#and i really love that.. he is sincerely haunted by this doubt and the fear of never being enough and it like!!!

[krikidilly]

UGGGCCCKKKKKK I WANT TO DIG A HOLE AND BURY HIM IN IT,,

[scarletttries]

When Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Fall in Love...(Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: It's been a while! I haven't posted in a while but I've got some time at the moment and I'm just finishing a first playthrough of BG3 so wanted to write some headcanons for our charming companions. Consider me open for any BG3 request too, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Travelling with you makes Astarion feel grateful he's had hundreds of years to perfect his flirting technique. He knows exactly how to let you know what he's thinking without ever giving away too much of himself, how to flash his smile without ever lowering his guard. He thinks once again he knows exactly how to capture your attention, and possibly your body, without losing an ounce of control. That is until you say something that catches him completely off guard...

- "I'm really sorry to hear that." You should have laughed at his expense, his self-deprecating humour and haunted tales from his past worn like the toughest armour over silky open shirts. But you hadn't laughed, or scoffed, or replied with some equivalently sarcastic tone. Instead you'd offered empathy, a warm look and an extended hand that somehow didn't feel like pity to Astarion either.

"Well that's enough self-pity for tonight my dear." He quickly excused himself from the campfire, turning his back as he entered his tent to hide any visible blush his cheeks may muster from the way you said good night. Of course his blood didn't circulate that way any more, but he was almost sure he could feel his heart rising in his chest as it had when he was still a mortal man. No, this didn't feel right at all.

- It would be easy for Astarion to pretend he was only interested in a night of carnal pleasures with you because of all the beauty you possess, and he'll let everyone else think him a shallow man just the same. But when he lets his mind wander freely it's your kindness he finds himself dwelling on, or your firm but fair moral code that seems to carry you through these intrepid lands without doubt or tribulation. He almost wishes he had met you sooner, so sure that his life (and after-life) could have turned out quite different with you by his side at those strange early steps.

- Suddenly all his effortless flirting feels a lot more challenging and he can't decide if he should risk a small amount of sincerity to let you know how we feels, or just to double down on letting you know one night with him would ruin you for any other lover. Luckily both approaches are met with the affection he craves, and slowly but surely Astarion starts to feel like he might be able to have something real for once.

Wyll:

- Ever the hopeless romantic, Wyll was already a firm believer in love at first sight by the time he ran into you and experienced it firsthand. He fears he cannot be too bold, his staunch commitment to his duties governing his life in a way that does not leave much room for any other kind of commitment. He tries to let his feelings settle at the back of his mind, in the hopes that in time they will become nothing but a dull ache he can learn to live with.

- That could not be less of the case for poor Wyll though, your face filling his every nightly dream and your voice echoing through his mind in every moment of silence. His heart grows heavier and heavier with each passing day you travel together and soon it feels almost inevitable that he will be yours, even if he can't quite bring himself to admit it yet. Once he has accepted that thought he must wrestle with the possibility that you might not feel the same and you will be added to his list of those he cares for most that have rejected him with scorn.

- Still he lets the lighter thoughts carry him through the toughest of times; what it might be like to hear you offer your own feelings back, how it would feel to see you smile only for him, what kind of life the two of you might be able to build in a simpler times, what he could finally do if you agreed to a wedding night together. He lets himself ruminate on that more often that he'd like to admit, all gentlemanly efforts banished from his mind when he sees you walk around his camp.

- While he builds up the courage to make his feelings known, you might catch him practicing the steps of an intricate dance one night when he thinks everyone is fast asleep.

Gale:

- Gale has known love and loss before, the intensity of his past life making him consider keeping his heart closed off from others forevermore. But the gods have a funny way of keeping Gale on his toes, and introducing him to you certainly did that.

- At first you are just the warmest of friends to him: an ever-willing audience for his lifetime of tales and knowledge, a reliable companion for the throes of battle, a selfless treasure seeker who helps him fend off hunger. But over time he finds himself desperately scanning his mind for more and more facts that it would be worth waking you up to share, more tales to capture your attention, anything the two of you might do together to keep your focus on him and no one else.

- It's about when he wonders if the two of you might just camp in one tent together, that he realises he no longer views you as simply his closest friend. No, you have long passed that threshold into an entirely new realm of love. It feels so different to anything he has felt before, like your company is the warmest summer breeze after decades of stormy lightning in his heart. It feels safe and easy to be with you, like he could be content with almost nothing as long as you were by his side, looking at him with your near endless appreciation. Gale can't be sure exactly what to do about it, but he hopes the next time you draw back the opening on your tent and usher him in for another night of exchanging tales, that you might permit him to never leave.

Shadowheart:

- It's hard to know love when you barely know yourself. That's what Shadowheart tells herself when she finds her mind wandering back to you after your memorable first impression. She has so much to learn about herself, and while she's grateful for the reliable company and kind sounding-board you provide, there's simply no room in her life for anything more.

- And yet the more she uncovers about herself, the more important it seems to have you by her side. It's like she cannot exist in this new fully realised version of herself if she doesn't know you. If she doesn't get to see herself through your eyes, to hear what you think, to have your presence beside her as he continues to take more and more steps forward down this path home.

- Without ever trying you have become the other half of Shadowheart, and by the time she realises it, she knows you must have the same awareness. There could be no way that you aren't as in tune to the depth of your bond as she is, leaving her only one question. Not if to address it. But when.

Karlach:

- Though Karlach may not have a traditional heart anymore, she is more than capable of falling for the travelling companion that seems to bring out the best in her at every step. After years spent working for the devil and his underlings, having someone in her life that strives to make the world better and put her strength to good use is like the first sip of water after countless nights in the arid desert of the hells.

- Karlach knows she's as strong as they come, so she finds her eyes frantically searching you out in battle, pushing herself on and raging forwards to always keep you safe, to get you behind her, to make sure you go on to keep her company another day.

- Her time in this plane of existence may be more limited than some of the other characters, but that only means Karlach knows how important it is to truly 'live.' While the other companions may bide their time and carefully deliberate how best to inform you of their inconvenient feelings, when Karlach knows your heart is true, she's going to let you know she is all yours at the earliest, and steamiest, opportunity.

[zweigsangel]

hockeyplayer!chris seeing ballerina!reader crying after she messes up on stage. ( requested, i love this sm!! )

you felt a familiar knot of anxiety tightening in your stomach, more intense than ever before. the anticipation of the performance loomed over you like a heavy cloud, darkening your thoughts. the choreography was difficult, each step woven into a tapestry of movement that seemed to taunt your every effort. countless hours of practice had brought you to this moment, yet the fear of stumbling haunted you, whispering doubts into your mind.

as you stood backstage, the air thick with the scent of sweat and polished wood, you could hear the muffled sounds of the audience beyond the heavy curtains. your heart raced, each beat echoing in your ears like a drum.

finally, the moment arrived. the curtain rose, and the bright stage lights flooded over you. in that instant, your eyes scanned the crowd, searching for a familiar face. and then you saw him—those piercing blue eyes cutting through the sea of strangers. they locked onto yours, a beacon of reassurance in the overwhelming chaos.

you started beautifully, your movements delicate and fluid, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the music. you felt light, like you were gliding across the stage, the world outside fading away. but then, in a heartbeat, it happened—boom. a wrong step. a slight stumble, barely noticeable to anyone else, but for you, it was monumental.

as soon as you finished the performance, you dashed backstage, your heart pounding in your chest. you found a small corner, a refuge away from the bright lights and the prying eyes of the audience. sinking down to the floor, you curled up, hiding your face between your knees. silent sobs began to escape you, small and soft, as if the weight of your emotions had finally found an outlet.

the sounds of the audience faded into the background, replaced by the quiet of your own thoughts, the high of performing still clinging to you while the memory of that tiny misstep gnawed at your heart. it was supposed to be a moment of triumph, yet all you could focus on was that slip, that stumble.

“baby, where—” a voice interrupted your thoughts, cutting through the haze of your emotions. in that moment, he spotted you, curled up in your little corner. “angel,” chris murmured, his voice soft and soothing. in an instant, he was sitting beside you, the bouquet of flowers he had brought resting on the ground as his hands found your tear-streaked cheeks, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze. the sight of your big, watery eyes pierced his heart.

“hey,” he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment. “what’s wrong? you were amazing out there.” his thumbs brushed away the tears that were still falling.

“no, i—” you started, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with the weight of your emotions. “i messed up.” you could feel the lump in your throat tightening as you struggled to articulate the storm of feelings inside you.

he shook his head. “what matters is that you put your heart into it. and you did.” his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. “no one noticed, i promise. okay? you were beautiful,” he continued, his voice steady and reassuring. you found yourself resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

“really?” you asked, lifting your gaze to meet his, searching for sincerity in his eyes. “really. you were like an angel up there,” he said, his gaze warm on your face. “my angel.”

[hookhausenschips]

Butterflies {OP81}

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Summary: Amidst past heartbreak and fear of vulnerability, Y/N gradually allows herself to fall for Oscar, whose patience and sincerity offer a promising chance at love, revealing that the journey of trust and commitment is worth the risk.

Warnings: themes of emotional vulnerability, past trauma, fear of intimacy, struggles/uncertainties of opening up to someone new, and the complexities of trust in relationships.

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Loosely based on this song

you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

I don't wanna fall so fast

But I'm open

I’m 24, young, and full of potential, yet I've already learned some tough lessons in love. Being a black woman, navigating the complexities of relationships hasn't always been easy. I’ve had my heart broken more times than I care to admit, and each time, it left a scar that hasn’t quite healed. The people I trusted with my deepest emotions didn’t treat them with the care they deserved, and now, it’s hard not to feel jaded.

There was Darren, who made me believe in forever but disappeared when things got tough. Then there was Camille, who said all the right things but never really meant them. Each of them left me with a little less faith in love, and a little more doubt in myself. I keep asking myself, "Why do I always end up hurt?" and "Is there something wrong with me?"

Lately, I’ve been trying to rebuild—focus on myself, get my confidence back. But deep down, there’s a yearning that I can’t quite shake, a desire to find that connection again. To love and be loved, but this time, without the heartbreak. Yet, every time I think about letting someone new in, my stomach twists with anxiety.

They always say that good things never last

And I know 'cause I've been broken

One evening, while sitting on my bed, I scrolled through old messages from past relationships, the ones that used to make me smile. Now, they just remind me of broken promises. I whispered to myself, "I can’t do this again. I can’t let myself fall for someone just to end up picking up the pieces later."

But there’s a part of me—a small, stubborn part—that still believes love is worth the risk. And that part scares me the most because what if I’m wrong? What if I let someone in again and end up more broken than before?

My friends say, "You deserve someone who treats you right, someone who values you." I know they’re right, but how do I open up to that possibility when my past keeps haunting me? How do I let go of the fear that history will repeat itself?

And that’s where I was—stuck between wanting to love and fearing the pain that might come with it—when Oscar came into my life.

I'm tryin' to protect my heart

But you're making it so hard

It was a random Tuesday, and I had no idea that day would change anything. I wasn’t looking for love, not even close. My focus was on work, my friends, and trying to enjoy life on my own terms. But then, there he was—Oscar Piastri.

I remember the first time I saw him. It was at a small coffee shop around the corner from my apartment. I had just picked up my usual order, a caramel latte with an extra shot of espresso, and was about to leave when I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Whoa, sorry about that,” I said, looking up to see who I’d almost drenched in coffee.

He smiled, a warm, easy smile that immediately put me at ease. “No worries, I could use a little caffeine splash to wake me up.”

I laughed, a bit nervously, and noticed how his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m glad I could help, I guess?”

He chuckled and extended his hand. “I’m Oscar, by the way. I think I’ve seen you around here before.”

I hesitated for a split second before shaking his hand. “Y/N. And yeah, this is my go-to spot. Best coffee in town.”

“Agreed. Though I have to say, you’ve got a pretty intense order there. Tough day?”

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just the usual grind. You?”

“Same here. But this,” he held up his cup, “is the highlight of my day so far.”

We both laughed, and for a moment, everything felt easy. There was something about him that intrigued me, something different from what I was used to. He wasn’t trying too hard, wasn’t putting on a show. He was just… Oscar.

And I guess it's safe to say

You take my pain away

Over the next few days, I kept running into him—at the coffee shop, at the grocery store, even at the park where I liked to jog. It was like the universe was nudging me toward him, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to listen.

One afternoon, after another “coincidental” meeting at the coffee shop, he asked me to sit with him. I almost said no, wanting to stick to my usual routine, but something in his eyes made me pause.

“Just for a few minutes,” he said, his voice soft and inviting. “I promise I won’t keep you long.”

I found myself nodding. “Okay, a few minutes.”

As we sat down, the conversation flowed effortlessly. We talked about everything and nothing—our favorite movies, the best places to eat in the city, and even the little quirks we had. I learned that Oscar was a bit of a perfectionist, always striving to be the best at whatever he did, but he had a laid-back side that balanced it out. He loved racing, which didn’t surprise me, but what caught me off guard was how he spoke about it—with passion, but also with a humility that was refreshing.

At one point, I mentioned my love for books, and his eyes lit up. “You’re a reader? That’s awesome. What’s your favorite genre?”

“Anything that makes me feel something,” I replied. “I love stories that are real, that don’t shy away from the messy parts of life.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I get that. I think the best stories are the ones that make you feel like you’re not alone, like someone out there gets what you’re going through.”

There was a sincerity in his words that made me want to know more about him, even though I was still hesitant. I couldn’t deny that I was drawn to him, that there was something about Oscar that made me feel… safe. But at the same time, a voice in the back of my mind reminded me of the walls I’d built, the ones that had protected me from getting hurt again.

As the conversation wound down, Oscar looked at me with a smile that was both gentle and knowing. “I’m really glad we got to talk, Y/N. Maybe we could do this again sometime? No pressure, just… whenever you feel like it.”

I hesitated, the familiar apprehension bubbling up. But then I found myself nodding. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great,” he said, his smile widening. “I’ll see you around then.”

As I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel a little lighter, like maybe—just maybe—this was something worth exploring. But I was still cautious, still unsure if I could let myself fall for someone again. Only time would tell if Oscar was different, if he was someone I could trust with my heart.

And I just wanna hold you all night long

Whenever I'm around you, nothing's wrong I'm hoping that you'll always be around

The days turned into weeks, and before I knew it, Oscar and I had developed a comfortable routine. We’d meet up for coffee or grab dinner at one of the spots we’d discovered together. There was a natural rhythm to our conversations, a back-and-forth that felt easy, almost effortless. But with that ease came something I hadn’t expected—the butterflies.

At first, it was just a slight flutter whenever I saw his name pop up on my phone. A quick text from him, like, “Hey, thinking about trying that new sushi place tonight. You in?” would make my heart skip a beat. I’d find myself smiling at the screen, trying to keep cool as I typed back, “Sounds good. What time?”

But it wasn’t just the texts. It was the way he looked at me when we were talking, like I was the only person in the room. One night, we were sitting in the park, watching the sunset after a long day. Oscar had brought a blanket, and we were sprawled out on the grass, just talking about everything and nothing.

You got me on a high, I don't wanna come down And I love it, I love it (these butterflies)

Yeah I love it, I love it (I'm on a high)

Yeah, I love it, I love it And I just wanna love on you (ooh)

“Do you ever just look at the sky and think about how small we are?” he asked, his voice soft and contemplative.

I turned to him, surprised by the question. “Sometimes. It’s kind of overwhelming, though, isn’t it? Thinking about how big the universe is and how tiny our problems are in comparison.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes still fixed on the sky. “But I think it’s kind of comforting, too. Like, no matter what happens, the world keeps turning, the sun keeps setting, and there’s always a new day.”

I looked at him then, really looked at him, and felt that familiar flutter in my chest. It wasn’t just the words he said; it was the way he said them, with a quiet assurance that made me feel like everything would be okay.

Ever since you crossed my path

Everything is different

You always know just how to make me laugh

You got me all up in my feelings

“You’re a bit of a philosopher, aren’t you?” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made my heart flip. “Maybe a little. But seriously, Y/N, it’s moments like this that make me appreciate the simple things. Like just being here with you.”

My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I didn’t know what to say. His words were simple, but they meant so much more than that. I could feel the butterflies intensifying, that mix of excitement and nervousness churning in my stomach.

“Yeah,” I finally managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I get that.”

And then there were the little things he did that made me feel seen, really seen. Like the time we were at a bookstore, and I was browsing through the fiction section. I mentioned offhandedly that I loved a particular author but hadn’t read their latest book yet. A few days later, Oscar showed up with a wrapped package.

And as much as I love the feeling I hate it, it gets me frustrated

Wanna say just how I feel

“What’s this?” I asked, curious.

He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Just open it.”

I tore off the wrapping paper to find the book I’d mentioned. My eyes widened in surprise, and I looked up at him, speechless.

“You said you hadn’t read it yet,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I figured you might like it.”

My heart swelled with a mix of emotions—gratitude, joy, and something deeper that I wasn’t ready to name yet. “Oscar, this is… thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice softening. “But I wanted to.”

It was in moments like these that I started to feel those butterflies taking over. He made me laugh like no one else could, like the time we tried to cook dinner together and ended up burning half the food. We were both hopeless in the kitchen, but instead of getting frustrated, Oscar just laughed, his laughter infectious.

“Well, I guess we know what we’re not good at,” he said, shaking his head as he surveyed the mess we’d made.

“Yeah,” I laughed, wiping away a tear. “But at least we didn’t burn the whole place down.”

He grinned and bumped his shoulder against mine. “Small victories, right?”

But it wasn’t just the laughter. It was the way he was there for me, supporting me in ways I hadn’t expected. Like the time I was having a rough day at work, feeling overwhelmed and stressed. I hadn’t told him much, just that I was having a hard time. Later that evening, he showed up at my door with a tub of my favorite ice cream and a stack of movies.

“I figured you could use a break,” he said with that easy smile of his. “And maybe some company?”

I couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the butterflies fluttering stronger than ever. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

But don't know how you would take it

Why do you do what you do to me?

He chuckled, a little embarrassed. “Just trying to be a good friend.”

But the way he looked at me when he said it, I knew there was more to it than that. And that was when the nervous excitement hit me hardest. I was falling for him—harder and faster than I’d expected—and it terrified me.

As the days with Oscar grew longer, so did the feelings I was trying to keep in check. Those butterflies that started as a gentle flutter had turned into a storm inside me, making it harder to ignore what was happening. I was falling for him, and it scared me to death.

One evening, after another perfect day with Oscar, I sat alone in my apartment, staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I could see it in my own eyes—how happy I was, how alive I felt. But underneath that happiness was a growing fear, a fear I couldn’t shake no matter how hard I tried.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I whispered to my reflection, frustration lacing my voice. “Why are you letting yourself feel this way again?”

I thought about the last time I’d let myself fall, how it had ended in tears and broken promises. I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t go through that again, that I’d protect my heart at all costs. But here I was, teetering on the edge of another fall, and I couldn’t decide whether to jump or pull back.

When I was with Oscar, everything felt right. He made me laugh, he made me feel seen, and he made me believe—if only for a moment—that maybe this time could be different. But when I was alone, the doubts would creep in. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if I was just setting myself up for another heartbreak?

I promised myself I wouldn't fall

But every time I see you, I just wanna risk it all

One night, we were sitting on his couch, a movie playing in the background. I was barely paying attention to the screen, too caught up in my own thoughts. Oscar must have noticed because he nudged me gently.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft and concerned.

I forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

But even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I wasn’t tired—I was scared. Scared of letting him in, scared of what it would mean if I did. I wanted to tell him, to lay it all out there, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I just sat there, feeling the frustration build inside me.

Oscar turned to face me, his brow furrowed in that adorable way he did when he was trying to figure something out. “Are you sure? You seem… I don’t know, a little distant tonight.”

I bit my lip, the battle raging inside me. Part of me wanted to tell him everything, to spill out all the fears and doubts that were eating me up inside. But another part of me, the part that had been hurt before, told me to keep quiet, to protect myself.

“It’s nothing,” I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

He didn’t push, but I could see the concern in his eyes, and that only made me feel worse. Here was this amazing guy who was nothing but kind and patient with me, and I couldn’t even bring myself to be honest with him. The frustration gnawed at me, making my heart ache.

Later that night, after Oscar had walked me home, I sat on my bed, my mind racing. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I just tell him how I felt? I grabbed a pillow and hugged it to my chest, trying to quiet the turmoil inside me.

I closed my eyes, remembering a conversation I’d had with my best friend not too long ago. She had told me, “You have to take risks in love, Y/N. You can’t protect yourself from everything, or you’ll never really experience it.”

Her words echoed in my mind, and I knew she was right. But knowing and doing were two very different things. I wanted to take the risk, I wanted to let myself fall for Oscar, but every time I got close, the fear would pull me back.

The next time we hung out, the tension was still there, lurking beneath the surface. We were at a small, cozy restaurant, sharing a plate of fries and talking about nothing in particular. Oscar was his usual charming self, making me laugh with some ridiculous story about his latest racing practice. But even as I laughed, the frustration was bubbling up inside me.

“You know,” he said, dipping a fry in ketchup, “I’ve been thinking about going on a road trip. Just get in the car and drive, no destination in mind. What do you think?”

I smiled, trying to focus on the conversation. “That sounds amazing. I’ve always wanted to do something like that.”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Maybe you could come with me. We could just take off, leave everything behind for a while. What do you say?”

My heart leaped at the idea, but then the doubts crashed in like a tidal wave. What if I said yes? What if we spent all that time together, and I ended up falling even harder, only for him to not feel the same way? The thought terrified me, and I felt the words catch in my throat.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. “I mean, it sounds great, but…”

“But?” he prompted gently, leaning in closer.

I looked down at my hands, fiddling with the napkin on my lap. “It’s just… I don’t want to mess things up, you know? What if…”

He reached across the table and placed his hand over mine, his touch warm and reassuring. “Hey, whatever it is, you can talk to me. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words should have comforted me, but instead, they made the frustration even worse. How could I explain that the thing I was most afraid of was exactly that—that he wouldn’t go anywhere, that he’d stay, and I’d end up falling too deep?

And baby, yeah, I know it ain't right

But the chemistry we have is so hard to fight

I took a deep breath, trying to find the courage to speak. “Oscar, I… I like spending time with you. A lot. But sometimes, I get scared, you know? I’ve been hurt before, and I don’t want to go through that again.”

His expression softened, and he squeezed my hand gently. “I get it. I really do. But I’m not those other people, Y/N. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I know,” I whispered, my voice barely holding steady. “But it’s still hard. I want to let go, to just… be with you, but I’m afraid of what might happen if I do.”

Oscar looked at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Then he nodded, his grip on my hand tightening just a little. “It’s okay to be scared. But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. We can take this as slow as you need to. I’m not in a rush.”

His words were exactly what I needed to hear, but even as he spoke them, I could feel the frustration gnawing at me. I wanted to believe him, I wanted to trust that things could be different this time, but the fear still lingered, a shadow that wouldn’t quite go away.

As we walked out of the restaurant that night, his arm around my shoulders, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions—gratitude for his understanding, frustration with myself for holding back, and a deep, aching longing for the security I so desperately wanted. I knew I had to make a choice soon, to either let go and take the leap, or pull back and protect my heart. But the decision wasn’t easy, and the battle between vulnerability and protection raged on inside me, unresolved.

The tension had been building for weeks, like a tightly wound spring ready to snap. Every time Oscar and I spent time together, I could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. I knew I had to say something, to finally let him know how I felt, but fear had kept me silent. That all changed one evening when the moment of truth arrived, unplanned and unexpected.

And I just wanna hold you all night long

Whenever I'm around you, nothing's wrong I'm hoping that you'll always be around

It was a Friday night, and Oscar had invited me to watch one of his races on TV. We’d done this a few times before, but this time felt different. Maybe it was the way he seemed extra excited, or maybe it was just the way my heart pounded every time I looked at him. Either way, I knew something was going to happen that night.

We were sitting on his couch, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows across the room. The race was in full swing, but I was only half-watching, too caught up in my own thoughts. Oscar, on the other hand, was fully engrossed, his eyes glued to the screen, a smile playing on his lips as he watched the cars speed around the track.

“You’re really into this, huh?” I teased, trying to lighten my own mood.

He grinned, not taking his eyes off the screen. “You have no idea. There’s just something about the adrenaline, the speed… it’s like nothing else.”

I smiled, but the butterflies were back, and they weren’t the good kind this time. I felt a knot in my stomach, a sense of urgency that I couldn’t ignore any longer. I had to say something—tonight.

You got me on a high, I don't wanna come down And I love it, I love it (these butterflies)

Said I love it, I love it (I'm on a high)

Love (And I just wanna love on)

And I just wanna love on you

As the race neared its end, Oscar finally turned to me, his expression full of excitement. “That was incredible, wasn’t it? I swear, every time I watch, it just gets better.”

“Yeah, it was great,” I replied, but my voice was distant, my mind elsewhere.

He noticed immediately, his smile fading a little. “Hey, what’s up? You seem… off. Did something happen?���

I hesitated, my heart racing faster than any of the cars we’d just watched. This was it, the moment I’d been dreading and anticipating all at once. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the words caught in my throat.

“Y/N, talk to me,” Oscar urged, his voice gentle but firm. He reached out and took my hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

I looked down at our intertwined hands, the sight of them together giving me a strange mix of comfort and anxiety. I knew I couldn’t keep this to myself any longer. I had to let him in, or I’d lose my chance.

“Oscar, I… I need to tell you something,” I began, my voice trembling slightly.

Just wanna love, just wanna love on ya (uh, uh) Just wanna love, just wanna love on ya (uh, uh)

Ay, ay (uh, uh)

He squeezed my hand, his eyes locked onto mine. “I’m listening.”

I took another deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “I’ve been holding back… a lot. And it’s not because I don’t enjoy spending time with you—I do. More than I can even explain. But the truth is, I’m scared. I’m scared of what might happen if I let myself really fall for you.”

Oscar’s expression softened, but he didn’t say anything, just letting me speak.

“I’ve been hurt before, Oscar,” I continued, my voice thick with emotion. “And every time I’ve let myself fall, it’s ended badly. I don’t want to go through that again. But at the same time, I can’t deny what I’m feeling. Being with you makes me happy, really happy, but it also terrifies me. I don’t want to get hurt again, and I don’t want to hurt you either.”

And I just wanna know you would catch me if I fall

If you tell me yeah, boy I might just risk it all If you tell me no, it's okay, then I will leave (ooh)

I hope you feel the same, you're the only one I see

I see, I see

The room was silent except for the hum of the TV, and for a moment, I was afraid I’d said too much, that I’d scared him away. But then Oscar reached out, gently lifting my chin so I was looking directly into his eyes.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring, “I can’t promise that nothing will ever go wrong. I can’t promise that I’ll never make a mistake. But what I can promise is that I’ll always be honest with you, and I’ll always do my best to protect your heart.”

My breath hitched at his words, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through some of the walls I’d put up. “I’m not asking for perfection, Oscar. I just… I just need to know that if I take this leap, you’ll be there to catch me.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing gently over the back of my hand. “I will be. And I want you to know something, too—I’m scared, too. Scared of messing this up, scared of not being what you need. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, right? Because what we have… it feels real, Y/N. And I think it’s worth the risk.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I blinked them back, a mix of relief and hope swelling in my chest. “It does feel real,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “And I want to try, Oscar. I really do. I’m just… I’m afraid of falling too hard, too fast.”

He smiled then, a soft, understanding smile that made my heart ache in the best way possible. “Then we’ll take it slow. We’ll figure it out together, one step at a time. You don’t have to do this alone.”

I nodded, finally allowing myself to lean into the feelings I’d been holding back. “Okay,” I said, my voice steadier now. “Let’s try.”

Oscar pulled me into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around me in a way that made me feel safe, like maybe—just maybe—I’d found something worth holding onto. As I rested my head against his chest, I could hear the steady beat of his heart, and for the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice muffled against his shirt.

“For what?” he asked, his hand gently rubbing my back.

“For being patient with me. For understanding.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’m just glad you trusted me enough to tell me how you’re feeling. We’re in this together now, okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered back, my eyes closing as I allowed myself to relax in his arms.

The fear was still there, lingering at the edges of my mind, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming now. For the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could let go of the past and embrace whatever the future held with Oscar by my side. And as we sat there together, the tension that had been building for so long finally began to melt away, replaced by a sense of hope and possibility.

The night after our conversation, I couldn't stop replaying everything in my head. I had bared my heart to Oscar, and instead of retreating, he’d held on, promising to take things slow and be there for me. It was a step forward, but the fear still lingered, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I knew that what happened next would either solidify my trust in him or shatter everything we’d been building.

Just wanna love, just wanna love on ya

A few days later, Oscar invited me over for dinner. He had planned to cook—something simple, he’d promised, since we both knew his culinary skills weren’t exactly top-notch. But it wasn’t the dinner that had me on edge; it was the feeling that this night was going to be a turning point for us.

When I arrived at his apartment, I was greeted by the smell of something delicious wafting through the air. Oscar met me at the door, a slightly frazzled but excited look on his face.

“I hope you’re ready for the best—or at least, the least disastrous—pasta you’ve ever had,” he joked, stepping aside to let me in.

I smiled, feeling a little lighter. “As long as it’s edible, I’m happy.”

We sat down to dinner, and to my surprise, the pasta was actually really good. We laughed and talked like we always did, but there was a new layer to our conversation now—an openness that hadn’t been there before. Every time our eyes met, I felt a warmth spread through me, a connection that was deepening with every word we exchanged.

After dinner, we moved to the couch, the remnants of our meal forgotten on the kitchen counter. Oscar put on some music, something soft and soothing, and we settled in, his arm draped around my shoulders. For a while, we just sat there in comfortable silence, the music filling the space between us.

“Y/N,” he said after a while, his voice low and serious, “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night. About being scared and wanting to take things slow.”

I tensed slightly, my heart rate picking up. “Yeah?”

He nodded, his thumb gently rubbing circles on my shoulder. “I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I meant what I said—I’m here, and I’m in this with you. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

His words washed over me like a balm, soothing the anxiety that had been gnawing at me for so long. But there was still a part of me that needed more, that needed to see if he was really willing to stand by me, even when things got tough.

“Oscar,” I began hesitantly, “I appreciate that. I really do. But… what if things get hard? What if I freak out or push you away? I’m not always good at this, at letting people in.”

He turned slightly to face me, his eyes serious and full of warmth. “Then I’ll be here, waiting. I’m not going to push you to move faster than you’re ready for, but I won’t let you push me away, either. We’ve got something good here, Y/N, and I’m not about to give up on it.”

My chest tightened, emotion swelling up in me. It was everything I wanted to hear, but there was still that small, lingering doubt, the voice in my head whispering that it was too good to be true.

“What if… what if one day you wake up and realize you don’t want to do this anymore? That you don’t want to deal with my issues?”

He shook his head, his expression unwavering. “That’s not going to happen. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you. We’re both going to have our moments—times when we’re scared or uncertain—but that’s part of it, right? It’s not about being perfect; it’s about being there for each other, even when things aren’t easy.”

His words hit me deep, breaking down some of the last barriers I’d been holding onto. I wanted to believe him, to trust that he meant every word. And the way he was looking at me now, with such sincerity and conviction, made it impossible not to.

“I’m trying, Oscar,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to let go of all the fear and just… be with you. But it’s hard.”

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against mine. “I know it is. But you don’t have to do it alone. We’ll take it one day at a time, okay? No pressure, no rush. Just us, figuring it out together.”

I closed my eyes, feeling the warmth of his breath against my skin, the steady beat of his heart against mine. “Okay,” I breathed, finally allowing myself to let go of some of the fear I’d been holding onto. “One day at a time.”

We stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, the silence between us comfortable and reassuring. For the first time in a long while, I felt a sense of peace, a quiet hope that maybe—just maybe—I could trust in this, in us.

As the evening wore on, Oscar pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine. “Do you want to stay tonight? No pressure, of course. We can just watch a movie or something.”

I hesitated, the old fears still whispering in the back of my mind, but they were quieter now, drowned out by the warmth and security I felt in his presence. “I’d like that,” I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I’d like that a lot.”

He smiled back, his eyes lighting up in that way that always made my heart skip a beat. “Good. I’ll go grab some blankets.”

As he got up to gather the blankets, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over me. This was new territory for me—allowing myself to be vulnerable, to trust someone else with my heart. But with Oscar, it didn’t feel as terrifying as it once had. It felt right.

Later, as we lay on the couch, wrapped up in blankets and each other’s arms, I felt the last of my apprehension melt away. This wasn’t about perfection or guarantees; it was about trust, about taking things one step at a time, together. And for the first time, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could really do this.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Oscar murmured against my hair, his voice laced with contentment.

“Me too,” I whispered back, closing my eyes and letting myself drift off into the comfort of his embrace.

As I lay there, surrounded by the warmth of his arms, I knew that this was just the beginning. There would be more challenges ahead, more moments of fear and doubt, but for now, I was content to take things one day at a time, knowing that I wasn’t alone in this journey. And as long as Oscar was by my side, I knew I had something worth holding onto—something real, something that could last.

Just wanna love, just wanna love on ya (uh, uh)

Ay, ay (uh, uh)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚☽˚.⋆ *ੈ♡⸝⸝🪐༘⋆ ‧₊˚ ⋅✈︎ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

OP81 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @evie-119, @asparklysoul, @dhanihamidi, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @cmleitora, @d3kstar

F1 Taglist: @tallrock35, @yourbane, @hiireadstuff, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @donteventry-itdude, @spookystitchery, @dhanihamidi, @decafmickey, @cmleitora, @d3kstar

[jennay]

Love Shouldn’t Hurt

Request: Hi! Since you're really good with sensitive topics, I'd like to ask you a ff with reader x noah. Noah is the first guy reader dated after a toxic relationship (I let you choose of what kind) and she has some trust issues and personal insecurities after being gaslighted and mistreated.

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Noah Master List

Warning: Struggles with past abuse?

An: sorry this is a little short! Hope you enjoy it and thank you for this request. I loved it. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list 💜🖤

You wished you could turn back the clock and meet Noah when you were still whole and unbroken.

You dreamed of the days when you had a pure heart and an open mind, trusted without fear, and loved without hesitation.

You felt like you were offering Noah a shattered version of yourself, which was unfair to him.

It almost cost you your relationship initially when you doubted his sincerity and expected him to leave.

Noah never gave you any reason to feel insecure. Still, you were haunted by the ghosts of your past, telling you that you were unworthy and unlovable.

Sometimes, you felt like you didn't deserve to be happy. You wondered what he saw in you because you couldn't see anything special in yourself.

You thought you were too clingy, anxious, or too much. You felt like a burden or a challenge, constantly struggling with self-esteem.

Noah had a different perspective. He would shower you with compliments and affection every day, telling you how much he admired your strength and resilience and how much he adored your quirks and habits that someone else had criticized or dismissed. He would make you feel beautiful and valued, even when you felt ugly and worthless.

Those negative thoughts still lingered in your mind, even though you had gone through therapy and moved on, and it had been two years since then. They still tried to sneak in and destroy the new confidence that Noah nurtured in you.

When Noah looked at you, he saw his soulmate. He loved holding you in his embrace at night, feeling your body relax against his chest when you were scared or uneasy, knowing he could provide comfort and peace.

He melted every time you reached for his hand in a new situation or when there was a crowd of people around, and your anxiety spiked. You made him feel special without even trying.

"Baby," Noah whispers, caressing your leg with his gentle fingers. "You ok?" His voice is full of concern and love, making your heart flutter.

You shake off the fog in your mind and look at him. You realize where you are. The lake, he brought you to the lake, y/n—your favorite place in the world. The place where you first met him, where you shared your first kiss, where you told him you loved him.

"Yeah." You smile at Noah and move closer to him on the cozy blanket that shields you from the dirt. You rest your head on his shoulder and admire the scenery.

The lake is serene and beautiful, reflecting the light of the sun like a mirror. You watch the small ripples created by the wind, making the water sparkle. The trees surround you with their long limbs covered in green leaves, creating a natural shelter and a sense of privacy.

You breathe in the fresh air, feeling relaxed and peaceful.

"Where were you?" Noah leans back on his hands, eyeing you with curiosity and worry. He can tell when you're lost in your thoughts when something bothers you.

You sit up straight, pulling your knees to your chest like a child caught doing something wrong. You feel guilty for ruining the moment, for not being fully present with him.

He slides his sunglasses to the top of his head, showing you his sincere puppy brown eyes. He doesn't want you to feel like he's angry or judging you. He just wants to understand you, to help you. "You know you can talk to me, right?" He asks softly, reaching out to touch your arm.

You shake your head, "It's nothing," You say, hoping he'll drop it. You don't want to burden him with your problems or insecurities. You want to enjoy this day with him, this perfect day he planned for you. "Do you want to go for a walk?"

You change the subject, looking at the path around the lake.

"Of course." He agrees, getting up and offering his hand to you. He doesn't push you further, respecting your choice. But he also doesn't let go of your hand, letting you know he's there for you whenever you're ready to open up. "My legs could use some stretching." He says lightly, trying to make you smile.

You smile gratefully, feeling the comfort of his hand in yours. You squeeze it gently, thanking him silently for being patient and understanding. You know he loves you more than anything, and you love him too. You just wish you could love yourself as much as he does.

"Did I tell you how fucking cute you look today? Cause if I didn't, I'm probably the worst boyfriend." He smiles widely, showing the perfect smile that you love so much. You swear you can hear angels singing when he does that.

You bite your lip, trying to contain your happiness; you look down at your summer dress, happy you chose what you did. Compliments from Noah felt so genuine like he was seeing something in you that no one else could.

"You didn't, but I don't think that labels you as the worst boyfriend." You giggle. "I think you're a pretty good boyfriend."

"Oh, stop it." Noah blushes. "You make it easy to be good to you." He says, sounding like a cheesy Hallmark card. But you don't mind, because he means it.

You intertwine your fingers with his and hug his arm close to your body, resting your head on his muscular bicep as you stroll along the path. You feel like you're in a romantic movie, except without the drama and the bad acting.

The sun shines brightly, reflecting on the pond where the ducks swim peacefully. "Do you wanna try to catch one of the ducks?" He jokes, his voice full of mischief. "We can give it a nice bathtub home." He says, making a quacking sound with his mouth.

You roll your eyes playfully, "Neither one of us needs that responsibility, and I'm pretty sure it's illegal." You say, shaking your head. "Besides, what would we name it?"

Noah thinks for a moment, then grins. "How about Duck Norris?" He suggests, cracking himself up. "Or Quack Sparrow? Or Daffy Duck?"

You laugh out loud, loving his silly sense of humor. "No ducks babe."

Noah scoffs, pretending to be offended. "I still want one." He says, kicking a small rock with his boot. "You're no fun."

You know it was a joke, and you know he didn't mean it, but the voice in your mind is screaming at you, telling you this was it. He was finally getting bored of you. You have insecurity and anxiety in your chest, making breathing hard. You wish you could silence the voice, but it's too loud and persistent.

He notices almost immediately what happened. He stops walking and untangles his arm from yours, wrapping you in a tight hug and gently rubbing your back.

"I was teasing you." He kisses the side of your face, his lips warm and soft. "I have so much fun when I'm with you." He says, trying to reassure you. He hates seeing you upset and wants to make you happy.

"I'm sorry." You mutter against his chest. You feel tears pricking at your eyes, smearing against Noah's black sweater. You pull away, wiping your eyes. You feel embarrassed and guilty for overreacting. "I don't know why I'm crying." You weakly smile, adding a quiet, small laugh.

You try to act like it's nothing like you're fine. But he can see through your facade. As Noah sees the tears aren't stopping, he pulls you back into his arms and holds you tight.

He gently wipes the wetness from your cheeks with his thumb, looking into your eyes sweetly. "It's ok. I've got you." He whispers, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. Noah makes you feel safe and secure like nothing can hurt you when he's around.

"Promise?" You ask in a small voice, needing his reassurance. You need to hear him say it to confirm he loves you and he won't leave you. You need to believe him, to trust him. He smiles and caresses your cheek, making you feel loved and cherished. He leans in and presses his lips to yours, kissing you with passion and care.

He shows you how much he loves you, how much he wants you. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes. "I promise. You can't get rid of me that easy."

Tags: @thisbicc @yumikitten @lma1986 @chemicallady

[jenyifer]

Dead Friend Forever Ep 10 initial reaction

*wild screaming* this show!!!!!!!! THIS FUCKING SHOW

10/10 EVERYTHING MEANS SOMETHING LETS DIVE RIGHT IN FAM

Photo time

Still wondering about White’s greatest fear. In the preview it seemed like he was in a brothel? He might know Non by a different name? But I believe Tee when he said he doesn’t know where Non is now.

Ohh the imagery here. I am still shocked that Top had that much regret about what happened to Non I doubted that Top was cognitively aware enough of what he did. I think top was the MOST FREQUENTLY drugged. Tan is definitely viewing this mission as his suicidal mission for his brother to atone.

I hate Jin so much idk how anyone can stand him. PHEE THE HELL ARE YOU DOING I HOPE IF NON COMES BACK HE KILLS YOUR MAIN CHARACTER HOLIER THAN THO BULLSHIT.

Phee should feel haunted. I appreciate he gave Tan a place to live but what the fuck did he think was going to happen when they set up this plan? Tan was not doing well.

Ohhhh so after White got with Tee he wanted to actually become friends with everyone maybe Tee wanted to change that he was truly changed by what happened to Non and falling in love with White. I can believe that. Look I’m pro murder in this show. However I’d like it if Tee White Tan survive. Optional on Fluke and Non.

Extremely painful so it is like I suspected with Fluke he went along with the bullying because probably before Non got there he was the target of bullying. I think the amount of guilt he has for Non is sincere. I am worried about his mental state idk how he is this drugged? Maybe Phee injected him? When he was sleeping? I don’t understand 1 how he had the nightmare illusion ep2 or these waking illusions ep10 when Tan and Phee weren’t around him? Yea it’s in the water? But I haven’t seen him drink?

Top is really committed to the bit. A guy wound is no joke though he is bad dead and… now we can’t say any of this was an accident.

Understatement. But!!!!! Notice this people who like Jin. Jin has kept up with the news on Non’s family. He kept being a nosey stalker after non was dead? But he doesn’t believe non is dead. He was halcinating about the teacher while he knew about what happened to Non’s family?! The actual fuck.

I do believe this. I think he had no choice. We know his uncle is currently in prison so it seems like he was able to do something. But White doesn’t know about that? I thought White might be a prostitute with Non because maybe the fear rash was imagined because he feels dirty from what happened to him.

but maybe not… White truly seems to be innocent.

I really like Tee and White I find them much more compelling and interesting than Phee and Jin. I can’t wait to see where things go.

[roadtophantom]

Let your S(e)oul take you where you long to be (v) - Christines, Raouls, and the last of this review

Finally finally fishing my reviews of August 8 and 9 shows (two months later, so embarrassing)

Christine

The first Christine I've seen is Song Eun-hye who showed herself to be a young wide-eyed Christine with a powerful belt (she gave an especially hair-standing Wishing). She was already fearful of the Phantom from the start and for most of the performance and it seemed being agape was her main play of the character until eventually becoming sympathetic to the Phantom (Cho Seung-woo) by Final Lair. It's a bit typical for me and I was looking for more variation, but from what I'm reading from her current performances, she's been even more emotive. I think she's still very much a work in progress but actually off to a good start.

Son Ji-soo reminded me of those 1950s/1960s film actresses with her physical features and the way she sang (very classical trained). That kind of presence hooked me in. At first she showed herself to be an excited Christine who was inspired by singing and apparently by her unseen mentor (giving her a joyful Think of Me and even POTO title song). I like how she uses her hands in her acting especially to reach out to her co-stars (from Carlotta in Il Muto, to Raoul in AIAOY/Notes reprise, and to the Phantom (Jeon Dong-seok) when he's commanding her to leave the lair), I like handy Christines in general. Overall, I find myself leaning toward SJS's Christine as having a more unique impression, but I would love to see how SEH is now.

Raoul

Hwang Gun-ha has...the most unusual Raoul voice I've ever heard. In that it's way too deep. He surprises me each time he sings. Because he looks like this kpop idol but with such a low register, there was somewhat a disconnect. And when he's angry he gets ANGRY. Definitely kept me alert.

Song Won-geun played an ever-reliable Raoul and ticked the boxes of a conventional portrayal. He is the Raoul you'd expect to see, gentlemanly, protective, and heroic, but nothing that really jumps out, it's all by the label.

Notables

Kim Ah-sun (Madame Giry) - She looked the role and sang it well. (sorry kdrama geek out moment) she reminded me of Kim Seo-hyung in Sky Castle who was this tutor from hell, and that kind of gothic stern presence made her a very effective Giry.

Park Ha-rim (Piangi) - Loved this guy's enthusiastic portrayal of Piangi and he is always a crowd-favorite because of how he extends his notes. I like how his character fanboys over Carlotta and actually becomes quietly impressed with Christine during the Don Juan Rehearsals. His was such a dynamic portrayal.

Han Bo-ra / Lee Ji-young (Carlotta) - Han Bo-ra was the comedic Carlotta and Lee Ji-young was the elegant one. Both delightful in their own ways and both worked well with Park Ha-rim with LJY even lovingly coaching him during the Don Juan Rehearsals.

Shin Jae-hee (Buquet) - I like how his Buquet is natural and not exaggerated, he actually seems to be spooked out by the Phantom, too, which makes me feel sorry about his death. Also the corpse is such a deadringer of the actor it's legit terrifying.

Yoon Young-seok (Andre) - Last but not the least, our Phantom veteran is now a manager with possibly an anxiety disorder. It's funny knowing he was the terror who haunts the opera house now he gets easily spooked up and he has his hand to his heart. Such a poor guy, but also cute at times.

No doubt their performances are even better two months after I've seen them so definitely take these reviews as dated. I'm glad the show is going to Daegu but sad that not all cast members are going. This time I look forward to all your reviews!! And I sincerely hope everyone can have a chance to see this masterpiece of a production at the Charlotte Theatre to experience it yourselves.

Thank you so much for reading and apologies for how long it's taken!!

[wonbillion]

❝ i really think it’s awesome. the real you. ❞ 🥰🥰

            source :   prompted   /   status :   accepting .

by now ,   okuyasu knows that reimi is the type to   pour her heart out   without warning or precedent ;   altruism   &   empathy beam from her radiant specter the same way   daylight   pours through a crack in his curtains ,   glowing against his skin in a warm caress .   everything she says   &   does hails from a place of love ,   &   in a number of ways ,   this defining aspect of her feels devastatingly familiar ;   the kind ,   gentle eyes ,   the genuinely tender smiles ,   the words of affirmation   &   encouragement   ━━━━   it registers like something ,   someone ,   he once knew .  

    he cannot bear to think about it ,   now ;   though he fears   forgetting her   more than any of life’s horrors ,   perceivable or otherwise ,   there’s an ache that comes with   remembering ,   too .   he does not wish to show reimi his grief ,   his sadness ,   because she has enough of her own ,   &   okuyasu does not wish to burden her beyond what she has already been forced to carry .

    but maybe she already knows .   she must see the weight slung across his back ,   too ,   the   cruelty   he’s navigated as long as memory serves him .   she would be able to see it clearer than anyone .   hence ,   her words engender bewilderment :   how could the ugly ,   tangled mess inside him be anything awe - inspiring ??   sure ,   he’ll be   damned  if it ever gets him down for long ,   if it’ll stop him from living   the best fucking life he can make for himself ,   for his loved ones ,   but there are times he craves to surrender to the void ,   to be swallowed by the same   lightless abyss   that claimed his brother .   okuyasu won’t allow that to happen ;   if he’s got   anything ,   it’s stubborn resolve .   but he knows it would be easier ,   &   that haunts him enough .

    “   didn’ know there was a   fake me ,   ”   he mutters .   it’s meant to be lighthearted ,   a joke ,   but it leaves him a bit more soberly than he intended .   it isn’t like he was ever smart enough to craft some intricate persona to make himself more compelling ,   more charismatic ,   more   [   . . .   ]   worthy .   “   i’ve never been th’ best at talkin’ about my feelings ,   or anythin’   [   . . .   ]   ya know ,   sentimental ,   ”   okuyasu explains ,   blunt nails scraping thoughtfully against his scarred face .   “   it always turns into a big mess ,   &   i feel like nobody even gets what i’m tryin’ to say .   ”   he hadn’t really had anyone to have those kinds of conversations with ,   before josuke .   before koichi .   before reimi .   but now that the opportunities are plentiful ,   he realizes he’s   unrehearsed   at navigating the   wild west   of all he’s been holding in .   “   but ,   i think   [   . . .   ]   i dunno ,   i guess it’s a lil’ easier to show that side of me around you .   ’cause i know you understand .   more ’n anyone else ,   anyway   [   . . .   ]   ”

    the   heat of embarrassment   starts to plume from his collar ,   magma   clawing its way up a volcano .   that same hand that had scratched his cheek in an   uncertain habit   palms his face ,   tail - less brows scrunching inward as an   innocent frustration   extinguishes his desire to delve any deeper into this topic .   “   i really don’t know what you mean ,   reimi ,   ”   he tells her ,   though it’s not entirely true .   it’s just hard to acknowledge ;   he’d never doubt she’s being sincere ,   it seems that’s all she ever can be ,   but he simply can’t fathom that her words are true .   a reeling dissonance .   after that ,   the alley is quiet ,   much like it usually is ,   but the haunting emptiness is not present .   they’re here together ,   after all .

    “   you might have t’ explain it to me .   i ain’t that smart ,   ya know .   ”

[existentialmagazine]

Review: Blending shoegaze and alternative-rock, the upcoming artist Monsonic shares his new poetical release ‘The Wind’, an embrace of life’s freedom

Oklahoma City-based project Monsonic fuses the digital chaos of human experience through his more poignant and poetical lyrics. With moods that leap from melancholic angst to love, Monsonic sonically blends noisy/industrial/alt-rock with cleaner shoegaze and lofi elements in a way that surprisingly works effortlessly. With his upcoming album ‘In Between’ set to release later this month, Monosonic’s rich atmospheres and songs that tell all-too relatable stories will soon be available to all - but for now, his newest from the album ‘The Wind’ is yours to listen to.

Hazy, lightly reverberated electric guitar strums and steady thudding beats open up the soundscape for ‘The Wind’, a fitting daydream-esque setting of sound that’s just as free and natural as the wind itself. Pushing into the first verse, the instrumentals continue their easy-going sway with a more protruding impact, centred around continued guitar strums, drum beats, haunting backing vocals and later added bright piano keys that are laced with an optimistic undertone when the sound otherwise feels more safe and familiar. Floating through this serene sound, Monsonic’s rich spoken-sung vocals are drenched in a thoughtful emotional resonance, burying his every conflicting thought into one softly spoken narrative. From the lower toned depths to his gliding high peaks, ‘The Wind’ incorporates both the light and the dark of it all, a sincere and raw unravelling that urges you listen deeply for the time it holds your attention. Without a noticeable chorus in its lack of repeated lyrical lines until the outro, ‘The Wind’ evolves quite uniquely as it flows through your headphones, focusing on delivering intricate layerings of sound rather than something seeking to be commercial. This is particularly evident in the final minute or so, falling into more heavily distorted sounds, noisy and industrial whirs, gritty guitar strings drawn-out and clashing drums, a severe shift from what once was and yet so welcome in the sound. From its more shoegaze and lo-fi beginnings to its’ alternative-rock feeling concluding parallel, ‘The Wind’ is just as multifaceted as nature itself, unpredictable, always changing and delivering a slice of joy even in the rain.

Written as a love song of sorts, Monosonic writes of the difficulties that come with releasing freedom and trusting that the wind will carry you where you are meant to be. The opening line ‘feeling like I’m giving to the wind, something I won’t get back’ deeply portrays these reservations, lingering in his decision of commitment and that of allowing someone else inside a life he had cultivated alone. These internal battles are persistent throughout, asking questions like ‘is my pride such a sin? Or am I coming from a place of lack’, attempting to work through his misguided emotions and internal barriers that limit the love he has to share. The importance of this lover still shines through the doubt in lines like ‘couldn’t quite sing it without you, do you really even give a damn?’ , knowing the value they bring to his existence and yet still unsure if they are genuine in return. As Monosonic sings ‘I don’t wanna give myself away’, you almost start to wonder if he can free himself from these shackles and live life to the fullest, held back by fear of failure or losing himself in the process. But knowing deep down to have faith and trust the guidance that comes with letting go, later lines like ‘would you ever take my hand, into the wind wherever it blows?’ offer a newfound perspective before the song’s closure, knowing that wherever he proceeds forward he will always have their continued love and support. As he delves deeply into the human experience in both self-discovery and spiritual clarity, ‘The Wind’ is a song likely to resonate with most in some way, whether it be venturing out of your comfort zone or letting someone in with trust it will all work out.

Check out ‘The Wind’ here to enjoy Monosonic’s diverse soundscape and thought-provoking lyrical depths!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[murdertoothpick]

hi! i noticed you haven’t done any smut fics for echo,

so may i request one with him and a f!reader where there’s fluff and mutual masterbation, the rest is up to you!

mutual

Echo x fem!Reader; request says it all hehe | w/c: 2021

Warnings: mutual masturbation <3 scomp link vibrations ;) fingering, handjob, very explicit, shameless writing. 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

A/N: IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE,,,, lo and behold, my first attempt at smut for the man that deserves the entire world <3 oh and i don’t really know what canon is so echo still has his dick here i guess

You whine against Echo as he captures your lips again, pinning your body down under his weight and preventing you from taking your private time any further.

'Echo,' you keen against him, hands clawing at his shoulders to grab his attention, 'I need you.'

He releases your lips to take in your expression: eyes blown wide with parted lips that softly inhale and exhale just like every other time he pulls away from your mouth.

His eyes search for any reluctance or anxiety in yours, simultaneously trying to gather his thoughts—except, those doubts and pervasive fears are what you end up reading from him. When he doesn't respond, your face falls in embarrassment.

'Fuck - Echo, I'm sorry. We don't have to if you—'

Echo shakes his head in a reassuring smile, the turn of his lips doing a somewhat decent job at hiding the gleam of sadness in his eyes. He gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek to tell you its not your fault.

'I want to,' he admits, pressing his forehead to yours, 'believe me, I do. It's just - it's been so long.' His eyes are screwed shut, as if embarrassed to admit his lack of experience in recent years. He hadn't gone that far since before the Citadel.

You know it's not his fault and you know better than to press further in the moment. He didn't ask to have his autonomy and his mind violated the way the Separatists had sanctioned; a crude 'rescue' that would only haunt him every time he shut his eyes. Sometimes, you're not sure that he knows that.

'S'Okay,' you whisper in earnest, gingerly rubbing circles on his back, 'like I said, we don't have to.'

He babbles a string of apologies into your skin, none entirely necessary because you understand. '—I want you to feel good though. I just...I don't know where to start. Don't know if my body works as well as it used to.'

And you absolutely want to melt. Your heart aches for this man. He's so beautiful, and sincere, and so compassionate that you can't help but think, I'm gonna marry him someday. It's you that wants him to feel good. Neither of you wants to rush things as you find your footing as a couple, but you're both willing to take steps forward together. Even if they are slow. You trust him, and he trusts you.

It's reciprocated; the trust, the care, the love. It's mutual.

You have an idea.

'Okay...' you watch out for his reaction warily, unsure about how he might take this. 'What if you watched while I...touched myself,' you whisper, as if a teenager discussing some sort of taboo, 'I can show you what I like.'

Echo stills against you, and those few seconds are the longest you've ever experienced as you hold your breath in anticipation.

'Yeah,' he breathes, 'I'd like that.'

He moves to sit on his hunches between your legs, but the shift of his body weight brings his attention to the erection growing in his blacks. He groans at the pressure brought by the bunching of fabric at his hips in the change in position.

'Can I—' he begins, but you're already cutting him off with an affirmative nod.

'Sir, yes sir,' you drawl in a sultry voice.

Echo—now eager and excited in light of your recent proposition—begins pulling your pants and underwear down your legs, his hand and scomp link dragging along the skin of your outer thighs on the way down. Your legs twitch with the feel of his fingers and cool metal, and the quirk of his lips tell you he's doing it on purpose.

Maker, your legs are wide open for him.

After freeing you from your bottoms, Echo shifts to remove his. 'I'm just gonna...' he mutters awkwardly, undoing the zipper of his pants and tugging them down just low enough for him to take out his cock. He holds it in one hand, looking at its length over your naked pussy. He wonders how you'd look with him inside you, and whether he'd be able to see how deep he reaches in the form of a protruding bulge in your stomach.

Yeah, he can't wait to fuck you.

He just needs to do proper research first. And research takes time, not that he's complaining.

Echo thumbs the tip of his cock, spreading a bead of precum as a show for you, teasing both you and himself. He looks back to you, his fingers slowly beginning to move up and down his member as he asks, 'You gonna show me how you like to be touched, mesh'la?'

Kark - he's so hot, you think to yourself, voice gravelly and deep and so incredibly arousing. You're already wet and all you've done is make out with him.

You hum, reaching an arm down to your clit. 'My pleasure,' you feign composure despite practically aching to be loved by him, and then you begin to rub slowly at your clit at a pace matching his.

Cock still in his hand, Echo leans down over you, connecting his mouth with yours as you continue your ministrations. You can feel his length ghost over your assaulting hand as he presses his body against you and pushes his tongue between your lips. He thrusts languidly into his fist, his hips positioned in a way that his length brushes your pubis and hand with each small thrust, moving as if he's fucking you.

But before you can begin to imagine how karking good it'll be when he's finally inside you, Echo pulls away, grinning with your desperate whine.

'I'm supposed to be watching you, remember?' he chuckles, and then inhales sharply when his eyes drop to where your fingers are. You're dripping, and the dry fingers at your clit tell him that you haven't even moved past those circular ministrations yet. Your pussy is begging to be fucked.

Unfortunate for you, Echo is a patient, patient man.

His hands continue their rhythmic movement up and down his cock, the pace still slow to prevent himself from finishing before you do. But fuck, he'll be damned if he manages to last that long.

Echo smiles down at you. You're panting as your fingers still focus on that sensitive bud. He manages to suppress a groan as he speaks, voice sounding with authority, the question being more of an order than a request, 'Can you fuck yourself with your fingers for me?'

You wordlessly nod, your hand abandoning your clit and dipping lower to the entrance of your cunt, the hole already lubricated enough for penetration, despite how small your fingers may be.

Echo watches as you push two fingers inside you, his jaw flexing with restraint as your eyes flutter shut with the intrusion of your digits. He cannot stop the groan that escapes with your small cry.

'Kriff - Echo,' you hiss, wincing as you finger yourself, undoubtedly imagining your fingers were his strong, thick ones instead.

'That feel good?' he urges, huffing loudly as he takes the opportunity to move his hand faster around him. Your moans incentivise his pleasure.

'Yeah, I - kark - I think you'd feel better though,' you moan in the throes of pleasure.

Oh, you wicked women.

Echo growls, watching as your fingers squelch in and out of you. Your legs have grown tense on either side of him, and his mind runs wild in trying to imagine what you would look like when you cum.

He doesn't have to though, not when you're approaching that edge right in front of him.

Your other hand, previously gripping the sheets, snake down to your abandoned clit, and then Echo gets an idea.

'No,' his scomp link comes into play, and you almost cry when he pushes your second hand away, assuming he's trying to prevent your orgasm.

You couldn't be more wrong.

You yelp when the brush of your fingers is replaced by his scomp link, so cold and just so much.

And then he turns it on.

'Oh - Fuck!' you yelp, legs spasming as his cybernetic begins vibrating, absolutely unrelenting against your bud.

Echo grits his teeth. His hips involuntarily meet the pumping of his fist around his cock as he chases his high alongside you. With the other arm, pushing you closer to the edge, Echo applies just a little more pressure against your clit, the low rumbling of its vibrations doing little to contest the loud noises of your fingers pumping in and out of you, giving way to your wanton moans.

'You like that?' he growls, rutting his hips closer towards you, and from where you're looking up at him, you can just imagine his cock nestled between your legs and threatening to split you apart.

'Mmm yes!' you mewl, 's'good Echo, fuuuuucckkkk.'

Your legs spasm with a loud cry as you achieve that euphoria. Your hand tires out, pulling out of yourself with a sticky mess at your fingertips, but Echo's scomp link, still stimulating you, prevents you from riding out your orgasm to a conclusion, drawing it out just a bit longer.

When you finally regain control over your body, you sit up shakily, bringing your upper body closer to Echo's. Your other hand, having contributed little to your release, manages to creep to Echo's length, brushing his fast-moving hand as you whisper to him, 'Let me.'

Echo lets out a strangled cry as his head drops into your shoulder, nodding to give you permission. Your hand replaces his, quickly resuming the harsh and fast pace he had set on himself.

But this, this is so much better. Your hands are softer and smoother and kark- does it feel like heaven. All he can think of is how good your hand works him up and down, and whether your pussy is as soft as the rest of you.

He has the best orgasm he's ever had right there.

Echo groans loudly into your skin as he cums. Your pelvis becomes painted and practically stained with his seed. His cock twitches with your slowing movements.

And when he pulls away, he catches the gleam of his release as it drips down between your folds, mixing with yours. His eyes remain fixed on your sex. You're absolutely spent.

You exhale against him, the soft and oh so comforting noise pulling him out of his reverie. Your words waver as you regain control over your vocal cords. 'Was that okay?'

Echo's eyes snap to yours, looking at you in shock as if he's short-circuiting and unable to process your question.

You smile shyly at him, continuing. 'It was good for me.'

Echo returns to you then, eyes comically growing wider as he considers the sincerity of your compliment. When he confirms in his head that he heard you right—with the way you look at him with all the adoration he holds for you and the prettiest smile he's ever seen—kissing you is the only way he wants to respond.

He brings your lips to his again, his hand thumbing your cheek in gentle strokes as he just holds you there, in the quiet and intimate space where it's just the two of you.

You smile stupidly when he releases your lips. 'A simple Yes would've been fine,' you blush.

He rolls his eyes at you, prompting you back onto your back before he's laying his body on top of yours, careful that his cybernetics don't awkwardly press against you. You don't mind though, even if he is a little heavy. But you kind of like it. That despite all that hardness to his exterior, both physical and metaphorical, that you're allowed to see him at his softest, and lucky enough to be at the receiving end of his love and care. Something that does not waver despite all that's happened to him.

'Better than okay,' he finally responds, words filled with all the conviction in the world. 'Thank you.'

You hum in content, wrapping your arms around him and tracing patterns over his back to lull him to sleep.

taglist: @baroclinicinstability @kybacrystal @perpetual-fangirl900 @teletraan-meets-jarvis @foodandbooksplease @proadhog @sageislostinspring @dwarfplanet69 @ahsokatano-thetogruta @loth-wolffe @dinbeskarbaby @the-dreamy-mermaid @diagonallie5400 @thotlympics @dolphincommander @99squad @bb-8 @ladykatakuri @shuttlelauncher81 @moonstrider9904 @14mcmd1122 @hobiiwan

[legolasbadass]

A Lifetime Apart [1/3]

Artwork by the lovely @gwen-ever​

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Summary: Thorin meets his One while still a young prince in Erebor, but their lives are torn apart by their families and the arrival of Smaug. 

Based on Alice Tynan’s interview with Richard Armitage in ‘The Vine,’ this fic was inspired by @gwen-ever’s wonderful art for the @tolkienrsb 2021! 

Warnings: Angst. Seriously guys, this is really angsty, get your tissues ready. (gwen and I are not sorry lol)

Rating: T

As always, the fic can be read on AO3. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 

There is a room in Erebor, a secret place where once their love bloomed in peace. All the memories of that place, where he held her and worshipped her with his lips, were forever engraved in his mind. It was there that, after months of struggling with his feelings, he had realized she was his One.

All Dwarves know that Mahal sometimes creates two of his children from the same stone, bonding them for life. Of course, not all Dwarves marry. Even those granted this honour by their Maker do not always choose to marry, for some value friendship above all other bonds, while others devote themselves to their craft. Still, as a young boy, Thorin had hoped Mahal would deem him worthy, and every night he had dreamt of the moment he would meet his One, conjuring their likeness like an artist who paints a picture and gives it life.

He had also wondered what it would feel like to meet his One. Would he know immediately? And how would he know? Perhaps it would be like in those romance novels his sister liked so much. A tender, all-consuming look from across the room, silently reassuring the other that they had found each other at last.

Perhaps due to long hours in the council chamber, Thorin had become more of a realist as the years went on. He always had to be on his guard, and he learned quickly that he could not trust his desires, for they could be manipulated by advisors and enemies alike. Romanticism was fine for artists but not for princes. The idea of a destined love became no more than a child’s fanciful dream, and Thorin grew gradually less opposed to the concept of an arranged marriage until the thought of it did not bother him at all. After all, his parents had been married for a political alliance and had still grown to care for each other. Thorin knew he would do the same.

At least, that was what he had told himself before he met Rúna, his dear Rúna.

He did not know immediately that she was his One, but from the moment their gazes met, he knew he would never again be the same. Her presence had so bewitched him that he had not realized he was walking toward her until she stood right in front of him. Then, stumbling over his every word, he had thought himself defeated, oblivious to the fact that she felt the same indescribable pull toward him.

“Thorin, at your service,” had been his first words to her.

“Rúna, daughter of Ragni, your highness,” she had replied with a curtsy, enchanting him all the more with her melodious voice.

“I hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Rúna.” Already, he had loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“More pleasant than you, at least, seeing as you have found nothing better to do than stare at me from across the room,” she had replied teasingly.

Blushing furiously, he had attempted to remain formal and composed but, ultimately, had failed miserably. “I had hoped that would go unnoticed, or at the very least, that you would humour me and pretend like nothing had transpired. And just because I was watching you does not mean I am not having a pleasant time. On the contrary, my spirits were lifted by the sight of your fairness.”

Thorin could still remember the beautiful blush that had painted her cheeks. “Forgive me,” he had said hastily. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she had replied with the most enchanting smirk.

That was how their conversations usually unfolded. Thorin, who always prided himself on being in control and always knowing what to say, would find himself barely able to think. He blamed her low-cut gowns and the redness of her lips for that.

They soon became inseparable. Every day, they would meet in their secret room, a haven where they shared stolen kisses and soft caresses. Âzyungel, she would call him, for she, too, had accepted Mahal’s will. She had accepted Thorin as hers, and in those moments, both of them had believed nothing would ever separate them, for they were destined to be together.

Deep in the caverns of his mind, a voice called out to Thorin, warning him against the intensity of his passion, but he did not listen. He found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times, and she haunted the nights he wished he could spend with her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile and heard her laughter, clearer than the soft splashing of water against limestone rocks.

What would it be like to spend his whole life with her, his Rúna?

Thorin thought with utter surety that he would soon know when they announced to their families their intent to wed. At first, everyone was overjoyed. Rúna came from a wealthy and respectable family, so the king had no objections to his grandson’s choice — not that any of that mattered to the couple. Ale and Dorwinion wine flowed freely as the news travelled through the mountain. The prince had chosen his princess.

Thorin and Rúna welcomed their families’ approval, but they secretly longed to be alone once more. When at last they found themselves in the comfort of Thorin’s chambers, they drank some more wine between languid kisses, committing the moment to memory. Fingers braided hair then caressed the skin they hastily revealed, their cheeks tainted with the soft glow of love.

That night, like their hearts forever bound, their bodies became one. Thorin was gentle, attentive to her every need, and even afterwards, he continued to bathe her in tenderness, scattering kisses all over her skin as they murmured promises of eternal love to each other, bodies entangled.

Rúna fell asleep to the soft lullaby of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and though she never doubted for a second his sincerity and devotion, those promises were never fulfilled.

Rúna knew they should have been patient, and although she was usually very sensible, she had not known how to resist her handsome prince, especially not when his body had promised her glorious passion, now and for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was not as though premarital relations were unheard of. However, princes had to follow much stricter rules. And these rules had been carelessly ignored. And as the days went on, Rúna knew she would not have the luxury of keeping their transgression a secret, for inside her bloomed the product of her and Thorin’s love, but also the cause of their demise.

Even if it had not been for her growing belly, her morning sickness and alarmingly fluctuating moods would have given her away. And they did. She had never seen her parents so furious, and their disappointment pierced her heart. Her father shouted about her stained reputation and their ruined bloodline, leaving her in tears as she tried to scramble away in search of Thorin even as she knew it was hopeless.

She knew they would separate them.

King Thror, with the support of Thorin’s parents, banished Rúna from Erebor, never to see her beloved again. She tried to fight them, indignation festered inside her like a poisoned wound, the unattainable promise of Thorin’s love shattering her heart into a million pieces, but it was hopeless.

They did not inform Thorin of this, for it was their firm intention never to let him know about the bastard child. Instead, they told him she was bedridden while they conjured up a more permanent plan. And so, unaware that his One had been taken from him, Thorin brought flowers to Rúna’s door every day. He hated every moment he was forced to spend away from her — it felt unnatural — but he consoled himself by thinking that they would spend their whole lives together.

Then the dragon came.

Thorin had been out hunting in the woods with his siblings when a strong wind began to rattle the treetops. Then a roar like thunder split the sky, and the blood of Thorin’s veins froze when he heard a shout from afar.

“Dragon!”

Rúna.

Without so much as a glance at his companions, Thorin bolted toward the mountain, fear clogging his throat.

Refusing to believe this was real, he did not even stop when the gates loomed above him, riddled in flames, but the screams piercing his ears grounded him to the bitterness of reality. The air was wrought with the stench of burning flesh and the sorrow of a broken people. All around him, children cried in fright, and mothers wept while the distant ringing of useless steel announced their defeat.

No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since; a betrayal Thorin never forgot. Even if there had been survivors still clawing for breath inside the mountain, they had no means to reach them.

Rúna.

Thorin searched for her everywhere, shouting her name until his lungs burned, but when the moon appeared, and she was still nowhere to be found, Thorin knew it was hopeless. Grief crashed over him like a hurricane.

He had lost her.

He wanted to tear the sky open and demand retribution from Mahal himself, but all his remaining strength he used to remain on his feet. He had to be strong for his people — what remained of them. His family had miraculously survived, but even that could not have filled the gaping hole where his heart had once beat.

Rúna, his dear Rúna. The memory of her lips against his turned to ash in his mouth. When he had last kissed her and held her, he had done so thinking he would have a lifetime to keep loving her. But she was now no more than a memory.

He forced himself not to think of that, for his people needed him now more than ever. Only once he was finally alone did he let his tears run free, and all through the night, he sobbed into his pillow, his only comfort the memories of their secret room, untouched by fire and blood. Thorin held onto those memories all through the years, never forgetting, never forgiving.

—

Khuzdul translations:

Âzyungêl: Love of Loves (used here to refer to the Dwarven belief in a single, destined soulmate)

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @mcchiberry @bitter-sweet-farmgirl​ @i-did-not-mean-to​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

[kyunniebuns]

Tw: childhood trauma, slight bit of anxiety

Hello, if you don't mind, could you write romantic comfort headcanons for Childe whose s/o has certain behaviours that indicate someone has hurt them in the past? For example, they tense up while thinking about the person who hurt them, and they have little to no interest in daily activities? Thank you (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

(Please delete this request if it makes you feel uncomfortable!)

A/N: Dw it's absolutely fine! More Childe Anon Req Comfort coming right up for you anon! And I’m sorry I dun really get that part with the “Little To No Interest” thing, I’m not confident about my comprehending skills so AAA I’m so sorry;((

Trigger Warnings!: Mentions of anxiety!

ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 𝚡 𝙶𝙽! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣: Mᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴇs Oғ Cʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ Aʙᴜsᴇ

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕖 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

.     　﹢　˖    　✦      ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸.    ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　 ｡　☆　　　ﾟ ＊ 　 ｡　☆ ✦˖

Perceptive as ever, eleventh of the Fatui harbingers. He knew something was wrong the moment he noticed your habits. 

He wont confront you about it, he’ll wait until you tell him yourself. It’s not good asking someone something blunt and it might lead to further misunderstandings. He wont rush you, Childe trusts you.

However, if he notices that is a bit severe, he wont hesitate a tad bit to step in.

But what alarmed him a lot was when he started to notice your face paled immediately. He just blinked and there you were- Standing with a look as if your soul was sucked out of you.

He immediately took action, he brought you somewhere private to sit you down. Childe will accompany you.

Tartaglia will try to divert your attention towards something else, he’ll start talking about his work. If that’s not working, he’ll rub circles on your back or trace his finger on your scalp. 

He’ll sometimes get up to fetch something to drink,.. Or maybe you want some comfort food? That’s fine, he’ll be back quickly with the tidbits you need.

He is really a patient one, he’s from a big family. He knows that it’ll take time before you tell him. 

And it’s fine by him, as long as you know that you’re not alone it’s alright.

However, once you do start telling him what’s wrong, his eyes immediately darkened in a dangerous why.

‘They...Did what?...To You?...’ His face, although composed- His insides were churning in absolute hatred and loath.

So this is why you are like this? This is why you have little to no interest in almost anything? This is why?

Tartaglia wanted to hunt down whoever did this to you and teach them a lesson.

Wounds may heal but the scars left behind engraves into the soul of a person and changes them drastically. Even the sightest cut can even discreetly change someone, what more if it’s more than just a wound?

“Y/N, babe, look at me” Childe softly cooes, removing his glove and cupping your cheek. “I’m here”

His cerulean blue orbs locking with yours as he rubbed his thumb at the back of your hand.

“ They’ve hurt you in the past, so that’s done. I know you’re scared because it’s now a scar inside you.” Childe said, his eyes not faltering to look at yours. “However I’ll help you heal.”

His gaze, firm and honest. Sincere and loving.

“I’ll help you move forward, I swear nothing can ever hurt you ever again” He pressed further, but not in a startling way. “You’re strong. Maybe you’ve heard this before, maybe you’re tired of hearing it- But I do not care. The broken can be fixed. There’s nothing beyond repair. You can start anew and I will be there with you. Every step, as slow or as fast as much as you’d like. I’ll match your pace. I will never let you be alone ever again.”

Childe made sure your eyes are locked on him and him only, so you can see him sincer he is right now. So you can see that this is a promise he will forever keep.

“I’m not going to tell you to just forget about it, no, saying that would just be like getting stabbed and getting told to just stop bleeding” He says. “It’ll take time for you to heal and it doesn’t matter to me.”

“The one who suffered from the past is you, the one dealing with the scars is you. However, the one who will heal from it is also you. You are no longer alone, I’ll say it as much as it takes to have you know that there is someone you can lean on when your anxiety comes attacking you. That someone is me,Y/N”

That’s right, you’re not alone. No matter how much you feel so unwanted and haunted by the past, remember that somewhere- someone is more than willing to give you a shoulder. Someone out there is more than willing to lead you to a tomorrow with no traces of melancholy.

Childe is willing, willing, to do it all for you. You matter to him so much than anyone would ever think, he’ll kneel down for you and you only. A villain, a hero, it doesn’t matter how anyone else sees him. It’s just you and the state of you now matters. No matter how many fears you have, he will comfort you. No matter how many scars you hide, he will help you heal from them. No matter how many tears you shed, he’ll wipe them for you.

You wont ever suffer from anything alone anymore now that he is here. It’s an oath of his now that nothing will ever bring you any harm ever again.

So just trust him, dont doubt him. There no strins attached behind him, there are no black intentions behind this. He is sincerer than he ever was. 

Take his hand and heal. No matter how hard it is, it’s fine. He’s there. 

[kodzumie-archived]

❝FIRST TIME❞

Synopsis; What their first time would be like.

Featuring; Kokichi Oma, Mikan Tsumiki, and Nagito Komaeda x GN! Reader

Warning(s); (N)SFW, loss of virginity, submissive characters, experienced reader, implications of previous sexual abuse (Mikan), and established relationship.

➤ KOKICHI OMA

⤷ Due to his playful and joking demeanor, his first time would be alleviated of the tension it could’ve potentially had, easing him into the moment.

⤷ He’s likely to crack a joke or two. It’s not much but it’s certainly enough for him to feel comfortable amidst such a foreign intimacy.

⤷ Truth be told, he’s nervous; so very nervous and blinded with anxiety. But he’d never tell you that, and if you attempt to gauge the truth you’ll merely be smothered with an array of lies; he’s never going to admit it.

⤷ Despite his inner turmoil and anxieties, his visage appears collected to you. As a liar, he’ll go through hell and back in order to make sure he looks capable of what he’s doing.

⤷ Though his façade surprisingly dissipates once he’s the one being pleasured. As you run your fingers along his body, cascading further until you reach his most sensitive of areas, his expression will contort to that of distress laced with curiosity.

⤷ A curiosity that you indulge in as though you were sipping the delicacy of a mere cocktail; flushing yourself with the remanence of such a sugary drink.

⤷ He’d originally claimed that as the Ultimate Supreme Leader, of course, he’d had sex before!

⤷ And truthfully, you didn’t bother to disprove his claims. After all, you acknowledged that if he didn’t want to admit it, that was fine. Just like it was fine if he was being truthful of having experience.

⤷ But from the way he falls apart under your hypnotic grasp, your fist clasping over his cock and pumping him at a moderate pace, spreading the precum the crown oozed along his shaft, you began to suspect yet another fib from the infamous liar.

⤷ Interestingly enough, he’s sensitive; so very sensitive. Every ghost of touch will leave him gasping and whining feverishly for more; for an abundance of your love and carnal care.

⤷ Kokichi is a vocal individual. He’s never been known for being the quiet type. He’s a bustling radiance of pure, unhindered chaos, and this doesn’t change from within the sheets either.

⤷ Grunts and groans are only uttered from between his lips when he still gives enough of a shit to hide his sounds, biting his bottom lip to suppress his pathetically voiced ecstasy.

⤷ But once you both truly start getting more into it, he begins to lose himself in the pleasure. Ghostly touches turned into hungry—no, starved—grasps and squeezes. Fleeting kisses of delicate desire now suckle of lips and teeth against each other’s skin as you’re both plunged into the unmistakable clutches of lust.

⤷ His grunts melt into moans; the very same moans that bounce against the walls of your shared bedroom and dissolve into breathless pleas; pleads to go faster, harder.

⤷ His front as the Ultimate Supreme Leader is long forgotten as he succumbs to his wants—his needs—shamelessly begging for more; begging for your touches.

⤷ His pride was swallowed long ago, long before you bucked your hips, pushing him closer and closer towards his climax. His sobs, moans, and whines flooding your ears as he practically sang your name as though it were a mantra.

⤷ Whatever dominance he attempted to display had been long-forgotten as he writhed from beneath you, peering up at you with a clouded gaze. Curses of fuck, fuck, fuck as he was driven to the edge, crying out as he came.

⤷ If you thought he was sensitive during your session, then the aftershock of his first shared orgasm had left him seeing stars at every minuscule movement.

⤷ He looked the most fragile you’d ever seen him as he stuttered out a yelp as you assisted him in cleaning up. A blush residing on his cheeks—flushed countenance—as he watched you with a swirl of newfound love in his eyes.

⤷ If you invested further attention to the way his lips contorted into a warm, sincere smile, it’d have proven fatal to your heart; melting your composure as you peered at his gentle expression, one that was reserved solely for you.

➤ MIKAN TSUMIKI

⤷ It’ll take a while for her to engage in such a thing, honestly. She’s incredibly hesitant and overthinks every possibility of how she could ruin the moment, giving you yet another reason why her pitiful self was not worth your time.

⤷ Not to mention that most of her presumptions on sex have been based on trauma involving sexual experiences.

⤷ She’s terrified, not only from how she could possibly upset you with her clumsy antics and inexperience but from the act itself. She’s afraid to be so vulnerable. To be laid bare in front of you was enough to spike her anxieties.

⤷ She trusts you, she swears she does. But she doesn’t trust herself to be so exposed. Her view of herself tainted with insecurity and constant doubt.

⤷ Fear is instilled in her as the haunting thought of being not enough; failing to meet your expectations. She knows she shouldn’t think this, you’ve told her countless times that she’s more than enough for you.

⤷ But the thoughts don’t diminish that easily, a lesson she’s had to painfully bear as each degrading thought pierces through her heart with malicious intent.

⤷ It’s a constant turmoil between wanting to swallow back the bile of self-doubt and insecurity to pursue your mutual wants, but the chains of fear are almost unbreakable. Almost.

⤷ Because one day, what started out as nothing more than a make-out session had resulted in discarded clothing, suckling of skin, and lust-filled gazes.

⤷ Everything was a blurred array of desire and haste. Feverish kisses to muffle needy whines as things progressed so fast.

⤷ She wanted this, she really did. But as your hands began to wander down, familiarizing yourself with her body through playful, teasing squeezes, she couldn’t help the anxiety that resurfaced.

⤷ Would you be satisfied with what she has to offer? Would she be able to please you? What if she hurts you? What if you end up hurting her? But you wouldn’t do that, would you? What if she—

⤷ Her train of thoughts is interrupted by the sound of your voice, tethering her back to reality where your concerned gaze meets her as you ask her if she wants to continue.

⤷ She expected disappointment, she expected even the possibility of anger within your gaze and words. But she found no such thing. Rather, she found worry; concern; genuine care for her wellbeing.

⤷ It wasn’t much, a simple question and the interlocking of eyes. Yet, strangely enough, her hammering heart seemed to calm as her anxious thoughts stilled.

⤷ Perhaps it was the realization that you really cared for her that eased her worries. But regardless, she felt considerably stable than when she did moments prior. Her shaky hands managing to steady themselves as she gripped your shoulders with a timid smile, admitting she’d like to continue.

⤷ You didn’t return to your ministrations for a moment, instead, you peer into her eyes in search of doubt. But once you found none and felt assured that she truly did want this, you pressed your lips against hers for a delicate kiss; whispering an I love you against her.

⤷ Mikan’s heart nearly melted as she smiled, feeling so unbelievably calmed with the most minimal of reassurances. It’s truly one of the millions of reasons she loves you so much; you can ease her worries with such skill she’s convinced you’re the Ultimate Stress Reliever.

⤷ You peppered her body with kisses, following up with a swipe of your tongue and a suckle to mark your claim; the bruises forming scattered bringing a greater flush to her cheeks.

⤷ Her pleas were muffled as she attempted to silence her moans in fear of releasing a sound that you weren’t pleased with.

⤷ But you’re quick to notice what she’s attempting to do and you settle your domineering gaze upon her, the dark glint in your eyes nearly pulling another moan from her, one that she quickly swallowed back. Yet you protested, assuring her that you want to hear her.

⤷ She apologizes, an apology you didn’t allow to be voiced as you bite against her sensitive area, to which her apology was cut off by a yelp.

⤷ Though you eased the bite as you swiped your tongue over the mark, kissing it softly as an unspoken sorry.

⤷ Mikan couldn’t help being so vocal. Every kiss, every suck, every touch, every word muttered forced some sort of sound to spill from her lips. Squeaks, mewls, moans, and even sobs.

⤷ The symphony she provides within the bedroom was one that she assumed she’d be shamed for. Yet you did no such thing. No matter what, you continuously go against the horrors she presumes and shower her in endless bounds of affection.

⤷ Even whispering a sultry you sound so pretty into her ears before brushing your thumb over her clit, drawing out yet another raspy mewl that you claim to adore.

⤷ In the heat of the moment, you smothered her with your praise and care as you made sure she understood the extent to which you loved her; to which you adored her.

⤷ So much so, that she faintly giggles in remembrance of how nervous she was before doing this with you; before indulging in such a lewd act with you.

⤷ But as you’ve always proved to her, any moment shared with you is one to remember; one to cherish.

⤷ And as the two of you approach your oncoming climax together, she smiles through her moans as the bubbling of euphoria erupts within her heart; at that moment, she couldn’t be happier.

➤ NAGITO KOMAEDA

⤷ He’s beyond hesitant; reluctance paints his every move as though he were nothing more than a canvas doused in hues of doubt.

⤷ Despite whether or not he’d been yearning to engage in this sort of intimacy with you, he wouldn’t dare initiate it. His faltering in pursuit due to his negative views of himself.

⤷ He genuinely believes that you don’t want anything to do with him and that touching his worthless, filthy body would disgust you so unfathomably. He fears your rejection, and thus he avoids any possibility of it; he thinks he was already pushing his luck to be in a relationship with you.

⤷ Therefore, you were the one to bring it up to him. You’d asked him of whether or not he’s experienced; if whether or not he’s ever shared an intimacy such as that with another.

⤷ But this question tugged him into a fog of self-pity and humorless amusement. He’d strung together a tangent on how it’d be a miracle if anyone would want to do something like that with scum like him.

⤷ Of course, you weren’t going to allow your lover to put himself down like this. Going back and forth, you continuously declined his claims stating that anyone to do something like that with him would be so lucky.

⤷ At that, he finds something; a flicker. Perhaps it was a flicker of hope that’d planted a seed within his roots of doubt; hope that maybe—just maybe—you’d want to commit such an erotic act with him.

⤷ But he didn’t allow his hope to seep into his words, instead, he cast his gaze towards his lap, falling silent.

⤷ It was then that amidst the silence you had decided that enough was enough, and the amount of stalling you’d done on asking him was ludicrous in contrast to how the two of you were so keen on communication within your relationship.

⤷ Your words hung in the air as a drawn-out mutter, your voiced innermost wants seeping into the atmosphere as you avoided his gaze; would you ever want to do it with me?

⤷ The moment he registered your words, he choked on his spit and whirled his head to meet your eyes with an expression of pure shock.

⤷ He truly couldn’t believe his ears, perhaps his luck had duped him once more and he heard the wrong thing. Eventually, that was what he settled on because, truthfully, he couldn’t believe that he’d heard those daunting words of wishful desires that he’d suppressed his yearns for.

⤷ So he asked you to repeat what you said, the aftermath of his shock dissipating as he assumed he’d simply heard you wrong. Oh, how surprised he was when he heard you utter the same words; would you ever want to do it with me?

⤷ Nagito’s senses felt overwhelmed at that moment. His heart continuously swelled and fluttered at the realization of your words, his ears imaginatively rehearsed your words—fleeting whisper—as though they were lyrics to a catchy tune, his eyes trained on the nervous visage you sported.

⤷ He parted his lips only to close them; he was at a loss for words. What does he say? What could he say?

⤷ Honestly, the shock of your willingness to do something so scandalously sensual with the likes of him was a pill he struggled to swallow.

⤷ It was almost as though he was within the confines of a lucid dream, a dream of great pain, if so. He couldn’t believe it, you actually wanted to make love with him. Him, of all people.

⤷ Realizing that he was taking far too long to respond to the question that clearly took a lot of nerve to voice, he nods his head almost frantically. A blush painting over his pale complexion.

⤷ At his nod, a smile tugged at your lips as you toyed with the hem of your sleeve; a habit Nagito has come to cherish. It was a peculiar tick of yours, yet one he couldn’t help but find adorable.

⤷ To his nod, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. Your intentions had been clear from the delicacy of the kiss; it was fleeting, a mere show of your relief and affections.

⤷ Yet as you began to pull away, his hand finds itself residing at the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. This time, it was bundled with passion, unvoiced declarations of devotion.

⤷ The kiss was hasty, a great contrast to what you’d originally meant to initiate. But with the way you feverishly returned his sloppy kisses, you didn’t mind the change of pace.

⤷ It was spontaneous; spurred in the heat of the moment. What began as a soft kiss drastically melted into heated, sweat-glazed bodies pressing against one another; both bare, vulnerable.

⤷ He could feel your chest against his as his heart hammered within his rib cage. He wondered if there was the slightest possibility that you could feel it pulsate, beating for you; his love.

⤷ But despite how far you two had managed to go, naked and dissolving into each sloppy kiss the other engages in, there was still the burdening inkling of doubt; hesitance in every single movement of his.

⤷ Even as his fingers squeezed and rubbed over your skin—grasping at all that he could—there was still that searing fear instilled within him.

⤷ He was scared; so very scared. He was terrified that you’d come to your senses eventually and register the mistake you were in the process of making; letting scum like him commit such a lewd act with you.

⤷ He feared the worst; rejection. And as you pulled him in for another kiss, you could taste the bitter reminisce of uncertainty; of reluctance.

⤷ And you’re painfully aware it won’t be relieved in the span of a mere hour. Nagito’s self-degradation is stemmed from his nearly nonexistent self-worth. The only fragments of such a thing that he possesses are due to your frequent proclamations of adoration towards him; smothering him in compliments.

⤷ But it’ll be a long while before he would ever truly understand his worth; for him to understand that he’s not as lowly as he makes himself out to be.

⤷ So, as he stutters in movement, his hands flinch upon settling on your hips, look convincing himself he was treading amongst forbidden territory.

⤷ The words spilled from your lips without a hitch in beat, your smile accompanying each syllable as you meet his eyes. A sheen of sincerity glimmering in your hues.

⤷ You wanted him to know that you’re doing this with him because you want to, you chose him for a reason. You wanted him to believe that he meant so much to you and that even as you cradle his body against yours, you hold him closest within your heart.

⤷ He was not something for you to throw away once used. This wasn’t the hit-and-go scenario that he fears your intimacy may transpire to be.

⤷ With every declaration of your love for you, your longing for him, your genuine attachment to him, he reclined from your body, his vision blurred with tears in which he attempted to stop.

⤷ Rubbing at his eyes in a futile attempt to hide his tears, a stuttered sob escapes from between his lips. And eventually, his cries seep out akin to a waterfall; the tears wouldn’t stop, his sobs wouldn’t cease, and his heart wouldn’t stop hurting.

⤷ You allowed him to let it out, to let go of the emotions he’d bottled that were long overdue. You gave him what he rightfully deserved; a moment to be vulnerable, to feel human.

⤷ Pressing delicate kisses to his cheek, you kiss away the stray tears as you laid him down, straddling him.

⤷ You continued pressing your lips against his plush skin tinted with rose as he flushed beneath your ever-so gentle care. With every kiss, you whispered a compliment taken straight from the confines of your heart; sincerity within anything you muttered in infatuation of him.

⤷ Your lips continued to travel, pressing against the crevices of his body. The heated compassion of your kisses paired with your praise threatened to bring forth another round of tears from the affection-starved male.

⤷ But you were more than willing to fill in the gaping hole of his heart in which was yearning for love; for some sort of worth.

⤷ You’ll prove to him that you truly love him. You truly care for him with the entirety of your heart, and you’d appreciate him wholeheartedly. Even if it takes years, you’ll push forth and reach that fateful day together.

⤷ And as your body continued to press against one another, whines of lustful desperation swirled with adoration smothering the air, the glaze of love within your eyes had never faltered.

⤷ Even as lust intertwined with the concoction, you never lost the look of genuine care within your gaze. And not a moment passed that Nagito wasn’t peering at the hypnotic sight.

⤷ His eyes fixated on the love in your eyes as the bubbling of another emotion—other than his oncoming climax—blossomed within his stomach.

⤷ Hope; he was familiar with the concept. His rants of such a thing often accompanied by you listening intently, something he found himself falling harder for.

⤷ But as he acknowledged the love in your eyes—the pure devotion of your heart to him and solely him—he felt hope; hope that he could one day understand that feeling towards himself; hope that perhaps he wasn’t a mere throw-away, a stepping stone to others; hope that he can one day shed his hesitance and plunge forward, sure of himself.

⤷ As the two of you finally reached your climax, hands intertwined, your gasps synchronized, Nagito felt hope. And for as long as you stayed with him, he was hopeful that he, too, can truly understand the way you value him.

⤷ But for now, he dissolves the thought and settles for wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to his form. Right at that very moment, he felt euphoria; exhilaration. You wanted to do this with him, you wanted him, and he was happily yours.

[midnightmoonkiss]

All For You.

Villain! Midoriya Izuku X Reader

Summary: You didn’t ask for this, and yet he gave you the same sick gift again and again. You hated him.

WARNINGS!: blood, death mentioned, dark themes

Category: Angst

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

A/N: Was listening to “If I killed Someone For You” and.. I think it fits Villain Deku perfectly.

Just To Clarify:

You’re both adults

Izuku has OFA

He is not necessarily a yandere

You live alone for a reason

Frigid water poured steadily from the faucet as he rinsed his pale hands, turning the water crimson as it washed down the rusted drain of the medical sink.

The room was dark, the only light being a flickering candle that dripped white wax onto the concrete floor below.

The handle creaked as he turned off the water, a soft sigh slipping past his chapped lips.

Stray droplets broke the silence of the room.

It would have driven anyone else insane.

Dull green eyes stared into a mirror, the dirty surface reflecting his disheveled appearance. 

Blood stained his clothes, smudging against his freckled cheek.

His green hair was a mess, once slicked back with gel now all over the place from his habit of running his fingers through his hair when frustrated.

It certainly wasn’t the look he was going for.

Two knocks sounded on the other side of the metal door closing the room off, the noise echoing in the nearly empty room.

Inhaling deeply, the man fixed his hair up with wet digits best he could, only after he finished did he notice his forest green tie had splotches of blood on it as well.

He giggled to himself as he fixed it, tightening it up to his neck. 

It looked festive.

Turning around on his black leather heels, he looked over at the bloodied corpse tied up in the corner, all life completely drained from its opened, bloodshot eyes that were once filled with curiosity.

“You know…”

He whispered to it, 

“If you hadn’t been so cruel to my beloved, you wouldn’t look so fucking disgusting right now.”

His dress shoes clicked against the floor as he made his way to the large door, knocking thrice in a particular pattern.

It unlocked with a loud clink, and he was out of the room that once held two very alive people.

He didn't like soiling his clothes or getting his hands dirty, but whenever it came to you, he was willing to do anything.

Midoriya Izuku was a dangerous man, and he wasn’t afraid to bare his teeth and leave a lifeless body behind him.

He’d done it before, he’d do it again.

Though he was exhausted, he didn’t let it show. The dark circles under his eyes have been there since he was a child, they didn’t give away how he felt anymore.

“I’ll be heading out.” 

He stated, voice low and challenging, daring any of his subordinates to object.

“It’s raining…” One brave soul spoke up from the back,

“I know.” He could smell the asphalt from here, as well as hear the thumping of raindrops on the metal roof five floors above the basement they were currently in.

He took his time climbing up the metal stairs, pulling his black leather glove from the pockets on his slacks and slipping them on.

They prevented fingerprints, and they were quite warm.

..

..

..

The rain was unexpected, leaving you completely soaked all the way down to your shoes as you fumbled with your keys. 

You just wanted to get inside, undress, relax in a bath, and go the fuck to sleep.

Today was far more stressful than it had to be, considering your bitch of a boss decided to skip work today without telling anyone - leaving you in charge during the most hectic time of the month.

You were freezing and both mentally and physically exhausted, and what was pissing you off even more was how this was the third time you dropped your damn keys.

Your fingers were numb as you shivered, hard to grip the slippery keys.

You felt like crying victoriously when you finally got the door unlocked.

Slipping your dirty heels and soaked pantyhose off, you dragged your feet through the house, making your way to your room without the use of a light switch. You were too tired to fumble around for it.

Inside your room, you shrugged off your coat and unbutton your white blouse, making your way to your dresser for a fresh pair of clothes.

It was a Saturday, and knowing you had the day off tomorrow was like a sweet kiss.

 “(Y/N)..” 

You froze, body no longer shaking just from the cold.

That voice.. It haunted you.

Once so sweet and kind.. now all you could associate it with was the stench of gunpowder and the coolness of a blade.

You could see his silhouette in the mirror, his tall, dark figure beside the window you hadn't noticed was opened.

Bile burned your throat, you didn’t want to be near this man ever again. 

You were foolish to think you had escaped his reach.

“I’ve missed you..” He drawled, sincerity threading itself through his words as he took a step towards you.

“Really?” You huffed, “I don’t miss you at all.”

“I know you do,” 

He was behind you before you could blink, the frightening sparks of his quirk sending chills down your spine as they lit the room in a green glow for just a moment.

You were trapped against the dresser, one hand pressed against the mahogany wood, and the other slithering dangerously around your throat like a snake that could strangle you at any moment.

You gulped, breath stuttering as you fought to stay calm.

His chest was pressed to your back, his figure towering over you.

He always made you feel so small and helpless.

“You reek of blood..” The scent burned your nostrils.

Soaked green locks brushed against your cheek as he pressed his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your perfume that drove him crazy.

He had purchased the same scent a while ago, his sheets were covered in it. He could never get enough

“And you smell delicious, my love.”

“Don't call me that-!” You spat through your teeth, venom in your voice only making him smile against your clammy flesh.

You reminded him of an angry mouse.

“And why’s that?” His voice was always so deep and dripping with authority. 

His thumb and forefinger gripped your chin, pulling your face to the side so that he could look into your mesmerizing (E/C) eyes. 

They were like a drug to him, heroin that he shot into his veins every time he had the pleasure of looking into them. 

Even if all they held was fear and disgust, they were still so beautiful to him.

You didn’t answer.

He sighed.

Looking down, you noticed the red blood on his collar, the sight making you gag. 

He no doubt had more on his person, and yet he was pressed against you. 

You wanted to throw up.

“Who was it.”

The question hung in the air, and he found himself not wanting to answer it.

“Midoriya, who was it.” Your voice shook, tears blurring your vision at the thought of him torturing another person because of you.

You tried so hard to keep away from people.

You cut contacts with all of your friends and moved cities to keep them safe - hell, you hadn’t even dated after what had happened with your last lover.

He ruined everything.

He stalked you like a predator, and you clearly had nowhere to run and hide.

You would forever be caged like a pet, and your own pathetic attempts to fight back only ever made him smile even wider.

That smile used to bring butterflies to your stomach, and now it just made you nauseous.

To him, it was a game. 

The game of seeing how long until you break and give into him.

He’d let you run ‘free,’ act as though you can fight against him.

He adored that spirit of yours, but he knew that it would break some day.

He couldn’t wait.

You’ll be completely his one day, not that you weren’t already.

Looking into his eyes, you somehow knew who it was.

Shame burned your veins.

Your boss..

Even if he was cruel to you, he had a family.

“Don’t cry, (Y/N)..” Izuku whispered, fingers falling from your chin to brush away your onslaught of tears, “I hate it when you cry..”

“You always make me cry, Izuku!” Sobbing out loud, you fought to get away from him, though it was useless you couldn't help yourself from trying.

“I hate you-! Mph!” 

Your outburst was silenced by his fingers, two digits knuckle deep in your mouth.

You choked around them, cringing at the taste of leather.

Sniffling, you breathed loudly through your snotty nose, tears stinging your cheeks.

“I don’t like it when you talk like that..” He muttered darkly, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You were afraid of him. 

You always were.

 It was like there was an invisible knife pressed against your neck, slicing into your skin and daring you to try and speak again.

His forehead fell to your nape, and you stood there in silence for a while, the pitter patter of rain doing next to nothing to soothe your nerves.

It felt like time had stopped in the silence, like you were waiting for your own death.

“You’re soaked..” He commented, pulling away, saliva dripping down your chin as he finally pulled his fingers from your mouth.

“No..”

That made him chuckle, the sound making your skin prickle.

“You were going to take a bath, right?”

Despite being a murderous villain, Izuku still treated you with an ounce of respect, never once looking down at your exposed chest despite a large mirror allowing him to do so.

You hated how he was a gentleman despite everything he’s done and will continue to do.

“You should get out of these clothes.. You’re going to catch a cold.” 

And you hated how he fretted over you.

You hated everything about him.

The faint sound of sirens pierced the atmosphere, not too far away but getting louder and louder every second.

“I suppose I better take my leave, my love,”

“Don’t call me that..” You repeated meekly under your weak breath,

“I’ll see you again soon..” He turned around, pausing for a brief second, “but you won’t see me.”

He somehow always made your skin crawl without even having to touch you.

Biting your lip, you whipped around, ready to scream at him, only to see nothing.

He had already left.

And yet..

You knew he was never really gone.

You wished you never met him.

[mckennamayfairgoode]

Show Me the Foothold From Which I Can Climb [Part One]

Billie Dean Howard x Reader

Word Count: 6k

Request: i saw that your requests were open and i wanted to ask if you could do something for billie x reader, i LOVED your other one. -requested by anon

Warnings: Nothing yet, except minor character death, but it will get VERY heavy later on. (Future TW include: addiction, alcoholism, grief, depression, suicidal thoughts.)

A/N: I’ve spent too long working on this, so I decided to break it up into parts and post it instead of going back over the same scenes again and again. I’m not sure how many parts it will be. Probably three or four. A big thank you to @lucyintheskywithxanax​ as usual for being my plastic duck. You are The Best (no, really, you are). ❤

Song: Mountain at My Gates by FOALS. Also mentioned is I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) by The Proclaimers.

“Let’s take five minutes, okay? Sorry, everyone, they’re being stubborn today.” Billie smiles apologetically at the camera crew and the sight of it alone is enough to ease the mounting frustration in the room. Shoulders relax and tension melts away as if the atmosphere hadn’t been stifling just moments before. You call it ‘The Billie Effect.’

“Five minutes and we’ll try again,” the director agrees, giving the crew the go-ahead to take a break. There’s a spattering of pleased murmurs before everyone uses the opportunity to disperse around the house or go outside for some fresh air.

You adjust the camera on your shoulder and watch as the director walks up to Billie, his hands moving in animated gestures as he speaks. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can imagine. The long day has not made him any more pleasant to be around. The smile on Billie’s lips is charming as she attempts to sooth his ruffled feathers. It only takes a moment, one hand resting on his shoulder to make the interaction seem more intimate than it is, before he turns away from her with a satisfied expression that makes something inside you tug unpleasantly. Once he turns away from her, Billie’s bright expression falls and her brows pinch together. 

You wait for him to walk away before easing up to her side, eyeing his back as the distance between you grows. “Was he giving you trouble?”

“He’s the director of the show, Y/N,” she points out and when you turn to her, you see that her smile has returned, beautiful and real and just for you. Your heart seems to breathe a sigh of relief.

You shrug the shoulder not currently occupied by a camera. “Yeah, well, without you there wouldn’t be a show,” you remind her, annoyance clear in your tone.

Billie laughs, low and husky. “Easy, tiger.” She wraps a hand around your bicep and runs her thumb along the edge of your shirt sleeve, barely dancing across your bare skin and shooting tingles up your spine.  “Everyone has their part to play, even him.”

You roll your eyes. “It’d be easier if he played his part somewhere else,” you mutter.

She grins, her big brown eyes dancing with amusement. You watch that familiar teasing glint bleed into them like wine stains into a beige carpet.  “Careful there, sweetheart. I’m starting to get the impression that you care about me.”

“And I’m starting to get the impression that you want me to care about you,” you retort playfully, watching the pleased smile morph her beautiful face into something soft and sweet. No one gets to see her like this. No one but you. That smile only lasts a second before her shoulders tense, just barely, just enough for you to notice. Her gaze flicks to the side. You’ve been around long enough to know that she’s feeling or seeing something you can’t. Your voice softens into a soothing tone. “Everything okay, pretty woman?” 

Billie startles, her grip tightening on your arm as she steadies herself before she flashes you a comforting smile. “Just fine, sweetheart.” She raises a slender hand and with one long acrylic nail extended, points to a spot in front of you both. “I can feel them right here, but they won’t come out.”

You both look at the space like your combined staring power will overwhelm the spirits and force them to reveal themselves. You don’t realize how close you’ve drifted to one another until you go to nudge her shoulder with your own. “They will,” you say. 

The darkness in her eyes eases at the conviction in your tone. She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?” she asks. “We’ve been here for eight hours and have nothing to show for it.”

You resist the urge to move a wayward curl back behind her ear.  “You’re Billie Dean Howard. No one can resist you.”

Her smile turns sly. “Not even you?”

You turn to face her and feel your heart stutter. She’s already looking at you, her eyes warm and tender. “Not even me,” you finally say, your tone leaving no doubt that you are dead serious. The space between you is so small your noses would brush if you tipped forward. There’s a split second where you think you might kiss her. If you weren’t in the middle of a haunted house surrounded by your coworkers, if you were alone, and if she was looking at you like she is right now, maybe you would lean in and wipe that sly smile from her face with your lips. 

“You ready, Billie?” A masculine voice startles you both out of the moment causing you to jerk away and take a step back from each other. Billie is elegant and composed as usual, but your heart thunders in your chest like you are a storm splitting open the sky. You glance at her lips. Had she been leaning in too? 

Billie gives the director a nod before turning back to you. The intensity hasn’t left her eyes. You search them for a moment, find the sincerity there and anchor to it with your heart. A slow grin spreads across your face and you nod to the starting marker on the floor. “Come on, pretty woman. I promise to get your good angle.”

She scoffs, an amused expression lighting up her face. “You always get my good angle.”

“It’s not the only thing I plan on getting,” you flirt. “Maybe if you’re lucky I’ll prove it to you later.”

Billie laughs and tosses her wavy curls back. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweet thing,” she purrs, trailing her fingertips along your shoulders as she passes behind you.

You watch her go and know your expression must be lovestruck. Her presence always makes you feel weightless, a bird’s wayward feather in free fall. You think you might be able to float to the ceiling if you tried.

“You don’t really believe in this bullshit, do you?” a voice asks over your shoulder. You glance behind you to see your new assistant standing there looking perplexed and bored.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting the camera on your shoulder. “Why are you working here if you don’t believe it?”

He shrugs, following you to the mark and standing behind you. “Needed the experience,” he says simply.

You look into the viewfinder, adjusting the angle and shuffling until the sunlight streaming in from the living room window carves highlights into Billie’s cheekbones. She looks like a marble sculpture, like she belongs in the Louvre and not this haunted house in southern California, like she will be cemented in time, beautiful and endless. “Stick around,” you tell him. You pull back, look over the top of the camera, and lock eyes with Billie from across the room. “She’ll get them to show. She always does.” 

--

“Holy shit.” Your assistant's voice comes out in a breathy whisper, barely audible over the rattling sound of wheels rolling along the pavement.

You grin but resist the urge to snicker, because you’ve been there before. Skeptical and unsure, drawn to Billie of course, in awe of her smile, but not a believer in anything you couldn’t physically see. Then she had brought a derelict house to life with light that was not natural and shadows that liked to play pretend and you had watched her speak to someone whose presence you couldn’t even feel. That moment had changed you. 

Once upon a time, you had been so very small and fearful of the things you did not understand. Locked in your castle and warned away from the room at the end of the hall, you were protected, but sheltered, and your world had been so very small along with you. Until one day, you met a princess with golden hair and big brown eyes, who was kind and good and could see things you could not. 

The princess had taken you by the hand and led you to the end of the hall where she cracked the door open so that you could take a peek into the room you were not allowed in. Inside that room was a darkness and in that darkness was a glimmer of something bigger than you. You’d tugged at her hand to ward her away from the things you feared, but she stood tall and faced the darkness head on.

“Don’t be scared,” she’d said. The princess turned on a light - you think it came from within her - and the darkness shrank back, twisting into shadows that held out their spindly arms but could not reach you no matter how hard they tried. She looked at you and she smiled. “I won’t let them hurt you,” she promised and you believed her. You were a mountain and you were not afraid of anything. 

“You’ll get used to it,” you say, reaching the studio van and gesturing for him to help you load the equipment cases inside. 

He doesn’t look like he believes you. In fact, he looks like he might lose his lunch right there on the sidewalk. He wouldn’t be the first who couldn’t handle a glimpse of the other side. Ignoring it won’t make it go away, but you don’t say that. Instead, you latch the doors behind you, bid him goodnight, and meander down the sidewalk in the direction of your car. 

You watch the van’s tail lights disappear around the bend for only a moment before Billie’s soul inevitably calls to yours and you turn to look for her. She’s still standing on the front porch speaking with the homeowners. Not surprising. Billie hates to leave a job half finished. She nods her head empathetically, places a hand on the man’s arm, and says something charming no doubt. The couple laughs in response, just as you knew they would. No one can resist Billie Dean Howard. You lean back against the hood of your car, tuck your hands into your pockets, and wait.

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes later, she struts toward you like she’s on the red carpet and not a cracked, chalk-covered sidewalk in the middle of the suburbs. Your heart flounders in your chest like a fish on the deck of a boat and you wonder if you will always be this helpless when faced with her presence. “Hey, pretty woman.” You nod to the road behind you. “Wanna go for a drive?”

“And where would you be taking me on a Friday night?” Even across the distance, you can see the mischievousness in her expression. Billie loves to play games, and you are more than happy to indulge her.  

You reach in your pocket for your keys, absentmindedly playing with them as you grin. “Sorry, I can’t tell you that. Try again.”

Billie slows to a stop in front of you and tilts her head, eyeing you with a barely concealed smile. She tries to look stern but the glitter in her eyes betrays her. “What are you up to, Y/N?”  

You shrug. “I’m just keeping my promises,” you say simply. You reach over and open the passenger door for her with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits.”

--

“We’re here,” you announce, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind you. 

Billie follows you at a leisurely pace, her head turning this way and that as she takes in your surroundings. She looks out of place up here, like a beautiful porcelain doll left in the middle of the woods. She is your diamond in the rough, your supernova in an empty sky. She burns. You wonder if it’s for you.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” you respond, already knowing the question that will leave her lips.

“Why have you brought me to a cliff?”

You laugh and hold out your hand. “Do you trust me?” you ask, serious despite the light tone to your voice.

Billie does not hesitate. She sets her well manicured hand in yours, looks you in the eyes, and says, “Always.”

You have to swallow the lump in your throat to respond. “Good, because I was going to drive us both off the cliff, but there’s a concrete barrier in the way. We’ll have to go on foot and just jump off instead.”

She chuckles, low and throaty in just the way that makes your spine shiver. “Oh, darling. I’m going to need some incentives if you’re going to make me do all that in these shoes.”

You smirk and, mindful of her expensive heels, begin leading her down the smoothest path to the cliffside. “I’m sure I can come up with something.”

“I’m sure you can,” she purrs. Her hand in yours is soft and warm. You have held hands before. Large hands, small hands, the hands of those you love and hands from a distant past that you haven’t held for a very long time but still remember. There had been fingers wrapped around a thumb bigger than yours, hands clasped palm to palm as your brother helped you cross the street, pinkies interlocked to cement promises that would surpass time and age, fingertips pressed together beneath the table in the library with the girl who always laughed at your jokes. They were not like this. Holding this hand felt like coming home. Like you were meant to hold it. Like you have held it before.

As you near the aforementioned barrier, you turn to her with an impish smile. “Close your eyes,” you say.

Billie quirks an eyebrow. “I don’t usually do that on the first date.”

Your heart jumps, excited, happy, hopeful. “You let me bring you to a cliff on our first date?” you ask, playfully appalled.

Her smile grows fond. “It’s starting to grow on me.”

You bite your lip to quell the grin forming and tug at her hand. “Come on, the incentive lies in what will happen after you close them.”

“Well, how can I resist when you put it like that?” she teases, shutting her eyes and trusting you to guide her the rest of the way. You do, one careful step at a time, until you are near the edge. You look out over the view and feel your soul untangle itself from your heart, but it does not leave, not yet. It wants to be free, but it doesn’t want to go alone. 

You glance back at her, just a moment, maybe just to check that she’s real and not a vision that lives in your head. “You can open them now.”

She does. 

From a bluff overlooking the city, you watch as the sun sets, a jeweled crown that settles itself on the head of a skyscraper, radiant and eternal. Just for her. For the princess in your fairy tale. Almost as if you had willed it into existence all by yourself, lights start appearing in the city. Streetlamps, headlights, lights from offices and businesses and apartments; all of them blink on, one tiny speck at a time, until the whole of Los Angeles is alight with stars of their own making.

You don’t say anything and neither does she. You don’t need to. Billie’s fingers slide between your own, more intimate than any night you’ve spent in bed with another woman, and she squeezes. Just once. Your soul follows the invisible thread between your hearts and entangles itself with hers. They float away together like flower petals on a summer breeze.

You turn to her as she looks off into the horizon. Your eyes follow the shape of her face, from her forehead to the gentle slope of her nose, the curves of her mouth to the jut of her chin, and you wish you were tracing it with your fingertip instead. The setting sun casts a glow to her hair turning it different shades of molten gold and pink and you think you have never seen a more beautiful sight.

When she turns to face you, your eyes meet and your noses touch, much like they almost had earlier that day. Only this time there is nothing stopping you from closing the distance. Your breath hitches, your heart thunders, you are a feather in free fall, but you will not be afraid. Billie would never hurt you. Not your protector, your safety, your light.

You tangle your free hand into her hair and pull her close enough to brush your mouth against hers. It’s soft and tender, flowers grazing in a moonlit meadow, the gentle fluttering of a butterfly’s wings, the ocean lapping against the sand on a lazy, summer night. 

Her other hand reaches for your cheek, pulling you closer. You melt against her, breathe her in, think maybe this is what happiness is, maybe this is what eternity would feel like as long as you are with her. She sighs into your mouth like she has been waiting for this moment as long as you have. Your soul ignites as her nails graze your cheek, gentle and revering, like you are precious, like you are important, like you are the flower petal that may float away.  Maybe you fell in love with her then. Maybe you have been in love with her all this time.

--

“Hello?”

“Hi there, sweet thing. Where are you?” Your tired ears perk up at the sound of Billie’s voice, a smile lighting up your face as if it had been waiting just for her. 

“Hi, baby. I’m at the studio going over the footage from yesterday. Are you still at the interview?” You glance out of the nearby window. Night has already fallen and rain pelts against the glass like a swarm of angry bees. “It’s late.”

“It ran over by two hours,” she explains, her voice tight and clipped. 

You furrow your brows. “You don’t sound happy about that. Did it not go well?”

You hear the flick of a lighter. “If you call four hours of talking in circles ‘well’ then one would say it went perfectly fine.” She sighs. “Maybe I was just impatient.” 

“For what?”

“For you.” Your breath catches in your throat. You almost trip going down the stairs but manage to catch yourself in time. “Y/N?” 

“I’m here,” you manage to say. 

You can practically hear the smirk in her voice. “I’d like to see you tonight. What do you think?”

Heartbeat thudding in your ears, you finally reach the main lobby and come to a stop in front of the studio doors. Thunder rumbles through the building, shaking the glass and seeming to bounce off empty corners to echo back at you. You can barely see the street behind the sheets of rain. Maybe Hell has finally frozen over and Los Angeles is in the midst of a hurricane. “I’m thinking it’s the perfect night for a movie and takeout,” you say once you’ve gained control of your vocal chords.

Billie exhales. The sound of it wavers; she’s smiling. “My place is closer; is that alright with you?”

“Yes, of course,” you respond and hope you don’t sound too eager. Even though you are. Even though all you want is to see her look at you with that exasperated fondness that makes your heart melt. You want her to push you away, to laugh, to pull you right back in before she kisses you senseless. You just want to be home.

“Good,” she pauses and you can picture that fond expression in your head as clearly as if it were right in front of you. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, trying and failing to soothe your expression into something calm and collected. “See you soon, pretty woman.” You don’t even bother putting on your jacket before dashing outside into the torrential downpour.

--

Traffic in Los Angeles is always congested at best no matter where you go. Cars, taxis, and buses stay bumper to bumper until you get further away from the city and closer to Billie’s suburbs. The rain makes it hard to see the road, let alone other cars, so you keep your hands tightly gripped around the wheel and maintain a steady pace as you follow the bright yellow shape of the taxi in front of you.

Even with the storm raging around you, you feel invincible, like nothing can touch you. Thunder rumbles in the distance, lightning cracks the air, and rain pelts the roof of your car like lead bullets, but you don’t hear any of it. Your mind is a paradise and it is so quiet. Your thumbs tap rhythmically against the steering wheel as you sing along to the song on the radio.

“But I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more-”

You let the music sweep its way into your very being, washing over you and bringing with it a sense of peace. It makes you think of Billie and you realize you’re never not thinking of Billie, not anymore, not since she planted herself in your earth and lit up your night sky with a blazing sun. It feels like she has intertwined herself so closely to you, to your heart, to your soul, to your spirit, that you are no longer sure where she ends and you begin.

Captivated by her smile, enraptured by her kind heart, drawn to the passion that runs through her veins in lieu of blood, lovesick, lovestruck, love, love, love. Every little memory you make with her anew blinks on like a star in a sunset painted cityscape and you want to point your finger in its direction and tell her the tale of how a princess - with light embedded in her soul - saved you from your castle.

You’re thinking about her still when you notice the taxi peel off into the next lane. You don’t see him until it’s too late. 

A boy on a bike.

He darts in front of you out of nowhere or maybe he had been there the whole time and you just couldn’t see him in the rain. You see him now. Time slows down to a crawl - or maybe it never slowed at all; maybe you have been on the other side all along. 

He’s wearing a blue jacket. You notice it as your foot slams on the breaks, as you twist the steering wheel to the side in an attempt to swerve around him, as your car’s tires screech and slip against the rain-soaked street. It’s navy blue. You hear the sickening thump it makes when you hit him, feel the car jerk as you crash into a utility pole and the airbag knocks you in the face hard enough to make you black out for a second. Maybe two. You’re not sure. All you know is that when you finally summon the strength to open your eyes again, you’re assaulted by the smell of chemicals from the deployed airbag that burn your nostrils when you breathe. Your body aches from where you slammed against the seat belt on impact, your face, your chest - your heart, you think - but you can barely feel it. You are numb.

You blink rapidly to clear the dark spots from your vision, but all it does is serve to make you dizzy. Your head spins, feeling much like the inside of a snow globe after it’s been shaken up by an overeager child. With panic churning  inside you like a hurricane, you claw at your seat belt. Your fingers are shaking and clumsy and they don’t seem to work anymore and sobs well in your throat because this can’t be happening. It must be a dream, a nightmare, anything but what you know deep in your heart that it is: reality, the darkness whispers. A tendril of it slithers through the keyhole. It watches you. It is grinning.

“Come on, come on,” you mutter, or at least you think you do, before throwing open your door with one hand and scrabbling for the seat belt latch with the other. You manage to hit the release and go careening out of the car, landing on your hands and knees with a smack against the wet pavement. 

A man runs up to you, clutching your arm and pulling you up with large, gentle hands. Rain falls into your already blurry eyes, clinging to your eyelashes like tears as you look up at him and notice he has a full, greying beard. His mouth is moving but you can’t hear him over the ringing in your ears. 

You look away from him, searching, wild, crazed. Maybe you are crazy. Maybe you are a lunatic. A crowd has half formed on the side of the road, sporting parkas and umbrellas. Like anxious birds, they flutter around a slumped figure laying unnaturally still on the ground. It wears a navy blue jacket.

You push the man away, stumbling on shaking legs like a newborn foal as you attempt to cross the distance between you and the flock of people. Dread fills your bones, cements itself as a lump in your throat, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Someone on their cell phone tries to reach out to you, but you shove their hands aside. Rain soaks the thin cloth of your t-shirt causing the material to cling to you like a second skin. But you can’t feel it. You can’t feel anything. 

You fall to your knees before him, landing with a splash in the puddle beneath you. Your mouth moves rapidly as you speak words you can’t hear: a chant, a plea, a prayer. Wake up! Come on, kid, just wake up. I’m so sorry. Please, wake up. All my fault, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You beg - to gods, to monsters, to spirits and ghosts and the nature of things - but it falls on deaf ears as if you had never spoken at all. You feel for his pulse, for a sign, for anything. There is none. The darkness laughs. It is muffled behind the door but you can feel the vibrations of it running through your veins.

You hunch over yourself, fingers clutching at the wet pavement as you dig your nails into the asphalt, wanting to crawl inside your own body like a cocoon, wanting to feel something, anything. The ringing in your ears is so loud, so intense it fills your head and drowns out every other sound. The woman who has knelt down at your side and put her hand on your shoulder as she tries to speak to you. The thunder you can feel rumbling through the earth beneath your palms. The sirens from emergency vehicles you only know are there because the red and blue flashing lights cast a glow on his motionless form. You have never known another sound. It rings and rings and rings. It is endless.

You want to close your eyes. You want to block it all out, pretend that you’re still in your car, that you’re almost to Billie’s suburbs, and any minute now, she will greet you at the door. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. Her eyes would glimmer and she would smile, beautiful, radiant, the light inside of her too bright for her to do anything but shine.

Billie- Your mind latches onto her like she is your buoy in the middle of the sea, and just the thought of her will keep you afloat even as the darkness uses its spindly arms to pull you under the surface. You reach for the invisible thread that binds your hearts together and, insistently, desperately, you tug. I’m so sorry, Billie. You force your eyes open. You force yourself to look at him. At the boy you did not see.

His bike lays in the middle of the road, bent and misshapen. The back wheel is still spinning.

From your open car door comes the notes of a familiar song. It echoes through the night, beneath the steady beat of the rain and the high, rumbling noise of thunder, and it is not beautiful anymore. It is haunting.

“Just to be the man who walked a thousand miles-”

You can’t feel anything.

“-to fall down at your door.”

--

“Will sh- b- okay?”

“Mil- conc-ssi-n, sh- in shock-”

“Try -alking t- he-”

Voices echo around you, so muffled and distorted that you can’t understand what they’re saying. They sound like they’re coming from very far away and the effort it would take to listen far outweighs the energy you have. You feel drained, like you’re sitting in the bottom of a fish bowl and the words bounce off the water to somewhere else. Not to you.

Not until you hear her.

“Look at me, Y/N.” Hands cup your face in a gentle hold, fingers tenderly stroking the skin of your cheekbones. The voice is so familiar. It cuts through the haze fogging your mind and you reach out as if to embrace it, to let it crawl inside your heart and warm you from the inside out. “Come on, sweetheart. Look at me.” 

You blink. Billie? Your eyelashes flutter as the world gradually comes into focus, no longer a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. With it, comes an angel. An angel with sunset hair and glimmering eyes and a kind smile. “Pretty woman?” you ask, and you wonder what happened to make your voice sound so raw and broken.

“There’s my girl,” she murmurs, ducking her head to meet your eyes. “Focus on me, baby.” You try to, holding her gaze like you would rather drown in it than face the demon you can feel hovering over your shoulder. She has a furrow between her brows, the one she has only when she’s truly upset. Why is she so sad? Why are you?

“Billie, I’m so sorry,” you whisper, but you can’t remember why you’re sorry. Only that you should be. Only that your heart aches, you smell like chemicals, and it feels like you just went a round with a boxer and lost. But it’s all a blur and you can’t remember why.

Billie reaches up and brushes your hair back away from your face. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.” Her smile is forced and the implication behind it only stirs the panic forming inside you until it spins so fast that it feels like you’re standing in the eye of a hurricane. 

“Ma’am, we need to speak with her,” a voice speaks suddenly from the doorway and you snap out of your trance, out of the safety of Billie’s gaze, and find yourself in a hospital room, in a hospital bed with an IV in your arm. The walls are a stark white that hurts your eyes to look at. It’s bare and sterile and impersonal; it feels like you just woke up in a padded cell where you are gradually losing your mind.

Billie looks over her shoulder; you follow her gaze and feel your stomach drop unpleasantly. A police officer stands just inside the door. You become suddenly aware of a bone deep chill pervading your entire body. There’s a blanket pulled up around your shoulders but you can’t seem to stop shaking. Why can’t you stop shaking? 

“No,  you don’t,” Billie says, the words tense as they leave her lips. The edges are sharp and you know if you were to reach out, they would cut you just as easily as a blade. You have never heard her sound like that before. “She’s still in shock. She won’t be able to tell you anything you haven’t already figured out from the cameras.” Your mind falters. The hurricane intensifies, becoming a swirling mass of wind and rain. It threatens to swallow you whole.

The officer steps into the room and raises his hands in a placating gesture. “It’s just procedure, Ms. Howard.”

Billie frowns, standing up and sliding in front of you as if to shield you from him. “I don’t give a damn. You could drag the Dalai Lama down here for all I care. I’m not letting you speak to her until she knows what’s going on.”

“Well, I’m not the Dalai Lama, I’m an officer of the law and if she’s responsive, I need to take her statement,” he insists, not unkindly. He looks over Billie’s shoulder at you, his expression apprehensive and sorrowful. Something is very, very wrong. You can feel it in your bones. The hurricane lashes out at you, angry and scared. You wonder if the hurricane is you.

Their argument drifts to the background as flashing lights from the window capture your attention. Blue and red. Familiar. The colors start to blur as rain hits the glass pane and you can only watch, mesmerized, as one droplet becomes two and three and then thunder - it rumbles so loudly it startles you and your heart leaps, pounds, races in your chest - and, suddenly, as if it had been this way all along, the hurricane is not inside of you anymore. It is all around you, surrounding you, and you are stuck within, caged like a bird, trapped like a ghost in a haunted house, you are a lunatic in a padded white cell. 

And then you remember.

Rain. So much rain. Sheets of it that slick the pavement and thunder that shakes the earth. But you are going to Billie’s, where you are warm, where you are safe, and a little rain is worth it to see the look on her face when she opens the door and sees you standing on the other side. Well, would you look at that, she’d say. I don’t remember ordering dessert. And she would smile and she would shine and you would walk among the clouds like a god. 

Something inside you stirs, something troubled, something bigger than you. An exiled giant chained to the mountain pass, a forgotten creature locked in the depths of Hell, the darkness behind the door. For the first time since meeting Billie, you feel afraid.

A taxi, bright yellow, the color of sunflowers and sunshine and that knitted sweater Billie likes to wear in the summer. It veers off; you watch it float away, along the yellow brick road, maybe into the sky to Neverland, down the rabbit hole, it goes and goes and goes. And then a boy and a navy blue jacket and a bike with a misshapen wheel that never stopped turning.

The darkness pushes at the locked door, snaking it’s spindly arms along the edge, seeking for a way out, searching for a weakness. You can feel its eyes on you, watching you through the keyhole. 

A mistake, you didn’t see him, you tried to stop, to swerve, you tried to do anything else but what you did, it’s your fault and you know it, you did this. The road was so wet, you could feel it beneath your hands, flashing lights illuminate his body, blue and red, someone touches your shoulder but you can’t feel it, wake up, wake up, unnaturally still, a song, your ears ring, it’s endless, still, so still, blue and red, it casts a glow to his face, but I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk- You dig your nails into the pavement. You can’t feel anything. 

You did this. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault.

You can feel it the moment the lock shatters and the door swings open. It feels inevitable, like you have been staring into the abyss this whole time, and it has finally decided to swallow you whole. The darkness slithers out and you watch it with bated breath. You have never known a fear this great, the moment you stared into the darkness and didn’t have your light. 

Your soul calls for Billie, screams out her name, begs and pleads for her to protect you like she always said she would. You reach out for the invisible thread tethered between you and you tug and tug and tug but your hands are slippery and you can’t hold on. Your fingers brush her sleeve. 

The darkness seems to smile. You can feel its amusement, its maliciousness, its cruelty. You are frozen in place as it moves towards you, ensnared like a rabbit in a trap, you are a lunatic in a padded cell. It’s spindly arms reach out. I’m so sorry, Billie. It embraces you like an old friend.  

You let it.

[mxchowind]

So, sleep well

IJSFJDSG HI THIS IS REQUESTED BY ANON SO I DELIVER THIS 1K WORD(S)??? TO YOU RIGHT NOW FRESH AND HOT. also any suggestions if i hit 100 followers? *insert eye emoji* ALSO TYSM FOR THE SUPPORT AND KEEP THE REQUESTS COMING I’D LOVE TO WRITE FOR YOU GUYS!! TYSM FOR REQUESTING ANON

edit: bro i made so much typos i am cryi g

warning: lowkey angst lmao with xiao background reveal

pairing: xiao x reader

He remembers. 

He remembers vividly, the bloodshed screams of those people, the terror on their faces, and how they turn back to the soil of Liyue with grief. 

Xiao, no, Alatus remembers, the pain that is more than what a wound could cause, but the agony that strangled him, to his very last breath. It struck more than arrows do, and it broke him into pieces. 

Of course, he has forgotten how to rest, someone has to watch over Liyue, and that would always be him. To watch those people’s suffering, and cannot do a thing about it. He is always late, and when he arrives, it is naught but a show of death.

Xiao hates it.

The voices draining in his head, the wounds that would never heal, the war he still fights with himself. 

He’s exhausted.

So when his eyelids flutter open from such a nightmare of old memories, panic hits him. Where is he? Is he finally, going to lose his most important person- to lose you? The blood on his hands cannot be washed away, because he’s taken more lives than known, under the control of this one archon. He doesn’t deserve you, in any ways. He knows, Xiao knows, he is nothing but a monster,  a weapon, a demon, a-

‘‘Xiao?’’

Oh.

It is then he realises that he’s kneeling on the top ground of Wangshu Inn, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead. Was it really that bad of a nightmare? But while his train of thoughts progresses you hurriedly approach him, kneeling down all the same and his amber eyes- the ones that hold emotions, that hold the entire Liyue, trails to you. 

When you touch him, it feels surreal. Are you even real? He wonders. It hurts his head to think, all over his mess of a form, Xiao struggles to stand up, and desperately wishes to hold on tight to your hand- the very own hand of yours that leaves his cheek in a split second. He thought, for so long, he yearned for your warmth, and he wants to-

‘‘Xiao, are you feeling alright? Is it a fever? Or those memories again?’’

He, honestly, isn’t sure at this point. His head feels light, as if the world around him is ready to blur in shades of royal blue and tints of yellow. To think, such a mighty Yaksha would have days like this. When you stand, his gentle voice trembles as he speak, 

‘‘Don’t go anywhere, not yet.’’

It’s a plea, Xiao can’t shake the pain away, so he resorts back to your heart, back to you, who truly is there always, first and foremost. You bend down, and hold onto his hand, tight. 

‘‘I’m not going anywhere. Don’t worry. If you like, tell me about it.’’

In all honesty, Xiao never confided in you about his past- it’s terrible. It’s gruesome, it’s nothing you, someone so innocent, should hear about. He wrestles his own mind, and fails to keep you safe from those demons everytime, in his dreams. No doubt, he used to eat dreams, after all, and he’s finally paying his price.

Not even Rex Lapis could save him.

So he explains. Those blood, those people who died in his vision, the heavy burden he carries, the memories engraved in his mind that cannot be erased, the prayers they recite for him to rescue- 

It’s simply too much. 

It is surprising, and you are at once, glad yet sorrowful that Xiao finally opened up. You have never seen him- this vulnerable. You know he shouldn’t, and doesn’t want to show it to anyone, so he hides. He hides his own thoughts, those dreadful memories that haunt him like the very death of the other Yakshas, everything. 

You didn’t know, of course. You knew nothing because Xiao was so good at hiding. His pretence was so strong, and held his head high as the only remaining Adepti. His pain was more than someone could ever maintain, and to think- 

He endured all of this by himself.

It’s so late in the night, stars glitter and shine upon your figure. When Xiao gazes at you, his breath hitches in his throat. You look like the Moon Goddess. Are you here to finally save him? 

Yes, you are.

‘‘Xiao.. listen to me.’’ You start, eyes sincere with every bit of care laced in. He listens, amber eyes reflecting off the moonlight. He looks ethereal. Too daint that you fear he might just disappear into thin air if you don’t grasp properly. So your lithe hands move onto his, those hands that are sheathed away from the harsh gloves, from the battles he fought bravely. You remove the gloves in a gentle motion, and press a kiss on his hand. It feels so soft, yet the calluses from using his polearm remain. It’s his battle proof, he’s done well. 

‘‘I love you. Every part of you. How you went ever so bravely against enemies both in the dark and the daylight. I love your hands,’’ you stop abruptly, before caressing those hands, ‘‘They are the proof that you exist, that you fought with evil beings to keep Liyue safe. I love your hair,’’ as you seize a strand, his eyes quivering like a scared mortal who is finally all battered, no more of the suffering bottling up inside, ‘‘They are of a unique colour, and it’s engraved in my mind. I love you, I love you so much. No matter what happened in the past, or what will happen in the future, even if no one forgives you, I will. Liyue is, truly blessed to have an Adeptus like you, dedicated to his duties. So please, rest easy. The stars are singing of praises, close your eyes and listen.’’

For the first time, he doesn’t retort back, because your words bring such comfort upon his beaten mind and heart. It works like magic, and in an instant he hears the stars, the words they whisper to him. The same words you used. 

‘‘The moon is guiding your path, so don’t be afraid. You won’t get lost anymore. And what is more? I’m here. Right here, and I won’t leave. Sleep well, my dear.’’

Those words lull him to the ceasing vision, and all of a sudden these thoughts, the memories disappeared into nothingness. The soft wind brushing past his jade-coloured hair, and his eyelids flutter close in a subtle way. Your hand still remains on his ungloved ones, the lenient night whispering its melodies to the skies and beyond, as you press a final kiss on his forehead, where the lilac diamond mark is.

‘‘Goodnight, my hero.’’