#because that's what reading that book felt like

[flanaganfilm]

Dear Mike,

I'm writing my first novel, a horror story about giant cicadas that hypnotise people into moulting. It's a metaphor for drug addiction. In my opinion, horror is its best when it's also a commentary, or a reflection, on something real that afflicts society, like capitalism, xenophobia, or intergenerational trauma. I'm nearly 6 months clean, and though it wasn't my intention, this book is helping me come to terms with how bad things were, and how hard I had to work to get out of that life.

You tackle a lot of the toughest parts of the human experience in your work: loss and grief, mental illness, addiction, trauma, recovery... How do you write about those things without falling too deep into memories of what they felt like? My creative writing professor says there's no place for grief in horror, but I know she's dead wrong. My novice guess is that drawing from experience to make a character's trials feel more "real" makes their stories more immersive and empathetic. What do you think? Do you have any advice for how to emotionally detach for your characters, or how to balance grief and terror in a story?

Thank you, Fíona

Hi Fiona, First, a huge congratulations on 6 months. That's an amazing feat. Second, your creative writing professor is embarrassingly wrong when she says there is no place for grief in horror. That's so wrong, in fact, it should disqualify her from teaching creative writing. (Or, perhaps this is a rare creative writing teacher who simply hasn't been exposed to Charles Dickens, Henry James, Shirley Jackson, Edgar Allan Poe, or Stephen King. Ask her to go read Don't Look Now by Daphne du Maurier, and then explain that there's no place for grief in horror. What an embarrassing thing to say.)

I don't emotionally detach from my characters at all, far from it. When it comes to truly facing my own traumas, darkness, grief, shortcomings, fears, and insecurities, I have far more courage when I'm writing than I do in day-to-day life.

It can be tough to fall too deeply into the dark places, or the memories - there's at least some measure of safety to such expeditions when I'm writing. It can be similar to the kind of safety I find in therapy. Sometimes, a character scares me because I can't relate to them at all (Beverly Keane). Other times, characters are so close to my self that it's impossible to separate them in my mind (Riley Flynn). Drawing from experience is a brave and beautiful act, and infuses your fiction with authenticity, nuance, and humanity. Best of luck with your writing. And whatever you do, don't listen to that teacher. Apologies, but she's full of shit.

[terriblesoup]

Passing through

A/N: I was watching pride and prejudice because of course I was, and I wanted to write this because of one specific line.

as always, fluff.

Sylus wasn’t supposed to stay this long.

It had started with something simple, an excuse, really. He had meant to return a book he borrowed, just a quick visit, nothing more. But she had smiled when she saw him at the door, eyes bright with that soft kind of happiness that made his chest feel strange, and somehow, that quick visit had stretched into hours.

The afternoon had been slow and golden, the kind of day that felt suspended in time.

She had been making tea when he arrived, the scent of honey and citrus lingering in the air, wrapping around him like a welcome. Her apartment was small but warm, cluttered in a way that made it feel lived-in. There was a blanket draped over the couch, a stack of books precariously leaning against a windowsill, a mug left half-forgotten on the kitchen counter.

He liked it here. More than he should.

It was raining by the time she pulled him into the kitchen, insisting he help with lunch. Sylus didn’t argue, though his version of “helping” mostly involved watching her move around the space with practiced ease, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned loosely.

She told him stories while she cooked, unprompted, effortless, like it was second nature.

"Did I ever tell you about my upstairs neighbor?" she asked at one point, slicing through a bell pepper.

Sylus, leaning against the counter, shook his head.

"Oh, you're going to love this one." She grinned. "They once blew up their kitchen trying to impress someone."

His eyebrows raised slightly. "Blew it up?"

"Not literally. But close enough. They wanted to cook a romantic dinner, except they didn’t actually know how to cook, so they ordered takeout and tried to make it look homemade."

Sylus smirked. "And?"

She set down the knife, already laughing. "They thought the meal needed a little something extra to seem authentic. So they put some garlic in a pan, except they had no idea what they were doing. Somehow, they managed to set the entire thing on fire."

Sylus huffed a quiet laugh. "Rookie mistake."

"Oh, it gets worse. They panicked and threw water on it. You can imagine how that went."

He could. The flames must have shot up, smoke billowing out of the windows.

"Something actually flew out of their apartment," she continued. "A toaster. Out the window. Just-gone."

Sylus blinked. "Why would a toaster-"

"I have no idea!" She grinned, shaking her head. "To this day, it remains a mystery."

She turned back to the stove, stirring something in the pan. He watched her for a moment, the way she smiled to herself, the way she enjoyed telling these stories.

She made the simplest things feel full.

And Sylus, who was never one to linger, who always had one foot out the door, found himself staying.

The rain turned heavier in the afternoon, hammering against the windows, washing the city into a watercolor blur.

She made a space for them on the couch, piling blankets and insisting that bad weather was an excuse to be cozy. Sylus had rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue.

They played chess. Well...Tried to.

She got distracted halfway through, stacking the pieces instead of making actual moves.

"You realize this isn't the goal, right?" Sylus asked dryly, watching as she carefully balanced a knight on top of a bishop.

"It's my goal," she countered, fully focused. The tower wobbled dangerously.

Sylus smirked and very deliberately nudged the table.

The pieces toppled. She gasped in betrayal. "Sylus!"

He leaned back, satisfied.

She huffed, nudging his arm. "You're terrible."

"You were asking for it."

"That’s debatable," she muttered, but she was smiling as she started picking up the fallen pieces.

The hours stretched. The rain softened.

She read aloud to him, voice lilting, warm. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until she nudged him with her foot. "Are you falling asleep?"

"No."

She laughed softly, not calling him out on the lie.

The world outside faded.

Inside, it was quiet.

Inside, it was safe.

By the time Sylus finally stood to leave, it was late.

The rain had stopped hours ago. The city beyond her window was quiet, the streets slick with silver light. He reached for his coat, draping it over his arm, turning toward the door.

And then-

"So soon?"

He turned back.

She was still curled up on the couch, knees tucked under her, book resting in her lap. The glow from the nearby lamp cast her in gold. She wasn’t pleading, wasn’t even really asking. Just looking at him with wide, expectant eyes.

As if he had never really planned to leave.

Sylus swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on the doorknob.

He was good at leaving. It was second nature, slipping away before things became too real, before anyone could ask him to stay.

But she wasn’t asking.

She was just waiting.

She tilted her head. "Stay."

Not a demand. Not a request. Just a truth.

Like she had already decided he belonged here.

Sylus hesitated.

Then his grip on the doorknob loosened. His coat slipped from his arm, landing in a quiet heap on the chair beside him.

She smiled, soft, knowing. And without another word, she patted the empty space beside her.

He sat down.

Just for a little longer.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

A/n: I feel like I should do a pride and prejudice au for a fic, a bit long maybe.

[uyuforu]

Astro Observations XI: North Node Edition ꒰ঌNatal Chart໒꒱

©uyuforu All Rights Reserved; Do not copy work.

Pictures found on Pinterest, Dividers from Tumblr; Credits go to owners.

꒰ঌ Felt like doing a little post about North Nodes, and how it manifested on some people I know around me. Thought it would be fun and just a small silly post. ໒꒱

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⋆˙⟡ The North Node in Natal Chart will often tell us our destiny and purpose, but do not think this is necessarily easy. The NN often is about what we are meant to achieve and learn in this life, but this is in fact a lot of times considered as a lesson. The thing is, what we already know is our South Node, and so we could tend to often feel safe where it is placed (opposite your North Node). In this life, you are so meant to do the total opposite of what you already know, meaning something you don't know already, and for most people this means it can be quite scary or uncomfortable. Though, you shouldn't worry about it, because life will always bring you to the right track to your North Node.

⋆˙⟡ Taurus 7H North Node makes you have a purpose here related to relationships, mostly creating a healthy, strong, stable and long term connection with your romantic connections. This could be a true challenge because you could attract people who aren't good for you, toxic, or you could also deal with a lot of fears when it comes to relationships. You could have a lot of easy time to be on your own, and in fact you could often think you are better alone. But this placement suggests that you can also find harmony and peace, and a grounded environment in a relationship.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Groom (51029)/ Briede (19029) (for you) seems to be a sign you are meant to be a spouse, to get married. There is a lesson in being married for you in this life. Or being married will make you be close to your purpose here.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Boda (1487) seems to be the same as the previous observation.

⋆˙⟡ Capricorn 5H North Node could be a purpose to be more creative in the work place, or just bring more assertiveness to your hobbies and creativity. You could also be destined to be a parent, but mostly to be more responsible and disciplined when having fun. It is knowing to balance your responsibilities and your hobbies. You could be so meant to have a fulfilling career but without forgetting your hobbies, or your children, or even be including creativity in your work.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Groom/ Briede (for your Spouse) means your Spouse will play a major role in your purpose in this life.

⋆˙⟡ Aquarius 9H North Node is a North Node that implies having to detach from other people's beliefs and open up to spirituality. You could need to learn lessons on accepting to think different or accepting people who think in a different way from you. Your South Node Leo 3H could make you use to be seen as relatable or influencing others with your mind and ideas. But here you are not supposed to be heard or seen, you are supposed to accept and learn about a much more philosophical and vague theme. This is often a sign you'll need to be more open minded, focus more on intuition rather than facts.

⋆˙⟡ Aquarius 8H North Node means you'll have to detach from the money aspect of your life. This could be a quite stressful placement to have as a North Node since your South Node is in Leo 2H. You could be used or feel very safe when you have money, or living in a world where buying, possessing and consuming is what you prefer. But in this life, you are asked to detach from this, to give more than to receive. You could so need to detach from money, accepting money does not buy happiness. This is also a placement that suggests detaching from what society asked you to learn, and see beyond, make your own judgments and opinions.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Mars could be a sign you'll have a strong ambition towards your North Node, and perhaps even aligning with your North Node can make you feel more energized and ambitious.

⋆˙⟡ Virgo 12H North Node is a quite deep and hard to understand to be honest. You could be meant to care and "organize" things in private, in the dark. Virgo is all about analyzing, thinking, finding out, the data caretaker, but the 12H is about the unseen, unheard, but also the spiritual realm, anything which is not from this world. To be honest, this is a hard placement to have since Virgo opposite Pisces (rules over the 12H). But your South Node is the same= Pisces 6H. In this case, you could be meant to look at what is hidden, spirituality, anything like this with a more analytical and grounded mind. This means that you could be more meant to use you rationality on this topic, while you could be used to bring a sense of dreaminess in the routine of the world (Pisces 6H South Node).

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Moon could make you have a sense of feeling comfortable the more you get closer to your destiny, you could feel like when you are out of touch to it, you could feel uneasy and sad, not feeling safe at all. But the more you are in touch with it, the more you feel safe, happy, good. Your emotions could also strongly depend on that as well. You could also be quite sensitive to the topic of your destiny.

⋆˙⟡ Leo 10H North Node, so this placement suggests that you'll have a destiny to be seen and noticed. You could be meant to be in front of the stage, to be a main character, to perhaps even have fame. Meant to have a success, to have money, but this may not be so easy for you. Your South Node being in Aquarius 4H, you are more used to be a free spirit, without caring much what people think of you. The 4H also suggests you are more comfortable in the private sphere, but here you are asked to be seen and to even perform and succeed in front of others. This can be a quite stressful thing for you, but you shouldn't be scared to be seen. This placement can also strongly attract jealous people, but do not be scared to shine. Moreover, you shouldn't feel bad for being meant to succeed.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Part of Fortune is a very fortunate placement to have, often a sign the more you are aligned with your North Node, the happiest and luckiest you'll be. Things will align. more easily if you go according to your NN.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Sun is a sign you'll have a strong self development when you are on the right track to your North Node. You could feel like life is asking you to accept to be seen, to be successful and to just be noticed.

⋆˙⟡ Scorpio 7H North Node could mean that you are perhaps feeling better on your own usually, in a sense that you could often think you are better alone, feeling often more grounded "on your own" (South Node Taurus 1H). But in this life, you'll be asked to in fact accept the deepness of connections. Perhaps you'll also need to live transformative experiences when it comes to relationships. You are asked to accept that you also need others to work out well, and being "on your own" all the time is not necessarily the solution. You could also perhaps have connections that will transform you and you'll need to also accept that being connected to others can have influence on you. You'll need connections to develop your trust in others, and accept you can indeed dive deep in a connection with someone and feel safe still.

⋆˙⟡ Taurus 1H North Node could mean you'll need to achieve a life where you feel comfortable on your own. This doesn't mean you'll be single this life, in fact with your South Node Scorpio 7H, you'll perhaps tend to have a hard time to let go of certain connections despite if they can be toxic. But you'll always have an easy time finding connections, friendships or romantic, but here, your life purpose is to accept and feel comfortable on your own. To not depend on anyone, to be grounded and happy even on your own. It means being comfortable with yourself.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Pluto means you'll have to live a strong and powerful transformation through your purpose this life. You are most likely going to transform your life because of the house placement. Depends on the North Node and House placements.

⋆˙⟡ Capricorn 2H North Node could be a life path that is really focused on the material wealth and possessions. You could have a purpose in this life to focus on your wealth, perhaps even be mature and protective over your possessions, but also perhaps embrace having money and power. Your South Node being in Cancer 8H, you could tend to be too generous with your money, or not necessarily liking money that much, but this life could ask you to embrace money and accept it is not always bad to have it. You could also need to mature up with your possessions and be the one bringing money to your family in this life.

⋆˙⟡ North Node conjunct Neptune could mean your purpose in this life will require you to use or develop your imagination or your intuition. You could also have a destiny linked to spirituality, or develop it.

⋆˙⟡ Scorpio 2H North Node could be about you needing to focus on money and material wealth, possessions in this life, but perhaps also about the relationship you have with money. Your South Node in Taurus 8H could make you quite grounded but also dependent on others when it comes to money. While Scorpio 2H will ask you to develop an independence when it comes to your money. You'll be the one gaining money, you'll need to so depend on no one when it comes to money.

⋆˙⟡ Aries 3H North Node could be about you being more assertive in your words and thoughts, to not be scared to argue or to be bold with your opinions. Embrace your point of view and your thoughts. While this can be quite hard for you since the South Node in Libra 9H could be about you being a peace maker and being someone who under others a lot, and be quite open minded.

⋆˙⟡ Aries 4H North Node could be that you often feel quite comfortable with being a peace creator, being perhaps also seen and having a very good reputation. Though, in this life you'll be asked to be more private and to feel more secure within yourself. You could so need to be more confident with being yourself, without the need to please nor to make people life you. Do not focus on what others think of you, rather focus on the desire to please yourself with who you are.

⋆˙⟡ Leo 5H North Node is quite a fun North Node to have in my opinion, this could def be about embracing Leo's nature in my opinion, enjoying the fun in life, enjoying romance, and flirting as well. With the South Node in 11H, you could be more used to be friendly with everyone, and focus on friendships while in this life, you'll need to also accept flings, have more experiences in flirting and romance. You could perhaps found yourself being popular and very attractive to others, and this could be something you could have a hard time to understand or simply you could often mistaken friendship with romantic interactions.

⋆˙⟡ Pisces 2H North Node could ask you to be more self confident on your intuition. Perhaps you are used to be more logical with your South Node Virgo, more when it comes to your mind and decisions, perhaps thinking more about psychology in a logical way. This life, you'll need to def focus more on your intuition and perhaps even develop your creativity or intuition related to your money or related to your self worth and confidence. You'll need to fulfill your dreams related to money as well.

Thank you for Reading!

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©uyuforu All Rights Reserved; Do not copy work.

[darkcherryharry]

praise you like i should - 2

singer!harry x you wordcount: 4.4k summary: after harry secretly got y/n off right next to his friends, he shows you just how much he loves you for it contains: smut, pussy worship, squirting, multiple orgasms, p+v sex, unprotected sex, let me know if you think anything else needs to be tagged! a/n: hope you like! accepting prompt suggestions if you have any part one here 🍒 (you don't need to read it to read this one 🍒)

You could barely keep it together during dinner. 

Thinking about how Harry had fingered you and made you come right next to his friends had you on the edge of your seat, and you knew Harry wasn’t much better. 

When the movie had finally ended you both made your excuses - probably a bit too quickly - and booked it inside of the hotel to get to the restaurant. 

You knew you wanted to keep the moral high ground of making Harry sit through dinner but at this point it felt like a waste, knowing that underneath the table his cock was probably at least still half hard because it had hardly gone down for the rest of the time you sat on top of it watching the movie. 

You tried to keep it together, you really did, but once your dessert came out you couldn’t resist a little tease. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to rile him up just before you were going to head back upstairs.

“Do you still have your little problem?” you asked Harry curiously, balancing the teaspoon from your mousse between your lips.

Harry raised an eyebrow at you as if he didn’t know what you were talking about, but his cheeks being pink told a different story. 

“I don’t have any little problems,” Harry mused, cocking his head to the side. “Big problems, maybe,” he offered.

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, having another melt in your mouth spoonful as you looked him over, making sure to bat your lashes as you did. 

“Alright, do you still have your big, massive problem?” You teased, putting on a bit of a husky sexy voice to emphasise the word and causing Harry to burst out in a loud laugh, drawing the attention of a table near you.

He slapped his hand over mouth and had the decency to look embarrassed, giving you the evil eyes before making a small apologetic smile at the other diners and waving them off. 

Once they were successfully distracted he eyed you again, cocking an eyebrow.

“You could find out, if you wanted,” Harry suggested. 

You looked at him curiously, wondering what he was suggesting considering you were sitting on opposite sides of the table before you realised you could work something out. 

As you slipped your heel off of your foot you raised your leg slowly, feeling around for his lower leg before making contact and dragging your pointed toe up the inside.

You kept your eyes locked on Harry as you travelled along his inner thigh, making sure to take it slow as you teased him, even taking another bite of your mousse so that he didn’t think he had your whole attention.

Eventually you reached the apex of his thighs, so you pressed the bottom of your foot against the front of his crotch. You tested how firm he was underfoot, definitely feeling some resistance and that he wasn’t completely soft. 

You watched from across the table as his lips parted when you started to rub your foot slowly against him, your smile turning wicked when you saw his perfect little pouty lips part and his eyes blow out so his pupil almost took over. 

“Doesn’t feel like that big of a problem to me,” you shrugged, still toying with him as he took a ragged breath. 

“You’re such a brat,” Harry replied, so you started to pull your foot away only for his hand to reach under the table at lightning speed and grab your ankle. “You really wanna walk out of here hard?” you asked him incredulously, letting your foot be guided back to his cock as he shuffled forward in his seat to seek more pressure. 

“Don’t care,” Harry replied, his voice a bit more gravelly than it had been before. “Worth it. I’m not gonna come for ages, anyway. Been too hard too long so I won’t last. Need to get you off a handful of times first. Need to worship you,” Harry replied earnestly as he ground himself subtly against your foot. 

“Baby,” you breathed, shaking your head at his desperation. “You’re gone, huh?” 

“Only for you,” Harry answered, glancing around as he squeezed your ankle. “Can we get out of here?” 

“You haven’t even finished your dessert,” you reasoned, but you were hardly against the idea. 

“You’ll taste better. I need you,” Harry responded, finally letting go of your ankle so that you could get your shoe on. He reached both hands beneath the table, presumably adjusting himself to be decent so you could leave, before quickly standing up to take your hand and guide you to your room.

And that’s how you’d wound up here, Harry pressing you against the front door the minute you got inside and locking it while he used his hips to pin you. 

“You look so beautiful tonight, y/n,” Harry murmured to you. You could feel the outline of his cock pressing against your stomach, his hands grabbing your hips and your waist as he dove in to kiss your neck. 

“Thank you H,” you replied, making a small moan when he roughly grabs your hip and the side of your arse. 

“I need you so badly. I can’t believe you let me make you come while we were just sitting with the band,” Harry insisted. It was like he was all around you, crowding your senses as you managed to get enough wherewithal to bring your hands up to lace around his neck. 

“Yeah? Did you like doing that?” you asked coyly as Harry moaned and rocked himself against you, flattening you against the door completely. 

“Fucking hell I did. Thought I was going to come just from how you felt around my fingers. You’re so fucking sexy,” Harry insisted, starting to tug at your dress and ruck it upwards, so he had handfuls of it and your thighs were exposed.

“Please let me have you, baby, I need you,” Harry begged softly, kissing down your neck and then onto your chest. Your dress was low cut enough that he could kiss between your breasts, his mouth hot and wet against your skin as he sucked the top of one in a noisy kiss.

“We’re barely in the room, H,” you complained, but it was half hearted as he rucked up your dress further and exposed your panties. He’d not given you any time to change, so they were still wet from earlier - and honestly from most of the dinner, since every little thing your boyfriend did turned you on.

“I don’t care. I need your pussy. Please y/n,” Harry insisted, moaning as he kissed your tits one more time before pushing your dress up higher, exposing your stomach. He started to sink slowly to his feet and dragged his lips over your torso, moaning and kissing and trying to convince you to stay. 

“You really are desperate, aren’t you H?” you asked him softly, watching him lick over your belly and suck on your hips before pressing his face directly against the triangle of your panties. He moaned on an inhale, his lips parting and you watched the sharp angle of his jaw as he greedily licked the fabric to get even just a trace of your wet. 

“More than. Want me to beg? I’ll beg you y/n. Your pussy’s not like anything else in the world. It’s the gate to heaven. It tastes so sweet and I’m the luckiest person in the whole world because it’s all mine,” Harry begged. 

“Please let me eat you out. I need to taste you. Need to make you come over and over so you know how mad you drive me, how desperate I am for you,” he added, moaning emphatically as he grabbed your thigh and slung it over his own shoulder so you were slightly more exposed. 

“Oh my god, Harry,” you mumbled, overwhelmed with how pretty his green eyes looked when he his mouth was on your cunt and begging for a taste. “Okay, okay, you can do it here,” you granted, his hand that remained on your thigh squeezing tightly. 

“Thank you thank you thank you,” Harry responded, turning his head to kiss your inner thigh and then lick it, sucking to make a small mark and nosing his way back up towards your pussy. 

He then licked over the panties again, licking lower so he was closer to your hole than your clit and moaning to himself as he soaked your panties as if they weren’t already basically wet. 

“You taste so amazing. Do you care about these panties?” Harry asked you, and as soon as you shook your head no, he reached up with both hands and pulled firmly at the waistband to rip them apart, rather than remove your thigh from his shoulder.

You were secretly glad, both because it was hot and because Harry’s supportive weight under your thigh was the only thing keeping your knees from buckling and he’d hardly even started.

Harry desperately pulled at the panties so they travelled down your other thigh, enough so that you were out and exposed. Your dress was coming down almost over his head now that he’d let go of it, so you grabbed a handful and pulled it up, giving him some room to work with but also making it so that you could see him. 

He’d not even had the chance to take any of his own clothes off yet, still fully dressed in his trousers and button up you’d insisted he changed into, seeing as you were on a date and it was a nice restaurant, of course. 

“I love you,” Harry insisted earnestly once he caught sight of your pussy properly, pressing a kiss straight to your pubic bone. “I love your pussy. I love making you feel good, you’re so perfect,” Harry insisted, whispering his praise against your skin and giving you goosebumps.

You could feel the throb of your blood pumping in your clit, the teasing and the waiting driving you insane, even if his worship was making your heart feel full your arousal was definitely taking over. 

“Harry, please,” you whined softly, watching his eyes flicker up at you and his smile turn just a touch deadly before he leant in closer and rested his lips against your labia. 

“Please what, my angel?” he asked, his breath hot as he spoke and you squirmed as he started to press kisses over where you split open, the promise not quite enough stimulation to do anything more than tease further.

“Need your tongue,” you responded, gasping when Harry sucked lightly on your labia, like he might on your bottom lip when you were kissing. 

“Of course, my love. Anything for you,” Harry responded, moaning softly before tipping his head down so he could get right where you were wettest. He stuck his tongue between your lips and licked a fat stripe through you, making you cry out in pleasure and your free hand fly to grab his hair. 

“Oh fuck, Harry, yeah, just like that,” you encouraged, holding his head in place so he couldn’t escape quite so easily.

You felt the intrusion of his wet tongue again, sliding easily against you and his fingertips digging in where they were grabbing the fleshiest parts of your thighs. Then he went for it, licking and sucking like he was ravenous and this was the last meal he’d ever have. 

The sounds he was making were borderline ridiculous, wet and slurping with desperation as he fucked you with his tongue and got your wet all over his cheeks. You doubled over in pleasure as he played with you exactly how you liked it, and it was only after a long while of focusing on your hole that he came up for air.

Harry gasped loudly, his breath heaving but he barely got a mouthful or two in before going back for more, his mouth working its way slowly and surely upwards and towards your clit. 

As soon as his lips wrapped around it he sucked the small bundle of nerves, making you moan even louder and your hand grip tightly in his hair. 

“Harry, fuck, please,” you moaned, your body spasming as he licked fat stripes over your clit instead, clearly wanting everything to be as wet as possible.

“D’you think you could squirt on me?” Harry asked in a gravelly tone, sucking your clit again slowly as if that would help you answer and not just completely distract you.

“Um, uh,” you stammered. He’d made you do it in the past, but it didn’t always work, so you weren’t quite sure if you could do it on command. “I can try,” 

“Perfect,” Harry praised, running his tongue through the length of your pussy a few more times for good measure before he properly locked on to your clit, starting to suck on it rhythmically and run his tongue around in circles to possibly drive you mad.

You’d made the mistake of telling Harry your favourite toy to use when he was gone was your rosebud clit sucker, and boy had he done his research to try and replicate it. It was even better though, because Harry’s mouth was warm and wet and he could somehow read exactly what your body wanted.

“Oh my fucking god,” you cried out, thumping your head back against the door as you arched your hips to angle yourself more into Harry’s mouth. Your breathing started to get laboured, and even though it was so hot earlier, it was so nice now to be able to be as loud as you wanted. 

Harry was relentless in his pleasure, and when the crest of your orgasm started to get closer you concentrated your energy into bearing down, just like you had the few other times Harry had made you squirt. It felt like an intense pressure, building and building inside of you and when Harry did something that felt borderline illegal with his tongue you started to come.

Much to your relief you felt - and heard - yourself squirt in a gush between your legs. The sensation of release amplified your orgasm tenfold, and though you were starting to thrash about in overwhelm of pleasure, Harry managed to stay locked right on your clit as you rode the waves of your orgasm though.

You panted and whined, your body starting to twitch towards the end when he still hadn’t let up and you weakly pushed his head away to not much avail.

“Harry,” you panted, your legs feeling so weak that if Harry wasn’t holding you up you absolutely would have sunk to the ground. He let go of your clit - thank god - but that didn’t stop him from licking you lower and sucking desperately to get the taste.

“You’re so fucking sexy. Need you to come again,” Harry insisted, moaning to himself as he cleaned you up, licking where you’d dripped down your thigh before coming back up near your clit and sucking again.

“Ah,” you cried out, tugging his hair properly and finally managing to look down at him as you pulled him back.

Harry’s face was wet. You hadn’t realised you’d squirted that much, but the front of his shirt and even his trousers were soaked all because of you. 

“Please, y/n. That was everything. I’ve never felt more turned on in my life. I need to make you come again, you deserve it,” Harry begged, licking his lips and staring up at you with wild eyes as you kept a firm grip on his hair. 

You took a moment to catch your breath, clearing your throat and blinking a few times before nodding.

“Okay, but gentle,” you insisted. 

“I can do gentle. Thank you baby,” Harry insisted as you let go of the tight grip of his hair and instead carded your hand through it softly, admiring how insane he was for you and feeling warm low in your belly.

Harry leaned in slower this time, keeping his eyes locked with yours as he extended his tongue for a cursory flick against your clit, clearly testing the waters as he pushed around until he got direct access. He circled it slowly with an open mouth, the light sensation driving you just as wild as the intense sucks had now that you had already come once.

“That’s better,” you praised, so Harry smiled and pressed in against you once more, continuing the light and gentle turns of his tongue. You felt his hand sneak around, a more guttural moan leaving your lips as he sunk two of his fingers inside of your pussy at once. 

He didn’t thrust them or anything, just curling them to touch your clit from the inside and turn circles against it like he had on the bus. That combined with his gently tongue on your clit had your inner thighs starting to shake, so Harry used his free hand to press you into the door so you were pinned for support.

Your second orgasm - or your third, you supposed, if you counted a few hours ago - started to build low in your gut, getting imminently closer when Harry closed his lips carefully around your clit and started to suck again. It was almost too much but he made sure it was just perfect, the lightest little ministrations combined with his long fingers as if he were drawing it out of you and knew everything you were feeling.

Even though you were expecting it it still somehow snuck up on you, rocking through your body and making your hips buck up into Harry’s mouth as your eyes rolled back. It was slower and slightly less intense, but made your toes curl nevertheless and had you wondering when your shoe had managed to fall off. 

This time you got overstimulated quickly after your orgasm faded so you pulled his mouth away quicker, looking down at him somewhat desperately. 

“H,” you mumbled, not sure what you needed but Harry seemed to get the picture. He slipped his fingers out of you and guided your thigh off of his shoulder, keeping a firm grip on it as he got to his feet and started to support you with both hands.

“I got you, baby. You’re fucking amazing. You’re my star, baby, that was… god,” Harry rambled quietly, kissing over your neck before kissing up to your face. He was still wet from your pussy but you didn’t really care, happy enough to kiss him back lazily and be felt up as you remained pinned to the door. 

“Felt so good,” you insisted when you could get a word in, letting Harry adore you some more and feeling quite lazy and weak from your multiple orgasms, almost slumping all your weight onto Harry. 

“Can I fuck you y/n? Right here?” Harry asked you softly once you’d managed to catch your breath. The idea of it sounded nice, really, Harry filling you up. You knew he wouldn’t last too long given how hard he felt, but it would be the perfect end to this round of sex for the evening. Then he could clean you up in the shower, maybe a bath for round two, and then bed for round three. 

If you were lucky you’d wake up in the middle of the night for round four. You had to make use of the hotel room, after all. 

“Yeah, baby. Can’t stand though,” you pouted, the words barely leaving your lips before Harry reached behind you and scooped you up. He used his hips to pin you as he adjusted your dress again to give him the best access, then he eyed you with a grin.

“You know I’ll look after you, darling,” Harry told you, reaching for the straps of your dress and guiding them down your shoulders. He admired your bra, tracing the edges of it softly and taking his time even though you knew he’d be dying for it. 

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I’ll never be more blessed than I am being with you,” Harry insisted, reaching beneath you both to unzip his trousers and let them fall down his legs, getting his underwear down enough too and before you knew it he had one arm supporting your weight and the other guiding his cock to swipe against your pussy. 

He looked a state, his wet shirt and his mussed up hair. But he was beautiful, and he was going to fuck you good, so you never really minded in the first place.

“You’re beautiful too, baby,” you encouraged to Harry, gripping his waist with your thighs. You reached behind yourself, balancing against the door with your shoulder blades to give you enough room to unhook your bra and swiftly took it off, dropping it to the floor purely so Harry could enjoy your tits while he fucked you. 

“Fuck, y/n. You drive me crazy,” Harry insisted, finally tilting up to sink into you and letting you slide down on his cock. He got two big handfuls of your arse to keep you in place, and you watched as a serene expression melted all over his face from finally getting his dick wet.

“Told you, it’s heaven,” Harry insisted, leaning in to kiss you slowly. He stayed still inside of you to let you adjust, a hand wandering up to your tit and ever so softly circling your nipple until it hardened. 

“Yeah? You think so?” you asked Harry back, kissing him slowly and lazily for as long as he’d let you. 

“Know so. You ready?” Harry asked you softly.

“Yeah, babe,” you answered, but you still gasped when he gripped your thighs harder to pin you properly and started to fuck you against the wall. The first few thrusts was all he gave you to adjust before he started fucking you hard and fast, jerking your body up with each thrust as he rolled inside of you again and again.

His cock felt amazing, the perfect thickness and length and it was the only cock you wanted to take for the rest of your life.

You moaned and tipped your head back, deciding he deserved a treat so you moved one hand to your tit and grabbed it for his view, playing for a few moments with your nipple until the pleasure slowly turned into something you were just doing for yourself.

Harry didn’t seem to mind though, his eyes glued on you as he thrusted in and out of your pussy, his biceps looking swollen under his shirt. You wished you’d had time to get him to take it off so you could see them properly as he held you up against the wall, but you felt rest assured you’d see them later.

You felt them out instead, squeezing the firm muscle and making small little noises every time Harry got really deep. The gravity of the situation really added something, like when you rode him, making him feel like he was really splitting you open. 

“Gonna come in me, baby?” you tempted Harry, looking him over as you kept playing with your own tit, feeling the other one bounce on each thrust.

“Oh my god, yeah. You gonna come?” Harry panted, clearly getting a work out from fucking you like this, but you knew he had the stamina to work it out. 

You nodded, squeezing down on his cock with your pelvic floor and messing with his rhythm for a second or two while you made yourself tighter. 

“Yeah, think so. Come on your cock so you’ll fill me up,” you whispered to him, arching your back and relaxing yourself so that Harry’s thrusts could make you come. 

“Yeah, yeah, please, baby,” Harry begged you. You felt like you’d have tiny little bruises from his fingers littered up your thigh tomorrow but it hardly mattered, because right now you felt so good.

You really committed to this orgasm, letting the repetitive sensation of Harry’s cock sliding in and out of you guide you there. You kept playing with your sensitive nipple, squeezing and pulling it out and closing your eyes for a moment as you got yourself closer and closer.

Once you opened your eyes again, half lidded, all it really took to push you over the edge was to see how your boyfriend was staring reverently at you, the desperation in his eyes like he’d never known such bliss. You kept your eyes on him as you started to come again, crying out and clenching down on his cock firmly and stilting his rhythm again. 

Harry fucked up into you harder, moaning himself and pressing closer so he could bury his head in your neck and grapple at your hips. 

“Oh fuck, y/n,” Harry grunted, and you could feel from his sharp, slow thrusts that he was coming inside of you. You moaned and did your best to stay clenching on him, though your pussy was fluttering anyway from the aftershocks of your own orgasm.

Harry’s breath was hot against your neck as he kissed you, and you felt physically a bit gross, but you were properly sated. You didn’t think it could ever get any better than what Harry gave you, since it felt like the world. 

“I love you baby,” you whispered to him once he stilled, still inside of you for now but you knew he was through his orgasm too.

“I love you too, my love,” Harry responded, picking his head up to kiss your lips. “Words aren’t enough,” he assured you. 

“Yeah,” you answered blissfully, giving him another kiss back and tilting your head up as you tried to catch your breath. “You’ll have to keep doing this to show me in actions instead,” you breathed. 

Harry giggled at you, fucking you just minutely with his half hard cock as if to teach you a lesson. 

“I can do that,”

[softtdaisy]

need your touch / Aaron Hotchner

summary. Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until he became touch-starved.

words count. 2 776

what to expect. kind of grumpy x sunshine, very sad, mention of foyet and the attack, but very sad

a/n. I had this idea reading a book and I felt so sad about the man suffering from that, that of course I wanted to do with Hotch too so here it is

criminal minds masterlist | F1 masterlist | general masterlist | request

The shivers. The disgust. The sudden need to wash his skin.

Hotch didn’t realize he developed an aversion to being touched until it was too late.

It wasn't until he actually became touch-starved that he realized this. 

The first time he realized something might be wrong was after a case. One that they all thought would take days but was surprisingly done after a few hours. After they finished packing, Rossi walked behind him. “Well done,” he congratulated Hotch by patting his shoulder. 

He had a slight and unconscious movement of recoil. Something Rossi didn’t notice, already focused on someone else. But something that stayed in Hotch’s mind and didn’t leave him. 

Soon, he realized how every little moment where he was touched by somebody else made him feel sick. 

He had to fight against the need to run to the bathroom after shaking hands with anybody.

He started avoiding every form of affection from the team, not that they were numerous but still present.

And if after his divorce with Haley, Hotch stopped the whole dating process, the idea of being intimate with someone became a real anxiety issue. Hands getting lost on his body, the feeling of lips leaving wet marks on his skin… this was too much for him. So much so that he didn’t even know how to get over this now.

And with months spent staying away from any type of physical contact, he started to feel the consequences on his mental health. He was the one avoiding it, but in his mind, the idea of being repulsive started to grow.

The thing was, he knew exactly where it came from. 

It could have been “the best part” of this if he could find a way to fight against it.

But it was definitely the “worst part” of this whole mess.

Because there was nothing he could do about the memory of almost dying in the hands of George Foyet. Every physical contact was a reminder of the worst night of his life. His brain ended up associating it with the feeling of dying. Again and again.

If he had been feeling better, he probably would have found it funny that the universe decided to put you in his life at the exact moment he was starting to lose it.

Just like that, one day, when he arrived in the meeting room, you were there next to Penelope.

“Let me introduce you to the most amazing little fairy you will ever meet,” she said, her hands on your shoulder like a proud mom. Which, of course, caused some laughter from the team. Not that they doubt you could be some kind of fairy, especially if you were the one Penelope chose to work with her. 

“As you know,” she pursued, “I asked to have another pair of hands to help me, and so here is my little ray of sunshine.” 

“Ok,” you laughed, patting her hand gently. “I think we can stop with the cute nicknames; they got the idea.” 

The whole time you spent explaining what your job would be, basically supporting Penelope in her office but also going more on the field with the team to be the connection between them and her, Hotch never stopped looking at you.

Penelope was right: you were a pure ray of sunshine. You lighted up the whole room in a way he forgot was possible after years of discovering the worst cases between these walls. You kept smiling and laughing, joking with Derek at his silly remarks and blushing when you heard Emily’s compliments on your hair. You were already a part of the team in less than five minutes.

And when you walked to him to shake his hand, he realized there was something even more special about you.

For the first time in months, he was able to touch someone else without feeling any disgust. It was even pleasing.

“Nice to meet you,” he said in a low voice, still in shock from the lack of reaction his body gave. He got lost in the beauty of your eyes when you looked at him. More than the color of them, which was straight from a painter’s palette for him, he found some peace in it. You didn’t know all the struggle he was going through. 

You were like an open door to something new. To feel like himself again.

Of course, it would have been too easy if he could have just started to feel at ease next to you and put his touch revulsion away in a flash. 

Hotch was still the boss, and you were working for him. If he were being as responsible as he felt he had to be, he would put a respectful distance between the two of you. He couldn’t be there, longing for your touch.

But, without meaning to, you were making things way harder for him.

You were the affectionate type. And soon the team learned that they couldn’t escape your overflowing need to have physical contact with them to show your appreciation. Even Spencer, who made it clear from the start that he wasn’t comfortable with this type of affection, ended up asking for some of yours. 

Like the high five when the team progressed in the case, the handholding—or grabbing, in your case—for the person next to you in the plane or the comforting touch when you felt like one of them needed it. A hand on the shoulder, a squeeze on the arm, your fingers patting your thighs softly when a meeting was going wrong, or even a hug when it was necessary. It was a normal habit for you, and soon it became one for the team too.

You weren’t sure Hotch was appreciating it though. He was your boss, and for obvious reasons, you tried to keep a distance so you wouldn’t get fired for sexual harassment. But if you felt like some of them barely needed your affection—yet, still appreciated it—like Emily or Derek, and some truly loved having you around, like Penelope, there was something different with Hotch.

That man was the incarnation of sadness, and you couldn’t do anything about it.

The first time you overpassed your feelings about it was during a case involving children. The meeting with the sheriff went terribly wrong, and Hotch, who always seemed so calm and composed, let his anger out when he got up. Slamming the chair against the desk and closing the door just as hard. 

You didn’t hesitate a single second before running after him. “Hotch!” you yelled, a little louder than intended since people turned around. Well, most did, except for the one concerned. You had to run after him outside to finally be able to grab his arm. “Oh god, I’m not trained for this stuff,” you said, out of breath. 

He stayed silent. Still in shock that you went after him. Still in shock that your touch didn’t make him feel sick. Once again. He even found some comfort in the way your thumb was naturally brushing his wrist; he could feel your tenderness even through the tissue of his shirt.

“Are you ok?” you asked before laughing. “I’m stupid; of course you’re not. But…can I do anything?” 

Hotch was impressive for many, many reasons. He was your boss, sure. He was older than you; it was a fact. But he was terribly and undeniably handsome. It wasn’t easy to be in front of him most of the time. But right now, alone in the street, facing his eyes that were leaving your face and his deep silence, it was even harder.

“Can I offer you a hug? Maybe?” Your voice was so low that you were convinced he didn’t hear you. Which was probably for the better. You could live with the idea of missing the opportunity because you didn’t speak loud enough. Less with the idea that he deliberately ignored you.

But soon, you watched his movement as he made a step towards you. As his arms opened up before closing against your body. As his head is buried in your neck. It took you a second to react, and you held him tight against you. Your hand went to his back to caress it slowly. 

You wondered when was the last time he experienced a comforting hug.

Hotch knew it had been roughly a year. 

The following weeks, you noticed Hotch took some distance with you. You’d like to say he did it again, but the truth was you don’t think he was doing it deliberately before the hug. Now he was doing everything to not be close to you.

It was late at night when your bell rang. The camera on your phone immediately gave you the image of the man standing in front of your door. A tall man with dark hair and a dark coat that you knew well since these days have been cold and it was your boss’ favorite.

You didn’t question Hotch's presence at your door until you opened it and were met by his sad figure. “This has to stay between us,” he immediately said in a hoarse voice. And before knowing what this was about, you nodded. You had the feeling you couldn’t refuse what he was asking for. 

You watched as he entered your apartment. As he took off his coat, putting it on a hanger and hanging it on the coat rack in precise movements. Like he repeated it in his head many times to make sure everything went smoothly. Or to reassure him that if he didn’t mess up here, it meant he was doing the right thing.

And you watched as he faced you, again, and went to your arms immediately. This one took you by surprise. You were used to being the one initiating the hug, not the one receiving it. Or, more exactly in this case, giving it without offering it in the first place.

Because Hotch wasn’t holding you. He was being held by you. More than that, he was holding onto you tightly, craving your touch. You could feel his fingers grabbing the thin tissue of your pajamas. Like he feared you might disappear any second. Fearing that he would lose the only person that made him feel good about himself again.

The hand you put on his back slowly moved to his neck, softly touching and caressing his skin. In any other moment, this was something that would have stressed him. Hotch always felt sensitive in this part of his body. He used to love being touched there, but after these past months, the idea of someone else's hand here was impossible to conceive. But here he was, longing for your touch. Hoping you never stopped.

And when you leaned back, he was glad that your hand didn’t leave its place. “Let’s sit so we can talk, ok?” you offered in a whisper. It seemed right to grab his hand at that moment to guide him, as if your apartment wasn’t small enough that your living room was more than apparent from the door.

You found it funny, once you both settled in your vintage sofa, how you looked like two opposites. You are in your pajamas, far from the professional outfit you wore all day. While Hotch was still in his suit, it looked like his day had just started. 

Except for the tired eyes and the exhausted expression. You knew it wasn’t even caused by work; you had a very casual office day. Maybe that was the saddest part. How life has exhausted him to a point of no return.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked, suddenly realizing that maybe you should give him the chance to decide instead of imposing an explanation. 

At first, Hotch didn’t reply. His eyes were still on your hand holding his, how little it looked compared to his big fingers. There was something almost fragile in his behavior, how he looked smaller, trying to disappear in your cushion. 

And so, you started to talk for him. You told him what you did when you got home, what you ate, and what you watched during dinner. Trying to keep his mind entertained. And since you had the habit of speaking with your hands, you kept playing with his fingers or hitting his thigh. 

“You’re the first person that can touch me,” he finally said after hearing one of your silly facts about burning your soup the other day. But his revelation didn’t ruin the mood. Sure, you weren’t laughing anymore, neither was he—even if he didn’t truly laugh, simply giggling. But the way you turned to him, your knee falling on his lap and your hands grabbing his in a protective way, he felt at ease. 

Hotch couldn’t look at you when he told you about Foyet, what happened that night, the stabs, and how he actually remembered everything compared to what he said to the others. But he was still looking at your hands. “After that, I realized that the idea of being touched was frightening. I just couldn’t handle it and avoided it at any cost. The feeling of someone else’s skin on mine was just…” He didn’t finish his sentence, closing his eyes at the memory of the sickness it used to give him. 

When you stopped brushing his skin with your thumb, he put his hand on top of yours. “But not you,” he continued, looking up at you. “Being touched by you is like an antidote. I can’t explain it.” 

Now that you were thinking about it, you realized that more than once you saw Hotch step back to not be touched by anyone. Something you never paid more attention to. You weren’t a profiler, not like the team. So you didn’t question his freeze when someone approached him, the tension in his jaw when he had to shake hands, or that the only person he sat next to on the plane was Spencer, the one that wouldn’t touch him without permission. 

“I don’t want to escape your touch.” He said after a long pause. You could tell from his eyes that it wasn't easy for him to say those things. “I need it.” 

This sounded like a confession. It was actually the first time that Hotch acknowledged that more than accepting your skin on his, it became a necessity. An urge to be touched by you. And feel alive. 

“What are you asking me, Aaron?” You asked. You were confused about the situation. “I’m happy to help, and I would have understood if you had asked me to stop being this affectionate with you because it makes you feel uncomfortable. But here…”

Something changed in his eyes; you could see it. And before you could understand, Hotch was up and already walking to your door. “I’m sorry. This was inappropriate.”

Running after your boss in your pajamas and slippers was not on your to-do list today. So you grabbed his wrist, but when you tried to pull him close to you, he stopped at the same moment. And so you fell against his chest. Naturally, one of his hands went on your back to secure your body. You did the same, putting a hand on his chest. 

It was hard to ignore the feeling of your bodies pressed against each other. “I want to help you,” you said in a low voice, like a secret you wanted to keep between you. “I’ll gladly do it.” 

Something softened in his body when he couldn’t find the one thing he was convinced people had for his behavior. Judgment. Hotch had been convinced that anyone was judging him. And maybe some did, for what he knew.

You didn’t. All he could see was a comprehensive look and a will to do right. 

“But I need you to guide me,” you added. Slowly, you went for his other hand, held it, and brought it to his chest. 

You stayed like that. Skin to skin, body to body. This moment lasted longer than all the physical contact Hotch had in the past months. And you could feel his fingers untighten slowly, just like most of his body. Accepting your embrace, your touch, your help. You even saw a little smile grow on his lips, very subtle but that meant so much.

Maybe Hotch died a few months ago. Maybe a little part of him had accepted it.

But now, he had the feeling that in between your hands, he could experience life again. And with your help, making it worth living.

Tag List: @kiwriteswords @monzabee (if you want to be in it, ask me and I'll be happy to add you x)

[sunnie-angel]

Um hello?????? This was so good and there’s going to be more at some point? July is an amazing messenger for this story and I’m so here for it. The yearning is so real.

He kissed her a little, tried to do what he was supposed to; put his hands on her waist, maintaining a respectable distance from too high or too low. But it felt…off, somehow.

I’m so emotional over this. He’s doing what he’s supposed to even though it doesn’t feel right and it makes him think that he can never have this now.

working himself to the bone as the Red Hood so he wouldn’t have time to reflect on who he was as Jason.

Insane over this part!!!! There’s a separation between the mask and the man and he’s leaning on the mask because he finds the man wanting.

He needs time to think. To lie down in his old bed, stare at the ceiling, and think about if he’ll ever see you again.

Yearner Jason Todd confirmed.

“That’s…uh…” Dick clears his throat again. Then again. “That’s great, Jason,” he says, at last regaining his composure.

Dick is the unexpected VIP of this fic, I love how you write him here

Dick has to quiet the extremely loud sirens going off in his head when he (albeit incorrectly) has the realization that his baby brother, the one he still sees as four feet tall, swinging his little legs off the kitchen island and covered in cookie crumbs is, in fact, having sex. 

Cackling at Dick losing his mind and simultaneously trying to keep it together. Yes his little brother is all grown up! But also it’s not at all what he thinks it is.

Jason can’t imagine you’d be welcoming, either, after the way he left two nights ago. He watched you splash your face with cool water, leaving him with a shaky, watery smile, then listened to you putter around the kitchen with the promise of tea for the both of you.

The little details make this so heartbreaking.

He climbed out of your bedroom window, like a coward. In his haste, he left those bloodstains he promised he would clean.

!!!!!!! Jason I’m pretty sure she cared way more about you yeeting yourself out of the window while injured and ghosting her than the stained sheets.

“You’re, uh…using protection, right?”

Dick is trying so hard to be a good big brother but also I am dying from the awkwardness. So is Jason.

You’re mad at yourself for being so stupid as to break down in front of him. It’s no fucking wonder he ran out the first chance he got.

Nooooo!!!!! I knew that bit of vulnerability was gonna come back to bite the both of them.

In the days following, the book sat there, practically taunting you until you turned it face-down so the sight of the star-constellated cover would stop making your stomach twist over in nausea. Nausea at the memory of how eager you were to pick it up at the library mere days after he had mentioned it, how you buzzed with excitement, and maybe something deeper, when you came home at night ready to snuggle into the couch with a blanket and your favorite mug to read the next chapter.

1) is this based on a real book? 2) Love the zoom in on the little details in the face of everything else. Reader’s brain/emotions can’t deal with the enormity of everything so it focuses on the little parts it can handle.

That their love was doomed from the start because, inevitably, he will have to leave her, and he has known the entire time that he would have to leave. That he loved her with one foot out the door.

Ohhhhhhh I love the parallel to Reader/Jason and the book couple. Now I really am wondering if this was based on a real book.

You hoped not; no one else needed to know him the way you did.

Let’s go possessive reader!!!!!!!

Ten days after that night, that book is one week past its due date when you muster up the will to take it back to the Gotham Public Library.

This is such a creative idea to get them back together but it also is so heartbreaking.

It would be another two months before you saw him again.

TWO MONTHS?????? Oh the angst is going to be off the wall. I can’t wait to see where you go with this!

love in withdrawal

true that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me, that the sound of the saw must be known by the tree.

or; in the aftermath of that night, you're both wracked with regret, wishing it went differently. [3.3k]

jason todd x fem!reader; warnings from pt1 also apply; typical jason-angst (so ptsd, self-image/hatred, family issues, etc) + virgin!jason YOU ALR KNOW THE VIBESSSS😝😝😝👹👹 previous: you're good to me, baby

Jason Todd has tried very hard to be normal. At least, as normal as he can get. After returning to his home city and settling into his role as the Red Hood, crime lord and resident anti-hero of Gotham, he really did try. He went out with his 'coworkers' to have a good time. He spoke to his neighbors, hoping some friendship would stick. He went to a seedy bar with Roy and stuttered through some flirting with the girl who eye-fucked him from across the bar for fifteen minutes. With Roy’s encouragement (read: peer pressure), he followed her out to the alley behind the bar. He kissed her a little, tried to do what he was supposed to; put his hands on her waist, maintaining a respectable distance from too high or too low. But it felt…off, somehow. His heightened senses made the way she trailed one finger up and down the muscles of his arm feel prickly, the scars under his sleeve sensitive and itching at her touch. Her lips were too sticky with gloss, and its saccharine watermelon flavor lingered on his teeth for days. No matter how hard he scrubbed at them.

Roy hadn’t let him live that down for months. His recounting of Jason leaving her in the bar when she invited him home, looking ‘scared shitless and fumbling hard’ was an exaggeration, but maybe not that far off. Looking back, he wasn’t sure what he expected; he could barely look his own family in the eye. How did he think he’d be able to keep it together around a pretty girl? He was quick to give up any hopes of being ‘normal’ after that.

He lived like that for a while; putting all his energy into keeping the city safe, working himself to the bone as the Red Hood so he wouldn’t have time to reflect on who he was as Jason. He fixed things with his family just enough to have a place to go every other weekend to “upgrade his gear.” When he stuck around long enough that it was ‘only convenient’ to stay for dinner, no one commented on it. He’d accepted that this was his life now.

He never meant for things to go this far with you. Honestly. He was just doing his job when he gave you a ride home after you sprained your ankle trying to fight off that mugger. When he had to hold your weight so you could walk up the stairs to your apartment, he was still just doing his job. And when you, still in shock and heart pumping with adrenaline, put your frantic energy into nervous ramblings and fretting over his bruises— making sure you were okay before he left was part of his job. But one visit to your apartment turned into two, and two turned into three, each under the guise of ‘checking on your ankle’ or ‘being on his route’. Somewhere along the line your arrangement came to be: he stopped by with wounds needing to be treated, you treated them, and then he’d leave. And if you wanted to make some small conversation, getting to know each other a little more with every visit, that was harmless. Seeking you out for the smallest injuries that he was fully capable of dealing with himself was harmless. Holding you in his arms while you clutched onto him for dear life and sobbed into his shirt, neglecting his knife wound for far too long in favor of wiping away your tears—

He never meant for things to go this far.

Two days after that night, Jason is still reeling. In hindsight, letting the slice on his arm sit in the open, stale air for as long as it did was not the best idea. Sewing it closed one-handed so as to relieve the burden from your shoulders, taking no care to sterilize the instruments that fell to the floor in his hurry to follow the alarm bells in his head that screamed go! Get out and go! was a horrible idea. Sure, having you kneeled in his lap, pressed against him for the better part of the thirty minutes he spent at your place wasn’t exactly a regret. But was it worth the round of antibiotics and week-long benching ordered by Bruce after he stumbled into the Batcave an hour ago, hastily stitched up by his own hand and running a fever? He can’t decide. Was it worth the consequence of his siblings taking turns covering the patrol route of his city sector during his absence? Definitely not.

Was it worth the sight of you looking up at him, watery-eyed with flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes accentuated by the shine of your tears? The feeling of your hand sliding over his chest?

Maybe.

Maybe he could use the time off, as pointed out by a sneering Timothy, considering he was so stupid as to let his wound fester to the point of infection. He’d be too distracted to give the city his full attention, anyway. He needs time to think. To lie down in his old bed, stare at the ceiling, and think about if he’ll ever see you again.

Tim’s comment earns him a smack to the back of the head from Dick, who promptly kicks Tim out of the room.

“How are you feeling?” Dick stands at Jason’s bedside, arms crossed in concern.

“Same as when you asked me five minutes ago.” Jason wheezes. His pit-enhanced immunity makes the infection symptoms much easier than they could have been, but Bruce still insisted on him staying the whole week for observation. With how much he’s grown since he last used it, his childhood room feels much smaller than he remembers.

“Yeah, but…” Dick narrows his eyes at Jason. His gaze flits to his arm, wrapped in fresh bandages with an ice pack pressed over the stitches. “How…are you?”

“The same as…before,” Jason says, mimicking his brother’s cadence.

Dick sighs, thinking over his next move. He walks to the door, closes it, and pulls Jason’s desk chair to the bedside and sits down.

Jason groans. “Do you really have to—”

“Just humor me,” Dick interrupts. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. He takes Jason’s silence as resignation. “Did something happen?”

Jason rolls his eyes. “I got stabbed, Dick.”

“Is that all?” There’s a lilt in Dick’s voice.

“What are you implying?” Jason shoots back, though his hoarse throat negates his attempt to sound intimidating.

“Nothing! I’m not implying anything!” Dick leans back in his chair, holding his palms up in surrender. “I’m just saying. You seem…bothered. By something.”

“Yeah, the stab wound.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Dick clears his throat. “If there’s nothing.” He stands, returning the chair to its place. As he’s leaving, though, his hand settled on the doorknob, he hears a rustle of fabric and turns back to Jason. He’s shifting around in his old bed, awkwardly pulling at the comforter and he moves to sit on the edge, staring hard at the red pattern of the blanket while opening and closing his mouth, battling with himself on whether or not he should speak. Dick waits, giving him the time to work it out.

“I think I…” Jason says finally, not looking up from his lap. “I messed up.” He looks very uncomfortable. If opening up wasn’t such a rare occurrence for him, Dick might have found humor in his brother’s embarrassment.

Dick lets go of the doorknob, but doesn’t dare move closer. He knows that Jason’s fight or flight instincts will take hold the second he feels too caged in. “Messed up how?” He asks, keeping his tone even and unemotional.

“With…someone.” Jason forces out the words, cheeks burning as bright as his bedspread. He still refuses to look at Dick, but at the surprised, choked-back sound he makes at the admission, Jason’s face snaps up to his. Dick is disguising his shock as a cough into his fist, but his wide eyes are unmistakable, even behind the curtain of thick hair falling over his eyes.

“That’s…uh…” Dick clears his throat again. Then again. “That’s great, Jason,” he says, at last regaining his composure.

“Is it?” Jason says, squinting at his brother.

“No, I mean—not that you—” Dick sighs, running a hand down his face and deciding to abandon that train of thought altogether. “What happened?”

“I sort of…left. Abruptly.” Jason rubs at the growing stubble on his jaw. “Like— like after…” He trails off, hoping Dick will get the idea.

Dick has to quiet the extremely loud sirens going off in his head when he (albeit incorrectly) has the realization that his baby brother, the one he still sees as four feet tall, swinging his little legs off the kitchen island and covered in cookie crumbs is, in fact, having sex. 

“Is it serious?” He asks through a stiff smile.

Jason, ever oblivious to the silent breakdown his brother is having at the door, is not sure if he’d describe what you two have as serious. He knows you fairly well, knows what you do from the nights you talk about what’s going on at work; what you like from the posters and trinkets you have hung up around your place. And yeah, you talk sometimes. He may not speak that much around you, and it’s usually just frustrated complaints about the other bats, but it’s certainly more than he speaks to most people outside his family. And he sees you more often than he does most people outside his family. And he feels more comfortable with you than—

“Jason,” Dick calls, pulling him from his thoughts. “Is it serious?” He asks again, though there’s a quirk in his brow that suggests he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” is what Jason settles on.

“When did this happen?”

“Uh, a few days ago?” Jason says, even though he knows that’s a lie. It was 45 hours and 26 minutes ago, to be precise, but he doesn’t say that. He’s not sure how it would be received.

“You can’t go back? Just try to apologize?”

He wants to see you again, but he can’t. Doing so in the first place only put you in danger, and he was an idiot for ignoring that. If the wrong person had seen the Red Hood making consistent visits to the same window of the same building? His stomach turns at the thought.

Jason can’t imagine you’d be welcoming, either, after the way he left two nights ago. He watched you splash your face with cool water, leaving him with a shaky, watery smile, then listened to you putter around the kitchen with the promise of tea for the both of you. He felt like an asshole, picturing you coming back to the bathroom with his mug in hand, only to be met with an empty room and scattered first aid supplies on the floor. He didn’t even leave through the living room, like he entered, because you were in the kitchen. He climbed out of your bedroom window, like a coward. In his haste, he left those bloodstains he promised he would clean.

“I’m not sure she wants to see me.” Jason says quietly.

Dick answers thoughtfully; “Did she tell you that, or are you just making assumptions?”

Jason sighs. “Shit.”

“But, actually,” Dick winces. “You do have to stay here for the whole week, so…”

Jason lets out a tired groan and drops his face into his palms.

“Maybe call her?” Dick offers. He gathers the conversation is over from the way Jason glares at him, and turns to leave. But when he’s halfway out the door, he turns back. “Hey, Jaybird?”

Jason lifts his chin.

“You’re, uh…using protection, right?”

Jason blinks. It’s now that he realizes what Dick thought he was talking about and it burns him, leaving his skin red-hot.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Look, I’m just trying to—” He cuts himself off with a yelp, leaping out of the doorway to dodge the projectile pillow thrown at his head.

Jason hears a ‘good talk’ from the end of the hall, but is too busy with brand new concerns about his situation with you. If he could call you, he would, but he doesn’t have your number. He could easily find it, but not while he’s confined to this bedroom; he’d need access to his gear at home. And with the entire manor breathing down his neck for the next week, there was no way he’d be able to sneak out. So he’d have to wait an entire week before coming to see you again.

Maybe showing up at your place two days after the ordeal would have you understandably hurt, but nine days? You were going to be pissed. You are pissed.

Not at the Red Hood. You’re mad at yourself for being so stupid as to break down in front of him. It’s no fucking wonder he ran out the first chance he got. You sobbed into his shirt like an idiot for who knows how long. You practically felt him up. You’re an idiot for not thinking that would make him uncomfortable. And now, he’s never coming back, and you can’t even blame him!

There’s a book on your coffee table with a bookmark near the end that’s been staring at you since that night. That night when you, more consumed with confusion than anything else, dumped two mugs of fresh tea in the sink and flopped down on the couch and…waited. For what, you had no idea. The cover art took up your entire field of vision while you lied to yourself, saying you weren’t stealing glances at the window, hoping for a certain body to appear in the frame.

In the days following, the book sat there, practically taunting you until you turned it face-down so the sight of the star-constellated cover would stop making your stomach twist over in nausea. Nausea at the memory of how eager you were to pick it up at the library mere days after he had mentioned it, how you buzzed with excitement, and maybe something deeper, when you came home at night ready to snuggle into the couch with a blanket and your favorite mug to read the next chapter.

I hate you so much, you had murmured into a nasty bruise on the back of his left shoulder one night, though you couldn’t stop the grin that broke through the words.

What did I do? He replied, turning to look at you over his shoulder. 

You never told me that would happen halfway through, you said, forcing a frown when you looked up at him.

He chuckled. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to spoil it for you.

Through the amusement there was a lull in your usual rhythm. He did not need to ask which part of the book you were complaining about. He knows, knows you well enough to understand that you would be angry, reading about a budding, hopeful love that’s marred by the revelation that the boy and the girl will not make it. That their love was doomed from the start because, inevitably, he will have to leave her, and he has known the entire time that he would have to leave. That he loved her with one foot out the door.

You turned him around, ready to focus on the small abrasion at his temple when he asks, forgive me?

Fine, I guess so, you said, standing on your toes to get closer to his head.

That night replayed in your mind too often. The way he moved a ghost of an inch closer to lean into your fingers. The smell that was purely him in the grime and sweat in his hair when you pushed it back from his forehead, hoping he wouldn’t notice the extra second you lingered, fingers threaded into those streaks of white. You always wondered if they would feel different than the rest of his hair. They didn’t. They were just as soft. You wondered if anyone else knew that. You hoped not; no one else needed to know him the way you did.

(No one needed to know that you revisited that night with such frequency, either, in the middle of the night hidden under layers of blankets and darkness with nothing but your hands and imagination. You’d take that to the grave.)

Perhaps, deep down, there was a small part of you that wished he would turn up at your window again, this time armed with reasonings and apologies.

There was an emergency.

My team needed me.

I didn’t want to leave.

But after five days of radio silence, there’s not much you can do except take the hint.

You go about your normal routine, trying your hardest to push him out of your mind. Things at work are steady, your position intact and safe from usurping coworkers. You resign yourself to a fate of friends with questionable compassion, grateful to have any at all, and call up your best friend to smooth things over. She accepts, moving on to squeal about her boyfriend’s friend that she’s been dying to set you up with. You reluctantly agree to a double date somewhere down the line, but start preparing excuses and illnesses in the back of your mind.

Ten days after that night, that book is one week past its due date when you muster up the will to take it back to the Gotham Public Library.

(So maybe you still held out a small flicker of hope. What matters now is that you’re here, ready to return it and blow out that flame.)

There’s one person ahead of you when you fall into line at the front desk. He makes easy conversation with the librarian while she scans his library card; judging by the waves he garners from other passing staff, he must be popular around here.

“Thanks again, you’re the best,” he says, taking the book she hands him.

“Oh, of course,” the librarian gushes, a faint rouge coloring her face. “You let me know how you like that one.”

“I will.”

He turns around, halting suddenly to stop himself from walking into you. You mutter out an apology, ready to move past him, but he stares at you, saying nothing. His large hand tightens its grip on an old and worn book. The ends of jet black strands peek out from under a red beanie and he searches you with wide, teal eyes, mouth agape like he wants to speak. He’s looking at you like he’s been looking for you for ages, and he can’t believe you’re here.

“Hi,” he says, sounding a little breathless.

“Hi.” You clutch your book tighter against your chest, not knowing what to make of this man. It draws his eyes lower and he sees the title.

“Hi,” he says again. Then; “I— I was wondering. About that book.” He nods toward it. “I’m, uh, thinking about reading it. What did you think?”

“Oh,” you exhale. “I actually never finished it. Sorry.”

“Oh,” he echoes. His face falls, but only for a moment, before returning to a neutral expression. “Okay, sorry.”

He brushes past, leaving you addled in his wake, but also next in line. The librarian flashes you a glare when the book is scanned in as one week late. Sheepishly, you pay the fine and watch as it gets rolled away on a re-shelf cart, the last of your connections to the Red Hood rolling along with it.

It would be another two months before you saw him again.

remember after the last part when i said "ignore how his open would is just sitting there marinating"? well i figured out how to amend that👍 idk why i feel like this is so short i tried to write more but yk how it is the story goes the way it wants to i am but the messenger. i've been experiencing mad writer's block this past couple of weeks please pray for me🙏🙏🙏

listen to the inspo song!!!

[cowboyschumi]

ANGEL

Summary: Who was Max Verstappen when the cameras were off? A mystery to everyone but a reality for you. A four-time champion is more than just a mentality, and luckily, you went through all those layers to finally reach who he really is.

Author's note: First time writing for Max, so bear with me as I try to portray a realistic personality for him! Flashbacks are aligned differently for clarity and easier reading. As is typical of me, there's a song inspiration for every fic. Not my finest work. English is not my first language sorry for any typos.

Warning: Slight mentions of cursing, menthal health, drinking; jealousy and intercourse.

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COWBOYSCHUMI | 2025 All rights reserved. Do not copy, translate, or upload on other platforms.

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No one knew how on earth you pulled Max. Not because of his status or wealth, but because you somehow ended up dating the man who was the devil reincarnated on track.

The answer was simple and it was the number one rule in your relationship: what happens on the track stays on the track. No rage, no outbursts, no carrying emotions home. Managing feelings. Was it easy at first? Absolutely not.

"Breathe in, breathe out." Those stupid breathing exercises of yours, that’s what he used to call them. And now, they were one of his top habits, something he did every morning and before bed. He was a new man with you, no doubt about it. Max sat on the edge of the bed, the one permanently covered in cat hair, while you knelt behind him. Connected by body contact, by the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and breathing. Your torso pressed against his back, one arm wrapped over his shoulders, and your free hand resting gently on the center of his chest, rising and falling with each of his now-steady breaths.

Managing emotions wasn’t for everyone. You had to know when to react, how to handle things. Anyone else might have freaked out at Max’s outbursts, but not you.

He definitely wasn’t a verbal guy. Occasionally, he made exceptions, but his love language was acts of service and quality time—an action-based way of showing how grateful he was for your patience and love. Sometimes, he outdid himself, crossing the line into extravagance.

"I mean… they didn’t look that big in the photo, I swear." His thick Dutch accent always became more noticeable when he was nervous. That was an indoors thing though, because there was no way Max Verstappen would ever let nerves show in front of the press. But around you? He was a mess. He had bought you flowers. Not just a bouquet, a whole bed-sized arrangement, so massive it nearly swallowed the room. There was no reason behind it, no special occasion. Just a sudden, over-the-top surprise.

Sometimes, Max felt like he owed you something, or like too much time had passed since he last gave you a gift. And when that happened, he’d show up out of nowhere with the most ridiculous, oversized boxes imaginable.

There were nights when he fell asleep first, and you stayed awake, watching him—running your fingers through his still-damp shower hair—wondering how you even ended up by his side. If you hadn't taken the time to get to know him, you probably would have run away at first glance, judging by how awful his first impression was: a man who didn’t seem to care about much of anything.

But as time passed, you realized the two of you weren’t so different. It was the little things that brought you together—sharing the same interests, enjoying the same comforts. There was a quiet peace in the home you shared, despite the occasional chaos of his late-night gaming sessions. He napped with the cats while you baked, or you’d both sit in the living room—paddle tennis playing in the background—while you lost yourself in a book. Everything was perfectly balanced, respecting each other’s schedules and space without overstepping. That’s why spending all day together never felt suffocating. Living together, coexisting, wasn’t a burden the way it ended up being for so many other couples.

Cracking him open took months, maybe even a solid year. There were dates where he barely spoke, post-race weekends where he completely shut down, and times when he disappeared without a word. It took you a while to understand that every person, every emotion, is its own world. You couldn’t be behind him constantly, checking in like some obsessed detective. Everything had its time. He would open up when he was ready.

You certainly didn’t expect him to open up on a Monday at midnight, after winning a race.

"He drank—just a little bit," Daniel Ricciardo grinned widely, as always, helping you carry Max into his apartment. No shit, Sherlock. The younger driver could barely stand, stumbling over his own steps. After Daniel overexplained for the millionth time—without bothering to hide his amusement—that Max always drank this much at parties, you shoved him out through the front door. Oh, how you wished you could share his optimism. And there you were, alone with the drunken enemy. Though, not much of an enemy now, considering he was about to pass out in his party clothes, sprawled across the couch. Arms crossed, a jokingly disapproving look on your face, you stared at him from across the room. "Bet you even drank from the flower vases." "Don’t make me say a word, or I’ll throw up any second," He shot back, his usual sarcastic and sharp tone. The cameras knew him for this side of his personality. You were already used to it. Once again, you guided him to bed, making sure he lay on his back so the dizziness wouldn’t hit as hard. More than a few times, he complained that the ceiling was spinning. "Hold me," He murmured, not demanding, just needy. You stood frozen beside him, and he had to say it twice before you snapped out of your daze. His head rested on your lap now, the sound of the ceiling fan filling the quiet room with a soft hum. The dim, warm glow from the bedside lamp cast shadows on his face, highlighting the sheen of sweat from the party still dripping down his skin. Curled up beneath you, ready to sleep for the next eight hours, he hadn’t even registered that you hadn’t congratulated him yet. "I’m proud of you," You sighed, running your fingers along his back. His black shirt clung to his body, outlining the definition of his muscles. No response. You hadn’t expected one. That had always been your dynamic from the beginning—being present, caring, without expecting anything in return. How could you ask for love from someone who had never learned how to receive it? Someone who had never truly felt it? "Fuck you." His voice was muffled against your lap, trying to silence the quiet sobs that shook his body. Even now, you hadn’t figured out how to get him to swear less. You’d have to work on that.

It took him a long time to figure out sex, he barely knew the basics. To him, it had always been just a mechanical act, nothing more than pulling in and out. Aftercare wasn’t even in his vocabulary.

It felt like moving backward, but in the purest, sweetest way. Learning each other’s bodies from scratch, asking if every touch, every movement felt okay.

You gave sex meaning for him, the feeling of making love, rather than just bodies colliding.

"Do I have to dress up for that?" Max asked, tossing his shirt aside. He wasn’t joking about not wanting to wear a costume, he was genuinely concerned about the possibility. You brought the word foreplay into the conversation. Perplexed was an understatement. His reaction caught you off guard for a second, but then you laughed it off. Him not knowing? Actually hilarious. You hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer as you lay back on the bed. Keeping deep eye contact, without any warning at all, your hand trailed down—palming him through the fabric of his clothes. Slowly, deliberately, letting your touch explore every warm inch possible without actually giving him what he needed most. In an instant, his head nestled against the crook of your neck. His handling span was subtle, as if unaccustomed to your overwhelming attention. "It's about teasing each other just the right amount," You murmured. "Testing our limits playfully."

From an outsider’s perspective, anyone would assume he was a wreck in bed, and truthfully, he used to be. In fact, if you asked him to go back to his old ways—ruthless, relentless—he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you utterly wrecked within minutes. But that wasn’t his comfort zone anymore. You had taught him how to take care of you, how to slow down, and he had learned to like it. Now, he preferred to take his time, savoring every moment. After all, for him, you always came first—in every sense of the word. His top priority.

The building of a healthy relationship has a bit of everything—ups and downs. Sometimes, no matter how much effort you put into someone, their beliefs were stronger. Self-esteem is key to that—well, at least in Max's case. Being number one wasn’t just a state or a way of living; you had to believe you were the one first.

But in a world of multiple numbers, there’s always more than one number one

"Haven't you seen how he stared at you? He even looked twice." He had very expressive, almost cartoonish reactions. Brunch was set on a table outside— a tranquil midday scene, with just enough people around to create that typical background hum of chatter. Your favorite kind of day involved eating out, trying new restaurants, and pretending you were exigent food critics. It had become a sort of ritual—while it took you over an hour to get fully ready, he would just shower and throw on the same white shirt as any prior date. The dress code was formal, but the manners were anything but—immature, noisy laughter, and an endless string of inappropriate jokes.

Looks were tricky. You appeared composed and serious, but never judge a book by its cover. The same went for Max—rock-solid on the outside, with a slightly silly demeanor or playful banter for the media. You two brought out each other’s true selves because, with each other, you felt the safest being your realest.

The way you were with him: compassionate and soft, became the meaning of it all, the reason behind his persistence in calling you angel and reminding you that you were his angel. Sometimes, you could hardly bear his cliché explanation that you saved him, but in truth, you did—not from any external harm, but from himself. You had some sort of protection and halo over him.

“My sweet angel.” "Max Emilian." You protested, just like every other time he called you that. He sounded so careful with each syllable, as if he meant every word. It was him at his corniest, if you were being honest, taking your breath and words away with just a surname. Leaving you all giggly and flustered—that was exactly why you hated being called that so much. "I'm really touching heaven by having you by my side." The Dutch man whispered against your lips, wearing a full smile. He was only this happy with you and only you. The podium wasn't a factor in the happiness equation.

You changed his life for the better, so how could he not feel happy and blessed to call you his?

[lookingforuravity]

CHAPTER 1: WHO I AM

now playing ♫ dreams by fleetwood mac

word count: 530 words

series masterlist | next chap.

“It's a leap of faith to love people and let yourself be loved. It's closing your eyes, stepping off a ledge into nothing, and trusting that you'll fly rather than fall.”

— The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, Sangu Mandana

As much as I tried to, I couldn't fight off the small grin that made its way onto my face. I loved reading about love, I loved watching love, I loved love.

The bus ride was a bit bumpy, which made it hard for me to read the words of my book but I could make out most of it. My fingers trailed over the pages as I started to skim through the rest of the chapters. My heart would always swell when I'd read about the stolen glances, the longing touches, it made me feel so lightheaded.

But as much as I loved it, seeing how effortless love was in fiction rather than my own life was frustrating, to say the least. Even if something was pulling the characters away from each other, they always found a way to go back to one another. So how come every guy my age was a prick?

It could be that my expectations are too high. I mean, nowadays how many guys on this earth live up to my standards? It must be that I'm searching for something that may not exist, but I can't help it. The thought of someone doing so much for me because they love me made my palms sweaty and butterflies fly in my stomach.

Daydreaming was a bad habit of mine. It wasn't just an occasional thing that would happen now and then. It happened to me multiple times a day, where I'd craft these scenarios in my head that could never happen. In my restless dreams, I'd meet a guy who would give everything and more just to be with me, and I get so lost in these thoughts that I’d forget it's not true.

Because in reality, I've never experienced that. I've never had a boyfriend, no one to kiss me or hug me if I felt sad. I did feel like a bit of a loser, I'm 17 years old and I haven't had my first anything. It has gotten to a point in my life where I've accepted the fact that the love that I craved so deeply was only fiction.

But how could I settle for anything less than what my heart wanted?

I sighed as I rested my head against the window of the bus, my eyes trailing over the scenary as it made its way to my stop. The buzzing of my phone pulled me out of the dream world I created. I lifted up my phone and saw a text from Mina.

I’ve never been one to party. In all honesty, I'd much rather stay home and watch romantic comedy movies while I wallow in self-pity. But can i really meet the man of my dreams if i stay in my cocoon all day?

No, unfortunately, I cannot.

TAGLIST [29/50]: @ditsyngel @shibuyablonde @lotusstarr @katsulina @wonubby @kalulakunundrum @tamishadawn @bangersplusmash @erenjaegerswifeee @r9yri @aa-soo @shewki @rednicotine @jaguarthecat @katsuisbaby @snoozebunz @h0ngh0ngh0ng @megumismyhusband @jazoewazoe @ac333s @ikissfade @icey-wonders @bakunianadecorazon @marvel-z0mbie @tjbfingfh @d4rlinxs @bokutosmeatythigh @harryzcherry @holobean

©LOOKINGFORURAVITY 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[bbyquokka]

all's not what it seems

– looks are deceiving .ᐟ.ᐟ

pairing | lee felix x fem bodied reader

genre | head cannon, fluff, smut – MDNI

cw | dom felix , sexual asphyxiation (choking) , oral (m & f rec) , throat/face fucking , marking , possessive felix (?) , breeding kink , cream pies, unprotected penetration (p in v)

words | 0.8k ~ (830)

notes | a little something for my moon @oshimee! happy birthday, beautiful! ilyyy 🥳🩷

m.list — tag list — you can also read it on my ao3

dont repost. dont translate. minors, ageless & default blogs; dni! feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

nerd felix who seems to be the stereotypical nerd, the nerd you read about in books and see in the movies.

nerd felix who is that stereotypical nerd. always dressed in plaid sweaters or button up shirts. big round glasses resting on his nose. hair slicked back.

nerd felix who is a nerd through and through. he loves his games of any kind. he would occasionally have DND nights at his place with a few of his other friends. maybe sometimes spending time online playing league of legends or overwatch. he'd spend hours painting his little DND or Warhammer figures if he isn't online.

nerd felix who seems shy and timid. he always whispers a small “hello” to you, paired with a nod of the head whilst clutching the strap of his backpack.

nerd felix who always blushes wherever he sees you or talks to you. he can't help it – you're just so beautiful to him!

nerd felix who found himself getting close to you due to finding out (more like over hearing) that you love to game. he plucked up the courage to ask for your ign and when you happily gave it to him, he swore his heart leaped out of his chest

nerd felix who spent all his time online with you. you'd spend hours and hours with each other, gaming until the AM. and if you weren't gaming, he would show you his hobbies. tell your stories about his many adventures with DND, show you his collection of figures he's either bought or painted.

nerd felix who got you into his hobbies. you came around one day, noticed he was painting his Warhammer figures and you wanted to give it a shot (it looked relaxing). before you knew it, it was well into the evening. you never expected to have fun painting small little figures, yet, here you are. time flies!

nerd felix who started to grow more and more fond of you, growing attached to you, who wanted to spend all his time with you. he'd happily ditch his friends for one league game (it wasn't just one game) he's a little (a lot) smitten for you!

nerd felix who finally confessed his feelings. his feelings have been building and building until he couldn't take it no more. he confessed over a game of DND. he was scared to death! it was make or break. he cried when you told him you also felt the same way. 

nerd felix who you assumed was vanilla but looks are deceiving. 

nerd felix who has a dom streak. who likes to be rough. who likes to watch you beg, plead and cry for him, because of him.

nerd felix who loves to wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze because the way you tighten around his cock and your eyes rolling to the back of your head makes his body feel euphoric. he likes power, he loves control even more and knowing that you are willing to let him control you in such ways makes him tingle.

nerd felix who loves loves loves to watch you gag on his cock. he loves it when your pretty face is stained with tears and drool. he loves it when you look up at him through your wet lashes, eyes holding nothing but intense desire. he looks hearing you struggle to take his length down your throat. he loves watching you squirm when he praises you.

nerd felix whose favourite thing to do to you is eat your pussy. he is a starved man when it comes to eating you out and he will have you anywhere at any time. he is an attentive man so he will take his time, making sure to apply just the right amount of pressure to your clit before licking between your folds and poking his tongue into your entrance. he loves it when you sit on his face. he wants you to crush his skull! he will force you to sit on his face, to sit pretty for him whilst his tongue delves into your wet cunt.

nerd felix who loves to mark you up. bites, hickey's, nail marks, he will do it all! he loves that sick, twisted feeling of satisfaction he gets when he sees you flaunting your marks to the public, watching your face turn pink when you try to explain yourself to your friends

nerd felix who is a million percent into breeding and cream pies! he looooves the thought of breeding you, of planting a baby inside of you. the thought of you walking around with a swollen stomach, carrying his child makes his cock throb. he loves flooding your hungry cunt with his semen, watching it trickle out of you before pushing his cock back inside you and thrusting his cum deep inside. he'd go for more than one round to ensure that you are nice and full of him and to ensure that you’ll get pregnant.

[seumyo]

This is the first time I dare to do something like this, but I saw you were writing for Rook one of my favourite characters. So I was wondering if you could do something with a French!Reader, not necessarily a romantic one but someone who would understand what Rook says perfectly. It would be better if they spoke Japanese since their arrival and he doesn't know they understand him until they surprise him by responding.

ROOK HUNT ✰ UNDERSTANDING YOU

NOTE. This is so sweet, I’m clawing at the walls. Rook, my love (◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ) Thank you so much for this beautiful request <33 Also forgive me French speakers if the translations are rough/grammatically incorrect—I was fighting for my life against most online translators for this

You’ve always known that Rook had a way with his words. He was convinced no one at Night Raven College could fully appreciate his words, so he freely spoke his mind in his native language.

It became his way of processing emotions and, at times—his frustrations—without anyone understanding his deeper thoughts. Because of this, he was more unfiltered and vulnerable when speaking French, a luxury he thought he alone could enjoy.

That is, until you came into the picture.

You were seated in your usual spot in the library, books spread out in front of you as you studied, when Rook appeared seemingly out of nowhere. How does he do that? You could never truly know.

“Quelle concentration exquise! (What exquisite focus!) A sight you are, [Name],” he smiled, taking a seat next to you and peering over your shoulder to see what textbook you were reading.

You, exhausted from hours of reading and too distracted to think, responded automatically.

“Tu es vraiment bruyant, Rook. (You're really loud, Rook.)”

Pause.

Stop.

Rewind.

Rebooting.

“Ah-ha!” Rook almost cheered in glee, but you were able to stop him from doing so—because you were sure the librarian was keeping a stern eye on you two by now. He chuckled, murmuring this time, “Merveilleux. (Marvelous!) You speak French.”

“I—“

He, however, was already leaning closer, his grin full of delight—as if unable to stop himself from chatting your head off upon this revelation. “Why have you hidden this from me for so long? Ah, quel bonheur. (What joy!) I had thought myself alone in this vast sea of languages, but to know that you too carry the melody of French upon your tongue—it is as though fate has brought us together.”

Caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement, you duckled your head, resting your head against your propped arms on the table. “Ce n'était pas intentionnel. (It wasn’t intentional.)”

“But why?” Rook pressed, tilting his head. He almost looked like a child—unable to hold his curiosity in one place. “Was it shyness? Or perhaps… a desire to keep your origins a secret? Oh, the mystery only adds to your allure.”

“I just... didn’t see the need to?” You mirrored his head tilt, now pondering why you never spoke much French when you got to this college.

He gasped.

“But why deny yourself the pleasure of our beautiful language?”

“Je ne sais pas, Rook. (I don't know, Rook.) Maybe I just liked keeping it to myself? I’m not really sure.”

Rook studied you for a moment before smiling, softer this time. “Well then, [Name], if I may be so bold… would you indulge me in conversation every now and then? It is rare to find someone who understands the true essence of our mother tongue.”

There was something warm about the way he said it, a genuine happiness beneath his usual theatrical flair. It’s that unfiltered, unparalleled joy of finding that specific connection with someone.

You said yes, of course.

And just like that, things changed.

Where before Rook had simply been another student you occasionally encountered and was in the same dorm as you, he now became a frequent presence at your side, always eager to chat. At first, it was strange—you weren’t used to speaking French so casually in this school, but with Rook, it felt natural.

“Regarde comme le ciel est beau aujourd'hui! (Look at how beautiful the sky is today!)” Rook says as you two walk through the gardens, gesturing delicately.

“Mhm, it’s nice out,” you replied, amused at his enthusiasm.

Or, when you were focused on something, he would suddenly appear beside you, whispering in your ear, “Tu as un esprit si captivant… Que pourrais-tu bien être en train de penser? (You have such a captivating mind… What could you possibly be thinking about?)”

To which you’d flick his forehead and respond, “Que tu es agaçant. (That you're annoying.)” He’d laugh as you continued, “Really, stop creeping up behind me like that—I could’ve elbowed you.”

“Violent, how endearing.”

He, of course, took it all in stride, laughing as if you had just paid him the highest compliment.

Despite his dramatics, you found yourself enjoying his presence more than you expected. There was something comforting about having someone else who understood your language, who could switch between playful teasing and deep, poetic musings without hesitation. It felt like home in a way you hadn’t realized you missed.

A friend that made you feel at home. As you did with him.

One evening, as you sat by the lake, watching the water ripple under the fading sunlight, Rook sighed contentedly.

“Tu sais, (You know),” he said, voice softer than usual, “depuis que je suis ici, je me suis souvent senti comme un étranger dans mon propre monde. (Ever since I arrived here, I’ve often felt like a stranger in my own world.)”

You were surprised by his change of tone.

“Pourquoi? (Why?)”

Rook smiled, but there was a wistfulness in his expression. “Parce que la langue est une chose étrange. (Because language is a strange thing.) It is not just words—it carries culture, memories, the very essence of who we are. And though I love the way words dance in many tongues, there is a loneliness in being the only one to understand a particular melody.”

You had never thought about it that way.

He really had a way with words.

And an even more

You nudged his shoulder lightly. “Tu n’es plus seul maintenant. (You’re not alone anymore.)”

Rook blinked, then beamed at you, warmth radiating from his smile. “Ah, quelle déclaration magnifique! (Ah, what a magnificent declaration!) My dear [Name], you are truly a treasure!”

You laughed, shaking your head.

“Ne sois pas dramatique. (Don’t be dramatic.)”

“But it is my nature!” he declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You sighed quietly but didn’t move away.

You supposed that, just this once, you could let him be as dramatic as he wanted. Because Rook really did feel like he was home whenever he was with you, and that made his heart more contented than anything.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[sacr1ficialang3l]

The darker the fruit, the sweeter.𖤐

DEAN WINCHESTER X GOTH!READER (meet her)

SUMMARY: The brothers and reader are investigating a new case when they makes a new furry friend. Dean is not a big fan of him at first, but they both soon find out that they are more alike than they expected. 5.3k

WARNINGS: fem!reader. this is all pretty fluffy and cute. finally getting together.

NOTES: goth!reader is back! I genuinely love writing for her so much. I had a more complex plot for this idea but it was way too long as it is. Maybe one day I will expand it and post it in ao3 instead. Let me know if you'd be interested in that! As always, English is not my first language. Enjoy<3

You hated hunts when you didn’t know what you were dealing with, but they were usually also the most “fun”, as fun as hunting monsters that can kill you can get. 

Because yes, vengeful spirits and vamp nests and werewolves were always easy to recognize, and more or less an easy gig. But when the creature was unknown, it was dangerous. Not knowing what you were dealing with could make the difference between life and death, but the research was just so much fun. 

Reading books and articles of lore about creatures all around the world, Sam and you hunched over his laptop for hours talking about Telkhines, or maybe an unicorn? And What the hell is a selkie?

It was like a big game of Clue where you had to put together who, where, and with what. Just that in this game, you could be the next victim, or Sam, or Dean. 

Anyway, the important thing was, you didn’t know how to feel right now. 

People had been disappearing without any explanation, not a trace of them anywhere. There was no connection or similarities between the victims, all different ages and different genders. It had to be your kind of thing, because the people would disappear from their home, usually at night, but there was never any sign of break-in, and it was very improbable that so many people from the same town had just decided to ditch for no reason. 

That is why, after a long day of talking to victims’ families and going over every police report and lore book available, Sam, Dean, and you return to the motel room with exhausted expressions and slumped shoulders.

The night was cold, and you couldn’t wait to take a hot shower and finally get some sleep, your feet aching from the platform boots you refused to stop wearing and your eyeliner smudged after you accidentally rubbed your eyes three hours into researching. 

When you had checked into the motel room that morning, you were told that there was only one room available. This was something that happened every once in a while, and if you had to be honest, it didn’t really bother you. Yes, three grown adults in one shitty motel room was a little cramped, but you had spent so much time alone, it felt nice to be around people, especially people you trusted as much as you trusted the Winchester brothers. This was also why you never minded sharing a bed. It was… warmer, less lonely. 

So every time this happened, you would swap who you share with. 

Sharing a bed with Sam was fine. He was huge and would eventually push you to the edge of the mattress, but it was fine. 

Sharing with Dean, on the other hand, was an ordeal. 

He would usually try to take the couch, except when the motel was shitty enough to not have a couch or for it to be more akin to a huge rock than a comfortable place to lay down. Those times, you forced Dean to sleep in the same bed with you. 

“It’s not big deal, Dean. Come on, stop throwing a tantrum. It is cold, get into bed.”

That would usually do the trick. You would lay awkwardly next to each other, both of you on your back and facing the ceiling. But then, when the only thing around you was the darkness and silence of the night, you would get more comfortable. Turning around in the bed, facing each other, knees brushing or arms touching. You would listen to the other breath, and your eyes would sometimes meet under the barely-there moonlight filtering through the window, both of you frozen, but feeling more at peace than you ever had. One night, when Dean had an especially bad case of insomnia, you ended up running your hand up and down his back until he fell asleep.

But you were friends, of course.

This time it was Dean’s turn to share, and you were equally excited and terrified. 

It all leaves your mind when you find a huge, majestic doberman sitting down in front of your motel room. The sight of the dog immediately makes all exhaustion fly away from your body, but before you can say or do anything, Dean is taking a step towards it.

“Excuse me, dude.” He murmurs, trying to get around the dog. 

The doberman immediately snarls, snapping his sharp teeth towards Dean. You watch as Dean jumps back, and in a reaction that you know is pure instinct from fighting monsters for years, he gets ready to fight. He doesn’t hurt the dog, doesn’t even try to. But his shoulders tighten in that way they do when he is expecting something to jump him, and he is thinking what the best way to knock it down is. 

Before anything else can happen, you grab Dean’s arm and pull him back.

“Don’t.” You command firmly, quickly dropping to your knees in front of the animal, who was still baring his teeth. You ignore Dean’s warning and you simply make yourself small while quickly taking all of the rings in your right hand off, sliding them into your jacket pocket before slowly, very carefully offering your hand to the dog.

Dean says your name urgently again. “I don’t think you should-”

“Shhh.” 

The doberman, who was almost taller than you as you kneeled on the floor, was still baring his teeth and tense, but he wasn’t snarling anymore. You slowly move your hand closer, palm down, and he growls when you get a little too close. Both Sam and Dean call your name this time.

“It’s okay.” You murmur gently, for both the brothers and the dog. “It’s okay, pretty boy. I won’t hurt you, okay?” 

Your sweet, soft voice seems to calm down the animal, and he moves his snout closer, smelling your hand from a distance. He is careful at first, hesitant, but a second later he is knocking the palm of your hand with the top of his head. 

“There you go, see? It’s okay.” You pet the top of his head, movements soft and slow. When the doberman stops baring his teeth, you scoot closer. “You’re not dangerous.You’re just scared, right?”

By now both your hands are petting the dog, cradling his little (or not so little) face, rubbing up and down his neck, scratching behind his ears. 

“See?” You ask again, but this time you do turn to look at Sam and Dean, who are looking down at you in disbelief. “There was no need to fight, he’s a sweetheart.”

“He looked ready to bite my head off.” Dean grumbles, and you are about to retort when the cold nose of the doberman hits your neck and he starts to sniffle you, from the collar of your jacket to the apple of your cheek. He ends up licking your face and it makes you giggle, leaning your face away and turning back to the giant animal.

“He was just scared, weren’t you, boy?” You ask in your best puppy voice. “The world has been cruel to you, and you learned to bite first.” You whisper as you notice how cold the dog was, how there was no collar around his neck, and the long scar across his right eye. Not to mention the fact that his ears and tail were cropped. “But all you need is a little love, isn’t that right? A little kindness and it all melts away.”

The dog’s nose nuzzles against your chest again and you almost melt from the inside out. You keep gently petting him as you turn back to Dean, who was now looking down at you with dark, unreadable eyes. It leaves you breathless for a moment, and you don’t know what even prompted that reaction. 

You open your mouth to say… honestly, you don't even know what you were going to say, but thankfully Sam, who looks like all the exhaustion has also banished from his body and is now smirking, walks past you and opens the door to the motel room.

You quickly get up from the floor, the doberman following your lead. You walk up to the door, both Dean and the dog behind you. 

“Come on in, boy.” You point towards the inside of the room when the dog– you would give him a name, but then you’d get too attached– stopped right before walking into the room.

“No way.” Dean interjects, arms crossed, and frowning. 

“Dean, it is freezing out here. We can’t let him sleep outside.” 

“I refuse to sleep with dog smell all over the room.” He insisted, and was that a pout?

“I’m team ‘he stays’” Sam announces, still grinning, before making his way into the bathroom. 

You cross your arms too, turning to look at Dean with a challenging look on your face.

“That’s two against one. And if I have to choose between you and the doggy, then good luck sleeping in the Impala.” 

You hold Dean’s eyes for a long moment, not faltering for a second. He looks at you in disbelief before he seems to notice that there’s no arguing with you in this one. You were incredibly stubborn sometimes, like when you refused to leave the cemetery that first night you met.

But that was the reason why you were here right now, so maybe you were right about the dog. He would never admit it, though.

He simply sighs in defeat, shoulders dropping, and a pleased grin quickly takes over your face. You do a little jump, and Dean once again feels impressed by how well you move in those high boots. 

“Yes!” You giggle with that sweet smile on your face, your lipstick faded from the long day out but still somehow that smooth wine color that made Dean weak in the knees. “Now come in, pretty boy.”

The dog, who had just been looking up at you during the conversation, seems to finally be convinced to walk inside the motel room. He still turns around to check that you’re walking inside too, sitting right by your side as you take off your jacket and boots.

It was adorable.

It had been a few hours since you had gotten to the motel. Right now, Sam was doing some more research while Dean called up Bobby to see if he could find anything. You had walked to the nearby grocery store to buy some dog food and some plastic containers. You served the food and some water on them when you and the dog returned from the store, since he refused to leave your side. 

You had to be honest, walking alone at night never felt safer with a huge black doberman walking alongside you. For just one second, you could live out your goth princess dreams. 

Now, the pup was eating his food. The poor thing was probably starving out there in the street. You wonder who could have abandoned such a beautiful animal, and leave him to freeze on the street. The dog was friendly enough, sometimes sniffing at Sam’s shoes but hiding behind your legs when he tried to pet him. He was clearly still scared, and you feel a sense of pride fill your chest at the knowledge that the dog decided to trust you.

You change into your pajamas and lay on the bed, groaning as your tense muscles finally relax against the almost comfortable surface of the shitty mattress. You hear the sound of paws hitting the floor and you turn your head to look down the edge of the bed, where the doberman was staring up at you with– there was no other way to describe it than puppy eyes.

You chuckle, and get more comfortable on the bed before patting the spot next to you once, and that was enough for the dog to jump. 

“Oh, come on! I gotta sleep on that bed.” Dean complains, but you ignore it in order to laugh when instead of the big space next to you, the dog decides to climb on top of you, laying his head on your chest and making you groan at the weight on your stomach.

“Seriously, dude?” You ask the dog, who only licks your cheek once and seems to get even heavier. 

You lay there on the bed, a giant puppy on top of you with no way of moving and no heart to push him away. 

You hear Sam laugh and you try to look at the brothers past the big fur ball resting right in front of your face. You catch sight of the younger one’s smirk and Dean’s unimpressed face. He looked almost offended, and it was hilarious. You laugh, and it causes the doberman to tilt his head and look at you curiously. Your heart aches, and you remind yourself not to get attached.

You sigh, starting to pet the dog gently. You distantly hear Sam and Dean chat and bicker about something, but you focus on the puppy on your chest. You scratch behind his ears and boop his nose with yours, murmuring sweet nothings under your breath. 

Humans were complicated. You had realized from a young age that not many people felt as much as you did, not everyone had so many emotions that they threatened to spill out every time they opened their mouth. Your heart was too big for your body, your mother used to say when you were a kid. But she didn’t say it as a good thing, because it made you too vulnerable, too weak, too much like her. So when you were confronted with the cruelty of this world, when you discovered how awful people could be, you learned to keep that part of yourself hidden, locked away in a little box on your chest that only opened up when you were writing poetry or when it was time for your monthly crying session. 

Or when you were in the presence of animals. Animals were pure creatures, sweet and loving and unjudging. When you found a stray cat in a cemetery, or when you encountered some critter while foraging, or when little moths landed next to you in the abandoned house you used to spend your time in, that little box opened up and you let all the words stuck in the back of your throat come out. Because animals were the only creatures that deserved them. Or that’s what you thought, until some green-eyed hunter, who at first looked at you with the same seemingly angry but actually scared eyes as the doberman had, had made his way into your heart and was now threatening to break the lock that kept the box closed.

You brush your thumb over the long scar across the dog’s eye. It is healed, but it also looks recent. 

“You’re so beautiful.” You murmur to the pup, giggling when he pushes his head up into your hand for more ear scratches.

“Aw, thank you.” Dean places a hand on his chest, as if he was actually touched by the compliment. He was now standing on the side of the bed, looking down at you with a teasing grin. But there was something in his eyes, an edge that you couldn’t recognize. “I knew you wouldn’t resist my charms.”

You laugh at that, shaking your head. Noticing that your attention wasn’t on him anymore, the doberman turns his head towards Dean, and he snarls again. 

“Hey, nuh-uh.” You scold the pup firmly, tapping his snout softly twice. It stops the snarling, but the dog is still baring his teeth. “Dean is a friend, okay? He is amiable, even if he doesn’t look like it.” You can’t help but tease Dean, making him roll his eyes.

The doberman’s eyes stay wearily on Dean, but he doesn’t make a move to attack. You try to sit up on the bed, but the dog seems to somehow push you down into the mattress. You laugh, accepting your fate and extending your hand towards Dean instead.

“Give me your hand.” Dean looks at you with wide eyes for a second, but then he places his hand on yours. You ignore the feeling of his rough skin on yours, how warm he is in comparison with how cold you always are, how his silver ring feels against your palm, how much you wanted to intertwine your fingers with his. 

Instead, you move both your hands closer to the dog’s nose, slowly.

“If the mutt bites me, I’m gonna kill you.” Dean warns, but he sounds a little out of breath. 

The pup lets out a low growl, and you move your other hand to scratch behind his ear. 

“It’s okay, I promise. He’s a friend.” Your reassuring tone seems to calm him down a bit, and he slowly leans in to sniff at your joined hands. You slowly move your hand until it is holding Dean’s wrist instead of his palm, letting the dog smell only Dean. He apparently deems the human acceptable, because he stops baring his teeth and leans the tiniest bit forward. You guide Dean’s hand to the top of the doberman’s head, letting it rest there softly for the hunter to pet him. “See, puppy?” you whisper towards the dog, but your eyes move up to meet Dean’s. “He may be a little rough around the edges, but he’s actually harmless.”

That makes Dean snort, eyes darting down to the dog still laying on your chest while he scratches his head, and you think his cheeks flush a little. 

“There are several creatures, both human and non-human, that might disagree with that.” He jokes, but his voice is softer and low. It is your time to snort.

“Well, I was never known for agreeing with the general public.” Dean meets your eyes again, and something passes in between you two. Your breath hitches at the rawness in his gaze, and then your fingers bump where you were both petting the dog. “I always had a soft spot for what others consider scary.”

A long moment of silence, your fingers brush against his again, Dean opens his mouth.

And then the doberman is licking your cheek and almost all the way up to your forehead. You let out a surprised shriek and you turn your face further to the side, laughing and trying to get away from the dog’s wet kisses.

“Hey! Stop, boy. Sto– ah!” You are trying to push the pup off of you, but there is no way of pushing him away. You try to turn his face away with your hand but instead he gives you a little bite. 

It is playful, a barely-there nip with his front teeth. You look at him with an offended look in your eyes, and you can almost swear the pup is grinning. Dean starts laughing at the scene, and you pout, turning to Sam for help. The younger Winchester is useless, simply giving you a shrug and going back to his research. You stare at the ceiling and start to question your life choices.

“How did I end up trapped in a motel room with three insufferable boys?”

Dean ends up not letting the dog sleep in the bed. You somehow manage to move him from on top of you and lay down a couple of blankets and some of your clothes on the floor next to the bed for the pup to sleep in. 

It was late into the night already, and you were half asleep already, lulled by Dean’s warmth. Because you gave one of the blankets to the doberman, now Dean and you had to share the other one. He complains about it for like an hour, and you had to admit the night was cold enough for one blanket to not be enough. But once you threaten him with letting the dog on the bed and sending him to the floor, Dean accepts sharing the blanket.

It turned out to be as much of a bad idea as it was a good one. Not only did it force you to be even closer to each other to fit in, but it also gave place for a lot more physical contact. Now when your knee brushes his thigh, it is skin on skin instead of over the covers, when his fingers brush your lower back, it is right where your Type O Negative shirt has lifted up. It was a magical kind of torture. 

At some point when you are more asleep than awake, you feel a new weight on the mattress. You are too tired to even register what it is or what it could mean. You just scoot to the side, giving the creature more space and pressing closer to the figure next to you. You would think that by this point, your hunter’s instincts would be more developed, but you weren’t very smart when you were sleepy. 

You quickly fall back into unconsciousness completely when the heat radiating from both your sides now envelopes you. You were cold almost all the time. Even in the summer, somehow your hands managed to find a way to stay icy. On low temperature nights like this, it was worse. You didn’t mind it, you enjoyed the cold, but the boys constantly complained when you touched them with your freezing hands. But right now, with two extra-hot bodies pressed against either side of you, you sleep through the night like you haven't in years.

The next time you wake up, it takes you a few seconds to understand where you are. The bed feels smaller than it did when you went to sleep, and there is a new weight on your waist. It isn’t until you hear two different snores that you finally open your eyes, confused. In front of you, curled up in the little nook created by your torso and bended knees, is the doberman sleeping peacefully. He somehow got into the bed at some point in the night, you register, and now he is taking up half of the bed. One of the snores is coming from him, but the other one comes from behind you, as well as the pressure on your middle.

A little panicked, you turn your head around slowly. As you feared, Dean has an arm around you, his chest pressed against your back. He too was fast asleep, mouth slightly open and his grip on you firm. You turn to look at the other bed, but you find it empty. Sam had probably gone out for his morning run, and you let yourself panic for a second. 

The little grunt that Dean lets out when you try to move and the way his arm tightens on your waist make you feel a little dizzy. You slowly, very slowly, slide down the bed. It is a miracle that Dean doesn't wake up, he must be really exhausted for his instincts not to alert him of the movement. The puppy also stays asleep, and you quietly scurry to the bathroom. You wash your face with cold water when you notice how flushed your cheeks are. You aren’t a high schooler, you can handle a little cuddling with a close friend.

But Dean was more than that, wasn’t him?

You brush your teeth, cursing yourself for forgetting to bring a clean set of clothes so you could shower. You mentally prepare to walk outside for them, repeating to yourself that Dean was asleep the whole time, he probably didn’t even notice what happened. It was fine, you were fine. 

(It had been years since someone had held you like that, it wasn’t fine.)

You step out of the bathroom in the hope that Dean would still be asleep, but you’re not that lucky. Instead, you are met with two sleepy boys staring at you from the bed. Both the doberman and Dean were now sitting on the mattress, Dean with messy hair and half-lidded eyes, the dog with a strikingly similar drowsy demeanor. They turn to you when they hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, and at the exact same time, they tilt their heads to the side in confusion. 

You stand there, staring at the big bad dog and big bad hunter in front of you, who are now soft and sleepy and pouty (at least Dean was) while they stare back with questioning looks. Almost as if wondering why’d you leave the bed, but that was probably wishful thinking. Like this, the resemblance between them was uncanny. 

“Good morning?” You ask tentatively when Dean doesn’t say anything.

The pup seems to finally snap out of it at the sound of your voice, and he jumps off the bed to say hi to you. He wags his tail and presses his head to your hand until you give him a good deal of head scratches before he is moving to where the food and water bowls are on the floor. 

You turn to Dean after that, and he looks a little more awake at least. His eyes are squinting and his eyebrows are furrowed, as if he is trying to remember something.

“Did the dog sleep with us in the bed?” You ignore the way his voice was even deeper after waking up.

You giggle, nodding. “Yeah, he got up at some point in the night. I don’t know how we managed to all fit.”

Dean chuckles at that while he rubs a hand over his face, and you beg that he doesn’t remember anything else. 

“Did he sleep next to me? I swear I could feel something pressing against me through the night, but then I woke up and he was laying down pretty far away from me.”

That makes you freeze for a second, but you just shake your head nonchalantly.

“Nah, he slept right when you found him all night. Maybe it was a Succubus” You joke casually while you move to grab a clean set of clothes. You had never been happier to see Sam than when he walks into the motel room right at that moment. Your eyes meet for a second, and you take in his post-running state at the same time he notices the clothes and the toiletry bag in your arms before the two of you both rush towards the bathroom.

“Not fair! I am all gross and sweaty.” Sam complains when you get there first.

You giggle, closing and locking the door behind you without saying anything.

“I could swear I was hugging something.”

You had finally solved the case two days later. As it turned out, the creature that was kidnapping people in town was a skinwalker. The reason why you hadn’t figured it out yet is because this one, instead of feeding on people’s hearts and leaving the bodies there for you to find, was actually dragging people from their homes and “storing” them in some abandoned house outside of town. You are able to discover all of this because your new friend, as you discovered that same day, was actually the pet of one of the people kidnapped. The scar over his eye had been made by the skinwalker the night it attacked his owner, and the puppy was able to track the scent of it once Sam, Dean, and you had found some fur in the house of one of the victims. 

Once you entered the abandoned house, you had found most of the victims still alive, all tied up in chains and waiting to have their hearts eaten out. Apparently, as the skinwalker told you and the brothers in his best attempt at a villain monologue, he had been exiled from his pack and forced to become an outcast. Having lived all his life in a pack, he could barely fend for himself alone. He had gone hungry, almost starving to death. That was why now, in an almost feral state, he was making sure to have enough food stashed. 

As weird as this was, it was good news. You were able to kill the skinwalker and free all of the survivors. It was always nice when you were able to save more people than you had expected. In between the freed people there was the doberman’s owner– some guy in his forties with long, wavy black hair and a whole tattoo sleeve. Yeah, it fits. You watch as the guy and the dog meet again, how it was so clear that they loved each other, and even if you’re happy for them, you can’t help the way your heart aches at the knowledge that you would have to say goodbye to the pup.

The doberman runs towards you after he finishes saying hello to his owner, and Sam quickly explains to the guy the dog’s stay with you while you kneel in front of the doberman and whisper your farewell. The puppy licks your cheek again and it almost makes your eyes water. The owner thanks you for taking care of Billie Joe –of course the dude named the dog after Green Day– and they both leave.

You stare at their figures as they walk away in silence for a moment, not being able to help the pout that forms in your face. Sam goes to talk with some more of the surviving victims, while Dean stays by your side. 

“You know, maybe dogs aren’t that bad. Even if that one could barely stand me.”

You chuckle softly, It’s subtle –Dean wouldn’t make it obvious– but you know he’s trying to lift your spirits. You shake your head, turning to look into his eyes. 

It always shocked you how beautiful Dean could look even after a hunt, when he was covered in dirt and all bloody.

Then again, you always had a thing for hot guys covered in blood.

“I think you two were just too much alike.” You tease, bumping his shoulder with yours. 

He laughs, but it’s softer than usual– quieter, less guarded. His usual edge is missing, replaced by something warmer, more open.

“Maybe.” He shrugs, looking at the ground before his gaze returns to you, taking in the way your smudged eyeliner made your eyes pop out, the way your black hair looked almost blue under the street lights, how gentle your smile was even with your sharp teeth and spiky jewelry. “You seemed to like him, though. A lot.”

A long silence follows the comment as you two stare at each other. The tension, simmering under the surface for weeks now, threatens to boil over. The memory of Dean’s arm around you while sleeping comes back to your mind, and you decide that if there was anyone you could trust with the key to the box in your chest, it was him.

“Yeah, I did.” You admit, barely louder than a whisper. “I never could resist a good train wreck.”

The next thing you register is the feeling of Dean’s lips over yours, and for a moment you wonder if this is why poets write. Because the sensations that travel all through your body as you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck and his hands wrap around your waist, the taste of his tongue, and the smell that clings to him are all so otherworldly and hauntingly magical that you feel compelled to delve into the entire English language to find the perfect words to describe it, but you just know that nothing will ever be able to convey what it was like to be held in Dean Winchester’s arms.

“Does this mean I can convince you of adopting a dog now?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What about a cat?”

“No. And there is no amount of kissing that can change my mind.”

“What about a raven? Or a spider!”

“God, what did I get myself into.”

NOTES: I am not completely satisfied with this so I might revisit it some day. Still, I hope you enjoyed it.

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[evansbuck-ley]

I told you things that I never said

based on spec for 8x11 (potential spoilers so proceed with caution)

read below or on ao3

It’s been a month since the kidnapping and Maddie finally began feeling like herself again. Her scar was healing, her bump was growing and she was finally sleeping through the night without waking up in a sweat. The trauma and her pregnancy had left her on bed rest for the next few months, with strict instruction to avoid stress, keep off her feet and stay away from any heavy lifting.

And for the most part, she had been doing well. Chimney had been the most doting husband possible, waiting on her hand and foot, taking care of her needs, making sure their daughter Jee-Yun was also being well cared for. Frankly, she had been enjoying the peace and quiet.

Well that was until her baby brother came storming into her bedroom late one afternoon.

“I’m so pissed!” He declared as he barralled his way into the room. His curls were disheveled, his cheeks pink with anger and he had the biggest pout ever slapped on his face. Buck threw himself down on the bed next to her, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he left out a huff.

“Hello to you too.” She mumbled under her breath as she dropped the book she was reading on the table beside her. Carefully, she rearranged herself in the bed so she was facing Buck, a hand coming to rest gently over her belly. Buck simply rolled his eyes as a response before letting out another huff. Maddie couldn’t help but laugh at him, she brought her hand up to brush his curls off his forehead.

“What’s happened?” She asked softly. He looked at her for a moment, a flash of panic appeared in his eyes before he began to speak.

“I may have bumped into Tommy last night,” He began. Maddie felt her eyes widen in surprise but remained silent as she waited patiently for him to continue. “I was at a bar with some friends and he was there as well. Things were awkward at first but after a few drinks it became easier to be around him. And after a few more drinks I may or may not have kissed him, which may or may not have ended with us back at the house having sex on the couch.”

“I see.” She replied simply.

“He ended up staying the night after few more rounds of -“

“Buck, please remember who you are talking to.” Maddie commented flatly.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, he stayed the night and when I woke up this morning he was gone! And all I got was a stupid “I’m sorry” text. Can you believe it!” Buck was sitting up straight by the time he finished his sentence, his legs crossed as he faced Maddie.

“Okay,” she started cautiously. She watched him for a moment as he fiddled with the strings to his hoodie. “I’m guessing you guys haven’t actually talked about the break up then?”

“Mads, my mouth was a bit preoccupied.”

“That’s a mental image I didn’t want in my head.” She groaned as she rubbed her temples gently. “So you guys didn’t talk about the break up. And I'm assuming when you say house you are referring to your house, which Tommy will probably assume is still Eddie’s house.” Buck stared at her like she was speaking another language. He opened his mouth briefly before closing again, pressing his lips together.

“Do you think maybe Tommy thinks that you and Eddie are…you know?” Maddie continued carefully. Buck scoffed, looking at his sister incredulously. He jumped up from the bed and began pacing around the room.

“Ew, what?! Gross. No, why would he think that! We are just friends, nothing else.” Buck replied, his arms flapping as he spoke. “And this is not about Eddie or Eddie's house. It’s about Tommy. Why would he leave like that without talking to me first?!”

Buck was tired, annoyed and frustrated. He had been waiting weeks, months for the chance to see Tommy. To talk to him, to plead and beg. And he ruined it all because he was horny and impulsive. He paused his pacing so he could sit back down on the bed next to Maddie, falling back until his head was resting on her lap, just below her bump.

Maddie let out a sigh as her hand found its way back to Buck’s curls, combing through them gently as he took a minute to think. “Do you think Tommy left because he thought that last night was just a hookup? That it meant nothing to you?”

“W-why would he think that Mads? Of course it wasn’t nothing. It would never be nothing. It’s Tommy. I-I love him.” Silence fell between them. Buck could feel his heart hammering against his chest. It was the first time he’s ever said that, first time he allowed himself to really think that.

“Oh my god.” Buck whispered. Heat began pooling in the pit of his belly, raising up through his chest, all the way up to the tip of his ears. A soft smile began to spread across his face and Maddie knew right there that he found his answer. “I-I need to call him and tell him!”

Before Maddie could react, Buck sprang to his feet. It looked like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. He was lighter and bright than he was when he first walked in. Like the missing piece finally slotted into place. He reached down to cup Maddies cheeks, pressed a sloppy kiss on her forehead before turning on his heels and bolted out of the door.

And a few weeks later when Tommy is sitting at the end of her dining table with Buck beaming and giggling away, Maddie can’t help but laugh to herself.

[rosierin]

yer doin' just fine │ atsumu miya

synopsis; at 2am, the world feels slower, quieter. thoughts spill easier, doubts settle deeper. (y/n) wonders if she’s falling behind—if making coffee is all she’ll ever do, if she’s enough. atsumu thinks she is. and he’s never been one to mince his words.

a/n; (y/n) is a barista bc this is so self indulgent loool

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It was late. The kind of late where the world outside felt like it had drifted off to sleep. The usual hum of the city had long since quieted, leaving only the faint whirl of distant cars and the occasional murmur of wind against the windows.

Inside, the apartment was warm, steeped in dim, golden light, the glow from the kitchen casting soft, sleepy shadows along the living room walls next door. The fridge hummed quietly in the corner, filling the silence with its steady drone, and every now and then, the faint crinkle of a snack wrapper broke the stillness.

Atsumu sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging slightly, the ceramic of his mug warm against his palms. Steam curled lazily from his hot chocolate, dissolving into the air like a slow exhale. Across from him, (y/n) perched on the opposite counter, mirroring his posture, her fingers idly toying with a marshmallow as she dipped it into her drink and watched it slowly melt.

There was something about this hour, the kind where the world felt drowsy, slow. Where conversations felt heavier, words unspooling without the weight of daylight to hold them back.

“Ever think about how weird it is that we just… exist?” (Y/n) asked suddenly, staring into her mug like it held the answers to all her musings.

Atsumu squinted at her over the rim of his drink. “Are ya startin’ an existential crisis right now?”

She snorted. “No. Just thinking.”

He hummed, taking a slow sip. “Weird thoughts always hit at night, huh?”

She nodded, lazily kicking her feet. “Mhm. Night makes you feel all… deep n’ stuff. That just me?”

Atsumu huffed a quiet laugh. “Damn, didn’t know ya had a poetic side.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and tossed a mini marshmallow at him. He caught it—in his mouth, because of course he did—chewing smugly before shooting her a wink.

“Okay, philosopher,” he said, shifting slightly. “Whatcha thinkin’ about, right now?”

She sighed, resting her chin in her palm. “Just… how crazy it is that we grow up, y’know? One day you’re a kid, playing outside and doing—” she gestured vaguely, searching for the words. Atsumu arched a brow, amused. “Kid things, I guess. And then boom—you're an adult. Paying bills. Applying for jobs—”

“Having an existential crisis in your kitchen at two in the morning,” Atsumu finished.

(Y/n) pointed at him, nodding once. “Exactly.”

An unhurried pause settled between them, the kind that only existed between people who had known each other for years.

Then, Atsumu spoke again, his voice still bright despite the late hour. “Ya ever get scared?”

She looked up, blinking. “Scared of what?”

His fingers traced absently over his mug. “Dunno. Life? The future? Makin’ the wrong choices?”

She stared at him for a moment, surprised by the honesty in his voice. Atsumu had never been the one to entertain these kind of chats. These conversations were more of a 'Suna thing.'

“Yeah,” she admitted. “All the time.”

Atsumu nodded like he’d expected that answer.

She took another sip of her hot chocolate before adding, “But I think that’s normal. We’re all just figuring it out as we go, right?”

Atsumu hummed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Guess so. Still wish life came with a guidebook, though.”

(Y/n) smirked. “You wouldn’t read it.”

Atsumu leaned back on his hands, staring up at the dim kitchen light with a chuckle. “Touché.”

She grinned, squishing a marshmallow between her fingers before tossing it into her mouth. “Everyone knows Atsumu Miya doesn’t read books.”

“You callin’ me dumb?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Atsumu tossed a stray marshmallow at her head. She dodged it with a laugh, stretching her legs out to nudge his knee with her foot.

He nudged her back.

A beat of silence. Just the quiet hum of the fridge, the faint clink of ceramic mugs.

Then, she sighed, watching the steam curl from her drink. “Y’know, I don’t think you’d need that guidebook anyway.”

Atsumu stilled slightly, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips.

Then—softly, teasing but warm—he murmured, “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re working really hard on your career; you’re getting recognized, you’re gradually becoming more popular… ” Her eyes lingered on the dregs of her hot chocolate as she swirled it absentmindedly. “I’d say you’re doing really good on your own.”

When she glanced at him, she found Atsumu watching her with a wobbly sort of smile, his honey eyes warm in a way she rarely saw, brimming with affection. He looked like he was about to scoop her into a hug, but held back at the last second.

“Aww, (y/n). Where’d this come from? Yer makin’ me all emotional over 'ere,” he teased, but there was a sincerity to his voice that softened the words.

(Y/n) returned the smile, then shrugged. “I’m just saying. You’ve already got your life pretty much figured out.”

She didn’t mean for the words to sound bitter. She really didn’t. But as soon as they left her mouth, she realized they did.

A small part of her almost envied him. Not because he didn’t deserve his success—he did. It wasn’t like his life had just fallen into place. He’d worked his ass off to get where he was. The endless hours of training, the sacrifices, the sheer grit he put into his craft.

He earned it.

And yet, that selfish part of her still whispered: What about me?

She wasn’t unhappy, but she wasn’t going anywhere either. Atsumu had volleyball, Osamu had his restaurant, Suna also had his steady rise in the professional league. Meanwhile, she was just… making coffees.

Floating.

Existing.

Lost.

She was too caught up in her own thoughts to notice the small frown forming on Atsumu’s face. He hopped off the counter, padding over to her without a sound.

Then, gently, he tapped under her chin, coaxing her to look at him.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice quieter than before. “Ya say that like yer not doin’ just fine yerself.”

Something twisted in her stomach at the way he said it—earnest, direct, like he meant it. She let out a vague hum, her gaze flickering anywhere but his face.

“What’s on yer mind, sweetheart?”

She hesitated, then shrugged listlessly. “Guess I just feel a bit lost sometimes. Like I’m not doing enough, or I’m not doing the right thing. I mean, when I look at you, your brother, Suna—you’re all doing so well. Like, actually getting somewhere in life. Meanwhile, I’m here, just sort of… making coffees and… well, that’s it, really. It’s not exactly a career.”

Atsumu tilted his head, brows pulling together. “S’wrong with that? Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a barista.”

(Y/n) let out a small, humorless chuckle, fingers tightening slightly around her mug. “Because it’s just coffee. It’s not a big girl job, or whatever people call it…”

Atsumu frowned. “Yer bein’ too hard on yerself. Just ‘cause yer job ain't some grand career yet don’t mean yer stuck or failin’.”

She exhaled, shaking her head. “Yeah, but it’s just frustrating, ‘cause…” She let out a loud sigh, raking a stressed hand through her hair. “Yeah, it’s a job, and yeah, I like it, but it’s not—” She hesitated, struggling to put it into words. “It’s not… something big like what you, Osamu, or Suna have. It’s not a career, like I said. Just doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough.”

Atsumu studied her for a long moment. Then, in that simple, matter-of-fact way of his, he said,

“But ya don’t just make coffee. Yer also really good at makin’ people feel appreciated. Yer good at listenin’—really listenin’. And ya make a damn good cup of coffee on the side, too.”

He shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “If ya ask me, sounds like yer already doin’ plenty of things that matter.”

(Y/n) blinked, caught off guard. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting him to say, but it wasn’t that.

Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to believe him, but the self-doubt clung to her, stubborn. “I just… I don’t know. I feel like I should be doing more. Like there’s gotta be more to life than this, and I—” She let out a slow, tired breath, rubbing a hand over her face. “I don’t know.”

Atsumu studied her quietly. Then, instead of teasing or brushing her off like he normally might, he said,

“Yer actin’ like ya gotta have everythin’ figured out right now. News flash—most people don’t.”

(Y/n) let out another short laugh, but it wasn’t amused. “You do.”

Atsumu’s lips twitched—not quite a smirk, but close. “Ya think just ‘cause I play volleyball for a livin’, I don’t freak out about where I’m goin’?” He let out a quiet scoff, shaking his head. “I still wake up wonderin’ if I’m doin’ enough. If I’m gonna be good enough to keep this up for years.”

(Y/n) lifted her gaze to meet his. He wasn’t looking at her—just staring into his mug, jaw tight, fingers curled loosely around the ceramic.

It took her a second to process his words. “Wait… you?”

Atsumu glanced up then, and there was something different in his expression. Open. Honest.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Me.”

(Y/n) had never thought about it before. Atsumu Miya, with all his confidence and bravado, doubting himself. The idea of it felt… almost foreign.

“I always figured you were just so sure of yourself,” she admitted.

He let out a small, dry laugh. “Nah. I just act like it.” He tilted his head slightly, considering. “Guess it’s easier that way.”

(Y/n) frowned. “That’s kinda depressing.”

Atsumu smirked then, some of his usual self returning. “Hey, ain’t that depressin’. I get to do what I love, right?”

She exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking her head. “Yeah… guess so.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Atsumu nudged her knee with his, voice perkier now.

“Point is, just ‘cause ya don’t have some big plan yet, don’t mean yer lost. Yer workin’ hard. Yer doin’ somethin’ ya care about. Yer loved. And that’s more than enough, alright?”

(Y/n) swallowed. For the first time that night, she felt something loosen in her chest—just a little.

“…Alright.”

Atsumu grinned. “Good. Now, ya wanna bake cookies at three a.m. or what?”

He ruffled her hair to lighten the mood, laughing as (y/n) half-heartedly swatted his hands away.

“God, you’re so random.”

“Nah, I just know sugar makes ya feel better.” He shot her a smirk over his shoulder. “C’mon, chef. Let’s get bakin’.”

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, but as she hopped off the counter to follow him, she realized she felt just a little lighter than before.

[gis3lla]

seriously didn't mean it.

“seriously. stop chasing after me you freak,” is what he said after you had given him the 4th lunch for the week. your hands still offered that bento box out when he let out another grunt, hating how stupid you looked, chasing after him. you sighed as you shoved the bento box into his chest. you couldn't help it though. you liked him ever since you laid your eyes on him, almost like love at first sight. an angel sent to earth by Cupid.

“i made this myself. its all of your favorites!” you cheerfully said as he took the bento box in a harsh manner. when you exited the room, he quickly dumped everything out and shoved the box back into his bag. you weren't always the best at giving gifts, but you figured cooking, something you loved, was going to do the trick. you had spent weeks researching the yummiest dishes and complied them together for him.

it was during class. the teacher had placed you behind him, and he was furious. he hated how he was stuck with you every single day, every single hour. it was miserable. you kept bugging him, asking him about his day, about the bento box you had made him, and asked if he would like to eat anything else. he of course, declined. at the end of class, he had given you an empty bento box and left the classroom.

you were at his practice again. he can't stand you anymore, it's almost like if he saw you one more time he would explode in everyone's faces. you were nice to his teammates though. you always brought snacks and drinks for everyone, and made everyone laughed. well everyone except for him. he was stubbornly in the corner trying to get some peace while everyone else was laughing.

the final straw is when you followed him home. he hated how you were constantly trailing behind him everywhere, always talking. god how he wishes how you would just shut up for once. after explaining how awesome the new book you both were reading in class today, he finally snapped. he yelled at you. he confessed how he wished you would shut up and stop bothering him. how he threw away all of those lunches you spent weeks researching and testing to perfect the recipe.

you just stood there shocked and surprised about what he had just said, not processing anything, until it finally gets in your head. he doesn't like you. he thinks you're annoying. that is when you walked off to your own house, not even bothering to listen to him when he called your name.

the next day, you never paid any attention to him. he should feel relieved and relaxed that you weren't talking to him anymore, but he doesn't. he ignored the feeling at first. maybe you were just upset at him because of his outbreak, and then go back to annoying him next week.

except, when next week came, you came into class, silent. no tapping him in the back, no asking for pencils. you had brought your own. to be honest, you were scaring him with the way your giving him the silent treatment. when the bell rang for lunch, you never took out another bento box for him to have, the one reserved for him wasn't in your hands anymore when he looked at you walking away to talk to another friend of yours. maybe it was all normal, which is what he told himself.

by the start of the second week, he was genuinely questioning himself. why did he all of a sudden care when you stopped giving him attention? he was honestly frustrated with himself as he was feeling an emotion he had never felt before. was he possibly, in love with you? no. that's what he tried telling himself until his best friend smacked him back into reality when he saw you talking to another guy. that's when he knew he had to make it right.

the next morning you opened the door to find him waiting. you raised a brow as he handed you a small little trinket for your bag. "i heard that girls like these things.." he said shyly has you took the trinket from his hand. you thanked him, then walked off without waiting for him. an act that stung his heart a little, unlike before.

during lunch time, he had followed you to the secret staircase where you would eat lunch alone while finding different recipes to try and cook, but this time it was awkward with you sitting across from him. you both sat in silence while he tried to think of something to start a conversation. "so why did you start cooking?" he asked as you continued to eat. you never told him, you just stared at him, not willing to tell him that you only cooked because of him.

after school, he asked you to show up to practice again. he used the reason for his teammates missing you to make you show up. you were hesitant, but decided to go since you did miss them.

he kept going like this for weeks. shared lunches, he even asked you to start making lunch for him again, saying that his mom was too busy to make lunch for him. he walked home with you, and occasionally bought small key chains or trinkets for you. you didn't want to admit it, but you were slowly falling for him and his tricks again. not to be labeled as annoying again.

"I seriously don't know what you want from me, but I'm trying not to be annoying to you," you had said when you two were walking home from school. he froze, not realizing how much his words had an impact on you. "sorry, I genuinely didn't mean it. I was just tired that day," he had said quietly as he felt heat rushing to his cheeks. was it the right time to confess? it has only been a few months.

"i'm trying to get over you. so please stop," you said coldly as you started to pull out everything he has given you over the past weeks. he panicked, not wanting to go no contact again,"I like you. I'm sorry I was wrong."

then you both paused. maybe you haven't lost your chances yet.

characters: tsukishima, kenma, iwaizumi (?), suna, ushijima, semi, shirabu, kageyama, any character of your choice!

banner credits: @//toturnbacktime on pinterest, dm for removal <3

note: hello everyone! thank you all for the support!! i'll try and post whenever i can, but I might not at times due to my workload. if you have anything to request, please feel free to, I would love ideas. please interact!! you guys are all so sweet, thank you for reading and I hope you have an amazing day/night <3

[takumiraine]

Once Upon a Time chapter 13

I attempted to move towards fluff and humor in this chapter and the next one. Also half of this chapter was written on actual paper. Gasp.

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny liked Jason’s apartment. It was cozy in a way his wasn’t. Even though there wasn’t much furniture, the couch, a small coffee table, the arm chair, and a little dining table with wooden chairs near the kitchen summing up everything Danny could see, it felt warmer than his own. There were signs of life in the dishes on the counter, the sweatshirt hung over the back of a wooden chair, the weights on the floor. Even the stuff that was put away, oozed life.

Danny looked over at the couch where Jason had his book and froze. Jason was watching him scope out his apartment. Shit. Fuck. What…. What was he going to do or say? He looked like he’s planning on robbing him. Which wasn’t true! “You…. Uh…. Have a nice place.” Danny said, swallowing nervously. “Warm. Homey.” Stop talking Danny. “Nothing actively trying to kill you.” Ancients fucking damn it.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Thanks….?”

Danny tried to go back to reading but he felt Jason staring at him yet. Which made sense. He tried to read the first sentence on the page. Failed. Tried again. Failed again. Closed his eyes. Opened them again. Then slowly tore a piece off of the current page of his notebook and stuck it in as a makeshift bookmark, closing the book.

“Ask.” Danny turned to look at Jason, who was doing a very good job of pretending he hadn’t been staring.

“Ask what?” Jason asked, instead of one of the millions of questions Danny could tell were swirling in his head like stars in the galaxy.

“Your questions. You’ve been…. Unreasonably patient.” Danny was used to prying, both intentional and unintentional, invasive and subtle.

“Well. You aren’t a threat.”

Danny snorted. “To you maybe not. But if you saw video you know what I can do. That’s not even all of it.”

“I said what I said.” Danny frowned at how offhand Jason sounded.

“How can you be a protector of Gotham and not take me seriously as a potential threat?”

“Do you want to know what I saw during our dive into your history? I saw a scared kid who didn’t want to hurt anyone. I saw someone who when having people better armed and going for lethal damage attacking them and the people they cared about using only enough force to escape. Not sinking to their level. Protecting others even at a cost to themselves. You are not a threat to anyone who doesn’t attack you first.” Jason’s voice was calm and steady, low in a way that was unique to Red Hood.

Danny stared. Jason knew so much about him already. Had so many insights. Just from the GIW footage! Danny has never felt or been so seen so quickly.

He hated it.

Having spent most of his life a ghost, pun intended, in the lives of his loved ones, he didn’t like a relative stranger seeing things his parents and teachers hadn’t seen. His classmates had even struggled to understand Phantom even as he was actively saving their asses.

Danny scrunched back in the chair. His face pinched up and his eyebrows furrowed. He resisted the urge to cross his arms. “Gotham has attacked first.” He pointed out instead.

Jason laughed. Danny’s eyebrows furrowed more. Infuriatingly hot bastard.

Wait. Nope. No time for that right now.

“Yeah, but not in any way that mattered. If they did, you would have fought back,” Jason countered. He was still so casual about it. Danny still hated it.

What was worse was that he was right. Danny hadn’t been attacked meaningfully. Not until Batman demanded answers.

Even then, he had almost run.

“Fine,” Danny conceded, definitely not pouting or sulking. “So I’m not a threat without reason. What now?”

Jason leaned back, smirking a bit, “now we thank whatever gods exist that you’re an actual adult because you’re adoption bait. Besides.” Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, dangerous, “the title of ‘half dead kid’ is already taken. By me.” His words were a weird mix of humor and deadly serious. The smirk gave way to teeth. Not unlike how Danny would sometimes let his smile go too wide or show more teeth than normal.

It did, admittedly, throw Danny a little. He just nodded. “Okay then.” He didn’t want to be adopted anyways. “I’m good with being essentially parentless. Between my actual parents and Vlad…” Danny couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Pass.”

Jason grabbed his book again, letting Danny lapse into silence. Probably to give him a moment or two to recover. To unclench. Danny took one slow breath, then another. Even though he didn’t need to breathe it helped him remember that he wasn’t in any obviously immediate danger.

Only once Danny was settled again did Jason close his book. “How did you settle the pit?”

It took Danny a moment to realize that Jason was referring to the previous offer to answer questions. Still. This wasn’t one he knew of. “The pit?” Danny returned, head tilting to the side.

Jason’s expression went from curious to confused as well. “The pit rage?” He began, then paused. “Makes you angry all the time?” He paused again. “Turns your eyes green?” That is what sparked recognition in Danny. Finally.

“Oh. That. Well. It’s a bit complicated. So….” Danny took a breath. He hated giving this speech. He really needed to make a ‘So you recently died but not really’ pamphlet.

Danny bit his lip, trying to figure out where to begin. “So I’m not going to ask how you died. That’s kind of a rude question with ghosts and ghost adjacent people. But how you die has an effect on your core. It influences your obsession and your domains. It also determines whether you’re a half ghost or a revenant, or something else entirely. Being a halfa, or half ghost, means you’re a bit more malleable at first. Revenants are less easy to control as they’re vengeance focused and unless that is satisfied they tend to go nuts. You seem to be a weird cross between the two. But your domain or obsession might just be vengeance so…. It’s hard to tell. I’ve been a ghost…. A while. and I’m considered a pretty powerful one unfortunately. So my ecto is probably smoothing your core out. It was a bit…. Rough.” And the award goes to Danny for ‘understatement of the millennia’. “Especially since the ambient ecto around here is…. Honestly disgusting.”

Danny knew he had just dropped a whole lot of information on Jason. Potentially unsettling information. Very quickly. As a result, he expected a sort of…glazed look on the other man’s face. Instead when he looked up again, Jason’s gaze was laser focused on him.

Danny resisted the urge to fidget.

“Can I see my core?”

Again, Jason was asking questions Danny hadn’t really expected. “I…. Can try?” Danny hadn’t had anyone want that before. Cores were intensely personal. Usually heavily guarded by the owner. “It might…. Well probably will…. Feel really weird. And I’m gonna have to get close.”

Jason nodded then made room for him on the couch, gesturing at the empty space. He set down his book properly and watched Danny as if he didn’t want to miss a single detail. As if it was important.

Slowly, Danny unwound himself and stretched. He definitely was not hesitating. Not at all as he hoped he could do what was asked. He’d only seen his own core once, when he was first formed. Even then it was only a flash of something blue that his chest formed around.

He… hadn’t really given a lot of thought on how he had seen that.

Danny went and sat next to Jason, suddenly fully aware that even though Jason couldn’t kill him again, he could certainly get close enough to doing so just with his hands if he wanted. Danny didn’t have any indication that he should worry about that, but he had seen people go a bit…. Haywire under any kind of supernatural influence before.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, looking for confirmation one last time.

“Never been more sure.” Jason nodded. Danny took a deep breath, eyes changing from blue to green in a blink. Then he plunged his hands into Jason’s chest.

[endearng]

Supernovae

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader Summary: Spencer doesn't matter where life leads you, as long as it takes you back to him. Whatever it is between you, he doesn't want to let it go, even though he can't speak those words. WC: 3k Warnings: pining. pining. pining. oh and there's also drinking and brief mentions of a case. nothing too hard. fluff with an open ending. <3astronomy metaphors<3 A/N: I'm a tad obsessed with bittersweet pieces lately. Feedbacks are highly appreciated! <3 Masterlist | dividers by the lovely @cafekitsune <3

From the other side of the street, an elderly woman watches two people sitting and talking. It happens periodically. Weeks would go without her seeing their young, bordering naive faces. Sometimes, their lips move alternately. Simultaneously, at other times, voices mingle together excitedly and hurriedly, even though she can't hear them. The exchanged smiles and stolen glances don't go unnoticed by her either, but the young duo seem to ignore them altogether. When the young woman drinks, the glances would linger for just a moment more as they sat closer to each other — it seems as if that their senses become heightened, asking, demanding for more of each other.

Across the old woman's house, up on the roof of the building of the apartment you share together, you and Spencer sit together, like you do many nights when you have the time and he is at home. The chilly wind makes your hair stick in every direction and the warm beer is oddly soothing, but what really gets to you is your companion. Next to you, Spencer has his legs crossed as he rants about the last book he had read about the solar system. It is a sight to behold. You, a little inebriated, and Spencer speaking to his heart's delight, not a care in the world. If anyone who knows him were to witness that moment, they would twist their faces in confusion as to how could such different people be around each other so naturally, so peacefully?

The answer is one neither of you are ready to acknowledge. Perhaps it is better to let it pass unnoticed.

On one side, you, who drinks much more alcohol than anyone he knows (he doesn't know many people). Secretly and selfishly, you live with an aching relief that he is the one you get to share your space with after searching endlessly for an apartment and a companion who wouldn't annoy or bore you to death. Then, came Spencer. Quiet, soft-spoken, endearing and full of unique... quirks. At first, you thought it was better to leave him be, not to pester him with your bad habits. But as fate would have it and since things don’t ever go your way anyway, you found your way to him, because of course he was the kind of person to light up and fuck up your entire world as you gradually get to know him. It was with you that Spencer learned how to throw in the towel, since you always have a very compelling way to show him he’s not always right. So, this is what you have, a delicate routine, both of you dedicated to your unique choreography of pushing and pulling away from each other, aware and respectful of each other's boundaries. It worked, for the most part.

Things started to get ambiguous when Spencer began to toss and turn, unable to sleep, unable to hold himself together. Then, it became your job, for some nights, to comfort and lull him to sleep. Spencer, who was so composed and serious all the time, clung to your side like a baby who was too afraid to live life with and through its own limbs. You would always wake up before him, dazzled by the sight of his parted lips and by the small noises he let out while he was sleeping. You never complained, too afraid he would pull away from the brightness your heart would show if you were to ever say anything to address the situation. No, it is better like this. Sitting together, him by your side, you felt happily bitter — at this point, you wouldn't know what to do without him in your life.

Now, though, this is getting out of hand, the way you struggle to absorb his words, unlike you normally can. You blame it on the alcohol. You are lying. Mostly, to yourself.

As you smile at him, your silent way to tell him you were listening, Spencer feels seen. Your tousled hair, the flush in your cheeks and your sparkly eyes makes the universe and its complexities seem so simple compared to the maelstrom of feelings brewing inside him. He looks at your lips and remembers the day he quietly traced them with his fingertips as you slept, allowing himself to the simple action of touching, without feeling wrong or disgusting for wanting it. Long before he slept on your bed for the first time—your offer and his reluctant acceptance, fearsome of what it could lead to inside his own head—, Spencer daydreamed about you. Something about you makes something inside him snap and light up. Almost as if reading his thoughts, you ask softly, "Tell me about supernovae."

At that, he perks up, eyes brimming with excitement and joy. You and him, alone, together.

You, you, you.

Your question felt fitting. So he answers.

"There are two kinds of supernovae." He starts, as if warming up for the word vomit that was about to make its way out of his lips. You smile, already familiar with the sight and the fluttery feeling in your heart when you knew he was going to explain something to you, especially. "The first type, which is the one most people know about, happens when a star collapses because it runs out of fuel. Um, when that happens, the pressure drops, which makes the star explode." He continues, gaze unwavering. "What keeps a star together are two forces that are mutually opposite forces. The star's gravity tries to keep it as small as possible whereas the nuclear fuel, burning in its core, creates pressure. The two forces, when imbalanced, hence why I talked about the drop of pressure, cause a supernova. It is the biggest explosion us humans have ever taken notice of."

A swig of beer and your heart drops to your stomach at his soft, content features. "What about the other type?"

"Oh, this one happens between two stars. When they orbit one another." He replies, almost bashfully now, having your sole attention on him. "One of them has to be a white dwarf whose size has to be similar to Earth's. If the white dwarf pulls too much matter from the other star or collides with another, it can explode. Supernovae are not very common, but when they do happen, the explosion is so bright that it can outshine galaxies for up to months." He finishes, looking up at the sky above you.

Don't they sound like us?

His hyper-focused mind makes up the question, but he suppresses his lips from muttering them. He shrugs, almost imperceptibly, as you take another sip of the warm beer. Suppress it. It's for the better. "Hey, uh, I was meaning to talk to you about something," you begin.

"Of course. What is it?"

"I'm leaving for a few days," you say, face lighting up in sheer joy after a flash of something he couldn't quite figure out. "Godmother-slash-aunt duties."

Spencer feels confused, a mix of feelings taking over his senses. On one hand, he is happy for you for having somewhere safe to come back, for having a good relationship with your family, for being important for them. On the other hand, he feels almost betrayed and sick with the bubbling jealousy to the point of mentally scolding himself from thinking it. You are important to him, too. He is already used to your quiet yet steady presence around the house — you have a very stable routine and it’s rare for him to come back home after working hours and not seeing you right away. Spencer, albeit knowing it was nonsensical and selfish, feels almost abandoned. He attempts a smile, but his heart isn't in it. "Okay... I'll... I'll take care of the apartment."

"Oh, you better," you quip, trying to shrug off yet another ambiguous moment. "If I come back and there's a pile of dishes in the sink, you'll regret it."

He winces, attention diverted briefly to the shame about his sluggish ways when it comes to household chores. "Okay, okay. I will keep an eye on it. Or don't eat anything at home—"

"You better not survive solely on take-out food."

Spencer groans, but it isn't half as serious as he tries to make it out to be. "Fine. Fine."

He could do it. Or at least, he thinks so.

—

Countless days, countless cases, an inhuman amount of sheer violence and grief. Two weeks. Fourteen days. 336 hours. 20160 minutes. 1,290,600 seconds of not seeing your face.

Yet, Spencer has had time to lay at night, sometimes wide awake, wondering what were you up to, wondering what you two would be doing if you were here, in your apartment. His mind is always wandering to all sorts of possibilities that revolve around you, but he brushes aside the one about telling you everything. It is far too risky, and he finds that he wouldn’t be able to deal with the aftermath if things ever went wrong between the two of you. No. He would not be responsible for it.

The loneliest night thus far hits him hard. The team had just finished what had been truly an awful case at work and his mind was all over the place, sleep deprivation stopping him from making connections and defining patterns as he normally could. Getting home, he feels tired, guilty, angry, upset... He plops down on the couch, burying his face in one of the cushions and groans loudly. A few moments of external silence go by, even though his mind thrums with the sense of failure.

Begrudgingly, he stands up and takes a long shower—the running, steaming water does little to quench his turmoil. After putting on a fresh change of clothes, he finds his way into your bedroom instead of his. Soon enough, he is buried in your covers, holding a shirt you'd forgotten to put in your suitcase. Lying on your bed, he feels as if he was there for ages, the restlessness and cortisol levels giving way to a steadier breathing rhythm and a slower, calmer pace in his heartbeat. Smelling your shirt softly, he processes what longing feels like. An undeniable force tells him that you exist in a bigger space than you cared to think, that your gravitational pull is too strong on him. A poor single, lonely star amidst the galaxy.

His cellphone—a much too technological device, that he had bought upon your insistence of being able to reach him faster— rings. He picks up after reaching for it, not minding to see whoever was calling. Spencer figured that it would be someone close enough to not mind his overall moodiness, so he picked up either way.

It was your voice. "Hi." It makes him shiver in relief, but he brushes off as a coincidence, the way you two are so connected that upon his discomfort you were the one to reach out for him.

"Hey."

"You were going to bed, right?" He hears the question, a hint of hesitation covering your tone. "Sorry, sorry."

"No, I... I'm glad you called."

"Oh, okay. I just wanted to check on you. How are you, Spencer?"

"I'm... I'm doing good," he says, clutching your shirt tighter. He clears his throat, willing his voice to not crack. "How are things going over there?"

"I think the best part about being a godmother is that I can return her to her parents whenever she gets too much," you quip, chuckling, which brings a small grin to Spencer's face. "But, yeah, things are going great."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"You're not busy, are you?" You try again, fearing having ripped him from his job or his rare moments of free-time.

"No, no," his voice trembles as he denies it, and he inhales the lingering perfume on the shirt, which rests just against his face. "I'm... I'm happy you called."

I miss you.

Talking feelings—despite knowing pretty much everything about them, such as what caused them—is not very familiar in Spencer's life. The words never feel right, so he often decides to not say anything. Tonight, though, it's different. Like he fears you're not coming back, so he tries. "You never mentioned... You never said how long you'd stay with your family. When... when do you fly back?" He asks, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest at the thought of having you close to him again, even as his voice cracks at the last word.

"In two days." You answer, and he wants let himself believe there's relief in your voice. "I'll be back in two days."

"Good."

"You better be there to welcome me," you jest, and his heart feels a lot warmer with the joy in your voice.

"I will," he replies, not entirely sure whether he'd be able to. He wants to believe he will.

—

He isn't there. You don't hold it over his head—there are several miniatures of your favorite pastry sitting on the counter. Your heart swells at the thoughtfulness, and you know he had done them wishing he could be here to talk about the process firsthand. He isn't. So you wait for him to come home.

You're unpacking in the living room, humming to Drops of Jupiter, when Spencer walks through the door and you wish you could photograph when his face lights up at the sight of you—not that your expression was more subtle. Relief floods his being when he sees you, and it's clear that your absence was deeply felt, but you won't give space to such a thought. Instead, you become hyper-aware of how your bodies mold together as he approaches and hugs you, burying his head on the crook of your neck and sighing. It had been a fortnight, yet it had felt like years. Spencer wonders if you feel the same way when he's away on his cases. Probably not.

Now that she's back in the atmosphere...

"You're home," he addresses and it comes out as if he's talking about the weather, but the words and their meaning hold a deeper significance to him.

"You baked for me." You respond, giddily, squeezing him a tad bit stronger.

Pulling away, just enough to catch a glimpse of his pretty, tired face, you grin. "I missed you."

Affection was a common, safe ground for you. Something so simple that you dominated so effortlessly, and he feels a little jealous of how easy it is for you to just speak up your heart. He wonders if that's all you feel and if you're completely honest, given your comfort. He wonders if he'd be honest if he could see the world through your eyes.

Instead of answering, he rests his chin on your shoulder, unable to keep away any longer. And the closest still wasn't close enough. He pushes you gently into the couch, laying on top of you and closing his eyes as he feels your scent invade his senses and a deep feeling of tranquility wash over him. It's truly like being home. It is being home. The weight of his body presses yours on the couch, and even though your limbs may get numb at some point, you don't find it in yourself to move. No, you don't move. Instead, you gently rake your fingers through his hair, brushing a little against his ears, and the touch makes shivers erupt on his skin—thank God for his long-sleeved shirts.

He mumbles in his sleep, but you don't hear it. Missed you too.

Nevertheless, his actions are enough to tell you how he feels, but his lack of verbal confirmation leaves you hanging, but your heart feels lighter as you fall asleep under him.

—

Leaving work, you make your way to the nearest museum, where Spencer is waiting for you with one of his colleagues—they're not tagging along, don't worry. As you hurriedly make your way through the crowds, too careful to not step on anyone's foot, you look up and immediately find Spencer on the staircase. It's magnetic, the way his gaze pulls yours and it's addicting how neither of you have the strength required to look away. The coincidence makes you want to run to him, but instead, you blindly stride, the strong stare of his eyes like a tightrope over which you could walk with closed eyes. He wouldn't let you fall. If he did, he'd catch you before you hit the ground.

Here you are.

The sculptures are mesmerizing. Both you and Spencer are speechless at the beauty of it. The preciseness required to sculpture marble doesn't go unnoticed by either of you, and Spencer finds himself wishing to have you as his muse. Not that he was an artist—but he could, if he tried it—, but the thought of having you at his mercy, your body as his temple of inspiration to be passed on for infinity makes something inside him stir. His mind is suddenly plagued with thoughts of being the one to capture your beauty and turning it into art.

As you comment on trying to fight the urge to touch the marble, Spencer closes his eyes and he's able to picture your face and its expressions. The way your smile reaches your eyes, making them almost close in the shape of crescent moons... The way your lip quivers just slightly before you get emotional.

The way your lips would be plumper if he'd kissed you relentlessly, just like he dreams of doing.

Reality comes crashing faster than he anticipated when your hand unconsciously grips his bicep, unconsciously both grounding him to reality and sending his senses into overdrive. His skin dips with the gentle pressure, and he thinks of you two as statues, frozen, touching, always in each other's orbits.

Supernovae are essential to create life, despite their lethal brightness that might eventually turn into a big, black hole. Those are dangerous, sucking everything around them, dragging it inside to never return again. Nevertheless, even though you're strong, too strong, too blazing, pulling him in and he nearly tips over the edge, he musters up the strength to pull back before he's burning up in you.

Spencer, at least for now, settles for small slivers of your blinding brightness, happy to watch it happen—your life—from afar.

It's as close as he'll allow himself to get as he hopes you'll draw him in.

Tonight, the woman who sits by her window catches a glimpse of the two shadows dancing in one of the apartments through its window. It's one of her few certainties at this point in life: the young, in love couple across the street.