#I kept meaning to erase it but I think it's been there too long for me to damn it to such a fate.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Emotional Spring 2025 Day 21 - Somebody help me, please!

Hitoshi feels as if he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's not yet in class 1-A but right now he's seated in the last row anyway, because during a training exercise that he was allowed to join there was a mishap with a quirk from one of the people who were supposed to play victims and now he's here.

He grinds his teeth together, trying to keep the words rising up in his throat trapped where they belong and he forces himself to listen to Aizawa.

"The quirk you all were hit with forces you to say something that you've kept trapped inside for too long to someone who can hear you. That will mean something different for everyone. The discomfort you feel right now will only get worse until the end of the day when the quirk apparently runs its course.” Midoriya raises his hand but Aizawa only sighs. “No, I can't erase it for you. You either stick the pain out, knowing that it doesn't have any actual physical repercussions for you or you find someone you trust and who you can talk to; that decision is up to you," Aizawa explains to them and he looks about as unhappy about the situation as most of the class feels.

"Classes are obviously cancelled for the rest of the day, so I suggest you decide what to do with your time now. Remember, we teachers are here for you, too, if you have something to say," Aizawa reminds them and Hitoshi shrinks down in his chair when Aizawa's unwavering gaze falls on him.

Hitoshi knows what he's thinking, knows what Aizawa must expect him to say, but Hitoshi won't do it.

He'll endure the pain and he'll keep his mouth shut; two things Hitoshi is extraordinarily good at and then come tomorrow no one will care about what his words would have been anyway.

Another wave of discomfort rolls through him when Hitoshi pushes himself to his feet and Aizawa's eyes are still on him.

"Shinsou," Aizawa calls out for him something like worry on his face, but Hitoshi only shakes his head and speeds out of the classroom, desperate to get away from people who might crack him and make him say whatever is trying to get out.

Hitoshi can guess what it is, what kind of desperate plea for help will leave his mouth and he's not going to do it.

Not again.

Not when it's not going to change anything, not when Aizawa doesn't really care, not when Hitoshi doesn't get to stay with—

He cuts himself off, because he learned early on that wishful thinking like that only ever hurts him in the long term and he's already hurt enough as it is. He learned his lesson on that already.

There's no need to add disappointment to it as well, especially not when the pain in his body gradually gets worse. As soon as he's in his room he hides himself away under the bed, where it's dark and safe and quiet and where people won't find him at first glance, not that it has ever done him any good if his foster parents were really determined.

Hitoshi distantly wonders if they were informed about the mishap, if they answered the phone and how badly he's going to get punished for making them have to pretend they are worried about him while he grinds his teeth together to not make a sound with the mounting pain wrecking his body.

He gets his phone out with shaky hands, but it's only barely past noon and so that means the quirk will last another twelve hours at least.

Hitoshi is very good at withstanding pain, but he's not sure he's going to survive this if it gets steadily more worse than this.

He toughs it out for another three hours, suffering in absolute silence under the bed, desperately keeping his mouth shut so the words threatening to come out won't have a chance, before the pain makes him whimper.

Hitoshi tries to remind himself that Aizawa said that this has no physical effect, that it's psychological at best and just stupid quirk shenanigans at worst, but his body feels as if it's being broken apart, as if he's being flayed alive and tears stream down Hitoshi's face before the hour is over.

He's used to pain, is used to suffering, but this is taking it to a new level.

Silent tears make it down his cheeks; even with this much pain he knows better than to make a sound, he's been taught better than to make his suffering someone else's problem, and he sticks it out for another hour.

He's not sure how he manages it, can't actually think past the pain filling his every cell and when his phone goes off he startles badly enough to make new pain shoot through him, causing him to let out a wet gasp.

Moving is an entire new form of hell but the only people who would ever call him are Aizawa and Yamada and he knows that if he doesn't answer, they are probably going to kick his door down in no time, so Hitoshi forces himself to move, forces himself to accept the call and then clenches his jaw so tightly shut that his muscles cramp up.

It's barely noticeably in between all the other pain that is assaulting him.

"Hey, there, little listener," Yamada's voice rings out into the absolute silence under Hitoshi's bed. "How are you doing?" he wants to know and Hitoshi is so distracted by the pain, that his usual snark doesn't kick in for which he's thankful for.

He really doesn't want to know what's going to come out of his mouth and worse, what Yamada is going to do about it.

"Shouta told me about the quirk. Are you still toughing it out?" Yamada asks and Hitoshi can't help the little whimper. "Ah, shit, kiddo," Yamada mutters and then everything goes muffled for a moment or ten.

Hitoshi isn't sure if it's because Yamada did something to cover the speaker or because of the pain and he's not actually going to ask because keeping his mouth shut means surviving this and that's all Hitoshi wants to do.

He doesn't even need to come out of this unscathed; even if the pain isn't physical, Hitoshi knows that pain like this changes a person. But it doesn't matter if he's the same once this ends; no matter what happens he's going to figure himself out again but for that he has to survive.

And the pain is not going to get him killed whereas the words beating against the back of his teeth just might.

"Hitoshi," Yamada sighs out, sounding pained and Hitoshi wishes he couldn't hear him over the rushing in his ears. "Please, you can tell us whatever it is you need to say," Yamada says and Hitoshi only clams his mouth shut harder.

He's not going to say it; he's not going to give them that kind of ammunition, will not allow them to hurt him with their inaction; or worse, with their actions that will leave him in the hands of someone else.

He won't do it.

"I know it must hurt, kiddo," Yamada goes on and Hitoshi would end the call but he can no longer move, his body locked up with the pain. "Just say it. We're here. No matter what it is, we're here to help you. We won't leave you alone with this."

There's something knowing to his voice, as if he already knows what Hitoshi is going to say, what he's so desperately trying to bite back and new tears spill over.

"Hitoshi, please. Trust us," Yamada whispers and Hitoshi is so, so fucked, because he does; deep down he trusts them more than anyone else and that realisation makes him gasp out a pained breath, makes him open his mouth the tiniest bit and that's all the words that are trapped need to come tumbling out.

"Somebody help me, please!" he wails out, curling into himself even as the pain almost immediately starts to lessen.

"Shouta, go now!" Yamada snaps out before he tries to calm Hitoshi down.

"Kiddo, it's okay, we're here, alright? We've got you, you don't have to worry about anything anymore. How are you feeling?"

Hitoshi sobs and he shakes and he feels as if he's coming apart and he gasps out a desperate "As if I'm dying," because it does feel like that.

It's out there. His cry for help is out there now and now Yamada and Aizawa get to hurt him by doing nothing, or by doing the wrong thing.

It's all going to come down now, everything is going to crumble because he's just not strong enough and Hitoshi almost chokes on his sobs.

Yamada continues to say something to him but Hitoshi can no longer hear him over his crying. What he does hear though, is the door flying open and Hitoshi presses himself against the wall, further away from whoever just came in, whoever wants to hurt him.

"Hitoshi," Aizawa says, his voice suddenly near and he must be looking underneath the bed, but Hitoshi can't see anything through his tears. "Oh, kid," Aizawa mutters and then there's movement, Hitoshi can feel it and he braces himself because usually that means someone is going to pull him out from under the bed.

But it's not him who is moving; it's Aizawa who is moving and who is shoving himself under the bed, slowly inching closer until he can pull Hitoshi into his arms.

"I've got you, Hitoshi," he says and Hitoshi only cries harder because he doesn't know for how much longer that is true.

Aizawa might have him now but he's going to get rid of him sooner rather than later and then Hitoshi will have nothing at all.

"Shhh, kid, you're safe, you're good, I'm so proud of you, thank you for saying something," Aizawa mutters and Hitoshi cries and cries and cries.

"Shou? How's he doing?" Yamada's voice eventually reaches Hitoshi and Hitoshi feels how Aizawa lets out a long breath.

"I don't know, he won't stop crying," Aizawa gives back and then Hitoshi is moved, like he feared all along and despite his struggles Aizawa manages to pull him out from under the bed, even though he keeps him in his arms still.

"Hitoshi, kiddo, what's going on?" Yamada asks, stealing him right out of Aizawa's arms to settle him in his lap and hold him close and even though Hitoshi wants to push him away, wants to run and never come back, he clings to his shirt and buries his face in his chest as he continues to cry.

"Hitoshi," Aizawa says, somewhat helpless even as he crowds close and puts an arm around Hitoshi's middle and it's so warm and so safe and he'll never get to have this again.

"Please don't get rid of me," Hitoshi finally manages to get out, his voice warbled from his tears and the quirk might still have an effect on him because it feels as if those words have been dragged out from the deepest place within him.

"We're not, Hitoshi, we're not going to get rid of you," Yamada immediately says and it does exactly nothing to stop Hitoshi's tears.

He knows better than to believe empty promises.

"You're going to stay with us, Hitoshi, we're not letting you go," Aizawa says and Hitoshi just—stops.

It feels as if even the tears running down his cheeks slow down.

"What?" he breathes out, doesn't dare to believe, but hope is blooming in his chest so rapidly, so violently that it takes his breath away.

"Hitoshi, you're going to stay with us, no matter what. If you want that. We're going to be your foster parents, you won't ever have to go somewhere where they hurt you ever again," Yamada tells him and when Hitoshi manages to look over at Aizawa he nods.

"You're with us now, kid," Aizawa promises him as well and just like that, Hitoshi is crying again.

But where before it was out of pain and helplessness, now his tears are full of relief and hope.

"Please, please," he chants, clinging to Yamada's shirt and reaching out for Aizawa's, too, trying to keep them there, to keep them close and Yamada tightens his arms around him while Aizawa shuffles even closer.

"Of course, kiddo, we're here," Yamada mutters into his hair and Aizawa fully embraces them both.

"It's okay, Hitoshi. It will all be okay."

It's something Hitoshi learned not to believe; words, Hitoshi learned never to trust and yet.

And yet it feels as if it could be true, as if Aizawa and Yamada could really mean it, as if it might happen simply because they want it to.

It's scary, and horrible, and wonderful, and warm, and the most terrifying thing all at once and despite it all, Hitoshi decides to trust.

He decides to trust Aizawa and Yamada, just this once.

(And for once, everything turns out exactly right.)

[missmadella]

Sweet Night (Mikey x Reader)

Summary: Late at night, you find yourself wrapped in a quiet moment, the soft hum of the world fading away as you sit side by side with someone who makes you feel like everything is just right. The rain taps gently against the windows, the only sound filling the space between you two. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as if they were meant to fit together. You look up at him, and in his eyes, there's a warmth that speaks volumes, a quiet promise.

Words: 5075

For all the fluff and warmth lovers out there, here are a few sweet scenarios that have been stuck in my head. I recommend listening to some slow music :3

The world outside was drowned in rain, a gentle, constant rhythm that kept time with the quiet hum of the night. The only light in the room was the soft glow of streetlamps filtering through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor. The kind of night that made the world feel small, safe — and yet, in its stillness, strangely vast.

You were half awake when the bed shifted beside you. The usual warmth of his body was absent, replaced by the cool, distant emptiness of the other side. You blinked, trying to shake off the last remnants of sleep, but the dark room didn’t seem to help.

"Hey..." you murmured, your voice heavy with the sleep that hadn't fully left you. Your hand reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his pillow, and you felt the absence of him before you even saw it.

Turning over, you saw him there — sitting by the window, knees drawn up to his chest, his silhouette bathed in the dim light from the streetlamp outside. His gaze was fixed on the rain, his face turned toward the dark canvas of the night, lost in something only he could see. The quiet feeling of solitude seemed to fill the space between you.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, your voice thick with sleep, though you couldn’t ignore the worry that tugged at your chest.

He jumped slightly, like you’d startled him, his eyes flicking toward you before he looked away quickly, as if not quite ready to meet your gaze. "Sorry... I didn’t mean to wake you."

"You didn’t," you reassured him gently, rubbing your eyes as you sat up, the blankets falling off your shoulders. You frowned slightly, taking in his still form, the way his posture was too tense, the way his fingers were curling into his knees as if he needed something to hold onto. "Are you okay?"

He gave a small, tight shrug, something unreadable in his expression. “I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep.” He paused, his voice barely above a whisper. "The rain, maybe. Or... a dream. A dream I don’t even remember.”

Your heart twisted a little. You could see the way his thoughts were swirling, the way his chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as though he couldn’t settle, couldn’t quite find peace even in the quiet darkness of the room.

Without thinking, you shifted closer to him, the blankets clinging to your shoulders as you scooted over until you were beside him. You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you reached out, gently touching his back with your hand, feeling the slight tremor in his muscles. The warmth of his skin, even in the cool air, was a comfort, but it wasn’t enough to erase the sadness that clung to him.

"Come here," you whispered, your voice soft and patient.

He hesitated, just for a moment, but the tension in his body slowly melted as he turned toward you. You opened your arms, and he slid into them without another word, his head settling against your shoulder, his hands fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. His breathing was still quick, still uneven, as though something inside him couldn’t quite relax.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter, feeling the weight of him against your chest, your heart beating steadily beneath his ear. The rain outside was louder now, almost deafening, but it didn’t feel like an intrusion — it felt like a quiet companion, a rhythm to keep you both grounded.

“I’m right here,” you whispered into his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “You’re safe.”

He didn’t say anything in return. He didn’t have to. You could feel the way his body slowly began to ease, the tension leaving his frame bit by bit as he sank deeper into your warmth. His hands, once tense, now loosened, resting gently on your arm.

The storm outside seemed to soften, too. The rain fell steadily, but the sound wasn’t harsh, wasn’t overwhelming anymore. It was just a steady pulse, like the world itself was breathing along with you.

You let time stretch on like that, in the comfortable silence between you. It wasn’t about fixing anything. It wasn’t about solving the worries that lingered in his heart or the shadow of the dream he couldn’t quite shake. It was just about being there — quietly, together.

Eventually, his breath evened out, a soft, rhythmic sound that told you he was finally starting to drift. The storm outside continued its steady rhythm, but the space between you both was calm. Safe. Even in the middle of the night, with the world outside so big and loud, it felt like nothing could touch you here, in this moment, in his arms.

And you let the rain continue its song, letting it remind you that sometimes, all you need is someone to hold you while the storm rages outside.

__________________________________________________________

The morning light crept through the blinds, a soft, golden hue that filtered gently over the room. The storm from last night had passed, leaving the world fresh and quiet, with only the occasional drip of water from the eaves as a reminder of the rain.

You woke up to the warm weight of him still curled against you, his breathing slow and steady, his hair a messy halo against the pillow. His hand had found its way to your waist during the night, and now, it rested there, warm and reassuring. The air between you both was thick with the quiet comfort of knowing you were safe, together.

You didn’t want to disturb the peacefulness of the moment, but you couldn’t help but smile softly at the way his face was softened in sleep. His lashes, dark and long, brushed lightly against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so innocent — just a boy who had found his place beside you.

But your heart fluttered at the thought. He was more than just a boy to you. He was your quiet refuge, the one who could bring peace to the chaos that sometimes swirled inside your mind. And last night, he had let you be his peace.

You gently shifted your body, careful not to wake him, but he stirred anyway, a slight frown knitting his brow as he shifted closer to you, as though instinctively seeking the warmth you had offered the night before.

"Hey," you whispered, your voice hushed against the soft morning air. You traced your fingers through his hair, soothing the small line of tension between his brows. "Good morning."

His eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary and tired, and he blinked a few times before focusing on you. The grogginess faded quickly, replaced by that warm look in his eyes — a look that always made your heart do a little flip. He let out a small, sleepy sigh, his hand tightening slightly around your waist.

"Morning..." he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep, but there was a hint of something else there, something softer. “I didn’t mean to keep you up last night.”

You shook your head gently, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m glad I was there.”

He looked at you then, his eyes still soft, and you could see the quiet gratitude in them. He was still waking up, still a little unsure of where the edges of his thoughts began and ended, but he didn’t have to say anything. The way his hand rested over yours, the way he nuzzled his face into your shoulder, it all spoke volumes.

For a long moment, you just stayed there, in the quiet of the morning, tangled in the warmth of each other’s arms. The outside world could wait. There was no rush, no need to leave this moment just yet.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a murmur. You felt your pulse quicken at the sincerity in his words, at the simple, unguarded way he spoke them.

You smiled softly, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “So are you.”

He smiled back, but it was a small, secret thing — one that was shared just between the two of you. The world outside might have been busy, but in this little bubble, in this quiet morning, nothing else mattered. It was just you and him, together.

His fingers gently grazed the back of your neck, his touch light but comforting. “I like mornings with you,” he said after a beat, his voice drowsy but filled with affection.

"Me too," you replied, your heart swelling a little at the sincerity in his voice.

And just like that, the world outside seemed to slow down. There was no rush. No pressure. Only the slow, steady rhythm of your breath mingling together, the soft sound of raindrops still echoing somewhere far off, and the quiet comfort of two hearts beating in unison.

For once, you let the moment linger, savoring the simplicity of it all — the way he fit so perfectly beside you, the way the world seemed to pause in the stillness of the morning.

It wasn’t just a sweet moment. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like everything in the world, every worry and fear, could be put on hold, because this — right here — was enough.

__________________________________________________________________________________

The hours passed slowly, the kind of day where time didn’t matter, where the world beyond the walls of the room felt far away and distant. Neither of you had the energy or the desire to leave the warmth of the bed, so you stayed there, nestled together, wrapped in the cocoon of comfort you’d created.

His arm was still draped over you, a steady presence at your side, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as you both laid there in the soft, quiet space. The storm had long since faded, leaving behind a calm and peaceful atmosphere. The only sound was the occasional creak of the house settling and the distant chirp of birds outside, signaling that morning was truly here.

You stretched lazily, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and let out a contented sigh. His response was to pull you closer, as if he couldn’t get enough of having you so near. It was a little like the way he’d held you last night — that same soft, unspoken need to be close, to have your presence as a kind of anchor.

“Stay here with me,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, but the words were unmistakable. It wasn’t a request. It was something you both wanted.

You smiled, the warmth of his touch spreading like sunlight in your chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He tucked his head under your chin, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. For a while, neither of you said anything, content to exist in the stillness of the room. His presence was enough, and yours was for him.

But as the clock ticked on, the need to say something, to talk, started to fill the air between you. He shifted, propping himself up on one arm, his eyes soft as he looked down at you. There was something so sweet, so sincere in the way he watched you — like you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost tentative. You could tell he was still unsure of how to phrase whatever was on his mind, but the fact that he was asking meant it mattered to him.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his hand in an almost automatic gesture. “Anything.”

He took a deep breath, clearly gathering his thoughts. “Last night... when I woke up and you were there for me, it just felt like... I don’t know, like you always know what I need. How do you do that?”

You were quiet for a moment, thinking about how to answer. The truth was, you didn’t know exactly how you knew. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was just because you cared about him more than anything. But the answer was simple, and it came from a place of deep honesty.

“I just... I care about you,” you said softly. “And when I care about someone, I want to be there for them. I want to be the person who helps them when they need it, whether it’s with words or just... being there, you know?”

He nodded, his gaze softening. He leaned down then, pressing his forehead against yours in that familiar, comforting way. “You don’t have to try so hard. You just... you just are.”

Your heart swelled at the tenderness in his words, the way he always made everything feel so effortless, so real. And before you could say anything else, he closed the small gap between you, his lips gently brushing against yours.

The kiss was slow, tender — just a soft connection, like two pieces of a puzzle finally clicking into place. His lips moved against yours with a kind of careful reverence, as though he was savoring the moment, and you couldn’t help but respond in kind. Your hands found their way to his face, tracing the outline of his jaw, the familiar warmth of him grounding you in this space.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to let you breathe, he smiled, a soft, almost shy expression that made your heart skip. “I don’t want this moment to end,” he confessed, his voice low and gentle, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek.

“You don’t have to let it,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him again, this time a little deeper, a little more sure. You could feel his smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile, too, because this — right here, right now — was exactly where you were meant to be.

The two of you lay there for a while longer, drifting in and out of soft conversation, not in a rush to get up, not in a hurry for anything at all. You talked about silly things — like the way the rain last night had made him feel like staying in bed forever, or how he had once tried to make pancakes and ended up with a burnt mess — but underneath it all, there was an unspoken understanding between you, a deeper connection that had already woven itself into the fabric of who you were together.

As the hours stretched on and the light outside grew brighter, you found yourselves both growing more awake, more aware of the world outside the room. But for now, for this moment, it didn’t matter. The day could wait, the world could wait, because all that mattered was the warmth of his touch, the soft cadence of his voice, and the shared space between you two that felt like home.

__________________________________________________________________________________

The night had settled in softly, the warmth of the room and the lingering scent of your shared day wrapping around you like a blanket. You both were still curled up on the couch, tangled in blankets and pillows, but now, the soft hum of the night felt heavier. It was the kind of silence that made you feel everything — the weight of unspoken thoughts, the quiet desire to keep the moment as long as possible.

He had been quiet for a while, his hand resting lightly on yours, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles as he gazed at the flickering TV. The movie had ended long ago, but neither of you had moved. Neither of you wanted to.

After a moment, he shifted, turning his body slightly toward you. His expression was soft, his gaze more serious now, and you could feel the shift in the air — like he was finally ready to say something important.

“Hey,” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if testing the waters. “Can I talk to you about something?”

You nodded, giving him your full attention. His hands tightened slightly around yours, his eyes tracing over your face, as if searching for something.

“I know we’ve only been... together for a little while, but,” he paused, chewing on his bottom lip as though the words were difficult to find, “sometimes I can’t help but think about what this could be. About you, about us.” His eyes met yours, a flicker of uncertainty there. “And I don’t mean to rush things or pressure you... I just... I need to know if we’re on the same page.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected this conversation tonight, but in a way, it felt like it had been building for a while. You could feel the depth of his words, the careful thought behind them. You squeezed his hand, trying to offer him some reassurance as you met his gaze with your own.

“I think about it too,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. “I think about you, about us, all the time. And... I know we haven’t been together for long, but it feels right. It feels like it’s meant to be. Like I’ve been waiting for this without even realizing it.”

He exhaled softly, the tension leaving his shoulders. A quiet smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but it was the kind of smile that made your heart ache in the best way — full of warmth, full of understanding.

“You really mean that?” he asked, his voice thick with something unspoken. “Because I’m not just... I’m not just saying this. I’m serious. I care about you so much. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“I mean it,” you whispered, lifting your hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. The softness of the moment felt like the world had slowed down just for you two. “You’re not going to mess anything up. We’re figuring this out together, and that’s all I need. I trust you.”

The words seemed to settle between you like a promise, like something real. Something that wasn’t just fleeting or temporary. The quiet comfort of being understood and accepted without question.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savoring the moment. When he looked back up at you, his expression had softened even more, a mixture of affection and vulnerability.

“I’m scared sometimes,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of messing this up, of hurting you. I’m scared of losing this — losing you.”

You could feel the raw honesty in his words, and it made your chest tighten. You pulled him closer, wrapping your arms around him as if you could erase the fear in his heart.

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said quietly, your voice firm, but filled with tenderness. “You’re not going to mess this up. We’re in this together. And whatever happens, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

He inhaled sharply, the weight of your words sinking in. For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just held each other, sharing the comfort of the silence, of the understanding that had passed between you. But then, he shifted slightly, lifting his head from your shoulder to look at you once more.

“I think... I think I’m ready for whatever comes next,” he said, his voice full of quiet determination. “I want this with you. I want us. I don’t want to hold back anymore. So... if you’re with me, we’ll take this one step at a time. We’ll figure it out, together.”

His words felt like a weight lifted from your shoulders. You smiled, feeling that same sense of certainty that had been growing between you.

“I’m with you,” you said, your voice soft but full of conviction. “Every step of the way.”

His lips met yours in a gentle kiss, the kind that carried all the words you hadn’t said yet. No more doubts. No more hesitations. Just the promise of what could be, what was already starting to unfold between you two.

As the kiss deepened, you could feel the trust between you growing stronger. There was no need for grand gestures or loud proclamations — the quiet certainty of your shared feelings was enough. It wasn’t just about now, or the next few days. It was about building something real, something lasting.

And in that moment, the world felt a little brighter, a little lighter. Because together, you knew you could face whatever came next — and that was all that mattered.

___________________________________________________________________________

The night air was cool and refreshing, perfect for an adventure. The city had quieted down, the hum of traffic now just a distant memory as you and he stood by his bike, ready for the night ride he had promised. There was something about the promise of the open road, the wind in your hair, and the soft hum of the engine that made everything feel like it was just the two of you against the world.

“You sure you're okay with this?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at you with that familiar mischievous grin, helmet in hand.

You smiled back, already straddling the bike, feeling a thrill run through you. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

He chuckled softly, putting on his helmet before handing you yours. After a moment, you both were suited up, him in his usual jacket and jeans, and you in something warm, ready for the ride. You settled onto the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your fingers tightening just slightly as you pulled yourself closer.

The engine rumbled to life beneath you, and as he pulled away, the world around you seemed to blur. The night air whipped past, a rush of coolness, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of being so close to him — the steady pulse of his body beneath your hands, the scent of his jacket, the way you both moved as one with the bike.

You didn’t speak much at first; the sound of the engine and the wind drowned out everything else. But the sensation of the ride, the way he moved with such confidence, made it feel like nothing else mattered. You were lost in the present moment, the soft pull of adrenaline and the quiet thrill of being together.

After a while, he slowed the bike down, pulling off the road to a familiar spot — Mikey’s place. You’d been here a few times before, a quiet, secluded area that always made you feel like the world had just disappeared, leaving you with the stars above and the peace of being together.

He parked the bike and killed the engine, the stillness of the night settling in around you both. You slid off the bike and stood next to him, your fingers still tingling from the contact with his back. You glanced up at the sky — the stars above twinkled like a million eyes watching over you. The world felt vast, yet here, in this quiet spot with him, it felt so small, so right.

He took off his helmet, running a hand through his hair before giving you a playful look. “Pretty quiet night, huh?”

You smiled, feeling a sense of excitement pulse through your chest. “Yeah, but I was thinking... want to dance?”

He blinked in surprise, glancing around at the empty space around you. The wind rustled through the trees, the only sounds breaking the silence. “Here? Now?”

“Yes,” you said with a teasing smile, your voice light. “Why not? You’re not gonna turn me down, are you?”

He hesitated, but then a slow smile spread across his face. He took a step toward you, his arms wrapping around you, his hands settling gently on your waist. Without another word, you both began to sway. The moonlight cast a soft glow over the scene, and though there was no music, the rhythm was undeniable — the quiet dance of two hearts in perfect sync.

You felt his chest rise and fall as you rested your head on his shoulder, the sound of his steady breathing filling your senses. The cool night air surrounded you, but you were warm in his arms, the closeness of your bodies a comfort. His hand slid up your back, resting gently on your shoulder, and you felt a shiver run down your spine, though it wasn’t from the cold.

As the minutes passed, you both slowed, savoring the moment, the feeling of being wrapped in each other’s arms under the stars. He pulled you even closer, and you felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat, synchronized with your own.

“I can’t believe I’m dancing with you like this,” he whispered against your hair, his voice filled with something soft, vulnerable. “But I’m glad I am.”

You smiled, lifting your head to look at him. “Me too,” you said quietly. “I’ll take any excuse to be close to you.”

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. You could feel him smile against your skin, the warmth of his affection wrapping around you. But then, noticing you shiver slightly in the cool night air, he pulled back and slipped his jacket off.

“Here,” he said softly, draping it over your shoulders. “You’re freezing.”

You pulled the jacket around you, the soft, worn fabric smelling like him, and the warmth of his body still lingering there. “Thank you,” you murmured, looking up at him.

His eyes softened, and he placed his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them gently. “I’m not letting you freeze out here. Not tonight.”

You smiled, the warmth from his jacket not nearly as important as the warmth from his care — the way he always seemed to think of you before himself, the way he made you feel cherished, wanted. “You really are perfect for me,” you whispered.

His gaze softened, and for a long moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside of the two of you faded away, and the only thing that mattered was this moment — the way you fit together, the closeness you shared, and the undeniable truth that you were falling deeper in love with each other.

“I think I’m falling for you more every day,” he admitted, his voice full of sincerity. The words felt like they’d been building, and now they hung in the air, tender and true.

You smiled, your heart swelling in your chest. “I feel the same way.”

And just like that, with the quiet night around you, the cool air wrapping you both in its embrace, and the warmth of his jacket around your shoulders, you knew this was a moment you’d never forget — the night you danced under the stars, the night you fell even more in love with each other.

___________________________________________________________________________

You reached up to adjust the jacket, pulling it tighter around yourself. As you did, his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you a little closer. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the steady thump of his heart matching your own.

He leaned in, his lips hovering near yours, and for a second, you both just lingered there, lost in the closeness of the moment. Slowly, he kissed you — gentle at first, but then with more intensity as he pulled you into his embrace. It was the kind of kiss that told you everything, without saying a word. No more doubts, no more uncertainties. Just a quiet promise in the way his lips moved against yours.

When he pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “I never want to let go.”

You smiled, your hand drifting up to his cheek. “Then don’t.”

The world around you seemed to disappear as you stood there, his jacket wrapped around your shoulders, your heart pounding in your chest from the lingering kiss. The night felt still, as if it was holding its breath for the next moment between you two. His hands rested gently on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles against the fabric of your shirt, grounding you both in the present.

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze — soft, warm, full of something unspoken. There was a tenderness in his eyes that made you feel like you were the only person that mattered in that moment.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and gentle. His forehead was just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded, a small smile curling on your lips. “Yeah. Just... never felt so at peace.”

He smiled back, the weight of the moment sinking in, his hands sliding up to gently cup your face. He traced the outline of your cheek with his thumb, his touch soft but steady, like he was memorizing the feel of you. You leaned into his touch, your breath hitching slightly at the tenderness of the gesture.

“I never want to let you go,” he whispered, the words so sincere, so full of emotion that they made your heart ache. “I just want to hold you... keep you close.”

Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips finding his again in a kiss that was slow, unhurried, as if time had paused for just the two of you. It was different from the first one — deeper, more longing. You felt the pressure of his body against yours, the warmth of his hands as they slid to your back, pulling you even closer, as if he never wanted to be apart from you.

Your heart beat faster, each moment more intense than the last, and you could feel the connection between you growing stronger with every touch, every kiss. His hands moved to the small of your back, holding you even tighter, as if the world around you was fading and all that remained was the feeling of his arms around you, his lips against yours.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him, both of you breathing heavily, hearts racing in unison. His eyes were dark, full of emotion, and you could feel the heat radiating off him. He looked at you with an intensity that took your breath away, and you realized, in that moment, that you had never felt more alive than you did right then.

[athenaholmesartistsguild]

Some sketches I did in between designing tarot cards!

Pre-Yakuza 0 Kazumaji has always been my favorite AU so I do some little doodles occasionally. These are just a few recent ones that I ended up liking enough to post.

Trying to do a quick version of Kiryu's tattoo is so freaking difficult. I should've probably just drawn a little blobby like I do with Majima's but that didn't occur to me while I was drawing it :')

[sleepyangelkami]

AN ANGEL d.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 4.5K

DEAN WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - You're nervous to lose your virginity, Dean shows you everything that you've been missing out on.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!dean, sub!reader, nervous/shy!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, p!v, teasing, loss of virginity, fingering, hickeys (r.recieving), size kink, praise kink, dean is experienced, reader is inexperienced, (1) thigh slap, big dick!dean, boob fondling, boob sucking, reader is smaller than dean, illusions to past masturbation, reader blushes, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

dean liked having you sat in his lap.

this wasn't the first time, your legs stretched around his waist while your hands scrunched idly at the black shirt he'd been wearing, your lips against his own. making out with you had to be possibly the best thing he'd ever done. it was like getting sent to heaven and back, between each breath he damned the gods that disallowed him to press his lips against yours for forever.

but you were new to all this.

he had to be gentle.

dean was the first real relationship you'd ever had. and if he was being honest, you were sort of the first real relationship he'd ever had too.

he used to hop from girl to girl, bed to bed and not think twice about it. you were the absolute opposite. you were the type of girl that didn't speak unless spoken to, you kept your head down and got through everything without so much as letting your imagination wander with what it would feel like to be with a man.

then you met him.

his hands were pinching at the fat of your thighs, he found it hard to keep his hands to himself when you were like this. between kisses, he could hear the shakiness in your breaths, it drove him unbelievably mad.

you felt almost sorry for dean, knowing it'd taken this long to get comfortable enough to even make out with the man. you knew his history and how he wouldn't go longer than a week without someone in his bed. now he'd went more than three months with you like this, aching for more.

and it wasn't like you didn't want more, believe me, you'd been aching just as horribly.

you were just... scared?

deans hands moved harshly against your skin, right hand coming down to gently slap your thigh before gripping it once again. the feeling prompted a low whimper to leave your lips.

dean almost groaned. he could get used to hearing noises like those.

when the man pulled away from your lips, heavy breaths still leaving his own, you swore you could have whimpered again just from the loss of contact.

he looked down at you, eyes all blown wide, lips slick and swollen, it was a sight he hoped was never erased from his memory. he wanted to remember this forever. "y'so needy." he had that cocky grin on his lips, cocking his head to the side as he viewed you as a whole, all his, right in his lap for the taking.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the sentence, eyes immediately darting anywhere other than his face. "don' be mean." was the mumble you let out, eyes adverting and voice lowering. you weren't able to talk to him, not when he got like this, all 'bigger' than you, it made you feel small, it made you feel wet.

"'m not, 'm not." he spoke with a low chuckle, one of his hands raising to meet your face, you felt the padding of his thumb wipe across your hot cheeks, he could tell you were nervous. then again, you were always so nervous. "i think it's cute."

again, your face got increasingly hotter but dean didn't leave you any room for words, dipping his head so his lips could meet your neck.

there was something so surreal about being like this, your hands gripping at his shirt, top lip clamped down on your bottom as he kissed against the skin of your neck.

again, this wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. makeouts and hickey-leaving was getting more and more natural in your relationship, common, even.

he'd come home from his hunts with sam and all he'd want was you either below or on top of him, his lips against anything they could reach.

you felt his lips part, sucking against your neck as one hand ran up your back, the other cupping the back of your hair. once he sucked, his tongue would smooth over the skin, pleasure to ease the pain. and he'd go again, gradually moving to different places on your neck. marking you.

your own lips were strewn shut, you were hoping and praying on every star that you didn't let a noise slip from you. you were too nervous, too embarrassed but the whole point of this was to feel good, wasn't it? so why did you feel so embarrassed to show him how good it felt?

your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling suddenly overwhelming.

you didn't register the move of your hips until his lips left your neck and his hands clamped down on your waist, low grunt leaving his mouth.

you stared at him with those big eyes and he swore he was gone. "y'can't do that, sweetheart." despite his words, his tone was gentle. "can't start something if you don't want to finish it."

he knew how inexperienced you were, he thought you wanted to hold off on losing your virginity which is why he'd never made such a move but by the way you were looking at him now, he swore you wanted nothing more than for him to take you.

and he'd gladly do so upon your command.

"i do..." you uttered. ".. want to." the words made your insides twinge, made your nose scrunch and your lips purse.

you were too nervous, shaking like a leaf on top of him. even so, with so much anxiety bottled into a human, dean made no movements of caution.

you sort of liked that dean wasn't as awkward or nervous as you were. dean was confident, that much was for sure. but being so confident also gave him this openness, seeping comfort into your veins as his large, warm hands trailed up and down your thighs.

"yeah?" his voice was breathy and his smile had left his features. he didn't need to be so teasing now, he knew you would simply burst of shyness. and he didn't want you in a position of uncertainty. "what d'you want?"

he wasn't trying to tease you, though he knew his fingers that began to dance against your skin were doing nothing to calm your nerves.

he just needed to hear you say it.

you planted your face into his chest with an incoherent mumble, cheeks alight as flames.

dean could have laughed at you but he didn't want you thinking you'd done something wrong. on the contrary, he found it downright adorable how shy you'd been getting. but you couldn't help it, this was such an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in your stomach.

"can't hear you, sweetheart." his head came down to sit atop yours, his voice a gentle whisper. "i need you to tell me what you want, okay?" his free hand tipped your chin upwards to look at him, those pretty green eyes held so much sincerity. "use your words f'me, baby."

words felt stuck in your throat, you couldn't seem to get them out. but dean didn't want to let this get away from him, he steadied your chin between his fingers.

"i want..." your voice was all breathy, all needy. it had dean reeling. "i want you to touch me."

and as the words passed your lips, you swear all the air was knocked from your lungs. listening to yourself talk had made your head feel fuzzy. before dean, you couldn't have even imagined such words leaving your lips.

dean was struggling to compose himself but nonetheless, he did. his lips quirked into this proud yet sly smirk as his fingers ran up and down your thighs. "where, angel? here?" he practically mocked, fingers against your knee.

at this point, dean had never seen an angel, he didn't believe in them. but he was sure that if angels did exist, you had to be one of them.

you could have corrected him verbally, told him to stop teasing or even scolded him for mocking you while you were all worked up like this. but instead, you chose to grasp his bigger hand in your own and trail it towards your core.

as your hand cupped his own, he could feel them shake, he almost cooed at you but he didn't want to make you more nervous than you already were.

but when his hand finally reached your clothed core, he couldn't help but let out a groan.

it didn't take longer than a second for dean to have you flipped over with your back against the mattress of the bed. a noise left your lips as he towered over you, that infamous smirk etched to his lips.

but a type of seriousness washed over him. "are you sure you want this?"

you knew he wasn't asking you to tease you or make you wait, he was being sincere and you couldn't have been more sincere back by bucking your hips with a low whine of the word, "yes." quickly followed by a "please."

"so needy." he mumbled back, lips moving to your neck while his fingers fumbled at the cotton material of your baby blue sleep shorts. he hooked his fingers around the waistband and tore it off skilfully.

he supposed his experience was paying off.

you didn't have any time to counter what he'd said, too focused on the feeling building in your stomach. much of it was worry, anxiety even but the majority of it was this foreign, amazing feeling.

"fuck." his ring clad fingers circled against your panties. you were suddenly hyper aware of how worked up you'd gotten while making out with him, a blush creeping in on your face as you turned away from him.

dean all but tutted, dragging your face back.

"don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. This wet for me, the least you can do is look at me." he had that empowering stare that told you he was in charge here, it had you shrinking further into the mattress.

but dean wasn't demanding, sure he was dominating but he didn't make you uncomfortable. truthfully, you'd been rather scared of getting this far with anybody but you were sure that if there was anybody you wanted it to be with, it was him.

his hands toyed at waistbands of your panties. "this okay?" his eyes were glued to your face, trying to watch every way your face contorted, making sure you were okay.

believe it or not, there was a lot one could tell from just looking at someone.

you nodded your head briskly, darkened and bitten lips parted slightly, covered in the slick left behind from your tongue. your cheeks had turned a darkened colour too, blush spreading across your face.

there was something so surreal about looking at you like this, knowing nobody else ever had. he pulled the panties down your legs, watching you steadily with his own lips parting open. his eyes moved from yours to trail down your body, landing on your sopping core. he couldn't help but breathe in a breath.

"you're so pretty, angel." he moved his hand upwards again, closed fingers gently toying with your clit, which earned a soft gasp from you. his lips quirked as he brought his hand away, using the other to slip off his ring. he took your wrist, holding it up gently. "take care of this for me, yeah?" you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your thumb, seeing as your other fingers wouldn't fit it. "good girl." he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were a virgin.

now, dean wasn't necessarily put off by the fact that you were a virgin. dean couldn't have cared less what you were. but he needed to make sure he was gentle, more so than any other time.

because he was the first, the one you'd remember forever.

though, he intended to be your very last, too.

his fingers trailed across your pretty tank top, down to your hips and finally edging between your legs. he peppered kisses against your face and down across your jaw, finally landing on your neck, fingers pushing your legs apart with ease.

as shy as you were, you didn't hide from him, you allowed him to part your legs, his hand was against your inner thigh, softly soothing up and down against your skin.

but he had to make sure, before he touched you. "sure this is okay? not having second thoughts?"

of course dean wanted to but he only wanted to if you wanted to. but you nodded anyway, swallowing though your mouth was dry anyway. "'m just nervous." you admitted softly.

it was no secret to dean that you were a nervous creature already. he knew this was all new to you but he didn't want you to feel shy around him. "you don't need to be." he pressed a kiss against the supple of your cheek, hand moving further as you let out a shaky breath. "not with me." as the whisper left his mouth, his hand came up to touch your hot core.

the noise that left your mouth should have embarrassed you but right now, you couldn't think of anything other than the feeling of his hand right where you needed him.

he collected your wetness onto his fingers, spreading it up and down your folds, two fingers parting from the rest as he gently eased them into your hole.

heavy breaths suddenly left you, chest rising and falling while dean's face was practically hidden in your neck, peppering kisses, sucking and licking against the soft skin while his fingers settled inside of you.

he gave you hardly any time to adjust to the feeling, pulling them out and then thrusting them right back into you. "you're so warm, sweetheart." he mumbled in slight awe. suddenly, the image took over his mind, the image of him inside of you. he couldn't seem to wipe it away.

he knew that giving yourself to him even just like this was a lot for you, he didn't want to push you any further than he already had tonight.

however, the image still tainted his memory.

as the speed of his fingers increased, so did the volume of your noises.

a sticky, wet sound bounced from wall to wall, causing your cheeks to warm incredibly further. you flushed, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth, suddenly aware of how loud you'd been.

a coo left his lips, free hand coming to drag your wrist away from your mouth. "wanna hear every noise you can make, angel."

and his words alone made you whimper.

the palm of his hand bounced against your clit with every thrust of his hand, emitting these noises from you that you'd never been able to draw from yourself.

"y'sound so pretty, you know that, baby?" you made a noise to show you were listening, though all it told dean was that you felt good. "look so pretty too. so beautiful. all mine."

dean couldn't keep his hands to himself.

his free hand dragged against your skin, pushing at it as if trying to get closer to you in any way possible.

against his fingers formed a creamy ring. he looked down at his digits sliding in and out of you, wetness surrounding you both, keeping you together by a wet string.

he let his thoughts wander.

as evil as it was, he simply couldn't think of anything else, he imagined it was his dick sliding in and out of your hot, wet hole, the noises you'd make would be so much louder, you'd be so much fuller.

then he was suddenly aware of your experience once again.

you were tight, incredibly tight which only made him scissor his fingers. if you were going to take his dick, he needed to stretch you out first.

"dean!" you spluttered out as he scissored his fingers inside of you. "c-cant."

your hips bucked backwards, as if you were trying to tell yourself to stop, but it felt too good to stop.

and dean knew your body well, more than you knew it apparently for he only tutted, holding your wrist in his free hand. "you can take it baby, there you go." and he must have known what was happening because your insides were turning to mush.

you'd orgasmed by yourself before but this? this was true bliss.

he held your waist down to the mattress as your body squirmed, head falling back into the pillows as his name fell on your lips, moans and whines blissfully leaving your slick lips.

"good girl." he mumbled, pressing kisses anywhere his lips could reach. "you're so good, there you go. atta girl."

his words of praise fell on your lips, only making you squirm impossibly more. but nonetheless, he kept up his pace, fingers moving to help you ride out your high.

dean swore he'd never seen something so beautiful.

he watched in awe, staring at the way your face scrunched up, pretty lips parted and your eyes screwed closed, though he could only imagine you were seeing stars behind your lids, not that he was being cocky or anything.

the sight was pure bliss, angelic, even.

he swore he'd been to heaven and back, just watching your face contort.

and he'd watch it forever, if he could.

he was suddenly aware of how tight his jeans felt.

"i need to fuck you." he was mumbling with a slight neediness in his tone, kissing up and down your throat, his hand only coming to a halt when your own practically pushed it away, the overstimulation becoming too much. "can i?" a beat passed. "please?"

his face rose to meet yours and you stared at him, all blissed out. you swore that his fingers were the most skilled, pleasurable feeling you'd ever felt, much better than to how it felt when you'd done it by yourself. your lips were glossed over, heavy pants leaving your chest. huge eyes and flushed cheeks.

almost a whine of the phrase, "uh-huh." passed your lips.

and it was enough for him.

his lips crashed into your own, kissing you ever so softly, though there was passion hidden somewhere between your heavy breaths.

needy hands pawed at the end of his black shirt, his own hands reached down to cup yours, helping you tear it off of his body. his amulet dangled downwards, just below your face and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that your top was still on. he supposed he'd been too focused on making you feel good to realise.

his hands reached the end of your own top, helping you push it over your head.

no words left his lips but they parted, tongue passing over the bottom one as he stared.

your pink bra was so pretty on you he almost had to think to decide whether or not he wanted to keep it on. but he decided with the latter, hands unhooking your bra skillfully, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

he hardly got to see your boobs, for his hands cupped them as soon as they were let out of the bra. he cursed out a grunt under his breath, one hand leaving your breast so his mouth could replace it.

against the mattress, your back arched, stomach against his own while you bit back the pretty whimpers which he yearned to hear. his mouth worked against you, rolling his tongue back and forth, practically flicking your nipple in his mouth making you unable to contain the sounds you so desperately tried to keep back.

"d―dean!" you spluttered, eyes fluttering shut. his own eyes looked up at you, watching your face contort once again.

he had to have you.

as his face left your chest, a string of spit connected your boobs to his lips.

he wiped it away, though nothing could wipe away that smut smirk he held. nonetheless, he helped himself to shimmying out of his jeans, taking his boxers off with it.

it wasn't until he took everything off that reality set in. you stared, eyes blown wide, he was, well... big. and it was sort of hard not to get nervous, even with the fact that his fingers had just been stuffed inside of you, you weren't so sure it was going to fit.

"you okay?" he leaned down, towering over you. he realised your eyes hadn't moved from his dick, pulling your chin up with his two fingers. "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded your head, thoughts a mere muddle of clouds. "i just... 'm nervous." you admitted, feeling your stomach fill with this fuzzy feeling that you only got when you talked to dean.

"you don't have to be nervous, sweetheart, not with me, okay?" the palm of his hand rested on your face. "do you want this?"

"yes." you answered without a beat.

"promise?" you could have melted right then and there. dean winchester was of many things but above all, he was gentle.

"promise." you mumbled, finding yourself relaxing just at the mere sound of his voice. his hand trailed up to find your own, fingers interlocking yours. his free hand moved down to his dick, pressing it in his hand.

you watched with curiosity yet also nervousness. you'd never seen this done in real life, so the shyness was creeping in as you watched him move his hand up and down his shaft, dragging it towards your wet hole. instantly, a sound left your lips, blush instantly creeping in as your eyes snapped up to him. he only smiled gently at you, finding your shyness rather adorable.

the head of his dick slowly pushed inside of you and that alone had you feeling awfully stretched. he wasn't just long, he was thick too meaning he stretched you out completely. "okay?" you nodded at the sound of his question, the feeling of his lips on your cheek moments after. "'s gonna hurt a little, alright?"

you nodded your head, eyes shutting closed as you braced yourself.

you weren't an idiot either, you knew first times were supposed to hurt but luckily for you, you had dean right there, holding one of your hands tight in his own, soft whispers and kisses against your skin.

what more could you really ask for.

he slowly eased himself inside of you, worried he was hurting you. then again, there wasn't really any other way to get inside without hurting you. he watched as your face contorted, a gentle whimper leaving your lips but he knew it wasn't one of pleasure, more of pain, actually.

he mumbled gentle apologies and left a trail of them in kisses from your neck to your cheeks.

finally, he was in completely and he couldn't help the string of curses that he mumbled under his breath.

dean stayed as still as he could. worry set in, he didn't want to hurt you, not when you'd been so nervous in the first place. he'd been with many girls but you were a tight fit around him, swallowing his dick whole. he couldn't help but almost coo at the way your hole clenched around him.

he felt your hips shift, and he knew you were ready. "can i―fuck, sweetheart, can i move?"

again, you nodded with a subtle whine that told him in other words, yes, he absolutely could move. and that was exactly what he did.

he slowly pulled his dick out from inside you then suddenly slammed his hips back in, his dick hitting the spot deep inside your walls. instantly, he was met with a mewl.

"shit." he uttered, wanting to draw as many sounds like that out of you as he could. his two hands now rested on yours tightening his grip as he placed them over your head so he could gain better access. "oh, fuck, sweetheart, you're so fucking pretty."

it seemed as though dean had the mouth similar to a sailor when put in a position like this.

but he couldn't help it, you were staring at him with those doe eyes, pretty noises falling from you. his hips moved with ease, slamming in and out of you, it didn't take him long to pick up the pace either.

your legs lifted to surround his waist, moans leaving the two of you as his hips slammed inside of you.

"shit, you're so good for me." he was a mumbling mess, he meant every word of what he said, though he wasn't too sure what was leaving his lips as of now. "oh, my sweet girl, thaaat's it."

he tipped his head forward, connecting his forehead to your own. your whimpers and whines were swallowed by a kiss, gentle yet so full of neediness, it was exactly what you wanted.

"feels..." you mumbled once your lips had parted, though you were sort of dazed, not all the way there. "feels so good."

"good girl, 's it, take it all." you felt his hand suddenly trail down, fingers soft against your clit while his dick still hot between your gummy walls. "'s okay, you're okay."

you shook your head, swallowing thickly as your hips bucked. "'s―'s too much!" you panted out, moans leaving you as if you couldn't keep them inside.

"you can take it, baby, know you can." but he could tell by the way your face twisted again, you were close.

and so was he.

"you gonna let go f'me? huh?"

at this point, your eyes had fluttered shut and you lips were parted as you nodded, brows strewn together. "gonna... 'm gonna cum, dean."

"that's my girl." he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "cum all over my dick f'me, sweetheart."

you supposed you were more obedient than you thought.

dean watched as you squirmed and moaned, eyes screwed shut as you finally let go around him. he could feel your gummy walls squeezing him tighter, a ring of slick had formed at the base of his dick. the mere sight, his dick still stuffed inside your cunt and you, cumming all over him.

well, it was enough to have any man weak.

which was why he'd finished so quickly, too.

after all, he'd been holding on since you were sat on his lap.

and that one feeling, cumming in your wet, hot walls and watching you with that pretty, stricken and worn out face as you came on him too... he swore he had really been to heaven and back.

when you both rode out your highs, he laid himself on the bed next to you, watching as you reached your hand up, playing with his silver ring that sat on your thumb.

he swore he was staring at an angel.

main masterlist/dean's masterlist

[dcxdpdabbles]

For Angel Brat, could we have some more focus on Bruce and Danny? Maybe Dick and Danny as well?

Bruce looks over to where Danny and Dick are each filling up their frozen yogurt cups. Dick's, is a vanilla and chocolate mix topped with various candies.

It seemed he had taken the open bar toppings as a personal challenge to drop a scoop of everything laid out into his container. Honestly, Bruce sometimes wondered if all of Dick's spontaneous flips were just a means to stay in shape, so he could keep eating the way he did.

Danny, on the other hand, had chocolate topped with only peanuts. His blue eyes- the only difference between him and Damian physically wise- kept wandering over longingly to offered sweeties but he was on a strict diet for his health.

Bruce can't believe that for all they have been searching for ways to keep Danny; they had neglected developing research for his illnesses. It felt a bitter taste in his mouth that they still could not find a cure for his boy.

Bruce Wayne was able to travel through time but make sure his son could run long periods without his heart or his lungs breaking down? Turns out he truly is just a mortal, and that was one of the worst things to realize when his son confidently bragged about being able to do two entire laps of their yard without nearly passing out.

He mentally did some calculations before stepping closer and touching Danny's shoulder. "I think you can have some chocolate chips."

His boy's face brightened in joy before he rushed to the counter, scooping the chocolate goods into his yogurt. It's another thing he noticed about Danny.

Unlike Damian, his youngest didn't bother hiding his emotions. He wore them like a badge of honor, letting them bleed across his face as quickly as he allowed sunlight to rest on them.

Bruce isn't sure if this is due to their different personalities- like the night and day of those two- or if it was because Danny had gotten out of the League when he did. Damian had broken him out to prevent him from being killed for his execution, but Bruce could not figure out where Danny had grown up.

His son's phrases and slight accent indicated midwestern. Bruce had no idea where, and every time he tried searching for him, the only thing that popped up was the already small rumors. Was this an effect of the timeline resetting? But why were there some posts and data on him left behind if it was?

It gave Bruce a headache; even Wally had no idea what was causing it. Wally, having been trapped in the Speed Force for so long, was the expert on it. Bruce shuddered to think of the alternatives if he couldn't figure out what was happening.

Bart had assured everyone that Danny was officially an anchor to their timeline, but if Wally's grim warnings that time was slowly erasing him- thus the lack of proof of childhood- then nothing they could do would save their son.

The worst part was not knowing if he would even be able to properly mourn him. Would Daniel Wayne vanish one day if no one remembered he was supposed to be there?

"Dick, I'm taking a pottery class. I'm going to make you something for your desk." Danny says, snapping Bruce out of his dark thoughts. Then he realizes he was moving on auto-polite, and the cashier was handing back his change.

He takes it with an empty smile turning to his children as Dick beams down at the youngest. "I can't wait to see it, Danny! I bet it will be the best one in class."

"I'll be the only one in the class," Danny tells him sheepishly, but a hint of sadness leaks into his voice. "I'm too sick to go to the center. Dad hired me a private teacher to come to the manor instead."

Bruce's heart squeezes painfully, and one quick glance at Dick's face lets him know his son feels the same way. Of course, nothing sows on his eldest face, but Bruce has known Dick for so long he can tell by the slight tightening around his eyes and the way the pain is tucked in his eyes.

Before he can think better of it, Bruce hears himself say, "I've always been interested in pottery. I'll see if the instructor wouldn't mind a second student."

"Really?" Danny's eyes are practically shining , which prompts Bruce to smile and shrug a shoulder.

"Yes, in fact I'm sure all of your siblings would love to take a class or two. Why don't you send a message in the group chat to see if they like to sign up?" He makes a motion that has Dick pulling out his phone to send in a different group titled "Keep our Angel."

His phone dings just a few seconds before Danny's, which the more petite boy takes as his own message coming through. Bruce never the less checks it anyway, swiping over to Dick's to read what he wrote

Dick: You are all taking a pottery class this Saturday. No excuse. Danny wants us there. I will hurt you if you miss.

His lack of emojis is bone-chilling. Bruce highly doubts any of his children will miss the event. And just as he predicted, Danny's smile grows wider when more dings can be heard coming from his phone.

"Everyone can make it!" He cheers, scrolling through the messages, looking like the world had just been promised to him. "This is going to be so much fun! Do you think the teacher won't mind?"

"I'm sure she will be happy for the raise." And if she wasn't, Bruce would quickly find someone who would. Money, to him, was never an issue.

Danny grins so brightly that Bruce wonders if he should invest in some sunglasses, but his heart does soar. Even if Dick has to reach out to adjust Danny's heart pump wires after they get stuck on the chair.

Effortlessly, Dick moves the attention away from the machine with a simple question. "Besides my gift, what else are you hoping to make Danny?"

"I'm going to make a vase for Bernard. Damian will help me buy him flowers and ask him out." Danny's words are accompanied by a brilliant blush, but he seems almost proud of his newfound courage to ask a boy three years his senior.

Did Bruce just get shot? He feels like he's been shot.

Dick's little spoon crumbles in his hold as his very famous and dangerous rage bleeds into his blue eyes. "Wow. That's so brave of you. By the way, where does Bernard live again?"

Bruce will have to postpone his deep dive into finding out where Danny was raised because if he takes his attention off of Dick for even a second, his eldest will kill that boy.

[amyzworldds]

Last Part: Shadows of Sacrifice - Bound by Courage

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Seungcheol confronts the company, fiercely defending his right to love, while the group rallies around yn, easing her fears. Pairing: Seungcheol x reader Genre: Slightly angst, Fluff

The air in the HYBE meeting room was thick with tension, the kind that pressed against Seungcheol’s chest and made his pulse pound in his ears. He stood at the head of the long, polished table, fists clenched at his sides, facing a row of executives in crisp suits. Manager Kim lingered by the door, arms crossed, his expression a mix of guilt and quiet support. It had been two days since Kim’s confession in yn’s apartment, two days since Seungcheol learned the truth—that the company had forced her hand, coerced her into breaking his heart to “protect” him and Seventeen. Two days of simmering rage that had finally boiled over.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Seungcheol’s voice was low, and controlled, but laced with a fury that made the room shrink. The executives shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances, but he didn’t give them a chance to respond. “You don’t get to meddle in my life like this. You don’t get to decide who I love, who I fight for. That’s not your call—it’s mine.”

One of the suits, a stern-faced man with graying hair, leaned forward, hands clasped. “Seungcheol, we understand you’re upset, but this was for your own good—for the group’s future. If the fans found out—”

“Stop,” Seungcheol snapped, slamming a hand on the table. The sound echoed, sharp and final. “Don’t hide behind ‘the fans.’ You didn’t do this for me or them—you did it for your bottom line. You think I don’t know how this works? I’ve given everything to this group—my sweat, my sleep, my sanity—and you repay me by ripping away the one person who kept me grounded?”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. The anger poured out, years of bottled-up frustration spilling over. “Yn didn’t deserve that. She’s not some liability you can erase. She’s the reason I could keep going through the chaos—through the schedules, the pressure, all of it. And you made her think she was ruining me? You made her lie to me, break herself apart, because you were too scared to trust me to handle it?”

Another executive, a younger woman with a tight bun, tried to interject. “We were protecting Seventeen’s image. A scandal like this—”

“Scandal?” Seungcheol laughed, bitter and hollow. “Love isn’t a scandal. It’s not a PR crisis you can spin away. I’m not some puppet you control. I’m a person, and I get to choose who I share my life with. You don’t own that part of me—no contract, no amount of money gives you that right.”

Manager Kim stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. “He’s right. You overstepped. I told you this would backfire—I told you he’d fight for her. You didn’t just hurt him; you hurt yn too. She didn’t sign up for this.”

The gray-haired man sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seungcheol, we’re not saying you can’t date. We just needed discretion—”

“Discretion doesn’t mean forcing her to leave me!” Seungcheol’s shout rang out, raw and unfiltered. “You didn’t ask for discretion—you demanded sacrifice. Hers, mine, ours. And I’m done letting you call the shots. If it comes down to it, I’ll walk away before I let you take her from me again.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling like lead. The executives exchanged uneasy looks, clearly unprepared for the fire in their leader’s eyes. Seungcheol straightened, chest heaving, but his resolve was ironclad. “You don’t touch her. You don’t go near her. If there’s fallout, I’ll handle it. Me and the guys—we’ll face it together. But this ends now.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out, Manager Kim following close behind. The door slammed shut, a punctuation mark on his defiance. He wasn’t just fighting for yn—he was fighting for himself, for the life he wanted, not the one they’d scripted for him.

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

Later that evening, Seungcheol gathered the members in the dorm’s living room. The air was lighter here, filled with the familiar chaos of thirteen voices, but tonight it was subdued, everyone waiting for him to speak. Yn sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, eyes still red from days of crying. She’d come at Seungcheol’s insistence, though she’d hesitated, guilt still clinging to her like a second skin.

He stood in front of them, hands on his hips, and took a deep breath. “You all know what happened. Yn and I… the company forced her to break it off. They thought she’d ruin us.”

Murmurs rippled through the group—shock, anger, confusion. Mingyu’s jaw tightened, Hoshi leaned forward, and Jeonghan’s sharp gaze flicked to yn. Seungcheol held up a hand to quiet them. “I told them today—they don’t get to control me. Us. I’m not letting her go again, no matter what they throw at us. But I need you to hear it from me: this could get messy. Fans, media… it might hit us hard. I won’t drag you into something you don’t want.”

Joshua spoke first, voice calm but firm. “Hyung, you think we’d let you face this alone? yn’s not ruining anything—she’s family now. We’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Vernon chimed in, flashing a grin despite the tension. “If Carats can handle dk Hyungs’s weird tiktoks, they can handle this.”

Dokyeom snorted, but his expression softened as he looked at yn. “You don’t have to worry about us. We’re tougher than we look.”

Hoshi nodded, crossing his arms. “Love’s worth fighting for. I’d do the same for someone I cared about. We’re not going anywhere.”

One by one, they chimed in—Seungkwan with a dramatic “We’re a team, aren’t we?”, Woozi with a quiet “You’re happy with her, that’s enough,” Dino with an earnest “We’ll protect you both.” Even Wonwoo, usually silent, murmured, “You don’t need to carry this by yourself.”

Yn’s eyes welled up, her hands trembling as she tried to speak. “I—I didn’t want to hurt you guys. I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping you safe…”

Jeonghan slid closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t hurt us. You tried to protect us—same as Cheol always does. But you don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

Mingyu grinned, leaning over the couch. “Besides, we like you. You’re stuck with us now.”

Laughter broke the tension, soft and healing, and yn managed a small, watery smile. Seungcheol watched her, his chest loosening for the first time in weeks. His family—his brothers—had her back, and that was more than he’d dared to hope for.

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

That night, after the members dispersed, Seungcheol led yn to his room. The dorm was quiet, the others giving them space, and the soft glow of a lamp cast shadows across the walls. He shut the door and turned to her, finding her standing awkwardly by his bed, still fragile but steadier with him there.

“C’mere,” he said, voice gentle, and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly, burying her face in his chest, her breath hitching as he held her tight. They stayed like that for a while, the world outside fading until it was just them—two hearts finding their rhythm again.

He pulled back slightly, tipping her chin up to meet his eyes. “You okay?”

She nodded, but it was shaky. “Better. I just… I still feel so guilty, Cheol. For lying, for hurting you.”

“Hey,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You don’t need to carry that anymore. I get why you did it—you were trying to protect me. But don’t ever do that again, hmm? If something comes up, we face it together. No more running, no more hiding.”

Her lip trembled, but she nodded. “I promise.”

He studied her, his gaze softening but firm. “I mean it, yn. If you pull away like that again, I’m not letting it slide. I’ll go public—put it all out there, tell the world you’re mine. I don’t care what they say. As long as you’re with me, I can take anything.”

Her eyes widened, a flicker of fear mingling with hope. “But the fans—”

“Carats will love you,” he cut in, his voice steady with conviction. “Maybe not all of them—some may react, sure, but that’s noise. The real ones, the ones who’ve been with us through everything? They’ll see how much you mean to me. They’ll want me happy, and you’re what makes me happy. I know that in my bones.”

She swallowed, tears slipping down her cheeks, but this time they weren’t from pain. “You really think that?”

“I know it,” he said, wiping them away with his thumb. “And even if it’s rough, I’ve got the guys. We’ve got each other. You’re not a burden—you’re part of us now.”

She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Nah,” he grinned, the first real smile he’d felt in weeks. “You deserve better, but you’re stuck with me anyway.”

They sank onto the bed, side by side, her head resting on his shoulder. He laced their fingers together, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. “Tell me something,” he said after a quiet moment. “What’s one thing you missed most?”

Y/N smirked, a playful glint in her eyes despite the lingering tears. “Jeonghan.”

Seungcheol’s brow shot up, and he pulled back to stare at her, mock offense written all over his face. “Jeonghan? Seriously? My own member? I should hide Jeonghannie from you—lock him in a closet or something. You’re not allowed to see him anymore.”

She laughed—a real, bright sound that warmed him from the inside out. “Oh, come on! You know he was my bias back when I was just a fan in the crowd, screaming for you guys. I even had a whole collection of his photocards—spent way too much money on those.”

He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer. “Had? Where’d they go?”

Yn paused, tilting her head as if realizing something. “You know, they mysteriously disappeared right after we started dating. I always wondered…”

Seungcheol grinned, a little sheepish, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. I hid them. Stashed them in a box under my bed. Couldn’t stand the idea of you swooning over Jeonghan when you had me right there.”

Her jaw dropped, then she laughed again, swatting his arm. “You’re ridiculous! You were jealous of your own groupmate?”

“Damn right I was,” he said, unapologetic. “But don’t worry—I’ve got a stack of my own photocards now. I’ll give you all of them, every version, signed and everything. You’re a Cheol stan from now on, got it?”

“Deal,” she said, grinning as she nestled back against him. “Though I’ll miss teasing you about it.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around her. “Tease all you want—just don’t leave me for him.”

“Never,” she whispered, her voice soft but sure.

They lay there, tangled in each other, the weight of the past month lifting with every shared breath. Outside, the world buzzed with uncertainty—potential storms, battles yet to come—but in that room, it was just them. Seungcheol held her like a promise, fierce and unwavering, and yn let herself believe in it: a love worth fighting for, a future they’d carve out no matter the odds. They were bruised, but not broken—and together, they’d heal.

[heathermason6060]

Serial Killer!Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Teeth and Pearl earrings

Warnings: serial killer daryl, rough smut, inconsiderate smut, NO noncon, stalking, stealing, mentions of killing

Summary: Daryl can't decide if he wants to kill you, or fuck you. Switches between Daryl's and Readers POV.

Notes: SO SORRY ITS LONG This was really fun but really challenging to write, I tried to keep him as in character as possible, but that's hard when making him a serial killer lol! I'm making this a two pt, with the reader finding out in the next part.

Some days Daryl thought his luck might run out. He'd been lucky for too long. As far as he knew, no one suspected a thing. Every time he'd go out “hunting”, no matter how long he was gone for, he'd always managed to bring back something. Deer, rabbits, squirrels when prey was scarce. 

It was easier now that the world had ended to keep it a secret. No threat of cops catching on, no more cameras on every street corner, no need to try to erase every possible trace.

The only thing he found to prove difficult had been finding a place to keep his trophies. He didn't really have a preference, hair, a tooth, or a piece of clothing, it was something he didn't understand the meaning of but something he did each time. He kept it in his room in the vent above his bed, behind a few boxes of books. The week prior he took it down to put the wedding ring of a man who tried attacking Rick out on their supply run, he’d had to restrain himself and keep the stabbing to a minimum because of Rick's presence. 

He found himself growing uncomfortably interested in you. A revelation that he really, really didn't like. You were off limits, you were one of Rick's closest friends, you'd been there way too long. And you clearly hadn't done anything deserving of the things he daydreamed about doing to you, unlike the victims he’d killed before.

The more he tried to push those thoughts away, the stronger they came back. His hands around your throat, the way your eyes would tear up as you struggled against him and the fact someone you trusted so much was the one ending your life. 

His eyes followed you over the flames of the campfire as you took your plates and went inside. Aaron had hosted a little get together in his yard in Alexandria, cooking dinner for everyone in celebration of the newest addition to the town. Some nobody he found out there on their own, who jumped at the idea of joining a large group of people. 

If Daryl had to kill you, he’d keep a lock of your hair. 

He couldn't stop staring at it as you went inside. His mind flooded with flashes of pictures of it, his hand in it, stroking your soft locks before grabbing a fistful and putting a knife to your throat. The way you'd squeal and beg, squirm against him as he presses the edge firmer into your skin. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away after you disappeared in the house you shared with Maggie and a few others. 

It was like you were practically begging him to follow you. 

Five different times that week you'd gone out on your own to ‘clear your head’, whatever the hell that meant. 

First time he heard Glenn mention to someone that you'd just gone out beyond the walls, he wanted to follow you. The idea was far too tempting. But he didn't, he knew damn well he couldn't trust himself with you all alone, no one to hear you scream. 

The fantasies he had begun to form disgusted him. He didn't just go out and kill any random human he felt like, he had to have some sort of rules or else things would get out of hand real fast. If he were to get caught, it needed to be someone Rick wouldn't think twice about him killing. Some raider, or any kind of piece of shit who'd be a threat to their group. He needed to have a fallback, worst case scenario one of Alexandria caught him. 

Second rule, none of his people. Ever. His morals were questionable, if he had it his way he'd go out and hunt down any human he came across outside those walls.

But never his people. In a hypocritical way he did care about them, in the same way that any normal sane human being would care about their family. He could never even dream about hurting any of them, he’d rather die. But they had to earn that place in his heart. 

It was a wonder you hadn't been killed by anyone else yet. The way you walked through the woods with your light pink sweater, leaving tracks in the leaves that a blind man could follow, and that fucking humming. He could easily track you with his eyes closed for miles with the way you kept humming. 

You'd gone into an old shack in the backyard of an abandoned trailer.

A part of him felt angry then, how were you so stupid? If it had been someone else following you, and not Daryl, who knows what they'd do to you? And you'd have no idea until it was too late. 

He paused at the thought. If he wasn't careful, that's exactly what would happen. 

He followed you home about half a mile behind the entire time. When you were at the road that led to the gates he turned back, deciding it was the perfect time to go hunting. 

The crossbow on his back weighed heavier than it normally did as he slunk down into the underbrush at the forest's edge. He hadn't decided on what animal yet, but the frustration and confusion alone caused by you made it pretty easy to guess. 

He wiped the blood from the molar before he tucked it in the box in his vent, and decided to pay Maggie and Glenn a visit.

The house was completely empty, so he let his curiosity get the better of him.

Your room was pretty. 

Your bed, a whopping full size mattress, made his pull out look like a military cot. You had an array of paintings on your walls, he remembered some of them. As soon as you got your own room in Alexandria you went out on runs with Glenn and Maggie just so you could decorate it. 

His eyes went from painting to painting, then to your dresser. You kept it unexpectedly neat for someone who behaved so sloppily in the woods. Your journal, a small glass box you kept your sentimental jewelry in, a few makeup products. What drew his attention was the jewelry box, he could see the pair of pearl earrings you used to constantly wear. You never took them out back then, not even to sleep. 

Orange bled into a dark purple against his face and he blinked, coming back to himself in front of your bedroom window. A strange confusion twisted in his gut when he realized he'd just been standing there, staring out your window for so long the sun had set.

You weren't stupid, or blind. 

You'd have to be a fool to not notice the way Daryl had been taking interest in you. 

There'd been several times in Alexandria where you'd be busy doing something, turn around and see him standing off in the distance, staring at you like fuckin’ Michael Myers. 

If you'd go on runs and he came with you, you'd often glance at him to see him already looking. He'd always look away, pull out a cigarette and act like he wasn't just burning holes in the back of your head. 

You'd come to the obvious conclusion that he had a crush on you. 

What else could it be? You'd always thought he was really hot, men like that were hard to come by. Quiet, observant, strong as hell, he’d do anything for the people he loved and he wasn't an annoying pervert who'd suddenly turn into an asshole if you rejected him. Not that you'd ever reject him. 

Each time you caught him staring your heart would race and you'd try to give a friendly smile, but apparently he was too shy for that. Which sucked, because of all the men you could have the hots for, Daryl was the most unapproachable and intimidating. 

“Hey, have you guys seen an earring laying around anywhere?” You asked at dinner, glancing around the table. Carol had invited the inner group over for dinner, she'd made pasta and cookies. 

You could never get enough of Carol's cookies. 

“What's it look like?” Maggie asked beside Glenn, the two of them looking at you thoughtfully from across the table. 

“Just a pearl earring. The one's I always used to wear.” You took a sip of your sweet tea, looking at the other faces to see if any of them had a split second look of recognition. 

“Not that I can remember.” Glenn cleared his throat and shook his head after swallowing a heavy mouthful of alfredo pasta. 

“I'll keep an eye out for it.” Rick tipped his head to you, nodding slightly before continuing eating. You smiled in return, knowing if anyone was likely to find it, it’d be him. 

He'd grown very fond of you recently, the image of you had shifted in his head from another person he was responsible for, to a dear friend he could trust with his life. Mostly due to the way you were with Carl, always doing your best to be a figure of comfort to him. Not as close as he'd grown to Michonne, but more of a young aunt who takes too much interest in art and jewelry.

“I haven't seen you wear those in a while.” Carl spoke up. 

You sighed when no one had any leads. “Yeah, I know. Just been worried about losing them, they're pretty important.” You took the last bite of your cookie, dusting your hands together before speaking again. “It's really weird, they were both in my jewelry box last time I checked, but this morning there was only one.” 

“You think someone stole one?” Carol's voice held a tight tone of suspicion, her eyes narrowing so slightly you could've missed it if you blinked. 

“No, I mean, no one goes in our house besides you all. And I know none of you care about a single earring.” You chewed on the inside of your cheek in deep thought. 

You felt that familiar sensation of warmth on your cheek, like someone had a hot iron near you. 

You turned your head to your left, met with Daryl's eyes from his spot at the end of the other side of the table. 

To your surprise he didn't look away like he usually did. He kept his gaze steady, his elbows propped on the table and his hands clasped together in front of his mouth. 

You didn't feel butterflies like usual, and your cheeks burned for a different reason. For the first time you were the one to look away. 

Rick had put together a group to scout out further into town for more resources. The usual suspects, Aaron, Sasha, Rosita, Abraham, Daryl and of course, you.

He hadn't made up his mind on if he was glad or not. He'd been stupid, feeding the sparks of his mild obsession, and that pretty little pearl earring he kept in his jeans pocket felt like twenty pounds of red-hot metal.

They'd set up camp for the night in the woods right on the outskirts of town. Abraham had set up mediocre sound traps around the small clearing, and Daryl couldn't help but snort when you walked right into one and the cans failed to clash together. 

Fire was a dumb idea too. 

Daryl had started to remember why he preferred being alone. Aaron was too used to the safety of the Alexandria walls. 

Abraham told him he'd better put it out after dark, also throwing in a passive aggressive insult, and Aaron stuttered out an agreement. 

It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes off you. He sat across the fire from you, watching you smile and laugh and joke with Rosita like you were two young girls in summer camp.

As the flames of his fixation on you grew, so did his confliction. 

He had no problems with you. He'd barely even paid attention to you before you'd arrived at Alexandria, you were just another background character in his story that wouldn't make a difference if you died or not. But you'd grown close to Rick and Maggie, two people he cared about. So by extension, he cared about you too. 

He wasn't sure when it started. It kind of just happened over time.

He was always an outside observer, keeping details of each person he knew on a list in his mind. 

But you, he couldn't think of any reason you'd be so special. It was obvious you were smoking hot, he wasn't blind. But he'd seen his share of beautiful women. Maybe it was the fact you seemed to always have luck on your side, you could go out singing in the woods and never run into any trouble. 

If the two of you weren't careful, that luck might change tonight. 

Abraham and Aaron were busy looking at a map of the town and figuring out what pathing they'd take in the morning. Sasha and Rosita were sitting on their bedrolls cleaning their guns and talking about meaningless things, he didn't care enough to listen. 

You were the odd man out. Just like him. 

Sitting in the dirt on the other side of the fire, fidgeting with a stick in front of you while you thought. 

He could tell you knew he was staring at you again. And judging by the way you were forcing yourself to keep your eyes on the stick you were drawing circles in the dirt with, you were trying your best not to look up. 

He didn't expect you to look up. He almost let the confusion show on his face, caught off guard by his incorrect prediction. He saw the way your cheeks flushed even though the light of the fire made your face glow orange. He flared his nostrils at the sight, why'd you have to make it so damn hard?

His heart dropped when you suddenly stood and walked off into the woods. 

No one had even noticed, too wrapped up in their conversations. Another thing that succeeded in his self restraint slipping away. 

Daryl followed after counting three minutes in his head. He'd really hoped you'd come back before then, praying you'd be lucky enough to slip back through the trees before he got to his feet. 

It was dark in the woods away from the campfire. 

He could hear you a few yards ahead, your boots crunching lightly on leaves despite your attempts at being quiet. 

He kept his distance, just following the sounds of your footsteps and the slight silhouette of your body, the moonlight seeping through the treetops barely grazing your hair and shoulders. 

This was way too natural to him. 

Now out here you were just like any other victim, but it brought him comfort knowing there'd be no way he could hurt you and get away with it. The two of you disappear off into the woods at night and only Daryl comes back? He might think the people around the fire made stupid decisions sometimes, but they weren't stupid enough to not be suspicious of him. 

Maybe he could say walkers got you. 

He clenched his jaw when he realized he was at such a desperate point that an idea that stupid even crossed his mind. 

“Daryl?”

The sound of your sweet voice made him physically recoil, his hand falling from the knife in his belt that he didn't realize he'd been gripping. 

He could barely make out your figure in front of him. You were facing him, maybe six feet away, standing underneath a large pine tree. 

There was no use in hiding. Your eyes would've adjusted enough by now to see the shape of him. 

Finally, he answered, his voice coming out in more of a growl than a human speaking. “Shouldn't be out here alone.” 

There was silence before you filled it with the crunching of your footsteps moving towards him. 

His body tensed as you drew closer, now able to make out the pretty features of your face. An image of you flashed in his head, blood running down your nose and lips, tears in your eyes, your fingernails raking down his wrist. 

“I just needed a minute to clear my head.” You said it like it was the most natural thing in the world, like you weren't out in the dead of night stomping around loud enough for any walkers within a five mile radius to hear. 

Daryl said nothing, his eyes fixed on your face as you slowly crept near. Although he hated not being able to read your expressions, he was thankful for it, because he was hanging on by a thread and if you even showed the slightest hint of fear, he'd snap. He wouldn't be able to resist if your lips trembled, or if your eyes widened and you stuttered a single apprehensive syllable. 

But as his eyes adjusted even further, his mouth ran dry and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He felt like he'd been slapped in the face. That would've been less of a stun than the look you were giving him, standing only a few inches away from him. 

Your plan had worked. You'd been plotting it ever since Rick paired you up in that group, the silent attention Daryl had been giving you ended up driving you mad. You found it absurd that all it took was a few stares to make you feel like he was some A list celebrity giving you special treatment.

Maybe it was a little stupid the way you went about it, but the curiosity eating you up inside didn't have you thinking straight. Walking off into the woods was one thing, but at night? In woods so thick you could barely see your hand outstretched in front of you? Blindly trekking through the leaves in the mere hope that he'd follow you and make a move? 

You hadn't had sex in way too long. 

Yeah, that was it.

That's why you were making the decisions of a dumb bitch in a horror movie. But at least it was Daryl you were after, you knew you'd be fine if you ran into trouble. 

You thought you'd be fine.

Emboldened by the darkness and privacy you'd secured for yourself, you approached him. Your heart hammered against your chest, and you had to bite your lip to keep from panicking, the fear of rejection or a humiliating scolding almost made you change your mind. 

Your eyes strained in the dark to make out the features of his face. 

He looked almost expressionless, but there was something in his eyes, something that had your steady breathing turning into shuddering breaths coming from your mouth. His gaze looked like a textbook example of ‘dark’. Your heart felt like it was literally about to explode, and when you saw his upper lip barely twitch, you let out an accidental sigh, too exhilarated to feel embarrassed with yourself. 

He was right in front of you then. You'd crossed every single inch of ground that separated you, and you could smell his signature scent of cigarettes, smoke, those spicy little mint leaves he'd chew on for his oral fixation. There was a hint of male musk as well, just barely there after a day walking outside in the woods. 

You could see his chest rising and falling more dramatically now. 

He was still dead silent, his eyes never leaving yours, even as you looked over every inch of him. You'd been biting your lip so hard it started to ache, and so you released it, your mouth opening to speak, you yourself unaware of what you planned to say.

The sound of Abraham’s whistle signal breaking through the thick silence had you feeling like you fell out of a plane. You sucked in a gasp and pulled your hand back from where it hung inches away from Daryl's chest. 

Daryl's posture snapped into something so different it gave you whiplash. He was Daryl Dixon again, the sight so drastic you couldn't help but feel unnerved. 

He whistled back before looking at you once more. It was still too dark to tell if he looked relieved or disappointed. “C'mon.” 

Keeping his distance from people had never been a problem for Daryl. But what you did that night had permanently altered something inside him. 

He didn't know if he wanted to fuck you or kill you. Maybe both. 

You became his new favorite pastime. 

When everyone fell asleep that night, he sat with his back against the same tree he'd been sitting under for hours, his eyes keeping their unwavering stance on your sleeping form. All the while he imagined hundreds of different things to do to you. 

His mind kept going between strangling the life out of you, watching it bleed from your eyes. Or the other one, the image where he was burying his face between your legs with his tongue and teeth sucking and nipping, licking till it became too much and you begged him to stop.

He carefully planned out his next encounter with you over the course of days. He acted it out the night of a “party” at Aaron and Eric’s house, so focused on his plan he didn't even know what they were having a party for.

Daryl didn't care if you caught him staring anymore. That night in the woods he could practically smell how bad you wanted it, it didn't matter to him anymore if he disregarded all basic manners.

The last time there was a party in Alexandria was when Rick's group joined. Daryl hadn't gone to that one, the feeling of being an outdoor cat watching indoor cats eating their fancy wet food too much for him. 

But he'd do anything to continue this little game with you. It was new, and there were no rules. 

For the most part he was his usual self, sticking to the side and keeping enough casual conversation to blend in. The perfect balance between himself, and the part of him that imagined in great detail all the sounds you'd make. 

He took a sip of the beer Aaron forced in his hands, his eyes looking back to you. 

You looked like a fresh cut of meat just waiting for him to sink his teeth into. 

The dress you wore hugged every single piece of your body, fitting you in a way that was almost poetic, but it was modest enough that it didn't draw unwanted attention. You were beside Rick most of the night, happily chatting and drinking champagne in a way that oozed confidence. 

Every now and then you'd look at him, and he'd savor all the details of the way your confidence faded into something he didn't have a word for. You looked nervous, but hungry, like someone reaching out a hesitant hand to stroke the pelt of a tamed predator. 

Daryl wanted to bite that hand, hold it in his harsh jaws while your other one stroked his fur. 

You played your part well, after most of the formal greetings and casual conversation had been taken care of you slipped out the back door. 

He counted three minutes in his head before making his exit, which was stopped by Carol.

“Leaving already, huh?” She gave him a knowing smirk, unaware that her assumption he was just bored was incorrect. He'd never been more entertained. 

“Yeah, shit ain't for me anyway.” He played along with a nonchalant shrug, pulling a lone cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Done enough already just by comin’.” 

Carol nodded, that smirk still on her face as she looked at the people standing around making friendly conversation. “Don't get into any trouble. Don't wanna help you hide bodies again.”

Daryl snorted, the cigarette bobbing between his lips. If there was anyone he'd come to for help hiding bodies it definitely would've been her. “Yeah yeah. Night Carol.” He gave her a pat on her shoulder before turning sideways to fit through the cracked door. 

He hadn't expected you to be so good at this. He'd been prepared to walk down the steps of the porch and see you standing down the sidewalk, waiting for him like he was your prom date. 

You weren't too good, though. He found you rather easily. The bottom of your heels left slight little indents in the dirt, leading between the houses, down the street, and right up to the sidewalk in front of your house. 

His heart rate sped up a little when he remembered that house was completely empty, all but you.

Or so he thought.

You weren't anywhere to be seen. He checked every room, growing increasingly irritated when each one turned up nothing. He was about to give up and just head home when he checked your room one last time. 

Something caught his eye, a blade of grass, his eyes followed the bits of grass to see those black heels sitting under your dresser, taking the place of your boots.

You tried to keep from anxiously picking at your fingernails as you stood behind the thick underbrush at the woodline, watching for any sign of movement along the outside walls. 

There was a spot at the back wall near a platform no one really watched anymore, which is where the both of you had gone to leave without being seen. 

You were beginning to think maybe you'd read him wrong. Your heart skipped a beat as you remembered that look he gave you at the party, it was impossible to describe. He was lacking any sort of expression, but in his eyes held this darkness that made swallowing your champagne hard when you'd seen it. The way he leaned against the wall near a group of people, his eyes steady and fixed on you, you could only decipher that as a look of craving for something he'd been wanting for a long time.

If you hadn't been looking at the Alexandrian walls, you would've missed it. For a split second you saw a flash of dark clothing, even darker hair, and you darted from your position behind the thickets.

Thankfully it wasn't as dark as that one night. 

The sun had dipped down below the trees and out of sight, but it left just enough light for the sky to be a dark blue. The full moon made it even brighter, and soon you were in one of the houses right outside Alexandria. 

You stood in the living room and waited. You'd already checked the house for walkers before this, not keen on the idea of a growling monstrosity of green and purple flesh ruining whatever might happen there when Daryl arrived. 

If he arrived. 

You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't coming. The heavy front door was open just a few inches, you'd wanted to be able to see him approach the house, to take him by surprise, maybe giving him the same fright he'd given you countless times.

Suddenly, the air grew heavy. You felt that feeling again, like you were in danger, the feeling you might get being stalked by a large cat. 

There was a breeze behind you, and you recognized it as a draft from the back window being opened. 

Although it was happening behind you, your mind raced as you played out the scene. His hands bracing against the walls on either side of the window, his first leg dipping over like a spider emerging from its tunnel. 

The tap of a boot meeting the wood floor under the window, so light and careful you almost didn't hear it. A second foot, he was in the house, only across the room from you. You held your breath as the footsteps drew near, slow, deliberate, you could tell just by the timing of his steps he was approaching you like a leopard closing in on a wounded deer. Confident, patient, nearly sadistic.

The feeling of his breath on your bare shoulder sent chills through your body and goosebumps down your arms. It was cold and barely there, you felt like if you turned around you'd be met with an empty house.

His fingers were just as light as his breath, tracing the thin dress strap over your shoulder, down and to the middle of your spine. 

Never in your wildest dreams did you think Daryl could be this confident in this way. He acted like every antagonist in a romance novel, dark and self-assured with every move he made. 

You felt yourself relaxing as you leaned your back against his chest, feeling the leather of his vest on your skin, as well as the buttons on his black shirt. 

The feeling of his hand snaking over your shoulder and up to your neck succeeded in sending every last drop of blood in your body down between your legs. You were fully prepared for the best slow, deep, mind-blowing sex of your life, but that quickly changed when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed.

It wasn't a firm and sexy squeeze, it was a ‘wait that's actually way too tight’ squeeze. 

Your eyes shot back open but you tried to keep your cool, your hands instinctively reaching up to grab at his wrist.

Apparently, Daryl didn't like that. 

He suddenly had your back pressed against the wall of the living room with movements so quick and precise it made your head spin. You looked up at his face, lit with a dim blue light from the windows, searching for any signs that would be cause for panic. 

He decided to give you that reason you were looking for, and wrapped his hand around your neck again.

For once, Daryl wasn't fighting some internal battle on if he should kill you or not. 

He'd made the decision as soon as he crept in the window and saw you standing in the living room, facing the front door and biting at your nails. 

That decision wasn't final, though, you had the power in your hands to change his mind. 

Hopefully you'd be as lucky as you always were. 

He looked down at your face as he kept his one handed grip on your throat, burning the image in his mind. Your eyes were wide and full of this otherworldly beautiful fear, so much uncertainty it made his already hard cock twitch. 

Your hands were still on his wrist, as if it gave you some sort of control, something he found endearing. You still trusted him, you still thought you had a chance to regain the control you thought you had this whole time.

“This what you wanted?” He breathed, looking from your eyes to your lips. Your face had turned a shade darker from his grip, your lips turning a pretty hue of red. “Wanted me to hunt you down, and then what? Huh?”

He watched for your reaction, waiting to see how you'd play the hand you'd been dealt, and to his pleasant surprise you managed to nod. 

Daryl's hand loosened just enough to send the blood back to your head and you sucked in a deep breath, before letting out a trembling whimper. 

His lips twitched into a soft smirk, and he dipped his head down to press his lips against yours. You kissed him hungrily, swallowing the growl from his throat as your bare knee pressed against the aching bulge in his jeans. You moved it in firm circles, and he decided that earned a returned gesture.

He used his knee to roughly spread your thighs before giving you the same treatment. The whine that drew from your lips, and the way your eyes rolled back in your head, had him letting out a deep groan. He ground his knee up between your legs, long enough to feel the wetness seeping from your panties and through his jeans. 

You didn't get a chance to tell him about the bed you'd cleaned upstairs for this. Which was unfortunate, given you'd gone out of your way to do so, not that he would've cared anyway. 

He grabbed your shoulder and spun you around, fingers finding the zipper of your dress and unceremoniously pulling it down to your ass. Your heavy breathing fueled his desire and he grabbed a fistful of your hair before yanking your dress down with his other hand so fast it burned. 

With the grip he had in your hair he forcefully guided you onto the floor, releasing you only to settle between your thighs and slide his hands up your bare chest to his favorite part of you. 

You got that look on your face again. Lust blown pupils, breathing softly through your mouth. You still hadn't figured it out yet, that you could very easily be in danger. 

This time he used both hands. 

A yelp got choked from your throat as he squeezed, allowing himself a few seconds to please himself. The white of your eyes turned a light pink at the edges, a few beads of tears forming there as well, the sight making his dick throb. 

He released your neck and you gasped, sucking down lungfuls of air as your head spun. You felt like you were on a carousel the way you got so dizzy. 

While you regained your bearings he unbuckled his belt and took out his dick, his right hand wasting no time in giving himself relief. You took the opportunity to slide off your panties, and when he saw the glistening of your wet folds in the deep blue lighting he growled. The sinful sound earned a whimper from you, and he refocused on your face to see a pitiful look of impatience.

Daryl switched to stroking himself with his left hand, and guided the tip up through your slick folds. He savored the way you looked then, biting your bottom lip as you prepared yourself. 

Instead of giving the satisfaction he pulled his tip back and carried on fucking his hand. As soon as your eyes opened and you went to protest, his free hand went right back to your neck.

He loved the way you looked then, desperate and pathetic, so full of frustration it leaked out through tears in your eyes. He squeezed hard, completely cutting off blood and air to your brain, tugging his dick faster as you squirmed.

Daryl lifted up his knee to pin one of your thighs to the floor in an effort to keep you still. He took his hand away from his cock and spit in his palm, wasting no time in getting back to touching himself. 

He could've easily come right there. If he wanted to, he could keep squeezing just a few more moments, and your squirming would've stopped. He could spill his load on your stomach and effortlessly slip into his cleanup routine, but aside from the fact that part of him didn't really want to kill you, the way you orgasmed had him fucking frozen.

He hadn't even touched you, but you came. 

Your eyebrows scrunched together and the leg he didn't have pinned down wrapped around his waist, your hips rolling in a desperate attempt to get friction against your clit. He relaxed his hand from your throat and you let out this bubbly whimpering sound that made his hips instinctively jerk forward. 

Daryl watched you, holding his breath without realizing it. She just came from you chokin’ her. The words repeated over and over in his mind as you rode out the last waves of your orgasm. 

He had to snatch his hand away from his dick to keep his own orgasm at bay. Not yet, not a chance in hell, not after you just did that. You deserved something for showing him the hottest thing he never would've thought possible.

His body went on autopilot. He slid down from your body, planting kisses in a trail from your neck to your naval, down to your thighs, then back up again. He buried his face between your legs, not giving you a moment's notice or time to recover. He swirled his tongue around your clit, grazing his teeth against it before sucking it between his lips.

You bucked against him like a wild horse, the stimulation so much your body didn't know how to react. It was desperate, finally getting some stimulation, but you'd just had a world shattering orgasm only seconds before. He wrapped his arms under your thighs and pulled you down against his mouth again, his grip tight to keep you from squirming away again. 

The only control you had was your ability to choose what to do with your hands. Your fingers wrapped around clumps of his hair, winding up so tight it made his scalp burn. 

He growled in response and took your clit between his teeth, holding it there as a stern warning, only letting it go when you stopped pulling so damn hard.

If he had the power to freeze time for everything but the two of you, he would've eaten your pussy for hours. But he settled on just long enough to pull another orgasm from you, sliding the tip of his tongue from your throbbing clit to the new trail of slick cum dripping out of you. 

Daryl didn't give you time to recover from that one either. As soon as your cry faded out he flipped you on your back, ignoring the yelp of protest you made when your hip bones dug into the hard floor beneath you. 

The only warning he gave you before shoving his cock into you was a quick slide of his swollen tip between your puffy folds. Just right enough to lubricate the head, and then he drove it in.

The way you groaned in pain from the stretch almost made him cum right there. He stilled inside you, not for you to adjust but for him to fall back away from the edge. The benefit to you was just lucky. 

“Fuck.” It was the first time in a while that he'd spoken, and it was solely due to the way your hot plush walls squeezed his dick like a fist. 

He should've known you'd feel like that, he hadn't seen you with a man the entire time he'd known you. His chest shuddered with his ragged breaths, and once he was ready he put both hands flat on your upper back. He put his weight there, keeping him upright so he could lift his hips and fuck his dick into you with all his weight.

Your arms slid out in front of you, your hands grasping for something, anything, you needed something to hold onto.

He wouldn't grant you that kindness either. He rested his knees back on the floor on either side of your thighs and grabbed your arms, bending them painfully behind you. When he held your wrists together at the base of your spine he started fucking you again. 

Each rough snap of his hips drove a whiney moan from you. He liked that a lot, it sounded similar to a different type of crying, and he slowed down to keep his dick from getting friction burns. While you used the opportunity to squirm under him in an attempt to get more comfortable he spit on his fingers, letting it drip onto the base of his cock before changing positions once again.

He moved your arms up over your head and laid down on top of you, the weight of him pressing down on your back pushing all the air from your lungs. 

Your check rubbed against the floor as he started thrusting again, this time settling on a new pace, rough and fast despite the fact he barely drew his dick out. If he wasnt fucking you so roughly, the feeling of his head resting against yours would’ve given you butterflies. You became acutely aware of the closeness, there wasn't an inch of space between your bodies, and every grunt and groan he made had his lips brushing up against the side of your ear.

He used his hips to grind his dick inside you, the new motion drawing filthy gasps and whines from you from the way his tip seemed to roll and dig into each and every crevice inside you. You'd never felt anything like that before, so used to the normal thrusting. He only pulled back about an inch, rolling his hips in a way that had you shamelessly moaning. 

Daryl moved your hair from the back of your neck, pushing it up and away before leaning down to dig his teeth into the skin right at the base of your neck. He bit hard, something you didn't expect, and you cried out in pain, your body jerking under him. 

It was hard for you to breathe with his full weight on your back. The heat of his body gave you uncomfortable hot flashes, adding to the sweat you'd already made. Your hair stuck to your forehead and you made an attempt to push it off, which was made difficult when he changed paces once again.

He started drawing out further now, but he'd just drive back in harder, faster, causing your body to grind roughly against the wood floor. The skin over your hip bones started to burn as well as your nipples, something you found almost agonizing but shamefully pleasurable at the same time. 

He fucked you like that until you came for the third time, now around his dick. He pushed himself off your back and used his hands on your shoulders to keep you pinned down, watching as he breathed through his mouth at the way his cock disappeared inside you. 

You were lucky he felt like a new position. 

He waited until you stopped writhing under him from your orgasm before grabbing your thigh to turn you on your back. 

Relief washed over you as the pain in your hip bones faded, only to have that relief taken from you when he grabbed your waist and yanked you up and off the floor. 

Your feet didn't even touch the ground, your body swaying as you tried to get a sense of gravity, Daryl's hands tight on your sides as he took you to the couch. 

All you could do at that point was relax and let him move your body for you, your hands shaking against your chest as he sat you on the arm of the couch. You let him push you down on your back, your ass and legs dangling over the arm for a few dizzying seconds before he grabbed your legs and held them around his waist. 

Daryl pushed his dick back in your abused pussy and groaned, gripping your thighs tighter so he could pull you closer to him.

Your back arched almost uncomfortably, your hips angled up against his pelvis, the only part of your back that touched the cushions of the couch ended up being your shoulders. You were thankful you could at least breathe now. 

Daryl was skilled at taking small bits of relief like that away. 

He leaned down and bit your already sore nipple so hard and so suddenly you nearly shouted. Your hands instinctively went to grab his hair for support, but he leaned back and your fingers fell from his face. 

He was proud of the new angle. Your pelvis tilted up and him fucking down into you sent him as deep as possible, and soon he began fucking you rough enough that it bordered closely on too painful. 

Lucky for you, you liked it. Your walls burned pleasurably from the dragging of his dick, and he started speaking again. 

“Look at you, dirty little whore.” He teased as he looked down at your abused body with a grin. Your nipples and hips were red from him fucking you into the floor, your neck equally as red from the force of his hands. 

Your sweet, sweet pretty face, twisted up in a mix of pleasure and pain, your cheeks red, your lips swollen, streaks of black makeup running down your face. The sight made him seriously consider picking up drawing, because that look was, without a doubt, the best thing he'd seen in his entire life. 

“Daryl,” You finally plucked the courage to speak to him and he raised a brow, impressed, he'd gotten used to you taking it so well without any complaints. “Too much.” Your voice broke as you whined, another orgasm bringing you to shambles. 

He snorted as he watched you come around his dick yet again, your words asking for mercy but your body clearly asking him otherwise. 

“You can take a little more, yeah?” Even he was becoming spent, his heart banging in his chest so hard he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his hands down your sweaty chest to your breasts, his dick twitching inside you at the way you cried when he pinched that same sore nipple. 

“I don't know,” Another wave of shivers overcame you, eliciting exhausted, long and shaky whines. Your body couldn't process going a little under two years with little to no sexual activity, and then suddenly being mind numbingly overstimulated with the most exhilarating sex you'd ever had in your life. Each time you thought you'd gotten used to it he'd pull the rug out from under you, either by causing pain or giving you more pleasure that you knew what to do with. 

As if on cue you felt his flattened hand smack the side of your face, demanding your focus. Your eyes struggled to find him, your vision fuzzy and wobbly, but when you looked up and saw him your heart fluttered. 

“Look at me. C'mon.” He didn't want you passing out on him, that took all the fun away. 

Despite the obvious fact he had a clear disregard for your comfort or discomfort, the way he was looking down at you sent butterflies through your stomach and chest. His pupils were so blown with lust that you couldn't see the pretty color of his eyes, and his eyelids were heavy with the approach of his orgasm. His lips, glistening from the way his tongue had darted out to wet them, parted as he huffed in ragged breaths. 

You could tell if he had a picture of you like this, he'd be reacting the same way with just his hand. The thought had a moan bubbling past your lips. 

“C'mon.” His hips snapped forward roughly, jerking in a break from his steady aggressive rhythm. You cried out from that, your hands finding the sides of his dangling belt to grab onto like the reins of a horse.

He'd held back his orgasm as long as he could, but the sight of you shaking and trembling under him, exhausted and overstimulated, he couldn't last much longer. Your face twisted in discomfort as he fucked you faster again, your hips suddenly doing their best to wiggle up and away from the frenzy of his dick. 

You'd managed to get a few short moments of relief, sliding backwards until his dick nearly slid out.

His upper lip curled in disbelief, and he shook his head, scoffing at you. “Don't be a baby, you can take it.” You were yanked back down on his dick, the sensation of being forced back into overstimulation had you moaning in distress. 

You nodded your head feverishly, setting your jaw as you looked up at the ceiling, trying your best to keep it together. But each time his hips would ram into yours it made his crotch slam against your clit, and it got too much, your breathing sped up as the panic of overstimulation set in. You really tried then, actually tried to wiggle away, and to your surprise, and much needed relief, he stilled his hips. 

You were expecting him to maybe find a better way to restrain you, or put you in a position you couldn't move from, but he just used the moment to catch his breath before his demeanor changed completely.

“Hey, hey, shh.” The sweetness in his tone made you whimper, your eyes falling closed as he comforted you. It felt so fucking good, you found yourself willing to do anything and everything to feel that tenderness some more. “Yeah, that’s it. Good girl.” He cooed as your breathing slowed and your fingers stopped shaking.

Daryl released your thighs and with unexpected ease, he slipped his hands under the arch in your back, picking you up and moving so he could sit down on the couch, keeping you stuck on his cock the entire time. 

The new position of being on top sent a fresh wave of pleasure flipping in the bottom of your stomach, the tip of his dick pressed right at the end of your walls.

It wasn't painful like you'd felt before when your cervix was accidentally hit too hard, quite the opposite, the feeling of pressure was so strangely good you found yourself pushing down with all your weight, desperate to feel more. 

Daryl tossed his head back with a grunt at the feeling, taking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting it. His hands took their place on your hips, his fingers digging deep into the soft skin there. 

He'd only switched to this position because his legs were getting unsteady, but the way you looked above him was something he didn't expect to enjoy as much as he did. 

He took a second to catch his breath before he planted his boots firmly on the floor, pressing his back against the couch, and when he was perfectly leveraged he used his hands to keep your waist hovering above him, using the angle to fuck his dick up into you so hard you immediately came again. 

The way you came for the fourth time made his jaw drop. 

He watched you through heavy lidded eyes, taking in every second of it as he breathed through his open mouth. The way your face tensed up in twisted concentration, and then the way it dropped as you fell apart, your mouth falling open with a guttural moan that put every single goddamn porn video he'd seen to shame. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your mouth hung open in such a beautiful ‘O’, he broke. 

He let go of your waist so your full weight would slam down on his cock and he came, his head tilted back against the couch, his dark hair falling away from his face. 

You watched his face the same way he'd watched yours, rolling your hips down against him as you drew out every wave of the strongest orgasm you'd ever had. He looked fucking beautiful. You'd do everything in your power to get him like this again, but this time with your camera. 

His orgasm literally shook him. He clenched the skin over your hips in a tight grip, using it to keep you as tight as possible against him. In those few seconds his mind went blank, almost devolving him into an animal. Those instincts wanted to keep you there on top of him, so he did, rolling his pelvis to fuck his cum deeper into you. 

Daryl held you there until way after he came down from his high, only releasing his grip on your skin when he felt his dick grow soft. 

You couldn't move off him if you tried. Your legs felt like you'd lost all muscle mass, same with your arms. Your body slumped forward and you fell against his chest, your nipples burning as they rubbed against his shirt and vest. 

His arms wrapped around your torso, squeezing your body tight against his, his hips giving a few last weak rolls up against you. 

It took you both a while to catch your breath, the mouth breathing leaving the two of you uncomfortably thirsty. 

He made the first move when he realized you couldn't, and he slid your body off of his into the seat beside him. He sat there for a few more seconds before he carefully put his tender dick back in his pants. 

His belt buckle clinked noisily as he fastened it, his fingers shaky and inaccurate.  He watched as you slowly rose to your feet and grabbed your panties, the rising and falling of his chest gradually slowing. 

The sight of you struggling to climb into your dress had him feeling a smug sense of satisfaction. He chewed on the skin around his thumb, watching you slip your feet into your boots before you leaned against the wall next to the front door. 

You looked at it and faltered, realizing that the two of you had been pretty loud. When you looked back to him with a concerned expression you were just met with an uncaring smirk, the man now on his feet and wiping the sweat from his face with the top of his shirt. He grabbed his crossbow from the floor and flung it over his shoulder before leading you back home.

@ophelialaufey

[m1d-45]

will you promise that i'll see you again?

summary: your people refuse reason, and their damage refuses to heal. when it seems as if the whole world has left you, your dutiful knight still remains by your side.

word count: 2.3k

-> warnings: implied suicidal ideation (reader + unnamed side character), reader's previous deaths are mentioned in somewhat graphic detail

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @yuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“you’re one of the only things keeping me going, you know.”

dainslef turned to you in surprise, the even neutrality to your tone a sharp contrast to the rapid pace of his heart. he wasn’t a fool, he knew that the hunt had to be taking a heavy toll on you, but this…

this was more than he expected.

he knew he was one of a pitiful few who saw through celestia’s false puppet, who knew you for you and not their mirage. he knew that the entire world was hellbent on erasing you from existence, that you’d been forced through your own death countless times as teyvat pulled you apart and pushed you back together far from the scene of your would-be murder. he saw the golden scars across your skin, the dried remains of blood lining the wounds you hadn’t been able to patch yet. he’d been the one to wash them away, not minding the refuse soaking into his gloves if it meant your hands could be clean.

he recognized the dull exhaustion in your eyes, the same as the ones he saw in the reflections of lakes. tired, worn, barely there, hanging on by one solitary string that was wound so tightly around a desperate hand.

you had always been his reason for continuing. when the traveller broke down and the ruler of the abyss hid from the sun, you were there. when the chasm’s mud clung to his boots and the memories in his head burned as nails forced between his eyes, you were there. his rosary was kept tight to his chest at all times, familiar prayers pulling him up in the morning and forcing him to sleep at night. he was alive for far, far too long, but you made it bearable. you were his duty, his promise.

he never once thought that he’d be yours. then again, he never thought that he’d have to defend you from the ones you once called friends. time never did pass how he expected it to.

“…leading light?”

you looked down, twirling blades of grass around your fingers. he had led you up to a mostly desolate area of sumeru, west of bayda harbor. it close enough to the sea, forest, and desert that you could reasonably make an escape through any of those routes if need be, while also providing a rather pleasant view. the sky was bleeding red and gold as the sun sank below the horizon, a remarkable sight that fell on blind eyes. there was no use trying to enjoy nature’s beauty when he still kept one hand on his sword and both ears pricked for the slightest sign of danger.

you shouldn’t have to worry about your safety. you shouldn’t have to prioritize based on how likely you are to get hurt, or how easily it would be to make an escape. you still flinched when the wind blew a little too quick, used to it heralding armored footsteps and battle cries. in another life, you were welcomed with open arms, able to enjoy yourself without constantly being on high alert. teyvat did what it could to adapt; the air was still, frozen in time, barely a bird chirping for miles. it was meant to be comforting, he thinks, but dead silence was more unnerving than any breeze.

“i mean it.” he could hear every shift in his cloak around your shoulders, the heavy fabric doing little to soothe your stress. it was yours more than it was his now, to the point he felt claustrophobic wearing it. how long had he been traveling with you? the days blurred.

“i don’t doubt you.” he never would. never could. he’s not sure, even if he somehow wanted to, that his body would allow him to treat your words as anything less than fact. “but i don’t understand what you mean.”

you were a god. the creator, the first, the one that shaped the sovereigns scales and laid the foundations of earth. you predated the archons, celestia, the very skies themselves…

and he, somehow, was a driving motivation for you?

his words must have been funny, a sharp laugh tumbling out of your mouth. it was bitter, humorless, and somewhat raspy. he made note to find some water for you later. “what else could i mean?” you turn to him, some of his confusion lost as your eyes found his. even this burnt out, deep bags set beneath them, you still managed to steal the very air in his lungs. “you’re the only reason i’m still here.”

he didn’t know what to say. what was there to be said, when you were you and he was him? when the world had abandoned you, it made sense you’d cling to what remained faithful. it was merely coincidence he happened to find you first, that’s all. coincidence that you trusted enough not to run from, coincidence that you allowed to care for your injuries. there was nothing to say, because you held nothing for him in particular, only leaning on him out of need. he had to believe that. what was he left with if that wasn’t true? an awkward truth hid beneath his well-known lies, too large for him to see the edges, let alone to contain.

“please… do not say such things again.” to ask of his god what he could not ask of himself was surely some form of heresy, as was willingly laying aside his guard when he was the only one who was tasked with protecting you. he pulled his attention from the tide below, from the rustling trees, holding faith that the world would not be needlessly cruel. he stepped forward, kneeling beside you. even up close, you still seemed painfully small. “it is your own resilience that has allowed you to persevere.”

it’s the earth that leads you from danger.

it’s the water that follows you wherever you go.

it’s the leylines that whisk you to safety.

it’s the wind that warns you of what’s to come.

it’s the you from the past that protects the you in the present.

it’s the you in the present that provides for the you in the future.

it’s you, from everywhere and everywhen, continuing to fight.

and yet you sigh. you look away, across the sea, tracing fontaines skyline. “it really isn’t. i was lucky to run into you when i did.”

you had just crossed the wall back into the forest, burning hot and shaking. he was the lucky one, in truth, to be able to pick your figure out from the sand below. perched on a high cliffside, even mitachurls were reduced to small brown flecks.

you had worn a cryo mage’s cloak, which was what initially drew his attention. abyss activity wasn’t uncommon in the area, but a cryo mage in the desert… that was cause for intrigue. he stepped forward and slid down the steep face in front of him, a slight puff of dust marking his landing in the desolate sand of old vanarana.

he didn’t know what to expect. you stumbled around the jagged remains of a tree, heading for the statue of the seven. he followed, only growing more confused. cryo and dendro did not react with each other, and there was no way to “slow” a statue. a scouting mission, maybe? but why a cryo mage, when pyro would have been far more advantageous in the case of an attack?

he leaned around the corner carefully, prepared for the sight of a staff or the chanting of abyssal magic filling the air. the entire world seemed to be holding its breath, frozen in place and waiting for some trigger to continue.

he saw none of that. you were collapsed at the foot of the statue, faint wheezing only making it to his ears by virtue of the standstill around him. you held no staff, commanded no magic, your chest barely moving with air.

he’d never seen a mage seek out the archons when dying. one hand squeezed the handle of his sword as he crept forward, ready to strike should the situation turn against him. the sand barely shifted beneath his feet, his own heart sounding too loud to his ears. you did not move, showing no signs that you had noticed his approach. he still didn’t trust it.

your cloak was tattered and torn, with thick gloves atypical of a mage. they reminded him more of hilichurl wraps, which was strange considering you wore no mask. your face was instead covered by what looked like eremite cloth, just as stained and dirtied as the rest of your clothes. what he could see looked almost human; in another life, he could believe you were a weary traveller, lost amidst the sand.

he was acting foolish. if the abyss had a human tool, he needed to figure out why. he reached down, undoing the sloppy knot of your veil and letting the brocade fall limply to the grass.

…grass. he blinked, eyes flickering between the ground and your face, not sure which was harder to believe. flowers had bloomed around you, protecting your body from the blazing sands, and he’d be a fool not to recognize the face plastered all over every bounty board.

he didn’t understand. if nothing else, he thought the archons would have enough respect for their creator to know when they were being lied to, yet before him was barely living proof of the inverse. sweat beaded along every inch of exposed skin, deep-set heat exhaustion burning you from the inside out. how could you be a threat? how could they be so blind?

he looked again, the shine of elemental sight straining his eyes, catching flickers of the dendro energy pouring from the statue. you were the only one the archons would feed. you were the only one to make the very earth break its own rules, allowing lotuses to bloom from barren soil. something painfully similar to rage threatened what remained of his rationality, and it took all he had to push it aside.

that didn’t matter. if he went off on some banal revenge quest, he’d be no better than them. your safety mattered more. he picked you up and set aside how calm his curse felt, beginning the trek back to his camp. behind him, the flowers already began to wither, losing their persistence without you to foster it.

perhaps that initial meeting was luck. but these was no luck involved in your trust in him. when you woke up and saw him at your side, you chose to trust him. you chose to believe that he was not like the others, that he would protect you, and he was forever grateful for that trust. nobody could fault you for being angry, for being spiteful about what you were put through and choosing to lash out. nobody would have the right to be upset if you chose to vent your wrath against those that had hurt you.

but you didn’t. you chose, again and again, to believe in the world. you chose to let them live their lives, even if it meant getting hurt again in the process. you chose a quiet life traveling with him over the comfortable life on your throne. to willingly choose to travel with a disgraced knight to spare your people guilt… he couldn’t decide if it was noble or reckless. either way, he was selfishly happy that he was the one to stay by your side.

“i won’t try to convince you. but, please.. do not give up on yourself so easily.” i know far too many who have died by the same hand. “the world and its opinion does not define you. only you get to decide where fate leads.”

you lean towards him, and he thinks you might have passed out- but no, your head lands on his shoulder with far too much precision. he stiffens, not used to existence without a constant pain beneath his skin. “how motivational. you tell all your soldiers that?”

his heart is beating too quickly, thoughts unusually hard to grasp. you’re the only one who could have this effect on him. he only wished it wasn’t now, when your belief in yourself was on the edge. “i mean it. none of this is your fault, and neither are celestial actions the people’s fault. i know that you are hurt, but i don’t want you to accept that main needlessly. you shouldn’t have to view your creation with such pain.” slowly, carefully, he raises the hand closer to you, doing his best not to disturb you as he settles it on your arm. he’s can only hope that the contact brings you as much comfort as it does him. “if nothing else, believe me. promise you’ll at least try.”

he doesn’t think you’ll agree. why would you make a promise to one who represents the heaven’s betrayal? why would you let him hold you close at all, when you can surely sense the bindings of those who tried to kill you wrapped tightly around his soul? he doesn’t know. all he can do is hope.

“…alright, dainslef. i promise.”

twilight has long since fallen, and yet he smiles for the first time in centuries.

[strawberryys-stuff]

CRY FOR ME | LN4

Lando Norris x reader | part 2

summary: Lando secures yet another win but craves something more—something a trophy cannot provide. Maybe you can, but will you?

contains obsessive behavior again, I felt dirty writing this ngl—it's kind of nasty guyss but ENJOY ;) and let me know what you think

previous part

Cloaked in papaya orange and carbon black, the McLaren F1 car glistened in the parc fermè with specks of rubber and triumph, battle-worn and glorious.

The engine released its last breath, a faint growl that echoed with dominance. Each scratch and scuff was a badge of honor, a testament to every corner conquered, every straight devoured.

With a grunt, Lando crawled out of the cockpit, first one leg, then the other. His neck ached, his muscles stiff from the strain of the race, but the adrenaline lingered in his veins.

After hours cocooned within the suffocating shell of the car, he allowed the world—drenched in reality and chaos—to pour over his weary frame like a long-forgotten exhale.

Cameras swarmed like moths to a flame, their flashes stuttering like lightning. Microphones surged forward, each one an arrow tipped with questions he wasn’t looking forward to answer.

Each step felt heavier than the last, his racing boots muffled against the concrete as he crossed the threshold from solitude into frenzy. A journalist murmured something into their microphone, but he barely registered it. His ears rang with the ghost of your voice.

Yet he still smiled for the cameras, savored the praise as well as the harsh criticism with quick, sharp nods. But behind his eyes, he saw a precise image of your contorted, tear-stained face.

Your sorrow had burned itself into him, left a mark deeper than victory ever could.

Another journalist asked about the tire strategy. He responded on autopilot, but inside, his thoughts bled elsewhere—to the soft crack in your voice when you tried to speak. To the ache in your throat when you cried over an immature man.

The heavy door to his driver's room clicked shut behind him, muffling the chaos of the paddock—champagne-soaked mechanics, blinding camera flashes, the distorted sound of his name chanted by a hundred different voices. All of it faded as soon as his eyes found you—perched on the edge of the low leather bench, legs pulled up, hands clasped around an untouched bottle of water.

He dropped his gloves on the floor and crossed the room to stand in front of you. He crouched down slowly, resting his forearms on his knees. For a moment, he just watched you with a hunger that had nothing to do with victory.

Your gaze flicked up. And there it was.

That same look—half anger, half ache—nestled behind your lashes. Lando reached for you, thumb brushing beneath your eye like it was the most sacred place in the world.

"Cry for me," he breathed, leaning in so slowly it was maddening. You didn't move an inch. Maybe you should have. Maybe it would have been easier to scoff at the twisted, fragile way he chose to adore you. But instead, you tilted your head into his palm, eyes fluttering shut.

A singular tear rolled down your cheek. And he watched, attentively. Too attentively. Its path remained etched on your skin, leaving behind a faint shimmer.

"This is wrong, Lando. Unhealthy."

"It is," he agreed, brushing away that single tear with the gentlest edge of his thumb. "And I hate it. But God, you look like a goddess every time you cry."

You drew in a sharp breath at his confession. The meaning of his words was heavy, almost unbearable, impossible to swallow. He brought his hand to the back of your neck, fingers sliding into the strands of your hair.

But he stopped when the tip of his nose brushed yours—close enough to burn, close enough to tempt. He wanted to provoke you, to unravel the armor you wore, all with the weight of his gaze.

You gave in with the faintest lean, an unspoken yes twirling in the space between. He was the one who erased the inch that kept him from tasting you.

“You are beautiful,” he muttered repeatedly into your mouth like a forbidden prayer that threatened to rip his tongue out. You felt the sharp tips of his teeth graze your bottom lip as he withdrew from you with a huff. “And it's insufferable.”

You refused to move, heart hammering against your ribcage.

“I try not to look. God, I try.” His laugh was hoarse, haunting. “But your sadness—it’s the most violent thing I’ve ever seen. And I just can’t stop watching. I want to drown in it. I want to worship it.”

You exhaled densely, searching his eyes for lies, a tad of doubt, but there wasn't any. Just straight-up obsession, longing. "Why do you love my tears?"

His shoulders remained stiff with every breath he took. “I love everything that breaks you open and gives me access to your heart."

There was something obscene in the way he said it—like devotion laced with desire. A confession no god would approve of.

Your eyes fluttered shut, suddenly finding it difficult to hold his gaze.

A part of you—a secret part—thrived under the intensity of it all. You swallowed hard, feeling the heat rush up your neck. You couldn’t bring yourself to ignore the way he made you feel—like you were the center of something dark and magnetic. Something he couldn’t let go of.

The attraction was fatal. Excruciating.

"You are mad, Lan. Insanely mad," you sighed.

It was too much. The close proximity, his intentions, his whole existence swirling around you like a dangerous storm. You needed space, needed to regain some control, but even the idea of stepping back felt like a betrayal.

Lando didn’t even flinch at your words. If anything, he leaned closer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. His breath was warm against your face, and his hand reached up to trace the line of your jaw—so gentle, as if his self-control wasn't quietly shattering.

“I’m mad about you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Can’t you see it? I can’t stop. I try. I do. But you…” He paused, his gaze flickering over your face, your trembling lips, before landing on your eyes. “You drive me insane, and I fucking love it.”

You swallowed, searching, as if waiting for him to crack, to show some sign that it was all a game, a lie, something you could laugh off later. But there was nothing there. No cracks. No hesitation. Just a man utterly consumed by you.

He was unraveling, and with every second that passed, you felt yourself unraveling with him.

“You think you’re the only one who’s mad?” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

His eyes darkened, and his hand slid from your jaw to your neck, gripping with just enough pressure to make your heart race. “No,” he said softly, but there was a fire in his voice. “I know you feel it too. And I know you want it as much as I do.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. He was right. God, he was right. You hated the way you didn’t want to let go of the madness, how the pull toward him was so strong it felt like gravity itself was conspiring against you. But you couldn’t—

“I don’t…” You began, but your words died in the air, swallowed by the loud hunger in his gaze. You stared at him, fighting the urge to give in—allow him to own you and spoil you with passion and long-sought pleasure.

You craved it so bad it was becoming intolerable.

"Fuck it," you whispered, your defense cracking, closing the space between you until there was nothing left but the heat of his body, the thrum of your pulse between you.

His hands immediately found their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if the air between you both could no longer exist. You could feel the tension in his muscles. Every thought he'd been holding back, every ounce of restraint he’d been fighting—gone in that moment.

His lips were relentless, tracing the curve of your mouth before pressing deeper, claiming you in a way that made your head spin. You’d never felt anything like this before. The heat, the pull, the way his touch seemed to ignite every part of you that you had tried to keep under control.

His hands slid under your shirt, fingers grazing the soft skin of your lower back, pulling you deeper into the destructive mess you had created together.

When he finally pulled away, just enough to breathe, his eyes were wild, glassy with satisfaction. “You don’t get it, do you?” he muttered, voice low and rough, like the words themselves were weapons.

His fingers dug into your hips—a silent promise, a raw primal need. “You’re mine now,” he whispered below your ear, the words sinking deep into your chest, marking you in a way you didn’t know was possible.

But something in you, something you hadn’t known was there, wanted it. Wanted him. In all his madness, all his glory.

[itaipava]

— moments that break f1 boys after the break up

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

that first night of coming home to… nothing. no one to say his habitual ‘honey, i’m home’ to. no ‘hello.’ no hugs. no kisses. no smell of your cooking or baking. no sound of you softly humming to the music as you go about your night around the house. nothing but the empty space that feels way too large and unnecessary now that you’re not here anymore. 

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

when he looks at your instagram feed and sees that his pictures and your couple photos are no longer there — it’s the moment of realization that it really is over between you two; traces of him completely erased on your social media and in your life. then going back to his own feed to see evidences of what you guys once were, before shakily pressing the ‘delete’ button on all of them. 

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

the moment his parents ask him about you and he realizes that he has to tell them you’re not together anymore; that you’re no longer in each other’s lives. “how has y/n been?” he doesn’t even know. it’s been so long since you’ve last seen or talked to each other. 

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

it’s been a long time since he last saw you. all this time, the pain is dull and sad, he's pushed everything down, distracting himself with other things in life. but what really breaks him is when he sees you with your new partner. and what's worse, he sees you looking at them the same way you used to look at him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

the moment his phone beeps, notifying a calender event only to see that it’s your anniversary date soon, but realizing that it no longer matters. he feels an actual physical sting in his heart as he thinks about how you would have spent the day if you were still together, and where it all went wrong. 

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

he tried, but he couldn’t help reading all your old messages. his finger lightly running across the screen as he reads each text message, his eyes stinging from the tears that kept coming. every time you asked him to take care of himself, every time you said you missed him, every ‘good luck’ before every race, every ‘i love you’, and if he knew it would be the last time you would say that, he would have said it back.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

when he sees the promise ring that you left behind on the table as he hears the door slam. he didn’t mean to say all those things, he didn’t mean to say it was over between you two. and now as he stares at the ring, horrible realization creeps into him that you’re never, ever coming back. 

[nariism]

to the ends of our world — i. rin

academic rivals to lovers + "i could kiss you right now!" + "we fell asleep by accident and woke up as a mess of tangled limbs."

synopsis. all rin said was that he would help you with calculus. he didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.

wc. 1.6k

notes. kind of a highschool au where rin is out for the season because of an injury 🙏 also kind of a one-sided rivalry because rin is a loser :p

— for @itoshiexx <3 | event masterlist ✉️

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

I could kiss you right now.

Those were the last words you spoke to Rin almost an hour ago.

He's agonizing over it, really. He probably should have at least said something back to you instead of shutting you out like he does every time he feels himself getting too close.

Instead he's dutifully working through his calculus notebook.

If he focuses enough on perfecting derivatives, he can ignore the way your presence beside him has only gotten weightier. But it's hard to do that when the words are still echoing in his mind.

I could kiss you right now.

You're just as adamant on finishing your workbook, eyes glued to the page and attention completely devoted to making numbers dance.

When you asked him earlier in the day if he could help you with the new sets, he was confused. You'd always been the one to best him.

It irritated him. You reminded him too much of his big brother.

But then he saw your notebook. You'd hesitantly handed it over to him when you showed up at his doorstep with courtesy snacks and a bag of oranges for his mother.

(Which she gushed about, by the way. He felt like burying himself in a hole when she asked if you were dating.)

You'd been trying for so long to figure out the solutions that some areas of the page were torn where you had kept erasing and redoing the work. He even found things scribbled out in frustration.

He would have laughed if you didn't have such a grim look on your face. Rin was never one for humour, anyways.

He reluctantly agreed to help, though he was sure your other grades would make up for one botched math unit. It was the petty pride in him speaking—in reality, the way you looked like you were on the verge of tears was enough to send him into fight or flight mode.

He had never seen such a dazed, stressed expression on you before. You were the epitome of a model student—good grades, class representative, and friendly enough that no one ever wanted to step on your toes.

No one but Rin, that is.

He told himself he hated you. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful. Successful enough to do anything you wanted to do, so long as you had the drive.

Everything Rin would have been if he hadn't injured his knee right before the football season started.

But what he thought he felt about you was a lie. He hadn't even realized it until you were sitting down on his bed, knee bumping into him as you lounged there criss-crossed.

He'd always just seen you as the person who sat in front of him in homeroom. Untouchable. He envied you, even though his grades were nearly as good now that he had all the time in the world to study.

Now, though, you're just as human as he is.

Rin can see your face instead of the back of your head. Your words are meant for him—thanking him, praising how easy his method for solving these equations is.

Then, you shattered his daydream.

I could kiss you right now.

You said it so unseriously, not even looking at him when you did. You had gotten to the end of your third page of work, conquering the math with ease now that you understood it.

It was your funny way of expressing gratitude. He knows you didn't mean anything by it, definitely. But it's been stuck in his mind.

And neither of you have uttered a word to each other since.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when you slam your pencil down in your notebook and shut it with an audible thud.

"Break time!" You sigh blissfully, though he isn't sure if you're talking to him or yourself.

You flop back into his mattress and he just stares in quiet disbelief while you scroll through your phone like you fucking pay rent here.

Rin debates whether or not to kick you off his bed so that he can finish his homework without distraction, or if he should just leave you be. Ultimately, he decides that it's too much of a hassle to deal with confrontation and silently goes back to doing derivatives.

He would feel bad shoving you away when you finally started talking to him, after all. And you look so at ease now, with your work almost done.

(Yeah, you started working at a faster pace than him with his method. You seriously piss him off.)

He comes to the conclusion that this is going to be a one-time thing. Rin hates the twist of despair in his stomach seeing you about to burst into tears.

He hates the peace that fills him when you're back to your smiling self even more.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Rin wakes up to warmth.

Groggily, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes until they adjust to the light of sunrise pouring into his room.

It's strange. He doesn't remember falling asleep at all.

What was he doing last night? He shifts a little bit and freezes when he hears the crinkle of paper beneath him.

Oh, his calculus homework. Did he finish it? It's due today.

He's just about to sit himself up to check the time and hope he has at least another hour to sleep before school, when he realizes much too late that there's a weight on his arm.

Rin gets yanked back by the arm that's pinned down, yelping quietly in surprise.

And then everything hits him like a goddamn truck.

Maybe more like a freight train, really, because he feels like he's about to have a fucking heart attack. Rin dares to turn his head, so comically slow that it's like life itself moves in slow motion.

Somehow in your sleep, you've become a tangled mess of limbs.

His arm is tucked under your neck—the culprit for making him whelp like a child when he tried to sit up. Your legs are twisted together and... Oh god. His free hand is resting where your hip melts into your thigh.

Panic rises in his chest because one, he's never had another person in his bed before. Period. And two, because there's heat boiling in the pit of his stomach and he's pretty sure he's about to keel over and pass away.

Just as he's about to shove you off the bed, realization dawns on him.

You look so peaceful when you sleep.

Your breath smells, and your hair has gotten tangled under the weight of his arm. You're muttering to yourself quietly in your sleep, and he's pretty sure he can see a bit of drool in the corner of your lip.

He so desperately wishes that his first thought would be to tease you about this until the end of time. Or maybe use it as blackmail against you, if you were to get a higher grade on the upcoming calculus exam because of his methods.

But instead, his first thought is that he never wants to move from this position. That he needs to savour this moment.

It's horrifying.

18 hours ago, you pranced up to the side of Rin's desk and asked if he could help you with the problem set.

All he said was that he would help you with calculus.

He didn't expect you to show up at his door right after dinner. And he didn't expect you to seat yourself on his bed before he could offer you the chair at his desk.

He certainly didn't think he'd be waking up to your morning breath and wishing the moment would last forever.

You've just been a bag full of mysteries. Rin hates mysteries. It's part of the reason why math works for him—no surprises, no ambiguity. There's always an answer.

Rin can't formulate an answer on why his heart feels like it's about to burst out of his ribcage.

You shuffle in his arms and suddenly the pounding in his chest ceases.

Is this what death feels like?

"Rin?" You murmur sleepily, shifting into his warmth as if this is something regular classmates should be doing. "What time is it?"

"I can't see the clock," he deadpans, though it's just a facade to hide how utterly enamoured he is right now. "It's behind you."

You groan, rolling over to check the time. He breathes a sigh of relief as you pull away but it gets stuck in his throat when you collapse back into him, your back against his chest.

"6:07," you tell him nonchalantly. And then you cozy yourself up in the blankets again, nice and warm, and go back to sleep.

"Hey," he shakes you lightly. "Don't just go back to bed, moron."

"We can talk about the homework later," you mumble as if that's what he fucking meant.

A million words run through his mind, parading to the tip of his tongue where they all fall off and die. He can't find them when you're slotting yourself closer and closer in your sleep, squeezing his arm against your cheek.

Eventually, he decides that it's not worth the hassle of getting up and having you see his flustered face right now. You'd never let him live it down.

So he closes his eyes and pretends that you're not just the person who sits in front of him in homeroom. Goody-two shoes. Smiley. Obliviously and annoyingly cheerful.

"I could..."

He swallows loudly, the words like molasses in his throat.

I could kiss you right now.

You're dead to the world, but he doesn't dare speak the thought into existence, anyway.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

("Rin! 95%!"

You shove your paper into his face and he opens his mouth to snark back about it.

But then you leap forward and press a kiss to his cheek. Everything in his head instantly melts into mush.

"You're the best," you gush.

He just glowers at you with burning red cheeks.)

[letterstoalonewolf]

Burning Red

Jacob Black  x Reader

Summary: Jacob Black was the one person Y/N thought she could always count on, until he wasn’t. When she finally walks away, convinced their bond was never real, fate proves her wrong in the cruelest way possible.

Y/N had always known two things to be true.

One: Jacob Black was her best friend. Two: She would never be first in his eyes.

It was the kind of truth she had swallowed for years, forcing herself to accept it like bitter medicine. Because Jacob wasn’t just her person—he was Bella Swan’s too.

And Bella had always come first.

She had told herself it didn’t matter. That she could live with it, as long as she still had some part of him. She had been there through everything—before the wolves, before the legends became real, before he started looking at Bella like she was the only thing that made sense in his world.

But then came the breaking point.

The days of silence. The unanswered calls.

The way Jacob disappeared into the shadows of the reservation and stopped being hers at all.

Y/N had tried. God, she had tried. She had waited for him to remember that she existed, to show up at her window like he used to, to prove to her that their friendship had meant something.

But he never did.

Not until it was too late.

────────────────────────

The sound of rain against the pavement filled the silence between them.

Y/N stood in the middle of the road, her hoodie soaked through, her pulse pounding in her ears as she stared at the boy who had once been her everything.

Jacob was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his dark hair dripping with rain. He looked different. Older. Wilder. His skin burned with a feverish heat, his muscles tense beneath the storm of his own making.

She clenched her jaw. "You didn’t call. You didn’t text. Nothing."

Jacob flinched.

She saw the flash of guilt in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Not anymore.

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, wrapping her arms around herself. "Good to know our friendship didn’t mean anything to you."

His entire body went rigid. "That’s not fair."

"No?" She took a step forward, her heart hammering against her ribs. "What’s not fair is being left behind. What’s not fair is waiting for someone who never shows up. What’s not fair is—"

Her voice broke.

She hated that it broke.

Jacob’s jaw clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "You don’t understand."

"Then make me understand!" she snapped. "Because I’m done waiting for you to care enough to tell me the truth!"

Jacob exhaled sharply, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I do care."

"Yeah?" Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. "Just not enough."

Jacob’s eyes burned into hers, wild and conflicted, like he was fighting something inside himself.

Then, in the softest voice she had ever heard from him, he whispered, "It was never about not caring."

Y/N froze.

The weight of his words settled over her like thunderclouds, thick and heavy with things left unsaid.

But she had spent too long waiting for explanations that never came. She wasn’t going to wait anymore.

She turned away.

And this time—he didn’t stop her.

─────────────────────────

For two weeks, Y/N tried to erase him.

She forced herself to stop looking toward La Push every time she drove past the turnoff. She ignored the way her heart clenched whenever she saw his empty seat at the diner. She drowned herself in distractions—books, long hikes, anything that kept her too busy to think about the boy who had shattered her.

But no matter what she did, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

The sensation of being watched.

It had started subtly. A prickle down her spine, a warmth in the air that lingered longer than it should have. But then it became more than that.

A presence.

It was always there, just beyond her line of sight. In the trees, in the shadows, in the whisper of the wind as it curled around her skin.

And then—one night—it wasn’t just a feeling anymore.

She had just finished her shift at the diner when she felt it. The weight of a gaze, pressing into her like a touch.

Her breath caught. Slowly, she turned.

And there he was.

Jacob stood at the edge of the tree line, shirtless despite the cold, his dark eyes locked onto her like she was the only thing in the world.

But something was wrong.

His chest was rising and falling in harsh, uneven breaths. His hands were trembling. His entire body was taut, like he was barely restraining himself.

Her pulse skittered. "Jake?"

He didn’t move for a long moment.

Then—he did.

One second, he was several feet away. The next, he was right there, the heat of him searing against her chilled skin.

"I can’t do this anymore," he rasped. "I can’t—"

Y/N swallowed hard, every nerve in her body burning. "What the hell is going on with you?"

Jacob sucked in a sharp breath, like he was fighting something huge. Then—his fingers grazed her wrist.

The moment their skin touched, everything changed.

Heat exploded between them, something primal and electric snapping into place. It was like a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed suddenly fit.

Her breath hitched. Her knees almost buckled.

Jacob’s grip tightened ever so slightly. "You feel it too."

She did.

She shouldn’t. But she did.

"Jake," she whispered. "What is this?"

His throat worked as he swallowed, his fingers trembling against her skin.

"It’s you," he murmured. "It’s always been you."

A shuddering breath left her lips. "No."

She didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to believe that, after everything, after the heartbreak, the rejection, the pain—she still belonged to him.

But then he cupped her face, his touch reverent and devastated, and suddenly, she wasn’t sure she had ever belonged to anyone else.

Jacob let out a broken sound. "I was such an idiot. But I’m here now. And I swear to you, I’m never letting you go again."

Y/N should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him of every broken promise, every moment of silence that had made her question her worth.

But she couldn’t.

Because the truth was, she had never stopped wanting him.

So instead, she whispered, "Then don’t."

And when his lips crashed against hers—desperate, burning, home—she knew.

There was no going back.

They had been made for this.

For each other.

For forever.

[am-i-interrupting]

Across the River | Viktor x Jinx’s Older Sibling

Chapter 4 | Sleepy Studies

Summary: After the explosion and disappearance of Vi, you take your little sister across the river to Piltover. You struggle to keep the two of you afloat but manage to get Jinx to the academy. This is where she procures an internship that changes your lives.

“What is your sister like?” Viktor asked during one late night.

“Why?”

“Simply curious. I was an only child.”

“Okay,” Jinx said slowly, looking Viktor up and down. “Well, they’re like. . . Geez, I don’t know. I mean, when I was little I spent waaay more time with them than with V— We’ve always been close. I don’t really know how to describe it.”

Viktor noticed her cut off and raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn’t question.

He tapped something Jinx wrote twice. She looked down and her lips curled up. She wiggled her pencil in her hand for a moment before she flipped it and erased what she’d written, replacing it with something else.

“Perhaps phrasing it differently will help? What is it like having siblings?” the question phrased plural on purpose.

Jinx shrugged. “I mean, you’ve got someone to look up to, I guess. Someone who’s your friend and your bully all wrapped up into one present and shoved in your hands but the wrapping paper is kind of wet which is weird because that’s not how presents are supposed to be, right? It’s kind of off putting because it’s kind of gross. Then you open it up and look at the box and the box is weird too. It’s like purple instead of brown. And then when you finally open the box, it’s like all your insecurities are there in the shadows and then you put it in the light and boom! Unconditional love that you definitely don’t deserve but it’s hidden because of insults and petty drama.”

A pause.

Viktor blinked once, twice.

Jinx looked him up and down.

“Does that make sense?”

“None at all.”

“Oh.”

She was quiet for a moment. She looked off into the space before her. Unmoving, slightly unnerving.

She sniffed. She shrugged. She bounced back, leaning into his personal space. “Welp! That’s the best I got.”

Viktor shook his head with a bemused slight quirk to his lips. “Alright, so,” he began, pointing at some of the runes.

The rest of the night passed by until it was closer to early morning. Viktor stretched his arms out behind his back. Jinx was standing, leaning her back against the table, bending backwards. She’d taken out her pins that held her bun in place and long braids pooled on the table, one even hanging off.

“Do you think that trees cry when they’re cut down?” Jinx asked. “That they know they’re going to die?”

“And I will take that as our sign to call it,” Viktor said.

Jinx gave an over exaggerated groan in reply but Viktor could tell by the way she was twirling the end of one of her braids and occasionally hitting her face with it, she was feeling the pull of sleep begin to tug.

She tilted her hips towards the table and moved her leg. In one fluid motion she was upright. Then she almost fell. Quickly she righted herself and shot Viktor a giant smile.

Viktor grabbed his crutch. He situated it beneath his arm and curled his fingers around the handle.

Jinx let her body weight all go to one foot as she kept the door open. The only thing which prevented her from falling was her hold on the doorknob.

When he walked through, she followed him.

“Ow! Shit!” she yelled.

Viktor’s head whipped back and her braid had gotten caught between the doors. She jerked the door open and yanked her braid out of the way. It hit his leg and the door closed.

“I see why you keep your hair up,” Viktor said.

Jinx scoffed and rolled her eyes. “I like my braids being down, even when they do get caught on things.”

“May I ask why that is?”

“Because, they keep me grounded. Without their weight I feel like my head is floating away from me,” she said.

“Then why don’t you wear them down?” he questioned.

“Stupid Upper City people,” she muttered under her breath. “They think it’s ‘unhygienic’ because they drag on the floor. Yeah, they do and guess what! I clean them every day. They don’t even drag on the floor unless I’m hunched over.”

“I didn’t think you the type to let others people’s opinions bother you,” Viktor told her.

“I don’t! Normally. It’s just doing all these things and following all these stupid fucking rules is how I got here,” she said with a pointed gesture at the academy floors. “I can’t lose that now. Sis worked too hard to get me here.”

Viktor could empathize with the struggle. Being not only from the Undercity but also disabled prevented an entire load of problems up here. He’d take them though, over the polluted air. At least here he could breathe.

Viktor held the door open for Jinx. He waited until she was a decent bit away before letting the door fall closed.

“Let me haul you a taxi,” Viktor said, worried for the girl in her tired state.

She shrugged but didn’t fight him.

They sat in the backseat of the taxi. Jinx’s braids pooled in the floor.

She scooted closer to him. She slowly pushed her hand between his arm and torso until he tentatively let her wrap their arms together. Her head immediately plopped down on his shoulder. He tensed.

“I don’t even get to do my building anymore up here,” she said as she nuzzled her face against his shoulder.

“Building?” he asked as he forced his body to relax.

“Yeah, before we came up here, I used to build all sorts of gadgets. I mean, I still do but I can’t do it as often. I can’t even find a place to test my bombs and since the Industrialist took over the Undercity, we don’t go down there much. Just on special occasions.”

“You build bombs?”

Jinx laughed a bit. “Yeah.” She closed her eyes and sank against him. “Smoke bombs—“ internally he sighed in relief— “real bombs, guns.”

“Huh,” was all he could say.

The rest of the ride was relatively silent. That is until Jinx started snoring and some drool seeped through his shirt. He didn’t make any attempt to move her though.

The automobile came to a halt. With a quick word to the driver and careful movement, he slipped out. He walked into the apartment building and knocked the door labeled 07.

A couple long moments passed. He raised his hand to knock again as it but it jerked open.

“The fuck do you want at one in the— Oh, it’s you. Hi,” you said as you processed who exactly stood in front of you.

Viktor felt his stomach do the smallest twist. Your hair was a mess. Your shorts were hanging off one hip and up too high on the other. A strap of the tank top you wore was twisted.

“Jinx is asleep in a taxi. I would bring her in myself but ah,” he gestured with his crutch.

“Oh, yeah,” you said as you walked out of the threshold of the apartment. “She sleeps like the dead.”

You yawned as you walked with him to the taxi.

Jinx’s head was lulled forward. Her chin touched her clavicle but still she snored on.

You crawled a bit into the automobile and put your hands beneath her legs and her back. You pulled her closer to you until you could heave her up in your arms. Her head bobbled and smacked you in the chin. She just groaned and used her hand to push your face away.

“Ow,” you said in a monotoned voice. “Anyway, thanks for getting her home.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure. Do you need me to open the door for you?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Inside you put Jinx to bed. You slipped off her shoes, pulled her vest down her arms, undid her belt. You undid the buttons of her shirt and slid on an oversized one before slipping off her button up and pulling off her pants.

She pulled the blanket around her and face planted in her pillow.

“Thanks, sis,” she mumbled, half asleep.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said.

Still, you moved her face so she wouldn’t suffocate on her pillow and brushed her bangs out of her face. You placed a kiss right above her brow.

Then you grabbed your own covers to wrap yourself in and laid back on the couch where you’d been, wondering why you felt all warm inside by the man who kept caring for your sister with you.

[justtr]

✰ ✰ ✰

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Gods & monsters by Lana del rey

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

The silence in the house was comfortable, yet filled with small sounds that kept you present. The creak of the floor beneath your bare feet, the soft hum of the ceiling fan, the flick of a lighter breaking the monotony. Billie was sitting on the couch, one leg crossed beneath her body, her posture relaxed but her mind clearly elsewhere.

The air had a hint of tobacco, mixed with the sweet scent of the candles she had lit earlier. In the dim light, her hair seemed darker, the reddish highlights at the tips barely visible. You didn’t look at her directly, but you could feel her presence, magnetic as always.

“Do you think this makes sense?” Her voice broke the silence, soft but carrying something more. She wasn’t looking at you; her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, as if the answer was written there.

“What do you mean?” you asked, putting down the book you’d been pretending to read.

“All of this.” She made a gesture with her hand, encompassing more than just the room, more than the house. “The fame, the expectations, the people who think they know me just because they’ve heard a

You took a second to process her words, but before you could respond, she let out a sarcastic laugh. “It’s like being a god on an altar. Everyone worships you, but no one really sees you. It’s exhausting.”

You stood up from the couch where you’d been sitting and moved closer to her, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “You don’t have to be a god with me,” you said, your fingers brushing lightly over her arm.

Billie lowered her gaze to you, and for a moment, her impenetrable façade seemed to crumble. Her eyes, as intense as always, were filled with something you recognized: fatigue, fear, a desire for something real. “You say that now,” she murmured, bringing the cigarette to her lips, “but in the end, everyone wants something.”

Letting go of my tightly pressed lips, which hurt as I separated them, I took the cigarette from her, which was about to damage her lungs, and extinguished it on the table next to the couch. She didn’t even move a muscle. It’s not that she liked smoking that crap… It was just that she was running out of ideas on how to push away her overwhelming feelings.

“Not me.”

“Not you?” The hint of humor in her response made your heart tremble a little.

You shook your head, and before you could say anything else, she moved her head, and her body followed as she left her pathetic lounging position on the couch, leaning toward you. “Then why are you here?”

It wasn’t an accusatory question. It was pure curiosity, mixed with that insecurity that sometimes slipped into her words. “Because with you, I feel something different,” you said, your voice dropping. “Like, for once, I don’t have to try to be enough. Like I can just be… me.”

Billie let out a sigh, leaning back against the couch as she closed her eyes. Her hands, calloused from years of touring and playing guitar, rested on her knees. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she breathed deeply as if trying to release a weight she’d been carrying for far too long.

“It’s weird,” she said after a while, her voice lower, like she was speaking to herself. “I never thought I’d find something like freedom here, with you.”

“Why not?”

She opened her eyes and looked at you again, this time with a small smile that didn’t quite erase the melancholy in her expression. “Because freedom is dangerous. It’s easy to get lost in it.”

As you looked at her, something in her posture seemed almost unreal, as if she wasn’t a real person but a carefully composed image, a character from some movie you didn’t even know you were acting in. The way her hair fell over her shoulders, the curve of her mouth as she exhaled the smoke; everything seemed designed for chaos, to entangle you in the mix of art and life that had always surrounded her.

You knew she wasn’t perfect. You knew the Billie everyone saw wasn’t the Billie who was now in front of you, barefoot and disheveled on the couch, but still, there were moments like this when you wondered if you could ever reach her level. Not in terms of fame or talent, but in that overwhelming presence she seemed to fill every space with.

“When you speak,” you thought, not daring to say it aloud, “it’s like everything around you is a movie, and I’m just trying to learn my lines.”

It wasn’t insecurity, not exactly, but there was something that made you question every little detail about yourself when you were with her. Like if you were a little prettier, a little more interesting, a little more something, you could fit better into the role she seemed to have written for you without realizing it.

“You know?” you began to say, breaking the silence without realizing you’d spoken. She looked at you with that intensity she always had, like her eyes could pierce you.

“What?”

“Sometimes I think that this, you and me… it’s too much to be real.” You lowered your gaze to your own hands, unsure how to finish the sentence. “Like, I don’t know, I’m waiting for something to ruin it.”

She studied you for a few seconds, her expression changing slightly, becoming a bit softer. “Do you think life is that hard?”

You didn’t know what to say.

“Because it’s not.” Billie leaned forward, her eyes locking onto yours. “It’s complicated, sure, but you don’t have to make it harder than it already is.”

“Easy for you to say.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but your voice betrayed something deeper.

“It’s not, really.” She leaned back against the couch, her tone softer, almost whispering. “But if you let things consume you, they’ll devour you. No one will take your soul unless you give it to them.”

Sounds logical, you thought. But it wasn’t that simple, not when you were sitting in front of someone who seemed to have it all while you were struggling with your own fears. “And if I’m not enough…”

“It’s not about that,” she interrupted, with a firmness you didn’t expect but needed. “It’s not about being enough for me or anyone. It’s you. And if you can’t see that, then it doesn’t matter what I see.” She had already stood up abruptly from the heat under the sharp lamp.

・❥・・❥・・❥・

The silence in the room was thick, almost palpable. Billie was sitting at the edge of the bed, her elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped together, staring at an invisible point on the floor. The soft light of the lamp created shadows on her face, accentuating the weight she seemed to carry on her shoulders.

You approached slowly, noticing how her fingers tensed at the sound of your steps. She didn’t look up, but when you sat beside her, her body leaned just slightly toward yours, as if seeking your closeness without daring to ask for it.

Her calloused hands now rested on her thighs, her knuckles white from gripping so tightly. You lifted one hand, touching hers carefully, and the ease with which she exhaled almost broke your heart. She didn’t say anything, but her fingers interlaced with yours, a silent anchor in a sea of chaotic thoughts.

You looked at her, waiting for her to speak, but she only closed her eyes for a moment, her lashes trembling as if she was fighting something she couldn’t put into words. Instead of speaking, her fingers brushed against yours more firmly, a small gesture but full of meaning.

Her other hand found your face, caressing your cheek with a clumsiness you hadn’t expected from someone so sure of herself. When she finally lifted her gaze, her eyes were a scribble of emotions: pain, regret, something that seemed like a plea.

“Don’t let this change you,” she murmured at last, her voice so soft it was barely audible.

Confusion crossed your face, but before you could ask, Billie leaned forward and rested her forehead against yours. The contact was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were afraid that one wrong move would break something.

Her lips moved, but the words got stuck in her throat. Instead, she let her actions speak. The way her hand traveled to the base of your neck, how her fingers traced the line of your collarbone, as if she were trying to memorize every detail.

When she finally spoke again, she didn’t look you in the eyes. “I didn’t want to lose what I was before this.”

A knot formed in your throat as you heard her, because you knew exactly what she meant. She, the woman who seemed to have everything, felt like she had nothing to give you except her flaws, the broken pieces she was trying to put together.

Billie lowered her gaze, as if embarrassed for having said too much. But her hands, which never stopped touching you, told another story. They wanted you to know she was there, that she always would be, even if she couldn’t say it with words. Her fingers grazed your skin with a mix of fear and need.

There was something in the way her eyes kept avoiding yours, as if looking too deeply would make her vulnerable, as if she feared you might see everything she was trying to hide.

Suddenly, she let go of you, but not to pull away. With a slow, deliberate movement, her hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. There was no rush, no urgency; just a moment of pure connection, as if everything else had disappeared.

Her lips met yours with a delicacy you didn’t expect. It was a kiss full of meaning, a silent language that said everything she couldn’t express out loud. She held you as if you were something precious and fragile, but at the same time, her kiss was firm, sure, conveying a silent promise that she wouldn’t let you fall.

Her fingers gently buried themselves in your hair as she deepened the kiss, letting out a barely audible sigh against your lips. It was as if she was trying to etch you into her memory, as if she wanted to make sure that this moment, this instant, would be marked forever.

When she finally pulled away, it was slow, as if it hurt to let you go. Her eyes finally met yours, and what you saw there took your breath away: honesty, vulnerability, love.

“I don’t know how to say it,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “But I hope you can feel it.”

And you did. In every touch, every kiss, in the way her hands continued to touch you as if you were her only anchor.

Porque en ese momento no hacían falta palabras. Lo que compartían era algo que trascendía el lenguaje, algo que sólo se entendía a través de cada pequeño gesto y de un beso que, sin necesidad de hablar, lo decía todo.

"Esto es el cielo, lo que realmente quiero" Es la inocencia perdida

okay soo.. that was my first writing everr..the song deserved a damn interpretation

[oksana-moods]

All Too Well

Summary: Natasha tried to mend what's left broken. Because no matter what, she's the love of your life and she knows all too well.

A/N: It's been forever. This 5k piece felt like I was writing 300k, it was difficult, funny, hard and I miss doing this more often. I hope you guys like it and please, it be amazing for me to know your thoughts about it.

You can read it as One Too Many part 2 or as a single piece, it is up to you.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, torture, mentions of death, alcohol, angst (you know how I am, I can't simply write people kissing without suffering before).

"Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place"

The gun pointing at your face barely meters away should be intimidating, but at this point no one would blame you for not caring anymore. And you didn’t even mean the last couple of days, no, your whole life had been a fight, a struggle, an act of survival after another, so the last few days were nothing but the same blur.

The gunpower inundated your nostrils and the pungent smell masqueraded the smell of blood that clung to your brain and you were sure you wouldn’t erase it even if you got out of your current establishment.

Your heightened senses were capable of decerning all the different blood samples available in your cell: yours and from other occupants that came before you, or the blood that belonged to some of your kidnappers, who’ve learned in the worst possible way that you were not to be underestimated.

Back to the gun, the man behind it kept enchanting the same questions and you wondered how long it would take for them to get tired of your silence or mock replies. A sharp pain in the back of your head made you look up to meet his eyes, another man behind you was forcefully pulling your hair down to force your head up and you were already tired of him doing this.

“Where are the others?” The man with the gun asked, patience waning thin. Good to know you were on the same page. “Where is Romanoff?”

A blooded grin made its way to your face after you spat on his shoe. “It’s funny you think I’ll tell you now after all you’ve put me through. Do you think I’m afraid of your bullet?” And you didn’t even mean the fact that you probably wouldn’t die if he decided to shoot anywhere else other than your head, but you did mean that you were not afraid of dying.

Actually, you were so tired that perhaps laying down cold wouldn’t be unwelcomed. There wouldn’t be any pain, your body wouldn’t try to heal only to get hurt again. You thought it would be refreshing.

Two steps and the man pressed the gun over your knee, and you already knew, his wicked grin grew wider when your body convulsed with pain even though you concealed your scream in muffled grunts by biting your lips so tide you tasted your own blood, again.

“Why don’t you make it easier for you? You tell me what I’ve asked, and I kill you fast.” He pulled a chair and got comfortable for he knew all too well you wouldn’t budge easy. “I promise you. One silver bullet in your temple. Fast. Easy.”

Your eyes flashed to his. Silver bullets were really affective against your healing skills and very few possessed this knowledge. Someone must’ve tipped him off and the idea stung way much more than the powder burning the flesh inside your knee.

Only two women knew your weakness. Well, your creators knew, of course, but they were not in condition of speaking anymore. Unless someone from this organization was capable of going to hell to have a chat and then return to the living world with this intel.

Your love for Yelena was something so natural and it grew so fast for she was just deranged as you were: uncapable of functioning as what people labeled as normal. You were kindred souls and you felt like you were twins separated somewhere along the road and considering both of your past, who actually knew?

After long nights during long missions, you confided in her this. You were scared of losing control because sometimes the beast inside you took over and your brain couldn’t always sway the instincts. So you handed her one silver bullet in case things went south, she was adamant in returning it to you but you asked her to keep it, for insurance.

And the other person was Natasha. You never knew how she learned this but when she recruited you many, many years ago she already knew. If the pain in your leg wasn’t so overwhelming, you could’ve laughed at the memory engulfing your mind’s eye.

Her tide catsuit adorned with nothing but her black widow symbol, swaying her hips and pretending she wasn’t scared of the woman seated in front of her. You remember how her fear smelled, a stark contrast to her pose. You recall her words, her smile, her flirtatious play all to convince you to use your skills to her so called greater good.

And before leaving, she boldly closed the distance between you and placed a silver bullet in your hand. You understood the message. You weren’t stupid. Later she sworn that she was the only one, at S.H.I.E.L.D. or within Avengers, to know your weakness and you believed her.

And this belief comes back to bite you in the ass.

Because you knew full well that Yelena would die, she would kill herself even, before telling someone your secret. But Natasha? You didn’t trust her anymore. She had done it before, and you knew it all too well. If you were to be honest, after one too many treasons, you didn’t care about another.

Or so you told yourself.

“Good luck.” You rasped out after a long time inside your own head.

The man tilted his head to the side and smiled that smile that told you he already knew what you would say. You would go further and say he was eager for it. “I think in the torture manual says I should tell you that I don’t enjoy this, but I’d be lying. We actually bet how long it will take for you to drop the act and start screaming.”

You bet no one thought it would be that fast. He stumped a knife down your thigh so fast and so hard you saw stars. You could feel the silver poisoning the skin and muscle where it was nested, and it burned like nothing else would.

Unfortunately for them, the apex in you was not used to be a prey and this injury was powerful enough to make your survival instincts kick in. It happened so fast it was a haze, one minute he was laughing, the other he was on the ground - lifeless, and just as the others came, they followed their leader – well, who you thought the leader was, at least.

Funnily, your countdown was wrong, or you were not the only one putting your captors down. As the blood ran free down your leg, your strength and capability of keeping fighting diminished. When a body collided with yours, it was a miracle you were still awake.

Her red hair framed her face perfectly, skin white as snow and her green orbs looked like there was an aurora borealis looking down at you as she nested you in her lap as you felt life slipping through your fingers - veins.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me.” Her voice was strange, as if speaking was a struggle and she reeked fear, but not the same you were used to, as if she was feeling a different type of fear, it was a strange concept, but you hated it, nonetheless. If these were your last moments breathing, you wanted her true smell. The one you knew all too well.

“Please, don’t you dare die. I’ve got you.” Her muffled words found your ear, but it was hard to even comprehend anything at all when her lips felt so cold in your forehead. “Heal. Why are you not healing?”

“Silver.” It was all you could say. It was all you had to say.

She frantically started yelling at someone, perhaps the comms, but before you could close your eyes for good, you saw a red blur and he was complaining about your weight.

Her giggle filled the room as the first sun lights announced the day had just begun, you looked at her alarmed, for it was definitely something new. “Are you mocking me?” Enable to conceal a smile yourself.

“I’m not.” She denied, but her laugh told you differently. Her freckles painted her angelical face and her eyes looked like they held the sun captive. And you. And she knew, all too well. “It’s just I can’t believe you still have this scar.”

Her index finger traced said scar as she looked at you expectantly, waiting for your explanation, even though she already knew.

“I didn’t know Wanda’s necklace was made of silver, okay.” You finally replied, pulling her close to you as if her weight meant nothing, right in that moment this action felt so normal, so homely that it ached. “I thought I could take it from that heated place for her, but it burned me as I did. It was silly.”

She giggled again, though muffled by your shoulder this time, there was something new in her eyes that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “It was cute. Silly, but cute. That necklace belonged to her mother.”

“I know.” You were locked in her eyes, and she stared at you as if she was trying to reach your soul, then you felt her fingertip leaving the palm of your hand to intertwine your fingers as she let her eyes stray to look at both of your hands.

The feeling was overwhelming. You were aware of how fast your heart was beating, you could only hope she couldn’t feel or hear it, for in that moment, all you wanted was to engrave the sight of you, together, and you wish you could just have this forever. Have her forever.

“I’ve never felt this before.” Her brows were furrowed in a way that made you upset, but you wouldn’t let go of her hand for nothing in this world, even if it was to soothe the crinkles in her forehead. “I’m in love with you.”

For a moment, there was nothing that you could do but wait for your brain to register her words and meaning, for a whole minute you simply stared at her, trying to search for a catch or a joke but you found none. And she looked up at you so innocently that you found yourself believing in her.

“I thought-.” You tried, but she never let you finish your sentence.

“I know what I said.” She stopped you midsentence, but her voice was not stern, it was almost tired. “This is not what I feel anymore.” Again, her eyes found yours and the way they shone made your knees weak, luckily you were laying on her mattress.

Somehow, they conveyed so much of this feeling she had claimed she was not capable of nurturing that your stomach did somersaults. And right in that moment, you realized that perhaps silver could hurt you, but this woman was your true weakness.

Specially if she’s looking at you the way she was.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You whispered, it was terrifying saying again the three words that you were sure would make her fly away from this strange arrangement you found yourself in. Yet she didn’t.

“I know.” She confirmed after a while admiring your eyes as if she could read your mind. After deciding she was content with whatever she found, she leaned in and pecked your lips so tenderly it hurt.

Then, when she looked at you again you saw, from the small smirk growing in her lips, that she had gone back to play her prime character: the Black Widow.

“Let’s have a breakfast before the funeral, shall we?” As she got of the bad, you copied her movements going back to your own suitcase to find something comfortable as her voice broke the silence filling the room. “I never asked how you and Sharon became friends to the point you’d come to a funeral of her relative.”

The cleanliness of the room was the first thing you were aware of. In fact, you didn’t even realize you were awake, therefore alive, before the smell hit your nostrils. And with it, her scent.

The occasional up and down from her feet and bouncing leg was the only sound in the room except for the noise coming from the heart monitor over your head. She was anxious, that much was obvious even if you weren’t an enhanced being.

Mentally searching for your injuries and pain, you understood that whatever had happened with you, was all gone. Excluding the lingering pain in some specific places that you credited to silver induced wounds that would take way much more time to wear off.

However, considering the state you were in, whoever tended these wounds had operated a true miracle.

As you opened your eyes, you half expected bright lights, common to these hospital rooms to hurt your eyes, but you soon identified that the only source of light was a yellow bulb close to the door.

Natasha.

“Thanks for working the lights down.” You rasped out and stifled a giggle as she jumped from her chair by the wall and bolted to your bed side. The book previously nested between her hands now long forgotten on the floor.

The iron grip which she clutched your hand didn’t go amiss to you. “A week.” The sadness in her eyes was palpable. “A whole week blacked out.” She explained further but you didn’t need to know the details of how long you were sleeping or how many times your heart stopped at surgery.

“You scared the shit out of me.” Then it hit you, the same type of fear your nose caught when she found you in that facility, it was fear but not the one someone feels when they’re actively facing danger, but it was fear for someone else. Fear of losing someone.

Something stirred inside your heart, but it was something that you couldn’t dwell much longer, not, at least, in that moment.

“They had me, after you sent me as scout.” Your tone was flat, and her eyes widened a little at the bluntness of your accusation, though you were far from settling for little. “They knew about the silver.”

Her hold faltered, but your hand was still snuggled between hers. “What are you accusing me of?” She narrowed her eyes, but her green orbs were bright even in the poor light.

“Cynicism doesn’t suit you the way you think it does.” Before you could even pull back your hand, she completely let it go and got to her feet. “Look at my eyes and tell me that you actually didn’t let them get me, just to find their hideout.”

She had her back turned to you, acutely avoiding your gaze. “Look at me!” You demanded and she had the gall to look at you through her lashes, as if her seductive skills could help her now. You wouldn’t fall for that, and she knew it all too well.

“It wasn’t my intention for you to be captured and I never thought someone else would know about your weakness. I thought I was the only one alive to know.” She finally turned to you, eyes now darting around the floor as if it could grant her the answers she sought.

“Lena knows too.” You corrected her, but if she was surprised by your update, she never showed.

Shaking her head right to left as if to deny such possibility, she exclaimed. “She’d never do this to you.” It was funny that at least in this matter you agreed. “I think she loves you more than she loves me.” A sly smile escaped her lips and you had to restrain your heart from fluttering at the sight of it.

“I was waiting for your check-in. I went to your assigned coordinates, and I know I underestimated their numbers, but I would never let someone capture you.” Her feet dragged her back close to your bed but maintained some distance between you.

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You shot back without missing a single beat, crossing your arms around your chest.

She sighed tiredly and looked down at the floor. You wouldn’t let her forget that she was the main cause for you to be locked in the Raft, well, her and your support for Steve when Ross tried to shove the Sokovian Accords down your throat, and solely because you shared his point of view.

After being controlled for most of your life by a group with shady intentions, you swore you’d never submit your loyalty and services to a third party again, even if it was a government group – specially a government group, actually, so only over your dead body you’d accept the Accords.

But when you came back to see if Natasha was fine, she had gone without thinking that you were left behind and in the care of Ross to be taken to the Raft with the others, without sparing a single thought to you.

“I’d never ever willingly put you in danger.” She said taking another step closer to you. “I have never mentioned to anyone about your secret, and I purposefully kept it out of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s files.”

Her eyes kept darting from her hands to your eyes, never focusing, never staying too long. “Look, I know Yelena would never speak about it, but I wouldn’t either. And I didn’t, you must believe me!”

“I must?” Your eyebrows shot up so high so fast it hurt. “Well, you made it pretty damn hard for me to believe, don’t you think, Nat?” Your tone was hard, but you were not even speaking too loud.

Somehow, Natasha thought this hurt way much more.

“C’mon all I feel for you-” She tried to counter, but you wanted to swallow the lump stuck in your throat trying to choke you, so you cut her midsentence.

“Words, Natasha.” She found herself locked within your burning eyes. “I kept you as an oath, yet you hid me like another dirty secret. And all you’ve felt you kept hidden – buried – just as who you really are.”

After years thinking about how she lured and how she hurt you, you thought that maybe spatting what your relationship really was – a hidden lust, would make you feel better, would free yourself from her hold, but it didn’t.

After all, calling her unfair wouldn’t change how lonely she made you feel, how she took your happiness away whenever she drew herself back to her main character as she left you daydreaming about imaginary scenarios built in “what ifs”.

As your words found her ears, they settled heavily in her stomach. She knew she had massed up, she had hurt you many times, yet all she wanted was go back in time and erase all her wrongs and all the times she promised and never delivered.

She didn’t possess a time stone, though. There was nothing she could do about the past, however, she knew she couldn’t run from her mistakes anymore. If she wanted to start anew, she’d have to show she was different.

She wanted to, no, she needed you to understand that she was a whole new person because you’ve changed her. She didn’t want to hide anymore and for that she’d have to let go of her walls and be vulnerable. Truly vulnerable.

Funnily, she had played with her vulnerability before, being vulnerable just enough for people to lower their shields or masks so she could get what she wanted but this was something else entirely.

This time she wouldn’t act. She’d be vulnerable, at your mercy hoping she’d make it out alive on the other side. It was something new and it scared her, but losing you was scarier.

“I didn’t know you came back to check on Barton…” She tried weakly, knowing that this was a sore subject for the both of you. Each with your own views and reasons.

“I helped Clint, yes, but we went back looking for you. Yet, Ross was all we’ve found.” Your glare was cold, perhaps colder than ever. In the pit of her stomach, she knew she deserved it, she just wish you could move on with it.

“I was wrong, okay. Is that what you want to hear?” She snapped, though her voice was still in a low tone, eyes sad. And you hated it. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for not going after you that day at the airport or at the Raft.”

Her eyes fell once more to your hands, she slowly nursed them in hers and this action was so soft, so hesitantly as if she was afraid of you taking it away; afraid of you shutting her down once more.

“I wish I could do things differently, but I can’t, and for that I’m sorry. But I- I wish we could try move on from this. I still have feelings for you.” As words flowed through her tongue, you watched as eyes portrayed a sincerity that you rarely saw within those forest green orbs.

Usually, they hid her true feelings or performed like an actress twisting her truths mixed with pieces of lies and characters she created through life until she herself was unaware of what was true or not.

“I hear you, Natasha.” You rasped out after a long moment lost inside her beautiful eyes. “You speak of things as you did before, yet you never act on it.”

Her hands were warm, a muted invitation to go back to your dreams of having a life with her. The only person who never showed any sign of fear about your nature, that never once treated you like an animal.

She never treated you like a woman either.

“I want you to show me.” Your stone-cold eyes punctuated your feelings in the matter at hand. If she wanted to have you back, she’d have to show you she’s changed for words could only take her so far.

“I will.” She vowed and smiled softly, though her heart was shattering inside her chest. She made a career making people believe in whatever she wanted, she supposed she’d be able to make you believe in her heart.

How hard would that be?

Laugh filled the room after another not-so-funny Tony’s jokes and your head throbbed as the sound echoed inside your skull. Parties like these were always a torture for you, after all, your enhanced abilities of hearing and catching smells better than a normal person proved to be really awful in a place full of people with different perfumes, scents, chattering and loud music.

However, Tony himself forbid you from leaving tonight for this was his engagement party and it would be rude to Pepper if you left too early. Deciding that indulging him was easier than arguing with him, you found a safe corner and pretended to enjoy whatever was going on.

Though, your sharp eyes, even though you tried hard, always wandered after a certain redhead and you could all but clench your jaw every time you judged someone got too closer for your comfort.

Jealousy clawed its way through your throat and even the best bourbon from the bar couldn’t help it. You knew you had no right, no claim, especially after your last conversation. Still, your heart acted on its own and made sure you’d regret your words and resolve.

Considering that you were one drink from scooping lower than ever for her, you abandoned your glass on a random table and vanished to the balcony in hopes the fresh air could help your head and brain.

The cars down the streets ran from side to side completely unaware of your inner turmoil as you pathetically looked down searching for answers you wouldn’t find there.

In fact, as your answers arrived at the balcony, you realized that her hills clicking the marble floor announced her before her perfume invaded your nostrils in waves as she moved closer and closer towards you.

“Tired of mingling?” She asked as she lined her body at the railing. Her red hair bobbed around her ears in meticulously designed waves and her dark maroon dress hugged her curves in all the nice places.

She was flawless.

As always.

“I think I might’ve break Sam with incredible five words.” You gave her a sly smile that she retributed with a smirk and a fake gasp.

“This is basically a whole speech.” She clicked her tongue playfully. “I think you’ve been around Tony just too much.”

You snorted a laugh and she let a broad smile paint her lips, content with herself for making you ease the pained expression adorning your face the whole evening.

Uncertenty hugged you like a cold blanket as you pondered your next words. As if rolling the dices in a game you were sure you’d end up losing, you turned to her and spoke. “You’re really beautiful tonight, Nat.”

Your heart fluttered as she fought back a smile trying to win her lips and looked down as if she wasn’t expecting your praise. She genuinely looked flustered by your words.

“Thank you. You’re quite handsome yourself. Well, I already praised your choice of suit, earlier.” She turned her body so now she was fully looking at you and you tried to remember how to properly breath. However, it was as if the air was composed of her scent.

You were intoxicated.

“What do you mean?” You asked confused. “This is the first time we speak tonight.” You clarify. Truth be told you’ve been keeping a fair distance from her and funnily enough she didn’t make the effort to push you and your comfort space.

She did make it obvious that she was trying, though. She invited you out in front of people, she brought you coffee whenever you were reading in the garden in the morning or brought you a blanket when you were on the couch watching movies with Wanda.

Whenever you were called to a meeting, she worked the lights so it wouldn’t hurt your eyes that much. And, one day, she brought you the files they recovered from Hydra from the mission you were taken, and you both learned that one of your creators left behind a journal and there were a lot of dirty secrets down there. Including yours.

To be honest, she was really trying to show her true intentions, but you were still afraid that this was just for show, just a ploy for you to lower your guard and be disappointed after she return to her normal pattern of misleading.

However, the way she stood basking in the moon light looking at you like she was slowly sipped through the cracks of your determination of not giving in that easy.

Her soft smile was a sight to see, and you even forgot that you were waiting for her to reply. “Directly, yes. I sent a drink to you earlier.”

Then it clicked in your head. Your laugh was loud and very uncharacteristic of you, though Natasha simply stood there admiring your carefree stance, a rare occurrence.

Your mind traveled to a moment earlier that night when the waiter approached you with a drink in hand, stating that the lady had sent it to you complimenting your fine tailored suit. At the time, the way he vaguely waved in the direction of Agatha and other ladies, you thought that one of them had been the person.

Though if you thought harder about it, Natasha was at the bar in that moment, right behind said ladies.

“Now it made sense.” You grinned back at her and nodded your head softly. “Thank you for the compliment and the drink.”

“Of course.” She flashed on last smile and turned her body to admire the city bellow and you did the same. Though you found it hard to ignore her presence by your side. You could feel the heat emanating from her skin, her sweet scent still impregnating the air around you and you could hear her fast heartbeat. It was uncommon.

In a haste, you both turned towards each other and started to speak at the same time. A nervous laugh scaped your lips as you signaled for her to go on first. And she did.

She closed her eyes as one does when bracing for the impact, as if second-guessing her next step, but when she opened her eyes again, there was no doubt and no deceit. “I love you and it’s ruining my life not having you, knowing that I am the one who pushed you away.”

You were speechless by her blunt confession, specially because she never, ever, used the word love in such a direct sentence. She expressed her feelings before, yes, but always with an adore, in love with you once or twice, never this straight.

She took your silence as hesitancy and reached for your hand, she yearned for your touch and the closeness of the last weeks made her heart clench with longing. “I am asking for a chance to show you who I really am, and I, please, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I wish to make it up to you.”

Her eyes were pools of emotion and you had trouble in breathing with her so close now. “Please, let me love you the way you deserve, the way I should’ve since the very first time I kissed your lips.” Her free hand caressed your cheek in such a tender way that you felt your knees weak.

She was definitely your true weakness.

You brain was haywire, short-circuiting with the lack of air and the sudden increase in your heartbeats. There she was. The woman you felt like you could love forever, offering you what you always wanted: her heart. For real this time. Not the hide and seek games you’ve been playing in the past.

She promised and have been showing changes, however, if you were to be honest, all she’d have to do was to come at you and say hi. If you were to be honest, she would always have your heart at her mercy.

Unable to form words and knowing that your silence was unnerving for her, as you saw her brows furrowing, you decided to answer her differently as you brought your hand to her own cheek and guided her lips to meet yours.

Her lips were soft as they used to be, and you could feel her body melting into the kiss. Her eyes fluttered open when you broke the kiss and smiled softly at her. “I love you too, Nat.”

Smiling back at you, Natasha circled her arms behind your neck to pull you down for another kiss, and another. And another.

And you knew, all too well, that she wouldn’t stop soon.

taglist: @username23345; @afuckingshituniverse; @strangegardentaco; @waltermis (I know you didn't specifically asked to be tagged, but I am doing it, nonetheless, because if your rb - and because you sparked a fire in this. Thank you.)

[wonwoosmagnetic]

The Things He Left Behind | jww

ONESHOT!

Pairing: wonwoo x hopeless oc! Warnings: heartbreak, angst Word count: 1.1k words. Synopsis: Somewhere, in another life, maybe just maybe, wonwoo doesn't let you go. Authore Note: A little drabble I wrote in between drafting my next no saints here chapter! hehe hope you like it! oc's name is chaeyoung!

You had spent years pretending he didn’t exist.

"Tell me your name." He had asked it so casually, so effortlessly, like it wasn’t the beginning of something that would ruin you. "Why?" you had asked, teasing. He had smiled, lopsided and warm. "Because I think I was meant to know you." And just like that, you had been lost.

You had erased him in every way a person could be erased—deleted his number, blocked his calls, ripped every reminder of him from your life.

But before you erased him, he had been everywhere. His laughter in your ears. His touch on your skin. His promises—so soft, so real—that you had been foolish enough to believe in. "You’ll stay?" you had whispered once, buried in his arms, afraid of the answer. And he had kissed your forehead. "Always."

You had spent every second since trying to forget.

And for a while, it worked.

Until tonight.

Until now.

Until the moment you heard your name.

"Love isn’t real." He had said it so casually, as if the words weren’t a knife. They were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets and moonlight, your fingers tracing patterns against his bare shoulder. You had looked at him then, waiting for the teasing smile, the flicker of hesitation. But there was none. Just quiet certainty. "You don’t believe in it?" you had whispered, voice small. "No." You could have left right then. You should have. But instead, you pressed closer. "That’s okay," you had said. "I’ll believe enough for the both of us."

You had been moving through the city like a ghost, head down, heart carefully buried somewhere it couldn’t be reached. The streets were alive, chaotic, full—voices and neon lights colliding in a blur of sound. The kind of noise that made it easier to breathe, easier to pretend that nothing was missing.

But then—

"Chaeyoung."

Soft. Familiar.

A voice you had sworn you would never hear again.

Your heart stopped.

No. No, it can’t be.

But you turned anyway.

And he was there.

"Promise me." His voice had been raw that night, his fingers tight around yours, desperate. "Promise me we’ll always find our way back." And you had smiled, because you had been naïve, because you had believed that love was enough. "I promise."

You felt sick.

You had spent so long trying to forget him, to convince herself that he was just a ghost, a figment of your past that couldn’t hurt you anymore.

But he wasn’t a ghost.

He was here.

And he was looking at you.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t alone.

"You’ll leave one day," he had told you once, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. You had shaken your head, smiling as if it was the easiest truth in the world. "No, I won’t." His jaw had clenched then, eyes flickering with something unreadable. "You say that now." "I mean it." But it didn’t matter. He never believed you. Never trusted that someone could want him without conditions, without expectations. So he kept his walls high, locked every door, kept you at a safe distance even when you were right beside him. And you let him. You had been so desperate just to be near him that you accepted every cold shoulder, every dismissive word, every quiet rejection masked as indifference. Because you thought one day he would see. That one day he would believe in love, too. But he had.

You breath hitched.

The world kept moving, kept spinning, but you—you were stuck.

Because he was standing right there, close enough to touch, close enough that you could almost imagine it had all been a nightmare, that none of it was real, that you could still reach for him and—

But then you saw her.

The girl beside him.

The one with her hand in his.

The diamond on the woman’s hand catches the light, and your stomach twists violently.

Because now, you know.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t love. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how.

He just didn’t want to love you.

And suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

"You’ll forget me," you had whispered. He had laughed, shaking his head. "How could I?" But now— Now you were nothing but a forgotten name on his lips.

He blinked. For a second—just a second—he looked almost surprised to see you. Like he hadn’t been expecting this, like he hadn’t considered what it would mean to run into you again.

And then—

His fingers curled tighter around the other girl’s hand.

And just like that—

You knew.

"Wonwoo, I love you." You voice cracked, but you didn’t care. You were past the point of pride, past the point of pretending this didn’t hurt. Your heart was breaking in real time, splintering into pieces right in front of him, and he just stood there. You took a shaky breath, stepping closer, searching his face for something—anything. A reaction, a flicker of emotion, even pity. "Why can’t you love me too?" Your voice was louder this time, desperation bleeding into every syllable. "Why can’t you just—" you stopped, pressing a trembling hand to your chest. "Just say something, Wonwoo. Just—please." He looked at you. For a minute too long. And you thought, maybe this is it. Maybe he would finally let himself feel, let himself see you the way you had always seen him. Maybe he would reach for you, pull you close, whisper something that could make all this worth it. But then— He blinked. Turned around. And walked away. No hesitation. No final words. No second glance. The air left your lungs. You stood there, frozen, watching as he disappeared, waiting for him to stop, to turn back, to realize. He didn’t.

The crowd surged.

A wave of people moved between them, breaking them apart, tearing her away from him before you could even think, before you could even move.

You stumbled back, your chest caving in, your hands shaking.

No. No, no, no—

You pushed forward, desperate, needing to see him, needing to find him—

And then—

There.

He was still there.

Still standing in the same spot.

Still looking at you.

But this time—

He wasn’t reaching for you.

He wasn’t fighting the crowd, wasn’t calling your name, wasn’t trying.

He was just watching.

And then—

He turned.

And walked away.

With her.

"We’ll always find our way back." But they hadn’t. He had found someone else instead.

Your vision blurred. Your fingers curled into fists.

You could run after him.

You could call his name.

You could fight against the tide, push through the crowd, make him remember.

But you didn’t.

You just stood there.

Because this—this was how it ended.

Not with screaming. Not with a fight. Not with desperate pleas or broken promises.

But with him walking away—and not looking back.

And that— That was what hurt the most.

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