound caught off guard. “Well, I was thinking that–”

“You want to break up with me.” Natasha can’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. She wipes them away, angry at herself for showing such weakness already.

“What? What makes you think that?” Your shock is so genuine, Natasha almost wants to believe you.

Natasha hides her face behind her hand. “I saw it on your laptop last week. The kind of porn you were watching–”

“Porn? I use incognito,” you say. “Unless that doesn’t actually hide things…” you add in a mumble.

“Your search history said you looked up…” Natasha takes a breath. “‘Big busty blondes,’” she repeats, hating the way the words sound off her tongue.

“What?” You sound confused now. “That’s…I don’t watch that kind of stuff. Wait, is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“No,” Natasha lies. “But I saw it on your laptop!” she insists, hastily changing the subject.

You pause for a moment, then start shaking your head with a chuckle. “I’m gonna rip him a new one,” you mutter. Then louder, you explain, “Sam borrowed my laptop last week because his was broken. I’m guessing he used it to…you know…” Your expression turns into one of disgust, and Natasha matches it. 

“Oh. So, you’re not into big busty blondes?” Natasha is embarrassingly desperate for clarification.

“No, I’m not.” You take a step towards her and hold out your hands. “But I do have a thing for hot redheads who could totally kick my butt.”

“I know,” Natasha says, taking your hands and leaning up to kiss you. Her lips lift into a smile when you return her kiss with more passion than you had all week, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against you. You dig your fingers into her thighs, lightly rolling your hips, and when she feels your hard bulge against her stomach and all of her doubts are cast away immediately. Her face burns in shame when she realizes how quickly she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. You weren’t going anywhere. You were totally in love with her and wanted no one else.

“Wait, so what did you want to talk about?” Natasha asks, trying to ignore the arousal building in her core as you hump her.

“Oh! Um…” Your face reddens, as if you’re so turned on yourself you forgot why you asked her to come. “Uh…I wanted to ask if…you would like to move in with me? Or if I could move into your apartment? Or we could find a new place together…”

Natasha feels like she’s gotten whiplash from the subject change. She had come here thinking you were breaking up with her, but instead you actually wanted to move in with her? Just when she had thought it was never going to happen.

“Why the change?” she asks.

You shrug your massive shoulders. “We spend so much time together as it is. And I was mostly nervous because you know I have those night terrors a lot, but…” You sigh. “I realized I get them a lot less when I wake up next to you.” Natasha wants to melt in your arms. “And it would be really nice if I got to wake up next to you every day. And eat every meal with you. And–”

Natasha cuts you off with a hard kiss. “Yes,” she pants, groping for the tie on your sweatpants and pulling them down. “Of course I’ll move in with you.”

“Nat,” you whine when she grabs your cock. She feels it throb in her hand and her arousal spikes. As high as her own sex drive was, there was little else that turned Natasha on more than to see how excited you were for her. She pushes you towards the bedroom and you understand without needing words, obediently sitting down on your bed and pulling you on top of her. You grunt when her weight lands on your thighs and Natasha immediately props herself on her knees; sometimes she forgets about the injury on your right thigh that still causes you pain sometimes.       

“Sorry baby,” she whispers while leaning in to kiss your cheek. It had been a long and sometimes frustrating journey to get back to the same level of intimacy the two of you shared after the deployment ambush and your recovery. The medicines you were on had drastically affected your mood (and performance) and there were still some positions you could no longer do because of the strain it put on your body. But Natasha had been patient and gentle with you, even when all she wanted to do was fuck you senseless. Over time your strength and stamina had come back, and Natasha was thrilled you could still please her in bed. 

She leans back and takes her shirt off while you mirror her. You’re almost back to your weight as before the deployment, but the physical therapy has encouraged you to work out even harder, so you are more muscular and toned than before. Natasha eyes your body hungrily, her hand reaching out to trace the scar on your ribs. While she hates the memory attached to your scar, she can appreciate how much more badass it makes you look.

“Nat,” you say, and she breaks out of her thoughts. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She pushes you to lie on your back, rolling her clothed lower body against yours. “Everything is very okay.” Her hands skate across your warm skin, squeezing your biceps before resting on your chest, balancing herself as she rocks back and forth. Even though you’re still wearing boxers, Natasha can feel the hardness of your dick pressing against her butt.

“All ready for me?” she hums, digging her nails lightly into your chest.

“Always,” you respond, rolling your hips to match her rhythm. 

“Hmm.” Natasha contemplates how she wants you today. You almost never call the shots in bed, but you have no problem with Natasha taking control most of the time. She likes how submissive you are to her and your willingness to please her even at your own expense. But she isn’t feeling selfish today and wants you to relax and enjoy too. 

Her body seems to have a mind of its own as she humps along your abs, eventually pushing her panties to the side so you can feel her heat on your stomach. 

“Nat,” you whine, gripping onto her waist to guide her movements. 

“Just let me ride you,” she says, lifting off of you for a moment to remove her panties completely, and the two of you moan when she settles back on you. You flex your abs until Natasha swears she could grate cheese on them. She angles her hips back and widens her legs so she can drag her pussy along the ridges of your abs, smearing her wetness everywhere. “Fuck, you feel so good, baby,” she moans.

“So do you,” you say, your hands tightening around her waist. 

Natasha moves her hips faster, sliding back until she can feel your cock practically poking a hole through your boxers. She’s just warming herself (and you) up and doesn’t want to rush to the main event. But as she hears your whines and feels the tension in your body, all she wants is for you to flip her over and fuck her until she can’t walk.  

“Can you do exactly what I ask you to?” Natasha pants, the building arousal in her stomach almost painful now.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, Sergeant. Whatever you want.”

The use of Natasha’s title makes her pussy clench around nothing. Her body aches for you and she’s done playing around.

“Good. I want you to get on your knees and fuck me,” she demands, abruptly climbing off of you and presenting her backside to you. You scramble to obey, wasting no time lining up your cock with her soaking pussy and pushing in eagerly. Natasha inhales sharply when your length stretches her out, filling her perfectly and reaching places she could never reach with her hand or a toy. When you start moving your hips, she whimpers and moans, gripping handfuls of the bedsheets so you don’t slam her into the headboard.

She spasms around you with every stroke, clenching tightly and trying to draw you in as deep as you can go. Natasha loves to hear you moan, knowing she was the cause of them, and more of her slick leaks out around your cock. 

“Fuck, Nat,” you grunt, your thighs slapping against her butt with every thrust. “You always feel amazing.”

“Harder,” she begs. “I want you to cum when I do.”

“I’ll try,” you respond, your breathing ragged as you start to falter in your rhythm. 

“Fuck, you’re in me so deep,” Natasha moans, wishing that despite your already above-average size, you had more to give her. She lets go of the bedsheets and slips her hand down between her legs, rubbing her clit for added stimulation. “Don’t you dare stop,” she warns, noticing the way your legs are shaking and your thrusts are losing their power.

“I won’t,” you whimper, and Natasha is not convinced you’ll be able to last much longer. Her hand glides back up to her stomach, where she can feel the bulge of your cock through her skin. That alone nearly sends her over the edge, but she has one more request from you.

“Bite me,” Natasha pants, motioning to her right trapezius muscle. Normally, she is very against you marking her during sex because she doesn’t want to worry about hiding them, but now she is panting at the thought of you finally staking your claim on her.

“Bite you?” you say, sounding extremely timid.

“Yes!” she growls, not wanting to repeat herself. “If you don’t bite me, I won’t let you cum.”

You moan and tighten your grip on her waist. Natasha feels your cock throbbing inside her, but she knows you won’t finish without her permission. The bed creaks as your weight shifts and she feels your chest press against her back as you lean over her. She hums in anticipation, feeling your breath across the back of her shoulder. Your teeth graze her skin lightly, your hesitancy obvious. 

“Y/N,” she moans, pushing back into you and squeezing your length. “If you don’t fucking bite me–”

Your teeth suddenly clamp down sharply and Natasha keens, gushing around you and not even noticing you finish inside her. White spots of pure pleasure burst behind her eyelids and she feels cum drip down her thighs. It feels like she’s riding out the high forever, but when she finally unwinds, she feels your weight pressing into her back and a dull stinging in her shoulder. She twists her head to see the clear imprint of your teeth in her skin, the flesh reddening already.

“Sorry if that was too hard,” you say softly, as if you’re embarrassed by following her instructions.

“Nonsense,” she says, reaching behind her to cup the back of your neck. She pulls your head down against hers and nuzzles against your cheek. “Next time, you can bite me harder.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Sorry to Sam lol

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[covenofagatha]

Do I wanna know? (Part 3)

Agatha and you have a talk about the future

Word count: 4k

Warnings: 69, oral, smut, angst (hopefully not as much), why would you ever talk about feelings/problems when you could just fuck instead

“What? What part?” you ask, your voice sounding unfamiliar to your own ears. “If it’s the City, it’s fine, that’s not far away, you could even stay here.” 

Agatha purses her lips. “It’s in Albany.” 

Your stomach drops. Two hours away by car on a good day, about four by train. Agatha has a pitiful look on her face and you want to scoff. 

Of course she’s feeling sorry for you. 

“Honey,” she starts, cool and calm as ever and it makes you fucking enraged. She reaches out to touch you again — why does she keep trying to do that? why doesn’t she realize that she isn’t going to fix anything? — but you shove her aside and scramble off the couch, beginning to pace with your head in your hands. 

Is this better than the affair? She still lied to you. She still didn’t tell you about it, she’s still looking to get out. “Why didn’t you say anything?” you demand, pausing to look at her. 

Her jaw tightens. “I didn’t — I didn’t want to before it got real. I wasn’t even sure I was going to go, but my friend reached out and it’s a really good opportunity. The company took me out to dinner last night as an informal interview and I ended up staying the night. I didn’t think you’d come here, I thought you were mad at me or something. Baby, I was really worried about you.” 

In any other situation, you’d feel touched by her concern, but it really just pisses you off even more. This isn’t about you. “I thought you were having an affair,” you say again and her face falls. 

“I would never—”

You don’t even want to hear it. “Look, don’t change the subject, okay? The point is, you did this huge thing without even telling me and now — what? You’re moving to New York?” 

Now she seems unable to meet your eyes, an uncharacteristic shyness radiating off her. “I haven’t even gotten the job yet.”

Your mind starts to whirl with the possibilities. “If you get it, are you going to take it?” 

There’s a thick silence that hangs over you two for a moment and you can see the vein in her forehead pulse as she thinks about it. But her hesitation is all the answer you need. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You don’t even know where your head is at — you’re so fucking mad, but you’re also so relieved that she isn’t cheating, but then now there’s this wrench that could possibly mean the end of things. You’re not going to let that happen. Dropping to your knees in front of her and finally touching her of your own accord with your palms flat on her legs, you earnestly look at her. “We can…we can figure it out, we will figure it out. I can come down on the weekends or you can come here or — I can transfer! I’ll transfer to somewhere in New York and we can get an apartment, just the two of us, and obviously I won’t be much help with the rent because it’s expensive as shit there—”

Agatha pulls you up by your cheeks and kisses you, effectively shutting you up. You lose yourself in the feeling of her lips against yours and you moan softly, everything slipping away for just a moment. In these five seconds, it’s just the two of you and nothing else can come between you. 

But then she breaks away and sighs heavily, resting her forehead against yours. “You just started school here,” she says gently. “I can’t make you give that up. Don’t you like it?”

You shrug lazily. “It’s the first week. I’m not too attached. I’m sure somewhere there will be just as good.” 

“What about your parents? What would you tell them?” 

Why does it feel like she doesn’t want you there? You can’t help the frown tugging on your lips. “I’ll just say that I don’t like it at Westview. I’m sure I can come up with something. They’ll just want me to be happy.” Agatha makes you happy, but there’s a flicker of doubt growing in your stomach.

She cups your cheek and leans back so you’re able to see her eyes. They’re blue as the ocean, full of emotion, and glassy. “Why don’t you give it a few months, hm? I don’t want you to throw away your school and your family just for me. If you really don’t like it, then we can talk.”

“What if I just drop out of school and become your trophy wife? I’ll be such a good one, I’d wear nothing but an apron all day and make your favorite foods and then I can sit on your strap while you eat dinner.” You play it off like a joke, but deep down, you would be more than willing. You hope she says yes. 

Agatha huffs out a laugh and sniffs, tracing a finger down the skin of your face like she’s trying to memorize it. “Wear a short little maid outfit that just happens to ride up and show off your bare cunt when you’re on your knees cleaning the floor?” 

You hum and close your eyes in pure bliss at the thought. “See, now you get it. It would be so perfect, right? 

“So perfect,” she agrees, but her smile lingers until it’s wistful. There’s a longing pang inside you, one that threatens to tear you open, but you push it down. “I know I haven’t gotten it yet, but I won’t take it,” she says quietly after a moment and your brows furrow in confusion. “If you don’t want me to take it, I won’t.” 

Every single morsel of your body is screaming for you to ask her to stay. It would be so easy, and then you could just pretend that none of this — the suspicion, the lies, the sneaking around — never happened. Everything could go back to the way it was before. 

But the slightest fear that she would start to resent you for it creeps into the back of your mind. Sure, she might not mind at first, but over time when her job here gets old and she’s unhappy, she’s going to blame you. She’s going to start to hate you for holding her back, and what if you’re not worth it? 

The last thought hits you like a punch to the gut. Are you enough to keep her content if she stays? Are you enough to keep her happy? 

You’re paralyzed and she’s looking at you expectantly, like it’s an easy fucking decision. You want to complain that it’s not fair for her to put this on you, that she should want to be with you so badly that she willingly gives up the new position for you, but maybe she’s having the same doubts.

The only thing you know is that you don’t want to end up like your parents, with a loveless marriage and a cold, empty house despite the family living in it and the bitter silence of words left unsaid haunting every moment. You don’t want this to become an open wound that festers until Agatha hates you for it. 

“If it’s a better job and if you want it, you should take it,” you say, almost surprised by how eerily calm your voice sounds. 

Agatha looks taken aback for just the slightest moment but nods. “You’re sure?” 

No! Stay with me! I fucking love you! 

“Yeah,” you rasp and she bends down to kiss you again, so sweetly that it hurts. She murmurs something against your lips but you don’t even think to ask what she says because you can’t stop the nausea climbing up your throat. 

You jump back and run to the bathroom before vomiting in the toilet. You sink to the floor, shaking and sweating and trembling, and you’re vaguely aware of Agatha’s hands in your hair, holding it back, and telling you that everything is going to be alright. Is it?

She gets a wet washcloth and holds it against your head while you don’t move from your position, waiting to see if you have to puke again. 

“Had too much to drink last night,” you mutter, feeling like you’re drunk all over again, when she asks if you’re feeling okay. “Thought you were cheating.”  

You hear a heavy sigh behind you and tears prick your eyes. Is she disappointed? Does she think you’re being just a stupid kid? “I wouldn’t, honey. I wouldn’t do that. I promise. I—” She stops and strokes your hair instead.

It feels like there’s something she’s not saying, but maybe you’re just reading into it. 

And then there’s your I love you while she was fucking you, still fresh in your mind. Do you say it again? Do you ask if she heard it? Or just wait until she says it first?

If she does. You can’t get these stupid insecurities and doubts out of your mind and it’s killing you. 

“Do you feel like you’re going to throw up again?” she asks gently and you shake your head. “Come on, why don’t we get you into the shower and then into bed?”

You want to protest just to be petulant, but you’re just so fucking tired. “Okay, mommy,” you say and she sharply inhales, but pretends to be unaffected. Good to know that you can still get to her after you look like you’ve just been through hell. 

She turns the water on and you numbly wait until she guides you up and helps you undress before you step into the shower. You almost buckle to the ground but Agatha holds you up, the sleeves of her blazer getting soaked, but she doesn’t even notice it. 

It’s an awkward position, her on the outside of the tub and you barely standing up inside it, but she rubs your skin and you slowly feel warmth returning to your body. 

You’re about to ask if she’ll get in with you — you see the way she can’t stop looking at your tits and you’re suddenly longing to feel her on you, a reminder that she is yours — when a phone rings. 

Definitely not yours; your phone is always on silent. 

Agatha curses and tells you she’ll be right back before disappearing from the bathroom. The cold feeling starts to grow back in your stomach, creeping up to your throat and gripping tightly. 

“Yes — this is she!” you hear her say from the other room, her voice getting louder as she comes back into the bathroom. You look at her with wide eyes and she gives you a tight smile. “Oh, I did? Well, thank you very much, that is wonderful news.”

The person on the other line starts talking and you can only catch quick muffles of it, but from Agatha’s face, you already know. 

“Of course, yes, hang on just one second,” she says and presses her phone against her shoulder to give you her full attention. Eye contact with her feels like a stab to the gut. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay with this? You can say no.” 

Can you? 

It’s on the tip of your tongue — it would be so easy to ask her to turn it down, so easy to ask her to choose you. She’s waiting for an answer but each drop of water on your skin feels like a chant: no. no. no. You know Agatha’s trying to remain neutral, but you can tell she wants the job, by the way she’s twitching her fingers and the barely concealed pleading look on her face and the way she’s holding her phone so tightly it’s making her veins pop out all bluish and purplish. 

It’s clear that you cannot say no. 

You’re not sure she would ever forgive you, and you’re not sure you would ever forgive yourself. You can’t ask her to throw away this opportunity, not for you. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you say hoarsely, feeling a lot like you just signed a death warrant. 

But plenty of people do long distance, and two hours really isn’t that bad. Plus it just means that with all the waiting, the sex will be even hotter. Her moving away doesn’t mean anything. 

And you can transfer at the end of the semester, so really you just have to make it a few months. 

Agatha’s beam is one of pure gratitude and you know you made the right choice, but she’s back to talking on the phone and your little moment is interrupted. “Oh…two weeks? Of course, I can totally do that.” 

A flash of panic bolts through you and you mouth two weeks? at her. She purses her lips and shrugs apologetically, like that’s supposed to make you feel better. 

The rest of her phone call is blurred out by your sudden inability to hear anything but the rush of the water that has suddenly become so loud it’s taken over all your thoughts and you don’t even realize that she’s hung up and cleaned you off and gotten you out of the shower until you’re shivering and naked and Agatha’s wrapping a towel around you. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” she murmurs because you’re now uncontrollably shaking and you think you might be crying a little. “Everything’s going to be okay.” She presses kisses to your forehead and cheeks and nose, muttering the same sort of sentients, while the towel around you slips to the floor when you throw your arms around her and cling to her like she’s your lifeline, like she’s everything you’ll ever need, and she holds you back so tightly you think you might fuse into one being. 

The two of you stand there like that until your skin gets clammy and pruney and your eyes are raw. When you finally pull back, your muscles ache and the front of Agatha’s clothes are absolutely soaked, so you tug on them until she gets the message and begins to strip. 

Her blazer comes off, and then she untucks her blouse from her pants and slowly begins to unbutton it, each time revealing more of her perfect pale skin. You can see the faint outlines of her ribs and then her stomach, the red bites from two days ago still there, albeit faded. 

There’s no mistaking the “M” though. A hot thrill runs through you despite the solemn air between you and a fire starts to flicker to life in your stomach. You reach out to trace your mark as if in a trance and Agatha’s breath hitches. 

Swallowing roughly, your eyes dart up to meet her already-dark ones. “We should talk about the job, right? Figure out what it means for us?” you ask, but even as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the atmosphere shift into something else. 

“Right,” Agatha nods, but she can’t stop looking down at your pebbled nipples — from the cold or from her? 

When she surges forward, clasps your cheeks, and pulls your mouth to hers, you know that it’s both. The kiss is messy, teeth knocking against each other and her tongue invading your mouth and breathing each other’s air, and you wrap your arms around her neck to bring her even closer. She didn’t get to take her pants off yet, but it feels absolutely delicious when she slides a thigh between yours and you grind down onto it. Your nipples brush against the fabric of her bra and you can’t help but moan into her open mouth. 

Fire roars beneath your skin, spreading to all over your body, and you suddenly just need more. You need her to overwhelm all your senses until you can’t fucking think about anything else, not the job, not her moving, not the fact that you could’ve stopped this but didn’t — you just want her. 

She grabs onto your hip to guide you against her leg and you whine as she sucks on your tongue. Her other hand comes up to cup your right breast and roll your nipple and you mewl and jerk against her. She tugs and it feels directly connected to your cunt because you pulse and it only gets worse when she flexes her thigh underneath you. 

“Bed — bedroom, please,” you choke out and her mouth doesn’t leave yours, walking you backwards into the bedroom and not stopping until the backs of your knees hit the bed. 

Agatha pushes you down onto it, the duvet beneath you instantly getting wet from your dripping pussy, and she shimmies off her pants and underwear and sinks to her knees in front of you. It’s a sight to behold, her looking up at you from the floor like she wants to devour you, like she would hang the stars and the sun in the sky for you and it still wouldn’t be enough. The power running through you from the heat in her eyes and the ragged heaving of her red chest and the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder is enough to drive you mad. 

“You’re so perfect,” she breathes and it only makes you wetter. You buck your hips against the bed, trying to get some stimulation to your now-aching clit, but it’s not even close to enough. 

But it’s not even five seconds later when she leans in, inhales the scent of you deeply, and then drags her flattened tongue through your folds, making you keen and arch your back. She is so good with her mouth and she never fails to remind you. 

“Fuck, Agatha,” you gasp, and you usually don’t call her by her name during sex, normally opting for mommy, but you need the intimacy right now. You need to feel like this is real. 

She groans into you and teases her tongue around your clit, never quite touching it, and you bury your fingers in her hair and gently pull on it. Her eyes flick up to yours as a warning and you loosen your grip. Agatha gives you an almost imperceptible nod and rewards you with one long lick to your clit and your head falls back. 

You can no longer hold yourself up when she thrusts her tongue inside you, and you fall back onto the bed, instantly clenching around you. She feels so fucking good, her tongue curling inside your cunt and her nose brushing against your clit, and you angle a leg up on the bed so she can reach deeper inside you. “God, yes,” you sigh, and your orgasm is slowly starting to build up with each roll of your hips and each time your stomach tightens. 

But something is missing — you can’t help your thoughts from straying and you just need more. 

So you stop her and she looks up at you, the entire bottom half of her face and nose absolutely covered with you. Your clit throbs and you sit up.

“I need — I want — wanna taste you too, Aggie,” you whine and you’ve never used that nickname before, but you think she likes it because she lunges up, capturing your lips with hers again, and knocking you straight back onto the bed. 

She nods while still kissing you, whispering, “Fuck, honey, how are you so hot? How are you so perfect for me?” 

You clench around nothing and you claw at her shoulder blades frantically, knowing what you need but not how to ask for it. 

But Agatha knows — she always knows what you want, except for when it really counts apparently. She gets off of you and scooches on her knees until she’s situated behind your head, facing your body. And then she moves to frame your face with her thighs, her glistening cunt hovering right above your face, and she bends over to pry your legs open before leaning down and sucking on your clit roughly. 

You squirm and palm her ass to pull her down to your mouth, and at your first lick through her folds, she moans right into you, the vibrations making you jump. Eating her out while also being eaten out is an experience like no other you’ve ever had. Every single thing you do to her affects her, which in turn, affects you. 

The positive feedback loop has both of you sloppily mouthing at each other’s cunts, mimicking motions while also losing all sense of rhythm, and when she digs her fingernails into your thighs and scrapes her teeth against your clit, you let out a high-pitched sound that has her riding your face furiously. 

Agatha is getting louder too — you can feel it more than hear it, and you are completely drunk on her smell and her taste and how good she’s making you feel. You dip your tongue into her entrance, stroking against her convulsing walls before swirling around her clit and she pauses what she’s doing for a moment to just breathe heavily against your pussy before diving back in. 

All thoughts of anything else are completely out of your foggy mind and you feel like you’re floating, not able to focus on anything else besides Agatha. 

If you would’ve known that your dad having an affair would have led to you having the hottest sex with the hottest woman ever, you definitely wouldn’t have been so mad about it. 

“Oh, god, baby, you’re so good,” she says into your cunt and it only makes you grind up harder. She matches your intensity, riding your face fast, her clit dragging against your tongue. You groan in agreement and her stomach glides against your nipples while hers do the same and you know that it won’t be long before either of you cum. 

She nips at your inner thigh before plunging her tongue inside you and it has your hips bucking. “Fuck — Agatha,” you cry, barely able to keep eating her out because of how stimulated you are. Pleasure is racing through every ridge of your body and your head is spinning. 

“That’s right, honey,” she pants, lathering her tongue all over your clit. “Cum for me.” 

The tension inside you snaps and you cum, riding out the immense wave as she continues lapping at you and you suck on her clit, triggering her own orgasm. There’s a gush of wetness all over your face and she keeps rolling her hips, chasing the last tendrils. 

That was one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had, you think, and when Agatha flops down onto the bed next to you, breathing heavily, you think she might agree. 

“Fuck,” you say, completely wiped out, and Agatha chuckles weakly in response, reaching a hand out to rest her fingers against yours, not quite interlocking them. The two of you lay like that for what feels like forever, just soaking in the silence and the comfort of being right next to each other. 

You’re not sure who moves first — maybe it’s a mutual decision, but eventually you slide up to the pillows and Agatha turns around and moves next to you. Rotating onto your side, you hear the sheets rustle behind you and right on cue, Agatha’s arm snakes around you, holding you close enough to her that you can feel her heartbeat against your back and her breath on your neck. 

She kisses the top of your ear and you snuggle back against her. You know that you should put on clothes and clean up your mess, but for right now, you just need to feel her against you. 

“We’re going to be okay?” you ask timidly. It seems like it was so long ago that you were spiraling out of control because you thought she was cheating. 

Agatha’s arm tightens around yours. “We’re going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.” 

And you think you might actually believe her. 

@lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @vyvvycg

[curseofdelos]

mentally I'm still here:

Nico insisting that neither of them are going to be sacrificed/left behind to satisfy the prophecy is a perfect encapsulation of his growth over the series and it makes me SO soft to think about

Nico as a character - particularly in BoO - doesn't have a lot of self-preservation. He doesn't really care what happens to him as long as the mission gets done. We see this most explicitly after he almost fades into nothingness after the Bryce Lawrence incident:

And again when he considers shadow travelling into Octavian's tent to assassinate him:

(Nico himself notes here that it was unlikely he would survive another jump. If Will hadn't stopped him, he probably would have died.)

In both cases, Nico was willing to risk death for the sake of ending the war. He puts very little value on his own life, and repeatedly argues to Reyna, Hedge, and Will that the possibility of saving camp (a place he never felt welcome at, might I add) is worth the risk of losing his life.

Even before Nico went on the quest with Reyna and Hedge, the others were concerned about his safety. Percy tried to remind him how unpredictable his shadow travelling could be, and Hazel notes that he has been acting strangely lately:

It's not quite clear what Hazel is worried about here, but my interpretation of this scene is that she's concerned that Nico isn't thinking - or perhaps, isn't caring - about what effect the constant shadow travelling will have on his wellbeing. Between Tartarus, the jar, and the Cupid incident, Nico's mental state is at its worst at this point in the series, and I think Hazel is worried he'll do something reckless - something he can't come back from.

And so in TSATS, when Nico is told that he's going to have to leave something of equal value behind in order to save Bob, the old him would have had zero issue sacrificing himself if that's what it took to ensure Will and Bob's survival. This version of Nico, who's been going to therapy w/ Mr D and opening up more and built a little support system for himself, can't fathom it.

Nico in BoO did not have a future. He had fully convinced himself that nobody cared about him or would miss him if he was gone - not Percy who fought for him at every turn in PJO, not his sister Hazel, not his new friends Jason and Reyna. He was ready to leave both camps behind because he couldn't see himself ever being happy there. He couldn't see himself being happy at all.

But now, in TSATS, he has a boyfriend that he loves, he has friends that he loves, and he has a community in Camp Half-Blood. He has experienced so much loss that losing someone else is his worst fear. The old Nico would have considered sacrificing himself to protect Will and Bob. At the very least, he would have kept that option in his back pocket as a 'just in case'; he wouldn't have sworn on the Styx that he wouldn't stay behind.

This Nico, however, is doing much better - not perfect, but better. He loves Will, and he wants a life with him, and he's not willing to give that up for anything. Nico has hope for the future, and he's clinging to that hope with everything he has. He sees a light at the end of the tunnel, and he wants to reach it. He's not willing to sacrifice himself because it means losing that future.

Gone is the cynical pessimistic Nico who assumes the worst because the worst is all he thinks he can have. Here is the Nico who has had a taste of happiness and is willing to fight to keep it. He's not going to sacrifice himself because he wants to live. He's not just fighting for Will here; he's fighting for himself too.

And seeing him go from "if it kills me, it kills me" to "it's not going to be me" makes me so ASDFGHJKL

[blueschevy]

Scared of loving you…

pairing: dean winchester x reader

prompt: "I don't want to love her. I don't like what that means for me."

"What do you think it means?"

"It means I have something to lose again, and I'm not strong enough for that anymore."

warnings: none, just pure tooth rotting fluff, lots of fluff, a little bit of angst if you squint

notes: Set in season 10, so during the moc!dean era, but we don’t get to see a lot of moc!dean just some of the effects, I don’t know what else to say hahah

I saw a picture of the tumblr post about this prompt on Pinterest and loved it. So I immediately had to write about. Long story short: credits for the prompt go to @promptsforthestrugglingauthor

This is my first ever fanfic posted, so bear with me please. Also English isn’t my first language, sorry for any mistakes. Feedback is GREATLY appreciated!! Now enjoy!

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet.

Dean sat at the war room table, a whiskey glass in hand, half-empty but untouched for the last twenty minutes. The Mark of Cain burned under his skin, a constant reminder of what he was becoming. What he already was.

And then there was you.

The hunter they’d met on a case in South Dakota months ago. The one who was too smart, too stubborn, too damn good for a world like this. The one who had somehow, against all odds, wormed her way into his life, into his thoughts. Into his heart.

He hated it. Hated what it meant.

Sam sat across from him, watching, waiting. Dean could feel his brother’s eyes on him, the way he always did when he knew something was wrong.

“She’s not a problem, you know,” Sam finally said, breaking the silence.

Dean let out a rough exhale, shaking his head. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

Sam frowned. “Dean—”

“I don’t want to love her.” His voice was quiet but firm, like he was trying to convince himself more than Sam. His fingers curled tightly around the glass, jaw clenching. “I don’t like what that means for me.”

Sam leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “What do you mean?”

Dean swallowed hard, staring at the dark amber liquid in his glass. His voice was quieter when he answered. “It means I have something to lose again, and I’m not strong enough for that anymore.”

Sam sighed, his expression softening. “Dean…”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t get it, man. You didn’t see what I did. What the Mark was and still is doing to me” His throat tightened, but he forced the words out anyway. “I liked it, Sammy. I liked the kill, the power. What happens if I go back to that? If she—” He broke off, running a hand over his face.

Sam sat back, considering. “You think pushing her away is gonna stop you from losing her?”

Dean let out a bitter laugh. “If she’s not in my life, she can’t be a casualty of it.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” Sam shook his head. “She already cares about you. You already care about her. That’s not gonna change just because you pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Dean exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers against his temple like he could push the feelings out of his head. It wasn’t that easy. It never was.

And deep down, he knew Sam was right.

You were already a part of his life. A part of him. And no matter how much he tried to fight it, you weren’t going anywhere.

And maybe… maybe he didn’t want you to.

-

Dean didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he sat in his room, staring at the ceiling, the Mark of Cain pulsing beneath his skin like it had a heartbeat of its own.

You.

He didn’t want to think about you, but you were there anyway. In the way you called him out on his bullshit, in the way you hands were steady on a shotgun but gentle when you patched up his wounds. In the way you saw right through him, past the walls and the deflections and the darkness curling inside him.

And that was the problem.

He couldn’t afford to have someone like you. Someone good. Someone who would look at him with wide, worried eyes if you ever saw just how deep the rot went.

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling through his nose.

This was the right thing. Keeping you at arm’s length. Because the alternative?

The alternative was worse.

A knock at his door made his muscles tense. For a second, he thought about ignoring it. But then your voice came through, quiet, steady.

“Dean?”

His stomach clenched.

Shit.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to his feet. He hesitated—just don’t answer it, just let her go—but his hand was already wrapping around the doorknob, like muscle memory.

He cracked the door open just enough to see you.

You stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows pulled together in that way that meant you knew something was wrong. You were in an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants, but you still looked—hell, he didn’t even want to think the word.

“What’s up?” he asked, voice rough from lack of sleep.

Your lips pressed together. “You tell me.”

Dean let out a slow breath, leaning against the doorframe. “Nothin’ to tell.”

You tilted your head, searching his face. He hated how well you could read him. “Sam said you were in your head tonight.”

Dean scoffed. “Sam needs to quit running his mouth.”

Your expression didn’t change. “Dean.”

Damn it.

He should shut the door. Should make some excuse, send you away. But instead, he found himself stepping back, opening the door a little wider.

You hesitated, but then you moved past him, into his room.

You didn’t sit. Just stood there, arms still crossed, watching him.

Dean closed the door, leaning back against it, arms mirroring yours.

After a beat, you sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s going on,” you said, voice softer now. “But I can see it, Dean. Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

His chest ached.

You didn’t get it. You couldn’t get it.

“That’s the thing, sweetheart,” he said, forcing a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I do.”

Your eyes didn’t leave his. You weren’t buying the act. “Why?”

He hesitated. Then—because maybe part of him wanted you to understand, because maybe part of him was just tired—he exhaled.

“Because if I let myself have this—” He gestured vaguely between you. “—if I let myself have you, then it’s just another way for me to loose. To loose you. And I’ve lost too much already.”

Your expression didn’t waver. “You think pushing me away is gonna keep me safe?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You took a step forward. He should move. He didn’t.

“Dean, you don’t get to decide that.” Your voice was firm now, unwavering. “I know what this life is. I know what it takes from us. But I also know what it gives.”

His jaw clenched. “And what’s that?”

You reached out—hesitated for half a second—then placed a hand over his, warm and steady.

“Each other.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

Something in him cracked, deep and quiet, like ice breaking under pressure.

You were right here. Right in front of him. Wanting to be here. And maybe—just maybe—he wanted that, too.

Dean’s throat felt tight, like he couldn’t swallow past the lump forming there. Your hand was warm against his, grounding in a way he didn’t know he needed.

He should pull away. Should make some smartass comment, throw up the walls that had kept him breathing this long.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a slow, shuddering breath and turned his hand just enough to curl his fingers around yours. It was barely a movement, barely a decision, but you noticed. He saw it in the flicker of something soft in your eyes, the way you squeezed his fingers in silent understanding.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice rough, raw.

You didn’t flinch. “Do what?”

Dean swallowed. “Want someone like this. Let someone in like this.” He glanced down at your joined hands, like the sight alone could burn him. “Not anymore.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you said, “Then let’s figure it out together.”

His chest ached.

He wanted to believe that was possible. Wanted to believe there was a version of this where he could have you without losing you, without you becoming another name carved into his bones.

But the mark was still there. The darkness was still inside him, whispering in the back of his mind, reminding him that he wasn’t safe. That he was a loaded gun with no safety.

“I’m not a good bet,” he murmured.

Your expression didn’t waver. “Good thing I’m not a gambler.”

Dean huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head. “You should be running in the other direction.”

“Maybe.” You tilted your head. “But I’m not.”

He looked at you then, really looked at you—the steady determination in your eyes, the way you were standing firm even as you gave him space to run if he wanted to.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean wasn’t sure he did want to run.

The weight of everything pressed down on him—the mark, the past, the fear clawing at the edges of his ribs—but you were still there. Still standing. Still holding his hand.

Dean let out a slow breath.

Maybe he could figure this out. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone in the dark.

Maybe—just maybe—he could let himself have this.

Even if it scared the hell out of him.

And maybe that was what undid him.

His fingers tightened around yours, hesitant but certain, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. To you.

Your breath hitched just slightly, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you shifted closer—not enough to be overwhelming, just enough that he could feel your warmth, your presence. It should have been suffocating, but it wasn’t. It was steady. It was real.

Dean swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “You really think this is a good idea?” His voice was rough, edged with something unspoken.

Your lips twitched, a small, knowing smile. “Nope.”

Dean blinked. “Wow. Great pep talk, sweetheart.”

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “It’s terrifying,” you admitted. “But I think the best things usually are.”

His chest ached, something heavy settling behind his ribs.

You were right.

Again.

And damn it, part of him hated that.

The other part? The part that was exhausted from running, from pushing everyone away, from pretending he didn’t want something more?

That part wanted to believe you.

Dean exhaled sharply, his free hand scrubbing over his face before dropping to his side. “This is gonna be a disaster,” he muttered.

You grinned. “Probably.”

He huffed. “You’re not supposed to agree with me.”

You just shrugged. “Then stop being right all the time.”

Dean’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smile there and gone in an instant. And maybe it was reckless, maybe it was stupid, but he let his hand drift up, fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it.

You stilled, eyes flicking to his, waiting.

Dean swallowed. He didn’t know what he was doing, what he was supposed to do. But when you didn’t move away, when you stayed right there, close enough to touch, he let himself breathe you in.

“Just… tell me when to stop,” he murmured.

Your gaze softened. “Dean.”

His throat tightened.

Then, so quiet he almost didn’t hear it, you whispered, “I don’t want you to stop.”

Something in him cracked wide open.

Dean didn’t think. Didn’t second-guess. He just moved.

His fingers slid up your arm, along the curve of your shoulder, until they found your jaw. His thumb brushed over your cheek, a slow, tentative touch.

You leaned into him, just barely, like you were giving him permission.

Dean’s breath stuttered.

And then—hesitant, unsure, but real—he kissed you.

It wasn’t desperate or demanding. It was careful, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he wasn’t gentle enough.

You made a soft, surprised noise against his lips, and that sound alone nearly undid him.

You tasted like warmth, like something he didn’t deserve but wanted anyway.

And when you kissed him back—slow, lingering, certain—Dean realized something terrifying.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time…

He had something worth fighting for again.

You sighed into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Henley like you were afraid he might pull away. But Dean had no intention of doing that. Not now. Not when he’d finally let himself have this, when you were kissing him back like you’d been waiting just as long.

He deepened the kiss just slightly, tilting his head to slot against you more easily. It was still gentle, still careful, but there was something more now—something that felt like giving in.

Your hands slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, before settling at the base of his neck. Your fingers brushed against the short hairs there, sending a shiver down his spine.

Dean exhaled against your lips, his own hands skimming along your waist before settling on the small of your back. You fit against him so perfectly, like you’d always been meant to be there.

When you pulled back just a fraction, Dean nearly followed, but you didn’t go far. Your noses brushed, breaths mingling in the space between you.

You smiled, soft and a little dazed. “You okay?”

Dean huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, you just kissed me. Pretty sure I’m supposed to be asking you that.”

Your fingers toyed with the hairs at the back of his neck, your touch warm and steady. “I think I’m good.”

Dean’s heart thudded, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “Yeah?”

You hummed in agreement, your forehead resting against his.

Dean closed his eyes for a second, just breathing you in, letting himself be in this moment. No running, no pushing away. Just this.

Then, because he couldn’t not, he nudged your nose with his, his lips brushing over yours in the barest ghost of a kiss. It wasn’t desperate, wasn’t rushed. Just soft.

Your breath hitched, and you leaned into him again, pressing another lingering kiss to his lips—slower this time, sweeter. Like you had all the time in the world.

Dean groaned quietly, his hands slipping under the hem of your sweatshirt to rest against the warm skin of your back. He felt you shiver, felt the way your fingers curled a little tighter against him.

You kissed again, and again, each one more lingering than the last.

Dean wasn’t sure how long you stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, lips brushing, noses nudging, fingers tracing. Time didn’t seem to matter.

Eventually, you pulled back just enough to rest your head against his shoulder. Dean exhaled, his arms looping around you fully, holding you against him.

You sighed, fingers trailing absently along his spine. “So… what now?”

Dean huffed. “Hell if I know.”

You laughed, the sound soft and good, and Dean felt something loosen in his chest.

He pressed a kiss to your hair, lingering there for a moment before murmuring, “But I think I wanna figure it out.”

You squeezed him gently. “Me too.”

Dean closed his eyes, letting himself have this—have you.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just surviving.

He was living.

-

Dean wasn’t used to this.

The warmth of someone pressed against him. The quiet weight of another person just being there without expectation, without pressure.

But you were here, curled up against his side, and for once, he wasn’t thinking about how to push you away.

You had stayed.

After you kissed and talked in low murmurs, after he admitted—really admitted—that he wanted to figure this out, you had just stayed.

Now, you were draped half over him, one of your legs hooked over his, your head resting on his chest. Dean had one arm wrapped around you, fingers tracing slow circles against the small of your back. The other lay limp at his side, relaxed for the first time in what felt like years.

You let out a sleepy hum, fingers trailing lightly over his chest. “Y’know… I never thought this would happen.”

Dean smirked, shifting slightly beneath you. “What, you in my bed? Sweetheart, I had a feeling you’d cave eventually.”

You scoffed, lifting your head just enough to shoot him a look. “Cocky bastard.”

Dean chuckled, letting his fingers drift up your spine, teasing. “You love it.”

You huffed but didn’t pull away. “I tolerate it.”

Dean grinned. “Sure, sweetheart.”

You didn’t argue. Just sighed and nestled closer, your fingers moving absently over his arm, tracing shapes against his skin.

He closed his eyes for a second, soaking it in—the warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly against him, the quiet ease between you.

For the first time in a long time, the mark wasn’t screaming at him.

Your fingers drifted lower, skimming over the fabric of his sleeve, right where the mark of cain lay beneath his skin.

Dean tensed instinctively, expecting the usual flare of heat, the uncomfortable itch that never seemed to fade.

But then—

You traced the edge of the mark through his sleeve, slow and deliberate.

And the burn eased.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath.

You froze, tilting your head to look at him. “You okay?”

He swallowed, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I just—” He hesitated, then exhaled. “Do that again.”

You blinked but obeyed, your fingers moving over the mark again, following its shape through the fabric.

The relief was instant. Like you were cooling an old wound, soothing something raw and restless inside him.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening just slightly.

You frowned. “Dean…”

He forced himself to look at you.

You searched his face, your own unreadable. “Does it hurt?”

Dean shook his head. “No. It—it actually helps.”

Your expression softened. “Yeah?”

Dean nodded, licking his lips. “Yeah.”

You were quiet for a second, then—gently, carefully—you tugged at his sleeve. “Can I…?”

Dean hesitated. He never let anyone touch it. Not really. Not like this.

But you weren’t just anyone. He trusted you.

So, he swallowed and gave a small nod.

You pushed his sleeve up just enough to expose the dark lines of the mark. Dean braced himself for the usual pulse of power, the itch, the heat.

But when your fingers traced over it, bare skin against bare skin—

The itch vanished.

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, eyes slipping shut.

Your touch was light, barely there, tracing each line and curve like you were learning it, memorizing it. But it wasn’t clinical, wasn’t hesitant. It was soothing.

Dean exhaled, the tension bleeding out of him.

You smiled, voice barely above a whisper. “Feels good?”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, cracking one eye open. “Never thought I’d hear that about this damn thing.”

Your lips twitched. “Guess I’m full of surprises.”

Dean smirked, watching you through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah. You really are.”

You kept tracing the mark in slow, lazy patterns, your fingers gentle, methodical. Dean just let you, basking in the strange, unfamiliar relief of it.

At some point, your fingers slowed, your breathing evening out.

Dean glanced down and realized you were half-asleep, your head still resting against his chest, your hand curled loosely over his arm.

His throat tightened.

Carefully, he reached down and tangled his fingers with yours, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

You hummed sleepily, squeezing his hand in return.

Dean smiled.

For the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t feel like a ticking time bomb.

For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

And it was all because of you.

[katebishopsbaefy]

Shoot Me

billie eilish x reader

𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

summary: you and billie both get your periods at the same time and are the definition of miserable

warnings: period cramps, fluff

word count: 1219

You roll over with a groan, pressing your face back into your girlfriend’s side, clutching your stomach. You feel her arms wrap around you. She obviously wanted to feel you as much as you wanted to feel her.

You and Billie had been unfortunate enough to get your periods at the same time, so now here you lay, sprawled on your bed, clutching your stomachs, groaning occasionally. Somehow you’d managed to not only lose track of your heating pads, but you’d also completely run out of pain relief medication, and neither of you felt well enough to drive to the store to get some.

Billie gently kisses your forehead when you press into her. She grunts as she reaches one arm over to the nightstand to check her phone, muttering out a low “shit” upon seeing the many texts and missed calls from her brother, who she was supposed to meet up with today.

You rub your eye and look up at her. “What’s wrong?” you mumble.

She swings her arm back over to hug you tighter, deciding to deal with Finneas later. “Nothing,” she whispers, starting to rub your back. You hum at the touch. “How’re you feeling?”

You grumble out something about feeling like shit, but it comes out muffled due to your face pressing further into her. Your hand finds its way underneath her loose t-shirt in search of more comfort.

This time, she hums at your touch. The weight of you laying on top of her serves as a weighted blanket, and although it’s comfortable, it doesn’t do much for her cramps. “This sucks,” she states. You hum in agreement.

Your short conversation is interrupted by multiple aggressive dings from her phone. She groans again and reaches back over, checking the new texts from her brother.

“Who’s that?” you ask.

She lets out a huff. “Finneas,” she mumbles, “I forgot I was s’pposed to meet up with him today.”

You whine and grip her tighter in response. “Mmm, don’t leave me.”

“I don’t think I could go anywhere even if I wanted to,” she says, giggling quietly at you.

She hadn’t realized that she forgot to respond to him yet again, getting distracted by you, until the sudden alarm of her ringtone and buzzing of her phone forces her to finally respond. You both jump at the sound before she answers. You can hear a faint “hello???” from the other end.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to ignore you,” Billie says, exhaustion lacing her voice. “I’ve been asleep all day, me and y/n have the worst cramps ever.” She shifts a little and waits for Finneas to respond. “Actually yeah, that would be super helpful if you have time.” Another pause. “Can I send you a list?” Short pause. “Okay, great, see you later.”

The loss of her warmth makes you groan as she flips you off of her to sit up. “What’d he say?” you ask.

“He said he has some time, so he’s gonna pick some stuff up for us,” she responds. Taking your shared blanket with her, she gets out of bed. You groan for probably the 500th time, but she ignores you and grabs your arm, effectively dragging you out of bed too. “Come on, we’re gonna go sit on the couch.”

“Just shoot me instead,” you mumble. You clutch your pillow to your stomach and trudge your way down the hall with her to the living room. 

She laughs at your remark. “At least we get more time to hang out,” she says, gently bumping her hip with yours. You smile at her and bump her back.

It feels like an hour has passed by the time you make it to the couch. You flop down, immediately leaning into Billie’s side, and you feel her do the same. She sits up for a moment to wrap you in the blanket again before snuggling back into you. “Wanna watch something?” she asks, to which you shrug, and she flicks on a random channel.

You completely lose track of time sitting with her. You have no idea what show’s playing, being too distracted by her hands, which you had taken into your lap. Fingers laced together, palms pressed, her warm hands warming up your cold ones. You’re so spaced out playing with her fingers that you don’t realize you’re starting to fall asleep until she giggles at you.

“Sleepy?” she asks. You look up at her, noticing her eyes starting to droop as well.

“No,” you whisper, reaching a hand up point at her jokingly, “are you?” She shakes her head.

At some point, you had both begun to shift around, so uncomfortable from your cramps. When Finneas arrives at your place, he finds you passed out, sprawled on one side of the couch, gripping your pillow. Billie hogs the blanket on the other side, and your heads meet in the corner. He smiles and snaps a quick picture to send to you later. 

He quietly makes his way over to your kitchen, careful not to make too much noise with his bags. Ice cream, chocolate, and other comfort foods are unloaded into the fridge. Despite how quiet he tries to be, the soft rustling is enough to wake Billie, who quickly sits up and pads over to him, dragging her blanket behind her. “Hey, you don’t have to do that,” she says quietly.

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. Go sit back down.”

“But I feel bad,” she mutters. She plops down onto a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her arms.

Finneas slides her a container of pain medication over the table, which she gratefully accepts, downing a couple of pills. “If you wanna do something…” he says, rifling through the bags, “go pop these in the microwave for a minute.” He pulls out two stuffed animals, unzipping them from the back to take out the pad to be heated up. Billie audibly sighs at the sight.

“Oh my God, you’re literally a life saver,” she breathes. After heating them up, she makes her way back over to the couch, where you’re still sound asleep.

“Y/n,” she whispers, gently rubbing your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes flutter open and you smile at her. “Hi, my love. I’ll trade you,” she says, referring to the pillow you’re still clutching. You gratefully switch with her, pulling the stuffed toy to your stomach and letting out a breath at the relief it provided. “Better?” she asks, kissing your forehead softly as your eyes close again.

You hum. “Thank you,” you say to her, and, louder this time, “thanks, Finneas.”

He and Billie talk for a little longer, deciding to make up the work they were supposed to do another day, and she thanks him excessively, to which he shrugs every time. Then he leaves, leaving the two of you alone again.

As she sits back down, she pulls your head into her lap. Her hand in your hair, yours on her back underneath her shirt. A few short minutes later, your fingers stop tracing patterns into her skin, and she knows you’d fallen back to sleep. She scoots around, getting more comfortable before falling asleep too.

No matter how shitty you felt, she always made you feel better.

[websterss]

LOVEBUG — COLE WALTER

REQUEST: Can I do a request for Cole Walter where he and the reader are about to sleep together for the first but she figures that he just will hook up with her and go back to Erin. But he actually has feelings for her and he found out it is her first time ever so he makes sure to tell her that he actually has feelings for her. (Some mature content if you’re cool with that)😏

WARNING(S): Angst, fluff, only indication of smut at the end, no actual smut.

WORD COUNT: 2,804

PAIRING: Cole Walter x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! Also, I don't do taglists any more guys!

MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you couldn’t let go of it was trying and not being able to have a conversation with Cole. You found it difficult since he had been avoiding you like the plague. He’d brush past your shoulder in the halls, and if you locked eyes in public he was already walking the other way. Your friendship has been one for the history books. A long-lasting friendship since elementary, but you wondered when and if your bond was soon to expire. You wanted to keep trying though because trying meant you wouldn’t have to lose Cole for good. 

You had had your doubts the second Katherine had invited you to attend Haley and Will’s wedding. Your doubts clouded your mind as you felt your presence and attendance would cause a great deal of stress or frustration for Cole. Seeing as how he didn’t want to talk to you, you did your best to stay far away, sit far, but even then you watched as he left in the middle of the dancing. Heading towards the barn. You had wished you had gone after him sooner, but you waited, waited till everyone was asleep. Anxiety was all you felt as you faced his workshop shed. The light was on indicating that he was in there but if it hadn’t been for the banging and clanging of tools against metal you would have assumed otherwise. It was only one foot after the other. You thought to yourself. Some part of you told you to run and turn, but he was alone and in his element, this would have to be your only time to get your chance. You had to be brave, and strong, but you were not at the moment so you went head first, heart second. You had opened the door and made your way inside. You complicated whether to make your presence known but it ended up being one hesitant knock followed by two certain ones. You had barely made your way into the area before his voice made you halt in your tracks. 

“Didn’t expect you to be hanging around still. It’s late, shouldn't you be on your way home by now?” 

“H-How’d you know it was me?” You gape at him like a fish out of water, not having expected him to speak first. 

“You’re the only person I know that knocks after walking into a room.” He continued to twist a bolt. “Plus you do things in threes.”

You gaped at him. “No, I don’t.” 

You watched as he turned his eyes towards you, a shit-eating grin on his eyes as he leaned to his left. His hand curls into a fist as he reenacts your entrance. Tapping against the metal for effect.

One… two three. 

“Three times.” He smirked, raising his left brow. You wanted to slap him then and there. 

“Didn’t peg you as the type to pay attention to things like that?” 

“Like what? Like how you scrunch your nose and close your eyes when the sun is in your face, and continue to have a conversation like that. Or how you like to listen instead of speaking when you’re in a group. It's just how observant you are. Or how you do things like knock three times after entering a room.” He chuckles, pointing and mocking where you entered. “Or how you don’t ask or expect anything from anyone because you feel like you’re being a burden. Which you’re not. Or how you go out of your way to help others so much, even though some people don’t deserve to be blessed by your kindness. Or how you prefer bikes to cars cause it means you're helping out the planet a little bit more. Or how you prefer Custard instead of Murphy now because when we were younger Alex said you’d be fine riding him…but then you fell off and you got hurt, and it took a long time to get you to trust us again, and get you back on a saddle. Or… how you’ve been nothing but sweet to me when all I’ve done is treat you like shit.” He slams the hood of his truck down causing you to flinch. Regret fills him instantly. “Or…how you hate loud noises because it reminds you of all the yelling that happens at home.” If your heart could stop you’d have collapsed dead on the floor before him. But it hadn’t, it only skipped and increased in speed because you never thought he'd be so attentive to you. 

“Still don’t peg me as the type to pay attention to things now?” He opened his arms out and gave a tight-lipped grin. 

“What happened to us?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He brushes past you like he’s done so time after time again. He walked over to his work table looking for a torque wrench knowing the one he needed was over by the truck in his toolbox. He just couldn’t face you right now. 

“Cole…will you look at me, please? I’ve been trying to talk to you for months now and-“

“Have you seen my torque wrench anywhere I can’t find it?” He cut you off. 

“Cole, I’m serious, if you’d just give me a second-“

“Can we not do this tonight? I need to work on the truck okay? It needed more work after it broke down on me and Jackie the other day and I’d appreciate it if you-“

“Can you just look at me for once, dammit!” You walk over and bang your fist on the hood and flinch. You see his side profile first before his body follows, he raises a brow at you unimpressed. 

“On my truck.” He gestures to where your fist rests. 

“I have been trying and trying for so long now to get your attention. To talk to you.” You run your hands down your face. “Because I miss you…” You gesture an open hand to him. “I miss my best friend. I miss wanting to know how your day is going or if your knee has been hurting, but I can’t do those things because you don’t give me the time of day.” 

“I’ve been busy…” He shrugs. 

“Busy right? Yeah, I know what you've been up to.” You close your eyes. “Look Cole, I don’t know if I’ve done anything to make you want to avoid me but if I have then I’m sorry.” You let your head hang forward. “I don’t know what to do anymore…” You hear him before you feel his hands touch your skin gently. In a soft gentle caress, you can’t help but lean into his palm. “I’m sorry…” 

“Hey, you don’t have to be sorry for anything. I’ve been a jerk okay…I've been a shit friend and an even shit brother, but I’m working on it. I am. Things will be different. Okay, if my speech was anything to go off of, I meant every second of it. Meeting your person…When I met you, nothing, nothing else mattered to me. I should’ve realized it sooner too but when do I pay attention to you.” He joked slightly, causing you to roll your eyes. “I should've held you closer because as my mother likes to remind me constantly. You’re good for me, to me, and way out of my league…” Cole laughed lightly. “I guess what I’m trying to get at is I’m sorry…for everything. I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven for the way I’ve treated you.” 

“You don’t.” Cole retreats his hands from your face. Accepting that as your final word. He’d have walked off with a nod if you hadn’t given him the sweet smile he loves seeing on you. “It’s a good thing I forgave you two days ago then..” 

“Wait what?” 

“Thanks for fixing my bike by the way.” 

He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How did you know about that?” 

“I had to take Luna to the vet since she got out the night before, she came back with a limp, but that’s a story for another time. Anyway, your mom and I chatted and she assumed we were on good terms again and asked if you had given me my bike back yet. It didn't take long to put two and two together. That and I’ve been missing my bike for a week now.”

“Can’t trust her now.” He joked. 

“When did you even take it?” You shook your head.

“When did you start asking people for rides again?” He raised a brow at you but laughed as you went to playfully smack him for he was the reason for your lack of transportation. “I was driving the boys home from school when I saw you one day kneeling beside your bike. I wasn’t spying by the way, I just happened to see you in all your damsel ness…” He dragged out the s. 

“Right…” You squint your eyes at him in amusement. 

“I figured it could’ve been the chain since you complained about it falling out one time, so it was either that or the tires finally gave out because let’s face it, sweetheart, that thing was ancient.” He started walking backwards with a smirk. “It was supposed to be a surprise but I guess now is as good of a time as any.” He grabbed a hold of the sheet that covered it and yanked it off.

Your heart did stop then and there. You gasped quietly as a cherry red bike was presented before you. Cole rolled it over in front of you before pulling down the support lever. Though it had been the basket with a pink bow on it that caught your attention. It was beautiful.

“You fixed it.” You reached a hand out to touch it but left it hanging mid-air. Too scared to ruin it. Break it. “And…painted it?” You raised a confused brow at him.

“No. I got you a new one.” He grinned sheepishly as you looked up at him in shock. “The basket was a personal touch I added to it though. I thought you could use something to carry your backpack and books, and the flowers you deliver on Wednesdays. You’ve always carried your bag on your back so I thought this could help take that heavy weight off your shoulders.” 

“Cole…T-This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you…” His heart swelled as you flashed him a smile. You looked back to the bike…thinking he must’ve spent his paycheck on it. You couldn’t believe he’d done such a thing for you. 

“You’re welcome bug.” He nodded. “You deserve something nice. Plus your old bike was on its last limb. That and I thought it’d be good for me to get some exercise in. Work the leg out some more ya know. Believe it or not, I don’t remember the last time I ever rode a bike.” He chuckled. 

"Bug...You haven't called me that in a long time."

"It's my name for you..."

"Yeah, I know it is..." You mutter softly. You thought about the name for a second before your brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait if you got me a new one…What did you do with the old bike?”

“Ah thought you’d never ask. I fixed it.” He jogged back over to the corner. Rolling over the old rusted red one out. He swung a leg over the seat. “Thought you can use the company on Wednesdays.” 

“Keep me company huh?” 

“Yeah, I think it’s time I find a new hobby.” 

“Sulking bored you out.” 

“Among other things…” He shrugs. “I want things to be different.” He cleared his throat and held your gaze. 

“I’m happy for you Cole.” You nodded. 

“Anyway…Let’s test this bad boy.” He pedaled out a few feet then you both watched and heard as the clank of the chain fell out. It lay on the floor. You looked up in time to meet his gaze. You had to cover your mouth to keep you from laughing. 

“Thought you said you fixed it.”

“Yeah…The chain won’t stay. So expect a lot of stopping when we go out on them.” He gave a sheepish grin. 

“You took the old one.” You stated. Turning back to your new one with a new sense of warmth and longing. 

“You were due for a new one. No way I could keep letting you ride this thing. I mean, look at it!” He judged the rusted two-wheeler. 

“Hey don’t make fun. She held out for as long as she could.” 

His eyes flickered onto you, lingering on your eyes a little longer before he let his eyes roam to your heels, up to where your dress ended, then his eyes raked back up to your pouty lips. The accidental double entendre wasn’t lost on him. You had held out for him as long as you could too and he’d been nothing but an ass. 

“Yeah, she sure did…” He nodded slightly. You hold his gaze for a bit longer then look away. 

“For what it's worth. I appreciate you doing this for me.” You grew closer to him, a timid stance as you fiddled with your already chipping nail paint. “I don’t think I can show you just how thankful I am, but all I got is this.” You exhaled, then leaned over to press a kiss against the side of his cheek. Cole closed his eyes wanting the touch of your lips to linger on him a bit longer. You pulled away the slightest, your eyes flickering down to his lips before you averted your gaze. Cole’s chest rose and fell at the sudden change in the atmosphere. He often wondered what your lips pressed against his felt like. Thoughts and questions he probably shouldn’t have had like what did you taste like? What noises he could get out of you. He was hungry for your touch, and he wasn’t about to ruin the opportunity to do the one thing he longed for. 

You watched as he stood up from the bike, letting it lean on the support bar. You took a step back as he closed the distance between you two. His hand reached up to find its place again against your cheeks. “I’m gonna kiss you now.” Your breath hitched at his words. “Let me know if you’d like me to stop.”

“Okay…” You had closed your eyes shut as you waited for him to lean in. It was the barely-there brush of his lips that had you gasping for air. It was the effect he had on you. When he was sure you wouldn’t pull away from him, he slid his hand underneath your jaw holding you there as he walked you both to his work table. The wood had met you back as he knelt to pick you up. Your hands slid over and into his locks. Tugging him closer to you as he stood in between your thighs. 

“Say the word…” He pulled away from your lips kissing down your jaw, onto your neck. “And I’ll stop.” He breathed out as he took note of each sigh of contentment you let out. 

“D-Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” You lifted his chin to have him look at you once more. You curled a hand into his hair and crashed your lips onto his.

“I won’t stop then.” He pecked your lips, pulling back in a teasing manner. You grabbed both sides of his face to press your mouths together, having enough of his playfulness. You just wanted him then and there. You knew you were in for a long evening hearing him unzip his slacks. His belt buckle following next.

“P-Promise this isn’t just a one-time thing. That this won’t be like Erin or any of the other girls you’ve been with. That you won’t leave after this. This is my first time after all.”

“Is that what’s worrying you?” He leaned in and pecked your lips sweetly. 

“Would you be upset if it was?”

“No. Thank you for being open and honest about your concerns to me. But I promise you this time it's different, with you it’s different. I feel something when I’m with you, and I don’t want to find out what my life will be like if you aren’t in it any time soon, but as long as you’re game. I’m in this for the long run.”

“I thought Cole Walter didn’t do relationships…” Cole knew you were only kidding by the teasing in your tone.

“Yeah well that Cole didn’t know what love felt like until he met you.”

“You love me?” You grin feeling that warmth spread over your heart once more. 

“I love you.” He nodded certainly.

[leriexoxo]

SEXUAL HEALING

pairing: Changbin x Afab Reader

tags: friends to lovers, 18+, mdni, protected sex, oral (f receiving), mild angst, spanking, rough sex, post break up, doggy

word count: 4k

summary: you had a crush on your coworker Changbin who was also your friend's boyfriend for the longest time, but you had quickly accepted that he was never going to be yours, that was until she broke his heart and ran off with another man, ghosting even you. Instead of letting Changbin wallow and lose himself, you take it upon yourself to make sure he forgets.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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

  “Changbin, this is pathetic. It’s been 3 months. You need to stop this shit!” you scold irritably, arms crossed over your chest as you scowl at the mess of a man on the couch in front of you.

  “Would you leave me alone?” he snapped, glaring right back at you.

  “No,” you said harshly. “Just look at you. Its 2:00pm on a Wednesday afternoon and you’re moping and sitting on your couch wearing a t-shirt and boxers. You need to pull yourself together.”

He stared at you. “Would you get out of my apartment?”

  “I said no.”

If you were going to be honest, he had a good reason to be mildly depressed and a little touchy. But you always thought guys bounced back quicker from breakups than girls, and the fact that Changbin was still moping around 3 months after his girlfriend left him was more than a little concerning to you.

Changbin rolled his eyes and groaned, slinking lower in his couch. “I don’t know why you keep coming around here, it’s not like it’s made much of a difference.”

  “No difference? Please. A week ago, we were having this conversation when you were wearing nothing but boxers. I consider this a big improvement.” You crossed the room so you were standing over him.

  “Now put on some pants and come down to the cafe. It’s time to start living your damn life again. Chan says you can come back to work any time, and we’ve been short staffed all week.”

Not to mention you missed working with him. He was the only person you’d ever worked with that could always make you laugh and feel better about your generally shitty life. Not that you’d ever let him know that.

  “I don’t want to go back to the cafe,” Changbin grumbled. “What if she…” he trailed off, letting out a noise of pure frustration.

   “Nobody’s seen Hanna since she ran off with that weirdo,” you muttered, a little sore.

Hanna had been your best friend after you met working at Chan’s café for the last several months before she disappeared, she was a companion to gossip with while you cleaned the back room or locked up the cafe. When she’d started dating Changbin; the guy who got a job with you a few months earlier whom you’d always had a bit of a crush on, you’d been forced to live vicariously through her, hanging on to every story she had to tell about him.

Admittedly, some of those stories had made you more than a little sexually frustrated.

  “She could come back.”

  “She isn’t coming back, Binnie!” you burst out furiously, sick of everything. Sick of wanting him every freaking minute you spend with him. Sick of hearing him pining for a girl who had never been all that worth his time. “She’s gone! We are never going to see her again and you’re going to have to damn well live with that, and come to terms with the fact that sometimes shitty things happen and there isn’t anything we can do about them!”

Your outburst had the desired effect. He was standing up, something like anger flashing in his eyes. Good. You’d take anything over that pathetic kicked puppy act he’d been pulling for the last few months.

  “Don’t pretend like you know anything about what happened!” he spat, glaring down at you. “You have no idea what it’s been like—”

  “You think I don’t know what it’s like to be kicked to the curb?!” you demanded furiously. Damn. You hadn’t intended to actually get mad, but you were now. You were shaking, so pissed off.

How dare he say you knew nothing about how hard it had been for him?! “You think I don’t know what it’s like to give my heart to someone and have them stomp all over it?! What it feels like to be… to be abandoned, and abused?!”

That shut him up. You knew it would. Hell, it had been him who’d practically beat your abusive ex-boyfriend to a bloody broken mess when you’d come in to work with a black eye and a limp. Changbin had been the one to take you home with him that night and made sure you were okay, listening to you tell him how your parents had kicked you out at sixteen and the only reason you hadn’t left the man who enjoyed beating you for fun when he was drunk was because otherwise, you’d have been out on the streets. He had told you about how he grew up too, how he’d been abandoned by his family. But he had shrugged it off as though it were nothing even when you could tell it was something, and the next day he had helped you find an apartment you could afford in his building.

How could you not have developed feelings for him after that?

And even worse, how could he now have the audacity to throw that in your face?

Changbin looked slightly mortified with himself. “I… I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Fuck what you meant!” you shouted, getting mad at yourself when you felt tears welling up in your eyes and start to spill over your cheeks. It had been a long time since you were so frustrated to the point you had started crying.

You knew you could have just minded your business about his break up and his decline after, but you just couldn’t. it hurt you to see the man you fell for lose himself over someone who didn’t deserve him, you couldn’t stand by and watch.

  “You’ve been wallowing in all this self-pity, and I know it’s hard, okay?! I know it’s hard to forget when bad shit happens, and I know it’s hard to move on, but you just have to fucking do it!”

  “I… shit. I didn’t think you were gonna start crying,” Changbin says lamely, reaching out a hand to try wiping your cheeks but you shrugged away from it.

  “You know what, I don’t give a fuck anymore,” you muttered, wiping at your eyes and turning towards the door. “You can mope around your apartment forever. Ignore the fact that there are other girls out there who’d love to be with you. Don’t go back to work anymore while you still have the chance to go back, in fact you should stop paying your rent and get kicked out. I don’t care anymore.”

That was a big ass lie. You did care. You cared so much your heart hurt, but if you were going to leave Changbin alone like he wanted, you were going to make damn sure that you were angry when you left, it would make things easier that way.

You stormed to the door and yanked it open, but just as you were about to step through, his hand reached out from behind you and firmly shut it again. You spun around, preparing to scream at Changbin again, but all coherent thoughts left you as soon as he crushed his lips against yours, grabbing your wrists and pinning you to the door.

His mouth was hot and fervent, without hesitation you felt his tongue in your mouth, exploring every part of it. He nipped at your bottom lip, just a little too hard, catching it and pulling sweetly between his teeth before his mouth was on your neck as he sucked and bit at the sensitive flesh of your collarbone.

You let out a long, shuddery moan. “Binnie…”

He broke away, his hands finding their way under your shirt to squeeze your waist. “You think I haven’t known this whole time?” he growled lowly in your ear. “You’ve never been exactly subtle about the way you feel about me y/n.”

He pressed his hips into yours, and you could feel that he was half-hard already. He still had you pinned against the door rendering you powerless to stop him, as if you even wanted to.

You wanted more. More of his hot breath on your neck, more of his desperate hands exploring your body, more rough kisses to your skin.

  “If you knew then why didn’t you say something?” you asked on a breathy exhale, arching your face up towards his.

  “I just didn’t want to hurt you or myself, and I wasn’t certain until your little outburst”

  “I- hey!” You yelped as he grabbed the back of your thighs just below your ass and lifted you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his hips as he moved across the room towards his bedroom door.

Well, I guess there wasn’t really any other place for this to head, you thought briefly as he crossed over into his room and threw you down on the bed. You barely had time to recover before Changbin was on top of you again, his lips captured yours again in a hot kiss, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his hands found the hem of your shirt and slid under the fabric, up the soft skin of your belly until he reached your bra. He dragged it down just enough for your breasts to spring free and began to knead them, squeezing and rolling them around in his large palm, sucking at your neck again as his thumbs skimmed across your nipples.

You let out a high-pitched whine, and heard him chuckle. “You like that?” he breathed, intentionally flicking them both like the menace he was.

You jolted, and the response was met with a low hum of amusement before he was fisting the fabric of your shirt in his hands, pulling it up to expose your breasts but not all the way off. He directed all of his attention to your stiff, erect nipples, tweaking and pinching them until your back arched so far off the bed it was almost concerning. He grasped at the base of your spine, holding you there as his mouth closed down on one breast, and though you tried to hold it back a whimper still escaped.

You were not sure if it was a reward or punishment when he nipped at you, teeth dragging gently across your nipple before he sucked on it so intensely you squealed. Your other breast was still being worshipped by his free hand, tweaking and squeezing until your entire body was trembling and you were squirming under him. He shoved you back into the bed and switched breasts, taking the other in his mouth while directing the attention of his fingers to the one he just left.

  “Changbin,” you gasped when he pulled away to yank up at your shirt, you raised your hands to make undressing you easier. When he tossed it aside and wrapped his arms around you, he expertly undid the clasps of your bra in one impressive snap before pulling it off your arms until it joined your shirt on the floor. You in turn reached for the bottom of his shirt, but his hands grabbed your wrists, effectively halting your intentions.

  “Nope,” he whispered into your ear, and his hot, damp breath made you shudder. “Not yet. First I’m gonna give you exactly what you deserve.”

  “Come on,” you whined, but he grinned and crushed his lips against yours again, hands moving down to your waist. He brought his head lower, kissing the dip between your breasts, running his tongue down your belly and stopping when he reached the top of your jeans.

  “Hm. These gotta go,” he muttered, giving you a doggish grin as he worked at your zipper and pulled your jeans down. You lifted your hips to help him along, and he dragged them off completely, tossing them along with your other articles of clothing on the floor. He seemed desperate.

He brought his hand up between your legs, feeling your heat through your thongs and his grin grew wider. “A bit excited, are we?” he purred, pressing against you and kissing your neck.

You wished he’d let you take off his shirt. You wanted to feel his bare chest against yours, but he was quite adamant about undressing you while he remained clothed, and though you wondered what the punishment might be if you attempted again, you were a little distracted by the way he was tugging at your earlobe with his teeth, his hot breath tickling the sensitive flesh of your neck. His fingers were now tugging at the waistband of your thongs, struggling to slide them off.

He wasn’t waiting for your permission, you realized. Everything was coming off now whether you were ready or not, and you weren’t entirely sure you were. You had never been completely naked while your partner remained fully clothed. But Changbin was clearly in charge here, and he wasn’t going to compromise or reason. He was driving this, and he would do what he wanted.

So, you raised your hips again, making it easier on you both as he slid your thongs down and off completely. And just like that, you were totally naked before Seo Changbin. You certainly hadn’t expected this when you woke up this morning or when you barged into his apartment to bother him for the umpteenth time.

When Changbin sat up, you thought he was finally letting up and he would let you take his clothes off him, but as you tried shifting up to a seating position as well, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you back into the mattress.

  “Stay put,” he growled, gripping one of your ankles and laying a kiss to the inside of it.

You let out a tiny moan as his hands traveled up, kneading the soft flesh of your calves and thighs, before forcing your legs open to spread wide for him, you were about to say something before suddenly feeling his fingers grazing your wetness, you threw your head back mewling like a feline, and as one slipped inside your satiny walls, all coherent thoughts fled your mind because fuck that felt amazing.

You heard the sound of his low chuckling before he buried his finger to the knuckle and curled it.

  “Oh my God…” You whimpered.

Keeping his finger playing around in your cunt, he lowered himself over you and kissed your cheek, trailing his pointed nose alone your jaw. “You’re so tight,” he breathed huskily, slowly adding a second finger making you moan even louder. Changbin ran his tongue from your jawline to the sensitive spot just behind your earlobe and whispered. “Makes it so hard to control myself.”

  “God, Binnie,” you gasped as he leisurely thrust his fingers in and out of you.

  “Tell me what you want?” he asked lowly, smirking. Your legs were shaking, your knees sweating, you were right on the edge, and you knew what he wanted from you. He wanted you to beg. Even as much as you hated begging, his sweet torture was becoming too much to handle.

  “I need to come,” you squeaked as his fingers thrust in again, deeper this time. Faster. “Please… oh, god…”

He complied, curling his fingers up ever so slightly and rubbing that spot inside of you that made the stars explode behind your eyes and your hips thrust forward into Changbin’s like he’d shot electricity through your body. It felt like you were falling, falling and falling off a cliff into a sea of pleasure, your breaths becoming short and shallow as you finally came undone.

As you clung onto your high for a few moments before reality began to take root again, Changbin pulled his fingers out and grabbed your breasts again, squeezing them more gently this time. “Good girl,” he purred, pinching your nipples.

  “Fuck,” you breathed, your chest heaving. That was the most powerful orgasm you could ever remember having.

  “You better not be checking out after one little orgasm,” Changbin smirked, as he leaned in to kiss you again. When he pulled away the gleam in his eyes was hungry. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

You groaned, but only half-heartedly. “Can I take your shirt off now?” you pleaded, reaching for it again. His hands grabbed your wrists again, but this time they weren’t gripping so tight.

He looked teasingly contemplative. “Well… you did cum like a good girl, so I suppose you’ve earned yourself a treat,” he decided, releasing your wrists, and you eagerly tugged his shirt up over his head and off him, tossing it aside and placing your palms on his chest, fingers curling around his pecs.

You wanted to keep exploring, but he shifted away before pushing you back to the bed again.

  “That’s enough,” he breathed, hands going to your calves. You didn’t even have time to wonder what his intentions were before he lifted your legs so the backs of your knees are on his shoulders, and you could feel his hot breath over your core, agonizingly wonderful and you just want more—

When his lips met your wet cunt, your back arched so far off the mattress it shocked even you. He made a low sound of amusement and grabbed your hips, lowering them back as far as they could go with your legs on his shoulders, holding you in place as his tongue begins to explore.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, grasping at anything to anchor yourself because it felt so good that you had to be on the verge of floating away. You tried to buck your hips but he was too strong, and instead your legs began to tremble so violently.

You couldn’t form coherent words, and as Changbin’s tongue slipped inside, probing and digging into you, you let out a howl of pleasure. You couldn’t believe one of his neighbors hadn’t come pounding on the door with a noise complaint yet, but you couldn’t help yourself. It just felt far too damn good, and there was no way you could stay silent. You wondered how much louder you were going to get when he actually fucked you.

Your second orgasm was more powerful than the first, you’d never heard yourself make the kind of noise that ripped from your throat as you sky-rocketed to the highest point of pleasure you could have imagined – surely it couldn’t get better than this. The noise was guttural and breathy at the same time, somewhere between a moan and a scream, and as soon as it escaped, Changbin’s mouth was on yours again, effectively silencing you as you rode the waves of pleasure from your climax.

Changbin released your legs and sat back, watching as you recovered, looking a bit winded himself.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, grimacing. Your eyes traveled down to his boxers, and you could tell he was fully hard with half a glance.

  “Want some help with that?” you whispered, reaching for the waistband of his boxers, but he stopped you.

  “Turn over,” he commanded firmly, and you hesitated.

  “Why?” you breathed out shakily, a little frightened all of a sudden. Turning over meant you wouldn’t be able to see what he was doing anymore.

You let out a yelp as he grabbed your hips and flipped you over himself, pressing his chest to your back.

  “Don’t make me ask twice,” he growled in your ear, and you shuddered as his weight disappeared from your back. “Ass up,” he ordered.

Now you were scared. He wasn’t going to fuck you there, was he? You’d never taken anything up there before. You were not sure you could.

Apparently, the time you took to think was too long for Changbin, and you feel a light smack on your left ass cheek. You jolted. Did he just spank you?! Fuck, you’d never had that done to you before. And even more alarming was that it really turned you on.

He swatted at you again, a little harder this time. Just with enough force to make this one sting. “Up,” he repeated firmly. “On your hands and knees.”

If you hesitated again, it might have earned you another smack, and while you definitely wanted to explore that new fetish later, you were just too desperate to have him filling you up, stretching you to your limit that you finally obeyed, lifting yourself up so you’re poised on your hands and knees, waiting. You heard the soft rustle of fabric and knew he was pulling off his boxers, and then came the crinkle of foil and the sound of latex and you knew he was putting the condom on, the anticipation was driving you crazy.

Finally, you felt his hands, firmly grasping your hips, holding you steady as he lined himself up. You felt his tip at your entrance and you bit down on your lip because God, you had waited so long for this, and then in a single hard thrust, he slid in making you scream and bunch the sheets in your fingers, lowering your head to bite one of your knuckles. He remained still for a few seconds and you could hear his heavy, shuddery breaths as he basked in the sensation of just being inside of you.

And then he started to move. It was slow at first, easing in and out of you, but his pace quickened rapidly, especially when you started moaning his name. One of his hands moved from your hips to trace the ridge of your spine all the way up to your neck and then back down. You bucked your hips backwards into his, meeting every thrust, trying to help him go deeper to stimulate that sweet spot in you that you wanted him to reach so much. Occasionally he barely brushed against it and you let out a loud desperate moan.

  “God you’re so big Binnie… so full…” you cried, not really caring if his neighbor heard you.

He growled in his throat and pressed down in the center of your back, forcing your chest to the mattress. You bucked your hips up again, raising your ass higher in the air. He kept fucking you relentlessly hitting that oversensitive, aching spot repeatedly and everything was suddenly trembling limbs; you trying to reach behind you to push against his punishing waist and him pushing you away and fucking you even deeper as intense waves of pleasure, not once did he even slow down.

  “I’m so fucking close, shit!!” he growled.

He kept fucking you and it felt like you’re climaxing again and again and again with every thrust, you were pretty sure you were screaming his name but you couldn’t be absolutely certain with all the blood roaring in your ears, you could feel rather than hear his guttural moan by the deep vibration in his chest as he came and collapsed against you as he pulled out before rolling over onto his back, his chest heaving and his breathing shallow.

  “Jesus – fucking – Christ,” he groaned.

You flopped to your stomach, in a bit of a daze after that intense session of fucking. “You can say that again.”

  “Why did I ever waste my time with Hanna?” he muttered, and the question seemed so ridiculous to you that you giggled. He turned his head to look at you. “What?”

  “Glad to know a good fuck was the only thing you needed to get over her,” you grinned at him, rolling over onto your side so you can see him better.

  “Huh. Guess you were right. Just needed to move on,” Changbin flashed you the cheekiest smirk you’d ever seen and you nudged him with your hip.

  “I’ll blow you next time. Make you really forget everything,” you told him, and he groaned, rolling over and burying his face in his sheets.

  “Fuck me.” He groaned into the bed, realizing how truly fucked he was.

  “Oh, I intend to,” you teased, and he laughed and grabbed your waist, pulling you into him and kissing you.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled against your mouth, and you grinned and kiss him back, wondering how something finally went right. Maybe you were finally getting what you deserved after a lifetime of crap.

There definitely would be more of these healing sessions. Of that you had no doubt.

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Authors note: Hi guys! so, this Changbin fic had been sitting in my drafts for a few months now, I just touched it up and uploaded. I hope you like it!!

feel free to reblog and drop a like! also welcome to my new followers ;)

[lych33dragoncookie]

Only the masterpieces that survive the fiercest flames earn their place in history.

(Analysis post)

Alright, they absolutely cooked this update. Like, undeniably so. I was admittedly not that huge of a fan of the last 2 beast yeast chapters we got; they had really good ideas, and Mystic Flour is a wonderful character, but... Dark Cacao hasn't really been done enough with for it to feel like it had the amount of weight it could have, and it really doesn't feel like much about him actually changed at all. Combine that with a complete lack of interesting dynamics and you have a lot of very good and genuinely pretty well thought out story concepts with extensive cultural research, executed in a way that feels more like a traditional old-school story that weakens the attachment the audience feels to the components of said story.

Here, though? I have no complaints so far. It was absolutely wild in fact, to the point where I don't think it's gonna happen again (nor am I entirely sure it should ever happen again). This was back to back, non-stop, smack to the face one after the other. The moment the first point of conflict came up, it was just shit happening left and right; even in the mandatory moment of rest where we chill out for a bit, it's revealed that hey, these sandstorms? Yeah the sand is actually ashes. It's the remains of all the people that live here. Whether they died off on their own or were killed by someone else.

And if that wasn't enough, very shortly after;

... It's fucking crack.

So, people die and kill each other here very frequently, and not only are their remains visibly on display, their ashes also become sandstorms that make it near impossible to navigate the land; on top of being something that people snort like cocaine to become more energetic and aggressive.

We started fucking wild, dude. This whole thing is pulling no punches.

Though, I do wanna note; I really, really enjoyed the interactions between Smoked Cheese and Golden Cheese. It shows not only how forgiving she is, but how these two have known each other for an incredibly long time, and know each other well. They're incredibly comfortable around each other, despite it all, and despite how brazen and Very Much Not Strategic the queen here can be. I really, really enjoyed them.

Always fun to see a recovering villain do things for good, but in their own unique way that's still not exactly heroic but definitely effective and, at times, very gratifying.

Though I enjoyed all this, there's one thing I wanna talk about above all else.

The star of the show. Note that every single part was enjoyable, of course, and he wouldn't be half as interesting without Golden Cheese Cookie to serve as a parallel, but they've cooked up something special here.

So far, Burning Spice's extent of onscreen appearance is very, very short, but... I don't think I need to tell you that he's already made an impact and a half.

Christ, that's violent. With the sound effects and everything too, god damn. But, I'd be lying if I said this wasn't a pretty superficial source of judgement for this character. It's very very telling of what kind of person he is now, what he's all about, what he's willing to do, what he likes doing, but...

More than anyone else in recent memory, the devil is in the details. So let's look at those details.

Nothing too much so far, other than how much he absolutely loves destruction, but there's already a trend; namely on "Nothing lasts forever. It's as simple as that", "In the end, everything becomes dust.", and "You, too, shall see that destruction is the only way.". There seems to be an infatuation with the natural process of everything fading away, turning to dust and dying out. An entirely honest one, believing that there is just about nothing else to life. These will be important to keep in mind.

Here, we see a bit of his current relationship with his own immortality. He doesn't seem to mind the idea of losing it, finding something that may eventually take him down, but he still takes great pride in it. These lines, in text, seem somewhat miserable (and trust me, they definitely are), but the voicework in just about every language conveys that they are said in a more neutral, even potentially proudly manner. Again, not much on their own, but...

Here's where we get into the fun part.

This. This is the crux of their character. At the start, him and Golden Cheese cookie were more or less the same. Benevolent royalty, close and personal with their subjects. Beloved, and loving.

And then, they lost it all.

One way or another, their kingdoms were lost, reduced to almost nothing. They were overcome by grief, desperate, unable to cope with their loss. One tried to latch on as hard as possible. Preserve what she could, blindly, replacing the harsh truth of reality with an idealized, constructed world, where no one would ever have to know pain ever again. She shut herself off, and retreated in the safety and peace of a false reality. She would rather have lied to both herself and all her subjects than face reality. And eventually, she had to learn to move on. Let herself and her kingdom heal more naturally, facing reality. The other, meanwhile, was desperate to let go. He detached himself, trying to move past the pain of loss. But, of course, he couldn't force it to happen. No one can. And so with the grief of losing that which he held dear, continuing to be faced with the reality that nothing is forever, over and over, while he endured, the world slowly turning to ash around them again and again... It's no wonder something in there eventually cracked.

What will it take to destroy me. Nothing is forever, and yet, I am.

Nothing is forever. And yet, I am.

With time, misery turned to mania, and in an attempt to overcome their grief, they embraced it, in the worst way possible. A coping mechanism gone horrendously wrong. That destruction, that loss, the inevitability of death... It's not painful, no. It doesn't have to be. It can be thrilling. Exhilarating. A new reason to live. If all you care about turns to dust anyways, if that's really the only logical destination... Why not have some fun with it? Why not embody that inevitable, unstoppable force? Why not become what you fear, so you no longer have to be afraid anymore?

... You know, at least that's what I think is going on here. The next chapter could contradict this reading, but... From what all we have right now, it seems like Golden Cheese and Burning Spice are two completely different paths for the exact same type of pain. They are, in a way, the same, but diverge in almost complete opposite ways where it counts.

Spice is genuinely equal parts absolutely terrifying and absolutely miserable; a balance that is incredibly hard to strike in writing, but always absolutely fascinating and wonderful to observe when it happens. I have to say, the more I found out about them, the more I couldn't keep my eyes off everything they have going on.

I'm loving every little bit of this update. Mad props to the devs for cooking something up here that I am genuinely incredibly invested in, almost to the same degree as White Lily and Dark Enchantress. Banger update. Absolute S tier material.

TL;DR: Burning Spice is terrifying, miserable, and ridiculously cool. Everything about this update was an absolute merciless flurry of consecutive gut-punches. And I loved every second of it.

... Now we sit and wait for Shadow Milk's release next year.

[donovan-desmond-official]

Here's the thing about Anya.

Her primary goal is to achieve world peace, a concept she has no understanding of but she is fervently dedicated. Some part it is due to her childish attitude and obsession with spies but there is another part.

Anya does not understand her own self-worth and self-identity outside of her role as a tool in achieving "world peace".

When Anya grew up her main purpose was always "for the sake of world peace". Everything she did was for that sake. It was almost as if her entire reason for existing was for world peace. But it also wasn't, because she was made by accident. This adds an extra dimension where she was seen as optional. This would obviously damage herself esteem and really force her to want to please the people around her because in their minds she was more of a hassle.

When Anya was finally adopted by Twilight she found out he had the same goal as the scientists that held her before. Also, more directly he is willing to discard of her if she is not up to the task. In a way, Twilight is no different than the scientists that had her before. Of course over time he eventually empathize with her and focus more on her comfort than functionality. He does not directly scold Anya to force her fulfill this role but her telepathy gives her that knowledge.

But you clearly see the impact of the scientist on Anya's sense of self and how Twilight does not do much to help (although to some extent it is not his fault).

Anya remains fairly optimistic about the whole thing and continues to aim to achieve her goal. But we also see where these ideas negatively effect her. It makes her clingy, desperate, it keeps her in a constant fear of rejection. even the most minor forms of rejection can completely shatter her because she for her any failure puts her one step closer back into the street.

This is one of the traits she actually shares with both Damian and Becky. I will focus on Damian to keep it short though. Damian is very preoccupied with being the best. He lives a very isolated life and has no relationship with his own family. For what ever reason, he accredits this to his father. Damian believes that the only to get his father's approval and therefore his (and the rest of his families') love is if he succeeds. There is also this additional pressure put on him because of his father's status which externalizes this pressure. The reason he likes Anya so much is because she does not apply that pressure. She does not expect to be great, she just wants to be his friend for her mission. There is also that transparency which makes him feel less tricked and hence safe.

The Prince kid also mirrors that same dilemma. He has a responsibility as the Prince to maintain a certain standard and reputation. His family needs him to be strong and noble but in the end he is just a kid. When he is confront by the Freddy he is scared out of his mind, worried that if he loses he will disappoint his family.

The problem with this however, is that it further surrounds Anya with people that think the same way she does. This only encourages this kind of thinking. Anya is constantly surrounded by people that echo the same negative sentiments she has about herself and self worth. For Damian (and Becky) it works because it gives her ground to relate to them and her seemingly carefree nature allows her to motivate them to let go of this attitude.

But who is encouraging Anya to relax? Who is encouraging Anya to let go of these insecurities?

Anya's identity and motivation is still defined through her father and to a less extent the scientist. she is still motivated by the idea of world peace. However, Anya herself does not know what that means or why she should be aiming for it. It is more of a concept to her than a tangible goal. Her only true goal is to not be returned. For that reason she will never push back against Loid, she will follow his guidance and never develop a personal goal.

Now here is where i think Freddy or some delinquent of some sort will come in use.

For Anya to gain a sense of identity, she needs to push back against her father. She needs to start doing things that prioritizes her own happiness over her father's aim for world peace. She needs someone that will push into her more natural self. Anya is naturally a girl of chaos and mischief. She is not like the others who well behaved and properly trained, nor is she personally interested in being that girl. The only reason Anya is interested in achieving this is for the sake of father. She does not understand the purpose of a lot of these things she is just afraid of being sent back to the orphanage.

I feel like Anya having someone who can encourage her to lean more into the rebel side and allow to actually challenge the things she has been told. Children are curious by nature and one aspect of that is the question of "why?". Constantly provoking the people around them to explain and justify the things they tell them. Anya should also be able to decide what she agrees with and what she disagrees with. She also suffer from natural consequences of her actions. And you will never have that if never challenge your parents or teachers.

Anya is surrounded by goodie two shoes. Although she is still in touch with that curious and defiant side but if there is no one else around to encourage it she will continue to conform and eventually that curious side of her will disappear. If she never gets someone who can remind her to be young and curious she will lose that part of herself. She needs Freddy. Fuck you.