#when the lights came on i was cold; shaking; and buzzing all over

[plutorine]

saw nosferatu (2024) today. oh my lord. (pun intended)

[nxuvillette]

FORBIDDEN LUST — CAPITANO

synopsis : you were assigned to guard the fatui’s best. you knew the bounds of your relationship was strictly professional, but when your conversation one night becomes personal, those lines begin to blur.

❥- pairings : the captain (capitano) x fem!reader

❥- a/n : this post is for my criminal event ! i decided to do the captain, because well, he fits the bill in some aspect. i hope you guys enjoy and feedback + reblogs are appreciated :).

content warnings : nsfw [18+], fem!reader, minors + ageless + blank blogs dni, fatui!reader, spoilers to the 5.0 archon quest, power dynamic, mentions of crime, porn w plot, age gap, finger sucking, use of pet names (baby , darling , my love), some fluff, possessive!capitano, fingering, dirty talk, creampie, biting, outside sex, rough sex, choking, nipple sucking, corruption kink, dacryphilia.

The moon’s bright rays cast themselves over the meadows and mountains over the nation of Natlan. The beautiful plethora of colors that were painted on the various rock walls were shown brightly due to this light. It was a very calm evening in the nation of war. The air was warm with a bit of humidity clinging along with it, but despite the weather, you still had to keep your main focus alive and that was the duty of protecting the fatui’s number one. 

Your introduction to the powerful organization wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary. You found yourself seeking out solace within because of your disdain for the heavenly principles that cursed Teyvat. Like many of the fellow members, you believed that the cryo archon had the right approach when it came to dealing with them, so you joined her in the fight to gain every gnosis that belonged to the six other archons. Along with your passion, your abilities were another piece of the puzzle that led you into obtaining the position you had today, and that was becoming somewhat of a guard to one of the harbingers. 

The Captain.

Not many members were lucky enough to interact with the harbingers themselves. A lot of them were never seen outside of Snezchnaya or in the public eye at all. However, when the Captain was made aware of the crisis that was occurring in a nation he protected all those years ago, he wasted no time making his way there to understand the pyro archon’s approach to the impending disaster that threatened Natlan. Since you were tasked with being by him, you were immediately told to tag along with him. You hadn’t ever gone to Natlan before, but you wished you had a lot sooner. The land of pyro was full of so much color and life. There was a happiness that bubbled in your stomach when your eyes scanned over the beautiful horizons that were buzzing with different animals or people who were happily playing with their saurian pals. You knew being a part of the fatui meant being a cold hearted individual who, on the outside, had to assert their dominance over others, but there was still a side of you that enjoyed the good things about Teyvat. 

While you did bask in the beauty of Natlan, you knew you still had a job to do. 

Being around the Captain for as long as you had, you had to learn to become accustomed to his reserved nature. He often didn’t speak to you for long periods of time, and he always kept any personal details to himself. You knew that was understandable, especially given his ranking in the fatui. He was one of the most feared men in all of Teyvat. Some of the other fatui members would shake in their shorts at the mere thought of his name being uttered. You were intimidated by him at times. He was strong. There was a reason he was number one, but you still had many questions about him as a person. 

The fire before you crackled every few seconds. There were a few embers that snapped into the atmosphere and disappeared as quickly as they developed. You were stationed out in a campsite that wasn’t too far from the stadium that you were planning to invade the next morning with the Captain. The man sat across from you. He was as quiet as he typically was. If you had to be honest, you disliked awkward silence more than anything. You were a talkative person with the right people, but with him? You were afraid to make too much noise with your feet. He had kicked some serious ass in front of you before, and you did not want to become a human popsicle because of him. You simply followed his orders, no questions asked. He could be mysterious at times. He was a man who was always somehow several steps ahead of everybody else and you learned over the months you’ve worked alongside him that he was very clever. You often yearned to know more about him. All you had was baseless rumors made up by random people.

Tiredness began to creep onto your body a lot quicker than you had anticipated. You forgot that you had spent several days travelling through different areas to get to Natlan. This was one of the first times you had gotten the chance to sleep in a few days. You’re trained to not get lazy or tired, but this was the one time you were about to give in to those ideals. 

“Getting exhausted already, hm?”

Your hazy thoughts were interrupted when the Captain’s voice rang in your ears. It always managed to catch you off guard because of how deep it was. There was also so much silence around you both, so it was unexpected to hear him speak so suddenly. “Heh..” you laughed, softly. “You caught me, Captain, my apologies.”

The man before you shook his head, dismissing your apology. “No need, we’ve been travelling for days. I can’t expect you to be wide awake while we’re in front of a fire..” he said. “If you need to rest, don’t worry. I can keep an eye on our camp, and I doubt anyone passing by will attempt to start a fight this late.”

There was a sudden spike in your heart rate at his words. You found it quite surprising that the Captain himself was showing leniency towards you. You were used to him being quite strict at times with the other fatui members who traveled alongside him with you, so this sudden shift made you wonder why he was being so.. Nice? It seemed out of character, and curiosity began to reign in your mind. Could this be a test? The harbingers were a group of individuals who were unpredictable in all forms. He could easily be testing you, so if you did fall asleep, he could scold you for letting your guard down and making him have to protect you. It was your job to save his life in any scenario, after all.

Your eyes flickered from the man to the fire that was still burning. Although you had been around him several times, his presence alone did make you nervous. “No, it’s alright. I have to make sure you don’t get hurt.. Especially with the abyss lurking around here. I can stay up!” you smiled, nervously.

For a moment, the Captain didn’t speak, making that anxious feeling return all over again. Was he going to get angry? Were you supposed to go to sleep? It could’ve been an order hidden in his words. Silence was the most deafening thing to exist. 

“I know what you’re thinking, (Y/N), you don’t have to push yourself for my odds.” he broke that silence that was killing you. “As much as I appreciate it, your wellbeing is important. You can’t fight properly if your body is at its limit.”

You swallowed thickly at his words. It was almost like he was somewhat worried about you? It sounded unrealistic. The fatui are known for their selfish motives, so why would the number one member show any ounce of care in his guard? “N-No! It’s quite alright, sir, really! I can handle it.” you tried to sound reassuring, but he could see through your facade like glass.

He shifted in his seat, making you freeze up again. You really disliked how you could never properly understand what he was thinking or what he was planning to do next. You also couldn’t read his emotions because of the mask that hid his features. He never took it off once, and even during combat it remained on his head. “Alright.. If you insist, but if you’re planning on staying awake, then I am too. I would rather not waste the night sitting in silence, so let’s talk.” he said, bluntly. 

You stared at him like he said something psychotic. He wanted to talk? What was there to discuss? You honestly didn’t know much about one another besides the basics when it came to your ranking among the fatui, and his obvious spot in the harbingers. You also never took the Captain to be somebody who liked small talk. He kept his words often short and straight to the point, so that’s why it made it all the more difficult when it came to conversing with him in an unprofessional manner. “Sure.. um, forgive me, but I’m not exactly sure what we should talk about..” you could feel your palms becoming clammy from how nervous you were.

He suddenly chuckled, leaving you speechless because you didn’t think he was capable of sharing a laugh with you, let alone a smile. “You’re quite chatty, I’m a little surprised, but that’s just fine..” he paused, shifting his gaze onto you. “Tell me.. Why did someone like you decide to become a part of the fatui?”

You didn’t think he would ask such a personal question right off the bat. He usually could care less about those who were beneath him, but nonetheless, he was a bold man. He had no problem asking uncomfortable questions whenever he wanted. You weren’t sure how to respond. There were so many reasons. “Hm, well, I want the best for Teyvat! I think it’s an unfair world and there should be something done to those who harmed others in a negative manner.” you explained, crossing your legs together. “I dunno.. I just want to see change. Even if it’s something small, it’s the thought and effort that matters most.”

The Captain seemed somewhat unfazed by what you told him, but beneath his mask he was actually impressed by your words. He had heard many people discuss their reasonings and motives for joining such an organization. Some were ridiculous, like suggesting they enjoyed the power they had over others, or that they were able to use delusions to obtain what they wanted. Others had selfish desires for money or the thrills, but you seemed to be somebody who had passion. You didn’t care for the power or the other bullshit that came with being in the fatui. All you wanted was for others to be okay. He admired that, truthfully. He also struggled to process it at the same time. He found it somewhat hard to believe. He had been surrounded by self centered values and desires for so long that he almost forgot that there were people like you still out there. There was still good existing in this cruel universe.

“Hm, I see. You seem to be quite the driven person, and I respect you for that.” he replied. “I think you’ll end up somewhere great in life, and maybe you’ll have the opportunity to experience true peace in this life.”

His words brought comfort to you like a warm blanket being wrapped around you on a cold morning. You were glad to hear he felt optimistic about the future, but his praises made you feel even better, Earning the respect of the Captain wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. You’d have to destroy him in battle to get him to bat an eye at you, so it came as a big shock to hear he respected you. Despite that, you appreciated it. “Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me.. And I hope someday that there will be peace too.” you smiled. 

The Captain then stood up, shaking off the large jacket that rested on his broad shoulders. You watched him place it onto the grass that was just a couple inches away from him. He then sat down once again, facing you. 

You never saw much of his body. It was always hidden by his clothes and he hardly ever removed it unless he was by himself. Snezchnaya was also frequently cold, so it was understandable that he wore it all of the time since he spent a majority of his time in the land of cryo. However, through the fabric of his shirt, you could see his muscles that outlined through it. There was a side of your brain that was screaming for you to look away, but your eyes couldn’t move away from how nice he looked. You knew he had been through many fights and training throughout the years, but seeing it this close was making your body heat up. You had seen plenty of muscular men in your life, but this was different. He was also your boss, technically. It was wrong to think of him in such a manner. You could possibly face many punishments if your wild thoughts were able to surface to reality. 

He seemed to catch on to your staring, because he turned his head in your direction. You couldn’t physically see it, but you could feel his eyes watching you. “Something the matter? I only took off my coat because the fire was making me feel warm.” he explained, raising a brow underneath his mask. 

Immediately, you felt embarrassed that he had caught you. You weren’t doing it to be rude or anything, but now you just seemed like a fool in the eyes of your superior. You hoped he didn’t think of you negatively now. It was honestly quite easy to get on the Captain’s bad side these days. “N-No! I’ve never seen you without your jacket, that’s all. My apologies, sir, I shouldn’t-”

“You were just curious, nothing wrong with that.” he interrupted. “And, please, drop the formalities. Call me Capitano, you’ve earned that.” 

Your eyes practically bulged out of their sockets from how wide they had become. You were probably the most professional person to ever walk the earth. You didn’t think you would ever have the chance to use the Captain’s other name. It was a rare occasion. You didn’t think any of the other harbingers muttered it either, so what made you so special? All you did was work beside him and protect his life. It was as simple as it sounded, but nonetheless, you weren’t going to protest. 

You cleared your throat, trying to ignore the burning sensation that had appeared on your cheeks from his words. “R-Right! I’m sorry, sir- I mean, Capitano! I will use your name instead!” you stumbled over your words like a kid. “I’m not used to this kind of formality..”

The Captain nodded his head. He could understand from your perspective that a sudden change of professionalism could make you feel somewhat uneasy. He never gave out his real name on purpose. He’d much rather be known as the Captain, because, really, who deserved to know anything else about him? It wasn’t like he was an everyday citizen. “I understand, but you will get used to it. There’s no need to feel rushed or embarrassed, (Y/N).” he said. “I actually want to know more about you, because I hardly have any knowledge of your personal life. Don’t feel obligated to tell me anything, but I figured that’s how we could pass the time.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to react to his request. This man had to be sick or something because this was the first time he had ever asked to know things about you. Neither of you were friends and your relationship was simple enough. Then again, he was trying to pass the time, so he probably could care less about the little stories you had from childhood. You figured it’d be fine. “Sure! I can tell you anything.” you smiled.

The next hour was full of you talking and the Captain mostly listening. 

You shared many stories from your childhood. You talked about your parents and how you missed the meals they would cook for you, or the memories you had of watching the snowfall for the first time in your hometown. To an outsider, you seemed like one of those older people who were telling stories to the children, but to the Captain, you were so much more than that. There were so many interesting things he learned about you within those sixty minutes. You disliked a lot of tart foods, your favorite drink was the fonta that came from Fontaine, and you had a habit of drooling in your sleep from time to time. They were so basic, but he genuinely enjoyed hearing you talk. Your voice was soft and not overwhelming. It’s one of the reasons why he liked having you around him. Unlike some, you were tolerable to be around. Some people talked too much or annoyed him to no end, but you? He could never get tired of you, and that scared him. 

He struggled internally at the thought of you. He thought it was fine for a while. He only saw you as one of his subordinates who had to maintain his safety, but slowly that started to change. The Captain didn’t know how to approach these dizzying feelings that were developing for you. He felt comfortable. Like, he didn’t have to put on a brave facade and hide who he truly was when he was in your presence. He wished he could protect you from this world that had become so cruel. 

“(Y/N), do you mind if I were to show you something?” he asked, abruptly.

You blinked for a moment, pausing in your words. You had no idea what he was going to do, but you did trust him. “No, what is it?” you inquired, nodding your head to the side like a dog that was curious.

The Captain seemed to hesitate for a moment. He wondered if doing this was going to be a good idea, but he believed that doing so would establish some sort of trust between the two of you. He took a deep breath, then moved to take the mask that had been covering his face for several years. 

At that moment, your heart ceased in its movements. You had never seen the Captain’s identity before in the few months that you had been working under him. The mask he wore was a constant symbol of who he was and the unknown often scared many people, but you weren’t afraid of him in the slightest. His face was far from anything like the rumors people had made up about him. His eyes were the color of ice, piercing and bold. His skin was somewhat tan with several scars that were etched onto multiple places on his face. He had somewhat of a mature face, showing his age was evident to what you had originally assumed. He was so handsome and cunning. It made your body feel weak from the mere sight of his features. 

Your silence made him somewhat uneasy. He wondered if revealing his face was a good idea. Were you disgusted? Scared? He couldn’t read your emotions on your face, and it was eating him alive. 

“My apologies I-”

“No, don’t apologize! Really!” you cut him off, taking him off guard. “I.. I think you look.. Lovely.”

His face completely dropped the moment your words slipped past your tongue. Nobody had ever said such a thing to him before. All of the people he had interacted with had described him as a terrifying person. He was somebody that was a part of an organization that committed crimes on a daily basis. How could someone as beautiful as you say he was lovely? There was so much beauty in the horrible world you both existed in, and he was one of the dark corners that you wouldn’t look at. “You think I’m.. lovely?” he questioned, sounding serious and taken back at the same time. 

Oddly enough, you didn’t feel weird about saying it at all. It was almost like there was a sense of comfort that had built itself around the two of you as you talked with each other. “Yes! I admire you, a lot. That will never change.” you replied in a joyous tone. 

A burst of warmth suddenly enveloped his stomach. He wasn’t sure what this feeling was or why it was happening. The Captain was becoming even more confused over his emotions. He hadn’t felt something like this before, especially towards you. He didn’t want to admit it, but he actually liked what he was feeling. He wanted to experiment and see if you could stir even more out of the ordinary emotions inside him. You had complete control over him. The Captain couldn’t believe that, for the first time in decades, another woman had captivated him. 

He was stunned when you randomly stood up without warning and joined the empty space beside him. The Captain looked at you with somewhat wide eyes. It was an expression you had never seen written on his face before. It made you giggle. “There’s no need to be stiff.. I just wanted you to know that you shouldn’t hide your beauty all of the time. At the very least, you don’t ever have to fear doing it around me.” you made eye contact with him, making his tummy do flips once again. 

He remained unmoved for a brief moment, then he made his move. 

The Captain suddenly smashed his lips onto yours. His hands tossed away the mask that he had been holding to place them on your waist that he had been dying to touch for several months now. He was shocked to feel that you were kissing him back. After a few seconds, reality hit him like a wave, and he quickly realized what he was actually doing. He pulled away and was quick to feel flustered from his actions. “I am deeply sorry.. I shouldn’t have done such a thing without your-” he was instantly cut off the second you kissed him again, pushing your body on top of his. 

“I want this..” you whispered, settling yourself onto his lap. 

He wasted no time and pulled you against him. He had often fantasized about what it would be like to have you just like this. Your bodies touching one another, his lips on yours, your hands touching his long tresses of hair. You were a fucking dream. The Captain himself often wondered why someone as beautiful as you were alone in this world. There was so much to like about you. You were too good for a life in the fatui. You should’ve been in your hometown, fighting for your people. It sounded selfish of him, but he thought about taking you away from all of this. Keeping you safe from danger and living a quiet life. 

It would be perfect.

The Captain’s hands moved to squeeze the plush of your hips. He swallowed the soft moan that had escaped your lips as a result of his contact on your skin. You sounded just as erotic as he imagined. There wasn’t a single flaw about you. 

Your exchanges then started to grow more intense. His tongue dove itself into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. You could feel his painfully hard boner as you ground yourself against him. Each time your clothed cunt brushed on it, the Captain grunted or made some type of noise that was turning you on. There was so much built up chemistry between you both and you couldn’t see yourself pulling away. He was addictive and dangerous. This could get you terminated or into trouble with other members of the fatui. However, you found it hard to show any care at the moment. 

There was a brief pause. The Captain pulled away to press his forehead against yours, panting heavily from the lengthy makeout you just had. His pupils were blown with lust and there was a look in his eye that you had never seen before. It made this sudden thrill shoot up your spine at the thought of what was going to happen next. “Before we continue.. I want to warn you that I’m no longer going to hold back. If you wish to withdraw consent at any time, that’s alright, but I’m not going to be easy on you..” he stated, seduction dripping in his voice. 

Excitement coursed through your veins at the images being created in your head from his words. You truly wanted to know what the Captain was capable of in terms of intimacy, so you weren’t about to let the moment waste. “That’s fine..” you replied. “I like it rough.. Especially if you’re going to be the one to wreck me in the end..”

That was all it took for him. 

The man before you then pushed you onto the ground, hovering over you in the process. His eyes studied the different areas of your body. He couldn’t stop himself anymore. The Captain then pulled your top down, revealing your breasts that were so fucking cute. Your nipples perked as the air blew against them, making you shiver from the exposed contact. He tore your top in half so your upper half was now completely on display for him. His cock practically throbbed at the thought of what your cunt must have looked like, but this was already enough for him to lose it. 

He immediately attacked your neck, kissing and nibbling at the most sensitive areas of your skin. He could care less if someone were to see the marks he left on you. He thought it would be cute to watch you try and cover them up. 

Once your neck had multiple bites, he quickly moved to your chest. You whined the second his tongue made contact with your nipple. He swirled his tongue around it, making that familiar butterfly feeling appear in your belly once again. His other hand went to play with your other breast, squeezing and using his fingers to massage your other nipple. He could feel how warm your body had become from his gestures. You were so turned on. He had done so little to you. 

Your eyes connected with his icy ones. You were a complete mess like this. All you wanted was for him to do more to you. “C-Captain, please, more! Ah!” you moaned out when his teeth scraped around your sensitive nipple. 

He removed his mouth from your boob with a ‘pop’ sound. He couldn’t help but smirk at your desire for more pleasure. He didn’t think someone like you could be so erotic. There were so many things he wanted to do to you. The Captain wanted to push you to your limits and break you so all you could think about was him fucking your brains out. “Patience, darling. Let me show you how someone is supposed to make you feel..” he whispered, dragging the pads of his fingers towards your pants. 

It didn’t take long for him to yank your pants off, exposing your panties. His cock twitched when he noticed the large damp spot on your underwear. You had practically soaked through them. He took his thumb and pressed your clit, making you jolt at the electricity he sent along your body. You were practically screaming inside your head for him to do something to you. You hadn’t experienced a feeling like this before with anyone else. Sure, you’ve slept with random men you met while traveling, but they were nothing like him. 

Maybe it was the taboo of it all. You were his subordinate. You weren’t supposed to be doing something like this with a man who was in a much higher position than you. Who knows what kind of punishment or reaction might come from this getting out. He’s too powerful, so you doubted that he would lose his position in the harbingers, but that turned you on even more. The idea that you weren’t supposed to be doing this. Yet, you showed no signs of caring. It was like he had casted a spell on you and there was no way you’d be able to escape it. Not when he had that hungry look in his eye. 

The Captain pulled your panties down your thighs and eventually tossed them away somewhere else. He almost came on the spot from your sticky pussy that was dripping with arousal. He craved nothing more than to have you around him. He took one of his fingers and dragged it along your cunt, making you cry out briefly from the pleasure. He gathered some of your slick and stuck his finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of your sweetness on his tongue. You were just as delicious as you appeared. He then pushed one of his digits into your hole, earning a moan from your lips. You felt so tight around his finger. He knew he had to prep you beforehand, but he wasn’t so sure if you’d be able to take him. 

You gripped your breasts as he fingered you at a slow pace. It felt so good. He was taking his time and he was making sure you were enjoying yourself. He had so much knowledge on those spots inside you that made your stomach twist with excitement. “Right there, yes, right there..” you whimpered, looking at him with desperation in your hues. 

He grinned at the little responses he was getting from you. You were so damn cute. He wondered what else he could do, but it seemed like what he was doing was enough for you. “Yeah? Talk to me, baby, I wanna hear you.” he started circling your clit, sending double the pleasure along your body. 

You were practically humping his hand, coating it with your juices in the process. You couldn’t control the various moans and whines that kept coming from your mouth. You were slowly becoming lost in the bliss, and he fucking loved it. “Please, sir, more! I want you inside me!” you cried. 

His eyes grew wide. Who knew you could be such a dirty girl? This surprised him, but nonetheless, who was he to deny you of your pleasure? You had been so obedient to him over the months. It was the right thing to do. “As you wish, darling.” he replied, removing his fingers from your aching cunt.

You shuddered when you heard his belt being unbuckled. You sat up slightly to gain a view of his cock that was fully erect. It was roughly around seven inches with a lot of girth that made you wonder how you were supposed to take it all. The tip was already leaking lots of precum. You could feel this euphoria going throughout your body. He probably had so much pent up stress that he had been waiting to take out on somebody, and that was you. 

The man then took your thighs in his hands, pushing them apart so he had full access to your pretty pussy. His breath hitched when his tip made contact with your clit. It had been far too long for him. “I’m not going to hold back..” he whispered. “I want to make you an absolute slut for my cock, got it?”

You nodded, taking your fingers and spreading your lips apart. He took that as his sign to continue. He then pushed his cock into your cunt, making you gasp with pleasure as well as some pain from the stretch. 

As soon as he entered you, the Captain let out the sexiest groan you had ever heard. Your walls were hugging his cock so nicely. He continued to push forward, so he was now completely bottomed out inside of you. He looked below at the sight before him. Your pussy was wrapped around his cock like a vice. The sensation of your warm cunt inviting him in was like ecstasy to him. He mentally complained to himself for not taking you much sooner. Now, he wasn’t going to let that moment slip through his fingers. There was so much he wanted to do, and the night was still young. 

The air was practically knocked out of your lungs the second he started moving. You felt so full. You were surprised that he was able to make himself fit, but you had assumed that was what the foreplay was for.

It didn’t take him long to increase his thrusts. Once he noticed your desperate eyes silently begging him for more, he took that as his sign to let go. The Captain couldn’t stop drinking in the sight of your gorgeous body. Your pussy squelched and cried whenever he moved, your pretty tits bounced, and that sweet voice of yours continued calling his name like it was a prayer. That self restraint he had was quickly dwindling, but you seemed to not care. If anything, you wanted him to destroy you. 

He used his hands to take hold of your thighs, gripping them firmly. You pinched your nipples to feel some extra stimulation while he fucked you. Due to the humidity of Natlan, the both of you were already becoming quite overheated. You could see the sweat glistening on the Captain’s body. It outlined his well defined muscles and the scars that were scattered over his skin. “Captain! Please, don’t stop..” you whined. “Feels so good..”

His right hand went to cup your cheek. He used his thumb to press onto your puffy lips, placing it into your mouth. You obediently sucked on his thumb, swirling your tongue around it. Fuck, you were so fucking dirty. He didn’t need to ask for a single thing. “You’re such a good girl. You drive me crazy..” he then removed his thumb, moving it to your swollen clit. “Don’t you worry about a single thing, okay? The Captain will take care of you, darling.”

You let out a cry when he began playing with your clit. The pleasure he had been giving you was now becoming overwhelming. His dick was practically breaking you apart. The tip abused that button inside you that made stars appear in your vision. He knew exactly what to do to make you fall apart in his hands. 

There was this sudden protectiveness that creeped up on the Captain. Looking down at you, he could feel that urge to want to save you from a place like this. This world and the organization you were both involved in was terrifying and cruel. The idea of possibly losing you to somebody else made anger course through his body. He knew it sounded selfish. It was likely that your ideals differentiated from each other, but he didn’t care. He wanted to keep you safe. That idea of living a quiet life with one another sounded wonderful. For the first time in so long, he could actually imagine such a life with somebody else that didn’t seem temporary. 

His thrusts suddenly slowed to a more tender pace. You looked at him with curious eyes, wondering where the sudden shift came from. “I’m gonna keep you safe..” he grunted. “Do you understand me..? I’m gonna make sure your beautiful heart is never broken again.. You won’t have to live in fear with me beside you.”

Your cheeks felt hot at his words. It almost sounded like the Captain was confessing to you at that very second. You weren’t sure what to say or how to react. It honestly made you feel some sort of comfort. Someone like him being able to take care of you without having to worry about the enemies that could potentially harm you. His words sounded sincere. It made your heart leap out of your chest. “R-Really..? You want that?” you blinked, placing your hands onto his broad shoulders. “Please don’t lie to me, Capitano..”

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. The lengthy strands of his hair drooped over the sides of his head. The expression on his features was serious. You could feel his eyes studying you. “I could never lie to you. Not when you’ve done so much for me.. I crave nothing more than to be with you, and only you. I will devote my entire life to keeping you alive..” he replied. “The choice is yours, my dear.”

You said nothing. Instead of using your words, you kissed him. This time, your kisses felt passionate and loving, unlike the ones you shared prior. These were real. You couldn’t find any deception in his tongue and the way he spoke. 

He read your mind and resumed with those harsh ruts. He swallowed down any noises that you made and smirked to himself at the way you struggled to kiss him back whenever his tip kissed your g-spot. He decided to go deeper and angle his hips a different way. He was practically fucking up into you, and you were loving it. The kiss you were sharing was now broken apart because you couldn’t control what was coming from your throat. He thought it was cute to see you in such a state. It was almost like you had forgotten the two of you were both outside. 

“Capitano! Fuck, yes! P-Please, ruin me..” you begged. “I’m so close.. Ah! Please, please! I need you”

He gritted his teeth at your words. He noticed that your walls were becoming much tighter than they were before, implying that your orgasm was just ahead of you. Your desperation turned him on. He wasn’t about to make you wait. 

The Captain grabbed your hips. He had you practically bouncing on his cock from the force at which he was pulling you towards him. Your belly was tightening up with the erratic thrusts he was unleashing on your body. You could feel that climax inching closer. It was making you lose control, and all you could think about was his cock completely ripping you apart. You wanted him to be the only one who made you cum. He was the only man alive who was capable of making you feel such euphoria. 

Those were the exact thoughts the Captain wanted you to have.

With one final thrust, your orgasm completely crashed over you. Your pussy clamped around his cock, leaving a sticky creamy white ring to circle around the base. Your thighs were trembling and you could feel tears developing on your lash line from how amazing your climax felt on your body. “Ahhh.. oh my god.” you cried, panting heavily from how intense it was. 

The Captain pushed your thighs towards you so your knees were now nearing your chest from the way he had you bent. Your hazy eyes grew wide when you realized that his thrusts weren’t ceasing, and he was continuing that rough pace against your cunt. “I’m not done yet..” he said. “This pussy is gonna be dripping when I’m done..”

It didn’t take long for him to drag another orgasm out of you. The overstimulation was sending waves of pleasure all along your tired body, but you didn’t want it to stop. Your pussy was aching and spasming around his dick, drawing the Captain closer to his own high. Those disgusting thoughts of him filling you to the brim with his cum were clouding his mind heavily. It was all he could think about. 

He grabbed onto your throat, firmly gripping it so he could properly fuck you. He could feel his cock twitching and that familiar feeling of an orgasm hurtling towards him with every rut of his hips. He practically growled the moment his balls tightened, finally releasing his cum into your cunt. Warm thick spurts of his seed leaked into your womb, making you shiver from the warmth spreading across your lower abdomen. 

He removed his hand from around your throat, remaining inside of you so none of his cum would slip out of your hole. His fingers brushed along your cheek. Your face was so gorgeous to him. Your eyes were glassy and there was a lazy smile resting on your lips. “Like what you see..?” you questioned, giggling slightly from his stare. 

The Captain came to your level and pecked your lips. He couldn’t hide his smile when being so close to you. “Absolutely..” he replied.

© NXUVILLETTE ┆ all rights reserved, do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[heartsbyani]

༊࿐ ∘ ∘ ‪ 승민 ; HERE ALWAYS ── your member boyfriend helps you with a panic attack.

𓍯 idolbf!seungmin ʚଓ skz 9th member fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 1.4k ── ༯ DRABBLE, comfort, fluff, petnames, cute love, skz 9th member, skinship, skz ensemble, isac, req. by @haerinshypegirl. ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY. /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ and i'm back again ! as we are mv, is out, i cried (╥﹏╥), next part might be coming tomorrow for as we are since the mv motivated me so much, hehe. thank you lucid for requesting this, hope you like it. comments, likes, requests, asks and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

the stadium buzzed with energy. fans cheered from the stands, their banners and lightsticks waving furiously in the air. idols lounged around the arena, some chatting, others stretching or preparing for their events. the scent of popcorn mixed with the sharp chill of air conditioning filled the space. for most, the atmosphere was electric, but for y/n, it felt suffocating.

the group had been seated together, enjoying their short break between the isac activities. y/n sat sandwiched between jisung and hyunjin, her laughter earlier blending effortlessly with theirs. however, as the minutes ticked by, her breaths grew shorter, and her chest tightened. she clutched her hands in her lap, nails digging into her palms as her vision blurred slightly, while she saw her name on the large digital screen appear, outlining that she was up soon.

“hey, you okay?” hyunjin’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. his gaze, once playful, now sharpened with concern as he noticed her trembling hands.

y/n nodded quickly, though her body betrayed her words. she tried to speak, to reassure him, but the words caught in her throat. the overwhelming noise, the bright lights, the sheer volume of people—it all crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

“y/n?” jisung asked, leaning closer. his usually carefree demeanor shifted as he saw the panic etched across her face. without hesitation, he reached for her hand. "breathe. hey, look at me. breathe."

but her breaths came faster, more shallow. hyunjin immediately stood, scanning the area. “where’s seungmin?” he demanded, his voice steady but urgent.

“he’s with changbin and felix,” jisung replied, already looking around. “he went to grab snacks or something.”

“find him. now.” hyunjin gently squeezed y/n’s shoulder. “it’s okay, we’ve got you. just hold on.”

y/n’s hand clung to hyunjin's as though it were a lifeline, her nails digging into his skin. the pressure was grounding, but it wasn’t enough. her mind spiraled further, her heart racing painfully in her chest.

“seungmin!” jisung called across the arena, catching the attention of jeongin, who pointed toward a corner where seungmin stood, casually chatting with felix. without another word, he sprinted toward him.

seungmin laughed at something felix said, his focus entirely on their conversation, until he saw hyunjin weaving through the crowd like a man on a mission. his brows furrowed as jisung approached, slightly out of breath.

“y/n,” hyunjin panted, his tone clipped. “she needs you.”

seungmin’s face fell. he didn’t waste a second, turning on his heel and rushing toward their group. felix called after him, concerned, but seungmin’s mind was already racing.

when seungmin arrived, he found y/n still clutching hyunjin's hand, her face pale and streaked with silent tears. the sight made his heart ache. he knelt in front of her without hesitation, gently placing his hands over hers, as the other two left the pair.

“hey, baby, it’s me,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the chaos of her mind like a warm blanket. “it’s seungmin. can you hear me?”

her glassy eyes flicked to him, desperation etched across her features, as she nodded slightly, her body shaking. seungmin gave her a small, reassuring smile, his warm fingers lacing her cold ones. “you’re okay. i’m here now. breathe with me, alright?”

he released one of her hands to gently place his on her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. “in through your nose,” he coached, taking a slow, exaggerated breath for her to mimic. “out through your mouth. that’s it.”

the world around them seemed to blur as seungmin focused entirely on her. his voice remained calm, steady, grounding her as she slowly followed his lead.

“you’re safe,” he whispered, leaning closer so she could hear him over the noise. “i’ve got you.”

gradually, her breaths steadied, the tightness in her chest loosening as she anchored herself to him. seungmin’s unwavering presence, his familiar scent, the warmth of his hand—it all brought her back.

when her trembling subsided, seungmin pulled her gently into his arms, shielding her from the few curious gazes around them. “you did so well,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “i’m so proud of you.”

“don't worry okay? i'm right here,”

y/n buried her face in his shoulder, her hands clutching at his jacket. “i-i’m sorry,” she managed, her voice shaky and hoarse.

“don’t apologize,” he said firmly but tenderly. “you have nothing to be sorry for. these things happen, and it’s okay. i’m here for you.”

jisung and hyunjin, who had been far yet hovering anxiously, relaxed slightly at the sight of her calming down. they exchanged a relieved glance, stepping back to give the couple space again while still keeping watch.

seungmin stayed with her, holding her close and murmuring words of comfort until she felt ready to lift her head. his eyes met hers, full of love and concern. “do you want to leave? we can go somewhere quieter.”

y/n hesitated but eventually nodded. the arena still felt too overwhelming. seungmin helped her to her feet, keeping a protective arm around her shoulders as they made their way toward a quieter corner backstage.

once they were alone, seungmin guided her to sit on a bench, crouching in front of her again. “better?” he asked gently, opening her a bottle of water and prompting it to her lips.

she nodded, their fingers brushing as she took the bottle and gulped a bit, though her eyes still shimmered with unshed tears. “thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

he smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “you don’t have to thank me. i’ll always be here for you, y/n.”

the sincerity in his voice made her chest ache—not from panic this time, but from the overwhelming warmth of his love. she reached out, tangling her fingers with his. “i love you.”

seungmin’s smile widened, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “i love you more,” he replied, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “more than you’ll ever know.”

mastetag ୨୧ @cosmicalily thank you luvie <3

[misspygmypie]

The VIP Girl

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader Words: 861 Request: maybe something whree reader is with lando for a race weekend and a VIP girl is obviously flirting with Lando and he dose nothing about it making reader mad and sort of ignores all his plays of affection and it isn't till there in the hotel he confronts reader about it :) Masterlist

Lando Norris had always been a whirlwind of energy and charisma. The grandstands were packed, the pit lane was buzzing with excitement and among the crowd of fans and VIPs one particular girl had made it clear she was interested. Her flirty glances and lingering touches were hard to miss and though Lando remained polite and professional it was clear she had her sights set on him.

Y/N was accustomed to the occasional flirtation directed at her husband. She had always managed to brush them off with grace, knowing Lando’s loyalty was with her. But this time was different. The VIP girl’s blatant attempts were hard to ignore and Lando’s seemingly indifferent response stung more than she cared to admit.

The day of the race was a blur of adrenaline. Lando was focused on his performance, giving it his all on the track. Y/N, as usual, cheered him on with pride from the garage but her heart was heavy. The way the VIP girl leaned in close during the pre-race interviews and whispered things into Lando’s ear made her insides churn.

After the race, which Lando had won with a spectacular finish, the celebrations were in full swing. The atmosphere was electric and filled with laughter and cheers. Lando’s face was lit up with triumph but Y/N found it difficult to match his emotions. She felt overshadowed by the constant presence of the VIP girl and her blatant flirtation. When Lando glanced over and gave her a smile that should have melted her heart, she merely nodded, her expression guarded.

When they made their way through the post-race festivities Lando’s attention was divided. He tried to engage with Y/N, wrapping an arm around her waist and whispering sweet nothings into her ear but she was distant, her responses brief and clipped. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his affection, she was just consumed by a simmering frustration that she couldn’t seem to shake off.

The evening came to an end and they headed back to their hotel. The luxurious suite that had been their sanctuary now felt cold and unwelcoming. Y/N felt the weight of her frustrations pressing down on her and her silence seemed to amplify the tension between them.

Once they were inside their room Lando tried to break the silence. He took off his clothes and after a quick shower joined Y/N on the plush sofa. She sat with her back to him, staring out the window at the city lights. The sight was beautiful but it did nothing to lift her mood.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to get a feeling of what’s going on with you,” Lando said gently, his voice breaking through the quiet. “You’ve been so distant today. Is it something I did, or…?”

Y/N turned slowly to face him, her eyes reflecting the hurt she felt. “It’s not just one thing, it’s the way you let that VIP girl get so close. I felt like you didn’t even notice how uncomfortable it made me and when you didn’t do anything to push her away, it felt like you didn’t care.”

Lando’s expression shifted, it all started to make sense. He moved closer, his eyes searching hers. “I didn’t realize it was affecting you that much. I’ve been trying to be polite and professional but I see now that it came off the wrong way. I never intended to make you feel neglected.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Y/N’s voice trembled slightly. “It felt like you were enjoying the attention, like you were more interested in what she was offering than in me.”

Lando’s heart sank. He reached out and gently touched her cheek, his fingers brushing away a stray tear. “I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. You’re the most important person in my life, Y/N. I should have been more aware of how this was affecting you.”

Y/N let out a shaky breath, her defenses crumbling. “Sometimes it’s hard to see you being so open with others when I’m standing right there. I just needed to know that you see me, that you still value me.”

Lando took her hands in his. “You are my priority,” his gaze was earnest and full of love. “I’m here because of you, because of us. I should have been more considerate. It was never about anyone else but you.”

She slowly let go off his hands but quickly shuffled closer so she could embrace him, the tension in her shoulders easing. “I just needed to feel like I mattered. I know I’m not a part of the public spectacle all that much but I want to be a part of your world, not just in the background.”

“You matter more than anyone else. I want you to be at the forefront of my mind, not in the shadows. I’ll do better and make sure you feel loved and valued, always.”

They kept talking, Y/N opening up about the struggles she faced dealing with the constand spotlight and Lando made a promise - not just to her but to himself as well - to be more mindful.

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

[oaksgrove]

Winning Them Over

pairing: John Price x Younger!Reader

synopsis: Spending New Year’s with your family was always filled with traditions and warmth, but this time, it’s different. Introducing John Price to your parents adds a layer of tension you didn’t anticipate. Between your dad’s probing questions, your mom’s quiet doubts, and your own nerves, the evening is a test of patience, love, and John’s unshakable resolve.

word count: 2168

warnings: Family tension, age-gap dynamics (reader late-twenties and John late-thirties), protective parents, but lots of eventual fluff.

The drive to your parents’ house was quiet, though the silence between you and John wasn’t empty. It buzzed with the kind of unspoken tension that came when two people prepared for an inevitable battle—though in this case, the battlefield was your parents’ living room.

John’s hands rested calmly on the steering wheel, his steady presence grounding you in a way that you desperately needed. But no matter how many reassuring glances he sent your way, your nerves refused to settle. 

“You alright, love?”  he finally asked, his deep voice breaking through the spiral of anxious thoughts swirling in your head.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the nervous tapping of your fingers on your thigh betrayed you.

“Sure about that?” he asked, a hint of a smile softening his words.

You sighed, leaning back against the seat. “You’ve met stubborn recruits, right? Ones who won’t back down no matter what?”

“Plenty.”

“That’s my dad.”

John chuckled. “He’s just protective. I’d expect nothing less.”

“It’s not just him,” you muttered. “It’s my brother, my mom, my aunts, uncles—basically everyone. And don’t even get me started on my grandparents.”

He reached over, resting a comforting hand on your knee. “You’re worth it, love. Let me handle the lot of them.”

As the house came into view, its glowing windows and faint sounds of laughter wrapped in a blanket of snow, your stomach twisted.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house was already alive with movement. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the muffled sounds of laughter and chatter filtered through the cold night air.

The door flew open before you could knock, revealing your younger cousin Sam, who immediately shouted back into the house, “They’re here!” He bolted inside, leaving the door wide open.

Your mom was next to appear, pulling you into a warm hug before her gaze shifted to John. “This must be him,” she said, her tone polite but cautiously curious.

“Yes, ma’am,” John replied smoothly, shaking her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

Her smile was polite, though the flicker of hesitation in her eyes was impossible to miss.

Before she could say more, your dad appeared, his broad frame filling the doorway. He scanned John with a critical eye before clasping his hand in a firm, deliberate handshake. “So, this is the boyfriend,” he said, his tone heavy with skepticism.

“Dad,” you said quickly, stepping in to buffer the tension. “This is John Price.”

John offered his hand without hesitation. “Sir,” he said, meeting your dad’s gaze evenly.

Your dad’s handshake was firm—too firm—and his eyes didn’t leave John’s. “Military, right?”

“Yes, sir. Captain.”

Your dad released his grip, though his expression didn’t soften. “Well, let’s hope that discipline carries over into how you treat my daughter.”

“Dad,” you interjected, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

John, steady as ever, responded calmly. “It does, sir. With all due respect, your daughter is the most important person in my life. I treat her with the care she deserves.”

Your dad grunted, stepping aside but clearly not convinced.

In the living room, chaos reigned. Your aunts buzzed in the kitchen, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm only they understood. Your uncles were sprawled on the couches, debating loudly over a football game.

“So, you’re the infamous John,” your Uncle Robert said, leaning back in his chair with a beer in hand.

“Infamous?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ve heard a lot about you,” Uncle Robert replied with a grin. “The age gap, the military background. It’s all very… interesting.”

Before you could snap a retort, John replied smoothly, “I’m glad to be a topic of interest. Hopefully, I can live up to the hype.”

That earned a laugh from your Uncle Paul. “He’s quick. I like him.”

“He’s not here for you to like, Paul,” your dad muttered, glaring at his brother.

John’s calm reply cut through the tension. “I’m here for her. But earning your family’s trust is just as important to me.”

In the corner, your grandparents were observing quietly, their expressions unreadable. Finally, your grandfather spoke up, his voice gravelly with age.

“You’ve been in the service a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” John said, straightening slightly. “Twenty years.”

Your grandfather nodded slowly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And now you’re looking to settle down? Start a new chapter?”

John hesitated, then met his gaze steadily. “I am. And your granddaughter is the best chapter I could’ve asked for.”

The room fell silent for a moment before your grandfather let out a low chuckle. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Your grandmother smiled faintly. “He’s polite. That’s rare these days.”

Meanwhile, your little cousins had taken to bombarding John with questions. 

“Uncle John!” Peter exclaimed, dragging him toward the couch.

“You’re in the army, right? Does that mean you can fight anything?”

“Have you ever fought a shark?” little Tim asked tugging at John’s sleeve, his eyes wide with curiosity.

John leaned down to his level, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never met a shark brave enough to try me.”

“Whoa,” Jane whispered, her mouth forming a perfect O. “What about a lion?”

“Lions aren’t too keen on me either,” John replied, straightening up with a grin. “Guess I must be scary.”

“And a bear?” Sam added, bouncing on her toes.

John crouched to their level, his tone serious. “Not a bear or a shark—but once, I wrestled a crocodile the size of a car. Oh and I even had to outsmart a pack of Dinosaurs” John said with a straight face earning gasps and giggles from the kids.

Jamie chimed in, “Bet you could take down a dragon too!”

John leaned in, his voice low. “Depends. Fire-breathing dragons? Or ice ones?"

The kids erupted into a debate, forgetting to press for more stories as John gave you a knowing smile.

Looking at the scene your cousins Henry and Sarah cornered. “So, he’s the guy, huh?” Henry asked, tilting his head toward John.

“Yes, he’s the guy,” you replied, your tone edging toward exasperation.

Henry smirked. “He looks like he could snap a tree in half.”

“Good thing he’s on your side,” Sarah added with a wink.

In the living room, your brother Matthew leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he observed John with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“So,” Matthew said, finally speaking up, “what’s it like dating someone so much younger? Bet it’s a nice change of pace from all the army guys.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, glaring at him.

John, however, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not about age. It’s about connection. Your sister and I understand each other—that’s what matters.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting such a composed response. “That’s a good answer,” he admitted, though his tone was still tinged with skepticism. “But let’s hope you keep proving it.”

“Plan to,” John said calmly, his expression unchanging.

Inside the kitchen, your aunts were bustling in the kitchen, their chatter blending with the clatter of pots and pans.

“So, he’s the boyfriend,” Aunt Lisa said as she stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave John an exaggerated once-over. “You didn’t say he’d be so… imposing.”

“Handsome,” Aunt Rachel added, grinning.

“Both,” Lisa corrected with a wink.

You groaned, shooting John an apologetic look, but he just chuckled.

By the time dinner rolled around, the dining room was filled with the overlapping sounds of clinking silverware and animated conversation. Your dad took every opportunity to steer the discussion toward John—his job, his past, his future plans with you.

“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair, “where do you see this going?”

John didn’t miss a beat. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see an end. I’m here because I want to build a life with her.”

Your mom’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes flicking between you and John. The room fell quiet for a beat, the weight of John’s words settling over the table.

“Well,” your dad said finally, clearing his throat. “I suppose time will tell.”

Later, while helping mom and aunties in the kitchen, your mom finally voiced what had been simmering beneath her polite exterior.

“He’s lovely,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder. “But… he’s older.”

You sighed, setting down the tray of glasses you were carrying. “Mom, we’ve been over this. Age doesn’t matter to us.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it’s hard not to worry. You’re young. You have so much ahead of you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm but gentle. “Mom, I’ve never been more sure of anything. John is kind, patient, and he loves me in a way no one else ever has. He makes me happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

She studied you for a long moment, her expression softening. “You’re happy?”

“Completely,” you said.

She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll trust you. But don’t expect your dad to come around so easily.”

“That makes two of us,” you muttered, earning a quiet laugh from her.

As midnight approached, while most of the family gathered in the living room for the countdown, you found yourself helping your dad with the fireplace. The crackle of the logs filled the quiet space, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

You glanced at your dad, his familiar furrowed brow mirroring the weight of your own nerves. If there was ever a time to be honest, it was now. “I know the age thing bothers you.”

He paused, his hands stilling as he adjusted the logs. “It’s not just the age,” he replied, crossing his arms. “It’s the life experience, the gap in where you both are.”

“I get that,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But John and I aren’t about the years we’ve lived. We’re about how we make each other feel—safe, supported, loved. Isn’t that what matters?”

He hesitated, his expression softening. “I just don’t want you rushing into something you’ll regret.”

“I’m not,” you said firmly. “This is the most certain I’ve ever been about anything.”

Your dad’s brow furrowed deeper. “You know, I wasn’t sure about John at first either,” you added with a small laugh, hoping to ease the tension.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said smiling. “I thought the same things you’re probably thinking—he’s older, experienced, and his world is so different from mine. But the more I got to know him, the more I realized that he doesn’t just make me happy; he makes me better.”

Your dad was silent for a moment, his hands pausing in their work. “That’s a high bar,” he muttered, but the tension in his tone lessened.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Sure,” he said warily.

“How did you know Mom was the one?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Well, I just… knew. She made me feel alive, like no one else ever had.”

You smiled softly. “That’s how I feel about John. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. Isn’t that what you’d want for me?”

Your dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

As you stepped away from the fireplace, your dad lingered there, his gaze distant but thoughtful. The warm glow of the flames danced across his features, softening the usual stern lines of his expression. You could tell he was still mulling over your conversation, weighing your words against his protective instincts.

John was waiting for you near the window, his steady presence like a beacon pulling you away from your swirling emotions. When his arm slipped around your waist, the warmth of his touch grounded you.

“Still holding up alright?” John murmured, slipping an arm around your waist.

“Better than I thought,” you said, leaning into him. “I think you’re winning them over.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” he said, his lips brushing your temple.

Ten… nine… eight…

Your dad caught John’s gaze and gave a small nod, subtle but meaningful. It wasn’t a surrender, but it was the beginning of something—a fragile truce, an acknowledgment,  a reluctant but meaningful sign of approval.

Three… two… one…

Cheers erupted as the clock struck midnight. John turned to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Happy New Year, love,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat before he kissed you. 

[coeurify]

repost the period vampire ellie fic!

middle of the night,, vamp!ellie

a/n: this is a repost from early this year so excuse any change in writing style!

warnings: vampire!ellie. period sex. oral!r receiving fingering!r receiving. sort of a dreamy, less modern vibe. if u aren’t into it.. just don’t read it.

˚✦　.　　. 　  ˚　.　 . ✦　˚　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Some times--Most times, you only saw her at night. When darkness enveloped the small town you called home, when the stars rocked the sleepy eyed humans to sleep and the moon hummed the lullaby that quieted the crickets outside, she came.

Only then did you ever hear the distinct creaking of the splitting wood on your window panes being pressed up. Only then did the white of your sheer curtains move with more than the wind, the grip of the air nothing compared to the long hand that often wrapped around the fabric and pushed it open. When the moon was the only light filtering into your room, you saw the green of her eyes.

Tonight was no different, despite one little issue. Often, the woman who visited you under the cover of midnight would arrive to your eyes closed in sleep. She would press a hand to your warm cheek before waking you, greeted by your sleepy excitement each time.

This time, you had not been able to sleep. A heat had taken over your body, tight in your stomach with a pain you would compare to that of claws gnawing at your insides. Sweat beaded between your brows with every swift turn under your uncomfortable sheets, lip tugged between your frustrated teeth to stop any whines of discomfort. That had been what your favorite visitor heard as her shaking palms found the wood of your window. Your pained grunts floated through her buzzing ears as she quietly made her way into your room, auburn hair messy behind her ears as her figure became visible, head tilted as she looked across the room to your heated body.

“El,” you whined, wiping your forehead with a hand, not at all concerned about her chosen point of entry. “Go away.”

Ellie’s gaze softened, a scoff sounding from behind your squeezed shut eyes. “Go away?” she mused, her voice much closer now.

The split second your eyes had been closed, Ellie had somehow silently made it to your bedside. You don't question it, you never do.

When a girl like Ellie sports small fangs and a taste for blood, her speed is the last thing you think to question.

“I don't feel well, don’t want you here.” you add, mouth pulled into pout as you look up at the freckled face of Ellie.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, bunny? Instead of shooing me away,” Ellie requests, sitting on the edge of your bed. Her cold hand finds your sweaty arm, sighing. “You’re burning up.”

Your neck tickles with heat as Ellie questions your current state, and you fall wordless. Somehow, it was more embarrassing to admit to your vampire visitor that you were starting your period than to simply tell her to leave. Obviously however, Ellie was not taking the second option as a valid answer.

“I started my period, nothing is helpin’ the cramps,” you explain softly, pressing your hand into the sheets of your bed to try and sit, to maybe find some sort of relief to the growing tension in your stomach. But the other set of hands is faster.

“Lay down,” Ellie insists, glancing down at you. You can almost see the cogs of her brain turning behind the evergreen in her eyes, a sort of fogginess settling over the color.

“Let me help you,” she eventually says.

“What? I told you nothi-”

Ellie presses her lips together to hush you, one wandering hand finding the dip of your hip, blunt nail tracing the goosebump coated flesh there. Sometimes she liked being so cold, simply because she enjoyed seeing how you reacted to it. If she was damned for what she was, she may as well use some of it to her advantage.

“What are you doing?” You couldn't help the shiver that followed her movements.

Suddenly your mouth feels dry, tongue unable to wet the plump fat of your lip. The scratching in your throat finds no comfort when you swallow, only further irritating your vocal chords. A choked noise finds the heavy bedroom air as fingers tug at your cotton shorts.

“Helping you,” Ellie repeats, her own mouth much more wet than yours. Even in the dim light of the moon you can see the glistening dew on her parted lips. Usually the look she currently wears is saved only for when her pearly teeth find the sensitive and already scarred skin of your neck. Not for.. this.

Your hands immediately slap to your heated cheeks. “Oh my god Ellie, no fucking way.”

The vampire, who had now moved below you on the bed, hums in disagreement to your little show of kicking feet, a hand too strong to be that of a human halting all movements.

“We always have fun when I come over,” The freckles of her face disappear as she glances down, fully pulling down your shorts.

“Not when I’m on my period,” you hiss quietly, the words feeling cracked and embarrassed as they leave your mouth. You could deny the growing arousal in your belly simply by how *mortified* you felt. Even with the churning feeling of deeply settled embarrassment, you make no further moves to stop Ellie. Not as the shorts fall to the floor with a dull thump.

“It’ll help,” Ellie soothes, the near frigid temperature of her hand calming the heat that rises on the skin of your legs. “Haven’t you heard things like this help with cramps?”

The words that are spoken almost teasingly fall upon deaf ears as her wet lips press right above your knee. “Please,” the auburn haired girl whispers, sounding a lot more breathy than before. “Please, let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. ”

Ellie had a tendency to become a little less cold, figuratively at least, when she found her body nestled between your own. The unwavering voice you had grown oh so accustomed to always slid into a more mushy sounding version whenever it got intimate. Today, it seemed even worse. The words dripped with the sweet sounds of neediness, a sound that tasted sweet on your tongue, which swiped nervously over your dry lips.

“El..” Another kiss pressed further up the flesh of your warm thigh broke any following denial. “Fuck..” your chin wobbles, almost too embarrassed to actually say your following words, “Yea. Please help.”

You were sure if you believed something was watching down on you from the sky, it was with horror. Some people may call what Ellie was doing sinful. The angels in the clouds would shrilly gasp as fingers wrapped around your panties and tugged them and everything else from your bottom half, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes. Her shirt came next, the simple white cloth acted as something to watch as it pulled off of her chest, likely to avoid any mess. Some may call the sight of her dipping down again, green eyes looking up at your quivering lip, sinful. Maybe it was, surely the mewl you made when her lips found the heated flesh of your inner thigh was. But if you had to describe it, that wasn't the word you would use. You may even swear it was heavenly.

“Relax,” Ellie drawled, spreading your thighs further apart, despite the slight tremble to them. “I’ve got you, don't worry,” her voice soothed you enough to tilt your head back against the pillow, squeezing your eyes closed. The embarrassment simmered low in your belly, even more so when you could feel the arousal that dripped from you, which your vampire visitor had no problem pointing out. “So wet for me,” she groaned, lips still refusing to find home anywhere other than your thighs. Teeth sharper than your own nipped at the skin there, bucking your hips up. “You want this, don’t you?”

It was an obvious request for another confirmation of what was to come, but your chest felt too tight to reply, no air finding your lungs the moment her breath hovered over your pulsing core. “Tell me you want it,” she requests again, voice dipping into a softer territory again, searching for your approval. Her resolve was cracking however, jaw clicking as she tried her best not to dive straight into where she craved to be.

“I do,” you whine, eyes still closed as you answered, words met with the quick and overwhelming feeling of her tongue pressing flat against your wet center. You couldn’t think too hard about the fact she was doing this right now, not when the sharp gasp had come from two mouths instead of one, a quick call of, “Fuck,” from only you this time followed. Ellie had no words, not as her tongue made another long stripe up your pussy, going much slower than you liked. It led one small roll of your hips down into her, a sign for what you searched for.

It resulted in a hand gripping your hip, pressing you further down into the mattress, ceasing any attempt to control the movements. Her mouth pressed further into you, licking at the same excruciatingly slow pace, seemingly taking her time to enjoy the taste she found between your thighs. “El,” you gasp, eyes fluttering open to glance down at her. However her eyes were closed, another press further into you came, her nose bumping your clit as she licked into you. The rush it brings is almost enough to completely paint over the lingering cramping in your stomach.

The dizzying mixture of pain and pleasure seeps into your bones, making you feel too heavy to do much else than move a hand to find Eliie’s hair, fingers tangling between the auburn strands. You tried again to guide her movements, but she was much stronger than you, paying little mind to the shaky hand that tugged at her locks.

“Taste so fuckin..” she sucked in a breath, unable to keep from dipping back into your folds, humming. “So fuckin’ good,” she finishes, words reverberating against your throbbing core. It had you trying to squirm, held down by the stone light weight of Ellie’s grip. The deeper she licked, the more you fought against her. Your body ached the do something.. anything to find comfort in the overwhelming feeling of her still slow pace. The fingers in her hair tugged again, finding a low groan in response.

The air of the room had already been heavy on your feverish skin, but now it was nearing a state of unbearably humid. Every time Ellie’s tongue made a particularly aimed movement you felt another round of fire straight in the mess that was your clenching core. It all felt so heightened, so much better. The sticky feeling on your skin did not slow either of you down, and you had little care for the sweat beading on your flesh. Not when your favorite girl’s lips were doing such mind numbing things to you.

Had you told your past self, even that of just an hour ago, that you would have allowed it to happen.. They would have laughed in your heated face. The past version of you would have sworn up and down, prayed up to the mysterious sky, that this would never happen. But now- now you have no room for denial or regret. Your mind was becoming too cloudy to house thoughts of shame, questions of if this was right. Because it felt right. The slick sound of Ellie’s mouth against you sounded right, as did your little huffs and puffs that you couldn't hide. The cramps had subsided in tandem with the tightening band in you. But you needed more, and you were gone past a point of being embarrassed to ask for it.

“I need..” you try to speak, but Ellie’s lips wrapping around your clit is the cause of the death of the forming words. A jolt of your hips is one finally strong enough to rupture the heavy hold of the vampire’s hand. Your lame attempt at a command did not go unheard by Ellie, who for the first time since this began, pulled herself away from your cunt. Her eyes darted up, looking to meet your own. But you were far too focused on something else. Her lips were glassy with your wetness, which she licked without a second thought. But the usual clear sheen that you had been no stranger to seeing on her face was more of a rosy color, a stark reminder of the reason this had begun in the first place. The slight tint of red smeared onto her chin, across the corners of her mouth, and it was oh so addicting to see. You felt no lingering shame, no shiver of disgust. Instead it made you feel even more desperate to have her against you again, but first you had to listen to her speaking. “Need what, babe?”

The urge to simply shove her face right back into your cunt flipped through the pages of scenarios in your head, but the moonlight that painted the side of your lover’s face, illuminating the red paintbrush stroke of you, had you a little too separate to risk such a bratty action.

“I need more, El. Need to cum,” you manage to whine, one light push of her head to prove your point. Ellie dipped her head down again, pressing small kisses to your sticky inner thighs. “Just love taking my time with you,” she muttered, a few more pecks planted on you were a search for forgiveness, one you graciously accepted with a loud moan when the lips finally found your clit again.

Ellie seemed to take your beg to heart, the hand that held your hip slowly dipping between your thighs. Her searching fingers met just below her chin, one long digit sliding over your slit, teasing the weeping hole with a slight press. The air feels like it has been punched from your lungs when the finger sinks into you, just as evil as her mouth as it curls into you the exact moment her lips suck a little harder. You were sure she was looking to torture you with how slowly the finger pumped in and out, working and exploring around your walls that gripped around her so tightly.

You had always heard the mythical vampire was sadistic. Ellie had never been much of that, but with ever slow movement into your aching cunt, you began to believe the whispers. Your head turned lightly to stare at the open window, the stars that dipped in the night sky were surely spotlighting your body splayed out on the bed, the auburn haired vampire between your thighs was quite the show for all the celestial beings up in the night air, every single being held its breath and watched on, you were sure of it. You didn't blame the stars, or the moon, or whatever else may have their attention focused on this tantalizing sight. If you could, you would float right out of your body to watch on yourself.

Surely you looked a mess, chest heaving with the heat of the air, with the heat of Ellie. Your limbs shook just lightly, your fingers knotted your companions hair, the messy pile of clothes on the floor, the red that painted her cheeks. Surely it would make your cheek turn bashfully if you could see it. Maybe this was sinful. The little dip into your rushing thoughts is ended with the raspy tone of Ellie’s voice.

“Relax, bunny. Gotta relax for me,” Ellie cooed against you, a few more languid presses into your cunt causing you to finally loosen around her, coupled by the continuing ministrations from her mouth on your clit. Soone another finger joins the mix, the large fingers stretching you just right. She reaches spots that have you remembering the stars you had just seen behind the black of your squeezed shut eyes, a pathetic cry falling from your lips. This reaction only encourages her to continue, the pace of her suckles and thrusts into you speed up. It's harsher everytime she plunges into you, your hips moving lightly with the pure force.

“That’s my girl, there you go,” she compliments after a long moan, the words causing another clench around her fingers. You let out another string of incoherent whines and moans, grinding down into her messy face and fingers. Somewhere in the back of your mind you cursed yourself and Ellie for the certainly ruined bedspread under your ass, but it seems like the much smaller issue when you had *this* to focus on. You were nearing your peak, and it was no secret. Your grinds against Ellie became sloppy, ununiformed and more needy than before. No words could form on your tongue, only whimpers and unintelligible begs.

The vampire never lets up, curling her fingers, your walls clenching. her teeth grazed against your clit lightly enough to have you trembling, whining softly. She knows your body as well as you do, every small sign you were reaching the final moments before your world would explode. She knew what moves of her fingers would have your legs shaking, knew where to press, how hard to go. She was no stranger to making you cum, and she definitely was on the mission to make it happen now. Her free hand grips your thigh, pushing you even more impossibly open for her, fingers pressing into you harshly enough to draw another cry. She readjusts slightly, sinking even deeper into your folds. “C’mon,” Ellie whispers, the word slightly broken, shaky and pleading. Pleading as if she needed you to come as much as you did.

Maybe she did, because the moment your back arched, a near pornographic moan filling the heavy air, spilling out of the window and swirling against the peeping eyes of the stars and moon, she moaned with you. Her fingers still within you as you gushed around her, her lips still pressed to your clit. But as your thighs shook, she slid the fingers out and replaced them with her tongue again. The pink muscle flattened against your slit again like it had earlier, this time with no attempt at going slow.

If anything, she was ravenous. Every drop your pulsing center gifted her, she sucked down like she needed it, ignoring your desperate whines of overstimulation. You attempted lamely to press her head away with the hand still tangled in her scalp, but it was no use. The pleasure of her tongue was much too overwhelming to fight.

After a moment that felt like hours, she pulled away. Her tongue licked over her lips again, collecting the rosy colored cum from where it smudged there. Her eyes stayed on your own blinking irises as her fingers raised to her already messy lips. They were coated with the same mixture of red and clear shining wetness, and she sunk them into her mouth with a moan. The debautchary that took place in front of your eyes should have your stomach queasy, should have your legs closing and pressing far away from Ellie.

But of course it doesn't, instead you watch on with morbid curiosity, watching her tongue curl around her fingers, sucking the last bits of you, leaving a glistening layer of her own spit behind. She found no shame in this situation, no shame in drinking down evey single thing you would give her, so why should you?

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes transfixed on the fingers as they fall from her lips and down to her lap, her eyes back on your own. She makes a move to crawl over you, arms locking you in from either side.

“Just got a taste of you bunny,” she mumbles, nudging her head into the crook of your neck.

Her lips pressed there, and this time you could feel her fangs under the plump fat of her lip. “Gonna let me have more?” she questioned.

Of course you would, of course you did. As you tilted your neck for her, the curtain to the side of you blew in the wind, and you closed your eyes.

“Yes.”

[0omillo0]

I.N x Photographer Reader (fluff)

It was a cold winter afternoon when you arrived at the Damiani studio, camera bag slung over your shoulder, ready to work your magic. The shoot was for their newest line, and the buzz around the featured model, Yang Jeongin (or I.N as he was known in the industry) was palpable. You’d heard of him, of course. Known for his striking looks and sweet demeanor, he was a rising and brilliant star in music and fashion.

What you hadn’t been prepared for was the man himself.

When you walked into the studio, he was standing under the lights, just enough to give him an ethereal glow. His sharp jawline, the natural pout of his lips, and the way his soft brown eyes flicked over to meet yours as you entered, it all hit you like a freight train. You managed a polite smile as you were introduced as the photographer.

“Hi,” he said, stepping forward and extending a hand. His voice was warm, almost shy, but there was a glint in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “Jeongin.”

“Y/N,” you replied, shaking his hand.

He was wearing a textured cream jacket, unbuttoned to reveal his toned chest, paired with tailored ivory trousers that accentuated his long legs. It wasn’t a look you saw every day, and it wasn’t one you’d soon forget.

Your breath hitched slightly, but you masked it with professionalism, setting up your equipment with purpose. You had a job to do.

When Jeongin finally stepped onto the set, the energy shifted. He carried himself with quiet confidence, his dark hair styled slightly wet, and the unbuttoned jacket gave him an aura of effortless allure. As you started directing the shots, it became clear that he was fully aware of the effect his appearance had on everyone in the room—especially you.

“Alright, let’s start simple,” you said, raising your camera. “Give me a relaxed pose. Hands wherever you feel natural.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly, leaning back in the chair with one arm draped over the backrest and the other resting lightly on his knee. His gaze pierced through the lens, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with playful curiosity.

“Perfect,” you managed to reply, the word feeling heavy in your throat.

The shoot continued, with Jeongin shifting seamlessly between poses. Sometimes he leaned forward, the jacket sliding slightly off his shoulders, exposing even more of his skin. Other times, he ran a hand through his hair, tousling it just enough to look like he’d stepped out of a dream.

But then came the moment that caught you completely off guard.

He was adjusting his position, one hand brushing the hem of his jacket, when his eyes flicked up to meet yours. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his lips. “You’re staring, Y/N.”

Your hands froze on your camera, a nervous laugh escaping before you could stop it. “I’m the photographer, Jeongin. I’m supposed to stare.”

“Not like that,” he teased, leaning back and letting his jacket part even more. His voice dropped, his playful tone barely hiding the edge of something bolder. “It’s a good thing, though. I like the way you look at me.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you were sure time stopped. The room, the lights, the murmurs of the crew—it all faded into the background.

“Back to work,” you muttered, raising your camera again in an attempt to hide the flush on your face.

His eyes locked onto yours, and there was an undeniable spark in the air.

“Perfect,” you managed, fighting to keep your voice steady.

He grinned—a small, lopsided thing that made your stomach flip—and tilted his head. “You’re good at this.”

“Thanks. So are you.”

His grin widened. “Are you always this professional?”

The teasing caught you off guard. You paused, lowering the camera slightly, and gave him a look. “I’d hope so. That’s my job.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, his voice dropping to a lower, more playful tone, “you could smile at me more. It’d make my job easier.”

Your lips parted in surprise, heat rushing to your face. Was this the famously shy Jeongin? You quickly hid behind the camera again. “Eyes on the lens, Jeongin,” you said, trying to sound authoritative.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, the smirk audible in his tone.

As the shoot progressed, Jeongin’s playful energy only grew. He started cracking jokes between takes, asking you about your favorite movies, what you liked to do in your free time, and even cheekily requesting a playlist to make his “posing less boring.”

“You’re really good at what you do. And…” He paused, his gaze flicking to your lips for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again. “You’re kind of amazing.”

You froze, unsure if you’d heard him right. So you made him think that you didn’t hear, but your cheeks were burning.

Jeongin didn’t make it easy for you. Throughout the rest of the shoot, his gaze lingered a little too long, his smiles became a little too suggestive, and his teasing comments left you flustered in ways you weren’t used to.

When the shoot finally wrapped, you busied yourself packing up your gear, hoping to escape before he could corner you again. But, of course, Jeongin was one step ahead.

“Y/N,” he called out, his voice smooth as he approached you.

You turned to find him standing just a few feet away, his jacket still undone, the gold cross necklace catching the light. He looked unfairly good, even with a faint sheen of sweat from the hours under the studio lights.

He was standing so close now, the faint scent of his cologne filling your senses.

“Need something?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I’ll take the risk. Have dinner with me?”

You blinked up at him, your brain scrambling for a response. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. You have to eat, right? And so do I. It only makes sense,” he said with a grin, his confidence now shining through any remnants of shyness.

There was no way to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he countered smoothly, his hand brushing yours as if testing the waters. “Say yes.”

Against your better judgment—or maybe because of it—you nodded. “Yes.”

His grin was dazzling, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer joy in his expression.

——

The dinner was nothing short of magical. Jeongin was attentive, witty, and so effortlessly charming that you found yourself forgetting the world outside the little booth where you sat, laughing over shared stories and stolen glances.

By the time he walked you back to your car, the air between you was charged with an unspoken tension. He leaned against the driver’s side door, his hands casually in his pockets, watching you with a look that made your knees weak.

“Thanks for tonight,” you said softly, your breath visible in the cool night air.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied, his tone teasing but his gaze serious.

You tilted your head. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want it to end tonight,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart raced as he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. The touch was light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You’re dangerous, Jeongin,” you murmured, unable to hide the smile that tugged at your lips.

“Only for you,” he replied, leaning in just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.

The kiss didn’t happen—not quite. Instead, he hovered there, his lips barely brushing the corner of your mouth, leaving you breathless and wanting more.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes.

The promise in his gaze was clear. This was only the beginning.

You watched him walk away, your heart pounding as you slipped into your car.

For someone who was supposed to be shy, Yang Jeongin was proving to be anything but. And you couldn’t wait to see where this unexpected connection would take you next.

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143 @omgsecretsecret @inlovewithstraykids @whoa-jo @madirye062 @vixensss @sseawavee @emilyywhyy @halfwinterhalfuniverse @velvetmoonlght @flourishmoon @hyunjiiza

[urprettylildoe]

Drabble about pregnancy life with Jeremy?

Or like tidbits about life with children with him?

Girl I luv how you write Jeremy. Call me mental, but there’s just something that tickles my brain just right when a man is a ✨benevolent sexist piece of shit✨ Get me a man who enjoys taking care of me, and thanks me for staying inside the house 😩

I KNOW RIGHT!!! It's so satisfying, like when they're so condescending about it too and forcing you to the old-fashioned lifestyle. (Let's be mental together).

𝒯𝒽ℯ 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓰𝓈 𝓌ℯ𝓃𝓉

Yandere!farmer x pregnant!reader

♡︎

Now that Jeremy had you in his grasp, his life was nearly complete.

Nearly.

He longed for mini-sized, chubby versions of you and him, running around the house. Imagining the sight of your swollen belly was enough to make him buzzing with excitement. Not to mention there isn't a problem good old pregnancy can't fix, like accustoming to your new life.

Perhaps then you'd accept the new reality now that you'd be chasing babies in diapers instead of silly, dangeroue dreams?

The only catch is — it'd be a funny little surprise. You didn't need to waste your sweet voice whining about how you really didn't want this.

Poor darling. Who convinced you that you knew your own good?

So, Jeremy got to work.

♡

Dim light illuminated the room as Jeremy flickered on the light as soon as your pitter-patter steps pounded against the wooden floor.

"Baby?" He drawled, rubbing his eyes before they went wide at the sound of gagging from the bathroom.

A wide, sinister grew on his lips as he walked over and reached you, tutting with faux concern as he held back your hair and rubbed your back.

Sniffling, you peered up at those puppy hazel eyes that could do no wrong. He cooed, rubbing a stray tear before hauling you up from under your arms and planting you onto the counter.

Large hands placed themselves onto your thighs, rubbing up and down soothingly. "Oh, my darlin'. You've been so tired these days from all sickness."

"Don't know why," you murmured, eyes droopy from exhaustion and making his heart flutter even more.

Oh, how he played the perfect role of a worried man for his girl and how she suddenly got thrown under the weather. It was so sudden and unexpected.

Jeremy purred contently, "this has been going on for so long. It can't just be a little cold, right?" His fingers reached up to rub her cheeks, "...right?"

Slowly nodding, you watched him rummage through the cabinet before pulling out a box. A...pregnancy test?

Amidst your daze, he explained that it was just to make sure eveeything's okay and that nothing was wrong. You were too dizzy and sleepy to question why such an object was conveniently there at the right time. You just slurred, "But i'm not pregnant."

He concurred patronisingly, his tone contradicting, "Of course you aren't."

Soon, he left to give you some privacy or maybe just time to deal with the sickening truth that was about to crash down on you.

A sigh escapes your lips. Maybe after this, you would find nothing and go back to bed to sleep till he woke you up for the dreaded chores. Lazily, you lifted up the little bar and not expecting much.

Two lines.

Your eyes went wide, shaking off any sign of previous drowsiness. Shaky, clammy fingers clenched around the object.

Two lines.

From where Jeremy leaned against the door outside, he could only hear silence.

That was before the big scream came.

In an instant, he was inside the bathroom, kneeling from where you sat on the floor, cupping your teary cheeks and shushing you.

Uncontrollable wails left your quivering lips. It wasn't on your checklist to move from the lively capital to a farm, let alone have a baby.

After all, you were a party animal back there. Every day, you were out and about, living life to the fullest so recklessly like any girl who was living in her prime.

And now you were pregnant? Things weren't on your side.

"I don't understand! I'm," hic "always careful and taking the pill."

Silly little you didn't need to know those weren't what you thought they were.

He shushed softly, "Oh, baby, it was bound to happen anyway. Besides, ya want this, I want this. Our baby will be beautiful."

"No, I don't want this!" You whined, cheeks and lips red with tears.

"Of course you do, honey," he smiled, kissing your forehead as if what you voiced was completely inaccurate. "Ya wanna be a mommy to our kid, and you will be so, so great." Your head nestler against his chest, you were still blubbering nonsense but it was blocked out for now.

♡

Like a switch, everything changed.

Throughout the whole pregnancy, you weren't allowed to lift a finger. Craving something unusual? Jeremy's already in the kitchen after abandoning the poor labour he was doing outside.

Want to take a walk? Oh, love, why do that when your strong man could do carry you like a princess.

Want to design the nursery? It's all yours. He's practically basking in the scent of all those baby products.

Despite your protests, he didn't back down from the matter of your diet. You needed all the nutrients you could get, even if you did complain that you would get chubby. You're so adorable — he loves you in all forms, but some food would really help you and the baby.

His eyes glowed with happiness when he ogled at your swollen bump from under your sundress. A sign of your love, your bond together. Motherhood was a good look on you.

Running his hands up your body, he pressed insistent kisses all over your skin, feeling the fluttering kicks.

Jeremy held up your stomach between his feather-light touches, almost as if it were a jewel, which it was.

"Daddy loves you and mommy so much," he spoke to his child, "there isn't anything I won't do for ya both. Just don't move around too much, precious. Mama is tired and she's gotta sleep."

You assumed you had the upper hand, but when you'd cry because of your stupid hormones, he would just make you feel so safe and tingly, msking you bury your face in his warmth.

Darlin', you ain't getting your way outta this anytime soon.

♡

After birthing a precious and healthy little girl, Jer is quite literally over the moon.

The sight of you fussing over your daughter makes him smirk triumphantly, he won the little battle of getting you to adapt to your new life.

"I'm so proud of ya, my lovely."

He kisses your forehead, gazing into your tired eyes post-labour.

"You've given me such a great gift. I love you baby."

The babygirl would have curls just like her papa and big eyes full of curiosity for the surroundings that's so similar to yours. He fell in love all over again.

He's spoil her rotten for the rest of her life and get her anyrhing she wanted with a bat of an eye, all while praising you and cuddling with you loads. After all, he obviously wouldn't forget about his favourite.

But don't you worry.

Another will be on the way soon with the months passing.

Did he mention he wanted, no, needed a big family? It's his dream. Even if you pouted a little at the thought, it's no biggie. He didn't take your advice previously and now's he's got a lovely bundle of joy nestling in her crib. Might take your word for it. He won't.

A son with messy hair and the cutest smile wouldn't hurt anyone, right?

Oh, just the sight of you cooking in the kitchen, eager little toddlers babbling at your feet while Jeremy hugged and doted on you was so right. So perfect. So his. So away from everything filthy.

The farm was never so vibrant as he played with his children.

Even if you were caught longing at reminders of your old life, he'd remind you that "being away from all these useless things was best for your happy little family."

Long forgotten were the days of partying. After all, a girl like you was so lost till he led you.

It all did work out in the end, with you being his domestic spouse and the mother of his children.

Just like how it was supposed to be.

♡

-I had so much fun playing around with the concept. It was so cuteeeee.

𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓁𝓎

@yourprettylildoe

[pastryfication]

the one i’ve been missing

pairing: ollie bearman x reader

part two of my advent celebration

the name ollie bearman had in the last year become a household name. from the moment he crossed the finish line in saudi arabia, he went from an almost unknown 18 year old, to everyone even remotely interested in formula 1 knowing his name.

it was a huge change in his life, a very overwhelming change, and even more so because you weren’t there most of the time.

schoolwork had consumed you more than ever and his new role with ferrari had consumed him, leaving you with almost no time together, and it had led to a long distance experience you wouldn’t recommend anyone.

last year, he had been able to come home and spend time with you in every break between the races, so you only had to go without him for 14 weekends throughout the year. his schedule this year, however, had been very different.

it was december 7th, just over two weeks until christmas, and the world outside your dorm room was buzzing with holiday cheer. you, however, sat at your desk, hunched over an essay you had no motivation to finish. snow dusted the ground outside, and fairy lights glimmered in every window. students walked by in pairs, laughing and carrying steaming cups of hot chocolate, but none of it lifted your spirits.

you picked up your phone and stared at the last message from Ollie, sent late last night:

ollie: long day. miss you.

you’d replied with a simple, i miss you too, but the conversation had fizzled after that, as it often did. he was busy, exhausted from back-to-back commitments with haas and ferrari, and you understood that. but understanding didn’t make it any easier.

your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts.

ollie: you free right now?

you frowned. it wasn’t like him to text in the middle of the day—his schedule rarely allowed for it.

yeah, what’s up?

his reply came almost immediately. can you come downstairs?

you blinked, your heart skipping a beat. why?

the next reply was even faster. just come. please.

confused, you stood up, grabbed your coat, and slipped into your boots. your dorm wasn’t particularly big, and it only took a minute to reach the front entrance. when you pushed open the door, the cold december air hit you like a wave.

and then you saw him.

ollie stood near the steps, his signature grin lighting up his face despite the red flush on his cheeks from the cold. he was bundled in a thick jacket, his ferrari-issued duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and his hair was a mess of curls barely tamed by his beanie.

“surprise,” he said, holding his arms out.

you froze, staring at him in disbelief. “what are you doing here?”

“coming to see you,” he said simply, his smile widening. “i realized it’s been months since we spent more than a couple of hours together, and i couldn’t wait any longer. so, i convinced the team to give me time off a bit earlier than usual.”

“you flew here? just for me?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

“of course i did,” he said, taking a step closer. “you’re worth it.”

that was all it took for you to close the gap between you. you threw your arms around him, holding him as tightly as you could. he dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in until there was no space between you.

“you’re insane,” you murmured against his shoulder, your voice thick with emotion.

“maybe,” he replied with a soft laugh before his expression turned more serious. “i know i’ve been gone for way too long . . . i’m so so sorry i haven’t been around. but you’ve been on my mind constantly. i’ve missed you. so much.”

you pulled back to look at him, your hands cupping his face. his cheeks were cold under your palms, but his eyes were warm, full of affection that made your chest ache.

“i missed you too,” you said quietly.

he smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “good. now, what’s the plan? christmas market? hot chocolate? anything you want—i’m all yours.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the weight on your chest lifting for the first time in weeks. “anything?”

“anything.” he promised.

✦ ✦ ✦

back in your dorm, the small space was suddenly filled with the warmth of his presence. ollie helped unpack the tiny box of decorations you’d picked up at the dollar store, carefully untangling the string of fairy lights and teasing you about the chipped ornaments.

“you weren’t kidding when you said this was low-budget,” he quipped, holding up a snowman missing one eye.

you threw a piece of tinsel at him. “not all of us have formula 1 money, you know.”

he laughed, reaching to hook the snowman onto the tree anyway. “i like it. it’s cute. it’s very . . . you.”

“are you calling me low-budget?”

“not at all,” he said, quick to defend himself with a grin, leaning against the tree to watch you hang the last of the baubles. “i’m saying it’s perfect, just like you.”

your cheeks warmed as you stepped back to admire the tree. it wasn’t much—barely three feet tall and slightly lopsided—but with ollie standing beside it, his arm slung casually around your shoulder, it felt magical.

“wait,” he said suddenly, digging into the box. “what’s this?”

you turned to see him holding a tiny sprig of mistletoe wrapped in a thick red ribbon, his grin widening mischievously.

“that,” you said, crossing your arms, “was supposed to go on the wall.”

“well,” he said, holding it above his head, “i think it works just fine right here.”

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t fight the smile tugging at your lips as he stepped closer, his free hand resting on your waist.

“it’s tradition,” he said softly, tilting his head.

“you’re impossible,” you murmured, but you leaned in anyway, your smile melting into his as his lips brushed yours.

the kiss was soft, warm, and lingering, and for a moment, the whole world seemed to fade away.

when you finally pulled back, ollie rested his forehead against yours, still holding the mistletoe above you.

“merry early christmas,” he whispered.

you smiled, your hands resting on his chest. “merry early christmas, ollie.”

[orchidniins]

hi! would you please be able to write a fic of george picking us up from a drunken night out and looking after us? i think he’d be so lovely 🥰🥰

Drunken Adventures | George Clarke

Summary: Just boyfriend George taking care of his drunk girlfriend Pairing: George Clarke x F!Reader Warnings: Fluff Word count: 2.8k+ A/N: George is such boyfriend material and would just be such a caring boyfriend. The biggest simp in the world. tbh not my best work, but this request has been in my inbox for like a month now. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

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George lounged in the familiar living room of the Arthurs’ and Chris's apartment, unwinding after a long day of filming. It had been quite some time since he moved out to live with you, and with you out all night for your best friend Jenna’s hen do, he was not looking forward to the prospect of returning to an empty apartment. So, when the opportunity arose to spend some time and catch up with the boys, he was more than glad to seize it.

Midway through their conversation, George's phone begins buzzing on its spot on the coffee table. Glancing at the phone, he expects to see your name on the screen, assuming you would be calling to let him know you were on your way home. However, concern washes over him when he’s instead met with the caller ID of your friend Lily. Instantly springing up from the couch, he excuses himself to take the call.

George's fingers hurriedly tapped the screen as he accepted the call. "Hey, Lily. Is everything okay? What's the matter?" His tone carried a hint of urgency.

"George, it's me, Lily," came the slurred voice on the other end. George let out a soft huff, realizing just how intoxicated your friend was. Patiently, he asked again, "Yeah, hi Lily. Is Y/N with you? Is she alright?"

Amidst the muffled voices and the noise of people talking over each other, he patiently waits for Lily's response. Finally, her voice broke through the chaos. "Yeah, she's fine... mostly. But she's like absolutely shit-faced right now. She's insisting that she'll get back on her own, but none of us trust her to do that, so you better come and pick her up. I'll send you our location."

"Tell her to stay put, I'm on my way," George says as he walks toward the door. With his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, he begins putting on his coat. Lily responded with a quick, "Okay, thanks," before abruptly ending the call.

With a brief goodbye to the boys and a quick explanation of where he was headed, George was out the door in a hurry, calling a cab on his way down to your location.

A quick cab ride later, he reaches the club where you were at. He steps out into the cold night air and almost instantly spots your small group gathered outside. You were seated on the pavement, legs criss crossed, your head leaning against a lamppost while you scrolled through your phone, laughing at whatever was playing on your screen. The faint glow illuminated your features in the dim light of the street.

George couldn't help but shake his head and laugh at the spectacle before him.

The bride-to-be was video calling someone, oblivious to the chaos around. Meanwhile, one of your friends was bent over a nearby bush, puking her guts out, while Lily stood holding her hair back. The rest of the girls, keeled over in drunken laughter.

George made his way over to where you were sitting, a smile playing on his lips as he crouched down next to you. "Hey there, troublemaker," he greeted softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You look up from your phone at the sound of his voice and your face lights up with a goofy grin. "Georgey!" you exclaimed, without a moment's hesitation, you threw your arms around him in a tight hug, causing him to stumble back slightly. His hand lands on the pavement, steadying him, while the other instantly wraps around your back.

"Hey there, love. You feeling okay?” he says, his voice filled with laughter. You returned his gaze, a grin spreading across your lips. "Yeah, I'm great," you replied, your words slightly slurred. You reached out and gently grabbed his face with both hands, planting a kiss on his lips, catching him off guard. 

"I missed you, you beautiful man." you continued, George chuckled softly, thoroughly amused by your actions. "How much have you had to drink?" he asked, his tone gentle and caring.

"Not that much, I feel fine," you insisted, trying to sound serious but failing as a smile inevitably crept back onto your face, causing you both to laugh.

"Alright then, let's get you up first," George says, gently brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen out of place before tucking it behind your ear. He then slowly gets you up to your feet, fixing your dress after it had ridden up while you were sitting down.

"Now, let's get you home," he says while you eye him with a small pout. Once you're up on your feet, you lean into his side, wrapping your arms around his waist and tucking yourself under his arm. His arm naturally settles on your shoulder, providing support to keep you steady.

As George reached for his phone and opened up the Uber app, you swiftly snatched it away, declaring, "But I'm having fun! I don’t want to go home yet!" In your haste, however, you accidentally dropped his phone, which landed squarely on his right foot.

"Ouch. Careful there, love, you nearly decapitated me," George joked, his laughter ringing out in the night air. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, unable to suppress your own laugh. As he bent down to pick up his phone, you playfully attempted to hold him back by his waist. However, your drunken attempt at holding him back proved worthless, causing you to stumble back as your arms detached from his waist. But, before your bum could hit the pavement, George was quick to grab onto your waist and keep you from landing on the ground.

"Okay, that's a sign, you're done for the night, Y/N," he says, gently getting you back on your feet. Once you're standing, you turn around to face him, his arms still securely wrapped around your waist to prevent another potential stumble.

You shake your head stubbornly, determination shining in your eyes. "No, I don’t wanna go back home just yet," you insist firmly, your conviction clear. "The entire city is ours, George. We can't miss out on this adventure," you explain, pointing towards the street. "Each street, each building, they all have stories to tell. And tonight, we get to be a part of those stories."

George smiles at your intoxicated ramblings, gently teasing, "What are you going on about?" His laughter follows. that contagious sound that you love so much, accompanied by the crinkle in his eyes. 

As you continue trying to convince him, George can't help but think how absolutely adorable you are, even in your drunken state. And despite his initial resistance, he finds himself giving in to your whims.

"Fine," he finally gives in with a sigh, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I can never say no to you, can I?” he admits.

You smile at him as you raise up on your tiptoes and give him a peck on the cheek "Exactly, now off we go Georgey!" With that, you grab his hand and pull him away from the club.

Turning back to your friends, you shout a goodbye, waving enthusiastically. George shoots them a quick farewell before turning his attention back to you. "You sure it’s a good idea to leave them to fend for themselves?" he quips, laughing as he gestures towards your just as wasted friends.

You laugh and shrug, "Eh, they'll be fine,” you reassure him, "Jenna’s brother is coming to pick them up, they're crashing at her place," you explain as you start walking down the street together. 

George raises an eyebrow as he asks, "Do you know where you’re going?" 

"We’ll figure it out, the night is still young," you reply, sounding carefree. 

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "You're so full of shit," he remarks, and you roll your eyes, playfully swatting at his chest while he continues to laugh at you.

As you continue walking, you stagger a bit despite his support, catching George's attention. "Let's get you some water first," he suggests, concern coloring his voice. You pout in protest, but he remains adamant, guiding you to the nearest corner shop. He has you sit down, and makes you chug some water to help sober you up a little.

You two navigate the city streets just past midnight, the Friday night nightlife around you is full of energy. The neon glow of club signs casts shadows on the streets as the late-night crowds stumble out onto the streets. "Hey! Oh my god I love your dress! You have to tell me where you got it," you exclaim as you strike up conversations with random people on the streets as if you've known them for years, becoming extra extroverted when you are even slightly drunk.

George stays glued to your side the whole time, equally as amused and anxious, just wanting to make sure you’re safe and don’t hurt yourself, his protective side kicking in.

"Woah there, do you wanna sit down for a bit?" he interjects as you stumble slightly, tripping over your own two feet. His hand reaches out to steady you, but you brush it off with a dismissive wave. "No, I’m fine," you insist. Throughout the night, you two continue to dance under the glow of street lamps, sharing laughter over each other's absolutely terrible jokes, almost falling from laughter multiple times. 

As you’re practically rolling on the sidewalk laughing, you hear the click of his camera, and you immediately sit up, "Hey! What are you doing?" you protest, but your laughter betrays the mock seriousness in your voice. George just grins mischievously, snapping a few more photos, definitely exploiting your drunken state for blackmail material later.

He takes a moment to look at the photo he had just taken of you, a grin spreading across his face as he laughs. "You're laughing way more than you should at that. Show me!" you demand reaching out to grab his phone, but he pulls it away, hiding the screen against his chest. 

"Come on, baby!" you plead, giving him your best puppy dog eyes, and he can’t help but melt, quickly flashing his phone at you, revealing the photo. Your mouth falls open in disbelief, but you burst into laughter at the sight of yourself. Still giggling, you make another attempt to snatch his phone from him, playfully demanding, "Give me that! Get those photos off your phone, George!" But his height advantage keeps the phone just out of your reach, and you make a feeble attempt at jumping to get it back.

Your attention however suddenly shifts from your antics when you spot a lime bike stand out of the corner of your eye. You instantly forget about what you were just doing and run up closer to it, leaving George momentarily confused before he follows your lead. “George,” you exclaim eagerly, turning back to face him with excitement. “Lime bikes! We should totally ride bikes!”

“Great idea when drunk, huh?” You continue, trying to take the piss out of him. You shoot him a mischievous grin. “Bet I can actually manage to stay on one though,” you tease, throwing him a wink.

George rubs his face with his hands as he laughs, “Haha, very funny… absolutely not,” he replies with a playful shake of his head. “I think you’d actually kill me if something were to happen and you end up in the A&E. Not how I wanna spend my Friday night, love,” he quips, sharing a knowing smile with you. He then joins you and gently turns you around, pushing you in the opposite direction, away from the bike stand.

"Boo, party pooper, you're no fun," you jokingly accuse him, a slight pout on your face as you tease him for being a buzzkill.

"Who else is gonna keep you from making horrible decisions?" George quips, nudging you slightly as he can’t help but laugh as he says it. You roll your eyes at his playful jab, but a smile tugs at the corners of your lips. He brushes it off, intertwining your fingers with his, enjoying the warmth of his hand as you both start walking hand in hand.

As you walk, George notices you getting tired, your steps becoming a little slower and your conversation gradually quieting down. He looks down at you with a caring expression as he notices a small yawn escape your lips. "How about we get you home soon?" he suggests softly, his voice filled with concern.

But you shake your head, looking up at him with a soft smile on your lips. "Not yet," you insist, tugging him along until you arrive at a nearby park.

As you stroll through the park, the stillness of the night surrounds you, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and distant noises of the city. You two find a nearby bench and take a seat, kicking off your heels and swinging your legs over his lap. The cool night air kisses your cheeks, and you shiver, prompting George to take off his jacket and drape it over your exposed legs. You glance at him and mumble a small "Thank you, baby" before continuing to rub your hands together to warm them up. George instinctively wraps his arms around you, pulling you close and rubbing his arms against your shoulders in an attempt to warm you up. You lean into his warmth as you snuggle up close to him, gazing out at the twinkling skyline.

You sit in silence for a moment, feeling the weight of the night settling over you. You start to feel drowsy, comfortable and warm in George’s arms, and you let out a soft yawn, catching his attention. He watches you with affection in his eyes, taking in the sight of you under the moonlight. Your hair glows softly in the gentle moonlight, framing your face and he thinks it makes you look absolutely angelic.

As you snuggle in closer to him, you feel your eyelids growing heavier. George softly brushes the hair out of your face with a gentle touch. He whispers softly to you, his voice barely above a murmur, softly nudging you awake. "Can I take you home now?" he asks. You nod in response, finally agreeing to call it a night.

Once you're back at your shared apartment, you stumble in, shedding your heels and tossing your jacket haphazardly in the living room before making a beeline for the bedroom. George follows closely behind, gently nudging you in the direction of the bathroom. "Hold on there, love," he says with a chuckle. "You very well know you'll be absolutely pissed at me in the morning for letting you go to bed with makeup on."

You nod as you enter the ensuite, hopping up onto the counter and facing George as he comes to stand between your legs, his palm resting on your thigh. You point to the drawer, and he retrieves the packet of makeup wipes, pulling one out to gently start wiping your face.

The whole time, your eyes remain fixed on him, a loving and dreamy look in them. Once he's finished removing your makeup, he tosses the used wipe into the bin and chuckles, eyeing you with a curious look, “What?”

"Nothing," you begin softly, your hands reaching up to rest on his shoulders. "I just... I feel so lucky." Your voice is quiet but earnest as you gaze into his deep blue eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight. You didn’t have to, you know. I know how much you were looking forward to hanging out with the boys."

George’s hands begin to softly rub the exposed flesh on the side of your thighs as he looks at you with just as much affection, placing a featherlight kiss on your forehead. “It’s fine…I was with them all morning," he begins, “But for you, I’ll always be there, whether you like it or not."

You smile up at him, your laughter bubbling over. "You're such a sap," you tease, but there's genuine affection in your tone.

He smiles down at you, his eyes warm. "I mean it, though," he insists. "There's never a dull moment with you, drunk or sober."

Then, he leans in, closing the distance between you, and places a tender kiss on your lips. As you pull away, you look into his eyes and whisper, "I love you."

"I love you too, you drunken mess," he replies, his voice filled with adoration.

With a gentle smile, he wraps his arm around your waist and effortlessly lifts you up, setting you down on the ground before placing a kiss on your temple. You quickly change into more comfortable clothes, and together you head to bed, snuggling into each other's warmth as he wraps his arms around you, finally putting an end to your late-night adventures.

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Check out my other fics and oneshots here. Not working on any new requests currently but feel free to drop into my asks for a chat! 😊

[maddie0101]

𖤐 no escape (demon!dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: when dean turns into a demon, the bunker becomes a hunting ground. sam isn’t the only one running, you’re caught in the middle, forced to confront the monster your best friend has become… and the feelings you’ve both been running from.

𖤐 warnings: gore, sexual tension, demon!dean, choking, reader almost dies, anxiety, brief pain, guilt, this fic is pretty emotional, somewhat dark?

𖤐 word count: 4.5k

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you pressed yourself against the cold metal shelving in the bunker’s storage room. The flickering light overhead buzzed, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist, just like the thing hunting you.

But it wasn’t just a thing, you reminded yourself. It was Dean. But that wasn’t really true, was it? Not anymore.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” his voice drawled from somewhere in the hallway, thick with amusement. “You really think you can hide from me?”

Your fingers clenched around the blade in your grip. It was barely steady. You hated that. You’d hunted monsters before, fought things way worse than this—but this wasn’t some random creature. This was him. Dean, your best friend, the man you’d spent years shoving your feelings down for. The man who always had your back. The man who wasn’t supposed to be the one you feared.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the memory of Sam’s warning before everything went to hell: Stay out of sight. If he finds you, run.

“Not very fair, is it?” Dean’s voice was closer now. A little too close. “Me, having all the fun while you’re stuck hiding like a scared little girl.”

The sudden clank of a pipe hitting the ground made you jump. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“You know, Y/N, I always thought you had more fight in you.” His tone shifted, something darker slipping in. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to find you.”

You took a slow, careful breath. He was toying with you. Drawing this out because he could. Because he enjoyed it. And despite the terror curling in your stomach, you couldn’t ignore the way his voice—smooth, teasing, wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t.

—but it was.

You peeked around the corner just as he stepped into view, and your stomach twisted. His green eyes, once full of warmth and mischief, were now black pools of endless night. His mouth curled into a smirk when he spotted you.

“There you are.”

You bolted.

The bunker’s halls blurred past as you ran, adrenaline burning through your veins. You could hear his footsteps behind you, casual, unhurried. He knew you weren’t getting away.

You rounded a corner, aiming for the weapons room—maybe you could grab something, salt rounds, anything—when a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you back.

You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall. Dean caged you in, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling around your wrist. He was too close, heat radiating off him in waves. His breath ghosted across your face, and you swallowed hard.

“Running?” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

You glared up at him, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you. “Let me go, Dean.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t really feel like it.” His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart. Hurts my feelings.”

“Yeah? Guess you should’ve thought about that before you went full psycho.”

Dean grinned, but there was nothing soft about it. “You always were a mouthy little thing.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. “Gotta admit, though… I missed you.”

Your stomach twisted. “You don’t miss anything, Dean. You’re not you.”

He hummed, considering that. “I don’t know. Feels like me. Feels better than me.” His fingers lifted to brush a strand of hair from your face, and you flinched. His smirk widened. “Still the same guy underneath it all, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am. And you wanna know the real kicker?” He leaned in, lips a whisper away from your ear. “I remember everything. Every little moment. Every time I caught you staring when you thought I wouldn’t notice. Every time you got jealous over some girl at a bar.” He pulled back just enough to lock his gaze with yours. “Every time I wanted to kiss you but didn’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smirked. “That’s right, sweetheart. It wasn’t just you.”

Your body betrayed you, a shudder rolling through you despite every instinct screaming to fight. Because it was him. The same Dean who had driven you crazy for years, the same Dean you’d secretly wanted for just as long. But now, he was something else entirely.

And that terrified you. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

Dean exhaled a quiet laugh. “Am I?”

His fingers skimmed down your arm, slow, deliberate. You hated how your skin burned where he touched. How your body still knew him, still wanted him, even when you knew he wasn’t the same.

His head tilted, studying you. “Y’know, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you keep running.”

You clenched your jaw. “Go to hell.”

His smirk widened. “Been there, sweetheart. Wasn’t all that fun.”

Then, without warning, he let go. You stumbled forward slightly, eyes snapping up to his.

“Run,” he murmured, voice full of amusement.

You hesitated, pulse hammering.

“C’mon, Y/N. Make this fun for me.”

Your fists clenched, anger flaring through the fear. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, wanted to scream at him for twisting everything between you into some kind of sick game. But you knew better.

So you ran.

And behind you, Dean just laughed.

Your legs burned as you sprinted down the bunker hallway, lungs straining for air. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to keep moving, keep running, but it was useless.

The hallways twisted like a labyrinth, but you knew them like the back of your hand—better than that. You and Sam had spent hours mapping every inch of this place, making sure you had an escape plan for anything. Except for this. Except for him.

You rounded a corner too fast, nearly slipping—And slammed right into a broad chest. A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream. “Shh! It’s me,” Sam whispered, his grip firm but careful.

You exhaled sharply as he let you go. His eyes were wild, his hair damp with sweat. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “No. He’s coming.”

Sam swallowed hard, gripping the demon blade tight. “I know. We have to keep moving.”

A slow, mocking clap echoed through the hallway. You and Sam froze.

“Oh, look at you two,” Dean’s voice drawled, smooth and lazy, like this was fun for him. “Working together. Just like old times.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dean stepped into view, and the sight of him made your stomach twist. His green eyes, the ones that had always been so full of warmth, were black as the void. His lips curled into a smirk, dimples flashing like this was some big joke. Except it wasn’t. Not to you. Not to Sam.

Dean twirled the First Blade between his fingers like it was weightless. “Y’know, this is kind of sweet,” he mused. “The two people I loved most, standing side by side.” His smirk sharpened. “Too bad I have to kill you both.”

You barely had time to react before he moved. One second he was ten feet away. The next—Sam shoved you aside just as Dean lunged. The brothers collided in a blur of movement, Sam’s blade flashing, Dean’s grin widening. You scrambled to your feet, heart hammering as they fought, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the hallway.

But Sam wasn’t winning. Dean was only toying with him. You knew Dean’s fighting style better than anyone. He always fought with purpose—every move calculated, every strike meant to end things fast. But this? This was different. Dean was dragging this out, laughing between attacks, dodging at the last second just to piss Sam off. He was enjoying this.

Sam swung the demon blade at Dean’s ribs, but Dean caught his wrist mid-strike and slammed him into the wall. Sam grunted in pain, dropping the knife.

“Sam!” You surged forward, but Dean turned his head, giving you a look.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, holding up the First Blade. “I’ll get to you in a minute, sweetheart.” He pressed the Blade against Sam’s throat. And for the first time since this started—Dean stopped smiling. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You always wanted to save me,” he murmured. “And look where it got you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Dean—”

“That’s not my name anymore.” The words were low. Dangerous. Your stomach twisted. Dean pressed the Blade harder, just enough to break skin. Blood beaded along the edge.

“No,” you choked out, stepping forward. “Please.”

Dean’s jaw tensed. His grip twitched. For a split second, you thought he was going to do it. Kill the person he loved most in the world. Kill his brother. And then—He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

“…You’re crying,” he murmured, almost fascinated.

You hadn’t even realized it. Tears streaked your face, your whole body trembling. Not from fear. Not from anger. From him. From watching him like this.

Dean tilted his head, studying you. Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Oh, sweetheart.” He sighed dramatically, stepping away from Sam like he was bored now. “If you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

You stiffened as he took a step toward you. Then another. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Stay away from me, Dean.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

He lunged. You barely had time to react before he slammed you against the opposite wall, knocking the air from your lungs. His hand wrapped around your throat—not cutting off air, just holding you there, keeping you still. Keeping you his.

Your breath hitched as his body pressed against yours, his strength caging you in. His free hand trailed up your arm, his fingers grazing your pulse.

“God, you’re shaking,” he murmured. “I love it.”

“Dean,” you whispered.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost human, but as quickly as it came, it soon disappeared. His smirk returned.

“You know what I think?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I think you like this.”

Your whole body stiffened. “I hate you.”

Dean chuckled. “Mmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he could. That he had all the power here. Sam groaned from the floor, struggling to move. Dean ignored him. His black eyes locked onto yours. “I could kill you,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Right here. Right now.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs and Dean smirked. “But where’s the fun in that?” Then, before you could react—before you could even breathe—he moved.

Pain exploded through your ribs as Dean slammed you back against the wall, his grip tightening around your throat. You choked out a strangled gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist, but he was too strong, too cold—too gone.

“Let—go—” Your voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Dean only chuckled, tilting his head as he watched you struggle. “You know,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “I always wondered what you’d look like under me. Writhing. Squirming.” His grip flexed, just enough to send a sharp spike of fear down your spine. “Begging.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even feel it. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give me something. A scream, a sob—anything.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t—

A low, broken gasp forced its way from your lips.

And Dean—Dean shivered. “Fuck,” he exhaled, voice rough with something dark. “That’s it. That’s it.”

You hated him. You hated him so much it burned. But your body was weak. And he knew it.

His grip tightened—And then, just as the darkness nearly swallowed you whole.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rang out, sharp and furious, and then—CRACK.

Dean jerked as something slammed into his head—a crowbar, swung with everything Sam had left. His grip loosened, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, just enough for Sam to shove him away from you. Dean stumbled, blinking, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time.

Sam grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “You okay?”

You coughed, nodding weakly, your throat throbbing.

Dean’s smirk returned, but this time, there was blood in his grin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Atta boy, Sammy,” he drawled. “I was wondering when you’d finally get back in the game.”

Sam positioned himself in front of you, demon blade in hand. His chest rose and fell in quick, angry breaths. “We’re not gonna let you win, Dean.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Win? Win?” His smirk sharpened. “Sammy, this is me winning.”

Then he lunged. You barely had time to react before Dean tackled Sam, sending them both crashing into the wall. The knife skidded across the floor, out of reach. You scrambled for it, but before you could move, Dean punched Sam across the face, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the hallway. Sam grunted, his head snapping to the side. Dean grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. “Y’know, little brother, I gotta say…” His fingers dug into Sam’s shirt. “I always knew you’d be the one to break first.”

And then he threw him. Sam hit the opposite wall with a thud, sliding to the floor with a pained groan. Your stomach dropped. Dean turned to you and this time, his smile was gone. He stalked forward, his black eyes locked onto yours, the First Blade tight in his grip.

“No more games,” he murmured.

You grabbed the demon blade and lunged but Dean quickly caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. A sharp cry tore from your throat as pain shot up your arm. The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

Dean laughed. “Nice try,” he cooed. Then his grip shifted—from your wrist to your hair—before yanking you forward, dragging you against him. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, trying to push him back. He didn’t budge.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek. “That’s what I always liked about you.” You trembled, anger and fear battling inside you.“You’re a monster,” you spat.

Dean grinned. “And yet…” His hand slid down to your waist, grip firm, possessive. “You still can’t look away.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated that he was right.

Dean tilted his head, his lips barely inches from yours. His grip tightened. Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, his body pressing against yours, keeping you trapped. His black eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something dark, something hungry.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “God, I love that.” His grip tightened further, and before you could react, before you could even think, he moved. A sharp, searing pain tore through your stomach. Your lips parted in a silent gasp.

Dean exhaled softly, like he’d just taken his first real breath in years. His forehead rested against yours, his smirk softening into something almost… tender. “There we go,” he whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked, struggling to focus, your hands clutching at his shoulders—at him—as warmth bloomed beneath your ribs.

Dean pulled back just slightly, his gaze flickering down. The First Blade was buried deep in your stomach and it was still in his hand. Your fingers trembled as you curled them around his wrist. “D-Dean—”

But a sudden gust of wind roared through the bunker.

Dean’s smirk vanished.

Bright, blinding light filled the room, illuminating the darkened bunker like lightning striking at midnight. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the space.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Dean was suddenly yanked away from you, violently thrown back by an unseen force. He crashed into the wall with a grunt, the First Blade slipping from his grasp as invisible restraints pinned him in place. The moment his body left yours, your knees buckled. A strong pair of hands caught you before you hit the floor. “Y/N, I’ve got you.”

You could barely lift your head, your vision swimming, but you knew that voice anywhere. “Cas—” you rasped, your fingers clutching weakly at his coat.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, easing you down carefully. His blue eyes flickered over your wound, his jaw tightening. “I need to heal you.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “Not yet. Get—get Dean first.”

Castiel hesitated, his gaze darting to where Dean was still struggling against the angel’s hold. Dean snarled, his black eyes burning with rage. “Let me go, you feathery son of a bitch!”

Sam didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the syringe from his jacket and slammed it into Dean’s neck. Dean jerked, eyes going wide, his entire body going rigid as the purified blood surged through his veins. His breath hitched, a choked noise leaving his lips. His body trembled violently, black veins creeping along his skin.

Sam stepped back, watching him carefully, his own chest heaving. “Come on, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. “Come back.”

Dean gritted his teeth, a strangled growl ripping from his throat. His body convulsed, his hands clenching into fists, and for a moment, you thought…

But then his entire body shuddered and the black bled from his eyes. Dean’s head snapped up, his gaze wild—his green eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air, as if breaking the surface after drowning in darkness. Then his gaze locked onto you and every single ounce of breath in his lungs vanished.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken. His expression crumpled the second he saw you slumped in against the wall, blood soaking through your shirt, your body trembling from the pain.

Dean’s entire world stopped. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper, barely even a sound. “No, no, no—” Dean collapsed forward, catching himself just in time to crawl toward you. His hands shook as he reached out, as if afraid to touch you, as if afraid you’d break. His fingers hovered over your wound, barely brushing your skin. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Oh, God—I—I did this.”

His breath hitched, his whole body trembling. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white.

“Dean—” you tried to say his name, but your voice was too weak.

He wasn’t even listening. “I hurt you,” he choked out. “I—I almost—” His jaw clenched, his eyes shining. “I almost killed you.” His hands finally landed on you, gripping your arms, his thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to keep you here, keep you real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—so sorry.”

You managed a weak, shaky breath. “Dean, it wasn’t you—”

“Yes, it was.” His voice cracked. His forehead dropped to yours, his fingers tightening their hold. “It was me, sweetheart.” His breath was warm against your cheek, his whole body trembling. “And I can’t take it back.”

You swallowed, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

Dean’s grip tightened in you, worry wracking his body.“Cas!” His voice was raw, desperate. “Fix her!”

Castiel placed a firm hand on your shoulder, his other hovering over your wound. A soft, golden glow emitted from his palm. Your body jolted as warmth flooded through you, the searing pain easing just slightly.

Dean’s eyes never left your face but as seconds passed your eyes remained shut. You weren’t moving. You weren’t even stirring. The color in your face was too pale, and your body was too still. His grip on you tightened. “Cas.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried every ounce of fear that was ripping through his chest. His throat was tight, his hands shaking as they brushed over your cheek. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel remained quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he observed you.

“Cas,” Dean snapped this time, his panic rising. “She should be awake—why the hell isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel sighed, his expression unreadable but calm. “Dean, her body needs time to heal.”

Dean shook his head, jaw clenching. “No—no, you fixed her. I saw you. She should—she should be okay.” His fingers brushed against your forehead, then your wrist, searching for anything—any twitch, any sign of you coming back to him.

“She is okay,” Castiel reassured. “But she went through immense trauma. Her body is simply resting. She will wake up.”

Dean let out a sharp exhale, but his panic didn’t ease. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your skin as he muttered, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re stronger than this. You’re—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat down.

Sam stepped forward cautiously. “Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, his voice raw. “Just… don’t.”

He bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a shuddering breath. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t do this to me.”

Sam and Castiel shared a look but said nothing. They knew there was nothing they could say. Dean stayed there, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. His fingers curled into your shirt, his breath uneven as he muttered apologies over and over again. “I swear,” he whispered against your skin, “when you wake up, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”

Two Days Later

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet. Dean sat slumped in a chair beside your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was bowed, his shoulders tense, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and guilt. He hadn’t left your side since Castiel healed you. Two days.

Two days of watching you sleep, of waiting, of replaying every horrific thing he’d done under the demon’s control. The image of you bleeding out in his arms was seared into his brain. The memory of your broken voice saying his name in a weak, rasped breath haunted him like a goddamn ghost. And the worst part? He did it. Demon or not, it had still been him.

Dean let out a slow exhale, dragging a rough hand down his face. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to face what he’d done. He’d almost lost you. He should have lost you.

If it weren’t for Cas, you’d be—Dean swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. The chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair, his chest tightening.

And then—A soft sound. A quiet, barely-there groan. Dean’s head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted to you, heart slamming against his ribs.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets. Then, with a slow, exhausted inhale, your eyes fluttered open. For a second, you just stared at the ceiling, dazed and unfocused. But then—your gaze shifted, landing on him.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

You blinked sluggishly, your lips parting as if trying to form words. Your brows pinched together slightly before your gaze finally sharpened on him. “…Dean?”The sound of your voice—soft, fragile, but alive—hit him harder than a damn bullet to the chest.

Dean let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the mattress like he needed to ground himself. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I’m here.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry, and tried to shift, only to wince at the dull ache in your stomach.

Dean was instantly on his feet, leaning over you, his hands hovering—like he wanted to help but didn’t know if he should. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t push yourself.”

You blinked up at him, confusion flickering across your face as you took in his disheveled appearance—dark circles under his eyes, unshaven stubble, the way his shoulders were practically hunched under invisible weight. “…How long?” you croaked.

Dean let out a small breath of relief—because you were talking—before sinking back into the chair. “Two days.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

That almost made him smile. Almost. But then, reality crashed back down, and the guilt returned with full force. Dean swallowed and glanced away, his jaw tight.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. Even without him saying a word, you could see it. The self-hatred. The way he was drowning in it. “Dean,” you whispered.

His throat bobbed as he clenched his fists. “I almost killed you.” His voice was rough, raw. “You shouldn’t even be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Cas saved you, but it doesn’t change what I—”

“Dean.” Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still soft.

His green eyes flicked up to yours, filled with nothing but pain. You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.” His fingers curled into his jeans, his whole body wound tight. “That it wasn’t me, that it was the demon, but I remember it. Every damn second of it.” His voice cracked as his gaze locked onto yours.

You felt your heart ache at his words. Dean exhaled sharply, running a rough hand over his face. “I hurt people. I hurt you.” His voice lowered to a whisper, like he hated even saying it. “And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You took a slow breath, gathering what little strength you had, and reached out, resting your hand over his.

Dean froze. His eyes darted to where your fingers curled over his own, then back to your face, his breath hitching slightly. “You already came back,” you murmured.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb twitching under your touch. Dean stared at you, like he didn’t understand how you could even look at him, let alone forgive him. For a moment, the room was silent. But then Dean turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping your hand like it was the only thing keeping him here. His gaze softened, raw with emotion.

“I almost lost you.” He murmured.

“You didn’t,” you whispered back.

Dean took a slow breath, staring at you like he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. Then, after a long pause—“I love you.” The words were so quiet, you almost thought you imagined them. But the way Dean’s grip tightened on your hand, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, made it real. Your breath caught in your throat.

Dean exhaled, a small, almost broken smile tugging at his lips. “I do,” he whispered. “I don’t know why the hell it took me so long to say it, but… I do.” His thumb brushed against your skin, gentle, reverent. “And I swear to God, sweetheart, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, your throat tightening. You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “Dean Winchester,” you murmured. “You are a damn idiot. I love you too. ”

A surprised chuckle left him, the first real smile cracking through his grief. And then, with what little strength you had, you tugged his hand toward you. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss. And for the first time in days—He finally breathed again.

author’s note:

I finally posted it! This fic has been sitting in my drafts for over 2 weeks. I feel like I’ve posted so much this week already. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone 😅 I’m also thinking about writing for soldier boy soon. (Even though I haven’t watched the show yet but I plan on watching it this weekend!)

Anyways, I was going to continue the story with some smut at the very end but decided not to. Ending on a softer note is not usually my forte but we’re trying something new! Lmfao

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear

If you would like to be tagged in all dean fics please lmk! drop a comment and I will add you to the list! ☻

my works

[devixxish]

Synopsis: A dive into Gojo's mentality after your inevitable break up. Can be read as a follow up to this.

Word Count: 1,101

Tags: angst, emotional distress, self blame, basically he's going thru it after y'alls breakup.

A/N: while taking a break from working on main pieces, I came up with this lil sumn. Enjoy? <33

It was quiet. Way too quiet. The kind of quiet that made his own breathing sound too loud, made the walls feel like they were closing in on him. Suffocating. Yet his apartment felt too big without you in it. Too still.

He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. His fingers twitched, restless. Like they were searching, yearning for something to hold onto. But there was nothing. There hadn't been anything for a while now, and it was all his own fault.

The lamp in the corner buzzed faintly, lighting the room in a dull, yellow glow. It didn't quite reach the far corners. It barely reached the shadows creeping in from the hallway, long and unmoving. The air was cold and stale, heavy with the scent of something old, but not really. Something faint, something familiar. Your perfume still clung to the fabric of his bedsheets, to every little thing you had touched in his apartment. Too light to be real, too strong to ignore.

He should open a window. Or maybe turn the heater on. He should just do something to make the place feel less empty, less quiet, less.. Less like you. But all he did was sit there, wallowing in his own regrets.

The apartment still looked like you might walk in at any moment. His bedsheets still messy from the last time you were there; he hadn't touched them. Your hair tie on the bathroom sink. A forgotten sweater draped over the chair by the window. A book you never got to finish, spine-up on the nightstand. Little pieces of you, scattered everywhere. He told himself he should put it all away, or maybe send them over to you, save you the trouble of coming over to pick them up. But the thought of erasing you like that, of making it truly final made him sick in his stomach.

The silence was almost deafening, louder than any argument you had ever had.

It had been a few days, maybe a week since he let go. Or maybe since you let go. Since everything slipped through his fingers and he just let it happen. Not because you wanted to leave. Not because you got tired of him, or fell out of love. But because he was the one who pushed you away in the worst way possible.

He didn't mean to. God, he didn't mean to.

But how do you hold onto something real when you're still haunted by a ghost?

He thought he had time. He thought you'd always be there, waiting for him to open his eyes, to see what was right in front of him. Thought he had time to figure his shit out. He thought you understood. How selfish of him. People aren't placeholders; he figured you eventually realized that. You realized you weren't what he wanted. Not really.

And by the time he did want you - really want you - it was too late. You were already gone.

A car drove by outside. Muffled voices sounded from somewhere down the street. The neighbor's dog barked. Life kept moving on without him. No one knew he was there, sitting in his apartment that still reminded him of you, wishing he could undo the last few months of his life.

A sharp exhale left his chest, shaky, unsteady. With a shake of his head, he let out a small laugh, a bitter sound. A few years ago, he would've scoffed at the thought of himself like this- sitting alone in his freezing apartment, alone, a mess, waiting for someone to notice he was fucking miserable. He was always the one who didn't need anyone. The strongest; nothing could touch him.

But look at him now.

Drenched in sorrow, full of regrets, rethinking his every decision. Silently begging for someone to care.

And still, no one did.

He leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his temples. His mind hazy and his body heavy, keeping him stuck on this moment, on this feeling. The memories came in flashes. The way your eyes used to light up when you smiled at him. The way you'd hold onto his hand, laughing at something stupid he said. The way you looked at him that last night; hurt, exhausted, waiting for him to say something that never came.

His eyes drifted over to the place you used to sit, curled in on yourself, or wrapped around him. The place where you talked or read, or simply existed in the unique way you did. Now, it was just messy sheets, a dent in the mattress and silence. Another ghost.

He missed you. God, he really did. Not just the version of you in his head, but you. The real you. The one who did wait for him, maybe longer than you should have. The one who tried to love him even when he couldn't love you back properly. The one he let slip away because he was too caught up in someone else who belonged in his past. Because he had been too blind, too fucking selfish to see what he had until it was already gone.

People don't just wake up and decide they'll leave. They leave when they realize they were never really chosen.

And he had let you walk away thinking you never meant anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tight as he let out a slow exhale.

You were better now, away from him. At least, he hoped you were. You deserved that much and even more. And he- he didn't know what he deserved anymore. Maybe this was exactly what he deserved. Nights like this, stuck inside his own head, replaying every moment, every second of whatever went wrong.

How pathetic.

How fucking human.

The apartment felt smaller now. Like the walls were shrinking, ready to swallow him whole. His ribs felt like they were closing in on him, pressing against his already aching heart.

He needed to move, to do something. Maybe go to bed, or take a walk, or just do something other than sit there drowning in this feeling. His body refused to cooperate, but he finally willed himself to stand up.

Being in there, alone with his thoughts, surrounded by all the places you used to be- he couldn't stand it anymore.

So he grabbed his jacket.

He didn't know where he would go. But then again, he didn't really care.

If he was lucky, maybe the night would swallow him whole before the morning could find him.

Devixxish© All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload or modify my work in any way.

@spaceinvadernelly as promised<3

[aangelinakii]

LOVE BITES.

— am i making you feel sick?

summary : there was always something up with your boyfriend; he would only ever take you out on dates at night, but only if he wasn't on patrol, and that was a big if. if one of you went round the other's and you made a nice italian dish with garlic, he would apologise and say he didn't feel well. if walking the city at night, he'd offer to take you the long way home, and you noticed he always said that as the cathedral building began to loom into view. he couldn't be... no... surely not... but you had to ask. was your boyfriend a vampire?

note : dark themes possibly because dick is a thirsty lil vamp

note 2 : anf also do you get the title..... because i'm saying love bites as in the verb because hés a vampire but also lovebites like lovebites like.... 😂😂😂😂😂😅😅😅😅😅 ok bye go read now xxxxx

from up here, the streaking city of gotham seemed so small. darkness enveloped the roof of the fire escape you'd dashed up to after dinner — which you'd cooked and remembered to leave garlic out of — but the streets below were still struck with headlights and tail-lights and everything in between.

he'd eaten all the plates you'd offered him, and even shared a bowl of homemade eton mess, but he still looked a bit peaky; even in the shadows the moonlight cast along the divots of his face.

"you okay? still hungry?" you hummed, causing him to glance back at you from the busy streets below.

the corner of his mouth curled up, revealing one of those sharp canines of his, which twinkled in the moon above. "like you have no idea," he chuckled, turning back to where he leaned against the railing.

"oh— i think there was some more left over," you responded quickly, gesturing back to the fire escape door being held open by a brick dick had found up here. "it'll be warm still."

with that, you were about to walk back down the stairs to your apartment, but, before you could move, dick extended his arm around your shoulders and pulled you back into his side. despite his layers, you'd noticed he was almost always as cold as ice. "hey, i'm joking," he said, but there was something lying beneath his upbeat tone. "don't worry about it. let's stay here for a bit still, i'm enjoying myself."

despite the pang of worry in your chest, his words didn't fail to bring a smile to your face, and you instinctively snaked an arm around his waist, elbow pressing into his jacket to hold him there and keep him there.

for a few long, tranquil moments, there was nothing else but you and him, the light buzz of the city mere white noise soothing you further.

but it seemed no matter how perfect everything was — how perfect he was — you couldn't shake it from your mind.

"what are you?"

the words swam from your lips like a stream that trickles along the edge of a damp forest, clustered with thick roots and fallen leaves. you didn't look up when you spoke, lids half-hung over your eyes, the building across the way standing in the lower half of your vision.

under your arm, dick's frame shifted; you could feel him shimmy to peer at you, his noir waves brushing along your forehead. the breath of a chuckle passed his own lips. "what do you mean? i'm your boyfriend."

he said it like it was obvious — because why wouldn't it be?

"i'm your boyfriend and i love you," he returned, holding you tighter. you could practically feel his smile against the side of your head.

still, your own smile couldn't help but grow, and you sank further into his hold, another arm coming to wrap around his waist. "well, i know that," you laughed, though struggling to keep it down where it bubbled: this was supposed to be serious. but when was dick ever serious?

taking a haste breath in, you pried your head away from him until his whole face came into view, your arms still holding each other close. "but i mean what are you?"

by now, dick had certainly noticed the swift change in your tone, the way your smile had faded, its remnants the ghost of lines at the corners of your mouth. like a superimposition fading into the other image, his own smile began to drop to a neutral line, eyes glinting with curiosity.

his hands slowly travelled up from your back, the coolness of his touch even harsh through your coat and the layers beneath. as his fingers ran along the sculpture of your clothed shoulder blades, a chill started at the base of your vertebrae and danced down to your feet.

"i can be anything you want me to be."

his eyes looked between yours, some sort of earnesty lingering in those dark, dark pupils. almost as if you'd stare so deep and glimpse his past lives.

"i can be your soldier, your knight, your poet, your playwright."

perhaps not almost — perhaps you were.

similarly as his hands had moved, yours drifted to his chest, where the firmness of his pecs caused a swell to swirl in your knees.

"if you take all that away," you began, voice quieter now, a waver in its steadiness, "what would you be?"

never before had you seen dick look anything like this... a quiver of his bottom lip, one finger twitched on your shoulder blade in uncertainty, a crease formed between his brows; like it would all spill out any moment now...

"you wouldn't like it."

even now when he spoke it was as though he couldn't bear to hear himself talk; perhaps less that you wouldn't like it, that he didn't like it.

your hands rose and found the curved base of his shoulders, touch soft and warm, the latter a contrast to his. "i like you, dick. i love you, in fact. i trust you and i love you. but you have some... quirks — as we all do — and i think i want you to be honest with me."

dick lowered his gaze, fingers instinctively gripping you tighter, holding you closer. but it was like he couldn't stand himself.

"we never see each other during the day — which, fair enough," you began, voice finding its strength now. "but it gets to a point where you won't eat the things i make if there's a specific ingredient, or you'll leave the bathroom immediately when i come in, even if you're just washing your hands and i need something from the cabinet."

with each word his separate winces grew greater; a twitch of his eyebrow, a flare of his nostrils, a scowl that disappears as soon as he makes it.

but once you'd finished your bit, dick didn't speak.

for a single moment, his hands moved to ghost over your shoulder blades, where they'd previously sat fine. was he too cold or were you too warm?

when you squeezed his shoulders lightly, they came back, just as cold as ever.

"i'm a monster."

the words seemed to reverberate along the rooftop. even though you knew what you were waiting for, the anguished tone that came from him caused you to crumble, that swell returning to your knees.

you knew he'd hate you to pity him, but you felt your eyebrows curve and eyes soften and something throbbed in your chest.

your hands found the base of his jaw, and carefully lifted his head so he'd meet your gaze once again. "you would never be a monster. i know what you are, but i also know who you are. that never changed; will never change. okay?"

deep in his throat, his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed down a damp thickness, but he brought himself to nod.

"you said you were hungry?"

for a couple beats, dick stared at you with a furrow in his brows — and then his eyes lit in recognition, but like when a red light goes off, not when a lightbulb ignites.

"no. no, absolutely not." he shook his head, attempting to shrug off your soft touch, the weight of his own hands disappearing from your back. but you didn't back down.

"dick, i trust you," you retorted, hands lowering to where his neck met his shoulders, firm but loving. "i– i don't know how this works, but... it's okay. do it, it's okay."

although he'd stopped in his tracks, eyeing you, half in curiosity, half in contempt. you wouldn't do this. surely not.

one hand came off his neck, and you tilted your head to the side, bringing your fingers to the collar of your jacket.

soft flesh, tender; a quickly-beating, thumping pulse.

dick could hear it, practically taste it, and his own heart began pumping, hammering, blood rushing to his ears.

a force inside him, gribbing him from his stomach, was holding him back; but a pair of hands was shoving him forward, that devil on his shoulder whispering in his ear. feed, feed, feed.

the turmoil was evident in his face, and the hand still on his shoulder trailed down to his wrist; thumb on veins, his blood was racing faster than you'd ever felt it. you pulled him forward. "it's okay," you reassured him again.

"are you... are you sure? i mean... you've never met someone like me. i don't— i don't usually... feed on living people."

god, he felt stupid saying all these things out loud. but he needed to remind himself: this is what he was. no changing it now. no choices left.

ignoring the thuddering against your rib cage, you urged him closer with another tug on his wrist, never removing your gaze from his. "i'm more than sure. i think."

he couldn't ignore the certainty in your tone, your firm answer; couldn't ignore the hearty, tender scent filling his senses.

one hand came to carefully grip the back of your head, holding it in place, neck perfect for him to sink his teeth into. the other found its old place upon your shoulder blades, a soft touch to distract you from his violence.

he was close; so close his breath was grazing the pulse in your neck, a sensation both hot and cold, both blood-curdling and nauseating, but also passionate and loving. whatever he would do to you, he'd do it with utmost care.

a whisper in your ear, "tell me if you feel sick."

and then needle broke thread, fangs into flesh.

a gasp echoed in the air, hanging thick and then swirling into the streets below, to be caught up in the smog of the cars. your hands found his broad back, fingers gripping the fabric of his coat, balling it in fists.

much like getting blood taken at the doctors, it was piercing on impact, but lulling as it continued.

another gasp fell from your mouth as something warm dribbled from the new wound, down your cold neck, and a serpent slithered down to lap it up carefully.

beneath your touch, dick seemed to feel stronger, his already-large muscles thickening.

to live like this was to kill yourself slowly, unless you had vessels to kill on your behalf. would you be that vessel forever?

it ended with a soft kiss against the stinging fang-wounds, and the pain ceased.

when dick finally pulled away, his lips were plump and pink, stained with what ran through your every living moment, and he was breathless, chest heaving — yours wasn't any different, a combination of shock and energy drain.

"was that okay?" dick sighed quietly, his fangs sharpest you'd ever seen as they glinted with each word, his gaze set on your neck, where the pad of his thumb brushed the healed wound carefully.

"i mean... define 'okay'."

the corner of his lip curled in amusement. "not dying. head not spinning. neck not stinging." but something flickered in his features: uncertainty. "not rethinking this relationship?"

this was where you hesitated, admittedly. certainly not rethinking, but definitely thinking about it.

it was now that you realised your hands were still fisted, and you infurled them carefully, letting go of his jacket as you did so. "definitely okay," you smiled, though an air of awkwardness still hung. "but i think i could use the leftovers of dinner. i think all that takes a lot out of someone."

dick's features slackened, relieved, almost.

he threw a strong arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his side as he had done at the beginning of the night. "i wouldn't expect you to be doing great, but... thank you. that's helped more than you could even know." a few beats passed, dick's chest swelling, your smile brightening. "anyways, let's get some food in you. you deserve it more than me."

[hishumanbellestories]

His hell.

Part one: 1920, New Orleans - click here. WARNING: suicide, homocide. The ending is a little sweet/fluff! Sex mention.

The water was warm. Too warm. It wrapped around you like a weighted blanket, seeping into your skin, your lungs, your bones.

Steam curled in the air, clinging to the cracked tile walls of the bathroom, blurring the edges of the world. The dim light buzzed overhead, flickering, as if unsure whether it wanted to illuminate this moment or let the shadows swallow it whole.

You sat in the tub, knees pulled to your chest, arms limp at your sides. The water lapped gently against your skin, a quiet, soothing lullaby. The scent of lavender soap clung to the air, a mockery of peace.

Your fingers traced the surface of the water. It rippled at your touch, a delicate distortion, before stilling once more.

You exhaled.

It had to be this way.

The weight of it all had become unbearable—the heaviness of his eyes, the way his voice cracked when he thought you were slipping away, the madness lurking beneath his ever-present grin.

A monster.

You had made him a monster.

Alastor had always been dangerous, always danced on the edge of something inhuman. But you—you had been the reason he crossed that final line.

The blood on his hands, the bodies buried in the dark—they were yours.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

The only way to free him was to remove yourself from the equation entirely.

You slid down, slowly, letting the water rise to your shoulders. Your hair fanned out, floating in the stillness.

Your breath came faster. Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you ignored it.

Your body didn’t want this.

But your mind—

Your mind knew it was necessary.

You tilted your head back, allowing the water to touch your chin, then your lips. It slipped past your teeth, cool and silent, like a whisper.

And then you pushed off.

Down.

The water rushed over your face, into your nose, into your mouth—

And suddenly, the world was quiet.

No thoughts. No guilt.

Just the muted hum of the water surrounding you.

Your chest screamed. The instinct to breathe clawed at you, but you fought it.

You wouldn’t fight for the surface.

You couldn’t.

Your limbs went weightless, drifting like a forgotten thing at the bottom of a lake. Your fingers twitched, reaching for nothing.

The pressure built.

Your lungs burned.

Black spots danced behind your closed eyelids.

Your body convulsed.

And then—

A moment of surrender.

The tension melted from your muscles. Your fingers went still.

The last of your air slipped from your lips, a trail of tiny bubbles rising toward the surface, toward the life you were leaving behind.

And then...

There was

nothing.

The silence didn’t last.

A violent crash shattered the fragile stillness. The bathroom door slammed against the wall, shaking the very foundation of the room.

Then—hands.

His hands.

Clawing, yanking, dragging you from the depths.

Alastor’s grip was punishing as he dragged you from the tub, water sloshing violently over the sides, soaking his clothes, the floor, everything.

"No. No, no, no—". The word tore from his throat like something feral, his hands shaking as he laid you out on the cold tile. Your body was limp, water still slipping past your lips in weak trickles.

You weren’t breathing.

"Breathe!", his voice cracked—an unnatural thing, strangled with terror. He pressed his ear to your chest, but there was only silence. No heartbeat. No breath.

The world tilted.

Alastor had heard silence before, had created it in others. But never in you.

Something in him snapped.

With a snarl, he tilted your head back, pinched your nose shut, and crashed his mouth onto yours. Air forced its way into your lungs, but your chest barely stirred.

"No, no, no, NO!", his vision swam red. His hands, trembling, pressed against your ribs—he pushed, counting, forcing life back into you with each brutal movement.

"Come back to me!"

"Not again... please! Not again! I can't...", he shudders at the thought of eternity without you, his voice consumed by pain, fraying at the edges, unraveling.

Another breath—his lips sealed over yours, his own air spilling into your body. Your skin was cold. His hands were shaking too hard to be useful, but he kept going.

"You don’t get to leave me!", his fist slammed against your chest, hard enough to bruise. "Do you hear me? You don’t get to—"

A weak, spluttering cough.

Your body jerked.

Water surged from your mouth as you convulsed, gasping, lungs burning as air rushed back in.

Alastor made a sound—a broken, guttural thing—and crushed you against him. His fingers tangled in your soaked hair, his breath ragged as he rocked you against his chest, whispering something feverish against your temple.

"Never again," he growled, voice thick with something near insanity. "Never again, do you understand me?".

"Why?", his voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a scream. "Why would you do this to me?".

He lifts me off the floor in his arms, wraps me in a warm blanket and carries me to his room. The door slammed shut behind you.

The click of the lock echoed through the dimly lit room, final, absolute.

You were still shivering, still soaked, your lungs still aching from the water you had forced inside them—but none of it mattered compared to the way he was looking at you.

Alastor stood before you, his shadow stretching long across the wooden floor. His soaked suit clung to him, disheveled, darkened by water. His hair, always pristine, stuck messily to his forehead. But it was his eyes that unsettled you most.

Wild. Frenzied.

He was staring at you like a man on the edge of something terrible.

"Do I mean nothing to you?"

His voice was soft. Too soft. It slithered into the space between you both, curling around your throat like an unseen noose.

You opened your mouth—to say what, you didn’t know.

But you never got the chance.

Alastor moved.

In an instant, he was on you, his hands grasping your arms, shoving you against the nearest wall. His breath was hot, shaking, uneven.

"Tell me," he whispered, his fingers pressing into your wrists, "tell me I’m wrong."

You swallowed hard. "Alastor—"

"Tell me you care about me!", his voice broke on the last word, something sharp and aching buried beneath it. His grip on you trembled, as if he were caught in some horrible war with himself.

The intensity in his stare burned straight through you.

You had done this to him.

Turned the ever-composed, ever-smirking Alastor into this—a man unraveling before your eyes.

"I—", your breath hitched as his forehead pressed against yours, his entire frame shaking.

"I died for you," he whispered, "I killed for you. I tore my soul apart for you, and yet—", his fingers tightened around your wrists, "you still tried to leave me."

His voice twisted, laughter bubbling at the edges, but there was no joy in it. Just something fractured.

"That’s not very fair, now, is it, dearest?"

You tried to pull away, but he held on.

"Where do you think you're going?", his grip was bruising, his grin widening—but it didn't reach his eyes. "You won’t do that again, will you?"

He leaned closer, breath warm against your lips.

"Because I won't let you."

WARNING: SEX MENTION.

Alastor's hands roamed your body with a frenzied intensity, his fingers digging into your skin as he pinned you against the wall of his room. His eyes, wild and haunted, bore into yours with a desperate need that bordered on madness.

"I can't lose you," he rasped, his voice raw with emotion.

"I won't let you leave me."

His lips crashed against yours in a brutal kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as he devoured you with a hunger that left no room for gentleness. You could taste the desperation, the fear, the all-consuming passion that drove him as he grappled with the thought of losing you.

Alastor's hands tore at your blanket, ripping fabric as he sought to bare your skin to his touch. His fingers found your breasts, kneading the soft flesh with a force that bordered on pain, as if he needed to mark you, as if he needed to feel you.

Alastor's hips surged forward, his cock grinding against your throbbing sex through the layers of wet fabric. The friction sent sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through you, your body arching into his with a desperate moan.

"You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, feral snarl. "I'll never let anyone, anything, take you from me."

His hands slid down to your hips, fingers digging into the flesh as he lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Alastor pinned you against the wall once more, his fingers danced across your slick folds, his touch feather-light as he explored the delicate contours of your sex. He traced the swollen lips of your pussy, circling your clit with a gentle, teasing touch that had you arching into his hand. "Beautiful," he murmured. He slipped a finger inside, his thumb finding your clit as he began to stroke in a slow, sensual rhythm. You gasped, your hips rolling against his hand as he worked you open, preparing you for the thick length of his cock. Alastor's other hand slid up your body, his fingers splaying across your stomach, your breast, your throat. He claimed your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth as he continued to tease your clit with expert precision. Breaking the kiss, he looked into your eyes, his own dark with lust and adoration.

Alastor's fingers curled inside you, stroking that sensitive spot deep within your core. He watched your face, his gaze intense and focused, as he coaxed your pleasure from you. Your body responded eagerly, your hips undulating against his hand as he worked you towards the edge. "You're so responsive," he breathed, his voice a low, appreciative murmur. "I love feeling you come undone for me." He increased the pressure on your clit, his thumb rubbing firm circles around the swollen nub as his fingers continued their relentless pace. The dual stimulation was too much, and you felt your orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly like a spring ready to snap. Alastor leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Let go, my love. Come for me."

With a low moan, you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing as your orgasm crashed over you. His fingers never stopped their relentless stroking, drawing out your climax until you were left trembling and breathless against the wall. As the aftershocks subsided, he slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips to taste your essence. His eyes never left yours, burning with a hunger that spoke of his own need. "I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Now." You were a mess of gasps and whispers, still not realizing what was happening. But you let him in. He positioned himself at your entrance. With a single, gentle thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, his cock stretching and filling you in a way that made you gasp hard. He buried himself deep inside you, his length stretching your walls to the limit. You cried out, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he claimed yours in a searing kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a primal dance of desire and desperation.

Alastor's hips snapped forward, driving his cock into you with a brutal intensity that left you gasping and trembling. Each thrust was a declaration of possession, a assertion of his dominance over your body and your heart. Or maybe… his heart's desperation for you. You could feel him losing control, his grip on you tightening as he pounded into you with a frenzied abandon. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body slick with sweat as he rode you hard, chasing the release that eluded him. "I need you," he growled, his voice a low, guttural rasp. "I need to feel you, all of you, mine. I need to feel that you won't abandon me again." His words were a dark confession, a admission of the all-consuming hunger that drove him. And as he continued to thrust into you, each stroke sending jolts of pleasure-pain through your core, you knew that he wouldn't stop until he had claimed every last shred of your being.

Alastor's teeth sank into the tender skin of your neck, the sting of the bite mingling with the intense pleasure of his body pressed against yours. He pounded into you with a fierce, consuming passion, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that bordered on brutal. You could feel his desperation, his need to claim you, to mark you as his own. His lips trailed fire along your jaw, your ear, your throat, leaving a path of searing kisses in their wake. "You're mine," he growled, his voice a low, husky rumble against your skin. "All mine." His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as he thrust into you with a primal intensity. The wall behind you provided a rough counterpoint to the smooth glide of his cock inside you, the friction sending sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through your body. Alastor's teeth grazed your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "forever mine," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "No matter what, I'll never let you go." His words were a dark promise, a vow spoken against the heat of your skin as he continued to take you with a fierce, all-consuming passion. Alastor's body was a living flame against yours, his every touch, every kiss, every thrust a declaration of his devotion, his need, his love. As he rode you against the wall, the world around you melted away, leaving only the two of you, lost in a sea of pleasure and desire. Alastor's cock throbbed inside you, his release building with each powerful stroke.

The air between you was feverish, electric, charged with something too vast to contain. Alastor's trembling fingers ran along your skin, mapping every inch, desperate to make you real—to assure himself that you were still here, still his, still alive.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath uneven, his hands trembling as they cupped your face, his face. You could see it now—beneath the ever-present grin, beneath the manic energy, there was something else. Something broken. Something desperate.

"You were going to leave me again," he whispered, his voice hoarse, raw with anguish. His grip tightened as if you might disappear between his fingers. "You would have left me alone in this wretched existence, and what then? What would I have become, darling? What do you think I am without you?"

His lips brushed over your cheek, over your jaw, down to your throat, lingering as his breath ghosted over your skin. He was trembling. Alastor never trembled.

"You need a reason to stay, my darling," he murmured, his voice thick with something possessive, something final. "And if you won’t stay for me—", his fingers trailed down, pressing against your stomach, warm and firm and claiming, "—then you’ll stay for what I’ll give you."

His lips found yours again, but this time, there was no teasing, no hesitation, only a consuming hunger. A kiss meant to brand—to burn—to ruin. His body pressed against yours again, an unspoken plea in every touch, every shuddering breath.

"I will fill you with me," he rasped, his voice breaking, his forehead against yours once more. "And then you will stay, my love. You have to stay."

His fingers dug into your skin, as if he could anchor you there, as if he could tether you to existence itself.

"Promise me," he pleaded, his voice raw, desperate. "Promise me, darling—promise me you won’t leave me again."

His lips brushed against your temple, your brow, your cheeks—frantic, reverent—before his forehead fell against yours, breathless, broken.

"You belong to me," he whispered, barely a sound, barely more than a prayer. "And I belong to you. Always."

He pushed even harder, his fingers tangling in your hair as his eyes drank in your every expression and his lungs breathed in your gasps.

"I'm close," he groaned, his hips snapping forward with renewed urgency. "Come with me, my love. Let's fall together." With a final, savage thrust, he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed inside you.

WARNING: resumes normally, fluff.

Alastor’s grip on your wrists trembled.

His forehead stayed pressed to yours, his breath erratic, uneven. Then—something cracked.

A broken, shuddering breath escaped him, and his fingers slipped away from your arms, as if burned. His entire frame shook, his chest rising and falling too quickly, too sharply.

And then—he crumbled.

A ragged sound tore from his throat as his knees buckled. His hands, once so desperate to hold you in place, slid to your waist, clutching at you like a man drowning, like a man whose only lifeline was slipping through his fingers.

His head dropped against your shoulder, and you felt it—wetness.

Alastor was crying.

Not loud, not with sobs—but with something far worse. A silence so deep, so shaking, that it suffocated the air between you.

His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you closer, closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. Until it was unbearable. Until you could feel every tremor wracking through him.

"You," he breathed, voice wrecked, "You don’t understand what you’ve done to me."

You opened your mouth, but his hands flew up, cupping your face, desperate, trembling.

"You’ve broken me." His voice cracked, his red eyes burning into yours. "You’ve taken me apart, piece by piece, until there is nothing left of me but you."

His grip on your face tightened, his thumb stroking over your cheek, his breathing sharp, desperate.

"I cannot exist without you. I have forgotten how. You are my breath, my heartbeat—", he exhaled sharply, trembling, "the only sound I still care to hear."

His forehead pressed against yours again, his lips hovering, teasing, but not touching, his breath hot and shaking against your mouth.

"You say I am a monster?", his fingers curled in your hair, pulling gently. "Then you are the wicked little thing who made me so."

His lips brushed against your cheek, his voice sinking lower, turning softer, more dangerous.

"You—you have cursed me," he whispered, "and I have never loved anything more."

His hands slid down your arms, settling around your waist, his grip possessive, desperate.

"Do you not see?", his breath caught, and his lips finally—finally—brushed against yours in something too fleeting to be a kiss.

"I do not want to be saved. But I want to save you. To protect you."

He pauses, his gaze averted for a moment.

"I meant what I said, you know," his voice dipped lower, softer, but there was no mistaking the weight behind his words. He nuzzled against your cheek, his grin widening, though something in it was almost… desperate. "If you were to have my child, you’d have no choice but to stay. No choice but to live."

The air felt heavier. Charged. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you even closer, as if you could disappear beneath him, into him.

"And that," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "is exactly what I want."

He kissed you then, deep and consuming, fingers digging into your skin like he would never let go. Like he could not bear to let go.

And when he pulled away, forehead still resting against yours, his next words shattered everything.

"If you ever leave me again…", his voice wavered, shaking, "I will follow you. Even if it is to death itself."

Alastor’s breath was warm against your lips, his trembling hands still cradling your face, his eyes dark with something raw, something starving.

His lips parted—then shut—then parted again, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

And then, with a shuddering breath, he did.

"I love you."

"But telling you these three words is not enough… I have always been in love with you," his voice broken, his vibrant gaze fixed on your eyes.

The words slipped from him like a confession, like an admission dragged from the deepest, darkest part of his soul.

His grip on you tightened, his fingers twitching against your skin as if the words had unmade him.

Then—he laughed, breathless and broken. "Ah, look what you’ve done to me, darling. I’ve gone and said it. No taking it back now!"

His grin was sharp, but his hands were gentle as they slid down your arms, grasping your hands. He lifted your left hand to his mouth, his crimson gaze locked onto yours—unwavering, hungry.

"And now," he murmured, "I suppose I should make it official, shouldn’t I?"

His lips parted, his teeth grazed your finger, your ring finger, to be precise.

Then... he bit.

It was not harsh. Not cruel. But deep enough that it stung, deep enough that his fangs pressed just below the bone, deep enough to mark.

A gasp slipped from your lips as warmth bloomed beneath his bite, pain mingling with something else, something intoxicating.

His tongue flicked over the indentations before he pulled back, admiring his work.

A perfect ring of red encircled your finger—his mark, his claim.

"There," he exhaled, satisfied, his grin wide, sharp. "A ring made of flesh and blood. Now, that’s much more binding than metal, don’t you think?"

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his voice dipping to something low, something dangerous.

"Tell me, mon amour", he whispered, lips brushing your ear, his trembling fingers grasping your chin. His grin was still there—fixed, stretched, unwavering—but his eyes... his eyes betrayed him.

They were wide, dark, desperate.

"Do you love me?", his voice was steady, but beneath it was a tremor—something unstable, something on the edge of breaking.

A sharp inhale, a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes. And then—he collapsed against you, forehead pressing to yours, hands gripping your waist as if you'd disappear if he let go.

"You haunt me," he whispered, almost shaking. "I cannot breathe without you. I cannot think. You have broken me, darling, and oh—" he laughed again, but it was frantic this time, bordering on hysteria—"I don’t even mind!"

His hands roamed, memorizing you, worshipping you, as if you were slipping through his fingers. "I would burn the whole world to keep you here, right here, where I can feel you, where I know you’re real."

His breath hitched—his nails bit into your waist—his body pressed impossibly closer.

And then, suddenly, his hands caught yours, pinning them to the wall beside your head. His grip was bruising, possessive, but his touch trembled—terrified.

"Marry me," he breathed, voice hoarse. "Bind yourself to me. Forever. And I swear to you—I will never let you go. I can’t let you go."

His fingers slipped between yours, and then his eyes lifted to yours, wide and pleading behind the madness, behind the hunger, behind the need.

"Say yes," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Say yes, and I will be yours".

His lips hovered over yours, waiting.

"Say yes, mon amour. Say yes before I go mad."

[rositaslabyrinth]

The light that fell

Meeting V ⭑.ᐟ

When a violent surge of celestial energy shatters a stolen vial of angelic Grace, something impossible happens—the Grace doesn’t dissipate. It becomes.

She appears in the Bunker without warning—naked, trembling, and utterly lost in a body that was never meant to exist. She doesn’t know how to breathe, how to move, how to be. All she knows is that she was never supposed to be human.

Word count ; 1,542

The room was quiet—too quiet. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above, buzzing in the otherwise still space.

And then, without warning, the air seemed to shimmer. A pulse of light, brief and bright, flashed across the room, momentarily blinding both men standing there.

Dean’s reflexes kicked in instantly.

He reached for his gun, eyes darting toward the source of the disturbance, posture tense. His finger hovered near the trigger, ready for anything. “Sam, move—” His voice was a low, growl, the protective edge already taking over.

Sam glanced at him, confusion evident on his face. “What the hell just—”

And then, there she was.

She appeared in the middle of the room, so suddenly that neither of them had time to react.

A woman.

Her body shimmered faintly, almost glowing under the harsh lights. She was naked, her skin pale and smooth, though it wasn’t the softness of something mortal—it was the coldness of something ancient, something otherworldly.

She looked around, her eyes wide and lost. Her breath came in shallow gasps, as if she couldn’t quite remember how to breathe.

And when she spoke, her voice was so soft it barely reached their ears. “I… I was…”

Her words were broken, her body trembling. The panic was clear in her gaze.

Dean’s gun was still pointed at her, but his grip tightened around it, his instincts on high alert. He couldn’t take his eyes off her—too fragile, too strange. What the hell was she?

“Sam, you see this, right?” Dean’s voice was sharp, his eyes never leaving her. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

“I’m seeing it,” Sam said, though his tone was less defensive, more… cautious. “But I don’t know what I’m seeing.” He took a step forward, hands raised, trying to calm the situation. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

She flinched at Sam’s words, her eyes flickering from one of them to the other, as if unsure whether to trust them—or run. She stepped back, hands clutching her arms as though she were cold.

“I…” She hesitated again, her voice cracking. “I… I held Grace.” The words were strange, barely making sense even to her own ears.

Dean’s gun didn’t waver. His posture was still defensive, his mind racing. “You held Grace? What the hell does that mean?” He took another step back, his muscles tense. “You’re not human.”

“I’m not supposed to be,” she whispered. The panic in her eyes was growing. “I… I was…” She trailed off, lost in the broken pieces of her own existence. Her hand lifted to her chest, her fingers trembling as she searched for some kind of understanding. Her skin felt wrong—too human, too fragile.

Sam took a cautious step forward. His gaze softened, the protective, logical side of him pushing through his usual wariness. “What are you?” he asked gently. “What happened to you?”

She shook her head, the confusion on her face deepening. “I don’t know. I don’t understand…” She swallowed, the weight of fear clouding her voice. “I was never… I was never meant to be this.”

Dean’s instincts screamed for him to do something. He couldn’t stand still. This wasn’t just some random supernatural being; this was… different. And the fact that she was completely defenseless, standing there naked, with no weapons and no defenses, only made him more on edge.

“You don’t belong here,” he muttered under his breath, though it wasn’t clear whether he was talking to her or himself.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible. The weight of the words hit her like a wave. Her body was shaking now, the fear becoming too much to hold inside.

“Dean, we need to calm down,” Sam urged, his hand gently resting on his brother’s arm, as if grounding him. “She’s… not a demon. We need to figure out what she is, but we’re not doing anyone any good like this.”

Dean still kept the gun at the ready, though his expression softened just slightly. “We don’t know what she is, Sam. Could be anything. She could be dangerous. You saw how she just—appeared.”

“I’m not dangerous,” she whispered, her eyes wide, tears threatening to fall. “I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

For a moment, the three of them stood there—frozen in the tension of the unknown. The dangerous unknown.

And then, as if realizing that she had no control over the situation, her shoulders slumped. She looked down at herself, her hands falling to her sides. The confusion, the fear—everything—swallowed her whole.

She wasn’t a thing. She wasn’t an object. She was human now—whether she wanted to be or not.

Dean hadn’t holstered his gun. He knew he should, but something about her—about the way she had just appeared—made his gut tighten. Every instinct screamed danger, but there she was, standing bare and shivering, looking more like a lost soul than a threat.

Sam, of course, was already shifting into damage-control mode. “Hey,” he said carefully, glancing at Dean before looking back at her. “We need to get you something to wear, alright?”

Her arms curled tighter around herself, fingers gripping at her own skin like she wasn’t even used to the sensation. Her breath was shaky, her movements hesitant, like a newborn deer on unsteady legs.

Dean exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Right. Great.” He shot Sam a look, muttering, “What the hell did we just walk into?”

Sam ignored him and turned back to the woman. “I’ll grab some clothes,” he said, voice soft. “Just—stay here.”

She nodded quickly, her glowing eyes flickering between the two of them, like she was still trying to read them, trying to make sense of their presence.

Dean kept his eyes trained on her as Sam disappeared down the hallway. Silence stretched between them.

She fidgeted, awkward in her own skin, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Then, to his absolute disbelief, she lifted her gaze and looked at him.

Dean froze. What the hell was that look supposed to mean? She wasn’t saying anything—just staring at him, like she expected something.

Dean scoffed, shifting uncomfortably. “What?” She hesitated, then gestured to herself, expression unreadable but expectant.

Dean blinked. “Oh, hell no.” He took a step back, waving a hand between them. “No way. Not my department.”

Her brows knit together slightly. She still didn’t speak, but the way she kept watching him, waiting, made something twist deep in his gut.

Dean Winchester had fought demons, faced down angels, and gone toe-to-toe with Death himself, but nothing—nothing—had prepared him for this.

“Sam needs to hurry the hell up,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

She looked… disappointed? Frustrated? He had no idea. But before he could figure it out, Sam returned with an old Henley and a pair of sweatpants, setting them down carefully on the nearby table.

“Here,” Sam said gently. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.”

The woman reached for the clothes, her fingers brushing the fabric as though it were foreign to her. And then—she did it again.

She turned back to Dean. Dean stiffened. “Oh, come on.” Sam looked between them, brows raised. “What’s happening?”

“She—” Dean waved a hand at her. “She keeps looking at me like I’m supposed to—like I’m supposed to help or something.”

Sam frowned before realization dawned on his face. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Dean repeated, unamused. “She doesn’t know how to put them on.” Dean stared at him. Then at her. Then at the pile of clothes.

“Oh, hell no.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dean—” “Nope. Not doing it. Not happening.”

Dean was already turning on his heel, making a beeline for the hallway. “I’ll be out here. You handle this.”

Behind him, he heard Sam murmur, “You’ll be fine. Just put them on like this, see?” followed by the woman’s quiet, uncertain “Oh.”

Dean stood just outside the room, bracing his hands on his hips, shaking his head to himself. “Of all the things…”

A minute passed. Then another.

When she finally stepped out, she was small inside the hoodie, the sleeves hanging past her hands. She shifted in the clothes like she wasn’t quite sure how they were supposed to feel, like they were strange on her skin but better than before.

Dean glanced at her, then at Sam. “See? Handled it. Didn’t need me.” The woman looked at Dean again, expression unreadable, but there was something lingering in her gaze.

Dean scowled, crossing his arms. “What”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she quietly sat down on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. The movement was almost instinctive, something human trying to make itself smaller.

Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright. So.” He gestured vaguely. “Now what?”

The woman’s voice was barely a whisper “What do I do now?”

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, then exhaled sharply. “That,” he muttered, “is what we’re gonna figure out.” And none of them had a damn clue where to start.

Note : sooo no thoughts just this!! Ah I’m excited for this to continue. I literally fell asleep in the middle of writing this though LMFAO but it’s okay cause I actually like how it turned out and I hope you guys do as well <33 please let me know if you want to be tagged in this series because it’s currently not on my taglist!!

Tags : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @daylighted @deanswidow , @wchswift , @velvetdandeli0n

To be tagged in any future works check out here !!

[light-yaers]

tangerine. | part two [carmen berzatto x reader]

Fic Masterpost | AO3

Carmen shows up at your diner after five years, and everything comes flooding back like it was only yesterday.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mature themes [discussions about drugs, workplace abuse, family problems]

Word count: 6k+

PART TWO

You lit your cigarette before the back door even fully shut. You leaned against the wall as you inhaled, and exhaled slowly when you could feel the smoke in your lungs expand. It was a nasty habit, you knew, but it was the only time where you got an ounce of peace at the diner. Two minutes to yourself, not in the cold walk-in, but outside where no one could yell for you, or grab at you, or need you. When you were out here, the chefs and staff alike knew not to bother you. It was just for you. 

Carmen knew that rule well, but that didn’t stop him from following you out the door. He burst through the back door like he was an employee under the diner roof, and found you immediately. You rolled your eyes and turned away from him, not wanting anything to start today. 

You inhaled again, and let out the smoke quickly. “You know you’re not allowed back here–”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he boomed. Sydney’s words from before had completely dissipated in his mind.

You turned back to him, eyes wide, utterly gobsmacked. “With me? Are you fucking joking?”

“What, it’s been five years and not even a fucking hello or a how you doing?–”

“Oh, sorry, Carm,” you said sarcastically. You stepped towards him in anger. “I was under the impression you never wanted to fucking see me again, huh? Isn’t that what you said last time at USC, or did I just make that shit up or something?”

Carmen shut his mouth. You both breathed heavily as the silence descended over you, only broken up by him pulling a pack of cigs from his pocket and plucking a stick from the foil. He slotted the cigarette between his lips, and lit it without a word. As he inhaled, he leaned against the wall next to you. You smoked together, not making a sound, as smoke coiled around your heads and disappeared into the air without a trace. 

You flicked ash on the floor. “What are you doing here, Carm?” you asked. 

He sighed, trying to calm himself down. “Getting ideas.”

“Ideas for what?” you asked, and glanced at the side of his face for just a second. He still looked the same, just a bit older. He had more tattoos on his arms, and a stronger jaw, but he was definitely the same Carmen you’d known once. 

“A restaurant. In Chicago.” 

You finally met his eyes, awestruck. He looked down at you to his left, and all the years came flooding back. Behind your eyes, behind the pain and the shit he’d said last time, was someone who still cared about his endeavours. It was almost too much to bear. 

“You found a place?” you asked. 

Carmen nodded. “The Beef. My brother’s old place,” he said, and scratched his head almost painfully. “He, uh… died, and left it to me. We’re doing it up.”

“We?”

“Me and Syd,” he said, and pointed back at the door. Sydney was still inside, at the table alone. “And, uh, Nat and Richie.”

You exhaled a shaking breath, smoke free. Your fingers started to buzz. You were torn between wanting to congratulate him, and wanting to walk away. This was immense for him, and something you knew he’d been wanting from the very beginning. He’d done it, was doing it, but despite all the time you couldn’t help but think– 

Weren’t we supposed to do this together? 

It didn’t matter now. It had been too long and you’d missed each other, passed by, lost the opportunity. Even so, after all this time, would you even want to go back?

You swallowed away all the words that wanted to pour from your mouth. “Wow,” you said, and it sounded stale. “That’s… that’s big.”

“Yeah,” Carm said.

“When do you open?” you asked. You tried to keep things light. 

“Couple of months. We need to open fast. Faster than we wanted to, so, yeah. It’s a lot.” 

As his words fizzled away, you looked at the ground. The air between you felt thick, heavy, with all of the words that you both wanted to say to the other, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Now wasn’t the time to think about what could have been. Maybe, if what happened at USC hadn’t happened, things would have been different. You’d still be friends, have any semblance of a relationship, compared to being almost strangers. 

In fact, you’d pick being strangers with Carm over this. Inside, you still harboured the hurt from those years previous. He’d been so horrible. He’d been so cruel. You wondered if he still remembered all he’d said, or if he had no memory of the way he’d cut you to your core. 

It’d been too long. It didn’t matter. Nothing would change from this. 

“Well.” You sucked in a final pull from your cig, before you flicked it on the ground. You looked him in the eyes as you stood up straight. “Good luck with it all,” you said, before you started towards the door. 

Carm shot up from the wall. “You should come to the opening, in July.”

“Yeah, maybe.” You grabbed the door handle, and Carmen tensed immediately. 

“We’re looking for a front of house manager,” he blurted out. You froze. All the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, and you clamped your eyes shut. “I don’t know– if you wanted a change, or something new.”

Your fingers hurt from how hard you held onto the door handle. Your knuckles had turned white. Quickly, you inhaled a sharp breath, turning back to him. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Carm realised his mistake as soon as you spoke. “Fuck– I just–”

“No, Carm. Think about it. You think that you can come back here after five fucking years, and offer me this like it’s nothing?” You were seething, you were upset. It only cemented that he didn’t realise how bad he’d hurt you, and if he did, then that was even worse. 

He looked around the back of the building, anywhere but at you, trying to find the right words. “I was shitty, I get that.”

“Do you?” You stepped forward once. “Tell me how shitty you were, Carmen.”

“I was– fuck– I shouldn’t have–” he stumbled over his words. 

“You shouldn’t have treated someone– who only fucking cared about you– like that, is that what you were gonna say?” you said over him, and the look on his face told you everything. You knew Carmen well, and you thought that was why he struggled. You could see right through him, especially back then. “You have a habit of pushing away people that give a shit about you.”

He frowned at you in understanding. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

“I hope you grow out of it one day, and realise your worth,” you said, and felt the familiar sting of tears welling in your eyes. 

“That’s what I’m trying to fucking do,” he said, finding his voice. He took a strong step forward, taking you by surprise. “Come and work at the restaurant. You need to give yourself a fucking chance too, not just other people.”

You scoffed at his change of character. “You’re really flipping it this way?”

“Yeah, I am,” he said plainly. “You’ve been here, what, seven years? You know you’re qualified to work in places ten times the level of the diner–”

“God– fuck you!” you burst, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed and your chest stuttered. “You can’t just come back here after all this time and tell me that you give a shit, that you’re living your dream and you finally want me to be a fucking part of it–”

Carmen cut over you. “So only you’re allowed to say I need to know my fucking worth, huh? I can’t say it back to you?”

“I know my worth!” you exclaimed. Carmen sucked in a breath and shut his mouth after, holding his breath. “I’ve known my worth all along, and sure, maybe I’m too good for this fucking place, but it’s my home.” Carmen’s face softened as the words tipped from your mouth. “What worth would I have if I went back to someone who treated me like shit?”

Carmen placed his hands on his hips and looked at the floor. His shoulders were tense as he hung his head in subtle shame. You knew Carmen. You knew he wasn’t like this, not always, which is what made it even harder to say no. 

“This was our dream,” he said gently. 

“It was your dream, Carm,” you said. He caught your eye strongly.

“You were always part of it.” The breath hitched in your throat. “It was always gonna be you and me–”

“Until it wasn’t,” you said over him. There was a finality to your words that Carmen understood wholeheartedly. He’d been too late, left it too long, for you to drop everything and come back now. 

He inhaled deeply, and let his breath out slowly, surely. “I’m sorry,” he said, hitting your eye. “For all of it. The way I acted. Cutting you all out of my life. I’m trying… not to do that anymore.”

You nodded gently, softening your expression. “I’m happy for you,” you said, and you meant it. “I just can’t do it.”

“Okay,” Carmen said. “Okay,” he repeated, trying to get it all to stick.  

You placed your hand on the door handle, and tugged it open. “It was good to see you,” you said. Maybe it was a lie, or maybe it had been nice to see his face after all these years. You just didn’t know yet. 

Carmen nodded. “You too,” he said. You shut the door behind you as you went inside, leaving him out the back with his half smoked cigarette. 

Sydney was amongst the last customers in the restaurant after lunch, and you sighed as you saw her alone. You strolled towards her table, and started picking up empty plates when you approached. “Nice meal?” you asked. 

“Amazing,” Sydney perked up awkwardly. “You were right. Those tangerines are good.”

You smiled. “They’re my favourite, too,” you revealed. 

Sydney rang her hands on the table. “Um, where’s Carmen?”

You kept your face flat, not wanting to show just how erratically your heart was beating after the entire ordeal. “Having a smoke, out the back. You can head out that way, I’ll clear this all up,” you suggested. 

Sydney got up and nodded. “Thank you. It was really nice to meet you,” she said. When you looked at her face, you could tell she was being genuine. “Carmen knows a lot of people in this industry, and most of the places and people aren’t like this, or, uh– like you. It’s a refreshing change.” She smiled. 

You felt bashful at her words, but ignored the warmth that spread to your cheeks. In that moment, you knew that Carmen had found himself a great partner. You just hoped he wouldn’t fuck it all up for her sake. 

Sydney quickly shuffled in her bag, and brought out her wallet. “How much do we owe you?”

“Oh,” you stuttered, before you shook your head. “On the house. How do they say it? No checks.” 

“Oh, no, I insist–”

“So do I. Didn’t you hear Paulie?” you said, stacking a final plate on your arm, as you balanced the rest with ease. “I’m the big boss around here.” 

Sydney smiled marvellously. Her eyes shone when she did. “Okay, okay,” she said, backing off. “Whatever the big boss says, goes, right?”

“Too right,” you said, as you stood up straight and looked at her face-on. “I… I hope everything with the restaurant goes great.”

Sydney nodded, understanding that Carmen must have told you about it outside. “Yeah, me too. You should come by.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her no, so you simply nodded. You stepped back and headed towards the kitchen, but stopped halfway there. “Good luck, Sydney. You’re gonna need it with him,” you said, gesturing towards the back door. Carmen. 

Sydney scoffed, amused. The way her face dropped softly, and her eyes widened gently, made you feel properly seen. Like you were sharing words through looks alone, and absolutely knew what position the other was in, or had been in. “Uh, if you’re ever in Chicago– don’t be a stranger,” she added awkwardly, but you found it incredibly endearing.

You smiled, before you continued to the kitchen. As you did, you hoped it wouldn’t be like what happened to you, for her. 

It was always like this with Carmen. He somehow always found himself next to people like you and Sydney, strong-willed, capable, caring, but almost always fucked it up in some capacity. He’d done it before with you, and others, and neither you–nor Sydney– wanted it to happen again. Not when their restaurant would be on the line.

You dropped off the plates at the sink, and found yourself looking around the empty kitchen. The chefs were out the back, taking their after-lunch break. Sydney had already left through the door at the back of the restaurant, so they’d no doubt all bump into each other before Carmen fully left. 

Gently, you opened the walk-in and pulled the door closed behind you. You ducked down to the lower shelves, at the back, until you found what you were looking for– tangerines. There was a crate of them, some of them fresher than others, but you liked the ones that were almost over-ripe. You grabbed a couple and held them in your hands, before you headed back to the kitchen. 

Grabbing Paulie’s knife, you sliced them into quarters. The insides were the most neon of oranges. Unlike the peels on big oranges, tangerine peels were thinner. You liked it when the colour of the juice was so vibrant that it got stuck behind your eyelids for a moment. You liked it when you picked up a quarter and it almost fell apart. 

You were reminded of a memory then, of the last time you’d seen Carmen before today. Five years ago, when your reservation at Union Square Cafe had finally arrived, Carmen was in the kitchen just like you’d known he would be. 

You arrived on time, dressed in something fancy and upper-class, just to fit in. It’d been ten months since you’d seen him, since he’d left Lucky Strike Diner, and he’d been far too busy to come by. You didn’t blame him. He was finally doing what he’d meant to, and, just as before, you’d been absolutely right– within five months at USC, Carmen Berzatto won the James Beard award. 

You weren’t at the restaurant to tell him I told you so, but you couldn’t deny that you felt powerful about it. You knew Carmen better than he knew himself. But maybe that was more of a curse, than a blessing. 

The hostess sat you down at your table for one, as the restaurant emitted a gentle lull of mutters and chatter. You’d booked a later reservation, nearer to the end of dinner service, and everything was serene as you perused the menu and chose a wine. A few moments later, a waitress brought over your glass, and you sipped at it gently.

This was nice. You could get used to this. Fine dining, putting on a show of excellence. This was so far removed from the world of the diner that you almost felt like a different person. Someone elegant, someone important. Not that you didn’t feel loved or supported at Lucky Strike, but you knew that standards in a place like Union Square Cafe were above and beyond. That’s how they got their stars, and kept them. 

In the kitchen, Carmen worked on an order. He positioned micro basil and other delicate ingredients on the plates, working with immense precision alongside the rest of the kitchen. When he was done, he let out a strong “Hands!” and within moments all the plates had been picked up and whisked from the kitchen. 

He made his way to the expo, banked a few more tickets, before his eye caught something. He stopped– froze, almost– as his gaze fell over your name on the reservations list. 

“Chef,” he said, turning to his front of house manager, who was responsible for calling out orders, and ensuring everything ran smoothly. “This booking, table thirty two– has she ordered yet?” 

“No, Chef. She was still looking the last time a server went to her table.”

Carmen had a thought, and he was going to put it into motion. “Take her menu away. I’ll be cooking for her tonight. Chef’s pick.”

“Yes, Chef,” the manager said, before she quickly fled the kitchen. 

Carmen took in a breath. “I need two veal, four salmon and one beef!”

“Yes, Chef!” the crew boomed in unison. 

You thought you’d decided. The salmon looked appealing, and as soon as you’d picked it was as if a server came over from being summoned. You turned to her, and smiled. “I’m ready to order,” you said. 

“That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” she said softly, as she gently plucked the menu from your hands. “Chef Berzatto is taking care of it for you.”

Chef Berzatto. 

Hearing Carmy’s name in such a way had you downright giddy. You wondered how he’d known, or if he’d been told, or whatever. You knew that top restaurants had a habit of being attentive to the max, so maybe they’d background checked you. Either way, you were excited. 

“Looking forward to it,” you said, accepting the fate of your meal as being in Carmen’s hands. You simply sat back, swilled your wine, and felt at peace. 

As you waited, you peered around the restaurant. Everything was laid out perfectly, had a system that worked, and every couple and group and business party looked catered for. It was an utterly different vibe than the diner. This was a place for another species, not like the locals you knew by name. You’d always assumed that intense and fanciful restaurants like this lacked character, in a way. They chose excellence over warmth, or stars over honest food, but you’d been wrong. 

Already, despite being on your own, you felt like you belonged. Carmen knew you were here, his servers knew you were here, and you knew why you were here. For him. 

A few parties finished up as you waited for your meal. All the while, you were generously topped up on wine from the servers, and positioned right by the kitchen. You could hear the methodical way they spoke to each other, sometimes, and the whoosh of the door every time someone stepped from within back into the restaurant, and vice versa. 

In the kitchen, Carmen finished up preparing your dish. He’d been transported away as he worked, reminded of you with every garnish that he placed and ru that he drizzled. Whenever he saw the colour orange, he thought of you. It was impossible not to, when he’d cut up an uncountable number of tangerines for you during his time at the diner. As he placed the final piece of your dish, he readied himself to yell for hands, but stopped himself.

Instead, he grabbed your plate and approached his front of house manager. “How are we for time?”

“Fine, Chef. We’re in the after dinner lull, only desserts are left. Table thirty-two is the final main of the evening.”

Carmen nodded. “Right.”

“Do you want to take it to her?” she asked knowingly, and Carmen swallowed. “You know her, don’t you? An old friend?”

“Something like that,” he said, not knowing how to even begin to explain you. An ex-work colleague just sounded wrong, but an old friend sounded wrong, too. You’d been so much more than either of those, and still were. You supported his endeavours, and cared beyond belief. 

The kitchen at USC was vastly different from the atmosphere at Lucky Strike. It was robotic, and static, and everyone had their purpose and place. Carmen’s purpose was that of importance, being chef de cuisine, but his superior– the head chef– was not like Paulie used to be. 

Not in the slightest. 

“I’ll take it,” Carmen finally replied. He placed your plate down and straightened out his chef whites. “How do I look?” he asked her. 

She smiled. “Smart,” she said. That was enough. 

As you sipped the last of your glass of red, you tensed when the door to the kitchen burst open. You turned your gaze towards it, and your heart stuttered in your chest. Walking towards you with the speed of a freight train, chef whites donned and clean, hair slicked back, was Carmy. He powered through the restaurant and gained glances of respect from other guests, triggering a small hubbub of chatter from other tables. 

You relaxed even further into your chair, knowing that you didn’t need to perform. You didn’t need to sit up straight, or lean in, or do anything other than smile at him with as much warmth as you could possibly muster. He’d made it, and this was exactly what you’d wanted to witness– you just hadn’t expected him to leave the seclusion of the kitchen just for you. 

Carmen reached your table, and set down your surprise meal. He gently drifted the plate towards you, and leaned down intimately. 

“Your meal this evening is our classic fillet of salmon, with a twist,” he said. You had to stop yourself from laughing. You felt overwhelmed in the best way. 

“A twist, Chef?” you asked. 

“I took the liberty of adding fresh tangerine juice to the jus.” 

Your eyes sparkled as he revealed all. It was very easy to feel special when you were alone with Carm at the diner before, to understand the gravity of his actions when he got past his shyness and opened up more, but this hit it out of the park. Your chest compressed as your heart lurched. Your lungs spluttered as you sucked in a shaking breath. 

The sides of Carmen’s mouth curled almost imperceptibly, but you knew that look from a mile away. That small smile, that warmth, that affection, that he reserved solely for those people that he knew deserved it. That fact you were here, and everything else from before, was reason enough for you to deserve it. Innately, he felt good when he looked at you this way. It made everything clear, wiped the slate clean, made his crumbling chest settle just that tiny bit more. 

Carmen stood up straight, hands behind his back. “I wanted to mention that there’ll be no checks tonight.”

You finally sat up straight, and immediately went to protest. “I–”

“We insist. I insist,” Carm cut you off softly. 

You looked at the perfectly cooked salmon on the table, the bright orange jus, the drops of red wine on the sides of your glass. “Okay,” you said, peering back up at him. 

“Okay,” he repeated, and his smile grew. 

The cogs whirred in his brain, as he became hyper-aware of the other guests around him. He still had dessert orders to fill, and an entire kitchen to break down and clean. As much as he wanted to stay, to sit opposite you, to throw a kitchen towel at your face when you looked at him so deeply and warmly and lovingly, he simply couldn’t. 

He leaned in once more, so much that your hairs stood on edge as he whispered. “I finish just before midnight,” he whispered gently, before pulling away. “Stay.” He swallowed. “Please.” 

“Okay,” you whispered.

You stayed until the restaurant was empty. The hostess at the front folded napkins in the dim light of the deserted bar, but stopped ever so often to fill up your wine glass. She smiled at you every time she did. 

It was a comfortable silence in the empty restaurant, a silence that you knew very well from being at the diner after hours. Inside the kitchen, you knew Carm would be breaking down after service. Cleaning every single surface in sight, scrubbing the floors until they shined, labelling produce with tape that was cut; not ripped. 

Close to midnight, the kitchen door slammed open once more. Carm had stripped off his chef whites, opting for jeans and an old tee. He spotted you from across the restaurant and smiled smally. “Wanna see?” he asked. 

He held the door open for you as you stepped into the kitchen. The sleekness of it all practically took your breath away. Every surface shone, every plate and bowl and mug glimmered. This was such a step up from the diner, one that you’d been expecting, but seeing it in person was far more incredible.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath. 

Carmen huffed in amusement. “I know.”

“This is… this is insane.” 

He nodded slowly, coming up to stand beside you as the door swayed on its hinges, before settling shut. “It feels like a dream, somedays,” he said, admiring the workspace with you. “And some days, it doesn’t.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Carm.” You smiled. He smiled back, and for just a moment it was as if no time had passed. It was like you were back in the diner, talking about your dreams together. A place to call your own, and all that jazz. Perhaps, those dreams were still there somewhere.

“I’m not sure I deserve that,” he replied, but not quite jokingly enough for your liking.

You sent him a side-eyed stare and caught the look on his face– fear, or perhaps, damage. When he hit your eyes a second later, that look melted away. All you saw then was warmth. Carmen didn’t often show much on his face, but you could see it all. The years you’d spent alongside him had taught you more than how to run a restaurant; you were one of a handful of people that could seamlessly read Carmen like a book. 

That’s why your gut coiled innately. That look wasn’t one that you’d take lightly. 

“How’s it all going?” you asked. 

He let out another huff and shrugged his shoulders, before opting to move away and roam the clean kitchen. “I can’t complain.” He swiped his hand across the stainless steel workbench. 

“And that chef, David or whatever his name is, how is he?”

Carmen froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your hairs stand on end. His arms tensed, until you saw the strength within his veins rise to the surface. He looked up at you sternly, clenching his jaw. “He’s an excellent chef.” 

“Okay,” you said. “That’s great. What about how he manages this place, manages you?”

“What is this, twenty fucking questions?” Carmen let out defensively.

It only cemented that you knew something was wrong. 

“Okay– I’ll pretend you didn’t just snap at me for being interested,” you let out belligerently. “What the hell is it, Carm?”

“Drop it,” he said sternly, moving away from you and over to the enormous shelves of shimmering white plates. “I got a James Beard award, didn’t I? I got everything I fucking wanted here, so just drop it.”

“Listen,” you started, fast walking your way around the central island and closer to him. “I get it, I’m not part of this world– your world– anymore. But I still know a thing or two about chefs and their giant fucking egos. What’s going on?”

Carmen closed his eyes and let out a subtly shaking breath. You were taken aback by this whole conversation, the drastic shift in his mood as soon you’d started asking questions. 

“Carm,” you said softly, dialling things down a little. “Just look at me for a second.” 

His shoulders relaxed, dipping into more of a tired hunch than his previous disposition of a deer in headlights. When his eyes hit yours, your heart lurched in your chest. Those eyes, god– the blue was etched in the corners of your brain. Like a clear sky in summer, or a glittering pool, or a calm ocean. Carmen was many things, but clear, glittering and calm were not traits that most people would pin onto him. 

Not you, though. This was the Carm that dreamt with you. This was the Carm that cut up tangerines into quarters for you whenever you asked, or even when you didn’t. Blue and orange, swirling together like the patterns on peppermint hard-candy or gingham squares on the Lucky Strike tablecloths. Ingrained. Permanent. 

“He’s taught me a lot,” Carmen whispered. 

You knew it wasn’t your place, but red flags popped up in your mind and billowed in the breeze immediately. He looked stripped back, a shell of himself, just for those fleeting seconds, and you fucking hated it. 

“You’ve been here for almost a year,” you said, swallowing away the butterflies that had started crawling up your throat. “Maybe now is a good shot to find something else.” 

Carm’s eyes widened brightly, and you saw all his plans from before; his restaurant, his staff, his food and the like. And then, as if a gust of wind uprooted the largest tree within his mind, that was gone. Replaced by something seething, something angry and not at all kind, Carmen rose. 

“You’re telling me to quit?” 

You took a small step back. “Of course, I’m not–”

“No, no, you fucking are.” He bit down on his tongue, you heard it. “You think being here for a few hours and one meal is enough for you to tell me what the fuck to do?”

“Carmen, what are you talking ab–”

“Fuck!” His shoulders squared off, and suddenly he was a corrugated iron board before you. Immovable, stuck in place. “You came here to tell me I’m strong enough, right? What, you want me to go back to the diner with Paulie and everyone else who’s never had a real fucking goal in their lives?”

“Wow,” you breathed out, laughing a little as a lack of what else to respond. 

You stood your ground, as much as you wanted to scream and yell like a petulant child. The look on his face, the brick wall he’d built so high around himself, was something you’d seen before– self-sabotage, tugging away from everything and everyone that was there to help. A level of acceptance and denial alike was testament alongside situations such as this; abusive situations. 

This Chef David was abusing the shit out of him. And Carmen was deep, way down to the core of it, just trying to get through his days, shift by shift, in any way possible. Even if that meant cutting off those dreams, cutting off people from his past– you. 

“You really think I’d do that?” you said bluntly. “You really think I booked this solo reservation a fucking year ago because I wanted to come and drag you back to the diner?”

Carm’s eyes brightened momentarily. “A year ago?”

You took another step back, careful not to immediately fall into him from the childish bewilderment on his face. It was like he’d never had someone care, but you knew that wasn’t true. He just didn’t know how to spot when someone did, misconstrued it as someone trying to harm him, hurt him, ruin him. 

“I booked to come here a year ago, Carmen,” you started. “I fucking knew you’d make it here. I knew that when I came today, you’d be the one cooking my damn meal. I was fucking right.”

It was his turn to take a step back now, just a little. Perhaps he was overwhelmed because he wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting you to still stay supporting him after he left, or didn’t even want to think about what the guys at the diner might be saying about him after he’d gone. Little did he know, everyone still talked about him with smiles and bright eyes. 

Carmen Berzatto was the only motherfucker out there that didn’t know people supported him wholeheartedly. 

“I’m not telling you to leave, or quit, or whatever else you fucking think I was about to say,” you began again. Carm swallowed nervously. “You can think what the hell you want to think about us at Lucky Strike, but we’re still the same people we’ve always been. I guess that can’t be said about you now, huh?”

Carmen’s anxiety turned to anger in a heartbeat. “What, ‘cause I actually made a name for myself instead of you all staying in the fucking box you planted yourselves in years ago? If that’s why I’ve changed, then I’m fucking glad about it.”

“Fuck– there you go again!” you exclaimed. “You’re talking down to us like we’re pieces of fucking shit on your brand-spanking new shoes!” 

“And you’re looking at me with those fucking baby-eyes like I’m gonna crumble any fucking second!” Carmen screamed. “I can’t fucking stand it.”

You placed your hands on your hips and held your ground again. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” 

Carmen saw red immediately. “If you bring up Chef David one more fucking time, then I’m done.”

“You’re done? Huh, what the hell does that mean?”

“Done with you.” 

Your eyes widened. Bile started to crawl up your oesophagus. In that moment, you’d never felt more like your mother. You knew if you were to talk, you’d adopt her stern accent instantly. You popped your hip out and bent your knee, tired of fucking standing. 

“So, you made it to the big leagues, and now you’re throwing out all your trash. Is that what it is, huh?” You stepped forward once. Carmen stayed where he was. “Look at me right here, Carm.” You pointed to your eyes, not wavering once. “Look at me right here and tell me that you hate me. Do it right now. If you do it right now then I’ll know you fucking mean it. If you do it right now then me, and Paulie, and everyone from the fucking diner will call it quits with you like that.” You snapped your fingers on that. It cemented that you meant it. 

Carmen raised his chin, so close that your noses almost touched. In any other circumstance, maybe you’d have kissed him by now. Maybe you’d have realised that you both liked each other as more, loved each other once, still fucking did. 

But, that wasn’t this reality. 

When he didn’t say anything, you knew you’d won. He stayed as still as he could as adrenaline rushed through his blood. His fingers shook at the end of his arms. His chest thumped incessantly as oxygen tried to tear through his lungs. 

“No?” you asked, almost as a final warning. 

Carm breathed in. “I hate what you represent.”

“And what exactly is it that I represent?” you whispered. 

Suddenly, Carmen dropped his forehead on yours. His hands deposited themselves on either side of your neck warmly, gently. His fingertips set your skin alight. “The one thing I can never fucking have.” 

As much as you wanted tell him to get the fuck off, to stop touching you, your heart melted as soon as your skin felt his. You clamped your eyes shut, leaning into him. Carm let out a pent up breath. His breath was warm as it skimmed your skin. 

“Carmen.” You swallowed. “Please.” You paused. “I– love you,” you stuttered. 

“I know,” he replied. “I know you do.” 

For just a second, you thought he was going to kiss you. It’d be easy to drop his lips onto yours, you were right in front of him. Heads touching, breath mingling, sharing each other’s air like it was the most normal fucking thing to do. 

You wanted him back, it was true. But not like this. Not broken, or bruised, or damaged beyond repair. It wasn’t his fault, you knew that. He’d been moulded this way. But, it was his responsibility to do good for himself. One deep dive into this entire conversation and you knew that it was impossible for him to do that, at least right now. Carmen Berzatto was stuck, and you didn’t want to get yourself stuck in the process of trying to free him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Leave,” was all he said. 

You shook your head slowly, tears welling behind your eyes. “Don’t push me away.”

“Leave,” he repeated, as his hands dropped from your neck to your shoulders. Gently, he started physically pushing you off him. 

“Carmen,” you spluttered. Your eyes opened to see him in pain. God, you fucking hated it. “I won’t come back if you do this. I really fucking won’t.”

He stepped back once, twice, three times. Eyes glued on yours, blue and glassy like a glacier, his heart as cold as one, too. “Good,” he said softly, headed for the door to the kitchen.

“You don’t mean that.” You urged him to stay. 

He only nodded. “I never want to fucking see you again.” 

Carmen left unceremoniously, without another word or glance or care. The kitchen door swung shut, bobbing on its hinges. The only sound you could hear was the buzzing of the refrigerators, and the breaking of your heart strings. 

PART THREE