#all of these are heartbreaking expressions though

[radiantmists]

Haven't finished my day one fic but here's my entry for @charles-rowland-week Day 2: Chorb!

I see a lot of cute orb-ghost content and love it, but for some reason when I sat down to write my brain went: that experience must be terrifying on both ends. Especially if it happens when they're pushed to the brink, a circumstance that otherwise leads to ghosts just... dissolving. Especially the first time.

So here's the first time!

***

Charles can't remember how he got here; he hasn't really got any idea where here is, except that the ground he's lying on is too hard and the light is so bright it burns his eyes whenever he opens them.

Though that might actually be something wrong with his eyes, judging by how much the rest of him hurts. He must have pissed someone off real bad, to be in this much pain, but he can't remember who or why. He hopes it was worth it.

"Charles," says a voice, a voice he knows. Edwin's here, and he sounds upset, and like he's trying to hide it. Charles manages to pry his eyes open for half a moment before the searing pain forces them shut again, but in that brief second he gets a glimpse of Edwin-- just his neck and the bottom of his face, the harsh press of his mouth.

Charles has seen that expression before, knows it comes along with wide eyes that give away what might look like frustration otherwise; this is the face Edwin makes when he's terrified.

Edwin shouldn't be terrified. Charles tries to reach for where he thinks he was, to comfort him, but just the idea of moving his arm reminds him of how much his shoulders hurt, and he half-screams before he can swallow the sound.

"Charles, just-- just lie still a moment," Edwin says beyond the roaring of his ears, and it shouldn't be a hard request with how much moving hurts, but Charles doesn't think he can bear to lie here like this much longer, the ground digging into him and the pain burning through his bones.

There's something wrong about that. Charles shouldn't be able to feel the ground, however hard it is; he doesn't actually have bones to burn.

He's dead, but he's still hurting, somehow, and that doesn't seem fair, does it? He'd sort of thought he'd escaped it, for a while. Maybe a little pain was the cost of being alive, but now-- unable to feel any good thing-- it just feels cruel.

He's so tired of hurting.

"Charles," Edwin's voice breaks through again, only this time the tone is different, somewhere beyond fear. "Charles, please, don't-- please just stay--"

His voice breaks on the plea. Because he is pleading, which is all kinds of wrong. Edwin doesn't beg when he's terrified; he goes silent and still like a hunted rabbit, which Charles hates with all his being but he hates this too. Edwin shouldn't beg. He shouldn't have to, not with Charles, who has embarked on the afterlife-long project of making him as happy as possible.

Not going anywhere, he tries to say, but his mouth doesn't want to obey him and instead he just sort of groans. He can't move his fingers-- he's not sure he has fingers, right now. They don't hurt anymore, but he can't really feel them either.

He remembers that: losing his fingers first, then his toes, then more and more. Edwin had been there then, too, strange and funny and unbelievably kind, and Charles hadn't had the chance to worry about his toes. Edwin had given him that gift, the gift of not being scared, and then he'd tried to run off like it was nothing, like after all that he'd thought Charles would just leave Edwin to the lingering terror in his eyes when he spoke of Hell.

That terror has never left completely, despite Charles' best efforts. He's started to think it never will, and the thought hurts, but at least he'd thought it was getting better; except now Edwin is terrified, and he's the one begging Charles to stay. He's still talking, somewhere beyond the pain, and though Charles can't make out the words, that heartbreaking tone is still there.

Charles isn't leaving him. He refuses. But he can't bear this either, the pain making it so hard to think, to remember. Edwin's voice is a lifeline, but it's getting more and more difficult to hear it, and he's not sure it's just the ringing anymore.

He's a ghost. He doesn't have ears to ring, not really, or bones to ache or eyes to burn when he opens them. Piece by piece, half on purpose and half unable to hold on, he lets it all slip away, until all that's left is the conviction: whatever happens, he wants to stay.

It feels a little like changing his hair, the way Edwin had taught him, just holding on to what he wants until that's what he is.

Mostly, though, it feels like dying.

***

He knows less and more, like this. He doesn't know where he is, and there's no feeling to help him guess, no pain or light or voice in the ears he doesn't have anymore. He doesn't know how he got here, doesn't know how long he's been here, doesn't even know who he is, really.

But he's not confused, because what he knows is this: he's dead, and it's not fucking fair, because he had so much left to do. He knows he was going to do better, that he was going to fix things, and now he'll never have the chance. Part of him seethes at that, and part of him just wants to take the hint and stop trying.

Except he also knows, somehow, that he does have another chance. That he's still here, even if he can't feel or taste or smell-- or even see or hear. That he can move things, somehow, change them, sometimes even fix them. He can solve crimes and save lives and on very good days he can make Edwin laugh.

He remembers that, the last time he'd made Edwin laugh-- just a little chuckle, really, but helplessly sincere, and the smile had stayed on his lips when he'd said, really, Charles--

The world unfolds around that voice speaking his name, first just memory into sound and then the awareness of ears to hear it, of a head to turn toward it and arms to push himself up, of something soft and forgiving under his palms, and of eyes he can open to see Edwin's face, remarkably close and blinking with surprise that, as Charles watches, collapses into relief.

"You came back," Edwin breathes. From this close, Charles can see the tears well in his eyes. Edwin, who he's seen burn half his hand off without even noticing, is crying over Charles.

It's not really a choice, to reach out with hands that still look a little misty and pull Edwin close. Edwin clutches him back, curling his hands in the back of Charles' shirt and tucking his chin over Charles's shoulder like if he just holds Charles close enough, he can hold him together.

Maybe he can. Charles curls his own fingers into Edwin's coat, breathes deep just to feel his ribs expand into Edwin's grip, ghost-cool but firm and real, real, real.

"I was afraid you were gone," Edwin says.

I was too, Charles doesn't say.

"Told you," he murmurs instead, "you're stuck with me."

[pedroscurls]

the ultimate masterlist: ➢ 18+ only, mdni ➢ 🌶️ - smut || ❤️‍🩹 - angst || 🥰 - fluff last updated: jan 8, 2025

PEDRO PASCAL

FRANKIE MORALES

❤️‍🩹 always here for you: Frankie comforts you as you cope with your grief.

❤️‍🩹 chance encounters [COMPLETE]: you’ve suddenly and tragically lost your best friend and can’t handle the grief. until four strangers give you a glimmer of hope that things will (and can) get better.

❤️‍🩹 hold my hand: for years, you have been in love with Frankie. everyone else saw it, except him, and you never had the courage to tell him how you truly felt. instead, you stuck by his side even when it hurt. and after Colombia, he hadn’t been the same. you knew he had demons (being a veteran and all), but this… this was different. would Frankie finally open his eyes and realize that the woman he was meant to be with had been right in front of him all along?

❤️‍🩹🌶️ third time's a charm [COMPLETE]: there is history between you and Frankie. In fact, you have both broken up twice and yet, you still seem to find your way back to each other. could this third chance be the last and final one?

JAVIER PEÑA

❤️‍🩹🌶️ all we are: you and Javier have history and have been in this endless cycle for years, always trying to “one-up” each other, but what happens after a night of steamy, dirty sex that the truth finally comes out?

❤️‍🩹🌶️ innocent eyes: Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy, finally have one night off. so, when they go to a local bar to unwind, Javier certainly wasn’t expecting you to walk through the doors.

JOEL MILLER

❤️‍🩹🌶️ always been you [COMPLETE]: you and Joel have become best friends, but as the years pass, you both realize that the love you have for each other goes beyond just “best friends”. will either of you have the courage to express your true feelings or will you both just remain secretly in love with each other?

❤️‍🩹 broken souls [IN PROGRESS]: what happens when you realize love isn’t enough? and when years later, you meet again that all the pain and heartbreak comes rushing back… like it never left.

❤️‍🩹🌶️ dirty little secret [IN PROGRESS]: when your best friend and his fiancée, Sarah, have their belated engagement party (kicking off their pre-wedding parties), you meet the father of the bride and realize that he’s completely off limits. but you always did like older men, and Joel? well, maybe he could be your dirty little secret.

🌶️ guys night out: Tommy takes Joel to a strip club.

🥰 in case you didn't know: Joel steps out of his comfort zone and puts his feelings into words the best way he knows how.

❤️‍🩹🌶️ the teacher [IN PROGRESS]: you have been on your own for over a year and after Maria saves you and brings you to Jackson, you try and settle in, doing your best to contribute to the community. though, it doesn’t help that your neighbor, Joel Miller, reminds you of a special person from before Outbreak day.

MARCUS PIKE

🥰🌶️ second chances [IN PROGRESS]: after Marcus moves to DC - alone - he’s determined to just focus on work. after a failed marriage followed with his failed relationship with Lisbon, Marcus believes that love just isn’t in the cards for him anymore. until you move in next door.

HUGH JACKMAN

REAL PERSON FANFICTION (note: i am no longer writing rpf)

🌶️ ❤️‍🩹 🥰 training partners [COMPLETE]: you hire a new personal trainer to get you back on track, but you don't realize that she's also hugh jackman's trainer until you show up to the gym. ↳ pt 1. - pt 2. - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5 - pt. 6 - pt. 7 - pt. 8 - pt. 9 - pt. 10 - pt. 11 - pt. 12 - pt. 13 - pt. 14 - pt. 15 - pt. 16 - pt. 17

🌶️ ❤️‍🩹 secret crushes: you've known hugh for years, having not only a personal friendship with him, but also a professional one. then, ryan decides to play matchmaker unbeknownst to you or hugh. ↳ pt. 1 (can be read as a standalone) - pt. 2 (which includes blake and ryan with reader!)

🌶️ sneak away with me: you sneak away with hugh during a party.

🌶️ welcome to broadway: it's the anniversary of oklahoma! and with it being your first broadway show, hugh takes you under his wing to show you the ropes. along the way, you realize that you've developed feelings for him.

🌶️ 🥰 baby, stay in bed: head over heels in love with hugh, you spend the night for the first time... and realize that hugh feels the same way.

🌶️ save a horse, ride a cowboy: hugh takes you to go flower picking, but all you can think about is taking him back to his car and riding him.

🥰 let the world know: you and hugh have been keeping your relationship a secret... until hugh accidentally lets millions of his followers know exactly who he's been dating.

🥰 cooking with hugh: hugh gets to see you in action... and he reaps the benefits too.

🥰 the first date: hugh takes you out for your first date.

🥰 sunday nights: sunday nights with hugh are your favorite -- movie night, cuddling, and finally some alone time with him.

🌶️ 🥰 romantic getaway: hugh takes you to greece for a romantic getaway after rumors of your relationship with him start to circulate the media... but there's no hiding it anymore.

🥰 first impressions: hugh meets your kids for the first time.

🥰 bad influence: already running late for work, hugh convinces you to call in sick.

🥰 mesmerized from afar: despite your relationship with hugh being out in the open, you both still do your best to keep it professional in the public eye... until hugh makes it very obvious during a hollywood event.

🌶️ 🥰 our little secret: ryan and blake try to set you and hugh up, but little do they know, you've already been secretly seeing each other.

🌶️ you put a spell on me: hugh attends a masquerade-themed party and you capture his attention the moment you step into the building.

🥰 seasons changing: hugh and reader get ready for fall in new york.

🌶️ late to the party: possibly already late to ryan and blake's party, hugh becomes just slightly annoyed when you can't decide what to wear... and when he realizes that you're doing it on purpose, he only knows one way to make sure you don't do it again.

❤️‍🩹 better together: after filming finishes with deadpool & wolverine, your relationship with hugh progresses... until he breaks things off with you. it isn't until ryan invites you to the press tour that you see him again and finally have a serious conversation with him.

❤️‍🩹 🥰 in the shadows: hugh's excited to see you at his premiere, but when he sees the look on your face when he's posing with one of his co-stars, he's confused because you decide to leave without a word.

LOGAN HOWLETT

🌶️ runaway bride [old man!logan]: on the day of your wedding, you find out that your maid of honor and husband-to-be has been hooking up behind your back... and you run directly into the arms of a stranger to help you cope with the sudden betrayal.

🌶️ just the tip [old man!logan]: you're ready to take the next step with logan, but you're still a bit nervous.

🥰🌶️ christmas confessions [COMPLETE - origins!logan]: unable to go back home for christmas, you spend it with logan - the man you had been in love with for years.

❤️‍🩹🌶️ in every lifetime [COMPLETE - worst!wolverine]: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? ↳ pt. 1 - pt. 2 - pt. 3 - pt. 4 - pt. 5

🌶️ touch starved [worst!wolverine]: logan agreed to go out with wade, having been promised a low-key night, but he should've known than to trust wade for his word. he didn't agree to spend his night at a strip club and he's just about ready to leave until he sees you.

❤️‍🩹 you broke me first [xmen series!logan]: logan comes back to the mansion in search of you... but he's hurt you for the last time and you can't do this dance with him any longer.

WYATT BOSE (jamie getz)

🌶️ playing with fire: wyatt (aka, jamie) always had one thing on his mind: money. so after he and jonathan part ways, he meets you - a woman that suddenly makes him realize that there's more to life than treachery, manipulation, and violence. but when he has another chance at getting more money than he's ever had before, he goes back to his old ways... and you're more than willing to help him in any way possible.

[sparkles-rule-4eva]

Idk if I'm gonna make a review post, exactly, but the things that went on with Sonic's character in movie 3 have left me reeling, and dying to analyze. I don't have many screenshots to share, and the ones I do aren't good quality bc the movie's not released digitally yet, but here goes.

For one, the theme of dealing with grief was so well handled. I was hoping they were going to use the parallel of this Sonic losing someone close to him, just like Shadow had, and that's just what they did. What made it even more painful, however, was how Sonic was faced with the possibility of losing a second parental figure.

Shadow saw him hunched over Tom, pleading with him to wake up, and remembered himself doing the same when Maria had died. That was where Shadow saw a bit of himself in Sonic.

Shadow took mental notes of it, but he didn't back off, though he didn't make any other attempts to hurt Tom. Heck, he wouldn't have attacked in the first place if Tom hadn't been disguised as Walters.

And just... watching the way Sonic just started spiraling after this scene was so heartbreaking. The way he looked so lost and broken as they were taking him away in the ambulance, when Maddie didn't say anything to them, and the camera just zoomed out for a few seconds, showing him and his brothers looking so small and so lost in the world as they were left alone, unsure if their dad would be okay.

Sonic didn't want comfort. After the initial fear and grief, the anger he'd felt earlier when he turned on Shadow came back with a vengeance, quite literally. Looking at their calmer, almost normal everyday life earlier in the movie, it seems everything's fine. Sonic seemed fine and perky. I was taken aback at how calm he was about finding his old cave. He seemed fine, all things considered from earlier in his life. The Before Times, as fanfics have dubbed them.

But the moment his found family was threatened, the moment he was faced with the possibility of losing the home and love he'd finally gotten after so many years of pain and isolation, he fell apart. He became aggressively protective of it. Of course he would want to defend those he loves, but not like this. Not the Sonic we know.

The way Shadow phrased it later, "What kind of hero abandons his friends to seek revenge? Abandons his family?"

That struck a nerve, but Sonic just snapped back, "Don't you dare talk about my family."

The expressions he had after he'd taken the Master Emerald and gone after Shadow were so complex. You can see the mix of emotions on his face. Most clearly, the anger. But mixed in, you see the pain, the grief, the paralyzing fear of losing someone else, and you see how emotionally fragile he really is.

Shadow scoffs about how he'd thought that Sonic cared for them. "Especially the one, what's his name again? Tom?"

And that pushed him over the edge.

The way he just let out that chilling scream of rage and grief and went on to punch Shadow so hard he quite literally sent him flying straight into the moon. He was enraged. He was distressed. He was spiraling. And he was, for a few minutes, completely out of control.

We know that this version of Sonic is not so reserved about killing people, like the game version. In the second movie, Sonic had every intention of killing Robotnik in the final battle, and he thought he succeeded. This marks the second time that if someone threatens Sonic's family, he's out for blood. In that vein, he's like his game counterpart; it's the safety of his loved ones, not himself, that he's concerned about. Passionate about.

Except.

He could not bring himself to do it.

I think part of him was remembering what Walters had said about Shadow having experienced loss, the way he had.

He'd won here. He could've just killed Shadow right then and there. Shadow was even goading him into just doing it. Demanded what he was waiting for. Pointing to his own chest and yelling that he was right there. To just do it. (Another thing to analyze; Shadow was just done with everything and didn't even care if he died at this point, but that's for another post.)

But something was stopping him.

Even in those screenshots, you can see the pain and anger mixed on his face. I could be mistaken, but it looks like there's a tear in his eye. (If I'm right, the idea of him crying during this fight makes me break apart in sadness.)

And then came the flashback. This is what drives me insane.

In Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow is out to destroy the world, and it's remembering Maria's true final wish that stopped him.

I never could've predicted that in this version, it was Sonic who was out to kill someone, kill Shadow, but remembering Tom's words to him about not letting his pain change who he is was what stopped him. Sonic was the one who needed to stop and remember. And that's just what he did. 🥺

And then, only then, was he able to calm down, remember himself, remember what Tom would want him to do. He wasn't handling this the same way he'd handled Longclaw's death. He was turning into exactly what Shadow had become. The horror at realizing what he'd nearly become, what he'd almost done, set in.

He made the right choice in the end because of that. Just like Shadow did in the games. Just like he later did here, too. But Shadow was able to have "redemption" of sorts in this version, not because of some talk, but because he saw the example in Sonic, right in front of him.

We know what happened next, I'm not gonna go much into it. But seeing this whole side of Sonic, the side that just barely slipped out in the last movie, was so, so fascinating. I love how each movie continues to explore him as the main character, in a different way. This one probably got me crying the most. I cried even as I wrote this post and put more pieces together. The more I think about it, the more I love it. ����😭💙💛❤️

[averyfuckingtiredyounglady]

Shattered

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

synopsis: You hadn’t meant to become his crutch. He hadn’t meant to become yours. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred, and the late-night hookups turned into something more. Something that neither of you could admit out loud.

genre: smut, angst, psychological horror, [hidden bonus]

word count: 7.5k

warnings: twist? main plot element is a surprise, mature themes, detailed sex scenes, ambiguous ending, y/n is down bad

a/n: aaayyee. the long awaited spooktober fic in january no less! this was a huge challenge for me, i wanted to take this in a direction that is completely unnatural for me, that plus the concept is what made this take so long to finish. this was really hard to write. that being said this is fucking weird. this is not going to be a lot of people's cup of tea i don't think. i personally havent seen any fics like this (and i read a lot) which is why i wrote it. I would hope someone could write something like this even better than i could maybe lol. But yeah please enjoy

_

“What?”

When you looked up at him half of his face was hidden in darkness, one half illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window and the other shaded. You could still make out the expression on his face, the frown of his brows, the glossiness of his eyes, his gaze set firmly on you.

“Are you really okay with how things are right now?

“What do you mean?��� You set your phone down, matching his posture. You looked at Hyunjin, cocking your head to the side inquisitively.

He exhaled, letting out a strained sigh as he leaned down resting his head against his clasped hands before he spoke again.

“I don’t think this is going to work anymore. This isn’t good for me. I can’t pretend like I just want to come here to fuck and hang out and go home.. like.. like I don’t care about you. Like we don’t care about eachother… more than this.”

He lets his words fall from his mouth hurriedly, quick enough that he doesnt stop himself.

You don’t know what really brought this on. Why does he want to talk about this right now? What did you say? Was it something you did?

You’ve been aware that Hyunjin had feelings for you, though he tried not to show it, it was obvious. You just wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why should you? What good would that really do?

You sit across from Hyunjin, and you can all but see it, his heart, pulsing, rhythmically in his hand, gushing blood all over your living room floor.

You take a deep breath, feeling the light sting in your lungs before you exhale. You avoid his eyes, staring somewhere at his chest, eyes unfocused.

“You don’t really have a choice.” You let out. Your words hanging in the air like damp clothes on a line. Hyunjin sniffed at this, eyes searching around the room, the way he mustve been searching inside himself for the correct words to say to you.

You unfold your legs, leaning over to reach out a comforting hand to him, setting it on his thigh reassuringly, as this was all you could do.

“I don’t like it all that much either. I don’t. But, what am I to do? This is what works for us right now.” You squeeze his leg tighter, as you squeeze your next sentence out of your chest. “I can’t go through that again. Not right now. You understand?”

It’s not like you had to explain what you meant. How you felt. As he knew well, from firsthand experience what heartbreak could do to a person. What it did to him, but it didnt stop how his chest throbbed now as you rejected him. It didnt stop the way his body tensed up, staving the urge to reach out and hold you, as youd expressed discomfort in that.

So, he didn’t... hold you... he didnt do anything. Instead, Hyunjin collected his things and left your apartment, his mind clouded by thoughts of you that would stay with him that night.

You sat for a moment, clammed up on the floor, heart pricked with sharp shards of emotion that stirred a physical ache in your chest. The feeling was heavy, almost suffocating. It was a kind of pain that wasn’t just emotional—it felt tangible, a pressure that seemed to press in from all sides, making it hard to breathe.

For a few moments, you stayed there, paralyzed by the weight of it all. Slowly, silently, you lifted yourself from the floor, steadying yourself against the edge of the coffee table. Each movement was careful, as if any sudden shift might destroy the delicate balance you were holding together.

As you turned toward your bedroom, you bumped into the table, your water glass tumbling over before you could react, shattering as it hit the floor.

Freezing for a moment, you stared at the fractured pieces scattered across the floor. Your reflection appeared in the jagged shards—split into fragmented pieces, your face warped and out of place.

“Shit,” you muttered, crouching down to pick up the broken pieces. The sharp edges of the glass caught the light as you gingerly gathered them in your hands. You couldn't shake the odd feeling that the image, fractured and distorted, mirrored something deeper inside you.

You woke up with an unfamiliar heat under your skin. When your eyes focused, you stared up at the ceiling, an orange glow spread across the tiles, sunlight creeping through a nearby window. “This isnt my bedroom…Its hot in here. I’m so thirsty.” You lay there breathing as each new thought vying for your attention made its way to the front of the queue. You sat up slowly in bed, limbs feeling oddly heavy. You feel the absence of any blankets. “This is not my bed either” “i know i was in my own bed last night” you recognize this is hyunjins place though you hadnt been many times.

And you remember the conversation you two had. The way he left, the way youd hurt him again.

“Where is Hyunjin?”

Then, you catch sight of the mirror.

You feel a scream crawling up your throat

Hyunjin opens his eyes to pitch darkness. The air feels thick, too close around him, and when he sits up, the sudden lightness of his limbs makes his head spin. Where the fuck is the lights? He staggers out of bed, getting caught in piles of blankets.

It takes a moment for the full impact to hit him. He stares down at the body he’s in—your body—and his breath catches in his throat. His hands—no, your hands—move instinctively to his chest, and the soft weight of your body feels completely alien. His skin tingles with discomfort, every movement too light, too foreign.

He nearly falls rushing to the bathroom, heart rattling his chest as his eyes meet yours in the mirror, but it’s not you, it’s him. He feels a pull from the floor trying to yank him down, like he’s about to pass out.

This can’t be happening.

He presses his hands to his face, trying to ground himself, but the sensation of your soft skin under his palms only makes everything worse. It’s like being trapped in a body that doesn’t belong to him—a body he knows too well but never thought he’d experience this way.

His phone—no, your phone—buzzes on the counter, pulling him out of his spiral. He grabs it, fumbling with the unfamiliar interface until he sees the notification.

It’s a message from you.

You arrive at your apartment before you’re ready to face him—or rather, face yourself. The walk over had been surreal, every step heavier than usual, every movement feeling slightly off. The world itself seemed wrong, like everything was tilted just a little to the side. People had looked at you—at Hyunjin’s body—without noticing anything unusual, but inside, you were unraveling.

Now, standing in front of your apartment door, your heart pounds in your chest. The weight of it feels strange, like even your heartbeat is foreign. You hesitate before knocking, staring down at your—his—hands, trying to remind yourself that none of this is real. It can’t be.

Finally, the door swings open, and you’re face to face with yourself.

For a second, neither of you says anything. It’s like looking in a mirror, but worse—because it’s not a reflection. It’s him. Hyunjin, standing in your skin, his expression tense and uncomfortable, like he’s just as disoriented by seeing you as you are by seeing him.

“This is insane,” he mutters, stepping aside to let you in. Hearing your own voice come from his mouth makes you flinch, your stomach twisting painfully.

“You think?” you reply, your voice—his voice—sounding too sharp, too loud in the small space.

You walk into         the apartment, your movements awkward and stiff, trying to figure out how to exist in a body that isn’t yours. Everything feels wrong, from the way the muscles in your legs tighten when you walk to the way your hands rest at your sides. You’ve been in this body for less than a day, and you already feel like you’re trapped in someone else’s life.

Hyunjin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his—your—chest, watching you carefully. He shifts his weight, clearly uncomfortable, as if he’s unsure what to do with his hands or how to hold his face.. There’s a moment of shared awkwardness, a realization that neither of you knows how to handle this.

You give a slight nod in his direction, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you take in the sight of your now-clothed body. “You dressed me?” you ask, amusement lacing your voice.

Hyunjin glances down at the baggy shirt draped over your figure—his shirt. “I mean… was I not supposed to?” he mumbles, crossing his arms again. “It only felt right…”

Looking down at yourself—his body—you swallow, the weight of it all settling heavily over you. “It feels… heavy,” you admit, your voice quieter now, thoughtful. “Like I’m too big for this space.”

Hyunjin nods, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture that looks strange on you, “I know. It’s weird. Everything feels too... light.” He grimaces. “Like I’m fragile.”

“How do you deal with this?” Hyunjin suddenly asked, his voice quiet but pointed.

You blinked, frowning slightly. “Deal with what?”

“This,” Hyunjin said, gesturing vaguely to his—your—body. “The way everything feels so... tight. Like there’s always this knot in my chest. It’s exhausting.”

You stared at him for a moment, your heart sinking at his words. Of course, you knew that feeling—knew it all too well. That constant weight on your chest, the ever-present tension that never seemed to go away. You’d been living with it for so long that it had become a part of you, something you barely even noticed anymore.

But hearing Hyunjin describe it, feeling it through your body, made it hit differently. He could feel what you’d been feeling all this time, and the realization left you reeling.

“It’s always been like that,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I just... got used to it.”

Hyunjin turned his head to look at you, his eyes—your eyes—softening in a way you hadn’t expected. “You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, and you found yourself swallowing hard, trying to push down the rising wave of emotions. He was right, of course. You shouldn’t have had to carry that weight alone, but you had. For so long. And you didn’t know how to let it go.

“I don’t know any other way,” you confessed, your voice thick with emotion. Your eyes stay fixed to the floor, the tiles blurring as tears flood into your vision. You don’t let them fall. You tighten your fists as to not let them spill out.

For a moment, the silence between you stretched out,

“I get it,” he said quietly. “I’ve been carrying my own shit too. And I didn’t realize just how much it was weighing me down until now.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, you saw it—the exhaustion in your own face, the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of everything you’d been carrying. It was strange, seeing yourself from the outside like this, but it also made you realize just how much Hyunjin had been holding back too.

“This sucks,” you said softly. “But It’s no way we could have avoided this… considering how fucked up we were.” You wiped your eyes, a hint of smile appearing. “God. I fucking hate crying.”

Hyunjin nodded, “Yeah. And im an ugly crier so...” He allowed himself to let out a small chuckle.

There was a long pause, the kind that usually felt uncomfortable but now felt… necessary. Like you were both finally starting to understand each other, finally starting to see what you’d been avoiding for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Hyunjin said suddenly, his voice quiet but sincere. “For… everything. For not being honest with you. For not seeing you, really seeing you, before all of this.”

You felt a lump rise in your throat at his words. You hadn’t expected an apology but hearing it now—hearing it from your own voice, no less—made your chest tighten with emotion.

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “For pushing you away. For pretending this was just… casual. When it wasn’t.”

Hyunjin’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was no need for words. The understanding that passed between you was enough. You were both broken in your own ways, both carrying the weight of past relationships and unspoken emotions, but now—finally—you were starting to share that weight with each other.

And it felt like a small, tentative step toward healing.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. The sense of unreality lingered in the air as you sat across from each other, still coming to terms with the strange new reality of being in each other’s bodies.

Hyunjin—your body sprawled on the couch—stared up at the ceiling, idly tapping his fingers against his leg. It was a movement so familiar, yet now it felt unsettling.

You sat on the edge of the armchair, elbows resting on your knees as you tried to process everything. There had to be a way to switch back, but as the realization that you might be stuck like this, at least for a little while longer, sank in, your skin crawled.

The rest of the day was spent in a strange, quiet rhythm. You’d both come to terms with the fact that you were stuck in each other’s bodies for the time being, and though it was still unsettling, the initial panic had subsided. Now, there was an unspoken agreement to figure things out together, to navigate this bizarre situation one step at a time.

There were awkward moments, of course. Simple tasks like eating breakfast or getting dressed were strange, and you both kept stumbling over the unfamiliar movements of each other’s bodies. But there were also moments of quiet understanding, where you could feel the growing connection between you.

At one point, you caught Hyunjin staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his—your—hand resting against the sink as he studied his face. He didn’t say anything when you passed by—the quiet contemplation, the way his fingers traced the curve of his cheek—made you feel like he was seeing something in you he hadn’t before.

He was learning you, just as you were learning him.

And though the situation was still bizarre, there was a strange comfort in that. A sense of closeness you hadn’t expected, but now that it was there, you couldn’t imagine going back.

Your eyes flick to Hyunjin laying on the couch. The arm of the sofa cradling his head and his -your- hair purposefully laid over it. You’ve seen your body a thousand times before, but never like this. Never from the outside, with someone else inhabiting it. It feels... strange. And unsettling. And a little too intimate.

Hyunjin shifts, watching you from the corner of his eye. his gaze trailing over you—your hands, your face. There’s something in the way he’s looking at you now, something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t know how you do this,” he says softly, almost to himself. “How you live in this body.”

“I could say the same about yours,” you reply, your voice low, your throat tight and you can feel the weight of Hyunjin’s body pressing down on you, heavy and unfamiliar.

You move to sit next to him, taking a small space on the edge of the couch. Hyunjin’s eyes meet yours again. There’s a sense of unfamiliarity and heightened awareness that thickens the air, and you know you both can feel it. It urges you closer to him—closer to yourself.

Before you can stop yourself, you reach out, your hand—Hyunjin’s hand—brushing lightly against his—your—knee. It’s a simple touch, barely anything, but the feeling of it—of his skin under your hand—makes you want to touch him more.

The moment stretches, heavy with anticipation, and neither of you moves. You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your chest, everywhere, and suddenly, the distance between you feels too far...

Your eyes trace the lines of your body, the way Hyunjin is sitting in it—his posture so different from yours, his movements more restrained, almost hesitant. It feels strange to see yourself like this, to see him in you. And even stranger to feel the pull in your chest that comes with that realization.

Hyunjin’s eyes flick up to yours, and something shifts in the room. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but you feel it—like a current passing between you. The air feels charged now, thick with something unspoken but undeniable.

“I can’t get used to this,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. He’s still looking at you—at his own face—like he’s trying to make sense of it, like maybe the answers are buried somewhere in your skin.

You swallow hard, your pulse thudding in your ears. “I don’t think we’re supposed to,” you reply, your voice low, rough around the edges. “But here we are.”

Hyunjin lets out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to where your fingers had brushed against his skin. There’s a tension in the way he moves, a kind of restraint, like he’s holding something back. And for a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to stop holding back. To stop pretending this isn’t happening, that there isn’t something pulling you together, drawing you closer.

The couch feels too small now, too confined. Your body—his body—feels too big for the space, and your skin feels too tight. Every breath feels like it’s pressing up against something just out of reach. You shift, turning slightly toward him, your knee brushing his—your—leg in the process.

Hyunjin doesn’t pull away this time. He just looks at you, his eyes—your eyes—searching yours. And in that moment, you realize that you’re both feeling it—that strange pull, that raw, unspoken need for connection, for understanding.

You’ve always been good at pushing things down, at keeping your emotions locked up tight, but right now, with Hyunjin sitting there in your body, the lines are blurring. It’s like you can feel the weight of his confusion, his frustration, and maybe something more.

“I wonder if...” Hyunjin starts, but his voice trails off. He doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to. You know exactly what he’s thinking because you’re thinking it too.

Before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let the confusion or fear settle in, you lean in. Your hand moves almost on instinct, reaching for him—reaching for yourself, really—and it’s not gentle, but it’s not forceful either. Just a touch. Just enough to bridge the gap that’s been widening between you.

Your fingers trace the line of your jaw—his jaw, now—and you feel the smoothness of the skin beneath your fingertips. It’s surreal, touching yourself like this, feeling the angles and shapes you’ve only ever seen in the mirror. But it’s more than that. It’s the way Hyunjin looks at you while you do it. He looks out of it, like he has a million thoughts running through his head and he’s chasing after each one.

The tension that’s been simmering between you both finally boils over.

Hyunjin’s hand comes up, wrapping around your wrist—not to pull you away, but to hold you there and he leans in, pressing his lips against yours. They’re smooth and pillowy soft, your lips. As you kiss him back, eyes instinctively closing, you take in the smell of him, of his hair, and his skin. The smell of yourself.

You slip your tongue into his mouth, and you can feel his grip tighten on your wrist, his body tensing as he kisses back and a small sound escapes him, muffled by the kiss.

It feels different. But it’s something you can’t quite name, something that feels both terrifying and exhilarating. The way your lips move against each other, the way Hyunjin’s body presses against yours—it’s all so familiar and yet completely foreign.

You’re kissing yourself, and yet it’s him. It’s Hyunjin.

And it’s you.

 Your hands begin to roam, exploring the contours of his body with a kind of urgency that surprises you. Hyunjin responds in kind, his fingers sliding down your spine, his breath hot against your skin.

Hyunjin's hands grip the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as though you could somehow fuse together, body and mind. His lips, moving against yours with a desperation you’ve never felt before, sending a faint tingling throughout your body.

It’s overwhelming—feeling your own body from the outside, feeling how soft your skin is, how responsive it is to every touch. And the strength of your body—Hyunjin’s body—surprises you. It’s like you’re discovering him all over again, but from the inside out.

You pull back for just a second, breathless, your forehead resting against his. Your breath mingles with his, both of you breathing hard, and when you look into his eyes—your eyes—the confusion is still there, but it’s mingled with something else now. Something you’re both too afraid to say out loud.

“Are we really doing this?” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice low, uncertain.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you kiss him again—harder this time, with all the urgency of the moment flooding into it. There’s no stopping now.

 Without speaking, you both start peeling off clothes, the movements frantic, unsteady, like you can’t get out of your clothes fast enough. It’s surreal, watching your own body undress in front of you, seeing it from a perspective you never thought you’d have.

When Hyunjin’s body—your body—is finally bare in front of you, you openly stare at him for a beat too long and he tries to cover up with his hands. His shyness, though completely absurd, is still endearing. You’ve seen yourself naked countless times, but this is different. This is him in a different form. In a way, it doesn’t even seem like you anymore.

You close the distance between you, the feeling of his body on yours sinks into your skin, and spreads through every one of your nerves- Warm. Hyunjin lets out a soft sound, almost like a sigh, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands grip your arms, holding on like he’s afraid to let go.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes dark with desire, but theres a softness there too, a tenderness that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m okay with it,” you whisper, your voice shaky but certain. “I want this. I want you.”

Your hand drifts down, tracing the outline of your cock through your pants, the weight of it in your palm heavy and warm. The feeling sends a rush of heat through you—different from anything you’ve felt before. Hyunjin’s breath hitches, and you can see the flush in his cheeks, the way his body tenses under your touch.

“I wonder how it feels…” you whisper, your voice thick with desire, “to be inside myself.”

Hyunjin’s eyes flicker with something—curiosity, maybe, or something darker. “I want to know, too.”

Before you can overthink it, you’re pulling him down, your lips sliding against his in a messy kiss —your body responding to the familiar and unfamiliar all at once. 

You could feel your own skin from the outside now, the sensation of it under your fingers unfamiliar but fascinating. The texture was soft, smoother than you’d ever noticed before, and for the first time, you realized how delicate you actually felt in Hyunjin’s hands. as he moved closer you could smell your own scent wafting from your skin—it was all-consuming. The scent of your own body, the taste of your lips when you kissed, the softness of your skin—it was intoxicating.

“I don’t even know what to do,” Hyunjin admitted quietly, his voice—your voice—tinged with uncertainty. “I mean, this is your body. I don’t want to…”

“You’re me right now,” you interrupted, your heart racing. “And I’m you. So… I think we just… feel.”

Your hand glides down his chest, tracing the curve of your own body and feeling how it responds to the touch. Hyunjin shudders as your hand brushes against the swell of his—your—breasts. The roughness of your hands against the softness there makes you pause, swallowing hard before continuing.

The sensation is strange—your breasts, which have always been a natural part of you, now feel unfamiliar, foreign, and yet deeply intimate. Your fingers trail over your skin with a mix of awe and confusion, exploring every curve with a renewed sense of wonder.

“I never knew… I never figured that—”

“You felt so good?” Hyunjin finishes for you, his voice soft but tinged with amazement. His hands mirror yours as he caresses himself—your body—with reverence, his touch tender as if learning you anew. “Yeah. It amazes me too.”

Hyunjin’s hand moves lower, tentative but curious, your eyes follow them. His fingers trace the soft skin of his thighs -a delicate dance between curiosity and intimacy. They slide between his legs, and you notice him take a deep breath.

 “I’m wet.”

The words tumble out of him before he can stop them, —a fact spoken aloud to make it feel real.

it’s not that he didn’t expect this. Of course he did. It’s natural, inevitable. But knowing something in theory and feeling it are two entirely different things. And now, with the heat pooling between his thighs, the slickness against his skin, he’s finally experiencing it—fully, tangibly.

As Hyunjin’s fingers linger between his legs, you can’t help but feel a magnetic pull, an urge to close the distance. The sight of him—of you—so vulnerable, so immersed, stirs something deep within you. Your hand moves almost instinctively, reaching out, your curiosity stronger than any doubt.

Your fingertips brush lightly against his wrist, as if asking rather than taking. He glances at you, his breath hitching, and for a moment the two of you are caught in a quiet understanding. His hand doesn’t pull away.

Encouraged, your fingers settle just above his, not guiding, not interfering, but simply being there. Sharing the space, the sensation, the moment. His breath comes slower now, his movements steady, and you feel the warmth radiating from his skin through yours.

And then you feel it.

The slow, building pressure in your body. It starts as a tightness in your lower abdomen, an unfamiliar sensation that makes your breath hitch. You can feel your own skin heating up, the muscles in your groin tightening as something else builds inside of you.

The feeling of an erection.

The sensation of your own arousal was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The feeling of your cock hardening, the way your balls tightened with anticipation—it was both exhilarating and overwhelming. You had no control over the way your body responded, but at the same time, it felt natural, like something primal was taking over.

Hyunjin’s hands roamed over your body—his body—You could feel every muscle, every shift of skin under his touch, and it only made you crave more. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you melt under his fingers, because he knew you. He knew your body in a way no one else could, because for the first time, he had felt what you felt.

You bit your lip as you slid your hand under the waistband, freeing his erection. The feeling of Hyunjin’s dick in your hand—your own now—was almost too much to process. It was hot, heavy, the skin smooth and velvety beneath your palm, and the sensation of it pulsing in your grip

“It’s so… hard,” you whispered, your hand moving slowly, stroking along the length of his cock. You’d never felt anything like it before, the sheer rawness of it, the pressure of arousal building in your gut in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

“This feels…” Hyunjin’s voice—your voice—breaks the silence, as his hands move over your chest, tracing the lines of muscle there. “So different. So intense.”

You smirk, leaning down to press your lips against his neck, feeling the way his pulse races beneath your touch. “You have no idea.”

You decide to take the lead, guiding him to his back as you press kisses along his chest,

Your hands slide lower, grazing the inside of his thighs, and the sensation sends a rush of heat straight through you. more desperate, more eager to explore every inch of him. You pause, glancing up at him and see him staring at you, eyes lidded, but hesitant to close.

You can see the tension in Hyunjin’s face, the way he’s trying to process everything, but he’s too far gone now, too caught up in the overwhelming sensations. His hands grip your shoulders, pulling you closer and when you settle between his legs, you hesitate for a moment feeling your dick twitch at the slightest contact.

You reach for Hyunjin’s hands again, holding them tightly as your eyes meet his. His eyes are tracking your every move, and his eyebrows have worn a crease between them since you started. “Are you scared?” you whisper, voice soft yet steady.

Hyunjin lets out a quiet breath, his cheeks flushed as he glances away, gently pulling his hands from yours to hide his face. "You're even treating me like... like a girl," he says, his voice trailing off, almost embarrassed.

A small smile pulls at your lips. “In a way, aren’t we both… sort of like virgins right now?” You give him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Neither of us really knows what this feels like.”

He finally looks back at you, his gaze settling between your bodies for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I know you won’t hurt me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I never hurt you.”

The weight of his words presses into your chest, and though you know he believes them, you’re aware that it’s not entirely true. Pain and pleasure had often existed in the same space between you, something he’s about to experience, perhaps for the first time.

You guide his hands back to your body, encouraging him to explore each sensation, to feel every part of himself as if it’s brand new. He lets out a shaky breath, his touch growing more confident and as your eyes meet, he reaches down grab your cock, languidly stroking it, jerking you off with a touch that is familiar yet entirely new.

You buck your hips into him, seeing the way he twists his hands around the shaft. It feels so fucking good already. The sight of it—your cock, hard and throbbing—makes you dizzy.  The need is overwhelming, and you don’t have time for hesitation.

Sliding your hands slowly up his thighs, you press his legs apart, the vulnerability and trust in his gaze fuel your every move.  You lean in, pressing gentle kisses down his neck, your lips barely brushing his skin, lingering, allowing him to adjust to each sensation. Your fingers trail along the delicate skin inside his thighs, inching closer before you reach his core. As your fingers press and rub circles over his clit, his hand falters, grip tightening around you as he gasps at the sensation. You feel him tremble beneath your touch, his arousal evident as your fingers slide lower, gathering wetness, slick and warm, and spreading it over him.

The look in Hyunjin’s eyes, in your eyes, is not like looking at your reflection. It’s like looking at a stranger. The disconnect catches you off guard but you know it’s him, and all you want is to make him feel good. Give him everything you know he needs right now.

You don’t mean to be rough, but there’s no gentleness in your movements either. Hyunjin’s body feels invincible, and the weight of it presses into Hyunjin’s—your—softer frame. You grip his wrists, holding him down as you straddle him, and you can’t help but notice how small his body feels under yours.

“You’re so fucking soft,” you mutter, almost to yourself, your hands running over his thighs, squeezing them as you press his legs apart, giving yourself the space to move. You’ve never felt your own skin from the outside, never appreciated just how warm and slick you get when aroused.

Hyunjin shifts beneath you, “I don’t know if I—” he starts, but you cut him off by positioning yourself between his legs, your cock heavy in your hand. You look down at your own body spread open and waiting. Your hands tremble slightly as you grip your cock, guiding it to his entrance.

But then Hyunjin’s hand pushes gently against your chest. “Wait.”

You pause, the sudden halt almost painful with how wound up you feel. “What?”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking down between your bodies. “You’re… not used to being a guy. Shouldn’t we—”

You know what he’s about to say, and before he can finish, you cut him off, the words coming out blunter than you intend. “I’m not using one.”

Hyunjin blinks up at you, your own face looking surprised and maybe a little alarmed. “Hell no. I don’t want any chance of you getting me—” he stumbles over the words, his voice rising in disbelief, “I mean, you—pregnant.”

The absurdity of the situation hangs in the air between you for a split second, but neither of you laughs. The tension between you is too high, the heat too intense, and you can tell he’s serious.

You click your tongue, the weight of the moment settling between you, then reach over to grab a condom from the side table. As you roll it on, there’s a brief pause, both of you staring at each other in this strange, disorienting exchange—like you’re both trying to process the line you’re about to cross, or maybe the ones you’ve already crossed.

This is something entirely new.

As you push inside, both of you cry out. Hyunjin tenses completely — the feeling of your cock stretching and filling him—is overwhelming. The tightness, the heat, the way your body clenches around you as you sink deeper inside. More than that, he’s wet, incredibly wet,. You begin to think that whatever the situation your body will always welcome his.

Hyunjin lets out a breathless moan, his hands gripping the back of the couch as his hips arch toward you, urging you to move. “Oh my god,” he breathes, his voice trembling as you begin to thrust into him, slow and steady.

You groan as you bottom out, the slickness of your folds making every movement feel smoother, more intense. The sensation of your cock sliding in and out of him—out of yourself—is unlike anything you could have imagined. The friction, the heat, the way his body—your body—responds to your every thrust. This is what keeps him coming back,

“Hyunjin,” you groan, your hands gripping his hips as you build a steady pace, feeling the pleasure build inside you. “It’s so tight.”

Hyunjin doesn’t give much of a response, though he is anything but quiet, clutching onto you for dear life. “Hyunjin?” You still for a moment, “are you okay?”

“Yes. Just don’t stop”

Hyunjin’s mind is reeling, but his body is burning with need, and he wants nothing more than to lose himself in the moment --- to shut his brain off completely. As you press him further into the couch, folding his legs up, he squeezes his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around you and hugging your body closer. He tries to picture you—the way you usually look, the way you touch him gently, the way you fit against him. That would make this easier, he thinks, if he can just pretend it’s you, like normal, things will feel familiar again.

. Every movement, every brush of your cock against his walls sends waves of pleasure crashing through both of you, the unfamiliar sensations heightening everything.

 In your possession, his dick feels like a loaded weapon—dangerous, powerful, and utterly out of his contol.  The weight of your body—his body—pinning him down, and every time he tries to picture your usual self above him, all he can feel is the undeniable presence of a man.

You push deeper, and Hyunjin can’t stop the sharp gasp that escapes his lips. The stretch is intense, it even hurts a little, but his body responds anyway, betraying him, heat pooling low in his stomach as you hit a spot that makes his legs weak.

“Fuck, I—” His words break off as you thrust harder, your grip tightening on his hips. He can’t finish the thought, can’t admit to himself what is really going through his mind.

He hates how good it feels. He hates that he can’t stop his body from reacting, cant stop the moans spilling from his lips, can’t stop the way his hips move to meet yours with every thrust.

“I can’t—” he tries again, his breath catching as your hips snap against his. He bites his lip, trying to suppress the noises escaping him, trying to hold on to some shred of control. But its slipping away, fast.

“You can’t what?” you mutter, your voice rough, “What’s wrong?”

He wants to hate it. Wants to stop. But he can’t.

You can tell Hyunjin is on the brink of losing it, the way his body—your body—trembled beneath you, his hands gripping the couch as he tried to hold on to something familiar. But there wasn’t anything familiar about this for him. He was in your body now, and you had all the power.

“I don’t…” Hyunjin swallowed hard, trying to get the words out, but they stuck in his throat. His voice sounded strained, like he was trying to hold onto something that was slipping away. “I can’t… it doesn’t feel like me.”

You paused, your hips stilling for a moment as you looked down at him—at yourself. He could see the confusion on your face, but there was something darker there too, something satisfied in the way your lips curled into a small, almost amused smirk.

“It’s not,” you say, your voice quiet, yet clear, “Not right now.”

You push your hands behind his back, slowly bringing him into your arms and pressing his body against yours. Hyunjin realizes then that he is being carried. You pad toward your bedroom in short awkward steps, “Hold on. I got you.” And he does,

 “Why are you carrying me?”

“Because I can.” You stand him up on the floor and turn him around to face the mirror, “Here. Look.”

In the reflection, you can see yourselves, your body, his, and the rest of your bedroom.

.                       You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. “See? It’s us,”. You murmur, your hands sliding down to grip his hips, pulling him closer.

It takes Hyunjin a moment to understand what you mean. It’s us. Looking in the mirror like this, it almost feels normal. Like you both are in the right body. You bend him over the bed, allowing him to still see the scene in the mirror. “And this is better than the sofa.”

The expression you’re wearing on his face makes him a little uneasy. So, he puts all his focus onto yours, the real you. Before he realizes it, you’re pulling him back on your dick again. He jolts at the sudden movement, his body curling up off the bed. Have you always been this…rough? Does it just feel different now? Why does he like it so much?

He lets out a choked sound, pressing his face into the sheets. This new angle lets you move deeeep inside, you can feel your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You’re throbbing inside of him, and you know he can feel it.

You hold him by the throat pulling him up to face the mirror, so he can see how good he looks when he’s fucking you, and how good he looks being fucked.

“You like that?” you groan as you rut into him faster, feeling his body clench tight around you. All he can do is nod. “I knew you would.”

 Nobody likes the sound of their own voice, but you don’t want to shut up right now. Letting the sound of Hyunjins voice ring through your head. Every word and every moan that comes to you escaping passed your lips. Why not go all out?

You take each of his wrists, pulling them behind his back, lifting him up off the bed, giving him a full view of your body in the mirror, but he can barely keep his head up, hair falling in front of his face, and when you start to stuff your cock inside him again, your tits bounce up and down with your thrusts. You watch as Hyunjin’s dick disappears inside your pussy, again and again. The sight brings you close to cumming, but you control yourself.

You take in a sharp breath, slowing your pace, allowing yourself to feel the slow drag of your cock against the walls of your cunt, watching Hyunjin through lidded eyes, his reactions make you want to give him more, impossibly more. Dying to see how good you can make him feel.

You put a leg up on the bed, pulling his ass back against your dick. Your hands slide up his back, grabbing him by the neck, and the other hand grabbing a handful of hair. You’re thinking maybe he’ll like that as much as you do and how loud he’s getting confirms it for you.

You push your cock in completely, feeling his pussy clench around you, needing friction, but you still inside him, “You take dick pretty well.” You say before you pull out leaving in just the tip, just before you slam back in suddenly. You continue fucking him in long, deep strokes, your personal favorite.

“Tha-ts no-ot fu- uhah ahhh..” Hyunjin tries to speak through your hard thrusts but fails.

“I’m not being funny,” you grin, taking his jaw and turning it towards you, taking his lips for filthy kiss, sliding your tongue into his open mouth, swirling them around each other. It’s not long before you’re trying to kiss but only panting into each other’s mouths closer and closer to cumming.

You wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, caging his smaller frame inside your arms. Fucking him harder, not any faster, just harder and deeper. Fucking him until you feel him stiffen up below you, feeling his hands clutching at your arms trying to ground himself. You keep driving your cock into him until it sounds like he’s crying.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t sto-,” Hyunjin let out a choked sound, his head falling back as he came, his body convulsing beneath you as the orgasm tore through him. He wasn’t in control anymore—hadn’t been for a while. His body had already given in, and now his mind was catching up.

You could feel it too—the pressure building fast as you thrust deeper, pushing him through his orgasm. You tighten your hold around him, following close behind, the release hitting you hard as you cum inside him, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

For a moment, the world stops, it takes you both a while to come down, your bodies collapsing together in a tangled mess. The air feels thick, heavy with everything that has just happened, and when you finally pull out, the silence between you is deafening.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything. He lays there, staring up at the ceiling, his chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You can see the conflict in his eyes—the way he is struggling to process it all. He wants to feel that this is just another hookup with you, but it isn’t. Not this time.

El FIN

second author's note: 🎵 i am yooouuu. I see me in youuu 🎶 i included like page break lines to show time skip but they didnt work when i pasted it in womp womp. look guys a bitch did her best. i tried to give yall the cute little pictures all the other hoes on here do. and i told yall it was weird. theres a lot of issues but writing this turned my brain into sloppy joe mix but if you made it to the end i appreciate youuuu soooo muuuchh. omg i feel like i fucked this up so bad anyway mwah mwah. Now go fuck yourself! Wink wink

[yan-lorkai]

Hii! I don't know if you do requests like this but pls lmk if not

Platonic request for Diasomnia with a half-fae reader who is Malleus's adoptive sister from way back (war times, adopted by Meleanor) but only Lilia knows them personally. They have been either missing or believed dead for centuries before showing up once again. Maybe their reaction?

(If you don't do the whole 4 then you can choose which ones you wanna do)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ a/n: hope u enjoy!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Lilia’s ancient heart skips a beat when he sees you again, standing before him as if centuries had never passed. He had mourned your loss in silence, a secret he bore alone to spare Malleus any further heartbreak - a secret he spilled mindlessly when he engulfed in a bear hug, telling all about you to his children. To see you alive fills him with a rare and overwhelming joy, but also a darker need to keep you close this time, much closer than ever before. He becomes uncharacteristically protective, hovering at your side with a gentle smile, but his eyes carry a fierce determination. Lilia cannot lose you again — he will ensure that, even if it means bending fate itself.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ For Malleus, your return is nothing short of a miracle. You, his cherished sister, thought lost to the cruel tides of war, are suddenly here before him. He’s overcome with emotion, his usual regal composure crumbling as he reaches for you with trembling hands. His attachment borders on obsessive as he refuses to let you leave his sight, terrified that this reunion might be some cruel illusion. He didn’t know he had a sibling but now he is absolutely on cloud nine. The centuries of grief and loneliness have left scars, and Malleus now clings to you with an intensity that borders on suffocating, though he justifies it as his love for the only sibling he has ever known.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Silver is cautious but deeply affected by your return. He knows what your presence means to Lilia and Malleus, and while he is reserved in expressing his feelings, he keeps a close watch over you. Though he doesn’t share the same history, Silver feels an instinctive duty to protect you, perhaps because you mean so much to the people who raised him. His quiet vigilance is almost overbearing, but his intentions are pure. Silver silently vows to never let harm come to you again, no matter the cost.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Sebek, on the other hand, is overwhelmed with awe and confusion. You, someone tied so closely to Malleus’s past, are now a living legend before his very eyes. His respect for you is instantaneous, but so is his zealous protectiveness. Sebek practically worships you as an extension of Malleus’s legacy and refuses to allow any slight or danger near you. His devotion might come off as abrasive, but it’s rooted in his reverence and the belief that your place is by Malleus’s side, where you will be safest and where he can ensure your security personally.

[blorbologist]

"Darling? I - I don't think I made the right choice."

Love me an AU where Vex accepted Saundor's offer and Angst ensues

(Don't think about the vulnerability to fire damage and the massive fire dragon controlling Emon, don't think about it, don't think about it -)

@percahliaweek Day 2: Darkness / Legacy

Closeup for Extra Pain under the cut!

Look I know everyone and their mother has done Saundor!Vex AUs but some Thoughts for this one:

Vex did give Saundor her heart... and then she and VM killed him anyways. So now she's fae-ish and without a heart, and crying for what she lost.

Given she gave in to Saundor's offer she and VM potentially head back to Syngorn to show off Fenthras. When Syldor still doesn't grant her much respect, Vex is Kinda Fucked Up that she gave up so much for next to nothing. (This delay also means VM might show up a touch too late to the RAGE fight. Make of that what you will.)

Probably dies Bad in the Thordak fight and needs another ritual then, no simple Revivify when you're a burnt twig.

Percy (and Keyleth, and Vax) potentially trying to find a way to help her regrow her heart, ft. Whitestone's Widow's Garden.

[mad-hunts]

i like how barton went from being like... a hippie in terms of how he viewed sex in his early twenties, then kind of abstained from it for a few years / became sexually repressed, which... definitely isn't such a good thing. BUT then he became even more of a freak (and i do mean that in the good way this time LOL) around the time he started residency because WOW is that shit stressful. though that was also unfortunately around the time when he really started to spiral as well 😬 but we don't need to talk about that ahahhh

like the way this man learned how to express his sexuality REALLY came full circle in the end considering he was like 'yeah, back in the early days that i was in college, i was a freak. but now i'm not anymore... though do you want to see me do it again anyway?' like 💀 JSJSJ if he weren't so demented, i'd almost be inclined to say good for him, y'all LMAO feeling comfortable with your sexuality and perhaps even having a bit of fun with it (though maybe too much in barton's case, because he literally weaponizes it in order to lure in his victims. BUT once again, we don't need to talk about that right now psshhh. i actually fully intend on talking about that in the tags NGL) is more often than not a good thing after all

[krenenbaker]

oh my gosh, the thing that really hurts with Liam's expression is that - very literally - the light has left his eyes. there's absolutely no reflection in them. the others have a little shine in their eye, even if it's dimmer than usual, but Liam?

there's nothing. he's just... empty.

these expressions make me sad

Liam looks like he's lost all purpose

Elbert looks like he's struggling to make a difficult decision

Harry looks concerned / heartbroken

Alfons looks like he's surpressing his emotions

William looks like he's reliving something 😭😭

[mayabrazton]

“I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers”

These lyrics really hit when you’re missing someone you’ll never see again.

[readwritealldayallnight]

(part of the Wife at First Sight series)

When Ghost had asked if you would help him with something, you’d answered yes without a question. You didn’t ask for details, smiling and thanking him every time he opened each door that led to the base’s parking garage, giggling when he even insisted on opening the truck door for you. You’d come to grow fond of your work husband, appreciating how he never failed to make you feel special.

You sometimes wished his affections were genuine, rather than part of what you’d assumed was a strange hazing ritual in the military (which you couldn’t deny kind of worked, the two of you had grown closer hadn’t you? Was that the point of hazings?).

But you knew that line of thinking wouldn’t lead anywhere, other than potential heartbreak. He surely was only joking around, wouldn’t return your feelings. That’s why you played along with the ruse, but tried your best not to fall too hard for the man who was making that more and more impossible.

Still though, you couldn’t deny the pang in your heart when you discovered the errand he requested your help with, was to go look at engagement rings.

Did he actually have someone special in his life? Someone he hoped to propose to?

You felt guilty, thinking there might be another person out there that he loves enough to ask them to marry him, all the while you’re enjoying his attention at work, pretending he could ever actually want you as his wife.

You follow him into the shop, eyes widening at the never ending cases and displays of shiny, glittering jewelry, as far as the eye can see.

He chuckles at your expression, telling you not to worry your pretty little head over any price tags, just to pick out whichever one you liked.

You appreciated that he trusts your judgement so much that he wanted your opinion on which ring to buy his partner, and so you take your time looking through them all, even if it makes you sad to picture him slipping this ring onto another person’s finger.

Gaze scanning the displays, your eye is instantly caught by one ring and one ring only. You point to it, Ghost humming in agreement, signalling for one of the employees behind the counter to unlock the case.

The man pulls the ring out, handing it to the Lieutenant who examines it in between gloved fingers.

“Let’s see how it fits.” He murmurs, taking your left hand in his and slipping the band onto your ring finger, both of your eyes locked on the movement.

“Like a glove.” The employee says with a smile, moving to gather a selection of ring boxes he hopes to show you both, seeing that the ring has evidently found its owner and fits perfectly.

“It’s really beautiful Ghost.” You tell him, admiring the ring as he admires your expression. “Your wife’s a lucky woman.” You add, thinking of the mystery woman you’re convinced he’s buying this for, assuming you must have a similar ring size to her or something, if he’s having you try it on.

Your eyes meet his own warm gaze as his hand folds your fingers, bringing the ring up to his lips to press a kiss through the mask.

“Not as lucky as I am to be her husband.”

[whorelaud]

OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron ¡ (07)

social media & irl AU !

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother. ch content mature content, nsfw (nothing too explicit, it gets interrupted), suggestive, making out, pet names, unresolved tension, fluff, sexual jokes, desperate rafe (mhmmmm), brief mention of cocaine

NAVIGATION. series masterlist | 06 ! 07 ¡ 08

↳ yourusername replied to your story: hey… that’s not very nice :( 

Rafe kissed you. 

It wasn’t a dream, nor was it accidental. Rafe Cameron, whom you marked off limits, kissed you, and hell, did you enjoy every second of it. 

From that moment on, every minute you spent within his presence felt like living on edge; sneaking behind your brother’s back to enjoy his company, aware of the consequences, and the heartbreak that would result out of the truth. 

Liking Rafe was like a calm after the storm, the moment your eyes land on him, time stops, and you forget all your worries. How were you supposed to resist him, when he’s your only escape from reality? The only person who’s ever made your heart rate increase in pace within a span of seconds. 

Getting a casual conversation out of a guy, without it oscillating to something sexual was difficult in this society, however, with Rafe, it was easy. His eyes bloomed with more than just lust, it made all your doubts about finding the one fade, and that alone, would have younger you screaming. 

Because what do you mean there’s a man out there that lines up with everything you’ve dreamed of and more, the puzzle you’ve been missing your whole life, merely for him to end up being your brother’s best friend, someone so forbidden, it burns when his touch lingers.

A bob formed in your throat, one hard to swallow down, that as much as it stings, you chose to bear it, even if it goes against the trust you formed with your brother. You told yourself it was okay, Ryan won’t overreact if he found out, right?

With a few touches, you managed to head downstairs, with everyone rushing you to come out, starting with Ryan, who somehow managed to call you fifteen times in the span of a minute. To your surprise, it wasn’t him driving, though, but Rafe? 

You slightly halted when he greeted you with a smile, one hidden from everyone else’s eyes. A pair of sunglasses hugged the bridge of his nose, covering the glint of cockiness swelling through his gaze. 

Reaching for the door handle, you quickly smiled at the sight of Sarah as she perked up from her seat once she seized sight of you. A grin formed on your lips, joining the girl’s side, completely forgetting yourself in her embrace, that Ryan’s scoldings barely registered in your system.

“Your brother is such a dick,” she joked, eyebrows furrowing with fake annoyance. “I couldn’t even properly get ready ‘cause of him.” 

“Me?” He gasped, irritated by the ‘false’ remark. “You’re the one busy eating your boyfriend’s face!” 

“Why am I getting involved?” John B chimed from Sarah’s side. “I was helping her out.” 

“Yeah?” Ryan muttered in a mocking tone, “How so?” 

“I do not want to know that.” Rafe clicked his teeth, dismissing Ryan’s question with his statement. 

“You shut the fuck up.” Ryan scoffed, a sour expression smeared over his face. “Lending JJ my car? God knows what will happen to it.” 

“JJ’s not a bad driver…” you trailed off, earning a dirty glare from your brother. “What?! Unless he’s drunk off his mind, then you’re good. He was always in charge of Twinkie.” 

“That horrendous Van?” Ryan asked, voice filled with disbelief. “My baby and that ugly thing are two different things, don’t you dare compare them.” 

“Alright man,” John B started, “At least it gets the job done.” 

“Why are you picking a fight with everyone?” Rafe chuckled, pulling out of the driveway. “Sit back and relax, don’t stress your pretty lil’ brain out.” 

“Gross.” Sarah muttered under her breath, nose scrunching with disgust. 

“Can I get aux?” You asked, earning Rafe’s attention as he seeked the chord plugged to the speakers, immediately offering it to you from over his shoulder when it was within his reach. “Thank you.” 

“Mhm.” He hummed, the grogginess in his tone rattling through your chest. 

“Why is she in control of aux?” Ryan perked up at the act, addressing Rafe with his question. “I thought we agreed I’d be in charge.” 

“That’s in bed, baby.” Rafe flashed him a tight-lipped smile, sparing him a glimpse for a second, before his attention was back on the road. His fingers found the curve of Ryan’s jaw, using the tip of the digits to scratch the latter’s chin. 

“Move!” He slapped Rafe’s hand away, lips jutting into a frown. “Why’s everyone ganging up on me today?” 

“‘Kay, stop acting like a bitch.” You started, further getting on your brother’s nerves. “Should’ve stayed home.” 

Rafe’s arm blocked Ryan from shooting off his seat, a glint of amusement smothering through his expression. If one could calm Ryan, it was definitely Rafe. Considering their differences, they get along quite well, perhaps why they’ve made it together far this long. 

The rest of the car ride filled with havoc, as both you and Sarah sang along to the lyrics, while John B sat back and watched, admiring his girlfriend with so much love, you were envious. Oh to openly stare and have it not be a problem; was that too much to ask for? 

A pit of jealousy laid low in your stomach, gaze shifting back to Rafe, whose eyes were glued to the road. Or so you thought, as his pupils caught you staring through the rearview mirror, not breaking the contact in hopes of you noticing him, even for a mere second. 

The action was cut short when Ryan took notice of the situation, eyebrows furrowing with puzzlement as he directed his attention to you in a swift movement. His face pressed to the leather seats, reaching over the dashboard, and flicking your arm with the intent of capturing your focus. 

“Where’s your wallet?” He asked, voice muffled due to the melody playing in the background. 

“My wallet?” You repeated, afraid you heard the phrase wrong. “Why do you need my wallet?” 

“I put my ID in there,” he explained, searching for the object with his gaze. “Figured you’d have it on you.” 

You rolled your eyes, patting around your seat, in an attempt to grab your wallet, instantly coming to a halt as realization washed over. “Wait.” 

“What?” Ryan mumbled. 

“Did I get my wallet?” You asked, the question mostly to yourself. “I think I forgot my wallet.” You stated, peeking down the seats, in case it fell by accident. “You idiot, this is all your fault!” 

“How is it my fault?!” He shot back, “Who forgets their wallet? That’s totally on you!” 

“Yeah, own one then come talk.” You stifled out a sarcastic laugh, crying out with frustration. “This is so annoying, can’t we go back?” 

“That’s a twenty minute drive from here.” Rafe answered, “I’d go back, but that would delay our plans.” 

“Yeah,” Sarah agreed, rubbing soothing circles to the blade of your shoulder. “It’s fine, you can jus’ use my card, baby.” 

“It’s okay Sarah,” you groaned, falling back in your seat. “That’s not necessary.” 

“Oh come on, are you scared I’ll put you on a budget?” Sarah teased, attempting to ease your discomfort. “Don’t worry, I’ll sugar mama you.” 

A giggled escaped your throat at her words, mockingly sticking out your tongue when Ryan flipped you off. While Sarah strived to comfort you, worry yet washed over your expression, contemplating how you were going to spend the next few hours, with nothing but your phone on you. 

The passing few minutes felt like an eternity upon your arrival, quickly joined by your friends once Rafe was all parked. It was fun, despite your friends insisting they’d pay for you, you still refused, shaking your head anytime they offered to buy you something that caught your interest. 

Rafe noticed your shift in mood, cracking a joke every now and then, for a mere reaction out of you. And surprisingly, it worked, the latter managed to squeeze a giggle out of you, ridiculed by the horrible dad jokes he added in between conversations. 

“Is it hot?” Rafe questioned, eyebrows furrowing with concern at the droplets of sweat trickling down your neck. 

“Hmm?” You hummed, lips jutting with confusion. “It’s not bad.” 

“Yeah?” He teased, gaze flickering to your hand, as you patted your neck dry with the gesture. “Want something to drink?” 

“What? No.” You shook your head, admiring while your friends observed the handbags displayed on the counter. “I’m fine.” 

“Hey uh,” Rafe’s voice suddenly broke out, earning everyone’s attention in the process. “We’re grabbing drinks, do you guys want anything?

Your gaze fixed on Rafe with disbelief, taken aback when he tugged your wrist, nodding along to your friends’ requests. Ryan took in the scene with confusion, mind racing with all sorts of thoughts, over why he shouldn’t reach over and yank Rafe’s hold off, forcing the fact that he was his best friend, he wouldn’t do such a thing, and betray his trust. 

And if Rafe saw, he didn’t say a thing, choosing to not acknowledge it as he dragged you with him to the main lobby surrounded by different varieties of fast foods’ restaurants. Rafe let go of your hand, upon standing in line, with you already missing the warmness of his touch, breath hitching when he stood close enough for you to take a whiff of his musky cologne.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Rafe flashed the cashier a polite smile once it was your turn, eyes hovering over the menu displayed on the screens. “Can I get a uhh…” 

You took Rafe's side while he listed your friends’ orders, stiffening when he turned to face you, with the purpose of asking for what you wanted. “I’ll get a milkshake.” 

“Okay,” he nodded, observing the milkshake options on the menu. “What flavor would you like?” 

“Whatever that’s available.” You stammered, clearing your throat as your eyes flickered to where Rafe was looking, trailing off before you muttered your next sentence. “Chocolate’s fine.” 

“We’ll take one chocolate milkshake, then.” Rafe informed the cashier, flashing him a tight-lipped smile as he handed him his card. 

The cashier passed Rafe the receipt, politely asking you two to step to the side, while waiting for your order to finish. You obliged to the request, following in Rafe’s steps as he took a corner, snorting when he plopped his arm over the counter, for the mere purpose of supporting his weight. 

“What?” He chuckled, toying with the straws presented in the cup. “What’s so funny, Bug?” 

“Don’t call me that.” You jokingly huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Is this about your wallet?” He cooed, poking your side with one of the straws. “Why are you upset?”

“I’m not upset.” You repeated, denying the assumption, though the boy had you practically figured out. “You’re annoying.” 

“Yeah, and you’re grumpy.” He scrunched his nose, the gesture playful, teasing you in a way. “Whatever you want, buy it, I’ll pay for you.” 

“I spend a lot of money, Rafe.” You uttered, ridiculed by his words. “Sure you can handle it?” 

“Well,” he leaned down, voice dropping barely above a whisper. “Can you spend as much as I can earn?” 

That earned a scuff out of you, rolling your eyes as you lightly smacked his shoulder, the action rattling a chuckle out of Rafe. Your face flushed with heat , remaining silent to suppress your flustered state from taking over your expression. 

It didn’t take long before you were heading back, with the drinks ceased in your hold, as well as Rafe’s. Your friends were quick to help out, handing each person their order, while they offered you a smile of gratitude in return for your act of kindness. 

Conversation with Rafe flowed like water, lifting your spirits, and cracking a smile of you every time he’d lean down and whisper hushed words into your ears. The action was subtle, you were sure none of your friends picked up on the way you’d tense each time Rafe stood too close, or made his presence known, shamefully letting his gaze flicker to your parted lips while your brother stood a few inches away, unaware of the latter’s intentions, and the tension seeping through the thick air. 

Speaking of Ryan, the boy wandered off, leaving you and your friends behind, though that swiftly oscillated as each of you split into pairs, leaving you with Rafe, who did everything in his power to cut through the silence building up. 

You brushed off his statements with short sentences, your dry responses settling a pang of guilt through your chest, intents far from hurting the latter, only realizing the switch in Rafe’s mood after you glanced up, and noticed the look of disappointment smothered all over his face. 

Your attention fixed on the several fragrance bottles splayed on the shelf, misting the aroma over the paper samples to sniff each one. Rafe stood and watched, whirling your shake (God knows how that ended up in his hold) around with a lack of enthusiasm, failing to hide the fact that he wasn’t interested in what you were doing. 

One of the perfumes piqued your curiosity, spraying it on your wrist to take another whiff, the soft vanilla scent intoxicating your senses. You suddenly turned to face Rafe, a smile spreading across your lips when he halted, lips extending with confusion at your sudden burst of excitement. 

“What is it?” He mumbled, brows pinching in a knot. 

“This one smells so good,” You uttered, taking a step forward, then pausing to ask your next question. “Do you wanna smell?” 

“Sure.” He instantly straightened up, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Without thinking, you moved your arm ahead, offering the boy the patch of perfume sprayed on your hand, the action deemed innocent, catching Rafe off guard as he froze. He took a moment to process how close you were, now merely separated by your wrist as it blocked his vision from landing on your face, and hell, did you look pretty up close, though the majority of your features were covered.

Rafe hesitated, processing the risky ponders wandering through his head with haste, letting his impulsive thoughts take over as his fingers seized control of your wrist, inching it closer to his chin before he planted a gentle peck to the palm of your hand. 

His hold lingered around your wrist, his mouth burning hot over your flesh, and spiraling a rush of adrenaline through your veins. A shuddered sigh barely escaped your parted lips, fluttering your eyes up at the latter, your flustered expression not much of help; smearing a mischievous smile across his lips.

“What are you doing?’You stuttered through a breath, hastily retrieving your hand from Rafe’s hold.

“Smelling it,” he explained, acting as if the action was the most normalest thing ever. “You asked me to smell it, did you not?” 

“I did,” you shot back with frustration, pupils narrowing with the flutter of your chest, feeling your pulse quicken under Rafe’s gaze. “I said to smell it, not kiss it.”

“What’s wrong?” He chuckled, pointing his finger in your direction. “Are you shy?” 

“What?” Your face twisted with fake annoyance, glimpsing around before you lightly kicked his knee. “No, Rafe. What if someone saw you?” 

“I don’t care.” He stifled out a sarcastic laugh, amused by your reaction. 

“Yeah?” You forced your lips into a fake smile, ridiculed by Rafe’s lack of worry. “And how will you explain whatever that was to Ryan, Mr. I don’t care?” 

“He’ll understand.” Rafe mocked, grabbing the perfume you sprayed from the shelf. “How can I hold myself back, when you’re this beautiful, baby?”

There it was, baby. The pet name only made your heart race more, the sound so loud, you heard it echoing through your ears.

A hitched breath knocked out of your chest, taken aback by the sudden boldness seeping through Rafe’s tone, your shyness only encouraging him more. You cleared your throat, grabbing the drink from his hold before facing away, afraid you’d crumble if you stared any longer. 

“Shut up.” You dismissed, faking interest in the purses displayed on the shelf. “Don’t do that again.” 

“‘Won’t make any promises.” He clicked his teeth, grabbing a packaged perfume from next to the various ones on display. “Do you want to get it?” 

“No.” You shook your head, politely refusing with a glimpse over your shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, streaking past you, and heading straight towards the line. “We’re getting it.” 

“That’s not necessary, Rafe.” You muttered through gritted teeth, avoiding the weird looks you received when Rafe dodged your attempt at snatching the boxed fragrance. 

While you were stubborn, the latter was twice as stubborn as you were, insisting on buying it, despite you refusing. And true to his intentions, Rafe ends up purchasing the perfume for you, a defeated scoff exiting your throat when he flashed you a sheepish grin, proud of his accomplishment. 

A sigh of relief tumbled past your mouth when you spotted Cleo, along with Pope, taking the scene as an opportunity to escape Rafe’s side; though that wasn’t a choice, with the blond practically gluing to you, following in your steps like a lost  puppy. 

It didn’t take long for the rest to join in, deciding it was a good time to leave upon the stores closing, one followed by another. Ryan contently retrieved his keys from JJ, fetching Pope, Cleo, and JJ, while the rest of you stuck in a group, the ride back filling with chaos, as yet, another karaoke session broke out, excpet this time, it involved lots of heartbreaks. 

A new category. 

The majority of your evening was consumed by the ocean waves rocketing, while you and your friends messed around. You let your worries go for once, heart swelling with happiness, one you didn’t think could be ruined.

Things were perfect, as you reunited with your friends, got to spend your summer vacation with them, and you met Rafe. You haven’t been happier since, it terrified you, heart stinging with horror, because you refused to believe this wasn’t ending on a bad note, hence it was a little too perfect.

The night ended off quite earlier than you had expected, with your friends excusing themselves to bed after movie night. Rafe subtly sneaked a smile your way, mouthing ‘goodnight’ before disappearing off to his room. 

That being said, you strived to fall asleep, resetting your progress every time you’d accidently unlatched your eyes, a huff of frustration escaping your throat in the process. You were too overwhelmed to sleep, unable to suppress the foolish grin masking your lips as what happened earlier stumbles across your mind, the vivid image of Rafe’s expression creating a flustered mess out of you. 

You tried not to think about it, being as quiet as physically possible, to avoid stirring Kiara’s slumber, anything but wanting to disturb her sleep. A random video played on your phone, a mere background noise as your brain, yet wandered back to the situation, zoning out, and fully abandoning the device in your hold. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a ping, attention shifting back to the bright screen, almost gasping when you caught the contact of the sender. 

It was Rafe. (not one person is surprised)

rafe 👍: You awake?

Sent, 12:55 am

You: ?? hello

rafe 👍: Hi baby

Your face flushed with heat, unfamiliar with the latter constantly using pet names, the act surprising, never failing to make your heart flutter. 

You: why are you awake?

rafe 👍: Hmm

rafe 👍: Probably the same reason you are

A laugh stifled out of your throat at the message, hurrying to type back a response.

You: yeah 🤨

You: and what reason must that be

Rafe’s text bubble appeared and disappeared, fingers hesitatingly hovering over the screen, while you awaited the latter’s answer. 

rafe 👍: I 

rafe 👍: I can’t stop thinking about you

rafe: It’s driving me crazy

Oh. 

Oh. 

You: stop being an idiot

You: go to sleep its late

rafe 👍: I’m not fucking around

rafe 👍: Wanna see you so bad

Your eyes fluttered with utmost desire, digging your teeth through your bottom lip, merely to confirm this wasn't a dream. 

You: we’ll see eo tmr 

rafe 👍: You think

rafe 👍: I can wait til’ tomorrow? 

rafe 👍: I can't Yn

rafe 👍: Can I come to your room

You: Huh

You: what

You: for what?

rafe 👍: Js’ wanna see you baby

rafe 👍: Am I not allowed to do that?

You nervously gulped, well aware he wanted more than to just see you; both of you did. 

You: kies asleep

rafe 👍: Okay 

rafe 👍: I’ll be fast

The desperation in his tone squeezes a shy snort out of you, sitting up in bed as you typed out a reply. 

You: don’t come

You: stay in your room

rafe 👍:  What

rafe 👍: Why? 

You: i’ll

You: come to you

rafe 👍: Shit wait

rafe 👍: Are you serious?

rafe 👍: Don’t fuck with me 

You: is anyone by you

rafe 👍: NOo

rafe 👍: No one is by me

rafe 👍: I’m all alone

you: alr

you: im coming

You don’t know whether it was the sleep heaving your eyes, or the desire engulfing your insides,  however, you felt sure of your decision, leisurely pulling the covers off your figure, before you hastily made your way out, with the purpose of seeking Rafe. 

A knock is all it took, with the latter quickly unlatching the door, chest rising and falling with a breath once he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed down to your satin sleep set, perfectly adorning your figure, that holding himself back felt far out of the picture. 

“Hi.” You sheepishly greeted the latter, growing nervous under his gaze. At that, Rafe’s head shoots up, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. 

“Hey,” he shot back, clutching the doorknob with force. “Come in.” 

You accepted the invitation, steps slow as you let yourself inside, observing the plain furniture, so boring,yet screaming Rafe’s name. “Your room is nice.” 

“Thanks.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his head once he shut the door, eyes roaming everywhere but your face. 

He was starting to regret this, tempting himself when he knows he can’t handle another minute with you this far away, wanting nothing but to seize the distance, cross the now invisible line and fuck it. 

“You’re welcome.” You hummed, lips pursing into a thin line. 

Tension seeped through the air, heaving the atmosphere with lust, desire; all your wants and needs. 

“Why did you want to see me?” You abruptly asked, approaching the door once again, a few feet down from Rafe. A chuckle escaped your lips, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “In the middle of the night, too? You’re not slick, Cameron.”

Mhm, that made things even worse. 

“Do I need a reason to see you now?” He answered you with another question, casually, but deliberately approaching you. “You think I’m that bad?” 

“No.” You whispered, fingers clutching the fabric of your shorts, reminiscing over the memory of his lips colliding with yours after your back firmly pressed to the door, chest immediately swelling with Deja Vu. “It was a joke.” 

“Yeah?” He mumbled, voice dropping to match yours. “You think that night was a mistake?”

“What night?” You stiffened, prior to acknowledging his question, as you’ve done nothing but avoid it over the past few days. 

“The night I kissed you.” He further clarified, his figure swallowing yours as he hovered over you. “You regret it?” 

“Why are you bringing that up?” You nearly choked on your own spit at the confrontation, goosebumps breaking out across your arms when the tip of his fingers lightly traced over your forearm, the sensation like feathers to your flesh. 

“Don’t know,” he replies, vision going blurry. “Wanna know how you feel.” 

A shaky sigh managed its way past your lips, mouth gaping to speak, but instead met with utter silence in return. Rafe’s eyes glinted with keen, seeking an answer out of you; a response to all his problems and more. 

But nothing. 

“I’ll leave.” You started, words far from what you wanted. “It’s getting late.”

Rafe’s face fell at that, chest swelling with disappointment as he shifted to step back, giving you enough space to squeeze through. “Right, you should; ‘s totally my fault for keeping you up.” 

One word. That’s all you wanted to hear; don’t. 

However, you were both idiots, too afraid to express your feelings for each other, hesitating over the possibilities of what if’s.

So what if Ryan found out? 

You like Rafe, so much it stings knowing you can’t have him, your said brother being the reason he’s forbidden. He’s your blood, though, him of all people should know how much this means to you, hence he’s witnessed all your horrific experiences with dating. 

Telling Ryan wasn’t the problem, it was you all along; teetering to make the first move, let your impulsive thoughts win and claim him, move forward and crash your lips on his, it was all on you for putting other people’s priorities over yours. 

Putting yourself first spoke like no other, and that’s exactly what you did as you grabbed Rafe by the collar of his shirt, wasting no time before you collided his lips with yours. 

Rafe’s eyes widened with shock, arms awkwardly hanging to his sides as you captured his bottom lip in between your own, proceeding with the gesture when you angled your head to the side, intending to deepen the kiss. 

Rafe didn’t do anything though, he froze in his spot, not daring to move, even after you mustered up the courage to kiss him. Panic immediately washed over as you pulled away, mouth moving faster than your brain while muttering your next words. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” You apologized, guilt evident in your expression. “I thought you wanted this– I didn’t mean to force anything on you, we can jus’ act like this never happened, I don’t m–”

Your rambling cut short, interrupted when Rafe sweeped you in an eager kiss, the action desperate, seeking closure through it. You contently kissed him back, yelping when his arm found the curve of your waist, applying enough pressure to seize control of your body. 

The latter almost stumbled over his own feet, nearly falling in the process of leading you to the bed. Rafe took action when he noticed your struggle to keep up, hands traveling to the back of your thighs, and before you knew it, the boy scooped you in a swift movement, your legs latching to his sides for support.

Your arms wrapped around Rafe’s neck, moaning as he nibbled the plump of your lip with the graze of his teeth, using your parted lips as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, letting the warmth of your spit coat his own. 

His tongue swirled over yours, managing to plop himself on the edge of the bed, all while squeezing and kneeding your ass, chasing after your pleasure with each time you squirmed in his hold. 

“Fuck,” rafe muffled in between kisses, “Taste so fuckin’ good, baby.” 

A moan rolls off your tongue at the praise, mind hazing with despair as Rafe’s hot breath fanned over your face, the warmth tickling your skin, and sending shivers down your spine. Rafe wasted no time, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, the tip of his digits teasingly toying with it.

You whined into his mouth, protesting to the wait he’s putting you through, hips unintentionally rolling down over his crotch in the process, almost folding when you felt him twitch at the gesture. Rafe hissed at the contact, swiftly pressing your hips down in place, the hardon in his pants not being much of help. 

“Don’t fucking do that.” He grunted, lips ghosting over yours. “God, you’re killing me.” 

“Rafeee,” you cooed, throwing your head back with the intent of arching your back, panties now soaked with your juices. “Feels s’ good.” 

“You’re a mess.” Rafe teased, stifling out a laugh. He purposely halted, testing your limits, and how far you can go without crumbling in his hold. “So desperate for me, aren’t you?.” 

“Fucking do something.” Your nails dug to his shoulders with force, well aware your hold would bruise, already forming red marks with the touch. “Don’t jus’ tease me.” 

“You’re being a brat.” He chuckled with amusement, gaze landing on your cleavage, now half exposed from him groping the delicate flesh. “Thought you were a good girl, baby.” 

At that, your breath hitched, forehead leaning against Rafe’s when his fingers lightly traced over your breasts, the sensation like feathers to your skin. He licked a stripe of your tit, the warmth of his spit coating the outer shell of your boob. 

Rafe took your chest in his hold, action falling short as a knock suddenly erupted through the door, startling both of you out of your haze and despair. You instantly froze, pushing Rafe off to spare him a glance, almost as if to ask what the noise was. 

“Aye Rafe.” The familiar voice echoed through your ears, causing your heart to sink to the pit of your stomach. “Are you in there?” 

“That’s Ryan.” Rafe beat you to speaking, words stating the obvious. 

“No shit it’s Ryan.” You sarcastically whisper-yelled, “What is he doing here?” 

“I don’t know!” Rafe shrugged his shoulders. “I thought he was asleep.” 

Both of you turned with panic when the doorknob twisted back and fourth, indicating the latter was trying to open the door. “Aye come on, open up; I know you’re awake.” 

“Shit, we’re in trouble.” You nervously bit your lip, scrambling to get off his lap. Rafe fixed his shirt, adjusting his position to hide the hardon visible in his pants. “What do we do?” 

“Okay– shit, wait.” Rafe took a breath, observing the room with frustration. “I’ll hide in the closet, you open the door and shoo him away.” 

“It’s your room, dude.” Your face scrunched with disbelief, “I’m the one that should be hiding.” 

“No, yeah, right.” The latter nodded, pacing back and forth. “Where should you hide?” 

“Not the closet,” you shook your head, checking under the bed. “I’m claustrophobic.” 

“Under the bed?” Rafe suggested, eyeing the somewhat narrowed place, though it was slightly bigger than the said closet.

“Okay–” you winced as another thud erupted through the door, rushing to bend down, and slide under the bed. “Be fast, please.” 

Rafe nodded, flashing you a reassuring smile before fixing up the covers, vision now glistening with dimness. You perked up at the sound of the door creaking, groaning when Ryan’s footsteps practically shook the floor. He plopped himself on the bed, with Rafe hissing at the gesture, knowing your brother probably startled you with the action. 

And he did, but that wasn’t the point. 

“What are you doing here?” Rafe asked, sprawling himself next to Ryan. 

“I got some yayo,” Ryan whispered with a chuckle, probably already high by the tone of his voice. “Figured we could smoke it together.” 

“At one past midnight?” Rafe argued. 

“So what?” Ryan shrugged, ruffling his hand in the plastic bag he spread out on the bed. “You’re actin’ as if we’ve never done it before, this is not– wait, what?” 

Rafe paused before responding, face turning pale. “What?” 

“Is that Bug’s phone?” Ryan questioned, smile fading off his lips. “What is my sister’s phone doing in your room?”

Shit, your phone.

a/n all support is v much appreciated!! i honestly have no idea how i got this out bye literally stress wrote almost the whole thing and im surviving off three hours of sleep mind you for the past two days AND i also finished most of this on the plane so feel special... i cherish my plane rides but i put you guys first since ily 😣 that being said i spent the past like eight hours finishing it up HELP yeah sorry to disappoint mama tried her best 💔 nsfw part is not detailed on purpose i want to put my badussy for their first time yeah (it wont be explicit dw) 💪💪

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[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[ahqkas]

♯ WOMANIZER ( you misunderstand the batboys’ intentions about you ! )

— fem!reader, bruce & dick & jason ( separated ), cursing, i believe in the imperfection of dick grayson, based on this req.!!

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

. . . BRUCE WAYNE !

THE PARTY AT WAYNE MANOR WAS ALREADY WELL UNDERWAY, with the gotham’s most privileged citizens mingling in perfect suits and ethereal gowns that sparkled like they held all the stars in the universe. you didn’t really belong here. or at least, that’s what you told yourself as you stood near the edge of the balcony, nursing a glass of champagne and pretending you weren’t keeping an eye on the man who seemed to command attention wherever he went.

bruce wayne. gotham’s billionaire playboy. philanthropist. occasional heartbreaker. you’d known him for a while, though you wouldn’t exactly call yourself friends. he had a knack for being charming in a way that left people breathless, and you? you’d seen through it. or at least, you thought you had.

when he’d started showing interest in you—lingering glances, invitations to these kinds of events that were hosted by him, casual but warm conversation—you’d dismissed it with a wave of your hand and a gentle no, thank you. bruce wayne didn’t date women like you. he charmed them, maybe took them to dinner once or twice and to warm the cold side of his bed, and then moved on to the next glittering distraction. that’s what you’d always assumed about him, and it didn’t help that you were acquainted with one of his exes, a woman who had once rolled her eyes and described him as a man who “likes the chase more than the catch.”

so when bruce’s eyes found yours from across the room tonight, you bristled. it was hard not to notice the way his gaze softened when he looked at you, the way his smile seemed smaller, less performative and more genuine, when it was directed your way. but you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all part of his game. was this just bruce wayne being bruce wayne, setting his sights on some pretty bird for the thrill of it? or was there more to it?

as the night went on, the man found his moment. you were standing near the balcony doors, half-hidden from the crowd, when his smooth voice broke through your thoughts.

“enjoying the party?”

you turned to find him standing a little closer than you’d expected, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit, the rich fabric complementing his broad shoulders and easy confidence. he looked effortlessly polished, as always, every detail of his appearance considered, from the subtle sheen of his shoes to the faintest trace of cologne that lingered in the space between you. but tonight, there was something different about him, something in his expression that caught you off guard. his stormy blue eyes, always so guarded, seemed uncharacteristically open, revealing an earnestness that made your breath hitch. and there, just beneath the surface, was a vulnerability he didn’t often let slip, like he was holding his heart out to you, unsure if you’d take it or walk away.

“it’s fine,” you replied, the words carrying a certain amount politeness as you swirled the champagne flute in your hand. the golden bubbles rose to the surface, catching the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. you took a measured sip and the crispness of the drink did little to soothe the edge in your tone. “not really my scene, though.”

he chuckled softly. “i had a feeling you might say that.”

“then why invite me?” The question came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t back down. you’d spent too much time wondering what exactly a man like bruce wayne wanted from you, and tonight you were in no mood to dance around it.

bruce blinked, clearly caught off guard. “i thought—” he hesitated, the usual composure faltering ever so slightly. “i wanted you here.”

“for what?” you pressed, your voice dipping lower, but it carried the sharpness of a blade meant to cut through his carefully built walls. “to add to the collection? to say you’ve charmed another woman into falling for you?”

the words hung between you, heavy and biting, and you could see the faint flicker of hurt that flashed in his eyes before he masked it. still, you didn’t back down. you’d seen this thing before—the effortless charm, the disarming smiles, the way he made women feel special, if only for a moment. you weren’t going to be another one of those fleeting moments, another name whispered in hushed gossip about gotham’s most privileged golden boy. the weight of your words wasn’t just meant to confront him; it was a shield for yourself, a barrier you put up to keep your heart out of reach of someone who could crush it without even meaning to.

but bruce wayne didn’t flinch. instead, he looked at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

“that’s not what this is,” he said quietly with his voice steady but threaded with softness. there was no defensiveness in his tone, no quick quip to deflect or charm his way out of the accusation. he didn’t puff up his chest or offer a rehearsed explanation to save his pride. there was no trace of the man who usually walked through conversations with the ease of someone who always knew the right thing to say.

instead, it was just bruce.

you crossed your arms at your chest, your guard still firmly in place. “forgive me if i find that hard to believe. i know your reputation, and i know you don’t exactly have a track record of . . . consistency.”

the man let out a long sigh, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair and glancing away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts before he let them out for you to hear. when he looked back at you, his expression was different—softer, more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.

“i know what people think of me. but that’s not who i am with you. you . . . you’re not just some passing interest to me. i don’t know how else to say it, but i care about you. more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time.”

his words caught you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. you searched his face for any sign of deceit, any trace of the playboy side of him you’d come to associate with him. but all you saw was sincerity. it terrified you as much as it made your heart ache.

“you don’t have to believe me,” he added, his voice quieter now. “but i’ll prove it to you, if you let me.”

the vulnerability in his eyes was so raw, so uncharacteristic of the man you thought you knew, that you couldn’t help but feel a crack form in the wall you’d built around yourself. maybe he really meant it. maybe this wasn’t just a game to him. you didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t say anything at all. instead, you let your gaze linger on him for a moment longer, trying to piece together the man in front of you with the one you thought you’d figured out. and for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you’d been wrong about bruce wayne.

. . . DICK GRAYSON !

DICK GRAYSON WASN’T USED TO BEING MISJUDGED. sure, people sometimes underestimated him—wrote him off as just another pretty face, a charmer with a disarming smile and nothing deeper behind it—but he always found a way to prove them wrong. except when it came to you.

you, with your sharp wit and guarded heart. you’d known him long enough to see past his dazzling exterior, but you also had your assumptions about him, shaped by things you’d heard and what you thought you’d observed. you’d seen him with kory, with barbara, with women who seemed to flock to him effortlessly. to you, he seemed like someone who loved the chase more than the catch, someone who couldn’t sit still long enough to really, truly care. and that’s where the problem began.

it started with a rumor. one of your friends—a casual acquaintance of dick’s—had mentioned his “reputation” in passing, how he’d always been the heartbreaker of gotham’s streets. you’d smiled politely and brushed it off, but on the inside, your walls had risen. and then there were the times you’d seen him turn on the charm with women at galas or events, the way they seemed to melt under his intense gaze. it didn’t help that you were certain he could have anyone he wanted.

when dick started paying more attention to you, your first instinct was suspicion. he’d never been anything but kind, but now, his kindness seemed . . . targeted. personal. he asked about your day, remembered small details you’d mentioned weeks ago, found ways to cross your path more often than felt coincidental. he’d even shown up at your workplace once with a bag of takeout, claiming he was “just in the neighborhood,” though you were sure that wasn’t true. it was flattering and sweet, sure, but it also made you wary. he’d been like this with others before, hadn’t he?

“let me guess,” you said one day, crossing your arms as he caught up with you after a late-night outing with mutual friends. “you’re just doing this for fun, right? another notch on the great dick grayson belt?”

the words stung more than you expected. they slipped out before you could stop them, a mixture of your own insecurities and the walls you’d carefully constructed around your bleeding heart to protect yourself. dick froze mid-step, his easygoing smile faltering for the first time.

“what?”

“you don’t have to play dumb,” you continued, keeping your tone casual, though the tightness in your chest betrayed you. “i’m not one of those girls who’s going to fall for the charming guy.” you gestured vaguely towards him, your hands betraying your nerves as much as your words. “i mean, i’ve seen it all before. the sweet smile, the compliments that sound so personal but somehow aren’t. you’ve got a whole thing, dick. it’s practically a brand.” shifting your weight, your eyes darted away from his for a second before locking back in. “i’ve seen it with kory. with barbara. probably with whoever else came before or after. you walk in, sweep them off their feet with your ‘i’m just a nice guy with perfect hair and a killer backflip’ act, and then . . . i don’t know. you move on. it’s just what you do, isn’t it?”

the words spilled out faster than you could stop them, a mix of defensive sarcasm and the tiniest sliver of insecurity you hated admitting was there. the way his expression shifted, the way his easygoing demeanor cracked, told you you’d struck deeper than you intended—but you couldn’t back down now. not when your heart was hammering against the bones of your ribs, reminding you of all the reasons you’d kept him at arm’s length.

dick blinked, as if you’d just slapped him. for a moment, he didn’t respond, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite figure out what to say. the hurt in his eyes was almost enough to make you regret your words, but you stood firm, heart pounding.

“i . . . wow,” he finally said, running a hand through his dark locks. the tone of his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it, stripped of the usual warmth and charm that seemed to come so effortlessly to him. his hand lingered at the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the tension there, like he was trying to ground himself. “that’s what you think of me?” he repeated. his blue eyes, normally so lively and teasing, searched yours for some kind of explanation, some hint that you didn’t mean it the way it sounded. but there was no teasing now, no easy smile to smooth over the rough edges of your words.

for once, dick grayson—always so confident, so sure of himself—seemed completely thrown, like you’d hit a nerve he didn’t even know existed.

in truth, the man was head over heels for you. he didn’t know when it had started exactly—maybe it was the first time he heard your real laugh, or when you’d gone out of your way to help a stranger on the street, or the way you always managed to keep up with his fast-paced banter. all he knew was that you were constantly on his mind, and he was trying everything he could think of to show you how much he cared. but clearly, he’d been going about it the wrong way.

“look, i know what people say about me. i know i’ve made mistakes, and yeah, i’ve had relationships that didn’t work out. but that doesn’t mean i’m—that i’m what you think i am.”

“then what are you, dick?” you challenged, your voice sharp even as doubt began to creep in. “because all i see is a guy who’s used to getting what he wants.”

he let out a breath, shaking his head. “i’m a guy who’s trying to show you that you’re important to me. that i care about you more than i’ve cared about anyone in a long time. but apparently, i’ve done a terrible job of that.”

the raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. for the first time, you saw past the charm and the confidence to the vulnerability beneath. he wasn’t trying to manipulate you or play games—he was laying himself bare, and it terrified you almost as much as it touched you.

“you could have anyone,” you said quietly, your tone softening despite yourself. “why me?”

dick stepped closer, his hands in his pockets, as if he was trying to give you space while still closing the distance between you. “you challenge me. you make me want to be better. and yeah, maybe i’ve had a past, but none of that matters to me anymore.“

in the silence that followed, you felt your walls begin to crack. maybe he wasn’t perfect. maybe he’d made mistakes. but the sincerity in his eyes was impossible to ignore. he wasn’t just saying what he thought you wanted to hear—he was saying what he needed you to know. you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that he was telling the truth.

. . . JASON TODD !

JASON TODD WASN’T A MAN KNOWN FOR BEING SUBTLE, especially when it came to matters of the heart. his past had been a mess, filled with pain, betrayal, and a long string of failed attempts at normalcy. but despite all the scars, despite the weight of the past, there was something about you that made him want to try, that made him want to be someone better, someone worth your time. yet, every time he tried to get closer to you, it felt like you were slipping farther away, as if you saw him as nothing more than just another guy who wanted a quick fling—someone like the men who had come before him, someone who was only interested in getting into your pants.

it frustrated him to no end.

jason knew he wasn’t perfect. hell, he knew he had a lot of baggage, a lot of things that would make most people run in the opposite direction. but you? you didn’t just run. you were cautious, almost skeptical, like you were holding him at arm’s length, convinced he was just another fool who thought he could charm you with a few clever lines and some smooth moves. the way you looked at him sometimes—it wasn’t with the disgust or anger he used to see when people looked at him, but something close. disappointment, maybe. like he was nothing more than a shadow of someone who could be worthy of your time.

the thing that gnawed at him the most was that you didn’t believe him. you didn’t believe that he was different, that he saw something in you beyond the physical. there were days when you’d look at him, laughing at something he said, a playful smile tugging at your lips, and jason would get this flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—you could see him the way he saw you. but then there were the other days. days when you’d pull away, your eyes distant, your words clipped, and it would hit him like a ton of bricks. you were still unconvinced.

it didn’t help that you knew his exes, some of the women from his past who had used him or only wanted him for the same thing you feared he wanted from you. and that only made you more guarded, more unwilling to take the chance on him. to you, it was as if he were just another man who came with a history of bad decisions. and to some extent, maybe you were right, but he wasn’t about to let that be the end of the story.

one night, after patrol, jason found himself sitting at your kitchen table. you were cooking ( his favorite ) , focused on your task, and he leaned back in his chair, watching you with a quiet intensity. he couldn’t help but study you—how you moved, how your eyes flickered over the ingredients, how you chewed on your bottom lip when you concentrated. he adored it all. and it pissed him off that he couldn’t just tell you how he felt without the weight of his past overshadowing it all.

“hey,” he finally spoke up, breaking the silence that had been hanging between you. you didn’t look at him right away, too absorbed in what you were doing, but when you did, it was with a look that said you knew exactly what was coming.

“jason,” you sighed, setting the knife down carefully and wiping your hands on the towel. “we’ve been through this.”

his brows furrowed, a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “been through what?” he asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice but failing. “what’s the deal with you?”

you paused, your face softening with an almost sad smile. “what do you mean, what’s the deal with me?” you asked with your voice a mix of amusement and something else—something more guarded. you leaned against the counter, crossing your arms over your chest.

“you act like i’m just another guy you’re trying to keep at arm’s length,” jason said, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to. “i get it, alright? i do. i’ve messed up a lot. but i’m not trying to be just some guy who’s after your body. i’m not. i don’t know what else i have to say to make you believe that.”

your eyes softened upon hearing his rant, but there was still hesitation there, that skepticism that had become so familiar in his interactions with you. “jay, you’re a good guy, but . . .” you trailed off, searching for the words. “i’ve seen how things end with people like you. how they use others, and then leave them behind. and i’m not stupid. i can see how you look at me sometimes. it’s the same way you look at everyone else, isn’t it? like they’re just a means to an end.”

jason pushed himself up from his seat, crossing the small space between you in a few long strides. “that’s not how i look at you,” he stood firmly. “i don’t look at you like that at all. yeah, i’ve made mistakes. but i’m not the same guy who was a dickhead in the past, and i’m not the same guy who thought he could just charm his way into getting what he wanted. i care about you.”

you let out a breath, dropping your gaze for a moment, and his heart skipped a beat. there it was—the doubt, the hesitation that had been there for weeks, lingering just beneath the surface. he wasn’t going to let you slip away without trying, not when he knew what he felt. not when it was so clear to him that you were the one person who had somehow gotten through the walls he’d built.

“i’m not asking for anything from you,” he continued, his tone softening as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek with one hand, lifting your face so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. “i’m just asking for the chance to show you. i know you don’t trust me yet. i get that. but please, give me a shot. i’m not just gonna walk away. not this time.”

there was a beat of silence between you two, the air thick with everything unsaid. and for a moment, you just stood there, your eyes locked on his, reading him in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. he was giving you everything in that moment, his heart, his truth, all laid bare in front of you. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if you would walk away.

but then, something in your eyes shifted. a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and you sighed, reaching up to gently take his hand from your cheek.

“okay,” you said softly, voice almost a whisper. “okay, jason. i’ll give you a chance.”

jason’s heart fluttered in his chest, and a grin tugged at his lips as he leaned forward to kiss you. he was a man who had always been wary of letting anyone get close, but when it came to you, he would do anything to prove he wasn’t the same man he once was.

and with that, for the first time in a long while, jason allowed himself to hope.

[mimikyuno]

im literally sobbing in bed trying to sleep but mizu5 literally tore my heart out. i cant stop crying fr. i genuinely think mizuki akiyama is making history as one of the best written trans characters im so serious. the kindness and carefulness in which her story is being told is mindblowing. this event was perfect tbh. im so fr. no way after such a long wait the secret was gonna be revealed with happy tears and there. done. this event Physically altered the game. it’s the only event to do so, and the only event to end on such a cliffhanger. the way the whole event gets the player to empathise fully with mizuki - you feel her anxiety and her fear and pain. and then the rooftop scene. it was unbearable. her coming out was taken away from her. she had to see ena’s shocked expression from the sidelines. ena, the one she wanted to tell the most. ena, who has been waiting for her by her side for all this time. seeing the realization dawn on ena is too much for and she runs, like she always has. even though she Knows ena was just shocked. she Knows ena and niigo will accept her.

(sidenote i cut lots of dialogue from the screenshots above bc tumblr 10 images limit)

“you’re so kind, ena.” but that does not matter. it’s all ruined. in niigo’s eyes, mizuki was just a girl. a “normal girl”, as the classmates called ena. even if niigo accepts her, she’s terrified that they’re never gonna see her as a “real girl” again. just like her classmates. this change in their perception is heartbreaking, terrifying. and even more than that is the fear that from now on, niigo is only gonna act normal around her out of pity. the thought is unbearable. it’s all ruined. nothing can ever be like before in mizuki’s eyes. her precious, safe place was ripped away from her. mizuki’s pain felt so real and raw that i still get chills when i think of the last two chapters of this event. the way ena screamed and ran after her, her desperation to reach her, her horror at seeing how much mizuki’s been suffering, the way mizuki’s coming out was also taken away from ena. their precious moment, long awaited, stolen and destroyed by some careless, transphobic comments. “are you also a dude?”. ena’s anger at herself for not being able to reassure mizuki, for not knowing what to say in the face of all that hurt and fear.

the event ends with an unskippable black screen, and mizuki’s voice saying “you reap what you sow,” and then these lines:

mizuki’s dissociation and suicidal thoughts hit me like a truck. as meiko told kaito, this situation is so fragile. and all it took was ena’s shocked expression to send mizuki into a dissociative spiral.

(continues in rb)

[moonlitstoriess]

Bound in Silence- Rhysand x fem!Reader part 1

Part 2 here

Y/n, Rhysand’s true mate, discovers their bond while under Amarantha’s rule. As they grow closer in captivity, Rhys remains unaware of their connection. When Feyre enters his life, y/n watches in silence as Rhysand falls for her, never revealing the truth of their bond, leading to a heartbreaking end.

Warnings: mentions of SA, abuse, character death, little fluff and too much angst

The first week under Amarantha’s rule was a descent into madness. What had once been kingdoms of power and grace now lay in shambles, High Lords stripped of their freedom, their courts brought to ruin.

Y/n, a lesser member of the Dawn Court, had survived the initial massacre, slipping through the cracks of chaos. She had always lived on the fringes, unnoticed among the more powerful, her quiet presence often overlooked. The beauty of the Dawn Court, with its pale skies and soft mornings, felt like a distant dream now. The dungeons were cold, oppressive—any trace of light long extinguished.

Word of the High Lords’ fates had spread quickly through the prisoners. Rhysand, the infamous High Lord of the Night Court, was said to be one of Amarantha’s most prized captives. His reputation as a cruel, cunning male echoed even in the darkest corners of their cell blocks. Y/n hadn’t expected to meet him, let alone stand face-to-face with the infamous High Lord during her silent wandering through the dim corridors.

Their first encounter was brief, in the murky gloom of a narrow passage. He was alone, his posture rigid, and his normally sharp features were bruised and weary, yet he still held that air of cold authority.

Y/n hadn’t expected him to stop as their paths crossed. But Rhysand’s steps faltered, his gaze locking onto hers. His violet eyes, piercing despite the fatigue, lingered on her face a moment longer than necessary.

“Dawn Court,” he said, his voice low and smooth, though roughened by days of captivity. It wasn’t a question—just an observation.

Y/n hesitated, her heartbeat loud in her chest. “Yes,” she replied softly, meeting his gaze, though her own voice was steadier than she felt.

For a long moment, Rhysand simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. There was no reason for him to notice her, no reason for him to care. She was just another prisoner, a face among many. And yet, something flickered in his eyes—something that made her breath catch, though she couldn’t name it.

They said nothing more, both of them knowing there was no safety in words here. But in that shared silence, a connection was forged—one neither of them could explain, and one that would only grow stronger in the long days ahead.

The second time they met was when y/n was in an injured state. Silently crying while trying to stop the gash on her shoulder blade from bleeding as she quickly made her way through the halls. Past the ugly laughters of Amarantha’s creatures, her loyal servants.

She didn’t know where she was looking or where she was heading as she entered a small washroom. But it was when she lifted her head and saw him, sitting down in the corner, all buttons of his tunic opened to display a toned chest with claw marks all over him, face devoid of any emotion, eyes staring but not truly seeing her.

They just stared like that at one another for long enough before the searing pain in y/n’s shoulder made her hiss and remove her bloody hand from the wound.

She was too busy with disinfecting her wound that y/n didn’t even feel Rhysand get up and come towards her, hint of worry slowly blossoming in his chest as he leaned down next to her sitting form.

“Naga?”

Slightly startled, y/n paused what she was doing and turned to look at his still haunted-looking face.

She shook her head. “Attor.”

He gave her a small nod before raising his hand towards the wet cloth she was gripping.

“May I? I do not believe that you will be able to reach and clean that wound properly.”

Y/n hesitated for a moment, clearly wondering if this was the cruel Rhysand everyone seemed to talk about.

He saw her hesitation and gave her the tiniest of smiles before going back to his indifferent expression once more.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite you.”

Despite the pain, y/n smiled slightly as she handed him the rag. To say she was surprised with how gentle he was, would be an understatement. They said no words, despite the fact that y/n had questions of her own.

Why was he in such a state? Why did he have all these marks on him? Was he with Amarantha? It seems like he doesn’t get enough sleep either. There are dark bags under his eyes.

But she decided against speaking any of them out, still hesitant with her actions. Not to mention the eerie comfort their little moment provided for her. Y/n was sure that this would never happen again.

She was wrong; this happened again.

This time however, under the worst possible circumstances. In Amaranthas bed.

In the past weeks that they were all here, y/n knew that Amarantha would toy with attractive females and males. But she never thought she would one day be a victim to that cruel woman’s sinister desires.

Her greatest nightmare came true.

She did not even do anything out of the ordinary, always keeping to the corners, preferring to stay away from anyone’s gaze. But alas, it appears that y/n was not as invisible as she thought for it was during her moment locked away in the calm quietness of a small dusty bedroom, that she got dragged away by Amaranthas guards towards her bedchamber.

And you could only imagine the shock on her face when she saw Rhysand, half naked with only a towel wrapped around his waist, staring horrified at her while Amarantha, clad in her sheer robe, dismissed the guards and slowly came towards y/n.

Lifting her chin up with two fingers, the queen snickered as she said, “My my, you are even prettier up close, little mouse.”

Y/n could only gulp as she let the queen inspect her as if she was some sort of an animal. Y/n could feel Rhysands unwavering gaze on her as she stared at the ceiling, willing her tears to stay back.

Suddenly, she felt Amarantha's grip tighten as she was forced to look at the woman before her. The queen's gaze thinned as she inched closer to y/n.

"I suppose you are well aware why you are in here then, no need to waste time on explanations. Am I right, Rhys?"

That is when y/n's gaze slightly drifted towards the male standing next to the bed, his face a mask indifference, a relaxed smirk overtaking his features but his hollow eyes needed no explanation.

"Of course, it is a privilege for her to join us."

Amarantha smirked before dragging her towards the bed, marking the start of y/n's nightmares.

That night, she endured too much, did things she never wished to do, all to keep her head on her shoulders. And for some reason, y/n felt as if she was not the only one who suppressed her disgust and cries deep within herself. Rhysand may be a good actor but his stiffness did not fool her.

The fourth and most important time that they met was in a small, forgotten chamber tucked deep within the mountain--dusty, barely used. Y/n found herself there, seeking refuge from the chaos that constantly swirled under Amarantha’s rule. She didn’t expect anyone else to find the room, and yet, there he was again.

Rhysand stood near the entrance, as though he had only just stepped inside. They froze upon seeing one another. For a moment, neither moved, neither spoke. The silence felt almost too heavy to break.

She turned her back to him, focusing on her trembling hands. She didn’t want to meet his gaze, not after what they’d been forced to endure together under Amarantha’s cruelty. The air between them was thick with the unspoken horrors, yet there was an odd pull, a silent understanding that neither acknowledged.

“I thought I’d be alone,” she muttered, not quite sure why she felt the need to say anything.

“So did I,” came his quiet reply. His voice lacked the arrogant lilt she often heard when he spoke to others. There was something raw about him now, stripped of pretense.

A beat passed before she stood, avoiding his gaze as she brushed off the dust from her skirt. She intended to leave, to disappear before this fragile quiet shattered. But as she took a step, her body faltered, pain from her old injury flaring up again. She hissed through her teeth, clutching her shoulder.

Rhysand moved then, quicker than she expected, stepping closer without hesitation. “You’re hurt again.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation, but there was no pity in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, stepping back. Her pride wouldn’t let her show weakness in front of him.

He watched her for a long moment, eyes narrowing, not with judgment, but with something closer to understanding. He reached out slowly, carefully, as if giving her the chance to move away. When she didn’t, he gestured to the bench behind her. “Sit. I’ll help.”

She hesitated but gave in. She couldn’t bandage the wound herself—not again. Sitting down, she stiffened as he moved to her side, his presence too close, too intimate for comfort. His hands were steady as he inspected the gash. She tried to hide her discomfort as he worked, gently cleaning the wound with a damp cloth. The touch was too careful for someone rumored to be Amarantha’s most favored, the cold High Lord with a cruel reputation.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The silence was comfortable, though, more than it had ever been before. When Rhysand finally did speak, his voice was barely above a murmur. “We haven’t been properly introduced.” He didn’t ask for her name—simply left the sentence hanging, an invitation she could take or leave.

She glanced at him, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Y/n,” she said quietly, watching him closely.

“Y/n,” he repeated, as though testing the sound of it. He gave her the faintest hint of a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was the closest she had seen to something genuine.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look at him, really look at him, beyond the mask he wore so well. She saw the exhaustion in his eyes, the weight he carried. The cruelty he endured, just like her.

“You don’t act like them,” she found herself whispering before she could stop herself. “Like the others.”

He paused, his hands still on her bandage. “Neither do you.”

It wasn’t a comfort, not exactly. But it was something, a crack in the armor they both wore.

Y/n remained still as Rhysand finished tending to her wound, his touch light and careful, the silence stretching between them. She couldn’t help but glance at him again—his face too calm, too composed for someone who had just been through hell. The weight of what had happened in Amarantha’s chamber hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken yet impossible to ignore.

As he tied off the bandage, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, her voice barely above a whisper, “Do you… endure that every day?”

Her words lingered, and she saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes. Pain, perhaps. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by the same detached mask he always wore. Rhysand straightened, his expression carefully neutral as he moved away, putting space between them.

“It’s nothing,” he said, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Amarantha has her ways of amusing herself.”

Y/n stared at him, not buying his attempt to brush it off. She had seen the claw marks, the bruises, the hollowness in his eyes. She had been there—seen the humiliation, the cruelty, the powerlessness they both shared. How could he call it ‘nothing’?

“It’s not nothing,” she said quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay composed. “What she does… what we endure… it’s—”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice a little sharper than before. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know.”

She blinked at him, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to reach him through the walls he had built around himself. There was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but the weight of it all seemed too much, too heavy to put into words.

Y/n’s eyes flickered over his face, searching for something beneath the mask of indifference he wore so easily. His sharp retort had silenced her, but only for a moment. The silence felt too heavy, too suffocating, after what they had both gone through.

She took a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain from her wound. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for—maybe for prying, maybe for the awful reality they were trapped in, or maybe for the fact that she didn’t know how to help him, how to help either of them.

Rhysand’s gaze shifted, finally landing back on her. His expression softened ever so slightly, the hard edges dulling for just a moment. “Don’t be,” he said quietly, almost as if he regretted snapping at her earlier.

They sat in silence for a few more moments, both of them staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. Y/n thought of the nightmarish hours she’d spent under Amarantha’s cruel hands, of the helplessness that had consumed her. She glanced at him, wondering how he endured it—if he truly had to endure it every day.

“Does she—” she hesitated, her voice catching in her throat. “Does she make you go through that every day?”

Rhysand’s jaw clenched slightly, his eyes hardening once more. “What does it matter?” he said, his voice a touch colder than before. “We all suffer under her. It’s just… the way things are.”

Y/n frowned, the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. “It matters,” she insisted, her voice firmer this time. “You shouldn’t have to—none of us should.”

Rhysand didn’t respond for a moment. Instead, he looked away, his fingers tracing idle patterns along the stone wall behind him. His silence told her more than his words could. He was used to it, accustomed to the horrors that Amarantha inflicted.

She swallowed, her heart heavy. “I—I don’t know how you do it,” she admitted softly, her voice barely audible. “I don’t think I can survive this… not like this.”

Rhysand’s gaze returned to her, softer this time, almost contemplative. “You will,” he said quietly, his tone lacking its earlier sharpness. “You’ll survive because you have to.”

There was something about the way he said it—a quiet strength, a stubborn determination that made her believe him, even when everything around them felt hopeless.

Y/n didn’t respond. She simply nodded, grateful for the small comfort his words offered, even if they both knew there were no real solutions to their nightmare.

For a long moment, they stayed like that—two people trapped in hell, offering each other a sliver of solace in the aftermath of horrors too cruel to fully comprehend. Neither of them said anything more, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. It wasn’t love, it wasn’t affection. It was survival.

And, for now, that was enough.

After that moment, something significant shifted between them. Slowly, their random encounters turned into frequent secret meetups each planned with a sense of urgency and longing. They began to seek each other out, carving out spaces in the darkness where they could share their thoughts, fears, and dreams, knowing that, in this hellish place, they were the only ones who truly understood each other.

Y/n discovered that she felt safe with him in a way she hadn’t expected. In the quiet corners of the mountain, they would talk for hours, sharing fragments of their lives, their laughter echoing softly against the stone walls. Rhysand learned about her past life, about her love for creating things, about her resilience, how she had survived Amarantha’s cruelty by retreating into herself, clinging to the memories of a life before the darkness. In turn, she learned about his burdens—the weight of his responsibilities as the High Lord, the pain of leaving his people and his family behind, possibly to never see them again. They were both trapped, but in each other, they found a flicker of hope.

They often sat close, their shoulders brushing, sharing the warmth that lingered between them. There were moments when words felt insufficient, and they would simply sit in comfortable silence, allowing their thoughts to intertwine without the need for spoken language. Each small interaction deepened their bond, and soon they were exchanging not just stories, but pieces of themselves.

One evening, while hiding in their usual alcove, Y/n noticed the weariness in Rhysand’s eyes. She hesitated before speaking, her heart racing. “Do you ever wish you could escape?” she asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Rhysand turned to her, his expression contemplative. “Every day,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I know it’s not that simple.”

Y/n nodded, understanding the truth behind his words. “It’s exhausting, isn’t it? Pretending to be fine when inside, you feel like you’re breaking.”

He looked at her, surprise flashing across his features. “You feel it too?”

“More than I care to admit,” she replied, her eyes meeting his. “Sometimes I wonder if it will ever end. If I’ll ever be free of this.”

Rhysand sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I think about that a lot. But then I remember the people who are counting on me. If I give up, what happens to them?”

She could see the heaviness of his thoughts weighing him down. “You’re strong, Rhysand,” she said softly. “Stronger than any of us realize.”

He chuckled, but it was devoid of true mirth. “Strength doesn’t mean I don’t feel pain.”

“Then we can feel it together,” she offered, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’d rather share the burden than carry it alone.”

He met her gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I think I’d like that.”

From that day on, they became each other’s refuge. They shared not only their burdens but also their dreams, hopes, and fears. Rhysand learned about the small things that made Y/n smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the stars, the gentle way she held herself, as if trying to protect the light within her from being extinguished.

Y/n discovered Rhysand’s love for stories, how he could lose himself in the tales of distant lands and daring adventures. They created their own world within the confines of the mountain, where laughter could exist amid the pain, where dreams could be whispered even in the darkest of nights.

With each passing day, they grew closer, their friendship blossoming into something beautiful amidst the horror surrounding them. There was an unspoken promise that they would be there for each other, no matter what. And in that, they found the strength to keep going, to endure the trials that awaited them, together.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and months turned into years as they kept enduring the horrors under Amarantha’s reign, no one strong enough to defeat her. The passage of time blurred in the darkness, a relentless cycle of survival. Each day brought new cruelties, new horrors that left Y/n and Rhysand feeling more and more hollow inside. Yet, through it all, they clung to the solace they found in each other.

Their secret meetings had become a lifeline. Whenever they could steal a moment away from the prying eyes of Amarantha’s spies, they would retreat into the shadowed corners of the mountain, seeking each other’s presence. Their conversations had grown more comfortable over time, the once hesitant exchanges now flowing with ease. Y/n learned more about Rhysand’s burdens, about the sacrifices he made each day to keep his people alive, even at the cost of his own soul.

In return, Rhysand slowly unraveled the mystery of Y/n. She was no longer the quiet, invisible courtier he had first met in the halls. Her resilience and strength had revealed themselves with each passing day, though she remained ever-watchful, always cautious. The horrors she had endured were scars, both physical and emotional, yet she never let them break her. And Rhysand admired her for it, though he kept his thoughts carefully hidden behind his usual smirks and playful retorts.

They didn’t talk much about what happened in Amarantha’s bed that night. It was an unspoken thing, something that lingered between them, always there, but never addressed directly. It didn’t need to be. They both knew the depths of the hell they were living in, and acknowledging that shared nightmare in words would only make it worse.

Still, there were times when Y/n would look at Rhysand, her gaze searching, wondering how he bore the weight of Amarantha’s twisted games day after day. She saw the toll it took on him, even if he never spoke of it.There were days when he would return from Amarantha’s bedchamber with new scars, fresh wounds both seen and unseen, and Y/n could do nothing but offer her quiet companionship, hoping that in some small way, her presence was enough.

On one such occasion, after another brutal encounter with the queen, Y/n found Rhysand sitting alone in the dark, his usual mask of indifference slipping for just a moment. She hesitated before sitting beside him, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“Why does she do this to you?” she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.

Rhysand didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on some distant point. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” she said, her heart aching for him in a way she hadn’t expected.

For a long time, he didn’t respond, and Y/n wondered if she had overstepped. But then, in the quietest of voices, he said, “Because I am her greatest weapon that needs to be kept under control.”

The weight of his admission hung in the air, and Y/n felt a pang of sorrow deep in her chest. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, though she knew her words could do nothing to ease his pain.

Rhysand shook his head, brushing off her concern with a forced smile. “Don’t be. It’s the price we pay to survive.”

But Y/n could see through the facade. She knew him well enough by now to recognize the cracks in his armor, the moments when the strain of it all became too much. In those moments, she stayed close, offering her quiet support without pushing him to speak. She had come to understand that Rhysand didn’t need words—he needed the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone.

As time passed, their bond deepened, a quiet understanding settling between them. They no longer had to speak to know what the other was feeling. A glance, a touch, the smallest of gestures—these were enough to convey the unspoken trust that had grown between them. Together, they weathered the endless torment of Amarantha’s rule, finding strength in their shared moments, no matter how brief.

But as the years dragged on, a sense of hopelessness began to creep in. Amarantha’s power seemed insurmountable, her cruelty unmatched. The courts remained shattered, the High Lords too broken to mount any sort of rebellion. The mountain felt like a prison, and escape seemed impossible.

Then, whispers of a new arrival began to spread through the court. A mortal girl, brought under the mountain to fulfill some kind of bargain with Amarantha. It seemed like just another piece of cruel entertainment for the queen, another pawn in her twisted game. But something was different this time. Rhysand’s gaze would grow distant whenever her name was mentioned, as if he knew something no one else did. Y/n noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor, the way his usual indifference was replaced with a flicker of… hope?

As Feyre’s presence in the court grew, so did the undercurrent of tension that seemed to ripple through Amarantha’s throne room. Something was happening, something none of them could quite understand. But Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that this mortal girl—this Feyre—was important. That maybe, just maybe, the end of their nightmare was closer than any of them realized.

What y/n also realized, was that Rhysand was her mate.

It happened suddenly, during one of Amarantha’s night feasts, a regular, twisted event that Y/n had come to despise. This particular one, however, was the night before Feyre’s first trial.

Y/n stood in the corner, as usual, staying away from the crowd. She preferred to inspect rather than socialize, to keep her distance from the cruel games and manipulations happening all around her. Rhysand was on the opposite side of the grand hall, his mask of indifference and cruelty firmly in place as he entertained conversation with a few other high-fae, Amarantha’s loyal followers. He played his role perfectly, as he always did.

But then, in a fleeting moment, their eyes met.

Y/n felt it immediately—the rush of warmth, the pull so strong it almost knocked the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t just the connection they had built over the years or the understanding they shared. No, this was deeper. A primal force that surged within her, a tether she had never felt before, snapping into place.

Rhysand was her mate.

The realization hit her like a blow, sharp and undeniable. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze as the bond thrummed between them. She had heard of the mating bond before, of course, but to feel it, to know that it was him…

Her heart both soared and sank. She couldn’t deny it, couldn’t push it away, but looking at him—his cold mask in place, his focus elsewhere—made her chest tighten with an ache she didn’t know how to suppress.

Rhysand didn’t seem to feel it, didn’t react in any way that might indicate he knew. His gaze lingered on her for a brief second before turning back to the high-fae beside him, the moment passing without acknowledgment.

Y/n stood frozen, the world around her muted as the bond settled within her, painfully unreciprocated.

As Feyre passed her first trial, everything began to shift.

At first, Y/n tried to dismiss it as coincidence—Rhysand had his own burdens, after all, his own games to play. But soon, the cracks in their fragile friendship became too large to ignore. Where before, he would seek her out, find quiet moments in the hidden corners of the mountain to sit with her, to speak about everything and nothing—those moments became fewer and farther between.

The subtle change came in waves. Rhysand started missing their meetups. First, it was only one night, then two, then an entire week would pass without a word. Y/n waited in their usual spots, always hoping he would walk through the door, but instead, she was met with silence. The longer the absence stretched, the deeper the ache in her chest grew.

But the worst came during Amarantha’s nightly feasts. Poor Feyre, clearly not jn a right state of mind, was paraded around the hall, her limbs loose and her eyes unfocused, as Rhysand dragged her onto the floor to dance. Y/n could barely stomach it.

Night after night, she watched as his focus shifted to Feyre—the human girl who was just trying to survive, just like them all. Yet it was in those dances, in the way his eyes lingered on Feyre’s face, even behind the mask of cruelty he wore, that Y/n felt her heart begin to shatter.

She tried to tell herself it was all part of the act, a necessary facade to keep Amarantha’s eyes off him, to protect the bigger plan. But each night, as she watched them dance, watched Feyre’s body against his, her hope withered.

The bond that had once filled her with warmth and joy now twisted inside her, a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t possibly know. Of what she could never tell him. Rhysand had no idea that she was his mate. How could he, when his attention had shifted so completely to Feyre?

And Y/n—heartbroken, invisible—could do nothing but endure it, watching as the only person who had ever understood her slipped further and further away.

The nights dragged on, the darkness under the mountain becoming suffocating as Feyre moved through her trials. Each one more harrowing than the last, each step pushing her closer to death. And with each passing trial, Rhysand's attention shifted further away from Y/n.

Y/n had never felt more alone. Every night, she stood in the shadows, watching as Rhysand danced with Feyre, his hand on her waist, his voice soft in her ear. It had started as part of the game, part of his endless manipulation of Amarantha’s court, but Y/n could see it—he was changing. His mask, once a weapon, now felt more like a shield protecting him from the truth. And the truth was devastating: Rhysand no longer came to her. He no longer sought her out in the quiet corners of the mountain.

The bond between them, once so unmistakable, now felt like a heavy chain around her neck, pulling her deeper into despair with every passing day.

When Feyre passed her final trial and was killed by Amarantha, Y/n’s world collapsed. She had watched it all unfold—the moment the human girl fell, her chest stilling, her life snuffed out in an instant. And Rhysand—he was the first one to cry out her name. His voice, filled with anguish and desperation, echoed through the hall, and Y/n’s heart shattered into a million pieces.

He rushed to Feyre's side, his face twisted in agony, and without hesitation, he was the first to give a sliver of his power to bring her back. His hands trembled as he leaned over her, tears brimming in his eyes. His voice cracked when he whispered her name again, as though she was the only one who mattered, the only one who had ever mattered.

Y/n stood there, frozen, her own pain drowned out by the overwhelming scene before her. Rhysand hadn't even glanced her way, hadn't acknowledged her presence. It was as if she no longer existed.

And when Amarantha finally fell, when Feyre was brought back to life as an immortal by the combined powers of the High Lords, Y/n felt as though the final thread of her connection to Rhysand had been severed.

Afterward, in the aftermath of Amarantha's death and Feyre's new immortality, Y/n tried—she truly tried to speak with him, to make him see her again, to understand what had been between them before all of this. She sought him out in the quiet halls, waited for him in the places they used to meet, hoping, praying that he would remember.

Finally, on the last night, before they all left this 50 years of hell behind, she found him standing alone on a balcony overlooking the endless expanse of darkness. She approached him, her heart in her throat.

“Rhys,” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned, but there was no warmth in his gaze. His eyes, once full of shared understanding and adoration, were distant, hollow.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you,” she began, her words faltering as she took in the emptiness on his face.

Rhysand looked away, his jaw clenched. “I’ve been… distracted.”

“With Feyre,” she finished, her voice breaking despite her best efforts to remain composed.

There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. “I think… I think Feyre is my mate.”

Y/n felt the world tilt beneath her feet, the words hitting her like a dagger to the chest. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him the truth, to scream that she was his mate—but the words wouldn’t come.

Rhysand didn’t notice her silence, didn’t notice the way her hands trembled. He kept talking, his voice growing softer, more introspective. “I’m falling for her, Y/n. I didn’t expect it, but... I can’t stop it.”

Y/n’s heart shattered all over again, the bond between them twisting into something unbearable. She had lost him.

The dawn was cold, a pale light creeping over the horizon, casting the mountain in a dim, unforgiving glow. Y/n stood alone in the shadows, her heart heavy with the weight of the last fifty years, the torture they had endured, the nightmares that would never fully leave them. But now, with Amarantha dead, it was all over. The chains were gone. The horrors were fading into the past, and everyone was finally going home.

Everyone except her.

She had known it was coming—the end of it all. She had prepared herself for the fact that Rhysand might leave, that Feyre might take him from her entirely. But no amount of preparation had lessened the crushing weight in her chest as she watched from the shadows. She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t even wanted to. The last few days had blurred together in a haze of pain, confusion, and heartbreak.

And now, standing in the pale light of dawn, she saw them.

Rhysand and Feyre.

They were on the balcony above, just as the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow over the both of them. Feyre, still recovering, stood close to him, her face soft with something Y/n couldn’t bear to name. Rhysand was beside her, his posture relaxed, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked out over the horizon. His arm brushed against Feyre’s, the contact so light, so natural, as if it had always been that way.

Y/n’s throat tightened, her heart splintering with every passing second. He hadn’t come to say goodbye. Not a word. Not a glance.

Just silence.

She had spent fifty years enduring alongside him, had suffered the same horrors, shared quiet moments of solace when everything else was falling apart. She had been there when no one else had, and yet, as the dawn broke over the mountains, Rhysand was leaving—without a single word to her. Without a goodbye.

Her fingers gripped the stone railing as she forced herself to breathe, to stay steady, even as she felt herself crumbling from the inside out.

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that she was his mate, that they were bound by something deeper, something that should have been unbreakable. And he never would. Because in his heart, in his mind, there was only Feyre now.

As she watched him smile at the mortal-turned-immortal girl, Y/n felt the devastating finality of it all settle in her bones. She wasn’t just losing him—she had lost him. Completely. And there was nothing she could do to bring him back.

The bond between them, the one she had hoped he would feel someday, was nothing but a silent scream in her chest now. Unheard, unnoticed, unacknowledged.

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, not wanting to let herself break. Not here. Not now. Not when it was already too late.

She took one last look at them—at the male who had once been her solace, her anchor in the storm, and at the woman who had unknowingly taken him from her.

With a shaky breath, Y/n turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer. Each step she took felt heavier, like the weight of the entire world was pressing down on her. The corridors were eerily quiet now that Amarantha’s reign had ended, and the mountain had become a place of ghostly memories.

Rhysand would leave. He would go back to Velaris, to his Court of Dreams, to the freedom they had all been denied for so long. And he would do it without a second thought for her. Feyre had captured his attention, his heart, and Y/n was nothing but a shadow now, left behind in the wake of a love she would never know.

She found herself walking to the same small, hidden room they had once met in—the one where they had shared their darkest fears and moments of fragile comfort. But those days were gone. Everything was different now.

Sitting on the bed, Y/n let the silence engulf her. The ache in her chest was unbearable, but she welcomed it. It was better than the numbness she feared would consume her next. She had thought, somehow, that once Amarantha was gone, things might get better. That they could both move forward, together, maybe find peace in each other’s presence. But that had been foolish.

The truth was undeniable now—she was alone.

The mating bond, the one she had felt so fiercely, was not enough. Rhysand had made his choice, whether he knew it or not. Feyre was his future, his heart, his everything.

And Y/n? She would be forgotten.

The bitter taste of rejection burned in her throat as she closed her eyes, trying to will away the memories, the stolen glances, the nights spent in shared pain. Everything she had held onto was slipping away, dissolving like smoke.

For the first time in years, she let herself cry. She cried for the love she never had, for the bond that would never be fulfilled, for the pieces of her heart that would never be whole again. She cried for the girl she had been before all this, before Amarantha, before Rhysand, before the endless cycle of hope and despair had shattered her into something unrecognizable.

By the time the sun had fully risen, her tears had dried, leaving only a hollow ache in their place.

Rhysand would leave, Feyre at his side, and Y/n would remain behind, her presence a forgotten whisper in the chaos of everything else.

She rose from the bed, her movements slow, mechanical. There was nothing left for her here. The mountain, the memories, the unspoken bond—it was all gone. She had to leave, too. But not with him. Never with him.

As she walked out of the room, out of the mountain, her heart broke all over again. This was her ending—quiet, unseen, devastating.

Rhysand had left without a goodbye, but perhaps that was the greatest goodbye of all. A final, unspoken severing of whatever connection they had once shared.

Y/n wandered through the wilderness, aimlessly walking with no direction or purpose. The vast world around her felt empty—silent. She had no family to return to, no place where she belonged. Every step she took was heavy, each one pulling her deeper into the pit of despair she could no longer escape.

For years, she’d clung to the hope that she mattered to someone—that perhaps in Rhysand, she had found solace, a connection that could keep her afloat through the darkness. But now, after everything, it was clear. She had never mattered—not to him, not to anyone.

The night before, she’d watched him with Feyre, saw the way his eyes had softened, how he had stayed by her side, even after the final battle had ended. He had fought for Feyre, bled for her, mourned for her as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. And Y/n… she had been invisible, a forgotten shadow in the corner, her existence as meaningless as it had always been.

She had seen him and Feyre on the balcony that dawn, the soft glow of morning casting a light around them as Rhysand whispered something only Feyre could hear. Y/n had watched as Rhysand came closer to Feyre, giving her a devastatingly charming smile that shattered her heart beyond repair.

Y/n continued walking, the cold wind biting at her skin, but she felt none of it. The ache inside her, the hollow feeling in her chest, drowned out everything else. She had no reason to go on, no reason to fight anymore. She had fought for years, survived the unthinkable, only to come out of it more broken than before.

There was nothing left for her. No purpose. No place. No one.

Her steps slowed as she reached a cliffside, the jagged rocks below barely visible in the early morning light. The sea roared beneath her, its angry waves crashing against the stones. She stood at the edge, staring into the abyss, the overwhelming emptiness pulling her in.

The bond she had thought was hers belonged to someone else now. Rhysand had chosen Feyre, had found his mate in her. Y/n was nothing more than a fleeting moment—a forgotten soul in a sea of others.

And now, she was ready to let go.

With one last breath, Y/n closed her eyes, stepping forward into the void, letting the wind carry her into the nothingness where she had always belonged.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[heyjudeb]

I'm proud of you - Jude Bellingham

Summary: Comforting sad and defeated Jude after England's loss. Warning: Sad moment, comforting Words: <1k

The referee blows the final whistle.

It was over. England lost. It all happened too quickly. Spain scoring in the last minutes didn't even give us time to process the situation.

I was sitting in the stands with Jude's family. We all shed a tear once the Spanish players started celebrating. Seeing Jude go off to the bench and kick something was a heartbreaking yet scary sight for me. Instantly, I knew that was going to be a sight for the media.

He's not like that at all. He just really wanted this win. With people being all over him, critiquing him, he really wanted to prove them wrong, to make England proud. I couldn't be more proud of him, though. He achieved amazing things in this competition.

As I watched him from afar, I wished I could just run down and hold him, tell him it was okay. I knew how much he had invested in this tournament, how much he had sacrificed. His dedication and his passio were the qualities that made him extraordinary. Those were the reasons why I fell in love with him.

Feeling an overwhelming urge to be closer to him, I excused myself from his family and made my way down to the lower stands, closer to the field. As I approached the edge, I saw Jude pacing back and forth, his frustration evident in every step. When he finally noticed me, our eyes locked. He hesitated for a moment, then walked over.

With his help, I crossed the barrier and immediately fell into his arms, holding his head tightly into my neck. I could feel him shaking from all the emotions he was going through.

"I messed up," he muttered, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

"No, you didn't," I said firmly, my hand gently running through his hair. "You were incredible, baby. You gave it your all." He pulled back slightly, his eyes filled with tears. "It wasn't enough. It wasn't fucking enough." "Hey," I cupped his face gently, putting my forehead against his. "Listen to me. You were amazing out there. You fought so hard, and everyone saw it."

He didn't know what to say. I could see he wanted to let go of everything he was feeling, but the words wouldn't come.

"Just stay calm, baby," I tried to comfort him, reminding him that losing is part of the game and keeping his composure is important. "You can use this to come back even stronger."

I knew my words might not have a big impact on him in that moment. It was all still raw and fresh for him, so I simply held him tighter in my arms. He pulled back slightly, his eyes still glistening. "I have to go, baby. They're going to do the ceremony."

"I know," I said softly. He kissed my forehead.

"I'll meet you afterwards," I told him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He nodded, giving me one last look before turning and walking towards his teammates. As I walked up the stands to where his family was, I felt a mix of pride and heartache.

After England had their moment, Jude walked up to us and hugged his family. They all expressed how proud they were of him, trying not to show any sadness in front of him.

He sat down with his head low. I gently lifted his chin, earning a small, faint smile from him.

"I'm sorry for disappointing you guys," he managed to say to them.

I sat on his lap, holding him close to my chest. It pained me to see him like this, unable to erase his sadness.

"You never disappoint us, Jude," his mom reassured him, holding his hand tightly.

I arrived at my hotel room feeling exhausted and heartbroken for Jude. He had to return to the hotel with the team. There was nothing I wanted more than to have him in my arms and try to ease his sadness, even just a little. I was about to get into bed after finishing my nighttime routine when I heard a faint knock on the door. I opened it to find Jude standing there, his shoulders slumped and a tired look on his face. "They told me it's okay," he said quickly, grabbing my hand and leading me to the bed.

He took off his shirt and sweatpants and collapsed onto the bed, pulling me with him. His head immediately rested on my chest as he hugged me tightly.

"It's going to be okay, baby," I whispered, wrapping my arms around his head and kissing his forehead repeatedly. "These bad feelings will pass, trust me."

I ran my fingers through his hair, knowing it helped him relax and fall asleep. I kept kissing his forehead and cuddling him until I felt his grip around my waist loosen slightly, indicating he had fallen asleep.

"You'll always be my champion, baby," I whispered softly." I love you so much, Jude Bellingham."