#unspoken feelings

[lunawintress]

💞

[aventurineswife]

In the quiet, galactic space of the Astral Express’s observation room, you find Dan Heng standing alone, his form ethereal and strong, back turned to you. In his Vidyadhara form, he appears almost otherworldly—a being of dragon heritage with sharp features, midnight-black hair that fades to teal, and curled horns casting shadows on the walls. His clothes, a blend of warrior regalia and quiet elegance, reflect both his heritage and his inner conflict.

You hesitate at the doorway, admiring the serene yet guarded figure before you. He knows you’re there—Dan Heng is never unaware—but he says nothing, his gaze fixed on the stars beyond the glass. In the silence, the space between you feels almost sacred, as if speaking would shatter it.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, daring to approach him. “Dan Heng?” you say softly.

He glances at you, eyes a striking, vivid green that glow faintly in the dim light. For a moment, his gaze flickers with emotion—something raw, buried deep within. But he holds it back, as he always does, his face returning to the composed expression you know so well. “You should be resting.” he murmurs, though there’s no admonishment in his tone.

You can’t help but give a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep. And… it seemed like you could use the company.”

For a moment, he says nothing, but his silence is answer enough. Slowly, he nods, turning his face back to the galaxy. Encouraged, you come closer, standing beside him as the two of you gaze out into the void. His presence is calming, yet electric; you can feel the restrained power within him, the weight of his lineage and the memories he hides.

“You don’t talk about it much.” you say quietly, unsure if he’ll answer.

He tenses slightly, but doesn’t move away. “There isn’t much to tell.” he replies, though you sense the reluctance in his words.

“Even if it’s just with me?” you ask, heart pounding as you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his hand.

For a moment, he remains still, as if deciding whether to let you closer. But then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand slipping into yours. His eyes are intense, searching your face for something, perhaps reassurance or understanding. It’s as though he’s teetering on the edge of something—vulnerability, maybe, or trust.

“Being here, with you…” he murmurs, voice low and filled with an emotion he can’t quite conceal, “makes me wonder if there’s a part of myself that I could share, that isn’t… tainted by the past.”

His words stir something deep inside you, a mixture of empathy and a need to bridge the chasm he keeps between himself and everyone else. You reach up, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, his skin warm beneath your touch. “You’re not defined by what’s happened. You’re allowed to want more. To want someone.”

Dan Heng’s eyes search yours, his breathing shallow as he lets your words sink in. Then, his hand lifts, his fingers ghosting over yours as he draws you closer. His forehead rests against yours, a sigh slipping past his lips, as if he’s finally allowing himself to let down his guard.

The moment stretches, filled with a quiet tension. Then, his lips meet yours, soft at first, cautious. But as you press closer, a new urgency fills the air, the kiss deepening as he lets go of his restraint, just for you. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers gentle yet firm, drawing you in as his lips part, inviting you further.

It’s then that you feel it—a faint, unfamiliar sensation against your tongue. You realize it’s his split Vidyadhara tongue, a delicate, serpent-like touch that’s both unfamiliar and thrilling. A shiver races down your spine as he explores, his breaths growing unsteady. The unique feel of his split tongue intertwining with yours is mesmerizing, an intimate act that seems to bare the quiet vulnerability he keeps hidden from everyone.

Dan Heng’s hands settle at your waist, his hold tightening as he pulls you flush against him. Each movement is tender, filled with a longing he rarely lets himself indulge. His lips trace yours, slow and deliberate, as though memorizing the shape, the feel of you. His breath mingles with yours, each exhale carrying the unspoken desire he’s kept buried.

For a moment, he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours once more. His vivid green eyes meet yours, softened by an emotion that words can’t quite capture.

“You make me feel…” he murmurs, voice barely audible. He trails off, as though he can’t bring himself to finish, but his expression says enough. In his gaze, you see it all—years of solitude, of battles fought and regrets carried, all melting into the gentle warmth he shares with you now.

His lips find yours again, this time with a sense of urgency, an unspoken promise. His split tongue brushes against yours once more, sending a thrill through your senses as he pulls you closer, his hands sliding down your back, grounding you against him.

In that moment, the walls he’s built around himself crumble just a little more. Dan Heng, the stoic guardian, allows himself to be vulnerable, to be human, if only with you. And as he holds you, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you realize just how deeply he feels for you, even if he may never find the words to say it.

[shadowww-bunny]

「Wasted」 -D. W.

❥ You're drowning out your feelings with alcohol again, as if it's supposed to make a difference.

❥ unspoken feelings, hurt/comfort

You watch as the door closes behind Dean, leaving you alone in a dim motel room. Again. A familiar aching feeling in your chest grips you when you look into an empty hallway.

It wasn't part of your life plan to fall in love with an arrogant guy in a leather jacket, but here you are, sitting and thinking about him while he's probably having fun with girls in a bar. It was a level of pain you weren't used to. Will he ever treat you the same way he treats other girls? Will he ever look at you with the same admiration and adoration that you look at him?

Eventually, your hand reaches for the fridge by itself when you take out a bottle of whiskey. As if it would automatically solve all your problems. As if that would change anything. You pour yourself a glass and lose track of time.

Dean returns to the motel after midnight with his usual smirk on his lips and humming a tune. He tries to walk quietly so as not to disturb you in case you are already in bed, but when he saw you in the kitchen, surprise and slight concern flashed in his emerald eyes.

You sat hunched over with your head on the table. Your hair hid your face, and your fingers twitched nervously even in your sleep. You looked so small and vulnerable, nothing like the cheerful and witty version Dean was used to seeing.

He came closer and his gaze fell on the bottle of whiskey. Everything was clear now. In any other situation, Dean would have teased you, but right now he wasn't up to it. You've never been drunk out of your mind.

"Baby…?" Dean's hand gently rested on your back, stroking and trying to wake you up. Noticing that you moved and raised your head, rubbing your eyes, a faint smile appeared on the hunter's lips. "Rough night, huh?"

Dean's voice brought you back to reality. Dean was here and looked at you with such tenderness in his eyes that it seemed to you that you were still asleep. And you didn't want to wake up.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but a lump formed in your throat, and you just looked at Dean, as if hoping that it would be enough for him to understand. Your gaze was unfocused, and there was a mix of emotions in your eyes. Guilt, fatigue, chagrin, and something deeper that made Dean`s heart ache.

"Oh,sweetheart, do you have any idea how much your head will hurt in the morning? You could have waited for me before you wanted a drink." He tried to make a joke, but the worry in his words gave him away.

The hunter sighed and pulled you by the arm, trying to get you to your feet. He decided it was better to put you to bed before you passed out at this table, or worse, decided to continue emptying the bottle.

You stood up, without any resistance and the desire to resist. However, you were too drunk, and almost immediately you would have swayed and almost fallen if it hadn't been for Dean, who caught you in time, picking you up.

"That's it, I'm here, I got you." The hunter grinned. "It seems like it's really time for someone to go to bed."

He hugged you so tightly and at the same time gently that you wanted to melt in his arms. Alcohol has already clouded your mind and your thoughts have drifted far away. The remnants of restraint and self-control flew out the window when Dean was so close and all the feelings that you had been suppressing for so long poured out. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline, as if his arms were the only thing keeping you from breaking down.

"Shhh…I got you, baby." Hunter whispered, and caught himself thinking about how adorable you look when you snuggle up to him like a touch-starved kitten.

He went into the bedroom, still holding you in his arms and was about to put you down in bed when he felt your grip on his sleeve. Your eyes were already closed, you were almost asleep, but the words involuntarily escaped your lips.

"I love you." Your hand slowly slipped off Dean's arm, and fatigue took over, plunging you into sleep.

You didn't see how Dean's eyes widened, how his heart skipped a beat, and his lips parted. For a moment, the hunter froze, trying to comprehend what you said. He had the urge to write it off as drunken nonsense, but your voice and look seemed so sincere.

The hunter hesitated, not knowing how to react to your confession, which made him feel a strange warmth in his chest. You were still his best friend, right..? Despite logic and common sense, Dean bent down and lightly touched your forehead with his lips.

"Love you too, baby."

He knew he probably shouldn't have done it, and you couldn't hear him anyway, but for some reason he felt the need to say it.

Dean covered you with a blanket and hurriedly left the room before his mind started wandering after your last words.

[randomasfuk]

JASON + BRUCE hurt/ comfort

I think

At the end of Under the Red Hood, Bruce finds Jason unconscious— seriously injured, barely clinging to life. Half of his mask is shattered, exposing pale, bloodied skin beneath. His face is almost entirely covered in blood, fresh streams still trickling down from deep gashes.

Rubble covers most of his body, pinning him down, and what little is visible is drenched in red. Blood pools beneath him, a stark contrast against the cold, broken concrete.

Bruce moves before he can think— before logic, before strategy, before the pain in his own battered body even registers. He nearly flies to Jason's side, pushing himself past his own injuries, crashing down next to him. His hands shake as they search for a pulse, fingers pressing desperately against the boy's throat, his wrist-anywhere.

Nothing.

Bruce freezes.

His heart slams against his ribs, and for the first time in a long, long time, he panics.

All this time, throughout the Red Hood ordeal, he's been able to compartmentalize. He's pushed aside emotions, set aside grief, and focused on the mission, on the logic of it all. Jason was an enemy now, a problem to be handled. But here-now—he's faced with losing him again. A second time.

And he breaks.

His head drops onto Jason’s chest, shoulders shaking as he grips the boy’s limp body. His scalp scrapes against blood and torn fabric as he rocks back and forth, silent tears carving tracks through the grime on his face. The cowl falls away, unnoticed, discarded like everything else in this moment that isn’t Jason.

“Please,” he chokes out, voice barely more than a whisper. “Please, not again.”

His fingers tighten in the tattered remains of Jason’s jacket, his forehead pressed to his son’s shoulder as he begs—pleads—for him to come back. The words tumble from his lips, cracked and raw. He whimpers for his sweet boy, his son, to be returned to him. Guilt, sharp and unrelenting, claws its way up his throat, wrapping around his ribs like barbed wire.

Then—

A stuttering breath. A shift in the broken body beneath him.

Bruce jerks up, eyes wide.

Jason’s fingers twitch, his chest rising with a shallow, pained inhale.

“I’m… okay,” Jason rasps, voice barely audible. “I’m okay, B…”

Before he can process what’s happening, he’s no longer lying on the ground—he’s in Bruce’s arms, crushed against his chest in an embrace so tight it hurts. Bruce clings to him, shaking, his breath hitching in quiet, unrestrained sobs.

“I love you,” Bruce murmurs, over and over. “I love you, Jason. My boy. My son.”

Jason goes still. His breath catches, his mind sluggish, concussed, trying to process—

Bruce cares.

Even when he was alive, Bruce never showed love in the traditional sense. Jason had convinced himself of that a long time ago, convinced himself that the affection wasn’t real, that he had imagined it. And after his resurrection, he told himself Bruce didn’t care at all. That his death had meant nothing. That Bruce had moved on, left him behind, forgotten him.

But now—

Now, his father is here, holding him, crying for him, whispering his love into blood-matted hair.

And Jason, in his dazed, emotional, disoriented state, lets himself believe it.

He hugs Bruce back, pressing his face into his father’s shoulder, and from his bloodied lips, the words slip out before he can stop them.

“I love you too, Dad.”

Bruce cradles the back of his head, hand steady despite the tremors in his fingers.

Jason knows he wouldn’t normally admit it. Wouldn’t let himself. Part of him still clings to the betrayal, to the anger, because hating Bruce was easier. It was safer. In his mind, his father had left him to die, let him stay dead, and never avenged him.

But now he knows the truth.

Bruce never stopped caring.

He doesn’t fight when Bruce carries him back to the manor, though he doesn’t have much of a choice with a mangled leg. Alfred patches him up, doting on him like he’s a boy again, fretting in a way Jason barely remembers.

And after that… things are different.

Jason doesn’t know what to do with it—with any of it.

So he stays. He continues being the Red Hood, continues running his empire, waiting to see if Bruce will force him out. But the exile never comes.

Batman still chases Red Hood through Gotham’s streets, still fights him as if nothing has changed. But when they take off the masks, when they return to the manor, there’s an understanding. They rarely speak, and when they do, Jason is as sarcastic as ever. But they know the truth now.

There’s love between them—deep, unspoken, undeniable.

Nothing changes.

Until they put on the masks.

And that’s exactly how they like it.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Shattered Heart

Summary: 

Y/N reaches her breaking point, overwhelmed by bottled-up emotions and unspoken love. As she cries in her room, Azriel stands outside, torn by a decision that could change everything. Cassian's advice hangs in the air, but Azriel's fear drives him away, leaving hearts broken and futures uncertain.

Word Count: 1693

Warnings: Heartbreak x 1000%

Y/N:

Y/N stood alone in her room at the House of Wind, the walls closing in around her as the weight of her emotions became too much to bear. She sank to the floor, her body trembling with the force of her sobs. For decades, she had kept her feelings hidden, locked away in the deepest recesses of her heart. She had watched Azriel from afar, loving him in silence, hoping against hope that one day he might see her.

But that day never came. Instead, she watched as Azriel’s gaze lingered on Elain, his shadows curling around her protectively. She saw the way he looked at her, with a softness and warmth that Y/N had always yearned for. The realization that he was falling for Elain had been like a dagger to her heart, twisting deeper with every stolen glance, every gentle touch.

The pain had been bearable at first, a dull ache that she could manage. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, the ache had grown into a searing agony. She had tried to push it down, to keep it hidden beneath a veneer of strength and indifference. But now, alone in the sanctuary of her room, she could no longer keep the facade intact.

She thought back to the moments they had shared—moments that she had cherished and replayed in her mind a thousand times. The training sessions, the quiet conversations late at night, the way his eyes would soften ever so slightly when he looked at her. She had convinced herself that those moments meant something, that they were signs of a deeper connection. But now, she saw them for what they were: fragments of a shattered dream.

Her sobs grew louder, echoing off the walls. She hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth as the tears continued to flow. Each sob was a release, a cathartic expulsion of the pain that had been suffocating her.

Guilt washed over her, guilt for not being strong enough to move on, for not being able to let go of a love that had never been hers to hold. Regret followed close behind, regret for all the years she had wasted pining after someone who could never return her feelings.

Fear gripped her heart, fear that she would never find happiness, that she would always be alone, watching from the shadows as the people she loved found joy and fulfillment without her.

And then came the anger. Anger at herself for being so foolish, for allowing herself to fall so deeply in love with someone who saw her as nothing more than a friend. Anger at Azriel for being so blind to her feelings, for not seeing the pain he was causing her.

She cried until she had no more tears left to shed, her body exhausted and her heart shattered. The room was silent now, save for the soft sound of her ragged breathing. She felt hollow, emptied of all the emotions that had consumed her for so long.

In the quiet aftermath, a sense of resignation settled over her. She knew she couldn’t continue like this, trapped in a cycle of unrequited love and heartache. She needed to find a way to move on, to heal the wounds that had been torn open.

But for now, all she could do was sit in the darkness, letting the remnants of her shattered heart fall around her like ashes.

She would pick up the pieces tomorrow. But tonight, she would allow herself to grieve for the love she had lost, the dreams that would never come true, and the future that had slipped through her fingers like sand.

And as she sat there, wrapped in the cocoon of her pain, she made a silent vow to herself: she would find a way to heal, to rebuild her heart piece by piece. It would be a long and difficult journey, but she would face it with the strength and resilience that had carried her through so many trials before.

She would survive this heartbreak, and she would emerge stronger on the other side. But for now, she would allow herself to feel everything, to mourn the love that had never been hers, and to find solace in the knowledge that even in the depths of her sorrow, she was still standing.

She would find her way back to the light, one step at a time.

Azriel: 

Azriel stood in the hallway outside Y/N’s room, his heart breaking at the sound of her sobs. Each cry, each ragged breath was a dagger to his soul. He knew he should turn away, give her privacy, but he couldn’t force himself to leave. The shadows around him whispered of her pain, amplifying his own guilt and sorrow.

For years, he had watched Y/N from a distance, admiring her strength, her resilience, and the quiet kindness she showed to everyone. He had trained with her, fought alongside her, and in every moment, he had felt his heart tighten with unspoken feelings. He loved her—loved her more than he had ever allowed himself to admit.

But he stayed away. He stayed away because he believed that she deserved better. She deserved someone who wasn’t haunted by a past filled with pain and darkness, someone who could give her the happiness and light she brought to everyone around her. He couldn’t be that person for her, no matter how much he wished he could.

Elain had been a distraction, a way to convince himself that he could feel something for someone else. But his feelings for Elain had always been platonic, a gentle warmth compared to the burning fire he felt for Y/N. Yet, he saw the way Y/N looked at him when he was with Elain, the pain she tried so hard to hide. It tore him apart, but he couldn’t bring himself to change his course.

The door to Y/N’s room remained closed, but the sounds of her crying seeped through, wrapping around him like chains. He leaned against the wall, his head bowed, his shadows restless.

“You’re torturing yourself, you know.”

Azriel looked up to see Cassian approaching, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. Cassian had always been perceptive, and Azriel knew he couldn’t hide anything from him.

“Cassian,” Azriel said quietly, straightening. “What are you doing here?”

Cassian crossed his arms, leaning against the opposite wall. “I could ask you the same thing. But I think we both know the answer.”

Azriel sighed, his gaze drifting back to Y/N’s door. “I can’t help it. Hearing her like this... it’s killing me.”

Cassian’s eyes softened. “Then do something about it, Az. You’re both suffering, and for what? Some misguided belief that you’re not good enough for her?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows flickering with agitation. “She deserves better, Cassian. She deserves someone who isn’t... broken.”

Cassian stepped closer, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re not broken, Azriel. You’ve been through hell, but you’re one of the strongest people I know. And Y/N? She loves you. Anyone can see that.”

Azriel shook his head, his heart aching. “She deserves happiness. I’m not sure I can give that to her.”

Cassian placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “You don’t have to be perfect to love someone, Az. And Y/N doesn’t need perfect. She needs you. Just as you are.”

Azriel’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, his throat tight with emotion. “I’m afraid, Cass. Afraid of hurting her, of not being enough.”

Cassian’s grip tightened. “Love is a risk, Az. But it’s a risk worth taking. Don’t let fear keep you from the one person who can make you truly happy.”

Azriel looked back at Y/N’s door, the sound of her crying still echoing in his ears. He knew Cassian was right, but the fear and self-doubt were overwhelming.

“I don’t know if I can,” Azriel whispered, his voice breaking.

Cassian pulled him into a brief, fierce hug. “You can. And you will. Because you love her, and she loves you. Don’t let anything else matter.”

As Cassian stepped back, Azriel nodded slowly, his resolve hardening. But as he turned back to Y/N’s door, his courage faltered. The weight of his past, the fear of not being enough, pressed down on him like a physical force.

He took a step forward, then another, his hand reaching out toward the door. But as he heard another heartbreaking sob from within, his hand dropped to his side. The shadows around him seemed to tighten, mirroring his inner turmoil.

“I can’t,” he murmured, more to himself than to Cassian. “I can’t do this to her.”

Before Cassian could respond, Azriel turned and walked away, his heart shattering with each step. He forced himself to keep moving, even as every instinct screamed at him to go back, to hold Y/N and tell her everything.

Cassian watched him go, a look of profound sadness in his eyes. “Az,” he called softly, but Azriel didn’t stop.

As Azriel walked away, the sound of Y/N’s sobs grew fainter, replaced by the deafening silence of his own despair. He had made his choice, and it was one he would have to live with. But the thought of Y/N, alone and hurting, was a pain unlike any other.

And in her room, Y/N cried herself to sleep, the ache in her heart a mirror of the one Azriel carried with him. They were both left in a state of despair, separated by walls and the unspoken words that hung between them like a barrier they couldn’t cross.

Azriel’s shadows whispered around him, their murmurs filled with sorrow. He knew he had made a mistake, but for now, he couldn’t see a way to fix it. All he could do was keep moving forward, even as his heart begged him to turn back.

Because sometimes, the greatest battles weren’t fought on the battlefield, but within the heart. And this was a battle Azriel wasn’t sure he could win.

[diskydiz]

Lowkey obsessed with Vox’s design- Also included a radiostatic week prompt✌️

[jennaispunk]

Every Time You Go Away

Summary: You have very few vices and the biggest one is Javi. It can never be serious but tell that to your heart.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f! Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.8k

Tags/Warnings: fluff, angst, allusions to smut, fingering (f! receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up, peeps), idiots in love, unspoken feelings, longing, two people who want what they think they can’t have, smoking, reader understands Spanish but does not speak Spanish in this story, reader is shorter than Javi, has hair that can be tucked behind her ear, and can be picked up by him but no other physical description is given, reader has an occupation (she's a teacher). Reader has a nickname (cariño, and one other that I won't spoil here). If i missed anything, please let me know.

A/N: This fic was written for @yopossum mootboard challenge. I love this moodboard so much and I love how much it inspired me. Thanks to @fallingforthearch for being my #1 fan and to @fhatbhabiee for looking this over for me. This is the first thing I’ve written that’s anywhere close to being angsty and it killed me to not give these two a HEA (maybe I will someday)

divider and banner by @saradika-graphics

Most people would be out on the town on a Friday night, enjoying the bars and nightlife Bogotá has to offer, but not you. You sit at home on your couch, waiting. He’s going to knock on your door any moment now, he always does at this time of night. You sip your glass of wine and stare at the stack of ungraded papers spread over the coffee table. You had assigned your fifth-grade class an essay and now came the laborious task of reading them.

Why you do this to yourself, you’ll never know. Javi doesn’t love you and he probably never will. You are an outlet for him, a place where he can unload his stress and drown his worries inside you. You’re no better than a whore, but at least whores get paid. You let him use you for free. You let him use you and leave and you never ask for anything in return. You’re always there with a soft smile and a willing body. Damn, you wish you could turn him away, tell him that this isn’t working for you anymore, but you can’t. You’re in love with him, you have been since the moment you met at that boring Embassy party. The thought of him not being in your life hurts worse than being his fuck toy; at least you get to touch him, kiss him, give him some sort of comfort.

“Hey, cariño.”

He props himself against the doorframe, his lean body drawn to its full height. His leather jacket creaks as he moves his arm, and heat slowly spreads through your chest.

You silently make way for him to enter your apartment and softly close the door behind him. He moves across your apartment with feline grace, like he owns the place. You suppose he does, in a way. No other man has spent so much time in your apartment since you moved to Columbia.

He prowls over to the small bar near the kitchen and pours himself some whiskey. A soft chuckle fills the air as he realizes it’s his favorite brand. There’s only one store in Bogotà that sells this brand and it’s not that close to the school or your apartment. His heart squeezes in his chest, you really are too sweet for him.

He lands heavily on the couch, the familiar mixture of cigarette smoke, aftershave and whiskey invades your nostrils. The scent fills you with a myriad of emotion and your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth.

He lights a cigarette and takes a long drag as you settle onto the couch next to him. He’s the only one you would ever let smoke in your apartment. You sit close enough to touch him, but you don’t. Javi likes to be in control, and you wait for him to make the first move.

He shouldn’t do this to you. You should be with someone who could give you everything you need….someone who wasn’t him. He wasn’t any good for you, he knew that, yet he showed up at your door like he always does, and you let him in.

He knocks back his whiskey in one fluid gulp, his Adam’s apple bouncing as he swallows. You look so goddamn sexy in those silky lavender sleep shorts. His left hand clenches and unclenches trying not to jump you right then and there.

“What’s all this?”

He jerks his head toward the chaos in front of you. Leaning forward, he sets his empty class on the table and picks up the top sheet of paper.

The corner of your mouth tugs upward as he studies the paper with intensity. You could almost make yourself believe this is what it would be like if the two of you were actually a couple, the two of you sharing a quiet moment after a long day.

“My students had to write an essay on their dream job. I was trying to get a head start on grading them.”

His signature smirk played on his lips as he read.

“The Ambassador’s son wants to be a DEA agent, huh? Bet she loves that.”

Your soft laughter lifts over the quiet music you had playing in the background. The Ambassador had no love for the DEA agents working in Columbia, especially Javi and his partner Steve.

“Maybe I should have you come in and talk to the class.”

You were only half joking but the thought of the tough and stoic Javier Peña standing up in front of a group of ten year olds makes you smirk.

He drops the paper and loud sigh escapes his lips as he pinches the bridge of his nose. You know exactly what that means.

“Tough day?” you ask quietly.

He tells you about his day while you listen silently. He leaves out the worst parts, of course. He can’t bear to tell you the whole truth, not wanting to subject you to the worst parts of his job. You don’t need that.

His large, warm hand rests on your bare thigh. As he talked, his hand caresses your skin, his fingers kneading your soft flesh. The need to feel you, to possess you is almost overwhelming and he grits his teeth. Those lavender silk pajama shorts are killing him, so much of your creamy flesh is exposed to him. His hand snakes further up your thigh as he takes a deep breath.

You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed, the heat burning between your thighs. You shouldn’t want this; you know exactly what this is, but you can’t help yourself. You need to hang onto him, even if what you have isn’t real. This is enough. Oh, the lies you tell yourself.

“Want a refill?”

You already know the answer. He never gets drunk with you. He never has more than one drink when he’s with you, but you always ask. You’re just buying time, trying to stretch out the time spent together as long as possible.

He shakes his head slowly. His shoulders sag like he’s carrying the weight of the world. He knows he shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t do this, he should have just went to see Vanessa or one of the other girls. He hadn’t done that in weeks. You’re the only one who can give him what he needs.

“Come here, cariño.”

He pulls you into his lap and wraps his hands around your waist, keeping you settled securely in his lap, right over the bulge in his grey jeans. The heat from his body soaks into yours and desire pools at your core.

He couldn’t look you directly in the eyes for more than a few moments at a time. He knew exactly what he’d see there. He’d see the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, and he knew that he was ruining you. He knew that you would never ask for more than he gave you and that broke his heart.

His lips crash against yours, his soft tongue plunging deep into your mouth. The wine on your tongue mixed with the whisky on his and he gripped your hips tighter. He wanted to lose himself in you, let you calm his raging soul, if only for a brief time.

Javi’s thick fingers snake up your back and into your hair. His grip is firm, but not painful. He doesn’t want to hurt you, even though that’s exactly what he’s doing. The pain may not be physical, but he was causing you pain, nonetheless.

He tilts your head back, his lips trailing down your neck. Vanilla and cherry fill his nose, a scent that’s uniquely you, driving his need for you even higher.

His teeth lightly graze your skin, and you moan softly. He knows just how to touch you, which parts of you are the most sensitive and he played your body perfectly.

He wraps your legs around his waist as he stands. His mouth is on yours again and he kisses you deeply as he takes the familiar walk toward your bedroom. It’s a trip he’s taken enough times that he doesn’t need his eyes to know where he’s going.

Your body looks so beautiful spread out for him on your soft sheets. You’re always so willing to let him have you anyway he wants. You give yourself to him so freely. How could someone so pure want someone like him? He’s not a good man and he doesn’t pretend to be. He did horrible things, told himself it was for the greater good but was it really? Are the things that he was doing worth it?

Javi slowly unbuttoned his shirt as he stood between your parted legs. He knows you like to watch him undress and he is more than happy to give you a show.

His smooth, tan chest is exposed to you little by little, making you throb harder with every pop of the buttons. The belt came next, unlatching it one handed as his other hand strokes your thigh.

You squirm as he unbuttoned his pants, giving you a peek at the small curve of his belly and the strip hair that led to the thing you wanted most.

He gently jerks you to a siting position. Practiced hands pull your tank top over your head, exposing you to him. He kneels before you, his soft lips brushing your neck. You’re so sensitive to him and it only serves to make him even harder.

Teeth gently nip at your exposed skin as he makes his way down your body. You are soft and so much of his world was rough. You soothe him, you make him feel whole.

“Javi…”

Just like always, you’re putty in his hands. You let him mold you in his image, desperate to have any piece of him that you could. You’d take anything he gave you. Despite what he might think, he’s a good man. You’ve seen how much he cares about his work and the people closest to him.

“Shhh, cariño….I’ve got you.”

His lips and tongue tease at your nipple, and your fingers tangle in his hair. He chuckles lightly into your skin as he plays your body like an instrument.

He pushes you back onto the bed and pulls off your shorts. His pupils are blown with lust as he marvels at the sight before him.

In a perfect world, he would take his time with you, he would treat you as gently as you deserve but he couldn’t. If he did, he’d only drag you down with him and he couldn’t live with that on his conscience. It was better to keep you at arms length, keep you safe.

His fingers drag through your wet folds and dip inside. He can’t hold back a strangled groan as your heat surrounds him. He works you slowly, opening you up for him until the tingle in your lower abdomen tells you it won’t be long before you came undone for him.

Your body clenches around his digits, your moans filling the room. Stars blind you as your orgasm ripped through your body with a vengeance. Javi’s hushed voice works you through it until you whimper his name.

You didn’t give you much time to recover before he was pulling off his jeans and his body covered yours, settling between your thighs. His weight on you feels good, comforting even but it shouldn’t. For now, you pretend this was more than it was. You pretend that this meant something and not just a way for him to release his tension.

He intertwines your fingers with his, pinning your hands to the bed. Holding your hands like this is the only bit of intimacy he allows himself.

He pushed himself inside you, holding back a moan. All his worries vanished as your warmth surrounded him. He’s lost in the feel of you, the way you grip him so tightly. He’s convinced this is the closest he’ll ever come to heaven.

His pace steadily increased as you moaned for him, making those sounds that he loved to hear. You sang so beautifully for him.

You mewled as he hit the spot that only he could reach, and you knew you were close to coming for him once again.

You cried out his name and your walls squeezed around him.

“That’s it, cariño…don’t fight it.”

You tried to hold back. You wanted this to last as long as possible because you know as soon as it was over the spell would be broken. You’d have to face the reality that you loved a man that didn’t love you back.

“Be a good girl and come for me.”

You obey his command, and your walls fluttered around him as your second orgasm hit you. It felt like an electric shock through your entire body. Every nerve in your body fired all at once.

You whimper softly as the aftershocks ripple through you. Javi never stopped, working your through your orgasm once again as you whine and cry for him.

He picked up his pace and his hips slap against you as he chased his own release. His hips stutter as he buries his face into your neck and spilled himself inside you, painting you with his seed.

He laid on top of you for a minute, breathing you in and taking advantage of the last few moments he had you like this. He couldn’t let himself linger too long and he rolled off you, reaching down for his jeans to grab his pack of cigarettes.

Your mind was still hazy as you roll onto your side, watching him rest against the headboard and light his smoke. This was yet another thing you only did for him, you would never let any other man smoke in your bed.

He smirked at you as the cloud of smoke obscured his face. It was his way of telling you he was satisfied. He couldn’t say it out loud, that would be too much.

He crushes the butt into the ashtray on the nightstand and laid back down. He smooths the hair from your face, tucking the strands behind your ear. It’s the only bit of comfort he can offer you. It’s not nearly enough, he knows that, but he can’t let himself give you more.

“Get some sleep, rana (frog).”

A giggle bubbles up from the depths as you hear that stupid nickname he gave you. Not long after you first met, he told you that you reminded him of Sally Field’s character in “Smokey and the Bandit”, his favorite movie. You thought he was crazy, but somehow the nickname just stuck.

You didn’t want to sleep because you knew what came next. You knew he would leave once you were out. He would leave the way he always does, like a thief in the night. Did he know that he was also leaving with your heart? Did he even care?

Sleep finally took you. You never could stay awake long after being with him but maybe that was for the best. If you were awake when he left, would you be able to resist the aching need to ask him to stay? You didn’t think you were that strong.

He watched you for awhile as you slept. You looked so peaceful in that state, like an angel. Maybe you were…. maybe you were here to save him even though he didn’t deserve it.

He quietly disentangles himself from the sheets and looked back at your sleeping form one last time. You look so beautiful with your messy hair and your soft body wrapped up in the sheets. His heart ached to tell you how he felt, how he longed for you, but he could never do that. You’re too good for him; he’d only ruin you with his roughness. He would never forgive himself if he hurt you. You belong with someone better than him: a doctor or a lawyer, someone who would treat you the way you deserved. You’d drown his darkness; it would swallow you up and change the very essence of who you were. Still, he came back, time after time, taking everything you gave him without so much as a complaint. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t let you go. He loved you��you were the one thing that kept him sane. Maybe one day he could be the man you needed but today was not that day.

The sun streaming through your bedroom window woke you. Just like always, you woke up alone. The bed cold and empty next to you, but his scent still lingered. You roll over and bury your face in the pillow allowing yourself to breathe him in the way you never dare let yourself when he’s here. Admitting your feelings is not an option but that’s all you want to do. Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to look him in the eye and tell him you want more. You can handle his darkness; you’ve been doing it for months even if he doesn’t realize it. Maybe next time you won’t just fall asleep…. you’ll ask him to stay.

[diablonothing]

A Logical Love

Kento Nanami didn’t believe in distractions.

Life was a simple equation: work, eat, sleep, repeat. There was no need for unnecessary socializing, no point in engaging in fleeting conversations.

Yet, for some reason, he had stepped into this café that evening.

It was a rare moment of indulgence—he needed caffeine after a mind-numbing day at work. As he scanned the menu, a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“You look like you need something strong,” she said, leaning slightly over the counter.

Nanami looked up.

She was… cute. Not in an overbearing way. There was a certain ease to her presence, a quiet confidence that wasn’t overly cheerful nor dull—just comfortable.

“I recommend something sweet,” she continued, tapping the menu. “Sugar helps with stress.”

“I don’t like sweet things,” Nanami replied flatly.

She smirked. “That sounds like something a tired person would say.”

He sighed. “Just make whatever you think is best.”

She handed him a honey latte. He took a sip. Considered it. Nodded. “Acceptable.”

“That’s it? No details?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It is coffee. It serves its function,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “High praise.”

As he turned to leave, she quickly called out, “Wait! Before you go, would you mind filling out a customer feedback & improvement form?”

Nanami arched a brow. “A form?”

She nodded, holding up a clipboard. “Company policy. Helps us improve.”

He took it. It was standard—service quality, drink satisfaction—but at the bottom, she had added something extra:

“Leave your number for future feedback discussions.”

Nanami exhaled slowly. Clever.

He could have ignored it. Could have walked away. But, for some reason, he wrote his number down.

She smiled as she took the form back. “I’ll send you a message if we need improvement ideas.”

He nodded and left, not thinking much of it.

That night, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: So, Mr. Coffee Critic, any additional thoughts on your drink?

Nanami stared at the message for a moment before responding.

Nanami: It was acceptable.

Unknown Number: You already said that. I need detailed feedback.

Nanami: Fine. The sweetness was well-balanced. The texture was smooth. Nothing to improve.

Unknown Number: Wow, you sound like a corporate food inspector.

Nanami: I am efficient with words.

Unknown Number: Efficient or just grumpy?

Nanami huffed. This was already more talking than he usually did outside of work. Yet… he didn’t mind it.

Over the next few days, their conversations continued. What started as coffee critiques evolved into something deeper.

Conversations Between a Logical Man and an Optimistic Dreamer

One night, she asked, “So, what do you do?”

“Finance.”

“Ah. A suit-wearing corporate drone. Explains why you look dead inside.”

Nanami nearly choked on his drink. Instead of irritation, he found himself… entertained.

She wasn’t afraid to tease him. Most people either avoided him or tiptoed around his bluntness. But she? She poked at him like it was second nature.

The next night, the conversation turned philosophical.

“Do you ever think about how ridiculous it is that people work themselves to death just to retire and finally start living when they’re old?” she mused.

Nanami leaned back, considering. “Most people don’t have a choice. Survival requires sacrifice.”

“But don’t you think it’s a flaw in the system? We trade our time—our only nonrenewable resource—for money. And for what? A comfortable death?”

He tapped his fingers against the desk. “You’re not wrong. But systems don’t change just because we acknowledge their flaws.”

“So you accept it?”

He thought for a moment. “No. I just refuse to waste my energy on things I can’t change.”

She sent a quick reply. “Spoken like a true corporate drone.”

Nanami smirked. “Spoken like a dreamer who thinks coffee and optimism can change the world.”

She sent a single emoji—a laughing face. Then, after a pause, a more thoughtful message.

“I just think… there has to be more to life than this.”

Nanami stared at her words for a long time.

For the first time in a while, he didn’t have an immediate answer.

The Shift

Their conversations continued. They talked about books, economics, the absurdity of corporate hierarchies. Some nights, they discussed the universe—black holes, time dilation, the possibility of alternate realities.

She had an unusual way of seeing the world—half cynical, half hopeful. A paradox, much like the honey latte she had insisted he drink.

“You pretend you don’t like sweet things, but you still keep drinking them,” she pointed out one night.

Nanami glanced at his cup. “I drink them because they’re… acceptable.”

“That’s the worst way to give a compliment.”

He almost smiled.

Then, out of nowhere, her texts started changing.

Mentions of other men. Subtle hints that she was talking to someone.

Nanami recognized it for what it was—a test. She wanted a reaction. Jealousy.

But he wasn’t a man who played games.

Then, one night, she created the perfect scenario.

“Hey, do you think relationships should start with a question?” she asked.

“Logically speaking, clarity is important.”

“So… ask me.”

Nanami hesitated. He knew what she was doing. He was too rational to fall for tricks like these.

And yet—despite himself—he asked.

“Do you want to start something real?”

For a moment, there was no response. Then, finally, she replied:

“No.”

Nanami didn’t flinch. He simply nodded to himself. “Understood.”

And just like that, he put his phone away. No regret, no lingering thoughts.

The next day, she sent a picture—her in a car with another man.

Nanami glanced at it, unimpressed.

“All the best,” he replied, then put his phone away and continued his morning routine.

Hours later, she called.

Nanami was busy. He ignored it.

When he finally called back, she sounded… different.

“The guy I went out with made a move on me. It was uncomfortable.”

Nanami listened as she spoke, calming her down in his usual, steady way.

After a pause, she asked softly, “Why didn’t you try again?”

His response was simple.

“Because you told me no.”

She exhaled. Then, after a long pause—

“…You should have tried again.”

Nanami exhaled, a rare, small smile forming.

“Then… I’ll ask again.”

“…Okay.”

“…Would you like to start something real?”

This time, she whispered, “Yes.”

And for the first time, Nanami allowed himself to feel something beyond logic.

[qmakobin]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･UNSPOKEN FEELINGS °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: hi! This is Eribin. I am not a real writer, doing this as my past time. English is not my first language so bear with my English. There’s a lot of grammatical and typographical errors. This is just a fiction from my delusions 😆

NOTES: ITALIZED MEANS FLASHBACKS

Warning: drinking, angst

Words: 1800+

CAST:

Ryuta Hidaka BBZ as himself

Miku Fukahori BBZ as himself

Y/N

Ryuta's POV

Y/N was a mess when she arrived at my apartment, tears streaming down her face. She didn’t say a word as soon as I opened the door; she just threw herself into my arms, crying. I had no idea what had happened, but she soon began to tell me how she had caught Miku, her boyfriend, kissing another girl. She couldn’t stop sobbing as she described the scene. From the way she described the girl, I suspected it might be Kaede, Miku’s ex—tall, fair-skinned, with short hair. Kaede had left Miku to chase her dreams of becoming a model, and from what I knew, she had become one of the most successful models out there. I hated the thought of Miku still being stuck on her, but I never thought it would lead to something like this.

I felt guilty. I’m friends with both Y/N and Miku, though they’ve never met. I always thought they’d make the perfect couple. I’ve known Miku the longest, and he’s always been a stand-up guy—loyal, caring, funny, and ambitious. I thought he was exactly what Y/N needed. As for Y/N, we met through my work at LDH, where we collaborated on music projects. She has great taste in pop music, and we worked together a lot. I thought they’d be a great match, so I pushed them to meet. At first, Y/N wasn’t interested, but eventually, I convinced her. They hit it off, and before I knew it, they were officially together. I was happy for them, really, but deep down, I regretted setting them up. I wished I were the one she’d chosen, but I didn’t have the courage to tell her how I really felt.

"You know what, I have a friend. He's single. You want me to introduce you to him?" I asked her, trying to distract her from her while working on a project.

She paused for a second, then smiled weakly.

"Nahh.. I'm too busy. No time for that!" she said, brushing off my suggestion.

But I didn’t give up. I kept pushing until she agreed, and when they met, it was like they’d known each other forever. They clicked. They started dating. And just like that, I felt a pang of jealousy, though I kept it to myself. I was glad for them, but at the same time, I couldn’t help wishing things were different. I was too much of a coward to confess my feelings. I couldn’t tell her that I had wanted to be the one by her side.

"Tell me, Ryuta, what's wrong with me? I know that I am pretty. Have a decent job that pays me well, I am kind, I am lovable, I am--"

I interrupted before she could continue because I knew what she was going to say. There was nothing wrong with her. She was everything anyone could want.

"There's nothing wrong with you, Y/N. You know what, rest. And tomorrow you two talk."

But she wasn’t listening. She poured herself another drink, her voice shaky as she continued, "He didn't pick up my calls. He really abandoned me and our relationship."

I knew she was getting drunk, and I needed to keep an eye on her, but I didn’t know how to make her feel better. It killed me to see her in so much pain.

"I am sorry, Y/N. This is my fault. I should've seen what was happening with Miku. If only I--"

She cut me off by pressing her finger to my lips.

"Shhhhh... it’s not your fault, Ryuta. If there's anyone to blame here, it's me. Probably I was not a good girlfriend at all. I am not the one he's looking for." She said, and her tears started to fall again. It broke my heart. How could Miku do this to her? Y/N was everything good and kind, and she deserved so much better.

As the night dragged on, Y/N’s tears slowly stopped, and the silence between us grew. I watched her as she stared blankly at her empty glass, her red-rimmed eyes hollow with sadness. I sat beside her, my heart aching, unsure of what to say or do.

"You know what, Ryuta," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "If you were probably the one I dated, I wouldn't be hurting like this."

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Was she serious? Or was it just the alcohol talking? I turned to look at her, but she was staring down at the glass in her hands, too drunk to meet my gaze.

"Y/N..." I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know I can't change what happened, Ryuta," she continued, her voice fragile, "But I'm grateful for your friendship. You've always been there for me."

I nodded, my throat tight. "I'm always here for you, Y/N. No matter what." I wanted to say more, but the words caught in my chest. I wanted to tell her I cared for her, that I had always cared for her, but I couldn’t. I was scared. Scared that maybe she didn’t feel the same. That maybe I wasn’t enough.

The silence between us stretched, heavy with the things I couldn’t say. Y/N’s words echoed in my mind: "If you were probably the one I dated, I wouldn't be hurting like this." I wondered if she meant it, or if it was just something she said out of frustration and pain. But maybe, just maybe, she did.

"I don't deserve this pain," she said after a long pause, her voice trembling, "I don’t deserve someone who would make me feel this way, you know? I gave him everything. I thought he was different. I thought he was the one."

I took her hand without thinking, my fingers brushing hers. Her hand was cold, and I could feel her trembling, but she didn’t pull away. She didn’t say anything either, but we both understood what the silence meant.

"Y/N," I began softly, squeezing her hand, "You deserve someone who sees you for everything you are. Someone who never doubts you, someone who never makes you feel less than amazing." I paused, my heart pounding. "And I promise you, I will always see you that way."

"You're such a good friend, Ryuta," she said, her voice still soft but full of gratitude. "But... I don’t know if I can trust anyone anymore. I don’t know if I can even trust myself."

"I’m not asking you to trust anyone right now," I said, my heart aching. "I just need you to know that I’m here for you. Always. Whether it’s to listen, or to just sit here with you in silence. You don’t have to face this alone."

The weight of my unspoken feelings was suffocating, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her how I felt. She wasn’t ready for that.

She looked up at me, her eyes softening, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw something in her eyes—something that made my heart race. She leaned in, almost as if she were going to say something, but she stopped herself.

"Maybe... maybe you’re right. Maybe I do deserve better." She met my eyes, her gaze searching mine, looking for something I wasn’t sure how to give.

I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t say anything more. I just smiled at her, offering the support she needed. It wasn’t much, but it was all I could give for now.

"Get some sleep, Y/N," I said gently, guiding her back onto the couch. "Tomorrow will be better. You’ll feel better."

She nodded, closing her eyes as she drifted into sleep. I stayed beside her, my mind racing with everything I hadn’t said.

But for tonight, it wasn’t the right time. Not yet.

(Ryuta and Miku, AAAAACCCCKKKK!! ❤️❤️❤️)

The end~ THANK YOU SM FOR READING MY STORY 😘

[lovejunkie97]

[agentdickens929]

Under The Facility (All Chapters 9+2)

(not joke, I really put those stuffs into eng now…XD)

This work was originally I written between 2020 and 2021. (then the 💬 i did in 2025.) It is some story of my oc at bprd, mostly set within the 2004-2008 Hellboy movie universe. :D

also my commissions open uwu

[aventurineswife]

The words left your lips with the precision of a scalpel, each syllable laced with deliberate coldness. Aventurine’s ever-present smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before it returned, as though the blow had missed its mark.

“We're just coworkers. Nothing more. Don't get attached.”

His eyes glinted with an inscrutable mix of amusement and something darker as he leaned casually against his desk, arms crossed in an almost performative display of nonchalance.

“To someone like you?” he mused, the mocking lilt in his voice sharp enough to cut. His tone was light, but his gaze burned, pinning you in place. “Never.”

The world shifted.

His hands trailed along your sides, the heat of his palms burning through the fabric of your shirt. Every measured touch was a calculated risk, each stolen breath a gamble neither of you could afford but were far too stubborn to resist.

"Never..." he whispered again, though this time it felt like a confession wrapped in denial. His lips hovered above yours, the faintest brush enough to set your nerves aflame. The air between you grew heavier, thick with the tension of a game neither of you could win.

Aventurine’s left hand, the one he always kept hidden during his gambles, slid along your jawline, tilting your face upward. His touch was firm, but there was a hesitation in his movement, as though he were daring himself to push past the boundaries you’d set.

And for one fleeting moment, he let his mask slip. Beneath the sharp wit and calculated charm, you caught a glimpse of the man beneath—the one who craved connection but couldn’t allow himself to want it.

Reality snapped back into place with the harshness of an unspoken truth.

You stood on opposite sides of the room now, the space between you a chasm that neither could bridge. Aventurine’s expression was unreadable again, the easy grin back in place as though nothing had happened.

“Good...” you murmured, your voice steady but hollow. You turned your back to him, willing yourself to ignore the lingering warmth on your skin and the weight of his gaze still fixed on you.

Behind you, Aventurine adjusted his choker, a subtle tell that betrayed his unease.

“Good...” he echoed, his voice softer this time, almost as if he didn’t believe it himself.

@avenrose, @therealbeanssssssssss, @makib1tch

No I'm not sorry 🏃‍♀️

[shadowww-bunny]

「Never let go」 -D. W.

❥ Why am I so afraid of losing you when you're not even mine?

❥ angst, unspoken love, friends to lovers, open ending

This was his worst nightmare, unfolding right in front of his eyes.

Your skin was so pale that it blended with the snow, on which only bright scarlet spots stood out. Blood. Your damn blood is on his hands, his clothes, everywhere. There was too much of it, and Dean felt like he was about to throw up.

The thought that he might lose you was all too real, and no matter how hard the hunter tried to drive it away, it came back again and again at the very sight of you.

How could he let this happen? Why did he let you go hunting alone? Why didn't he come earlier? Thoughts were feverishly changing in his head, and each one was more terrible than the previous one and led to one thing: he let you down.

The hunter's heart sank painfully at how fragile and defenseless you seemed. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find a trace of the former, cheerful, cheeky girl who got on his nerves and mercilessly teased him.

Dean was going to call Sam, pick you up and take you to the hospital, but you moved. His heart stopped beating, filled with fear and hope. The hunter hugged you closer to his chest, placing his palm on your icy cheek. The temperature contrast almost hurt.

"Hush, hush, sweetheart. It's all right. Everything will be fine, I promise" Dean whispered softly. "Damn it, baby... You gave me quite a scare" A shaky laugh escaped his lips, a feeble attempt to lighten up the situation.

Your eyes finally opened, and you looked disoriented and broken. All the strength and determination that usually defined him seemed to vanish in that moment, replaced by a raw, vulnerable fear, but Dean tried not to show how much your condition scared the hell out of him.

When he saw that you had woken up, the hunter breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing else was important at the moment, Dean's whole world centered around you and any hints that you were still here and he wasn't late. He ran his fingers through your hair, trying to warm you up. You looked like an icicle in his arms.

"Dean..." You tried to speak, but even this simple action was difficult for you. The hunter saw you wince in pain, and your thin, icy fingers clutched his jacket like a lifeline.

Dean felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. He couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. This shouldn't have happened. Not to you. Dean gently placed his hand over yours, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand in a soft attempt to soothe you.

"Shhhh....Don't try to talk," The hunter said, his gaze shifting to the wounds on your body. "Just...just stay still, okay? I got you." Dean pressed your head against his chest, his other hand continuing to press on the wound to stop the bleeding. He felt your little hand touch him and you squirmed, but he didn't pull away, giving you an apologetic look and whispering something reassuringly into your hair. He often hugged you like that when you were tired or upset, but this was different.

Dean has known you for as long as he can remember, you were his best friend who was always by his side. You supported him, patched him up at night, laughed at his jokes, and cooked his favorite pie. You were the closest person to Dean after Sam, and at some point the hunter realized that he was starting to fall in love. Dean was torn between his feelings for you and the fear of destroying everything that was between you. He tried to hide it, and since then there has been a constant tension between you, filled with unspoken emotions and desires.

Dean has always been a simple man who liked simple things, but love was complicated, and Dean preferred to keep everything to himself, as he usually did, and keep the boundaries between you. And that was a mistake. The hunter realized it just now, looking at you, so fragile in his arms.

"Damn it, you're so cold" Dean muttered, feeling his protective nature rise to its full strength. He wanted to wrap you in a warm blanket and not let you out of his sight ever again. Would it have been different if he had been with you? If he hadn't decided to spend the evening at the bar to forget about his real feelings for you?

He continued stroking your hair, feeling like that small, physical contact could comfort you, or at least it helped to calm him somewhat. He tried to warm you up with his body heat and keep you close to him, but it wasn't enough. He cursed in his mind, feeling frustrated with his helplessness. He needed to do something, but what can he do on an abandoned road in the middle of the night, without any supplies, and you're in such a battered state?

Fuck. fuck. fuck!

Come on, pull yourself together, Winchester!

The hunter had seen many deaths, but the thought of losing you terrified him. Dean's grip on your hand tightened, his knuckles turning white. He was desperate, he was pleading, he was begging for a miracle. But deep down, he knew that miracles were rare, and that life was cruel and unfair.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I should have been more careful…" You spoke again in a weak, barely audible voice, but Dean interrupted you. He knew what you wanted to say, but he couldn't take it. Not now.

"No, no, no, stop it, baby. Please…" The hunter pulled you closer to him. He wanted to cry, scream, swear, but he had to be strong and collected, for you and for himself. "You don't have to apologize, I have to."

Dean took a deep breath. There were so many things he wanted to tell you, but there was a lump in his throat and his stomach twisted. For a long time, the hunter was focused on building walls and pushing you away, so he didn't even think about how easily your life could end, and he would be left all alone without without the person, who was a ray of light in his dark, violent life. Finally, after a short pause, he cleared the throat.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. And…I still haven't said what you've probably been waiting for." The words were hard for him. The hunter felt guilty for acting like an insensitive fool all this time, hurting you both, just because he was afraid to admit his own feelings. But now, when you're barely breathing in his arms, he just can't keep quiet. Dean saw that you were still clinging to his jacket, surprise and disbelief flashed in your eyes, and it hurt him even more, but he forced himself to continue.

"I love you, baby. Do you hear? More than anyone, more than the whole damn world. I should have told you this sooner…Damn, I should be telling you this every single day. You're so wonderful, I do not know what I would do if you were not in my life, you just…You're helping me hold on, okay? And without you, I'll just fall apart." His voice was shaking, his words were muddled as Dean tried to express everything he had been hiding for so long. He lowered his head and bit his trembling lips, holding back tears. Dean felt so weak and helpless, but he didn't care.

The hunter didn't know who was more affected by his confession, him or you. At some moment, you opened your mouth to say something, but instead of words, a strangled sigh escaped your lips.

God, even barely alive, you looked so beautiful that it broke the hunter's heart. The dim light of the lantern illuminated your face, snowflakes froze on your eyelashes and clothes, and if it weren't for the blood, Dean would have thought that some kind of miracle would happen and you would stand up and tell him what a sentimental idiot he was, crying for nothing.

But the miracle never happened. Dean sobbed, lifting your head slightly and wrapping his arms tighter around your waist. "You're still with me, baby?" He asked almost fearfully as your eyes closed. You were getting worse. A single tear rolled down the hunter's cheek. Then another one. And more. Tears flowed uncontrollably down your face as the hunter looked at your expression. He would give anything for you to open your eyes and see in them that bright sparkle that could brighten up even the shittiest day.

"Come on...I'm here, I'm not going anywhere. Never again. Just…Give me a chance, okay? Open your eyes, sweetheart, that's all I'm asking." For a second, Dean thought that you whispered something, but the hunter couldn't tell for sure if it was real, or if his mind was playing a stupid joke on him.

There was a moment of silence as Dean held you, his thoughts and emotions mixed up in a chaotic mess. He didn't want to say goodbye, he couldn't imagine his life without you. But gradually the reality of the situation began to dawn on him. Your skin paled, your breathing became quieter, and you withered in his arms. It hurt more than any knife stab, kick, or any other injury he had suffered while hunting.

"Please, Don`t leave me. I love you, sweetheart. So fucking much." His words were a desperate plea. Your heartbeat was so weak that the hunter could barely feel it.

Finally, Dean couldn't stand it and bent over, gently pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss like it was supposed to change something. He had wanted to do this for so long, and the realization that it was only happening now was both comforting and painful, and it was killing him.

You didn't move, but Dean continued to kiss you with all the love and tenderness he could muster. His tongue slid over your lips, tracing their delicate outline and sliding inside without any resistance. Your hand slowly slipped off his jacket, but the hunter grabbed it again and pressed it to his cheek. His thumb caressed your palm before Dean pulled back and pressed his lips to your knuckles, ignoring the blood and cold. The metallic taste mixed with the saltiness of his tears, lingering on his tongue, the taste of his broken heart, shrinking with hopelessness and despair.

Suddenly, there were footsteps in the background and a loud, worried voice calling his name, which undoubtedly belonged to Sam. But all this merged with the sound of the wind, turning into a distant echo somewhere in the distance.

It was still snowing, but Dean didn't even notice it. His hunched figure in a black jacket soaked in your blood stood out against the white ground. He held you in his arms, shaking with silent sobs and hoping that his words had reached you and fate would be kind enough not to take away his last chance at happiness.

[randomasfuk]

Houce mates- Jason Todd

First post and I haven’t a clue what I’m doing but eh this is a Jason x fem!reader thing they aren’t together but they live in an apartment together they’re friends but not close

Jason felt the cold air gnaw at his face with each gust of wind as he wandered home to the apartment he shared with you. The two of you had an odd relationship, rarely speaking. You were always the one to start a conversation, your words carrying an odd sense of warmth he wasn’t used to. It made him feel strange—he couldn’t decide if he liked or hated the way your words wrapped around him. They didn’t even have to be particularly kind to unsettle him. That warmth made him feel vulnerable, as though you could see through him.

It was impossible, of course. There was so much he hid from you—so much you didn’t know. If you ever found out who he really was, what he really was, he knew you’d never look at him the same way again.

The keys jingled in his hand as he unlocked the door, taking care to move quietly to avoid the creaking floorboards that riddled the old building. He closed the door just as silently. By now, you should’ve been in bed, fast asleep, and he had no intention of waking you.

But as he turned on his heel, he stopped abruptly. The door to the balcony was open. A sudden alertness shook away the exhaustion weighing down his body. Quietly, he marched toward the balcony, unsure what to expect.

What he didn’t expect was you, leaning against the railing. You were picking at the chipped black paint to reveal the silver metal beneath, flicking the end of a cigarette down to the street below. In the dim lighting, you looked mesmerized by the orange sparks scattering through the city streets.

When the sparks disappeared, you turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin.

“JESUS JASON! ..I didn’t hear you come in. You’re very quiet for such a large man,” you slurred, your words thick and clumsy.

He immediately noticed your red cheeks and swollen eyes. You were drunk—and you’d been crying. That’s when something else caught his attention. His pack of cigarettes.

“Hey, was that mine?” he asked, referring to the cigarette now lost to the abyss below.

“Yes. Sorry,” you murmured, your voice small and defeated. The usual spark in your eyes was gone.

Jason hesitated. He wanted to ask what was wrong, if you were hurt, if there was anything he could do to help. But his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Perhaps it was for the best—getting too close to you would only end in pain. Everyone he touched ended up broken. He didn’t want to hurt you.

Instead, he settled for holding out his hand and jerking his head toward the apartment, silently gesturing for you to come inside.

You looked up at him, your glossy eyes stinging with the effort of holding back tears, and met his soft gaze with those piercing green eyes you loved so dearly. Standing out on his ghostly pail skin.



“Your eyes are really pretty,” you whispered, a faint smile in your voice.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, caught off guard.

The moment felt like it stretched for minutes, though it was only seconds. Then, without warning, you stumbled into his side. He shut the balcony door behind you with a sharp bang, the loudest noise of the night, rivaling the distant wail of sirens that echoed through the city streets.

You slumped onto the couch, dragging him down beside you with the unexpected movement. Before he could react, you kicked your feet up and turned his shoulder into your own personal pillow.

Jason froze. His eyes darted toward you, then quickly back again like a kid caught staring at something they aren’t supposed to. He was stunned. Meanwhile, you were already fast asleep, your breathing so soft he could barely hear it.

He knew he should move—lay you down properly, grab a blanket, and try to snatch a few hours of sleep himself. But when he turned to look at you again, he found he couldn’t bring himself to disturb you.

You looked peaceful. The way your hair framed your face, the softness of your features in the dim orange glow of the lamp by the TV—it all captivated him. He couldn’t even bring himself to breathe too loudly for fear of breaking the moment.

He let himself enjoy the weight of you leaning against him, though he hated to admit it. He wanted to keep you at arm’s length, not on his arm, yet here you were. And somehow, he didn’t have the strength—or the desire—to move you.

[small-z24]

One-Shot: Secrets in the Night

Summary:

Azriel and the bat boys visit a night market where Azriel is captivated by Y/N, a kind-hearted vendor who impresses Rhysand with her handmade jewelry. Despite his shyness, Azriel later surprises Y/N with a thoughtful gift during Winter Solstice, revealing their mutual admiration and hinting at a blossoming romance.

Word Count: 1743

Warnings: None

The night market in Velaris was alive with color and sound. Lanterns hung from every stall, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd. The scent of spiced cider and freshly baked pastries filled the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of the shoppers.

Azriel walked alongside Rhysand and Cassian, his eyes scanning the stalls. They were on a mission to find the perfect gifts for the women of the Night Court. Azriel’s mind was only half on the task at hand; the other half was consumed by thoughts of Y/N. He had first seen her at a café in Velaris, drawn to her kindness and the warmth of her smile. Since then, he had found himself inexplicably captivated by her.

As they walked, Azriel’s shadows whispered around him, alerting him to a familiar presence nearby. He turned his head and saw Y/N standing behind a booth, her hands deftly arranging a display of intricate jewelry. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her, but he quickly averted his gaze, hoping to avoid drawing attention.

“Az, you seem distracted,” Rhysand remarked, a knowing look in his eyes. “Something on your mind?”

Azriel shook his head, forcing a casual tone. “Just looking for the right gift.”

Cassian grinned, clapping Azriel on the back. “You always were the thoughtful one. What are you looking for, exactly?”

Azriel hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. “Something special.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Something special, huh? For someone special, perhaps?”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Just a friend.”

Cassian and Rhysand exchanged a glance, their curiosity piqued. “Well, let’s see if we can help you find this special something,” Cassian said, a mischievous glint in his eye.

As they moved through the market, Azriel couldn’t help but steal glances at Y/N. She was beautiful, her face illuminated by the warm light of the lanterns. He wanted to go to her, to talk to her, but he knew now wasn’t the right time.

They approached Y/N’s booth, and Rhysand’s eyes immediately caught sight of a striking black and gold necklace. “This would be perfect for Feyre,” he murmured, picking it up to examine it more closely.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Rhysand’s with a friendly smile. “That piece is one of my favorites. I made it with the High Lady in mind.”

Rhysand’s smile widened, clearly impressed. “You have excellent taste. I’ll take it.”

As Y/N wrapped the necklace, Cassian and Azriel browsed the other items on display. Azriel’s heart pounded as he stood so close to her, the scent of her perfume mixing with the spices of the market.

“You make all of these yourself?” Cassian asked, genuinely impressed.

Y/N nodded, her hands working quickly. “Yes, I do. It’s my passion.”

Azriel picked up a delicate silver bracelet, admiring the craftsmanship. “This is beautiful,” he said softly, unable to keep the admiration from his voice.

Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting his for the first time. There was a moment of silence, and Azriel felt as if the world had stopped. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice gentle. “I’m glad you like it.”

Rhysand, ever the observer, noticed the exchange and couldn’t help but smirk. “Azriel, you should get it. It would make a wonderful gift.”

Azriel’s heart raced, and he quickly placed the bracelet back on the table. “Perhaps,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying Azriel’s discomfort. “Don’t be shy, Az. If you like it, you should get it.”

Azriel shot Cassian a warning look but managed a small smile. “I’ll think about it.”

As Rhysand completed his purchase, Y/N handed him the wrapped necklace. “I hope she likes it,” she said with a warm smile.

Rhysand nodded, his eyes twinkling. “I’m sure she will. Thank you, Y/N.”

As they walked away from the booth, Rhysand leaned closer to Azriel, his voice low. “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

Azriel glanced back at Y/N, who was already attending to another customer. “Yes, she is.”

Cassian clapped Azriel on the back again. “You should ask her out. It’s obvious you’re into her.”

Azriel clenched his fists, struggling to maintain his composure. “I told you, it’s not like that.”

Rhysand laughed softly, shaking his head. “Whatever you say, Az. But maybe it’s time to stop admiring from afar.”

Azriel knew they were right, but the fear of rejection and the desire to keep his feelings hidden weighed heavily on him. As they continued through the market, he resolved to find a way to speak to Y/N again—soon. For now, he would hold onto the hope that there was a chance for something more.

Winter Solstice had arrived, and the House of Wind was filled with festive cheer. The Night Court gathered to celebrate, exchanging gifts and sharing stories around a roaring fire. Azriel, however, had only one thing on his mind: finding a way to see Y/N.

The night was lively, with laughter and merriment echoing through the halls. Feyre and Rhysand were at the center of it all, their joy infectious. Cassian and Nesta were engaged in a playful argument over who had given the better gift, while Elain moved gracefully through the crowd, her presence a calming influence.

Azriel stood on the periphery, his eyes flickering to the clock. He had managed to find the rare book Y/N had wanted, wrapped it carefully, and planned to slip away to surprise her. But every time he moved to leave, someone called him back.

“Az, come join us!” Cassian shouted, waving him over to where he and Nesta were sitting. “We’re about to start the gift exchange.”

Azriel sighed inwardly but forced a smile as he approached them. He handed out his gifts, his mind only half on the festivities. His eyes kept darting to the door, hoping for an opportunity to slip away unnoticed.

“Azriel, you’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Rhysand said, appearing at his side with a knowing look. “Something on your mind?”

Azriel shook his head, masking his impatience. “Just enjoying the evening.”

Rhysand raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. “Well, don’t be a stranger. It’s a night to celebrate.”

As the night wore on, Azriel felt the frustration building. Every time he tried to make his exit, someone else drew him back into the festivities. Feyre called him over to admire a painting, Elain asked for his help with a particularly tricky gift wrap, and even Amren engaged him in a conversation about strategy for their next mission.

Finally, as the clock struck midnight and the celebrations began to wind down, Azriel saw his chance. Most of the guests were starting to leave, and the attention had shifted away from him. He slipped the wrapped book into his coat pocket and quietly made his way to the door.

“Azriel,” Cassian called from across the room, “where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Azriel turned, trying to keep his tone light. “Just need some fresh air.”

Cassian’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Fresh air, huh? Sure you’re not sneaking off to meet someone special?”

Azriel’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced a casual smile. “Just needed a moment to myself.”

Rhysand, who had been watching the exchange, gave Azriel a long, appraising look. “Don’t stay out too long. It’s cold out there.”

Azriel nodded and quickly stepped out into the crisp night air, his breath visible in the chill. He walked briskly through the quiet streets of Velaris, his thoughts focused on Y/N. He hoped she hadn’t given up on seeing him tonight.

When he finally reached her shop, he saw a soft light glowing from inside. Relief washed over him as he knocked gently on the door. It opened almost immediately, and Y/N stood there, her eyes lighting up with joy and surprise.

“Azriel,” she breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

He smiled, pulling the wrapped book from his coat and handing it to her. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

Y/N took the gift, her fingers brushing against his. “Thank you. Come in, it’s freezing out there.”

He stepped inside, the warmth of her shop enveloping him. She led him to a cozy corner where a small fire crackled in the hearth. They sat together, close but not touching, the intimacy of the moment palpable.

Y/N unwrapped the book, her eyes widening with delight. “Azriel, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He smiled, watching her as she carefully turned the pages. “I’m glad you like it.”

She looked up, her eyes filled with emotion. “I got you something too.”

She reached behind her and brought out a small, intricately wrapped box. Azriel took it, his heart swelling with anticipation. Inside, he found a finely crafted leather bracelet, adorned with subtle engravings that seemed to shimmer in the firelight.

“It’s beautiful,” he said softly, slipping it onto his wrist. “Thank you, Y/N.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the warmth of the fire and the soft glow of the lanterns creating a cocoon of peace around them. Azriel felt a sense of contentment he hadn’t known in a long time, simply being in her presence.

Finally, he broke the silence. “Y/N, I… I’ve been wanting to tell you something.”

She looked at him, her expression open and encouraging. “What is it, Azriel?”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. “I’ve admired you from afar for a long time. Your kindness, your smile… they drew me in. I’ve found myself thinking about you more than I care to admit.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she reached out to take his hand. “I’ve felt the same way, Azriel. I just didn’t know if you felt the same.”

Relief and joy surged through him as he squeezed her hand gently. “I do. And I want to get to know you better, if you’ll let me.”

She smiled, her eyes shining with happiness. “I’d like that very much.”

As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Azriel and Y/N sat together, their hearts beating in unison. The journey ahead was uncertain, but in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and the comfort of each other’s presence, they felt a glimmer of hope—a promise of something beautiful yet to come.

[unspokenfeelings6]

Love is changing me again!!

Am I becoming selfless or a fool ??