#'what matters when things happen is what happens after'

[vrystalius]

Not saying “I love you“ back to the Squid game men.

How will they react if you don‘t say it back? In what scenario would they not say it back to you?

Pairing: The Recruiter, Thanos, Nam-gyu, Dae-ho, Gi-hun, In-ho x gn!reader

Summary: Them not saying “I love you“, their reaction to you not saying “I love you“

Genre: fluff, a lil bit of angst sprinkled on top

(Pre-Squid game)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

Gong Yoo // The Recruiter // The Salesman

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It barely ever happens, really. He adores everything about you, from your face, voice, body and the ground you walk on; that man is ready to worship you like a devoted follower would to the most merciful goddess. Therefor he would always be aware of how to make your day a little better, even if it‘s just a small “I love you” or a gentle kiss here and there.

The first thing you hear from him in the morning is a groggy voice mumbling a small “Good morning love...” into your ear while warm kisses were trailed down your back.

While standing in the kitchen and searching the fridge for any signs of a tasty breakfast, a small “I love you, I‘ll be back later!“ would echo slightly through the apartment as the front door closed.

Once, he did forget to say his usual I love you on the way out. He thought about how he possibly could forget? You‘re probably overthinking everything now and think what you might‘ve done wrong or do to offend him. You didn‘t, though! He was just too caught up in perfecting his appearance because his damn hair refused to obey and submit to his meticulous styling.

The poor man was almost scared to come home. As some sort of peace offering, he bought some of your favorite take-out food alongside some dessert, flowers and a new bracelet he thought you might like. Anything to try and make you know that he does really love you.

“Apologies, it completely slipped my mind. It will never happen again my sunshine. I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

His face may be neutral and his expressions calculated but his features soften up immensely when you show even an ounce of affection. His smirk shifts into a dreamy smile, the crinkles around his mouth shifting and becoming bigger, his eyes twinkling just a little. He just can’t suppress when you even look at him.

Your kisses and words energise him, gift him life, so whenever you don’t give him that little boost of dopamine, he gets visibly more tense in a way.

The silence that followed after his usual “I love you my darling, I’ll be back later!” was almost eerie to him. He stuck his head back into the kitchen to check if you even heard him. You glanced back at him for a moment and gave your husband a dismissive head nod. So you did hear him?

Silently, he left the apartment and went on with his usual day during that time of the year. For some reason, today he is especially looking forward to slap his elders for loosing a damn children’s game. His face remained neutral and had his usual smirk on his face, but deep inside, he’s offended, confused, worried, stressed; all the negative emotions someone can feel after their spouse doesn’t reincorporate ones affection.

Do you want a divorce? Because hell no, he’d never let you go no matter how hard you

But once he got a little text message on his phone that read a simple: “Need cuddles in bed later pls. Got some snacks too. Love you.”, all of his worries washed away in an instant. You probably were still too sleepy to answer this morning.

A smile spread over his face as he thought about slipping into your arms tonight. Isn’t it ridiculous how he melt like putty in your hands?

“You forgot something this morning and it did worry me a lot. But it doesn’t matter, it’s silly anyway.”

Thanos // Su-bong // Player 230

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s actually quite rare to hear Thanos say “I love you” word for word. He still feels awkward committing himself to the relationship you have and those three magic words feel so heavy on his tongue, so he’ll rephrase them to suit his level of comfort. “Love ya”, “Thanos loves you” and “Me too” are his ways to dodge the action to reincorporate those sweets words you shower him with.

Thanos only really says “I love you” if you two are alone, sober and you holding him in your arms. To be cradled by someone he admires, cares and loves so much makes him want to cry for some reason, but he suppresses those emotions and instead buries his face in your shoulder as your hand soothingly runs up and down his back.

Those are the times you hear a small “I love you���” being mumbled against your warm skin.

So quiet it’s almost unnoticeable, yet it was there. You know Su-bong needs time to get used to everything, so you’ll settle with a small audio message-rap in reply to your usual “I love you” text message.

“Back to the kitty ‘cause she kinda pretty, I can’t stop looking at her ti- ti- ti-face.. Anyways, thinking of you babygirl. Iloveyatoo.” (You barely caught him saying this the way how quietly he mumbled it into the mic)

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

It’s fine. It’s cool. You don’t have to reassure him every day that you love him, it’s totally fine. You still love him like you did the day before.

It causes a deep panic inside of Thanos when you don’t give him his usual “I love you” text in the morning after he had woken up. He kept checking his phone like a madman, while he was brushing his teeth, peeking his arm and head out of the shower in the middle of shampooing, staring at his text messages while microwaving himself an convenience store meal. Nothing.

Not wanting to reach out first and appear clingy, he decided to write you like he is not having a full blown eternal panic attack. A small voice message here, a picture of his food there, a selfie from the bottom to show off his double chin, anything really.

You replied like normal but still, his eyes searched for the three key words. I. Love. You.

Thanos doesn’t want to admit to himself or to anyone for that matter that your calls, texts, hell, you coming over is like the most addictive drug to him. And he had his share of all kinds of colourful drugs.

His foot was nervously tapping the ground while his finger kept ringing your poor doorbell until you were forced to answer. He gave you a close look up and down, his lips formed into a pout of sorts.

“You okay? You didn’t text me you love me this morning. It’s totally cool and all but like… do you want to break up with me or something?”

Nam-gyu // Player 124

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Similar to Thanos, at first, Nam-gyu barely ever told you how much he loved you, liked you even. He just assumed you already knew and his actions were enough. A small side hug there and ruffling your hair here had to be enough for the rest of the week anyway.

He is guarded, afraid of commitment and to be frank in belief that you’re using him for the longest of time. Maybe you’re just “dating” him to get access to high-end drugs, all kinds of clubs or whatever else reason there is there to date him but for love.

You had to say those three magic words first for him to get comfortable with the thought that you are actually just want to date and love him. It came to him in the middle of a night shift at a random club he was supposed to promote. A moment of enlightenment.

Nam-gyu hid in a bathroom stall with his phone and ignored whatever the couple was doing next door, writing you a whole paragraph about what he was thinking, feeling, before deleting everything again because he thought he’d come off as some kind of pussy if he’d sent that.

His first time telling you how much he loved you was at your place. A casual evening watching some random movie you picked out while being arms deep in a bag of chips and dressed like a homeless person, Nam-gyu was staring up at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the universe even during this ungraceful moment of yours, admiring you in silence until finally…

“I love you.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Did he fuck up again? Do or say something wrong? Don’t you love him anymore? Was there someone else?? His thoughts go ballistic as he stared at the screen of his phone with a deadpan-expression, trying to shake the crippling fear and nervousness off while looking nonchalant.

Nam-gyu’s finger kept hovering over the call button to check on you in case something happened because there could be a whole other person talking to him by how there were no affirmations at all.

He doesn’t want to appear clingy or too attached to you as that may scare you off or even disgust you, so Nam-gyu’s casually mention that one time you didn’t say “I love you” while fidgeting with his ring, trying to appear indifferent about it while intensely watching your facial expression shift to try and detect if you’re lying about your reasoning or not.

Your boyfriend is afraid to not be good enough, too much, too little. Your little affirmations give him reassurance, every day a little more until he’s full convinced that you do really, really love him.

“Hey, uhhh. Did you forget anything today?… No? You sure? Mkay.”

Dae-ho // Player 388

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Never happens. Either he is dead and not able to reply to you or already said it multiple times throughout the day. Dae-ho has separation anxiety and gets nervous when he doesn’t have you in line of his sight or not around him in general, that’s why he always tells you how much he loves you whenever he can.

Off to the bathroom? I love you. Bringing the trash out? I love you. Getting dressed? You’re gorgeous and I love you. You could be simply existing and Dae-ho would bury his face in your neck and mumble a soft I love you into your warm skin, his lips planting a soft kiss here and there.

Dae-ho is just a little scared about saying his usual affirmation in front of his family, mostly his father. He’s a very affectionate and physical man but he still wants to look like the tough-marine-son his dad wants to see.

His sisters know better though, they see how their brother’s eyes twinkle in delight when you help his mom out in the kitchen with the dinner.

He does make it up to you after coming home though. Your boyfriend will stuff the leftovers his mom gave him into the microwave and usher to you made yourself comfortable on the couch while he makes some preparations to completely pamper you for the rest of the evening.

Sometimes Dae-ho’ll even try to flirt a little but he’s still a little awkward in that department.

“Hey, do you want some snacks with that? A drink? O-Or am I enough of a snack…?”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you…

Every time Dae-ho tells you that he loves you, you always reply with equal enthusiasm. How could you not? That golden retriever of a man gets that almost childish smile of his whenever you kiss his cheek or just tell him that he looks handsome today.

Once, you tested how he’d react when you don’t give him his hourly dose of dopamine by deflecting or ignoring his touches.

As his arms securely snaked around your waist and gently pulled you against his torso, you paid him no mind and continued to stir the ramen in the food container. He watched the noodles move in circles and gave your waist a gentle poke, trying to pull your attention to him. Dae-ho’s eyes slowly dimmed and the edges of his smile turned downwards.

The silence made him seriously nervous. You could feel his rapidly increasing heartbeat drum against your back.

“Hey… is everything okay? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. Can you talk to me?…”

Gi-hun // Player 456 (post s1)

♡— Him not saying I love you…

Gi-hun always reassures you of his love, even during arguments. He wants you to know that he cherishes and loves you for the rest of his life and that you are his everything. Whenever he doesn’t say I love you, something must’ve happened.

He has been missing for a whole week and you had no idea where your boyfriend went. Gi-hun didn’t leave a note, a voice mail, no nothing!

And after he returned and suddenly began giving you expensive gifts, the same boyfriend that used to ask you for money to get himself an convenience store dinner, now began buying you new headphones, bracelet and whatever else you even eyed.

It was nice, sure, but you were more worried about his mental state. He was paranoid and quiet, kept checking his whole body for some kind of tracker and barely ever spoke what was on his mind. Gi-hun began having panic attacks and you were barely able to leave his side because of how terrified he was to leave you alone.

He barely touched you, gave you kisses or affection. He changed after whatever happened during that week he went missing.

While running your fingers through his hair, trying to make him fall asleep after being awake for two days straight, he sleepily stared up at you through his dyed-red hair. His voice was quiet, broken almost.

“I’m sorry. Please… know that I love you. I love you so much.. Don’t leave me, please… please...”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

Your boyfriend called out to you but you didn’t quite hear what he said, so you replied with an “yeah!” and just hoped that that’s an appropriate response to whatever he tried to tell or ask you. It wasn’t.

Gi-hun stood there for a couple of moments, waiting on your reply to yelling “I love you!” across the whole apartment. When nothing came, he didn’t call out to you again. You were probably busy with something or don’t want him with your right now, he gets that.

Later though, thoughts of self-doubt began to cook up inside his mind. As he bit all his nails to shreds he overthought about how you had enough of him now. Maybe you are falling out of love now after how the death games fucked up his mind and body. You’re surely fed up with his paranoia and secretive behaviour, how much he has been obsession over finding a weird salesman. Surely.

The metallic taste that spread inside his mouth after biting the skin surrounding his nails began to open and bleed finally pulled Gi-hun out of his self-destructive thoughts that continued to circle like a toy train. Picking up his throwaway phone and choosing the one contact he saved on every single burner phone he had as “Reason to smile ❤️” and pressing the call button.

“Gi-hun? What’s wrong?” Your voice forced a small smile to form on his face. He hesitated

“Hey. Just wanted to ask if I should bring some take out home tonight. That’s all.”

In-ho // The Frontman // Player 001

♡— Him not saying I love you…

It’s purely just to tease you. When bored, In-ho will make you his greatest entertainment.

He likes making you annoyed and flustered, so he’ll intentionally ignore you just to make you react and pout at him adorably while he was trying so hard to keep his stone cold face and not break into a shit-eating grin and maybe even pull on your cheek to make you whine even more.

In-ho adores your whole being and cherishes all of your affections, so he’ll let himself get showered in them any tome he can.

Expect you to he cuddled up on his lap while he was leaning back in the leather chair, mumbling a complaint about how you covered his whole face in kisses but managed to miss the bridge of his nose. He will not allow you to move off his lap until you covered his whole face in kisses again as compensation for that mistake of yours.

So, In-ho’ll intentionally not give you affection so you pay even more attention to him. He is like a cat in that way weirdly enough.

Once you finally break his facade, the flood gates will open and you will be showered, bathed, drowned in his affection, physical and verbal.

“Fine. I’ll say it just because you’ve been so good to me today. I love you, my dearest, lovely darling.”

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳

♡— You not saying I love you back…

In-ho has a dedicated frequency on his walkie-talkie for you, so he can call in and ask you to come to his office for a kiss that cannot wait, to inform you that he is in the bedroom and retiring for the day or just to tell you that he loves you randomly throughout the day.

Of course, you’d always reply back with your own gadget, but to pay back his infinite teasing he has done to you, you decided to ignore him the way he sometimes does to you. Payback.

Your husband called into your frequency. “Dove, are you free right now? Come to my office, I miss you.” and so your game begins. You simply ignored his request and continued getting comfortable in your bed and all the sheets surrounding you, grinning to yourself as you awaited the next time In-ho calls in again, for which you don’t have to wait long for.

“Darling, I am waiting. Do you want me to send someone to pick you up?” Your grin widened as you heard how impatient he was slowly getting with the lack of your response. “I can see you in the bedroom.” That one caught you off guard. Did he install cameras in your shared bedroom??

Almost on cue, your bedroom door opened, revealing the masked Frontman. His shoulders were tense and you could feel his intense state through the mask. You stared back, not expecting how quickly your husband would cave in and visit you himself. Innocently, you batted your lashes at him.

In-ho slipped his mask off and carelessly tossed it on the nightstand. “Why are you ignoring me? Are you upset or just moody?” Unimpressed, you silently glared at him. He gave you an equally uninterested look and leaned down to your face to give you a small peck on your cheek. “Not enough. More.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as his lips cracked into a smile.

“Demanding, aren’t we? Fine. As you wish.”

💠

Author’s note. Thank you for reading <3

Watch me announce that I’m going to post In-ho’s yandere profile and proceed to get hit with the most ungodly group-assignment in Chemistry. Anyways, take this as an apology! Had to write a little fluff for them since the only thing I’m finding is smut 🙏😭 I’m not complaining but this fluff prompt came to me like a truck during a class of mine. It was originally inspired by this post and I made a similar one before for the Demon Slayer hashira. Check it out if you’re interested!!

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <33

[my-castles-crumbling]

fire - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 1367 (whoops)

There were few things Regulus Black valued more than sleep. Perhaps reading. Or music. Or a nice dark roast coffee. But either way, sleep was of the utmost importance. He was even more prickly than normal without at least eight hours of it, and miserable as well, so he always prioritized getting his rest.

Which is why he was ready to kill everyone in his path when the fire alarm was pulled at 2:47 am on a Tuesday night in his university dorm, and he was forced to evacuate into the parking lot.

Not only was the whole thing infuriating, but to make matters worse, it was also freezing outside. The September air was chilling him to his bones, and he could feel his body screaming for shut-eye. It was his definition of hell.

As he stood shivering, a tall, dark-haired, tan-skinned, hazel-eyed boy walked up to him and offered him his coat with the most obnoxiously beautiful grin he’d ever seen.

Too cold to play stupid games, he just hissed, “Fuck off,” and turned away.

As soon as they were all allowed back inside, Regulus curled under his blanket and fell asleep, keen to put the whole miserable experience behind him.

-

No such luck.

It took one week before the alarm went off again. This time at 1:19am on a Thursday, he found himself trudging down the stairs and into the cold, cursing himself for once again being too sleepy to remember a coat.

So furious that he was about to scream, he didn’t see the same boy walk up to him right away, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. 

“I brought you an extra,” the boy grinned, making Regulus’s frozen knees melt as he offered him the jacket.

“Do you make a habit of giving your clothing to strangers?” he bit out, giving in and grabbing the offending garment, immediately throwing it over his shoulders. He figured if he was going to be harassed, he might as well be warm while it happened.

“Only the pretty ones,” the boy said with a wink, walking off and leaving Regulus both pissed off and flustered.

-

The third time happened only three days after the second, and Regulus bit back a scream when the alarm roused him from his slumber. At this point, it felt like a pattern, and he was at least smart enough to grab the oversized, frayed, horrifyingly maroon, disgustingly warm jacket he’d thrown over his desk chair three days ago.

He was only outside for a few minutes before the boy walked up to him again, looking completely comfortable in the frigid night.

“So, do I get to know your name?” he asked, sending Regulus the same stunning smile.

Frowning, at both his current whereabouts and the way his stomach flip-flopped, Regulus scoffed. “I don’t know yours.”

“James,” he answered easily, kicking at a random rock on the pavement. “Now, I’ve given you two things. It makes sense that you should give me one, yeah? Only fair.” And he batted his long eyelashes, making Regulus nearly choke on his spit.

He pretended to ponder for a moment, getting ahold of himself, before rolling his eyes. “No,” he said shortly. And he walked off.

-

“What about your major, then?”

Ten days. It took ten days before the alarm was pulled again, and the school had started sending out cryptic notices threatening consequences for the party responsible. But still, Regulus was here, in the parking lot in the middle of the night, sending a death glare at James.

“Why does it matter?” he asked with a huff.

“Because people tend to care about their majors,” the taller boy shrugged. “And I want to know what you care about. Mine’s education, by the way.”

Education. It fit, strangely. James’s sunshiny disposition warmed the surrounding air even during the cold night, and his smile seemed like the type of thing that would put kids at-ease.

Regulus sighed, giving in. “English. With a minor in creative writing,” he mumbled, looking down.

“Hmm. That suits you,” James replied vaguely, smiling. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “And your name?”

He thought about it for a moment, but at this point, it almost felt like he would be giving in to some sort of weird, unspoken battle if he shared his name. And he had to admit, talking with James passed the time during these stupid evacuations. “No,” he answered, sending the boy a smirk, heart skipping a beat at his own nerve, and turning to find someone else to speak with.

-

It became a game. Every time the alarm was pulled, James found him. He asked him questions, and Regulus answered every one, shocked at the way James listened. It was actually nice to talk to someone who seemed genuinely interested. He hadn’t made a lot of friends on campus, yet, and James felt…safe. But every time James asked his name, he refused, grinning as much as James did, before sauntering away.

-

One cold night in November, though, he couldn’t sleep. Stress about classes had his mind going wild, and anxious energy flooded his body. So, he decided to take a walk through the dorm, to clear his head. He drifted through the floors and halls, no destination in mind, when he happened across one of the more-quiet areas of the building. This area happened to have a fire alarm in a dark corner of the hall, almost hidden in shadows. It was as he turned a corner to this spot that Regulus saw a hooded figure slowly approach the alarm, arm outstretched, intentions clear. 

Eyes wide, Regulus watched as the figure pulled the latch and began to run, turning and smacking right into Regulus.

“Ouch!” He cried out, nearly falling over.

“Fuck!” The person yelled, losing their balance as well.

And then the hood fell. And Regulus would have recognized those hazel eyes and that beautiful hair anywhere.

“James!?!”

The other boy looked terrified, mouth open, his body frozen in place. He uttered a few syllables as if he was trying to form words, but no sound came out. Scoffing, Regulus grabbed his hand and led him down some nearby stairs and out the emergency exit, alarm still blaring overhead.

When they got into the quiet, freezing air, he turned to the taller boy. “It was you?” he hissed, resisting the urge to slap him across the shoulder. The amount of sleep he’d lost in the past two months was abhorrent. “Why?”

James grimaced. “Well…the first two times, it wasn’t! But, y’know, the first time you didn’t have a coat…”

“I remember,” Regulus frowned, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. And…I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So the second time, I just…grabbed my old one. And when you took it and you looked so…” James gestured to Regulus, eyes wide, cheeks pink. Regulus blinked, trying to understand. Was James saying he looked good in his jacket? “…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I just…”

Regulus gaped. “You’ve been pulling the fire alarm to see me?”

“It was only supposed to be a one-time thing! Just to get your name!” James defended himself, looking almost scared. “I didn’t know how to find you, and I just….you have to understand, you’re fucking stunning, you know?”

Blushing furiously, Regulus sputtered, “That’s…well, that’s not…”

“But then you wouldn’t tell me your name! So I had to keep pulling it, you know?” James explained, a desperate look on his face. Like it obviously made sense why he’d been breaking the law for two months. “...Just until I found out.”

He blinked several times before biting his lip. Nobody had ever gone to such lengths to get to know him before. It was stupid, and risky, and idiotic, and so damn romantic.

“My name is Regulus,” he sighed, wondering if he’d regret this. “I live in room 743. And if you ever pull that damn alarm again, and wake me up, I will never speak to you again. Understood?”

James grinned sheepishly. “Yeah. Your name is as beautiful as you are, by the way.”

Regulus could only sigh. What had he gotten himself into?

I also posted this here if you want to go give it some love!

[strwberri-milk]

heyyy, could i request lads men forgetting readers birthday or anniversary? hurt comfort pls 🥹

You understand that Zayne's job is incredibly important and you would never hold it against him for forgetting these dates but you also know that you're still going to feel hurt no matter how much you rationalise it. You woke up that morning, knowing that today should have been a special day, that he remembered to book it off months in advance and the two of you would be together.

When you see him getting ready for work you feel your heart drop, watching silently as he puts together his lunch and grabs his things. He doesn't notice you're up, thinking that you're still asleep and you take that opportunity to run back into bed and feign sleep again. You'd feel awful if you let Zayne go to work worrying about missing something this important so you decide it'd be kinder to just let him go to work in peace.

It's not until he looks at his schedule after a complicated surgery right from the moment he got into work that he realises what day it is today. He feels awful about it, immediately trying to figure out what surgeries he could offload onto the others so he can try and get home to you as soon as possible. Thankfully, all the other staff are emphatic about his situation, assisting him in getting home as soon as he can.

Thankfully, he's usually prepared in advance when it comes to gifts so he doesn't have to buy you anything last minute. He does make it a point to go and grab you a bouquet as well as some little treats/snacks of all your favourite things. When he comes home he finds you curled up in bed, trying to cheer yourself up. He hates how he made you feel and silently slides in behind you, holding you tightly as he whispers that he's sorry for forgetting about you. He promises that he'll make it up to you another night when the two of you are free, promising an evening at a restaurant you love while he currently placates you with the food and flowers he brought.

Xavier was so exhausted that he accidentally slept through the plans that the two of you made. You didn't even know it happened until you reappeared from the bedroom, watching him sleep peacefully on the bed. You can't bring yourself to wake him, sighing as you move to tuck him in.

He wakes up in the middle of the night, sitting up with a jolt as he realises that he missed your date. He rushes to bed only to find you dead asleep, dried tear tracks on your face. The sight breaks his heart, and he immediately starts making plans to try and fix his mistake.

When you come home one evening you're a little panicked because you can't see anything. You reach around blindly, trying to find a light switch to turn on some light in the pitch black darkness. confused when you realise you can't move the switch. You're about to call for Xavier when he makes his presence known beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to the living room. You're expecting to run into your coffee table but you're confused when you don't, kneeling on the ground as he counts down after covering your eyes.

You hear the click of a button and he uncovers your eyes, showing you the room illuminated by seemingly hundreds of little stars. You look around in surprise by the assortment of fairy lights and stars, a little surprised as you realise you're also sat in front of a meal comprised of your favourite takeout.

He gives you a heartfelt apology, promising that he didn't do it on purpose and he's felt awful about it the entire time. He promises that he'll clean all of this up after the two of you are finished. He doesn't want you to take on any of the stress about this at all, pampering you in extra gifts as an additional apology.

Rafayel is amazing whenever it comes to remembering important dates. His life revolves around you so that's why you find it so odd that the day comes and goes with absolutely no fanfare. It's so out of character that you literally gaslight yourself into thinking that you had the dates mixed up, mentioning it to him offhandedly how it's so weird that you thought yesterday was your anniversary but maybe it actually wasn't. Your birthday is an entirely different scenario though - you just tell him that it's okay if he's too busy to do anything and hopefully you can do something next year.

Rafayel is devastated, internally falling to his knees and sobbing while externally all you see is him humming thoughtfully. Internally he's trying to figure out what the hell happened for him to have dropped the ball. He's so panicking, pulling out his phone to book reservations at the fanciest restaurant he can think of and paying an exorbitant amount of money to do so. He also has so many gifts for you that at this point, he could just pull from a pile he has hidden in his home, telling you that you can have this for now because the main event is coming at your dinner reservation.

It doesn't take you long for you to realise that he actually kinda did fuck up and totally forgot about it when you hear him talking to Thomas about how he can't take on any projects at all because he's busy trying to make sure you don't hate him for forgetting a major event. You end up asking him about it right then and there, basically confronting him about why he forgot. He promises you it wasn't intentional and that he just had so much fun preparing for the even that he fully forgot to actually carry through with his plans.

He ends up making it up to you in bed. You mope and pout and bury yourself underneath the luxurious sheets and refuses to let him in. He basically just lays on top of you, burying his face into your neck and begging for forgiveness. You refuse to give it to him that easily, deciding to make him mope and pout more. He holds you tightly, continuing to whisper sweet nothings as he tells you he'll make it up to you by giving you his credit card. You jokingly tell him that's more than enough before getting serious and telling him how upset you are. He swears it won't happen again and to his credit, it never does.

Sylus couldn't get out of a previous commitment, mentally noting that it was a special day and aiming to follow through with absolutely no problem. Unfortunately, his meeting dragged and by the time it finished he had even more things to do which left you standing in his bedroom, dressed extravagantly for a missed reservation.

You cry to yourself quietly in the room as you get yourself undressed for the evening. It doesn't really hit you until you're laying in bed in your pajamas, staring up at the ceiling as you tell yourself that he didn't mean to do it on purpose.

He comes in as you're crying, listening to your soft sniffles. When you go quiet in hopes of attempting to convince him you weren't just sobbing your eyes out he feels even worse, quickly putting two and two together. He realises what he just missed, looking back at his phone and seeing the reservation cancellation.

He immediately scoops you up in his arms. You try to resist him at first but falter when your body settles into his familiar warmth. He coos at you, whispering apologies into your ear. You want to tell him too little too late but you also know that he never would want to see you crying like this, especially not because of him.

He holds you all night, telling you that you can ask him for anything and he'll make it happen for you. He already does but the guilt of this weighs on him so heavily that he knows that no matter what stands in his way, he won't let it stop him from giving you everything that you want. He also makes sure that it doesn't happen again, wanting you to feel like you could always trust him. If he lost your trust on top of that he'd never forgive himself, telling you that you're everything to him.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 10 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A fight turns into something beautiful. Turns into what could be your last day on earth.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder/rape/death, hinting at suicidal thoughts (only briefly and not really serious, but I'll put it here nonetheless), body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation and low self-esteem, mentions of sexual activities and desires, smut, (rough) sex, oral sex, switch, degradation kink, dom/sub dynamics, daddy, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The tight smile.

It was all you needed to see to know you were in great, big trouble. It was really disappointing though, considering how good the day had started.

When you woke up, right after having a short, restless sleep, you saw him lying beside you. And for once, ever since you had gotten here, he wasn’t awake. No, he was deep asleep. His beautiful  eyes shut tightly and his expression one of peaceful relaxation. You hadn’t ever seen him this perfect before.

It was nearly ridiculous. Just a few hours earlier, he had ravaged you in a way that left you feeling sore and used, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but somehow you had a feeling last night was different. It wasn’t the sex per say. It was the way he got angry and you felt you couldn’t get through to him, even if you truly wanted to. And what was far worse than all of it, was the threat.

The threat.

What did it even mean?

I would never kill you. At least not unless you gave me a reason to.

It wasn’t even a subtle threat. He didn’t try to hide that he was twisted and dangerous. Dangerous for you, if you pushed the right buttons. You had done so quite some times by now, but luckily you were still around. But how much was too much?

What would make his mind go blank and cause him to swing an axe at you?

Shoot you right in the face?

Gut you in the middle of the-

You shuddered and took a long, deep breath to calm yourself. This wasn’t going to happen. You wouldn’t anger him to that degree. And yet, you couldn’t keep yourself from thinking about it.

What could possibly piss him off enough, to trigger such an extreme reaction?

If you went out and fucked someone else?

Or if you spilled milk on the coffee table?

You took another slow breath and looked back at his peaceful, sleeping form. It was hard not to love him, when he was like this. Sweet. Peaceful.

Vulnerable.

You hadn’t even seen vulnerable, regarding him. Not really. You didn’t know his name, his family, his backstory or anything else that truly mattered. All you knew was which buttons to push and it would make him slap you. You had his age. And his sexual preferences. You knew he had some kind of dangerous job, but you had no idea what it was about. And you knew he was twisted.

Utterly and entirely twisted.

But you saw none of that as you watched him sleep. All you saw was a handsome man, the most handsome man you had ever seen, even with the faint trace of a scar on his cheek. You still hated the sight of it. Not because it would have done anything to his attractiveness. No, he was very obviously still perfect. It was the fact that he got hurt.

Someone hurt him.

You were surprised just by how angry the thought made you. He was always so confident. It was his choice to either be angry and take it out on you or to be gentle and spoil you with affection and gifts. But it was his choice. He was the man. He was in charge. He was the epitome of strength.

And someone hurt him.

Him.

A part of you was almost tempted to think yours.

Someone hurt your man.

But you pushed the thought away just as quick as it came. He was hardly your man.

Your bane, your curse, your horror. Yes.

But not your man.

When he stirred slightly, you were pulled out of your thoughts. It didn’t take longer than a few seconds for him to blink his eyes open. When he finally looked up at you and met your gaze, a hint of surprise flashed over his features. But he schooled his expression into a soft smile effortlessly.

“Good morning, my little owl.” He purred. “You’re up early.” He raised a brow and smirked slowly. “Were you watching me sleep?”

Your face flushed, but you didn’t feel the need to deny it. It was pretty obvious anyway.

“I did.” You said quietly. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so…peaceful.”

He hummed softly and propped himself up on his elbows, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear with two fingers. “Peaceful? Doesn’t sound like me at all.”

He didn’t seem angry or even irritated that you watched him. If anything, he seemed amused or maybe even strangely flattered.

You shrugged.

“Have you been up for long?”

You shook your head.

He frowned slightly and held your chin in his hand, brushing his thumb over your skin in a gentle way. “You didn’t sleep well. You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

You averted your gaze. What could you possibly tell him? That you spent all night, asking yourself not if, but when he would finally snap and snap your neck the same?

“Look at me.”

You hesitated, but eventually you met his gaze again. His expression was one of thoughtfulness and curiosity and you knew you had to give him something. He wouldn’t stop pestering you otherwise. You thought for a moment, before you finally gave up. You didn’t trust your ability to lie to him. He would see right through it and punish you for trying to deceive him.

“It’s about last night.” You murmured quietly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but eventually he relaxed his expression and let go of your chin. With a soft sigh, he murmured back: “Was it too much for you? Too rough?”

You thought about the best possible way to answer this. Eventually you came up with something you would have hoped would be the perfect solution. “I’m still ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” He frowned.

“Because a part of me enjoys it.”

He hummed softly. “We talked about this, sweet girl, but I’ll say it again and again. You have nothing to be ashamed about. First of all, it’s not your fault you turned out like this.”

“That’s kind of the problem.” It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely. It did bother you. Just that the life threatening thing was worse. “I feel like you enjoy what we do, because you simply enjoy it. And I think I enjoy it, because I feel the constant need to get hurt and degraded, because of…because of what happened to me.”

He regarded you with a long, thoughtful look. His eyes softened somewhat and he was back. The man who supposedly cared about you came back, after a long, rough night. He sighed and rolled over so that he was on his back and staring at the ceiling. All the while he stretched out his arm and pulled you along, curling you into his side. He didn’t look at you as he spoke and his tone of voice was almost emotionless.

You couldn’t tell if you preferred this over the anger. Probably not.

“Did I ever tell you about my father?”

You froze. What? No. He hadn’t ever told you anything about himself that mattered. Let alone his family. As far as you were concerned, he didn’t even have a father.

But all you managed was a small, breathless shake of your head.

He hummed softly and played with your hair as he spoke, still keeping his voice cool and measured. He never met your gaze. Almost like he couldn’t. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to appear nonchalant or if he truly didn’t care. You hoped for the first one.

“My father had some creative ways of punishment.” He hummed. Oh, God. “Similar to your mother, I might think. Just more blood. And a few…other things.”

You held your breath as he spoke, feeling utterly sick. The fact that he had so subtly and smoothly threatened your life last night was suddenly the last thing on your mind.

“Don’t get me wrong, sweetness. I was always a little different from other boys my age. I wasn’t interested in the things the others were. I liked different things. Darker things. But I’m pretty sure, had it not been for my father…” He hummed. “He did some nasty things. Really nasty. And not only to me. To my mother as well.” He turned to face you fully, while you still lay frozen and staring at him with bated breath. All the while he caressed your face and spoke in this soft voice, like he was reading from a children’s book. It was eerie. “That might be one of the reasons why I am always in control.” He smiled briefly. “Especially sexually.”

You just kept staring at him. He hadn’t said it outright and he probably never would, but you could tell there was something. Something dark and terrible, something that still haunted him, even after all these years. And it made you sick to the core. The fact that his father, his own father, had hurt him, it made you feel nauseous. And especially, angry.

“So, I should probably be grateful to him, don’t you think?”

You knew you weren’t supposed to say anything to that, anything about that at all. No matter how terrible you felt, no matter how badly you wished to comfort him. He would get angry, because he would think of it as pity. You were sure. But you still had to say it.

“Your father is a sick man.” You said quietly. “And you didn’t deserve whatever he did to you.”

“Oh, I’m aware, my sweet, darling girl.” His face lit up in a soft smile. “I was just a boy. A twisted one, maybe. But still a boy.”

It made you feel as uneasy, as you felt relieved about it. At least he acknowledged it. He had no fault in his father’s cruelty. At least not back then.

And at least there was something. A tiny reminder that he was human, that he was real, that there was something akin to flesh and blood that made him similar to you. Not the fact that it had happened. Oh no, you would have changed it, were you in the power to. You would have bled and suffered, if only it meant to free him from the burden of his past.

No, but the thought that he told you about it. He had a father. A mother. A family. He had a childhood. A life. He was real.

You lay in silence for a long while. Of course you wanted to say more, to comfort him and hug him. To kiss away the fear he had probably felt as a little boy. You wanted to take him in your arms and make him whole again, puzzle him together until he got reunited with the love he was so desperately missing all his life. What about his mother? You asked yourself. But you thought now wasn’t the best time to ask. You didn’t want to risk making him angry, when he wasn’t so far. He hadn’t ever shared as much of himself. You didn’t want to say anything. And, you suddenly realized, you were afraid to pressure him.

So you said the next best thing. In the silent hope, that one day he’d trust you enough to let you in.

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” You said very softly. His head perked up and his expression softened. No anger in sight.

“My sweet, caring girl. The ghosts of my past are no more than that. And don’t you worry. I got my revenge.”

You bit your lip and rolled onto your side, facing him properly. The thoughtfulness in your eyes turned into something else the longer you looked at him, a mixture of concern and gentleness. He didn’t seem to mind. He let you stare without interrupting your thoughts. It was a peaceful, comfortable silence.

“How did you get your revenge?” You asked quietly, before you could stop yourself.

He smirked and stretched out his arms behind his head.

“I killed him.”

A part of you had suspected as much. But another part of you, the naïve little girl that you somehow still were, felt horrified. He killed his own father. And yet, that other part of you whispered softly in the back of your mind.

Did you expect anything else?

You thought back to your mother. Had you ever had a gun in the wrong moment-

No. Never. You couldn’t kill anyone. Not even a fucking fly. You were the type of person to chase them out of the window, instead of crushing them.

It wasn’t enough to calm you down and he seemed to notice.

“Are you alright, sweet girl?”

You were going to die anyway. Why not speak freely at least?

Forget his father. He’s dead. But you’re not. Not yet at least.

“You scared me last night.”

His brows furrowed. “When we-“

“No.” You said in a soft tone and slowly sat up, wrapping the sheets around your body. “I mean, yes. Kind of. But that’s not the problem. You scared me when you said…when you said you would kill me if I gave you a reason to.” Your expression and your tone of voice were almost child-like. Innocent and curious, not at all trying to guilt-trip him. Just a girl, scared for her life. Her sanity.

Herself.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He said softly as he sat up as well. He reached out to pull you on his lap, but you pulled back. He frowned, but he didn’t protest.

“I was simply-“

“What could get me killed?”

It was so sharp, so matter-of-fact, that it made him pause for a moment. He looked genuinely caught off-guard, like he never expected him to ask him such a question. And like he wasn’t sure how to answer it.

“What?”

“What could I say or do that would make you kill me?” You asked in a soft voice. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, but you tried to stay strong. You needed to get a point across. You needed to know.

He thought for a moment, before he leaned back and narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful frown.

“Another man.”

Cheating. As if you really were anything to each other, right?

Such a normal thing. People got killed over cheating all the time, didn’t they?

Or did they really?

“Another man.” You whispered. “Okay. What else?”

He hummed softly. “If you left me.”

“If I left you?” You meant it in a way as if saying; how would I be supposed to leave you? There aren’t even fucking windows here.

He nodded. “When you leave me, you’re no longer my girl. And I don’t have a reason to keep you alive, if you’re not.”

You swallowed thickly. How very refreshing. He was being honest at least. Wasn’t that what you wanted? And you didn’t know if this was better or worse. You had expected as much.

“Anything else?” You whispered hoarsely.

“No.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “No? If I don’t cheat on you or leave you, you won’t-“

“No.” He said again, in that infuriating, calm tone.

“And if I insulted you?” You couldn’t stop yourself from asking. “If I hurt you? If I-“

“Don’t get me wrong.” The menacing bastard was back. “You don’t get to trample on me, sweet girl. In fact, you know what happens, if you do all that. You’ll get punished. And that didn’t change.” He narrowed his eyes further.

He took a long breath to calm himself and finally said: “I just didn’t want you to be terrified for no reason. I’m sure there are a few more things you can do that will definitely get you killed. So, try not to push my buttons too much. Don’t experiment. Don’t think you get any kind of power. All you are is my girl. Mine. Mine to use. Mine to torment as I please. You’re my plaything. My toy.” He got angrier with every word and you were sure, more than sure, you had done something terribly wrong.

“Mine to use however I see fit.” He gritted out. “Because that’s all you are to me.”

Every word stabbed a wound deeper and deeper into your soul. He didn’t love you. You weren’t an idiot. But a part of you had hoped, hoped so desperately, that you were anything more to him. Anything of meaning. Anything he cared about. Anything he thought about and smiled, when he went off to his mysterious workplace. Anything at all.

But you weren’t. You were his plaything. His fucktoy. His doll.

His girl.

Your face burned in shame and your guts churned painfully. You slowly looked down at your hands and folded them in your lap, while you kept the blanket pulled up to your chin.

“I wasn’t-“

“Yes, you were.” He hissed and roughly pulled your chin up, to make you look at him. “Did you hear me? You’re nothing more than a thing for me to use, a doll, something to dress up in a pretty dress and take my anger out on. Did you get that through your goddamn, thick skull? You’re nothing. Nothing at all.” He spat out.

At this point, you felt indeed like he had stabbed you. The knife was still there on the carpet by the bed. How very reckless. You could have stabbed him last night, didn’t he think about that? No, he was tired or maybe he just trusted himself to have broken you enough not to ever hurt him.

It was true. You wouldn’t ever hurt him. Not like that. That one punch was as far as it could go.

And now, as you sat there and listened to his cruel words, a small part of you suddenly wished he hadn’t bluffed, hadn’t used the knife as a way to find relief in his twisted mind. A part of you wished you weren’t there, to listen to his cruel reminders. The reminder that you were nothing.

Nothing at all.

You felt your hands shake, just the same second your lip quivered.

He was so angry, so furious, he hardly even recognized your presence. He wanted to make some point known.

You understood it now.

He would never love you.

But you? It was too late for you. You already loved him. And he was breaking your heart.

All your life you thought that couldn’t happen to you. You always assumed you were far too numb for these things.

A tear rolled down your cheek and you stared firmly down at your lap. Your hands were shaking furiously and your body shook with the sobs you choked back.

By the time he looked up again and saw the state you were in, his anger immediately disappeared. Something akin to horror took its place instead. He rushed forward without even thinking about it and held your arms tightly, tilting his head down below and staring up at you, to make you look at him.

“Wait.” He said quickly. “Wait. I didn’t mean it.”

You were stuck between pushing him away and letting him console you. But you knew there was probably nothing that could ever bring you back. Your heart, already broken and bruised, had just somehow been pieced back together by him, only for him to crush it again under the palm of his hand, under the cruelty of his words, under the weight of his actions.

You decided to push him back instead. At least for once, you tried to keep a semblance of dignity. It was a lost cause, but it meant something to you.

He let out a surprised exhale, but quickly rushed forward again, trying to get ahold of you, but this time, you struggled.

“Get off of me!”

“No, you need to listen to me!”

“No! No, get the hell off!”

“You need to listen!”

You struggled even harder and pushed him back, clawed at his skin and within seconds you found yourself in the middle of a physical fight. So far, he hadn’t tried to slap you or bring you to your senses anyhow, he just tried to make you focus. And when you hit against his chest or pushed him back by his shoulders, when you scratched his arms and pulled on his hair, he let you. Without retaliating. He let you.

You were just waiting for him to snap. A part of you might even have been hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, because he had just hurt you so terribly. But he didn’t.

And when you pushed him back against the mattress, he let you.

And when you straddled his lap, he let you.

He even let you intertwine your fingers and press his hands against the bed.

He just let you.

You stopped struggling. Stopped fighting him and stopped trying to provoke anything.

You were on top him, your hair falling over your shoulders and framing your face like a waterfall. Everything else was suddenly gone. All that there was left were him and you. He stared up at you, his eyes wide and his expression one of quiet fascination. Of course he allowed you to take control. After all, all it needed was a tiny bit of strength from him and he’d have you pinned to the floor. But this time, he didn’t. He didn’t protest, didn’t fight back, didn’t even flinch. He allowed you to take the lead. He allowed you to take control of him.

When the thought hit you, you nearly choked on the air you breathed. And you breathed, heavily and quickly, until your breaths mingled into one. You leaned further down, so close that the tip of your nose almost touched his. His chest rose and fell quickly. You could tell, even though you kept your focus on his face.

“You meant it.” You whispered breathlessly.

He stared at you with his mouth slightly agape and then he slowly shook his head. “You’re more.” He whispered back.

More than a toy?

More than a doll?

More than just his girl?

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t allow yourself to hope, because if you did, the next time he crushed it, it would be ever harder for you to find back to yourself. And did you really want to risk that?

You shook your head, ready to come up with the next bitter, biting response, when his words caught you off-guard.

“You’re not only mine”, he said quietly. “I’m also yours.”

God, this was confusing. And slowly you felt yourself get as dizzy and nauseous as you would have on a rollercoaster. You hated rollercoasters, because you were afraid of them. You hated them, because you never went on one.

“You’re two people at once.” You whispered breathlessly. “How do I know, when your evil twin will be back?”

He smiled slowly. Even now, even when you felt heartbroken and furious, his smile meant so much to you. It made everything seem beautiful. Everything was easier. Nothing hurt.

Until it did.

“I know.” He whispered. “Maybe you could try and put him in his place, every once in a while.”

You stared at him with wide eyes. Did he really allow you to take control? Just like that? Was it a trick? Was it a game? A joke? Something even more evil he’d come up with?

Whatever it was, you were dying to find out. Because you were sure, you’d get punished anyway. So, why not make use of it?

You took a shaky breath and leaned further down, so close, until your lips almost touched.

“You really didn’t mean it?” You asked in the ghost of a whisper.

His gaze briefly wandered down to your lips, before he looked into your eyes again.

“No.” He whispered back. “Not even I am that dense.”

That nearly made you smile.

But just nearly.

Instead you did something else. You leaned further down, until your lips finally touched his. The kiss was feather-light and hesitant. The touch was so gentle, that you caught yourself asking yourself in your head, if it really was the same man.

He was letting you kiss him. He didn’t try anything. Didn’t try to part your lips or pull you closer. Didn’t try to push your legs apart. His hands were still motionless under yours, all that he did was slowly caress the back of your hands with his fingers.

He participated in the kiss. He kissed you back, obviously. But all he did was mirror your touch.

You were in control.

You gasped against his lips. You had no idea what to do. It felt odd. Maybe even wrong. The only things you had ever fantasized about were to get controlled by someone else.

Controlled by him.

And for you to control him, it sounded like an impossible endeavor. It felt like one, even more. But there you were. On his lap. Slowly guiding the pace.

You swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what to do.” You whispered into the kiss.

He hummed very quietly. “Imagine I’m the good twin.” He whispered back and pulled back just enough to look at your face. “There is no right or wrong. Just do whatever feels good.”

You bit your lip as you watched him closely. It could still be a trick. But in the back of your mind, you knew it wasn’t. It was an attempt to heal you. Heal him as well, maybe. You were both damaged. Both two fragments, incomplete and alone. Was it possible that you could heal each other?

It sounded strange in your head. You wanted to be controlled. And he survived off the feeling of being in control. But maybe, just maybe, this was what you both needed. A role reverse. A chance to grow. A chance to connote. Just this once.

To become one, whole thing.

You took a deep, shaky breath and brushed your lips over his. You were still nervous. But you tried to do what he said. Just do whatever feels good.

And maybe it would.

You hesitantly, almost shyly, ran the tip of your tongue along his lower lip. His reaction surprised you. He moaned. You really expected him to get off on nothing but cruelty and violence. But somehow the feeling of you, of being with you, in any way, seemed to be enough.

You needed to try it. The shift. The control. Even just this once.

You slowly parted his lips with your tongue and yours met his in a timid, careful movement. He was still the one guiding you. But the biggest reason was, that you had no idea what you were doing. But he was holding himself back. You were on top, pressed against him.

He was yours.

Your man. Your psychopath. Maybe even your lover.

The kiss went on and your movements became more and more confident. You didn’t actually care what you were doing, as long as you heard the soft moans he tried to suppress. And every time he did, you couldn’t help but moan, too. Your tongues tangled in a sinful dance and you slowly slid your fingertips over his wrists and up his arms. Until you eventually reached his shoulders. His neck. His hair. His cheek. His chin.

You hadn’t realized how quickly you were breathing. All the time you expected him to push you away, to reject you, to stop you. But he never did.

Your hand stilled against his face and you pulled your head back to look at him. To see if he was going to stop you. Mock you. Hurt you some more.

But his expression was more earnest than you had ever seen before. You could see the way his throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed and the small, tiny frown of focus on his face. He looked much more mature in that moment than he usually did. When he wore that twisted smile, he looked younger. Carefree. But in that moment, he looked like a man who had seen life.

And death.

And taken a part in it.

He slowly parted his lips, when your fingers stilled against them, inviting you. Your mouth fell open and you inhaled sharply as you felt his tongue dart out.

“God, what are you-“ You stopped yourself and instead released the softest moan, when he ran his tongue along your index finger. His hand gently circled your wrist and he pressed his lips against the back of your hand. Your knuckles. And eventually each finger.

You watched him in awe, realizing you were only ever falling deeper for him.

What was it with that man that you loved him so much, despite all the pain he put you through?

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. The watching, the silence. You squeezed his hand and your head dipped forward. Your lips found his neck and you made a point of kissing each and every spot of skin you found on the way. His eyes fell shut and he took a shaky breath.

“No.” He whispered. “Wait.”

You immediately froze, expecting the inevitable rejection. But instead, he bit his lip and slowly slid his hands under your nightdress. The calloused skin of his palms ran up your back and he gently slid the material up, until he finally managed to pull it over your head and onto the ground. His gaze wandered from your face, down to your neck, where it lingered and eventually further down to your breasts and your stomach.

“God.” He whispered breathlessly. “God, you’re perfect.” He bit his lip again and met your gaze. “Let me worship you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you tilted your head to the side, only to feel his lips brush along your earlobe and eventually over your neck. You closed your eyes and sighed softly. It was the best feeling in the world.

His lips caressed your neck and his tongue occasionally darted out, drawing a moan from your lips. He moved with devilish slowness, a torturous pace, slow enough to make you melt into a puddle of desire on top of him. A part of you almost wanted to beg him. Beg him to go faster, to touch you harder, to take you. But you didn’t. Because another part of you wanted to savor every second of this.

When you felt the wet heat of his mouth move lower and embrace the sensitive skin of your breast, you felt your eyes roll back in your head. The sigh that came over your lips was more of a moan. You gently buried your fingers in his hair and played with it. Every time his tongue slipped out to run over the curve of your breast, you felt your hips press down against his own on pure instinct. You felt how hard he was, painfully so. But he didn’t press his hips up against you, he didn’t even try once. He was skilled at ignoring his own need, when he wanted to. He made you feel like a princess. Like all that mattered in the world were you.

You squirmed and shuddered when he moved underneath you, brushing his tongue down a wet path on your stomach.

His hands encircled the back of your thighs and he held you firmly, his fingers gently digging into your skin. And he moved. Lower and lower. Until you felt his hot breath kiss the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. A soft whimper left you and you bit your lip to keep yourself from begging. He was going to give you whatever you wanted. Today, there was no need to beg.

He slowly but firmly pushed your legs apart, and settled in-between them, still lying on his back and ignoring his own ache. He shot you a pointed look, before he finally stuck out his tongue and rolled it over the warm wetness of your need.

“Oh, God.”

He hit every right spot at the first try and you could no longer stay silent. His grip on your thighs tightened and he silently encouraged you to move. Move. Take what you want.

You swallowed a shaky moan and began to tentatively move your hips. It didn’t take long for you to figure out how it worked, how you had to move. It was so easy and the pleasure rolled over you like a warm bath.

“Oh, God.” You whispered again, tightening your hand in his hair.

He did the most sinful things, sliding his tongue inside you and pulling it back out, running it along every spot, embracing your center of pleasure with his warm lips and it felt like Heaven. He knew where to kiss, where to lick, where to suck and where to flick his tongue. He knew everything. And in that moment, you didn’t care one bit about where he gained that knowledge.

Because he used it on you.

And he’d be using it on your for as long as you were his girl.

And you wanted to be his girl for the rest of your life.

“Yes. There. Right there.” You gasped out, moving your hips again and silently begging him to continue, to give you what you wanted, to give you him.

And he did nothing less than that. He kissed you like he’d kiss your lips, he tightened his grip, he didn’t let you back away. His mouth was firmly attached to your body, eager to give you everything you wanted. Letting you ride yourself to bliss.

Which was exactly what you did. You didn’t even realize it, by how suddenly it happened, but your release rolled over you like a flash of lightning. It felt more intense than ever. You felt everything deeply and he didn’t stop, until he was sure, you were entirely spent and satisfied.

You were still gasping for air, when he finally released his grip on you and looked up at you with a soft expression.

You stared at him, trying to catch your breath. All you wanted was to say something, anything, but no words came over your lips. All you managed was the gentle touch of your palm against his cheek. He smiled slowly and covered your hand with his own. Then he slowly moved back up, so that you’d straddle his lap again.

“How was that?” He whispered.

“Fuck.” Was all that you managed.

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, but no trace of mockery. Just satisfaction and a tad bit of pride. You forgave him. You would have forgiven him anything.

“Can I?” You finally whispered. You needed to know, if you were still in control.

He smirked. He looked so confident. Just like you always knew him. Confident and strong. In control. And yet…

“I’m all yours, baby. Ride me.”

You bit your lip. Your face flushed the tiniest bit, but you nodded. Now, this was making you really nervous. You had seen videos, but were you able to do it yourself?

Why not? You thought. Why not?

You leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss. Still slow and sensual, but you poured all the passion you felt for him in that kiss. And he responded in kind. He didn’t try to take control of your mouth. Instead he moaned against your lips, every time your tongue brushed against his. He ran a hand down your back and squeezed your behind firmly in his hand.

“Fuck, I need you to ride me or I’m going to die.” He groaned as he bit your lip. You responded with another moan. You still felt his hardness press against you, hard and ready and needy.

God, the thought alone. The thought that he wanted you that much. It drove you insane.

You swallowed thickly and carefully ran a hand down his chest, down his stomach, down his waist, until-

You smiled. You missed his throbbing, aching need and brushed your fingers gently along his thigh instead.

He glared up at you, a hint of desperation behind the repressed anger.

“I should have known this would come.” He hissed.

Your smile widened into a grin, as you teasingly caressed his side instead.

“What? I’m just doing what you do.”

He released a frustrated growl.

“You-“

“Come on.” You whispered. “Let me have this. Just this once.”

He was still frustrated, but the look in his eyes softened the tiniest bit.

“But I want you.” He murmured and you swallowed.

“How much?” You whispered. God, this was fun.

“How much?” He asked incredulously. “Can’t you feel how much?”

You hummed in the same way he normally would. So innocent. So devilish.

“Paint a picture with your words.”

He exhaled sharply. But eventually he calmed down and wrapped his arms around you gently.

“I need to be inside of you or I’m going to die. I’m going to die, I mean it.”

“Keep going.” You whispered. “Talk to me.” While you spoke, you shifted slightly on his lap, gently grinding down on him and letting him feel you. Just enough to make you gasp, not enough for him to enter you yet.

He bit his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“I want to feel you.” He murmured. “I want to fuck you. I want to be one with you. And I fucking want to cum inside you.”

A shiver ran down your spine and you sighed.

“Keep going.” You responded in a breathless whisper, as you ground down against him again. The friction was enough for your both to snap your eyes shut.

“I want you to cum.” He whispered back. “I want you to cum so hard, that it’ll make you cry.”

“Fuck.” You whispered breathlessly and buried your face in his neck. “Fuck, yes.”

You swallowed again and pulled your head back up, enough to rest your forehead against his.

“Let me move then?” You whispered. “Please?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. “But fucking get to it.”

You released a shaky sigh. You kept your forehead pressed against his and stared into his eyes, intense and deep, while you slowly spread your legs further. You shifted again, your movements a little awkward and insecure, but eventually you felt him press up against you and you felt his tip press against your entrance. And then you slowly lowered yourself down onto his lap. You felt him fill you, but it happened so slowly that you felt every bit of it. And all the time you kept your gaze fixed on his eyes. His reaction. Every moan, every sigh, every twitch. All of it was enough to make you moan in return. You slowly lowered yourself further down, until you felt him all the way. And when you did…You didn’t move. You stayed like that. Just feeling. Just feeling all of him.

And the look in his eyes was worth it.

You had never seen him this soft, this vulnerable before. Not even when he told you about his father. His eyes were softer than ever before and you suddenly realized; you had never seen him this needy. This desperate to feel you. You were sure, just a second more and he would either take control or beg you. But you couldn’t let that happen.

It was his first time to let someone else take control after all.

And you couldn’t have him begging. You couldn’t have him do anything that would make him feel ashamed, when he was so unabashedly doing everything in order to make you happy.

So finally you moved. Slowly and carefully, very unsure still. But you moved. And he moaned. And he moved. And you moaned.

You had never felt him this deep before, this hard, this raw.

“Ride me.” He whispered breathlessly. “Ride daddy’s cock, baby.”

Your face flushed even more, but all you could focus on were his words. You movements became more forceful, more frantic, more desperate. And as hard as he tried not to move at all, it was simply impossible. He pressed his hips up against you, letting you feel him, so hard and God, so desperate.

“Yes. Yes, babygirl, just like that. Let daddy fill you up.” He groaned out.

With every thrust, every move, you felt yourself get closer yet again. It felt like a fantasy.

“Yes. Yes, my sweet girl, my baby, my darling, my love-“

His eyes widened frantically. He panicked. You could tell. So did you. On the inside. But on the outside, you pretended. You pretended all you could, that you hadn’t heard it.

The L-word.

The word that nearly broke you.

No, you hadn’t heard it. He had never said it. It was just a slip-up. A simple mistake. Nothing to get hot and bothered about.

When he realized you didn’t react, he slowly calmed down again and tightened his grip on your hips. His own movements became more and more desperate, until he was pounding into you from underneath.

“Fuck, yes. Cum for me, my babygirl. Cum for me, my darling. Take every drop of my cum.”

His words were enough to drive you over the edge. With a sharp inhale, a breathless moan, you felt your own orgasm hit you again. And he went over the edge right with you.

Your lips just an inch apart and your eyes fixed on each other.

Deep.

And raw.

“Yes.” He growled. “Oh God, yes. Fuck, yes. My girl. My girl, my...” His voice cracked and he came with a roar. He pushed his hips against you with a fervor that nearly left you bruised from the inside and it made your release drag on and on, until you felt you were about to take off to the sky.

It took you a few seconds, but when you both finally came back down from your high, you realized you were still staring into each other’s eyes. You mouth slightly agape and gasping for air, your brows furrowed and your bodies still connected in the most intimate way. You didn’t want him to withdraw yet. You wanted to feel his release run along your thighs. You wanted to feel dirty like that and at the same time you wanted something else entirely.

Stay close.

Stay together.

My love.

The word kept echoing through your mind like a poem, like a curse.

Like a death warrant.

My love.

He buried his hand in your hair and gently tugged on it.

“That…was…”

You had never seen him speechless before. The sight stirred so much in you.

You idiot girl. He hurt you, he hurt you so terribly and all you wanted right now was him beside you, at all times, maybe with a ring on your finger and a baby in your belly.

God, you were just as insane as he was. Probably even more so.

He was a psychopath. What was your excuse?

You tried to distract yourself from your thoughts and so you decided to take control a last time. Your head dipped forward and you kissed him. With a tenderness that made your heart ache. And he responded. With a softness that left you breathless.

My love.

Half an hour later, you finally managed to get your hands off of each other. After you finished your bathroom routine, he invited you to the shower with him. You’d join him in a minute, you decided, while you were on your way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. Your mouth felt dry, your whole body did actually.

You felt sore as hell, but God. God.

The memory of it made you smile. You had never felt more loved in your life. Never felt more special, more desired, more…

A sound made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked up from the ground. What you saw made your heart stop.

The door.

The fucking door.

You mind went blank and your heart stopped beating.

The fucking door was open.

You swallowed thickly. Was it a test? Probably. Did you consider leaving?

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped into the hallway. The front door was open and there was that visitor’s terrace with a glass door attached to it, which led to the great staircase of the apartment complex.

It was a test. Or something equally cruel.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if he truly made a mistake? He was only human after all.

You stared at the glass door like you would have stared at an alien.

This was probably your only ever chance. To flee. Escape.

Get back to…

To what?

To normality, you told yourself.

To safety.

A lump formed in your throat. Did you want that? Did you even want to leave?

Even if it wasn’t a test, did you truly want to leave him?

The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth. It almost felt like acid and it weighed like a heavy stone on your heart. The thought of sleeping alone again, of never seeing his silly smile again. Even the twisted one, you’d miss.

The thought of never feeling his lips on yours again.

His hands in your hair, his voice in your ear.

His everything.

Him.

You were his girl.

You couldn’t just up and leave. What was there in the world for you?

Maybe this was exactly your destiny. Him. Him. Him.

He was all you needed, right? He took care of you. He provided for you.

He loved you. In his own, twisted way.

My love.

You couldn’t, you decided. You couldn’t leave. You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t ever-

The sound of someone’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, but to your horror, it wasn’t him. Your eyes widened impossibly when you saw the form of a man approaching.

He looked like a janitor or something like that. A man far past his prime with greying hair and a kind smile.

God, you had missed kindness.

But no, no, you were his girl. You were his girl. You wouldn’t ever leave.

You took a step back like a cornered animal as the man approached and said something to you in Korean. When you backed away even more, he stopped and his eyes widened in surprise.

He kept talking to you, kept speaking in that reassuring tone of voice.

“I…don’t…understand.” You breathed out.

You didn’t even realize how you must have looked, terrified and broken. A faint mark on your cheek. Your clothes crumpled. Bite marks, love bites, more marks on your throat.

He frowned slightly and tilted his head to the side.

“Miss-“ He said in a thick, Korean accent. “Miss- The man that’s live here- The man- Is he-“

In that moment, you felt it. His presence was so prominent, you didn’t need to hear him call out to you. You just felt it. He came in, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair wet from the shower. He most likely came to look why you hadn’t come yet.

You quickly spun around and met his gaze, your expression horrified. Your eyes were so expressive.

The door was open. He came by himself. It wasn’t my fault. Please! It wasn’t my fault!

Something hard flashed through his eyes, but it was only visible to you and it was only there for the blink of an eye. And then it was gone and it got replaced by the tight smile.

A tight, polite smile, directed at the janitor in the doorway. He spoke to him in Korean and stepped closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You stared at the ground, completely horrified.

Oh no, you thought.

Oh no. This is it.

_____________________________

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@hayakamis-blog Thank you for your lovely request, I loved the idea and I hope it turned out the way you hoped!

Author's note: I'll be honest with you, guys, this chapter cost me YEARS of my life, omg. I wrote 5000 words yesterday and then realized I didn't like what I was writing, so I deleted everything and did this today instead. I hope it was the right decision! On a super exhausted note, I'll try to answer all of your sweet, lovely messages in time!!! I'm not even exaggerating, a few of them really made me cry. Not almost, but for real. I don't know what I did to deserve all this kindness and love, but I really, really love you all! SO much!

[beloveds-embrace]

AND ALSO POLY!141

joking around and calling them your brothers and they go deathly silent because what do you mean tou don’t see them romantically? doesn’t matter if they’re already involved with each other they want you to be just as involved too.

also this is toxic but threatening your various dates, stalking them and taking them out (not in the romantic way) so they have an excuse to hold you close. you get comforted, and they get to embrace your warmth #win-win

Friendzoned? Nah, it’s bro-zoned now 😭

The one good thing about grueling and long missions- were the post-missions.

Without fail, each time, you’d be invited to their house where Price would grill up something delicious and juicy on the barbecue, and everyone would be able to unwind. You enjoyed that time, spending it and relaxing with them.

The dynamic you all shared was easy, comfortable, and fun- at least for you.

You rolled your eyes and tossed a fry at Johnny, who caught it in his mouth with a proud grin and wagged his eyebrows, daring you to try again. “You’re like an annoying big brother, you know that?” you huffed at last, a matching grin on your face.

Johnny froze mid-chew, but you didn’t notice, too busy thinking. “Actually… all of you are like annoying big brothers, now that I think about it.”

You chuckles at your own thought, grabbing another fry from your plate and popping it into your mouth without once realizing the shift in the atmosphere. You didn’t catch the way Soap’s grin had vanished completely or how Price’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. Gaz’s usual easy smile was gone, replaced with a cold, unreadable expression, and Ghost… well, Ghost’s dark stare had become a touch more menacing.

The silence hung heavy, but you were blissfully unaware, waving your hand dismissively when no one responded. Your focus was on your phone, scrolling through your social medias. “What? You all went quiet on me.”

Soap cleared his throat, but it came out strained, his voice low. “Brother, huh?”

You hummed absently. “Yeah, you know- family. You guys are my family. Like brothers, watching each other’s backs and all that.”

Price exhaled slowly, sitting back in his chair and running a hand over his beard. “Family.” He repeated, almost under his breath, his voice calm but tight.

Gaz tapped his fingers against the table once, then twice, before stopping abruptly. “Is that all we are to you?” he asked casually enough, though his tone carried an edge you didn’t catch.

“Of course,” you replied with a shrug, not bothering to look up from your food and phone. “I mean, it’d be weird to think of you any other way. You’re my team, my brothers-in-arms.”

You missed the way Ghost’s hands curled into fists on the table, his knuckles white, or the way Soap’s jaw clenched, demeanor replaced with something far darker. Price exchanged a look with Gaz, silent communication passing between them while you obliviously chewed on your steak, still oblivious to the storm brewing around you.

If you’d glanced up, even for a second, you might’ve noticed the way their gazes lingered on you- too intense, too sharp. But you didn’t. And they weren’t about to correct you.

Not yet, anyways.

The first time it happened, you didn’t connect the dots.

Your date, some charming guy you met at a café off base, canceled on you last minute, claiming he “didn’t feel safe” after someone left a threatening note on his car windshield. You shrugged it off as a weird coincidence- maybe it was the universe looking out for you, even. You didn’t want to be dragged into whatever that guy was stuck in.

The second time, a woman from the gym you’d been chatting with stopped replying to your texts entirely after she mentioned being followed home one night. You’d honestly tried to call and check on her, but she just… blocked you. Weird.

By the third time, when a guy you’d met on a dating app ghosted you entirely after his apartment was mysteriously broken into, you started to suspect something was up.

You mentioned it offhandedly to the team one evening, voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time I try to date someone, something weird happens. It’s like the universe doesn’t want me to find someone!”

Soap hummed, a little too casually, but you simply discarded that thought. “Maybe the universe knows what’s best for you, bonnie.”

Gaz leaned back in his chair, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Or maybe these people weren’t good enough for you anyway.”

“You’ve got us to look after you. Don’t need anyone else mucking things up.” Even Price added in his own two cents, making you pause.

You laughed, thinking they were joking, but Ghost’s silence was unsettling- actually, none of them were laughing. He just stared at you, his eyes glinting in a way that made your stomach twist. But that was normal for your L.T… even if it’s been quite a long while since he’s made you feel like that.

The fourth time, it wasn’t just a weird incident. It was a full-on assault.

You were on another date- though even you had to admit this one was just… not going well. He was too dismissive, too loud, and the first thing he’d said before you even sat down was that you’d split the bill, and then he made a comment about you eating too much.

You’d sent a simple text to the team groupchat, telling them you really weren’t enjoying this one, and they’d left you on read. Bastards.

But then you date had been walking you to your car when someone stepped out of the shadows- a big, familiar hulking figure in a balaclava. Your date didn’t even have time to react before they were on the ground, unconscious.

“Come on,” Simon said, gently but firmly clasping his hand around yours. You were too shocked to even say anything- what the fuck? “Let’s get you home.”

You didn’t argue. Your heart was pounding too hard, and Simon took advantage of that to guide you to his car.

“Simon-“

“No.”

And thus the silence continued.

When you got back to their house, the others were waiting for you. Price immediately pulled you into a hug before you could demand answers, his hands firm but gentle on your lower back. ���You’re safe now.” He murmured, as if soothing an angry kitten lashing out at him from fear. Despite your confusion and the flurry of emotions swirling in your chest, the tension in your body began to melt anyways, always so trusting of your Captain.

Gaz’s hand brushed against yours as he handed you a steaming cup of tea immediately once Price let go of you. His smile was kind, but his eyes seemed… off. Too sharp. “Drink this, yeah? It’ll help.” He said, his fingers lingering a second too long before retreating.

Before you could question the strange atmosphere, Soap tugged you down to sit beside him on the couch. His arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you close as though you were on the verge of breaking. “You’ll be alright,” he murmured, tone light yet firm. “We’ve got you.”

Simon remained silent, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed. His presence loomed heavy in the room, his gaze never straying from you. It wasn’t comforting exactly- more like being caught in the sights of a predator lying in wait. Is this what the enemy soldiers thought and felt? You pitied them- but more than that you pitied yourself.

Your hands tightened around the warm mug, your confusion bubbling up like a shaken-up fizzy drink. “Okay, what the hell is going on?” You glanced between them, searching for answers. “Simon knocked out my date! What if he presses charges? And what’s with all this- this hovering?”

“Hovering?” Soap echoed, his arm tightening ever so slightly. “We’re making sure you’re alright, bonnie. That’s all. You said your date wasn’t good, no?”

Price leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke calmly, like he was explaining something obvious to a stubborn recruit. “That man wasn’t worth your time. None of your dates have been. They can’t protect you- not the way we can.”

“What are you even talking about?” you demanded, finally pulling away from Soap’s hold. Yet the feeling of being a bleeding sheep surrounded by wolves didn’t abate. “You’ve been acting so weird lately- ever since I mentioned dating. If there’s something you’re not telling me, just spit it out!”

Gaz sighed, his tone carrying a note of exasperation as he leaned against the couch. “We’re trying to keep you safe, love. Every time you step out with someone, you’re putting yourself at risk. You don’t know these people like we do.”

Your stomach churned. “What do you mean-?”

Gaz chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it, and you did not laugh. “Do you think we’d let you go out with someone without knowing everything about them first? Their names, their jobs, their pasts…” His voice dropped, a edge bleeding into his words. “How to get rid of them.”

Your blood ran cold, and you stared between them. They were dead serious, you realized. “That’s… You’re joking, right? Tell me you’re joking.”

No one answered.

Simon pushed off the wall, his massive frame closing the distance between you in just a few steps. He crouched down in front of you, his dark eyes locking onto yours. You were essentially boxed in from all sides. “We’re not joking. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got us.”

“…This isn’t normal.” You whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what you were hearing. “This- I don’t-“

“It is normal,” Price’s voice was steady and calm, eyes dark. “For us. For the people who care about you most.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as the implications of their words sank in. They weren’t just being overprotective or overbearing. They were sabotaging your dates, controlling who could get close to you, and now- God, had they hurt people? How many had they hurt? All those people- you-

Your hands trembled, though you braved on even if bravery was the last thing you felt. “You can’t just decide this for me. I’m not some possession you can keep to yourselves.”

“We’re not keeping you from anything you need,” Gaz spoke so softly, you could trick yourself into believing he was saying you could leave and this was all just a mean prank. “We’re protecting you from what you don’t.”

“You should be thanking us,” Proce sighed, pulling out a cigar to smoke. Yet his eyes did not leave you even once, not even for a single second. “We’re the reason you’ve been safe so far.”

Simon’s gloved hands rested on your knees, pinning you down to the couch. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice low and almost soothing. “Always.”

You wanted to argue, to push them away, but the realization- the full weight of what they had done hit you like a freight train. You stood abruptly, pushing past Simon and cutting through the tense silence in the room. Their eyes followed your every move, like predators watching prey.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” you stammered, stepping back toward the door. “This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You can’t just- control my life like this!”

“Sit down, love.” Price said, his voice calm, but the edge in it was unmistakable.

“No, no,” you shot back, shaking your head as you took another step toward the door. “I’m leaving. I need some space. This- this is insane.”

Gaz rose from his chair, moving to block your path to the exit. His expression was so deceptively soft, but his stance was firm, unyielding. “You’re not thinking clearly, love.” He said, low. “Just sit down. We’ll talk it through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you snapped, your voice rising with panic. “You’ve been stalking me- sabotaging my life! That’s not protection. That’s obsession!”

Soap stood then, and his expression made you flinch. He stepped closer, effectively boxing you in again as he joined Gaz. “We’re not letting you walk out that door.” He said simply, but his words were anything but.

You turned toward the only other way out, but Simon was already there, his massive frame looming in the doorway to the hall. He didn’t say a word, just stared, his presence alone enough to make your stomach twist.

Your breathing quickened as you turned back to Price, the only one still seated, though his gaze was sharp and calculating. “You can’t keep me here, Price,” you said, your voice trembling but still clinging to the traces of defiance. “You don’t have the right-“

“We do have the right,” Price interrupted, standing slowly. The sheer authority- the sheer finality in his voice made your knees weak. “Because we’re the only ones who care about you the way we do. The only ones who’ll keep you safe. Your team, remember, darling?”

“This isn’t safety,” you hissed, backing toward the wall. “This is prison.”

Price mouthed the word, then huffed a humorless laugh. “We’re not locking you up. But we will stop you from running into danger. Even if you don’t understand it now, you’ll thank us later.”

“You can’t just-“

“Enough,” Simon cut in, sharp and blunt, his voice cutting through your protests like a knife. “You’re not leaving. Not now. Not ever.”

Your back hit the wall, your escape routes blocked on all sides. Your chest heaved as you looked at each of them, searching for even a sliver of remorse. But all you saw was determination, faces set in stone…

Much like your fate.

[this-is-exorsexism]

My therapist getting uncomfortable with my it/its pronouns and then getting visibly upset when I counter with, "And in the beginning, God made the Earth, and said it was good." "The ultimate commandment was given - love thy neighbor as you love thyself - and it is the foundation of the world." And then when told not to use religion to justify decisions I'm uncomfortable with (ma'am I am very comfortable with this), my literature-major ass shot back, "Love endures. Time may erase records of it, but the heart remembers everything. It happened, therefore it mattered." "Justice is not a concept, it is a verb that comes alive in your actions. If it is present in your heart, it will be reflected in your conduct."

And then she told me I was being difficult, misgendered me, and ultimately sent me an email after the session today saying I need to find a new therapist who "is willing to enable" me.

All because my pronouns are uncomfortable to her even though I tie them, in my mind, to creation, to love, to justice, and to the planet Earth. Dehumanizing myself is unhealthy, I'm told. Apparently viewing my pronouns in terms of ideals that drive me forward and the planet I live on is unhealthy. I should instead be using they/them, pronouns that remind me of side characters in stories, of people in hypotheticals, of things that make me uncomfortable, because other people's comfort should be my priority. In fact, giving up on advocating for myself and instead prioritizing literally anyone except myself is, I am given to understand, the "healthy" way to act.

Compromise is a virtue - to a point. The dosage makes the poison. Compromise where I cut myself down so no one else has to be made uneasy by my standing tall is not healthy. That is also not what I deserve. If I were to turn to her and say, "I'm sorry, I think she/her is dehumanizing", I don't think there's a soul out there who would defend that.

I sent her back an email saying I was sorry that I was not able to convey my points clearly, but that I was glad she understood she's a bad fit for me. I don't need someone who makes my therapy sessions about herself. That's unprofessional, emotionally needy and childish, and I will not enable that.

this is exorsexism.

[dippedinmelancholy]

Honestly pre release I was just so spitefully supportive of Veilguard, because the critics speaking out were just so gross and stupid about the anti woke bullshit, but after sitting on it for a while, this is a huge reason I’ve fallen into kind of “meh” territory?

Despite the fact that for Inquisition, you end up making a lot of headcanons to flesh out your MC, the story absolutely never falters in the narrative that YOU are the main characters, the companions are all with you, but largely they look to you for guidance. You can shape them, and their stories, based on how YOU interact with them. How you treat them, how you treat the world, how much compassion you have for things that are different than you. You got shoved into the role of Inquisitor with no power, but you are the focus of the story and ultimately the only person who can save the world.

That just . . .absolutely cannot be said of Rook? They’re a person who has like, vague background of “rebellion for the right cause” in their chosen faction, which is meant to be a mirror to Solas. Except repeatedly Solas’s actions are painted as black and white rather than THIS IS WAR and war is brutal and painful and endless, and the Evanuris are a threat beyond what any person in modern Thedas can comprehend. Rook often feels like a secondary person with no true reason for being in charge? Their placement within the faction they come from makes them sound very young to begin with, with no real reason as to why Varric has put you into place as his second in command.

This could have been made better if they expanded thematically on the line Varric says when he introduced Rook to Neve.

“Rook, like the chess piece?”

“Yup, one of the strongest pieces on the board, but tends to think in straight lines.”

Expanding on that, on showing Rook just being so immensely stubborn and only seeing what’s directly in front of them, having such a powerful personality being one of the reasons all of your companions listen to you and follow your leadership, and yet another mirror to Solas, who sees his goal as so important nothing else matters, could have made Rook more engaging and entertaining and enthralling. But that never happens.

Rook is there, and it’s the companions who seem to have the majority of the focus. To an extent, I understand, everyone loves new companions and fleshed out companions with complexity are always amazing.

But Rook doesn’t feel like the leader or hero of the story. I stand by my opinion that it should have been the Inquisitor with Varric. It would have made Varric’s death more impactful and meaningful. The Inquisitor, going by ‘Rook’ as they try to track down Solas. Having a connection to his power, literally flowing through their body for so long, could have easily been used for a plot device for why Solas can’t use magic to enter their mind until the blood magic happens. With the ending of having their arm removed, the magic ripped from their body, easily justifies their power being a “starting” character level, and no matter what you choose to do with the Inquisition, you are not in control of it by the end of Trespasser.

There’s just so much that could have been done to make this a much more complex and compelling story that just . . .wasn’t.

What’s really jumping out at me on my second playthrough is that the writers of the first three games understood that your character was the main character. The Veilguard writers clearly thought that the main characters were their characters, the companions.

Every scene is about setting the companions up as cool or competent or sympathetic. Often, this is done at Rook’s expense. The companions get all the witty one-liners; Rook’s attempts at humor not only frequently fall flat, but are frequently called out for falling flat (even when they’re completely automatic and the player has no say in them).

The companions have all the knowledge and skills; Rook just brought them all together and gives them all pep talks so they can focus. I’m trying to edit out all of the comments where Rook is like “Um… what????” from my videos, and let me tell you, it takes WORK. There are A LOT of them. I can count on one hand the number of times when the Inquisitor or Hawke comes across as dumb, but it seems to be a built-in, unavoidable part of Rook’s character. I have not selected a single “purple” option in all of Act 1, and Rook is still coming across as the kid who tries to be the class clown to cover for the fact that he’s always confused. Rook’s role in most scenes is to say “Uhhh… what?” so that the companions look smart.

Rook is always the one offering sympathy and never the one getting it. No one actually comes to comfort you after Varric’s death. No one asks you how you’re feeling about having to lead the team now that Varric is gone. No one tries to reassure you or give you advice for dealing with the trickster god haunting your dreams. We’re told that Neve could keep Solas out of your head, but she never actually offers to do this for you. No one comforts a Shadow Dragon Rook when Minrathous is destroyed or a Grey Warden Rook when Weisshaupt is destroyed. Rook’s problems don’t matter. Only the problems of main characters matter.

Rook is a secondary character in their own story.

[robertsfloyd]

Present

oscar piastri hasn't presented yet. everybody around him has, you have, but he hasn't. there he is, stuck feeling all too human. until your heat begins, that is

there is, like, no f1 abo so here i am 😭

warnings: 18+, abo dynamics (no smut but, like, what if we did a part 2? 👀)

oscar piastri was a late bloomer. a very late bloomer. he should have presented by now; everybody else on the grid had. but no, here he was at twenty-three, still not presented.

some said it was a blessing, to not have those instincts clouding your judgement while on track. the amount of times he had seen carlos sainz nearly crumble to his knees from the whiff of an omega, or lando nearly present himself because an alpha in pre-rut walked past.

a blessing, yes, but also a curse.

every new person he met spent so damn long sniffing him out, trying to work out what he was. "beta?" they normally suggested when they couldn't figure it out.

oscar would have to shake his head and admit that he hadn't present yet. he didn't know if he was an alpha, a beta or an omega. but he just wanted to get on and race.

he didn't care what he was.

even you had presented. you, his best friend, his good luck charm. the person he took everywhere he went.

the day you presented, oscar couldn't help but feel shitty. you presented at eighteen, your omega scent sweet. but that was according to everybody else. he didn't know, wouldn't know, until he presented.

"you would be so cute as a pair of omega's," somebody said to him once. an older guy, an alpha, somebody you worked with. it stirred at bad feeling in oscar's gut and had him begging you to leave your job. predatory, that was the word.

the more oscar looked, the more he saw of that in your workplace. alpha's getting too close to get a whiff of your scent, pushing your hair out of the way to attempt to get to your scent gland. the way you squirmed away from their touch, retreating towards oscar.

just how protective he felt around you should have been a dead give away.

but he would have been protective over you, no matter how he presented.

each and every one of your heats had been spent away from him. it was because he was always surrounded by so many alphas, you said to him. you could hide yourself in your room, keep yourself safe as you rode it out.

preparing for a heat with you was something oscar had gotten good at. getting you snacks, sugary, electrolyte filled drinks to get you through your heat, making sure you had the things you needed to nest.

"i wish i could have stuff that smelled like you in my nest."

but oscar didn't smell like anything. until he presented, he wouldn't smell like anything. no matter how much you tried to bury your face against his neck, against how hard you tried.

you were pretty good at tracking your heats, making sure you wouldn't join oscar at a race weekend when your heat approached.

but not this time. this time, you seemed blissfully unaware as your heat approached. maybe something had happened, something to distract you. no, you would have told oscar if something had happened.

he was your best friend, after all.

it was wednesday, media day. you had flown in with him the day before, set yourself up in your hotel room, just beside his own. everything seemed to be normal.

but then a sweet scent filled his nostrils. pastries, honey, wild flowers. whatever it was, it was so fucking sweet, going straight to his head.

several of the men around him, several of the alpha's around him, had the same reaction, eyes blown wide as they searched for the source of the scent. but oscar remained composed, continued with what he and lando were filming.

you waited behind the camera, holding your stomach. as soon as they got a little break, he was standing in front of you, holding your elbows. that sweet scent just grew all the more intense.

"i don't feel good, osc," you mumbled, staring up at him.

your eyes were blown wide as you held your cramping stomach. oscar breathed in, the scent making his head swim. but he shook his head, cleared his thoughts and wrapped his arm around you. "come on," he said and led you away. "lets go lie down."

a whine left your lips as you followed him. fuck, it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. he had heard you whine before, but it was never like this, never had his grip on you tightening.

it didn't take oscar long to realise that the smell was you. pastries, honey, wildflowers. he stopped himself from leaning close to your scent gland and getting a proper whiff.

you sat down in his drivers room. god, you looked so sweet sitting there, still holding your stomach with your eyes wide and far away.

oscar dropped to his knees in front of you. "i can..." he stated. he breathed in deep, his eyes shutting. "shit, i can smell you."

you chewed on your cheek as you looked down at him. your nose twitched as you leaned forward, breathing him in. falling to the floor with him, falling into his arms, you pressed your nose against his scent gland.

"fuck," you squeaked, your nails digging into his shoulders. "alpha."

alpha.

the way you whined the presentation unlocked something within him, tore an animalistic growl from his throat. alpha. alpha. alpha. your scent deepened, crying out for him.

oscar's head fell forward. his nose against your scent gland, getting drunk on you. all of the media day stuff he had to do, it was all forgotten as he sat in his drivers room, holding you.

fuck, you were in pre-heat. and he was in pre-rut.

because he was an alpha. your alpha. and you were his omega.

[heartsriki]

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE WAY ⌇ 우리를

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader — featuring.. sunghoon | word count: 5.7k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ childhood friends, tease ni-ki, middle school to highschool au, cussing, angst if you use a magnifying glass, fluff, kissing, underage drinking, miscommunication.

synopsis — Ever since middle school, Nishimura Riki has been an absolute pain. Now at your senior year of high school, things get complicated when confused feelings start to rise.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I am here to represent the playful over nonchalant riki agenda 🤓☝️I wanted this to give shitty 2000's romance movie did I succeed? (this is so ass but I haven't posted a pic in a while so muah, creative fics coming soon trust)

If there was one universal truth in your life, it was this: you hated Nishimura Riki.

Childhood best friends? The kind you see in movies, laughing over dumb jokes, sharing secrets under a blanket fort, or being there for each other no matter what? Yeah, that wasn’t you and Riki. Not even close.

Your history with him began the summer before middle school, a day you remembered all too clearly.

“Who’s moving in, Mom?” you asked, watching the moving truck parked outside the empty house next door.

She glanced over as she set down a stack of plates. “A family with a boy about your age,” she replied, patting your head. “Maybe you’ll make a new friend! Why don’t you go say hi?”

You wrinkled your nose, stepping back from the window. “I wish it was a girl.”

Mom sighed and gave you that knowing look as she moved around the kitchen. “You never know. Your dad and I were childhood friends once.”

“Gross,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “That’s so weird.”

And just like that, you moved on with your life, assuming the new boy next door was unimportant. After all, families came and went in your neighborhood. You didn’t expect him to stick around—or to matter.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The first day of middle school was supposed to be a fresh start. You had plans. Big plans. Make friends, fit in, and survive until High School. And for a moment, it seemed like everything would go smoothly. Until him.

Lunch was going fine. You grabbed your tray, scanning the cafeteria for a place to sit when you collided with someone. Hard.

Your lunch went flying, splattering all over you, and in your panic, you looked up, ready to apologize. But then you noticed he was perfectly fine—completely untouched—like the universe had gone out of its way to humiliate only you.

You glanced at his name tag. Nishimura Riki.

He crouched to help, concern etched across his face. “Are you okay—”

Before he could finish, a blinding camera flash went off, followed by whispers and giggles erupting all around you. Mortified, you bolted to the nearest bathroom.

You thought that would be the end of it, but Riki wasn’t done ruining your life. Far from it.

In gym class? He always aimed for you during dodgeball. At lunch? He somehow snagged the last banana milk every time. Clubs? Teachers practically begged him to join while you couldn’t even get a recommendation. Worst of all, everyone adored him. Everyone but you.

By the end of your first year, Nishimura Riki was your sworn enemy.

And then things got… complicated.

It happened one evening while you were studying in your room. A soft knock at the door interrupted your focus.

“Come in,” you called, expecting your mom.

She stepped inside with two glasses of water. “Remember the tutoring favor I mentioned? My friend’s son is here in need of help, Be nice, okay?”

“Sure,” you replied, not thinking much of it.

But when the door creaked open again, you froze.

“Not who you were expecting?” Riki grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe.

You crossed your arms. “What are you doing here Riki?”

Riki winced. “Tutoring obviously, and could you please just call me ni-ki like everyone else?”

“You’re not coming in,” you snapped, blocking the doorway.

He sighed dramatically. “And what would I tell your mom?” He bent slightly to meet your glare, his grin widening when you finally moved aside.

“Fine. Sit down,” you muttered, plopping back at your desk.

For the next hour, you worked in tense silence. Or tried to, anyway. Riki kept fidgeting, pulling out a folded piece of paper halfway through.

“What’s that?” you asked, snatching it before he could stop you.

“Hey!” he yelped, scrambling to grab it back.

It didn’t take long to figure out what it was: another love letter. You rolled your eyes and tossed it back at him. “Veryyyy humble.”

“Not my fault I’m handsome, but it really is annoying though, I'm constantly surrounded… sometimes I feel like I'm drowning” he muttered, leaning back on his hands.

You were thrown off by his sincerity but you ignored him until he suddenly perked up as if struck by divine inspiration.

“Wait,” he said, sitting up straighter. “I have an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s never good.”

“Let’s be friends, like attached to the hip friends.”

You blinked. “What?”

He grinned. “Think about it. You don’t have anyone covering your back at school, and I need someone to scare off all the girls who keep following me around. It’s perfect.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hard pass.”

“Come on, at least think about it!” he whined.

Unfortunately, he didn’t leave you much of a choice. Day by day, Riki wormed his way into your life, showing up at your house, sticking by you at school, and, somehow, turning everyone’s attention to you.

It was annoying. It was infuriating. But, worst of all? It worked.

Fast forward to your senior year of high school, and here you were—still stuck with Nishimura Riki. And somehow, despite your ups and downs, things weren’t going to be quite so simple anymore.

You were buried in your assignments, your usual library spot surrounded by a fortress of papers, highlighters, and books. It was your sanctuary, a place where Riki always knew he could find you.

He wasn’t alone when he spotted you this time. A couple of his friends hung around, laughing about something entirely unimportant in his mind the second his eyes landed on you. His grin stretched wide, and with an exaggerated sigh, he excused himself. The girls groaned, rolling their eyes at his now-predictable antics. “You’re obsessed, ni-ki,” one of them muttered, but he didn’t care.

Jogging up to your table, he glanced at your mess of notes and books. You didn’t even look up. Of course.

“What is it, Riki?” you murmured, still scribbling, your tone bored, uninterested—classic.

“Would it kill you to talk to me lovingly every once in a while, Y/N?” he mocked, flopping into the chair across from you. His eyes darted to the pile of folded papers shoved to the side, and his eyebrows shot up. “Oh? What’s this? Love letters? These for me again?”

You finally glanced up, leveling him with that deadpan expression he swore you saved just for him. “They’re definitely not mine,” you replied flatly.

He gasped, hand over his chest like you’d shot him. “Poor baby. Jealous much?” he teased, leaning forward on his elbows.

“Of you? Hardly.”

Riki narrowed his eyes at you, suddenly curious. Now that he thought about it, he’d never actually seen you with anyone—no rumors, no dates, no shy confessions. And while you always rolled your eyes whenever he brought up girls in front of you, you never chimed in about any guy in your life. Suspicious.

“Y/N,” he started, his tone a little too casual as he began doodling nonsense shapes on the table. “When was the last time you had a boyfriend?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Well, you remember Choi—”

“Choi Soobin? That lasted, what, a week?” he scoffed, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

“And why do you think that is, genius?” you shot back, pointing your pencil at him accusingly.

Riki faltered for a split second before looking away. “Well… I think you can do so much better than him,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Your brow shot up, amused. “Oh? Alright then, Mr. Matchmaker. Who’s my ‘better match,’ huh?”

His mouth opened, then shut. For once, he didn’t have a quick answer. He gulped, scrambling to save face. “How about I… set you up?”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “With one of your fuckboy friends? No thanks.”

“Hey! Not them!” he laughed, hands up in defense. “I meant someone like… Sunghoon.”

That made you pause. “Sunghoon? Like tall, calm, cool, and basically perfect Sunghoon? Yeah, right. He wouldn’t go on a date with me in a million years.”

“What? Says who?” Riki shot back, standing up like he’d just been challenged to a duel. “I’ll talk to him. Watch and learn, Y/N. Watch and learn.”

“Riki—”

“Later! Don’t miss me too much” He winked and walked off, leaving you to roll your eyes at his retreating figure, wondering if he’d actually follow through or if this was just another one of his ridiculous schemes.

“Y/N? I thought you guys were dating,” Sunghoon said, his brow furrowing in confusion as he leaned back against the locker.

Riki nearly choked on his water, his eyes going wide as he turned to face him. “What? No, Y/N is just a friend.” He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Oh. Huh. Well, I think I’m gonna pass anyway. She’s kind of… boring?”

The words hit Riki like a slap. His head snapped toward Sunghoon so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Boring?” he echoed, his voice sharp. “Says who?”

Sunghoon shrugged nonchalantly. “Everyone. I mean, I haven’t seen her at a single party or game, not even during lunch. What would we even talk about?”

Riki scoffed, crossing his arms as he glared at him. “Y/N is plenty of fun, asshole. What do you even know?” His voice was defensive, almost protective, and it surprised even himself.

Sunghoon tilted his head, studying Riki’s reaction. “I mean, she seems… quiet,” he admitted. “But now that I think about it, if you’re the one setting me up with her, she’s probably pretty great. You don’t exactly play matchmaker for just anyone.”

Riki blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “Uh… well, yeah, she is great,” he muttered, not meeting Sunghoon’s eyes.

Sunghoon grinned. “You know what? Why not? She’s cute.”

Riki froze. His grip tightened on the strap of his backpack, and for a split second, he wasn’t sure why his stomach twisted at Sunghoon’s words. Calling you cute? Of course, you were cute. He’d always known that. So why did it sound weird coming from someone else?

He quickly shook off the strange feeling, chalking it up to his usual overprotectiveness. “Alright,” he said, his voice coming out more clipped than he intended. “But don’t do anything weird. Seriously.”

Sunghoon laughed, pushing off the locker. “Weird? Relax, I’ll be a gentleman. So, you gonna tell her, or should I?”

Riki sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll tell her. Just… don’t mess this up, alright?”

Sunghoon smirked as he walked away. “I won’t. But, man, you’re acting real possessive for ‘just a friend,’ don’t you think?”

Riki didn’t respond, watching as Sunghoon disappeared down the hall. The words hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was more than just “overprotective” when it came to you.

Today, you felt a kind of giddiness you hadn’t experienced in a while. After weeks of drowning in study sessions, late-night cramming for club responsibilities, and endless schoolwork, you were finally doing something for yourself. And to top it all off, you weren’t just going out—you were going out with a boy.

It had been forever since you’d made this much effort. You dolled yourself up, not too over the top, but more than your usual routine. Casual but undeniably cute. You felt like a new version of yourself, and it was exciting.

Standing in front of your mirror, you hummed along to the music playing softly in the background, carefully adjusting your hair. You tilted your head, giving yourself one last once-over with a satisfied grin when there was a knock on your door.

“Y/N, I’m coming in,” came the familiar voice.

Before you could even respond, the door creaked open, and Riki stepped inside. His usual easy-going demeanor faltered the second he saw you. The air felt heavy, and his eyes widened as if he’d been caught off guard.

For a moment, he just stared, the words dying in his throat. Why were you so dressed up? He’d seen you a thousand times, but never like this. Something about the way your hair framed your face, the slight gloss on your lips, and the way your outfit hugged your figure—it was like he was seeing you for the first time.

Were you always this pretty?

“Is he on his way? What kind of car does he drive?” you asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Your voice snapped him out of whatever trance he was in, and he blinked, his expression hardening as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh… yeah, he’s almost here,” he muttered, his tone uncharacteristically stiff.

The doorbell rang, and your face lit up instantly. Clapping your hands together, you grabbed your bag and checked your outfit one last time. You turned to him, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Not too bad, right? Think he’ll like it?”

Riki froze again. The words caught in his throat, and for a second, he thought about telling you the truth. That you looked beautiful. That the thought of you being this excited about someone else was bothering him more than it should.

But instead, his pride got the better of him. “I—well—you look stupid,” he blurted out, his words harsher than he intended.

You rolled your eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Say whatever you want, Riki. Your opinion doesn’t matter tonight. I’ll text you the details tomorrow!”

And just like that, you were gone, your scent lingering in the room as you hurried past him and out the door.

Riki stood there, staring at the space you’d just left. His chest felt tight, an unfamiliar weight settling there as he replayed the moment in his head. What was this feeling? Why was his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought of you with someone else?

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair as he sat on your bed, shoulders slumping. Something was changing—something he wasn’t sure he was ready to admit yet. But as he sat there, his chest aching and his mind racing, one thing was becoming painfully clear.

He didn’t want to be the one you texted tomorrow to tell all the details about tonight. He wanted to be the one sitting across from you, the one you were so excited to see. And that realization scared him more than anything.

The next week was nothing short of torture for Riki. As if fate was playing a cruel joke, you and Sunghoon seemed to hit it off. You weren’t officially dating, but the two of you were in the so-called “talking stage.” It didn’t matter what stage it was—every second of it felt wrong to Riki.

Your usual library spot? You weren’t alone anymore. Sunghoon was always there, sitting across from you, leaning in too close, making you laugh in ways that Riki used to. Your desk? It was now stocked with your favorite snacks every morning—snacks that weren’t from Riki. And the final blow? You called Sunghoon by his nickname. His nickname. Riki clenched his fists every time he overheard it because not once in all the years he’d known you had you ever called him by a nickname.

What did Sunghoon have that Riki didn’t? He left snacks, visited you in the library, and called you nicknames. Riki did all of that first. So why wasn’t it enough?

For the first time, Riki felt you slipping away. And for the first time, he realized just how much you meant to him. But instead of confronting those feelings, he did what he always did best—he buried them.

The dismissal bell rang, and the school flooded with students rushing to leave. You were taking your time, slowly packing up while your music played softly in your headphones. A tap on your shoulder startled you, making you jump.

“Hey, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you,” Sunghoon said with an easy laugh.

You laughed back, pushing him playfully. “It’s fine. Yeah, I’m ready to go, but we should wait for Riki. He might need a ride home.”

Sunghoon’s brow furrowed, confused. “ni-ki? I thought he went on that date.”

Your hands paused mid-motion. “What?”

“Yeah, didn’t he tell you? He’s been talking about it all day.” Sunghoon said it so casually, but his words felt like a punch to your chest.

No. Riki hadn’t told you anything. And now that you thought about it, he’d been distant recently, skipping out on plans and barely texting back. But to go on a date and not even mention it? That wasn’t like him at all. A strange feeling bubbled in your chest—was it anxiety or something else entirely?

“Oh. I guess we should just go then,” you murmured, brushing past Sunghoon, who quickly followed after you.

It stayed like that for weeks. Riki kept avoiding you, making himself scarce. He didn’t leave snacks on your desk anymore, didn’t visit you in the library, and the only time you caught glimpses of him was when he was with her. That girl in his friend group—except now, his arm was around her shoulder.

Something about seeing them together twisted your stomach into knots. You couldn’t figure out what was going on. The absence of Nishimura Riki was a void you weren’t coping with well. You missed his annoying presence, his whining, his endless teasing. When had he become so important to you? And more importantly, why did it hurt so much to see him with someone else?

Days passed, your short fling with Sunghoon had come to an end. You and Sunghoon realized you weren’t a good match. It wasn’t dramatic; the spark just wasn’t there. You were relieved to have gained a friend, but even that small resolution didn’t fill the aching gap that Riki had left behind.

One day, as you trudged toward class, your thoughts heavy, you spotted him. For a moment, everything else faded. His uniform was crisp for once, his hair falling perfectly across his forehead, and his headphones hung loosely around his neck. You felt your heart skip, a familiar warmth creeping in. But then you saw her—the girl. She was right next to him, laughing as she leaned closer.

Riki caught your eyes, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in his expression. But then he looked away, a fake smile plastered back on his face, and it felt like someone had ripped the air out of your lungs.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The sudden, painful realization hit you like a truck—you had fallen for Nishimura Riki. The cocky, annoying, rude, childish Riki. And you had realized it far too late.

Fueled by a sense of urgency, you stormed over to him. The closer you got, the more his eyes widened. His body tensed, his jaw clenching as if he knew what was coming.

“Riki, I need to talk to you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

He scoffed, avoiding your gaze as he shifted awkwardly. “What could we possibly need to talk about?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Oh, I don’t know. How about the fact that you’ve been ignoring me for weeks? How about the fact that you’ve completely shut me out?”

He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes now locking with yours. “Me? Ignoring you? Don’t make me laugh. Weren’t you the one who ditched me first? The second Sunghoon gave you a little attention, you were all over him like he was your whole world.”

You flinched at the venom in his words. “What are you even talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb!” he snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve been desperate for attention since day one. The moment someone else gave it to you, you didn’t even think twice about ditching me.”

The words stung more than you thought possible, and tears welled in your eyes. “Is that how you really see me? Someone who just begs for love and clings to anyone willing to give it? Or is that what you wanted me to be? Someone who would never leave you, so you could string me along whenever you wanted? Like you always have?”

His eyes softened, regret flickering through them, but before he could respond, the girl at his side stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm.

“Alright ni-ki.. I get it now.” You took that as your cue. Turning on your heel, you walked away without looking back, tears blurring your vision.

He gulped as he watched you walk away, Itching to chase after you. He never thought the loss of his first name coming from your lips would hurt this much. But it did.

For the nights after that, sleep was impossible. You lay there staring at the ceiling, replaying the confrontation with Riki over and over in your head. His words, his tone, the hurt that lingered in his eyes despite the venom in his voice—it was all too much. The raw pain left a lump in your throat, and the longer you thought about it, the more your chest ached.

You didn’t know how to move past it. Slowly, you started closing yourself off. The window you always left unlocked for Riki to climb through at night? It was shut now, the latch sealed as if closing it would somehow lock away the memories too.

Everything was weighing on you, dragging you deeper into a pit of emotions you couldn’t escape from. You needed something—anything to distract yourself. That’s when you remembered Sunghoon’s message from earlier.

Sunghoon:

Hey I know parties aren’t really your thing, but you can always come and stick with me tonight if you want? LMK.

You sighed, staring at the screen for what felt like forever before finally making a decision. Maybe this was what you needed, a change of scenery, a chance to forget for just one night. Without overthinking, you hit the call button.

He answered almost immediately, his voice casual but with a hint of surprise. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?”

“Hey, Hoon,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll be on my way soon.”

When you arrived at the party, the air was buzzing with energy. Music thumped loudly in the background, lights flickered through the windows, and the yard was packed with groups of people chatting and laughing. You felt a pang of anxiety as you stepped inside, but it was quickly drowned out when Sunghoon spotted you from across the room.

“Y/N!” he called, weaving through the crowd with a grin. “You made it.”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“I’m glad you came,” he said, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to some people, and we can hang out.”

He led you through the party, his presence grounding you as you met new faces and settled into the environment. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you felt yourself relaxing. Laughing. Forgetting.

But that peace was short-lived.

Halfway through the night, as you stood by the kitchen with Sunghoon, sipping on a red solo cup which he’d handed you, your eyes landed on someone you weren’t prepared to see. Riki.

He was standing on the far side of the room, a red Solo cup in hand, his face half-hidden by the shadowy lighting. But it was unmistakably him. His posture was relaxed, but he wasn’t speaking as his group of friends talked. You looked around for the girl he grasped onto recently but she was nowhere in sight.

Your chest tightened, and it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, all the progress you’d made to distract yourself unraveled. You tried to look away, but it was like your eyes were glued to him.

Sunghoon noticed immediately. “Hey,” he said gently, stepping in front of you to block your view. “You okay?”

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on him. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But you weren’t fine. Not at all.

Riki hadn’t noticed you at first, too caught up in the chaos of the party. But when he finally glanced toward the kitchen, his heart stopped. There you were, standing next to Sunghoon, looking beautiful in a way that made his chest ache.

His grip on his cup tightened as he watched Sunghoon lean closer, whispering something that made you laugh softly. That laugh. The one he hadn’t heard in weeks. It was his laugh, the one you used to share with him.

“ni-ki,” a girl next to him said, tugging on his sleeve to grab his attention. But he barely heard her, his focus still glued to you.

“Excuse me for a second,” he mumbled, setting his cup down and stepping away from his group. He didn’t even know what he was doing. His feet carried him across the room before his brain had the chance to catch up.

You saw him coming before he even reached you. The sight of him walking toward you, his expression unreadable, made your stomach twist. Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder and immediately stiffened.

“Y/N,” Riki said, his voice low but firm as he stopped in front of you. His gaze flickered to Sunghoon briefly before settling back on you. “Can we talk?”

You hesitated, your walls immediately going up. “What is there to talk about, ni-ki?”

“Please,” he said, his tone softer now, almost desperate wincing at the way you spit his nickname.

Sunghoon stepped closer, his presence protective. “Maybe now isn’t the time, Riki.”

Riki’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I wasn’t asking you, Sunghoon.”

Your heart was racing, caught between the two of them. The tension in the air was suffocating, and you didn’t know what to do.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Sunghoon finally said, his voice steady but his eyes lingering on you for reassurance before he walked off.

Riki took a step closer, his hands buried in his pockets as he looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “For everything.”

You swallowed hard, your emotions a whirlwind. “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.”

“Then don’t say anything,” he said quickly. “Just… listen. Please.”

And so, for the first time in weeks, you let him talk.

He led you up the stairs, weaving through the chaos of the party. The bass of the music faded the further you went, replaced by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. He stopped in front of an empty room, pushing the door open and letting you step inside first. The room was dim, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window. When he followed, the soft click of the door shutting behind him felt heavier than it should have.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms defensively. Your guard was up, and he could see it all over your face—your hurt, your anger, your confusion. He hated that he was the one who put that look in your eyes. How had things gotten so messed up? It reminded him of when you were younger, back in middle school, when he could never find the right words to say to you. But this time, it felt like so much more was at stake.

“Y/N…” His voice was quiet, laced with hesitation, his dark eyes glowing softly under the light. “I haven’t been real with you lately.”

You didn’t say anything, your glare sharp enough to cut through him.

“To be honest…” He froze, the words catching in his throat as his face heated up. He looked down, running a hand through his hair as if it would steady him. “Well, I’ve realized that you mean… a lot more to me than I thought.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat, but your defenses didn’t falter. “What are you trying to say?”

He sighed, taking a tentative step closer. “I’m saying I screwed up, okay? I’ve been jealous, selfish, and downright stupid. Seeing you with Sunghoon, thinking I might lose you… it made me realize something.”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting, your breath catching as he took another step closer.

“I like you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his confession. “No, scratch that—I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now, but I was too dumb to figure it out until I almost lost you.”

Your heart was pounding, the walls you’d built around yourself threatening to crumble. His words felt like a punch to the gut, but in the best way possible.

“Why now?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why did it take all of this for you to say something?”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his tone filled with regret. “Scared of ruining what we already had. But when I saw you with him, I realized I couldn’t just stand by and lose you. I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything. I just… I need you to know how I feel.”

You stared at him, your emotions a whirlwind. Part of you wanted to stay mad, to keep your guard up and protect yourself. But the other part—the part that had always been soft for him—wanted to believe every word he was saying.

“Riki,” you started, your voice trembling. “You really hurt me, you know that, right?”

He nodded, guilt washing over his face. “I know, and I’ll spend however long it takes making it up to you pretty. I swear.”

There was a long silence as you studied him, searching his face for any sign that he wasn’t being genuine. But all you saw was raw vulnerability.

Finally, you sighed, stepping closer to him. “You’re such an idiot,” you muttered, but there was no malice in your voice.

He smiled softly, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. “I’ve been told.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, you reached up, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t hesitate. His hands found your waist as you stood on your toes, and then, without another word, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, like the two of you were still testing the waters. But as the moment deepened, all the tension, all the weeks of hurt and miscommunication melted away. His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall into him completely.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads rested against each other, both of you breathless. He smiled at you, his usual cocky grin softened by the tenderness in his eyes.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, the sound light and carefree, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

BONUS 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Riki had known you since middle school. Back then, you were the girl who sat by the window during lunch, scribbling in your notebook or reading while everyone else was too busy trying to be cool. You were quiet but quick-witted, and for some reason, that always fascinated him.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment he started noticing you more. Maybe it was the time you helped him with a history project because he procrastinated and would’ve failed without you, Maybe… It was the day you both ran into each other. Literally.

He hated admitting it, but he always found himself drawn to you. You weren’t flashy or loud like the other people in his life. You were just you—calm, focused, and, most of all, real.

But middle school Riki wasn’t great at handling feelings. Instead of being sweet to you, he’d tease you mercilessly, always looking for a reaction. He loved how your face would scrunch up when you were annoyed or how you’d mutter sarcastic comebacks under your breath, pretending you weren’t affected.

Even then, he knew you were different. Special. But he never let himself think too much about it.

As the years passed, his feelings only grew, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. By the time high school rolled around, you were still his constant. The one person he could always count on, the one who somehow understood him without needing a million words.

But somewhere along the way, he’d started feeling something heavier whenever he saw you. When you smiled at him, it felt like a spark ignited in his chest. When you scolded him for slacking off, he’d secretly enjoy the attention. And when you laughed—God, when you laughed—he swore it was his favorite sound in the world.

Still, he buried those feelings deep. He figured it was better to keep things the way they were. If he said something and you didn’t feel the same, he could lose you entirely, and the thought of that terrified him.

Then Sunghoon came into the picture. And for the first time, he realized he wasn’t the only one who could see how amazing you were. Watching you smile at someone else, laugh at someone else’s jokes, give someone else the attention that used to be his—it tore him apart. He felt like he was suffocating, and he didn’t know how to stop it.

Even now, standing in that room with you after finally confessing everything, he couldn’t help but think back to all those moments from middle school. How blind had he been? How stupid to waste so much time pretending he didn’t care?

Looking at you now, your cheeks flushed, your eyes searching his face like you were trying to figure him out, he realized he didn’t want to hold back anymore.

He smiled, soft and genuine, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You know,” he said, his voice low, “I think I’ve been falling for you since middle school. I just didn’t know how to say it back then. Guess I’m still figuring it out now.”

You blinked at him, stunned for a moment, before a small laugh escaped your lips. “You’ve been a mess since middle school, Riki.”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin growing wider. “But I’m your mess now.”

And with that, he kissed you again, pouring years of unspoken feelings into the moment, knowing he’d finally found where he belonged—right there, with you.

[cargopocketcottagecore]

Right. Had a new experience along these lines today. Short version, it went well eventually and I got thanked. Still fucking sucked.

There's someone very close to me who is cis and straight. I'm their first and major touchstone on anything queer, especially anything trans^.

I was asked about "it/its" pronouns. I explained as best as I could as someone who has acquaintances with a variety of pronouns but only goes by "she/her". Used some examples. Yes, it's another thing to remember about a person. So is their favorite movie. File the info in the same place.

Things got a little heated. I shouldn't have started laughing, but this person had moved on to being legitimately *upset* at the idea of trans folks with non-standard names, like "November" (hello.) or similar. I've known folks named after deities, after seasons, after damn near anything in nature. And that was just in the cis/het community.

I pointed out the proliferation of (hyperbolically) "Keighleigh" because people wanted to be unique. Just with trans folks they were the ones choosing, not their parents. And did this person actually know anyone who used pronouns besides they, she, and he? Well,... this one person for a few weeks. Alright, so they tried something out. Ever try a style and realize it didn't fit? Me too. Anyone else? No? Alright, so you're upset about something that doesn't actually affect you.

I finished by pointing out that remembering someone's pronouns (whatever they are) is part of their identity, something to remember about them. This person fucking *hates* onions, and I said hey, you know how you feel when someone includes onions in a dish in spite of knowing you hate them? Or when someone mistakes your name for the gender that you aren't and gives you the wrong honorific (a thing that happens damn near weekly)? You know how much it feels like you don't matter to them when they do that?

That's how these folks feel. And it's at a societal level. I've seen you tear into someone for purposefully calling me "he". Those folks deserve the same, even if it's not what you're used to. No, not that it isn't normal please. That it's new. That you aren't used to it. Like when we say STI instead of STD, or call an STI test negative instead of clean. You've been worried in the past about those tests coming back negative, you didn't want to deal with the implication of being "dirty" or the like.

I saw them slowly wilt. I'm not saying this to brag about dunking on them. As I said above, they're very close to me, very important to me. What I mean is I saw the bullshit-fueled fire evacuate all at once. They got it. They saw the unnecessary outrage.

Then they apologized asked for a hug, and thanked me several times for the patience and for taking the time to explain it to me.

I feel like I need a fucking nap, but I might also have done a bit of good. And hopefully this person is able to better explain to others why trans people aren't fucking weird.

^- Do they have other trans/queer friends? Yeah, but this person doesn't really discuss those things much. Speculation on why is a fucking case study into conservativism, desperate poverty, generational trauma, possible denied introspection, and reactionary political parents I have neither time nor patience for.

"The trannies should be able to piss in whatever toilet they want and change their bodies however they want. Why is it my business if some chick has a dick or a guy has a pie? I'm not a trannie or a fag so I don't care, just give 'em the medicine they need."

"This is an LGBT safe space. Of COURSE I fully support individuals who identify as transgender and their right to self-determination! I just think that transitioning is a very serious choice and should be heavily regulated. And there could be a lot of harm in exposing cis children to such topics, so we should be really careful about when it is appropriate to mention trans issues or have too much trans visibility."

One of the above statements is Problematic and the other is slightly annoying. If we disagree on which is which then working together for a better future is going to get really fucking difficult.

[mameillieureennemie]

Hey i think it would be cool if you do another jinx x femreader ishas sister and something about isha walking in on a cute moment and getting grossed out maybe some angst😌 maybe some smut 😙😙 if u do that

hey love! sorry this took so long, but i hope you enjoy and thank you for the request :)

jinx x f!isha's sister!reader

there're hardly any moments you two can get alone. with the whole of piltover after you and the whole of zaun championing your girlfriend, it's been a very rough couple of weeks.

most of your time is spent hiding out, and during that time, you're entertaining isha as much as you can. whether that be through beetle brawling, drawing, or re-dying her hair so it doesn't lose its blue. it's anything you can do to keep her happy, to keep her away from the impending war that brews on outside.

but then a moment comes along where isha disappears. which isn't entirely odd because she's been known to vanish from time to time. you've grown used to it, after years of observing her movements, and calm jinx down when her look for isha grows a bit frantic.

"she's fine," you assure jinx, rubbing at her shoulder. "i wouldn't be this calm if i knew she wouldn't be."

"yeah, but," jinx says, running a shaky hand through her hair. "it's getting dangerous out there, and isha isn't us. she's young; she's practically a baby, and people are sick fucks with deranged brains and—"

you instantly draw jinx into your arms, tugging at her until her face is in the crook of your neck. you rub soothing circles against her back, softly cooing until jinx's muttering falls silent. then her arms are curling around your waist, holding you close, as if she's scared you'll disappear too.

"i know it's hard," you say gently. "to trust that things are okay. that the people you love are okay. but you can trust me and trust that i know what i'm talking about." you lean back so you can hold jinx's face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs over the angle of her cheekbones. "so trust me on this, okay? isha's fine, and she knows what to do if she runs into any trouble."

jinx seems unconvinced, but she slowly relaxes as she nuzzles into your touch. with a heavy sigh, she closes her eyes and says, "i've...never had to worry like this before. usually, it was others worrying about me. because i was the jinx, y'know? so it's odd...feeling this way."

you hum in response, still tracing patterns into her cheeks. "feeling what way?" you ask, a little curious and jinx opens her eyes with a shrug.

"responsible?" she tries, before shaking her head. "i don't know, i just—the idea of anything happening to you or isha rips me up inside. like i'd permanently lose my mind, go absolutely fucking crazy if something bad happened to you guys."

you hum again, this time with a hint of a chuckle. but her words have your heart racing because that's exactly how you feel. it also means that what jinx is experiencing is probably similar to your experience.

that she—

"you love us," you whisper, barely loud enough for jinx to hear. but she hears it, loud and clear, as she stares at you with eyes that momentarily look powder blue.

"i...do," she whispers, just as loud, and it's enough to push you. enough to have you pull her in so you can press a sweet kiss against her lips. a kiss she reciprocates eagerly, her arms still tight around your waist, placing you in a trap you hope to never escape.

just as she licks into your mouth with a soft moan, there's a noise that startles you both. you pull apart quickly, looking around and sighing when you see that it's isha.

whose nose is scrunched up in disgust, eyes clenched shut.

you can't help but laugh loudly as jinx snorts, refusing to let you go.

"some nerve you got," jinx scolds playfully. "you couldn't have come back in like twenty minutes?"

you shove jinx, just as playful, and say, "isha, you can open your eyes."

but isha shakes her head, intent of keeping her eyes safe.

but she's smiling now, and that's all that matters.

[genderqueerdykes]

I still feel really iffy about transandrophobia (a bit less so after your explanation) but the main thing confusing me is why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny? It can’t really stem from misandry because misandry is systematically not a thing. I’m starting to understand it a bit but i’m still SUPER confused. I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

hello there. i hope i can explain things that help make sense of it a bit better. i appreciate you coming back to ask more. please note that i'm saying this to be productive and not to hurt your feelings or anything. i just need to point out some key things that i see repeated often in these conversations

it's not "believing" that transandrophobia exists, it is acknowledging that it exists. this is not a religion. this is much like gravity in that this form of oppression doesn't cease to exist just because someone doesn't believe in it. it's not like god, belief is not necessary. it will happen regardless of whether or not you believe it's happening

i really need you to understand that transmascs and trans men are PEOPLE above all else and talking over them and telling them they don't actually know what they're going through and need someone else to explain it for them is so fucking horrible. please don't do that to an entire group of people. transmascs and trans men ARE reliable narrators on their own lived experiences. why is it okay to freak the fuck out when trans men speak for trans women, but trans women are the only ones we can listen to when it comes to trans manhood? please consider how screwed up this double standard is. if you refuse to listen to trans men talk about trans womanhood, do the same when trans women talk like they know everything about trans manhood.

why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny?

because that's not what it refers to! trans men and transmascs experience misogyny but they're not using "transandrophobia" to mean "misogyny 2". it's specifically because they are trans MEN and nothing else. we did not reinvent misogyny, this is a specific experience that we face that people can learn about if they just listen to us talk about it!

transandrophobia is a specific type of transphobia that is directed towards trans men and mascs that is specifically directed at them because they are trans MEN and trans MASCS. it's NOT stock standard transphobia, transmascs & trans men are specifically being targeted because they are trans MEN. being told that you're "not a real man" because you're trans isn't misogyny. being told you're "not really a gay guy" because you're trans isn't misogyny. mocking trans men for not having deep enough voices or enough facial hair to pass isn't misogyny. telling trans men they're not real men because they don't have penises isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they like women's clothing isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they work in a female dominated field isn't misogyny.

mocking trans men who can't grow body hair for not "being real men" isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they have feminine interests isn't misogyny. telling them they're too short to be a man isn't misogyny. telling them their face or body isn't masculine enough to be a man isn't misogyny. trans men getting misgendered for their voices isn't misogyny. getting called a "tranny dyke" or a "cunt boy" when someone finds out a trans man is trans isn't misogyny... all of these things are transandrophobia. these no longer have anything to do with being perceived as a woman, these have to do with being perceived/attempting to be perceived as a man/masc.

trans men are affected by misogyny too, but it's not the same as transandrophobia. as a matter of fact, telling a trans man that they're experiencing misogyny when they aren't IS transandrophobia..

I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

i'm going to lay it down painfully easily for you, but when you say things like that, it really comes across as virtue signalling. i'm going to be blatantly honest with you here. it really sounds like you're trying to suck up to transfems for brownie points by saying trans men don't suffer any forms of oppression at all and that people who acknowledge that transandrophobia exist are mostly rude transmisogynistic assholes. you're participating in silencing trans men & transmascs for the sake of trying to look more Trans Friendly to transfems and trans women and we can see it for what it is. please stop. this isn't flattering. it scares transfems and trans women when you do this because we don't know when you'll turn that hatred, malice and ignorance toward us whenever the narrative shifts again. this does not make us feel safe around you.

acknowledging that transandrophobia exists doesn't mean someone is attacking trans women and trans fems. like i'm sick and tired of the "people who believe in transandrophobia are really mean to transfems" shit. it's not true! this is way over exaggerated for the sake of making trans men and mascs look bad. i cannot stress how much this is NOT true for every single person who acknowledges that transandrophobia exists. i have a lot of friends who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, trans men, transmascs, and all other kinds of genders, including trans women and transfems! you know how many of them are ACTUALLY rude to or attack trans women?

0. none. i'm not saying those people don't exist but they are NOT the norm. hell, there are literally trans women who acknowledge transandrophobia exist. the world is not as tiny as you've been made to feel it seems. there ARE shitty people out there who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, but it's not the norm. it's not the vast majority of us. we have to stop having this knee jerk reaction of "trans woman = defenseless pure cant ever hurt anyone constant victim always hurt by men no matter what the context is" and "trans man = evil because man subhuman deserves to die literally an attack to every and all trans women around them"

i would suggest actually reading the anons i get about transandrophobia if you want to learn more about it! please stop listening to people who AREN'T trans men and transmascs when it comes to what kinds of oppression they face. nobody else actually knows what they go through. please actually listen to THEM. it's not helping trans women by refusing to listen to literally every other kind of trans person. it's not alleviating trans women of the oppression we face to deny that other people can be oppressed, too.

also whether or not ppl wanna accept it, transmascs and trans men are human and you really, really do need to care about that. like genuinely. please just open your heart and care about transmascs and trans men in a way that doesn't involve throwing them under the bus to attempt to look better to transfems. it's not helping anyone. put your ego down for a good few hours and actually listen to other people- and yes, i really do mean more than just trans women. listening to trans women is great. we appreciate it. but stop silencing other people in order to do that. it's not necessary.

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 1)

Part 2

Warnings: plus size!fem!Reader, hints of pressure therapy, insecurities, swearing, Reader has abusive mom, mentions of abuse, Reader and Simon won’t talk to save their lives, only mention of Soap in this chapter

It’s supposed to be just another Christmas when everything changes.

You are not the biggest fan of changes, they rarely bring you (or Simon for that matter) something to be really happy about.

Therapist tells you it’s a defence mechanism, your need to feel that everything is the same otherwise it’s unpredictable, it’s out of your control and you don’t know what’s going to happen.

You don’t like not knowing things.

Makes you antsy, makes anxiety coil in your belly like rose bush, just growing and growing until thorns have no other place to dig in but your insides.

Simon doesn’t judge you for that, not when he has a slight (though how much is slight in terms of mental health) paranoia, possessive streak and need to oversee every bloody process or he starts vibrating with tension.

Simon grows up to be a bloody behemoth of a man — huge, broad and heavy. Bicep the size of your head. Midriff too thick to wrap both hands around it.

You shoot up in couple sizes as well, still broad shouldered, hips wider, thighs thicker, palms smaller than Simon’s but pack the same heavy smack he has.

Comes with the territory, in a way.

Can’t be defenceless in a city like Manchester when nightlife is never kind to a girl and strangers are all too eager to take advantage of a lonely bird on her way home.

Simon rumbles that you are “bloody perfect”, dropping his blond head in your lap on a usual movie night or laying on top of you without the fear of crushing under his weight.

Your hands around him comforting presence — softer underside of biceps cushioning against his shoulder blades.

“Bloody bliss. ‘m snug like a bug in a rug”, he mumbles, eyes closed and whole body limp — melting into yours, soaking up all the warmth and affection you so freely give.

“Am I a rug?”, you chuckle, eyes half lidded and soft, knuckles rubbing the tender point between his shoulder blades. Scratching him like he’s a big dog.

Simon reminds you of classical breeds of guard dogs people in rural areas use to protect their livestock and homes. Great Pyrenees, you think they are called.

Big, heavy, entirely unbothered by anything but the task at hand and very much blond — hair curling from moisture in the air and hot mist of the shower.

“You’r a blessing, luv”, Simon finally hums out, half way asleep, nose nudging your jaw up so he can properly nuzzle in your neck, your scent comforting him in a way he’s not sure he can explain. “ ‘m gonna sleep. Too tired. You’r okay?”

You hum, palm splaying over his back, just pressing it there so he can feel it, warm presence of it tearing out a satisfied “mm” from Simon.

It’s a routine at this point, something something regulation for him and you. You swap on regular basis, because sometimes you just need to be close to him and he needs someone’s weight to press him in the couch, enveloping him.

Not easy to be Simon’s personal blanket or a big spoon but you proud yourself on doing a pretty good job. The best one if you are to believe Simon himself.

You hum in return to his sound, your own hum soothing a scratching beast inside of Ghost’s head, mutt finally laying it’s big head on front paws and closing it’s eyes. Sometimes Simon wonders how’s so you are able to do just that.

When he can’t.

Maybe that’s what changed somewhere along the way. Maybe he just doesn’t need you as much anymore.

A traitorous childish part of you sometimes thinks that a lot of things were easier when you two were kids.

Both you and Simon — wide-eyed and yet unscarred, biggest scrapes on your bodies from face planting on the pavement after wearing sandals on the wrong legs.

It’s part you never share with Simon because it isn’t fair. Because the older you became the worse things at home were. The screaming, the pain, the bruises and tears. It was bad.

For Simon at times much worse than for you.

At least your mom was careful enough not to leave scars

You can’t miss something that signified hurt and helplessness for him, just because it was easier back then.

You can’t but part of you does.

You were inseparable once, teachers always knew that wherever one of you is they’d find another one.

Joined at the hip, glued to each other’s side, sharing silences and lunches and books and first kisses and secrets.

Time that now feels like honeyed berry of a memory — sugary sweet and popping with colour under your eyelids.

When did it change?

You know that it’s natural for people to grow up and part ways but you and Simon were always together. At home, at school, on weekends and holidays.

You left together after graduation, working odd jobs to pay for a tiny apartment with only one bed but really nice bathroom.

Simon shrugs and plops himself on the mattress saying that it’s not gonna be the first time you’ll be sleeping together. Why waste money you don’t have on a thing you don’t really need?

Simon says that if it gets too uncomfortable you’ll save up and by a second one, though it is very unclear where would you even put it. But it’s not uncomfortable and it becomes a new norm for you.

You were always together, intertwined tighter than any friends, closer than family, more long lasting than any relationships.

At times it felt like you two outgrew categories, but then you’d meet people and whilst introducing each other would need to choke out “my friend”.

How do you even tell people that this man is more than friend and more than boyfriend ever been for you?

How do you convey that Simon is family in the same way life long partners are?

How do you explain that Simon is the moon of your skies, that his presence and dark eyes and soft blond lashes and wild crooked grins have effect on you that no one else really has?

You never discussed your relationship, perhaps there simply was no need at the time. Both of you content to be the only permanent people in each other’s lives — the strongest connection. Each other’s priority.

Up until this Christmas.

Up until you get the cryptic “do you wanna celebrate not at home this year?” that makes your brows furrow.

It’s 2 weeks before holidays are going to start, you are wearing Simon’s black sweater and jeans, puff jacket hooked on the crook of your elbow, pressed to your side.

Which now feels like it wasn’t the idea because it’s too hot, the mall is crowded and it’s warm in a way December in Manchester never is supposed to be.

You blame it on people and global warming, while manoeuvring your way to the food court, buying yourself whatever cold soda they have because fucking hell, why is it so hot in here.

Your bags are getting plopped on the seat right next to yours when you stretch out your legs, thick winter boots feeling heavier than usually.

What can he mean by that? You two always celebrated Christmases and a birthdays at home. Together.

This way it was less people, less potential triggers and grounds for overstimulation for both of you.

God knows you can’t handle screaming, crowds making you nervous and too hot and Simon coils into tight wound spring when he hears balloons pop or feels people graze against him.

A quick noncommittal “why” is all Simon gets in return.

Just so you receive back “been invited to Glasgow to celebrate. Think you can make it?” and oh wow, someone’s making friends out there.

Simon doesn’t give you any additional information and doesn’t provide any further context probably deciding that there’s nothing more you need to know.

You take a deep breath, staring down the message, fingers drumming against tabletop — sharp tap-tap-tap doing nothing to soothe your climbing agitation.

Why all of a sudden he wants to celebrate it someplace else when you two already have perfectly decorated apartment?

Jesus Christ, you are out here gift shopping!

It takes you entirely three long minutes of typing and deleting the message before you finally send “don’t think I can. But u have fun”.

Your phone pings with a new incoming message so quickly it almost feels like Simon is sitting on the other end, staring down your chat with him, waiting for a response.

“Are u sure, luv? Soap says it will be fun. His family will be there. They are nice”

Fuck no. You don’t do family gatherings. Especially not with strangers and from what you thought you knew — neither does Simon. Too many people that try to touch you, too many sounds, just too warm.

But your eyes zero on the “Soap” and you feel something ugly inside of you raising its head, crack of its vertebras feeling like uncoiling blizzard inside of you.

Who is “Soap” and why is he standing between your usual Christmas plans with Simon?

You force your anger down so hard it almost makes you wince, molars aching from how tight your jaws are.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t a couple after all. Not like you spent the last shit ton of Christmases together.

Not like it was important for you to have it done with him of all people.

So you type out short “absolutely. Yk I don’t like crowds. Have fun out there and pass Soap “merry Christmas” from me” which is much longer and much more cordial than you expected from yourself in the heat of a moment.

Especially when the most prominent thought was “tell Soap to go fuck himself and come home, you big bastard, I spent three hours in the bloody mall”.

Good job, now you can get going. After all, there is shopping to be done and Christmas menu to be redone.

If Simon is not coming you are gonna gorge yourself on ginger cookies and have fun.

You are a big girl, you don’t need Simon Riley and his stupid blond lashes.

You don’t need anyone.

[sad-wet-cat-hannibal]

(Essay incoming so I'm adding a read more)

I think you've said some good stuff here, and I too get annoyed or even angered by people using the term in a way that I interpret as flippant; but I'd like to add that as someone who frequently described distressing books and films as "traumatising", it turned out that that word was rather apt - because my intense response was caused by my trauma being triggered by those very same things, too often in ways that felt like reliving it.

Here's the kicker. I didn't know I *had* any trauma. All I knew was that engaging with these works made me feel distressed and disturbed as if I were personally traumatised by these things. Like they were real. Like they damaged me. Just from reading them or seeing them. They'd haunt me for weeks, sometimes months, sometimes years. Sometimes they gave me weird symptoms I couldn't explain. So, naturally, I was hyper-avoidant as fuck.

That intense sensitivity and hyper-avoidance, combined with my ignorance to the fact that my psyche was not experiencing these things from an untraumatised position, meant I thought that "intensely distressing/traumatising" was just the normal effect these things had - except lots of other people seemed oblivious, and even delighted in the exact same works. Sometimes none more so than the kind of motherfuckers who actually like traumatising people.

So I figured, as incomprehensible as it seemed, everyone else had to be either too numbed out/oblivious/naïve to realise how awful this shit was, or were actually big fans of bad things happening in real life.

Because if to me it felt too real, capable of destroying my peace of mind for weeks, then surely to some extent that must be the same for everyone else, right? (Obviously not, but I was younger and working with what limited knowledge I had.) From that logic it's really easy to buy into censorship, into propaganda that claims that the symptoms of a society with a dysfunctional approach to life are often born of the media that echoes them, rather than the other way round. It's real to you. It's your only explanation. (You don't want to feel like this. You don't want anyone to feel like this. It's inhumane.)

What I'm trying to say is that not everyone knows they're traumatised. I think as many as those who do, do not. Perhaps far more. And for those people, the only time they are able to touch on the truth of their half-veiled iceberg is when they tell you that The Bridge to Terabithia "traumatised" them.

(I know it "did" me.)

Telling them they're exaggerating, and misusing language that doesn't apply to them runs the very real risk of making it harder for them to treat their feelings with the consideration and weight they deserve, and enabling them to begin the process of unraveling their denial and tending their wounds. It runs the risk of reinforcing the (potentially forgotten or minimised) messaging they may have already received, during and after the trauma, that it doesn't matter. They're exaggerating. They're making things up. Other people have trauma, other people have it so much worse, other people suffer - but not you. Your account of your experience is unbelievable. Silly. You will not be seen or heard or understood, not by anyone else, and not by yourself...

Yet. Hopefully one day. But I think it often takes other people being willing to shine a light on the pain, and say, "Yeah, it's real. It's caused by things. You aren't alone and you aren't exaggerating."

I think the flippant watering down of the word is potentially very unhelpful too, but there's a section of society who want to push the narrative that the vast majority of people speaking seriously and from a place of relevant psycho-education about their trauma are just special snowflakes jumping on a trend. Maybe I shouldn't, but I feel wary of adding fuel to their fire by trying to gatekeep trauma. I don't know what the solution to these two conflicting uses of the word is, or if it's even possible to create a solution that doesn't simultaneously police the traumatised out of expressing their pain the only way they currently know how. Which would set back the whole thing of trying to help people... We get enough trauma olympics ingrained into everyone as it is.

Oh yeah!! Just remembered, Gabor Mate said in either his book from 2024 or an interview about it that he considers everyone to be traumatised, the question is simply one of degree (if I'm remembering correctly). So from that it may in fact be possible to argue that books and films can traumatise people, although perhaps not necessarily to the extent we might associate with PTSD or CPTSD.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[elryuse]

불장난 Playing With Fire

Yuna X Male Reader

Tags : Ex Girlfriend Yuna, Teasing, Kissing, Pretty Toxic And Slightly Weird Romance, Fluff, Pregnant? Marriage?

Words : 8,557 Words

You always thought the first time you met Yuna would be burned into your memory forever. The sparkle in her eyes, the way her laugh could fill a room, and how effortlessly she made you feel like the only person in the world. That was before. Before the lies, the heartbreak, and the shattered trust. Now, every memory of her feels distant, like a faded photograph buried in the back of your mind. You’ve tried to move on, to live your life without the weight of her betrayal pressing down on your chest.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor.

It’s an ordinary evening when you see her again. The streets are busy with the hum of traffic, and the golden glow of the setting sun reflects off car windows. You’re standing at the corner, waiting for the light to change, when you catch a flash of fiery red out of the corner of your eye. You glance over, and your heart skips a beat.

It’s her. Yuna.

Only, it’s not the Yuna you remember. Gone is the soft brown hair that used to fall in gentle waves down her shoulders. Now, her hair is a striking, fiery red, cut shorter, framing her face with an edge that screams confidence. Her figure, once curvier, is now more toned and petite, as if she’s carved herself into something entirely new. She’s wearing a leather jacket over a simple black dress, and her boots click sharply against the pavement as she crosses the street.

Your instinct is to look away, to pretend you didn’t see her. After everything that happened, the last thing you want is to reopen old wounds. But then, her eyes meet yours, and you know it’s too late.

“...Y/n?” she says, her voice softer than you expect.

You hesitate, debating whether to respond. “Yuna,” you finally say, your tone neutral, guarded.

Her lips curve into a small smile, but there’s something behind it—something you can’t quite place. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d run into you here,” she says, stepping closer.

You take a step back without meaning to, creating just enough distance to feel like you’re still in control. “It’s a big city,” you reply. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

She tilts her head, studying you like you’re some puzzle she can’t quite figure out. “You look good,” she says, her eyes scanning you briefly. “Different, but… good.”

You resist the urge to scoff. “Thanks,” you say curtly. “You, too. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

She grins, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear. “Yeah, the hair’s new. And I’ve been working out more. Needed a fresh start, you know?”

You nod, though you don’t really know what to say to that. The light changes, and the crowd around you begins to move. You take a step toward the crosswalk, hoping she’ll take the hint and let you go.

“Y/n, wait,” she says, reaching out to lightly touch your arm. The contact sends a jolt through you, and you pull back instinctively. Her smile falters for a moment, but she recovers quickly. “Can we talk? Just for a minute?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say firmly. “There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“Come on,” she says, her voice almost pleading. “It’s been, what, a year? Can’t we just… I don’t know, catch up? As friends?”

Friends. The word feels bitter on your tongue. You shake your head. “We were never just friends, Yuna. You know that.”

Her expression softens, and for a moment, she looks like the Yuna you used to know—the one who could make you smile no matter how bad your day had been. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “For everything. I know I screwed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I miss you, Y/n. I miss us.”

You feel your chest tighten, and you have to remind yourself to breathe. “You don’t get to say that,” you say, your voice low but firm. “You don’t get to miss us when you were the one who destroyed it.”

She flinches, and for a brief moment, you think you see tears glistening in her eyes. But then she straightens, her fiery hair catching the last rays of sunlight. “You’re right,” she says, her voice steadier now. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But I’ve changed, Y/n. I’m not the same person I was back then.”

You want to believe her. A part of you—some small, foolish part—still wants to believe that the girl you fell in love with is still in there somewhere. But you can’t forget the pain she caused, the way she broke your heart and left you to pick up the pieces on your own.

“I’m glad you’ve changed,” you say finally. “But that doesn’t change what happened. And it doesn’t mean we can go back to the way things were.”

She nods slowly, her eyes dropping to the ground. “I get it,” she says. “I just… I just wanted to see you. To tell you I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in her voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure what to say. Finally, you sigh and take a step back. “Take care of yourself, Yuna.”

With that, you turn and walk away, leaving her standing there on the sidewalk. As you disappear into the crowd, you can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the last time you’ll see her.

And deep down, you’re not sure if that thought scares you—or excites you.

The knock on your door is sudden, sharp, and entirely unexpected. You freeze mid-sip of your morning coffee, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of your apartment like a knife. Three rapid raps, followed by silence. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall—it’s barely 8 AM. Who the hell could that be?

Setting your mug down cautiously, you make your way to the door, peeking through the peephole before opening it. And there she is: Yuna.

Your ex-girlfriend. The woman who shattered your heart into a thousand irreparable pieces years ago. She stands there, radiant as ever, her fiery red hair catching the sunlight, her lips curved into that familiar smirk that used to make your stomach flip. Now, all it does is twist into knots.

“Hey,” she says casually, as if it’s totally normal for her to show up at your doorstep after all this time. “Long time no see.”

You blink, stunned into silence. Of all the people you thought might show up unannounced at your door this early in the morning, Yuna was not on the list. “What are you doing here?” you finally manage, your voice more curt than you intended.

She shrugs, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe like she owns the place. “I live next door now. Figured I’d come say hi.” Her tone is light, almost playful, but there’s something in her eyes—something burning, intense, calculated. It makes your skin prickle.

“You live… next door?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly. This has to be some kind of joke. Or a nightmare. Either way, you don’t like it.

“Mhm,” she hums, nodding. She steps past you into your apartment without waiting for an invitation, her floral perfume lingering in the air as she moves. It’s the same scent she always wore when you were together, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. “Saw your name on the mailbox the other day. Small world, huh?”

“Small world, my ass,” you mutter under your breath, closing the door behind her reluctantly. “This isn’t a coincidence, Yuna. What are you really doing here?”

She turns to face you, her expression softening as she takes a step closer. “I told you. I’m your neighbor now. And… maybe I wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

You cross your arms tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between the two of you. “Yeah, actually. It is. We haven’t spoken in years. Not since—” You cut yourself off, the memory of what she did still raw, even after all this time.

Her smile falters, and for a moment, she looks genuinely remorseful. “I know, Y/n. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, selfish, and I regretted it the second it happened. You have no idea how much I’ve beat myself up over it.”

“Not enough, apparently,” you snap, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice. “If you had any respect for me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

She flinches at that, her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. But then she squares her shoulders and meets your gaze head-on. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. But the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. And I know you probably hate me, and maybe you should, but… I needed to try. To see if there’s any chance we could start over.”

You stare at her, your mind racing. Start over? After everything? She can’t possibly be serious. And yet, the look in her eyes tells you she is. Dead serious.

“Yuna,” you say slowly, picking your words carefully. “We’re not the same people we were back then. And even if we were, what you did… that’s not something you just ‘start over’ from.”

She nods, swallowing hard. “I know. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight. But… can we at least try to be civil? As neighbors? Maybe even… friends?”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications. Friends. Yeah, right. Friends don’t do what she did. Friends don’t destroy trust the way she did. And yet, looking at her now, with her wide, pleading eyes and perfectly pouty lips, it’s hard to stay mad. Harder than you want to admit.

“I don’t know, Yuna,” you say finally, sighing. “This is… a lot.”

“I get it,” she says quickly. “And I’ll give you all the space you need. But just… promise me you’ll think about it, okay? Think about us.”

Before you can respond, she steps forward, closing the distance between you. For a second, you think she’s going to kiss you—and part of you wants her to, despite everything. But instead, she simply brushes her fingers lightly against your arm, sending a shiver down your spine.

Then she’s gone, slipping out the door as quickly as she came, leaving you standing there, confused, annoyed, and—damn it—curious.

Over the next few days, Yuna becomes impossible to ignore. Every time you leave your apartment, she’s there, whether it’s in the hallway, by the elevator, or even at the gym. She’s always polite, always friendly, but there’s an underlying tension that neither of you acknowledges. A tension that grows thicker with each passing day.

Tonight, though, she crosses a line.

You’re in the middle of cooking dinner when she knocks on your door again, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a coy smile on her face. “Hi,” she says sweetly. “Thought you might want some company tonight.”

You raise an eyebrow, holding the spatula in your hand like a weapon. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly,” she replies, pushing past you into the kitchen. “Smells amazing, by the way. What are we having?”

“Steak,” you say automatically before catching yourself. “Wait, no. I’m having steak. You’re interrupting my dinner.”

She grins, setting the wine bottle on the counter and grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer like she belongs here. “Oh, come on. You can’t eat all that by yourself. Besides, we need to talk.”

“About what?” you ask warily, watching as she expertly uncorks the bottle and pours two glasses.

She hands you one, her fingers brushing against yours in a way that feels far too intentional. “About us. About… what happens next.”

You take a sip of the wine, mostly to buy yourself time to think. “There is no ‘us,’ Yuna. Not anymore.”

She leans against the counter, her body language relaxed but her eyes intense. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s always been an ‘us.’ Even when we weren’t together, even when I screwed everything up… there was always something between us. Don’t tell me you don’t feel it too.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the words stick in your throat because… god damn it, she’s right. There is something between you. Something electric, magnetic, undeniable. And it’s been there from the moment she showed up at your door.

But you can’t let her know that. Not yet.

Instead, you set your wine glass down and turn back to the stove, flipping the steak with more force than necessary. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Yuna.”

She laughs softly, the sound low and sultry. “Maybe. But you’ve always liked danger, remember?”

Your grip tightens on the spatula. Remember? How could you forget? She’s reminding you on purpose, and it’s working. Memories flood your mind—her hands on your skin, her lips on yours, the way she used to whisper your name in the dark.

“Dinner’s ready,” you say abruptly, plating the steak and handing her a plate. If nothing else, maybe eating will shut her up.

But as the two of you sit down at the table, the tension only grows thicker. Every glance, every brush of skin, every shared laugh sends sparks flying. By the time you finish eating, the air between you is charged, crackling with unspoken desire.

“Thanks for dinner,” Yuna says, standing up and moving closer to you. “It was… delicious.”

She’s not talking about the food, and you both know it.

You stand too, your heart pounding in your chest as she reaches out, her fingertips grazing your jawline. “Yuna,” you warn, your voice husky.

“Yes?” she whispers, her lips dangerously close to yours.

“Don’t—”

But before you can finish, she closes the gap, her mouth crashing into yours like a tidal wave.

And just like that, you’re lost.

Her lips are warm, insistent, and achingly familiar. The moment she kisses you, a flood of memories rushes back—late nights tangled in sheets, whispered promises, the way her body fit perfectly against yours. But this isn’t that time. This is now, and despite everything, your body betrays you. Your hands instinctively move to her waist, pulling her closer as if they have a mind of their own.

Yuna deepens the kiss, her tongue brushing against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm. A soft moan escapes her throat, muffled by the heat of your mouths colliding. Her fingers weave through your hair, tugging gently but firmly, sending a shiver down your spine. She pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips, her breath hot and uneven, “I’ve missed you.”

The words hang in the air like a confession, raw and unfiltered. You want to push her away, to remind yourself of why you shouldn’t be doing this, but her touch is magnetic, her presence intoxicating. Your resolve wavers, crumbling under the weight of her longing.

Her hands slide down your chest, fingertips tracing the contours of your muscles through your shirt. They pause at the hem, slipping beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin for the first time in what feels like forever. Her touch ignites something deep within you, a hunger you thought you’d buried long ago.

“Yuna,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, “this isn’t—”

She silences you with another kiss, harder this time, more desperate. Her nails dig lightly into your sides, leaving tingling trails in their wake. When she finally breaks away, her eyes lock onto yours, blazing with something you can’t quite place—need, remorse, or maybe both. “Let me show you how much I’ve missed you,” she breathes, her voice trembling with emotion.

Before you can respond, she sinks to her knees, her hands moving to the button of your jeans. Your heart pounds in your chest, the sound deafening in the quiet room. This is wrong, a small voice in the back of your mind whispers, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the way her fingers work deftly to free you from the confines of your clothing.

Her breath hitches as she takes you in, her gaze lingering for a moment before she leans forward, her lips brushing against the tip of you. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through your body, your hips jerking involuntarily. She smirks up at you, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes. “Still sensitive, huh?” she teases, her voice low and husky.

You don’t have time to respond before she takes you fully into her mouth, her tongue swirling around your length with practiced ease. A groan escapes your lips, your hands tangling in her hair as she moves with a rhythm that leaves you dizzy. Her name falls from your lips like a prayer, barely audible over the sound of her sucking you deeper, harder.

She pulls back momentarily, looking up at you through hooded lids. “Do you remember how much you used to love this?” she asks, her voice dripping with sultry anticipation. Before you can answer, she’s swallowing you again, her lips pressing tightly around you as she works her way down your shaft.

Your knees buckle slightly, the sensation overwhelming. Her hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as she bobs her head, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The wet sounds fill the room, mingling with her soft sighs and your ragged breaths. It’s messy, desperate, and utterly consuming.

As her pace quickens, so does the ache building in your core. You’re close, too close, and the realization makes your grip on her hair tighten. “Yuna, I—”

She doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. Instead, she hums around you, the vibrations making your entire body shudder. Her eyes meet yours again, and there’s a challenge in them, daring you to let go. And you do, unable to hold back any longer.

With a strangled groan, you release, her name tumbling from your lips as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. She takes it all, her tongue lapping at you greedily until you’re completely spent, your legs trembling beneath you.

When she finally pulls away, there’s a hint of mischief in her smile, along with something softer, more vulnerable. She stands slowly, her hands resting lightly on your hips as she looks up at you. “You always did taste so good,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction.

You’re still catching your breath, your mind reeling from what just happened. There’s a part of you that wants to pull her into your arms, to feel her warmth against you. But there’s also a part that feels conflicted, torn between the past and the present, between what you feel and what you know you should do.

Yuna seems to sense your hesitation. She steps closer, her body pressing against yours, her lips brushing against your neck. “I meant what I said,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I’ve missed you. More than you could ever know.”

You swallow hard, your hands hovering at her sides, unsure whether to push her away or pull her closer. “Yuna".

She leans back just enough to meet your gaze, her eyes searching yours. “Don’t think too much about it,” she says softly. “Just… let me make you feel good. Like I used to.”

Her hands slide up your chest, pushing your shirt off your shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. Her touch is gentle, almost reverent, as she traces the lines of your body. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered,” she admits, her voice filled with awe.

Before you can respond, she’s leading you toward the couch, her movements confident yet tender. She pushes you down gently, then straddles your lap, her thighs squeezing your hips as she leans in to kiss you again. Her lips are softer this time, more deliberate, as if she’s savoring every second.

You find your hands moving without conscious thought, gripping her waist, sliding up her back, exploring every inch of her. She lets out a soft sigh, arching into your touch, her body molding against yours like it was made to fit there.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling with need. “Tell me you want me.”

Your heart races, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. But when her hand slips between your bodies, her fingers brushing against the growing heat between her legs, your resolve crumbles completely.

You can’t find the words to respond. Not when her body is pressed so tightly against yours, not when her hand is moving with such purpose, igniting a fire deep within you that you swore had been extinguished long ago. Instead, you let out a shaky breath, your hands gripping her hips as if holding onto them will keep you from losing yourself completely.

Yuna doesn’t wait for an answer. She doesn’t need one. The way your body responds to her touch—the way you instinctively pull her closer—tells her everything she needs to know. Her lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses that make your head spin. Each kiss is deliberate, each move calculated to unravel you further.

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, brushing against the sensitive skin of your stomach. You gasp, your grip tightening on her as she lets out a soft laugh against your collarbone. There it is, you think. That sound. That laugh. It’s been so long since you’ve heard it, but it still hits you like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of your lungs and making your heart ache in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Stop thinking,” Yuna murmurs, her voice low and husky. “Just feel.”

It’s easier said than done. Your mind is racing, torn between the past and the present, between anger and desire. But then her hand slips lower, her fingers wrapping around you, and all thoughts evaporate into nothingness. A moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and Yuna smirks against your skin, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s more like it,” she says, her breath hot against your ear. “Let me remind you what you’ve been missing.”

Before you can respond, she’s sinking to her knees in front of you, her hands working quickly to free you from the confines of your clothes. You barely have time to process what’s happening before her mouth is on you, warm and wet and impossible to resist. Your head falls back, a strangled groan escaping your throat as her tongue swirls around you, teasing and taunting in equal measure.

God, you’ve missed this. Missed her. The way she knows exactly how to drive you wild, the way she takes you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but raw, unfiltered sensation. Her mouth moves expertly, drawing you deeper, her hand working in tandem to heighten every touch. You can feel the pressure building, threatening to consume you, and you force yourself to hold back, not wanting this to end too soon.

But Yuna isn’t having it. She pulls away just enough to look up at you, her eyes dark with desire. “Let go,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breathing. “I want to hear you.”

And then she’s taking you in again, her movements faster, more urgent. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you, but it’s no use. You’re powerless against her, against the way she makes you feel. Your hips buck involuntarily, and Yuna makes a soft noise of approval, encouraging you to keep going.

The tension coils tighter and tighter until you can’t take it anymore. With a cry, you come undone, your body shuddering as waves of ecstasy crash over you. Yuna doesn’t pull away, not even when you’re spent and trembling, your legs barely able to support you. Instead, she stays where she is, her lips pressing gently against your skin as if savoring the moment.

When she finally stands, there’s a look of pure satisfaction on her face. “Welcome back,” she says softly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was starting to think I’d lost my touch.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though your mind is still reeling. “You haven’t lost anything,” you admit, your voice hoarse. “If anything, you’ve gotten better.”

Yuna grins, clearly pleased with your admission. “Practice makes perfect,” she teases, stepping closer to press a kiss to your lips. You taste yourself on her, and it only serves to deepen the ache inside you, the need for more.

She pulls away slowly, her hands trailing down your chest as she steps back. “Now it’s your turn,” she says, her voice dripping with promise. “Don’t worry—I’ll guide you.”

You’re about to ask what she means when she turns and walks toward your bedroom, her hips swaying with every step. The sight alone is enough to make your pulse quicken, and you follow after her without hesitation, your earlier reservations forgotten.

The room is dimly lit, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the curtains. Yuna stops at the foot of the bed, turning to face you with a look that sends a shiver down your spine. Slowly, she begins to undress, each movement deliberate, each inch of skin revealed making your mouth go dry.

When she’s fully naked, she reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until you’re standing right in front of her. “Touch me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with anticipation. “Show me you remember how.”

Your hands tremble slightly as you reach for her, your fingers skimming over her bare skin. She sighs, leaning into your touch as you explore the curves and valleys of her body, rediscovering every part of her that once felt like home. Her breath hitches when your fingers brush over her nipples, and she arches into your touch, silently urging you to continue.

You lower your head, capturing one taut peak between your lips, and she gasps, her hands tangling in your hair. Her scent surrounds you, heady and intoxicating, and you’re desperate for more. Your tongue flicks against her, eliciting another sharp intake of breath, and you can feel her pulse quickening beneath your fingertips.

“Y/n,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please…”

You know what she wants. What she needs. And you’re more than willing to give it to her.

As if on cue, the opening notes of your favorite song drift through the speakers in the corner of the room. The melody is soft and slow, filling the space with a quiet intimacy that makes the moment feel even more significant somehow. Yuna’s eyes meet yours, and there’s something in her gaze—something tender and vulnerable—that catches you off guard.

“This song,” she says, her voice shaking slightly. “It reminds me of us. Of who we used to be.”

Used to be. The words echo in your mind, stirring memories you’d tried so hard to forget. Late-night drives, stolen kisses, whispered promises of forever. All of it comes rushing back, overwhelming you with emotions you thought you’d buried long ago.

Yuna seems to sense the shift in your mood because she reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re not those people anymore,” she admits, her voice heavy with regret. “But maybe… maybe we can be something better.”

You don’t respond—you can’t. Not when your heart feels like it’s being torn in two. But then she’s guiding you toward the bed, her touch firm yet gentle, and all you can do is follow.

The sheets are cool against your skin as you lie down, your bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs and heat. Yuna’s lips find yours again, her kiss slow and languid, as if she’s trying to convey everything she can’t put into words. And for the first time since she walked back into your life, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—she’s right.

Yuna’s fingers trail down your chest, her touch light but deliberate, sending shivers through your body. She pauses at the hem of her shirt, her gaze locking with yours as if silently asking for permission. You nod, barely able to form a coherent thought, and she pulls the fabric over her head, revealing herself to you in the soft glow of the bedroom.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmur, your voice thick with desire.

She smiles, a gentle curve of her lips that makes your heart ache. “Touch me,” she whispers, guiding your hands to her waist. Her skin is warm beneath your palms, smooth and inviting, and you feel the faint tremor of her breath as you slide your hands upward.

Her breasts fit perfectly in your hands, soft yet firm, and you thumb over her nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from her lips. She arches into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before she opens them again, their intensity burning into you.

“Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling with need.

You don’t. You can’t. Every part of you is drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and you lose yourself in the sensation of her skin against yours. Your fingers trace the curves of her body, exploring every inch of her with a reverent touch, as if committing her to memory all over again.

Her hands move to the waistband of your pants, her fingers deftly unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. The cool air brushes against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat radiating from her body. She straddles you, her thighs pressing against your hips, and you can feel the wetness between her legs as she grinds against you.

“God, I missed this,” she moans, her head tipping back as she rocks her hips against yours. “I missed you.”

You grip her hips, guiding her movements as your own arousal builds. Her breath comes in short, shallow bursts, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she loses herself in the rhythm. Her hands grip your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin just enough to leave marks, and the sting only adds to the fire coursing through your veins.

“Yuna,” you groan, your voice rough with desperation. “I need you.”

She leans forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then take me,” she murmurs against your mouth. “Take me like you used to.”

Her words ignite something primal within you, and you flip her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. She lets out a surprised laugh, quickly replaced by a low moan as you press yourself against her, your length teasing her entrance.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your voice strained with restraint.

She nods, her eyes dark with desire. “Please,” she begs, her hips lifting to meet yours. “I need you inside me.”

You don’t need any more encouragement. With a slow, steady thrust, you enter her, both of you groaning in unison at the sensation. She’s tight, her walls clenching around you as if trying to pull you deeper, and you savor the feeling of being inside her once again.

Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you closer as you begin to move. Each thrust is deliberate, measured, designed to draw out the pleasure for both of you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging gently as she gasps your name, her voice echoing in the quiet room.

“Faster,” she urges, her nails scraping down your back. “Harder.”

You oblige, increasing your pace as her pleas grow more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting each thrust with equal fervor, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air. Her breaths come in short, ragged gasps, her body tightening around you as she teeters on the edge of release.

“Y/N… Y/N, I’m close,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she clings to you. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop.”

You bury your face in the crook of her neck, your lips brushing against her skin as you whisper, “Let go, Yuna. I’ve got you.”

Her climax hits her hard, her body convulsing around you as she cries out your name. The sensation sends you over the edge, and with a final, powerful thrust, you spill yourself inside her, your vision blurring as waves of pleasure crash over you.

For several moments, neither of you moves, content to simply bask in the afterglow. Her fingers stroke your back, her touch tender and soothing, and you press a soft kiss to her shoulder before finally pulling away.

She looks up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Do you remember the first time we did this?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course,” you reply, your hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. “How could I forget?”

She smiles, though there’s a sadness in her expression that makes your chest tighten. “I wish things were different,” she says softly. “I wish I hadn’t hurt you.”

“We can’t change the past,” you tell her, your fingers tracing the line of her jaw. “But maybe… maybe we can start over.”

Her eyes widen, hope flickering in their depths. “Do you mean that?”

Before you can answer, she kisses you again, her lips pouring everything she can’t say into the gesture. And as you kiss her back, you realize that maybe, just maybe, this is the second chance you’ve both been waiting

The kiss deepens, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she's afraid to let you go. You can feel her trembling beneath you, a mix of hope, longing, and fear coursing through her. When you finally pull away, your foreheads rest together, your breaths mingling in the quiet of the room.

"I mean it," you say softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "But if we're going to start over, things have to be different, Yuna. No secrets, no lies. We need to be honest with each other-completely."

She nods quickly, her eyes searching yours as if trying to commit every detail to memory. "I promise," she whispers. "I'll do whatever it takes to make this work, Y/n. I've lost you once, and I'm not going to make the same mistake again."

Her words tug at something deep inside you, a flicker of the love you once shared beginning to reignite. But there's still a part of you that's wary, a part that remembers the pain of betrayal and the sleepless nights spent wondering what you did wrong.

"Starting over doesn't mean forgetting," you say, your tone firm but gentle. "We both need to face what happened before we can move forward. Do you understand that?"

"I do," she says, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes. "And I'll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I'm serious. I'll earn back your trust, Y/n, no matter how long it takes."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The weight of the past hangs heavy between you, but so does the possibility of something new, something better.

"Alright," you say finally, your voice barely above a whisper. "Let's try."

The relief that washes over her is palpable, and she throws her arms around you, holding you close as if you might slip away at any moment. "Thank you," she murmurs against your chest. "Thank you for giving me another chance."

As you hold her, you can't help but wonder if you've made the right decision. The road ahead won't be easy-rebuilding what you had will take time, patience, and an unshakable commitment from both of you. But as you feel her heart beating against yours, you realize that some risks are worth taking.

Later that night, as the two of you lie tangled together in the sheets, Yuna's head resting on your chest, she traces lav patterns on your skin with her fingertips.

"Do you ever think about the future?" she asks softly, her voice laced with a vulnerability that catches you off guard.

"Sometimes," you admit. "Why?"

She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow so she can look at you. "Because I want you to be in mine," she says, her eyes shimmering with sincerity. "I know it's too soon to say things like that, but. I need you to know how I feel. You're not just a second chance for me, Y/n. You're my only chance."

Her words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you're left speechless. But as you look into her eyes, you realize that despite everything, a part of you still loves her-still wants to believe that the two of you can build something beautiful together.

Taking her hand in yours, you press a kiss to her palm and meet her gaze. "If we're going to do this, we take it one step at a time," you say. "No rushing, no expectations. Just us, figuring things out as we go."

She smiles, a genuine, radiant smile that makes your heart ache in the best possible way. "I can live with that," she says.

And as you lie there together, the shadows of the past slowly fading into the background, you can’t help but feel a glimmer of hope—for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t seem so uncertain after all.

The soft rays of morning sunlight stream through the curtains, painting the room in a gentle golden hue. You stretch, feeling the pleasant soreness from the night before, and glance down at Yuna, who is still curled up against you. Her fiery red hair is a mess, splayed out across the pillow, and her lips are slightly parted as she breathes softly in her sleep.

You chuckle to yourself. She looks so peaceful, almost like the Yuna you first fell in love with—before everything became complicated. Not wanting to wake her, you gently untangle yourself from her grasp and slip out of bed.

Padding to the kitchen, you open the fridge and rummage through its contents. Eggs, cheese, a few vegetables—simple but enough for a decent breakfast. As you crack the eggs into a bowl and whisk them, you can’t help but smile at the thought of her reaction.

The smell of sizzling butter and the aroma of freshly scrambled eggs mixed with melted cheese begins to fill the apartment. You chop some green onions and sprinkle them over the eggs, adding a touch of color. The satisfying sizzle echoes through the quiet space, and before long, the scent has spread to every corner of the room.

Behind you, you hear a sleepy groan, followed by the soft rustling of sheets.

“Mm… what’s that smell?” Yuna’s groggy voice floats through the air.

You glance over your shoulder to see her sitting up in bed, her hair adorably disheveled and her eyes still half-closed. She rubs at them lazily before focusing on you, a small smile spreading across her face as she watches you at the stove.

“You’re up early,” she says, her voice teasing. “And cooking? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” you reply, flipping the eggs onto a plate. “Just thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”

She grins, propping herself up on her elbows. “You’re full of surprises, Y/n. I don’t remember you cooking much before. In fact…” She pauses, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Didn’t your cooking use to suck?”

You snort, shaking your head as you grab a couple of plates and start plating the food. “I’ve improved, believe it or not. You’d be surprised what a person can learn when they’re fending for themselves.”

“Well,” she says, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up, “I guess I’ll be the judge of that.”

As she approaches the kitchen, still dressed in your oversized shirt from the night before, she leans against the counter, watching you with a playful smirk. You hand her a plate, and she raises an eyebrow as she inspects the food.

“Eggs, cheese, green onions… simple but promising,” she says, lifting a fork.

You roll your eyes. “Just eat, critic.”

She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Her expression shifts, and for a moment, you can’t tell if she’s impressed or just messing with you.

“Well?” you ask, leaning against the counter opposite her.

She swallows, placing the fork down dramatically before breaking into a grin. “Not bad, chef. Not bad at all. I’d give it a solid eight out of ten.”

“Eight?” you repeat, feigning offense. “What’s keeping me from a ten?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “Maybe it’s missing… love?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling as she takes another bite. “But seriously, Y/n, this is good. I guess you really have changed.”

Her words carry more weight than you expect, and for a moment, the playful atmosphere gives way to something deeper. She looks up at you, her expression softening.

“You’ve grown a lot,” she says quietly. “I can see it in the way you carry yourself, the way you take care of things. It’s… inspiring.”

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at her words, but you shrug it off casually. “Well, I had to grow up eventually.”

Yuna reaches across the counter, her fingers brushing against yours. “I’m glad I get to see this version of you,” she says softly.

You meet her gaze, and for a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The past, the present, and the uncertain future all blur together, leaving only the fragile connection you’re trying to rebuild.

“Let’s just take it one day at a time,” you say, your voice steady.

She nods, her smile warm and genuine. “One day at a time.”

And as the morning sunlight fills the room, you realize that, for the first time in a long time, the day ahead doesn’t feel so daunting.

The decision to give Yuna another chance weighs heavily on your mind, like standing at the edge of a precipice. You’re fully aware of what’s at stake—your heart, your trust, and maybe even your peace of mind. But something about her feels different this time. Or maybe it’s the part of you that never stopped loving her, hoping against hope that this time, things might be different.

The two of you start slow, agreeing to rebuild your relationship step by step. Date nights become a regular thing—dinners, quiet walks in the park, or just staying in and watching movies together. Each moment feels like a cautious dance, balancing hope and fear, love and doubt.

One evening, you’re sitting on the couch with her, a bowl of popcorn between you and an old rom-com playing on the screen. Yuna leans against your shoulder, her hand resting lightly on your thigh. It’s a quiet, domestic moment, but your thoughts are anything but calm.

“Y/n,” she says softly, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

“Yeah?” you reply, glancing down at her.

She hesitates, her fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “Do you… still think about it? What I did?”

Her question hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. You let out a slow breath, your eyes drifting to the TV but not really seeing it.

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. “I think about it sometimes. It’s hard not to.”

She pulls away slightly, just enough to look at you. Her eyes are filled with guilt and fear, and you can see the words she wants to say but can’t quite bring herself to voice.

“But I’m trying,” you continue, meeting her gaze. “I’m trying to let go of the past. To focus on what we have now.”

Her hand tightens on your leg, and she leans into you again, her face pressed against your shoulder. “I don’t deserve this,” she whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. “Maybe not,” you say lightly, trying to ease the tension. “But I’m giving you a chance anyway. So don’t mess it up.”

She lets out a shaky laugh, but you can feel the tension in her body start to ease. “I won’t,” she promises. “I swear, Y/n. I won’t mess this up.”

The days turn into weeks, and you begin to notice the subtle changes in Yuna. She’s more thoughtful now, more attentive. She goes out of her way to show you how much she cares, whether it’s through small gestures like cooking your favorite meals or leaving little notes for you to find throughout the day.

But there are still moments when doubt creeps in—when you catch her staring off into the distance with a troubled look or when a conversation reminds you of the cracks that once broke your relationship apart.

One night, as you’re lying in bed together, you decide to confront it head-on.

“Yuna,” you say, your voice cutting through the quiet.

She turns to face you, her eyes wide and questioning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, then pause. “Actually… I just need to ask you something.”

She nods, sitting up slightly. “What is it?”

“Why now?” you ask, your voice steady but laced with curiosity. “Why come back now, after everything?”

She takes a deep breath, her hands twisting nervously in the sheets. “Because I realized how stupid I was,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I let go of the best thing that ever happened to me, and for what? A fleeting moment of… I don’t even know what. I hated myself for hurting you, Y/n. I still do. But when I saw you again, I thought… maybe this is my chance to make it right.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and unfiltered. You can see the pain in her eyes, the regret that she carries with her every day.

“I can’t promise I’ll forget,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “But I’m willing to try. As long as you’re willing to put in the effort, too.”

She nods quickly, tears brimming in her eyes. “I am. I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/n. I’ll prove to you that I’m worth it.”

You reach out, cupping her face in your hands. “You don’t have to prove anything, Yuna. Just… be honest with me. Be real. That’s all I want.”

“I will,” she whispers, leaning into your touch.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself slowly letting your guard down, piece by piece. It’s not easy—trust is fragile, and the scars of the past don’t fade overnight. But with each shared laugh, each tender moment, and each promise kept, you begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, you and Yuna can make this work.

But deep down, you know you’re playing with fire. One wrong move, one misstep, and it could all come crashing down.

And yet, as you lie beside her, her head resting on your chest and her fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, you can’t help but think that some risks are worth taking.

For now, you’ll take it one day at a time.

The day feels surreal, the kind of quiet that makes you question how you got here. Yuna is by your side, her arms wrapped around yours as you both walk the short distance from her apartment to yours, carrying the last of her belongings.

She giggles, the sound light and musical, and leans her head against your shoulder. "It feels strange, doesn’t it?" she says, her voice filled with warmth. "Moving in together after all this time… like we’ve come full circle."

You glance at her, your emotions a tangled web. Her hair is back to the soft brown shade you once adored, framing her face in a way that makes her look like the girl you fell for all those years ago. But she’s not the same, and neither are you. The ghosts of the past linger, no matter how much effort you both put into rebuilding what was broken.

“Yeah,” you reply softly, your grip tightening slightly on the bag you’re carrying. “It’s… strange.”

Reaching your apartment, you set the bags down by the door. Yuna takes a step inside, looking around with a contented smile. She turns to you, her arms outstretched, and pulls you into a hug.

“You’ve made this place feel like home,” she murmurs, her cheek pressed against your chest.

You hesitate for a moment before wrapping your arms around her, the familiar scent of her shampoo flooding your senses. “It’s home because you’re here now,” you say, the words sounding both true and heavy.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes sparkling with emotion. “I never thought I’d get this chance, Y/n. To be with you again. To… to have a family with you.”

Her hands move to her stomach, and she caresses it gently, the motion so tender it tugs at something deep within you. Your eyes follow the gesture, and for a moment, the reality of it all washes over you like a tidal wave.

A family. A future. With her.

Your gaze shifts to the wedding ring on her finger—a symbol of the promises you made, the commitment you’re trying so hard to uphold. It feels heavy, like a chain and a lifeline all at once.

Yuna notices your silence and tilts her head, her smile soft but questioning. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say after a beat, forcing a small smile. “Just… thinking about everything. About us.”

She steps closer, her hands resting on your chest as she gazes up at you. “I know it hasn’t been easy,” she says quietly. “And I know I hurt you before. But I swear, Y/n, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. To us.”

Her words are earnest, filled with a love that feels overwhelming in its intensity. You nod, though the knot in your chest remains. “I know you will.”

She smiles again, her joy infectious as she intertwines her fingers with yours. “Let’s make dinner together tonight,” she suggests, her tone light. “You can show off those cooking skills of yours again.”

You chuckle despite yourself. “Only if you promise not to criticize too much.”

“No promises,” she teases, leaning up to kiss your cheek.

As the two of you begin unpacking her belongings, the room fills with her laughter and the faint sound of music playing in the background. She moves with a lightness you haven’t seen in years, and for a brief moment, you allow yourself to believe in the happiness you’re building together.

But as you watch her carefully place a photo of the two of you on the shelf—a relic from the early days of your love—you can’t shake the mixed feelings swirling in your chest.

You want this to work. You need it to work. But the scars of the past don’t fade so easily, and the weight of what you’re risking—your heart, your trust, your future—hangs heavily in the air.

Still, when Yuna looks at you with that radiant smile, her hand resting protectively over the life you’ve created together, you can’t help but feel a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, you can make it work.

For now, that’s enough.

[velvetvexations]

Something I would add about Michfest : In the 90s, there was a scandal involving a trans man there (Tony Baretto-Neto). He had phallo and simply took a shower there, but then the staff confronted him because people started saying there were multiple "men" / "transsexuals" / male invaders walking around exposing their erect penises in front of women, and blamed him.

It caused a lot of controversy and he literally ended up having to make a public written statement about it to debunk these claims, saying he was just 1 guy taking a shower (he even said that due to the nature of his penis, the thing about him harassing women with his erection was literally not physically possible, people were just making shit up to paint him as predatory). He explained what really happened : he had told the women around that he was gonna shower and explained his situation, they all said they were fine with it, some shower malfunction happened and some women who helped him with it therefore saw him naked. (He also said that he went to the festival as a trans man because he'd been a lesbian activist since the 60s and had fought in these spaces for decades, even having played in a band in similar festivals in the past).

He had explained all that to the staff and, despite them fully knowing he was AFAB, they didn't care. They didn't want it to be a place ~ for AFABs ~, they wanted a place without any people AMAB or penises, and decided their policy also included people AFAB with penises after this "incident". (Also this story has been largely misrepresented and said to be about a trans woman's penis in the showers, but yeah, the real story behind this was actually about a trans man.)

It's not even a rare occurrence, it's actually pretty common for things "for AFABs" or "AFAB-only" to reject/ban trans men who are deemed "too much like cis men" (or mysteriously find a reason that makes them "not a good fit"). I guarantee you that most shit like "AFAB-only housing" or whatever would also reject trans men with penises. Pretty much every space or thing "for AFABs" will have some secret threshold for trans men, where if you have certain features you will be seen as "too much like a cis man" and not allowed to join because it "makes the others uncomfortable". They won't dare to admit it out loud if they market themselves as open to trans people AFAB, and the exact criteria varies from group to group (it can be as little as "vibes" and not even medical transition related). But "having a penis" will pretty much unanimously be seen as crossing that line and get you rejected.

It's just really frustrating to see some people take them at their word when some group says "we are open to anyone AFAB" and then react like "see ? TME privilege once again, they only exclude trans women !!!!" and act like all trans people AFAB are included in that when there's always, and I cannot state this enough, *ALWAYS* a cutoff point for transmascs in these things, over which they're seen as predatory, invading, untrustworthy, violent, dangerous, and are excluded (and its not necessarily for being mistaken for transfem, it's very deliberate) no matter how "welcome for being AFAB" they are on paper. The entire spectrum of transmasculinity is never welcome in these spaces. It's always a lie.

TRFs love taking other radfems at their word except when those radfems say they really do see trans women as men, then it's all "why do you believe TERFs?" and shit.

Thank you for writing this up. <3