#It really does feel like your world is spinning around when someone you did not expect to confess *does*.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Why are you running?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[ineedpaigebuckets]

lovebox

paige buys azzi one of those light up box things... and abuses the shit out of it

it starts with a box.

a tiny, sleek square with a glowing heart on top. matte black, smooth to the touch. it looks unassuming when azzi opens it on a quiet sunday night after practice, still wearing her slides and that giant hoodie paige left behind weeks ago. there’s a note stuck to the inside of the lid. paige’s handwriting—looped and messy, the “i”s dotted with little circles instead of hearts (because hearts would be “too much,” according to her, as if that distinction even matters anymore).

“tap the top when you miss me. or when you want to annoy me. either works. love you loser. –p”

at first, azzi rolls her eyes. of course paige would find some high-tech, long-distance, obnoxious way to make her presence known. the device is called a “lovebox”—how disgustingly on brand. still, she plugs it in next to her bed and pairs it to the app, because even if she’s groaning, she’s smiling too.

that night, it lights up for the first time.

the heart spins slowly, glowing a soft red, pulsing like a heartbeat. azzi’s halfway through brushing her teeth when she sees it. she presses the top gently, and the light slows, stops. the app pings. she plays the message.

“hi,” paige whispers, voice low and close to the mic. “i just tapped mine by accident but now i’m thinking about you so. not really an accident, huh?”

a beat of silence. then—

“god, i miss your stupid face.”

it’s ridiculous. it’s cute. it’s paige.

⸻

by the end of the first week, azzi wants to toss the box out the window.

not because it’s bad. because paige uses it constantly. she taps it at 2 a.m. she taps it before games. she taps it from the grocery store.

“i’m in the cereal aisle and i can’t stop thinking about how you eat cheerios like a psychopath with no sugar.”

“how are your ankles today? did you ice them? i will call your trainer and tattle.”

“this girl said something dumb and i almost said ‘my girlfriend’s smarter than you’ out loud. anyway.”

azzi rolls her eyes every time. but she never taps back angrily. never unplugs it. she listens to every single message, even when she’s pretending not to.

like wednesday night.

she’s on her back in bed, scrolling through tiktoks she won’t remember in five minutes, when the heart on the box starts beating again. slow, steady.

she exhales. waits two beats. then taps.

“i think i left my water bottle in your room.”

a pause. a breath. then softer:

“i also think i’m kind of in love with you, but like, aggressively. like i’d fight god for you. anyway. goodnight.”

azzi groans and shoves her face into a pillow, grinning so hard it hurts.

⸻

she doesn’t respond with words right away.

instead, she starts using the box as passive-aggressive revenge. taps it during paige’s morning classes. sends nothing. no message. just taps. sometimes three in a row. sometimes five. until paige texts her dramatically:

“are you dead or bullying me or both.”

“yes,” azzi replies.

but paige figures it out quickly. because of course she does. so the next message is drawn out and deliberately obnoxious.

“good MORNING, azzi fuddddddd. it’s 8:41 a.m. and i just had an iced coffee and a weird croissant thing and i love you and im cold i can’t feel my hands. anyway. love you. love you. love you. love you.”

azzi’s freshman roommate glances up from her laptop. “is that… the little box again?”

“yes,” azzi mutters, pressing the top to stop the flashing heart. “she thinks she’s funny.”

“is she?”

“god, yeah.”

⸻

some nights, it’s not a joke.

some nights the message comes through quiet and tired, like the world’s been too loud all day and paige just needed to whisper something into the dark.

“i had a weird dream. you weren’t in it and it felt wrong. anyway. hope you’re sleeping okay.”

or:

“i saw someone who looked like you today. i got excited for no reason. i just really, really miss you.”

or, one time:

“i can’t breathe when you’re not around. that sounds dramatic. but i promise it’s not.”

on those nights, azzi holds the box in both hands like it might disappear. she still doesn’t always know what to say back. sometimes she just taps it. sometimes she leaves a message back that’s mostly silence, just the sound of her breathing. one time, she reads a bible verse paige used to like. another time, she just says:

“i miss you too baby.”

⸻

there’s a stretch of days in february where they’re both too busy to talk more than once a day. games. travel. midterms. the box goes dark for almost forty-eight hours, and when it finally lights up again, azzi feels a strange jolt—like her ribs just remembered how to move.

she taps the box. plays the message.

“i don’t know how to talk about things sometimes when you're not around,” paige says, voice hoarse and sleepy. “but the way this thing lights up? it feels like you’re real again. like you’re here. i don’t know. i’m being weird. i just miss you more than usual tonight.”

so azzi sends one back.

“i love you,” she says. no pause, no joke. just that. “i love you, paige.”

she watches the heart dim down.

⸻

spring break comes early that year.

azzi doesn’t tell paige she’s flying in.

she just shows up outside her appartement with a duffel bag and a hoodie two sizes too big. paige opens the door with sleep in her eyes and a banana in one hand, and for a second all she can do is blink.

then—

“no way,” she breathes, and drops both the banana and her pride. launches forward, arms tight, lifting azzi off the ground like she weighs nothing.

they stumble back into the room, laughing and half-crying. azzi presses her nose into paige’s neck. whispers, “thought i’d deliver the next annoying message in person.”

paige grins against her temple. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

paige pulls back just enough to look at her. her eyes are glassy, smile lazy and soft. “i missed your stupid face.”

“shut up,” azzi mutters, but she’s laughing.

later, when they’re tangled on paige’s twin bed, their legs overlapping and a shared hoodie pulled over both of them like a tent, the little box lights up again.

azzi reaches to tap it, but paige grabs her wrist.

“wait,” she says. “just… let it play.”

the spinning slows. then—

“i think when you’re in love with someone, the way i am with you, every stupid little thing becomes a love letter.”

azzi turns to look at her. paige doesn’t meet her eyes. she’s staring up at the ceiling, cheeks pink.

“you recorded that days ago,” azzi says.

“yeah.” paige rubs the back of her neck. “figured i’d queue it up. just in case.”

“in case what?”

paige finally looks over. her voice is barely a whisper. “in case you forgot that like... maybe you said you'd come see me during spring break a few months ago.”

azzi’s face softens.

she kisses her. slow. careful. like every tap of that glowing heart has been leading here.

“i’d never forget,” she says. “even if you weren’t annoying me with that box every night.”

paige snorts. “you love it.”

“i tolerate it.”

“you love me.”

“unfortunately,” azzi says, smiling into her shoulder. “yes. unfortunately, i really, really do.”

[yandere-wishes]

・┆✦ʚ Had a few dreams about you, I can't tell you what we did ɞ✦ ┆・

⭒⌒★ Yandere!The Boys x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓀𝒾𝒹𝓃𝒶𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡ ゜

๋ ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑It's such a shame it ended this way ࣭ ⭑๋ ࣭ ⭑

✮⋆˙ Homelander

He wasn't supposed to get this attached, he knows that. At first, it's easy to pretend, to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you close to whisper sophomoric quips into your ear so you'd squint throwing your head back and laughing, even though the dirt of the joke is lost on you. But that's the problem right there, that odious jovial laugh coupled with that eerie righteous gleam carved into your eyes. Your voice sounds like early morning birds and those housewives in old infomercials. Domestic, blissful, so utterly painfully innocent that it punctures his steel heart. You make it so hard not to fall in love.

According to the public -and Vought - you two are not quite lovers, but there's clearly something there, squirming below the surface, trying to break free. 'More than friends' is what they call you. It's what the public wants, a build-up, a love story they can watch unfold through their screens. The Golden Boy and the People's Sweetheart. But the error of it all itches under Homelander's skin. You are his lover, his darling, his whole damn world. He doesn't need the suckups and tyrants to tell him how and when he can love you. He already does, he's already crossed the line, gotten too attached.

The thoughts creep in, or rather invade, when he notices how your fans touch you, how those wretched mortals have the gall to slurp up gallons of your attention and love. You really are made for the people, aren't you? Not for him, never him.

No, he can't have that...

"You all right?" he asks vice grip on your body as he soars through the sky. You're tucked into his chest sniffling, tears dried out and pleas laying dead upon your tongue. He has you now, He'll never let you go. He's so high up one misstep and you'll plummet to your doom. Still, that's better than letting those insects lay a finger on you. He does this every time your fans ask for pictures, every time someone gets too close. He picks you up and flies away. But this time, this time he's going too far, flying too fast. You don't know where he's headed but you have a feeling you might never come back. "I love you," Homelander says, voice booming through the thick winds, "I can't...I can't let them have you, you belong to me. Besides what kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn't keep my own darling safe?" the humor and technicality that you aren't 'really' dating it lost on you when you start to notice how cold it's gotten, how the ground is pitch white how the snowflakes land like doomed omes upon his golden hair...

"I'll keep you safe," He promises. "Far away from those disgusting, filthy mortals, and then once it's all burned down and built anew, I'll lay it all at your feet." His lips seal his promise, binding you as he lands on the tundra.

⋆˙⟡ Black Noir

Little hearts are dancing around your face as you nervously strangle a lock of hair around your finger. The hearts spin and swirl floating over to pivot around Black Noir's head. You look so adorable mulling over your costume changes, over the limited options Vought has bestowed upon you. You remind him of cartoon bunnies and fawns frolicking through evergreen forests hiding from cruel poachers and hunters. Forced into cages to be leered at

You plague him with lovelorn paralysis, too dazed to think straight to move, just replaying your voice in his head while scribbling your name across papers, love notes, and endless doodles of your essence. He draws you with fluffy ears and a cotton tail, draws himself -black wool and big sheepish eyes- saving the poor bunny from the monstrous masses. And maybe it's not just a fever dream, a relapse in reality. Maybe it can be true. He just has to pluck you away in the dead of night, fib a little tale about some supervillain having killed you. Vought will find a replacement, and you will be safe tucked away in his room. Forever his, his sweet little bunny.

𓆩♛𓆪 Queen Maeve

Her heart yearns for you. Aching from your mere smile, from the haunting sparkle in your eye under the right light. "I love you," she says, thousands upon thousands of times. But you never say it back, she's not meant for you to love, she can't belong to one person. But the world doesn't need to know, the people shouldn't get the right to choose her wishes. Do your bones ever sing for her? Maeve wonders. Hum her name between the marrow and plead for her firm touch.

It's savage the way she hauls you from your home, unbefitting someone who truly believes in freedom, unbefitting her epithet of 'Queen'. But it's the only way she knows how, instinct upon desperation. You're staring out the window, glaring at the stars as she kisses up your neck. Locked away forever with her, high above, hidden from the world's cruel gaze. You can belong to her forever, with no guilt and messy shards. Just you and her and the love clawing at her throat.

⋆𓆝 The Deep

He wants to watch you drown. Maybe that's not a thing to admit to someone. Especially someone you claim to love. To tell them, tenderly, while running your fingers over their bones and curves, that you want to watch the air slip out of their lungs, replaced with the gorgeous crystalline liquid of his essence. Deep watches as you push the glass to your lips, head tipped back, giving him the perfect view of your slender neck. He thinks it'd look better with his teeth marks and kisses marring your smooth skin. He thinks it would look better adorned with deep sea pearls and fingerprints.

He weighs your cheeks in his palms, pushing just enough to watch the pellucid tears ripple from your eyes. He has you caged, cornered in the dark of Vought Tower. Begging, pleading for you to stay with him, to be his. You once told him you feel like a shark, a great white, forced to live in a donut tank, and he couldn't help but understand every single word coming from your mouth. He won't be your tank, he swears, as he drags you up the emergency flight of stairs that eventually bleeds into the Seven's penthouse complex. No, he'll be your water, your ocean, aqueous salvation keeping you safe from every dreadful one and thing on dry land. You can drown for him, drawn in his enthrallment, in this desperate thing he calls "love". Drown in his kisses that feel like swallowing seas and starfish. Drown for him, belong to him, be his…

ঌ✦໒ A-train

When you glare at him he feels like spitting back. Shoving something sharp between your eyes, or cracking your skull on the pavement. He hates you, hates the way you make his heart beat faster than V fixes, hates how he needs to feel you close just to feel alive. But what he hates most is that you're always out of reach.

When he takes you, he leaves no room for argument. No room for reason. You're in the convenience store one-moment buying ice cream and Diet Coke. And the next you're high above the ground in a room with locked windows and doors. A-Train tries to reason, tries to apologize sheepishly for the crude "date" -as he calls it- blushing mess, charisma, and charm rotting in the pit of his stomach as he tries to kiss you, tries to hold your hands, and shows you how much he loves you. But that glare, that damn glare never leaves your gorgeous eyes. It's fine, it's cool, you'll learn to love him, you have nowhere else to go, you can't leave him now. Eventually, his love will catch up to you too.

⭑.ᐟ Soldier Boy

His love is so utterly cruel, all anger and radiation and gunpowder inhaled. He loves you he swears even when his kisses are all teeth and tongue and knife cuts. And at first, it's exhilarating being with the quintessence of heroics, the perfect man, the woldest bravest. Old fashioned and rough around the edges, until those edges start drawing blood. Until he's ready to murder anyone who so much as looks at you. His excuses are plentiful, sweet innocent thing like yourself knows nothing of the world's cruelties. Those people are evil they want to hurt you, hurt him, steal you away, and break you apart. And Ben just has to protect you, someone unmarred by the terrors and pains he's gone through, you're his sanctuary his Eden, he needs to keep you pure.

Whatever he's slipped you has made the lights throb and the walls spin. You thought it would be fun to drag him to a nightclub, to show him this century isn't so bad. But when he pulls you onto his lap, mouth on yours, slipping something round down your throat with his tongue, you start to realize this may have been a bad idea. He's cruel when he pushes you off his lap, laughing as you try to stand and fail. He coos in your ear, all patronizing synonyms of 'I told you so'. The next morning, you don't know where you are, just that you can't leave; he made sure of it. He has you locked away, hidden, and safe. And perfectly broken for him and only him.

ᯓ★ Starlight/ Annie January

She utters your name in absolute, little wish upon a star that someday you'll be hers. When Annie asks you to move in with her, she makes it sound like a covenant, like rehearsing a verse from a childhood dream. Be close to her, be with her, she's so sick of being alone, of being used. She needs someone to make the pain go away and mold her back into something resembling a human being.

She's a supernova on the brink of explosion and she knows it's a cruel fate to tie to you. But she can't help it, not when your lips are so soft and your eyes so innocent. Not when you remind her of why she even became Starlight in the first place. Her eyes flicker gold trying to imprint herself into you, so utterly terrified you'll leave her for another less broken girl. She can't have that, it sounds so callous to force this all upon you. To leave you locked away in her childhood home. But she has bruises that never healed right and eyes that have seen too much. And you're just a human, a human who holds her heart in the palm of your hand. She'll protect you, scare away supe and mortal so you'll forever remain in her arms.

⋆☾ Billy Butcher

He locked you away the moment he realised he loved you. The moment the shards fell into place and Billy woke up with your name on his tongue he knew he had to hide you away. He's meticulous about it, classic in the deed. Blind folds and gags, and reassuring words that are always too gruff to be comforting.

He treats you like a princess, wiping away your tears, kissing you as tenderly as he can. Makes you your favorite foods and buys you whatever your heart desires. Just don't break his rules, don't leave the house. Please! It's all he asks for, love. And should you ever succeed in running away. Well, Butcher has no claims against breaking your bones to keep you compliant, after all, he knows what the alternative is, and he knows what the world could do to you. In comparison, this is a mercy. So just be a good bird and let him take care of you. Alrigh' love?

˚꩜｡Hughie Campbell

Hughie never kidnaps you, not really, he doesn't have the heart to take your freedom away like that. But he's always too close, body pressed to yours. You can feel his heartbeat echoing within your bones, flesh-to-flesh exchanging traumas. He's so anxious all the time, worried and lovesick all in the same breath. His presence is your cage; you can never escape his closeness.

The first time Hughie kisses you, it tastes like guilt and dead butterly cacoones. Like a boy who's trying to understand who he is through you. His fingers squeeze the flesh of your arms, scared that you'll slip away. Be taken from him the moment his lips leave yours. You can almost call him sweet if he weren't so suffocating. Lost puppy boy who won't leave his favorite chew toy alone. Kicked one too many times by the cruel world to let you relive such a fate.

˚✿° Frenchie

It's a little too easy to love you. Not love at first sight or last sight, just a love whose seeds have festered deep within his blood, taking bloom every time you appear to assist on another suicide mission.

And maybe that's it, the thought of dying that makes you so appealing, like a bomb that is a fraction of a second from exploding. Frenchie thinks you're more weapon than human, all revolvers and demolition, all dying and surviving, and every oxymoron he can think of. Because the truth i,s you are a gun, a pistol, pointed blank at his heart, ready to shoot.

He's careful when he blows up your house, timing it perfectly so that you're far enough to remain unscathed but close enough to see everything. And he knows Butcher and Hughie can't really put you up. It's the problem with being vigilantes, you're always fleeing from safehouse to safehouse like famine-driven rats. But Frenchie has a place, and you're free to stay with him until you sort this whole mess out. Just help him out with his orders, with the modifications the clients need. He has you so close, and he promises he'll be so good, so tender, and doting. You would never want to leave! But should you ever decide to break his heart, to wander off, he has you chipped ready to find you and drag you back. Maybe this time he'll cuff you to the bed until you readjust.

[invoncible]

could you post more of popstar!girly!reader? honestly really love the concept, would love to see that fic you mentioned you have in your drafts 👀

popstar! girly! reader sneaking MARK GRAYSON into her music video ✧˚.

— hiii anon ! im so glad a lot of people love the concept because i've been having brainrot about it for so long. also !! that fic is at 11k words so far 💀 idk if you guys wanna read all that LMAO here's another scenario for the time being <3

i'd like to think when you start dating, mark understands the need to keep public and private life separate. he gets it better than anybody, which is what makes your unconventional relationship work out as well as it does.

that's not to say he doesn't get a little selfish sometimes.

when he's scrolling on tiktok or the reddit page dedicated to you and sees all these people thirsting over you... he feels some kind of way.

people calling themselves your wife, husband, partner, whatever—mark was happy for your success but there was a part of him that wanted to scream from the rooftops that he was yours, not them.

so when you proposed that he feature in your music video, he was overjoyed.

"i was thinking..." you hummed, manicured nails tapping away at your phone screen as you texted your manager. "did you wanna be in my new video? we want to include a boyfriend part and well... you're the only one qualified for that."

mark sat up sharply with an immediate, "yes." he accepted it solemnly, like he was accepting a world-changing quest.

you brightened, glossy lips spreading into a big smile. "really? all you'd have to do is flex and pose and be hot."

he grinned and leaned over to kiss your cheek, pulling you into his arms. "so a regular day, then?"

your crew loved mark. they loved how dorky he was, carrying comics to pass the time while you got ready in your outfits and makeup.

little did he know he had an appointment with hair and makeup himself.

"you can pull out if you want to, you know." you said as you fixed your hair in the huge led-light mirror.

mark was fidgeting beside you, turning left and right and assessing his reflection with a critical eye.

"and have you run around with someone else?" he frowned, a slight pout tugging on his lips as he ran a hand through his hair. "how can you even look in this thing without getting blinded?"

you giggled and dimmed the mirror lights to something he could handle.

"it was either you or no one. i just want to make sure you're comfortable." you said slowly, patiently, walking up beside him and tugging his restless hands away from his face. "this is kind of like a soft launch, you know?"

it'd be a hard launch if he had anything to say about it.

at first, he was a little stiff. it wasn't everyday he had to stand shirtless on a set with cameras aimed right at him.

when you started dancing with him, he acted like he hadn't seen you naked before. hands balled into fists at his sides, a tight lipped smile, the sweat pouring down his forehead...

the filming process might have taken a few more days than intended, but it was worth allowing mark to grow comfortable with the set and the crew. he put his all into his screen time.

fast forward to the release day, the internet was buzzing. you had guys in your music videos before, but they always met horrible ends.

so when you were spinning in some random guy's arms—not even a known model or celebrity—they were thoroughly confused.

it looked like a home video more than anything else. they could tell you two had insane chemistry.

the edits of you two together came first; then, the edits of the mysterious backup guy exploded on the internet. you were eating good for once, having a wealth of edits of your boyfriend at your disposal.

he found you giggling and kicking your feet. "what's got you in such a good mood?"

you just bit your lip, barely containing your smile as you held up your phone. an edit, albeit of low quality, of him smiling down at you in the low light of the scene, shots of his muscular back and arms and oh, you just had to save it and the 100s of others just like it.

he felt his face heat up as he watched it, looking away bashfully. "did... people like it?"

"they loved it." you hummed, pulling him down to bed and kissing his cheek. "and so did i."

he hummed, the sliver of praise making his chest puff up proudly.

"look, they've dubbed you 'boyfriend.'" you giggled, scrolling through fan comments. who is this man?? / that backup boyfriend guy kinda fine tho?? / look at how boyfriend looks at her awww! / boyfriend can't take us all at once. / boyfriend can't handle all that. / can boyfriend fight?

he smirked to himself as he absorbed the playful outrage of your fanbase. they could complain all they wanted, but he can handle all that and yes, he can fight.

© invoncible

[b0nten]

HOW ARE BABIES MADE?

[SYNOPSIS] ˚⁀➷｡ ran, rindou, sanzu, takeomi, kakucho, mikey and izana being asked by their children how babies are made.

[NOTES] ˚⁀➷｡ reader is implied to be fem, reader is called “mother”, “mommy” etc. this was so fun to write!!! thank you anon for requesting <3 also, i used tenjiku&bonten characters but everything’s taking place in the final timeline.

RAN is definitely the type to try to explain the entire thing, without any second thoughts whatsoever. He’d definitely hear the question, and open his mouth but before gets to say ‘sex’ he feels a book flat against his head. “what do you think you’re doing?” you whisper-yell from the kitchen, curry udon long forgotten on the stove. “explaining to your daughter how she spawned into the world?” he answers, dodging another decor item that you aimed toward him. upon asking, dramatically and over-exaggeratedly of course, so offended because he just doesn’t know what he was doing wrong, you just stare at him. “we agreed to tell her when she’s 14. she doesn’t even know boys have dicks and you want to explain the entirety of sex and how it goes to her? do you even know how it works?” he sighs, defeated, “let’s go eat, sweetheart, i think i made mommy a lil mad.” he says, picking up his daughter, “that last part was uncalled for, by the way.” “suck it up, mr. club owner. ”

meanwhile, RINDOU simply freezes: “daddy, how are babies made?” what? excuse him? oh my lord, he did not expect this to happen this early. why the hell is his five year old son asking him about coital activity, right when you’re not around? fuck him (himself), fuck this situation, fuck you for not being around right now (both figuratively and literally). “you see! when… uhm.. when two people love each other and they kiss, they make a baby!” he mentally face-palms for what the fuck he just said. “so you can’t kiss girls until you’re twenty-one, yeah?” finally, thankfully, his phone rings, and thank the heavens it’s you. “oh my god, y/n—” “rindou, what did i just hear on the baby cam?” “haha, my love! funny story!!!!”

SANZU just goes feral. he’s having a fucking anxiety attack or whatever so he just texts you while your daughter asks her daddy about how babies are made.

TAKEOMI plays it safe, using the infamous stork. “and it just comes flying?” “yeah, it carries a little basket with its beak and gives it to us!” he smiles, playing into his baby girl’s fantasy. “you sound just like my parents.” you smile and his gaze averts to yours, from his seat on the living room carpet. “well, your own stories inspired me, because, to be honest, i was about to shit myself.” “daddy!” the little one yells, stretching out her palm, “1000 yen!” and her father exasperates “god put me out of this misery of only being an atm, you’re just like your mother. ow! what’d i deserve that punch for?”

KAKUCHO handles it like a pro. “papa.” one of his little girls walks up to him, younger twin following her right behind. “yes, pretty girl?” he straightens his back and crouches down, still sitting on the couch. “how are babies made, papa?” the shyer one asks and his face drops for a split second. “i promise to tell you when you’re older, right now it’s classified information!” he jokes, and the girls giggle. “now… who wants to watch doraemon!!” he does the jazz hands and the twins jump into his lap. not long after, you sit down next to them. “if i didn’t know any better, i would have said you rehearsed those lines from the moment you were born.” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. he wraps an arm around you, chuckling, and kisses the crown of your head.

if there’s someone (who thinks they’re) escaping this question, it’s MIKEY. “ ‘tou-chan, how are babies made?” blond locks spin toward him, and the big eyes of his daughter look him up and down. “ ‘tou-chan?” she says again, a bit annoyed. mikey sacrifices the motorbike races he’s watching and looks back at her. “ask ‘kaa-chan, i’m not really good at biology.” he smiles when she jumps from her place and runs into your bedroom, where you’re blow-drying your hair. confident that he’s just dodged a bullet, manjiro returns to his priority — the tv. moments later you storm in, hair half wet, still in your bath robe with the kid in your arms, visibly furious. he knows he’s dodged a bullet but is about to get hit by a cannon.

IZANA is at the dining table doing some paper-work for tenjiku and you’re watching tv when your oldest marches into the kitchen, determined. “daddy.” the blond looks up, eyeing back at the spitting image of himself. “yes?” he answers, and you also look back to see what’s going on. slamming a big book on the table, the toddler points to the cover “how are babies made?” you burst out laughing and your husband snatches the book away, making you laugh hysterically. “where’d you find this?!” he questions, and his forehead is already soaked with sweat and he wants to bury himself into the ground. “your office.” he can’t believe his five year old son walked in there and just so happened to find this book: effective positions for baby-making. his cheeks redden and he scans the room to find you and request your help, but he’s greeted with the sight of you rolling around on the living room floor, trying to calm your laughter down. yay.

[cherie-doll]

hello again!! i just wanted to askk, could i possibly request how the cod men would be with a self-conscious reader? :3 thank you for the curly-haired!reader hcs btw those were so cutesy!!

I hope u have a nice day/night <3 - 🦇

lol im back and yea ofc! (omg i finally wrote and posted something, EVERYONE CLAP)

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Being Self-Conscious Around Them

౨ৎ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

He notices that anytime you're out, you glance at your reflection in every mirror or window you appear in, you always regret doing it, and he notices it when you fix your hair to cover your face a little more, or bringing your hoodie over your head

He switches the shopping bags he was using both hands to carry to only one hand, with his now free hand he brings an arm over you and pulls you into him, tucking you into his side

And when you look up at him, a soft breath condensing in the cold air as it escapes your lips, he just smiles warmly and reassuringly at you

His voice, low but thickly as he says your name, wanting your utmost attention, and your eyes find his, in the quietude of the street on that evening you did not turn to glance at your reflection again

It is easy to worry endlessly, to get lost in your thoughts of how people see you, of being aware of every flaw someone could see in you, but you're once again reminded why for one person in the world who's always by your side sees past them

Ghost

Sometimes it is very subtle things you don't like about yourself, not always easy to perceive or notice, but he notices how you feel, the way you carry yourself is different, maybe your shoulders a little more hunched as you try to hide

He doesn't say anything, but he knows something like holding your hand extra tight will have your spinning mind grounded again when you're in public

A chaste but rare peck on your forehead when you get home as he detangles from your fingers and walks off, leaving you surprised but feeling warm inside for it

He knows he's not the best at providing comfort, the man himself uses a balaclava every time he goes out, the real reason for wearing it still unknown but you could say he's just gotten used to not showing his face, so he can't exactly tell you to not hide or turn away if he himself does it

Still, he wanted to give you something to lean on, anything to give you a little bit of reassurance

Soap

He doesn't see why you would be so self-conscious, he loves everything about you, why wouldn't you too?

To be honest, he's never cared that much about his appearance, and he may not exactly be the best when it comes to words, but he's trying

He wants to show you that you shouldn't shy away from him, that he will continue to show you love even if you're hesitant and overly aware of yourself, to not let it get to you or affect how you treat one another

He hates hearing you say negative things about yourself, even if you're just pointing them out, because he truly doesn't see the flaws you think are there, he looks up at you endearingly as he kneels down, his hands on your hips as he tells you about how he first fell for you

And God, you can't get him to shut up once he starts, you'll be laughing and telling him he can stop now, that you get the point he's trying to make, but he refuses to stop talking, you will listen to hear him go on for at least another 30 minutes

Gaz

Those days where your self confidence isn't the best suck :(, especially if you feel like nothing else is really going right and on top of that you just don't feel your best

Kyle would just sense that something is off when you walk through the door, he looks up from where he's sitting and just the sight of him makes you rush into his arms the moment he opens them for you

He'd hold you as he gently strokes your hair, which has a most calming effect on you, making your brain go quiet, feeling how soft his fingertips are against your scalp as they gently caress between strands of hair, it is during this that he asks if there's anything bothering you, since it's been a while since you've had a deep conversation

Feeling like nothing can hold you back, the streams of words just flows, and he's there to only nod and listen as he wishes he could clutch you tighter to his chest and heal everything inside of you, it hurts him to see you like this

But after you've poured everything out to him, he hums quietly and parts from you a little, you raise your head to meet his eyes in confusion

"You really think that?" and he gives the most loving and adoring look you've ever seen him give you it just melts you from the inside

Roach

Honestly, he'd sulk noticing how much it affects you, because he loves the confident you, how charming you are when you hold your head high not letting the thoughts swarming in the murky waters of your mind get to you

He knows he might not be able to change how you perceive yourself, but he can try his best to offer his comfort, maybe you're lying in bed, trying to make peace with the thoughts inside your head, and here comes your boyfriend/husband to climb into bed with you

Slowing making his way towards you like a cat seeking attention, resting his head on your lap as he stares up at you with dreamy eyes admiring you, and you can't ignore him, you take his face in your hands and feel the urge to aggressively love him

His soft smile reminding you of how much he loves you, it momentarily makes you forget about everything, you've been too engrossed in your thoughts you forgot about the person who could erase your doubts even if it was for a moment

The tenderness in his eyes when he murmurs "I love you"

Alejandro

Alejandro is the best at excessive flattery, he does not pass up a moment to tell you how good you look, the problem is that's what he thinks, you're more worried about what your mind has to say and what others might think too

No matter how far down you try to push your thoughts, they just keep finding a way to resurface and make you feel awful, why do you even care so much? It feels like you should, everyone else feels so natural, you want to feel normal for once

Seeing how distressing it can be for you to the point you avoid certain things, Alejandro decides to take matters into his own hands

Telling you, "Who cares what anyone else thinks? It's what you and I think, and no matter what, I still feel the same way", you already know he'd go through extreme measures just to have you feeling like the luckiest person alive, everyone should be envying you for having what you have and you should look and feel it too

Rudy

You're always asking him, "How do I look?" and he will always answer with a smile and "You're beautiful cariño" except you don't believe it, especially when you asked for his jacket, you're not even cold but suddenly you don't like how you feel in your outfit, maybe the people passing by are snickering or laughing or noticing that there is something wrong with you

You just want to turn around and go back home where you can be at peace without the fear of judgement, but Rudy stops for a moment, sensing right away how you feel and asking if you really want to, he could take you back home and instead choose to do something else for the night

You nod yes and he doesn't hesitate in rearranging his plans, he centers his life around you anyways, and he'd rather take a raincheck for any other night than make you feel uncomfortable, he just cares endlessly about you

But he wishes he could find a way to make you see you like he does

Phillip Graves

Waiiitt I've literally entertained the idea of this with him before ;)

You staring into the mirror, unsatisfied with yourself until you're approached by Phillip from behind, him wrapping an arm around your waist, resting his head onto your shoulder and nuzzling his nose into your neck, making you laugh softly

But he notices that sad look behind your eyes, your furrowed brows

No matter how much you try to bring it up to him, he will not let you get more than a sentence in before shaking his head, he doesn't want you to express anymore of those negative feelings, knowing that if you started you'd just go on until you started crying

He'd have you meet his gaze through the mirror, making you stare deep into his beautiful blue eyes asking if you truly trust him, if you nod yes, he'll tell you how he truthfully finds every part of you attractive, how alluring you've been from the first moment he laid eyes on you and how you should discard other people's thoughts

"You truly are the most stunning thing I've ever seen"

Makarov

He did find it strange how you'd gradually become quiet the longer you were around people, and then when you came back home you'd immediately go to the mirror and smile and practice different facial expressions in front of it

When he asks you what you're doing, you simply wave him away, you're only trying to see what you looked like when you were talking to people, did you really look like that? And suddenly you notice other things

Until you're convinced you shouldn't really smile so wide or talk so much, but all it takes is Makarov and his rare tenderness to make you forget about it and feeling good again

He sees no blemishes on you, and you allow yourself to tell you whatever he wants as he drags you away from the mirror and pulling you into bed with him, spooning you, whispering into your ear how you're better than all those insufferable leeches anyways

And for the next time you're getting ready, you receive a questionable amount of compliments from the help Makarov keeps around the house, did he tell them to do that?

Keegan

Keegan wouldn't have known you were being self-conscious around him if it weren't for the fact that you started changing when you were alone, you no longer let him stare at you too long, afraid he'd see something he wouldn't like

You were always trying to turn away or cover yourself if he came into a room when you weren't dressed, yelling at him to get out, except he doesn't care and ignores you anyways as he settles into bed or he holds your hands so you can't cover your face when he leans in closer to get a look at your face

"Hey, don't hide from me" as he turns you to face him, his eyes impossible to part from as he stares deeply into yours, trying to find that fear so deeply rooted in you and pull it out, no one should reach this low, and he'd be a damn fool to let it get to you

He wouldn't want to lose you to this disquietude

König

He very much understands and notices when you're feeling self-conscious, he often feels it too, awkward and unsure of himself when around others, with you though, he forgets about that feeling entirely

Obviously, he's going to do something when you're starting to feel like that, first thing is searching for a place where there is less people, the air gets heavy rather quickly when there are too many people which only makes things worse especially if there's a crowd of people

Doesn't really say much as you both settle into a bench, he's not even sure you noticed that he did it intentionally, he kind of fiddles with his hands nervously but he sits there for a moment, watching the scenery with you, until you lean into him

He's surprised but welcomes it, bringing an arm around your shoulder, "König?" and he responds with a hum, "Do you think... other people think I'm weird?"

Seriously? That's what you were worried about? As if his entire being hasn't always been clumsy and sheepish when around others, yet he still somehow managed to bag you, he snorts, if you're weird he can't imagine what word would be used to describe him

Horangi

He might not fully understand the anxiety that comes with feeling like everyone is constantly watching and judging everything you do or how you look, if anything he quite enjoys the feeling of having eyes on him, especially yours

But he notices how whenever he stares at you a little too long to the point you notice, your reaction gradually shifts from giving a timid and bashful smile to full on embarrassed, he doesn't understand, you're deserving of attention, so why don't you enjoy it?

You do end up explaining how much it bothers you, but there's a long list of things you're always taking notice of, isn't it weird how you walk? Don't you tend to look around too much at people? Is it only you who has an awkward interaction with someone every single time you go out? It's only you, right?

Again, he had never taken notice of these things, seeing as he's learned to take pride in how he carries himself and how he does things, he tells you people don't actually care, no one pays attention long enough to notice

Which is unfortunate really, why doesn't anyone else ever notice that spark in your eye, or that distinctive mark on you? Such a pity no one will ever get to look at you like how he does, maybe he's lucky because he has you all to himself

Nikto

He doesn't even notice what you're constantly worrying about, you've overlooked every scar of his, so why would you ever feel the need to worry about how others perceive you? Especially when it comes to him? It's not unusual of him anyways, you have to point things out for this guy to even take notice of

He sees you staring into the mirror and thinks nothing of it, sees you pull your shirt down every time you sit and again dismisses it, sees you looking uncomfortable when pictures are being taken, fine with him he hates them too

Until you're up at night thinking and he's in bed next to you ready to rest until your voice comes out shaky, frail as if on the verge of tears asking if he really even likes you

Needless to say, he's confused, tired and only grunts in response as he pulls you, snaking an arm around your waist and trapping you in his arms, when you try to move he just shushes you and tells you to sleep

You go to sleep not knowing he's still awake, staring gently at you as he caresses your hair

[wvyik]

you wanna?.. d.w. ᝰ.ᐟ

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: dean’s been acting weird all morning, but you don’t think much of it — until he casually slides something across the table between bites of waffles. And just like that, your whole world tilts.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! pre-established relationship, aggressively casual proposal, dean being a menace as usual, fluff so sweet it might kill you!!… eventual smut (because let’s be real, this man does not propose without following through. is skip able though!!). dirty talk, dom! dean, oral sex, praise kink, unprotected sex, after care cause ima softie.

⤿ notes: AHH!! had so much fun with this one. tysm for all the support >ᴗ< i appreciate you all!! tbh this is the best thing I’ve ever written in a while. we love dean with a happy ending. ꒰˶  - ˕ -꒱ buckle up for the spicy stuff later!! as always, feel free to drop a comment or yell at me if you’re feeling some type of way about this. i’m here for it.

It’s early. Too early.

You’re exhausted in that way only hunters understand— the kind that seeps into your bones, makes your muscles ache, keeps you in that hazy space between asleep and awake, even with a steaming cup of coffee cradled between your hands.

Dean, of course, looks annoyingly good for someone who barely got any sleep. His hair is a mess, there’s a fading bruise on his jaw from last night’s hunt, but he’s still effortlessly him — green eyes warm with amusement, shoulders relaxed, mouth curling into a smirk as he watches you fight to keep your eyes open.

“You look like you got run over,” he says, the corners of his lips twitching.

You take a slow sip of your coffee, staring at him blankly. “Thanks. You always know just what to say.”

He chuckles, reaching for his own mug. “Just speakin’ the truth, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Not now, anyway. You’re definitely too tired for that.

The sound of Dean shuffling around the motel room pulls you out of your half-sleep. You crack open one eye, only to find him already dressed, boots laced up, and pacing with that ‘we’re about to hit the road’ look in his eyes. His leather jacket is hanging on the back of the chair.

You rub your eyes, groaning, and try to keep the sleepiness from spilling out of you. “Do we really have to go now?”

Dean grins, not even bothering to look at you. “You know how I feel about sitting still.”

You roll your eyes again, itching to bargain with him, but knowing if you did, he’d just drag you into whatever shenanigans he had planned for the day anyway. After a couple of minutes, the room starts to feel too small, and the silence is making your head spin, so you sit up. The plan— at least, the unspoken one — was to hit the road after a quick breakfast, and you’ve learned that when Dean Winchester says quick, he means quick.

The car ride isn’t long. Dean’s humming along to the radio, steering with one hand as he swerves around potholes, and you’re trying to ignore how damn good he looks in the morning light filtering through the car windows. Eventually, the sound of the engine and the warmth of the sun lull you into a comfortable quiet. You’re barely paying attention when you both pull up to an old diner on the side of the highway, a place that looks like it’s been around longer than you’ve been alive.

Dean parks and shoots you a look and smirks. “I’ll bet you ten bucks the pie here could change your life.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. You know better than to doubt him by now.

The diner is quiet, just a few truckers scattered at the counter, the hum of conversation mixing with the low crackle of an old radio playing Blue Öyster Cult in the background. The air smells like burnt coffee and bacon grease, and the vinyl booth seat sticks slightly to your thigh where your jeans have a tear, but it’s…nice.

Comfortable.

It’s one of those rare, normal mornings. No hunts lined up. No immediate danger. Just you, Dean, and a crappy little diner on the side of the road.

You should’ve known he was up to something.

Dean’s been acting weird all morning.

Not in an obvious way. He’s still teasing you, still stuffing his face with an ungodly amount of waffles and bacon, still shooting you that signature smirk every time you make a face at him.

But his knee is bouncing under the table. His fingers keep drumming against his coffee cup. And every once in a while, you catch him looking at you — this soft, thoughtful expression flickering across his face before he shakes it off.

You think about asking. But then your waitress swings by again, and Dean immediately perks up, flashing her a charming smile as she tops off his coffee.

“Another round of waffles, darlin’?” she asks, clearly smitten. You don’t blame her.

You smile softly behind your mug as Dean leans back, cocky as ever. “Wouldn’t say no.”

The waitress laughs, shaking her head. “You got a hell of an appetite.”

“That’s what she said,” Dean mutters under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You kick him under the table. He deserved that one.

By the time the waitress walks away, Dean is already back to his food, completely unfazed. You shake your head, cutting into your own waffle, stealing one of his bacon strips just to be a menace. He lets you.

And then— casual as anything, like he’s commenting on the weather— he reaches into his pocket, pulls out something, and slides it across the table toward you.

A ring.

Just sitting there. Between your plate and the salt shaker.

Your brain short-circuits. You stare at it, then at him. Then back at it.

Dean, the absolute menace that he is, doesn’t even look up from his food. Just swipes some syrup with his fork, chews, and— without a single ounce of drama — says,

“You wanna?”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Because what the hell is happening right now?

Dean finally looks at you, chewing like this is just another Thursday.

“What?” he says around a mouthful of food.

Your heart is slamming against your ribs. You feel warm all over, but you can’t tell if it’s from the crappy diner coffee or the fact that Dean Winchester just proposed to you like he was offering you the last french fry.

“That’s your proposal?” Your voice comes out hoarse, disbelief and laughter mixing in your throat.

Dean tilts his head, squinting at you. “What, you want me to get down on one knee in a greasy diner?”

“You literally just slid it across the table like it was a packet of sugar!”

He shrugs, still watching you, still unreadable in that way that makes your stomach flip. “Ain’t exactly my style, sweetheart.”

Your fingers shake as you reach for the ring. It’s simple— silver, understated, perfect. It feels warm from being in his pocket, the edges smooth against your skin.

Dean’s watching you carefully now. The teasing is gone, replaced by something softer, something quieter.

And that’s when it hits you.

Dean Winchester— who has faced monsters, demons, literal hell — is nervous. Like he’s bracing for impact. Like there’s a real, tangible fear in him that you might say no.

Your throat tightens.

“You really want this?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Dean exhales through his nose, sets his fork down. He leans forward slightly, arms resting on the table, eyes locked onto yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice steady now, sure in a way that makes you melt. “I already got you. This is just making it official.”

Your heart stumbles. Because of course he’d say it like that. Like it was never even a question, like you already belonged to each other. Like you always would.

The ring feels solid between your fingers, grounding. It’s not grand or flashy. It’s him. It’s you. It’s perfect.

And god,

You don’t cry, but it’s a close thing.

You swallow hard, slip it onto your finger. It fits like it was meant to.

Dean watches, lets out a breath like he was holding it for years, and then— because you know him, because you love him— you smirk and say,

“You better get me a pie for this.”

That knocks the tension right out of him. His mouth quirks, the easy grin sliding back into place. “Damn right, I will.”

And just like that, you’re engaged. Not with a big speech. Not with grand gestures. Just this. Just him.

In a tiny diner off the highway, with bad coffee and waffles and the love of your life sitting across from you, grinning like a fool.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions building up in your chest. You weren’t expecting this. Hell, you didn’t even know you needed it. But now that it’s here, now that he’s here, you feel like your whole world is shifting into place.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper, leaning your forehead against his.

Dean chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “You’re the one that’s perfect, sweetheart. I’m just lucky.”

You shake your head slightly, not sure how to respond. You’ve been together for so long now, and yet, this moment still feels like a beginning. Like everything that came before— every hunt, every stupid argument, every late-night conversation— it was all leading to this. To this small, simple, perfect moment in a stupid dingy diner.

Dean cups your face, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly at him. There’s a quiet intensity in his eyes, and for once, you see a rawness that he doesn’t always show.

“You know that’s the thing,” he murmurs. “It’s not about what you deserve. It’s about what you’re willing to fight for. And you—” He pauses, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. “You’re worth every damn fight, sweetheart. Always will be.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you realize you’re not even breathing properly. It’s overwhelming, the way he can say so much with so little. His words hit you deeper than you expected, more than you thought you needed.

“I’m in this. All the way, okay?” he says softly, like he’s reminding you, like he’s trying to make sure you know it, truly know it. “I don’t do half-assed. Not with you.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper, the emotions bubbling up.

His lips press against your forehead, soft and tender. And in that moment, you know—you know—that you’re not just his. He’s yours too. No matter what comes next, you’re a team.

Dean pulls back, a playful smile tugging at his lips again, trying to break the weight of the moment. “So, uh, you think I could maybe get a little ‘yes’ out of you? Just a tiny one?”

You laugh softly, your chest full. You tilt your head, looking up at him with a smile that feels too big for your face. “Yeah. Yeah, you could.”

Dean’s eyes light up, a twinkle in them like he’s won the lottery, like this was the answer he’s been waiting for. He presses another kiss to your lips—brief, but meaningful.

And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe. Like the world, in all its chaos, has paused just for you two. Like nothing else matters except the person standing in front of you.

You know there will be bad days, tough hunts, and fights, but for now, this moment is enough. This love is enough.

And you, you finally feel like you’ve found where you belong.

“Guess we should finish our waffles, huh?” Dean says, the mood lightening again, but his hand still resting on yours.

You chuckle, your heart still racing. “Yeah. But let’s take it slow, okay? We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Dean grins, that cocky, perfect grin you know so well. “Works for me.”

As you both finish your meal— laughing, talking about whatever random thing crosses your mind— there’s an understanding between you two now. You don’t need big gestures or flashy moments to know what’s real.

What’s real is here. What’s real is you two.

And it’s always been that way.

Back in the motel room, the door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud. The dim light from the lamp on the nightstand cast long shadows across the room, the only sound the faint hum of the old air conditioning. The weight of the night pressed in on you— quiet, comfortable, and full of possibilities you weren’t ready to voice just yet.

Dean kicked off his boots and tossed his jacket onto the chair by the door, then turned to face you. There was something different in his eyes now, something deeper, as if the last few hours had opened up a door neither of you could walk away from.

You stood by the bed, your heart thumping in your chest, but your feet seemed glued to the floor, unsure of what came next. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still resting in his from the diner, then back up to your face. That smile— always so effortless, so charming— pulled at the corner of his lips.

“You good?” he asked, voice soft, but with that low, steady warmth you knew so well.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your words barely escaping as your breath hitched. Your heart was racing, but you felt rooted to the spot, unsure if you should make the first move or wait for him to pull you in again.

Dean’s eyes never left yours as he slowly closed the distance between you, his movements slow, deliberate. You could feel the space between you getting smaller, the air in the room suddenly feeling thicker, charged with that same electricity you couldn’t ignore.

When he finally reached you, his hand came up to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch was soft, but there was no mistaking the heat in his fingers, the way they lingered just a little longer than necessary, as if he was trying to memorize the feel of your skin.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, eyes fluttering shut for a second, just to take in the moment. He was so close now. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, close enough that the faint scent of the leather jacket he had left behind filled your senses.

Dean’s lips brushed against yours with a familiarity that made your heart skip a beat. This wasn’t the first time— far from it— but each time felt like it was. Every kiss was still a little bit like a spark, each one lighting a new fire. And tonight, there was something different. Something deeper, even though you’d been here before.

His fingers trailed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, like he was memorizing every inch of your skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it. You shifted beneath him, feeling the tension of the moment settle between your legs, but it wasn’t rushed. It never was with him.

“You know what you do to me, right?” Dean’s voice was low, rougher now, but laced with that familiar tenderness. He didn’t need to say it, not really. You could feel it in every touch, every lingering kiss.

You nodded, your lips parting as you leaned up to meet him halfway, pressing your body closer to his. You’d been here before, but that didn’t mean it ever lost its power. It was still just as electrifying, just as sweet.

His hands moved to the waistband of your jeans, pausing for just a moment as his eyes locked onto yours, searching for any hesitation. But there was none. You didn’t need words; your body told him everything. Your jeans met the floor with a slight thud.

With a deep, almost frustrated sigh, Dean pushed your jeans down just enough to slide his hand under them, his fingers skating over the curve of your hip. It was familiar, comforting even, but the way he touched you now felt different. There was a slowness, an intentional care in every movement. Like he wanted to savor you this time.

His lips met yours again, but this kiss was slower, more languid, as if he was taking his time, soaking in the moment. He kissed you like he was letting his feelings pour into every movement, every press of his lips, until the rest of the world disappeared.

“You make me forget everything else, you know that?” Dean’s breath was hot against your ear, his hands expertly undressing you, but it was still slow. As if he was enjoying the feel of your skin more than the outcome of it. You could tell that this wasn’t about rushing, about getting to the end. This was about being with you, right here, right now.

You breathed his name again, a plea more than a whisper, and Dean, ever the attentive lover, responded immediately, his lips trailing down your neck, to your chest, as his hand wandered over you, knowing exactly where to touch to make your breath hitch.

But this time, it wasn’t about the heat of the moment— it was about the slow, delicious build of something bigger. His lips left a trail of soft, lingering kisses across your skin as his hand gently slid down your side, his touch grounding you to the bed. His body moved against yours with that familiar rhythm, but tonight, it felt like it meant more. Like you meant more.

He paused for just a moment, looking at you with those eyes—dark and soft all at once. “I love you, ‘s fucking much. I wanna make you feel so good, baby.” His voice was thick with something deep, something serious, and it made your chest tighten with emotion.

You nodded, pulling him back to you, pressing your lips to his with a fierce intensity. It wasn’t just the physical connection anymore. This was something that went deeper, something stronger than before. And you wanted it. You wanted him.

Dean groaned as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer as he moved between your legs. You moan, as he skillfully worked his fingers in you, slowly climbing on top of you— as your head hit the not-so-soft pillows on the bed. You could feel the thrum of his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong.

“Dean…” The word came out like a breath, your fingers gripping his shoulders as you tugged him back up, wanting his lips on yours again. He smirked, just slightly, but there was nothing playful in the way his eyes held yours. It was all raw, all real.

“Easy,” he whispered, voice gruff but gentle as his thumb traced over your lip. “Atta girl, doing so good for me.. Don’t worry bout’ it, we can take your time.”

You nodded, your eyes heavy with desire but filled with trust. “I need you, De..” Your voice was soft, but there was a definite edge to it. The words felt like they had weight, like they meant something. Something more than just this moment.

He exhaled deeply, eyes darkening as his hand slid to your waist, guiding you beneath him as he moved down on you, slipping your panties fully off. The space between you was so minimal now that it felt like you were one.

His mouth lightly sucked on your needy clit, his thick fingers still working their magic inside you. You couldn’t help but let out an almost pornographic moan. You were so close, he could tell.

“Mhm, honey.. let it out, cum on my face,” he whispered against your needy pussy. The stubble on his jaw teasing you even more, as he practically buried his face in your wetness.

Oh, you were a goner. “Dean— fuck, I’m gonna—“ You didn’t even finish your sentence as the orgasm came rushing through you. As dean still worked, still slurping up your juices in his mouth like his life depended on it.

He finally let his face out of between your thighs, kissing you gently— letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“You’re incredible,” Dean muttered, his voice raw as he pressed his forehead against yours, breathing deeply. “Never forget that.”

You met his gaze, your chest tight with emotion. “I won’t. Not with you.”

Dean’s lips found yours in a deep kiss, and as he slowly pulled back, his hand moved to your waist, gently coaxing your hips up against his. His jeans came off, so did the shirt — the sound of the zipper loud in the quiet of the room, and you felt a rush of heat flood your body again. He was so close, and yet, there was still something in the way he touched you that made everything feel like it was building to something more.

“Don’t tease me,” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, but there was a hint of playfulness too—something you knew he’d pick up on.

He smirked, his lips brushing your jaw as his body settled between your legs. “Me? Tease?” His voice was a teasing mockery of innocence, but there was nothing innocent in the way he touched you, nothing at all.

“Oh, yeah, and this? Off.” He gestured to your shirt, earning a chuckle from you. He skillfully pulled the shirt off of you, unclasping your bra with ease, gently touching up on your breasts.

Dean’s eyes never left yours, that fire still burning in them, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, the words slipping from his lips like a prayer. His lips moved to your neck again.

You looked at him wide-eyed, as he pressed his lips back onto yours briefly, before sliding one hand down his boxers, pulling his hard cock out of its confinements, already leaking with pre-cum. You never get tired of seeing it, really.

There’s a hunger in his gaze, but it’s a hunger you recognize—one that’s been building between you two, one that isn’t just about tonight. It’s deeper, quieter, but oh so real.

“Y’ ready for me?..” he murmured, and you could only respond with a soft ‘mhm’ sound, too turned on to make any proper sentence.

You’re not just the next moment in line for him— you’re everything. His hand on your skin, his body pressed to yours, it’s all proof of the quiet trust that’s been growing between you since day one.

You can feel the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, as he slowly pushes inside of you, his heart beating steady against yours. It’s like he’s giving you all of him, in this simple, quiet way, and you know you have his heart just as much as he has yours

“That’s it— Jesus, sweetheart. You’re still so fucking tight, can’t believe it’” he chuckles slowly, and you whimper when he finally gives all of himself for you. And he waits for your permission to start moving.

“De.. okay— you can move.” You manage to say breathlessly after a little bit. Nothing can prepare you for that moment, though. As he slowly moves in and out you swear you see stars. And gosh, the sounds that fill the room, it’s so goddamn good, you think before biting down the moan.

“Mhm, yeah.. So fuckin’ perfect, angel, you’re doing so well for me.” He almost whimpered. Goddamn you, Dean — And your filthy mouth.

His lips found yours again, and the kiss was deeper this time— full of assurance, of trust, of a promise that nothing could tear apart. You could feel how much he believed in the two of you, in the bond you shared.

His hands roamed your body, confident and firm, like he knew exactly where to touch to make you lose your breath. Every movement was purposeful, a teasing promise of what was to come.

“De— m’ so close, please” you managed to whimper through the moans, trying to keep up with his pace with your hips.

His lips lingered along your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin, his breath hot against your ear. “I know baby, me too. You can come, sweetness, m’ right there with you.” he murmured, his voice a hushed growl that sent shivers down your spine.

As you both reached your climax, you can’t help but smile. After the world-shifting intensity of the moment, you both lay there, tangled up in sheets and each other. Dean shifted just enough to pull you close, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm against yours, as though he was grounding himself in the softness of your presence.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair, the touch so tender it was almost as if he was trying to memorize every strand, every curve of you. The warmth between you didn’t need words; it was enough to feel him there, still connected to you in every possible way.

“Are you okay?” Dean’s voice was low, but it carried that softness you’d only hear when the walls were down and he wasn’t trying to hide anything. There was a genuine worry in his tone, an unwavering need to make sure you were feeling just as safe and cared for as he felt.

You nodded against his chest, your hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that reminded you of the calm after the storm. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, your voice still a little breathless, but full of warmth.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and comforting, like it always was when he felt content. “Good. ‘Cause I’ve got you, and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, pulling you closer, his arm draping over you protectively as if making sure you stayed there, safe in his arms.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the gesture soft and caring, his way of showing that there was more to him than just the physical connection. It was always about the little things—the way his touch lingered, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

There was no rush to get up, no need to fill the space with words that didn’t need to be said. You both understood each other in the quiet.

Dean’s thumb brushed against your hand in a rhythm that made you feel grounded, like he was telling you he was there in ways that didn’t need to be explained. Slowly, you let your eyes flutter closed, wrapped in the softness of his care, feeling safer than you had ever felt.

He kissed your forehead again, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’re good, you and me. Always gonna be good.”

And in that moment, with the faintest smile tugging at your lips, you knew he meant every word. The world outside the room didn’t matter, not when you had this—this peace, this love, this feeling of being completely and utterly cared for.

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading pooks! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

── all rights reserved © 2025 wvyik | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[waldau]

the most handsome man in the world — seventeen | 1,165 words | fluff

i just needed to get this out of my system okay

gender neutral reader. warnings: none.

premise: you tell your boyfriend you've seen a guy you consider to be the most handsome man in the world, wait for him to react, and then show him a picture of him that you took. you know, because he's the most handsome man in the world.

seungcheol

what do you mean you’ve seen a guy more handsome than him? isn’t he broad enough to fill up your entire line of vision? pouts at you cooing over said man on your phone till you hit a little nerve by saying the guy looks like he’d be so good to cuddle with that he immediately marches over to see who you’re giggling over. only to find his face staring back at him. immediately wipes off his frown and tickles you for having done something like that.

jeonghan

is aware that this has to be one of your traps where you want to draw a reaction out of him, so he holds out on giving any commentary for however long he can. it’s only when you roll over in bed, clutching your phone to your chest does he finally break, sneakily pulling you into himself so he can see who you’re talking about. it’s him, of course. had no doubt it would be him but he had to confirm. becomes the big spoon for the rest of the night.

joshua

you don’t ever bring up other people or their attractiveness in conversations, so joshua is mildly interested in hearing if you’re going to elaborate on this guy. doesn’t even consider said person to be a threat till you say something about this guy looking reliable enough to imagine a future with. his curiosity wins and he leans over to see his face lighting up your screen. gives you a kiss to remind you he’s going to fulfill that dream one day.

junhui

is torn between wanting to know who this person is and also not wanting to know because…do you actually find another guy more attractive than him? didn’t you say he’s the most handsome person you know? keeps to himself till you run up to him and show him your phone, only for him to see a picture he’d sent you when he’d been working out at the gym. makes sure to take some more photos for you.

soonyoung

laughs. oh, yeah? really? but then it turns out you’re not joking, because you’re blushing over someone he doesn’t even know? and you’re not telling him about it? chases you around the house to sneak a peek at your phone and collapses into a blushing mess when he realizes it’s him you’re talking about. gives you bear hugs and forces you to cuddle with him for a while to make up for the stress you caused him.

wonwoo

raises an eyebrow when he hears you talking about this really handsome guy you saw in the queue at the cafe today. gets curious the more you talk about him; how didn’t he notice this guy when you did? traps you in place against the wall to see who you’re talking about and can’t help but smirk when he sees it’s himself. gives you a smug kiss and tells you he wants to hear more about what you think of this guy.

jihoon

hears you, nods, focuses his attention back to the song he’s working on and wonders if it could use some more bass. it’s only when he’s about to finalize the song does he realize you were talking about…someone else? spins around to see you lounging on the couch and asks who you were talking about because he wants to jog his memory. feels slightly satisfied when he sees a picture of himself. so he did hear you right. he didn’t.

seokmin

he’s more curious about who you consider to be hot apart from him, more than the fact that this other guy could be a threat to him. indulges in you talking about this guy and theorizes about who it could be till you finally just show him who you were talking about because he apparently couldn’t get a hint. oh. it’s him. he blinks. almost squeals. peppers your face with kisses because his mind is all blank except for you.

mingyu

pouts. becomes a grumpy baby. even if you’ve seen someone more handsome than him (which is impossible, by the way), do you have to rub it in his face? feels more antsy the longer you talk to him about this guy. pulls the puppy face till you show him who you’re looking at. seeing his face on your screen is the last thing he expected, somehow. feels relieved for a few seconds before he makes you promise never to scare him again like that. takes payment in the form of cuddles.

minghao

another one who knows this is one of your ideas to get him to react some way. nods along and even says oh, really? when you tell him about how handsome this guy is, and how you feel kind of shy when you just think about him. doesn’t even need to look at your phone to know there’s no one else you’re talking about, so he tilts your chin to make you face him and presses a kiss to your lips, asking you if that’d help make you less shy.

seungkwan

you’re seriously talking about another guy? right now? stares at you in disbelief, at the fact that you’d do this after he spent his morning making you breakfast and cuddling with you because you seemed a bit exhausted. he’s sure he’s stared enough to burn a hole through your head. you roll over with a laugh and show him who you were looking at. it’s his own self bent over the stove, trying to figure out how to switch it on. pouts and doesn’t face you till you lure him with kisses.

vernon

overhears you talking on the phone with your friend about this handsome guy you saw while you were out on a walk today evening. you don’t stop talking about how he looked at you, how nice his smile was, and how good he looked against the setting sun. his brain runs in loops trying to figure out which guy looked at you like that while your hand was in his. opens his phone to see some pictures you’d taken of him, with the sun setting in the back. smiles and presses a kiss to your head when you’re done with your call.

chan

instantly competitive. him being drunk doesn’t change the fact that he’s the most handsome man in the world. struggles to pull himself out of your embrace to see who you’re talking about so he can give both of you a piece of his mind, only to find a picture of himself smiling goofily at the camera. that’s me, he says, mind a bit slow. where’s the guy you were talking about? turns out he’s the one you’re talking about. snuggles back into you like nothing was ever wrong.

taglist: @bookyeom @wootify @strnsvt @cloudycaramel @thepoopdokyeomtouched @minnieminshi @nonononranghaee @hrts4hanniehae @viewvuu

[yourwosogirly]

Hiiii omg so I have a Paige request!

Do you mind doing paige headcannons? Just like dating ones (kissing , cuddling , etc) ?

ofc I don’t mind bby! here you go I hope you like it x

💌🎀🤍. paige bueckers as your gf

this girl is a pouter. pouter. I swear she acts like a child but only towards you, of course. if you’re not giving her kisses.pouts until you do. no cuddles? pouts. but you love it anyway

she’s so clingy I swear. always as her arms around you one way or another. her love language is definitely physical touch. her hugs are the best, you feel nothing but warmth as she engulfs you in a hug, your head on her chest.

now this girl does not shut up about you. wether she’s at training and someone just so happens to mention you. or it’s completely silence, any chance she gets to talk about you, if at that moment she’s not distracted by of course texting you now the girls love you they really do but they cannot talk about one thing without it being related back to you, but once again they’ll roll your eyes but really the two of you are just in love

you, paige and azzi being the best trio to exist

she’s so bf coded i swear always referring to you as ‘mama’ or ‘ma’am’ whistling as you wear a slightly revealing outfit, making your cheeks go scarlett red as she makes you spin for her

letting you rest your head on her chest as one of her pre game rituals as it helps her to de-stress

you know how i said she was clingy? omg, when she’s sick? you end up being sick with her no matter the extent, her getting a cold she will purposely not take her medicine so you have to get on top of her, straddling her waist as you try to get her to take her tablets, her stealing a sneaky kiss straight after making you glare at her but will still fall asleep with her if it made her feel better

you two are definitely the teen moms, especially to kk she frr calls you her moms if you do play basketball if not i would assume you’d definitely be some kind of athlete leading to them showing up to all of your games, cheering so loud (kk) that paige would have to shush her with a smile on her face but being said if you did play another sport eg: volleyball, lacrosse, soft ball, football that would be what easily made you and paige connect because you understood each other a lot as college athletes

you two would be private but not secret for a few months, very aware of what the fans are like but that barely lasts as not before long she has you sat on her lap during kk’s live, whispering things in your ear but who could blame her? she wanted to let the world know you were hers

as SOON AS you two were official paige IMMEDIATELY requested for you to move into her dorm so that you were by her side the whole time, you didn’t even unpack in your room you lived in paige’s room from the get go and that’s how she likes it

you learnt how to braid her hair after she BEGGED you, not being able to resist after she had her slick back when kayla was ill

now your the only one she allows to do it, secretly because she loves the feeling of your hands running through her hair, scratching her scalp and FORCES you to do it every night until she falls asleep

[yunniverse]

Risky

౨ৎ PAIRING— world z!jung wooyoung x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— angst, danger, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— angst, mentions of wounds and blood, world z

౨ৎ WORD COUNT- 2.3k

౨ৎ SUMMARY- wooyoung finds himself wounded and in need of help. luckily, you quite literally bump into him on the street.

౨ৎ A/N- my first wooyoung story! i hope you all enjoy, and lmk what you think :)

Wooyoung knows he messed up, that he wasn’t careful, that he should have taken Yunho up on the offer of backup. Right now, however, he can’t think about much besides getting somewhere safe to examine his injuries.

He needs to find someone he knows, preferably not the authorities, who also know him quite well by now, and not in a good way.

He hisses as he falls against the side of a wall once again, his side pulsing with pain, his head spinning. He still has the fake mask on, donning a different identity, one that was supposed to keep him hidden.

Unfortunately, he had been stupid and it had cost him. Hong Joong is going to kill him if his wounds don’t kill him first 

With a sharp intake of breath, Wooyoung stands shakily to his feet again, his muscles sore and his vision blurry.

He hasn’t been able to take the face covering off, and he’s honestly scared too, since he can feel that his lip is busted, and he doesn’t know what the rest of his face could look like.

“Watch out!” someone shouts, making Wooyoung look up just slightly too late. With a grunt, he falls to the ground, earning a gasp from the person he had bumped into.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” he hears a girl’s voice exclaim as she bends to help him up. “I should have been paying more attention, but the groceries were kind of blocking my vision, and then you came up a little too fast.”

Wooyoung’s head is spinning as the girl talks, and, before he can stop himself, he shushes her, a hand moving to his head.

The girl’s eyes widen as she stops, gently gripping Wooyoung’s arm, “Are you hurt? I didn’t mean to actually hurt you!”

“I’m fine,” he clenches his jaw, trying his best not to cry out at the pain in his side, which is only worse now that the girl had bumped into him.

“Do you need help? My house is just down the block, if you want.” Wooyoung glances up at the girl, weighing his options. It would be a good way to get off the streets, but it would be a risk in itself if she finds out who he really is. He does have the mask on, though.

Without really thinking, he responds, “Yeah, thanks.”

~~

It was just your luck to bump into a middle-aged man on the street and injure him. You silently scold yourself as you help him to your house.

In hindsight, it’s probably not a great idea to invite a stranger into your house, especially considering the black pirates who are roaming around, but you owe this man something for hurting him.

“I’m really sorry,” you repeat, as you open your door, carefully ushering him inside. “If you tell me exactly what hurts, I can get my first aid kit.”

“Uh,” he falters, glancing outside your window when one of the android soldiers walks by, and you furrow your eyebrows, noticing the tension in his shoulders.

“They patrol after sundown now,” you comment, making him turn to look at you. “They’re kinda creepy, aren’t they?” He nods silently before wincing slightly as he takes a seat on your couch. “I’m just glad they’re not after me,” you add.

He nods again, a hand moving to grip his side, almost like its subconscious. “Did I hit your side too?” you ask, wondering how you did so much damage with just what seemed like a harmless, small bump.

“A little,” he responds, his gaze facing the window again, almost apprehensively.

“Have you had a bad run-in with the android soldiers?” you risk asking, wondering if he was one of the ones taken by them at some point.

“Huh?” he turns to you, eyebrows furrowed.

“I asked if you’ve had trouble with them,” you repeat, wondering if he has bad hearing or something.

“A little trouble, yeah,” he replies, swallowing, wincing when he puts a little too much pressure on his side.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” you tell him after putting your groceries in the fridge.

When you leave, Wooyoung lets out a groan, the combination of his pounding headache, the pain in his side, and the rubber facemask sticking to his skin making him feel sick. He can’t take it off, though, no matter how much he wishes he could.

Hearing a sound outside, his gaze snaps to the window, where one of the android soldiers is standing, staring in at him. Wooyoung freezes, risking a glance to where you walked off before looking back at the window. The soldier is gone.

“I found it!” you exclaim, entering the room again, carrying your first aid kit. “You don’t mind me checking, do you?”

Wooyoung thinks for a moment, worried about you finding out he isn’t who he looks like he is, but he still nods, knowing he needs help.

“Good,” you smile, walking over to him. “I’ll need you to move your hand, though.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he slowly removes his hand, wincing when you gasp. “You’re bleeding!” you start to panic, wondering how you hurt him that bad.

“It’s not that bad, I promise,” he responds, offering you a half-smile. “I have thin blood.”

“H-How did it happen, though?” you’re flustered, beyond worried now. “I didn’t think I hit your side!”

“When I fell, I scraped it, I think,” Wooyoung makes something up, hoping it’s believable.

“Hm,” you hum, slightly suspicious. To you, it looks like a bullet wound. And with his uneasiness around the android soldier, you’re a little worried that he could be one of the black pirates. The news had warned about them being disguised. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Can I…?” you trail off, gesturing toward his shirt. He slowly nods, looking a little uneasy.

You watch him carefully as you lift the bottom edge of the shirt, a little confused that his body doesn’t seem to match his age, not that you’re judging. “Did you get shot?” you ask, sounding a little blunt.

“Uh,” Wooyoung falters, nodding slightly.

“So you have had a run-in with the soldiers?” you ask, suddenly even more suspicious.

He nods, sighing, wondering how much longer he can keep up the charade. He weighs his options, wondering is he should just bolt for the door, but his wounds would probably prevent that.

“Are you…” you trail off, backing away from him slightly. “Are you one of those black pirates?”

“If I was?” Wooyoung snaps suddenly, taking you aback.

“If you were, it’d be in my good interest to report you to the authorities,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“The authorities?” Wooyoung responds, sighing, knowing he’s really messed up now.

“So, it’d be in your good interest to tell me now before I alert that android guard out there and turn you in regardless,” you threaten, knowing you’re being a little harsh for not even knowing if he’s really a black pirate or not.

“Don’t do that,” he responds, knowing he’s going to have more than one reason for Hong Joong to kill him after he leaves here, if he leaves at this point.

Slowly, Wooyoung lifts his hands to his neck, pulling off the mask. You gasp, partially from the fact that you weren’t expecting him to pull his face off, and partially from the fact that you weren’t expecting him to be this handsome, even with a busted lip and bruises.

With a start, you snap back into attention, scolding yourself for getting carried away. “So you are one of them?” you ask, watching him carefully.

Wooyoung frowns, running a hand through his dark hair, sighing, “What do you think?”

“I think you are,” you respond slowly. “I recognize you from the TV.”

“Of course you do,” he mutters under his breath, his hand moving back to his side, wincing at the pain, which has only increased.

“So why were you on the street?” you ask, confused. “Shouldn’t you be in hiding or something?”

“Yeah, well, a rebellion doesn’t start by itself,” Wooyoung laughs airily.

Moving toward the window, you close the curtains, not really sure why you’re trying to help him. “You know, I was warned about you,” you comment, taking a few steps closer to him.

“Wasn’t everyone?” he asks, glaring up at you.

“No need to be so hostile,” you respond. “I haven’t turned you in… yet.”

“Why don’t you just go ahead?” Wooyoung asks, a little confused. “I’m sure there’s quite a price on my head by now.”

“I’m not exactly against you, you know,” you reply, biting your lip. “I’m just against your way of going about things.” 

“What?” Wooyoung asks, taken aback and even more confused.

“I don’t like your group’s violence, but I like the android guards less, so I’m willing to help,” you admit, causing Wooyoung to stare at you, shocked.

“You’re passing up the opportunity to be rich in reward money?” he asks, tentative.

“Do you want me to accept the reward money?” you ask, to which he promptly shakes his head.

“Of course, not,” he scoffs. “I’m just confused.”

“We’ll, don’t make me change my mind,” you warn, grabbing your first aid kit and walking closer to him again. “I really do need to dress this wound, though.”

“Should I trust you to not just kill me?” Wooyoung asks, skeptical.

You gasp, “I’m not a killer! You may be, but I’m not.”

Wooyoung grabs your wrist suddenly, making your eyes widen at the harsh grip, your gaze snapping to his. “Don’t make assumptions about people you don’t understand,” he snaps, voice low.

You pull your arm from his grasp, frightened, “S-Sorry.”

He sighs, leaning back and closing his eyes, a hand lifting to his head to rub it, “Whatever.”

“I really do want to help you,” you tell him softly, hoping he won’t snap again.

“Yeah?” Wooyoung asks, his brown eyes locking with yours again, this time a little bit of vulnerability behind his gaze.

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding slightly. He nods in return, giving you the go ahead. Kneeling in front of him, you get to work.

After a few moments of silence, you risk a question. “What’s your name?”

“I shouldn’t tell you, considering my situation,” he responds, frowning. “But, since you’re not turning me in, I guess I owe you somewhat.”

“You kinda do,” you laugh slightly, disinfecting the bullet wound, which, luckily doesn’t have a bullet in it anymore. It must have gone all the way through.

“Wooyoung,” he tells you softly, to which you smile a little.

“I’m Y/N,” you respond.

“It’s a pretty name,” Wooyoung replies, offering you a small smirk, though it still looks a little pained.

“Are you flirting with me?” you quirk an eyebrow, slightly disbelieving.

“If I was?” Wooyoung responds, repeating the question from earlier, only now it has a different meaning and tone. You only laugh, surprised you’re even able to laugh with a criminal in your living room, though something about him seems different from regular criminals.

“What are you guys planning?” you ask, wondering if he’ll answer.

“Why do you want to know?” Wooyoung responds, suspicious. “You could just tell the authorities what we’re planning.”

“What if I want to join you?” you suddenly ask, surprising even yourself a little.

“Why would you want to do that? You said earlier that you disapprove of us.” Wooyoing scoffs.

“I don’t disapprove of your cause,” you respond.

“Either way,” he winces when you pull the bandage tight around him. “It’s not in my best interest to tell you.”

“Yeah, I understand,” you respond, taking a look at his busted lip. “I have some ointment for your lip, too, if you want some.”

“Sure,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair again. You feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at the action, and you scold yourself again. You aren’t supposed to find a criminal attractive!

Wooyoung smirks, and you blush, realizing he must have caught you. Grabbing the ointment, you squeeze some onto your finger, moving to dab it on his lip. You ignore the slight shakiness of your hand as Wooyoung parts his lips a little as you finish.

“There you go,” you give him a shy smile.

“Thank you,” he responds before moving to stand.

“Where are you going?” you ask, confused.

“I’ve already stayed here too long,” Wooyoung shakes his head.

“If you leave, you might get caught,” you tell him, following him to the door 

“I could get you caught for harboring a criminal, too,” Wooyoung responds, and you sigh, knowing he’s right.

“Well,” you hesitate as he leans against the wall beside the door. “Be careful, Wooyoung.”

“No promises,” he smiles a real smile for the first time that evening, and you feel the butterflies all over again. As he moves to open the door, you stop him once again, biting your lip.

“Will I see you again?” you question, nervous.

“Do you want to?” he asks, his chocolate brown eyes meeting yours.

After a brief moment of silence, you take in a shaky breath, nodding, “Yeah.”

“Then, maybe,” Wooyoung winks, twisting the doorknob. He stops for a moment, turning to look at you once more. “You know, I don’t think it was entirely a bad thing to run into you tonight.”

“Maybe not,” you smile a little. “Stay safe.” With another quick wink, Wooyoung slips out the door, escaping into the darkness of the night. Glancing at the sky, you notice the dark clouds rolling in.

You cross your arms, rubbing them, suddenly feeling the chill coming from outside.

Whatever happens with the rebellion, you find yourself hoping the black pirates will win, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get to see Wooyoung again.

With once last look in the direction he left, you turn back to your house, closing the door softly and locking it.

Noticing a small piece of paper on the table beside the couch, you walk over to it, curiously picking it up.

It was a small note, written a little messily. An address. With a quick glance at the door one last time, you weigh your options. What could it be? Do you want to follow it?

Maybe you’ve been silent for too long. What should you choose?

[letsyapthenightaway]

The Hockey Boys reacting to you being shipped with another player

Matt Rempe- a Hughes out of all the people who you could get shipped with it had to be Luke Hughes. He's ticked about it but doesn't straight up say it but it shows. He gets even more clingy always pulling you in closer, his head on your shoulder. When he sees reasons as to why you two are being shipped he adds himself into the narrative. "Just because you two fit the tall and skinny + Short and Plus size duo? That's literally us too so..'" I feel like you would get posted a lot more on his socials when this ship starts getting talked about.

Luke Hughes- He will get so annoyed! It's a little funny like "They are shipping you with Matt Rempe! Rempe, out of all people!" Rolls his eyes every single time he sees a tweet. If he sees a tweet about how Matt could carry you while Luke probably can't. He is causing HAVOC proving everyone wrong! he can carry his girl and is showing it off. At a game specifically after a win. Straight out of a movie skates over, picks you up, and spins you with the biggest smile. So smug when those ship posts start to go down and are now being replaced by how cute you two are.

Jack Hughes- "FUAKING TREVAH?!" All of this is because you said you liked his tattoo. I don't know Trevor but from how fans describe him I'm gonna say that he will tease Jack but still in a way that's respectful with his girlfriend. "Mr. Steal your girl" "Shut up, Trevor" He wouldn't take it to heart, would be a silly joke between all of you. "I'm taking your girlfriend on a date!" The dude offered to drop you off at your place. If it's an off day he would softly mention it, only a little insecure but it was still on his mind. Some loving and reassurance will help him real quick. Would make a public comment about how Trevor's tattoo is actually lame, but it's a joke.

Quinn Hughes- With his brother, really? Looks at the tweet and laughs Jack and you would never do that to him. Plus he has way better hair than Jack you said so yourself. I don't think Jack would joke about it, he would probably pull away a little. He wouldn't want that ship blowing up more, he respects you and Quinn. This is about Quinn but I don't think he would let this get to him at all, it would get more to you and Jack. Jack will think of something to get you and Quinn more cuddly in public so the people talk about you two. "look at my brother AND HIS GIRLFRIEND! HIS!!" Oh, how did that picture of Quinn's hand on your butt start trending? The world may never know...

Connor Bedard- Honestly? Wouldn't find out on his own. Someone had to tell him, he walks into the room and just does his default stance "When did you ever say you like older men?" Awkward silence because you have no idea what he is talking about. "They are shipping you with Jack Hughes" idk I feel like as he says that he is walking over making you lay down for a sudden cuddle session. Feel like he would hide his face in your neck with his arms wrapped around you. You would feel him laugh and a muffled "as if" looks up at you with that Bedard smile/smirk pulling you in tighter.

I wish I was lying when I say I spent more than 5 minutes laughing at the fucking Trevor. I was in tears and it isn't even that funny.

[the-trailblaze]

Breaking down the walls

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #12!! Your rich ceo dad doesn’t approve of Dante and doesn’t consider him your boyfriend. That doesn’t stop you or Dante though from trying to be together. Fluff, some angst

You feel a warm hand nudge your shoulder and a deep voice whisper in your ear, “Baby you gotta wake up.”

You snuggle deeper into the warm body you’ve grown to love. You mumble against his neck, “No I don’t want to. Don’t wanna leave.”

You feel his heavy sigh and his hands running through your hair, “I don’t want you to leave either. But you’re going to be late to meet with your father”

“I don’t want to see that asshole.”

“Ugh baby you’re making this hard. I know you don’t but I don’t want him to yell at you. Or fucking touch you again.”

You frown at what he says. You know it’s true but you don’t want to leave Dante. He is the only thing that brings you happiness in this world. You hate the stupid world you were born into and wish everything was different. You want to happily be with Dante not sneaking around like teenagers.

You wordlessly get out of his hold and get out of bed. You grab the extra pair of clothes you’ve brought and head into the bathroom. You peel off Dante’s hoodie you slept in and set it on the counter. You put on your ridiculously expensive clothes your parents bought you. The fabric is tight, itchy, and uncomfortable. You can’t help but look at the hoodie with sadness.

You reach your hand over to run your hand up and down the fabric. It’s worn and not as smooth as it once was. You couldn’t care less about that. It was homey. If you can even describe a hoodie like that. Dante is not the richest and you’re completely okay with that. If anything that’s what you want. Someone that lives within their means and doesn’t feel the need to buy expensive stuff and show it off. Like your father.

Dante walked into the bathroom and sees you playing with his hoodie. He stands behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, “You can take it if you want.”

“I can’t. If my father finds it he’ll burn it.” Your voice cracks, “And that’s the last thing I want.”

Dante is quick to spin you around and wipe your tears, “Hey come on don’t cry on me now.”

“I’m sorry it’s just I hate this so much.” You sniffle and try to hold back the tears so you don’t upset him.

“I know but if this is how I can get you I’ll take it. I’d rather have this than not have you at all.”

You shove your face into his chest, getting all your tears and snot onto his shirt. “I wish things were different Dante.”

He holds the back of your head to keep you close to him, “I know. I promise one day I’ll change all of this.”

You bitterly think to yourself that it’s not going to happen. That you’re going to have to keep this a secret for the rest of your life because your family won’t accept the man you love. Just because he isn’t like your father. A successful ceo, big house, wears expensive things, and flaunts his money off any chance he gets. That’s not the kind of man you want. The kind of man you want is Dante. Someone that works hard, helps others, cares deeply about the ones around him, and does everything in his power to make you happy.

You pull yourself out of his chest and give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes, “I can’t wait to see.” He knows you’re upset and thinking negatively but he doesn’t know what to say. There is really no words to make his thoughts known. He feels you wipe his chest a bit, “Sorry I got your shirt all messy.”

“It’s what a washer and dryer is for. I don’t mind though, cry to me any time and I’ll hold you.”

Your heart warms at his words. If it was your father he’d buy a whole new shirt and claim that one was ruined. That’s what he did when you were a kid. The first time you scrapped your knee you ran to him and cried and he was utterly disgusted and threw you off of him. He scolded you for ruining his clothes and left you alone in a time out for hours. Dante is truly a good man with a pure heart. You’re so happy you’ve found him and not a man like your father.

You finished getting ready while Dante hung out in the bathroom telling you about how Morrison called him before you woke up about a mission tonight. He doesn’t know many details so he can’t answer most of the questions you ask him. He knows it’s frustrating you because you want to know he’ll be safe. He feels bad when he can’t promise you.

As you’re slipping on your expensive and uncomfortable heels you can’t help but feel like today is going to be a long day. Before you leave Dante gives you a kiss and a promise he’ll call you after his mission. You hold out your pinky and he can’t help but laugh and link your pinkies. He gives you one more kiss and sends you off. He hates doing this but as he said earlier, he’d rather have you a little than not at all.

•

You met your father in is his stupidly big office in his equally as stupidly big building. You also had to wait two hours before you even saw him. This was the man that yelled at you not to be late, yet he kept you waiting? Yeah ironic. If you did that he’d lock you in your room for days to prove a point about “wasting his time.”

When you finally get in his office he’s sitting behind his desk drinking. Great it’s 10 a.m. and this idiot is already drinking. You try and contain your disgust when you question him, “You wanted to me with me father?”

“Yes. Long story short you’re going on a date tonight with a potential client. If this goes well you’re going to marry him.”

Your eyes widen how he can just sip on his drink and say something so crazy so casually. Marry a man just so he can improve his business? Hell no. Today you’re putting your foot down. “No. You know I’m in a relationship so I’m not doing it.”

“News to me you’re in a relationship. Who is it? How much does he make? What does he do?”

“I’m dating Dante remember?” You grit your teeth.

“The filthy demon hunter? No you’re not. You are going on this date and that’s final. If you disobey I’ll make sure you never leave the house again.”

“But-“

“Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been sneaking off to see that back water disgrace.”

You start to panic, “Father-“

“Enough and listen to me. As of now you two are done. You are doing to this event tonight with this man and that’s final.”

In this moment you wish you had Dante’s strength. He would be able to put his foot down and not budge. He’d fight for what he wants. He’d fight for you. You hang your head at the realization. You can’t do the same. You can’t fight for the man you want. You hate yourself more and more for that. Wanting to get out of here to call Dante and hear his reassuring words you meekly respond, “I understand.”

“Good. Now go home and get ready. He’ll pick you up at 4.”

With that done you dash out of his office and across the street where you know a pay phone is. You quickly slide in some coins and call Dante. Your anxiety only grows when the ringing lasts longer and longer. The call cuts indicating he isn’t picking up. You slam the phone back and scream. He must be on his mission now. How are you going to make this work?

The entire time you walk home you cry uncontrollably. You can’t stop the flow of tears. This is so unfair. Why did you have to be born into this life? You don’t care for fancy name brands and always want the newest expensive thing that comes out. All you want it to be loved and be happy. You only feel that when you are with Dante. Now the one thing you want is being ripped out of your hands.

When you make it back home none of the maids make a comment about how you look. You’re thankful but you know at the end of the day they don’t care how you feel. They’re just doing their job so they don’t get fired.

They get you ready with makeup and doing your hair. They are actually kind enough to let you pick out a dress. You pick your red dress that has a long train and a slit up your right leg. It reminds you of Dante and that’s the only reason you’re going to make it through the night.

•

Your father was right that your date was going to pick you up at four. The man came in a slicked out black car with the windows tinted. You rolled your eyes, one of those guys great.

The man doesn’t even help you into the car. He just watches you get settled in then starts yapping about how “awesome” he is. How he makes so much money, how he’s fit, and how “handsome” he is. He looks like a toad had a kid with a fish. He smells like shit too. You toon him out until you get to the event. It’s a formal event where rich people just talk both how great they are on stage. Your date leads you to your table but you are quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom.

When you walk to the bathroom you swear you see Dante walk into a random hallway. Rushing to see if it’s really him or you were seeing things you end up at the hallway. You see his trademark sword on his back. It is him!

“Dante!” You yell out and run to him.

Dante spins around and sees you running towards him, “Baby? What are you doing-“

He’s cut off by you pulling him into a kiss. He is quick to reciprocate and deepen the kiss. The kiss doesn’t last long because he’s nervous on why you’re here. This is where is mission is and he doesn’t want you anywhere near here.

“What are you doing here?” He questions immediately after breaking the kiss.

You catch your breath, “I- I,”

“Don’t worry you can tell me.”

You look away not wanting to see his reaction to what you’re about to tell him. “My father forced me to come here and go on a date with a potential clients son. He said that you and I aren’t together anymore. If I disobey him tonight I’m getting locked in my house and can’t leave.”

Dante clenches his fists. What say does he have in this? This isn’t over and he’ll make sure to change all of this as soon as this mission is over. But he has to get you out of here first. “I’m sorry you have to go through all of this baby but I need you to leave right now.”

You turn back to him confused, did he just not hear what you said? You can’t leave. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“Dante no I can’t. My dad will know and I’ll get in trouble.”

“Goddamnit just leave!” He frustratedly shouts. He sees you step back a bit after seeing his mood change. His heart drops to his stomach, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to yell at you. I just need you to leave. This is where my mission is and I won’t be able to focus if I know you’re here.”

You freeze, “Wait you mean there’s a demon here? Right now?”

“Yes so I need you to leave. I promise I’ll deal with the fallout with your dad just-“

“There you are.” A nasally voice interrupts Dante. You turn and see it’s your date. Dante is quick to stand in front of you.

“Leave us alone.”

“Ah sorry no can do. I’m here for my date. Or should I tell your daddy you’re disobeying him again like a toddler.”

“Don’t talk to her like she’s a child.” Dante threatens.

His gaze locks with Dante’s, “Let’s get one thing straight demon spawn. She’s here with me and going to obey me. We will tell her dad the night went great and get married soon. Now get out of our way before I get all these influential people to kick you out.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” You step out from behind Dante. “I won’t let someone else look down on him. You never know when someone like him could save your life.”

The man walks over and grabs your wrist and starts tugging you down the hallway. Dante goes to grab the man but you give him a look. You can see the hesitation flash across his face but is quickly replaced by frustration as he stops his actions.

You mouth out to him, “Stay safe.”

Dante mouths back, “I’ll find you soon, promise.”

Your date drags you back to the table and just in time for the first speech. You two don’t say anything to each other and don’t make eye contact. As the speakers come and go all you can think about is what Dante said. There’s a demon here. That thought scares you. You’re afraid of them ever since the first time they attacked you.

You were walking home from a treat yourself lunch date. When suddenly you were backed into an alley by six different demons. They had different weapons, forms, heights, and noises. They were terrifying and you couldn’t even do anything. couldn’t scream or move.

The first one lunged towards you and you looked away bracing yourself for an impact. The impact never came. You look back to see a man in a leather jacket bouncing around and killing all the demons. He has a big smile on his face and can’t stop laughing. Especially after he insults how one looks or smells. He’s having fun doing this scary thing. How is that even possible?

The mysterious man finishes and walks over to you. “You alright? They didn’t get you did they?”

“Uh no they didn’t… you came right on time.”

“Phew! That’s great to hear. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Well it’s all thanks to you sir.” You brush some hair behind your ear.

“Dante, my names Dante.” He holds out his hand. You introduce yourself then reach to shake his hand and the warmth of his hand lights a fire in you that you didn’t know you had.

You clear your throat while pulling your hand away, “So Dante, can I treat you to a meal? As a thanks for saving my life.”

“Oh you don’t have to-“ you then hear a loud grumbling noise that definitely did not come from your stomach. You watch him cover his stomach and chuckle.

You grab his hand and drag him out of the alley, “Sounds like you’re hungry. Let’s go, it’s my treat!”

The memory fills you with mostly happiness now because that’s when you met your amazing boyfriend but it still scares you. Demons are scary and no joke. You’ve come to realize that more with being in a relationship with him. He’s got the most important job in the world in your opinion. If the world didn’t have people like him then you all would have been dead years ago. He keeps this world safe and you couldn’t be more proud of him.

There’s suddenly a big crash and roar coming from the corner of the room. Everyone turns and sees a massive demon standing there. He’s tall and chunky. He swipes tables and people aside. You hear glass shattering, bones snapping and screams.

You quickly stand but once you see him get closer you push your date and try to run. As it gets closer your date pushes you towards the demon and takes off running again. You tumble to the ground not expecting his strong push.

You hear the insanely heavy footsteps of the demon getting closer. You can’t help but freeze in place. There’s no way now you can out run the demon. You hang your head and think about how the last time you got to see Dante you didn’t even get to tell him you love him. Now you’ll never get to see him again and tell him. Like that day long ago, you wait for the impact that’ll settle your fate.

You hear the roar of the demon basically right behind you. You steel yourself a bit and just count down until you know your untimely death is going to happen. Your suddenly hit with and impact but it didn’t hurt. Wait you’re moving really fast?

You open your eyes and see Dante holding you close and moving you out of the way. But he’s not in his human form. He’s in his devil trigger. You’ve only seen it once but not in action. One night you two were hanging out he opened up to you about it and showed you what it looked like. He told you the whole story from his dad, to his mom dying and how he thought his brother died but he actually lived.

You could tell he was scared to show you, thinking you’d run when you saw it. Since he is part of something you are scared of. Instead of walking away you walked right to him and reached your hand out. You touched along his devil form to feel him. It still gave off the same warmth that his human form does. It’s still Dante. How could you ever walk away from him?

“Dante?”

He sets you down and gives you a quick smile, or what you think is a smile considering the form. “You’re alright, I promise I’ll keep you safe. Just stay right here and don’t move until I come back. Understood?”

“Understood.” You hold out your pinkie to him and he laugh. He uses his long and sharp pinkie to link with yours. He tries his hardest not to cut or hurt you. After the pinkie promise has been sealed he quickly rushes off.

You see he doesn’t go right for the demon but instead he grabs your date by the back of the shirt. He drags the man over to the demon and holds him out as an offering. The demon happily takes the offering and swallows your date easily.

Dante knew after he saved you he was going to get that fucker that tried to have you die. He is quick to grab him and hold him to the demon.

“Demon spawn what are you doing!?! You’re suppose to be saving me!!”

“No way in hell am I saving someone who is exactly like a demon and tries to sacrifice my girl.” A loud scream falls the man’s mouth as soon as the demon takes him. Dante watches happily as the scene in front of him unfolds. Now it’s time to finish this thing.

Dante quickly pushes the demon back so it can be as far away from you as possible. Once he’s in an area he knows he can focus and go all out he launches his attacks. He slices through the demon in multiple areas to weaken it and have it fall down. Once it’s down on the ground he is quick to cut the head off and dismember the body. When the demon doesn’t move or make a sound anymore he rushes to you.

He reaches out to you but remembers he’s still in his devil trigger. Dante switches back to his human form and reaches out to you again. He places his hand on your cheek and rubs his thumb back and forth. “You’re not hurt right?” He looks you over and doesn’t see any injuries.

You lean into his touch and place your hand on top of his, “Once again I’m okay because of you saving me.”

He chuckles and stands up. He holds out his hand to you and helps you up. Once you’re standing he leads you out of the now destroyed building. Across the street you see your father fuming. He marches right over to you and starts to yell at you.

“Why would you bring your demonic spawn toy here! He ruined everything!!”

“Don’t you dare call him that. He just saved your fucking useless life and this is what you want to say!?! You’re an absolute joke.”

“What did you just say you me you brat!?” He raises is hand but Dante is quick to grab it and squeeze it.

“You won’t lay a hand on her.”

“Let me go demon spawn!” Dante doesn’t listen but tightens his grip.

“Don’t think I will.”

Your father turns to you, “How can you want to be with this useless and vile man!?”

“STOP IT!!” You screech. Now everyone around you is looking at you due to your outburst but that doesn’t stop you.

“Stop saying awful things about him, I won’t allow it! As I said earlier this man saved your life so how can you think he’s useless? Yes he may be part demon but he cares more than anyone in this world! Especially compared to the man you had me with tonight. He tried to sacrifice me to save his own ass. Dante made it his mission to save me before fighting the demon. I don’t care what you think anymore but I don’t want any of this. I just want Dante because I love him! I’m happy with him like I never have been before. I’m not going to let you take this from me.”

Dante’s gaze snaps over to you. You love him? You two have never said those words to each other before but you stood here and admitted it basically to the whole world. That takes bravery and strength. He’s so proud of you for getting your voice. He’s also happy to know when you did get that, it was for defending him. Dante loves you more than you’ll ever know.

Your dad gapes at you. “What!? How dare you say all that to me especially after everything I’ve given you?”

You quickly throw off all the jewelry, hair pieces, and kick off your heels. You didn’t need them. You’re going to show your father right here and now you don’t need him. That you have a much better man in your life now and he’ll properly take care of you. Your father watches you in astonishment as you throw off all these expensive things.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“I’m done. I don’t need your money or this expensive stuff. From now on I make my own decisions. Starting now I’ll never talk to you again and I’ll be with Dante till the day I die. He is the man I want in my life and no one else.”

Dante pushes your dad back and picks you up bridal style. He starts to walk off when your dad calls out, “I bought that damn dress too.”

Dante snaps his head over his shoulder to look at your father. The look Dante must be giving him scared him so bad that he doesn’t comment again.

The walk is silent until you call out to Dante, “I can walk so you don’t have to carry me.”

“Not without shoes on your feet. I don’t mind carrying you, it keeps you close to me.”

You cuddle into his hold, “You’re warm.”

“And you’re beautiful. You looked great tonight. I’m sorry I didn’t say that earlier.”

“Thank you but I’m burning this dress.”

Dante’s quickly looks at you and questions, “What?!? Why!?”

“It reminds me of my old life and I want to be unshackled.”

“Well let’s not jump to conclusions. Why don’t we sell it and then with that money we can go pick you out a dress or two that you like and I can enjoy too.” He wiggles his eyebrows at the end of his sentence.

You giggle and lightly slap his chest. He laughs at your reaction then suddenly goes serious, “Thank you for standing up for me. I don’t care about what people say or think about me. But seeing someone defend me is nice.”

You place your hand over his heart and let the beat calm you. “I’ll always defend you. It’s the least I can do for you always being there for me.”

“I’ll always be there for the woman I love.”

You take your gaze off of your hand on his chest and meet his loving gaze. You have the biggest smile on your face, this time it reaches your eyes unlike it did this morning.

“I love you Dante.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know baby.”

@overwach127 hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!! Also thank you for all of your kind words 🩵🩵

[wendichester]

Omg, i Love your stories!! I have been reading them everyday before i go to sleep 💞💞 Could i make a request for a story inspired by sabrinas Carpenters song 'Skin' with dean or sam please??? 💞💞💞

.ೃ࿔* skin,

summary. things got messy with dean and now he's trying to get under your skin.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. bitchy toxic angst

wordcount. 1429

notes / warnings. sabrina is the biggest queen! i so love her songs. thank you for requesting and for the support sweets 🩷🩷

♬⋆.˚ now playing. skin by sabrina carpenter

You didn’t mean to be here. Not really. Harvelle’s was supposed to be a pitstop, a place to stretch your legs and grab a drink before heading back out.

But you should’ve known he’d be here.

Dean Winchester—tall, golden, and still full of the kind of anger that only comes from watching someone you never really had move on.

You spot him before he sees you. Leaning against the bar like it owes him something, a whiskey in hand, tongue tucked in his cheek like he’s waiting to punch someone. His eyes flick toward your laugh before the sound even finishes.

And that’s when you know he’s already noticed who you’re with.

The guy beside you is harmless. Nice enough. Handsome in a safe kind of way. He touches your waist too gently and laughs a little too loud. But he doesn’t come with heartbreak in the shape of leather jackets and green eyes.

Dean’s eyes track the guy’s hand. Down your back. To your hip. His jaw flexes.

You smirk. Let him watch.

You don’t speak at first. Just wait until you pass behind him, fingers grazing the curve of his spine like muscle memory.

“Still drinkin’ the cheap stuff?” you murmur, lips almost brushing his ear.

He stiffens. But doesn’t turn around.

“Didn’t know you were in town,” he says. His voice is darker than you remember.

“Didn’t think you’d care.”

“I don’t,” he lies instantly. So instantly it’s embarrassing.

You laugh—quiet, cruel. “Sure.”

Then you drift away, back to your booth, back to your date. And you let your fingers curl around your glass slow, give Dean a front-row seat to the way you smile at someone else.

It works.

You feel him before you see him. That weighty heat of Dean Winchester standing too close. A shadow at your side.

“Hey, man,” your date greets, polite and dumb.

Dean ignores him completely. “Can I borrow her for a second?”

You glance up. He’s looking at you, not asking. He’s doing that thing he always does—like the world still spins because he tells it to.

And the worst part? You let him.

You follow him into the hallway, past the jukebox, past the memories that scrape at your ribs.

He doesn’t say anything. Just slams the door to the back storage room and turns.

You lean against a shelf full of broken barstools and expired liquor. “You’re real subtle, y’know that?”

“What the hell are you doing with him?”

You smile. “Oh, that’s what this is.”

Dean’s pacing now. Running a hand through his hair like it’ll help.

“You show up lookin’ like that, hanging all over some guy, laughin’ like you’re—”

“Like I’m happy?” you cut in, sharp.

He stops. Doesn’t say it. But the silence says everything.

“You hate that, don’t you?” you whisper. “That I’m happy. That someone else is making me laugh.”

Dean takes a step closer. “He’s not me.”

You scoff. “God, thankfully.”

His jaw ticks. “You think this is over?”

“It was never real, Dean.”

That’s a lie. A poisonous, loaded lie. And you both know it.

His eyes darken, flicking down your body like a bad habit. “You’re full of shit.”

You shrug. “Maybe. But at least I’m not the one still stuck in a hallway crying about what could’ve been.”

“You think I’m crying?”

He’s on you in a second.

Mouth ghosting over your jaw. Not touching—not yet—but close enough that your breath stutters. His hand presses to the wall beside your head.

“You think he touches you like I did?” he whispers.

“Dean—”

“You still dream about me, don’t you?”

You shouldn’t answer. You shouldn’t let him win. But your silence is louder than a confession.

His lips almost touch yours. “You can try to forget me. Pretend I didn’t ruin you.”

“You didn’t ruin me,” you breathe, too soft, too honest.

“Yeah?” he whispers, dragging his knuckles down your throat. “Then why are you shaking?”

You shove him back.

Hard.

But he just laughs—low and breathless, like he likes it. Like he loves that he can still get under your skin.

“I hope she was worth it,” you snap, eyes burning.

“She wasn’t you.”

Your throat clenches.

Dean watches you with a bitter sort of awe. “You think I haven’t seen the way you look at me? You want me to feel bad? Baby, I’ve never stopped wanting you.”

And you hate him for it.

Because deep down, somewhere under all that anger, you haven’t stopped either.

But you square your shoulders. Tilt your head. Give him that same soft, poisonous smile from earlier.

“I’m still not yours.”

Dean leans in close, breath brushing your lips. “Doesn’t mean I’m done trying.”

Something hot and electric crackles between you like static in a storm. You should walk away. You should. But you don’t.

Because it’s Dean.

And Dean Winchester has always been your favorite bad idea.

You don’t speak.

You just grab the front of his flannel, hard, and yank him in.

Your mouths crash—messy, angry, too much and not enough all at once. It’s not sweet. There’s nothing gentle about it. Just teeth and heat and everything you’ve been pretending you don’t still feel.

Dean groans into your mouth like he’s been starving and you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. His hands slide around your waist, grabbing, gripping, claiming. You can feel the desperation in the way his fingers dig into your hips. Like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

You pull him closer, mouths moving faster, hungrier. Your back hits the storage shelf with a thud. Bottles rattle. Dean doesn’t care. His hand fists in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

“Still taste like summer,” he growls against your lips.

You let out a breathless laugh. “Still talk like a damn cliché.”

His mouth crashes into yours again before you can finish smiling. Tongue slipping past your lips like he owns the place. Like you’re still his. And for one dangerous second—you let yourself pretend you are.

His body presses flush to yours, warm and hard and familiar. You can feel just how badly he still wants you, the tension coiled in every muscle, the way his hips roll against yours like he needs friction or he’ll die.

Your hands roam his chest, slow and teasing, just to remind yourself you still can. Just to hear the way he breathes harder when your fingers slip beneath his shirt and drag over warm skin.

“You drive me crazy,” he mutters, voice low and cracked and wrecked.

You lean up, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Good.”

His breath catches. His hands slide lower, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt. He moves to lift it—but that’s when you stop him.

Your hands close around his wrists, firm.

Dean freezes.

You tilt your head and look him right in the eyes. “That’s enough.”

His mouth parts, confused and flustered, cheeks flushed. “What?”

You step back, slowly, deliberately. Straighten your shirt. Smooth your hair.

“Hope you enjoyed that,” you murmur, biting down a smile. “Because it’s not happening again.”

Dean blinks, like he’s still trying to process it. “You’re serious?”

You nod. “Dead.”

The silence turns thick and ugly.

“But you—you kissed me back,” he says, voice low, almost accusing.

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I did.”

“Then what the hell was that?”

You smile. Sweet. Cruel. “Closure.”

His mouth twists. “Closure doesn’t usually involve tongue.”

“Guess I’m sentimental.”

He stares at you like he’s never seen you before. Like the person in front of him is brand new and it’s killing him.

“You wanted to prove something,” you continue softly. “You wanted to show me I wasn’t over you. That one kiss would ruin everything I’ve built without you.”

Dean’s jaw tightens.

“But here’s the thing, Dean,” you whisper, stepping in close again. Just close enough for him to feel your breath. “You didn’t get under my skin. Not like you used to.”

You press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“He’s under my skin now.”

That does it.

Dean flinches like you slapped him.

And God, it feels good. Not because you want to hurt him—but because he’s been trying to break you since the moment you walked in the door. He wanted control. Wanted proof that he still owned some part of you.

But you’re not his anymore.

You walk to the door without looking back.

“Take care, Winchester.”

And just before you disappear into the hallway, you hear him mutter, low and bitter:

“Yeah. You too.”

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[v3lary0ns]

When the Light Shines Down

Modern Jacaerys Targaryen x fem!reader

(small snippet? football = soccer fo us american out there)

summary — With a recently broken heart, Jace has convinced himself that loving again is a death sentence. Then his mother hires a new babysitter for his little brothers and, bit by but, the light begins to shine for them.

Jacaerys felt like the world sat on his shoulders—both literally and figuratively—as he jammed his key into the lock of his home and made his way inside. His football bag was heavy as he dumped it in the parlor and kicked off his shoes. His mind was a mess as he shuffled into the house with aching muscles and a possibly bruised rib. He tried to wipe the caked-on grime from his hair as he replayed all the ways today went wrong.

He had tried to keep things from blowing up in his face today by keeping his head down and shutting up. He hardly spoke to anyone—completely abnormal, he was a chatterbox on the best of days—and worked to keep his distance from Sara and her band of hooligans. He had just wanted one day where his breakup hadn’t been brought up. One fucking day, but she had searched him out while he was walking to practice and gotten to him like she always did.

He had a weakness for women who had shitty circumstances. She was his best friend's sister, a child of an affair, and he had found himself in a I can fix her mindset before the month was over. He spent almost two years gripping onto a relationship that was built on foundations of sand. She was jealous, controlling, and so good at crying when she wanted people to feel bad for her. He hated that it took him so long to realize their relationship was unhealthy. He hated that he had fallen in love with her before he realized.

Now he was stuck with the aftermath. An ex who was now desperate to get back together with him, bombarding him when he really didn’t need to be thinking about her words. He was upset with himself for thinking so intently about Sara and her desperation to get back together that he had screwed up in practice. His mind had been so consumed with the way she had gripped onto his shirt and kissed him like the world was ending, and the way he had let her, that he had missed a pass and tripped into the stands. Effectively fucking his ribs up. What sort of captain does that?

Gods, he had groaned, why does this have to be so hard?

Cregan had answered in his brusque bass voice with, Because you fell in love and now she misses someone loving her.

Now he was facing the consequences of thinking too hard during practice with the dull pain in his lung everytime he breathed. He turned as a door in the house opened somewhere, the giggling of his little brother catching his ears as he ran around. “Hey!” came a woman’s laugh, and his brow furrowed, it didn’t sound like his mom. “Come back here silly! You forgot your shirt!”

He made his way into the living room to see Joffrey jumping on the couch in his sleep pants, a wicked grin on his chubby cheeks. “You can’t catch me!” He laughs, bouncing from cushion to cushion. His curls were wet and messy and they dropped water on the cushions—he assumed the other two were asleep based on the fact they weren’t chasing Joff around—as he bounced with each giggle. “You can’t catch me miss!”

“You wanna bet, pipsqueak?” The voice was gentle, yet full of happiness and laughter, mirth covered by the boy's giggles. He couldn’t get a glimpse of you before you jump across the living room and almost tackle the little boy into the couch. Joff nearly screams as he laughs, and Jace watches as you begin to mercilessly tickle his brother. “What were you saying? I can't hear you!”

It was a struggle getting the boy into his fire themed sleep shirt but somehow, he watches as you manage to wrangle the most unruly of his brothers. Giggles and laughter chasing you the entire way as you finally lift him off the couch— seemingly much stronger than you look—and spin him in a circle. Eventually setting the boy down from your whirlwind.

Once Joff regains his balance he finally catches sight of his eldest brother. “Jay!” he yells, moving to dart into the older boy's arms. “I missed you!”

Jace hisses in pain for a moment as Joffrey rams his head straight into the rib he had busted. He slaps a smile onto his face instead and bends down to his brother's height. “Hey Joff, having fun?” There was just a small strain of pain in his voice; his brother was too excited to pick up on it.

“Mhm! We played dragons and had a yummy loaded potato soup for dinner, she had us play a cleaning game and gave us yummy food when we did good, and then she let me help her read Aegon and Viserys to sleep!” He grins, pointing over to you with a happy smile on his face. “She’s the coolest babysitter ever!”

With a grin he messed with Joffrey’s hair before looking up at you. He had expected someone… less? Someone who didn’t have pretty eyes and a gentle smile, hair perfectly framing your pretty face while it was disheveled and messy from hours of playing. Somehow, you wore an average shirt and busted up pants so well that he forgot they probably cost less than his shoes. There was no arrogant set to your face that most people around him seemed to have. Just eyes that gave way to a thousand stars and lips pressed with rose petals.

“Hi… you must be Jace.” You speak softly, and even your voice is gentle as a lover's caress. His throat seemed to close and his mouth dried as he looked up at you. Fucking hell, he thinks. His mind flips at the way your words were lilted and breathy, the way you said his name.

Your name came to his mind easily— he had seen you in the halls on campus, but never so close. He regretted never approaching you when he had the chance, now he was seeing you for the first time. While his heart laid amongst the barren wasteland locked up in his chest. The battlefield of his previous attempt at love left scarred across the insides of his ribs, like a beast clawing its way out. Fuck my life, he groans in his mind. “Yeah,” he chokes in a whisper. “That’s me.”

Your answering smile was radiant, blinding him and his gloomy thoughts for a moment. He was like a meteorite caught in your orbit all too quickly. The lonely expanse of space is suddenly lost on him as you sweep him up with your eyes and warm him with your smile. “Captain of the football team.” You say, the fact rolling off your tongue easily. Your eyes trail down to his side, the exact spot he had hurt himself and Joffrey rammed his head into. It was licking flames of pain up his side. “Poli-sci major?”

His lips lift into a small smile. “Are you stalking me?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms and shaking your head with a smile. “You wish, Targaryen. You’re just hard to miss.”

I WILL CRY IF THIS SUCKS PLEASE DONT BE MEAN !!

[literaila]

need lovey dovey gojo rn i miss him 🥀 please bless us with atf content

“can you just push me out of the window or something?” you ask satoru, a telltale whine in your throat, legs shaking as you hobble over to the couch.

your eyes are half-lidded, squinting at the light and flinching with every step you take because none of them feel quite right. can hardwood floor spontaneously move?

“hmm,” gojo’s arm is around yours, supporting you as you walk. “i could but i don’t know if it’s high enough to get you anywhere.”

“it will get me to an afterlife where my head isn’t vibrating.”

you can hear his chuckle, but your eyes cross involuntarily every time you look up. so you don’t. “or the hospital,” he tells you, squeezing your arm. “i mean, you are pretty weak but a fifteen foot drop—“

even amidst your confused walk and loopy gate, somehow your instincts are sharp enough to stomp on satoru’s foot. the years of practice have been well worth it just from the yelp that follows after.

gojo jolts back before he remembers that he’s the one supposed to be guiding you. but satoru retaliates anyway with a slight shove which makes your head ache and your eyes twist.

“you’re mean,” satoru tells you, with the same pout you’ve heard a thousand times. “just sit here and don’t move.”

“it’s worse when i don’t move.”

“oh, okay, walk around. if you run into another wall maybe you’ll hit your brain back into the right spot.”

you let out a slight groan, resting your head on your palm so it can’t go anywhere. “shut up, satoru, this is all your fault. and it wasn’t a wall.”

“my fault? sweetheart, i think you might be misremembering,” he mock coos, kneeling down to take off your shoes. “cause i wasn’t there. you just got home. it’s 2010. we’re in japan.”

“i know where we are, asshole. you distracted me! i was thinking about you trying to start a food fight with megumi at dinner last night when the curse came out of nowhere.”

satoru tuts. “sounds like someone needs to focus when she’s on a job,” he sing-songs.

“sounds like someone is going to be my personal servant for a month. do you have a cute little maid outfit laying around?”

“i—“

“okay,” tsumiki comes strolling in, then, carrying a tray piled so high up that her face is obstructed.

not that you’re looking—but it’s the thought that counts.

you flinch, closing your eyes tight at the feeling that comes after.

things would’ve been much more convenient if the kids were still at school and shoko was still in town.

still, hopefully satoru hasn’t told either of them anything and you can pretend all is swell with the world until further notice—

tsumiki continues, “i’ve got ice, water, tea, tissues, some bandaids…” she’s looking down trying not to trip over her own two feet.

“here,” megumi appears beside her, setting yet another thing on top of the tray. “you forgot this.”

“oh! and medicine. thanks, megumi.”

he hums.

and you’re not looking at them—due to, you know, the entire world spinning whenever you turn your head—but you wince anyway.

of course satoru couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

tsumiki sets the tray on the coffee table and she tries to get a look at your face. “does your head hurt?”

you attempt a smile. “no, ‘miki, it’s not too bad. how are you doing?”

“how hard did you hit it?” megumi asks, completely ignoring you and sitting on the opposite side of the couch.

“not too hard.” you say, your stiff muscles relaxing just a bit when tsumiki gives you a chaste kiss on the head.

gojo coughs.

you scowl at him with your eyes closed. “really, it’s nothing. just a bump. i’ll sleep it off.”

satoru then coughs again because he has never taken a hint in his life… or because your glare is less effective without the clear view of murder in your eyes.

tsumiki resumes her trifling of goods, arranging them so you can reach, a tiny frown on her face as she thinks it through.

your brain is too scrambled to think of what to say to either of them; ask them about school, maybe? try and distract them from the black eye you’re surely going to have in the morning?

and it’s not that you don’t appreciate their concern—it’s just that both of the kids get a little… intense when you get hurt.

it’s endearing and also completely heartbreaking.

“do you need a doctor?” tsumiki turns to you, standing on your tiptoes like she’ll be able to see a wound on your head. she inspects your eyes for a second.

“no, ijichi looked me over. don’t worry about it, sweetie.”

“have some water,” megumi nudges a glass towards you, no room for arguing in his tone.

“i brought the smiley-face bandages you like. do you have any cuts?”

“no, i didn’t get—“

“you should put the ice on your bump, too,” megumi adds.

“i—“

tsumiki gasps, jumping back. “is it too bright in here? i‘ll turn off the lights. can you get the windows, megumi?”

and just as fast as the two of them sat down, they’re up again, tending to you like you’re a fragile little bird that fell on their doorstep.

which you kind of did, actually.

your eyes sting as you open them again, tracking the fast movements of both of the kids, looking over the things megumi got over, and then at satoru who is still standing there, grinning a bit, of course.

you try and beg him to help with your eyes but he does nothing. typical.

“guys,” you say, seeing double. “i’m really okay, you don’t need to—“

tsumiki lowers the lights a bit. “is this better? i can turn them all the way off. we have flashlights, right?”

“you should wear gojo’s glasses,” megumi mutters, struggling to reach the blinds. he’s only eight—he’s still growing.

and you’re watching both of them with a burning in the back of your head and a desperation in your heart. now would be the perfect time to teach them about staying calm, about thinking and—

satoru moves then, grabbing megumi by the collar of his shirt and walking over to tsumiki. “okay, children,” he leans down, ignoring megumi’s scowl and tsumiki’s furrowed brows. he lowers his voice. “y/n is very sick. the doctor said she had some freaky, super gross, creepy bug-monster that’s messing with her head.”

“bug what—“

he puts a finger to his lips. “she isn’t supposed to know about it—it’ll only confuse her. but it’s very contagious so both of you have to stay far away. three rooms, at least..”

“she’s really sick?” megumi repeats, looking a bit angry.

at the same time tsumiki says. “but we can help take care of her.”

“such sweet, precious kids,” satoru coos, “but there’s only one person strong enough to be around her right now.”

megumi gives him a blank look, mouth already opening to argue.

satoru pinches the little boy’s cheek before he even gets the chance. “it’s me, of course. i am the strongest. you both just leave this to me and make sure you’re not letting any weird bugs sneak into your head.”

“but we—“

“and you have to keep it a secret. y/n can’t know, okay?”

and because your children are not completely gullible, they both just stare at satoru.

“okay?” satoru peers at them through his eyebrows. he has his crazy eyes on.

“okay,” tsumiki says softly.

“fine,” megumi mumbles.

“great!” satoru clasps his hands together. “now run along, children, i have a patient to tend to.”

and then they both walk down the hallway, giving forlorned looks towards you until they disappear around a corner. it’s cinematic the way it all plays out, really.

satoru returns to you and you sigh, hanging your pounding head. “really?”

“it’s impolite to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations,” satoru tells you like he’s not the worst person on the entire planet.

“they’re just going to be even more worried, now,” you groan, “you basically told them i was dying.”

satoru tilts his head. “i thought we were going to test that window theory?”

you scoff squeezing your eyes shut. “i can’t look at you.”

“because i’m too mesmerizing?” satoru sits down, pressed entirely against you. “yeah, i get that a lot.”

you just let him, unable to defend yourself from him, or from the migraine you’re going to have for at least the next week. you’re not sure which one is worse. “because it’s making me dizzy,” you retort. “the image of you is physically painful. this is awful.”

“as awful as that time that tsumiki puked on the rug and then megumi—“

“satoru,” you whine, turning your head into his shoulder.

his shoulder shake, just a little. “oops, sorry. is that a sensitive subject?”

“now i’m going to puke.”

“just try not to get it in my hair.”

you snort, digging your head into his bone. it kind of helps, actually.

and you wish for a moment that you had never taken that job, that you hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning, or that satoru didn’t have to be all encompassing.

but you don’t really want any of that.

after a moment satoru leans forward, and you open one eye, disturbed.

he reaches out to the table for the ice pack, and then presses it right against your head.

his hand is big enough to cover your entire face.

“how’s that feel?”

“like i’m being suffocated,” you mutter, through his palm, but it does feel slightly soothing.

“hold it,” he says softly. “and you should drink this,” he reaches out again for the water.

“you know you’re not actually a doctor, right?” you ask him, entirely aware that satoru has done nothing. tsumiki and megumi brought you all of these things and he’s just reaping the rewards.

but he is nice to cuddle up to, as steady as ever.

“the memories of concussed people simply can’t be trusted,” he sighs out, like it’s a painful reality.

you laugh. then wince.

satoru must notice this because he places his hand over yours on the ice. “do you wanna lay down?”

you think about it for a moment, unsure if anything will ever feel the same. but you shrug anyway. “i guess.”

“we’ll cuddle,” satoru promises, “it’ll help.”

and then he takes the ice and the water from you, placing them back on the table. he’s gentle as he maneuvers yours legs onto the couch, turning your entire body with a little push.

but he waits a moment in between each movement—letting you adapt to the room, and all of its doubles, before he continues.

“okay, c’mere,” satoru kicks his legs out, pushing you over until you’re smushed between him and the couch. and then he readjusts your arm, moving just slightly so that you’re laying on top of him, instead of beside.

it takes a moment for it all to compute. your eyes roll but once everything stills, you’re just laying on his chest.

“see? better already, huh?”

“you’re warm,” is all you say, laying your arm across his torso.

satoru grabs the ice again, holding it to your head. it’s not a lot, but it feels nice.

“your hand is going to get cold,” you murmur against him. “you need a towel or something.”

“it’s alright. i’ll be fine.”

and it sounds entirely like what you were saying to the kids not even ten minutes ago, but you don’t argue.

“i still have laundry to do.”

“we can buy new clothes.”

it is so tempting to look up at him and verify whether he’s serious—which you’re pretty sure he is—or not.

“satoru.”

“fine,” he shakes his head. “but i’m not folding it all fancy like you do.”

“it’s not fancy, it’s standard. and i’ve shown you that a million times.”

“megumi can do it.”

“megumi is eight and he just got home from school. what have you done all day?”

satoru hums. “well, let’s see… i did my hair, i ignored a couple of calls, got dorayaki, did the laundry, and rescued you from a window,” he whistles. “wow, that was a long day.”

“did you say laundry?”

“…did i say that?”

“satoru.”

“wow. you hit your head pretty hard, huh? you’re mixing up memories already.”

“as soon as my headache is gone, im going to fight you.”

“aww, but i thought i was your headache,” satoru pouts, digging his nose against your temple.

you’re about to say something rightfully cruel, one eye opening to look at him, but you make a face.

“what?”

“tsumiki was right. too bright in here.”

satoru lets one finger graze against your cheek. “here, sit up.”

and despite yourself, you listen. the world creeps in when you move, but satoru holds on to you, keeping your body from toppling over the side of the couch.

he digs beneath one of the couch cushions and then smiles victoriously. “here it is. okay, turn your head.”

you do, and satoru only takes a moment to wrap something around your eyes, tying a knot at the back of your head like he’s been doing it for years.

and then the two of you lay back down, and you’re tucked against him once again.

“how’s that?” satoru asks, fiddling with the edges of the fabric.

“do you just leave a trail of blindfolds wherever you go?”

“well, yeah,” satoru snorts. “how else would you be able to find me?”

your lip quirks and you breathe in, letting every tense muscle relax on top of him. “it smells like you.”

“you’re very welcome,” satoru rests his cheek against your head. “now, shhh. go to sleep and i’ll scare the bug in your head away.”

“will you make sure the kids aren’t freaked out?” you whisper to him, even though it hurts to talk.

“yeah, i’ve got it, sweetheart. don’t worry.”

[ribbonedreverie]

The Winner Takes It All

Dazai x Reader x Chuuya

It starts with laughter.

Not his own. Yours.

He hadn’t meant to stop here. Hadn’t meant to look through the window, hadn’t meant to see you.

But there you are.

Laughing.

Bright, full, unrestrained—

The kind of laugh that shakes your shoulders, that lingers in your chest, that makes you forget the world ever hurt.

And beside you? Chuuya.

Dazai should walk away. He should pretend he never saw. Should keep moving like it doesn’t matter.

But he doesn’t.

He stays.

Because some things are impossible to look away from. Because some wounds never really close. Because once, not long ago,

That could have been him.

You used to wait for him. Not because you were weak, Not because you were desperate,

But because—

You loved him.

And for a while, he let you. You waited through his silences, through his deflections, through the moments where he gave you nothing and expected you to hold on anyway.

And for a while, you did.

But waiting has a limit. And time always runs out.

Dazai remembers the night you left.

You stood there, hands clenched, eyes tired, voice quiet.

“You don’t have to love me.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“But you can’t keep doing this to me, Dazai.”

You waited for him to say something. To stop you. To give you any reason to believe this—

Whatever this was—

Meant something to him.

But he only smiled. His most well-practiced lie.

“You deserve better.”

You had looked at him then—

Really looked at him—

And he had never felt so hollow.

For a moment, he almost said your name.

Almost.

And now?

Now you are here.

Laughing.

Living.

Loving someone who isn’t him.

Chuuya says something, something Dazai can’t hear, and you lean into him like it’s natural.

Like it’s instinct.

Like you belong there.

And Chuuya—

He lets you. No hesitation. No fear. No second-guessing. Everything Dazai never gave you. But you hadn’t always looked at Chuuya that way. Once upon a time, you had looked at him like that.

He remembers…

How you’d hum softly under your breath, a single line of a song repeating on your lips, over and over—until he found himself humming along without realizing.

How you’d dance around the apartment, not because there was music playing, but because you simply felt like it. And the one time you had caught him watching—

Really watching—

You had grinned and held out your hand.

“Come on, Dazai, dance with me.”

He had scoffed, rolled his eyes, but the next thing he knew? He was spinning you in circles. And when you had laughed—soft, breathless, bright—

He had wondered, just for a moment, if this was what happiness was supposed to feel like.

He remembers the small things. The way you’d pucker your lips in deep thought, how you’d mumble nonsense words to yourself while reading.

How your hands always seemed a little too warm against his skin. He remembers the way you never asked anything from him. How you would just sit beside him, close enough to touch, but never pushing, never demanding.

And somehow, that had been more terrifying than anything else. Because love, real love, meant losing something real.

And Dazai?

Dazai doesn’t survive loss.

He should be happy for you. Isn’t this what he wanted?

Didn’t he say you deserved better? Then why does it feel like his chest is caving in?

He wants to blame Chuuya.

Wants to make this easier by pretending

That his old partner stole something from him.

But the truth?

Chuuya didn’t steal anything. Dazai gave you away. Handed you over without a fight.

And Chuuya?

Chuuya just did what Dazai was too much of a coward to do.

For the briefest moment, he lets himself imagine.

What if it had been him? What if he had chosen differently? What if he had stayed?

Would it be his name you laughed with? His hand you reached for? His love you clung to like it was something safe?

Would you still hum that song under your breath? Would you still pull him into that silly, ridiculous dancing? Would you have stayed, If only he had asked you to?

But that’s the thing about regrets. They don’t change anything.

You are gone.

Chuuya won.

And Dazai?

Dazai is just the ghost of something that never had the chance to exist. So he does what he does best. He walks away. Because he always leaves first. Because he always lets go before something can slip through his fingers. Because he always runs before grief can catch him. But the thing about grief?

It always does.