#i don't watch him but his face is comforting

[tpwk-formula1]

Paddock Bunny 4

AN: Sorry it took so long! I've decided to forget about the schedule I once had and I will be updating this when I feel the motivation to write for it! I love my Bunny and want to keep writing for her. I was originally gonna write George's DSQ but decided to hold off so look out for the next few days to see the next part to Paddock Bunny!!!

TW: ROUGH sex, slapping, spanking, multiple orgasms, protected sex, UNPROTECTED sex, oral, creampie, face fucking, MDNI 18+

WC: 3.1k

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Y/N POV

The Mclaren garage after Oscar's first win is very different from when Lando won his first Grand Prix. Everyone is trying to be excited for the young Australian driver but there's an undertone in the room that is making it more awkward than anything.

I make my way to Oscar's driver room knowing he would be alone since his engineer had just walked back towards my dad to do their debrief.

"Come in," I hear Oscar call out when I knock gently on the door. When he sees that it's me he instantly breaks out into a wide smile.

"I'm so fucking proud of you," I say while making me way to where he is sitting on the couch before climbing into his lap and into my arms.

"I think you are the first person from the team to say that," Oscar mumbles into my chest where he had buried his face.

"Not even Tom?" I say while pulling his face up to look up at me. He just kinds of shrugs the question off.

"Probably but it's been a bit of a blur if I'm being honest," Oscar tells me making me smile. When he sees me smiling he starts to smile too letting his eyes shine in excitement for the first time since I've walked into the room.

"I think that was the most awkward podium I've ever been on," Oscar whispers making me pout. It was awkward just watching it happen so I couldn't imagine being up there.

"You deserved better," I tell him softly while my fingers lightly trace over his cheek bones making him look up with a soft smile.

"If a weird ass podium gets you in my lap at the end of the day, I'll suffer every race," Oscar tells me with a smirk while dropping his hands from my waist down to my ass where he gives it a little squeeze before pulling me in closer and bringing his lips to mine.

"Lily, called and said you looked beautiful in the garage," Oscar tells me softly making me smile.

"Tell her thank you," I whisper before leaning down and pulling him in for another kiss. Feeling Oscar's tongue tangling with mine I can't help the small moan slipping from my lips.

"Will you be spending your night with me?" Oscar asks me softly making me smile and nod my head.

"Only if you'll have me over?" I reply back.

"Of course I want you over. I sure my mom will want me to call her when I get to the hotel so," Oscar kind of trails off not really being able to find the right words to what he's saying.

"I'll hide in the bathroom while she calls," I say with a small smile making a sign of relief excape Oscar's lips.

"I also have parents I don't want knowing about this," I say with a laugh making Oscar realize he's not alone in wanting to keep this all under wraps.

When we finally get back to Oscar's hotel room he makes himself comfortable on the bed and gives his mom a ring while I hide in the bathroom.

I spent my time texting Lando letting him rant about how he felt about the race but as soon as I hear the bathroom door open I put my phone down and look up to find Oscar making his way into the bathroom.

I'm sitting on the bathroom counter which is perfect for Oscar to quickly slots himself between my spread thighs while pulling me closer into him.

"Good chat?" I ask softly making Oscar nod before pulling me even closer to him before pulling me in for a soft kiss. He quickly deepens the kiss pulling me into his arms and walking the both of us towards the bedroom where he quickly plops me down on the bed before pulling off the flimsy dress I was wearing leaving me in my matching bra and panties.

"Look so pretty," Oscar says while pulling at the string of my thong before letting it snap back against my skin making me whimper.

Oscar quickly pulls his phone out and snaps a few pictures making my cheeks heat slightly but trusting him enough that they would be for 'his' eyes only.

Once Oscar gets a few more pictures he tosses his phone somewhere out of sight before he's pulling off his shirt letting me see his toned chest.

I quickly wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull his body down on top of mine letting my nails trail his back while his mouth starts exploring my jaw and neck.

"So pretty," Oscar mumbles into my skin making me giggle at the way his breath tickled my skin. When his mouth finds my sweet spot I let out a small whine when I feel his teeth sink into my skin leaving a small hickey behind.

I can feel Oscar leaving a small trail of hickeys down my neck and towards my bra covered tits where he quickly unclips the back of my bra and discarding it somewhere across the room before he attaches his mouth to my hardened nipple.

"Osc," I moan softly when I feel his tongue start twirling around the sensitive bud. I feel Oscar softly tugging on the barbell through my nipple making me whimper at the stimulation.

"Sound so pretty," Oscar mumbles before trailing his mouth to my other nipple and giving it the same treatment as the previous one. Once both of my nipples are standing at attention from Oscar's mouth he pulls my panties down my legs and tosses them somewhere along with the rest of my discarded clothes.

When I feel Oscar's mouth near my core I can't help but try and pull him closer to where I need him the most which only has him pulling back and sending a harsh slap to my inner thigh.

"Ow! Oscar," I cry out in a loud whine making Oscar look up at me with a smirk before leaning down and kissing my lips softly.

"Patience," Oscar whispers before leaning back down near my core but instead of bringing his mouth to where I need him he starts trailing soft kisses all along my inner thighs and even leaving a few small hickeys behind before I finally feel his tongue softly start exploring my folds making me whimper.

The more Oscar's tongue explores my soaked folds the tighter my grip on his hair gets making me pull his hair trying to bring him closer to where I need him the most.

"Fuck," Oscar groans when I pull his hair hard enough making me whimper at the vibrations his voice sent straight to my core.

"More please," I beg wiggling my hips trying to bring Oscar's mouth to my throbbing clit.

"Ah! Yes," I whine when I finally feel Oscar's tongue lightly graze over my clit before moving his mouth back to my inner thigh making me whimper at the loss of contact.

"Oscar! Stop teasing," I cry out only making him pull back and slap my inner thigh once again.

"Let me enjoy watching you fall apart for me," Oscar whispers with a smirk before leaning down and spitting directly onto my clit and using a few fingers to roughly rub it into my clit giving me the stimulation I had been chasing but being far too rough to give me true pleasure.

"Osc, please," I whine again. This time Oscar leans down slightly placing a soft kiss on my sensitive clit before pulling it into his mouth making me sign in relief from the stimulation which quickly turns into a soft scream when his teeth sink into my clit.

"Oscar!" I cry when I feel him biting down onto my clit and tugging is before releasing.

"I said patience," Oscar teasing in a sing song voice before flicking my nipple piercing making me jump at the stimulation.

When Oscar finally climbs off the bed I see him pulling the rest of his clothes off, making me bite my lip softly when I see his already hard length.

Oscar climbs back into bed and quickly rolls a condom on making me bite my lip making me realize he's finally gonna give me the stimulation I was looking for.

When I feel the tip of Oscar's fat cock nudging at my clit I can't help the moan that falls from my lips.

"Beg for it," Oscar's smug voice rings out breaking me out of my lust induced haze to find him looking down at me with a smirk.

"Please," my voice weakly rings out in the room while I bring my hand down to his cock trying to get him to push his cock in.

"Greedy little thing," Oscar says with a smirk while pulling his hips back so I'm no longer touching his cock.

"Oscar God damn in, I need you to fuck me," I finally snap at the Aussie making him look down at me with a raised brow.

"Please," I add weakly.

Oscar wastes no time slamming his hips into mine filling me up with his cock and thrusting not giving me any time to adjust to his size.

"Fuck," I cry out when Oscar start thrusting directly into my G-spot.

I feel Oscar's arms wrap around my legs and pull them over his shoulders before leaning down and fucking me at a new angle.

"You take my cock so well," Oscar grunts out before placing a soft kiss on my lips while I moan into his mouth.

"Fuck, too much," I cry out when I can already feel an orgasm starting to build.

"Too. Much?" Oscar says while slowing down his thrusts but making sure to thrust into me roughly with each word.

"You were just crying for this? No?" Oscar teases before picking up his thrusts again and fucking into my soaked pussy even harder.

"I'm gonna cum," I cry out when Oscar continues to fuck me not letting his pace slow down in the slightest.

"I don't care, I'm not done fucking you," Oscar roughly tells me, making sure I know this is about his pleasure.

When I fall over the edge for the first time I can't help but squirt all over Oscar and I but it does nothing to slow him down.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cry in a chant as he continues to fuck me harder not giving me any time to come down from my high only throwing me instantly into another orgasm.

"Oscar!" I cry out through my second orgasm of the night. Instead of Oscar acknowledging me he quickly pulls out of my overly abused pussy and quickly flipping me over so I'm on all fours before pushing back into the gummy walls of my pussy.

"Fuck!" I cry when Oscar starts fucking me just as rough in a new angle hitting me in all different spots.

"So good," Oscar grunts letting the grip he has on my hips tighten before he takes one hand and slaps my ass as hard as he can,

"Fuck," I cry out when the pain of his spank finally registers through all the pleasure.

"Fuck, you're gonna cum again," Oscar points out when he can feel me clenching around him.

When Oscar starts slapping my ass and fucking into my pussy I fall over the edge again making me cry out.

"I can't!" I cry when I can feel Oscar starting to fuck me harder through my third orgasm.

When I can feel the overstimulation start to take course I can't help the tears that start to stream down my face.

"Give me one more," Oscar grunts out while taking my hair into his fist and pulling me up so my back is flush with his chest while he continues to fuck into my overworked pussy.

"Oscar," I cry out as the tears continues to stream down my face while his thrusts don't slow down into he slightest.

"Come on, one more," Oscar teases trying to coax me through my finale orgasm.

When Oscar pulls my hair even tighter exposing my neck even more he sinks his teeth into my shoulder while freeing his hand from my hair and bringing it to my throat giving it a squeeze.

"Fuck," I gasp through my cries while falling over the edge while Oscar continues to softly choke me. I can feel the waves of my orgasm only intensify as Oscar slowly chokes me harder with each passing second.

"Good girl," Oscar grunts while quickly pulling his cock from my pussy and pulling me by my hair to get on my knees where Oscar quickly pulls the condom off and shoves his dick into my mouth.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts as he slowly starts fucking my face allowing me to adjust to his size before he starts to pick up the pace making me gag around his length.

"Take me so good," Oscar grunts when his hips start to falter in pace slightly letting me know he was getting close to finishing.

"Fuck," Oscar grunts out before shoving his cock deep into my throat and starting to cum filling my mouth with his cum before pulling out and jerking the rest of his load all over my face.

I quickly swallow the cum he left in my mouth before opening my mouth and sticking out my tongue to allow Oscar to finish painting my face while trying to catch some of the load with my tongue.

"Fuck, such a good whore," Oscar grunts while one final rope lands on my tongue.

Oscar takes roughly 10 seconds to gather himself before he's pulling me off my knees and into his arms where he takes us into his hotel bathroom and placing me back on the counter.

"Did so good for me," Oscar says while taking a clean rag and getting it wet with warm water while slowly starting to wipe his excess cum off my face.

I allow Oscar to continue to softly wipe my face in silence before I finally lean down and pull him in for a soft kiss.

"Was that a good way to celebrate?" I ask softly with a small smile playing on my lips when I pull away from the kiss.

"The best way," Oscar tells me softly before pulling me back in for another kiss.

When Oscar pulls away from the kiss he turns his attention to the shower where he turns it on letting it warm up.

When the steam has finally filled the bathroom from the hot shower Oscar pulls me back into his arms and brings the both of us into the shower where I instantly relax into his arms letting the hot water relax my sore muscles.

"Was I too rough?" Oscar asks softly making me lift my head from his shoulder and look him in the eye.

"No, and you better not tell anyone but I think you just fucked me better than anyone else ever has," I admit with a smile tugging on my lips.

"That's bragging rights! I don't think I can keep that a secret," Oscar teases but I can still tell he's worried.

"I mean it Oscar! It was perfect, and there's a safe word if it really was too much," I tell him with softly running my fingers through his wet hair.

I can see him relaxing into my touch which makes me smile.

"Sorry if I left any visible marks," Oscar says sheepishly when he notices a few of the hickeys he's left behind.

"For a maiden win, there's no rules," I saw with a smile and a shrug. It takes Oscar roughly 10 seconds to realize no rules means he could fuck me with no protection.

"Fuck, you would let me?" Oscar asks looking me directly in the eye.

"I'm clean, and up to date on my birth control. I think it's safe to assume you're also clean," I say softly getting nervous at the idea I was pitching.

"Hey, if you don't want to we don't have to. Don't feel pressured," Oscar says when he starts to pick up on my energy shift.

"No, I do! I guess I just didn't know how you would feel," I admit softly making Oscar smile down at me.

"I would love to fill that pussy of yours up with my cum," Oscar says with a smirk making me smile and pull him down for a kiss.

I was expecting Oscar to become rough once again but this time he slowly pulls one of my legs ups to wrap around his waist while I feel him softly teasing my still soaked folds with his hard cock.

I whimper into the kiss when I feel him start to push into my still sore pussy.

"Can you go one more?" Oscar asks softly making me whimper and nod my head.

"Words," Oscar tells me sternly making me look him in the eye and verbally confirm that I wanted him to fuck me.

"Fuck," Oscar groans when he continues to push the rest of his length deep into my pussy making me whimper at the stretch.

"Oscar!" I moan out as he starts to slowly thrust his cock in and out of my sensitive pussy.

"Take me so well," Oscar groans as he slowly starts to speed up his thrusts making sure to hit my G-spot with each thrust.

"Feels so good," I gasp throwing my head back exposing my neck enough for Oscar to drop his mouth and start leaving small scattered kisses all alone my neck.

"I'm not gonna last," Oscar gasps speeding up his hips even more clearly chasing the same release I was chasing.

"I'm close," I whine while bringing my hand between our bodies and lightly teasing my clit while Oscar continues to fuck into me bringing both of us closer to cumming.

"Cum for me," Oscar groans softly making me fall over the edge and pulling him with me.

"Oh shit!" Oscar grunts while still pumping his hips into my pussy. During the waves of my orgasm I can feel Oscar's cum being pumped into my pussy making me whimper.

"So good," I whine out starting to come down from my high once again.

"Did so good," Oscar mumbles while softly pulling out and letting my leg rest of the ground so I can now stand on my own.

"So good for me," Oscar continues to mumble while starting to clean me up.

It was clear that no matter how rough or gentle Oscar fucked he would always spend the next several minutes praising and cleaning up. I couldn't help but blush under his praise and when we were finally cleaned up and helped me dress into one of his shirts before getting the both of us comfortable in his bed.

[entitled-fangirl]

Little Doe (P2).

Cregan Stark x Velaryon!reader

Warnings: making out, dom!Cregan, talks of death and ptsd, etc

A/n: This is short and sweet and a cliffhanger but- there will be a part 3, don't you fret

Part 1

Masterlist

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Cregan entered his solar. And the moment the door closed, his hands rubbed over his face and into his hair. His fingers tugged at the long strands as he forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Is everything alright?" Her soft voice called.

He'd almost forgotten about the small settee he had moved in here specifically for her. After doing so, she hardly ever left it. Especially on days she knew he'd be here. 

He stretched his shoulders back as his eyes took her in. He loved her in this relaxed state. It had taken a few weeks to get her there, but this was bliss. She was blissful. No need to keep up with the royal looks of tight dresses and intricate hair- not when she was with him. She was comfortable with him, trading it all for more relaxed dresses and hair loose from braids. He loved her just like this.

But the current concerned wrinkle in her brow as she looked at him ruined it. "'M fine. Just a disagreement at petitions today."

She abandoned the Stark History book to give him her full attention. "A disagreement?"

He sighed again at the thought of it, interlocking his fingers over his head. "There is a lord that simply does not know his place."

She hummed, choosing to say nothing to make him fill the space.

"He's j-" Cregan bit back his words, the anger turning into crude amusement. "He's both vial and vain and… much too blunt for my standards." He aimed his words at her, "I appreciate a disagreement. I will not tolerate disrespect." He wanted to make a point. But more than that, he just wanted her to agree with him.

"You do not deserve disrespect," she breathed. She was beginning to find her voice with him. Though, it was still soft.

"No, I do not."

"Nor should you have to tolerate it-"

"-I shouldn't!" He huffed, throwing his hands up. "I shouldn't. Perhaps a public example must be made of him." His voice quieted as he thought. "What would your mother do, hm? What did she do with disrespect? Or your father?"

They didn't speak much of her parents. Rhaenyra was long gone, her remains stuck in King's Landing. It loomed over the silver-headed few that survived like a dark storm cloud.

What would Rhaenyra have done?

"I'm unsure," she finally answered. "I was… kept from those parts of the kingdom."

A small chuckle left Cregan as his angered gaze turned admiring. "I know that, doe. But surely your brother talked."

Jace did. He was the finest gossiper she knew. That's how she always got her information during the war.

And Cregan knew that. He knew the two eldest Velaryons better than he knew himself at this point.

She dared to think that Cregan missed Jace.

As for her father dealing with disrespect? Which one?

Harwin would fulfill his name of 'Breakbones'. Laenor would have a strong talking to. Daemon… well. He fought a war for his wife's name, didn't he? 

"Perhaps he spoke a few times," she spoke, deeply in thought, seemingly lost in the memories of Dragonstone. Those warm days in the sun. Jace letting her ride with him on Vermax. Teaching Joffrey how to swim. 

The death of Luke. 

The death of Jace.

She physically blinked as the thoughts turned more and more sinister. "I try not to think of those things anymore."

He watched her face turn more convoluted and lost. He wanted to hit himself with how easily he'd brought back the horrid remembrance. She had been so comfortable and he had to come in and ruin the little peace she had.

"Don't tire yourself over it, sweet girl. Was only curious." He sat next to her on the settee, almost comedically with how large Cregan's body was on the small sofa. His shoulders slumped as the weight of his life set it- like it did every time he was comfortable. "I never quite know what to do," he admitted softly, keeping his eyes glued to his hands. "When your actions affect all of the North, they have to be right."

She shimmied into his side, resting her head against his shoulder. "What does a Stark wolf do?"

His lips quirked up. His sweet doe is telling him to give into his wolfish instincts. "Suppose I should banish him then?"

She wrapped her hand around his bicep, heaving a soft sigh and shrugging.

"Can I kiss you, doe?" He asked softly. 

He'd asked it before. That first time. And he'd been denied.

He said he could be patient. But that was proving itself to be a lot harder than he originally thought. 

He was her husband already. A man of his stature wouldn't have waited this long. He didn't care. It just made the rewards sweeter.

So he looked at her to gauge her reaction.

She had set her chin against his bicep now, looking through her lashes. Her big does eyes gaze up at him.

She slowly nods.

He has take a deep breath. He can't get too carried away with the small liberty she's given him.

His hand slowly reaches into her hair, pulling her away from his arm so he can turn and lean down to her level. "Your words," he reminds her, but his eyes are only on her lips. He wants to capture her voice perfectly for what she'll say now.

She hesitates, the words capturing in her throat. Until finally, a small plea makes its way through in a hoarse whisper. "Please, kiss me."

Cregan closes the gap with no hesitation, cupping her face in his large paw of a hand. 

His kiss was heavy. It felt weighted with both intensity and words unspoken. But he made it feel light.

With careful movements, he trails his other hand from her hair to her lower back and begins to lay her down on the settee. His lips never disconnect from hers, slipping his tongue past her lips with an expertise that made her gasp.

Her mother had once had a brief talk about sex with her. It was broad and strange. Something about feeling something bolden within your lower stomach- like adrenaline shooting up your spine.

She thought she was beginning to feel it.

She braved bringing a hand up his chest and back down again. It was frightening to not know exactly what to do. But exhilarating all the same.

He groaned and began to tug up her thin dress as he climbed comfortably over her. He swears he's not felt more beautiful skin in his life as his fingers brush over her legs.

But as his calloused hand runs up her thigh, she lets out a small sound of surprise that breaks his train of thought. He pulls his face from hers worriedly, though he's still holding back the feeling of ravaging her.

He takes in the sight of the small pants that break through her parted, swollen lips. She's a sight to behold.

He pulls her dress back down, relishing in the fact that his wife truly is beautiful. Even if he has yet to see all of her.

She pushes herself up to try to catch his lips again. But as their lips brush, he turns his head. And when she tried again, he muttered, "Don't."

Her face fell a bit. "Cregan-"

"Don't ask what a Stark wolf would do. Ever again," he warned lowly. "Don't encourage it."

She realized just how much he was holding back. Like he was hungry and had yet to eat in days.

But he tried to lighten his sudden harshness, tucking his face into her neck and nipping. "Might bite you, doe."

She gasped at the surprise of it, but flushed when it came out as a small groan.

"Oh," he muttered against her skin. "You liked that? You want me to give in? Mark you?" He traded his nipping for soft kisses, trailing them up her jaw until he hit a spot that pulled a noise out of her. He kissed and left kitten licks against it until her hands pulled at his hair. He admired the way she was putty in his hands. "Let all of the North know how the doe controls the wolf, hm? How he worships her? You want that?"

Cregan pulled away to get a look at her. Her glazed eyes set on him. Words tried to come from her lips but failed to make it through. Her mouth opened and shut with hazy intention. If that's how she responded to a kiss, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

He grinned, gripping her chin. "Hm?" He asked again. "Cause I promised not to touch you until you let me, little doe."

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[followtheechoes]

earplugs are important!

this chart is from the rcgp website. it looks very similar to the one my instructor gave us in a course I took in college on bioacoustics and hearing aid technology. the risk of hearing loss with normal everyday sounds goes up with the amount of time you spend listening with no protection.

if you need a less scientific explanation and a more personal one instead, consider this:

my dad has had tinnitus longer than I've been alive and he has difficulty in crowded restaurants because the ambient noise of the radio and people talking is at just the right frequency to cause him pain. his hearing loss was from standing right next to a speaker at a concert when the mic started giving feedback. my mum has bad hearing for unrelated reasons but she told me she was sure all the concerts didn't exactly help. I have spent my entire life translating conversations between my parents because they keep having conversations while they're in seperate rooms and mishearing everything the other says. if my mum is sick there's basically no point in talking to her without shouting. my dad has a hard time being around small kids because the sound of them screaming or laughing is at just the right pitch to hurt, and I deliberately made my voice lower as I grew up because I knew high pitched sounds were painful, especially close to him. I learned early to communicate face to face, because if I have a conversation with either of my parents without them being able to read my lips (say, if we're in the kitchen fixing ourselves lunch), they'll assume it isn't important or mishear. I love my parents, and this has it's benefits (I'm better at talking to seniors, I'm more confident saying things directly to people in as few words as possible, I'm good at mediating between people who aren't understanding each other). I'm just saying that if you don't want this to be your/your children's life, and you go to a lot of concerts, please do look into hearing protection.

my mum got hearing aids at 55 and needed them for years before that (see: my entire childhood), and she was amazed at how much better things were for her. hearing aid technology has improved to an insane degree. she has a streamer which connects to her phone via bluetooth, so she can listen to music whenever she wants and no one will know. she told me she turns up the volume when her office is quiet and people are gossiping so she doesn't have to get involved but she still knows what's going on. she has a tiny, subtle microphone that can attach to her clothes or be placed nearer to the person she needs to hear, and when covid hit and her office started getting glass dividers, she was able to place her microphone on the other side of the divider and hear her clients. she's has told me what a relief it is not to have to nod along and hope she's laughing at the right moments. it's been ridiculously cool watching her step out of her comfort zone and get back into music as well.

my point being, hearing loss is not the end of your life, but it will make things different and more difficult, so please protect your hearing while you can!

[xoxo-sarah]

A Chance

My Wife part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

↝pairing: Season1!Daryl Dixon x wife!reader

↝warning: things are rough between Daryl and Reader, death, cursing, arguing, walkers, ect. The usual twd stuff, angst, reader wears Daryl's clothes ( but as a big girl myself, we can just ignore how he's a twig and that's most likely unrealistic 🫡), not proofread

↝⎙ 1.30.25

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Daryl Dixon, or any character from The Walking Dead. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

Daryl Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Daylight broke and Andrea hadn't moved.

Daryl grumbled about Amy turning, but you quickly shot him down each time. People grieve in different ways. Andrea knew what she had to do when the time came.

"Y'all can't be serious." Daryl huffed, watching Andrea through squinted eyes, "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time-bomb." He seethed.

"Daryl," You glared up at him, rubbing the scratch on your upper arm. "Don't be insensitive."

"We ain't got time for this." He seethed, glaring back at you.

You stood, "She lost her sister, not her smarts. She knows what to do."

He stepped closer, putting his weight on one leg, slightly slouching to be eye level with you. Maybe he was trying to be intimidating, but it didn't work. You had seen the dark, sad parts of him. He will never be able to scare you or berate you with actions or words. "And if she don't?"

"What do you suggest?"Rick questioned Daryl, stopping the oncoming argument.

Daryl stepped closer to Rick, bringing his fingers to his temple, "Take the shot. Clean, in the brain from here. Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"No," Lori spoke up, "For God's sake, let her be."

Dary scoffed before walking off. In turn, you eyed the back of Andrea's head. She knew what she had to do, right? You hoped so.

Pulling your eyes away from her, you looked around at all of the bodies. Most were people who you had just seen, laughing and eating. Others were the dead that had wandered from the city.

Shutting your eyes, your hand automatically went to your wrist, the tightly woven thread helping to ground you. Your fingers traveled down to your left hand, the wedding ring soothing against your fingertips, a contrast to the thick thread of the collar/ bracelet on your wrist.

Daryl looked up as he helped drag a body across the ground. He watched you, watched your movements; a desperate search for comfort.

- time skip -

Daryl stomped away, not understanding why Amy and Jim were not being taken care of. They were "ticking time bombs". They were liabilities. In the new world, there was not time to grieve. Sneering at the thought, he yanked the tent flap back, watching you jump, immediately wiping under your eyes.

His eyes trailed over you in the silence of the moment. You needed comforting. He wanted to comfort you. He really did. But he had a feeling those tears were his doing. He shouldn't have taken his frustration out on you, knowing you had witnessed something horrific.

The tent opening fell down as he walked away.

Your hands instantly went back to your face, muffling the sobs that raked your body.

-

Sweat had mixed with the dirt and grime, caking your skin as you helped bury the bodies. The bright sun beat down, causing you to squint.

Daryl kept an eye on you from a distance. Neither of you had uttered a word to each other since the morning. You were both too stubborn.

Backing his truck up, bodies in the bed of it, Daryl caught sight of you looking up through the side mirrors. Just as quickly, you looked away and got back to digging, ignoring Rick and Shane's argument to your left. Turning the truck off, Daryl jumped out, slamming the door.

He made his way to where you, Rick, and Shane were digging holes for the friends you had light the night prior. "I still think it's a mistake not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right? Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first."

Daryl scoffed, "The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, we just follow 'em along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here- what the rules are."

"And who the hell's in charge, Daryl? It sure as hell ain't you."

Daryl scoffed again, watching as you glared at him, waiting for him to reply, from where you had jumped down in a freshly dug hole.

"There are no rules." Rick countered Daryl's statement.

"Well, that's a problem." Lori walked past Daryl's truck, children and their mothers behind her. "We haven't had one moment to hold onto anything of our old selves. We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do." With that, she turned and walked away, not caring to hear what anyone thought about that.

-

Feeling disgusting, you had made your way back to the tent. Not having any clothes, you opted for something of Daryl's. His cut shirts weren't ideal, but they were cooling and non-restricting. His old work pants fit loose, but that's not anything string couldn't fix.

Buttoning the second to last button of the dingy shirt, you heard the opening of the tent begin to unzip. You moved to cover yourself, but ultimately relaxed when Daryl stepped in. He looked up, scanning your body before glancing behind himself, making sure nobody had seen you changing from over his shoulder. He zipped the flap back up, before simply standing there. He was slightly hunched over, as were you, thanks to the small tent.

It was silent.

Your fingers went back to the button, as you ignored your husband's presence.

Daryl moved closer, standing behind you. The air around you two changed. His head fell to your shoulder, his own grime mixing with yours. He stayed there, vulnerable. This was his way of apologizing.

Your body relaxed further, sinking back into him. His arms snaked around your middle, holding you close.

"It's okay." You whispered, only loud enough for him to hear, and not to disturb this newfound peaceful atmosphere. He nodded, moving his hands to your hips, turning you around. His fingers made quick work of buttoning the last button for you.

-

The next morning, everyone was getting ready to leave for the C.D.C. Rick was out in the field, talking to a man named Morgan, the guy who had saved Rick’s life. Lori, Carol, and the kids were helping to load everything into cars. You helped Daryl load up his truck. Hopping onto the tailgate, you helped pull Daryl’s bike up, gently laying it on the truck bed.

“Are ya willin’ to put your life in his hands?” Daryl helped you jump down, glancing at Rick in the distance. Daryl was looking to you for answers. You were always the more level-headed of the two. Daryl would follow you into fire, he’d follow you to the end of the world. And you just might be doing that.

“I think you have to hope there’s a safe place out there. If we don’t hope for it, then we won’t get it. Hope is all we’ve got.” You patted his chest, before walking by him. He watched you, before slamming the rusted tailgate closed.

-

The wind blew through your hair, cooling your face. Daryl drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other near his mouth as he nipped at his fingernails. The leg that was not being used for the gas and brake pedals slightly shook, a trailer to his nerves. You rode in silence.

“”M sorry–‘bout yesterday.” He spoke up first, biting his thumb nail. You turned your head, looking at his side-profile. He didn’t dare to glance at you.

“I know. I am too. We were both on edge; said some things. It’s alright.”

He nodded, pulling his thumb from his mouth. “Ya think Merle’s alright?”

You thought about it. Daryl had told you what they found on the roof and what they had run into.

“I think he’s a tough fucker to kill.” Daryl let out an entertained huff, “He had enough energy to steal the van, so there’s a high chance he’s okay���maybe.”

Daryl let your words marinate. Letting out a deep exhale, he swapped hands on the wheel, placing his right one of your knee. You moved closer to him, placing your hand over his.

-

Guilt was eating at you.

You had all left Jim under a tree. Sure, it was per his request, but that didn’t stop the shame bubbling in your gut. Even miles from where he sat, you had a frown on your face, thinking of him. The turning was inevitable. But the thought of him having to sit there and deal with the feeling of his bones being made of glass, cutting into him with the slightest move, having to deal with that all on his own, hurt you.

Daryl felt the tension in the truck. You sat closer to the door, hands in your lap.

His hand moved toward the radio, before cursing himself. That wouldn’t work in the apocalypse

Grumbling, he leaned over, opening the glove box and blindly digging through. Pulling a cassette tape out, he plucked it into the truck, twisting the volume knob.

It’s what Jim wanted, you kept reminding yourself. But it didn’t make you feel any better about yourself. You just hoped he wasn’t in pain for much longer.

-

Daryl tapped your arm, watching you blink awake. The melody had settled you to a light slumber. Still groggy from sleep, you took in your surroundings. For a moment, you forgot that the world went to shit. The sky was turning a dark orange, sun setting in the distance. But as you sat up in the seat, you could see the bodies on the ground, bugs buzzing above them.

“Wanna get out?” Daryl stared at you as you looked at the huge building through the windshield. Even more bodies laid in front of the building, flies swarming them. Some bodies were mindlessly wandering around.

This was the C.D.C?

Without giving a response, you opened your door, jumping out. Daryl followed, grabbing his crossbow and a shotgun from the floorboard. Walking around the truck, he pressed the gun to your side, getting your attention. You grabbed it and began following everyone to the building.

The stench alone almost had you hurling.

“Alright, everybody,” Shane began whispering, “Keep moving. Go on. Stay quiet. Let’s go.”

The constant buzzing of flies and the horrible smell of decay just might be your own personal hell.

Finally, you were a few feet from the building. Rick and Shane beat on the roll-up doors.

“There’s nobody here.” T-Dog swayed on his feet, turning to look over his shoulder every few seconds.

“Then why are these shutters down?” Rick was holding onto hope; he had to.

“Walkers!” Daryl pulled you by the arm, putting you behind him.

Children screamed, guns cocked, feet shuffled.

“You led us into a graveyard!” Daryl turned, making his way toward Rick. His nostrils flared. Fury behind his eyes.

You stepped in front of him, separating him and what he wanted to do out of anger and frustration.

“He made a call!” Dale interjected.

Daryl rounded you, “It was the wrong damn call!”

Shane stopped Daryl. “Just shut up. You hear me? Shut. Up. Shut up!” He pushed Daryl back, pointing at him.

You quickly walked over, grabbing Daryl’s shoulder before the whole thing could escalate.

Shane turned, walking back to Rick, who still stood at the shutters. “Rick, this is a dead end.”

“Where are we gonna go?” Carol held onto her daughter, but was ignored.

Night was blanketing the sky–fast. You could barely see where the cats were parked from where you stood.

Shane continued, “Do you hear me? No blame.”

Lori acknowledged Carol, “She’s right. We can’t be here, this close to the city after dark.”

“Fort Benning, Rick-still an option.”

“On what?” Andrea stepped forward, glowering. “No food, no fuel. That’s 100 miles.”

“125. I checked the map.” Glenn corrected.

Carl clung to Lori’s legs. She stared at her husband, “Forget Fort Benning! We need answers tonight, now.”

“We’ll think of something.” Rick tried, not meeting his wife’s eyes.

“C’mon!” “Let’s go!” “Let’s get out of here!” Everyone began to make their way back to the vehicles, “Alright, everybody back to the cars. Let’s go, move.”

“The camera– It moved!”

“You imagined it.”

“It. Moved.” Rick didn’t think anything of Dale’s words, walking closer to the camera near the doors. “It moved.”

“Rick, man. It’s an automated device. It’s gears, okay? They’re just winding down. Now come on. Man, just listen to me.” Shane grabbed Rick by his upper arm, trying to drag him away. “Look around this place. It’s dead, okay? It’s. Dead. You need to let it go, Rick!”

Rick pushed Shane off, going to the shutters and beating against them again. He stared up into the camera.

“Rick! There’s nobody here!” Lori yelled.

Rick ignored her, “I know you can hear me!”

Shane began ushering everyone back to the cars. “Everybody get back to the cars, now!”

Rick didn’t budge. “Please, we’re desperate. Please help us.” He begged, “We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”

Lori thrusted Carl onto you, seeing as you were the closest to her, and ran over to Rick. She grabbed him. “Rick-”

“We have nowhere else to go-”

“There’s nobody here.”

Rick continued to pound on the doors.

Carl clung tighter to you.

“Keep your eyes open.” Shane ordered.

“If you don’t let us in, you’re killing us! Please!” Rick yelled at the top of his lungs.

Shane went over, pushing Lori away and grabbing Rick by his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go.”

Carl pushed himself closer to you, hearing his father so desperate but to no avail.

Rick fought against getting dragged back, still staring into the camera, “Please help us.”

People shouted. Carl’s tears soaked into your /Daryl’s/ pants.

“You’re killing us! YOU’RE KILLING US!”

Shane shoved Rick away, watching his face crumble.

“You’re killing us.”

Your eyes widened, holding Carl closer, as a bright light nearly blinded you. The shutters opened, rolling up slowly. A hissing echoed. Everyone gawked, not knowing what to do.

“Daryl, you cover the back.” Shane ordered. Carl let go, running to his mother.

You cocked your gun, joining Daryl. He glanced at you, a questioning gaze set on you. You simply blinked at him, in shock.

Everyone walked toward the light, looking around and gawking at the interior. It smelt clean, a contrast to the horrid, rotting smell outside.

“Hello? Hello?!”

“Close those doors.”

“Watch for walkers.”

“Hello?”

A gun cocking had the group readying themselves, wildly looking around for the source.

A man stood in the shadows, gun in hand. “Anybody infected?”

“One of our group was. He didn’t make it.” Rick answered the unknown man.

“Why are you here?” The man stepped forward, “What do you want?” He put the gun down, looking at all of your grime-covered faces.

“A chance.”

Part 4 (TBA)

•2021-2025 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I do NOT give permission!]

[allfearstofallto]

"Aren't you Going to Finish That Thought?"

Wanderer x Fem! Reader

Pure fluff, hurt and comfort

AN: Super super self indulgent fic. Just something I needed as a D1 yapper

“And when you dig the hole, it has to be very shallow, because the roots continue to grow down faster than-” you stop yourself, a hint of embarrassment on your face. You're talking too much. Again. Blabbing on and on about something or other that no one cares about, filling the silence with your annoying voice.

You always talked to Wanderer. You'd seek him out wherever he went just to sit and chat with him. Although, chatting meant he'd actually respond, he never said much back. Instead he'd have his nose in his book or his eyes focused on what was happening out the window, typically it was the sunset. You felt your heart sink at the realization. He was ignoring you. Telling you that you were bothering him with actions rather than words.

“You talk so much,”

“Don't you ever shut up?”

“Not everything needs to be said,”

You mentally cringed at the words that suddenly filled your brain. All things that'd been said to you, all things that people you considered friends or loved ones thought about you. They could say it as a quip or with a playful smile on their faces, but you know that every joke has a bit of truth behind it. They meant it, even subconsciously. And maybe he felt the same way.

You silenced yourself. That familiar lump was forming in your throat, the one that meant you'd possibly cry if prodded the wrong way.

“Aren't you going to finish that thought?” Wanderer had finally looked up from his book. Pretty blue eyes now focused on you with a questioning gaze. His words startled you, seeing as he only spoke so often. You assumed he was being sarcastic again, but he wasn't wearing that smirk that he always did when saying something snarky. He truly meant it.

You shrugged your shoulders, trying to give him a weak smile that wasn't very convincing at downplaying your sudden lack of confidence, “I just- thought I was talking too much,” words spoken with a bit of sorrow behind them. Stammered out forcefully while you still resisted the urge to cry.

“Who said that?” His question had a bit of a bite behind it. A touch of anger in it. For a moment, you feared that he was angry at you, but his eyes had a certain softness to them when he looked upon your face.

“I don't know. Everyone?”

He clicked his tongue, “Am I everyone?”

“I don't-”

Wanderer cut you off before you could finish a self deprecating thought, “I was listening. I'm always listening. Don't you think I would've told you if you were bothering me?”

“I thought you were just being nice?”

“When have I ever been nice?” he asked, but there was a softness to his voice that you realized only you had ever got the pleasure of hearing. Whenever you eavesdropped in him speaking to anyone else, he sounded annoyed, furious even that they'd dare approach him. But never with you.

His question makes your heart beat quicken and your eyes foggy with tears. You shrugged, shook your head, but didn't say anything else. You couldn't. Unless he wanted to console you as you sobbed.

“Now finish what you were saying. About the flowers, right?” Wanderer tried to mask that softness in his voice by sounding butter again, but you could hear through it.

With a laugh, you started up again, watching as his eyes fell onto his book. If you looked closely, really really closely, you could see a little smile playing at his lips.

[cressidagrey]

Schrodinger's... Girlfriend? - Chapter 9: Of Bombshells and Big Disclosures

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Original Character

Summary:

Oscar Piastri’s love life is the talk of the F1 world—mainly because no one’s ever seen his girlfriend. Does she exist? Or is she just a figment of his imagination? Detective Lando Norris to the rescue!

Warnings: 

I don't think there are any?

“How did you even manage this?” Oscar asked her, as he lead her back to the McLaren Garage. “I thought you were going to write another final next week.”

“So did I,” Vanessa said with a snort. “Until the professor figured out that he got the date wrong on the syllabus…I wrote it on Friday already.”

It had been quite annoying, because orginally...Monday had been supposed to be the date...And that had messed up her study planning... but oh well.

 If she was only going to get a 94 instead of a 99, she was going to survive it. 

“So I thought…hey…I can make it to the race…2 hours later I had a flight booked," she told Oscar with a grin. Like there had been anything that would have stopped her from finally getting to see her boyfriend race from somewhere else other than the comfort of her couch.

Oscar squeezed her hand tightly.  “Thank you for coming,” he told her and she squeezed his hand right back.

“So, show me where the magic happens,” she teased him.

The next ten minutes was an absolute whirlwind of introductions around the McLaren garage, between engineers, strategists and mechanics, before Oscar pulled her into his driver’s room.

She had seen a lot of these throughout the last months, though she had always been on the other end of a facetime call.

Oscar closed the door behind them and grinned as Nessie looked around the room, eyes darting around the place, taking in his suit and helmet on the desk, before her gaze landed back on him and there was a sparkle in her eyes. She stepped closer to him and his arm wrapped around her back, tugging her closer against his chest.

“You have no idea how good it feels to have you here in person,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her sides, pulling her even closer against him.

She hummed softly as her head leaned against his shoulder, her face nuzzling against his neck. “Maybe I have a little bit of an idea,” she murmured against the skin, her lips brushing against his neck. “But it’s definitely much better than watching you through a screen.”

His hands slid beneath her top and onto her bare skin, fingertips drawing lazy circled onto the small of her back. “Much better,” he agreed with a low groan, one hand going up to grab the back of her head and tilt her face upwards for a proper kiss.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling into the soft curls at the nape of his neck when she stepped as close to him as she could get. She sighed softly against his lips when they parted for a breath before she kissed him again, lips opening eagerly to deepen the kiss.

God, she had missed him.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers tracing his muscles through the thin fabric of his polo shirt. There was no doubt in his mind that he had missed her just as badly as she had missed him.

She pulled back, slightly breathless. “So how long until the race?” she asked him.

“Another 2 hours or so,” Oscar answered, chasing her lips for another kiss. “Lando is probably busy taking a nap right about now, otherwise he would have already come out screaming about you being real after all.”

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "He still thinks I am some sort of elaborate joke?” Vanessa asked curiously.

Oscar just sighed. “Who knows what is going on in that head of his,” he said with a long suffering sigh. “But I do know that he will absolutely flip out, when he sees you in person.”

“Can’t wait to see his face," she told him, her mouth already curving up into a smile just picturing the scenario that was about to unfold as soon as Lando found out about the fact that she was actually there in person. 

And Nessie got to see that earlier than they both thought.

A few minutes later, she sat cross legged in the corner of the sofa, while Oscar was shifting through stuff on his desk… And in walked Lando Norris, without even bothering to knock...or glance in her direction. His mind was clearly focused on whatever racing question he had for Oscar. “Osc, I’ve been thinking-”

Vanessa couldn’t help it. She leaned back against the sofa, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Lando,” she said, her voice cool and calm, “you don’t seriously still believe I’m not real, right?”

Lando froze in place, mid-sentence, eyes wide as he whipped around, scanning the room in disbelief. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His gaze landed on Vanessa, and it was as if the world stopped.

The high-pitched noise that came out of his mouth was enough to make Oscar nearly drop the stack of paper in hands in shock. Vanessa couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles, because that had been exactly the reaction she had hoped for.

“AHHHHHH!” Lando screamed, stumbling backward in shock. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

“Surprise," Vanessa said with a grin, her voice filled with amusement, clearly enjoying the absolute shock on Lando's face.

In one swift movement, Lando collided with a chair, falling backward into it with such force that it tipped over. He scrambled to his feet, half-hysterical, his voice rising in panic. “OH MY GOD, SHE’S REAL! SHE’S REAL!”

Watching Lando flail about like that was enough to send Vanessa into hysterical giggles, and she was pretty sure that the sound of her giggling was only adding to Lando’s already panicked state.

Oscar, on the other hand, had slumped against his desk, his entire body shaking with laughter at the sight of Lando, absolutely losing it over Vanessa’s existence.

“Lando, I told you she exists,” Oscar finally said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Lando practically scrambled towards him, grabbing onto his arm and shaking it as if his life depending on it. “She’s right THERE,” he shrieked, pointing at Vanessa frantically. “SHE IS!”

Vanessa couldn’t help another fit of giggles. “I am, indeed,” she said in a calm voice, still leaning back in the sofa, clearly enjoying herself.

Lando gaped at her, his eyes wide with astonishment, before whipping his head around to fix Oscar with a look that was a mix between shock and disbelief. “Why the hell is she here?”

Oscar couldn’t help but burst out laughing again. “What do you think? To see me.”

Lando spluttered, still clinging onto Oscar’s arm, his mouth working soundlessly. “But she’s— she’s—” he sputtered out, unable to finish a single sentence as his gaze wandered from Oscar to Vanessa and back, his mind clearly at war with what he was seeing.

“A living, breathing human being,” Vanessa filled in, her voice dripping with amusement. “Not a white whale...not a mannequin...not imaginary either."

Lando let out a strangled cry, his grip on Oscar’s arm tightening, as if he was afraid she was going to vanish into thin air any second now. "You’ve been dating her...this whole time...and she is just…here?” he managed to sputter out.

Oscar snorted, clearly enjoying Lando’s reaction a bit too much. “See? I told you I wasn’t messing with you. You really should’ve believed in the ‘white whale,’ mate.”

Lando, now starting to laugh at himself as the tension eased, shook his head in disbelief. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I screamed when I saw you. I thought I was going to pass out.”

Vanessa chuckled, crossing her arms as she shook her head. “You’re not the first person to be a little shocked by me.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Lando replied, finally getting to his feet, his face flushed from the whole ordeal. “I’m just... still processing it.”

Oscar clapped him on the shoulder, his grin widening. “No worries, mate. Just be glad you didn’t faint or something. That would’ve been a bit more embarrassing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando muttered, rolling his eyes but still laughing. “I’ll never hear the end of this, will I?”

“You’re going to hear it forever,” Oscar said with a grin.

“Oh, absolutely,” Vanessa joined in, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “This is prime material for future jokes and jabs."

Lando groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. “You two are going to be the death of me, you know that, right?”

"Oh, come on, Lando," Oscar said, his tone almost mockingly cheerful. "We're just keeping you on your toes. It's all in good fun, mate."

"It's very nice to meet you though," Vanessa said brightly. "I have heard a lot about you, Lando."

Lando's expression turned from one of mock despair to a genuine smile at her words. "Yeah, likewise," he replied, his voice still tinged with a hint of sheepishness. "Sorry about, you know, the whole..." he trailed off, waving.

"Making the whole internet think I didn't exist or that I was Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster?" she asked drily. "Don't worry, I found it quite amusing."

Lando winced with an embarrassed grin, his cheeks flushing once more. "Yeah, that," he admitted sheepishly. "It was all a bit ridiculous."

She shrugged, a bemused smile playing at the edges of her lips. “I’ll admit, it was rather funny seeing everyone online debating my existence."

[deathlygristly]

The spousal person and I chose each other when we were 18. We're 44 and 43 now (I'm seven months older than him which I'm sure scandalizes antis, like I could roll over on my own while he was still a fetus so clearly I am preying on him) and we are still very happily monogamous.

Here's the thing though.

We're both autistic, neither of us grew up religious (well, the spousal person went to Catholic school K-8 but he never believed in it), we both lost a parent before we met (my father died when a month after I turned 7 and his mother died when he was 17, a few months before we met) and on our first date when we were 18 we both agreed that we did not want children and that we cared more about being happy than about outward markers of success and status.

Now 25 years later we don't have kids but we do have a lot of cats, and I often tell him that my dream is for him and the kitties to be happy and he says his is for me and the kitties to be happy. :)

We got married when we were 21, in a drive-thru chapel in Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge. No rings, no fancy outfits, no guests, nothing like that. Just paperwork and then driving around to the window for the officiant to say the official words, lol. I didn't change my last name.

I've been learning more about autism lately and listening to the Autistic Culture podcast and things, and maybe it's the autism, I don't know. Neither of us really understand conformity or social pressure. Neither of us are real good at socializing long term with other people. We like our routines and our rituals. We're comfortable with each other and very much not comfortable around strangers. Dealing with other people is A Lot for us.

The main thing though is that it was all completely our own choice, from the moment I emailed him and asked if he wanted to hang out without our other friends to now, when I am sitting here with a cat in my lap and he's in the kitchen making a dinner that we both talked about and chose, and then we'll eat it while watching two kdrama episodes that we talked about and chose.

Also I get really confused about things I see on here about marriage and relationships with dudes, because I don't recognize any of what the haters are saying. The spousal person does all the housework except vacuuming. I don't do all the emotional stuff. We take care of each other and support each other. He's really cool and fun and I love him more than the universe and when we're watching a kdrama and something funny happens and he laughs and I look back at him and I hear his laugh and I see his face....it's the most beautiful perfect experience in existence and I want to be near him for always.

But if you didn't choose it, if you felt pressured into it by society or religion or family, if you don't even like the person you're building your life with, if you don't support each other and you don't talk and you don't feel free to be yourself and you're just performing to please some weird external Other....yeah, I can see that being awful.

If what you really want is monogamy and lifelong commitment, you absolutely cannot force it on an unwilling pseudopartner. Domination is not commitment. Abuse is not commitment. Performing to please an external other is not commitment.

To me commitment isn't hard at all. It's the easiest thing in the world. It's just hanging out forever with my most best friend who is also the coolest cutest human to ever exist in all possible realities.

But based on what I've learned about other people since I got internet access...it's not going to be easy if you can't accept yourself for who you are and if you care more about conformity and social status than your own happiness and if you haven't taken responsibility for your own emotions and you aren't willing to work on healing your own trauma.

And if you do work on healing your own trauma and take responsibility for your emotions and get comfortable with who you are and with respecting other people as their own unique self and you find that what you want is polyamory or being single or whatever, go for it! That can be commitment too, to a steady set of multiple partners or to yourself and your own integrity.

I don't know. I think the point is that domination and abuse and forcing others never works and never results in long term happiness, no matter the number of people involved. You gotta respect the autonomous selves of others if you want mature committed relationships, of whatever kind.

Gotta stop here because he says dinner is ready. :)

everybody talks about men in trad marriages having affairs with their secretaries but it’s worth noting a lot of women back then had side pieces too. you can force a woman to submit to you legally but you can never force her to love you or maintain fidelity against her will. you can get rid of no fault divorce and get rid of abortion but you can’t get rid of fun.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

I would love any yandere clan leader fluff tbh, maybe one where someone from a clan at a party disrespects reader and he comforts her after defending her? Thanks!

Soft Yandere! Clan Leader x Wife! Reader

note: it kind of follows the theme of reader being overly insecure/doubting him

warnings: harassment, insecure! reader,

Everything was loud.

The piano and violin, the hushed whispers surronding you like constant white noise, the whiskey lingering in the air like cheap perfume. You felt your head spin and buzz—bile on the back of your tongue while you clutched your glass filled with the unidentifiable magenta swirling inside of it.

You shouldn't be here. Just were not cut-out for this; for the weight that your husband's last name bore, pushing you down until you could do nothing but slouch.

And then a strange cold limp patted you on your shoulder. Right, you were next to your husband's cousin—what was his name again?

“Relax, I’m sure he's gonna be right back.”

But as he laughed, tipsy as he was, you were certain that his hand shouldn’t feel like a heavy paw of a fox tackling down a lamp to feast on—it probably should’ve comforted you along with his words, reassure you and ease the tension between your shoulder blades.

“Pretty shy, ain't you?” he quipped and all you could do was smile awkwardly.

He was nice-looking, younger than you, probably with no fear of anything; especially not physical contact. It probably didn't mean much to him, but to you the pads of his fingers brushing over your naked shoulder felt violating, as if he placed them there specifically to watch the discomfort spawn on your face. As if he prided himself with being socially more comptent than you.

“Such a pretty face, but you don't talk much, do ya? C’mon talk, it's just me, we’re practically family now.” his breath stung, made your eyes tear up from the potent concentration of alcohol.

You hadn’t even meant to get roped up in this conversation, not at all. Passing by, searching for your husband in the crowd of unfamiliar clan-members and different clans; men dressed in their finest suits or cultural attires, with women adored in extravagant dresses and bold colours—you had stumbled upon the one familiar face of his distant cousin and now his arm draped over your shoulder like shackles keeping you in place.

“Got really lucky with ya—didn’t he? Lucky Bastard.” he laughed and you further shrunk and shriveled into yourself. “Got to be the next clan leader, got the title, the fame, the power, always got the prettier women—”

“That's enough.” a voice cut through the stifling air like a whip; sharp and poised like the gaze of his owner with his sudden appearance —draped in matching midnight blue silk, dressed worthy of the head of a clan as large as his was.

He was angered, you could tell that much—the piercing look in his eyes spoke for itself; as deep as the ocean, a storm wracking in his soul, with waves building up until they even swallowed you.

So you looked away, ashamed.

“I said that's enough.” this time he ripped his cousin's dirty paw off of your shoulder. His jaw was clenched and suddenly you felt suffocated by the intensity of it all—you hadn't meant for this. What if now he would blame you? Thought you were comfortable with being close to other men. He was so sweet till now, but what if he was appalled now, disgusted, what if he—

“Are you alright, love?” he grounded you, as he always did, holding you like fragile porcelain, peering down at you with stern but not unkind eyes.

“I-I am fine.” you stammered, overwhelmed by his gentle tone and softer touch—it made your head spin with confusion. Just why was he always so kind to you? Even now? Even after everything he saw.

“Love, you don't look fine to me.” he whispered, came close enough so that his breath brushed the shell of your ear and the warmth of it travel down to your painfully fast beating heart. “No, I really am—”

“She said she's fine. What? Tryna make me seem like the bad guy when you left your woman alone—” he didn't get any more words out before his collar tightened, dangerously until air was just but a luxury.

Yet you didn't even see him choking, nor did you hear whatever it was that your betrothed threatened him with, shielding your line of sight with his broad back, towering over the other guy as if he didn't want you to watch.

However he, no matter how much he tried concealing the conversation occuring between them—with hushed whispers similar to that of a scolding father—you could see raw terror in his cousin's eyes after your husband let him go. The man’s eyes were as wide as saucers and they may have met yours for just a fraction—yet you were sure of what you saw. Even more so as he scurried away like a mouse.

“Come. Let's get you out of here.” he grabbed you by your arm, firmly with strength that you knew would bruise if he was as angry with you as he was with his cousin. So he wasn't angry with you? Somehow, knowing this only unsettled you further.

He whisked you away—somewhere much more private and intimate; into a nearby empty room. Staring down at you, he stood still as a statue after closing the door, allowing silence to hug the both of you in a stifling embrace.

“I am sorry—” you broke through the silence, shattering the illusion of calmness.

“Sorry?” he furrowed his brows, bewilderment taking over his features and you swore his eyes watered. In a way, he only looked more frustrated, the sharpness of his features morphing to something animalistic.

“Is sorry not enough?” you flinched, squinting, the moon once more had chosen you to illuminate with its beauty. Yet, you were nothing worth of it—not when he stood in front of you, more righteous and more deserving than you ever had been.

It seemed he was at a loss for words, staring at you as if you were alien to him.

“I truly feel remorseful—” you were about to kneel, lower yourself, but before your knees even had the chance to hit the ground he held you in his arms, shaking you with all his might.

“Stop, my love, please stop. One more word of yours and my heart will rip.” he was frantic, desperate. This wasn't the usual head-strong confident leader, the man with the voice of chiffon—this was him, raw and vulnerable.

“How can you—have I failed this much?” his voice was like tides of the sea; unrestrained yet eerily calm. “Have I neglected you? Have I not shown you how much I love you?” his touch become more frantic, hands burying themselves into the fabric of your dress.

“I failed you, my love. I am so ashamed of myself.” now he was the one kneeling in front of you. The man who's presence alone was enough to demand order and submission, who reigned over his clan firmly yet fairly, who was respected by everyone around you—at your feet, staring up at you as if you were his goddess and he a peasant.

Stunned you could only stare as wetness glistened over his cheeks, strange softness taking ahold of his features.

“I—” he pressed a kiss to your ankle. “I will prove myself to you once again. I will love you so much, you won't ever have the opportunity to doubt. I will love you enough for the both of us. So much, that you won't ever take the blame for a bastard again. I will love you so much, that you will stop thinking that you're anything but a minx that captured me and continues to do so.” he kissed your knee.

“Do you even know how much I struggle to let you out of my arms whenever we hug? I can't bear the thought of someone else claiming that you're theirs. When I know that you're my soulmate since the day our eyes met. I am yours in body and mind and I want you to finally see that.” his voice deep and soulful cracked, fingers clutching you like a lifeline.

“My love, I will do better. I promised once to prove myself to you, and I promise twice now. Even if it takes my whole life, I will get rid of everything that hurts you. Anyone that hurts you. And that includes all that garbage in that pretty head of yours. I will do better teaching you, love.” he kissed you over your beating heart.

“I am yours.”

[ghxstlike]

in hiding

synopsis: he finds you crying and comforts you.

featuring: dan heng & aventurine (seperate)

content: sfw. comfort, pre-established relationship, dan heng has feelings for reader, tiny bit of flirting/compliments from aventurine, aventurine is kinda awkward, social anxiety (aventurine), anxiety attack (aventurine), reader’s gender isn’t specified, not proofread.

author's note: this is super self-indulgent lol. also this is the first time i’ve ever written these characters, so i apologize if they seem ooc! this also has been buried deep within my drafts- i finished this MONTHS ago….i felt too nervous to post it 😭 anywho, enjoy!

dan heng

you're another member of the astral express crew.

you've known dan heng enough to get the gist of his distant personality, even though you find him slightly intimidating.

you still managed to develop a crush on the guy, so he can't be that intimidating.

anyway, dan heng was tasked to go and 'fetch' you (pom pom's words) so all of you could eat dinner.

you’re usually in ‘his’ room, reading a book on his makeshift bed. when he enters said room and doesn’t see you, he grows a little worried.

in fact, now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen you in days. now, he’s really worried.

the only other place that you'd be is in your room.

when he finds you in your room, his heart sinks.

intensely worried about you the moment he realizes you're crying.

type of guy to immediately jump into action. he's not aggressive about it, no, he's gentle.

softly sits beside you where you're on your bed, his hand reaching out to touch you while asking to do so.

if you say no, he obviously listens to your wishes. would not want to harm you or make you uncomfortable while you're in this state.

he sits there, watching you cry in silence. it's a little awkward, having him watch you cry, but he doesn't know what else to do. he doesn't want to ruin anything.

he says a few things to try and calm your crying down.

"let it all out."

"it's okay, you're safe."

"i'm here for you."

if you say yes, his hand comes up to rub your back gently, making you scoot closer to him. also says comforting words in this moment as well.

after you're done crying, he listens intently if you start to talk about what is bothering you.

man's just wants you to feel better.

"i'm sorry," you mumble, wiping your snot with the back of your hand. you don't see it, but dan heng shakes his head while he smiles softly at you.

"no need to apologize." his deep, monotone voice instantly calms your nerves. "crying can be helpful to some. don't worry about it." he places a hand on your head, ruffling your hair ever so slightly. you sigh, then sniffle. even though he said it was okay, you still feel a little ashamed at yourself. you almost feel embarrassed. you sort-of know what you look like while crying, and you know it isn't pretty. your heart soars with discomfort as you realize that dan heng has witnessed you at one of your lowest moments in life.

"gosh, i probably look like a mess right now." you croak out, a dry laugh following short after. you try to wipe the dried tears off your cheeks but to no avail. you'll have to wash it off with some cold water later. you hear dan heng hum, which catches your attention. your eyes look into dan heng's. you notice how dan heng's blue eyes soften at your stare.

dan heng's hand reaches out to a strand of hair that's in the way of your face, pulling it back behind your ear. you feel your face heat up, and your heart skips a beat at the intimate eye contact. you notice how dan heng’s face is in a similar predicament to yours; a light pink blush covers his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"you don't," he whispers. "you're beautiful."

aventurine

guy doesn't know how to comfort other people.

type of person to let the person cry it out by themself, then come back later with gifts.

i've seen a headcanon where aventurine is bad at comforting other people due to his past trauma and i truly believe it.

aventurine can rarely take stuff seriously, what makes you think he can comfort someone?

anywho. he finds you curled up into a ball in an alleyway in penacony. he heard the sobs come from a mile away and was curious at what the sound was.

he honestly thought it was a stray cat.

he's seen you around before. yeah, he remembers! you walked up to him at the bar and complimented his outfit, telling him he looked like a peacock.

he thought that it was very cute when you blushed, explaining you didn't mean to say that outloud and kept apologizing.

but now here you are, sitting on the gross ground of the alleyway with your chin propped up on your knees, crying your eyes out.

aventurine bites his lip, trying to figure out if he wants to help you or just leave you alone.

but that's when you placed your hand flat on your chest, and he noticed how you began to breathe heavily.

he knows exactly what's happening, and he can't leave you alone now.

"hey, breathe. you need to breathe."

you hear a somewhat familiar voice call out to you, but it seems so far away. you don't understand what he says and try to brush it off. though, he doesn't go away. his legs are in your line of sight, and he doesn't seem to be moving. you watch as he crouches down, his hands shakily reach towards yours.

"i'm gonna touch you, okay?" he gulps, almost flinching at the skin-to-skin contact. you don't answer, you just continue to hyperventilate as your wide eyes dart across the environment around you. the man seems to notice this and blocks your field of vision with his face.

"y-you- you're-" you try to get out, but all you can manage is a few hiccupped mumbles. the man in front of you smiles.

"hi again." you can clearly hear his smooth voice now. "can you take a deep breath for me? i'll do it with you." you nod, looking into his multi-colored eyes. they're so pretty.

you follow his actions- breathe in for 4 seconds, pause for 4 seconds, breathe out for 4 seconds. you both repeat this a few more times until your breath doesn't sound choppy or uneven.

silence overcomes the two of you. your eyes glance down at your intertwined hands, then back up at the man in front of you. suddenly realizing he's still holding your hands; he quickly drops them from his grasp while clearing his throat.

"you alright?" he says softly. his eyes glance down at your body, trying to see if you're hurt anywhere. your words interrupt him.

"no, i'm fine now," you sniffle. "thank you, um.." you pause, waiting for the man to give you his name.

"aventurine. it's no problem." aventurine shrugs. he stands up quickly, holding a hand out for you to take. "now, can i get you a drink? you must be dehydrated." his gloved fingers wiggle slightly, encouraging you to take his hand.

he grins down at you, "you can also tell me why you were sobbing in the alleyway." you chuckle at his words.

without another thought, you take aventurine's hand.

[lightseoul]

CHAPTER 8 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 5.1k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), lots of cussing, mentions of food, so much violence. like so much y'all but it's Canon-typical violence, references to (quirk) supremacist views, a (somewhat) graphic depiction of mental health issues

a/n. the content of this chapter is one of the reasons why i almost didn't start this series in the first place. as it turns out, action scenes are deceptively difficult to write—i struggled at first, but i eventually got into the groove of things and found it so fun! so much shit will go down, and i hope you find yourselves at the edge of your seats while reading this <3 please, please let me know what you think and don't be a stranger! enjoy :')

links. masterlist, ao3

You shoot up at the blaring sound of the alarm clock.

You scramble to reach and turn it off where it stands on the nightstand—quickly, before it wakes Bakugou up—a sigh of relief wracking your body when you manage to do so, a sudden stillness instantly enveloping the room.

That relief doesn’t last very long, though, because you’re once again shot with panic when you look up toward the foot of the bed, only to see the man himself already standing in front of it—fully awake.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, clutching your chest, “You scared me.”

“It’s too early to be this scared, princess,” is his pointed retort, a small hint of teasing underlying his tone. You shoot him a pained smile but don’t say anything back, not finding the courage within you to admit that your hands may or may not be already shaking in anticipatory anxiety.

Instead, you watch him as he does mobility stretches in place, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth as he warms up his joints and rotates his limbs. He invites you to join him a moment after, and you do, if not in an attempt to ground yourself then in preparation for any physical combat that may ensue later on.

Not much is said between the two of you as you go on to prepare for the day, maneuvering silently within his bedroom and taking turns in the bathroom. He lets you get changed first, and you shimmy yourself in your most comfortable office clothes, finding almost immediately that describing them as ‘comfortable’ might be a stretch. Least suffocating, maybe—but the instructions were clear that you had to look the part, at least so that you could get past the guards and enter the building.

Apparently, you need to infiltrate the place organically to buy you as much time to position yourselves without raising suspicion. Mystically showing up on the premises with a man who will vanish not a moment later wouldn’t exactly be a common sight for the employees manning the CCTVs.

Well, then. You guess your long-sleeved blouse, slacks, and regrettably heeled shoes will have to do.

Not even five minutes after you step out of the restroom so he can get dressed himself, Bakugou emerges in a similarly dark, wrist-length shirt and trousers, and you’re about to comment on this unfamiliar yet…welcome sight when your eyes catch his notoriously unruly head of hair—magically pushed back, revealing his forehead.

Now, of all the things that strangely popped into your mind upon seeing him—handsome definitely wasn’t one of them—what you end up blurting is: “How the hell did you style it that fast?”

“Huh?” he responds absentmindedly, fiddling with his sleeves as he seats himself on the edge of the bed opposite from you. “Style what?”

You gesture towards his head. “Your hair. Hasn’t it always been a little hard to control?”

Folding his sleeves right up to his forearm, he then turns to face you, a borderline sheepish expression etched on his features. “’s some extra strong gel. Best Jeanist gifted it to me for my birthday.”

Ah.

“Yeah, well, it suits you,” you offer honestly, averting your gaze just as you think he is about to flash you a smirk. And before he can say anything: “I’m guessing you’re ditching the gauntlets for today?”

He nods, although he’s suddenly looking far from pleased. “No choice,” he intones, “My firepower will take a hit, but I can still get by without them.”

“Enough to kick some ass?”

A grin. “Always.”

You let Bakugou’s well-earned confidence infect you as you finish getting ready together, stuffing your respective bags with things you can let go of in case they get caught up in the fight, before finally walking out of your little sanctuary and into the living room. The twins are on you in an instant, installing your trackers on your chests where they’ve since taken residence for the past two weeks, pulling away without a single word afterward. You mutter a quick thanks, before walking toward Bakugou on the couch and asking him what he wants for breakfast.

“Something light,” is his answer. “Don’t wanna be bogged down by a heavy stomach.”

You end up getting him french toast with a protein shake—whether or not that was light for a man his size, you have no idea—while ordering a croissant and iced tea for yourself. You don’t bother asking the twins if they want to get something as well—opting to just get them breakfast sandwiches and coffee instead. You heard a stomach grumble just a few minutes ago—and it definitely wasn’t yours or Bakugou’s.

The food arrives just as quickly as it did the night prior, and you waste no time digging in. To your pleasant surprise, the twins accept the offering, albeit too begrudgingly for your taste. Maybe letting them starve was the smarter move for today’s final mission, but as you watch them scarf everything down in a matter of minutes, you decide that that’s a trade-off you’re willing to overcompensate for.

By the time you’ve finished eating and cleaning up, it’s a few minutes before 6 AM, and you resolve that as far as D-Days are concerned, the start of this one is going swimmingly well.

Right up to the moment Kouki materializes and grabs Bakugou’s wrist but not yours.

“Change of plans.”

At that, you instantly freeze just as Bakugou barks: “The fuck do you mean change of plans?”

That doesn’t seem to faze the teleporter, who instead regards the pro-hero with a stern, almost chastising look. “You’re needed in one of the schools. You’re coming with me.”

Somehow, you snap out of it. “But you said—”

“It’s a direct order,” he spews, now looking at you with such intensity that has your blood turning cold. “One that you have to follow. Unless…”

“Unless, what?” growls Bakugou.

He smiles. “Unless you want us to call off the entire operation and teleport where you can’t find us.”

Fuck.

Beside you, Bakugou must be thinking the exact same thing, because he suddenly goes quiet.

Kouki harrumphs. “That’s what I thought.”

Neither Bakugou nor you say anything else in protest after that, acutely aware of the gamble that has to be made.

It’s clear as day: either you follow the order and divide and possibly conquer, or resist and lose them altogether.

Perhaps for good.

Armed with the explosives Bakugou made himself, no less.

You chance a glance at the pro-hero, and the impassive look on his face is enough to tell you what he’s decided on.

You’re running out of time and you also need to say something, you know that. Otherwise, he’s going to think there’s something more important to the two of you than seeing the operation you’ve been devotedly ‘working on’ to fruition.

Something beyond just two lovers ensuring each other’s safety.

Forcing yourself to meet Kouki’s steely gaze, you finally relent and nod. “How’s the rest of us gonna get to our post, then?”

“I’ll come back right after I teleport him,” comes his speedy answer, seemingly satisfied with your newfound enthusiasm. “I’ll take you three to where Masaki is waiting near the Prime Minister’s Office.”

“He’s already there?” you can’t help but ask, suddenly nervous at the mention of the kingpin.

You still don’t know his quirk.

“Yes, and he mustn’t be kept waiting,” Kouki says cuttingly, before turning to regard Bakugou, whose wrist he’s still holding. “We’ve to get going.”

“Alright,” the pro-hero grits out, shrugging off the man’s hold, “Just—give me a sec.”

For a second, you think he’s going to head to the restroom to pee before the ‘mission’ starts, but then he’s stepping towards you, and you barely manage to stop yourself from tilting away when he leans into your space, immediately followed by a firm grip on your shoulders. Despite yourself, you gulp.

Bakugou lets out a long exhale. He’s not looking at you—you note—gaze directed towards the floor. You decide then and there that you don’t like seeing him like this.

Like he’s actually…scared.

“Hey,” you whisper, and he looks up, finally meeting your eyes. You almost stumble at the sheer intensity of them.

Almost.

In spite of that—and you don’t know how you do it—you manage to smile at him, as genuinely as you can.

“What are you so worried about?” you tease, voice soft enough for just him to hear. “I’ll be okay.”

To your dismay, that doesn’t make Bakugou laugh—countenance still grim—but his features do soften. So minutely, the change is almost imperceptible—but it’s there.

“How can you be so sure?” he actually whispers back.

That makes you grin, the answer already at the tip of your tongue.

“Because you don’t date losers.”

Now, at your quip, you expected him to at least smile. Maybe chuckle, if that punchline came out funnier than you intended it to.

But what you absolutely didn’t expect was for him to grab you by the neck and pull you into a kiss.

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, body rigid in utter surprise, but you eventually relax into his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso as he deepens the kiss. A few more seconds pass by with your lips interlocked before he finally pulls away, face flushed and a little out of breath.

“Be careful,” he eventually gets out a beat later, and you nod, suddenly hyperaware of the three pairs of eyes watching you.

Kouki’s especially.

“You, too,” you call out to Bakugou as he lets go and returns to the spot beside Kouki, who once again takes his gauntlet-less wrist.

“We’ll be off, then,” the old man announces, and just like that, they’re gone.

Kouki returns—alone—in record time, an inexplicable expression written on his face. You debate whether or not to ask him how things are at Bakugou’s location, ultimately deciding against it when the man impatiently beckons you to move. You promptly approach and hold onto him just as the twins adjust their portkeys without much complaint, all the while trying to ignore the churning sensation at the pit of your stomach.

The borderline nauseating feeling doesn’t get any better as you get whisked away from Bakugou’s apartment unit in a matter of seconds, suddenly finding yourself sat as you emerge in what you think is an SUV—judging by the size of its interior. You squirm in your seat—too caught up in the discomfort of being squished between Kouki and Omiru in the back—to notice it.

But then you look up, and when you do, the churning from earlier stops and your stomach drops entirely.

From where he’s conveniently plastered in the driver’s seat, Masaki turns to fully face you, smiling.

Or at least you think he is, based solely on the upturn of his lips.

Because hiding his gaze is what seems to be hardened, high-tech goggles.

Goggles that completely block your view of his eyes.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You vaguely register Masaki thanking Kouki for bringing the three of you to him, and you think Kouki must’ve teleported away judging from the faint swell in wiggle room at your sides. But you couldn’t recall when that was exactly, and this very thought sends another shot of panic through you, the taste of bile now blooming in your throat.

You know what you have to do.

Clenching your eyes closed, you center your attention on the primary emotion you’re feeling—fear, unmistakable fear—and pull.

Instantly, you feel your facial muscles relax, cautious enough to let the change appear slowly—both in your face and in your frame.

The last thing you need is to inadvertently confirm any suspicion about your quirk.

Even if it means using a huge chunk of today’s reservoir on yourself.

Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes flutter open, and you’re once again met with the sight of Masaki, whose torso is now turned towards you.

Shit.

You scramble for something to say.

“I-isn’t it a bit too early?” you ask, averting your gaze toward the car window. “Is the Prime Minister even around at this hour?”

You don’t get to see Masaki’s reaction to your sudden question—you wouldn’t be able to study his eyes anyway—but you hear him shuffle in his seat, turning back to face forward. “Yes, he’s expecting a visitor.”

A million questions come up in your head—how he even knows that information is one of them—but what you end up asking is: “How about the rest?”

That must’ve been the right query to ask, because Masaki hums in what you think is approval. “People will be there, Y/N. When the Prime Minister’s around, most of the employees are expected to be present.”

You guess that makes sense.

You don’t say anything else after that, opting to peer at Masaki through the rearview mirror instead. To your surprise, he shifts his head towards the very same mirror, and you’re almost sure he’s looking straight back at you.

He smiles again. This time, a little too knowingly.

“Is there something—” he starts, before trailing off and pointing to his eyepiece. “Oh, this?”

You bristle. Still, you feign ignorance. “Huh?”

“You seem to have been staring at my glasses.”

You let your brows furrow, as if in confusion. “I…don’t think I was?”

“Cut the crap, Y/N,” Omiru suddenly spits at you from the side, and you startle.

“What the—”

“Now, now, Omiru,” scolds Masaki with that placating tone of his. “Y/N might’ve been lying to us but we still have a mission to finish.”

You blanch. “Lying?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” comes the leader’s quiet response, who’s watching the scene unfold behind him through the mirror. “It’s a pity our surveillance men took so long to notice, how you had us acting strangely, that day we met.”

Masaki cocks his head to the side, before: “Your quirk works via eye contact, doesn’t it?”

You stiffen.

“Thought so,” he concludes, and you bite back the urge to close your eyes in defeat. It’s too early to give up.

“Don’t worry, though,” he adds on after a beat, finally bringing the engine to life. “Nothing will happen as long as you cooperate and use luck when I tell you to.”

…Luck.

Did he just say luck?

Your eyes must’ve widened a bit at what he just said, because he continues. “Ah, Bakugou?” he asks, and suddenly you’re hit with the guilt of not thinking about the pro-hero.

Especially when he says the next thing.

“Like I said,” Masaki drawls, “As long as you cooperate, no one gets harmed.”

A pause.

“Even him.”

Your question gets answered as soon as you stop at the guard house.

Masaki’s quick to take off the goggles before rolling down his window, greeting the primary security guard with such innocence you definitely couldn’t have guessed he was on his way to an assassination if you based on just the encounter alone.

The guard flashes him an easy grin as he greets back, before bringing the walkie-talkie that’s velcroed on his shoulder closer to his mouth. “Masaki Kento of the Korean Consulate, heading towards Building C. I repeat, Masaki Kento to Building C.”

A bunch of static emanates from the device, immediately followed by a robotic voice. “Copy that. Let him in.”

At that, Masaki salutes him a thanks, which the guard returns fervently. You don’t even get to catch a glimpse of the former’s eyes before he’s got the window up and the eyepiece swiftly back on his face.

“Let me guess,” you pipe up as Masaki rounds a curb and drives more slowly as you enter the grounds, “You’re a consul and these two are your domestic bodyguards.”

“Yes,” Masaki readily confirms, “That is correct.”

That explains why he’s almost never present in the headquarters.

“Huh,” is the only thing you can muster, focus now trained on any human that you pass by.

The less they are in number, the better—is what Bakugou said. So far, most if not all of them are decked out in attire guards would normally wear, which you think isn’t much of an unfamiliar sight in this estate.

Eventually, you arrive at the front of what you believe is Building C, stepping out of the vehicle with your handbag in tow a moment later, smoothing the crinkled lines of your slacks. You pretend not to pay attention as an again bare-faced Masaki hands over the keys to the valet, who is off with the vehicle in seconds to what he said was the multi-story car park.

You don’t dare utter a word as you trail behind the man carrying a bulky briefcase you’re positive contains nothing but bombs, with the twins walking in step behind you. You keep your eyes fixed on the staircase as you do, painfully aware of how your nerves are coming back alive, and this time, somewhat more fiercely than before.

You know better than to waste another ounce of your quirk on yourself, though.

And so with ragged breath, you trudge on with anxiety creeping back up your spine, up until you’re met with another guard at the entrance, who makes a quick work of identifying the four of you. You’re introduced as Masaki’s new personal assistant, while the others just reiterate their established titles. The guard then grants you entry, but not before instructing you to register your name at the reception desk.

Masaki thanks the man on your behalf, and then finally—you enter.

The second that you do, though, you can tell something’s wrong.

For one, right behind the desk that you were ordered to approach, was nobody. Not one receptionist.

Nor are there janitors, guests, employees, or anyone that could possibly be in the Prime Minister’s Office at this hour.

Masaki, who just put on the goggles again, must have thought the same thing, because you catch him physically tensing, like this wasn’t part of the plan.

You’re about to ask him—genuinely—why the place seems to be deserted, when it happens.

Something fast lurches from the shadows in your peripheral vision, and you stumble back just in time to see Hiroto slammed to the ground by no other than Kirishima.

The male twin lets out a yelp in pain as the hardened hero wrestles him in his grip, all at the same time as a long string of tape suddenly fills your vision. You look up, and sure enough, there’s Sero swinging right into Omiru foot first, hitting the woman square in the jaw. She staggers violently backward, right into you—but the collision doesn’t happen, because a hand grabs your wrist out of nowhere and you’re pulled to the side.

A tidal wave of relief washes over you as you let yourself get forcefully dragged, but it’s instantly replaced with terror when you look up to see Masaki’s backside instead. From a distance, you hear Kirishima’s voice call out your name, and it snaps you out of your fear-driven trance. Renewed with unbridled strength, you put as much of your weight as you can on your soles and try to wrangle your hand out of his grip, but it’s too strong.

Masaki manages to haul you toward the end of the hallway, throwing you right into an elevator and punching the close button before you can pick yourself back up on your feet. You barely see him pressing the top-most floor before he turns around and grabs you by the shoulders, pinning you hard against the wall.

“You told them about us, didn’t you,” he seethes, manic, but you don’t dare say anything. At your silence, he lifts you a breadth’s hair away from the surface only to slam you back against it. You can’t help it—this time, you cry, a sharp pain sent straight to your back.

“Answer me,” he demands, and you’re just about to knee him in the balls when the elevator dings. You wait for Masaki to get distracted and look away so you can deliver the blow, but it doesn’t happen. His gaze seemingly remains fixed on yours even as he lugs the two of you out of the box, grip unrelenting as he approaches the nearest fire alarm device, smashing the glass before pulling down the lever.

Almost instantaneously, tens of alarms ring out not just on your floor but on the ones below you, and you can only watch in horror as the numbers on top of the elevators freeze.

“Kouki,” Masaki rasps into his earpiece, his two hands busy holding you at arm’s length. “Kouki, do you copy?”

You growl, a surge of indignation washing over your entire body at him blatantly ignoring you. You extend your leg from underneath in an attempt to trip and then pin him down, but he takes notice in the nick of time and staves off your attack.

“Kouki,” he tries again, even as you manage to ram a punch into his stomach, “Answer me!”

You grit your teeth, feeling your limbs quaking as you fight to fend off his grip. Still, your mind wanders as to why he’s calling Kouki now, of all times.

What, so he can teleport him and the twins out of here?

But then he speaks again, and you see crimson red.

“Kouki, kill him now!”

Your body moves before your brain can think—you throw yourself onto Masaki and grab him by the neck. He stumbles backward until he collapses and his back hits the floor, and you take that as an opportunity to immediately straddle him, increasing the pressure on your chokehold. He splutters for a bit, arms flailing and scratching at you, but before you can even think about trying to rip off his eyepiece and potentially taking the upper hand—at least until Kirishima and the rest arrive—he rolls over and has got you pinned under his weight in seconds. He pulls the same move and roughly wraps his hands around your neck, instantly cutting off the air to your lungs. You wheeze, and yet you still struggle even as you feel the last bits of oxygen die out.

He grins at you, and one look at the man’s face tells you he’s gone mad. “You’re on the wrong side of history, Y/N.”

Great, you think to yourself. Those can’t be the last fucking words you hear before you die.

You make one last attempt at seizing his wrist off of you, but—just like many other things in the past five minutes—that doesn’t get to happen, because something flashes in the corner of your eye—so quickly you think you must’ve imagined it. You squint, and in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have, because, in the second that you do, Masaki is kicked off of your body and slammed straight into the far wall.

Shellshocked, you crawl backward with your forearms as fast as you can, not knowing what the fuck just happened.

But that’s when you see him.

You can only watch in disbelief as Bakugou propels himself across the room in a matter of a millisecond, towering over Masaki’s body instantaneously. “Get back!” Bakugou shouts, and it takes you a beat to realize that he’s talking to you.

You didn’t need to be told twice.

With the little, remaining strength you can muster, you manage to stand back up and hobble towards the corner of the room, farthest from where the two are currently engaging in a fistfight.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that Masaki’s holding up better than you expected him to, and the very same realization must’ve dawned on Bakugou, because the pro-hero swiftly switches gears and starts detonating small explosions toward the man’s direction.

But then the weirdest thing happens.

Instead of being hit by Bakugou’s blasts, Masaki absorbs them—right where the combustions meet his body—

And then, in the blink of an eye, releases it—almost twice in size—straight into Bakugou.

You hear the pro-hero curse just as he barely manages to dodge the hit. The discharge reaches the wall, leaving scorched marks and massive craters on the surface.

This is bad.

And you don’t even have to look at Bakugou to know that.

Still, the pro-hero presses on, and you stand there—restless—as the fight resumes in front of you. Bakugou’s stopped using his quirk to attack altogether, only using it to expertly maneuver himself in the air. Masaki’s fending off the strikes well enough, even landing a few hits here and there. You try to hold eye contact with him—but it’s no use. He’s still wearing the goggles, and you’ve studied them long enough this morning to be fairly sure that it’ll take more than just a perfect kick to the head to have it taken off.

That’s when it dawns on you.

You can’t manipulate Masaki. That’s for sure.

But you can manipulate Bakugou, who—based on what you can see—is becoming more and more frantic by the minute.

No fucking time to hesitate.

“Bakugou!” you shout, and the man doesn’t even glance in your direction, only shouting back: “What?!”

“Look at me!” you yell, pupils darting in record speed as you follow Bakugou’s volatile line of vision. You weren’t about to miss him when he does.

He doesn’t question your request, but he doesn’t immediately look at you either, too wrapped up in hitting Masaki and not getting hit back.

But then Masaki’s suddenly got him pinned against the wall across you, and you find yourself immediately face to face with him. You scream, “Now!”

Exactly right on cue, Bakugou’s gaze drifts from Masaki’s face to yours, and when you lock eyes, you pull.

Manic adrenaline to laser-sharp acuity.

Acuity that he’s always had since you met him in high school.

As hard as you fucking can—and with all that you have left—you pull.

And just like that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes. You can only watch as the metaphorical gears in his head seem to come alive and shift—just as he throws Masaki off of him with unmatched force.

But then he does the unimaginable.

He starts bombarding the man with explosions—one blast after another, not allowing him the chance to even sit up and shield himself—and you stare in outright shock as Masaki’s body glows redder and redder.

Just as you think Bakugou’s completely lost his mind with the series of attacks, he launches himself from the wall and dives into Masaki, grabbing the man’s arm, tugging him to the nearest door with one hand and yanking the slab of wood open with the other.

And only as Bakugou throws Masaki into what you think is a janitor’s closet and locks the door behind him does it hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Come on!” Bakugo shouts at you as he presses his entire weight against the door—the door that Masaki’s desperately trying to get through. “Help me lock him in!”

You look around the room for something you can use, your eyes immediately landing on a chair and a moderately-heavy-looking desk. You waste no time grabbing the two pieces of furniture and hauling them toward Bakugou as fast as you can. Taking the chair first, you tilt it by the backrest and lodge it underneath the doorknob until it’s secure enough. You then hurriedly drag the desk to the other side and slide it in front of the door, just as Bakugou propels himself upward and out of the way.

You don’t get to do anything else before Bakugou snatches you by your waist and boosts the two of you toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing against them shoulder-first. You hold onto him for dear life, wincing at the impact even though Bakugou took most of it.

And you’re glad you did everything the way you just did—because not even a second later, the explosion finally goes off—an eruption so massive that you’re both thrown forward from the sheer magnitude alone, the sound of shattering windows and crumbling walls booming in the background. Bakugou loses his balance for a second and you shriek, but he manages to get back into thrusting you into the air with his detonations, carrying you securely in his arms until you reach the ground, gently letting go of you when you do.

The moment your toes touch the concrete floor, though, you’re quick to jump on your feet and hobble away from him.

“Hey—”

Quickly, you tell yourself as you feel the tell-tale pinpricks of tears at the corners of your eyes. Before it’s too late.

But you don’t get to go far enough because Bakugou grabs your wrist, spinning you to look at him. “The fuck do you think you’re go—”

He cuts himself off, the scowl that was just carved on his features instantly falling when he sees your face. “Are you—crying?”

“N-no,” you choke out, although you know it’s no use denying it. You’re already feeling the all-too-familiar closing-in sensation that comes with you overextending yourself.

“Yes, you are, dumbass,” Bakugou retorts, before bringing up his other hand to lightly touch your cheek. “Tell me, what’s wrong?”

At the contact, you clench your eyes closed, fighting down the urge to whimper at the steadily increasing pace at which your heart is irregularly racing.

There’s no doubt about it.

It’s now flooding you—the terror that you’ve secretly been tamping down with your own quirk this entire mission—but especially today.

“Fuck—” you warble, and now you’re sure.

You’re having an anxiety attack.

It all happens in a blur—your brain too muddled with palpable fear to keep track of everything around you—but you vaguely register Bakugou wrapping his arms around you and rubbing soothing circles on your back, as he tried to guide your erratic breathing with his.

You remember shaking violently in his hold, gasping for air and barely managing to will yourself to breathe normally as an undercurrent of dizziness coursed through your veins.

You recall sweating bullets but being cold to the touch, and Bakugou ripping out one of his sleeves to use to wipe away your perspiration. It didn’t really help.

And you don’t know how much time passes with you fighting the nausea on top of everything, even as you heard the distant sound of police sirens, but it does—it somehow does—eventually and strangely finding yourself carried away home.

Home to Bakugou’s.

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

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[scorpio1205]

Matt talking about Bambi Compilation

Summary: A tiktok compilation of Matt finding ways to talk about or bring up Bambi

Warnings: swearing, talks of fluff, Matt being a simp, Matt being in love and cute Bambi and Matt stories

Bambi sighed opening her eyes, she had been laying in bed, her back pressed into Matt's chest for about an hour with no luck falling asleep, no matter how hard she tried she ended up just staring at the wall. After a minute she leaned over to the bedside table grabbing her phone and opening tik tok, making sure that the brightness and sound of her phone didn't wake Matt up.

She scrolled aimlessly barely paying attention to the videos when she scrolled past a video that she had assumed was a Matt edit only to see her name as she scrolled down, she quickly scrolled back up pausing and reading the title.

'Matthew Sturniolo Finding Any Excuse to Bring Up Bambi Compilation'

A small smile formed on her face, she didn't think Matt brought her up that much but apparently the fans thought otherwise. She looked over at Matt for a second before looking at the screen unpausing and getting comfortable.

Clip 1. from THEY'RE A 10 BUT... they aren’t your valentine

Matt sat in the drivers seat looking at his phone clearly not really paying attention that much

"They're a ten but every time you ask them a question they say 'huh' but when you go to repeat yourself they finish the question then answer it."

Chris snickered slightly "That shits so ann-"

"That's not that bad" Matt immediately cut him off finally looking up from his phone a little defensive.

"Kid what are you talking about that shit is really fucking annoying"

Matt glared at his brother "It isn't that annoying. I say 10"

Before Chris could respond Nick started to laugh "I know that look"

"What loo-"

Nick and Chris both cut him off in unison "The 'I'm about to bring up Bambi look'"

Matt smiled sheepishly looking away for a moment before looking back at his brothers "Okay but she can't help it. She isn't saying what cause she can't hear you, it just takes her a second to register what you're saying."

His brothers sighed leaning back, they knew Matt was about to go on a rant about Bambi

"She's literally perfect. Her doing that doesn't change the fact that she's a 10, scratch that shes a 100. You two are just-"

"We get it Matt, Bam is a goddess"

"And don't you forget it."

Clip 2. From Ghost Hunting at Haunted Driskill Hotel (ft. Sturniolo Triplets)

The triplets stood near Sam and Colby, Chris and Nick explaining that they had spent the last month studying their videos to prepare for this Collab.

The boys all turned to Matt for his answer.

He grinned like a kid on Christmas. "My girlfriend, Bambi, has been watching your guys videos for a few years"

Nick and Chris groaned knowing Matt was waiting for an opportunity to bring up Bambi.

"So I feel like out of Nick, Chris and I, I might be the most prepared for this."

"Just wait, this won't be the first time he brings up Bambi this video"

Clip 3. From 20 year olds playing with kids toys.

Matt held Snowy the lambs leash looking at Nick and Chris. "Pretend Bambi and I have a kid right-"

"Does Bambi know about this?!?"

"Shut up Chris." He motioned back to Snowy. "And this is our baby, and we're introducing them to you for the first time, You guys are uncles for the first time and it's Snowy!"

Nick made a face "This is getting a little to realistic to me, but continue"

"This is all normal okay."

Chris looked weirded out and a bit jealous. "Is this a disclaimer or something?"

"Shhhhh,"

Clip 4. From RATING A DOZEN CRAZY DONUTS 1-12 (Special appearance from Bambi) *May make a blurb on this*

Chris was annoying the shit out of Matt with his constant badgering about the donuts ratings.

"You know what we need, an unbiased opinion. Someone who's likes donuts but it really picky....."

Chris looked up confused not fully registering what he was saying, but Nick knew what he was saying "I couldn't agree more"

Chris realized what they were implying and smiled having a feeling that he was gonna win in this case. "Fine"

"Should I get her?" Matt waited for them to both nod to stand up "Baby, can you come here for a second!"

After a second Bambi walked into frame in a pair of grey sweats and a blue tub top "What's going on?" She noticed the camera and smiled waving slightly.

"We need your help" They spoke in unison.

Clip 5. Waffles, Pancakes, or French Toast (Ft. Bambi)

"Matt, you are such a fucking baby and I hate it! Cause I know what you're gonna say. You like chocolate chip cookies as if you're not about to be fucking 19 years old"

Nick made a face "Chocolate chip pancakes?"

"Yeah chocolate chip pancakes" Chris corrected rolling his eyes.

"Good, I was about to say what do cookies have to do with this"

Chris ignored him continuing continuing his rant, his annoyance clear.

"Matt have you ever gone to Denny's and gotten the french toast slam?"

"No but i've gotten chocolate chip pancakes from there"

"And they were fucking gross I bet"

Matt rolled his eyes turning away and opening his phone "You're fucking gross" he shut out what his brothers were speaking about texting someone, after a moment he looked up. "You know who I bet agrees with me?

"Who Matt?"

Matt smiled "Bambi"

A loud scoff left Chris' mouth "There is no way Bam-Bam agrees with you"

"Wanna bet" Matt laughed pressing the call button.

"Dude, she's probably sleeping hang up"

"She's not sleeping, we were just texting-"

Suddenly the phone stopped ringing "Hey"

Matt smiled hearing her voice "Hey Bam. We have a question for you"

"What's the question?"

"If you had to get rid of pancakes, waffles or french toast. What would you get rid of?"

They all waited patiently for her to answer.

"Do you want me to answer honestly?"

Both Chris and Matt answered immediately "Yes"

"Honestly, I'd get rid of waffles or french toast" She laughed.

"YES!"

"WHAT?! Bambi, how could you get rid of waffles or french toast?" Chris was absolutely flabbergasted.

"I'm not the biggest breakfast person. When I go to diners I normally get a bacon cheese burger and fries. But I do really like pancakes just not from a diner. I'd rather make them at home"

Chris looked appalled "So you'd get rid of waffles or french toast"

"Yeah, but I think I'd get rid of french toast if I absolutely had to choose"

"WHAT?!?!"

Matt looked like he was on cloud 9 "Bam, have I ever told you how much I freaking love you?"

"Not nearly as much as you should"

"Well I'll start telling you more. Thank you for answering"

"No problem, I'll see you guys tomorrow" With that she hung up.

Bambi was a giggling mess when the tik tok ended, she suddenly felt Matt's grip on her tightening.

"Maybe Nick and Chris are right....I do talk about you a lot." Matt mumbled groggily.

She turned over putting her phone down, her nose immediately brushing his. "It's okay.... I like it, makes me feel loved"

"Good, that's all I want" He leaned in tiredly kissing her.

Comments

User432: The fact that you can see how in love with her he is just by the way he lights up when he says or hears her name! STAWP!

User000: I didn't realize how much I needed this

User420; Need someone to love me like that

boarders made by @bernardsbendystraws

Tagged:

@sturnmeovr @big-poppa23 @colorthecosmos444

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

They Knew

Schlatt x gn!reader Summary: Second part to this! Schlatt takes you back to his after the bar. After all these years you're finally together in the ways you always hoped, until Schlatt's anxiety gets the best of him. Warnings: Please let me know if you find any gendered language, I haven't edited this fully yet. Swearing, making out, allusions to sex. I'm gonna torture everyone and make you wait longer for the smut

You don't remember getting out of the cab, or stumbling your way drunk through the doors of Schlatt's family home, still locking lips as you cling onto each other and giggle. He shushes you as he laughs, as he stumbles his way down the hallway towards his bedroom.

"Not very subtle you two are," a kind voice laughs from the kitchen as his mum flicks on the lights and gives him a faux stern look as the pair stumble in. Her eyes drift to you and in an instant she's in front of you, her hands are on your shoulders as she pulls you in for an excited hug.

"Well look what the cat dragged in," she says excitedly as she pulls back, hands still on her shoulder as she takes you in "oh dear look at you," she says getting a bit choked up as she takes you in, "I always knew you'd grow up to be a beautiful young woman."

"Mom come on," Schlatt grumbles embarrassed as you laugh softly next to him, making familiar pleasantries with his mum. She steps back and takes the sight of the two of you in, standing in her kitchen, like you did so often when you were kids. Now, here you were again, by some miracle, in her kitchen once again, all that time having flown by.

He hears his mum open the door before he can make his way down stairs, cringing to himself as he hears the surprised greeting she gives you.

“Oh! Hello dear,” she says sweetly as she opens the door and takes you in, “who might you be?”

You laugh nervously as you adjust your bag on your shoulder, giving the woman a polite smile, “hi Mrs schlatt -“

He cuts you off as he leaps down the stairs, sliding in between you and his mum, “this is Y/N mum,” he says, “they’re a -“ his voice stuttering in his throat as he takes you in, staring up at him, dreading the words coming from his mouth, “friend from school.”

“Mmm,” his mum chuckles behind him as she fails to stifle her laugh, “friend from school he says.”

"Come on," Schlatt groans as he stumbles a bit drunk, resting a hand on your waist, "you can talk in the morning."

"Oh in the morning huh?" she says as she raises an eyebrow at her son, who in turn groans as his cheeks flush, "alright alright" she laughs putting her hands up in surrender "I'm leaving."

"You're so embarrassing" Schlatt groans to his mum as he grabs your hand, tugging you towards his bedroom door.

"I'm just gonna say one I told you so" she says to Schlatt in a sing song voice as she walks up the stairs "'I don't like her mum' you used to say, but I always knew"

He pulls you into his bedroom as he groans, pushing the door shut as he grumbles "Jesus Christ!"

"She always knew huh?" you say teasingly as you look around his bedroom, stumbling slightly on your wobbly legs. It's a lot different than the last time you've been in here, but you've caught some of his streams before he moved out. It's comfortable, familiar, even though it's changed.

He watches you as you walk around his room, a longing in his chest making it ache. It's been so long since he's really been back, but watching you, move about his space with such familiarity makes him remember just how much you belong, how easily you fit into his life. How much he's missed you.

"I used to hate when she asked about you," he says in a soft voice as he approaches you, gently turning you in his arms as they snake around your waist.

You smile softly as you wrap your hands around his neck, "my family used to do the same."

"I used to get so embarrassed that they thought we were dating," he admits as he raises a hand to your face, cupping it gently as he rubs his thumb across your cheek. You've lost some of the baby fat you still had the last time he saw you, your face now littered with freckles etched into your skin from your time on the West Coast. Your time away from him.

"I did too," you whisper, words slightly slurred still, as you lean into his touch, "I didn't wanna be the kinda person to fall for their best friend... it was so cliche," You breathe as you look up at him, "but everyone knew."

"How was your date?" your mum beams at you as you walks through the door, throwing your shoes and coat off and dumping them on the ground.

You huffs and slink past her into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing an apple, the first thing you sees. "It wasn't a date," you remind them as you take a bite of your apple, keeping the fridge door open to cool your suddenly warm cheeks.

"Well how was your not date then?" she says excitedly, attracting the attention of your father who pops his head out of his office.

"How did the date go kiddo?"

"It wasn't a date," you groan as he sits down at the kitchen island, burying your face in your hands.

There's the sound of doors opening and closing upstairs as excited footsteps run to the top of the stairs, "how was your date?" your brother asks. "Is Jay still here?"

All you can do is groan as you feels your face burn, "I don't like him like that."

He nods as he pulls you closer, chest against chest, holding you, "yeah," he whispers as he leans closer, "they knew. I think I knew too."

The vulnerability in his voice makes you wanna cry, the longing in his eyes makes the tears actually well up as all you can do is connect your lips to his. This kiss is passionate and soft, gentle. There's an innocence to this kiss that surprises you both, different to the desperate flurry in the cab. Those young teens that were crushing on each other coming out as if it's the first time you've both kissed anyone. The kiss you both wish had been your first.

You stand there for an eternity, softly kissing, wrapped up in each others arms. Schlatt's grip on your waist is almost bruising as he holds you against him, afraid if he loosens it even slightly you'll vanish from his life again. It feels like a dream, having you in his arms like this, feeling your lips against his. It's something he thought of countless times when he was younger, long nights laying awake yearning for you, too scared to make a move. Too scared to mess it up and ruin everything.

He can't help but deepen the kiss, his need for you growing as he drags his tongue across your lips. You part your lips for him with a gentle hum of pleasure, your hand slipping under his shirt as you do, nails scratching against his stomach ever so slightly and making him shiver.

As he gently pushes his tongue into your mouth, he finds those anxious thoughts coming back, as they did every time he thought about this all those years ago. Your tongue is thick with the taste of alcohol and he suddenly remembers just how drunk you were only 30 minutes ago, stumbling out of the cab. Had you sobered up that much?

He pulls away just slightly, breath heavy against your lips as he hold on you loosens slightly as they drift to hold your hips. He takes in the way you sway slightly as you stand there, the way your hazy eyes flutter open and struggle to concentrate fully on his face. He meets your confused gaze with a look of desire and disappointment etched on his own.

He wants you so badly he feels like it's suffocating him. But he can't like this. You're both too drunk for this, you more so than him. He doesn't wanna ruin the first chance he gets to sleep with you, to have you in all the ways he dreamed of, because you were both drunk. He wants to take his time, show you how good he can be for you, how much you belong together.

He takes a deep, grounding breath as he takes your hand out from under his shirt and intertwines your fingers. "We should get you to bed doll," he whispers as his thumb rubs soft circles on the back of your hand.

He watches your face morph into one of surprise as you stare up at him. He has to look away, he's too weak to keep staring into your pretty doe eyes, wide and sweet staring up at him. "I thought you-"

"You look beat," he says as he forces himself to pull away, his hand still connected with yours as he walks towards his bed.

"Oh," is all you can manage.

The sound of giggles fill the room as you and Schlatt do your best to stifle your laughs. He's got some stupid Youtube video playing that he insisted was the funniest thing he's ever seen, that he just had to show you.

It obviously wasn't. But here the two of you were anyway, lounging in your bed together as you fell apart laughing. By 3am, everything is suddenly the funniest thing in the world.

There's movements outside your bedroom that go totally unnoticed by you both until there's a sharp knock at your door. You fall silent as you stare at Schlatt, both of you with nervous looks written all over your faces.

"Yeah?" you call out, as Schlatt bites his hand to stop himself from laughing again.

"If you two can't be quiet, Jay can't stay the night anymore," the annoyed voice of your father grumbles from the other side of the door.

"No!" you both call out as you sit up straight, scrambling to turn the video off. "No no, dad, we're sorry, we'll go to bed." You say as you turn the lights off, listening to your father grumble to himself as he walks back down the hall.

You lay in silence in your bed for a while, trying to force yourself to go to sleep. "We interrupted the poor guys beauty sleep," Schlatt mumbles next to you, and in an instant you're both falling apart giggling again.

Schlatt has never hated himself more, he thinks as he watches you peacefully sleeping. Here you are, laying in his bed, curled up next to him, looking like a fucking vision. Had he really just turned you down? Why the fuck did he do that?

He can imagine his 16 year old self ready to throttle him if he could go back in time and tell him what just happened, 'oh yeah you finally kissed Y/N, they were practically hanging off you and you sent them to bed.' Maybe he has gone crazy.

He knows he made the right choice, he wanted your first time together to be special, memorable, not just a drunken fuck. The longer he sat there staring at you, the more he thinks maybe he ruined the only chance he would get.

Your confession earlier wasn't really a confession... was it? Could he really rely on you saying that you used to get embarrassed when people thought you were dating as a confession of your current feelings for him. That was nearly 10 years ago now.

He lets out a shaky breath as he looks down at you, watching the way your nose twitches slightly as you sleep, and arm draped across his leg. It feels so right, to have you like this, but fuck if this whole night didn't make him feel sick with anxiety.

[hisfavegirl]

The Forbidden Embrace - Daemon Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary : Being the youngest daughter from Viserys and Aemma came with its burdens—a life of scrutiny, duty, and expectations. Yet none of those weighed heavier than the secret you now carried in your heart. Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, the Rogue Prince, had always been a figure of both fascination and frustration in your life. You had grown up watching him move through the world with defiance, his charm and wit as sharp as the blade he carried. He was a tempest—one that no one could tame. Yet, despite knowing the danger he brought, you found yourself drawn to him, caught in his storm.

Words Count : 8,8k

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

Daemon stumbled into your chambers, his usually confident stride faltering as he swayed slightly. His tunic was disheveled, his silver hair —now cropped short after his return from the Stepstones-was tousled. You stood near the hearth, startled by the secret door swinging open, revealing him in his drunken state.

"Uncle," you called softly, concern lacing your voice. He glanced at you, his violet eyes clouded but still carrying that familiar intensity.

Without a word, he crossed the room, his boots heavy against the stone floor. Before you could ask anything further, he pulled you into a kiss, his lips desperate and searching.

You hesitated, the smell of wine strong on his breath, but you couldn't resist him. You kissed him back briefly before pulling away, placing your hands on his chest to create some distance. "Why are you here like this?" you asked, your tone both tender and scolding. "You reek of wine, and you look exhausted. What happened?"

Daemon didn't answer. Instead, he slumped slightly, resting his forehead against yours. His breathing was heavy, and his hands found your waist, gripping as if grounding himself in your presence. You sighed, threading your fingers through his newly shortened hair, the unfamiliar texture strange but still comforting.

His hair had always been a symbol of his untamed nature, and now it was another reminder of the war that had hardened him further.

"Come," you whispered, guiding him to the bed. He let you lead him, his usually proud demeanor softened by the alcohol and perhaps something deeper-something he wasn't ready to say. He sat down heavily, his hands still clinging to you as if you might disappear.

"You're safe now," you murmured, brushing your fingers against his cheek. He closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into your palm. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone. Just rest."

Daemon said nothing but allowed you to ease him down onto the bed. As he lay back, you climbed in beside him, wrapping your arms around him tightly. His head rested on your chest, and you felt the tension in his body slowly start to dissipate. Your fingers trailed through his hair, and you whispered soothing words, though you weren't sure if he heard them.

"I only wanted to be here," Daemon muttered finally, his voice low and raw. "With you."

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. "And I'm here," you replied softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "I always will be."

Daemon's arms tightened around you, his grip almost desperate. He didn't say another word, but as his breathing steadied and his body relaxed in your embrace, you knew that for now, this was enough. The rest could wait until morning.

As you held Daemon in your arms, running your fingers through his cropped hair, you felt his lips brush against the curve of your neck. The kiss was soft at first, almost tentative, as though he was testing the waters. But then you heard him murmur your name, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Daemon..." you whispered, your breath hitching as his kisses grew bolder. His lips lingered on your skin, trailing from your neck to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You tried to steady your breathing, your fingers still tangled in his hair as he pressed closer to you.

"You don't know what you do to me," he muttered, his voice rough and slurred from the wine. "I shouldn't have left... Should've stayed... with you." His words were broken, barely coherent, but they carried a weight that made your heart ache.

"Daemon, you're drunk," you murmured, attempting to pull back, but his hands found your waist, holding you firmly in place.

"Drunk on you," he replied with a slight smirk, his lips finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The tenderness caught you off guard, and you melted into him despite yourself. He tasted of wine, salt, and something uniquely his— Daemon, raw and untamed.

At first, his kisses were soft and measured, but the fire in him began to rise, and you felt the change. His lips became more demanding, his movements more possessive as he deepened the kiss, his hand tangling in your hair to keep you close. There was no escape from the intensity of his need.

"Mine," he whispered against your lips before claiming them again with an almost bruising fervor. His kiss was wild, desperate, and consuming, as though he was trying to remind himself that you were here, with him, and no one else.

You pulled back slightly, gasping for air, but Daemon wasn't willing to give you even a moment. His lips sought yours again, his hands sliding from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him. "Daemon," you breathed, trying to ground him, but he silenced you with another deep kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before entering your mouth, leaving you no room for protest.

Your heart pounded as his lips left yours, trailing down your jawline and returning to your neck, where he bit lightly, enough to draw a sharp gasp from you. "You drive me mad," he confessed, his voice ragged, his breath warm against your skin. "I went to war, and all I thought about was you... this."

"Daemon," you tried again, more firmly this time, your hands gripping his shoulders in an attempt to steady both him and yourself. "You need to rest. This isn't right."

He paused, his lips hovering against your collarbone. His violet eyes, darkened with desire, met yours, and for a moment, he seemed torn. Then he smirked, that familiar Daemon arrogance slipping back into place.

"Right?" he repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. "Is always right when I'm with you."

Before you could respond, he kissed you again, a mix of passion and possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind-Daemon wasn't stopping anytime soon. His grip on you tightened as he murmured against your lips, "You're mine. Say it."

You hesitated, your mind spinning from the intensity of it all, but his hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. "Say it," he repeated, his voice softer but no less commanding.

"I'm yours," you whispered, and the look of satisfaction on his face was enough to make your heart race all over again.

"Good," he said, his lips curving into a dangerous smile before claiming yours once more, his hands roaming your body as he drowned himself in you completely.

Daemon's impatience became evident as his hands moved to the delicate fabric of your nightgown, ripping at it with an urgency that left you breathless. The sound of the material tearing filled the room, and before you could say anything, the cool air brushed against your exposed skin, making you shiver.

He cupped your face with one hand, tilting it upward as his lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that was both possessive and demanding. His kisses were no longer soft or hesitant.

They were aggressive, as if claiming every inch of you as his own. His free hand roamed down your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. You gasped against his lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring yours with unrestrained hunger.

Your fingers found their way to his short hair, tugging lightly, causing him to groan into your mouth. The sound sent a thrill through you, and the grip you had on his hair tightened slightly, giving him the signal he needed. His violet eyes locked onto yours, burning with a desire that made your heart race.

"You want this," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and gravelly. It wasn't a question-it was a statement, one that left no room for argument. "You want me."

You could only nod, too caught up in the intensity of his presence to form coherent words. That was all he needed. He lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the cool stone wall of your chambers, his lips never leaving yours. His body pressed into yours with a heat that seemed to set your skin aflame, and you felt his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them firmly to wrap your legs around his waist.

"You're mine," he whispered into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "No one else will ever touch you the way I do. No one else will ever have you like this."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pulled him closer, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders. "Only you, Daemon," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The satisfaction in his eyes was evident as he smirked, his lips brushing against your collarbone before trailing down your neck.

"You drive me mad," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion and lust. "Every time I see you, all I want is to have you, to make you mine over and over again."

You arched into him as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, and he chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin.

His hands gripped your hips firmly as he pulled back to look at you, his gaze filled with a mix of adoration and desire.

"You were made for me," he said, his tone softer but no less intense. "And I'll never let you forget that."

He kissed you again, slower this time, as if savoring the moment. But it wasn't long before his impatience returned, and his movements grew more frantic. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve and dip as if it were the last time he'd ever touch you.

Daemon's strength was undeniable as he held you steady, slowly lowering you onto himself, his hands firm on your hips. A sharp pain coursed through you, your body tensing at the unfamiliar sensation.

You let out a soft gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as you adjusted to him. He paused briefly, his lips finding their way to your cheek, then your forehead, murmuring softly into your ear.

"It'll pass," he said, his voice low and almost soothing despite the heat in his tone. "The pain will fade, and soon, it'll feel like nothing but pleasure. Trust me."

You nodded, though your breaths were shaky, and he gave you a small, reassuring kiss on the lips. However, the reprieve was short-lived.

Daemon's patience had never been his strong suit, and he began to move almost immediately. His pace was quick and demanding, leaving you no time to fully adjust.

Your back pressed firmly against the cool stone wall of your chambers, the contrast between the chill of the stone and the fiery heat of his movements making your head spin.

The initial discomfort began to melt away as he continued, replaced by an overwhelming wave of new sensations. You gasped, your hands sliding up to tangle in his short hair, your body instinctively clinging to him. He chuckled darkly against your neck, his breath hot on your skin as he kissed and nipped at your collarbone.

"Just like i said, it'll past," he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're taking me so well. Just like you were meant to."

You let out a shaky moan, unable to form words as he picked up his pace. The sound of your labored breathing and the faint echoes of his movements filled the room, creating an intimacy that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming. His hands tightened their grip on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he pressed deeper, his gaze never leaving your face.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough yet filled with a possessive tenderness. You met his intense gaze, your own eyes wide and dazed. A wicked smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. "I want to see every expression you make. When I ruin you for good."

Your body arched into him as he hit a spot that made you cry out, the sensation almost too much to bear. He smirked at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself. "There it is," he said, his voice filled with triumph. "That's the sound I wanted to hear."

"Daemon," you managed to whisper, your voice trembling. He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his movements growing even more fervent. You clung to him as if he were your anchor, the world around you fading until only he existed.

"You're mine," he growled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Every inch of you. No one else will ever touch you like this. Say it."

"I'm yours," you gasped, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation.

The possessiveness in his gaze softened ever so slightly, replaced by a flicker of something deeper-something closer to love. He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if savoring the moment. But his pace didn't falter, each movement pushing you further into a haze of pleasure and submission.

The tension in your body built to an almost unbearable peak, and you cried out his name as the wave finally crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms.

Daemon's grip on your hips was firm yet reverent as he laid you down on the bed, his lips trailing hot kisses from your jawline down to your collarbone. His breath was warm against your skin, leaving a path of heat wherever he touched. You let out a soft sigh, your fingers instinctively tangling in his short, silver hair, guiding him closer as his lips descended.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his violet eyes locked onto yours before dipping lower. "My sweet niece... all mine."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness laced within them igniting something deep within you. You couldn't look away from his gaze, even as you felt his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your stomach.

His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them slightly as his kisses trailed even lower.

"Daemon..." you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and nervousness.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against the inside of your thigh. "Relax, little one. Let me take care of you."

You gasped as you felt the first flick of his tongue, your back arching off the bed as a wave of pleasure coursed through you. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you in place as he worked his way closer to your center, his tongue moving with precision and purpose. He was slow, deliberate, savoring every reaction you gave him.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, a soft moan escaping your lips as he continued his ministrations. Daemon lifted his gaze, watching the way your face twisted with pleasure. He smirked, the sight of you writhing beneath him clearly feeding his ego.

"Such a good girl," he purred, his voice like silk as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "So sweet... so perfect."

"Daemon, please..." you whimpered, your voice breathy and needy. He chuckled at your desperation, the sound low and almost predatory.

"Patience, niece," he teased, his tone laced with mockery. "I want to take my time with you. I want you to remember who it is that makes you feel this way."

He dipped his head again, his tongue working skillfully against you, drawing out sounds you didn't even know you were capable of making.

Your body arched towards him, chasing the pleasure he so expertly provided. His hands held you steady, ensuring you couldn't escape the sensations, no matter how overwhelming they became.

When you finally came undone, your cries of his name echoing through the room, Daemon didn't stop. He continued his slow, deliberate movements, dragging out your pleasure until you were trembling beneath him, your body limp and pliant in his hands.

As you tried to catch your breath, Daemon rose, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk. He leaned over you, brushing a strand of hair from your face as he looked down at you with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

"You're even more beautiful like this," he said softly, his voice filled with awe. "Flushed, trembling, completely undone... all because of me."

You looked up at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion and desire. "Daemon..."

Daemon's hands were firm but gentle as he slowly turned your body, positioning you beneath him once more. His touch lingered, his fingers brushing over your flushed skin as though savoring the feel of you. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh as his lips ghosted over your neck, planting tender kisses that sent shivers down your spine.

"Relax, love," he murmured, his voice low and velvety as he pressed himself against you. "I'll be gentle."

You closed your eyes, your breath hitching as you felt him move within you, slow and deliberate at first. His rhythm was unhurried, each motion calculated to draw out your pleasure. His lips moved to your ear, his voice a husky whisper. "Do you feel it, sweetling? The way your body reacts to me? You were made for this... for me."

Your fingers curled into the sheets beneath you as his movements became a steady rhythm, a soft gasp escaping your lips. He watched you with an intensity that made you shiver, his violet eyes dark and full of longing.

"You're perfect," he said, his tone reverent as though speaking a sacred truth. "Every sound you make... every way you move for me... it's maddening."

Your body tensed beneath him, each wave of pleasure building with an intensity you couldn't control. And just when you thought you could adjust to his pace, Daemon's grip tightened on your hips. Without warning, he quickened his pace, his movements becoming more demanding, more unrelenting. A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, followed by a cry of pleasure as he drove you higher.

"Daemon!" you cried out, your voice trembling as your body arched toward him.

He growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down your sides to steady you as his thrusts grew more forceful. "Say my name again," he commanded, his voice rough and full of possession. "Let the world know who you belong to."

You obeyed, your cries filling the room as your fingers dug into the sheets. "That's it, my love," he murmured against your lips, his voice softening briefly before his pace quickened again. "Let go. Let me have all of you."

Your body shuddered beneath him, the tension within you snapping as a wave of pleasure crashed over you. He groaned in satisfaction, watching your face as you unraveled completely. Even as you trembled and gasped for breath, Daemon didn't relent. He continued to move, his pace relentless as he sought his own release.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with determination. "No one else will ever have you like this."

Daemon's lips brushed over your shoulder, leaving a trail of soft, deliberate kisses along your skin. His fingers swept your hair away from your face, exposing the delicate curve of your neck.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You felt the firm weight of his chest pressing against your back, his warmth enveloping you completely.

As his lips lingered against the sensitive spot below your ear, you shivered, your body responding instinctively to his touch. He straightened behind you, his hands firm on your waist as he pulled you upright, guiding your back to meet his chest. The new position made you gasp, every nerve in your body coming alive as you felt him even deeper within you.

"Daemon," you whispered, your voice trembling as his hand slid up to rest gently at the base of your neck. The other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close as he began to move again. His pace was unrelenting, each thrust sending waves of heat through your body.

"Feel that, sweetling?" he murmured against your ear, his voice a blend of roughness and adoration. "You take me so perfectly. Like you were made for this... for me."

You could only nod, your hands gripping his forearms for balance as he quickened his pace. The pressure of his hand on your neck was firm yet protective, keeping you steady as his movements became more demanding.

Every motion sent sparks through your body, your mind unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming sensations he was drawing from you.

"You're mine," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Every inch of you. No one will ever touch you like this." A soft whimper escaped your lips as your head fell back against his shoulder, surrendering to the pleasure that he was so expertly crafting.

His grip on you tightened, his arm around your waist pulling you impossibly closer as he drove deeper, the angle making you see stars.

"Daemon….. l..." you tried to speak, but the words dissolved into a cry of ecstasy as another wave of pleasure tore through you.

"That's it," he whispered, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Let it out. Let me hear you."

Your cries filled the room, and his hand on your neck tilted your head back further, exposing your throat to his lips. He kissed and nipped at your skin, his movements relentless as he pushed you closer to your breaking point. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you held on for dear life, feeling completely consumed by him.

When your body finally tensed and trembled, he groaned deeply, his grip on you firm as he rode out your release. But even as your legs began to shake and your breath came in ragged gasps, Daemon didn't stop. His pace quickened, the sound of his ragged breathing in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

"Not yet, my love," he said, his voice laced with both affection and dominance. "I'm not done with you."

You whimpered softly, your body pliant against his as he continued to move. His lips found your ear once more, his voice a husky whisper. "You'll take all of me, won't you? You're so good for me... always so good."

His words made your heart race, and despite the overwhelming sensations coursing through you, you found yourself nodding, completely at his mercy. His laughter was low and filled with pride as he felt your body yield to him once more.

"Good girl," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple as he quickened his movements yet again, driving you both toward the edge. "Now, let's see how much more you can give me."

Daemon's hands gripped your waist firmly as your body lay limp on the bed, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths from the intensity of his movements. You were exhausted, every fiber of your being aching, but Daemon showed no signs of slowing. His hips moved with relentless speed and precision, driving himself into you with an urgency that made your body tremble.

Tears welled in your eyes, a mix of overwhelming sensations and the unbearable pleasure coursing through you. "Daemon... please," you whimpered, your voice breaking as you tried to plead for a moment of reprieve.

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your lips, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “No, sweetling,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust and affection. “I’m not done with you yet. I want all of you.”

With ease, he flipped your body over, turning you to face him. Your eyes, glassy and filled with exhaustion, met his, and he smirked as he took in the sight of your flushed cheeks and parted lips. “Look at you,” he said softly, his tone both mocking and adoring. “So beautiful, so undone… all for me.”

You gasped as he thrust into you again, this time hitting a spot that made your back arch off the bed. A cry escaped your lips, your hands instinctively clutching at the sheets beneath you. “Daemon!” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and the sound seemed to fuel him further.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hand sliding down to hold your thigh, lifting it slightly to adjust the angle. “Right there, isn’t it?” He moved deliberately, targeting that spot over and over again with devastating precision. Your body reacted instinctively, arching and tightening around him as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

You shook your head weakly, unable to form coherent words as your body betrayed you, completely at his mercy. “Too much,” you managed to whisper, your voice trembling as tears slid down your cheeks.

Daemon leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce, possessive kiss, swallowing your cries as he continued his relentless pace. “You can take it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice both a command and a promise. “You were made for this… for me. Don’t fight it.”

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him as if he were your only anchor in a storm of sensation. His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin there, leaving marks that would undoubtedly remain as proof of this night. “Mine,” he whispered against your skin, his tone almost feral. “You’re mine.”

Your body trembled beneath him as another wave of pleasure overtook you, your cries echoing in the room. Daemon’s laughter was low and smug, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched you completely unravel beneath him. “There she is,” he murmured, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “That’s my girl.”

Even as you lay there, trembling and utterly spent, he didn’t stop. His movements quickened, his grip on your thigh tightening as he pushed both of you toward the edge once more. “Give me one more,” he growled, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Just one more, sweetling. You can do it.”

Despite your exhaustion, your body obeyed his command, responding to his every touch and thrust as though it were made to please him. You clung to him, your mind hazy and overwhelmed, as the tension built once more. And when the release finally came, it shattered through you like a storm.

Daemon’s hands roamed your body, his calloused palms cupping your breasts as his lips latched onto your neck. His movements were anything but gentle, his hips snapping against yours with a brutal rhythm that left you gasping for air. You cried out his name, your voice breaking with each thrust as he continued to push you past your limits.

“Daemon... please,” you whimpered, tears pooling in your eyes as the intensity became too much. “I can’t... not anymore.”

He chuckled darkly against your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “Oh, sweetling,” he murmured, his voice dripping with possessive hunger. “You can. You will.” His teeth grazed your skin, leaving marks in his wake, as though branding you as his and his alone.

Your body trembled beneath him, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through you. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core, and despite your pleas, your body betrayed you. Your back arched off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulders as he continued to claim you with relentless fervor.

“Look at you,” he growled, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze was dark and intense, filled with raw desire. “So beautiful... so utterly mine.” One of his hands left your breast to trail down your body, his fingers brushing over every sensitive spot as if he knew exactly how to unravel you.

You shook your head weakly, your words coming out in breathless gasps. “It’s too much, Daemon. Please... I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted firmly, his free hand gripping your thigh to angle you even closer to him. The new position made him hit deeper, and your head fell back against the pillows with a loud cry. “See? You were made for this. Made for me.”

Your hands tangled in his short hair, pulling lightly as if to ground yourself, but it only seemed to encourage him. His lips found yours, swallowing your cries as his pace quickened. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mingling with your moans and the slap of skin against skin.

When he pulled back, his lips were swollen from kissing you, and a wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re trembling,” he said softly, almost mockingly, as his thumb brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “Am I too much for my little niece?”

You couldn’t even form a coherent response, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming pleasure he was giving you. Instead, you moaned his name again, your voice breaking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you.

“Good girl,” he murmured approvingly, leaning down to press his lips against yours in a surprisingly tender kiss. “That’s it. Take everything I give you.”

Your body shuddered violently as you reached your peak, your cries filling the room as you clenched around him. But Daemon wasn’t finished. His movements didn’t slow; if anything, they grew even more urgent. “One more,” he demanded, his voice rough as his hand gripped your waist to hold you in place. “Give me one more, sweetling.”

You sobbed his name, your body completely spent, but he wasn’t letting you go. “Daemon, please,” you begged, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips found your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “You can take it,” he assured you, his tone both commanding and reassuring. “You’re stronger than you think.”

You weren’t sure if it was his words or his actions, but somehow, your body obeyed. The tension built once more, and when you finally shattered again, your vision blurred, and your entire body went limp beneath him.

Daemon slowed his movements, finally letting himself find his release. He groaned your name, his forehead resting against yours as he rode out the waves of pleasure. For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your labored breaths.

As he pulled you into his arms, his hand brushed over your damp hair, and he kissed your temple. “That’s my girl,” he murmured softly, his tone filled with pride and affection. “You were perfect.”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion finally claiming you as you buried your face in his chest. Daemon held you close, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back as you drifted off to sleep, utterly spent but completely content.

The soft rays of the morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blinked a few times, your body still heavy with exhaustion from the night before. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you became acutely aware of the strong arms wrapped around you and the steady rise and fall of Daemon’s chest beneath your cheek.

Your face heated instantly, memories of the previous night flashing vividly in your mind. The intensity, the passion—it all felt like a dream, but the soreness in your body told you otherwise. You shifted slightly, trying to create a bit of space between you, but Daemon’s arm tightened around your waist, pulling you closer.

"Trying to escape already, sweetling?" His voice was rough with sleep, yet there was an undeniable teasing edge to it.

You turned your head slightly, meeting his smirk with a flushed face. "No... I just—" you hesitated, unsure how to explain yourself.

Daemon chuckled, the sound low and deep, vibrating through his chest. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before cupping your cheek. "You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed."

Your lips parted to protest, but before you could, he leaned in and captured them in a soft, lingering kiss. His lips moved gently against yours, as if savoring the moment. When he pulled back, his violet eyes met yours, glinting with amusement and something deeper.

"Good morning, my little star," he murmured, his voice tender as his thumb traced the curve of your jaw.

"Good morning," you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow while still keeping you close. His gaze wandered over your face, as though committing every detail to memory. "I hope you slept well, though I suppose I left you too tired to dream," he teased, a smug grin spreading across his face.

You swatted his chest lightly, though your cheeks burned brighter. "Daemon!"

He caught your hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "What? Did I say something untrue?"

You groaned and buried your face in his chest, earning another laugh from him. His arms encircled you once more, holding you tightly against him.

After a moment of silence, you finally spoke, your voice muffled against his skin. "What are we going to do now?"

He tilted your chin up so you were looking at him. His expression softened, the playful smirk replaced by something more serious. "We’ll do whatever you want, sweetling. You’ve given yourself to me, and I’ll protect you with my life."

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to bask in the warmth of his affection. Daemon Targaryen could be many things—reckless, stubborn, and dangerous—but in this moment, he was yours.

You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his face. "Then I suppose we start by getting out of bed."

Daemon groaned dramatically, pulling you back down against him. "Or we could stay right here," he suggested, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Daemon—"

"Shh," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Just a little longer. The world can wait."

And as he held you close, the sun continuing to rise outside, you found yourself agreeing. For now, the world could wait.

You let out an exasperated sigh, brushing your fingers through your disheveled hair as you tried to steady your racing heart. "Daemon, I need to go. My father will be looking for me. And if he doesn’t find me, he’ll definitely send someone to find you."

Daemon smirked lazily, leaning back against the pillows with his arms behind his head, a picture of smug defiance. "Let him look, sweetling," he said, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Viserys can wait. Besides..." His violet eyes raked over your figure, still tangled in the sheets, "...do you really think I’d let you leave so easily?"

Your face burned as you realized the implications of his tone. You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "Daemon, this is serious. You can’t just—"

Before you could finish, his hand darted out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back toward him. With a soft gasp, you found yourself straddling his hips, his hands settling firmly on your waist.

"You worry too much," he murmured, his gaze locking with yours. His hands slid up your sides, tracing the curve of your body. "Relax, my love. Let the rest of the world fade away for a little while longer."

"Daemon," you protested weakly, though your resolve was already crumbling under his touch.

He tilted his head, studying your face with that signature mischievous grin of his. "I think," he said, his voice low and teasing, "you’re forgetting who you’re talking to. Your uncle is Daemon Targaryen who doesn’t wait for anyone, least of all my dear brother."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat when you felt him shift beneath you. Your breath hitched as you realized what he was doing, and you stared at him with wide eyes.

"Daemon, no—"

"Daemon, yes," he cut you off with a soft laugh, his hands guiding your hips to settle fully over him. The heat between you was undeniable, and your cheeks burned as you felt him pressing against you.

"Unbelievable," you muttered, your hands pressing against his chest as if to push him away. But he caught your wrists in his hands, holding them against his chest as he leaned up to capture your lips in a slow, tantalizing kiss.

"Don’t act like you don’t want this," he whispered against your lips, his breath warm and intoxicating. "I can feel how much you want me, my sweet little dragon."

You gasped softly, but before you could respond, he guided your hands to his shoulders and began to move beneath you. Slowly, purposefully, he helped you find a rhythm, his hands steadying your hips as he pressed deeper into you.

"Daemon..." you whispered his name, your voice a mix of frustration and surrender as the pleasure began to cloud your thoughts.

"That’s it," he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. "Just like that, love. Take what you need from me."

The intensity of his gaze was enough to make you feel as though you were burning alive. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as you moved together. "Gods, you’re beautiful," he whispered. "You’re mine, do you hear me? No one else will ever see you like this. No one else will ever have you like this."

You nodded wordlessly, unable to form a coherent response as he guided you closer and closer to the edge. His words, his touch, everything about him consumed you completely.

As the morning light streamed through the window, you couldn’t help but wonder how you’d ever explain this to your father. But at that moment, wrapped in Daemon’s arms, the rest of the world seemed so far away.

Daemon’s hand tightened on your waist as he pulled you down to meet his thrusts, his movements growing more fervent with each passing moment. The sound of your name on his lips mingled with the soft creaks of the bed and the muffled noises of the waking castle outside the stone walls.

You threw your head back, a loud moan escaping your lips as he buried himself even deeper. “Daemon...” you gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders, desperate for something to ground you amidst the overwhelming sensations.

“Louder,” he commanded, his voice dripping with authority and laced with amusement. “Let them hear you. Let them know who’s making you feel like this.”

“Daemon!” you cried out again, your voice filling the room without a care for the world outside.

He smirked, clearly pleased with your response. “Good girl,” he murmured, his tone low and possessive. “I want everyone in this keep to know you’re mine. That no one will ever have you like I do.”

You tried to glare at him, but the intensity of his movements made it impossible to focus. Instead, you let out a broken moan, your body arching toward him. “Daemon... please...”

“Please what?” he teased, his hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your face closer to his. “Tell me what you want, love. Say it.”

You hesitated, your cheeks burning as you struggled to find the words. His other hand slid down to grip your hip, guiding your movements with deliberate precision, and you couldn’t stop the loud moan that escaped you.

“Say it,” he growled, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I... I need you,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling with desperation.

His laughter was soft but wicked, his teeth grazing your earlobe before he pulled you into a searing kiss. “You already have me,” he whispered against your lips. “Every part of me is yours. Just as every part of you is mine.”

The morning light streaming through the window illuminated the room, casting a golden glow over your intertwined bodies. For a fleeting moment, you were reminded of the world outside, of the castle stirring to life, and the fact that anyone could hear you.

But as Daemon shifted beneath you, hitting that perfect spot once more, all thoughts of propriety and decorum fled from your mind. All that mattered was the man beneath you, the heat between you, and the way he made you feel as though you were the only person in the world.

Daemon’s grip on your thighs was firm as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the cold stone wall of the room. The stark contrast between the cool surface and the heat of his body made you shiver, though you could hardly focus on that as he thrust into you with an intensity that stole your breath.

“Daemon,” you gasped, clutching at his shoulders for balance, your nails digging into his skin.

His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving kisses and bites in their wake. “Say my name again,” he growled, his voice rough and deep in your ear.

“Daemon,” you whispered, followed by a soft moan as he moved deeper, each thrust pushing you harder against the wall. The strength and control in his movements made you feel utterly claimed.

“You feel so perfect,” he muttered, his hands tightening on your thighs as he adjusted his angle, hitting a spot that made your body arch toward him. “You’re mine, do you understand?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your arms looping around his neck as you held onto him for dear life. The force of his movements made you feel weightless, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushed your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “Let them hear you,” he demanded. “Let them all know who you belong to.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the cries that threatened to spill from you, but Daemon was relentless. He thrust harder, his growls vibrating against your skin. “Don’t hold back, love,” he urged. “I want every guard, every servant, and every lord to know that only I can make you feel this way. Even your father”

“Daemon!” you cried out, your head falling back against the wall as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you trembling in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his tone laced with pride as he continued his pace, unrelenting and determined. He pulled back slightly to look at you, his violet eyes dark and filled with hunger. “You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you deeply.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his short hair as you kissed him back with equal fervor. The world outside the room no longer existed—there was only Daemon, his strength, his passion, and the way he made you feel completely consumed.

He shifted his grip, pressing his forehead against yours as he continued to move inside you. “Tell me,” he panted, his voice strained with effort. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m yours, Daemon.”

His growl of satisfaction sent a thrill through you, and he kissed you fiercely, pouring every ounce of his possession and devotion into that one act. “Never forget that,” he murmured against your lips before thrusting one final time, sending you both over the edge together.

Breathless and spent, you clung to him as he carried you back to the bed, laying you down gently. He brushed a kiss across your forehead before lying beside you, pulling you into his arms. As you nestled against his chest, your breathing slowly returning to normal, Daemon’s hand traced soothing patterns along your back.

Daemon gently caressed your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin before he shifted you. His strong hands guided your body, turning you over until your back was to him. Your head rested on the soft surface of the bed, your hair spilling across the sheets like a halo. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as he positioned himself behind you.

Without a word, he pushed into you slowly, filling you completely with an unhurried precision that had you gasping. The sensation made your breath hitch, your fingers gripping the sheets tightly as you adjusted to the fullness of him. “Daemon,” you whimpered softly, your voice trembling with both pleasure and anticipation.

“Shh, love,” he murmured, his hands settling firmly on your hips, holding you steady. His lips brushed against your shoulder, leaving a lingering kiss that contrasted with the growing intensity of his movements. “Just feel me. Let me take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, unable to form words as he began to move. His thrusts were slow at first, deliberate, as if savoring the way you fit around him. Each time he pulled back and entered you again, you felt a fire ignite within you, spreading through every part of your body. You couldn’t help the soft moans that escaped your lips, muffled slightly by the pillow beneath you.

But then, without warning, his pace changed. Daemon angled himself just right and thrust into you harder, his hips snapping against you with a newfound urgency. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, and you cried out when he struck that perfect spot deep within you. “Daemon!” you screamed, your back arching as the pleasure became overwhelming.

He groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. “That’s it,” he growled, his voice thick with need. “Let me hear you, my love. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this way.”

You couldn’t respond, your voice stolen by the sheer intensity of his movements. Daemon wasn’t holding back anymore, each thrust more powerful and deliberate than the last. He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, “You’re mine. Only mine.”

You could feel the strength of his grip on your hips as he guided you back onto him, meeting his every thrust with precision. The force of his movements drove you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as waves of pleasure built inside you.

“Daemon, please—” you begged, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or continue. The intensity was too much, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him.

“Not yet,” he growled, his voice thick and commanding. “I’m not done with you.”

A sharp slap to your lower cheek made you cry out, the sensation both stinging and electrifying. You buried your face into the mattress, tears of pleasure gathering in the corners of your eyes as he pounded into you relentlessly, his hips slamming against yours in a rhythm that made your whole body quake.

“Daemon, I—” Your words were cut off by a strangled moan as he reached down, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back gently. His lips found your ear again, his voice a husky whisper as he said, “Say my name again, love.”

“Daemon,” you sobbed, your voice breaking as another wave of ecstasy crashed over you. Your body clenched around him tightly, and his grip on you tightened as if anchoring himself to you.

He growled in satisfaction, his pace quickening impossibly further as he chased his own release. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the side of your neck. “You’re mine. Always.”

With one final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely inside you, his release sending a shudder through his entire body. He collapsed against your back, his weight comforting as he kissed your shoulder tenderly.

The two of you lay there for a long moment, your bodies tangled and spent. Daemon’s hands traced soothing circles on your hips, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his tone soft and affectionate now. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a small, exhausted smile. “And I’ll never get enough of you,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but full of sincerity.

Daemon kissed your temple gently before pulling you into his arms, wrapping you in his warmth. The morning sun streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room as the two of you drifted into a peaceful silence, content in each other’s embrace.

You turned your head quickly at the sound of a knock on the door, panic flashing through you. You tried to get up, but your legs trembled and buckled beneath you, a sharp ache radiating through your core from the night before. You winced, gripping the edge of the bed for support, but the effort was futile.

Daemon, lying next to you with a lazy smirk, chuckled at your struggle. “Careful, love,” he teased, his voice rich with amusement. “I might’ve been too... thorough last night.”

You shot him a glare, though your flushed cheeks betrayed your embarrassment. Before you could protest, the knock sounded again, firmer this time. Daemon sighed and rolled out of bed, casually wrapping a thin sheet around his waist. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned as he sauntered toward the door.

“Daemon, wait!” you hissed, your voice low and panicked. “What if it’s—”

But it was too late. He swung the door open with his usual arrogance, leaning casually against the frame. Standing on the other side was none other than your elder sister, Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra froze, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the scene before her. There was Daemon, his chest bare and only a sheet tied loosely around his hips. And behind him, you sat on the bed, clutching the blanket to your chest in a futile attempt to cover yourself, your hair disheveled and your cheeks burning with embarrassment. The unmistakable signs of the night you’d shared were evident in the room—the tousled sheets, the faint scent of sweat and passion lingering in the air.

For a long moment, no one said a word. Rhaenyra’s mouth opened and closed as if she were trying to find something to say but couldn’t. Her usually composed demeanor was utterly shattered, replaced by a rare look of genuine surprise.

Daemon, of course, was completely unbothered. In fact, he smirked, as though thoroughly enjoying her reaction. “Good morning, niece,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“Daemon!” you hissed, mortified, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “Stop it!”

Rhaenyra finally managed to find her voice, though it came out as more of a sputter. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude,” she stammered, her eyes darting between the two of you. “I was just—why didn’t you show up for breakfast?”

Daemon chuckled, leaning casually against the doorframe. “We were... preoccupied,” he said with a suggestive grin, clearly enjoying the way Rhaenyra’s cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance.

“You couldn’t even bother to get dressed before opening the door?” Rhaenyra snapped, her composure beginning to return. “Honestly, Daemon.”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why bother? It’s just you, niece.”

Rhaenyra turned her attention to you, her expression softening slightly. “Are you... all right?” she asked, concern evident in her tone.

You nodded quickly, though the heat in your cheeks remained. “I’m fine, really,” you said, though your voice was shaky. “I just... wasn’t expecting company.”

“I can see that,” Rhaenyra muttered, her gaze flicking back to Daemon, who was still lounging casually in the doorway. “You’re impossible,” she said to him, shaking her head.

“And you’re predictable,” Daemon shot back, smirking. “Running to check on your sweet little sister at the first sign of trouble.”

Rhaenyra glared at him but chose not to rise to his bait. Instead, she sighed and looked at you again. “If you’re feeling well enough, I suggest you get dressed and join us. Father will be looking for you soon.”

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of,” Daemon said smoothly before you could respond, his tone both teasing and possessive.

Rhaenyra shot him one last glare before turning on her heel and walking away, muttering under her breath about Daemon’s arrogance. Once she was out of earshot, Daemon closed the door and turned back to you, his smirk still firmly in place.

“Well, that was entertaining,” he said, strolling back toward the bed.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. “She’s never going to let me live this down.”

Daemon chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Let her think what she wants,” he said. “You’re mine, and that’s all that matters.”

You looked up at him, your cheeks still flushed but a small smile tugging at your lips. Despite the embarrassment, there was a warmth in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though there was no real bite to your words.

“And yet, you love me for it,” he replied with a grin, pulling you into his arms once more.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

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[itsnesss]

can u plss do a junho angst fic there are barely any good fics for him 😔

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you infiltrate the games for revenge, but meeting jun-ho, a disguised detective, complicates everything. when your cover is blown, he sacrifices himself to save you, forcing you to flee

warnings | angst, tension, suspense, moral ambiguity, desesperation, sacrifice, revenge, vulnerability

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The first time you see his face, you’re not sure if it’s a dream or a nightmare. The red uniform hides everything, as if his humanity is diluted beneath the masquerade of his role. But his eyes… there’s something in his eyes that makes you doubt. You recognize him before he recognizes you. That man, that guard, is not one of them. He’s not a pawn. He moves too precisely, his actions calculated, as though observing every corner, every shadow, every breath.

You watch him from the shadows, your mind racing. He shouldn’t be here, just like you. The difference is, you know why you’re here. The mission is clear. Revenge. To dismantle this cursed game from within. But him? Who is he?

Night falls slowly, and you’re alone, cleaning one of the cells that was just used in the latest trial. The blood on the floor hasn’t dried yet. The air is heavy, charged, as if everything is about to explode. Then you hear it. His footsteps, light but firm, approaching behind you.

You turn quickly, your hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at your side. The cold steel against your palm is a momentary comfort. But when you see his face, when your eyes meet his, you don’t feel fear—only a strange discomfort.

He doesn’t look at you like the others do. He doesn’t see you as a threat. Something in his gaze says he’s studying you. It’s as if he can see right through you.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice soft, almost inaudible.

Your heart leaps in your chest. You can’t let him find out who you are. Not now. Not ever.

“What do you want?” you reply, keeping your tone cold, distant. You can’t afford to show any vulnerability. Not now.

“I know,” he says, without hesitation. “You’re not like the others. What are you doing here?”

You’re caught off guard by how close he is to the truth. But you can’t give in. You can’t let him get too close. The mission is all that matters. You can’t let anything distract you.

“The same as you,” you reply, the air between you tense, like it could be cut with a knife. The word “lie” hangs in the air, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he steps closer to you.

“Jun-ho,” he says, extending his hand with a confidence that leaves no room for doubt. His name sounds familiar, but you don’t know why. You don’t have time to think about that. You can’t think about that.

Taking his hand is a decision that consumes you. Something inside you screams that you’re making a fatal mistake, but something in his eyes, in his gesture, prevents you from refusing.

Time passes, and the tension between you grows palpable. You can no longer look at him without a strange feeling of discomfort rising in your chest. You know things are changing. You know your mission is beginning to fall apart. But you can’t stop. You can’t let him go.

Jun-ho is everything you’re not: calm, calculated, but always observing. Always alert. One day, he catches you off guard when you find him watching one of the security cameras in the control center—a place only the highest-ranking personnel should be. He gives you a look as you enter. You don’t need to hear his words to know what he wants.

“I’m here to dismantle this,” he says quietly, almost like a whisper, afraid someone might hear. “And you?”

Your eyes meet, and for a second, the world seems to stop. A wave of anguish washes over you, a pressure in your chest that you don’t know how to handle. The truth hangs there, floating between you, too big to ignore.

“I’m here for my brother,” you respond, unable to hide the anger igniting in your voice. Your brother. The one who died here. The one who never had a chance. Every word you say feels like a fresh wound. “And I won’t let anyone else suffer the same.”

Jun-ho nods, as if he already knew. As if he’d already guessed. There’s something in his gaze, something in his expression, that makes you think he’s not so different from you.

As the days go by, the anguish grows. It becomes harder and harder to stay away from him. The conversations, the glances, the small interactions… Everything you’ve built so far is undermined by the unexpected connection that has formed between you. He looks at you in a way you never imagined anyone would, and every time his eyes meet yours, a lump forms in your throat.

But you can’t afford distractions. You know the endgame is approaching, that the operation is intensifying, and you need to be ready to act at any moment. But Jun-ho… Jun-ho has become a weight on your chest. A constant pressure you can’t ignore.

The moment everything falls apart comes without warning. A new trial is about to begin, and everything seems out of control. The participants are more violent than ever, and the tensions among the guards are evident. You’re standing in a hallway, silently observing, when a figure catches your attention. A guard, one of the higher-ranking ones, points at you.

“You?” he says, his tone suspicious. “What are you doing here?”

In that instant, you know. He knows what you’re doing. The masquerade is over.

Before you can react, the gun is pointed at you. Fear consumes you in a second, but then you hear a shout. A familiar shout.

“No!”

Jun-ho appears out of nowhere, taking down the guard with a speed that leaves you breathless. But it’s already too late. The noise has alerted the others, and you can hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Run,” Jun-ho orders, his face grim, his eyes shining with an intensity that makes you hesitate. “Now!”

“Not without you,” you reply, shaking your head. But Jun-ho is already pushing you toward the exit. Desperation overwhelms you, but you do it. You do what he says because you know if you stay, everything will be lost.

...

You escape. You don’t know how, but you do. You find yourself among the shadows, breathing heavily, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest. Every step you take pulls you further away from Jun-ho.

But weeks pass, and there’s no news of him. The anguish of not knowing if he’s alive consumes you. You find yourself watching every shadow, hoping he’ll appear, but all you find is silence.

Finally, when you can’t bear it anymore, it comes. The message. An anonymous note left in your hideout, with just a few words written in handwriting you know all too well.

“I’m alive. I’m still here.”

The anxiety you felt dissipates, but the uncertainty remains. He’s there, but at what cost? What sacrifices have you both made to reach this point? The answer is yet to come, but for now, you know the only thing that matters: Jun-ho is alive, and you, though broken, are one step closer to justice.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 017 !

you stared at your reflection in the mirror, head tilted slightly as you debated your next move.

should you put in effort? do your makeup, wear something decent? or should you just throw on a hoodie and go in your pyjamas? 

technically, this was a business arrangement, not a date. just a simple conversation about rules and boundaries. nothing that required anything more than the bare minimum.

and yet ...

with a sigh, you grabbed your concealer and quickly blended it under your eyes. just enough to make yourself look awake. then mascara. a tiny flick of eyeliner. a swipe of tinted lip balm. there. casual but put-together.

for your outfit, you settled on something comfortable but still presentable: bootcut jeans, a long-sleeve, your warm puffer jacket, and a scarf. 

once you were satisfied, you checked the time and grabbed your phone and headed out. the crisp air bit at your cheeks as you walked, but the warmth of your scarf and the quiet hum of the city made it a pleasant trip.

when you stepped inside the café, the smell of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon greeted you. you scanned the room, easily spotting sae at a corner table. 

he sat by the window, casually scrolling through his phone, dressed in a dark sweater.

your steps slowed when you noticed the two cups on the table in front of him.

you approached with a raised brow. “did you meet someone before?”

sae glanced up at you, then at the cups, before shaking his head. "no. it's for you.”

you blinked.  "oh.” 

yeah, oh.

you hadn't expected that.

you slid into the seat across from him, eyeing the cappuccino for a moment before saying, “i could’ve gotten it myself, you know.”

"obviously," he looked you in the eye, "but you recommended it so i assumed it's your favorite drink here."

you sighed, wrapping your hands around the cup anyway. it was warm against your fingers, and you hated how thoughtful it was.

"thank you," you said. 

you leaned back and exhaled, sae eyeing you. 

"so, rules. we need rules."

sae quirked a brow. "rules?"

"yes, rules. it's lowkey a deal, no? i don't want things getting messy."

a flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he nodded. "go on."

"no kissing," you said immediately. "no hand-holding unless absolutely necessary. nothing more than just.. being near each other."

his lips twitched like he was holding back an amused smirk. “okay...”

“you do know couples are supposed to act like they like each other, right?”

"well, some things are fine. just nothing over the top. and if we post about each other, we have to ask first."

sae sipped his drink, eyes never leaving yours. "what else?"

"that's it for now," you said, watching him carefully. "what about you?"

sae leaned back in his seat, fingers lazily tapping against his cup as he regarded you with an unreadable expression. “nothing, really. i'm fine with whatever.”

you blinked, taken aback by how unbothered he seemed. “seriously?”

he shrugged. “yeah. you're the one who seems worried about it.”

“i am not worried,” you scoffed, though the way he was watching you, like he could see right through you, made you shift slightly in your seat.

his lips twitched, this time not bothering to hide his amusement. “right. not worried.”

you huffed, gripping your cup a little tighter. “this is my reputation too, you know. i just don’t want things getting out of control.”

sae tilted his head slightly, his gaze still locked onto yours. “and what would ‘out of control’ look like to you?”

you hesitated. the idea of people actually believing the two of you were in love, of the media twisting stories, of fans picking apart every interaction - it was a lot. but more than that, you weren’t sure you wanted to deal with whatever it meant to be associated with sae itoshi beyond just this agreement.

“just… unnecessary drama,” you settled on, not wanting to over-explain.

he studied you for a moment before nodding. “alright. no unnecessary drama.”

you narrowed your eyes. “you're agreeing too easily again.”

“would you rather i fight you on it?”

“…no.”

“then quit complaining.”

you exhaled sharply, bringing your drink to your lips in an attempt to mask your frustration. this was already exhausting.

sae smirked, clearly entertained by your reaction. “relax. you're making it sound like this is a life-or-death contract.”

“it might as well be,” you muttered.

he chuckled, and the sound was low and brief, but still enough to catch you off guard. you hadn’t expected him to laugh.

you shook your head, pushing past the thought. “fine. since you apparently have no concerns, i'll just assume we’re sticking to my rules.”

“sure,” he said, finishing the last of his coffee. “but i do have one request.”

you tensed slightly, wary. “…what?”

he placed his empty cup down, leaning forward just enough that you could catch the flicker of something  in his gaze.

“if we're going to do this, you have to at least pretend to like me.”

you lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

sae tilted his head, watching your reaction with quiet amusement. “think you can handle that, superstar?”

you stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you. but sae didn’t waver, his expression calm, expectant. the flicker in his gaze was something you couldn’t quite place, something challenging, like he was daring you to say no.

pretend to like him?

you huffed, setting your cup down a little harder than necessary. “i think i can manage,” you said, lifting your chin slightly. “can you?”

his smirk deepened, like he had been waiting for you to say that. “obviously.”

your eyes narrowed. “you don’t even like people, sae.”

“i like some people,” he countered.

you scoffed. “name one.”

for a second, he just looked at you, something unreadable flickering across his features. but then he leaned back again, casually stretching his arms along the back of the booth. “wouldn't you like to know?”

you rolled your eyes, deciding not to entertain whatever game he was trying to play. “as long as you don’t make it obvious that this is fake, i don’t care what you do.”

sae tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp but still unreadable. “you think people will doubt it?”

you hesitated, because yeah, you did. you and sae itoshi weren’t exactly the type of people the world would naturally put together. even if your name had been linked before, it started because of him saying that you were his celebrity crush. it wasn't supposed to develop into something more. 

you were stubborn, fiery, and always said exactly what you meant. sae was… well, sae.

“i think people will find it hard to believe that you’d put up with me,” you admitted.

sae hummed, considering your words. then, with the most irritating smirk, he said, “i think people will find it hard to believe you don’t already have a crush on me.”

you choked on air. “pardon?”

he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “you're the one who insisted on rules. you're the one making this complicated. almost like you don’t trust yourself.”

yozr jaw dropped. “you are insufferable.”

his smirk didn’t fade. “and you’re avoiding the question.”

you glared at him. “for the record, i do not have a crush on you.”

sae's gaze softened just a fraction, but his amusement remained. “sure, superstar.”

you exhaled through your nose, trying not to let him get to you. “are we done here?”

sae glanced at his watch before nodding. “yeah. i'll text you details about the wedding.”

“great,” you muttered, standing up and grabbing your coat. “looking forward to it.”

this was going to be hell.

chapter 016 > here > chapter 018

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

a/n: is anyone good at digital art bc im losing my mind at these graduation shirts my classmates did wtf is this

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