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anonymousewrites · 2 days ago

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A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 2) Chapter Nineteen

Saiki Kusuo x Reader

Chapter Nineteen: Insecurity and Talkative Transfer

Summary: Teruhashi tries to figure out what Saik is attracted to, and a new transfer arrives.

“Teruhashi is pretty again today.”

“She’s an angel.”

“I’m soothed just by looking at her.”

I can hear everything you’re saying, you know, thought Teruhashi. But she kept that perfect smile on her face. Pretending not to hear is annoying for me. I’m a vulnerable maiden who doesn’t know how pretty I am. Don’t make me break that disguise. She winced internally. She knew that (Y/N) was encouraging her to be herself, but performing was so easy… I can’t look selfish…I can’t. Pretend not to hear.

“Kusuo,” said (Y/N), sitting down next to Saiki. “Are we going to Café Mami and studying later?”

Saiki nodded.

Teruhashi sighed and watched them. (Y/N) makes it look so easy. They act like themself and don’t worry about anything. And they get to go and talk to Saiki all the time. He won’t even look my way, but he talks to them…They’re really close.

Yare yare. If she gets suspicious and not just jealous, that could be a problem.

I wonder if they’re his type. I mean—I must be. I’m everyone’s type. So why… Teruhashi furrowed her brow. I’ll have to try something new.

(Y/N) tilted their head in confusion as they walked into school the next day. “Kokomi…Are you trying a new style?” they said.

“Oh, this?” Teruhashi nervously touched the necklace and bead bracelets she had put on. “I just thought it looked nice.” Her backpack was also covered in pins of sweets. And you wear pink and cute things a lot…

Indeed, while (Y/N) had their germanium earrings in, they still occasionally wore some accessories. Sometimes it was a bow, sometimes a scarf, sometimes it was just the pins and keychains on their backpack—all usually featuring strawberries, cherries, hearts, or sweets. ((Y/N) had earned the “Pinky” nickname from Nendou for a reason).

“You do look nice,” agreed (Y/N). “It’s just not your usual style. Are you okay?”

Teruhashi faltered. Was it really that easy to see? Could everyone see she had changed for someone else? Internally, she panicked.

(Y/N) is perceptive with everyone, it seems.

“I’m fine,” said Teruhashi quickly.

“Okay,” said (Y/N), sitting down in their seat. They turned and smiled back at Teruhashi. “But remember, Kokomi, you shouldn’t have to change for someone to like you. They’re not worth it if they don’t like you for you.”

Teruhashi turned a little pink. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” said (Y/N). “The right person for you will like you for just being you, and you’ll like them for who they are.”

“If you’re sure,” said Teruhashi, nervously touching the bracelets she’d put on to see sweeter—even sweeter than usual.

“I’m sure. After all, you have friends who like you for who you are. Some day it’ll be a partner,” said (Y/N) with a wide smile.

Teruhashi’s face burned, but she smiled slightly. “Thank you, (Y/N).

“Of course, Kokomi.”

Teruhashi looked at her bracelets. I shouldn’t have to change. (Y/N) is right. Her identity was still tied to being preferred by guys, but she was trying to not see herself like that. If friends like (Y/N) saw more than that, then maybe she could… I don’t think I’ll wear these tomorrow. If Saiki is going to like me, it’s going to be me! She looked at (Y/N). Maybe that’s why Saiki likes being around (Y/N). They’re just themself. She sat straighter. So that’s what I’ll do!

Saiki smiled to himself. She had talked herself out of her own suspicions about how close Saiki and (Y/N) were, and (Y/N) had, once again, just been themself and been wonderful. Looks like I’m not the only one who sees just how good (Y/N) is. He paused and then scowled inwardly. Teruhashi better not get a crush on (Y/N).��That would be worse than her having a crush on him.

“There’s a new student,” gossiped a few classmates.

“Again?” sighed another classmate.

“Everyone is fed up,” said Saiki.

“Well, we just got Miko a few weeks ago, so it is strange,” said (Y/N).

“Why not kill off the first transfer student and turn this show into a mystery thriller?” said Saiki.

“I don’t like scary stories, so no thanks,” said (Y/N), shivering.

“Transfer student?” said Yumehara. She frowned. “Could it be…”

“You know them, Chiyopipi?” said Miko.

“A guy asked me for directions earlier,” she said.

“Sorry I’m late,” said their teacher, walking into the room. Everyone looked up. “I’ll introduce our newest student.”

“Wow, I fell kinda nervous,” said a boy, walking into the room. “I’m so excited to spend our exciting youth together. I’m like a child just before he performs a recital. But I don’t play any instrument. Changing first impressions is difficult. I hear psychologists call it the primacy effect. Have you formed an impression of me?”

“I can’t tell what he looks like,” said everyone as the speech bubbles obscured their view of their new classmate.

“Sorry for blabbering on,” said the boy, continuing (it seemed he’d be going for a while). “It’s a bad habit of mine.” He brushed the speech bubbles aside. He had short blond hair and dark eyes. He seemed friendly enough. “I say everything I think of.”

What?

“I hope you’ll see I’m just honest,” he said.

“Akechi, can you go ahead and just introduce yourself?” said their teacher.

“Is it okay if I take my time?” asked Akechi.

“Keep it short,” said the teacher, sighing.

“Keep it short?” repeated Akechi. “But the class won’t know who this guy in their classroom is. Then the class won’t be able to concentrate. But it’s also almost time for next period. As they say, ‘when in Rome,’ so I’ll adjust for you. I’ll give a short introduction.”

“Too late!” exclaimed everyone.

“My first name is Touma, my last name is Akechi,” said Akechi. “I’m sure you’ll all wondering, ‘Why did he transfer now?’ I actually have a unique skill. I can—”

“Let’s all make friends with him,” said their teacher, clapping her hands to interrupt. “That’s the end of homeroom.”

“That’s one crazy guy,” said Kaidou as people stood up and gathered their things.

“He’s definitely going to fit in,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

“Touma Akechi,” said Saiki slowly.

“What is it?” said (Y/N), noticing Saiki’s curious tone.

“I don’t know,” he said.

(Y/N) tilted their head and looked at Akechi. Hm.

“The transfer student is sitting alone,” said Kuboyasu.

“Well, he didn’t exactly make the best first impression,” said Kaidou. “Primacy effect.”

“Using a new word, I see,” said Saiki, walking to a table.

“Maybe we should invite him over,” said (Y/N). “It’s probably difficult being a transfer student if you’re not super outgoing.”

Kuboyasu nodded. He knew the struggle.

No, he doesn’t, he was just struggling to not beat everyone up.

“That’s a good idea,” said Kuboyasu.

“I’ll go, too,” said Kaidou.

“Wait��” Saiki pouted as (Y/N) walked away from him. What about me?

“Hi, Akechi,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I’m (L/N), and this is Kuboyasu and Kaidou. Do you want to join us for lunch today?”

Akechi smiled. “I was getting bored by myself.”

“Okay, then,” said Kuboyasu. “We’re sitting over there with—”

“You’re all in my class,” said Akechi. “I’m glad you talked with me. What was everyone talking about? I couldn’t decide what to eat. But I decided to have curry.”

None of the others could get any words in edgeways. They all sweat-dropped.

“I’d rather have what you brought instead,” said Akechi. “Oh, I’m sorry, take a seat.”

(Y/N) looked back at Saiki and smiled apologetically.

Quit stealing my partner! Saiki grumbled to himself.

“Damn, Akechi, you sure talk a lot,” said Kuboyasu.

“I do,” said Akechi. “I’ve been holding back since I got here.”

“Holding back?” exclaimed Kaidou.

“Wow,” said (Y/N), impressed with how talkative Akechi was.

“When I’m still getting to know someone, I just keep—”

Shut up. Even sitting farther away, Saiki could hear Akechi way too easily. (Also, he was peeved about not getting to sit with (Y/N)).

“Okay, stop talking for a bit.” Kuboyasu bluntly interrupted. “Just speak up when we ask you a question.”

“Okay, I’ll be quiet,” said Akechi. “But is it okay to clear my throat? Oh, and I need to eat…”

“Close your mouth!” said Kuboyasu.

Akechi covered his mouth and gave a thumbs-up.

“Ask him something, Shun,” said Kuboyasu.

“What do you think about death?” said Kaidou instantly.

“Heavy stuff,” said (Y/N), chuckling.

That’s your first question?

“That’s a difficult one!” said Akechi. “Well, that’s a scary thought, but we are mortals, after all—”

“I see,” said Kaidou, but Akechi wasn’t done.

“—I try to accept death—”

“That’s enough,” said Kuboyasu.

“—Who knows what’ll happen when it comes?”

“We got it already!”

“But I haven’t answered yet,” said Akechi.

“Sorry, that was a bad question.” Kuboyasu looked at (Y/N). “Ask him an easier question.”

“Do you have any hobbies?” asked (Y/N).

“Hobbies are what you do in your free time, right? There’s an infinite amount of them,” said Akechi. “For example, I pee in the shower. That could be a hobby.”

“I don’t think that counts,” said (Y/N).

Don’t engage with him.

“That’s still too long! What’s with you, man?!” said Kuboyasu. Kaidou grabbed Kuboyasu before he could jump across the table. “And why are you telling us that you pee in the shower?!”

“Aren, calm down!” said Kaidou.

“Uh-oh,” said (Y/N), pushing Kuboyasu back down into his seat.

“Sorry!” said Akechi. “I don’t want to upset anyone who used to be in a gang.”

“…”

Kuboyasu let go and stared at Akechi. “How did you know I was in a gang?”

“I could tell by looking at you,” said Akechi. “I mean, your glasses are fake. The way your hair and clothes are so tidy. Clearly, you want to go off the impression that you’re normal. But your rough language, subtle musculature, the way you look, and your fists give you away.”

“Really? Most people wouldn’t notice,” said Kuboyasu.

“I suppose. It’s apparent to me, though,” said Akechi. “This trait of mine seems to surprise people. People at my previous school used to say I was a psychic.”

(Y/N) nearly laughed out loud and smothered the reaction.

Saiki’s eyes widened suddenly, and a faint echo of words flew through his mind. “Wow, how did you do that? You’re like a psychic!” What was that image?

“Also, I can find lost objects and see through people’s lies,” said Akechi.

“That’s pretty cool,” said (Y/N), smiling.

“So you are kind of psychic,” said Kuboyasu.

“Oh, no, I’m not a psychic,” said Akechi.

“I know that, psychic powers aren’t real,” huffed Kuboyasu.

Again, (Y/N) smiled to themself.

“No, psychic powers are real,” said Akechi. He was completely calm as he spoke, and (Y/N) paused at his serious tone. “I’ve seen them before.”

Saiki’s eyes widened, and he gripped his tray tightly.

“What? Tell us!” said Kaidou excitedly.

(Y/N) furrowed their brow. Is it another psychic? Or is it…Kusuo?

“You’re so gullible,” said Kuboyasu.

“Let’s save it for another time,” said Akechi, smiling.

“You won’t talk about it?” said Kaidou, disappointed.

“It was when I was in elementary school,” said Akechi. “Something happened one day that could only be explained by psychic powers. So, I was awfully surprised when I came to class and saw him again.”

Uh-oh, so it is Kusuo, thought (Y/N).

Akechi turned around to look at Saiki at the table behind them.

Oh, no.

“It’s been a while, Kusuo,” said Akechi. “Don’t you remember that day?”

“Saiki?” said Kuboyasu and Kaidou cluelessly.

“Did you forget about me?” said Akechi, still looking at the back of Saiki’s head. “Akechi is my mother’s maiden name, so my name used to be Touma Asumi.”

“You can use psychic powers, can’t you?” said a young Akechi. “Kusuo, that’s amazing!”

“I’m so glad to see you again!” said Akechi. “I can finally ask you about what I’ve always been wondering about. You’re a psychic, right?”

Oh, NO!

“I’ve wanted to ask you about it for ten years since you moved. Are you a psychic?” said Akechi, leaning in.

Yare yare. I didn’t really want to use this particular power, but I’ll show you. Saiki turned around and trained the most perplexed, confused face ever to exist. Check out this clueless face.

Everyone stared. (Y/N) resisted the urge to burst out laughing.

“That face brings back memories!” said Akechi, grinning. “It was during first grade when I asked you the same question, and you made the exact same face.”

“What do you mean?” said Kuboyasu, frowning.

“A psychic? What?” said Kaidou. “Saiki, do you know this guy?

“Yes, we were classmates in elementary school,” said Akechi. “Kusuo suddenly moved away, so it was only for two years. I met Kusuo during the opening ceremony. I wet myself from nervousness, and Kusuo sat next to me—”

“I didn’t ask you,” said Kaidou, sweat-dropping.

“Saiki, do you know him?” asked Kuboyasu.

“It’s true, but it was way back in second grade,” said Saiki. He shrugged and continue to put his clueless face on. “I’m still clueless.”

“He doesn’t remember,” said (Y/N), trying to cut in and help.

“And come on, there’s no way he’s a psychic,” chuckled Kuboyasu. “We’ve never seen anything like that.”

“If he had powers like that, he wouldn’t hide that from us,” said Kaidou. “We were once stranded—”

Yare yare. I need to think of a plan. He looked at (Y/N), and he saw them glancing at him worriedly.

“Stranded?” said Akechi.

“It was awful,” said Kaidou. “If food hadn’t drifted ashore, we would’ve been screwed.”

“I see.” Akechi was clearly thinking of how suspicious that occurrence was.

Let’s stop talking about that.

The bell rang.

“Oh, it’s time for class,” said (Y/N), standing quickly. “Let’s go before we’re late, Kusuo.”

“Right.” He stood with (Y/N).

“By the way, Kusuo,” said Akechi. “I’m 99% sure that incident was your doing. If I can find proof that you have psychic powers, then you’re undeniably involved in that incident. I promise I’ll find the proof—”

Saiki closed the door of the cafeteria closed. “Yare yare.”

“Are you alright?” said (Y/N).

“He knows. If he finds proof, he’ll tell everyone,” said Saiki, clenching his fists.

(Y/N) took Saiki’s hand. “Hey, we’ll handle it together. Alright?”

Saiki relaxed slightly. “Yare yare. To think there would be someone who remembers that time in second grade…”

“What happened?” asked (Y/N).

“I was young. I lost control of my powers,” said Saiki. He squeezed (Y/N)’s hand. “I’ll tell you more another time. I don’t—I’m not proud of that moment.”

“That’s alright,” said (Y/N). They would give Saiki time. “But remember, you were young. Things happen. You’re more in control now.”

“Thank you.”

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dissapointu · 2 days ago

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How Jinx Would Cuddle with You at Night

1. Tangled Up in Chaos

When it’s time for bed, Jinx’s version of cuddling isn’t exactly conventional. She doesn’t just get under the covers and settle down like most people; instead, she’ll end up tangled up in you in a chaotic, comfortable heap. Her legs will be draped over yours, one arm thrown across your chest, and her face will likely end up buried in your neck or against your shoulder. There’s no neatness in her cuddling—just pure, warm chaos.

2. Restless but Cozy

Jinx is never completely still, even when she’s cuddling. As you lay together, she might squirm a little, adjusting her position every few minutes. But as she moves, she stays close to you, constantly reaching out for your hand, resting her head on your chest, or snuggling into your side. Her restless energy somehow makes her cuddles feel extra warm, like she can’t quite get enough of being close to you.

3. Clingy and Needy

When Jinx is feeling especially tired or emotionally drained, she’ll cling to you like a koala, practically draping herself all over you. She’ll curl into your side, tucking her head under your chin, and hold onto you as if she’s scared of being alone. She may even burrow deeper into your arms, wrapping herself tighter around you. There’s a sense of vulnerability to her touch, as if she’s seeking comfort and reassurance that you’re there.

4. Playing With Your Hair

Jinx’s fidgeting doesn’t stop when she cuddles with you. Her fingers will run through your hair absentmindedly as she lays beside you, softly tugging at strands or twirling them. It’s one of the few times she can sit still enough to pay attention to something like this, and it’s a gentle act of affection. If you’re okay with it, you might feel her occasionally pull your head closer to hers, as if she can’t quite get enough of you.

5. Mumbling in Her Sleep

Jinx talks in her sleep sometimes, and when she’s cuddled up next to you at night, it’s hard not to smile when you hear her rambling in a half-dazed state. Her words may be incoherent or playful—maybe even a little paranoid—but it’s endearing. “Don’t touch that! It’s mine!” she might mumble, clutching you tighter as she unknowingly clings to you in her sleep.

6. Cuddling with a Bit of Playfulness

Jinx can’t help but add a little playfulness to her cuddles. She’ll nudge you or poke your side, trying to make you laugh or smile. Sometimes she’ll randomly nuzzle into your neck or cheek with a mischievous grin, asking for a kiss or just enjoying your warmth. She doesn’t need to be serious all the time, and even in the quiet of the night, she’ll find a way to make you feel adored through her playful touches.

7. Protective Cuddles

Despite her wild and unpredictable nature, Jinx can be incredibly protective when she feels safe with you. If you’ve had a rough day or she notices you’re feeling off, she’ll hold you close, wrapping her arms around you tightly. Her body will form a little shield around you as she nuzzles into your chest, as though making sure nothing can hurt you while you’re resting. She may not say much, but you can feel how much she cares in the way she clings to you, offering her own kind of protection.

8. Spontaneous Snuggling

Jinx is not the type to wait for a designated cuddle time. If she’s feeling affectionate, she’ll just slide into bed next to you, wrap her arms around your waist, and pull you close without warning. It’s sudden, but in a way, it’s sweet—like she can’t resist being near you, and she wants you to know that you’re her safe place. Sometimes she’ll just flop into bed, turning into a human blanket that envelops you with all her warmth.

9. The “I’m Not Going Anywhere” Hold

One of Jinx’s favorite cuddle positions is to curl up next to you in a way that says, “I’m not going anywhere.” She’ll wrap her arms around your waist, bury her face in the crook of your neck or shoulder, and settle in. There’s a quiet intensity in her touch that reminds you she’s there for the long haul—no matter how chaotic or crazy the world gets, she’s yours, and she wants you to feel her presence every night.

10. Occasional Spooning

If Jinx is feeling particularly cuddly, she’ll snuggle up against you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist in a soft spoon. It’s rare for her to stay completely still, but in the warmth of the night, she’ll find comfort in being close to you like this. Her face will probably be nestled against your neck or back, and you’ll feel her breathing slow down as she starts to drift off. She might fidget a bit, but she’s never too far from you.

11. Shared Lullabies (Or Random Songs)

Sometimes, to help you both wind down for the night, Jinx will hum or sing quietly, usually one of her favorite tunes or something she made up. Her voice is soft and sweet in these moments, and though it may not be perfect, it’s hers, and it’s meant for you. Even if she’s a little off-key or goofy with it, there’s something calming about her being so vulnerable with you—showing that she trusts you enough to unwind in her own way.

12. Doodle Time in Bed

Every so often, Jinx will cuddle up next to you, but instead of immediately falling asleep, she’ll get out her sketchpad and start doodling on the pages. She loves showing off her creations, even if they’re just random scribbles or silly cartoons. She’ll rest her head on your shoulder as she draws, occasionally asking for your opinion or teasing you about what she’s made. It’s just another way she connects with you in the quiet of the night.

Jinx’s cuddling style is a unique blend of chaos, tenderness, and affection. While she can be unpredictable, her desire to be close to you is constant. She may be all over the place at times, but in the safety of your arms, she’s perfectly content. The night with her is never dull—filled with sweet moments, unexpected closeness, and a sense of security she rarely shows to others.

#x reader #jinx posting #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx league of legends #jinx imagine #jinx lol #jinx #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane headcanon #arcane imagine #character x reader #leauge of legends

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dayabelle · 2 days ago

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Whatever this is

Pairings: Mha!Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Oneshot!

Shes in her twenties, the night soft with the hum of city life outside her window. She’s dozing on her couch, the flicker of a late-night movie casting shifting shadows across the walls. Then, a faint knock—hesitant but urgent—cuts through the quiet.

She startles awake, blinking into the darkness. It takes her a moment to realize it’s coming from the window. Her pulse quickens as she moves toward it, pulling aside the curtain. There he is, slumped against the frame, his face pale, a gash above his brow leaking crimson. His knuckles are raw, his shirt torn, and the faint glint of pain dances in his eyes.

Her heart leaps into her throat. “Oh my God,” she gasps, fumbling to unlock the window. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tries to smile, his voice hoarse. “Bad night.” But his knees buckle as he climbs inside, and she catches him, her hands shaking as she helps him to the couch.

She doesn’t ask more questions, not yet. Grabbing her first aid kit, she works with a single-minded focus, dabbing at the blood, her voice soft but firm as she tells him to stay still. He winces but doesn’t complain, watching her with a mix of gratitude and something else—something quieter, more profound.

When the cuts are cleaned and the bandages are secured, she sinks onto the couch beside him, her breath shaky. “You scared me,” she murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice low. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

And that’s when it happens—the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, the way he lets his guard slip just for a moment. She sees him not as the tough, unflinching guy she thought he was, but as someone who’s been carrying too much, for too long.

The hours pass, and he stays. They talk in whispers, his defenses softening as he tells her bits and pieces of what led him here tonight. She listens, her own walls crumbling as she begins to see him more clearly.

By the time dawn breaks, painting the room in soft hues of gold, she realizes she’s falling for him. It’s not just the way he looks at her, or the quiet strength he carries despite his pain—it’s the way he makes her feel, like she’s someone worth leaning on. Someone worth knowing.

The living room is cloaked in a warm, muted glow, the faint hum of the city outside their only soundtrack. He leans back against the couch, exhaustion etched into his features, the adrenaline fading and leaving him raw. She sits close, the first aid kit still on the table, her fingers resting idly on her lap as she studies him. His face is pale, the bandage on his brow stark against his skin, but his lips curl into a faint, tired smile when he catches her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, his voice low and hoarse. There’s a vulnerability in the way he says it, a hesitation she’s not used to seeing in him.

“Of course, I did,” she replies, her voice firmer than she expected. “You were bleeding on my fire escape. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

He chuckles softly, but it fades quickly, his eyes dropping to his hands. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. I didn’t mean to drag you into… whatever this is.”

Her heart twists at the way he says it, at the shame laced in his words. “Stop,” she says, her tone gentler now. “You don’t have to explain. I’m just… I’m glad you came here.” She hesitates, then adds, “I’m glad you trusted me.”

For a moment, silence settles between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. His eyes meet hers again, searching, as if trying to understand why she’s not angry, why she hasn’t pushed him away. The look they share lingers, and something unspoken passes between them—an understanding, a connection that neither of them can quite put into words.

“Sometimes, it feels like I don’t have anyone,” he admits quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “Like I’m just… out there, on my own.”

Her chest tightens at his words. “You’re not alone,” she says softly. “Not tonight, at least.”

He looks at her for a long moment, something vulnerable and raw flickering in his gaze. Then, almost hesitantly, he reaches for her. His arms wrap around her, tentative at first, as if unsure she’ll accept the gesture. But she does, slipping into his embrace like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

She feels his heartbeat against her cheek, steady but slightly erratic, as if he’s as uncertain about this moment as she is. His body relaxes by degrees, the tension melting away as her arms tighten around him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice barely audible.

She doesn’t reply, just lets her fingers trace soft circles on his back. The weight of the moment pulls them both under, and before long, the rhythm of their breathing syncs, their exhaustion catching up to them.

They fall asleep like that, tangled together on the couch, her head resting against his chest, his arms securely around her. In the quiet of the early morning, with the world outside just beginning to stir, everything else fades away—the worries, the pain, the distance. For a few precious hours, it’s just them, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

The soft glow of morning sunlight filters through the curtains, painting the living room in shades of gold and amber. The city outside is slowly waking, the distant hum of cars and faint chatter of early risers drifting through the cracked window.

She stirs first, her eyes fluttering open to the sight of him still asleep. His face is relaxed, the tension she saw the night before melted away in the quiet vulnerability of slumber. His arm is still draped loosely around her, and she can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. She studies him in the golden light, noticing things she hadn’t before—the faint crease between his brows, the way his jawline softens when he’s at peace, the faint stubble catching the light. He looks so different from the man who had stumbled through her window just hours ago, battered and broken. Here, he looks almost... boyish, as if the weight of the world has momentarily lifted from his shoulders.

Her heart swells with something she doesn’t dare name yet. It’s too soon, too fragile. But as she lies there, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped over them, she knows she’s crossed a line. She’s fallen deeper than she intended.

He stirs beneath her, his breathing shifting as his eyes flicker open. For a moment, he looks disoriented, his gaze darting around the room before landing on her. His expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Morning,” she replies, her own voice quiet. She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look at him more clearly. “How are you feeling?”

He chuckles softly, wincing as he sits up. “Like I got hit by a truck. But... better. Thanks to you.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t pass out on that fire escape,” she teases gently, though her eyes betray her lingering worry. “What happened last night, anyway?”

He hesitates, his gaze dropping to his hands. “It’s... a long story,” he says finally. “One I’m not sure you want to hear.”

“I wouldn’t have let you in if I didn’t care,” she says, her tone firmer than she expects. Her hand brushes his, a small but deliberate gesture. “You don’t have to tell me everything. Just... don’t shut me out.”

He looks at her then, his eyes searching hers as if trying to decide whether he can trust her with the pieces of himself he’s been guarding so tightly. After a long moment, he nods. “Okay. Not now, but... soon.”

The tension eases between them, replaced by a quiet understanding. She rises from the couch, stretching and offering him a small smile. “I’ll make coffee. You look like you could use some.”

He watches her as she moves toward the kitchen, the corners of his mouth lifting in the faintest of smiles. For the first time in a long while, he feels something unfamiliar—a sense of belonging, of safety.

As the rich aroma of coffee fills the air and the morning light grows brighter, they settle into the rhythm of the day, both knowing that something between them has shifted. They don’t name it yet, but it lingers in every glance, every word, every shared silence. Something fragile, yet undeniable, has begun to bloom.

The week passes in a blur, but she finds her thoughts constantly drifting back to that night. She catches herself glancing at the window more often than she’d like to admit, hoping for another knock, even though she knows it’s foolish. He has his own life, his own battles to fight. But the way he held her, the quiet sincerity in his voice, lingers like a warmth she can’t shake.

Then, one evening, just as the city begins to settle into its nighttime rhythm, there’s a soft, familiar tap at her window. Her heart skips, a mix of surprise and anticipation surging through her as she pulls back the curtain.

There he is, standing on the fire escape. This time, there’s no blood, no torn clothing, no pained expression. His face is softer in the faint glow of the city lights, the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips. His black hair falls in loose, unkempt strands around his face, framing his sharp jawline and tired eyes. He wears his usual dark attire—fitted black pants, a black shirt clinging to his lean frame, and that ever-present scarf looped loosely around his neck. Even now, there’s an intensity about him, a quiet strength that draws her in.

She quickly opens the window, her voice a mix of surprise and worry. “Shota? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, stepping inside with a fluid grace that feels so distinctly him. His dark eyes meet hers, and the faint smile grows just a little wider. “I just… needed to see you.”

His words take her breath away. She watches as he steps throughthe window, his gaze softening as it roams over her face, taking in every detail like he’s memorizing her. Before she can say anything, he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a firm, almost desperate embrace.

Her breath hitches as she feels his warmth, the steady thrum of his heart against hers. “I missed you,” he murmurs against her hair, his voice low and rough with emotion. “I missed your laugh, your voice... everything. It’s been a hell of a week, and I’ve been so damn busy, but I couldn’t stay away.”

She melts into his arms, her hands clutching the back of his shirt as if afraid he’ll disappear again. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the silence filled with unspoken emotions that hang heavy in the air.

When he finally pulls back, his hands linger on her shoulders, his dark eyes searching hers. “I know I didn’t leave things the way I should’ve the other night,” he says quietly. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. About... this.”

Her cheeks flush under his gaze, but she doesn’t look away. “I thought about you too,” she admits softly. Her eyes flick over his face, taking in every detail—the faint dark circles under his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his hair falls messily into his face. He’s tired, but there’s a softness to him tonight, a vulnerability she rarely sees.

“You look like you’ve been running yourself into the ground,” she says, her voice tinged with concern.

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Comes with the job. But being here... with you... it’s worth it.”

She can’t help but smile, her worry easing as his words settle over her. “Well, since you’re here, I guess you’re staying for coffee this time?”

He smirks, a rare glint of humor lighting up his expression. “Only if you’re making it.”

She rolls her eyes, but her heart swells as she heads to the kitchen, his presence filling the space in a way that feels both comforting and exhilarating. As the night stretches on, they settle into easy conversation, their laughter echoing softly through the apartment.

For the first time in what feels like forever, she feels like they’re finally moving toward something real, something they both desperately want but are too scared to name. And as the hours slip away, she knows one thing for certain—this time, she won’t let him go.

The air between them feels different tonight—charged, alive. There’s an unspoken understanding that neither of them cares to question anymore. Labels, reasons, boundaries… they’ve stopped mattering. What’s forming between them has a rhythm all its own, one they’ve surrendered to without hesitation.

She sits cross-legged on the couch, her face glowing under the warm light of the lamp. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders as she gestures animatedly, recounting the absurdity of something that happened earlier in the day. He listens, his body turned toward her, one arm draped lazily along the back of the couch, but his eyes never leave her. The way her lips curve when she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear—these little things ignite something deep in his chest, a warmth he didn’t know he could feel so intensely.

“...And then I told him, ‘Sure, because cats definitely know how to use a spreadsheet,’” she finishes with a grin, leaning back with a playful toss of her head.

He chuckles, the sound low and rare, like a secret only she’s allowed to hear. “That’s your response to workplace chaos? Mock the guy?”

“What can I say? I thrive under pressure,” she teases, her eyes sparkling. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep things interesting. Not everyone can be all serious and broody like you.”

He smirks at her, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.” But there’s no edge to his words, only affection.

She notices the way the corner of his mouth quirks when he smiles, how his eyes soften in a way that makes him seem less like the stoic man the world knows and more like the Shota she’s come to love. It’s in the small moments—his hand grazing hers as he reaches for his mug, the way he unconsciously leans closer when she speaks. Every touch, no matter how brief, feels like a spark, warm and grounding.

Her heart burns at the realization: He’s here. He’s hers. A man like Aizawa Shota—reserved, rational, and always tethered to duty—is sitting on her couch, laughing at her jokes, holding her like she’s the one constant in a chaotic world.

As if sensing her thoughts, he reaches out, his hand resting lightly on her knee before trailing up to cup her cheek. “You’re staring,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes.

She laughs softly, her cheeks warming. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About?”

She hesitates for a moment, then leans into his touch, her voice soft but steady. “About how crazy this all feels. How someone like you—” Her words falter, but she pushes through. “—how you’re here. With me.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying her, his thumb brushing gently against her cheek. “And what’s so crazy about that?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “You shouldn’t be. You’ve got a million things to do, responsibilities that are way bigger than me. But you’re still here.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “You’re mine.”

His expression softens, the faintest smile curving his lips as he leans forward. “I’m here because I want to be. Because you make it worth it.”

The words hit her like a bolt, warm and overwhelming. She doesn’t know how to respond, so she just smiles, the kind of smile that makes her cheeks ache, and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He holds her tightly, his chin resting on her shoulder, and for a moment, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

They stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, their breaths synchronized, their hearts pounding in time. When they finally pull apart, she feels lighter, like something inside her has shifted. They talk about their days, their words easy and natural, punctuated by her silly jokes and his dry quips.

But it’s in the quiet moments between the words—the way his fingers trace lazy patterns along her arm, the way she leans into his side without thinking—that they both feel it. This is more than fleeting. It’s something that’s settling into the marrow of their lives, warming every corner of their being.

By the time the night deepens and the city outside quiets, they’re still together, his arms wrapped around her as they sit in comfortable silence. Aizawa Shota, the man she never expected to fall for, has become her anchor. And as her head rests against his chest, she knows without a doubt—this is where they both belong.

The past four weeks had felt like an eternity. Each passing day without a knock at her window or a call from him had chipped away at her resolve, leaving her with an ache she couldn’t shake. Her mind spiraled into overthinking—was she just a convenience for him? A distraction from his responsibilities? Did he grow bored and decide to disappear without a word? The doubts gnawed at her, and the quiet nights without him felt colder, emptier.

She tried to convince herself she didn’t care, but every time she caught herself glancing at the window or checking her phone, the truth hit her all over again. She missed him. She missed the way he’d smile just for her, the warmth of his arms, the quiet strength he carried with him. She missed him.

Then, on a night like any other, she heard it—the knock. Soft, almost hesitant. Her heart leapt and froze all at once, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. She opened the window, and there he was. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, but the moment he saw her, his entire body seemed to give out. He stumbled forward, falling into her arms like a weight she hadn’t realized she’d been waiting to catch.

Her breath hitched as she wrapped her arms around him, steadying him. “Shota,” she whispered, her voice a mix of relief and confusion. “What happened? Where have you been?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He just held her, his grip almost desperate, as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he let go. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his words muffled against her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to leave like that. I didn’t want to. I had to go undercover—mission came up, no time to explain.”

She felt the tension in his body, the way his breath hitched as he tried to keep his composure. “You don’t have to explain,” she said softly, her hand rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I was just… worried. I didn’t know if you were okay.”

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his dark eyes filled with something she couldn’t quite name—guilt, relief, maybe even fear. “I’m back,” he said simply. “That’s all that matters. I’m back.”

She nodded, her heart aching at the weariness in his voice. “You’re here now,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s enough.”

They moved to the couch, and the night stretched on as he let everything out. The stress of the mission, the toll it had taken on him, the way he’d thought about her every night he was away but couldn’t risk contacting her. She listened without interruption, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her presence a quiet reassurance.

Eventually, he rested his head on her lap, his eyes fluttering closed as her fingers gently threaded through his dark, messy hair. It had grow longer, just how she liked it. The tension in his body began to ease, his breaths growing steadier. She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, a small gesture of comfort.

But the moment her lips brushed his skin, his eyes snapped open, and he shot upright, their faces suddenly inches apart. Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. His dark eyes searched hers, intense and unreadable, the air between them charged with something she couldn’t name.

She froze, unsure of what to do. The closeness, the way his gaze seemed to pierce straight through her—it was almost too much. But he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked... conflicted, like he was weighing something in his mind, making a choice.

Her lips parted, a soft exhale escaping her. “Shota,” she began, but her voice faltered.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hand rose slowly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The touch was featherlight but burned all the same. His gaze flickered to her lips, then back to her eyes, his jaw tightening slightly as if fighting some internal battle.

Neither of them moved, the moment stretching on endlessly. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable—just charged, electric. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, the intensity of his presence making it impossible to look away.

And then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough, like he was confessing something he couldn’t hold back anymore. “I don’t think I can keep holding back,” he murmured.

"... then dont" she smiled, and less then a second later. One last lingering gaze.

The tension broke like a dam, and before she could say anything more, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, lingering, but filled with an unmistakable intensity. His lips moved against hers with a quiet certainty, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. She felt the weight of his emotions in the way he held her face so gently, the way he kissed her like he wanted to memorize the feel of her.

When he pulled back, his gaze was on her, and her breath caught. He looked at her with such raw, unguarded tenderness that it nearly broke her. His dark eyes softened in a way she rarely saw, and there was a quiet vulnerability in the way his thumb brushed her cheek.

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” he murmured, his voice low, almost shaky.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare back at him, her heart thundering in her chest. Instead, she reached up, her fingers grazing his jaw, her touch featherlight but filled with meaning.

He pulled her into a hug, burying his face against her neck, his arms wrapping around her as though he couldn’t bear to let her go. She felt his weight against her, the way his breath shuddered as he exhaled. His body was warm, grounding her in the moment, and she closed her eyes, letting herself melt into him.

Her back pressed against the couch as he shifted, settling against her with a quiet sigh. His head rested against her chest now, his arms wrapping around her tightly, almost like a baby sloth clinging to its favorite tree. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought, her fingers instinctively finding his hair again, stroking it in slow, soothing motions.

“You’re not leaving again anytime soon, right?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He shook his head, his voice muffled but firm. “No. Not if I can help it.”

Her heart softened even further as she leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling while her hands continued their gentle rhythm in his hair. She felt his body relax fully against hers, the tension he’d been carrying for weeks finally melting away.

For a long while, they stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s presence, the world outside forgotten. Every rise and fall of his chest against hers, every small shift of his fingers on her waist, burned itself into her memory.

She smiled to herself, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “You’re not as stoic as you pretend to be,” she teased lightly, her voice filled with affection.

He let out a low chuckle, tilting his head slightly to look up at her. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

She laughed, the sound soft and warm, and for the first time in weeks, the ache in her chest disappeared entirely. He was here, with her, holding her like she was his entire world. And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

... 5 years before.

They met when they were 18. Their last year of U.A. High.

In high school, they couldn’t have been more different—at least on the surface. She was the girl everyone knew, her warmth and laughter a magnet that drew people in. Her smile was infectious, her kindness unwavering, and she had an uncanny ability to make even the shyest people feel seen. People adored her, but she was never the type to let the attention go to her head.

He, on the other hand, was the quiet one who preferred the background. Aizawa Shota was sharp, observant, and fiercely independent, but he carried an air of solitude that made him unapproachable to most. It wasn’t that he was disliked—he just didn’t care for the trivialities of high school life. He moved through the halls with a quiet confidence, his dark eyes unreadable and his messy black hair perpetually in his face.

But for some reason, she noticed him.

It started with a random moment in their last year. She’d seen him sitting alone under a tree during lunch, his nose buried in a book, entirely disconnected from the buzzing chaos of the school courtyard. Something about him intrigued her—his quiet demeanor, the way he seemed so at peace on his own. On a whim, she approached him, her bright smile disarming him immediately.

“Hey,” she said, plopping down beside him without an invitation. “You always sit alone. Don’t you get bored?”

He looked up from his book, startled by her sudden presence. His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no annoyance in his tone when he replied, “Not really. I like the quiet.”

“Well, that’s boring,” she said with a teasing grin, resting her chin in her hand. “I think you need a little chaos in your life.”

From that day on, she seemed to make it her mission to be that chaos.

She started dragging him along everywhere, whether he wanted to or not. Behind the school, where they’d sit on the steps and talk about nothing and everything. To her favorite café after school, where she’d insist on buying him coffee despite his protests. She was the one who developed his taste for coffee, even to his throties ot just stuck with her in mind. To the park, where they’d sit under the trees and watch the clouds.

What struck him most was how, when they were together, everything else seemed to fade away. She didn’t care about his lack of popularity, about what anyone else thought. She saw him—not his reputation, not his stoic exterior, just him. And he liked that.

Then came graduation. The reality of moving on, of leaving behind the little bubble they’d created, hit them both harder than they expected. They promised to keep in touch, but life had other plans.

For 5 years, they drifted. Life pulled them in different directions, their once-frequent conversations growing fewer and farther between. She missed him more than she wanted to admit. And he, though he didn’t show it, thought about her often, wondering if she’d moved on, if she even remembered the quiet boy she used to laugh with behind the school.

Then, at age 23, fate brought them back together.

It was a chance meeting, the kind that felt almost too perfect to be real. She saw him first, across a bustling street, his familiar messy hair catching her attention. She called out to him, her voice cutting through the noise like a lifeline. When he turned and saw her, the surprise in his eyes melted into something softer, something closer to relief.

Then came the nights—the nights when he’d knock on her window, looking like the world had been weighing on him. She’d let him in without hesitation, their conversations stretching into the early hours. Slowly, those visits became a constant, a quiet reassurance that they were no longer just ships passing in the night. The nights they spent in their twenties, every knock on her window.

And as they spent those nights together, something deeper began to grow, something neither of them had the courage to name just yet. But they both knew—what they’d found in each other was far from ordinary. It was rare, it was real, and it was theirs.

But life of course, had other plans. He became a teacher, and became even more busy. And as he grew he started distancing himself. Afraid to hurt her with the reality of their different lives and how it would never work.

7 years later. 30 years old.

In the years they spent apart, both carried the weight of their unspoken words, their unfinished story. She, in the comfort of new routines and distractions, tried desperately to forget him, to put the memories in a box and lock it away. But every time she laughed, every time she saw something that reminded her of him, his name would sneak into her mind like an uninvited guest. Shota—the word tasted like both a balm and a wound. She had tried, for so long, to push him out of her thoughts, but there he was, always lingering, a shadow in the corners of her mind.

It wasn’t that she wanted to forget him. She couldn’t. How could she? He had been her world, once. But she tried to move on—she had to. Her life demanded it. She started to date, to build new connections, but no one ever felt right. The way he’d kissed her forehead, the weight of his hand on her back when he held her close—it was a ghost she couldn't shake. She loved the idea of moving forward, but in the back of her mind, there was always him, Shota.

For him, it was worse. He never stopped thinking about her, not for a single moment. Her name felt like home—a strange, bittersweet home that he couldn't return to. When the memories came, they came like floods. He’d hear her laughter in his mind, her smile flashing in his memory, and everything inside him would burn with regret. Why did I leave her? It was the question that haunted him every night when he lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He had told himself it was for the best, that he was protecting her by walking away. But that reasoning had never quieted the ache in his chest, the guilt that gnawed at him.

He couldn't even say her name. It felt like betrayal. Each time he thought about her, it hurt like a raw wound, and so he buried it—shoved it deep, hoping it would disappear. But it never did. The thought of her lingered, twisted, and became a silent weight he carried with him everywhere.

His friends, even those who knew him best, never dared mention her. They saw the way his face would tighten whenever her memory surfaced, and they respected that unspoken silence. They knew it was better to avoid it, as if talking about her would make the pain real again.

But with every passing year, that pain grew only sharper, harder to ignore. He would see a woman laugh in the same carefree way she used to, and his chest would tighten with longing. He’d hear a song they used to listen to together, and his stomach would flip with a sense of loss. Every memory, every moment spent with her, was a reminder of how much he had left behind.

As the years wore on, he tried to fill the void. He threw himself into work, into missions that demanded his attention, but none of it could distract him enough. Every victory felt hollow. He never dated date anybody, he rarely made friends, so dating anybody was out of the question. None of it filled the space that she had occupied in his heart. She was the one I let go, he would tell himself. And in those quiet moments, he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed her.

But she had moved on, or at least, she had tried to. She built her own life, filled with things and people who were kind to her, who made her laugh. And yet, every time she found herself at a quiet moment, alone, she would think of him. Her heart would ache in a way she couldn’t explain. She forced herself to keep going, but in the back of her mind, Shota was always there.

And now, seven years later, as he knocked on her window, she realized how little had truly changed. He was still the man she had known, and yet he was so different—scarred, haunted by his own regrets, and carrying a pain she knew all too well. And he still had that same power to stir something deep within her, a feeling she had buried for far too long.

She didn’t know what to say, how to make sense of this moment. But looking at him, seeing the bruises and blood, she knew that despite everything—the time, the distance, the hurt—they were still connected in a way nothing else could touch. His presence, even broken and raw, still felt like home. And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel that comfort, that quiet longing.

Seven years had passed since the last time their lives had intersected, seven years since he had walked away without a word, leaving her heartache and confusion in his wake. Time had done its work, and both of them had moved forward, building their separate lives. She had her own world now—new friends, new routines, and a heart that had learned how to heal, even if the scar he left behind would never fully fade.

He, too, had changed. He had grown into the man he had always been on the inside—stronger, more grounded, but still carrying the weight of his own demons. He had tried to bury the memory of her, to keep her in the past where he thought she belonged, but the truth was, she had never fully left him. He thought about her often, his mind haunted by the days they spent together—the quiet, stolen moments behind the school, the laughter, the closeness. But he had left, had to leave, because he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her.

Now, at 30, he found himself at her window once again, but it wasn’t a planned visit. He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He hadn’t meant to end up bruised and bloody, his body aching from whatever fight or mission had left him shattered. He had no idea how he found her new apartment, but somehow, some instinct led him to her.

The knock on the window was weak, desperate. He didn’t even know why he was there, why his feet had brought him back to her. He hadn’t spoken to her in so long, had convinced himself that he was doing the right thing by staying away. But now, standing outside her window in the dead of night, all of that seemed like a distant memory, a mistake.

She stirred from her sleep, groggily blinking into the dark room. The night was quiet, almost still, and it took her a few moments to register the sound at her window. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him—his figure shrouded in shadow, but unmistakable.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. The figure was different—more mature, older, with a weariness in his posture that hadn’t been there before. But when he looked up and met her gaze, her breath hitched. Shota.

Her mind was still racing, but her body moved without hesitation. She rushed to the window, pushing it open as quickly as she could. She didn’t even say anything; her hands were already reaching for him, pulling him inside. He collapsed into her arms, unsteady on his feet, and she guided him to the couch without a word.

His appearance struck her immediately. His face was older, more defined with the years. His eyes, though, still held that same familiar vulnerability, the same depth she remembered. He was bruised, battered, and covered in blood, but there was something in the way he looked at her—an apology, a quiet desperation, and something more.

She quickly moved to get her first aid kit, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating faster than usual. This moment felt unreal—like they had both woken up from some long, drawn-out dream, and now here they were, face to face, with the years between them suddenly irrelevant. She knelt beside him, her fingers trembling as she cleaned the blood from his face.

His voice was raspy, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to come here... I just... didn’t know where else to go.”

Her fingers stilled for a moment, her heart catching in her throat. “I’ve heard this before .... Shota,” she whispered, as if saying his name aloud could make sense of everything. She had thought of him so many times over the years, wondering what had happened, if he was okay, but she never imagined that one day, he’d show up like this.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of regret. “I shouldn’t have left. I just... I was too scared. I thought I was protecting you, but I was only hurting both of us.”

Her heart twisted. The familiar ache from all those years ago surged within her, but now, she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. There was too much between them, too much unspoken, but the years of silence didn’t change the fact that she knew him. She always would.

She finished cleaning his wounds in silence, the moment stretching on, neither of them knowing what to say. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a history neither of them had fully processed. She was stunned, and maybe he was, too. They both had changed, but in the quiet of the room, it felt like nothing had changed at all.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke the silence. “What happened to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a simple question, but it carried so much weight—so many years, so many unasked questions.

His eyes flickered with pain, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I... I didn’t mean to drag you back into my mess. But I couldn’t handle it anymore. I couldn’t be alone.”

She let out a breath, her hands gently pressing against his shoulders, grounding him. The words were there, but the timing wasn’t right. So, she didn’t push.

Instead, she reached up and cupped his face with both hands, her thumb brushing the bruise along his cheekbone. “You’re here now,” she said softly. “And that’s all that matters.”

For a long moment, they just stared at each other—two people who had been apart for so long, yet in this moment, were exactly where they needed to be. The room felt smaller, the distance between them nonexistent. The years, the pain, the silence—it all melted away in that one glance.

And for the first time in seven years, the weight that had hung between them seemed to lift.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heating system, the sound of the snow falling softly outside, and the occasional crack of the fire in the corner. It was winter now, colder than they both remembered, but warmer in ways they hadn't expected.

They sat together on the couch, just like they had so many years ago—before life had pulled them apart, before time and distance had stretched their bond thin. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that came with familiarity, with shared history. But now they were different people, adults with lives they had built separately.

She glanced at him, her gaze soft but searching, and couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in him. He looked more weathered, more worn, as if the years had taken their toll on him in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Yet, despite the bruises on his skin, despite the exhaustion in his eyes, he was still her Shota—the one who had stayed in the back of her mind, the one she never truly let go of.

After a moment, she asked softly, "Do you want to go to my bedroom? This couch is too uncomfortable for you." She had noticed how much he towered over her now, and God she liked it.

He hesitated, unsure of how to answer, feeling like he was intruding in some way. His chest tightened with the overwhelming need to protect her, to not impose on her life any more than he already had. But she didn't give him much room to protest. She looked at him again, with that familiar, determined spark in her eyes, and said, "You don’t have to be so polite. Please, just let me take care of you."

With a sigh, he relented. She helped him to his feet, supporting him gently as they walked to her bedroom, the soft shuffle of their feet on the hardwood floor barely audible in the stillness. To anybody else, this would have seemed dirty and inappropriate, but to them, it didn't matter.

Once inside, she settled him on the bed, pulling the thick, warm blankets over them both, a comfort that made the weight of everything outside the room seem so far away. There, tucked under the covers, it felt like time had folded in on itself. The ache from all those years apart seemed to dissolve, replaced by something different, something softer. He lay there, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his body unwilling to let her go, as though he had spent too many nights alone, too many years trying to survive without her.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to relax into his embrace, but tears slipped down her cheeks nonetheless. She didn’t try to hide them. She couldn’t. The years of trying to forget him, of convincing herself that she was better off, were crashing over her like a tide she couldn’t fight. The pain of missing him, of the uncertainty, of the questions that had lingered without answers—it all flooded back in an instant.

Without a word, he pulled her closer, his arms tightening around her like he was afraid to let her slip away. She could feel his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. His embrace was like a promise, a silent apology, and it was so familiar it almost made her ache even more.

He held her tight, as though he were afraid that if he let go, she might disappear again, like she had seven years ago. "I’m so sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I never should have left you."

She giggled softly, trying to hold back her tears, but they spilled over anyway. “You’re squeezing me so tight, Shota,” she murmured through a watery laugh, her back nearly cracking from the force of his hold. She didn’t mind. In fact, it made her feel more alive than she had in so long.

His grip loosened slightly, but not by much. He brushed his lips against her hair, the quiet comfort of the moment settling over both of them. It was different now, more fragile but no less significant. They were no longer two young people trying to figure out what it all meant. Now, they were two adults, broken by time and life, but still clinging to something that neither of them had fully understood until now.

The snow outside began to fall harder, and they stayed there together, wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s company. She played with his hair, the same messy strands she had once found so charming. Her fingers traced the scar under his eye, the one that marked him as someone who had been through battles—literal and metaphorical.

“You’ve changed,” she whispered, her fingers stilling for a moment, tracing the curve of his ear. “But I can still feel you. I still recognize you, Shota.”

He smiled at that, the first real smile she’d seen from him in what felt like forever. It was soft and honest, a quiet acknowledgment of the distance they had traveled, the years they had spent apart. But in that moment, they were closer than they had been in a long time.

“I’ve changed,” he admitted, “but maybe that’s a good thing. I’m different now, but with you, I can still be…me. The me I was with you.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself from the emotions that rushed to the surface. She leaned up slightly, kissing his cheek softly before resting her head back against his chest.

They stayed like that for a long time, finding their way back to each other in the quiet. No more words were needed. Everything they hadn’t said over the years hung in the air between them, but it no longer felt heavy. They had time, now. Time to heal, to find new answers, to rebuild what had been broken.

She closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his breath, and for the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they had finally found their way back home.

As they lay there together, the world outside seemed so far away, the cold winter air forgotten in the warmth they shared. Her skin, soft and delicate, radiated a warmth that enveloped him in a way he hadn’t known he needed. He could feel the heat of her body pressed against his, the way her heartbeat fluttered gently under his touch, reminding him that she was real, that she was here with him. His hand, which had once been so unsure of where to place itself, now found its way to the small of her back, cradling her as if she might slip away at any moment.

Her warmth, the feel of her skin against his, was a balm to the aching part of him he’d buried for so long. His heart had hurt for years—ever since the moment he walked away—but now, in this quiet space, in the tenderness of her touch, that pain seemed to fade, just for a moment. Her skin was like a living, breathing reassurance, a reminder that some connections never really break. The heat of her skin, soft and comforting, wrapped around him like a quiet promise. It soothed the hurt that had nested in his chest for so long, making him feel whole again in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing her in—the faint scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest. It was so familiar, so deeply entwined with everything he had ever known and wanted. Her warmth was a contradiction to the chill that had haunted him, a promise that maybe, just maybe, the years apart hadn’t broken them entirely.

For her, the feeling of his embrace was no less powerful. She had spent so much time convincing herself she was fine, that she had moved on, that life had continued in the absence of him. But with him here, with his strong arms around her, she couldn’t deny how much she had missed this—the way his presence filled up the spaces inside her that she had let go empty for so long. His warmth made her feel alive in a way she had forgotten. She felt the strong beat of his heart beneath her ear, steady and sure, like the constant rhythm of a song she hadn’t realized was playing in the background of her life all these years.

But it wasn’t just warmth in a physical sense—it was deeper, something that ran through the both of them like an unspoken thread. He could feel her warmth reaching deep into the scars in his soul, the ones he had left untouched for far too long. Her touch was a healing salve, drawing him back into the present, into this moment with her. Her skin against his felt like an unspoken apology from the universe itself—a reminder that the pain of the past could be soothed, that what they had lost might be waiting to be found again.

As they lay there, so close, so warm, the world outside might have been cold and distant, but inside this room, they were exactly where they needed to be. Her warmth against him made his heart hurt in the best way, a sharp ache that told him they had never been fully apart, that they had always carried a piece of each other. He wasn’t sure if this was the beginning of something new or the continuation of something unfinished, but for now, he didn’t care. Her warmth made him feel whole again, and for the first time in so long, he allowed himself to believe that they might just have a chance to heal together.

Her breath, soft and even, was a lullaby against the storm inside him. He closed his eyes, pulling her even closer, as though to make sure she was really there. The ache in his heart, the one that had been a constant companion, started to feel different. It wasn’t pain anymore. It was something new, something raw, but something he could hold onto.

She felt him tighten his grip, his fingers tracing the line of her spine, and she shivered slightly, not from the cold but from the intensity of the emotion that hung between them. She didn’t need to say a word. She could feel the way his heart was in his chest, beating steadily against her. He was scared, just like her. But the warmth between them, the connection they had once shared, was something that no amount of time could erase.

And as they lay there together, he kissed the top of her head softly, whispering the words neither of them had dared to speak for so long: “I’m sorry... I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Those words, warm and steady like the heat of their bodies pressed together, were all she needed. In the moment, they didn’t need to ask for more. They didn’t need answers. They just needed each other. And in that warmth, wrapped up in the quiet stillness of the night, they found a place to heal.

"Shota.."

"Y/n"

She slowly lifted her head from his chest, her breath shallow, her pulse quickening. Her gaze met his, and in that moment, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time: care. Deep, raw care. It made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened as he gazed at her, and it felt like he was searching her face, trying to find the right words, or maybe just trying to reassure himself that this was real—that they were really here, together, again.

She hesitated, her lips parted as if unsure whether to move or to stay suspended in the moment. His eyes never wavered from her.

She felt the pull, the old connection drawing her in, and before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in slowly, closing the space between them. Her lips brushed his, a light and tentative kiss, soft and almost fragile, as if testing the waters after all this time apart. The sensation of his lips against hers stirred something deep inside her, a flood of memories and feelings that she had kept locked away for years.

But then, as if he couldn’t help himself anymore, he responded. The kiss deepened, and his arms tightened around her. His hand moved to the small of her back, gripping her firmly, pulling her closer until there was no distance left between them. The kiss was no longer tentative; it was full of longing, of need, as if all the words they couldn’t say were wrapped up in every touch. His lips pressed against hers with an intensity that took her breath away, the urgency of his embrace matching the hunger in his kiss.

She melted into him, her body responding to his, her hands instinctively reaching to find his shoulders, her fingers curling into his shirt as she felt him pull her even closer, as if he couldn’t get enough. His warmth, his strength, his presence—it was all consuming, and she let herself be lost in it. The years apart, the pain, the regret—it all faded as their kiss deepened, leaving only the raw, electric connection between them.

When they finally pulled away, both of them breathless, the silence that followed was thick with everything they hadn’t yet said, but somehow, words weren’t necessary. They just stared at each other for a moment, the world outside the room completely forgotten, their hearts both racing. He didn’t let go, his arms still holding her tightly as if afraid she might disappear if he let her go.

And in that moment, neither of them cared about anything else.

The silence lingered between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, like a quiet promise that everything was going to be okay, even though they hadn’t spoken the words out loud yet. She looked at him, her heart still racing from the kiss, from the sheer intensity of the moment.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, his voice steady but filled with sincerity. There was something about the way he said it—like he meant it, like it was more than just a promise. It was a vow, and for the first time in a long time, she believed it.

She searched his eyes, her expression softening. “Please don’t. I... I need you here.”

His hand gently cupped her cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. “I won’t leave. I swear,” he whispered, his thumb gently tracing her jawline, the contact grounding her in the moment.

She smiled at him, her heart feeling lighter than it had in years. “Good,” she said with a playful, teasing tone, her laughter bubbling up unexpectedly, bright and free. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the simple joy of being around him, of laughing with him in the quiet of the night.

The sound of her laughter filled the room, and it was like music to his ears—familiar, comforting, and full of life. For a moment, he couldn’t help but smile, the weight of everything else lifting as he listened to her laugh. It was like they were back in time, in those carefree days of their youth when nothing else mattered except being together.

As the night wore on, the warmth of his arms and the peaceful quiet of the room made everything feel like it was exactly where it needed to be. She snuggled into him, feeling the pull of sleep wrapping around her like a soft blanket. The last thing she remembered was his steady breathing beside her, his presence anchoring her, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

She fell asleep in his arms, her body relaxed against his, her head resting on his chest once again, just like it had all those years ago. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm beneath her ear, and she drifted off to sleep with a quiet sigh, her mind finally at peace.

And he, too, lay there, not wanting to move, not wanting to disturb the fragile peace that had settled between them. He watched her, the way her breathing slowed, the way she fit so perfectly against him, and he allowed himself a moment to just… be. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the weight of regrets or fears. He just felt... complete.

Soon, his eyes grew heavy, and the warmth of her body beside him lulled him into a peaceful sleep. They both slept soundly through the night, wrapped in each other’s presence, the kind of sleep that comes only when you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

#bnha #mha #aizawa x reader #shota aizawa x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #eraserhead x reader #mha aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa x you

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zenithangelic · 1 day ago

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I'd like some Jealous Leon Kennedy and Chris Redfield x femreader headcannons (separate)

Jealous Leon Kennedy, Chris Redfield x fem!reader headcanons:

Leon

Leon doesn’t see himself as the jealous type, but the moment someone starts getting too close for his liking, his protective instincts go into overdrive. He subtly places himself between you and the other person, as if shielding you without making a scene

When Leon feels jealous, he doesn’t lash out or confront anyone directly. Instead, he gets uncharacteristically quiet, his usual witty remarks replaced by terse one-word responses. His jaw clenches as he watches the interaction, his piercing blue eyes narrowed slightly

Leon has a habit of casually resting his hand on your back or shoulder, or even wrapping an arm around your waist in public when someone is paying too much attention to you. It’s his silent way of saying, she’s with me

If the situation escalates, Leon might let out a sarcastic remark aimed at the other person, like, “Wow, didn’t realise we had a fan club today,” while keeping his expression cool and calm. His words may sting, but his tone is so subtle it’s hard to call him out

Once the two of you are alone, Leon becomes extra affectionate to reassure himself that you’re his. Expect long, lingering kisses, tight hugs, and whispered confessions like, “You’re mine, you know that, right?”

If Leon suspects someone has a genuine interest in you, he’ll start watching them closely, almost as if they’re a potential threat. His training kicks in, and he memorises their movements and demeanour, ready to step in if needed

Leon isn’t above a bit of playful sabotage. If someone tries to engage you in conversation for too long, he’ll conveniently “need your help” with something or interrupt with a sly quip to derail the discussion

After the dust settles, Leon might let his guard down and admit his feelings to you. “I don’t want to be that guy, but... I just can’t stand the thought of losing you.” His voice is low, and his vulnerability shines through

In high-stakes situations, like missions or outbreaks, his jealousy translates into unwavering focus on your safety. He won’t let anyone else take charge of protecting you, insisting, “Stay behind me. I’ll handle this.”

Leon knows jealousy isn’t his most attractive trait, so he makes an effort to trust you. After calming down, he’ll apologise for overreacting, softly saying, “I trust you, I just… I can’t help it sometimes.” He values your relationship too much to let jealousy ruin it

If you notice his jealousy and tease him about it, Leon’s ears might flush slightly as he sheepishly mutters, “Okay, maybe I was a little jealous. Can you blame me?” You can always coax a bashful smile out of him with some reassurance of your own

Chris

Chris is not one to beat around the bush. If someone’s getting too close to you, he’ll walk right up and insert himself into the conversation with a friendly but firm, “Everything okay here?” His imposing presence is often enough to send the message

Chris has a knack for subtly steering you away from situations where he feels someone’s intentions aren’t pure. He’ll guide you by the small of your back, saying something like, “Let’s go check out what’s over there,” to get you away from whoever’s making him uneasy

While not rude, Chris isn’t shy about letting someone know they’re crossing a line. He’ll say something like, “You seem really friendly—maybe a little too friendly,” with a raised brow and a knowing smile, making it clear he’s onto them

Chris becomes unusually observant when he’s feeling jealous. He watches your interactions closely, noting every smile, laugh, or lingering glance. He’s not overbearing, but you can tell he’s hyper-aware of what’s happening

When Chris gets jealous, his eyes do most of the talking. He’ll shoot the other person a look that says back off without needing to say a word. His naturally commanding gaze is enough to make anyone second-guess their approach

Chris has a way of asserting his presence without being overt. He might stand a little closer to you, square his shoulders, or even subtly flex when the other person is looking. It’s a quiet reminder of his strength and capability

Once you’re alone, Chris can’t help but tease you about the situation. “You sure you weren’t enjoying all that attention a little too much?” he’ll ask with a smirk, though his tone is light-hearted enough to make you laugh

When his jealousy is obvious, Chris gets a bit flustered trying to justify it. “I’m not jealous—I just don’t trust that guy. He was looking at you like... you know what I mean!” His cheeks might flush slightly as he realises how transparent he’s being

To reassert his role as your protector, Chris goes out of his way to do things for you when he’s feeling jealous. Whether it’s carrying something heavy, cooking dinner, or taking care of errands, he wants to remind you that he’s the one who’s got your back

If he’s feeling playful, Chris might jokingly challenge the other person in a way that lets him blow off steam. “So, what’s your bench max? Oh, really? Cool. Mine’s a little higher,” he’ll say with a grin, turning his jealousy into a subtle competition

Later, Chris will sit down with you and candidly admit his feelings. “I know I can be a little overprotective, but it’s only because I care so much. I don’t want to lose you.” His honesty shines through, making it hard to stay annoyed at him

Chris’s jealousy often serves as a reminder of how much he values you. After a particularly tense moment, he’ll pull you into his arms and murmur, “I just love you, okay? More than anything.” His sincerity always melts your heart

♡If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi ♡

#fanfiction #resident evil #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield x you #leon kennedy #headcanon

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hksdlgsyappage · 21 hours ago

Text

Christmas coziness

Spencer reid oneshot

C: Fluff

Summary: In a cozy, Christmas-decorated room, she relaxes with cocoa when Spencer Reid enters, apologizing for startling her. As they talk about Christmas traditions, Spencer opens up about the real magic of being with someone special.

The setting is cozy, with the soft glow of Christmas lights twinkling around the room. The scent of cinnamon and pine fills the air, the faint crackling of the fire offering a sense of comfort. She is curled up on the couch, a mug of hot cocoa in hand. Lost in the warmth of the moment, she watches the dance of the flames when suddenly, Spencer Reid appears in the doorway.

"Hey... sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you," his voice is gentle, the warmth in it almost tangible. "I was just making sure the last of the decorations were in place... and, uh, I may have gotten distracted by the snow falling outside. It’s so beautiful this time of year, isn’t it? Everything feels a little... magical."

He steps further into the room, his eyes twinkling as he moves closer, his presence a quiet strength, grounding and yet exhilarating. She sets down her cocoa, her attention now fully on him as he settles beside her, shifting just a little closer, as if drawn to the warmth not just from the fire, but from him too. His voice, usually steady and calm, is softer now, almost shy as he continues.

"You know, I’ve been reading about Christmas traditions around the world. Some people believe that if you stand under mistletoe with someone special, it’ll bring good luck. But... I think the real magic is just being with someone who makes you feel... well, special. Like right now, for example."

She watches him, her heart doing a little flutter as he smiles at her, a little goofy, a little unsure. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze soft and uncertain, and Spencer feels his own smile tug at the corners of his lips as he responds, his voice quieter than usual.

"You... you’re right," she says, a warmth spreading through her that has nothing to do with the fire. "Being with someone who makes you feel special... it’s rare, and it’s a kind of magic all its own."

He seems taken aback for a moment, blinking at her, his smile widening with a soft chuckle that makes her chest tighten in the best way. She glances down at her hands, then back up at him, her smile turning shy again.

"Okay, I’m rambling, aren’t I? I... I just wanted to say that spending Christmas with you feels like the best present I could get. I know I’m not great at, you know, emotions sometimes, but... you make me feel things. Things I didn’t even know I could feel."

His words make her breath catch, and for a moment, she can’t find the right words to respond. Spencer Reid has always been quick with facts and figures, but moments like this—vulnerable, real—feel far too big for her to fully comprehend. She looks at him, really looks at him, and in the soft glow of the Christmas lights, his face seems to shimmer with something that’s beyond the physical.

"I... I don’t know what to say," Spencer admits, his voice low. "But I think you’re right. You’re more of a gift to me than I could ever deserve. And... I feel the same. You make me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of either."

Her eyes soften as she takes this in, and for a long moment, the room seems to hold its breath. The tree twinkles beside them, its ornaments reflecting the soft light, and Spencer can’t help but think that, maybe, she’s right. This Christmas tree isn’t just a tree. It’s a symbol, just like her. A symbol of something beautiful, something warm, something he never thought he’d find.

She pauses, glancing up at the mistletoe overhead with a playful look in her eyes. She looks back at him, a little uncertain but also full of hope, like she’s about to take a leap of faith.

"Maybe... maybe we should test the mistletoe theory?" she suggests softly. "Just to see if it works. You know... scientifically speaking."

Spencer’s heart skips another beat, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to overthink or analyze. He looks at her, his gaze soft and full of emotion, and then nods, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Let’s see."

And as he leans in, her breath warm against his cheek, the world seems to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the magic that had been quietly building between them all along.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds memes #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #alex blake #david rossi #derek morgan #elle greenaway #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid au #spencer reid one shot #christmas au #christmas #mistletoe

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kryannoy · 2 days ago

Text

wanna cuddle the bear, the bear in question : sitetampo

genre: fluff

a/n: i'm still obsessed with him. oh! and i was playing wuwa while putting his live in the background to pretend like i'm in a discord chat with him and his friend, and it felt nice! i don't watch his live but i just wanna hear his voice. would definitely do it again <3

He looks so cuddlyyyyy

You can't help it!

Every chance you get, you'd throw yourself onto him, not caring yet caring if he gets hurt from the impact.

Then you'd nuzzle your face into his hair or his chest, arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him tight until he groans out an "owwwww!" in pain.

You'd loosen your grip and look up at him. He has a smile, wide, until it bursts open and his chest vibrates from laughter.

Gosh, you love your life-size, realistic, huggable bear.

Sometimes you would even throw yourself onto him when he's on the bed playing video games and hug him tight, taking a big whiff of his scent before getting up, leaving him still groaning in pain, to continue the things you need to do.

When he's washing the dishes or making something and his back is empty and tempting, you'd still hug him from behind and nuzzle your face in between his shoulder blades.

He'd jump from your sudden assault but his hand finds its way to yours and gives a few thumb rubs before he continues doing what he's doing.

When he's done and you're still attached to him, he wipes his hands and turns around facing you to hug you back. He walks forward while you walk backwards. He'll make sure you don't stumble and he makes his way to the sofa and drops both of you onto the soft cushion. Still hugging, of course.

If he has the energy, he playfully wrestles you around. Because he's stronger than you, he'll manhandle you like a life-size teddy bear instead.

Let's say you wanna tease him.

When you hug him from behind and he's left vulnerable, your hands sneakily went under his shirt to feel his stomach around. Either that, or you lift his shirt just to see his cute, subtle abs. Of course both ways end up with him abruptly leaning forward—bumping you a little too hard in the process, but that's the price you get—and pulling his shirt back down while laughing.

He'll turn around and try to do the same to you so you can understand how he feels. But that ends up with him tickling you because it was ticklish when you did it.

Most of the time, he really doesn't understand why you do it—like, why you suddenly jump onto him and held him so tight he couldn't breathe just to leave him alone again :(

He kinda needs some explanation TT

#sitetampo #sitetampo x reader #sitetampo brawl stars #sitetampo fluff #sitetampo brainrot #brawl stars #brawl stars world finals 2024 #sitetampo headcanons

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 1 day ago

Note

Imagine being kidnapped by Tom Ludlow.

Hi anon. This got out of hand. I’m sorry. CW: mentions of child abuse/dark humor concerning it, rape/noncon fantasies and details. I write from a place of my own trauma, and it gets a little fucked up. If you don’t like dark fics, or are triggered easily, DO NOT READ THIS. Violence, bad cops, SA. Tom Ludlow is not the bad guy in this, though.

If you’re a big girl, a tall girl, a girl with a lot of muscle or fat, you probably haven’t been picked up off the ground since you were very young.

You question your femininity because of it, along with a whole lot of other shit that society decides to push on you for not having a traditional feminine figure…whatever the hell that is.

You often take on a more protective, mothering or masculine roll with your smaller or daintier or gentler friends. You don’t look down on them at all—or envy them too often. Some people just carry a unique tenderness that you wish the world had more of. But every little rainbow or sunbeam needs their strong protective cloud, and you mostly gladly, sometimes reluctantly take on this role.

You will never be a meek, kind, delicate person. It’s just not going to happen. You don’t want it to happen. You’re pretty comfortable with your role in life. It’s just…sometimes…and this is probably something that everyone craves in vulnerable moments…you want to be the one getting protected.

It’s just kind of exhausting, always being there for everyone else. As much as you love it, and you do, it can also really drain you.

The duality of man is that we can be more than one type of person, and want different things. You know this. But…it’s hard as hell to admit you want to be taken care of. Because doesn’t that ruin your tough facade? Your strength and independence? Doesn’t that let everyone know that you’re just putting on an act to cover up who you really are—a weak, sniveling girl?

That’s why you bottle up, keep things to yourself, regard the world cynically and humorously with a lazy shrug of your shoulder. You act like nothing gets to you, like you are a stoic guard at the queen’s gate, like a big mastiff on patrol of your sheep.

When you do wear an emotion, more often than not it’s either sarcasm or…anger. Like tonight, when some guy won’t leave your friend alone at the bar.

She’s visibly uncomfortable and attempting escape from the creep following her around. She’s too nice to tell him to go away, but you’re not, and you have had to put yourself between them way, way too many times.

“She’s not interested,” you tell him.

He sneers at you. “Yeah, yeah I know.”

Except he fucking doesn’t, because ten seconds later he’s smacking her ass when she stands up, and you’re punching him in the mouth.

He hits you back, and it feels like a slap from a two year old, but it startles your fight or flight, and before you know it, your vision is blurry with rage and your fists are flying.

The security guards have to pull you off of one another and haul you outside to where the police are waiting with cuffs.

“He was harassing my friend,” you tell the guy who’s chaperoning you.

“Her ugly ass is just jealous cuz nobody wants her!” Screams scumbag from down the sidewalk.

Wow, you’ve never heard that one before.

One of the cops grabs him by the collar and says something that appears to be stern with his finger pointed at his face.

The guy looks visibly shaken after that, and he specifically avoids looking in your direction again.

The ballsy officer, probably in some sort of supervising position by the looks of it, gets to you next, and you have to crane your neck up to look at him.

You expect anger, but his face is neutral as he pulls a pen and paper from his utility belt. “Hello, ma’am, my name is officer Ludlow with the LAPD. You mind telling me what went on here tonight?”

You tick through the list of events as best you can, trying not to paint yourself as innocent (because with the way you beat on him, you’re definitely not), but making sure he knows what a fucking reprobate you were up against, and he scribbles it all down diligently.

After you’re done, he flicks his chin at the officer standing next to you. “Reed, let her go.”

They uncuff you, and you roll your arms, testing the circulation and rubbing out the raw red marks on your wrists. “Thanks,” you tell the lead officer. “You mind if I go back in and get my friends? There’s only three of us and I’m worried about them…”

“I can’t let you go back in,” officer Ludlow says, “but give us their names and descriptions, and I’ll send Reed in for them, alright?”

You nod, comply, and a few tense moments later Abby is running out to wrap her arms around your shoulders, smearing her glittery tears and pink blush on your jacket.

You hug her back, picking her up a little bit off the ground with the ferocity of your relief, and look at officer Ludlow over her head. “Thanks,” you tell him.

Tye, arriving from the thicket of people at the entrance a few moments later, immediately wants to know what happened.

She, however, is interrupted, by the asshole down the sidewalk, still in cuffs. “Hope you think of me when you see that handprint on your cute little ass tomorrow!” He calls, and Abby turns away, choking on a sob.

You’ve always had anger issues. Usually, in adulthood, they’re pretty easy to tame down. Not in this circumstance, not when you see Abby shaking and crying, looking as defenseless as a baby mouse.

Unbeknownst to you, because your sight and sound have been marginally narrowed to one person who needs his face bludgeoned in so hard that he finally shuts the fuck up, the head officer has already signaled for them to haul this guy into the back of a police car.

You’re not sure how you cross the distance between you and him so fast—you’re built for endurance, not speed—but suddenly your fists are connecting with his flesh again, and there’s a lot of yelling and pulling and finally your feet leave the ground and your knuckles leave his face.

It takes you a minute to realize you are being carried away—that your feet are not on land—and you look up at the person whose arms are currently wrapped around you.

Like mentioned before, it’s been a long, long time since someone has picked you up and you’ve lost your center of gravity so quickly and so thoroughly. Like a startled animal, you fight to try and get back to the ground, more out of shock and adrenalized fear than anything.

You don’t mean to scratch or bite the nice officer, you really don’t.

Ludlow just sighs at your resistance, like he could be doing something much more important right now rather than manhandling you into the back of a squad car like you’re an ornery kitten rather than a formidable opponent.

You are silenced into shock the whole way to the police station.

They put you in the waiting room sans cuffs, and you’re not sure how much time passes until a heavy presence plops down on the plastic chair next to you.

“Fuck,” is the first thing you say to Ludlow. “My friends…”

“They’re safe. I’m giving them an escort back home.”

He gives you some room temp water, and after the fear wears off, grants you enough time to come back to your good senses. You look at him sheepishly, with your head tucked down. “Sorry, he was a fucking creep.”

Ludlow nods. “I get it, hopefully I can get you out of it with a slap on the wrist.” He hands you some tissues from his breast pocket. “Wipe that blood off your face.”

You didn’t realize you were bleeding, so it’s a shock to finally feel the ache of a bloody lip and bruised cheek and see the paper come back crimson streaked.

After a few long moments of silence, you say, “I feel like an asshole.”

He shrugs, leans back, grins over at you. You fight the urge to flush at his crooked smile. He’s a handsome man. Sometimes you like those. “Asshole, no. Dumb, maybe. He could have really fucked you up.”

“I handled myself just fine.”

“Your split lip will disagree tomorrow morning. Lemme see.” He holds out his hand, as if for you to rest your chin in, and you’re not sure what brain malfunction gets you to comply. You are not a good listener by any means, especially for men in positions of authority or power.

Maybe it’s sexist, maybe it’s unfair. Spend your whole childhood getting the shit taken out of you by a man that’s supposed to love and care for and protect you, and then decide what’s fair and what’s not.

He whistles low, turning you this way and that with a tenderness you don’t expect from calloused, bear paw hands with knuckles like golf balls. “I’ll give it to you, you’ve got balls. Bigger than most men I’ve met.”

Your mouth betrays your tough girl facade, and lets a tiny smile hike up the edge despite the stinging pain that follows.

Officer Ludlow gets you out with a slap on the wrist—aka a misdemeanor—just like he said he was going to. You tell him thank you about ten million times for saving your ass, and for offering to give you a ride back to the bar to get your car.

“I’ve already put you out too much tonight,” you tell him. “I’ll get a Taxi or something.”

“It’s a Saturday night,” he says, jangling the keys in his beater pocket. “By the time you get to the bar, you’re gonna be towed. C’mon.”

You open the back door of his charger, but he shakes his head and, instead, opens up his passenger seat for you to slide in.

It’s about now you’re starting to get a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach, like something is off about this interaction. You’re not one to trust easily, and getting in the car with a complete stranger, although one in uniform, is out of character to say the least.

Your radar has really been fucked up tonight. By the alcohol, the scumbag, the being arrested, the bruising and tearing of your knuckles. What a way to end it, you think, if Ludlow is a bad guy.

The funny feeling in your guts that you decide to ignore this one time? It turns out to be right. And as Tom Ludlow starts driving up through the deserted hills, in the opposite direction of the bar your car is at, you almost want to burst out laughing at how stupid you are.

Asshole, no. Dumb? Fucking definitely.

You test his door handle and he snorts at you; like he’s saying, you think I’m that stupid?

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” you grumble, sizing him up from the corner of your eye, deciding whether to fight or flight or just give up now. He’s thin, but he’s broad. Tall. Not lanky. He won’t be easy to push over. You’ll have to bite, claw eyes out, rip his hair from his head. Make sure he doesn’t pull that shiny pistol out of his belt before you can jump on him.

You could do it right here in the car and risk barreling over the steep hillside on your right. You could—

“Hey,” he says, calmly, capturing you too easily from your violent thoughts, “it’s alright, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

A part of you wants to believe him, or maybe just believe there’s still some good in the world—some good in men. Hell, maybe leprechauns exist, too. You never know.

He looks sideways at you when you giggle in response to these reassuring words, as if you’re the one who’s fucking psycho. “I’ve heard that one before.”

He makes a pensive sound, air puffing from his nostrils, switches gears as the incline increases. “Daddy beat you up?”

Well, fuck it, might as well share all your sob stories if this is really happening tonight. “Uncle, actually.”

“Sorry,” he says, and you hazard a glance over to see if his face matches his empathetic tone—it, surprisingly, does. “He still alive?”

“No.”

You must be violently shaking to compensate for the repression of a panic attack, because his still, steady hand on your shoulder pauses the tremors. “It’s okay,” he assures, like he’s trying to soothe a crying kid. You have to admit, his voice is a cool ointment for hot nerves, even if he’s the reason for them in the first place.

The brain has a funny way of dealing with things like this. There’s about a 30% chance his intentions are raping you, because with his looks he could get any lady in the city of lights for free, but rapists and molesters rarely think about physical attractiveness when it actually comes down to the act. Psychologists say it’s more about the power trip for them. And, at least, if he is going to fuck you, he’s not exactly the worst man that you could pick to do it.

At least he’s hot, is what it boils down to. Because you’re a disgusting degenerate. Because your coping skills are a ticking time bomb, a broken record, stuck back at the part of your life where you had to start liking the way uncle Eddy touched you to deal with the shame and the despair of it.

Officer Ludlow’s gonna pick you right up off the ground again, slam you into his backseat, tug your pants and underwear down in one go. He’ll make you beg him to fuck your pussy instead of your unprepared and untainted ass, use his spit as lube, rub his meaty fingers over your puffy lips and taunt you when his saliva encounters your slippery cum. He’ll smack your ass for liking this, leave big red handprints, whisper in your ear that you’re gonna remember him, not just tomorrow, but for weeks after he gets done working your cunt. That he should kill you and leave your body out for the flies, but he wants you to live just so you can feel the way he destroyed your pussy.

The charger slows to a halt out in the sticks, and you have no idea where the fuck you are or how long you’ve been driving. The night is thick black soup in a boiling pot, and his headlights cut through it meagerly. It’s enough light to see what’s happening ahead, though, and when you look over at him curiously, he is grinning at you.

The man from the bar who assaulted your friend is in cuffs, an officer on each arm holding him in place. You don’t feel bad at all when you notice his swollen lip and purple temple, but you do wish you would have gotten more hits in.

Lucky for you, Officer Ludlow has you covered.

“Do you want to hit him?” He asks, unclipping his seat belt. “Or do you wanna watch?”

You blink a few times in response, not sure what to say to this brutally kind gesture. This man who barely knows you is helping you exact revenge against his own brethren. You’ve never been so…flattered.

“Don’t tell me you’re attempting to grow a conscience?” He teases.

“I wanna hit him.”

To your disappointment, Ludlow is not a total savage. He lets you get 3 or 4—it’s hard to remember the exact number—good hits on this dirtbag, and even wraps your knuckles up in a cushiony flannel from his back seat beforehand. His only rule is, “stay away from his ugly ass face. I don’t need him coming back to the station more fucked up than it already is.”

You get him in the stomach, the ribs, kick him so hard in his dick that you feel the hard pelvic bone underneath. Maybe it’s only a couple hits, but you make them count. And when you start to ache, or get tired, all you have to do is remember the tears smearing Abbie’s pretty glitter eyeliner down her face.

If he does say anything to you, you don’t hear it. Or maybe he really doesn’t, because Ludlow stands behind you like a watchful wolfhound the entire time, and then escorts you back to his car with a heavy arm over your shaking shoulders.

“Good job,” he praises, seeming very amused and unaffected by this whole ordeal while you are trembling, soaked with sweat, panting like a hooker in a fur coat. “It’s alright, he had it coming. Hey, hey, hey, look at me.”

You do as he says, momentarily escaping your fury in favor of his calming voice and soft black eyes.

“You did amazing. Lemme see the knuckles.”

He takes your hand in his, and you notice the size difference first, and then the warm, damp, pleasant heat second.

There’s been a lot of firsts tonight: someone’s hands being larger than your own (big lady hands should’ve been your nickname in highschool), being picked up off the ground past the age of 7, a man going out of his way to do something nice for you—because your brain decides that’s how it’s going to frame this scenario whether you like it or not, as some fucked up little date on Tom Ludlow’s dime.

You feel safe with your hand tucked into his and the heat of his skin and the cozy intimacy of being belted into his vehicle. You feel grateful that good men still exist. You feel…tight, twisted up in some deprived box of longing you’ve made permanent home in.

You leave the sanctuary of your comfort zone, and have another first, as you cross his center console and kiss a man on his mouth.

For a moment where you feel like your heart is suspended on the edge of a very tall cliff, he freezes. This stiff resistance immediately makes you want to pull away, but, before you can, he wraps his hand around your chin and pulls you deep into his mouth.

Arthur from college, Monica from New Orleans…Hell, even Uncle Eddie—they have nothing on Officer Tom Ludlow with his big, slick tongue and muscular lips.

It’s so good you can almost ignore the fresh sting of your split lip.

He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, and murmurs a laugh when you give him a low groan for the effort, then takes your angry little grumble and dampens it with his renewed fervor. His hands remain gentle and chaste on your face, your neck, your shoulders, even though there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he devours your mouth. He does not push for more, does not hold you down with those big hands that absolutely could if they wanted to.

You set the pace, you pull him closer, you push him back when you need to gasp for air.

He licks the taste of you from his tilted, beautiful lips. “You have to breathe through your nose, honey.”

“Sorry,” you say, crossing your arms over yourself, pressing back against the door, away from him.

His lazy smile droops. “Are you alright?”

”I just…Can you take me to my car? If not I can—“

The thick start of his engine cuts you off.

The car ride back is silent. You think about turning on the radio a few times, but don’t want to cross more boundaries than you already have. Luckily, he flips it on for the both of you and you’ve never, ever been so happy to hear Metallica.

When he parks, cutting the engine off in the nearly deserted garage, the tension between you immediately peaks, sizzling like vinegar on baking soda. He wraps a long limb over the back of your seat, looks confused—vulnerable for such a big, scary man, and he makes your heart twang a lonely cord.

He seems almost boyish, when he asks if he can take you out sometime.

And you want to say yes. Every feral primordial part of you does, anyway. But then there’s the rational part, the one that should and does win most of the time. You’ve already snubbed that part too much tonight, so you politely decline Ludlow’s offer, and with your traitorous heart padlocked and chained back into your breast cavity, you say goodbye to the nice officer.

#tom ludlow x you #tom ludlow x reader #keanuverse #IV Drabbles

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julieverne · 20 hours ago

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Maura doesn't like sleeping next to anybody.

She was raised alone. The nurses never held her when she woke at night, and Constance was rarely home. Even if she had been, she was hardly the comforting sort. Stiff upper lip and all that. Maura learned to soothe herself, to read until the nightmares faded. Always scared and not sure why until she got older and realised her parents hadn't really wanted her; her in particular. Any child would have done. They'd just needed an heir to inherit.

It doesn't hurt the way it should; Maura has insulated herself against social harm. She slides inside her own mind and ignores outer stimuli. She doesn't make friends, because she never feels like she has anything to offer them.

She does sleep with men; it's quick and easy. Sometimes it's almost affectionate. But she doesn't stay. She slips out in the night to return to her own bed, disturbed by the heavy breathing and restless body next to hers. She doesn't get attached. She rarely goes back for seconds, unless they're exceptionally good at what they do to her. She's a poor little orphan with nothing to offer except her vast fortune, intelligence and smoking hot body.

Oh, she knows she's hot. It's part of why she's so reticient. People used to try to befriend her for her money or to use her in other ways.

Maura has enough self-respect not to let herself be used.

When Jane asks to stay, Maura doesn't hesitate.

They're tentative friends by now; Jane will bring a hot coffee down to the morgue with her if they've swung by a coffee shop on their way back to the precinct. She offers what meagre foodstocks she keeps in her desk; tuna and ramen, for the shelf-life. She's held an umbrella over Maura's head while she crouched over a victim. She's gruff and grumpy, but she's never disingenuous. Not with Maura. Maura knows Jane has other places to go; she has people in her life. She has strong family bonds, at least. She doesn't think Jane has friends either; not since Hoyt. No one ever really knows what to say after something like that happens to you. But Jane has a mother and father. Maura has met them both; they come in to scold her and bring her food when she works overnight. She has two brothers. Maura's met one and he's lovely but Jane is a finished product and he's awkward. Maura used to like awkward because she was awkward too. Jane is awkward in her own way.

She turns to Maura, probably because she doesn't think anyone will think to look for her there. Maura agrees readily. She bought this house and it echoes with loneliness. Jane's casual cheer could lighten it up.

And it does. Even though Jane is being taunted by a serial killer, she jokes and looks relaxed. It isn't until Bass knocks something that she springs upright, pulled taut by fear.

Maura reaches for her and Jane accepts Maura's fingers on her bare skin, lets Maura lower her back to the bed. Jane had joked about sleepovers and tits and best friends and Maura's never had any of those - well, she has tits. They're spectacular, so she's told. But now she's curious about Jane's, wondering why she suggested they get topless together.

Jane doesn't settle easily. She fidgets and talks late into the night. She falls asleep mid-sentence, still fighting it.

Maura watches her. She looks suprisingly sweet and vulnerable as she sleeps, and Maura is proud that Jane wanted Maura to protect and guard her. Her hand is still on Jane's arm, and when she tries to remove it so she can sleep in her own bed, Jane rolls over and traps Maura's arm beneath her, settling with her breath brushing Maura's hair and ear. She moves again, sliding herself onto Maura, so their bodies are aligned.

Maura moves her arm so it rests on Jane's back and she feels Jane relax and nuzzle closer into her. She hears Jane's contended sigh.

Maura doesn't like sleeping next to anyone. But with Jane nestled against her, she can't quite remember why.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzoli & isles #maura isles #rizzles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic

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xoxoch3rry · 2 days ago

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𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕠𝕤

@ xoxoch3rry do not steal or translate my work.

Word count: 826

────

Stiles Stilinski x fem!reader

Warnings: None.

Summary: Stiles confesses his long-held love for you under the stars

────⊹ ࣪ ˖⋆˖ ࣪⊹────

Beacon Hills had an eerie way of being calm just before chaos erupted. Tonight, though, the calm was real—no looming threats, no supernatural disasters. For once, you, Stiles, and the rest of the pack had a rare, peaceful evening. The stars were out, scattered across the clear night sky, and you found yourself sitting on the hood of Stiles’s beloved Jeep, parked in the middle of nowhere.

You had always found these moments with Stiles comforting. The two of you had been close for years, your friendship filled with sarcastic banter, late-night talks, and a shared love of bad movies. But lately, things had started to feel... different. His lingering glances, the way his jokes seemed to carry a softer edge when he directed them at you, the way your stomach fluttered every time he smiled—something was changing, and it terrified you.

“You okay over there?” Stiles asked, pulling you from your thoughts. He was leaning against the Jeep, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a small smile. “Just... thinking.”

“That’s dangerous,” he teased, his brown eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes. “Funny. Really, though, I’m fine. Just enjoying the quiet.”

Stiles nodded, his gaze drifting to the stars. For a moment, you both sat in silence, the sound of crickets and the distant rustle of leaves filling the air. But even in the stillness, you could feel the weight of something unspoken hanging between you.

“Y/N,” Stiles said suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned to look at him, surprised by the serious expression on his face. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “There’s... something I need to tell you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Okay...”

He took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself. “You know how, um, sometimes you think you’re totally fine just being friends with someone, but then you realize that you’re not fine? Like, not even close to fine?”

Your stomach flipped. “Stiles, what are you—”

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Like, head-over-heels, can’t-stop-thinking-about-you, I’d-follow-you-into-a-werewolf-pack kind of love.”

You stared at him, your mind racing to catch up with his words.

“I know I’m probably screwing this up,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “But I’ve been keeping this to myself for so long, and it’s driving me insane. You’re amazing, Y/N. You’re smart, and funny, and way too good for me, and every time I’m around you, it’s like—”

“Stiles,” you interrupted, your voice shaking slightly.

He froze, his eyes wide as he waited for you to say something, anything.

“I...” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But then you saw the way he was looking at you—hopeful, nervous, completely vulnerable—and suddenly, it all clicked.

“I love you too,” you said softly, the truth spilling out like a secret you’d been keeping for far too long.

Stiles blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “Wait, really?”

You laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in days. “Yes, really. Did you think you were the only one with feelings here?”

He grinned, his entire face lighting up in a way that made your heart melt. “Well, yeah, kind of. I mean, you’re you, and I’m just... me.”

“Stiles,” you said, sliding off the hood of the Jeep and stepping closer to him. “You’re more than ‘just you.’ You’re everything to me.”

His grin softened into a smile, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there, the world around you fading into the background. Then, without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face in your hands, pulling him down into a kiss.

It was soft at first, hesitant, but then he kissed you back, his arms wrapping around your waist as if he was afraid to let you go. Time seemed to stop, the only thing that mattered was the way his lips moved against yours, the way his hands felt warm and steady on your back.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your foreheads resting against each other.

“Wow,” Stiles said, his voice a little shaky. “That was... wow.”

You laughed, your cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Wow.”

He pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Probably as long as I have,” you teased, your smile matching his.

“Then I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for,” he said, his grin turning mischievous.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the sound echoing through the quiet night. And as Stiles pulled you into another kiss, you realized that, for once, everything felt exactly as it should be.

#stiles stilinski #stiles x oc #stiles stilinksi x reader #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf x y/n #teen wolf x you #x reader #dylan o'brien #dylan o'brian x reader

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urdreamydoodles · 13 hours ago

Note

Hi, do you have a request? If so, could you make Bane and Scarecrow (separately) if their crush confesses his feelings to them? (You can add other villains if you want) have a nice day :D

Bat-Villains x Reader

You confess your feelings to them

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

Being in my Batman-Comics era, this made me so happy, thank you! Hope you like it <3

Joker

- Confessing your feelings to the Joker is a feat in itself. His mind is a labyrinth, twisted and sharp, and he hardly ever makes it easy for anyone to get close. So, when you manage to muster up the courage and spill your heart out, he’s taken aback. His smile is unnervingly wide, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—a flash of curiosity and something darker that makes you wonder if he actually reciprocates.

- Joker’s interest in you grows even more as he realizes you’re different from his typical followers. You aren’t afraid of him, nor are you drawn in by just his dangerous allure. You’ve seen past his twisted laughter and manic acts, and you still want him. This intrigues him, even bothers him a little. How could anyone see anything in him other than madness? Yet, there you are, looking at him like he’s human, and it’s both terrifying and intoxicating to him.

- He teases you relentlessly after your confession, never letting you forget the vulnerability you showed him. “Oh, darling, you’re just too sweet for me,” he’d purr with a devilish grin, leaning in way too close. He loves watching you squirm, enjoying every bit of control he has over your emotions, almost like a game. But deep down, there’s a hint of admiration. You’ve got guts, and he respects that.

- The Joker’s way of showing affection is, naturally, unconventional. Sometimes it’s an offhanded compliment; other times, it’s a madcap scheme he drags you into, letting you play a part just because he wants you close. When he pulls you into his schemes, he’s almost like a kid showing off his toys, reveling in your reactions—whether it’s awe, excitement, or even horror. It thrills him to know he has that effect on you.

- Every so often, though, you catch him staring at you with a look that’s almost soft, a dangerous vulnerability creeping into his gaze. He covers it up quickly with a quip or an exaggerated gesture, but you know you saw something real. It gives you hope, even though you know that being with him will always mean walking the tightrope between love and chaos.

- Over time, Joker starts to grow possessive. It’s subtle at first—a smirk when he sees others vying for your attention, a warning look thrown at anyone who gets too close. But before long, he’s unapologetically possessive, wanting you at his side, sometimes even in situations where he wouldn’t usually bring someone along. “You’re mine,” he’ll say with a dark, playful tone that sends chills down your spine.

- Joker will never admit he has feelings for you outright, but in his way, he shows it. The more he involves you in his world, the closer he brings you to his madness, the clearer it becomes. To him, love is chaos, control, and the thrill of having someone he can warp and twist yet who willingly stays. You’ve become his favorite muse, his inspiration, the one who reminds him that even monsters can find someone to care for, in their own twisted way.

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley is surprisingly giddy when you confess your feelings to her. She’s spent her life surrounded by people who see her as a joke or Joker’s sidekick, so to have someone see her as her own person—and even like her for it—makes her heart swell. She’s blushing like crazy, giggling with delight, and probably wraps you in a tight hug before you can even process her reaction.

- As bubbly and playful as she is, Harley takes your confession seriously. She’s been through enough heartbreak and knows what it’s like to be used or ignored, so your affection means the world to her. She’ll ask you so many questions, wanting to know every little thing you feel, why you like her, and what you think of her quirks. She wants to believe it’s real, but part of her is scared it’s too good to be true.

- Harley is incredibly affectionate, and once she knows you care for her, she’s not shy about showing it. Expect surprise hugs from behind, spontaneous kisses, and laughter-filled moments. She’s like a whirlwind of emotions, sometimes leaving you breathless with her enthusiasm. She loves to make you laugh and will go out of her way to cheer you up, even if it means pulling out her silliest antics.

- She also starts to show a fiercely protective side, a side of her that you usually only see when Joker’s around. Harley may be quirky and fun, but she’s also a skilled fighter, and she won’t let anyone mess with you. She’ll even pick fights with people who look at you the wrong way, shooting you a grin afterward and saying, “Nobody messes with my sweetie and gets away with it!”

- Despite her tough exterior, Harley is vulnerable with you in a way she rarely allows herself to be. She’ll open up about her insecurities, her past, and her struggles with self-worth, trusting that you won’t judge her. She’s scared of being abandoned, of not being enough, and it’s clear in the way she clings to you a bit tighter than she would anyone else. It’s her way of telling you she doesn’t want to lose you.

- Harley’s loyalty is unwavering. Once she’s fallen for you, you’re as good as family to her. She’ll bring you little gifts, things that remind her of you, and surprise you with thoughtful gestures. Whether it’s a flower she picked up or a silly trinket she found, each one is given with a smile and a “This reminded me of ya!”

- With Harley, every day is unpredictable, a mix of chaos and love. She might drag you into wild adventures or plan the most unconventional dates, but through it all, she’s committed to making you feel cherished. She’ll never hide her feelings for you, wearing her heart on her sleeve and reminding you every chance she gets that you’re special to her, her own little piece of sanity in a world gone mad.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- When you first confess your feelings to Poison Ivy, she’s quiet, studying you with that piercing, assessing gaze of hers. She doesn’t let emotions cloud her judgment easily, and she needs to be sure your words are genuine. But when she realizes your feelings are sincere, there’s a rare, subtle softening in her expression. Her walls don’t crumble easily, but for you, she might just let one or two down.

- Ivy’s affection is a quiet, powerful force. She’s not overly demonstrative, but her way of showing she cares is through small gestures that speak volumes. A soft touch of her hand against yours, vines that subtly wrap around you protectively, or even a single, precious flower left for you in a place she knows you’ll find. Every gesture from her is intentional, calculated, and rare, making it all the more precious.

- One of her favorite ways to spend time with you is in her greenhouse. She’ll invite you to work alongside her, teaching you about the plants she loves as if they’re old friends. Sometimes, she’ll even let you help nurture the rarest ones, a gesture of trust few ever receive. She finds it soothing to have you nearby, feeling like a kindred spirit amid the chaotic Gotham world.

- Ivy’s protective nature is fierce. She sees the world as cruel and selfish, and anyone who hurts you quickly becomes a target of her wrath. If anyone so much as tries to harm you, they’ll find themselves facing the fury of the natural world—thorns, vines, and deadly spores at Ivy’s command. But with you, she’s gentle, careful, almost reverent, knowing that you see the good in her that others overlook.

- Ivy isn’t one for typical romance, but she enjoys creating beauty just for you. She might grow a unique plant in your favorite color, a species found nowhere else, just to show her affection in her own way. It’s her version of saying “I love you” without needing the words. And sometimes, when she catches you admiring her creations, she allows herself a rare, genuine smile.

- Though Ivy is usually serious and somewhat reserved, she has a playful side she only shows around you. Sometimes, she’ll playfully summon vines to brush against you or weave a flower crown for you, a small smile tugging at her lips as she watches your reaction. In these quiet moments, you can see the softness she hides from the rest of the world.

- Ivy is drawn to you because of your calmness and respect for the natural world, something she finds rare in Gotham. You’re like a breath of fresh air, and she finds herself surprisingly at peace around you. She might not be able to put it into words, but she knows that being with you makes her feel connected in a way she hasn’t before, making you her safe harbor in the storm of her mission.

Bane

- When you confess your feelings to Bane, his reaction is one of quiet surprise. He’s not used to hearing confessions of love—respect, fear, yes, but love is something rare in his world. He’s silent for a moment, his intense gaze holding yours, and there’s a flicker of something softer behind his usual stoic expression. For a man like him, vulnerability is dangerous, but with you, he’s willing to risk it.

- Bane’s love language is protection and physical presence. He doesn’t rely much on words but instead lets his actions speak for him. He’ll always be by your side, a solid and unbreakable presence, making sure you feel safe in his care. It’s his way of telling you that as long as he’s around, nothing in this world will harm you.

- Though he may seem intimidating, Bane has a gentle side he only shows to you. He’ll be mindful of his strength, his touch light and cautious, always making sure he doesn’t hurt you. If you’re ever in danger, however, his calm façade drops instantly, and his fierce, unyielding side comes forward. In his eyes, protecting you is non-negotiable.

- Bane loves sharing stories with you about his life and past, opening up in a way he rarely does with anyone else. His voice is deep and steady as he recounts his upbringing, his struggles, and his victories, wanting you to understand who he is beyond the mask of strength. He doesn’t hold back, trusting that you’ll accept him, scars and all.

- Despite his hard exterior, Bane has a surprisingly romantic side. He might bring you something small but meaningful, like a flower he picked from a rare spot he found on his travels, or a trinket that reminds him of you. He isn’t vocal about his affection, but each gesture is thoughtful and sincere, a sign of the care he holds for you.

- Bane admires your calm, composed nature, finding it a perfect balance to his intense personality. With you, he feels at ease in a way he never thought possible. You’re a reminder of the peace he’s always sought but never quite found until now. Sometimes, he’ll sit in quiet contemplation with you, enjoying the stillness of your presence.

- In private, Bane allows himself to be more vulnerable, letting down his guard and showing you his softer side. He might even let you touch his face, something he rarely allows anyone else to do, leaning into your touch with closed eyes as if grounding himself. In these moments, you’re the only one who sees the man beneath the mask, the one who loves you fiercely and would do anything to keep you safe.

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- When you confess your feelings to Jonathan Crane, it surprises him. He's so consumed by his own dark philosophies and fear experiments that he's not used to genuine affection. He looks at you, studying your face as if you’re another psychological puzzle to solve. But he sees no ulterior motive in your eyes, and, though he rarely shows emotion, there’s a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze.

- Jonathan expresses affection in a rather unconventional way. Instead of typical romance, he offers you pieces of his twisted intellect. He might discuss his latest experiments or philosophical thoughts with you, valuing your opinion in a way he seldom does with anyone else. If he asks you to assist him with his research, it's his odd way of showing trust and letting you into his world.

- Crane finds comfort in your calm and composed nature. For a man who thrives on fear and chaos, your grounded presence is a rare stability. He’ll often sit in silence with you, just observing or talking quietly about his theories. The quiet moments you share become a reprieve from the relentless psychological battles he wages with Gotham.

- The Scarecrow isn’t one to be overly affectionate, but he shows a dark protectiveness toward you. If anyone even thinks of causing you harm, Jonathan will unleash his full arsenal of fear-inducing chemicals without hesitation. He may not be expressive with words, but he’s ruthless in ensuring no one dares to cross you.

- One of his subtle ways of showing affection is by sharing his fears with you, something he keeps hidden from everyone else. He’ll discuss the fears he had growing up, or his fascination with understanding fear in all its forms. Sharing these secrets with you is his way of revealing the man behind the mask, trusting that you’ll accept his complexities.

- Jonathan admires your resilience and ability to stay calm, even in his most chaotic moments. You’ve become a constant in his life, and though he won’t openly say it, he finds himself feeling at peace when he’s near you. He may even develop a rare habit of reaching out to hold your hand, an act he considers a grounding tether in his unpredictable world.

- Sometimes, he’ll leave small notes or bookmarks in the psychology books he knows you’ll read, with cryptic messages or quotes that he knows will make you think. It’s his way of letting you into his mind without having to speak it aloud, and he takes pleasure in watching you puzzle over his hidden meanings.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- When you confess your feelings to Harvey Dent, you can see the internal struggle play out on his face. Harvey—the man he used to be—is vulnerable and hopeful, while Two-Face, the darker half, is wary and skeptical. It’s rare to see him so conflicted, but when he realizes you’re sincere, he gives you a small, tentative smile, one of the few true ones you’ve seen.

- Harvey’s love language is mixed with his duality. Some days he’s sweet, protective, and deeply caring, a glimpse of the old Harvey who fights to emerge. Other days, his darker side takes over, and he becomes more distant, protective but harsh. He’s constantly at war with himself, but he does his best to show you both sides, hoping you’ll accept him fully.

- A symbol of trust for him is letting you hold his two-headed coin, the one he uses for all his decisions. He’ll let you flip it, letting you “decide” for him in those moments when he’s overwhelmed. This is an enormous gesture from him, showing that he values you as a balance between his good and bad sides.

- Harvey’s protectiveness over you is intense and fierce. He’ll use all his resources to make sure you’re safe in Gotham’s dangerous world, and if anyone tries to harm you, he’ll make sure they regret it. His duality comes into play here—sometimes he’s gentle in his protection, and other times, Two-Face’s wrath is ruthless and merciless.

- On good days, he’ll reminisce with you about his life before the accident, sharing memories of who he once was. In these moments, he’s vulnerable and nostalgic, as if hoping you might remind him of his better nature. He doesn’t have many people he can trust, but you’re one of the few who sees the real Harvey underneath.

- Harvey loves to show you both sides of his life, taking you to high-end places and then to his more seedy hideouts, introducing you to the two parts of his world. He’s nervous about showing his darker side, but he trusts that you’ll understand him. It’s his way of including you in every aspect of his life, letting you in where few others ever go.

- He has a unique way of showing affection, giving you small, rare smiles or reaching out to touch your hand with his scarred one. He’s insecure about his appearance, but with you, he feels a bit more at ease. Sometimes, he’ll even catch his reflection with you in a window, seeing the contrast and finding a strange peace, knowing you accept him fully—scars, darkness, and all.

Edward Nigma aka. The Riddler

- When you confess your feelings to Edward, he’s taken aback, blinking in surprise before a smirk forms on his face. He immediately assumes you must be drawn to his intellect, as he sees himself as the ultimate puzzle. After the initial shock, he responds with a playful, “I knew you would eventually fall for my genius.” But there’s a genuine glint of excitement in his eyes, and you know he’s truly thrilled.

- Edward loves to impress you with his intellect, often challenging you with riddles or complex games he creates just for you. If you manage to solve his puzzles, it only makes him admire you more. There’s a playful arrogance in the way he’ll lean over your shoulder and whisper, “I didn’t make it that easy, did I?”

- Being with him means you’re his partner in crime (literally and figuratively), and he values your opinion on his schemes. He loves the idea of two minds working together and enjoys discussing plans with you, carefully considering any clever ideas you bring to the table. To him, you’re a rare equal, someone who can match him mentally—a compliment he doesn’t give lightly.

- Edward’s affection is quirky and, at times, even a bit competitive. He enjoys subtle one-upmanship with you, and if you can outsmart him, he’s surprisingly delighted, showing a rare sense of pride in your intelligence. He even begins to share details of his most elaborate plans, trusting you with things he wouldn’t tell a soul.

- His protectiveness comes in the form of setting traps and riddles to keep you safe. If anyone so much as thinks of harming you, they’re met with a labyrinthine trap or a series of riddles that they’ll struggle to solve. It’s his way of keeping you out of danger, knowing that his “defenses” will thwart anyone who poses a threat to you.

- Edward loves leaving you little riddles and coded messages to find, each with a hint of affection or admiration hidden inside. Whether he’s planning a date or just wanting to make you smile, he’ll slip a puzzle into your daily routine, and your clever responses only make him fall harder for you.

- Though he’s not the most emotionally open, Edward surprises himself by genuinely enjoying the softer moments with you. Whether it’s a quiet evening where you’re both reading or analyzing mysteries, he feels more at ease than he ever has. It’s new territory for him, but he cherishes every moment—even if he’ll rarely admit it outright.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- When you confess your feelings to Oswald, he’s absolutely shocked, and he stammers for a moment. Used to people being interested in him only for his power and status, he’s genuinely moved by your feelings. He adjusts his suit with a confident flourish, but it’s clear he’s flattered, his eyes softening as he says, “You…really mean that?”

- Oswald is incredibly attentive and chivalrous toward you. He’s always quick to hold doors, pull out chairs, and offer his arm with a refined yet protective air. He adores treating you to the finest Gotham has to offer—luxury dinners, elegant galas, and private rooms in the Iceberg Lounge where it’s just the two of you.

- When he’s with you, Oswald can’t help but show off his power and influence. He’ll make sure you’re treated like royalty everywhere you go, and if anyone disrespects you, they’ll face his wrath. There’s nothing he won’t do to protect you, whether it’s using his connections or intimidating someone into compliance.

- He’s deeply proud of having you by his side, often flaunting your relationship publicly as a way of reminding others of his newfound joy. Though he’s a ruthless criminal, he feels a sense of pride and warmth in being with someone who loves him for who he truly is. In his own way, he strives to be worthy of you.

- Oswald has a softer, more vulnerable side that only you get to see. When he’s not putting on his “Penguin” persona, he opens up about his difficult past and insecurities, grateful to have someone who listens without judgment. He’s deeply grateful for your presence in his life, even if he has trouble expressing it directly.

- Oswald loves to spoil you with extravagant gifts, from rare jewelry to designer clothes. He takes great pride in watching you wear something he picked out, and he’ll always remind you, “Only the best for my love.” It’s his way of showing affection and devotion, compensating for what he lacks in typical romantic expression.

- If you’re ever threatened, Oswald’s protectiveness skyrockets. He’s not afraid to use his network of henchmen and connections to make sure you’re safe, even if it means crossing dangerous lines. Though he’s often ruthless, there’s a soft, fierce loyalty when it comes to you, and he’ll do anything to ensure you’re untouchable in Gotham’s treacherous world.

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burntsecrets · 3 days ago

Text

A Fire in the Dusk

Pairing: Zuko x Katara

Word Count: 987

Prompt: For Zutara Week 2024 | Day 2: Dusk @zutaraweek

Warnings: mentions of past war and trauma, emotional vulnerability, introspection on identity and purpose, mild romantic tension, kiss/physical intimacy, references to political responsibilities and challenges

The balcony of the Jasmine Dragon overlooked Republic City’s chaotic sprawl. Below, lanterns flickered to life one by one, their golden glow chasing away the deepening shadows of the evening. The streets bustled with hurried footsteps and the occasional bark of a vendor’s call. Above it all, the sky blazed in hues of orange and violet, a smattering of stars just beginning to peek through.

Katara leaned forward on the railing, her hands loose at her sides, the fabric of her blue shawl fluttering in the breeze. Her gaze followed the skyline, where ornate spires stood silhouetted against the horizon. The distant clang of metal echoed up from a construction site, but her focus stayed on the clouds, heavy with the promise of night.

“You look like you’re about to waterbend the sky,” Zuko’s voice cut through the quiet, low and even.

She turned her head slightly, catching sight of him standing a few paces back. His posture was straight, hands clasped behind him—a habit he hadn’t shaken even in private. The soft glow of a nearby lantern brushed against his scarred face, making his sharp features appear softer. He was still wearing the dark crimson robes of the Fire Lord, though the golden flames embroidered along the hem seemed at odds with the unassuming space of his uncle’s teahouse.

“And you look like you’re planning your next big proclamation,” she teased, her lips quirking into a small smile.

Zuko exhaled a faint laugh, stepping closer until he stood beside her. His eyes followed hers to the skyline, where the last rays of sunlight lingered stubbornly on the edges of the city’s tallest buildings.

“Do you miss it?” she asked after a moment, her voice quieter now. “The fire? The fight?”

His brow furrowed, though he didn’t look at her. Instead, his gaze stayed locked on the horizon, where distant plumes of smoke rose from the city’s industrial district. “Sometimes,” he admitted, his words deliberate. “But it’s different now. The fight is in council chambers and trade negotiations. It’s... colder.”

Katara nodded, her fingers brushing the wooden railing absently. “It’s not the same as facing someone across a battlefield. But I guess neither of us expected life to be the same after the war.”

Zuko tilted his head toward her, a small smirk playing at his lips. “You don’t miss the fighting, do you?”

Her eyes flicked to him, the faintest glint of mischief there. “Not exactly. I miss the clarity of it, though. You knew who you were up against. What you had to do.” She turned back to the view, the humor fading from her voice. “These days, it’s harder to tell.”

The unspoken weight of her words hung in the air. Zuko studied her profile—the firm line of her jaw, the way her eyes reflected the fading light. He wanted to say something, but the words felt tangled in his throat, their meaning too big to shape into sound.

A cool breeze swept past, carrying the scent of rain and distant jasmine. Katara tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, the motion small but enough to draw his attention.

“You’ve changed,” she said finally, breaking the silence. Her tone was soft, not accusatory. “Not just as Fire Lord. As... you.”

Zuko’s fingers tightened around the edge of the railing. “So have you.”

She tilted her head, a faint laugh escaping her. “I hope so. Otherwise, what was the point of everything we went through?”

He gave a slow nod, but his eyes remained fixed on her. She wasn’t looking at him, yet somehow, she seemed to know he was there, watching her every move. The lines of her face were older now, sharper, but no less beautiful. If anything, the years had added something he couldn’t quite put into words. Strength, perhaps. Or maybe just something he’d been too blind to notice before.

“Katara,” he started, his voice quieter than he meant.

She turned to him, her expression curious but open. The warmth of her gaze caught him off guard, but he didn’t look away. For a moment, he forgot the teahouse, the city, the world beyond them. There was just her, standing close enough to touch, her presence steady and grounding in a way he hadn’t realized he needed.

“I’ve spent a long time looking for balance,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “For peace.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing, waiting.

“I think…” he hesitated, his breath catching as he took a half step closer. “I think I’ve found it. Here. With you.”

The city seemed to fade away, its noise dull and distant. Katara didn’t speak immediately, but the softness in her expression told him enough. She reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against his, the touch both tentative and certain.

“Zuko,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “you don’t have to look anymore.”

The space between them closed as he leaned down, her hand sliding up to rest lightly against his chest. Their lips met, a slow and quiet collision, filled with years of tension, regret, and something new—something that felt a lot like hope.

When they pulled apart, her forehead rested against his, her eyes still closed as if she didn’t want to let the moment go.

“Dusk,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady.

Zuko’s brows furrowed slightly. “What?”

She opened her eyes, meeting his. “It’s my favorite time of day. It’s not quite night, not quite day. It’s... the in-between. Where everything feels possible.”

The faintest smile curved his lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the Fire Nation’s crown seemed lighter.

“Then let’s stay here,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. “In the in-between.”

The stars began to fill the sky as the last of the light faded, leaving them standing together, unburdened by the past, open to whatever came next.

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lila-lou · 3 days ago

Text

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 3✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fluff

Word Count: 9843

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The morning sunlight filtered through the thin motel curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as Sam sat on the edge of his bed, waiting for Dean to finish up in the shower. Sam tapped his foot, hands folded in his lap, glancing every so often at the closed bathroom door. He’d noticed Dean’s pensive mood the night before, the way his brother had seemed lost in thought, staring out the window like he was a million miles away. Sam hadn’t pried, but he had a good guess about what was on Dean’s mind—and who.

A few minutes later, the door opened, and Dean stepped out, towel around his neck, looking fresher but still carrying that same thoughtful expression. He barely looked at Sam as he moved to grab his bag, running a hand through his damp hair.

“So”, Sam said casually, crossing his arms, “you’re just gonna keep quiet about it?”.

Dean glanced at him, a bit startled. “About what?”.

Sam gave him a look, raising an eyebrow. “About her”. He let the words hang in the air, watching as Dean’s face shifted from surprise to something softer, almost resigned.

Dean sighed, slinging his bag onto his shoulder and letting out a low chuckle. “You really don’t let up, do you?”.

“Nope", Sam replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. He watched his brother, his gaze steady, waiting for Dean to let him in.

Dean dropped his bag, shaking his head as he ran a hand over his face, still visibly trying to sort through everything that had been on his mind. “It’s… I don’t know, Sammy. It’s been years. I didn’t think I’d see her again, you know? But standing there, looking at her… felt like I was eighteen all over again”. He let out a quiet laugh, the sound tinged with disbelief. “Like nothing had changed”.

Sam nodded, recognizing that rare vulnerability in Dean’s voice. “But things have changed, Dean. You’ve changed. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to end the same way”.

Dean sighed, not answering right away as he tossed his bag onto the bed and started pulling on his jeans, his gaze distant. He seemed to be wrestling with something, that familiar tug-of-war between his feelings and the reality of his life, the job, the constant moving. He didn’t say anything as he shrugged into his shirt and boots, just focused on getting ready, as if he could avoid the conversation by keeping himself busy.

But Sam was already a step ahead, his fingers slipping into his pocket to check that he still had the card you’d given Dean, the card that now had a purpose. Sam glanced down at the small, neatly printed name of your bookstore, the address on the other side, and couldn’t help but feel a small, satisfied smile pull at the corner of his lips. Dean might be stubborn, but Sam knew how to nudge him when he needed it.

Thirty minutes, a pot of coffee, and a stack of bacon and eggs later, Sam finally put his plan into action.

"Alright, take a left here”, Sam said casually, barely looking up as he guided Dean through the quiet streets.

Dean glanced over, a bit confused but following Sam’s instructions anyway. “Didn’t think the library was on this side of town”, he muttered, frowning as he glanced out the window at the unfamiliar neighborhood. “Feels a little… cozy for a library”.

“Oh, it’s a smaller spot”, Sam replied smoothly, keeping his face neutral. “They don’t have a huge selection, but sometimes these places have rare finds, local stuff that doesn’t make it to the bigger branches”.

Dean shrugged, satisfied enough with that explanation as he continued driving. “Well, we’ve checked out stranger places for lore. Long as they’ve got some weird, dusty books, I’m in”.

“Almost there”, Sam replied, suppressing a small smile as he kept up the charade, sneaking glances at the streets to make sure they were heading in the right direction. He couldn’t wait to see Dean’s reaction when he realized what was really going on.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a small, charming storefront with a faded sign above the door displaying the name of your bookstore. Dean pulled to a stop out front, looking up at the sign with a furrowed brow, his hand still resting on the steering wheel as he took in the scene.

“This doesn’t look like a library”, he muttered, suspicion creeping into his voice as he shot Sam a sidelong glance.

Sam just shrugged, unbuckling his seatbelt and giving his brother a perfectly innocent look. “You know, it’s a bookstore. Pretty close. Besides, who’s to say they don’t have something helpful in here? Worth a look, right?”.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, but before he could question it further, Sam had already opened the door and was stepping out of the car, leaving Dean with no choice but to follow.

As they approached the door, Dean’s eyes lingered on the sign, his mind catching up to Sam’s little scheme. Recognition dawned on him, and he shot his brother an incredulous look. “Oh no… you didn’t”, he muttered, realization flashing in his eyes as he put two and two together. He shoved Sam, who only laughed, taking obvious pride in his handiwork.

“Yup, I did”, Sam replied, grinning smugly as he pushed back, his laughter filling the quiet street.

Within seconds, the two were wrestling on the sidewalk, Dean tugging Sam’s head under his arm in a firm hold, trying to keep his brother’s squirming under control. "You little shit!". Sam’s laughter only intensified, and despite his best efforts, Dean felt his own smirk creeping up. They looked like a couple of teenagers, roughhousing on the pavement outside your store.

Just then, the sound of the door opening caught both of their attention. They froze mid-wrestle, Dean’s arm still loosely around Sam’s neck, as they looked up to see you standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an amused smile spreading across your face.

“Dean Winchester”, you said, trying to keep a straight face as you took in the sight of the two brothers tangled up on the sidewalk, “I didn’t realize ‘library’ was code for causing a scene”.

Dean released Sam, clearing his throat as he straightened up, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he shot Sam an annoyed look. “Well, I, uh…”. He faltered, at a loss for words, clearly caught off guard.

Sam, on the other hand, flashed you a wide, unapologetic grin as he straightened up beside his brother, brushing himself off.

Sam’s grin widened, catching the blush creeping up Dean’s neck. He couldn’t resist pushing the moment further. “You know”, he began, eyes sparkling with mischief, “Dean here missed you so much, he insisted we come by first thing in the morning. Couldn’t even wait for a regular library”.

Dean shot him a warning glare, but Sam only continued, his voice dripping with exaggerated sincerity. “I mean, he practically dragged me out of bed just to get here”, Sam added, crossing his arms with a smug grin. “Said it was a top priority”.

Without missing a beat, Dean lunged at Sam, tackling him in an instant as they wrestled yet again, shoving each other around like kids. You stifled a laugh, watching the two brothers tumble and grapple, a whirlwind of limbs, laughter, and grumbled threats.

“You’re dead, Sammy”, Dean muttered, twisting Sam into a quick headlock, though he was clearly holding back, unable to hide the amusement behind his feigned irritation.

“Sure, sure—just don’t choke on how much you missed her”, Sam replied, barely able to get the words out through his laughter as he tried to squirm free.

You finally stepped forward, your arms crossed as you raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Alright, you two—my store’s not a wrestling ring. Think you can keep it together long enough to step inside?”.

Dean finally released Sam again, grumbling under his breath as he straightened up and shot you an almost sheepish smile. “Yeah, well… he deserved it”, he muttered, still trying to shake off his embarrassment.

“I’ll be good”, Sam said, though the look in his eyes suggested he’d take any chance he could to push Dean’s buttons.

You held the door open, motioning for them to come inside, and as Dean stepped past you, you could see that the familiar bravado was tempered with something softer, a vulnerability he was clearly trying to keep hidden. For a split second, he caught your gaze, a quiet smile tugging at his lips, and you felt that spark, the one you’d both danced around years ago, still burning there between you.

Inside, Dean shot Sam a warning look, which Sam met with a silent, amused shrug. You caught a quick, quiet exchange between them that spoke volumes—the easy, unbreakable bond of two brothers who knew each other inside and out.

You looked at Dean, tilting your head with a playful smile, your heart beating a bit faster as you let the words roll out slowly. “So… you’re here because…?”. You trailed off, the hint of hope in your voice barely masked. Part of you wanted him to say it—say that he was here to see you, that he was finally ready to pick up where things had left off all those years ago.

But Dean’s face flushed slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Sam as if searching for an escape. “Uh, well… research, actually”, he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. “We’ve got some… work to do. You know, the usual. Research”. He cleared his throat. “Got anything on ghosts? Creepy old stories?”.

Your heart sank for a second, the thrill of seeing him dimmed by the reminder that he hadn’t come just for you—at least, not entirely. But before disappointment could settle in, memories rose to the surface, memories that made his question hit a little differently.

Ghosts.

Dean had asked you about them before, on a quiet night in your room, long ago. It had been a strange conversation, one that had left you wondering about the life he led, a life he’d always kept half-hidden, wrapped in shadows and secrets.

You remembered that night vividly. You’d been sitting together on your bed, the faint glow of your bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. He’d looked thoughtful, almost hesitant, as if he were weighing whether or not to trust you with something fragile.

Flashback

The two of you had fallen into an easy silence, comfortable with each other’s presence as you shared your thoughts and laughed about everything and nothing. Then, out of the blue, Dean turned to you, his gaze holding an intensity you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey”, he murmured, his tone soft but serious. “Do you… do you believe in ghosts?”.

The question caught you off guard, and you looked at him, searching his face for any hint of a joke, but he was watching you with complete sincerity, his usual cocky demeanor replaced with something quieter, almost vulnerable.

“I mean…”. You hesitated, not sure where he was going with this. “I’ve never seen one myself, but I guess I don’t see why they couldn’t be real”. You shrugged, offering him a curious smile. “Why do you ask?”.

Dean looked away, his expression flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “Just wondering”, he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Sometimes… sometimes it feels like there’s more out there than we want to believe”.

His words lingered, filling the room with an almost tangible sense of mystery, and for the first time, you got a glimpse of the world he lived in, a world he couldn’t fully explain, even if he wanted to.

“Have you ever seen one?”, you asked, your voice gentle, as if you could feel the weight he carried just beneath the surface.

He looked back at you, his eyes reflecting something dark and haunted. “More than you’d believe,” he said, the honesty in his voice breaking through his usual guard. And in that moment, he didn’t need to say anything more; you understood that he’d seen things, things that most people couldn’t even imagine.

End of the Flashback

The memory faded, but the impact of that night remained, leaving you with a lingering sense of empathy for him and the secrets he’d always carried. You looked at him now, older but still carrying that same shadow, that weight you’d glimpsed all those years ago.

“Ghost stories, huh?”, you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “I might have a few. This place is full of old legends”. You motioned toward a shelf filled with dusty old tomes and folklore collections. “But if you’re here to find the spooky stuff… I get the feeling you know more about it than I do”.

Dean gave you a faint smile, his gaze softening, a hint of that same vulnerability from long ago flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. But… it doesn’t hurt to have a second opinion. You know, for research”.

You couldn’t help but smile, the unspoken connection between you reigniting as you led him toward the shelf, your fingers grazing the spines of the old books. “Well, then, let’s see what kind of ghost stories I can dig up for you”, you murmured, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

And as the two of you stood there, flipping through pages of folklore and old legends, you felt that familiar pull, the same quiet thrill you’d felt back then.

Once you’d gathered a small stack of books, Sam quickly took a few, settling himself comfortably into an armchair in the corner, already flipping through one with intense focus. Meanwhile, you lingered beside Dean, the two of you standing in the quiet space by the bookshelves, a sense of old familiarity weaving around you.

You glanced at him, your expression both curious and a touch suspicious, and you mumbled, “Still into that creepy stuff, huh?”.

Dean’s lips quirked in a small, slightly guilty smile as he scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to brush it off. “Guess you could say it’s… part of the job”.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head as you searched his face. “Still haven’t told me what that job actually is, though”, you said, your voice soft but pointed. “Unless ‘weird, dusty book hunting’ really is your full-time gig”.

Dean chuckled, but there was a flash of something in his eyes, a flicker of guardedness mixed with a hesitation he seemed to be trying to shake off. He met your gaze, and for a second, it looked like he was considering telling you something real, something he hadn’t shared with anyone outside of the world he lived in.

“Yeah, well… let’s just say it keeps me on my toes”, he replied, his tone deliberately vague but laced with that familiar charm. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly against the bookshelf as he looked at you, his gaze steady. “You know, keeping things spooky has its… perks”.

You crossed your arms, giving him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Perks like what?”.

Dean’s smile grew, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Like bumping into old friends in cozy bookstores”. His voice softened slightly, the playfulness tempered with something genuine, and he glanced away, as if the words had slipped out without his full permission.

Your heart gave a small, unexpected flutter, and you fought the smile tugging at your lips. “Old friends, huh?”. You let the words hang in the air, the warmth in your tone a gentle acknowledgment of the connection that had always lingered between you both.

He didn’t answer right away, just looked at you, that guarded look giving way to a softer, more open expression. For a brief moment, the years between you seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you, standing there like no time had passed at all.

Dean’s gaze softened as he licked his lips, the playfulness in his eyes turning into something deeper, more intense. You could feel the air between you shift, the lightheartedness slipping away as a quiet, unspoken tension built in its place. His eyes traced a slow path from your face, lingering there for a moment, before moving down, taking in every detail, every change time had added.

You couldn’t help yourself—you mumbled, barely above a whisper, “Pretty close friends, if I remember right”.

Dean’s gaze snapped back to yours, his jaw tightening slightly, and you saw the hint of a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah”, he replied, his voice lower now, a rough edge slipping in. “Real close”.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling your cheeks flush as you added, “I don’t know about you, but for me, old friends usually aren’t the ones I know like that”. Your voice dropped, a little unsteady but carrying a hint of challenge. “I don’t know how my ‘old friends’ feel… or how they taste… or the sound they make when they…”.

You trailed off, the words hanging heavy between you, and Dean’s eyes darkened, his expression faltering for just a moment as the memory of that night—a memory you both clearly hadn’t let go of—washed over you both. His breathing grew a little heavier, and he took a step closer, his hand grazing the shelf behind you as if he needed something to ground himself.

“Careful”, he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet intensity that sent a thrill up your spine. “You keep talking like that, and I might start thinking about all the ways I could remind you”.

You swallowed, heart racing as you held his gaze, the words almost daring you to push further. But before either of you could say anything else, Sam’s voice cut through the moment from the corner of the room.

"Hey, uh—found something. Might want to check this out", he said, his tone overly casual, but when you looked over, you saw the smirk on his face, like he knew exactly what he'd interrupted.

Dean exhaled, glancing away as he tried to regain his composure, the faintest flush still warming his cheeks.

And as he joined Sam to study the book, you knew this wasn’t the end of the conversation—it was only the beginning.

Dean stood behind Sam, leaning over his brother’s shoulder as he tried to focus on whatever ghost story Sam was explaining, but the words were slipping past him. His mind was elsewhere, and no matter how hard he tried to push it away, his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He looked up, instinctively searching for you, and there you were, standing by the bookshelf, watching him with that familiar smile. The moment your eyes met, a flicker of something undeniable passed between you. You bit your lip, and the memory came rushing back, the way it always did, pulling him in without permission.

Flashback

It was late, well past midnight, and the world outside was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. Dean slipped quietly through your window, as he’d done every night he could manage since that first time the two of you had been together. He’d gotten good at sneaking out—waiting for his dad and Sammy to fall asleep, carefully avoiding the creaky boards on his way out, and making the short walk to your place under cover of night.

This night was no different. He hoisted himself up, landing softly on the floor, and there you were, sitting on your bed in your pajamas, a book in your lap, completely absorbed until you felt his presence. When you looked up and saw him, your face lit up, that familiar warmth in your eyes making his heart pound in a way he’d never admit.

“Miss me?”, he whispered, a cocky grin playing at his lips as he shut the window behind him, doing his best to keep the noise down.

You rolled your eyes, setting the book aside as you sat up a little straighter. “You’re late”, you teased, though there was no bite in your voice, just quiet affection and a hint of relief that he was there.

He shrugged, crossing the room in a few steps until he was right beside you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, a casual front that barely hid how much he looked forward to these stolen moments. “Had to make sure the coast was clear”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “Didn’t want anyone to catch me sneaking away”.

You smiled, tugging him down to sit beside you on the bed. “Well, I’m glad you made it”. Your voice was barely a whisper, laced with a warmth that made his heart skip a beat. There was something about the quiet intimacy of these nights—just the two of you, hidden away from the rest of the world—that made him feel like he could finally breathe, like he could let down all the walls he kept so carefully constructed.

He kicked off his boots, leaning back against the headboard beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed.

He glanced down at the book you’d been reading, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reached over, snagging it from your hands before you could protest.

“So, what’s got you all wrapped up?”, he asked, flipping through the pages with a grin. “Let’s see… ‘Gothic romance, secrets of a haunted castle…’”. His eyebrows shot up, and he gave you a playful, knowing look. “Didn’t take you for the ‘brooding hero in a dark castle’ type”.

You laughed, leaning over to try and grab it back, but he held it just out of reach, clearly enjoying himself. “Oh, come on, Dean. I like a good mystery”, you replied, rolling your eyes but unable to keep the smile off your face. “Besides, I’ve got my own brooding hero sneaking in through my window every night”.

He smirked, finally handing the book back, though he kept his gaze fixed on you, his expression softening. “Guess I can’t compete with haunted castles and dark, mysterious strangers, huh?”.

You tilted your head, catching his gaze, and the playful tone in your voice faded, replaced by something softer. “I don’t know, Winchester”, you murmured, holding his eyes. “I think you’ve got them beat”.

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other, the teasing atmosphere giving way to a quiet intensity. He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, his usual bravado slipping away to reveal something raw, something he rarely let anyone see.

“Yeah?”, he whispered, his voice barely audible as he leaned in, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, warm against your cheek, and you felt your breath catch, the closeness between you charged with an unspoken promise.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “Yeah”.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and filled with a quiet urgency, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you closer, and you melted into him, all thoughts of haunted castles and mysterious heroes fading away. Right now, this moment, he was yours.

Dean’s hand slid down, fingers gentle yet firm as he guided you backward, his lips never leaving yours as he eased you down onto the bed. He hovered above you, his weight carefully balanced, creating a barrier that was somehow both respectful and filled with an unspoken intensity. You could feel his warmth, his presence surrounding you in a way that was dizzying, comforting, and exhilarating all at once.

For weeks now, the two of you had fallen into this rhythm—a careful dance of stolen kisses and whispered words, the quiet intimacy of your secret nights together. He was cautious, holding back in a way that made your heart ache, like he was afraid to let himself want too much, to let himself take this further. And even now, as he hovered over you, his hand cradling your face with such tenderness, you could feel that same restraint, the silent promise to not ask for more than you were ready to give.

But tonight, something was different. There was a hunger in his kiss that you hadn’t felt before, an urgency in the way his lips moved against yours, and you felt your heart pounding. Your hand moved up, fingers tracing along his jaw, slipping down to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your touch. He inhaled sharply, his hand tightening around yours as he pulled back slightly, his gaze intense as he searched your face.

“Dean…”, you murmured, your voice a quiet plea, filled with all the longing you’d been holding back.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as if he were wrestling with himself, with the weight of everything he’d never dared to hope for. When he opened his eyes, they were dark, filled with a raw, unguarded need that made your breath catch.

“I…”, he started, his voice rough, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want to mess this up”. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, his touch gentle but trembling, as if he were holding back a flood.

As Dean hovered over you, his hand still warm against your cheek, he remembered a conversation from just a few nights ago. You’d confessed quietly, almost shyly, that he’d been your first kiss. He’d teased you gently, surprised but flattered, but it had also made him realize something deeper—that you were trusting him with parts of yourself you’d never given to anyone else. And he’d quickly pieced it together, understood that, beyond that first kiss, you were letting him in on something new, something vulnerable.

Dean had his fair share of experiences with other girls, each encounter fading into the next, but this—this was different. This was you. And with you, every touch, every look, every whispered word felt like it held weight, like he was being trusted with something precious, something fragile. The last thing he wanted to do was rush or risk hurting you, especially with this kind of intimacy hanging unspoken between you.

He ran a hand gently down your arm, his fingers brushing over your skin with a reverence he hadn’t felt before. “I want this to be… right”, he murmured, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. He looked into your eyes, his gaze softened, that familiar cocky confidence replaced with something raw and open.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding but steady, feeling the depth of what he was offering you. “It is right, Dean”, you whispered, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, grounding him as much as yourself. “I’ve never wanted anything more… Unless.. you don’t want it".

Dean’s eyes softened even more, and he let out a low, almost breathless chuckle as he shook his head. “Oh, sweetheart, trust me”, he murmured, his voice rough but filled with warmth, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… since the first moment I laid eyes on you”. He brushed a thumb tenderly over your cheek, a quiet smile playing at his lips. “I just… I want it to be right. For you”.

You felt a rush of warmth spread through you, his words wrapping around your heart, settling any remaining nerves you had. The way he looked at you, with that unguarded, honest gaze, made you feel like you were the only person in the world, like there was nothing he wanted more than this moment with you.

“Then it is right”, you whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you let your hand slip from his jaw to rest on his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

He held your gaze for a moment, as if searching for any last trace of doubt, and when he found none, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was soft yet filled with an intensity that left you breathless. His hand moved down, sliding along your side with a gentleness that seemed almost reverent, like he was taking his time, savoring every moment, every touch, as if this was all he’d ever wanted.

Slowly, he deepened the kiss, his hand moving to your waist, pulling you closer, as his lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the best way.

As the kiss deepened, Dean’s lips moved slowly, tenderly, against yours, his hands resting on your waist with a gentle but steady pressure, anchoring you both in the moment. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, the quiet intensity of his touch, his heartbeat echoing in the space between you.

He broke the kiss just barely, his lips hovering over yours as he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, “Tell me if you need me to stop… if it’s too much”. His voice was soft, roughened by the depth of his emotions, and you could hear the restraint, the care, woven into each word.

You shook your head slightly, meeting his gaze with a reassuring smile, your hands slipping up to rest on his shoulders, grounding you in his presence. “Dean… I trust you”, you whispered, letting him see the quiet certainty in your eyes, the way you felt fully, deeply safe in his arms.

His gaze softened even more, and he leaned down, pressing another gentle kiss to your lips, his touch filled with a reverence that made your heart ache.

Dean’s hand slipped down to the hem of your sleep shirt, his fingers grazing the bare skin beneath with a gentleness that sent a shiver up your spine. His touch was slow, almost reverent, as he traced small circles along your hip, his gaze never leaving yours, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. When he saw none, only the soft trust in your eyes, he let out a breath, as if he, too, had been holding onto nerves he hadn’t let you see.

When his fingers brushed along your sides, gently lifting the fabric, you lifted your arms, helping him ease it up and over your head. You bit your lip, feeling warmth flood your cheeks as you realized you were bare before him, nothing but the soft glow of the moonlight casting gentle shadows over your skin.

Dean’s gaze lingered on your exposed chest. He took a deep breath, as if trying to steady himself, overwhelmed by the sight and the trust you placed in him. The moonlight highlighted the gentle curves of your body, casting shadows that made the moment feel even more intimate and sacred.

“You’re so beautiful”, he whispered, his voice thick with awe and a touch of vulnerability. He leaned in slowly, his lips brushing gently against your skin, starting from your collarbone and making a delicate trail downward, reverent and slow. Each kiss was like a word in a silent vow, honoring the trust and affection you shared.

His hands, always so sure and strong, now trembled slightly as they traced the lines of your body, exploring the softness with a curious and gentle touch. He seemed to memorize every detail, every response his touch elicited from you.

As Dean’s lips brushed gently over your nipple, your breath hitched, a rush of warmth flooding through you. He paused, his eyes lifting to meet yours, seeking reassurance and permission to continue. The concern and care in his gaze were evident, reflecting the depth of his feelings and his desire to ensure that every moment felt right for you.

Seeing the questioning look in his eyes, you gave a small, encouraging nod, your own hands gently caressing the back of his head, guiding him back with a soft assurance.

Dean continued, his touch becoming more assured but no less gentle. He kissed you again, more deliberately this time, his lips enveloping your nipple with a tender warmth that sent a shiver of pleasure through your body. His tongue traced a slow, teasing path, exploring with a patience that had you arching slightly towards him, seeking more of his touch.

Dean’s hand slid to the small of your back, drawing you closer to him, his other hand tracing upwards along your ribcage to cradle the side of your breast, his thumb gently sweeping over your skin. The combination of his lips and the gentle caress of his hand was intoxicating.

The room was filled with the soft, intimate noises of Dean’s careful, exploring mouth and your responsive breaths, which grew sharper with each caress. The faint sounds of your whimpers mingled with the quiet atmosphere, each one sending a thrill through Dean, urging him deeper into the moment. These sounds, these quiet declarations of your pleasure, seemed to fuel him, intensifying the already palpable desire that hung heavy between you both.

Dean’s movements became gradually more purposeful, driven by the reactions he elicited from you. His kisses wandered with a deliberate slowness, tracing fiery paths down your body, pausing at your belly before venturing lower, his breath hot against your skin. Each touch was calculated to draw out the fullest depth of your pleasure, his ears attuned to every shift in your breathing, every quiet sigh and moan that escaped your lips.

As Dean’s hands moved to the waistband of your pajama pants and panties, his touch remained gentle, his eyes never leaving yours. He watched you intently for any sign of hesitation, his movements slow, giving you time to adjust or stop him.

With a careful touch, he began to pull the fabric down, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, tracing the lines of your hips as he went. The soft material slid over your legs, leaving you exposed under his attentive gaze, the air cool against your heated skin. His eyes, usually so full of confidence and playfulness, now carried a weight of reverence and awe, seeing you so open, so vulnerable before him.

You lifted slightly, aiding him as he carefully removed your pajama pants and panties, setting them aside. Once you were bare, Dean paused, his eyes sweeping over you, taking in every detail. His breath hitched slightly, a testament to the depth of his desire.

As Dean noticed your blush deepen, and your thighs instinctively press together in a mixture of nervousness and modesty, his gaze softened. The intensity of his desire was tempered by his respect for your comfort, and he sat back, giving you a little space to adjust.

Recognizing your heightened vulnerability, Dean decided to lessen the disparity between you. He reached down to unbutton his flannel, sliding it off his shoulders with deliberate, slow movements that held your gaze. He then pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his own body to you. His chest was bathed in the same silver moonlight that illuminated you, casting shadows across the muscles and scars that marked his skin—a map of his own vulnerabilities and past.

The sight of him, so open and unguarded, seemed to bridge the gap of vulnerability between you. His willingness to share in the exposure helped ease the tension in your body, seeing him as not just a partner in this moment but also as someone equally open and at risk.

He leaned in again, this time slower, his movements mirroring the care he’d shown all night. His hand reached for yours, fingers intertwining as he gently squeezed.

His chest now nearly touching yours, Dean kept his gaze locked with yours, ensuring you were comfortable as he moved closer. “Only go as far as you want”, he whispered, his breath mingling with yours, each word laced with affection and an earnest desire to keep you at ease.

You felt a wave of affection and trust surge through you at his reassurance, your earlier apprehension melting away under his understanding gaze. With a small nod, you squeezed his hand back, signaling him to continue.

Dean leaned in to kiss you again, his lips meeting yours in a gentle, loving kiss.

When Dean paused, his lips just a breath away from yours, his hand lingering at his belt as he looked at you with a mix of desire and concern. He was already achingly hard, his body more than ready, but his mind was clearly racing, considering everything and wanting to be sure.

As Dean looked around the room, his zipper already open, a flash of concern crossed his features. He was lost in thought for a moment, weighing the importance of protection against the growing heat of desire surging between you.

Sensing his hesitation, you took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the rapid beating of your heart. “Dean”, you murmured softly, catching his attention. “I’m on birth control, and… well, since I’m a… well, I’m pretty sure I’m not carrying anything”. You offered a reassuring smile, hoping to alleviate any lingering worries he had.

His eyes locked onto yours, and the concern in his gaze shifted to relief. “You’re sure?”, he asked, his voice low and earnest, searching for any trace of doubt.

“Yes, I’m sure”.

Dean, reassured by your conviction, proceeded to shed the last of his inhibitions along with his jeans and boxers. As he sat before you on his knees, fully exposed, the sight of his erection made your breath catch in your throat. The reality of the moment, the intimacy of what was about to transpire, hit you deeply. You had never seen him—or anyone—in this state, and the intensity of his vulnerability mixed with his obvious desire sent a thrill of anticipation through you.

As you bit your lip, watching him, Dean’s eyes followed your gaze, landing on his own body before returning to meet yours. He looked at you questioningly for a moment, a hint of vulnerability flickering across his face as he gauged your reaction. But then, seeing you so affected, yet composed, seemed to bolster his confidence.

Slowly, he reached out, his fingers intertwining with yours, offering you a steadying anchor as you both leaned into the deep trust you shared.

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles before leaning in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was tender and deliberate. His hands moved to trace the contours of your body with a lightness that spoke of reverence, each touch careful and unhurried.

As he sat back again, his eyes never left yours. He gently placed his hands on your knees, his touch light but clear in its guidance. With a soft, encouraging nod, he coaxed you to open your legs, making room for him to come closer.

Dean moved between your legs, positioning himself with a tenderness that only deepened the trust you felt in this moment. His eyes held yours steadily, conveying both warmth and reassurance as he took in the quiet anticipation on your face. The flutter of nerves mixed with excitement quickened your heartbeat, each pulse a reminder of the profound intimacy that was unfolding between you.

Gently, Dean leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, grounding you in his presence. His hands, warm and steady, traced along your sides, sending a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he familiarized himself with each curve and contour.

As he drew closer, he paused again, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation.

“If at any point you need to stop, just tell me”, he murmured, his words full of care.

You just nodded.

Dean gently grasped the base of his erection, his touch both tentative and assured as he aligned himself between your legs. As he looked back at you, his voice was soft, tinged with a hint of concern. “This might hurt a little. Hold onto me”, he mumbled, his breath warm against your skin.

You felt a mixture of nervousness and excitement ripple through you, your hands instinctively finding their way to his shoulders. Biting your lip, you offered him a reassuring smile, your fingers gently squeezing his arms in response. “I’m okay, Dean”, you whispered, your voice steady despite the racing of your heart. “Just take it slow”.

Dean nodded, his movements deliberate as he began to ease himself in.

Dean’s movements were slow and considerate as he gently pushed forward, his gaze initially fixed on the union of your bodies to ensure everything was right. Sensing your intake of breath and the soft whimper that escaped your lips, his eyes immediately lifted to meet yours, full of concern and empathy.

Your reaction, the slight tightening of your fingers on his shoulders, your nails pressing into his skin, didn’t go unnoticed. It was a silent communication of the mix of pain and the overwhelming rush of new sensations you were experiencing. Dean paused, holding still, allowing you time to adjust to him. His voice was soft, soothing. “Hey, look at me”, he murmured, encouraging you to focus on his eyes, seeking to provide a distraction and a point of comfort.

“I’m right here with you”, Dean continued, his tone tender. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?”. His hands moved from your hips to gently cradle your face, thumb softly stroking your cheek, a gesture meant to reassure and calm you.

You nodded, your breaths coming in heavy bursts as you adjusted to the sensation. The discomfort was sharp but fleeting, and you found your voice, albeit shaky, whispering against his ear, “Just keep going”. You wanted to move past the initial pain, to find the connection that awaited beyond this threshold.

Dean responded with a gentle nod, his expression mingling concern with deep care. He kissed your forehead softly and with a slow, steady breath, he eased forward further, his voice a low murmur near your ear. “There we go”, he said soothingly, exactly as he felt the resistance give way, the moment marking your transition fully into this new intimacy.

The sensation was intense, and you couldn’t help but cling to him, your arms wrapping tightly around his neck as a quiet cry escaped you, muffled against his skin. Dean held you close, pausing again to give you a moment, his body a steady presence against the wave of emotions and physical sensations flooding through you.

As you both held this deeply intimate pause, Dean’s steady breaths against your ear helped to ground you, his presence a reassuring comfort. “You’re doing great”, he reassured, his lips brushing against your temple as he spoke.

“Ready to keep going?”, he whispered softly, noticing the subtle affirmations in your body language that you were adjusting, becoming more comfortable with the new intimacy. He held you close, your body slightly elevated from the mattress in his arms, creating a space that felt both protective and intensely personal.

His control was palpable, every muscle tensed to maintain the slow, careful pace that he knew was necessary. He could feel the overwhelming sensation caused by your tightness around him, and it took every ounce of his focus to hold back, to move at a pace that ensured your comfort over his own rapidly building need.

You nodded in response to his question, the warmth of your breath tickling his neck. “Yes, keep going”, you murmured back, your voice a mix of nervous excitement and growing trust. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him slightly as a signal of your readiness to continue.

Dean carefully eased you back down onto the mattress. As he laid you down, his lips found yours in a tender, deep kiss, an unspoken acknowledgment of the intensity of the moment. The kiss served not only as a connection but also as a gentle silencer, intuitively understanding that your reactions might grow louder with the increasing depth of sensation.

As his lips pressed firmly against yours, he began to slowly pull back, withdrawing just a few inches, the movement smooth to keep the experience as gentle as possible. The mix of his slight withdrawal and immediate return drew a muffled sound from you against his lips, a sound that was part pleasure, part overwhelmed response to the new depths of intimacy you were exploring together.

You kept your hands on his biceps, feeling the muscles flex beneath your fingertips as he moved against you, each gentle thrust creating a rhythm that resonated deep within. His hips met yours with a soft pressure, the connection eliciting a wave of warmth and pleasure that coursed through your body. The room filled with soft, wet noises—Dean’s quiet grunts of effort mixed with your little whimpers of pleasure, a symphony of intimacy that deepened the moment.

As Dean continued, his breathing grew heavier, a testament to the depth of his effort and arousal. After several more gentle thrusts, his head dropped to rest against your collarbone, his breaths hot and quick against your skin. The physical intensity of the moment was mirrored in the emotional connection that pulsed between you, binding you closer with each shared breath.

Beneath him, you still felt a tension within your body, a mix of nervous excitement and the lingering edges of discomfort as you adjusted to the new sensations. Despite the intimacy and your trust in Dean, your body’s response was still cautious, a natural reaction to your first experience.

Sensing your tension, Dean’s voice came softly, his lips moving against your skin as he spoke, “Tell me how it feels".

"It’s… intense", you breathed out, your voice barely more than a whisper, yet carrying the weight of the new sensations and emotions coursing through you. Your fingers instinctively tightened around his neck, nails grazing his skin as if grounding yourself in the moment. Dean felt the press of your touch, his body responding with a shiver that mirrored his own restraint, his focus still unwaveringly on you.

Hearing your response, Dean lifted his head slightly, brushing his lips softly along your neck, each kiss deliberate, gentle. “You’re doing so good”, he murmured against your skin, his voice a blend of pride and tenderness. His hands moved along your sides, his touch soothing and reverent, as if each motion was meant to calm and encourage you.

Your heart pounded with every word, every gentle caress of his lips against your neck. The initial tension in your body began to dissolve, bit by bit, replaced by a warmth that radiated outward, filling the space between you.

With a renewed sense of calm, you found yourself moving with him, adjusting to his rhythm, feeling the discomfort gradually fade and transform. The pleasure, at first subtle, grew slowly, each gentle thrust amplifying the connection that was building between you both.

“Just like that”, he murmured against your ear, his voice thick with both arousal and affection. “We’ll go as slow as you need”.

As Dean sensed your growing comfort and readiness, he carefully adjusted his position, his movements both mindful and precise. He shifted slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts in a way that deepened the connection. His gaze remained locked with yours, watching for any reaction, any sign to guide him.

Then, with a gentle but firm movement, he found a new angle that touched you in a way that sent a sharp, intense wave of pleasure coursing through you. As he hit your G-spot, the sensation was overwhelming, like nothing you had ever felt before. It was a revelation, a rush of intense pleasure that took your breath away.

Instinctively, you pressed your mouth against his shoulder, your lips pressing tight to muffle the loud moans that erupted from you. Your body responded with an involuntary shudder, a climax that rolled over you unexpectedly from just that single, perfectly-angled thrust. Your fingers dug into his shoulder, gripping him tightly as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and momentarily overwhelmed.

Dean held you close, his arms wrapping around you as he felt the tension surge through your body. He stilled his movements, allowing you to ride out the waves of your climax, his lips pressing tender kisses onto your hair. “That’s it, just let go”, he murmured, his voice a soothing balm as he supported you through the intensity of your reaction.

Dean held you tightly, feeling your body shivering beneath him as you clung to him in the aftermath of your climax. The intensity of your response left him equally overwhelmed, his body instinctively reacting to every subtle movement of yours. He tried to remain still, to give you a moment to recover, but the rhythmic clenching around him made it increasingly difficult to maintain control.

Feeling you continue to tighten around him, Dean’s resolve wavered. With a deep, ragged breath, he allowed himself to move once more, his hips pushing gently but firmly deeper into you.

As he moved, his face buried in the crook of your neck, where your pulse beat wildly against his lips. His body tensed in anticipation.

Then, with a deep groan that vibrated against your skin, Dean surrendered to the overwhelming sensation. He spilled into you, hot and warm, his climax washing over him in powerful waves that mirrored your own intensity. As he released, his body shuddered, his grip on you tightening.

After a few long moments, as the waves of his climax ebbed, Dean’s movements slowed, finally coming to a stop. He remained inside you, his body heavy with exhaustion but gentle in its weight. His breathing slowed, and he lifted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes soft and filled with a mix of wonder and deep affection.

Dean kissed you tenderly, a kiss that spoke of gratitude and deep connection. “Are you okay?”, he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His concern was evident, always attentive to your well-being, ensuring that the experience had been as profound for you as it had been for him.

You nodded, still catching your breath, a smile spreading across your face as you wrapped your arms around him. “I’m more than okay”, you assured him, your voice soft and filled with a warmth that echoed the deep bond you both had just deepened.

Dean’s cheeks colored with a faint blush as he realized the practicalities of your intimacy. “Do you have a towel or something?”, he asked, slightly awkward as he sat back, his movements gentle to maintain the intimacy and care of the moment.

You bit your lip, a little flustered, and reached blindly for the towel you had used earlier to dry your hair, which was now beside your bed. Handing it to him, you were still catching your breath, not entirely sure of his intentions but trusting him to handle the situation with the same care he had shown throughout your time together.

As Dean took the towel from you, he carefully began to withdraw, his movements slow and considerate. The moment he pulled away, you felt a warm spill between your thighs. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry”, you breathed out, a rush of embarrassment flooding you as you instinctively hid your face under your arm.

Dean immediately softened, his own embarrassment mingling with a gentle understanding. He leaned over, his hand lifting your arm away from your face. “Hey, no, don’t be sorry”, he reassured you softly, his voice tender. “It’s okay, it’s all part of it”. His smile was kind, meant to ease your discomfort as he gently wiped the towel across both of you, careful not to make the situation feel any more awkward.

“This is normal, okay?”. Dean continued, his tone soothing as he made sure to clean up carefully. “Nothing to be embarrassed about”.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound light and warm. “You just might want to change your sheets tomorrow”, he teased, giving you a playful grin. You felt a mix of curiosity and bashfulness, biting your lip as you sat up slightly, trying to see what he was talking about. But before you could fully assess the situation, Dean tugged you back down beside him, flopping onto the bed and pulling you right along with him.

He wrapped his arm around you, anchoring you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your shoulder as he settled beside you. It was a distraction in the best way, grounding you in the warmth of his presence rather than the small embarrassments of the moment. His hand found yours, fingers interlacing as he brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“There”, he murmured with a contented sigh, as if he’d achieved some small victory by pulling you back into his embrace. “Nothing else matters right now. Just you, me, and a very good night’s sleep”.

Your cheeks burned with a blush that didn’t seem to fade, the warmth of your face pressed against Dean’s bare chest as you tried to hide your flustered state. The feel of your breath, warm and quick against his skin, brought a smile to Dean’s lips, his heart swelling with affection for the endearing vulnerability you displayed.

He wrapped his other arm around you, pulling you even closer, if that were possible. The gesture was protective, affectionate, and filled with the silent promise of his care. “You don’t have to hide”, he whispered, his voice low and soothing. “I love seeing you like this—just being real and you”.

Dean’s fingers gently tilted your chin, encouraging you to look up at him. As your eyes met his, there was an undeniable tenderness in his gaze, a depth of feeling that seemed to pull you even deeper into his orbit. He adored these moments with you, the quiet intimacy that spoke louder than any grand gesture. The simplicity of the moment—the softness of your expression, the sincerity in your eyes—made him fall for you even more.

“You know”, he continued, his thumb brushing lightly across your cheek, “every time you blush like that, I fall a little harder”. His tone was teasing, but the emotion behind it was earnest, filled with the kind of affection that could only grow from truly knowing and cherishing someone.

Your breath hitched at his words, heart racing as the weight of his affection settled over you. Before you could respond, Dean leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. The touch was soft, unhurried, filled with a tenderness that said everything he hadn't put into words. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as he poured his feelings into the kiss—gentle, reverent, and filled with a depth of emotion that made you feel cherished beyond measure.

The kiss deepened slightly, a quiet urgency within the soft, slow rhythm of his lips against yours. It wasn’t about passion or need, but rather a quiet, profound connection, a way to show you how much you meant to him in a language beyond words. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you close as he pulled back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours, his breaths warm against your face.

When he finally drew back, his eyes met yours, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I think I’m in trouble with you”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, but his gaze held that same, unwavering sincerity.

End of the Flashback

Dean straightened slightly, clearing his throat as he took in a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the memory washed over him. The intensity of the recollection left him feeling vulnerable, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn’t anticipated. He could feel his body’s response, a testament to the lingering effect you had on him, even after all these years. Across the room, he caught sight of you, your face rare and completely flushed, eyes momentarily distant, lost in the same memory.

When your gazes met, it was as if time rewound, pulling both of you back to that quiet night filled with whispered promises and shared vulnerability.

Dean gave you a small, tentative smile, his usual bravado softened, replaced by something quieter, more real. The air between you was charged, almost as if the memory itself had bridged the gap of time. It was more than just nostalgia; it was a reminder of the connection you shared, one that neither of you had ever truly let go.

You cleared your throat, hoping to steady yourself as you handed Sam another book, though your mind was still caught in the haze of that shared memory. As you turned, you suddenly felt Dean’s presence closer than before, his frame leaning over you, his arm brushing lightly against yours. The scent of his familiar cologne filled the air, mixing with the worn leather and faint vanilla notes you’d always associated with him. The proximity, the warmth radiating from him, sent a shiver down your spine, your pulse quickening despite your best efforts to keep calm.

“Guess some memories don’t fade, huh?”, he murmured, his voice low, just for you, the words carrying a weight that made your breath hitch. The intimacy of his tone, paired with the way he looked at you, his gaze both questioning and intense, made it clear he felt it too—the pull, the lingering spark that neither time nor distance had managed to extinguish.

You managed a soft smile, feeling your cheeks flush even more under his gaze. “Seems like they have a way of sticking around”, you replied, your voice barely a whisper, but the words held an edge of truth that you both understood.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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