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outsideratheart · 2 days ago

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It started as a lie (Leah Williamson x F1!Reader) - SNIPPET

A/N: Sorry, Sorry, Sorry. I know it’s later than I said but here’s the a snippet of my upcoming Leah fic.

It wasn’t often that you found yourself in London if not for work but tonight was different. You had been invited to The Emirates as a guest of the club to watch Arsenal play Manchester United. It wasn’t something that was at the top of the list especially when you were preparing for the final races of the season. Still, here you were cheering on the Arsenal.

After the game finished your manager tells you that there’s someone that wants to meet you before escorting you into a conference room.

There at the longer than normal table sits Leah Williamson who you found out minutes before the game had suffered a shoulder injury which would sideline her for the rest of the year.

“Y/N, I believe you know Leah Williamson” your manager turns your attention to the blonde.

“We’ve met briefly at Silverstone this year. She was in Aston’s garage” you said a bit sourly.

“I was a guest" she says which earns a nod of the head from you.

The two of you sit in silence as your managers seemingly discuss something mentally. You can see them looking at each other then their eyes go to you and Leah.

Subtly you steal a glance at the woman beside you and it takes everything in you not to stare. Leah was at the forefront of women's football and it seemed that her face was all over your socials not that you were complaining. Leah on the otherhand felt very nervous in your presence. The energy that radiated from you was unlike anything she had felt before.

"You are two of the most popular and influencial women in sport right now" Leah's manager tells you.

"Multiple brands want to work with you but all of the big ones say the same thing" your manager looks at you when she says this because she knows you know what is about to say.

"They cannot invest or have someone be the face of their brand if they do not know who that person is" you finish her sentance with an evident annoyance in your tone.

You push your chair back and begin pacing the room. This is not new information but you still cannot figure our why you are once again being told this only tonight it's at The Emirates.

"Y/N" Leah has a gentle look on her face "come sit down and they can tell us why we're here"

"Sorry Leah, I don't like-"

"Not knowing? Me too"

The two of you find a small level of comfort know that the other also has no idea why they were here nor did they like not knowing.

Your managers a share a look thats says 'this is a good sign'.

"As I was saying before you interupted" you mumble an apology which earns a chuckle from Leah "Brands what to know the people who are representing them and you two are very secretive with your personal lives"

This didn't come without reason. You and leah were under a huge spotlight and it lead people to believe that had a right to know everything about you. This is something both of you disagreed with. If it is related to the track or the pitchen then yes they can know but everything else is off topic.

"You are also two of the most marketable athletes in the world right now. We wouldn't be doing a good job as your managers if we didn't want to act on this" Leah's manager, who's name you still don't know, says.

You didn't know this woman but you didn't like what she was saying. If Leah's sharp intake of breathe is anything to go by then she wasn't happy about it either.

"I have a feeling neither of us are going are going to like what you're going to say next so why don't you get to the point" this had already pissed you off and you didn't even know what this was.

"I'm with Y/N. You are both dancing around which means you know we won't like it"

The managers once again remained silent which was a mistake on their point. The longer they leave you and Leah waiting they know the worse the reaction will be.

"We think you would both benefit if you were to be seen more together in public"

You didn't understand what the blonde's manager was getting at.

"Is this your way of asking for garage passses? Being in Mercedes' garage would be much more fun that Aston's" you laughed. If this is all they wanted they could have asked. This meeting really wasn't neccessery.

"Leah will be in the garage much more often but not as your guest, as your girlfriend"

"What the fuck?" Leah was shocked at what she was hearing and she wasn't the only one.

"Leah's right. What the fuck. She isn't my girlfriend, tonight is the first time we have met"

The two of you were beyond confused and growing more agitated.

"We have been talking about this for a while now and the two of you will start a relationship or you will as far as the public is aware. The fans will eat this up and sponsors will love the two of you together"

"Don't get me wrong, Leah you are beautiful but my focus is on my career. I am near the end of the season and am battling Lewis for the championship"

"Thank you" Leah wanted to blush at the compliment but there were bigger things to adress "You know I'm focusing on this season and the Euros are next summer"

Your manager's knew that you two would fight the decision and that is why they aren't asking for your permission.

"We both know you are focused on your career but that is why this makes sense. You are both very similar. Please try this"

"What happens?" You ask. You weren't happy with this but you always made sure to find out all the information before making a decision.

"Do we go on a date, see if this is a good match and go from there?" Leah also wanted to know the logistics of this stunt.

"Not exactly. The contract would be for just over one year" Leah's manager explains.

"The two of you will be, as far as the public knows, exclusive until the end of next year's Formula 1 season"

There were too many things in the two sentences that didn't sit well with you. Contract and one year were the two big ones.

"I'm am focusing on winning the championship and you don't think I can do that without being in a relationship?" you looked your manager dead in the eye as this question was aimed directly at her.

"and as for you, sorry I never got your name" you turned your attention to Leah's manager "Leah is going to captain England next year and you think now is the best time to start a relationship, a fake relationship?"

The woman beside you liked that you were thinking of her and truth be told you were much better at voicing your opion that she was. Leah was at a complete loss for words.

"We suggest you tell a couple of friends, ones that you trust, so that they can help sell the relationship. The strategy is to do this on social media"

Strategy. Clearly the two of them have thought long and hard about this arrangement,

"I won't tell my parents. They would expect better of me and I cannot lie to them" Leah explains.

"but if you—"

"You heard Leah, no parents. You have brought this to us and make it clear that is isn’t a choice. What is a choice is who we lie to because that is what you are asking us to do. Also, no contract”

All of you agree the terms and what the next year will look like. Leah will come to as many races as she can, including the next two seen as though she cannot play and the physio’s instructions right now are no physical activity. You will try to make it to as many Arsenal or England games which will be little due to the race schedules.

Tonight has been a lot for both you and Leah so when the evening comes to a close you are both glad to be going home.

“Leah, maybe Y/N could take you home tonight?” Her manager suggested.

“So that’s why you were insistent on picking me up. For the record I don’t like being tricked” Leah was clearly just as mad with her manager as you were yours.

“We have just met, don’t you think this is a bit much?” You understand that in the future this might be regular occurrence but right now it all seemed like a lot.

The two of you are met with silence once again so the two of you just nod. An awkward silence fills the halls of the emirates as you walk to the small and exclusive car park within the stadium. Truth is neither of you knew what to say to the other. You were strangers but somehow you were suppose to be a couple when out in public.

“I’m sorry you have to do this” Those are the words that you say.

“Don’t be. I get why this is happening and whilst I wish it wasn’t, there are worse people to be fake in a relationship with”

“Wow, that’s quite the compliment. Thank you so very much”

Leah playfully shoved you.

“What I’m saying is that I think we could get along well. As for the faking it, well I’m sure we have both wore a mask in front of the public before. This is like that only different”

What she said wasn’t a lie but this felt so much more than having a smile on your face when you are anything but happy on the inside.

The two of you exit the stadium and can see fans standing by the doors. you weren’t in the best mood so the last thing you want to do is stop but Leah grabs you hand. Something you don’t expect so you pull away.

“Physical touch is not your thing, look at us getting to know each other. It would be good if the fans got photos of us leaving together, don’t you think?” She said quietly as not to be overheard.

You shake off the comment about physical touch and reply to the second part of her sentence.

“Ok, let’s go over”

Given that you were at The Emirates with one of the faces of the team you choose to give Leah space as she spoke to the fans. For a brief moment you watched her as she gave the fans her full attention. You knew this before but she really was one of her good ones, one that was way too good for you.

“Yes, that’s her. She’s a little bit shy” This got your attention and caused you to blush ever so slightly “Y/N, come here. This girl, Sophie, is a big fans of yours”

You never were the best with fans. Surely you gave them your time, took as many photos as they wanted and signed whatever they put in your hands but the social aspect of it is something you struggled. Leah on the other hand took to it with ease. You knew that people picked up on your shyness but they often saw it as you being rude. Maybe your manager hoped Leah could bring you out of your shell a bit and make you more approachable. This thought caused you to shake your head because it was already working.

The two of you talked to the fans for a couple of minutes before walking towards your car, a Mercedes-Benz SL Pagoda. You didn’t have many cars in London but this is one of the very first you bought when you joined the team 5 years ago.

“Any chance I can drive?” Leah ask even though she knew the answer.

“No, no you cannot. Let’s me see how you drive your car before I let you drive one of mine”

“One of? Just how many cars to do have?”

“In London or in total?”

That gave Leah all the information she needed to know.

The two of you found yourself in silence only this one wad slightly more comfortable than the other. you gave Leah the AUX lead as you got in the car. She spent the entire drive on her phone whilst you focused on the road. When you pulled up to her house you didn’t know what to do. Do you do the chivalrous thing and open her door or is that too much? By the time you finished overthinking that act wasn’t an option as Leah had already gotten out.

Before she closed the door she leaned back down.

“I know this isn’t what neither of us want but we can do a year. FYI I am going to tell Georgia Stanway, Keira Walsh and Lia Walti”

Leah was much more prepared than you. Perhaps that is what she was doing on her phone.

“Ermmm… I haven’t really thought about it but I’ll probably tell Lewis and Charles, maybe Lando if I decide I can trust him with this”

The blonde nodded.

“I guess I’ll see you at the weekend”

“You will. I’ll be the one driving the really fast car” Why you said that, you have no idea. Was it your way of sounding confident or funny? If Leah’s chuckle is anything to go by then it was the latter.

#Snippet #leah Williamson x reader #woso x reader

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digitald0rk · 12 hours ago

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ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* NERD ALERT ! [ 2 ]

pairing : mark grayson x gn!reader.

synopsis : nerding out with your beloved bf :3

warnings : slightly suggestive and uh the usual pet names? he calls you his angel too <3 NOT PROOFREAD!! also mentions of dante sparda because the dmc anime is coming out 'm so excited!!!

w.c : 1.5 k.

a/n : THANK U SM FOR 200+ FOLLOWERS WHAT THE HELL SJSHJEHSLSKD. love you all <3

taglist : @vm4879bb-blog @hihowyoudoin00 @fairii-majii [ lemme know if you wanna be added too ]

READ PART [ 1 ] HERE !

if you're into video games, he's going out of his way to learn all about your faves.

when it comes to fighter games, thinks he's soooo slick looking up combos and learning them, he's all like “heh :3 gonna sweep them off their feet” and then gets absolutely BODIED LMAO.

if you show him no mercy he'll eventually start to get frustrated, not at you obviously you're his previous angel <3

“i’m not sulking.” he says, while clearly sulking. he was supposed to impress you! why are you so good at this :(

if he doesn't get a single win he's gonna suffocate one of your plushies when you're out of sight, it keeps staring at him, is that little fella mocking him? oh it'll pay for that.

you look at him amusedly when you come back to see the very obvious dent on your plushie, caused by a certain someone's fist.

“mark.” your eyes dart between the deformed head of your plushie and your boyfriend, biting back a smile.

“yeah baby?” he's all :3 bats his eyelashes all pretty at you, acting like he didn't just beat the shit out of your plushie like BOY YOU'RE NOT SLY.

but he is pretty, so you'll spare him, for now, not in the game though :p

on the topic of video games, he's actually decent at competitive games :] he loves playing them with you but if you die in the middle of a match he gets unmotivated to finish it (⁠-⁠_⁠-⁠;⁠)

unless someone was trying to rizz you up or something during the game then yeah, HE'S GOING TO WIN.

do not play dress to impress in front of this man, he gets awfully competitive about it.

“pretty sure even cecil can dress better than that.”

“baby i think that's an eight year old.”

“still, cecil has more drip.”

gets all smug when he wins, god forbid he's not in top three he's gonna go on a rant about how unfair the world is.

he'll always vote for your fits positively though! even though they might be…. questionable at times but he loves his baby :D

minecraft with your boyfriend is actually really fun! except he accidentally set the palace that you built on fire once and literally REFUSED to touch the game for weeks after that (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

will get sad if an animal dies :(

has names for all your dogs and cats, calls them your children.

“don't forget, we gotta feed our children babe.” he tells you, sipping on his milkshake.

and normally you'd smile and say something equally silly except for the fact that you two were currently hanging out with a couple of friends and that sentence certainly earned some looks.

“you two-”

“in minecraft!” you'd clarify, and cue the feigned annoyance filled groans and mutters of how you two are insufferable.

also one time he got so invested in building that he literally stayed up for ten hours, building the perfect wedding venue for you two!

asked [ forced ] everyone to make minecraft accounts and invited them all to your wedding in minecraft.

he kisses you in real life too when your characters “smooch” in the pixelated game.

he's gonna marry you for real one day, just you wait.

his irises turn into literal hearts when you pull up in a cosplay.

he would also love to cosplay with you!

bonus points if it's one of his favorite characters, his ass is NOT TAKING HIS HANDS OFF OF YOU LMAOOOOOO.

and if you two do end up getting freaky, like roleplaying as the characters then yeah rip bed.

matching literally anything! matching kirby socks? sure why the hell not. matching seance dog mugs? hell yeah! he's all for it!

and yes, you two have some nerdy matching pj set.

and matching underwear too :3 you jokingly bought them but he isn't playing around when he wears them seance dog boxers!

you both keep trying to recruit oliver in one of your favorite fandoms, although the little thraxan has other plans.

“guys no im not watching [ insert media name here ] !” “but oliverrr :(”

you're bother super annoying <3

sometimes mark will send you photos of oliver enjoying some piece of media you're into and act like a proud dad.

you two go to comic con together and get carried away, ending up with wayyy too much merch.

“mark, baby i love you but i don't think we need another signed poster.” you try reasoning with him, only to eat those words back the second he flashes you his sad puppy dog eyes.

you sigh, he really has you wrapped around his finger, doesn't he?

but you have him wrapped around your finger too, because when you look at him like that, asking him to take you to this signing event of your favorite foreign author, he wastes no time in picking you up and flying you wherever you want <3

no matter the time, he just wants to see his sweetheart happy :]

you two are insufferable with your references, sometimes people think you two are talking in some alien language.

rex hears mark on the phone, just who the hell is dante sparda? and why has mark mentioned this name like thirty thousand times in the past half an hour he's been on the phone with you?

as rex said, “you two match each other's freak to a degree that is dangerous to the public.”

“hey babe i got us these matching swords!” he smiles, all happy at four in the morning at your window like it's the most normal thing ever.

you squint a little before making out the sword's design, oh it's from your favorite game.

he doesn't protest in the slightest when you attack him with kisses, this is where he belongs.

he adores movie nights, you two cuddled up on his bed, watching something he loves? he's never been happier.

you two once had to stop making out because the plot got thicker, so you two locked in! even though your lips are swollen and shiny just like his from the shared passion a few minutes ago. he could care less about the next plot hole when you're right here, pressed up against him.

he can't stop staring at your lips, god you're addicting.

he snaps out of it when his favorite character dies though ⁠(⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠∧⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠:⁠ ⁠) aw man.

building legos together! he gets all bashful when you praise him when he finishes a part of the main piece.

reward him with kisses and he'll melt.

he once tried making you pancakes, except he tried to draw one of your favorite characters with the pancake batter. and he's no artist, but he tried his best.

he's now on his 48458th attempt and it's looking like your favorite character….a little….. not really.

he'll just douse them in maple syrup, that makes everything better.

when you question the odd shaped pancakes in your sleepy dazed state, he ends up telling you the truth, embarrassed.

but when you kiss him oh so softly, your kiss far sweeter than any maple syrup, his nervousness melts off until all there's left is you.

you and only you.

going to the sea and painting on the pebbles and rocks with him, he loves watching the sunlight reflect off of your hair, you look like an angel, his angel. and god your eyes-

“hey does this look like eric cartman?” you show him the paintwork on your rock, snapping him out of his lovesick trance.

“babe, why is he on ozempic?” that comment makes you two giggle.

he continues, “should've picked a bigger rock, my love.”

“i saved that one for you….. you know, if we were penguins i would you the shiniest, prettiest rock i could find, which is this one so….” you shift closer to him, placing the pretty rock onto his palm.

he presses a kiss to the side of your head, fiddling with the rock in his hand. “you're adorable.”

he presses a kiss to that same rock when he's away from you on a mission, it grounds him, knowing you're there, waiting for him.

when you two end up moving in together, unpacking things takes less time than decorating your shared room.

hanging posters with him, asking him if they're centred. putting your favorite figurines on the shelves along with your favorite comics, building your own safe haven. the whole room embodies you both so well, anyone who sets foot in this room would instantly be met with a bunch of your and his interests.

his dumbass <3 accidentally ends up leaving one of his figurines on the bed, so when you two are needily making out and grinding, excited that you two wouldn't have to be quiet or keep your voices down — straddling him and pushing him down on the bed, he lets out a small squeal of surprise.

you two stop, looking at each other all 0_0

“sorry, i think-” he starts, reaching behind his back to pull out the culprit of poking him in the back, and surely it was none other than his favorite seance dog figurine, the absurdity of it all is enough to make you chuckle, he laughs sheepishly with you. a little embarrassed that seance dog ruined the sexy atmosphere.

but when you put the figurine on the nightstand, turning it to face the wall, he realizes he's gonna have the best night of his life.

and oh boy was he right :3

#ㅤㅤ✶ㅤ digitald0rk's library !#WHY DOES TUMBLR ALLOW ONLY TEN PHOTOS :((((#invincible #mark grayson #invincible x reader #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #invincible fanfic #invincible fluff #mark grayson fanfic

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shaiyasstuff · 1 day ago

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wilted promises | sylus

synopsis : Once, he swore love was enough. He chose you despite his world of wealth and expectations, despite everything that should have kept you apart. But time has turned your marriage into a gilded cage, your love into something distant and fractured. The boy who once promised to protect you is now a man of cold silences and sharp words. As you stand among the ruins of what once was, you wonder—was it ever truly love, or just the fleeting illusion of it?

content : non-canon!, marriage!AU, Sylus is mean, ANGST with little comfort(?), reader goes insane, set in somewhat victorian era, painter!reader, childhood lovers.

writer’s note : I initially had no vision of how this would go but I winged it. (Also I do not own any pictures used, all creds go back to their creators)

parts : one | two

quote : "It’s amazing how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little pieces." – Ella Harper

“The datura blooms in the dark—beautiful, intoxicating, and laced with quiet poison. Much like love once promised, and now turned to ruin.”

The day you became his wife, you thought you were stepping into a dream—a life built on whispered promises and stolen glances.

But dreams fade quickly, and yours shattered beneath the weight of cold indifference.

Sylus, once the boy who traced love across your skin with gentle hands, had become a man of ice, his tenderness buried beneath sharp words and colder silences.

It’s been years since then.

Now, your marriage was a gilded cage, and you stood within it, wondering if the love you once shared was a lie—or if it still lingered, buried beneath the ruins of what you had become.

“I promise to you now, with this datura flower that I will protect and love you for all eternity!”

Do you still remember when you made that promise to me?

—•

It was like any other night when he held a celebration at the estate. The grand foyer buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses.

You tried to blend in, but it wasn’t enough.

He found you.

His hand seized your wrist, dragging you into the shadowed hallway. The wall was cold against your back as he pressed you into it.

“I warned you,” he muttered, voice low and sharp.

“Don’t act like you know me. It’s bad enough that I married you.”

You became a ghost in your own life, unseen and unwanted.

“You do not belong here.”

But still, everytime you looked up at him, your eyes shimmered with a tender, melancholic longing—an unspoken plea for a love that might one day heal your wounded soul.

Did you not say you would protect me forever?

You closed your eyes, as if shielding yourself from his harsh words, while you stood helpless, your own tears slipping free—mourning the love you deserved but were denied.

After a while, he released you, frustration flickering in his eyes as your silence offered no satisfaction. With a huff, he stormed off, leaving you alone with the echo of his absence.

You lingered for a moment, then pushed yourself off the wall that had held you captive. Your steps were slow but steady as you walked away, blinking back the sting of unshed tears, determined not to let them fall.

Because you understood him, you always did.

—•

You found yourself curled by the windowsill, your knees drawn tightly to your chest as though they could shield you from the heaviness pressing against your heart.

Your gaze stretched beyond the glass, tracing the endless expanse of the meadow, its silver-tinged grasses swaying gently beneath the hush of night.

Lifting your head, your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, lingered on the sky above, where countless stars glittered like scattered diamonds across a velvet canvas.

Their distant beauty seemed almost cruel, each shimmering point a quiet mockery of your own helplessness—so close to your longing, yet forever out of reach.

The moon hung low, casting a soft, ethereal glow that bathed the world in a ghostly silver sheen.

Its pale light painted the landscape with shadows and whispers, and within that stillness, you felt a hollow ache settle deep in your chest—a longing for something you could neither name nor grasp, a yearning as endless and unreachable as the stars themselves.

Your fingers trembled as they traced the delicate fabric of the scarf draped around your body—a fragile barrier against the chill that crept beneath your skin, a cruel reminder of the warmth you craved but could never grasp.

It was his warmth you longed for, the comfort of an embrace that now seemed as distant as the stars.

You closed your eyes, your heart aching as you sent a silent plea to the moon, begging it to carry you away, to lift you from the shadows that bound you.

You longed for escape, for freedom from the coldness that had settled not just in the room, but in the space where his love had once lived.

But your hands tightened around the scarf when you felt the sharp sting of realization.

How foolish you had been to seek escape when all you truly wanted was to stay—if only it meant feeling his warmth again.

How could you dream of running when your deepest yearning was not for freedom, but for the love you still clung to, the love that once made you feel alive?

How could you have been so blind, so desperate, to believe that fleeing would ease the ache when it was his love you craved most of all?

Your gaze remained fixed on the tranquil meadow beyond the window, its quiet beauty a stark contrast to the chaos that lingered behind you.

You didn’t turn, not even when the heavy shuffle of footsteps broke the silence, nor when the sharp, bitter scent of alcohol invaded the air.

You stayed still, rooted in place, unwilling to disturb the fragile calm you’d wrapped around yourself.

He stopped just short of you, his shadow falling over you like a cloud.

You felt his eyes on you, lingering, uncertain.

He swayed slightly, an uneasy smile tugging at his lips—one that never quite reached his eyes.

He’d stumble into the room, words slurred with remorse, apologies falling from his lips like broken promises.

And every time, you wondered if they held any truth.

Did he really regret it?

Or were his apologies just another habit, as hollow as the love that used to bind you?

“There’s my pretty wife,” he murmured, his voice soft but unsteady as he stumbled forward.

His hands were warm, almost tender, as they wrapped around your upper arms, pulling you gently against his chest.

You stiffened, but he didn’t seem to notice, burying his face into the curve of your neck.

The sharp scent of whiskey clung to his breath, stinging more than the words that followed.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered, the words broken, fragile.

“I never meant… never meant for things to end up like this.”

For a moment, your heart faltered, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of his vulnerability.

But it was a cruel warmth, laced with pain—because your heart wasn’t just softening, it was breaking. Over and over again.

Your expression softened despite the ache, and you coaxed him gently toward the bed, guiding him with a touch that was both careful and resigned.

He sank into the mattress, his body curling toward you, seeking comfort he didn’t deserve.

As his breathing slowed, heavy with exhaustion, his voice broke through the quiet one last time, a whisper soaked in regret.

“Why can’t I stop hurting you…?”

The question lingered, thick and suffocating. You said nothing, only brushed your fingers through his hair, your silence an answer in itself.

And as his breaths deepened and sleep took him, you stared at the shadows on the ceiling, your heart echoing the words you could never speak aloud.

“I ask myself that every day, Sy.”

—•

You stood by the mirror, your fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, smoothing it as if that could erase the doubt gnawing at you.

The softest of hopes lingered in your eyes, a silent question you didn’t dare voice.

He stood behind you, his reflection sharp and cold in the glass. His gaze slid over you, lingering too long, too critically, before his lips curled into something cruel.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The words sliced through the air, sharp and precise, cutting deeper than any blade. Your breath hitched, but you said nothing. You only lowered your gaze, focusing on the tremble in your hands, the sting in your chest.

Silence stretched between you both, heavy and suffocating.

He turned away first, already dismissing you, already walking out the door as though you were nothing more than a shadow.

You stayed where you were, staring into the mirror, wondering if the glass reflected the truth—or just the broken pieces of what you had once believed yourself to be.

—•

You woke with a start, your breath catching in your throat as the cold emptiness of the room pressed in around you.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The memories of that night rushed in like an unwelcome tide, blurring the edges of sleep with bitter reality.

But the harsh morning light, spilling cold and indifferent across the floor, offered no comfort.

The bed beside you was empty, cold, and the realization struck you like a blow to the gut.

You were still here, still trapped in this hollow existence, your hopes dangling by the thinnest of threads.

Later, you sat in the quiet of the garden.

The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and wilting blossoms.

It should have been peaceful, but the silence weighed heavy, mirroring the ache in your chest.

A servant approached, his footsteps soft against the stone path.

He set down a tray with careful hands, his gaze lingering on your face, etched with sadness too deep to hide.

His smile was gentle, laced with understanding—he had seen enough to know the truth that lingered behind closed doors.

He spoke softly, his voice carrying a warmth you rarely felt anymore.

“Missus, I’ve brought your tea. Would you like me to pour it for you?”

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint smile, though it barely touched your eyes.

The servant poured the tea with steady hands, the delicate stream of amber liquid filling the porcelain cup. Steam rose in soft tendrils, curling into the morning air like a ghost of comfort, ephemeral and fleeting.

You watched in silence, your gaze distant, as though the simple ritual might offer you some measure of solace.

But the warmth of the tea would be fleeting, just like everything else you had once believed in.

The red datura bloomed in defiant splendor, their crimson petals unfurling like drops of blood against the pale green leaves.

Each flower stood as a silent testament to the pain you carried, a reflection of the suffering that rooted itself deep within your soul.

As you sat in the garden, the delicate porcelain cup warm between your fingers, you couldn’t help but remember his words—sharp and cutting, carved into your memory like stone.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The bitterness of the tea was nothing compared to the bitterness of those words, still echoing in your mind.

Your fingers trembled as they reached out, tracing the soft outline of a datura’s petal.

The texture was smooth, delicate, a stark contrast to the raw ache in your heart.

For a fleeting moment, the flower’s beauty offered you a distraction, something to focus on besides the hollow weight of rejection.

The garden was your only refuge, the one place where silence was a comfort rather than a weapon.

Here, you could be alone with your thoughts, your pain, and the quiet longing that pulsed through you like a second heartbeat.

“I wish I was as beautiful as you,” you whispered, your voice fragile and uncertain, the words trembling on the edge of hope and despair.

It wasn’t just a wish—it was a desperate plea, a longing to be seen, to be wanted, to be loved in the way you once believed was possible.

The daturas swayed gently in the breeze, their movements soft and graceful, as though they had heard you and offered some unspoken comfort.

But their beauty only deepened the hollow ache within you, a cruel reminder of all that you were not.

The flowers were perfect, untouched by harsh words or cold gazes.

And as you looked upon them, you wondered if you would ever feel beautiful again—or if you had ever truly been so at all.

As you stared at the delicate petals of the flower, you wondered if you would ever truly find acceptance, not just from your husband, but from yourself.

The doubts and fears you carried weighed heavy on your heart, a constant reminder of your unhappiness.

Loneliness was your constant companion.

“What happened to eternity?”

You were not born beneath gilded ceilings or within the embrace of wealth.

Your hands knew the weight of labor, your feet the uneven paths of cobbled streets.

You did not have the luxury of a name that commanded respect, nor the safety of connections that shielded one from the world’s cruelties.

You had nothing but your own spirit, your own quiet resilience.

And yet, against all odds, he loved you.

Once.

In the early days, his love had been a promise whispered beneath moonlit skies, a vow pressed into your palm like something sacred.

He had looked at you as if the stars themselves had settled in your eyes, as if wealth and status were mere trifles before the force of what you shared.

You had thought he did not care for such things.

That love, your love, was enough.

When he took your hand and led you into his world, you believed it was because nothing else mattered—his family’s disdain, the weight of his image, the whispers of high society.

He had chosen you despite them all.

And in return, you had given him everything.

But time has a cruel way of unraveling the illusions we cherish.

Now, you stand upon uncertain ground, watching the distance between you grow wider with each passing day.

The love that once defied the world now wilts under the weight of expectations, of cold glances and unspoken regrets.

You search his eyes for the boy who once swore to love you, but all you find is a man sculpted by duty, hardened by obligation.

And for the first time, you wonder—was it ever truly love?

Or had you simply been a dream he once indulged, only to wake and realize it had no place in his world?

—•

“I’ll protect you from all harm,” the young boy had said, silver hair gleaming under the sun, red eyes sharp with confidence.

He had pushed a red datura behind your ear, his smirk as bold as his promise.

“I’ll marry you and take care of you for the rest of my life. You can’t escape me.”

You had only beamed up at him, your laughter light and carefree. “Okay!” you had giggled, eyes crinkling into crescents, unaware of the weight those words would one day carry.

It was true. You couldn’t escape. You didn’t want to.

You stood in the garden, fingers brushing over the dark blooms—black and red daturas that thrived beneath your gentle hands.

You misted them gently, marveling at their deceptive beauty, at how something so poisonous could flourish under your care.

A low, gruff voice broke the silence behind you. “May I join you?”

Ah, your beloved.

You gestured for him to sit while you continued tending to your flowers. Even as sunlight bathed the garden, a shadow seemed to linger—an unseen presence, like the grim reaper waiting to claim the death of what remained between you.

“Why do you love daturas so much?”

You could’ve told him about the care and patience it took, the time you’d poured into nurturing them.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

“No reason,” you said softly.

Because he doesn’t even remember why.

—•

As the years passed, and you learned to exist in the quiet, in the absence of warmth and words.

The house now felt colder, larger, echoing with memories that no longer seemed to belong to you.

You moved through it like a shadow, your steps soft, your eyes distant. You learned to stop waiting—for his gaze, his words, his apologies.

You caught glimpses of him, glass in hand, shoulders heavy with regret he wouldn’t voice.

There were nights you heard him outside your door, a faint presence, as if he lingered there, torn between entering and walking away.

But he never knocked.

Never crossed the threshold.

And that hurt more than his anger ever had.

It was simply easier to pretend you didn’t notice.

Easier to let the silence stretch between you both like a vast, impassable sea.

You couldn’t bear to reach for him again, to extend your hand only to feel it slapped away by his indifference.

So, you built your own walls.

You found comfort in the loneliness, in the numbness that settled over you like a shroud.

If he wouldn’t come to you, if he wouldn’t speak, then you would learn to exist without him.

And yet, when you sat by the window, eyes on the dark horizon, there were moments when you thought you felt him standing there, just beyond the door.

Close, but not close enough.

That’s what was painful. Not the insults. Not the cruelty.

The distance that seemed to stretch on forever.

The distance that he did not dare cross.

—•

A giggle echoed through the empty, abandoned chapel.

A young girl stood radiant in the wedding gown her father had sacrificed his life’s savings for, its fabric a symbol of hope and dreams.

Beside her, young Sylus looked dashing in his tuxedo, his hands warm as they clasped hers.

Two souls, bound by innocent promises, painfully unaware of the cruel, unrelenting pull of the future.

Now, you sob quietly, your forehead pressed against the cool pane of glass.

Outside, the trees sway gently, whispering their silent consolation.

The moon drapes the world in silver, casting a serene glow that masks the storm within you.

In these moments of despair, you wonder how your life has unraveled into this—a marriage in name only, a gilded prison built from wealth and social standing.

A promise once made in love, now broken beneath the weight of reality.

You could have left—walked away from it all and started anew.

But you didn’t.

Some deep, stubborn part of you still clings to the hope that he could change, that beneath the hardened facade, the boy you once loved could be saved.

But the more reasonable part of your mind whispers the truth you try so hard to ignore.

People like him don’t change, no matter how badly you want them to.

No, because to you.

He’s still the boy you loved all those years ago.

You wanted to believe in love’s power to heal, to transform.

You wanted to believe that love could reach into the coldest heart and warm it again.

But the more you let yourself fall into nostalgia, the sharper the ache in your chest becomes.

“How could I have loved him?”

The thought tears through you, painful and bitter.

It’s as though you’re seeing the world for the first time since your youth—seeing it without the haze of love that had shielded you from the truth.

And with that clarity came pain, sharp and unyielding, as if the illusion you’d clung to had shattered all at once.

You surrendered.

Because he’s gone.

—•

You were in the garden again today, much like all your days.

You were knelt in front of the bed of daturas that you had so painstakingly nurtured to life.

They were your hope, your last thread tethering you to him.

You heard the familiar crunch of footsteps behind you again, only this time, they sounded angry.

You turned around to see your beloved.

But.

It all happened too fast.

Snap.

“..no..”

Crunch.

“…stop...”

Snap.

“…please...”

Crack.

Another stem bent, snapping underfoot, followed by the weightless thud of a petal hitting the ground, fading into the soft rustle of the air.

You silently fell to your knees, reaching for the broken remains.

Your hands trembled as they hovered over the crushed petals, fingertips brushing over them as if trying to piece the beauty back together.

But nothing could fix it now.

Your garden lay ruined—just as your love had long been.

You knelt among the wreckage, your fingers ghosting over the ruined flowers as if touch alone could mend what was lost.

The soil was still warm, the scent of crushed blooms lingering in the air—faintly sweet, but tinged with bitterness.

It felt like a funeral, not just for the daturas, but for every unspoken word, every quiet hope you’d buried deep within yourself.

He stood above you, silent and unmoving, his shadow falling over you like a storm cloud.

Yet he said nothing, offered no apology, no explanation.

Perhaps there was none to give.

And as you gathered the shattered petals into your trembling hands, your heart echoed with a single, hollow truth—some things, once broken, could never be made whole again.

You didn’t cry—you simply sat there, as if mourning something deeper than flowers. Something far older, far more fragile.

It wasn’t just the flowers he’d destroyed that morning.

—•

Days blurred into weeks, and the grand, empty halls of your home became suffocating.

You stopped reaching for him, stopped pleading for affection that was never returned.

Your tears had long dried, your heart hardened beneath the weight of rejection and cruelty.

You retreated into yourself, building walls of cold indifference that even his sharpest words couldn’t pierce.

It was safer this way.

You met it all with silence.

Your face an emotionless mask.

You wouldn’t offer him another fragment of your heart.

Not when he had crushed it beneath his heel so many times before.

You became a shadow, drifting through rooms that once held memories of laughter and hope.

You lingered in the garden, not for solace, but out of habit.

You sat by the fire, not for comfort, but because the silence was easier to bear than his presence.

And though it hurt—God, it hurt— you told yourself this was better.

Safer.

Because indifference was easier than hope, and distance was easier than love.

And yet, you knew he was there.

He was always there.

You felt his presence linger just beyond the doorway, heavy and hesitant.

But you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him.

What was the point? Words had failed you long ago.

The glass trembled in your hand, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill in the air or the ache in your heart.

You traced the rim of the glass with slow, deliberate motions, focusing on the sensation, on anything but the weight of his stare.

Once, you might’ve called to him.

Once, you would have reached out, hoping for warmth, for comfort, for the man you had loved in another life.

But that man was gone, buried beneath cold words and cruel actions. And the woman you had been?

You weren’t sure if there was anything of you left.

So you sat there, still and silent, letting the firelight dance across your face.

If he wanted to speak, he would.

If he wanted to leave, he would. It didn’t matter.

Because you were already alone anyway.

You heard him take a hesitant step forward.

“I never wanted it to be like this.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your gaze still fixed on the fire. “But it is.”

His jaw tightened. “It doesn’t have to be.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft but sharp.

“I was angry,” he said, his words rushed, desperate.

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew. You just didn’t care.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “I care now.”

“It’s too late, leave.”

The words settled between you, heavy and final.

“Fine,” he growled, bitterness lacing his words.

“Stay in your prison, then,” he said, his voice sharp as glass.

“It’s what you seem to want.”

And with that, he walked away, the finality of his words lingered like smoke in the air.

You didn’t move. You didn’t call after him.

But as the silence settled, a single tear traced the curve of your cheek, falling into your lap—silent, unseen, and unanswered.

His footsteps echoed down the hall, each one hammering against the walls of your heart.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak.

You remained by the fire, your gaze fixed on nothing, your hands cold and still.

The finality of his words echoed in your mind, bitter and heavy.

Stay in your prison, then.

You swallowed hard, the tear slipping down your cheek burning like acid against your skin.

But you didn’t wipe it away.

You let it fall, let it soak into the fabric of your dress, a quiet mark of pain you refused to acknowledge.

Because wasn’t this your prison?

These walls, this silence, this love turned to ash?

It’s what you seem to want.

He’s wrong.

You had wanted him—his warmth, his love, his promise of forever.

You had wanted the boy who once tucked a datura flower behind your ear and vowed to protect you.

But that boy was long gone, replaced by a man who wielded his cruelty like a weapon.

And yet, even as you sat there, your heart breaking in the quiet, you could still feel the remnants of that old love clinging to you like a child.

Love that refused to die, no matter how much pain it cost you.

You let the silence fill the room, heavy and suffocating, and wondered if this was how it would end—not with screams or accusations, but with quiet indifference, with love burned down to its embers.

Still, you waited.

Even after his footsteps had faded into the depths of the house, after the walls swallowed the last echo of his retreat, you waited for him to come back.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, filling the space where his presence had once been.

But he never did.

The realization struck you like a blade to the chest, sharp and merciless.

He wasn’t coming back.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever—not to that room, not to you, not to the memory of the promises you had once shared.

Your breath shuddered, a ragged, broken thing that tore through the stillness.

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as if pain could anchor you to something real, something that wasn’t crumbling beneath you.

And perhaps that was the cruelest wound of all.

Not his harsh words. Not the fights.

Not even the destruction of the things you had once held dear.

It was this—his absence.

His choice to walk away, to leave you there in the cold wreckage of your love.

His silence said more than any apology ever could.

He had left you.

Willingly.

And you hated him for it.

But more than that, you hated yourself for still wishing he would come back.

—•

Mindlessly, you began to paint with swift, deliberate strokes.

You drew upon the storm of anger and sorrow within you, channeling every raw emotion into the canvas.

Colors bled and swirled, each hue a reflection of your inner turmoil, a silent confession of all you could not speak.

When you finally leaned back, surprise flickered in your eyes.

There, staring back at you, was a portrait of your husband—his gaze dark, piercing, and unrelenting.

The image was shadowed yet captivating, an honest depiction of the conflicting emotions he stirred within you.

Your heart splintered beneath the weight of realization.

No matter how cruel he had become, you still loved him—the boy who had once held your hands and whispered comfort into the darkness.

It was a bittersweet truth, a love laced with quiet agony.

How could you still care for a man who brought you nothing but pain?

How could the warmth of old memories survive beneath the shadow of his cruelty?

As your emotions tangled with the strokes of your brush, you traced the outline of a delicate datura blossom along the portrait’s edge.

Its beauty was deceptive, hiding a venomous danger beneath its soft petals.

Just like him.

You were exhausted. The relentless push and pull had begun to erode you, wearing you down piece by piece.

Staring at your creation—those crimson eyes that seemed to pierce through you—as the weight of it all crashed over your body.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but it couldn’t muffle the sobs that tore free, raw and broken.

The loneliness of the room closed in, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.

That was the moment your descent into madness began.

—•

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t even pause.

Another painting—another part of your memories, another part of the past you shared, slipped into the fire, its edges curling as the flames devoured it with you alongside with it.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need them anymore,” you said, your voice low, steady.

“They were only ever reminders of what I could never have.”

You didn’t need them.

You didn’t need him.

“Everything can burn for all I care.”

—•

It had been days since you had last eaten a proper meal, and your body felt as though it was devouring itself from the inside out.

Hunger gnawed at you, a relentless ache that clawed through your stomach and seeped into your bones.

Each movement was sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, and the simple act of standing felt like a battle against your own frailty.

The meals prepared by the staff, once rich and enticing, now repulsed you. The aroma that drifted through the halls, once comforting, now turned your stomach.

Everything tasted of ash and regret, and the thought of swallowing even a morsel felt impossible.

You weren’t sure if it was defiance or despair that drove your refusal, but either way, you welcomed the sharp pangs of hunger.

It was a punishment you could control, a pain of your own choosing.

Your gaze lingered on the portrait—your hollow eyes, the pallor of your painted skin.

The woman in the frame looked brittle, fragile, like she might break with a single breath. Perhaps she would.

The datura blossom in your painted hair mocked you, its delicate beauty a cruel contrast to your suffering.

Like the flower, you were toxic—wilting beneath the weight of your own pain.

And with each passing day, as your body weakened and your ribs pressed sharper against your skin, you wondered how long it would take before you faded completely.

You watched as it burned, the flames hungrily consuming the portrait until it was nothing but a pile of smoldering ash.

A hollow ache settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. The image of yourself—those tired eyes, that weary smile—crumbled beneath the heat, dissolving into smoke and shadow.

Yet, even as the portrait vanished, the bitterness it had captured lingered, thick in the air, clinging to you like a second skin.

You stared at the ashes at your feet, feeling as though they mirrored your own ruin.

All the hurt, all the broken pieces of your heart, lay scattered there—burnt and lifeless.

And yet, beneath the weight of it all, one truth pulsed relentlessly within you.

You loved him. You still did.

Despite every cruel word, every wound he carved into your soul, your heart remained bound to him.

You had wanted nothing more than to love him, to be enough, to be seen and cherished by the boy who once promised to protect you.

And that was the final straw.

Not the sharp sting of his words, nor the weight of his silence.

But the slow, aching truth that love had unraveled between your fingers.

Thread by thread, until nothing remained but emptiness where warmth once lived.

—•

It’s been weeks.

You stood there, watching him from the threshold, the dim light casting shadows across his face.

The man slouched in the armchair was no longer the Sylus you had once known.

There was no trace of the boy who had promised to protect you, nor the man you’d vowed to love.

All that remained was a hollow shell drowning in liquor and self-loathing.

His laugh echoed in the stillness, sharp and cruel, but it did nothing to stir your heart. You felt nothing.

No anger.

No pity.

Only emptiness.

This was who he had become, and maybe who he had always been.

Your eyes lingered on the glass in his hand, the tremor in his fingers, the desperation in his gaze.

You wondered if it was the alcohol that made his voice so brittle, or if it was the weight of regret.

Either way, it wasn’t your burden to bear anymore.

When he raised his glass and whispered, “To strangers, then,” you didn’t flinch.

You didn’t speak.

There was nothing left to say.

Some things didn’t deserve words.

Only silence.

And so, you turned. Your footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the shadows.

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t need to.

The sound of glass shattering behind you was the only thing you needed—a final, broken farewell.

—•

Soon, you holed yourself in the studio, the scent of turpentine and oil paints thick in the air, wrapping you like a drunken haze.

You painted with a feverish intensity, your hands trembling, your eyes wide and unfocused.

The brush moved as though guided by something outside of your control—desperate, frantic, relentless.

And always, it was daturas.

Daturas blooming in the dark.

Daturas wilting beneath heavy skies.

Daturas twisting around faceless figures, their vines coiling like serpents.

You painted them over and over, their red and black, poisonous petals staining the canvas like blood.

You whispered to them as you worked, your words soft and broken. “You’re all I have left,” you’d murmur, your fingers tracing the curve of painted petals.

“You’re the only ones who stayed.”

You looked deranged, the way you watched them dry, your gaze lingering as though they were speaking back to you.

You no longer saw the man who had torn you apart—only the flowers. Only the symbols of beauty, of danger, of betrayal.

They were your audience, your confidants, the only ones who understood the hollow ache gnawing inside you.

Sleep and food became distant memories.

You survived on bitter sips of water and the scent of paint.

Your body grew weaker, your mind sharper—every shadow in the corner of the room another datura blooming on a canvas.

And sometimes, you swore they bloomed for you.

You swore they watched you, their pale faces turned toward you as though they, too, mourned the pieces of yourself you’d lost.

“Ah, what pretty datura.” You’d say as you admired your work.

The brush quivered in your grip, dragging across the canvas with trembling intensity. Your voice, low and sharp, sliced through the silence.

“I promise to protect you from all harm.”

Stroke. A smear of red, like blood blooming on white.

“To love and care for you.”

Drag. The bristles tore the paint, rough and unforgiving.

“I’ll marry you and make you the happiest girl in the world!”

Scrape. Hard, cruel, final.

You laughed—a jagged, broken sound that echoed off the walls, sharp with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Oh, how happy I am,” you whispered mockingly.

The datura bloomed beneath your brush, dark and venomous. A twisted parody of love, petals inked with betrayal.

Each stroke felt like a wound reopened, each flower a grave for every promise he’d shattered.

Soon, the datura multiplied. Like a plague of ghostly blooms spreading across the canvases, like a sickness you couldn’t escape.

Each stroke was feverish, each flower more twisted, more grotesque than the last—petals like blades, stems like nooses.

They weren’t just paintings; they were screams, confessions, curses etched in oil and pain.

The studio reeked of turpentine and madness, suffocating in its intensity.

The walls closed in, adorned with your torment, each canvas a tombstone for the love you’d buried with your own hands.

What was once a sanctuary had become a crypt, a shrine to the betrayal that gnawed at your bones.

And still, you painted.

As if capturing the poison would give you control over it.

As if every brushstroke could bleed the agony from your veins.

The words echoed in your mind like a chant, a twisted mantra that danced around your thoughts, taunting you with the remnants of something you had once believed in.

Your fingers gripped the brush tighter, the bristles scraping the canvas with a violence that mirrored the chaos inside you.

Your movements were robotic, each stroke deliberate yet erratic.

The red of the datura on the canvas burned like a fever in your veins, painting the room in a scarlet haze.

You couldn’t escape them.

They consumed you.

Its delicate petals now mocking you, reminding you of every promise broken.

Every hope crushed.

The words from him, once sweet and tender, were now nothing more than a cruel joke.

“Your eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

They were beautiful, yes, but they had dried from endless tears, had grown cold from the endless betrayals.

The sparkle had dulled, replaced by an emptiness you couldn’t fill, not even with the most feverish painting session.

Your laugh was hollow, a bitter sound that barely rose above a whisper.

Your eyes flicked back to the canvas, staring into the crimson abyss you had created.

The flowers stared back at you, indifferent, cold—like him.

The promise of beauty and love had been nothing but a lie.

You dropped the brush, your hands trembling, covered in paint you did not bother to wash.

You were consumed by the endless sea of datura, but you knew one thing for certain: you were never going to escape.

“I’ll always protect you.”

“What a beautiful lie.”

Insanity came knocking, and you had welcomed it.

—•

Day and night, you remain in front of the easel, lost in a whirlwind of crimson and black, colors that bleed from your heart onto the canvas.

The vibrant hues reflect the chaos within you, the echoes of a silver-haired man who once vowed to protect you, only to become the shadow that haunts your steps.

Your mind becomes consumed with painting, each stroke of your brush a desperate attempt to give shape to the emotions you can no longer voice.

The portraits of blood-red daturas that bloom across your canvases are more than mere art—they are confessions, silent screams captured in color.

Every petal, every shadow is a testament to the love and agony entwined within you.

Your art becomes your only sanctuary, the brush your sole weapon against the pain.

Each painting is a battle fought in silence, an offering of your soul laid bare, layer by layer, stroke by stroke.

And though your hands ache and your eyes burn, you paint on—because it is the only way to feel again.

You could feel his eyes on you, heavy and searching.

There was a time when his gaze had meant the world to you—a silent approval you craved, a warmth you clung to.

But that woman is gone, buried beneath years of indifference and pain.

Now, his stare feels like a shadow, something you can step out of whenever you choose.

“Came to see the show?” Sarcastic, bitter.

His eyes flickered, confused, surprised.

A part of you wants to feel satisfaction at that, but all you feel is emptiness.

He can no longer break you, because there is nothing left to break.

And yet, beneath your calm exterior, something aches.

The smallest, cruelest part of you wonders if he would fight for you, if he would peel back the layers of distance and try to reach you like he once had.

But the silence between you both only stretches, confirming what you already know.

He wouldn’t.

He never would.

Let him linger in the doorway, unsure and powerless.

You were done waiting.

—•

The studio felt like a tomb, every inch of the room suffocating with the weight of your despair.

The canvas is an unforgiving witness to the storm that has consumed you—a mixture of vivid reds and sickly hues, each stroke painted with the agony of a love that has withered to nothing.

The datura flowers bloom in grotesque profusion, their twisted forms reflecting the nightmare your life has become.

But it isn’t just the canvas that carries the weight of your pain.

You feel it in your body—your very soul burning with exhaustion.

Your hands tremble violently as you tried to reach up to your mouth.

You can taste the blood, warm and metallic, as it splatters across the canvas.

Each breath feels like it could be your last, the world around you blurring as darkness creeps in from the edges of your vision.

You felt warm hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you with desperate urgency.

You try to focus, to make sense of the blurry figure hovering above you, but your mind is fading.

Sylus..?

Your heart, heavy with confusion and sorrow, still called out to him, the name slipping past your lips as though it were a forgotten prayer.

His pale face swims into view, panic etching every line of his features, his wild, silver hair rippled softly as he shook your shoulders, those carmine eyes that you loved so much reflected panic, but you can’t find the energy to care about him anymore.

You had no more strength left.

The world around you grows distant as you fall into unconsciousness, the last thing you see—the twisted flowers you have painted and the shattered remnants of what once was.

And for a fleeting moment, you wish that you could forget it all.

It’s the last bit of warmth, a small comfort before everything slips away into the darkness.

“Ah, what pretty datura.”

161 notes · View notes

yandere-wishes · 2 days ago

Note

Okay I have another idea for the Batwoman!fam au

Imagine if Damian’s darling wasn’t good at training at the League of Assassins, sure she is the child of two assassins who were hand picked to make her, but she is also being trained to me a wife and mother, and those two roles don’t always line up. She just can’t make herself kill, no matter how hard she tries. She is a perfect fit for being a vigilante because she can fight and extremely well at that, she just can’t kill.

Or another idea, because Cass was made to be the perfect weapon and, there is the idea of her parents being skilled assassins, so like what if Cass and Damian’s darling were sisters, half sisters maybe or full blooded, but just they never knew it because they were raised away from each other and they had no idea because there was no reason to know because they were born for very different purposes.

-lots of love❤️🪽

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Darling, I love how your brain works. It's true Damian's darling would be a perfect vigilante. Strong but kind. I think maybe that's what draws her to Kate in the first place seeing someone so strong, so skilled yet still riddled with compassion. For the first time in forever she doesn't feel weak or misplaced, she's finally found another like her…

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ As for her and Cass being sisters, that would be a cool dynamic!! Lord knows I have the BIGGEST crush on David Cain (I want to be sandwiched between him and Deathstroke so BADLY) so having him be the reader's bio dad would certainly be interesting. I mean reader wouldn't know it, she never needed to know it. Her whole world was supposed to be Damian, he was the only relevant thing in her life Talia made sure of that. I guess that could add to the reasons Kate was so eager to take her away. She wanted the poor girl to at least experience having a semi-normal family. I seriously wish there was more media for David Cane, it would make it easier to incorporate him into the story lol.

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Anyway have my rambles on "No Killing" (Corvid) reader and the tortures she gets put through thanks to Damian~❤️❤️

‧₊˚ ⏾. ⋅ Song: Crimson and Cloverby Joan Jett

There's a contradiction festering within you. You try to gulp it down, to drown its bitter taste with rich irons and salts. But the dreaded thing won't die, it screams and wails into the night. The iron rots between your teeth, pricking needles into your tongue.

Satisfy or defy. You don't know which is which any longer.

Damian holds your hand as you lurk through the foreign palace, his fingers are curled tightly against yours squeezing at random intervals as he twirls his sword. "I've beheaded their king, rotten old man didn't even put up a fight." you offer him a sweet smile, as silent congratulation. Not that he needs it, no, Damian Al'Ghul doesn't need to be reminded of his worth, his merit. Instead, you do, you need to follow the rules laid out, down to the miserable T. If you don't, well, you wouldn't know what else to do.

There's a soldier writhing on the cobblestone floor, he spits when he sees the two of you when the emerald green of the uniform registers for an omen of death. Damian scowls "You dare disrespect the demon's heir?" he's about to slice the man's neck when he stops. The sunrise reflects terribly off the silver of his sword.

"I apologize," he says turning stiffly towards you, there's specks of pink blooming across his cheeks. As he shifts from one foot to the other. "You may have this kill, my lady."

The way he calls you his, makes your blood run cold. It's like being reminded to breathe, being reminded of rigid realities.

"I-I don't really feel-" he cuts you off by dragging you closer. Pushing you down until you're kneeling above the man. Damian slips his hunting knife into your palm and laces his fingers with yours once more. The oriented blade comes down bursting the jugular vein wide open. The soldier's blood spills onto your face painting you in that unholy crimson shade.

You feel the bile rising, the acid burning as you try to hold it in. Damian gingerly laps at the blood on your cheek. His warm tongue feels like the embers of hell melting through your flesh. He pulls you onto his lap, giggling sardonically as he kisses the gore clean, teeth pecking at your neck and collarbones. Wringing the skin in definite signs of himself. You stay frozen, suffocating, you don't bother guiding his hands or whispering love stories into his ears. You don't do as you were taught. Instead, you stand still. Waiting for the world to pass.

The sun oozes from the horizon. It looks like a blood fountain. You feel sick again.

That night you claw at your throat until the blood sweeps out. The tears don't stop, they flow down your pretty face until your eyes are as red as the soldier's crimson blood across the blade. Your nails pick at the lovebites, at Damian's essence across your skin. You wish you could peel them off like stickers. You wish you could be clean again.

You pray Damian dosen't notice your eyes when he sneaks into your room. But he never does, instead he nuzzles into your neck lulled off to peaceful sleep. Never once haunted by the lives he's taken.

You try to close your eyes. To sleep away the dread. But his body reeks of the insufferable substance, crismon and iron. Your most hated endeavor. You push your face into the pillows, trying to ward off the scent.

By morning the smell will cover you too. That perfect murderous perfume. Shouldn't you love it though? Shouldn't it remind you of your husband-to-be?

Master Talia says your father was one of the greatest assassins the league has ever fostered. His skills rival Batman and Deathstroke. You don't like how the information coils across your brain, slithering into the neurons filling you with anguish. How your veins pulse with the blood of a killer.

'You did this to me' you want to scream when your master's back is turned. 'You broke me!' Your master may be the only parent you've ever known, but you still can't stifle the blame. She had you birthed to be a contradiction. A mother and a killer. She had her finest birth an anomaly just so she could ensure her son a lover. You hate her for it…

And yet whenever she hugs Damian you are reminded that she loves you too. That she raised you to be her place holder once her time has come. She is in everyway your mother and in every way your tormentor.

You can never be her. You can never stomach the blood.

The problem with Gotham, your master says, is that it always finds a way to send its filth to the league.

You watch tentatively as she lands a kick across the intruder's back. Watch as she stabs her blade between the woman's ribs and claws at her eyes with her nails.

Damian stands beside you blade drawn. He's ready to engage upon command. Ready to protect. But Talia never calls her son, there is a personal vendentate in the way she mauls the woman.

The woman never once draws her blade. The batwoman with the blood-red hair doesn't kill. Her stance, her punches, her kicks. They hold no mortality. They are used in defense, offense, to hurt and protect…

But they are not made to kill. She is not made to kill.

She is just like you.

There is a bat who flies into your window on nights when the Demon's hire is not lurking inside your chambers. She tells you tales of a land shrouded in darkness, where a single king quarrels vigorously against the evil permeating his kingdom. She speaks of him with such respect, with a stiff adoration like resisting patronymic psalms. She tells you how brave you are for sparing blood. She says you are like her, like him, in every way. Singing lullabies of a world where blood isn't shed. Where justice reigns supreme.

She makes your chest swell with hope.

"I had a nightmare" you confess. The lady in red…and black -Kate as she insists you call her- only kneels down, her bloody smile pleasant, calming.

"What kind of nightmare?" she asks with a tone you can't quite place. "I was drowning" There was a pause, four heartbeats, yours and hers before you continued. "The water was red, I could feel them pulling me down." She looks at you with slight terror ringing across her eyes.

She cradles your cheek in her hand before pulling you close. It's not the bone-crushing hugs Damian gives you. The possessive vice of a dragon who knows you belong to him. It's not the rare ceremonial pat on the back that Master Talia offers from time to time. No, it feels warm and worried. Tight and soft and all so sweet. There is no warning no definitive. It is simply meant to comfort.

It feels like love. At least you hope it does.

Damian pulls you into an empty room after your training. His lips are on yours biting the chapped skin, licking your teeth, and pushing his tongue inside. "I missed you" he mumbles sternly as he cradles your body closer.

He's been gone all week. Accompanying his Grandfather on a mission in the east. You don't ask for details, because you know that he will tell you. He will spare no macabre piece as he tells you how he snuffed the life of those Master Ra's has deemed sinners.

You can still smell the blood on him as he rakes his fingers through your hair. Kissing down your shoulder and arm. Sucking and biting the pulse point on your wrist. "I love you" he admits through a sigh. Like a gulp of air after being submerged for far too long.

"I love you too…" you lie.

"You could come back with me" she offers one night sheepishly biting her lip and looking out at the crescent moon. "Back to Gotham I mean, you'd be safe there, happier too I think." You pause for a moment, staring at her, she doesn't smell of bloodshed or duty. Only lavender and responsibility.

Kate Kane, you roll her name around in your mouth, letting the letters morph and crack until they almost spell "Mother".

You nod.

In Gotham, you thought you were free. Free from that atrocious scent of blood. Free from the man you didn't love. But now the demon's heir has come to Gotham.

Damian's hands wrap around your neck, it reminds you of the times you used to hold hands. His voice is distorted all anger and accusations.

He no longer omits that gruesome aroma. But you know better, you know who's holding his leash. You know he'll snap the moment his father looks away.

He's violence born, and violence raised. That will never change.

You're in an alleyway having been confronting a thief mere moments ago. Routine patrol, until he had showed up. Emerged from the shadows just like in your nightmares. You'd thought he'd tackle the thief, play Prince Charming, and try to "protect" you. But instead, he'd targeted you. Thrown you to the ground and screamed as he laid punches across your body.

"Why did you leave me?"

It sounds so innocent, so juvenile A little boy with a broken heart. But your bones start to bruise under his fists. And you know this is no little boy, no, this is a monster.

Damian gets up quietly, he stalks closer and closer to the terrified man. You hear the haunting sound of a sword being unsheathe, close your eyes and wait for the misreable sound of blade against flesh. But it never comes, instead there's a painful tug on your hair, pulling you up.

Damian wraps your hand around his sword, fingers entwined his breath hot on your neck. "Please don't" You beg between sobs. "I have to" he mutters as he brings your hands down slicing the man from his shoulder to his hip. The body falls and so do you.

Damina kneels next to you, wrapping his arm around your body and tucking your head beneath his chin. There are blood drops on your face, the odor invading your senses, suffocating you until your breath hitches far too tightly.

"Kill me, please just kill me and end this." you plead looking up into his sparkling emerald eyes.

"Darling I can't. I wouldn't. You were born to be mine, it's your legacy, your destiny. You are mine, no matter how far you run, no matter who you masquerade as. You are mine and you always will be."

You bury your face into his chest, crying harder and harder, silently you plead for your mother to find you to save you. You don't want to belong to the demon again…

I have an interesting twist I'd like to implement into the story for who her mother could be…. But we'll talk about that some other time.

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desperate-gay · 13 hours ago

Note

Can u write a Alex Morgan x reader fic where reader is pregnant

My Girls

Alex Morgan x fem!reader

it’s a little childish universe✨

summary: amidst the chaos of her busy schedule, alex is reminded that home is where her heart truly belongs

“And then you remember that Charlie has a half day of school tomorrow, right? I have no idea who is supposed to pick her up with all the media duties I have, and Servando is out of town—”

“Alex, baby, take a breath for me, okay?” You gently cut off her rambling, worried she might explode if she tries to think one more thought.

Your wife inhales deeply, holding the breath for a few seconds before exhaling shakily. Her eyes remain closed as she gives a small nod, signaling that she’s okay.

“I will pick up our daughter after our morning training session tomorrow while you take care of everything else. No need to worry, my love.” You offer her a reassuring smile, running your hands up and down her arms in comfort.

Alex leans into your touch, her forehead falling against your shoulder as she exhales again, this time more steadily. You feel the tension in her body ease just a little, but her hands are still gripping the sides of your shirt like she’s afraid to let go.

“I just—” Her voice is muffled against your hoodie. “I feel like there’s never enough time. I want to be there for everything, but it’s like the moment I figure one thing out, three more problems pop up.”

“I know, love.” You murmur, gently taking her hand in yours. “But you’ll always have me, Charlie, and, soon, this little one by your side.”

You guide her hand to your growing belly, resting it there. At 23 weeks, your bump is undeniable now, and Alex has developed a habit—no, an addiction of touching it at any given moment. It’s become her grounding force, a way to center herself when the chaos of life threatens to overwhelm her.

As if on instinct, her fingers spread over your stomach, her thumb tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your hoodie. She lets out a soft sigh, and you feel her fully relax against you.

“See? You’re not alone in this.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Alex swallows, her voice quieter now. “I know.”

—

“There’s my Charlie-girl!”

The little girl runs toward you at full speed, her Little Mermaid backpack bouncing on her shoulders. She barrels ahead, leaving her friend behind as she crashes into your front, making you let out a small groan.

“Honey, remember what I told you? You have to be a bit more careful now.” You warn softly, gesturing toward your growing belly.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Charlie says, quickly pressing a sweet kiss to your clothed stomach.

Since the moment you found out you were pregnant, both Alex and Charlie had started calling the baby little one. Your wife and daughter love talking to your belly, insisting that the baby needs to recognize their voices before they enter the world.

“Hi, Mrs. Morgan!” Emma, Charlie’s friend, greets with a bright smile as she finally catches up.

“Hello, Em. How was school today?”

Charlie crosses her arms with a dramatic pout. “How come I didn’t get asked?”

“Because I get to deal with you all day.” You tease, poking at her side playfully. “But it must’ve been fun since it was a half-day!”

“It was! We got to watch movies and build marshmallow towers with toothpicks in class!” Emma exclaims, throwing her hands up in excitement.

“That sounds like so much fun! Maybe soon, we can have another playdate for you two.”

You barely have time to brace yourself before the girls let out joint screams of excitement. You swear one of your eardrums pop at the loud noises.

“My mom’s here! I’ll see you later!” Emma calls out before hurrying off.

Both you and Charlie wave as she leaves. Tthen Charlie quickly interlocks her fingers with yours as you make your way to the awaiting car. Once she’s all buckled up and you’re in the driver’s seat, you begin heading home.

“Now… how was your day at school?”

“Finally!” Charlie huffs, making you laugh as she launches into a full breakdown of her day.

—

“Since Mama is going to be working later today, how about we go have lunch at the beach?” You suggest, scavenging through the fridge and realizing you have the perfect ingredients for a picnic.

“Really?” Charlie exclaims, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Well, of course! We’ll just have to send a picture to mama to make her jealous.” You smirk, wiggling your brows.

“Yay!”

“Should we bring Spots?” You ask, further brightening the smile on Charlie’s face.

Spots is the family’s English Setter. The most lovable, protective, and behaved companion one can ask for. Spots always knows that you’re talking about her, considering the fact that she’s sitting by your feet with her tail wagging side to side along the floor.

“Yes, let’s bring Spots!”

Without hesitation, Charlie hops off the barstool by the counter and scurries off to her room, most likely to grab a sunhat or her favorite stuffed animal to bring along.

Meanwhile, you gather everything you’ll need— food, a picnic blanket, napkins, sunscreen, Spots’ water bowl, and a few of Charlie’s favorite books in case she wants to read while you relax. You pack a container of fresh-cut fruit, sandwiches, crackers, and Charlie’s favorite juice boxes, making sure to grab extra snacks for when she inevitably gets hungry again.

By the time you’re done packing, Charlie comes running back into the kitchen, now in a simple t-shirt and shorts, her sun hat slightly too big for her head. She’s also clutching her favorite stuffed animal, a small elephant she named Ella despite your and Alex’s many objections about making it more original.

“I’m ready!” She announces proudly, adjusting her hat as she grins up at you.

“Perfect. Now let’s head out before the little one gets hangry and kicks again.” You pat your belly for emphasis, making Charlie giggle before placing a small kiss on it.

The drive to the private beach is filled with Charlie’s excited thumping legs against her car seat along with the low hum of Taylor Swift through your speakers. Both you and Charlie are extremely jealous your wife got to meet the woman herself… multiple times.

You smile when you look through the rearview mirror and watch Charlie do her little dance while singing along to the lyrics. Spots sits beside her, looking excitedly out the window and occasionally turning her head to check on Charlie. You simply cannot wait to add another little baby to this amazing family.

Once you arrive, you pick a spot that has some shade along with some sun in case you either get too cold or too hot. The spot overlooks the glistening lake, the waves roll in gently with small white caps along with the cool breeze accompanied with it.

Charlie immediately runs over to your bent form, insisting she’ll set up the blanket so you don’t hurt her baby sibling that is currently doing cartwheels in your stomach. You and Charlie grab opposite ends of the blanket, making it easier to set on the sand with the wind blowing in. Spots remains seated behind you, enjoying the fresh sea breezes.

Charlie plops down immediately while you gently try and sit on the blanket without accidentally falling. The girl across from you again is quick to help, arranging and lining up all the food and drinks in a way that makes perfect sense to her. She places your sandwich right in front of you and hers in front of her.

“Now, we eat!” She declares, handing you a napkin like she’s a butler at a formal event.

“Why thank you, Miss Charlie.” You laugh, tucking the napkin jokingly in your sundress like a bib.

As you both eat, Charlie chatters more about her day at school while occasionally patting the dog. She talks about what movies she watched and how her and Emma stacked as many marshmallows they could before they fell over. You listen, nodding along, occasionally brushing crumbs off her cheek when she gets too excited and forgets to wipe her mouth.

Only a few bites into the second half of her sandwich, Charlie dramatically gasps, causing you to flinch and look around with wide eyes to see if she is ok.

“We gotta send a picture to mama!” Charlie reminds, allowing you to take a breath from the small panic you were in.

“Yes of course.”

Pulling out your phone, Charlie is quick to crawl over to your side and smush her face into yours while Spots’s head rests on your leg. You take a quick selfie of you and Charlie along with the lake in the background and a perfect view of your small picnic.

You send the photo to your wife along with a text saying ‘the beach is nice…but it’s missing one person’.

Alex must have a small break between meetings because your phone almost instantly buzzes with a reply.

My Everything: You guys are evil. I’m stuck here, and you’re having the best food ever with the best view ever. But I love my girls.

You can practically hear the small pout in her voice. You read the message out to Charlie, making her giggle.

“Tell mama we saved her some crackers.”

You quickly type out a message along with a red heart before setting your phone down beside you.

“Do you think little one can hear the waves?” Charlie asks from her spot on the blanket.

“Maybe. I think they can hear a little bit by now.” You glance down at your belly, placing a hand over it thoughtfully.

Charlie scoots closer, resting her head gently against your belly. “Hey, little one. Mommy and I are having a picnic, and I promise we’ll bring you here when you get bigger.”

Your heart melts at the sight, and you almost tear up. You never doubted Charlie’s qualities of being a big sister, but moments like this prove just how much she’s ready.

For a while, the three of you bask in the lake breeze, lying on the blanket and listening to the gentle sound of waves crashing along the shore. Charlie eventually grabs one of the books you brought and begins reading it aloud, her small voice carrying over the wind.

You relax beside her, stretched out on your back, one hand resting protectively over your growing belly while Spots is curled up beside you both.

As the afternoon drifts on, your eyelids grow heavy, signaling that it might be time to head home.

Charlie, usually one to fight against leaving fun places, doesn’t put up much of a fuss. She simply sighs dramatically and begins gathering her things, giving Ella one last squeeze before tucking the stuffed elephant under her arm.

After carefully packing up the picnic supplies and making sure no trash is left behind, you shake out the blanket and fold it up. Spots gives a happy bark as you begin walking back to the car, her tail wagging as she trots alongside Charlie.

Once everything is packed away, you help Charlie into her car seat and settle yourself behind the wheel.

“Can we come back soon?” She asks, her voice hopeful as she yawns, already growing sleepy from the warmth of the sun.

“Of course, sweetheart. Maybe next time mama can come with us.” You smile at her through the rearview mirror.

Charlie grins at that idea, resting her head against the side of her seat. “I think little one liked it, too.”

You chuckle softly, resting a hand on your belly as you glance down for a moment, feeling the slight pressure of the baby’s kicks before starting the car.

—

Alex is trying everything not to panic.

She finally finished all of her conferences and interviews for the day, and the last thing she heard from you was that you were at the beach.

She’s texted you at least five times throughout the day. No response.

Her mind jumps to worst-case scenarios—what if something happened to you? What if you weren’t answering because you couldn’t?

Shaking her head, she grips the steering wheel tighter, pushing those thoughts away.

She just needs to get home.

Alex presses her foot down a little harder on the gas pedal, going a few miles over the speed limit.

She won’t relax until she knows you’re all okay.

Her mind must have completely blacked out because the next thing she knows, she’s pulling into the long driveway of your shared home. She doesn’t bother grabbing anything from the car. Instead, she slams the door shut and sprints toward the front entrance.

She should feel some relief at the sight of your car parked in the driveway and the front door securely locked, but her head is spinning too much to process it.

Her keys slip through her trembling fingers as she fumbles to find the right one. Her breath catches when she finally gets the door open, and she wastes no time rushing inside, calling out both your name and Charlie’s.

Alex’s voice dies in her throat the moment she steps into the living room.

The sight before her makes her heart stop then melt.

There you all lay, curled up on the couch, with you on your back, Charlie and Spots on either side of you. Charlie’s small hand rests protectively over your belly, while Spots’ head is nestled against Charlie’s hand.

The tension in Alex’s body slowly unravels as she takes a minute to breathe, watching her entire world rest peacefully in front of her. With one last deep exhale, she knows she has to wake all three of you—you’ve probably been napping for hours now.

“Baby, Charlie… it’s time to wake up, my loves.” Alex murmurs, brushing your hair to the side and softly rubbing her thumb over your forehead.

“Alex?” Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper as your eyes flutter open.

“Yes, it’s me, baby.” Her voice is warm, full of relief. “You gave me a bit of a scare, you know?”

Her fingers never stop their gentle path over your skin, grounding both of you in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

You stretch out as much as you can with the limited space you have before sitting up slightly, forcing Spots’ head to perk up along with Charlie, who sleepily yawns.

“What scared you?” You ask, eyes still closed to keep the bright sunset from scorching your sight.

“You hadn’t answered me for hours, and I started to worry something happened to you both.” Alex mumbles quietly, taking in the relief that you’re okay.

You finally look at her with concerned eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. After the beach, Charlie and I got so tired and ended up falling asleep after we turned on a movie. I never meant to scare you.”

“All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“Mama? You’re home.” Charlie rubs the sleep from her eyes but remains cuddled into your side.

“I am. I missed you guys.” Alex confesses, planting a kiss on both your heads before giving Spots an affectionate pat.

As you wake up, you start to feel your stomach rumble, realizing you haven’t eaten in hours. You’re positive Charlie must feel the same.

“I’m guessing you didn’t eat either?” You laugh at the look your wife gives you after hearing the noises come from your stomach.

“I did text you asking if you wanted me to pick up dinner, but then I ended up rushing home.” Alex gives you a pointed but playful look.

You flash her a guilty smile. “That would be my fault… but do you think we can get Wendy’s? Little one and this one are hungry.” You tap Charlie’s nose, earning a giggle.

“Mmm, maybe. But you gotta give me something first.”

The tone in Alex’s voice is one you’re all too familiar with. Low and teasing.

You smirk, easily tilting your head and wrapping a hand behind hers, pulling her in for a lingering kiss. Alex would deepen it, but she knows better—especially with your daughter still curled up against you.

“Ew!” Charlie exclaims, sticking out her tongue in exaggerated disgust.

Alex pulls back with a chuckle. “Watch it, missy. I’ll get mommy Wendy’s and make you brussels sprouts instead.”

Charlie gasps dramatically, eyes wide as she whips her head toward you. She gestures towards her mouth, zipping and throwing the lock away.

You just laugh, shaking your head. “Looks like we’re getting Wendy’s.”

“Alright, alright. Wendy’s it is.” Alex sighs, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before standing.

Charlie cheers, jumping off the couch to grab her shoes. You stretch, watching her with an amused smile before looking up at Alex, reaching for her hand.

She takes it without hesitation, her thumb tracing over your skin.

“You really scared yourself, didn’t you?”

Alex exhales, her other hand instinctively resting over your stomach. “Yeah. I did.”

“We’re always okay, baby. I promise.” You squeeze her hand gently.

Alex nods, letting herself believe it because right now, with you here, warm and safe, with Charlie giggling over her shoes and Spots wagging her tail at your feet—

Everything is perfect.

#alex morgan x reader #its a little childish universe #alex morgan #woso x reader #woso fic #woso imagine #woso #uswnt #lgbtq

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 day ago

Text

Flawless

See Me Through You Series

Momma taught me good home training

My Daddy taught me how to love my haters

My sister taught me I should speak my mind

My man made me feel so God damn fine (I'm flawless)

Synopsis: In your official first competition of the season, your family as well as your boyfriend cheer you on, but in the back of your mind the need to constantly be perfect is weighing heavily on you

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The sun hadn't even begun to rise when you heard your alarm on your phone loudly going off in your ear that was perched on the bedside table.

It vibrated so loud that it eventually hit the floor and you reached down to search for it without turning on the bright light hoping that you would be successful and find it.

Once you did, you quickly turned the alarm off before setting it back on the table and turning towards your boyfriend to hug him from behind. Reaching over to place several kisses on his cheek earning a groan from him in response.

“What time is it?” He asked while his eyes were still closed.

“5:30 in the morning.” You quietly answered and Joe turned around to face you as you started to run your fingers through his hair.

“And remind me again why you woke me up? I mean I love spending as much time as I can with you, but this is way too early.”

“Because last night before we went to sleep, you promised me that you would wake up early and go to the gym with me. And you train this early during the season so what in the world are you talking about?” You asked and he opened one eye to look at you.

“Was I high when you asked me that?” He asked and you instantly rolled your eyes.

“Joey, you promised. And my boyfriend always keeps his promises.” You started to whine as he sighed.

“Find a new one until you come back from the gym.” He told you as an annoyed look came upon your face and he quickly closed his eyes as he also grabbed the comforter to cover himself back up at the same time.

“Don't worry I will. He's going to help me with my squats and I'll make sure to brush my ass across his dick each time I go down.”

Hearing you say that made him open both eyes to look at you as you tried to lift the comforter off of you to get out of bed and Joe quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you back towards him.

“Want to repeat that?”

“I'm only listening and doing what you told me. You said for me to find another boyfriend to go to the gym with me. So let me go, I'll see you when I come back. If I come back, that is.”

“I'm not letting you go anywhere until you take it back.” Joe told you as he pushed up against you and you felt him standing at attention making you smirk.

“I'm the only person that should be helping you and the only person that you need to be brushing up against.”

“Then that means you're coming with me, right?” You asked as you turned to look at him. Joe sighed in response before nodding his head yes to answer your question.

“Do I have to make strawberry cheesecake in order to bribe you?” You asked him as you sat up on the side of the bed.

“I mean…. Having an incentive like that wouldn't hurt. And I'm not sharing with your twin and Justin so I'm going to have to hide it.”

“Good luck with that because those two can smell anything I cook or bake from fifteen miles away.”

It was now 6:15 in the morning and the gym was surprisingly a quarter of the way full which was unusual. When you came at this time, there might be one or two other people but not many.

Both of you went your separate ways to do your own thing, but of course Joe told you to come and get him if you needed him for anything.

Especially if you were doing squats.

Luckily for him, it was leg day.

As you were adding weight to the leg press, you caught someone's attention and he was bold enough to make his way over to you.

This started to happen a lot more often ever since you and Joe made things official. Not that it wouldn't happen before, but it was something that now obviously made you uncomfortable.

Especially when Joe happened to be in the same room.

“Hey, you need help with that?” He asked as he pointed to the weight plate that you proceeded to rack without a problem.

“Nope. I got it.” You replied thinking that he would walk away. When he didn’t, you turned back towards him with your eyebrow raised.

“Are you waiting to use this? I have two more sets and then I'll be finished.”

“Oh no. I'm good. Doing back and biceps today.”

“Cool.” You quietly said and nodded your head before sitting down and putting your feet in position to press the weight.

You decided that you were going to do close first and then wide to hit your inner thighs.

All while the guy was still standing there.

“What's your name?” He asked after you had done a few reps.

“Y/N.” You quietly answered without bothering to look at him.

“Oh, that's pretty. I'm Marcus.”

“Great. Aren't you going to go and finish your workout?” You asked as he still continued to stand there.

“Oh, um yeah. But if you need any help with anything let me know. I'll be right over there.” He told you as he pointed to the corner where the free weights were.

Nodding your head and giving him a tight lipped smile, you slipped your air pod back in your ear before finishing your set.

Once you did, you stood up to give your legs a break before starting the next one and peeked over at Joe who was on the lat pulldown machine.

Without a second thought, you also glanced at the direction Marcus said that he would be in all to see that he was already staring at you. His eyes went wide as he quickly looked away and you could start to admit that he was starting to weird you out. You figured that you would tell Joe after you finished your last set since you were about to start on squats with the barbell and knew that you would probably need his help.

The last set was finished as quickly as possible and you made it your priority to find your boyfriend. Walking quickly towards him, he saw your face and immediately got concerned as he took out one of his air pods.

“Baby? What's wrong?” He asked as he stood up and peered down at you.

“That guy over there is being really weird and making me uncomfortable. He like came over when I was on the leg press adding more weight and was like ‘do you need help?’ I told him no and he continued to stand there until I asked if he needed it and that I had two more sets and then I would be finished. He said no and asked my name and offered to tell me his name even though I never asked. And when I took a break, I looked to my left to see him staring dead at me. He's over there.” You nudged your head in his direction.

When you finished, Joe had let out a sigh before looking over at the guy he assumed that you were talking about. Once again, he was looking dead at you.

“He's weird and I don't wanna get kidnapped. I think at this point he's plotting it.”

“No one is going to kidnap you despite how small you are. He'll take you and bring you right back once he figures out how high maintenance you are. I can't imagine if it's this bad now how bad it'll be once you graduate.”

“HEY!”

“Did I lie, princess?”

“I just like nice things and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.” You replied as you crossed your arms and pouted.

Joe proceeded to pinch your cheek as a smirk spread across his face at the same time.

“You're right, there isn't. But back to business. I'll stay with you the rest of the workout to make sure, what are we doing next?”

“Squats. Your favorite.” You answered as you winked at him, earning a smirk in return.

Both of you walked over to the squat machine and Joe started adding weight to the side as your eyes went wide.

And kept adding.

And continued adding.

“Baby! I cannot lift as heavy as you can, take some of that off!” You exclaimed and he shook his head no while laughing at you.

“Yes, you can with those strong ass legs. Did you forget you almost crushed my head with your thighs when I was eating you out that one time? I'm going to help you and be with you the entire time. You got it, princess.”

“Your head is entirely too big for me to crush. Bless Robin's heart.”

“Seriously!?” Joe asked you as you shrugged.

“Did I lie?”

“Just get over here and push this weight.”

You let out a huff as Joe directed you to get into position as he stood behind you to help spot you.

He adjusted your hands so that they would be closer on the bar and told you to lift when you were ready.

But not before placing a kiss on the shell of your ear and trailing down to your neck as he lightly bit down and sucked on that same spot.

“Joey, stop distracting me!”

“Me? Distracting you? Never.” He whispered in your ear as he let out a laugh.

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn't see you and got ready to do your set.

As you unracked the weight and adjusted your feet, you slowly started to come down as Joe was directly behind.

At least twelve reps were completed and made sure you brushed across him each time which earned a whisper in one of your ears.

“Keep doing that and I will take you in this locker room.”

“Well I warned you that I would and this is heavy, help me put it back up.”

Joe did as you asked him and was all smiles as you glared at him.

“That shit was heavy and I don't like you right now for making me do it.”

“But you did it just like I knew you would.” He replied as he pinched your cheek which earned him you swatting his hand away.

“You want more weight for your next set?” He asked and your eyes went wide.

“Joseph, I need to be able to move on Saturday for my competition.”

“You'll be able to move, don't worry. I plan on giving you one of my special massages when we're done.” Joe whispered against your lips as he quickly touched his with yours before going and getting more weight.

Smiling to yourself and shaking your head as he walked off, you were stretching in place when once again, Marcus came up to you.

One thing you knew was that he better get the hell on before Joe came back. And since he had literally had his eyes on you the entire time, he had to have seen Joe standing there next to you seconds before he walked over.

“Doing squats now?”

“Um, yeah.”

“That’s a lot of weight. You sure you can squat that?”

“I finished one set, so yes I can squat that much weight.”

“Without a spotter?” He curiously asked and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Oh, I have a spotter.” You told him as a smirk appeared across your face.

“Well, I don't see anyone around. How about I help you and I take you out on a date this weekend?”

“No to all of that and you can go and finish your workout.”

“You don't have to be such a bitch. I'm offering to help you.” Marcus said as Joe was behind him with the extra weight that you were going to squat with.

“Bro, you good? Is there a problem?” He asked and you couldn't do anything but laugh because Joe was two seconds away from kicking his ass. He was trying to take the calm approach first.

Marcus turned around and smiled at him as he started to add the weight and Joe didn't return it.

“No problem. Just trying to ask this pretty girl out on a date.”

“Hmm and after you did that proceeded to call her a bitch when she told you no. Isn't that right?” Joe asked and you could tell that he was now pissed off as he walked right up to Marcus and was staring down at him because he happened to be a few inches shorter.

“This is between me and her so you can mind your business.”

“It is my business when you are talking to my girlfriend and not only asking her out on a date, but proceeding to call her out of her name when she clearly doesn't want to be bothered with you. So I suggest you walk away before you piss me off even more.”

“Oh, um… I didn't…”

“But even if she wasn't my girlfriend, that's how you go around talking to women? Being a damn creep and calling them a bitch when you don't get your way? Do yourself a favor and get the fuck away from her.” Joe told him as Marcus then let out a light chuckle.

“She’s not even that pretty anyway.”

“And you look like you snuck on Earth in the middle of the night. I know I’m pretty because why the hell did you talk to me in the first place? Get the fuck out your feelings, asshole.” You said before Joe could jump in and his eyes along with Marcus had gone wide before Joe proceeded to laugh and shake his head at you as Marcus finally decided to walk away.

“Now I guess I can't even come to the gym by myself.” You said to Joe as Marcus was finally out of earshot.

“You can come by yourself, but if you need me to be on facetime as you workout, then so be it.”

“See, now aren't you happy that you came with me?” You asked as you smiled and batted your eyelashes at him.

“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Can we leave now?”

“Nice try. Get over here and push this weight.”

“But babyyyy it's heavy!” You whined and stomped your foot as he laughed at you.

“Just like my dick, but you do just fine with it. Stop the excuses and come on.”

You let out a long breath as you pouted as Joe just stared at you.

“The sooner you get done with your temper tantrum, the sooner we can leave.”

“I am NOT having a temper tantrum!”

“You literally yelled and stomped your foot like a toddler. Now just waiting for you to roll on the floor.”

“If I do that will you pick me up and carry me out so we can go back to my apartment?”

“No.”

“Well it was worth a try.”

Saturday finally rolled around and you were a bundle of nerves. Your parents along with your twin, Joe, and Justin promised to come and see you compete and the last thing you ever wanted to do was disappoint them.

Being that you were the first born daughter, you always felt the need as well as the pressure to be perfect in everything that you pursued.

As you were stretching next to Alisha and Erin, you glanced up at the stands to see all of them sitting together as your dad had Joe involved deep in conversation making a smile appear across your face. Ever since you officially introduced your parents to Joe and they saw how happy he made you, he quickly became a part of the family.

When you were doing toe touches, your coach Giselle came up to you and tapped you on your shoulder making you glance up to look at her.

“Hey, what's up?” You asked as she smiled at you.

“I have an idea, but I wanted to run it by you first.”

“Sure, what is it?” You excitedly asked her as you stood straight up.

“We wanted to put a heart monitor on Joe as he watched you compete to see how high the rate would go. Do you think he'll go for it?”

“Oh, most definitely.” You told her as you laughed.

Joe knew all of your routines like the back of his hand including the names of all the moves that you were doing.

He made it a point to learn as much as he could about gymnastics simply because he knew it was important to you. So as far as he was concerned, it was also important to him too and he wanted you to know that he supported you as much as you supported him no matter how big or small.

“That man's heart rate is about to be high as hell.” Erin commented and Alisha quickly agreed with her.

“I don't know who is going to be more stressed today watching. Joe or my dad.”

“My votes on Joe.”

Meanwhile in the stands, Giselle made her way to Joe and smiled at him knowing that she only had a few minutes before they would be starting.

“Joe, Y/N wants you to do something for her.”

“Of course. Is she okay? Does she need me?” He asked frantically, but she just continued to smile.

“She's fine. She just wants you to wear a heart monitor so we can watch it while she competes.”

“Uh oh. This man's heart rate is about to hit 200.” Justin said and Ja'Marr quickly agreed as he was munching on popcorn.

“Yall better have a stretcher ready for my mans in the back with paramedics on standby.”

“Yall are dramatic. I'm not even that bad.” Joe said and both Ja’Marr and Justin looked at him.

“Bro, do you remember the last one we went to? It wasn't even an official competition and we thought you were going to lose your mind.”

“I… anyway I'll do it.” He replied to Giselle while ignoring the two people sitting next to him.

“Here it is. Put it on and it'll connect to my phone so I can see it.”

“That’s probably a good idea that he can't see it, I feel like that would make it ten times worse.” Your mom commented while your dad stifled a laugh.

“Now I KNOW you aren't talking when you watched one of her competitions through your fingers because you were so nervous.” Ja’Marr turned to look at her and she glared at him.

“That was ONE time!”

—

It was now time for your floor routine and you had taken off your wrist straps that you had used on the uneven bars and handed them to Alisha to put them in your bag for you.

This was the last event of the competition and you were set to go last so you had time to go over your routine in your head one last time. You had been working on it for weeks and you felt as if this was the most difficult floor routine that you had ever done.

The music was to one of your favorite music artists of all time, Prince and it happened to be a collection of your favorite songs from him.

Once you received the cue to walk out onto the floor, you took one last deep breath before doing your special handshake with both Erin and Alisha.

“You got this. You’ve practiced this routine a thousand times, go out there and show them why you’re one of the best.” Giselle said from behind as she placed her hands on your shoulders.

Nodding your head, you took the short walk over to the floor mats even if it felt like it was a mile long. Your stomach was in knots and you tried to steady your breathing.

Once you heard the first few beats of the first song, you locked in and it was go time.

Joe was watching from the stands and had held his breath when you had started to do your first backhand spring which would lead into two more and once you landed it, the entire building erupted in cheers.

“Okay, big sis!” Ja’Marr yelled as he started to hype you up. He took a peek over at your parents to see that both of them were on edge. He also glanced over at Joe who was constantly moving in his seat and just knew that sooner or later that the man might probably faint.

“Joe, everything alright over there?” He asked with a slight laugh and Joe immediately laughed and shook his head no.

“I’m more nervous watching her than I am for our games. I literally feel like my heart is about to beat out my chest.”

“I say we make a bet! I bet twenty dollars that your heart rate hit at least 130 while watching her.” Justin piped up while Ja’Marr quickly chimed in.

“I don’t know, I say about 150.”

“The way it’s beating right now, I feel that it’s definitely higher than that.”

Once you landed your final move, the cheers got even louder as you got up from the mat and ran back to the side where your team was.

Both Alisha and Erin tightly hugged you, while Giselle high fived you and everyone anxiously waited to hear your final score from the announcers.

“Y/N Chase, floor routine…”

You took a deep breath as Erin squeezed your hand as the rest of your team was behind you with their fingers crossed.

“Judges across the board have a final score of ten.”

It took you a minute to register what had just happened because there was instant screaming and loud cheers as everyone gathered around you.

“I told you! What did I tell you?!” Erin exclaimed as she hugged you and you were trying to do your best in order not to cry.

“I got a perfect score?” You quietly asked, still not believing it.

“YES! Why are you so surprised? That routine was flawless and I’m so proud of you.” Giselle said as Erin had finally broken her embrace so that she could congratulate you.

“You do not give yourself enough credit for how amazing you are. I knew what we were doing when we offered you a scholarship and now look what came out of it. This is only the beginning and you’re going to go on to do amazing things.” Giselle told you as she placed her hands on both sides of your face as you were now crying. You couldn’t hold it back anymore and the dam had officially broken.

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.” You told her and you hugged her once more.

“There was no doubt in my mind that I made the right choice. Oh, and Joe’s heart monitor got as high as 180, I just knew he was about to hit 200 while watching your floor routine.”

When the competition finally ended, your cheering squad waited until the crowd started to clear out before making their way down out of the bleachers to greet you. Your parents reached you first and you were placed in the middle of a bone crushing hug between both of them as they kissed one cheek each.

You were happy that Ja'Marr told you that he had captured the moment on his phone and would send it to you.

Your parents then left and started to make their way back home since you promised to make the trip next weekend in order to have a home cooked meal from your mom in order to celebrate the success of today so that it gave them more time to plan.

That left Joe, Ja'Marr, and Justin who wanted to spend the rest of the day with you, along with Alisha and Erin of course.

“So proud of you. You were amazing.” Joe told you as he wrapped his arms around you and leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead.

“Thank you, babe. How did the heart monitor work out for you?” You asked while trying not to laugh.

“I love watching you compete, but I'm always on edge too. Just want to see you do well. I can’t get over you telling me that you can visualize where you’re going to land before it even happens.”

“Key to being a good gymnast.” You replied while winking at him.

“And this man has your routine memorized and knew everything before you even did it.” Ja’Marr added as he picked you up from behind which left your feet dangling from the floor while he kissed the top of your head.

“Because he's a good boyfriend that pays attention to the things that are important to me.”

“Yeah, so I guess you can keep him.” Ja’Marr replied which earned him a glare by Joe in response.

“First boyfriend that has been approved by the parents so I think we have a winner.” You said with a smile on your face as Joe grabbed your bag to carry it out for you.

“Thank goodness because that Trevor dude was something else.” Justin commented and it seemed that everyone groaned in response at the mention of his name.

“And it's the fact that Joe requested for mom to make beignets next week and she immediately said yes. She has NEVER done that with me.”

“That’s because she actually likes me and only tolerates you. Remember you’re a Popeyes dumpster baby.” Joe told him as he stopped walking and turned up his nose.

“Now, the parents gave me money to go and celebrate, but Joe you’re about to be drinking water and eating a stale piece of bread.”

“I’m telling Mama Chase so you’ll get yelled at.”

“First, my sister always gets me in trouble and now her boyfriend who was MY friend first does to? I feel that there needs to be some type of medium here because this is absolutely not it.”

After getting back from dinner with everyone, you needed time to unwind and relax, but still wanted Joe with you. Of course he didn’t protest and after taking a much needed shower, you had been stuck like glue to him ever since. The two of you were currently sitting on the couch with your head in his lap with the tv playing in the background with your eyes closed when he caught your attention.

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

“Is everything okay? You seemed to be distracted when we went out to eat earlier. I was just wondering.”

“It’s nothing that you need to worry about, promise.”

“No, that is not an answer, so I’m going to give you another chance to rephrase it.” Joe told you as you sighed in response.

“I just feel that when it comes to me and to Ja’Marr, my parents act very different.”

“How so?”

“Me being the oldest, I just feel a need to have to be perfect all the time and this is no different. I can’t imagine what the conversation would have been like if I had scored less than a nine. That’s why I’m so good. I literally have to be because my parents don’t accept anything less.”

“You did amazing and they’re proud of you so I’m not really following.”

“They’re a lot more lenient towards Ja’Marr and I obviously love my twin with everything in me, but sometimes that pressure gets to be a little too much.”

“All I can tell you is to keep doing your best to meet what your standards are and not anyone else’s. I get that you want to make them proud because they’re your parents, but the most important thing is if you’re happy. If you were to quit gymnastics right at this very moment, I would support you 100%.”

“And that’s why I love you so much.”

“I love you right back and I never want you to feel like you aren’t good enough.”

“Easier said than done.” You whispered in response, but luckily Joe didn’t hear you.

You just weren’t sure how much longer you could take with being little miss perfect, and you damn sure weren’t going to tell Joe that you were extremely close to dropping out at LSU.

#Spotify #joe burrow #joe burrow lsu #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow imagine #joe shiesty #joey b #joey burrow #nfl imagine #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfiction #joe burrow fanfic

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slutzforbueckers · 21 hours ago

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dear april- p.b x f!reader

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: angst?

synopsis: what happens when two people— two very different people— meet and fall in love?

a/n: i hope yall like this im not good at angst 😭also i listened to dear april by frank ocean while writing this so its lowk based off that song.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

you never wanted the attention to be on you, you never liked the feeling of all eyes being on you. sometimes you felt like a shadow in your own life. moving through the world unnoticed, quiet, an afterthought in every room you stepped into. you never cared for the attention, never fought for the spotlight, never asked to be more than what you were. you never wanted that, at least not until you met paige.

paige buckers, the golden girl, the prodigy, the name whispered on every sports analyst's lips. paige was the type of person who made you believe in fate, in destiny. she shone so brightly that sometimes you wondered if you'd burn just by standing too close.

you met her on a rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky wept for hours, soaking the streets and forcing people to rush from place to place with their heads down. you had just left the library and you were waiting for your uber to take you to your job.

you had been sitting on a bench outside the library, watching the rain fall, your sketchbook balanced on your knees. you had been lost in a drawing, charcoal smudged across your fingertips, when you felt a presence beside you.

"what are you drawing?" a voice had asked, clear despite the heavy downpour of rain.

you looked up to find paige standing in front of you, drenched from the rain, her backpack slung over one shoulder. she was wearing her team hoodie, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. you recognized her instantly, but you pretended you hadn't.

"nothing special." you turned your attention back to your drawing, not wanting to stare for too long. you silently hoped she'd go away, you couldn't figure out why someone like her would bother to stop and talk to you. she didn't go away, instead she took a seat next to you, peering over your shoulder at the sketchbook in your hands.

"can i see?" her voice came out smooth, unlike yours which had a slight shake to it. you hesitated for a moment, then slowly passed it to her. paige looked at you for a second before turning her attention to the paper. it was a sketch of the library in front of you. she ghosted her fingertips over the details, careful not to smudge anything. "that's really good, you must see the world differently."

she handed you the sketchbook back, her eyes meeting yours. you shrugged, your fingers picking at the rips in your jeans. "maybe. i appreciate the beauty in things around me."

paige went quiet for a second before she spoke again, her voice softer and a little less confident. "i like that."

you fell together slowly, then all at once. paige, who spent her life surrounded by noise, found something quiet and steady in you. and you, who had always felt like you were watching life from the sidelines, were suddenly in the game. late night drives, secret kisses in empty gyms, stolen moments before and after paiges practices—it was yours. no one else mattered in those moments, just you and her.

you could remember the first time paige had let her guard down. it was the middle of the night, and you had driven out to the lake just outside of town. paige had been quiet the entire drive, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“talk to me,” you whispered when she finally parked the car. you reached over and ran your fingertips over her clenched jaw, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. paige exhaled slowly, staring out at the reflection of the moon on the water.

“sometimes,” she opened her mouth but shut it, not being able to gather her thoughts enough to speak. you waited patiently, staring at the side of her face until she spoke again. “sometimes i feel like i don’t even belong to myself. like i’m just…existing for other people. coaches, my teammates, my fans. everyone has a version of me that they want me to be— sometimes i forget who i am when i try to be me.”

you reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “and who are you when you’re just you?”

“i don’t know,” paige went silent, her chest closing with vulnerability. she took a deep breath and turned to you. “but when i’m with you, i feel like i can breathe.”

but the world wasn’t kind to love like yours. paige’s career was on the rise, she had cameras in her face, expectations weighing on her shoulders, and a future that didn’t leave room for any hesitation. and you? you were just you. no flashing lights, no one screaming your name, no crowds waiting for you, no bright future carved out in headlines. that didn’t stop you though. you tried— god, you tried.

paige whispered promises into your skin, holding you tight like she could keep you both frozen in time. “you’re the only thing that feels real,” she admitted one night, her voice raw, forehead pressed against yours.

you remembered all the amazing moments you had, moments where everything felt perfect, like you had carved out a piece of the universe just for the two of you.

you had snuck into the school’s basketball court, it was nearly 3 in the morning but neither of you could manage to fall asleep. so you sat on the bleachers, a smile on your face while you watched paige dribble a ball lazily.

“i’ll teach you how to shoot,” she said suddenly, jogging over and tugging you onto your feet. you laughed out a squeal and shook your head.

“i have terrible aim, p.” you caught the ball she bounced at you, rolling it around in your hands.

paige rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. “that’s why i said ill teach you.”

“here,” she stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hands into the right position. “i got you.”

in that moment you believed her but reality was cruel. paige couldn’t keep hiding, she couldnt keep her love for you a secret when the world expected you to be someone else. rumors started, people whispered, and paige—paige hesitated. she let go, just for a second. a second was just enough to make you feel like maybe you had imagined it all.

and in the end, that was all it took. just a second.

it had been months since you last saw her. you hadn’t planned on going to the game, you told yourself you wouldn’t. but something pulled you there anyway, the same way the ocean calls back the tide. you sat near the back of the stadium, expecting to be far enough away that you went unnoticed. the noise of the crowd faded into a dull hum as you watched paige move across the court, fluid and effortless, like she was meant to be there.

you thought you could handle it— just watching, just being one of the hundreds of faces in the stands. but then it happened. paige looked up, just for a second, her gaze sweeping the crowd, and her eyes met yours.

you felt your breath catch in your throat. paige froze for just a fraction of a second, barely enough for anyone else to notice, but you did. you saw the paused in her step, the look of familiarity in her eyes, the way her fingers tightened around the ball before she forced herself to move.

for a moment, it felt like the whole work had stilled. like there were no cameras, no roaring fans, no expectations. just the two of you, locking in a moment of memories neither of you had been ready for.

maybe she would find you after the game, maybe she wouldn’t. maybe you had become strangers again, orbiting around each other but never colliding.

or maybe, in another life, in another version of your story, paige wouldn’t have hesitated.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers angst #paige bueckers x fem!reader angst

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worlds-we-write · 1 day ago

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Something to Hold Onto II one shot

summary: On a cold night in a secluded cabin, Joel finally shows you just how much he wants you—slow, possessive, and worshiping every inch of you like you were made for him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

warning/tags: jackson era joel, soft dom joel, soft joel, curyv/mid/plus size reader, reader has insecurity, body worship, praise, unprotected piv

The fire crackles in the small cabin, its flickering light casting long shadows over the worn wooden walls. Outside, the wind howls through the trees, a relentless reminder of the world beyond. But here, in the sanctuary of these four walls, it’s just the two of you.

You shift on the makeshift bedroll, the blankets tangled around your legs. You’re warm, but that has less to do with the fire and more to do with Joel Miller’s presence beside you. He’s sitting on an old chair near the fireplace, one boot propped on the edge of the hearth, watching you with those deep, assessing eyes.

“You should be sleepin’,” he murmurs, voice thick like honey, rough like gravel.

You shrug, cheeks warm under his gaze. “You’re not sleeping either.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand down his face before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Somebody’s gotta keep watch.”

You know better that to argue with him, but the way he watches you – it makes you feel something deep in your chest, something vulnerable. Something you’re not used to.

“Come here,” he says, his voice low, expectant.

You hesitate, but only for a second. Joel has a way of making hesitation disappear. You move toward him, and before you can settle, his large hands find your hips, guiding you onto his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You tense, self-conscious, but Joel sighs, like he’s finally at ease. One of his hands slides up your back, the other gripping your thick thigh, his touch firm but gentle. “There we go,” he mutters, pressing his face into the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Joel…”

“You’re so damn soft,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. “Always feel so good in my hands.”

Your breath stutters. You don’t hear words like that often.

He feels it – your hesitation, your doubt – and his grip tightens, grounding. His other hand drifts up your back, fingers trailing along the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it, finding warm skin. “Ain’t got nothin’ to be shy about,” he says voice rough with conviction. “I like you just the way you are. Love the way you feel against me. The way you fit against me.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands curling into the fabric of his flannel. “You mean that?”

Joel tilts his head, his lips ghosting along your jaw before he cups your chin, tilting your face so you have no choice but to meet his eyes. “I don’t say things I don’t mean, sweetheart.” His thumb brushes against your lower lip. “Now, you gonna let me hold you proper, or you gonna keep frettin’ over nothing?”

The weight of his words settles deep in your chest, heavy and warm. You nod, just once, and Joel makes a satisfied sound before wrapping his arms fully around you, pulling you close, his body solid and steady beneath yours.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his lips pressing against your temple. “Knew you’d come around.”

And just like that, the cold world outside fades away.

Joel holds you like he means it. Like you’re something worth protecting, worth keeping close. His hands rest heavy against you – not hesitant, not testing, just there, as if he knows exactly what he wants, and it’s you.

You melt against him, your head tucked beneath his chin, and he hums low in his chest. The sound rumbles through you, grounding, reassuring. His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, fingertips pressing into the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath it again, warm against your skin.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, lips grazing your hairline. “Knew you just needed to be held for a bit.”

Your breath shudders out of you, the tension in your shoulders slowly unraveling. It’s been so long since someone touched you like this – not out of necessity, not in passing, but with intent.

Joel’s intent is written all over him. It’s in the way he holds you close, the way his fingers trace lazy circles at the base of your spine, the way his other hand stays firm on your thigh, like he’s staking a claim.

“You run yourself ragged,” he mutters after a long stretch of silence, his voice low, almost scolding. “Tryin’ to prove something.”

You tense, but he soothes it away with another slow drag of his fingers along your back.

“I ain’t trying to prove anything,” you say under your breath.

Joel huffs. “That so?”’ His lips press against the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower. “Then why do you get all stiff when I tell you how much I like this?” His hand tightens on your thigh, fingers flexing. “How good you feel against me?”

Heat floods your cheeks, “Joel—”

“Mm.” He noses along your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to look at you. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes – dark, unwavering – hold you still. “You think I don’t see you?” His fingers press into your flesh, a firm, grounding grip. “Think I don’t feel what it does to you when I touch you like this?”

Your breath catches. “I just – I’m not—”

“Shh.” His thumb ghosts over your lower lip, shushing you gently. “Ain’t got nothing to be nervous about, sweetheart.” He cups your face fully now, calloused fingers cradling you like you’re something fragile – though you know Joel Miller doesn’t do fragile. Not unless he cares.

And that thought? It sinks into your chest, heavy and warm.

“You always act so tough,” he murmurs. “Always puttin’ other people first.” His other hand drifts higher, squeezing at your hip. “Maybe it’s time somebody took care of you for once.”

You exhale shakily, something in your defenses crumbling under the weight of his words. “Joel…”

“I got you,” He reassures, his lips brushing yours – not quite a kiss, not yet, just the promise of one. His hands stay where they are, holding you firm, steady, safe. “Just let me have you for a little while. Let me show you.”

And maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s the warmth of the fire, maybe it’s just him, but you let go. Let yourself sink into his touch, into his presence, into the quiet promise in his eyes.

Joel hums in approval, his lips finally meet yours, slow and deep, as his arms tighten around you. Holding you like he’s never letting go.

Joel kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world. Like there’s no rush, no threat outside these walls, just the slow, steady way his lips move against yours. His grip on your tightens – not rough, but firm, grounding, possessive in a way that makes your stomach flutter.

He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes you sigh into his mouth. He takes it as permission, his hands roaming, mapping the curves of your body like he’s memorizing you.

“That’s it,” he mutters against your lips, his voice dark and pleased. “Knew you’d let me in if I was patient.”

Your fingers curl into his flannel, holding onto him like he’s the only steady thing in the world. Maybe he is.

“Joel…” you murmur, your breath shaky.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking over your cheek. His eyes are molten in the firelight, filled with something you’re not sure you deserve but want so badly.

“You’re not used to being taken care of, are you?” he questions.

Your throat tightens. You should look away, but he won’t let you. His fingers tilt your chin just enough to keep you locked in place, waiting for an answer.

“I—” You swallow hard. “Not like this.”

Joel exhales through his nose, like he already knew the answer. His grip tightens – not to restrain, but to reassure.

“Well,” he says, dragging his lips over your jaw, then lower, tracing a path down your neck. “Guess I’ll just have to teach you, huh?”

You shiver as his mouth lingers at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Teach me?” you echo, your voice barley more than a breath.

His teeth scrape just enough to make your breath hitch, then he soothes the spot with his tongue. “Mhm,” he hums. “Gonna teach you how to take what you’re given. How to let yourself be wanted.”

A low, needy sound escapes your throat before you can stop it, and Joel groans in response, his fingers tightening at your waist.

“You like that?” he whispers, dragging his lips back up to your ear. “Like the way I hold you? The way I touch you?”

You nod – small, hesitant.

He makes a pleased sound, then suddenly grips your thigh, squeezing hard enough to make your gasp. “Say it.”

Your stomach flips, heat coiling low at the quiet command in his voice.

“I like it. Like it when you touch me,” you utter.

Joel hums his approval, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good girl.” His hands move again, slow but deliberate, smoothing over the soft flesh of your hips, your waist, “Love every inch of you, y’know that?”

You freeze for a moment – because no, you didn’t know that.

Joel notices immediately. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression softer that you expect. His fingers flex against your sides, holding you steady.

“You listen to me,” he growls, his voice lower now, rougher. “Ain’t gonna let you talk yourself outta this. Ain’t gonna let you hide from what I see.” He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “And I see you, sweetheart. Every damn bit of you.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you close your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind them. Joel lets you sit in it for a moment before he shifts, rolling his hips just enough to remind you exactly where you’re sitting.

Your breath catches, and he smirks. “You feel that?” His voice is deeper now, thick with want. “That’s for you. Every bit of me, wantin’ every bit of you.”

You whimper, your fingers tightening in his shirt.

Joel chuckles, low and dark, then lifts you effortlessly, shifting you until your back meets the mattress, his broad frame caging you in.

“Now,” he hums, his lips hovering just above yours. “You gonna let me take my time with you? Show you how good you are?”

You nod quickly, breathless, and Joel grins against your lips.

“That’s my girl.”

Joel doesn’t rush.

He takes his time, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. His hands map every inch of you – tracing the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips, the soft dip of your stomach. Not with hesitation, not with restraint, but with purpose. Like he’s worshipping you.

“Look at you,” he mutters against your skin, his lips trailing lower, his hands gripping your hips as he settles between your legs. “So damn beautiful.”

You let out a shaky breath, overwhelmed by the weight of his touch, the way he looks at you – like he’s starved, like he needs you.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” you whisper, a hint of doubt creeping into your voice.

Joel freezes. His grip on your hips tightens, and when he lifts his head, his expression is serious. “You think I don’t mean it?” His voice low, rough. “Think I’d be here – with you, like this – if I didn’t want you? If it didn’t mean every damn word?”

You swallow hard. He’s watching you so closely, waiting for you to believe him.

“I – I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barley above a whisper.

Joel exhales slowly, his thumb stroking soft circles against your skin. He doesn’t want to argue. Doesn’t try to convince you with words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss just above your heart, then another, lower, lips warm against your skin.

“Then let me show you,” he murmurs.

And he does.

Every touch, every kiss, every slow deliberate movement – Joel worships you, his hands reverent, his mouth hungry. He doesn’t let you shy away, doesn’t let you hide.

A shuddering breath escapes you, and Joel groans, his grip tightening.

“God, I love hearing you like that,” he mutters. “ Love feelin’ you like this.” His hands skim your sides, his lips pressing against the swell of your stomach, lingering. “Ain’t a damn thing I don’t love about you, darling.”

Your breath catches. No one’s ever touches you like this, looked at you like this. Like you’re wanted. Joel lifts his head, his eyes dark and serious. “I need you to believe me,” he says quietly. “Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You nod slowly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Joel grins, slow and satisfied, pressing another lingering kiss to your skin.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice full of promise. “Now let me take care of you.”

The fire crackles low in the hearth, its glow casting shifting shadows across the cabin walls. The wind outside howls against the wood, but in here, wrapped in Joel’s arms, all you can hear is the sound of his breath—steady, warm, needy.

He has you beneath him now, your back pressing into the worn mattress, the weight of his body heavy in the best way. His hands roam slowly, reverently, as if he’s memorizing you, rough palms smoothing over the dips and swells of your form, squeezing, gripping, claiming.

“Christ,” Joel mutters, voice husky, half-broken as his fingers dig into your soft hips, molding you to him. His forehead rests against yours, his breath coming out in short, heated pants. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”

Your body hums under his touch, heat pooling low in your belly as he drags his lips down the column of your throat, kissing, biting, soothing. He groans when you shiver, when your fingers tangle in his hair and pull, just enough to make his breath hitch.

"That’s it," he rasps, his tongue tracing over your pulse. "Lemme hear you, baby. Lemme feel you." He shifts lower, trailing his mouth over the swell of your chest, his teeth grazing sensitive skin before he sucks a mark there—deep and dark, something undeniable.

"Joel," you whimper, arching into him, the sound of your voice making his grip tighten.

"Yeah, baby?" He lifts his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown wide with heat. His fingers stroke slow circles over your stomach, teasing lower, ghosting over where you need him. "Tell me what you want. Lemme hear you say it."

Your breath stutters, heat rushing to your cheeks. He’s watching you so closely, waiting. Not teasing—testing.

"I—" You swallow hard, your fingers curling into his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. "I want you, Joel. Please."

A growl rumbles deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours, slow and deep, his hands gripping your thighs as he parts them wider.

His thumb strokes your inner thigh, the pad of his finger pressing just enough to make you shiver. “You with me, sweetheart?” he rasps, voice thick with hunger. When you nod, breath hitching, he rewards you with a slow, satisfied smirk. “Good girl. Now lemme hear how much you want it.”

His touch is everywhere—hot, possessive, devouring. His fingers press into soft flesh, squeezing like he loves the way you feel beneath him. And when he finally gives you what you’ve been aching for, when he fills you, it’s with a deep, guttural groan, his face buried against your neck as he stills, trembling.

"Fuck," he rasps, his breath ragged against your skin. "So tight. So warm. Jesus, sweetheart, you were made for me."

You whimper, fingers digging into his back as he starts to move, slow at first, letting you feel every inch of him, every stroke, every roll of his hips.

Joel presses you deeper into the mattress, the sheer weight of him overwhelming in the best way. His hands frame your face, tilting your chin so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Keep your eyes on me,” he orders, his voice a gravelly whisper, his fingers tracing the curve of your lower lip before he claims your mouth in a searing, breath-stealing kiss.

He keeps his face close, whispering between ragged breaths, telling you how perfect you feel, how beautiful you are like this, like his.

"You feel that?" His voice is thick, desperate. "That’s all for you, darlin’. Every last bit of me—yours."

The world outside fades, lost to the rhythm of your bodies, the heat of his skin, the roughness of his hands. Joel isn’t just taking you—he’s worshiping you, like he’s been starving for this, for you. And when he finally lets go, when you both break, it’s together—his grip tightening, his lips murmuring against your skin, his body wrapped around you like he never wants to let go.

And maybe, just maybe, he never will.

AN: Hey y’all! 💕 This was such a pleasure to write—there’s just something about Joel being all rough, protective, and soft in his own way that makes my heart (and other things 👀) melt. I wanted this to feel intimate, a mix of raw desire and deep care, because let’s be real—Joel would take his time worshiping every inch of you. 😏

Hope you enjoyed this little indulgence! Let me know what you think—I love hearing from you! 💖✨

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nerdygirlramblings · 2 days ago

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Hi~ hope you are doing great and having a good time; sorry to bother you, but can I ask some poly 141 x reader who is a veterinarian, or dog caretaker or trainer or K9 unit; and has taken care of many dogs, pets, service dog, militar dog, and so on; and the team saw her a little more introverted, seeing her eyes a little watery but not that red, still working but seeing the tell signs of touch starved and then they learn or know that a dog she helped bring into the world when born, now she had to put to sleep for injuries or sickness, what would they do? Since not many know how painful it is even if not your partner or dog have to do this?

Sorry for the long part, and feel free to ignore if too bothersome, actually I'm a vet and Im all teary, but can't really cry or bent since my family is cold or strick and the rest say like 'its just a dog's, and I'm also touch starved, sorry for this; just that I need a little comfort

Best regards :)

Oh @boogeysmoth I am so so sorry! I can't imagine how hard the bad days must be. I'd be heartbroken and crying all the time. (We're a family that believes in fur babies, so I get it. I hope this helps a little bit.

cw: implied child neglect (memory), animal death (off-page), poorly executed accents

Everyone on base knew who you were. Soft, sweet thing who was definitely more comfortable with dogs you trained than the people. It was an open secret on base that, despite what you were training the dogs to do, you recognized their value as therapy animals. Soldiers often found their way to your portion of the yard after a mission gone wrong or when a unit lost someone or when the memories just became too much. You were patient with the soldiers who came to you, teaching them commands so the dogs could continue their learning and yet support the troops in a completely different way. You never shied away from the soldiers in those encounters, perhaps recognizing something in their hollow look, a kindred spirit in need of tender care.

The 141 in particular was well acquainted with your work. They never said it, but in their eyes, you were theirs.

Simon knew how it felt to feel like you didn't belong. Gaz understood what it was like to care for so many others with your whole heart. Price recognized the weight of responsibility you carried; your job was to train and watch out for your dogs the same way he did for his men. Soap saw how you retreated into yourself, like Ghost had when they met, and vowed to pull you into a world that might not deserve your sunshine.

It was Ghost who noticed first. Back from a solo mission, he'd swung by the K9 grounds on his way to the barracks. You were on the field like usual, but as his steps slowly brought him to the edge of your space, he saw you hesitate to reward your current charge after a followed command. There was stiffness where once had been ease, distance when you were typically close.

In Price's office for debrief, he said, "Somethin's wrong." Price merely raised a brow, so he continued. "She's actin' like the dogs are a chore. She loves them damn things." He paused, thinking of his childhood, the indifference from some who was supposed to love him. "'S not right. She loves them, Price. And if she's actin' all cold, somethin' happened."

So Price started watching too. Saw what Ghost meant, how you didn't seem to want to touch the dogs any more than you needed to. When two rookies came up, looking to sit with the dogs, you turned them away. There was no hard look, no sharp retire, but it was one of the meanest things he'd seen on base.

Several days later Gaz was sent to the K9 unit with a pile of slightly worn blankets. Requisition order gone wrong and they were far too small for the barracks' beds. He walked into your office, smile in place, and said, "Got some presents for your pups, doll."

You looked up blankly at him and the blankets. "Oh. Er, that's nice, but the dogs don't need them." You turned back to the papers on your desk, but Gaz stayed rooted where he was. You were always looking for comfort items for the dogs to make them feel cared for. You asked for stuffed toys and never turned down blankets and soft bedding.

Two weeks after Ghost first saw something off, Soap came around the edge of the K9 kennels to find you weeping in the back of an empty cage. Kneeling in the back, face buried in your hands, quietly sobbing. He didn't hesitate to open the unlocked gate and join you on the cement floor.

You felt a strong arm wrap around your shoulders before pulling you into a warm, solid chest. Quiet shushing and a whispered, "Ah've got ye," accompanied by gentle rocking. He stayed with you as the tears tapered off, and only when they were done did he ask, "Ye want tae talk about it?"

Your inhale was fast, shakey. The tears were barely at bay when you started talking. "I had to put him down," you said, voice laced with grief. Soap couldn't remember the last time he'd heard someone's heart break, but he swore yours did as you spoke. He didn't say anything, but the arm around you squeezed a little tighter. "My little Rascal. I know he's in a better place, but I miss him." The tears started again, and you didn't even try to staunch them. *And I don't know if I can keep doing this," you say between sobs. "I know what happens to these dogs in the field. I'm giving them over to be slaughtered!"

He could hear the change in your breathing, the breaths coming faster and faster. "Ach, bon! De ye no see how much good ye do?" He positioned you so he could see your face. "Love, ye give hope! The dogs ye train help keep us safe, an' we do our best to keep 'em safe in return. We treat 'em like another member of a unit. We doan let 'em get slaughtered." Deep down you knew this, but hearing it now helps ease the gaping ache in your heart just a little.

Your breathing slowed slightly. But before you could reply, try to tell Soap he was wrong, he continued in a whisper. "An' here ye help us feel human again when ye let us be wi' the pups." Shame raced through you, remembering how you'd turned the privates away last week.

You hiccuped and said, "I don't think my heart can take it to keep caring." You were so quiet Soap could have pretended he didn't hear you, but you and the dogs deserved better.

"Oh, love. When it hurts too much take care, you come find us, yeah? We can help set ye tae rights."

You nodded. "Okay," you mumbled. "I think I can do that."

He stood and pulled you up, walking backwards out of the empty kennel. "And Ah ken the best way tae start," he stated, maneuvering you further down the hall to the full kennels. He put a light hand on your waist, deftly pulling the keyring off your belt. He found the cage with the youngest dogs and tried each key until one worked. When the lock clicked, the three puppies on the other side of the gate came running. Soap pulled you in behind him and closed the gate. He took a seat on the floor and patted the space next to him.

By the time you dropped to the ground, two puppies were already climbing on Soap's lap. He coaxed the last into your arms. You stayed with him, arms full of warm puppy, until you felt the cold grip around your heart melt.

an: This was a little tribute to my in-laws doggie of the same name and my cat menace, Mushu. They're over the rainbow bridge now. ❤️

#nerdygirl answers #cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #kyle garrick #johnny mactavish #simon riley #john price #nerdygirl says

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rafesgreasycurtainbangs · 23 hours ago

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the debate of who’s house you’re going to move your baby into. you want your own little bungalow to be the family home but rafe also wants to buy a brand new home for a fresh start

something that’s ours - rafe cameron

part three of the baby series (send me ideas for series names pleaseee🙏 )

part one part two

warnings: pregnancy, none just fluff

au: might be my fav series ever to write. and thank you so much for all the love and support!! i started writing fics a few weeks ago so i just started posting them yesterday and since all i’m doing on spring break is swimming and being at the beach, i have lots of time to write (since it is my favorite thing in the world)

word count 512 (she’s a shorty)

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest, watching as Rafe paced the small living room of your bungalow. His movements were slow, thoughtful—less agitated, more contemplative. You knew this conversation was coming. You had felt it brewing for days now, ever since the reality of your growing belly made it impossible to ignore the changes ahead. “We should move,” Rafe said finally, his voice careful, measured. Not demanding—just…suggesting.

Your stomach twisted. “Rafe—” “Hear me out,” he interrupted gently, coming to sit beside you. His hands found yours, threading your fingers together as he exhaled, blue eyes scanning your face. “I get it, okay? I know you love this place. But… don’t you think we should have something new? A fresh start?” You glanced around the room—the familiar creaky floorboards, the warm-toned walls, the windows that rattled when the wind blew too hard. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours. It had been yours long before Rafe. And the thought of leaving it behind, of uprooting everything when you were already bracing for so much change, made your chest tighten.

“I just don’t see why we can’t stay here,” you admitted, voice smaller than you intended. “It’s already home.” Rafe softened. “I know, baby.” He lifted your joined hands, brushing his lips over your knuckles. “But… think about it. A house big enough for everything we need—more space, a yard, an actual nursery. A place that’s ours.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “This is ours.”

He smiled, a soft, knowing one. “It’s yours. I want to give us something that’s ours from the start.” Your throat tightened. “I hate change,” you whispered. “I hate that everything already feels like it’s shifting all at once, and now you want to take away the one thing that’s stayed the same.” Rafe’s face fell slightly, his brows pulling together. “Hey…” He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you.” His thumb brushed over your cheek. “I just want to give you more.”

You inhaled shakily, leaning into his touch. “What if it doesn’t feel like home?” His lips pressed together, considering your words. Then, he reached for your hand, guiding it to rest over your stomach. “It will,” he murmured. “Because home isn’t these walls, baby. It’s us. It’s wherever we are. And no matter where we go, that won’t change.” Your heart clenched. Rafe wasn’t trying to force you into anything. He wasn’t angry or impatient. He just wanted to give you something better, something new—something that was yours together. You let out a slow breath.

“Can we… take our time looking?” A slow, relieved smile spread across Rafe’s face. “Of course.” He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment. “We’ll find the perfect place. No rush.” AS he pulled you against his chest, his hand resting protectively over your stomach, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he was right. Home wasn’t four walls. It was him. It was this. It was everything you were building together.

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robin-evry · 2 days ago

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TWST with Acheron!Yuu. Declared by the mirror as "nothing" during the ceremony which attracted pitiful stares towards them coupled with the fact that they look like a lost wet puppy. They constantly forget things and is in desperate need of a GPS (grim is taking up the role of their functional braincell in order to get to class I fear).

Ourgh the boys seeing their magicless Acheron!Yuu shatter Malleus' dream in a single slash out of nowhere and finding out their true form (the white/red acheron on ult) is slowly fading away.

Malleus low-key about to double overblot cuz his first friend is in a state equivalent to dying: their color, sense of taste, and memories fading away, but they choose to push others to the light because to be an emanator of Nihility is to continue on against meaninglessness itself. 🥲

𝐓𝐖𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐔𝐔 ⛩️☔

A drifter claiming to be a Galaxy Ranger. Her true name is unknown. She walks the cosmos alone, carrying with her a long sword.

During the opening ceremony Acheron yuu was about to release a slash with their blade but the coffin was soon open deciding to withhold their blade and investigate first.

Acheron!Yuu is not one to waste words. They prefer silence, speaking only when necessary, and often observe situations from the sidelines before acting.

When it was there to be selected for the dorm, the mirror was unable to identify any magical source from them so they kept searching but unfortunately it started to shake and cracks started to form when it was searching for magic in Acheron yuu soul it was decided that they were magicless.

Regardless many students like Lilia, malleus, Crowley and others could feel another worldly present with you as if instead of magic it was something else. Lilia was able to sense the sleeping abyss inside of them and tried to keep it lowkey with them to make sure not to wake it up, one of the biggest hints of Acheron!yuu was the alias of them.

Even then they decided to keep their true self away from others fearing they will be affected by the nihillity or would be better off rather than knowing.

Crowley tried to confiscate Acheron yuu blade but at night he was plagued by unimaginable nightmares resorting to giving back Acheron!yuu blade in exchange for not bringing it to school and releasing it from its sheath.

Vil once told them that they would look absolutely amazing as a model and will try to convince you to join the gig once in a lifetime and when they got back waiting for their answers Acheron!yuu unfortunately forgot

Due to them being an emanator of nihility or in other words a self annihilator their identity would soon disappear as well as their mind, their sense of taste, memories, and mind would crumble slowly until they're nothing but a walking corpse.

Due to their numbness of taste they're unable to taste the food that are in nrc and the good thing about it is that they are able to withstand Lilia's cooking which caused a questioning among the students when ever or not they're human or not.

Every time there's an overblot they will only release a portion of their power fearing a full scale attack would be too much and can cause death of the person that got over blotted.

During the dwarf mine ace, deuce and grim witness Acheron!yuu unsheathing their weapon and their entire body turn into a mix of white and red as well as their blade with one slash the monster was dude in an instant not leaving any trace of it being alive.

No matter the situation, they never waver. Whether facing headstrong dorm leaders or unpredictable students, they remain steadfast.

Though they seem distant, Acheron!Yuu possesses a strong sense of justice, particularly against corruption and tyranny. They don’t tolerate unfairness and will step in when necessary, Causing a disagreement between riddle.

There are rumors that they come from another world, but they never confirm nor deny it. Their presence feels both real and unreal, as if they walk between two worlds.

They would usually attend the dismonia dorm to spar with sebek and silver, sometimes Lilia plus they seem to always be able to win. They ask them if they can teach them some sword techniques but Acheron!yuu isn't sure.

During chapter 7 when malleus put the entire sage island to sleep, Acheron!yuu would release a slash that managed to cut down malleus spell and destroy the dream world even leaving a giant slash mark on the skies of the dismonia dorm.

Instantly everyone is hyper aware of what Acheron!yuu is capable of and when needing explanation from the others they replied with it's better for them not to know where this power originated from.

Even after explaining the nihillity towards the first years and others saying that it's pointless because they are already on their way towards being mindless walking corps many would incense wanting to save them.

Styx would start to wonder whether or not there are a threat or not after trying to calculate the possibility limits of their ability it's better not try to wake up the dormat abyss sleeping inside of them if not the world would be at stake, idia was already having suspicion towards them due to their alias being Acheron name after the river of the dead.

Acheron!yuu also work as someone to bring back lost souls towards the after life at night they would walk and bring dead souls towards their final resting place.

#twisted wonderland #not canon #twst scenario #disney twst #twst headcanons #twst wonderland #twisted wonderland yuu au #twst mc #twst yuu au #twst x reader #twst x hsr #acheron hsr #acheron #Acheron!yuu

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lemmesayimyourbiggestfan · 2 days ago

Text

Relic II - Ridoc Gamlyn

Ridoc Gamlyn x reader

you can find the first part here

word count: 2,7 k

warnings: NSFW, SMUT, 18+

girlies i just had to write it the same day i wrote the first part 🫣 couldnt keep yall waiting queens

requests are open!!

“Oh, princess,” he murmured, eyes burning into yours. “I wasn’t playing.”

The words hung between you, heavy and unspoken. For the first time, Ridoc wasn't hiding behind his usual bravado. He was raw, exposed, and it made your pulse race in a way you couldn't ignore.

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a smirk. "Prove it."

Something shifted in his expression - a flicker of heat, of hunger. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the way his chest rose and fell with each ragged breath.

"You're dangerous," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"You keep saying that," you murmured, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "But I don't think you mind."

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite name. Then, without warning, he stepped back, his hand slipping from your waist.

You blinked, confused, but before you could say anything, he raised his hand with concentration, a faint shimmer of magic flickering at his fingertips. With a sharp motion, he gestured toward the door, and you heard the distinct click of the lock sliding into place. Of course he was the first of you two to master lesser magic.

"Ridoc-" you started, but he cut you off with a look.

"Sound shield," he said, his voice rough. "No one's getting in. No one's hearing us."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Confident, aren't you?"

He stepped closer again, his gaze never leaving yours. "You asked me to prove it. So let me prove it."

His hands found your waist again, pulling you against him. This time, there was no hesitation, no teasing. His lips crashed into yours, fierce and demanding, and you responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his messy hair as you kissed him back with equal intensity.

The world around you faded away, leaving nothing but the two of you, the heat of his body against yours, the taste of him on your lips. His hands roamed over your back, tracing the edges of your relic through the fabric of your tunic, and you shivered at the touch.

"Ridoc," you breathed, pulling back just enough to look at him. His name came out as a whisper, a plea, a demand - all at once. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire, and his breath was ragged as he stared down at you. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. The heat of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart, the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath.

"You're killing me," he murmured, his voice rough, strained. His lips brushed against yours again, not quite a kiss, just the faintest touch that sent a shiver down your spine. "You've been killing me since the moment I saw you."

You smirked, your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging lightly to tilt his head back.

"And yet, you're still here."

He groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through you. "Because I'm an idiot," he said and you were mesmerised by the way his tan throat bobbed with his words. "Because I can't stay away from you, no matter how hard I try."

His hands slid under the hem of your tunic, his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your lower back, tracing the edges of your relic. You gasped, arching into him as his touch sent sparks shooting through your veins.

His lips found yours again, swallowing the sound as he kissed you deeply, hungrily, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

"Ridoc," you breathed again, your voice trembling this time, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice rough, his hands stilling on your skin. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

You didn't. Instead, you reached, like by a magnetic pull, to touch his skin, warm and damp with sweat, and you couldn't resist running your hands over the hard planes of his muscles, feeling the way they tensed under your touch.

"You're not stopping," you said, your voice low, teasing, as your fingers traced the lines of his abdomen.

Ridoc's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as your hands explored him. His eyes darkened, the usual playful glint replaced by something far more intense, something that made your stomach twist with anticipation.

"No," he murmured, his voice rough, "I'm not stopping."

His hands slid around to the front of your tunic, fingers deftly working at the laces. You didn't protest, didn't even think to. The air between you was electric, charged with a tension that had been building for weeks, months, maybe even since the moment you'd first met.

The fabric fell away, pooling at your feet, your breasts now only covered with a bandage. Ridoc's hand turned you slightly around as his gaze dropped to your relic, his breath catching as he took in the intricate design. He knelt on the mat as his fingers traced the edges of the dragon's wings, his touch feather-light but searing against your skin.

"Gods," he breathed, his voice barely audible. "It's even more beautiful than I remembered."

“Still not getting the whole picture, are you?” you smirked down at him over your shoulder, taking in his expression full of wonder and fire.

“Backshots with this on your body must be an otherworldly experience.” he laughed and the words sent a thrill through you, the heat rising in your cheeks.

Ridoc's hands slid down your sides, his touch firm and possessive, as he rose and pulled you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both tender and demanding.

You laughed softly, the sound breathless and tinged with disbelief. "Is that all you can think about? Backshots?"

Ridoc's lips curved into that infuriating smirk, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes - something raw and unguarded. "Not all," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "But it's definitely up there."

You rolled your eyes, but the effect was ruined by the way your breath hitched as his hands slid around to your front, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your pants. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into him, your body betraying the nonchalance you were trying to project.

"Ridoc," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, "you're impossible."

"And yet," he replied, his lips brushing against your ear, "you're still here."

You shivered, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance as his fingers worked at the laces of your pants. The air between you was thick with tension, every touch, every breath, every heartbeat amplified by the bond that connected you. You could feel his emotions - his desire, his hesitation, his fear of crossing a line he couldn't uncross - and it only made you want him more.

When your pants finally gathered at your feet and he took off the bandage covering your chest, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the training hall, Ridoc's breath caught. His hands stilled on your hips, his gaze raking over your body with a hunger that made your knees weak.

"Gods," he breathed, his voice rough with awe. "You're... incredible."

You smirked, though your heart was pounding in your chest. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

Ridoc laughed softly as hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer.

"Good," he murmured, his voice low and rough, "because I plan to go everywhere with you."

He backed you up against the wall, his body pressing into yours, pinning you in place as his lips trailed down your chest, teasing your nipples with that skilfull tongue of his that left you a moaning mess.

Your hands found the waistband of his trousers, fumbling with the laces until they gave way, and then you were pushing them down, your fingers brushing against the hard length of him. He groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking him slowly, teasingly.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice strained. "You're going to be the death of me."

You smirked, your thumb brushing over the tip of him, and he shuddered, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Less talking," you said, your other hand gripping his balls gently, which obviously drove him insane. "More doing."

He groaned, low and deep, but he didn't argue. Hands sliding down to grip your thighs, he lifted you effortlessly and pinned you against the wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your breath hitching as he pressed against you, the heat of him sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You were suddenly breathless as he took matters into his own hands. The feel of him, going back and forth between the folds of your wetness made you whimper, your head thrown back against the wall as you arched into his touch. His mouth quickly found your nipple and your eyes rolled into the back of your head in response.

“Ridoc,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his muscular shoulders.

“Yes, princess?” he asked and pulled away from your chest, the cold air making you grind against his member even harder.

“I want you to stop messing around and fuck me.”

His lips curved into a smirk, but there was a heat in his eyes that made your stomach twist with anticipation. "As you wish, princess."

He lifted you slightly, adjusting your position, and then he was sliding into you, slow and deliberate, giving you time to adjust to the feel of him. You gasped, your nails digging into his broad shoulders as he filled you, and he groaned, low and deep, the sound vibrating through you.

"Fuck," he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as he stilled, giving you a moment to catch your breath. "You feel incredible."

You smiled, your hands sliding down to grip his hips. "Less talking," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "More moving."

He chuckled, low and deep, but didn't argue. His hands tightened on your hips, and then he was moving, slow and deliberate at first, but quickly building to a relentless pace that left you breathless. Your back pressed against the cool stone, and you gasped as his lips found your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin and you knew his doing would leave visible marks the next day. Not that you really cared, now that he was pounding into you.

You tilted your head back, giving him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair as he worked his way down your neck to your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you as he thrust into you, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

"Ridoc," you moaned, your voice trembling with need. "Don't stop."

He groaned, his breath hot against your skin as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. "I can't stop now, princess. Not when I have you like this," he muttered, voice rough with desire.

You could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust, each touch, each whispered word. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

"Ridoc," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. "I'm close."

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours as he continued to move, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Me too," he muttered, his voice strained. "Fuck, you feel so good."

You could feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You cried out, your body arching into his as the waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless.

Rido groaned, his body shuddering as he followed you over the edge, his hands tightening on your hips as he thrust into you one last time, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he collapsed against you, his forehead resting against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustle of your breathing, the occasional flicker of the torchlight casting shadows across the room.

Finally, Ridoc pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours.

"I meant it," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You're incredible."

You smiled, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You're not so bad yourself," you whispered, your voice filled with affection.

Ridoc chuckled softly, the sound warm and intimate in the quiet of the training hall. His hands slid up your sides, his touch gentle now, almost reverent, as he held you close. The intensity of the moment had shifted, the raw passion giving way to something softer, something deeper.

"You know," he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead, "this changes things. Many things. Probably all things."

You tilted your head to look at him, your fingers still tracing the contours of his face. "Does it?" you asked, your voice quiet, teasing. "Because it feels like we've been heading here for a while now."

He smiled, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. "Maybe," he admitted. "But now... now there's no going back."

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression softened, the way his hands lingered on your skin like he was afraid you might disappear. "Do you want to go back?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ridoc's gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, he didn't answer. Then, slowly, he shook his head. "No," he said, his voice firm, resolute. "I don't want to go back. I just... I need you to know that this isn't just some game to me. Not anymore."

Your breath caught in your throat, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest, a feeling that was both exhilarating and terrifying. "It's not a game for me either," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

He nodded, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you closer. "Good," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was tender, almost hesitant. "Because I don't think I could walk away from you now, even if I wanted to."

You smiled against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him back, slow and deep. The world outside the training hall faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms, the flickering torchlight casting shadows on the walls around you.

When you finally pulled back, Ridoc rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. "So," he said, his voice low and teasing, "what now?"

You laughed softly, the sound light and carefree. "Now," you said, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, "we figure it out. Together."

He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw a glimpse of the man behind the bravado - the man who was just as vulnerable, just as unsure, as you were. And in that moment, you knew that whatever came next, you would face it together.

"Together," he agreed, his voice filled with a quiet determination. And as he kissed you again, slow and sweet, you felt a sense of peace settle over you, a feeling that, for the first time in a long time, everything was going to be alright.

#ridoc gamlyn x reader #ridoc fourth wing #ridoc x reader #ridoc gamlyn #fourth wing x you #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing #the empyrean #iron flame x reader #iron flame #onyx storm x reader #onyx storm #ridoc smut

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waynes-readingverse · 6 hours ago

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Truly a perfect (and realistic) ending to a wonderful series! This was such a magical ride from beginning to end! Your writing really took me to a different world here, Alex!! 😍💜🌌

And oh boy, my heart was beating fast in my chest when Michael stormed her hotel room, and Sam and Dean weren't there yet. I was glad his anger simmered down a little, but of course, seeing her with Dean then later turned the heat right up again 🙈

“Darling, are you…you scared of me or something?” he asked incredulously. “I know I’ve been working late, not coming home when I say I will sometimes, but have I ever raised a hand to you? Not even once, right?”

The nerve... 🤌🙄

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

The fact Dolores was Jo blew my mind! 🤯 Up until that point, I had made an OC for her in my head lmao

But man, Dean storming in all heroic had my knees weak, girl 😍😍

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed. Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

Such a pissing contest, and I'm loving it lol

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

GO SAM!!! 😎

And for a moment, everyone was happy then, right? But damn if my heart didn't drop during this scene:

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said. Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

You had me so worried!! I was afraid we'd end up in, I don't know, 1968? And they're both married with kids to other people... But I was real glad it was only a few months. Seriously, thank fucking God, you didn't rip my heart out. Phew... 😆

I totally understand why Dean left, though. It wasn't the right time for them, and she needed to deal with her divorce first and Dean with his... demons lol, and that's why I loved this so much! Because it wasn't clean-cut, and Michael wasn't giving up so easily, and she still struggled with her feelings, and all of it made sense and kept it realistic. Truly loved that! 🥹🫶

And I knew from the start when I read the chapter title that the "dried ink" would both refer to her divorce papers and a new marriage certificate 😂💕

“I’m not another man,” Dean said. His tone was firm, but also imploring, willing you to hear him. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze. “I’m me and you’re you. It’s not about Michael, or anyone else right now but us. And you’ve gotta know…sweetheart, you’ve gotta know that I’m not him.”

That broke me... The reassurance he gives her? Gah 💀

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words.

I also died that she got married so quickly again for a second time! I'd understand her parents' concern lol. Luckily, she met Dean the second time around, or this is the kind of hopeless romanticism that becomes dangerous fast 😂

“For the money. I’m thinking that after all this, you want to stick closer to home, be near your family,” he said. “I’ve got nothing tying me down over there besides the house, so I figure we can use the money to buy one here. With whatever’s left, I could try to start an auto repair shop. Nothing big to start. Just a space big enough for the work. I’m not picky about it. Your uncle could send me the stragglers from his tows, if he’s agreeable to it.”

This was such a smart idea of him, and I loved that he wanted her to be closer to her family! 😍 Surely also scoring brownie points with the in-laws lol

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered. When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again. The train rode on.

Oooof, and that was such a perfect way to end it, too 😮‍💨

Like I said, I hope they truly live happily ever after with a bunch of kids running around the yard, Dean grilling, and her baking apple pie. They deserve it 🥹❤️

Such a fantastic journey, friend!!! ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 5

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Ready for an angsty-fun filled finale? 😘💖

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “The Very Thought of You” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, tense situations, protective Dean, hurt/comfort, fluff, and spice.~

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🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 5: Dried Ink

Dean slammed the payphone back on the hook in frustration. He’d tried calling twice from the train station and couldn’t get you at home. It was getting late in the evening and he knew you were off work already. Where the hell did you go?

“She could’ve packed up and left him already,” Sam said. “I gave her the number of a decent hotel I know over in the Village.”

Dean reluctantly stepped aside for the next person waiting to use the phone. The sound of his train clicking by fast on the tracks echoed in the station. A gust of wind shoved at the brothers' backs, ruffling their long coats, as well as Sam's hair.

“You think she did it that quick?” Dean asked.

“One way to find out,” Sam said. “Come on. I’ve got my car waiting.”

It was so very strange to watch the bellman bring your suitcases inside your new room. You’d only ever stayed in a hotel once, for your honeymoon in Philadelphia. Michael took you to the Walnut Street Theater there, and among other things, to see the Liberty Bell. It had reminded both of you about the true cost of freedom.

You let that thought slip away from you with a shake of your head as you started unpacking, hesitantly at first. It almost didn’t feel real.

Fortunately, after sampling from a bottle of scotch you’d found under Michael’s side of the bed (and slipped into your suitcase), you began to settle into the idea. You took a break from hanging up your dresses in the closet to peer out the window to the narrow, busy streets below the fifth floor. Everything looked so small down there, so far away. In time, maybe the heaviness in your heart would feel that far away too.

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. It could be Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand.

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you. “I come home with flowers, two tickets to see a show, ready to take my wife out to dinner, only to find the apartment half empty. Not to mention a letter that…frankly, cut me to down to the core.”

His anger lessened then, turning into dismay; the kind that you never would have expected to see in his eyes. Not after how he’d been acting for the past few months. He came closer and grabbed hold of you by the shoulders. When you tensed and expelled a shaky breath, he blinked in surprise.

You drew enough courage to meet his eyes, so blue, for once so earnest. It made you sick. Because the man he was when he was sober was more like the one you married. Only, you felt the true version of him was more akin to a sleeping dragon, lying in wait to be provoked.

“Neither of us have to lie anymore and pretend this is a marriage. At least, not one worth saving,” you said. “I know, Michael. I know about Dolores…or should I say, Joanna.”

Michael paused. His head cocked as disbelief crossed his features. He stared down at you almost without blinking.

“Did you know her real name was Joanna Johnson?” you asked. “Ring any bells with Brady Johnson, the man you’ve been paying to keep her company?”

Michael frowned. “He’s her brother. He pays her bills—”

“No,” you shook your head. “Look in the folder sitting on the coffee table there.”

You gestured over to it with a nod of your head. Michael was drawn to the path of your gaze. When his morbid curiosity was too much, he finally let go of you to investigate the folder in question. You released a subtle sigh of relief. You began drifting over behind the couch and closer to the landline phone. It rested on a nearby accent table.

Meanwhile, Michael sorted through the contents of the folder and all the information Sam had gathered for you. He’d made copies of all the evidence for your personal records, including the photos he took of Michael and Dolores.

“Her maiden name is Joanna Beth Harvell,” you revealed. “Brady Johnson isn’t her brother, Michael. You’ve been paying to sleep with another man’s wife.”

No one short of Clark Gable could fake the jolt of shock that crossed Michael’s face. You saw the truth of it in his eyes when he glanced up at you.

“I don’t know why it should bother you, seeing as you don’t seem to care much about wedding vows,” you couldn’t help but snark. You were no longer all that sad though. Somehow, that pitiful look on his face made you feel sorry for him.

Michael seemed to have swallowed his tongue. For a while, he couldn’t dislodge it from the roof of his mouth to speak. But when he did, it wasn’t with anything good to say.

“How did you get all this?” he asked.

Your spine stiffened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over, Michael. I can’t do this anymore. You should be getting the divorce papers served to you by the morning—”

Your words were cut off when he rounded the corner of the couch, grabbing you by the arms again. This time, his grip was much firmer and made you gasp.

“What the hell is going on? Have you been spying on me?!” he raised his voice to new heights, shaking you once by your shoulders. “How long have you been planning to leave me?”

The words became choked in your throat along with your fear—one that paralyzed you, and made you feel sick with yourself, small and weak.

The door bursting open again startled you both, but it was Michael who grunted when he was heaved off of you by his shirt and waistcoat.

You stumbled and braced yourself against the back of the couch, but your widened eyes fell on the one man you never thought you’d see again.

“Dean,” you breathed.

He spared you a look of concern through his anger, but Michael soon commanded his attention by trying to break his hold. Dean reeled back his arm and delivered a solid punch that knocked the other man into the wall. Michael leaned heavily against it to keep himself upright, and he had to blink a few spots out of his eyes, not only grimacing at the ache in his cheek. That one blow had rattled through his skull, disturbing old injuries. He glared over at Dean.

“Who the hell are you?” Michael shouted. His shock only increased when he noticed Sam Winchester shutting the hotel room door behind him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m her lawyer, Mr. Milligan, and you’re hereby served,” Sam said.

He strode forward with a packet of papers. Michael took a purposeful step towards him, but Dean shoved Michael back against the wall. It allowed Sam to place the packet in Michael’s disbelieving hand.

Dean went over to you then, giving you a meaningful once-over as you held yourself. He softened when he saw the tears in your eyes.

“You all right?” he said quietly, laying a hand on the small of your back. You still couldn’t quite speak, but you nodded at him gratefully, tucking a wily strand of hair behind your ear.

Michael took notice of it once he peeled his eyes from the divorce papers, and up at you and Dean. Michael’s lips pursed as his posture became even more tense and irate.

“I’m not signing this,” he said, tossing the folder onto the coffee table beside the evidence of his infidelity. He met your wary gaze. “Look, I’m not saying I’ve been a perfect husband, but you’re my wife. That still means something to me. We can…we can still work this out.”

Against your will, hot tears burned in your eyes, and your mouth trembled. The men watched you closely.

You shook your head.

“No. We can’t,” you said. “You’re not the man I thought I married.”

In those blue eyes, you thought you saw the shine of a breaking heart. But all too quickly, it turned into anger and denial. Michael meant to cross the narrow distance between you with a threat on his mind and tight coiling of his entire frame. Dean’s hand slid from your back as he stepped in between, fisting a hand in the other man’s dress shirt and pressing there hard.

“You take your hands off me before I tear you apart,” Michael hissed.

Dean’s face was full of cold fire, with a threat thinly veiled underneath. “Lay another hand on her, and I’ll break every bone you got left.”

“Dean,” you gasped, reaching out for him. His backward glance at you warned you to stay where you were.

Michael became even more incensed. Again, he was noticing the familiarity between you and this man invading his space, threatening him, and standing between him and his wife. Before he could open his mouth to protest, Sam finally spoke up again.

“If you don’t take that file and leave now, peacefully, then this isn’t the only one of your affairs that’s going to come to light,” Sam said.

Michael hesitated. He glanced over at Sam with an angry raise of his brow.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know very well what it means,” Sam replied. He picked up the folder of evidence he gave you and slipped out a few documents that highlighted an audit of Milligan Meats.

“How does a family business stay so incredibly lucrative during one of the worst times for meat production since the Depression?” Sam wondered aloud. “Maybe it has something to do with those connections you made in Philadelphia, greasing hands like Vondich, from Pittsburg. Or accepting kickbacks from the Torelli family to stock their restaurants with higher quality beef. Who knew that your father had deep, shall we say intimate ties, to one of the biggest mafia families in New York City?”

Once Sam showed the numbers and records, written in Michael’s own painstaking hand, your husband’s face went ashen.

“How did you get this?” he said. Then, as it dawned on him, he looked over at you in betrayal. You hadn’t known about the Torellis, but Sam had been able to sort the last five years of audits for himself, thanks to your investigation of Michael’s office.

“I did my own digging, Mr. Milligan,” Sam said, earning back his attention. “Your wife’s only part in this was asking for my help in securing her divorce. As you can see, I’m very thorough. And these aren’t my only copies of this information. I’m fully prepared to take it to the authorities, today.”

His lie was to protect you, just as much as Dean physically putting himself between you and Michael was. You didn’t know if Michael entirely bought the lie, but eventually, his shoulders sagged in defeat.

He grabbed the papers from Sam’s hand, pivoted on his heel, and turned to leave. However, Michael stopped at the doorway to look back at you.

“This is really what you want?” he asked.

You nodded. “You know it is.”

With that confirmation, Michael took his heavy heart with him when he left.

Sam and Dean helped you repack your things. Neither of them trusted Michael to leave you alone now that he knew where you were. You didn’t want to make such a fuss, but they insisted on helping to put you up at a different hotel across town.

Sam took half of your belongings in his car, where he also had Dean’s one and only suitcase. Dean loaded the rest of your luggage in a taxicab and sat beside you, mostly staring out the window while he smoked. During the ride, you couldn’t help but glance at him every so often. You noted his profile, handsome as always, except now you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking.

“Dean,” you said quietly. It earned you his attention, as his eyes roamed over you from your familiar beige jacket to your favorite burgundy lipstick.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I am,” you nodded, giving him a small smile. “Thank you.”

You tried to convey deeper things with your words, and you thought Dean read your meaning. He hesitated for a moment, but he took up your hand and pressed a kiss to your fingers.

“Sam’s gonna keep watching out for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said.

Your smile fell. “You’re still going back to Kansas?”

Dean held your gaze for a long moment, and let out a breath through his nose.

“Nothing’s changed, sweetheart. I’m still a man with a lot to make of himself, and you’re still a married woman, even without the ring,” he said, gesturing to your left hand held in his. “It’s not the right time for us…and I’m not asking you to wait for me to get my act together. It’s not fair to you.”

You were quiet for a while. The cab’s tires continued rolling over bits of gravel in the street, the honking horns and other pocketed sounds of the city falling into a background symphony. You glanced up at Dean, meeting his eyes once more.

“I don’t regret anything,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “I could never.”

The corner of his lips quirked upwards. “Me either, baby. Not for all the world.”

He held your hand until the taxi stopped in front of the hotel. Dean leaned over to open the door. He helped you out of the car, but there, he let you go.

You supposed you’d have to be strong enough to walk alone this time.

March 1946

Four months later, it was official.

Oh, Michael sure made it difficult. Sam did make a point to keep an eye on you though. He even hired a client and friend, Benny Lafitte, to accompany you to and from work every day. The burly man was an intimidating presence, but he was kind and respectful. He made you feel safer, especially in the evenings when he kept watch of your apartment for a while, sat out front in his car.

Michael was tenacious. He likely used his connections through town, however nefarious they might be, to find out where you were staying again. He continued to show up outside your hotel room.

Nonetheless, when he sat up against your door all night and realized that you wouldn’t budge, the anger finally drained out of Michael. The exhaustion and guilt set in, perhaps not for the first time.

Then, he drunkenly apologized through the closed door, not knowing you were leaning in on the other side of it. It wasn’t the kind of apology that meant anything, you thought, but the kind that meant to let him save face in your eyes, to persuade you into softening.

You didn’t soften, even though he tried everything to get you to reconsider. He tried gentle words and grandiose gestures, even so far as getting down on his knees outside the door and begging—something you’d never seen him do, not once. Part of you wanted to open the door just an inch if it allowed you to see that sight.

Your tears came, but not because your heart was easing up to him. Your heart was breaking again, knowing this was the end.

He tried reminding you of how difficult it would be for you afterwards, how it might affect your family, your job, everyone’s perception of you. More importantly to him, it would affect how people saw him, a man divorced after barely a year.

Somehow, you found the strength to speak to him slowly from inside the door.

“It’s already done, Michael. And so am I,” you said. “After I saw you and Dolores together with my own eyes, I…I was intimate with another man. I didn’t do it to hurt you, but I still did it.”

His silence was deafening. Not being able to see him actually made this easier though. You sighed.

“I’m sorry, but I just can’t go back to us,” you said, “because that would be a lie.”

You couldn’t see it, but his face tightened as angry tears filled his eyes. He felt the weight of his decisions like never before, along with a pulsing, phantom pain in his skull that alcohol could no longer dull. Dimly, he remembered the man he used to be, before. He remembered having a shred of honor to his name, even before he married you. And he did that because he’d loved you. He was sure that he had, somehow…

“I am sorry, darling,” he croaked. “You have to know…”

You nodded, taking a breath to try and steady yourself.

“I know,” you realized. As much as he was able to be, he was sorry.

He picked himself up from outside your door and walked away. He never returned after that.

In those four months, you resolved to move back to Sioux Falls. New York had become your home in the past year and a half you’d lived here, but it wasn’t who you were. You wanted a quieter life. A more peaceful life.

You initially agreed to move to the city with Michael because you had wanted to please him, and make his transition back to civilian life easier in his familiar surroundings. You thought the two of you were building a life together.

New York City was still a heartbeat of a world, but it was no longer in your heart.

Now, you were finishing up on packing your things at the hotel. You left for South Dakota tomorrow, and you already sent your last payment to Sam Winchester a few days ago, along with a handwritten letter thanking him for his help. You felt badly for not going to visit his office in person, but it would be too hard. You would be too tempted to ask about his brother.

Dean.

Just the thought of his name made your heart constrict. You weren’t sure if it was only with pain, though you hoped he was doing well. You tried to remember that you had known him for barely a week. Your mind and your heart shouldn't be so taken up with him.

And yet.

He had seen you at your lowest, belly-to-the-ground low. He had brushed away your tears and hadn’t tried to flatter you with pretty words. He’d made you feel better with simple, raw honesty.

He gave you a window into his past, even though a soldier like him wouldn’t easily pry himself open for anyone, short of his own brother, you suspected. So you’d come to realize, whenever the memory of him greeted you after that day in the park, that he’d given you something special. Perhaps the best night of your life.

Your fingers paused on the brass doorknob to what had been your bedroom for the past few months. It was a modest one, complete with a kitchen and a small two-seater sofa.

Hotels were expensive, but your parents had been kind enough to send you some money to help you. They’d been dismayed to learn of the reasons behind your divorce, of course. They both had been against it at first, but when they heard your voice over the phone, along with the full story, they finally agreed to support you in what way they could, especially by welcoming you back home.

You were looking forward to seeing them. It had only been a couple of months since they’d come to the city for Christmas, but you were ready to go home to some familiarity, and to your family’s support.

You shook your head to get yourself unstuck from all of that. You straightened the wrinkles out of your long skirt and adjusted the collar of your blouse. You had just come home from your last day of work not too long ago, so you supposed you would take a bath and get changed into something more comfortable before you finished packing. Your train left tomorrow, early in the morning.

You were about to head into the bathroom when you heard a knock at the door. Frowning, you wondered who it could be. If it was Michael again, you were not opening the door, and you’d call the police for good measure if he stuck around. You were done entertaining him in every sense of the word.

You went to the door and looked into the peephole. Your brows furrowed. You unlatched all three locks on the door and opened it to the room service maid.

“Hi, Bridget, how are you?” you greeted her.

“Oh, I’m doing well, ma’am. Sorry, I’m a bit behind today, but I’m here to clean the room.”

“Oh, well, now isn’t really a good time,” you said. You had duffel bags and suitcases open, with your clothes, a curling iron, and other things thrown about. Not to mention, you had a leftover sandwich sitting half-eaten on the dining table with a nearly empty bag of chips.

“I’m afraid I can’t come back later,” said Bridget. She tended to talk with her hands, made more interesting by the fact that she held a broom with one hand, and pulled her cleaning cart with the other. “It’ll be too late, and then you’ll be asleep!”

“Look, I’ll just clean tonight, and you can come back tomorrow after I leave. How does that sound?” you suggested.

“All right, if that’s how you want it,” Bridget said with a shrug. She threw her broom on the cart and started pushing it down the hall. She still called back to you over her shoulder, “Goodnight, ma’am! Safe travels for your trip home.”

You shook your head with a weary smile. “Thank you. Goodnight!”

You closed the door behind you and reset all the locks in place. Releasing a heavy sigh, you supposed you should get back to packing. You turned to do just that, when there came another knock on the door. This time it was a heavier sound.

“For God’s sake. What is it now?” you groused.

You went back to look into the peephole. This time, your mouth fell open in a gasp. You undid all the locks again with shaking hands, and you opened the door. There stood Dean Winchester.

He looked nice. Dapper really, wearing a dark blue suit and tie over a crisp white shirt and blue waistcoat underneath. His hair was combed and gelled and parted to the right, and he smelled faintly of a woodsy cologne.

He also looked just as stricken to see you. His eyes were as green as you remembered, and they took in your form from head to toe. They returned to your face, softening slightly, and he smiled.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

God, his voice. It threatened to make you weak.

You shook your head and managed to smile back at him. “What’re you doing here?”

He chuckled. “Well, that’s some welcome.”

“You know what I mean.” You reached out for him, and he took your hand, raising the back of it to his lips in a kiss. All the while, his eyes never left you. Your face flushed hotly, your heartbeat leaping in and out of rhythm.

“I’m here to see you,” he said, matter of factly. As if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Your mouth ran dry. It was difficult to form words, but somehow you managed it.

“Would…would you like to come in then?” you offered.

“I’d like nothing more,” he replied.

The depths in his words made a tingle run down your spine, though you tried to hide your reaction to it. You let him in and shut the door behind you both.

“So you’re headed home, huh?” he asked. He was sitting next to you on the couch with a soda you procured for him, and a cigarette in hand, yet to be lit.

“Did Sam tell you?” you asked.

Dean nodded, smiling ruefully. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

You ducked your head, a bit embarrassed. He tossed his unlit cigarette on the coffee table and tucked a finger under your chin. He raised your head until you met his eyes.

“There she is,” he said softly.

You sucked in a breath laden with emotion. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Why are you here, Dean?”

“I think you know,” he said, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I think you need to say it,” you replied, daring him with the directness of your gaze. His hand fell away from your chin, just to cup your cheek as he moved closer. You grabbed onto his arm in reflex.

“I told you, I had to see you,” he admitted.

“Why? Why now?” you asked. “After what you said last time… For goodness’ sake, Dean. Why wait until I’m about to leave?”

“Because,” Dean said. He took a subtle breath, making himself relax. “Because I had to sort myself out, and I had to wait until the ink dried on those damn divorce papers. Because if I’d come any sooner, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.”

Hope dared to rise high in your throat. Your eyes flit over his face, and finally met his.

“From what?” you whispered.

Dean tilted his head to consider it. He bit into his lip, and then, he made a choice.

He kissed you with abandon. He kept kissing you, stealing your breath, finding new angles to devour you with. He robbed you of any coherent thought in your head the moment his tongue breached your lips to curl against yours. It was all you could do to keep up with him, but you grabbed onto his jacket and made indents in the fabric with your nails. His hands moved down your body to squeeze your waist, pulling you flush against him. You moaned into his mouth.

“Dean,” you said, half on a gasp, half on a whimper.

He managed to slow down for a moment. His hand came up to pet your hair.

“No matter what the hell I do, I’m selfish. I just…I can’t let you go,” he said, with furrowed brows.

You shook your head in dismay. “You didn’t need to, you know. I wouldn’t have let you take me home that night if I didn’t think you were a good man…and I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in.”

Your lips tugged at a smile, making Dean smirk as well. That memory had stayed with him too, usually on long nights alone in his house. He tried to remember the sweet smell of your perfume, the feeling of your soft skin, the sound of your pretty moans in his ear. Even now, the thought stirred the well of arousal inside him.

But also, there were other things he missed, like the sight of your smile, your sweeter voice, somehow gentle and strong all at once. He shook his head, thumbing at your cheek.

“The truth is, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the day I met you,” he said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you.”

Your eyes blinked wide at him in shock. His face was steady and even, but his amusement was starting to peek through the longer he looked at you.

“Pretty sure?” you asked breathlessly.

“Well, I’m willing to be more definitive on the subject if you are,” he teased.

You fought a smile, but you couldn’t quite help it. Still, doubt began to creep in from behind.

“I want to believe you,” you said quietly. “But part of me is afraid that these are all just pretty words. If I let another man—”

You tried steadying yourself with a breath. Your watery gaze cut away from Dean, but he wouldn’t let you hide. He gently brought you back, once again guiding your chin. He swept the lone tear from your cheek.

“Please, just tell me the honest truth. Tell me how you feel about us, and I promise, I won’t take it for granted,” he said. He knew he was practically begging, sounding almost needy and weak, but he couldn’t walk away from you again. Not until he knew for sure what you could want from him…what you could want with him.

The seconds of waiting for your answer were more agonizing than the long hours he spent traveling back to New York.

Until finally, you spared him. You shook your head and raised a hand to caress his cheek, your thumb brushing over his plush lower lip.

“After you left, I thought about you every morning when I woke up. And I prayed for you every night before I went to sleep,” you said. “I’m pretty sure that means I love you too.”

Dean smiled. It was a soft, boyish smile that seemed too young for his face. You loved him all the more for it.

He leaned in…but he hesitated, stopping just shy of your lips.

“Look, I still don’t know if I can be the man you need,” he said. He looked into your eyes. “But I can promise to try, every day, and for the rest of our lives.”

Hot tears once again stung in your eyes, threatening to blur your vision.

“That’s all I could ask for, Dean,” you replied. “I’ll try for you too.”

He smiled slightly, holding you a little closer by your waist.

“Good, because my shoulder still hurts sometimes. Gonna need you to work another miracle or two.”

You laughed and nodded, your hand sliding back up his arm to rub the old injury in his shoulder.

“My specialty,” you teased.

His smile dimmed then, becoming a touch serious, and even rueful.

“And, uh…I don’t sleep so well at times, either,” he said.

You sobered as well. “Me too,” you said. Your lips hinted at a smile again. “But we can keep each other company.”

Dean read the thread of suggestion in your eyes, despite the hint of shyness. His smile began to perk up again.

“I can also be kind of stubborn,” he admitted.

Amused, you tilted your head and ran a gentle hand over his chest. Was he giving you every reason you might say no to him?

“Well, I’m sure I can find a way to soften you up,” you said.

Chuckling, Dean took your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. “Oh, I got no doubts about that, sweetheart.”

He rested your hand back on his chest and thought for a moment more. You just waited for him, patiently stroking his hand with your thumb. You had time to wait.

“You know, I occasionally like to cook too,” he said, with something of an embarrassed chuckle.

Your smile brightened with interest. “Really? Well,” you said, slipping your hand out of his and winding your arms around his neck. “We can take turns feeding each other then.”

Dean really liked the way your mind worked. His hands splayed along your lower back and brought you more flush against his chest. Your face was mere inches from his, tilted up to him in waiting.

Again, he stopped short of kissing you.

“Ah, there’s probably a lot more you should know, but this one’s kind of a big one,” Dean said. That serious tone crept back up in his voice. “I’ve got a plan to make money. It’s not a sure-fire thing, but it’s an honest one. And even if it doesn’t work, I’ll just try something else. I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of you. You don’t gotta worry about anything, okay?”

You smiled at his earnestness. What surprised you most of all was that you believed him. Every word. Because you could see it in the deep green of his eyes. If you trusted him, he wouldn’t let you down. Or at least, he would try his hardest. Try really was all you could ask for.

“Then I’ll take care of you too,” you nodded, stroking his cheek.

Dean’s smile rang true as well.

He finally kissed you again, trapping you thereafter against the sofa.

You sighed and nuzzled your head in a more comfortable position on Dean’s shoulder. The train bound for South Dakota was travelling full speed ahead, four days after your initially booked ticket. The carriage bumped and jostled you both at times, but you felt nothing but peace.

Dean turned his attention towards you, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His fingers entwined with yours in his lap.

“Comfortable?” he asked, both genuine and a little teasing.

“Mhmm,” you nodded. Your eyes closed as you let out a breath. He smiled into your hair.

“So what’s it like in Sioux Falls?” he asked quietly, as to not disturb you too much. He just wanted to keep hearing your voice. He’d missed it. He’d missed you.

“Quieter than the city,” you replied, after a moment to think about it. “Slower, but in some ways nicer. I think you’ll like it more than New York, anyway, and I think my parents will like you too…if they don’t think too much less of me.”

“Why would they think less of you?” Dean asked.

You picked your head up and looked up at him a bit bashfully. You raised up your joined hands, where his mother’s wedding bands now rested on your ring finger.

“For marrying another man they’ve never met, scarcely two minutes after the ink dried, so to speak,” you said, using his words.

Dean chuckled, and he wrapped you up more snugly against him and rubbed your back. If you wanted to get technical, the new marriage license was the most recent “ink” to be penned. Sam had been your witness, of course, and he’d hugged you both afterwards. For Dean, Sam’s hug was tight and bracing.

“I’m happy for you, Dean. I’m always here for you. Anything you need.”

“That’s my line, little brother.”

Dean hadn’t known that the two of you needed to take a blood test just to get hitched, let alone that the license wouldn’t be valid for 72 hours. Though it did give you and Dean the opportunity to put your hotel room to good use for those three days. Call it a honeymoon before the honeymoon.

(In fairness, you’d tried to hold out for decency’s sake, but your resolve dissipated even quicker than Dean’s.)

“Don’t worry, I’ll charm ‘em,” he said with a grin.

You snorted. “Good luck with my father. Be prepared for his grilling. Where do you plan to live? What’re you doing for work?”

“Well, the first one we can talk about. The second one, I’ve already got an idea,” said Dean. “I wanted to wait until I saw you again to decide…but I plan to sell the house in Lawrence.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Really? Why?”

You had already been mentally preparing yourself for a move to Kansas after visiting your parents. You never considered that Dean would want to sell his family home.

“After he gets to know you, I don’t see why not. Dean, that’s a great idea and…thank you,” you replied. Your heart was touched that he would sell his family home, just so you could be near your family. You squeezed his hand and blinked past the tears beginning to burn in your eyes.

“Really, you don’t know what it means to me that you’d consider me like that.”

Dean noticed you getting worked up. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, though part of him felt a bit bashful.

“It’s not all that special,” he said. You didn’t budge, however.

“Yes, it is,” you said. You leaned up, wordlessly requesting a kiss. Dean obliged you. He kissed you long and slow and tender.

He broke away after a while, just to look over your shoulder. He smiled. Then he leaned forward, careful to keep you secure in his arms as he locked the door.

“What’re you up to?” you asked in amusement, despite the fire churning inside you.

“It’s a long way to the Midwest, sweetheart. I’m taking advantage of it,” he said. “What do you say?”

A knowing smile began to tug at your lips. “Hmm, depends on what you want to do.”

Dean shifted you onto his lap. Smirking at your small sound of surprise, he made a show of undoing every button that laced down the front of your dress with slow precision. Your breathing shallowed as you watched his nimble hand go one by one.

“I plan to take my time,” he said. “I plan to make us both glad this train is loud enough to drown out just about anything.”

He laid a kiss just above your neckline. The more buttons he loosened, the more bare skin he had to trail his affections, like on the tops of your breasts, and another kiss in between them. Uttering a soft sigh, you held him to you by his hair and threaded your fingers through the brown strands. His other hand squeezed your bottom, earning a stifled giggle from you.

“I plan to map out every part of you, all over again,” he said, “until I can see it all with my eyes closed. Until we’re both sweaty and satisfied.”

He raised his head just to mark a biting, claiming kiss on your throat, making your breath hitch.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asked again.

You felt his growing smile against your skin. You tightened a hand in his hair in retaliation. It was a scandalous proposal, not to mention risky. You two could be booted off the train, for heaven’s sake…

Your breaths were shallow as he slipped a hand under the collar of your blouse, even under the bra to palm at your breast.

“You better not stop, Sergeant,” you whispered.

When he chuckled, you felt it deep in your chest.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, shortly before he claimed your lips again.

The train rode on.

AN: I promised a happy ending, didn't I? 😉✨ What did you think of the "end" of Michael, as well as how she and Dean worked things out? I absolutely loved working on this series and this AU world. Maybe I'll do another '40s AU in the future! 💖

But until then, I have lots of fun things coming up! You'll hear about the next story soon. 😘

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