#and then the thing goes out into the world

[lunammoon]

You know considering Spite struggles to tell the difference between things that are actually happening in the real world and things Lucanis is constantly thinking about (Lucanis is thrilled to be out of the Ossuary meanwhile Spite is clawing at the wall screaming I'M BACK. IN THE BUILDING. AGAIN!) do you think that after the almost kiss Spite stares at Lucanis, and genuinely baffled goes "You kiss them all the time. What is different now?"

[jupiterpilgrim]

Storm

Dahyun x Male Reader

word count: 5K

The storm’s been pounding the world outside since morning, slashing against the windows like nature itself lost its temper. Inside, though, it’s warm. Smells of butter and chocolate fill the small kitchen as you finish arranging the last handful of popcorn in the bowl. You grab the soda cans, balancing everything like a waiter on a tightrope. In the living room, Dahyun’s voice carries over the rumble of rain.

“Babe! Hurry up!” she whines, her pitch soaring as you hear the soft thuds of her bouncing on the couch cushions. She sounds like a sugar-rushed kid waiting for cake. You can already picture her, legs tucked under her, short pink Hello Kitty shorts riding up her pale thighs, loose shirt hanging off one shoulder. You shake your head with a grin, grabbing a pack of M&Ms to complete the spread.

Three months of living together, and the novelty hasn’t worn off. It’s the little things—how she’ll randomly burst into song while brushing her teeth or how she’s somehow made every corner of the house scream Dahyun. She’s your chaotic little sunbeam, glowing even on days like this, when the world outside feels drenched in gray.

You make your way into the living room. Dahyun’s perched on her knees now, practically vibrating with excitement. “Finally! I thought you were planning a three-course meal back there,” she teases, flashing that toothy grin of hers.

“Snacks are serious business,” you shoot back, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

She claps her hands like a kid at Christmas and immediately snatches the remote. “Okay, okay, let’s do this!” She’s already flicking through the Disney+ menu, landing on the classic she’s been hyping all week. Something bright and nostalgic—perfect for a stormy night.

Just as she’s about to press play, the sky outside splits open. Thunder roars so loud it rattles the windows, and then—bam—everything goes dark.

“AAAAHHHH!” Dahyun shrieks, her voice cutting through the sudden silence. She’s off the couch in a flash, nearly tripping over herself as she stumbles toward you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my GOD!” Her hands clutch at your arm, fingers digging in like a cat trying to climb a tree.

“It’s just a blackout,” you say, but she’s already shaking her head.

“Nope. Nope. Nope,” she chants, squeezing her eyes shut. Her grip tightens as another crack of thunder rolls through, closer this time. She lets out a tiny yelp, burying her face in your chest.

You wrap an arm around her, pulling her close. “Dahyunnie, it’s fine. It’s just weather. It’s not gonna eat you.”

“It feels like it’s gonna eat me,” she mutters into your shirt, voice muffled and pitiful. “What if it doesn’t come back? What if we’re stuck in the dark forever?”

You bite back a laugh, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Forever’s a stretch, don’t you think?”

“Don’t make fun of me!” she pouts, though the corners of her lips twitch. Her hands stay glued to you as she shuffles in place, practically curling into your side like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to sanity.

You guide her back to the couch, sitting down with her practically in your lap. The rain hammers harder against the windows, and every so often the room lights up with a jagged flash of lightning. Each time, Dahyun flinches, burying herself further into you until she’s half-straddling you, her thin little body trembling slightly under the loose shirt.

“You’re really not a fan of storms, huh?” you ask softly, running your fingers through her silky black hair.

“Nope. Never. Hate them,” she mutters, clutching the front of your shirt. “They’re loud, and it’s dark, and it’s like... ugh, I can’t explain it.” She looks up at you, and even though you can't see it properly, you know she's scrunching her nose in that way that always makes your heart flip. “You think I’m dumb.

“I think you’re adorable,” you say, leaning in to nuzzle her. She giggles despite herself, smacking your chest lightly.

“Don’t try to charm me. I’m serious. I feel like a little kid, freaking out like this.”

“You’re my little kid,” you tease, earning another playful slap. “Alright, alright, I get it. But you know what? You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’m here.”

Her fingers relax a little, her body softening against you. She sighs, resting her head on your shoulder. “You always make me feel safe,” she murmurs.

“I mean, I am pretty great,” you joke, earning a snort.

Her laughter is short-lived as another rumble of thunder sends a shiver through her. Her legs twitch slightly where they’re pressed against yours, bare and smooth. You trail your hand down to her thigh, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Hey,” you whisper, tilting her chin up so she’s looking at you. “I know a way to make you forget about the storm.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping low. “Distraction therapy.”

Her lips part, her breath hitching slightly as she catches the mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re ridiculous,” she mumbles, though there’s a flicker of interest in her voice.

“Maybe,” you admit, letting your hand wander just a little higher, brushing the hem of her shorts. “But you love me for it.”

Her cheeks flush pink, the storm momentarily forgotten as she shifts in your lap, the weight of her settling just right.

You move your hand to Dahyun's head, your fingers comb through her hair, the silky strands slipping easily between your fingers. She feels so small in your lap, legs folded up, her cheek pressed against your chest. The rain’s still battering the windows, and the occasional flicker of lightning casts jagged shadows across the room, but you focus on her—on her warmth, her little huffs of nervous breath.

“You okay?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

She nods weakly, though her grip on your shirt hasn’t loosened. “Yeah... I just—tonight was supposed to be fun, you know?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You were excited about the movie.”

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, her pout exaggerated. “Of course I was! It’s a classic! I’ve been talking about it all week, haven’t I?” Her voice lilts with playful indignation, though her eyes are still wide, the thunder’s threat lurking in the back of her mind.

“You’ve been hyping it like it’s the second coming of Christ,” you tease, earning a small giggle.

“Well, yeah,” she says with a dramatic toss of her head. “Now it’s ruined. Stupid storm.” Her gaze drifts toward the window, her mood dipping again. You hate seeing that little flicker of disappointment in her.

“We’ll watch it as soon as the power comes back,” you promise, pulling her closer. “But hey, this just means we’ll have to do this whole thing again. More snacks, more cuddles. Bigger deal.”

She narrows her eyes like she’s considering your pitch, then smirks. “Fine, but only if you let me pick another movie, too.”

“Deal,” you say, grinning, just as another crack of thunder splits the air.

Dahyun screams, loud and high-pitched, the sound stabbing directly into your eardrum. You wince, half-deaf, as she scrambles up against you like she’s trying to climb inside your skin. Her arms lock around your neck, her whole body trembling like a cornered kitten.

“Oh my god, oh my god, I hate this! It feels like the sky is gonna fall!” she wails, voice muffled against your chest.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, stroking her back in slow circles. “It’s just noise. It can’t hurt you.”

“But it feels like it can,” she whimpers, squeezing tighter.

“Hey, listen to me,” you say, tilting her chin up so her glassy eyes meet yours. “You don’t need to be scared, okay? I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you while I’m here.”

She sniffs, her lips wobbling into the faintest smile. “You always say the right thing, huh?”

“It’s a gift,” you say, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “But for real. If you ever feel scared, you just let me know, okay?”

She nods, her voice small. “Okay.”

A pause stretches between you, the storm roaring outside, while inside, it’s just her heartbeat against yours. Finally, you murmur, “You want me to calm you down now? Make you feel good?”

She blinks up at you, her breath catching slightly. “...Yeah,” she whispers, almost shyly.

You lean in, the space between you shrinking. In the dark, neither of you can see clearly, and when your lips meet, there’s a sharp clink—teeth crashing together painfully.

“Shit!” you yelp, pulling back, your hand flying to your mouth.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” she gasps, then bursts out laughing when she sees you clutching your face. “You’re such a dork!”

“Me?! You’re the one who can’t aim!” you shoot back, grinning despite the ache.

She’s still laughing as you cup her face again, this time more careful, your thumb brushing against her cheekbone. “Alright, let’s try this again,” you whisper, and then your lips meet hers properly. It’s soft at first, a tentative press, but the way she melts into you makes you press harder, deeper. Her hands find their way to your shoulders, fingers curling into your shirt as she sighs into your mouth.

The world outside seems to shrink. The storm, the dark, the cold—all of it fades as your bodies draw closer, her warmth against yours. Her lips are so soft, and there’s something addictive about the way she responds, the little noises she makes as your hands trail down her sides, brushing the bare skin of her thighs where her shorts ride up.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads resting together, you whisper, “C’mon. Let’s go to the bedroom.”

She hesitates for half a second, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip, before nodding. “Okay,” she breathes.

The two of you fumble your way through the pitch-black apartment, bumping into furniture and each other. She stifles a giggle when she nearly trips over the coffee table, clutching your hand like it’s her lifeline. By the time you reach the bedroom, both of you are out of breath from laughing, the tension from earlier replaced with something warm, intimate. You push the door open, pulling her inside as lightning flashes outside, casting fleeting silver across her silhouette.

In the dark, her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close again. “Thanks for being my storm shield,” she whispers, her voice soft and teasing.

“Anytime,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her again, this time slower, savoring every second.

Your lips are locked with hers, warm and soft, and it’s like nothing else in the world matters. As you kiss her, you guide her backward, your hands on her waist, steadying her as you move. Her leg bumps against the edge of the bed, and before either of you can react, she stumbles, falling onto the mattress with a surprised laugh.

You’re right there with her, landing softly on top of her. She’s still giggling, her cheeks flushed, and you can’t help but smile down at her. “You okay?” you ask, brushing her hair out of her face.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her voice light, her eyes sparkling in the faint sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Her hands slide up to your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Now kiss me.”

Then your mouth finds hers again, but this time it’s slower, deeper. Your hands roam, sliding down her sides, feeling the soft curve of her waist under the thin fabric of her shirt. She sighs into the kiss, her body relaxing beneath you as you press her into the mattress.

Breaking away from her lips, you start a trail of kisses down her jaw, your lips brushing over the delicate curve until you reach her neck. Her skin is warm and smells faintly of her vanilla body lotion, sweet and intoxicating. You breathe her in, unable to get enough, and press your mouth against her neck, kissing and nipping gently. Her head tilts back, giving you more access, and she lets out this tiny, breathy moan that goes straight to your core.

“God, you smell so good,” you murmur against her skin, your lips moving to her collarbone. She shivers under you, her hands gripping the back of your shirt.

“You always say that,” she whispers, her voice soft but laced with teasing.

“Because it’s true,” you reply, grinning as you kiss the hollow of her throat. She smells like comfort, like home, like something you could drown in and never get tired of. Every kiss draws another little sound from her—a sigh, a gasp, a quiet moan—and each one just spurs you on.

“I love you,” you whisper against her skin, the words tumbling out between kisses.

“I love you too,” she breathes, her voice trembling just slightly, like she’s overwhelmed.

Your hands slide up her sides, gathering the hem of her loose shirt. You pause for a second, giving her a look, then you pull it up, revealing her pale skin inch by inch. The cold air hits her, making her shiver, and you notice the goosebumps rising on her arms. “Cold?” you ask softly.

“A little,” she admits, but there’s a teasing glint in her eye. “You can warm me up, right?”

You smirk. “Oh, I’ve got that covered.”

Her shirt ends up somewhere on the floor, forgotten, as your eyes roam over her. Her chest rises and falls quickly, her breaths shallow, and her almost-flat breasts peek out from under her bra. You lean down, trailing kisses over her skin, starting at her stomach and working your way up, taking your time. Her breathing changes with every kiss, her chest heaving as you kiss the curve of her ribs, the dip between her breasts.

“You know I love these, right?” you murmur, your lips brushing over the top of her bra.

She rolls her eyes playfully, her cheeks flushing pink. “You’ve told me, like, a million times.”

“Yeah, but I never get tired of saying it,” you reply, slipping your fingers under the fabric and pulling the bra down enough to expose her. The cold air makes her nipples stiffen instantly, but your mouth is there a second later, warm and soft, replacing the chill with heat.

She gasps sharply, her back arching slightly as your lips close around her nipple. Your tongue flicks over the sensitive peak, and her hands fly to your hair, tangling in it as she pulls you closer. “God, that feels good,” she whispers, her voice shaky.

You hum against her skin, sucking gently, savoring the way her body reacts to every movement of your mouth. Your free hand slides up to her other breast, your fingers tracing lazy circles around the nipple before giving it a gentle pinch. She moans, her hips shifting under you, and you can feel the warmth of her thighs brushing against yours.

“You’re so perfect,” you say between kisses, moving to her other breast. “I could stay here forever.”

“Don’t say that,” she murmurs, her voice soft but full of emotion. “You’ll make me cry.”

You pause, looking up at her, your lips brushing against her skin. “Good tears or bad tears?”

She smiles down at you, her eyes shining. “Good ones.”

“Then I’ll keep going,” you whisper, lowering your mouth to her again.

Your mouth stays busy on her chest, sucking gently on her nipple while your tongue flicks over the hardened peak, earning another soft moan from her lips. Her fingers are tangled in your hair, tugging slightly whenever you suck harder. It’s like she’s melting under you, her body arching and squirming, her little sounds only encouraging you to keep going.

As your lips trail from one breast to the other, your hand starts to wander. It slides down the flat plane of her stomach, her skin warm and smooth beneath your touch. You pause for a moment, just long enough to feel the slight hitch in her breathing as your fingers reach the waistband of her shorts. You know she's watching you now, her eyes wide and dark, her lips parted like she’s waiting for what’s coming next.

You slip your hand under the fabric of her shorts and panties, your palm brushing against her hip, and immediately feel the heat radiating from her. When your fingers dip lower, the first thing you feel is how wet she already is. A low groan escapes your throat as your fingers slide over her slick folds, and you pull back just enough to murmur against her skin, “You’re soaked, baby.”

“Shut up,” she whispers, her cheeks flushed, but there’s no hiding the way her body reacts. Her hips shift instinctively, pressing herself against your hand, her breath coming out in quick, shaky bursts.

Your fingers glide over her, spreading her wetness as you find her clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles. Her body jerks slightly, a sharp gasp leaving her lips. “Oh my god,” she breathes, her head falling back against the pillow.

“Feel good?” you ask, though the way her thighs tremble and try to close around your hand is answer enough.

“Yes,” she whimpers, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost pleading. “Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you say with a grin, dipping your head back down to her chest. Your lips latch onto her nipple again, sucking harder this time, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make her squirm. At the same time, your fingers slide lower, slipping into her tight, dripping hole.

“Fuck,” you groan against her skin as you feel how warm and snug she is around your fingers. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

She lets out a choked moan, her hands flying to your shoulders, clutching you as your fingers start to move. Slow at first, pumping in and out of her while your thumb circles her clit. Her body reacts instantly, her hips rocking to meet your hand, her moans growing louder with every thrust.

“God, you’re amazing,” you murmur, kissing her chest, her neck, her jaw. “So fucking perfect.”

She’s trembling now, her breathing ragged as you pick up the pace. Your fingers curl inside her, finding that spot that makes her gasp and cling to you like her life depends on it. “Right there,” she cries out, her nails digging into your skin. “Fuck, don’t stop, right there.”

“Anything for you,” you whisper, your voice low and thick with desire. Your thumb presses harder against her clit, and you feel her walls tighten around your fingers, her body tensing. Her moans are louder now, more desperate, her head tossing back as her legs start to shake.

It’s all too much for her—your mouth on her breasts, your fingers buried deep in her slick pussy, pumping and curling just right. Every time you move, every time you kiss her skin, her little moans grow louder, her hips rocking against your hand like she can’t get enough. Her nails dig into your shoulders as she gasps for air, her voice breaking into shaky little whimpers.

But even with all that, it’s not enough for her. She can feel the weight of your cock pressing against her thigh, thick and heavy, the heat of it radiating through your pants. It’s driving her insane. Her hips jerk erratically, chasing a friction that isn’t there, and her head tilts back as she lets out a desperate, needy moan.

“Babe,” she whines, her voice trembling, almost pathetic with how desperate she sounds. “I need you. Please. I need it.”

Her words make your cock throb, the sheer hunger in her tone lighting a fire in your chest. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you look down at her. “You need what?” you ask, teasing, though your voice is rough, your own need barely held in check.

She groans in frustration, her cheeks flushed, her thighs trembling. “You know what I need!” she cries, her hands sliding down your chest, trying to tug at the waistband of your pants. “Please, I need your cock. I can’t wait anymore.”

The way she’s begging, her voice cracking with need, only makes you harder. Your fingers slow their pace inside her, and she whimpers at the loss of momentum, squirming beneath you. “You really want it that bad?” you murmur, pulling your hand out of her and holding it up before putting two fingers in your mouth to taste it. “You’re dripping for me, baby.”

“Yes!” she gasps, her hands fumbling with the button of your pants now, her impatience clear in every movement. “Please, just—just fuck me already. I need you.”

Her begging snaps what little control you were holding onto. “Alright,” you growl, sitting back on your knees and shoving your pants down. You don’t bother with underwear—you’re not wearing any—and your cock springs free, thick and hard, the tip already glistening with precum. Dahyun's small hand immediately wraps around your cock, stroking it lightly, her breath catching.

“You’re so big,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

“Then come and get it,” you reply, leaning back against the headboard, your cock resting against your stomach, throbbing with anticipation.

She doesn’t hesitate. Her hands go to her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her shorts follow along with her panties, and now she’s naked, her pale skin glowing in the darkness. She’s perfect, every curve, every line of her body making your mouth water.

You grab her hips as she climbs onto your lap, straddling you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your thighs. “You sure you can handle it?” you tease, your hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the soft flesh.

“Shut up,” she mutters. “I need it.”

Her hands grip your shoulders as she tries to position herself, her body brushing against yours in the process. You can feel the heat of her pussy against your cock, and it makes you groan, your hands tightening on her hips.

“It’s hard to see,” she murmurs, frustration creeping into her tone as she shifts, trying to line herself up in the dark.

“Take your time, baby,” you say, though your voice is strained. Every time her slick folds brush against your cock, it sends a jolt of electricity through you. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Finally, she finds the angle she needs, and you both moan as the tip of your cock presses against her entrance. Slowly, she starts to sink down, her tight pussy stretching around you inch by inch.

“Fuck,” she gasps, her head falling forward, her nails digging into your shoulders as she lowers herself. “You’re so... fucking... big.”

“You’re so tight,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips as you try not to buck up into her. The heat and wetness of her pussy, the way it clenches around you, makes it almost impossible to stay still. “God, you feel so good.”

She’s breathing hard, her thighs trembling as she takes more of you, her pussy stretching to accommodate your girth. It’s slow, almost torturous, but finally, she’s seated all the way down, her ass resting against your thighs. She lets out a shaky moan of relief, her head falling back as her body adjusts to the fullness.

“Fuck,” she whispers, her voice shaky. “You’re so deep... I can feel you everywhere.”

You tilt your head back, groaning as her walls flutter around you. “You’re perfect,” you murmur, your hands sliding up her sides, holding her steady as she starts to move. “Ride me, baby. Show me how much you need it.”

The moment Dahyun starts moving, you know you’re in trouble. She wastes no time, her hips rolling and bouncing, her tight, wet pussy gripping you like a fucking vice. It’s almost overwhelming—how snug she is, how her heat wraps around you, dragging you deeper with every thrust. Even in the dark, with the only light coming from the occasional flicker of lightning outside, you don’t need to see her to know she looks incredible. Her small, pale body moving on top of you, her thighs trembling as she rides you like her life depends on it—you can feel it all, and it’s driving you insane.

“Fuck,” you groan, your hands gripping her hips, guiding her movements as she starts to pick up speed. “You’re so fucking tight, baby.”

Her moans grow louder, higher-pitched, the sound raw and needy as she rocks her hips against you. Her hands are braced on your chest, her nails digging in for leverage as she moves. “God,” she whimpers, her voice shaky but insistent. “You’re so big. So fucking thick. I can feel you stretching me out.”

Your cock throbs at her words, a low growl rumbling in your chest. She always says shit like that, like she knows exactly how to get under your skin, how to push you closer to the edge. And fuck, it works every time. “You love it, don’t you?” you mutter, your voice rough. “You love how my cock fills you up.”

“Yes,” she cries out, her pace quickening, the wet sound of her pussy taking you echoing through the room. “I love it so much. I’m fucking addicted to it. To you.”

Her confession makes your grip on her hips tighten, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you help guide her movements. You can feel her tight little ass rubbing against your pelvis with every bounce, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. “You feel so fucking good, Dahyun,” you groan, your head tilting back as she keeps going. “I can never get enough of you.”

The rain outside seems to be coming down harder, the sound of it pounding against the windows mixing with the slap of her skin against yours. Thunder rolls through the sky, loud and sharp, but neither of you pays it any attention. She’s too focused on the way your cock fills her, and you’re too caught up in the way her pussy clenches around you, milking you like she never wants to let go.

“You’re so deep,” she moans, her voice breaking slightly as she leans forward, her breath hot against your neck. “I can feel you... fuck, I can feel you in my stomach.”

Her words make your cock twitch, and you glance down, even in the dim light, knowing exactly what she’s talking about. She’s so small, her frame so petite, that every time you’re buried inside her, you can see the faint outline of your cock bulging in her lower belly. It’s fucking intoxicating, knowing how much you fill her, how her tiny body takes you so perfectly.

“Look at that,” you murmur, your hand sliding between you to press gently against her stomach. She lets out a choked gasp, her hips stuttering for a moment as she feels the added pressure. “You feel that? That’s me, baby. That’s my cock inside you.”

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice high and shaky. “I feel it... I love it. I love how big you are. How you stretch me out.”

“Keep going,” you tell her, your hands moving back to her hips, urging her to keep moving. “Ride me, baby. Don’t stop.”

She doesn’t need any more encouragement. Her pace quickens again, her hips slamming down onto you with a desperate rhythm. Her moans grow louder, more frantic, the sound mixing with the rain and thunder as she completely loses herself in the feeling of you. Her thighs are trembling against your sides, her body working overtime to take all of you, but she doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down.

“God, you’re amazing,” you groan, your hands roaming up and down her body, over her ribs, her waist, her thighs. “You’re so fucking perfect, Dahyun. I could watch you do this all night.”

“Then don’t stop watching,” she gasps, her voice breathless but teasing. “I’ll ride you as long as you want.”

And fuck, she means it. Even though you haven’t cum yet, and neither has she, the way she’s moving, the way her pussy grips you like she never wants to let you go—it’s enough to make you feel like you could lose it at any second. But you hold on, watching as she keeps going, her moans and gasps filling the room as she rides you like there’s no tomorrow.

Dahyun’s movements are growing more frantic now, her slim body bouncing on your cock with wild abandon. Her moans are louder, breathless and unrestrained, filling the room as her hips slap against yours. The wet, messy sounds of her tight pussy taking you echo beneath the storm outside, the rain beating against the windows a steady, distant drum. Her small hands cling to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin as she rides you like she can’t get enough.

“Fuck, baby,” you groan, your hands gripping her waist to steady her. “You’re so fucking good. Keep going, just like that.”

Her moans hitch, turning higher-pitched as she leans back slightly, her head tilting toward the ceiling. “It’s so good,” she whimpers, her voice shaky. “You’re so big—I feel so full.”

“Yeah?” you ask, your fingers pressing harder into her hips. “You like how my cock stretches you, don’t you?”

“Yes!” she cries out, her pace quickening as her thighs tremble around you. “I love it. I love you. It’s too much, I’m—” Her words break off into a sharp gasp, her body shuddering as she continues to bounce, every movement sending jolts of pleasure through both of you.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” you murmur, your voice rough and low as you watch her fall apart on top of you.

She nods frantically, her hands sliding up to your chest as she leans forward, her petite frame trembling with every movement. “So close,” she breathes, her voice almost a sob. “I can’t—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come here,” you interrupt, your voice firm but gentle as you pull her closer. She leans down, her breasts brushing against your chest, her flushed face inches from yours. You catch her lips in a messy, desperate kiss, your hands sliding up her back to hold her against you. She moans into your mouth, her hips still rocking against yours as you take over.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” you whisper against her lips, your breath hot and heavy. “Hold on tight, baby.”

With that, you adjust your legs on the bed, planting your feet for better leverage. Your hands move to her hips, holding her steady as you start to thrust up into her, hard and fast. The first deep, powerful stroke makes her cry out, her body jolting against yours.

“Oh my god!” she gasps, her voice high-pitched and trembling as you pound into her tight, soaking pussy.

“You like that?” you growl, your thrusts relentless as you drive into her over and over, each one hitting deeper, harder, making her walls squeeze around you like a vice.

“Yes! Yes, fuck, yes!” she screams, her head dropping onto your shoulder as her nails rake down your back. “I love it! Don’t stop—please don’t stop!”

Her moans are louder now, right in your ear, and fuck, it’s exactly what you need. The sound of her losing herself, the way her voice breaks with every thrust, sends a thrill through you. “That’s it,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “Keep moaning for me, baby. Let me hear how good it feels.”

She doesn’t hold back, her cries spilling out freely as you keep slamming into her, your cock hitting her deep, her pussy clenching tighter with every thrust. “It’s so good,” she babbles, her words slurring together. “You’re so good, so big, I can’t—I’m gonna—oh god, I’m gonna—”

“Come on, Dahyun,” you urge her, your voice low and rough. “Let go. Cum for me. I want to feel you.”

Her body stiffens suddenly, her back arching as she lets out a sharp, broken cry. “Oh fuck!” she screams, her walls clamping down around you as she finally falls over the edge. Her whole body shakes, her hips jerking erratically as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her.

You keep thrusting into her, your cock buried to the hilt as her orgasm rips through her. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, so tight it’s almost painful, but you don’t stop. You grind deeper, chasing that sweet friction even as she squirms, her breath hitching in overstimulated gasps.

“Too much—too much,” she whines, her voice cracking, but her hips jerk forward anyway, betraying her. You can’t see her face in the dark, but you know she’s rolling her eyes—that mix of annoyed and amused she always gets when you push her past her limits.

“You love it,” you growl, slowing just enough to let her catch her breath, your hands pinning her trembling thighs wide. Her skin is slick with sweat, the air thick with the musky scent of sex and her vanilla lotion.

She collapses against your chest, panting, her heartbeat wild against yours. “You’re… insane,” she mutters, but there’s a laugh tangled in her words. Her fingers trace lazy circles on your shoulder, shaky but still teasing.

You smirk, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Not even close to done with you.”

Before she can protest, you flip her onto her back, the mattress groaning as you loom over her. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, heels digging into your ass like she’s already begging for more. The faint glow of lightning spills through the curtains, illuminating her flushed face, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes dark and hungry.

“Gonna fuck you until I fill you up,” you say, voice rough. Your cock twitches, still rock-hard, leaking precum inside her pussy. “You want that? Want me to cum deep inside you?”

Her breath hitches. She bites her lip, her hips tilt upward, inviting. “Yes,” she whispers, then louder, desperate: “Fuck, yes—please, I need it. Need you to—ah—!”

You don’t let her finish. You slam into her, one brutal thrust that steals her voice, her back arching off the bed. She’s so fucking wet, her pussy swollen and sensitive from her first orgasm, but she takes you greedily, her nails raking down your spine.

“Harder,” she demands, her legs tightening around you. “Don’t fucking hold back—give it to me.”

You oblige. Your hips piston into her, the slap of skin echoing beneath the storm’s dying growls. Every snap of your pelvis drags a broken moan from her throat, her walls fluttering around you like she’s trying to milk you dry. She’s a mess—hair tangled, chest heaving, tears clinging to her lashes from the intensity—but she’s yours, unraveling again under your hands.

“You feel that?” you grunt, driving deeper, your balls slapping against her ass. “Gonna pump you so full, you’ll drip for days.”

She whimpers, her head thrashing against the pillow. “Do it—fuck, cum in me—I want it, want you—”

You feel it first in your balls—that coiled, electric tension snapping tight as Dahyun’s pussy milks you, her walls fluttering like a fucking vice around your cock. “Gonna cum,” you warn, voice shredded, hips stuttering as you drive into her one last time. She claws at your back, her moans pitching higher. “Do it—fill me up, please—!”

Your release hits like a detonation—thick, pulsing ropes of cum surging deep into her. You groan, low and guttural, as you pump her full, your cock twitching with every hot jet that floods her tight pink cunt. She gasps, her legs shaking where they’re hooked around your waist, her nails digging crescent moons into your skin. “Fuck,” she whimpers, her voice breaking, “it’s so hot—I can feel it—”

You grind your hips harder, burying yourself to the root as your cum spills into her, the wet slap of your skin against hers echoing in the dark. Her pussy clenches greedily, sucking every drop from you, her breath coming in ragged hitches as you fill her. “That’s it,” you rasp, your forehead pressed to hers, “take it all, baby. Take all my fucking cum.”

She keens, her back arching off the mattress as your cum leaks around your cock, dripping down her thighs. The smell of sex—musky and sweet—hangs thick in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of rain still clinging to the windows. You collapse onto her, both of you slick with sweat, your chests heaving as you ride out the aftershocks.

Minutes later, the room is quieter the storm outside reduced to a soft, distant hum. Dahyun’s curled into your side, her head resting on your chest, her breath warm and steady against your skin. Your cum is still leaking out of her, pooling between her thighs and staining the sheets, but neither of you care. The mess is part of it—part of this, the raw, unfiltered intimacy that comes after.

You run your fingers through her hair, the strands silky and damp with sweat. She hums softly, her body melting into yours, her legs tangled with yours under the covers. “You good?” you ask, your voice low and rough, but tender.

She tilts her head up to look at you, her big brown eyes glazed but content. “Mm. Better than good,” she murmurs, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You?”

“Never better,” you say, brushing a thumb over her cheek. She leans into the touch, her skin warm and flushed.

Her hand trails down your chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your abs. “You know,” she starts, her voice teasing, “you’re kinda insufferable when you’re all… post-sex smug.”

You snort, pulling her closer. “Says the girl who just begged me to fill her up.”

She smacks your chest lightly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Shut up,” she mutters, though her cheeks flush pink. “I was vulnerable.”

“Uh-huh.” You press a kiss to her forehead, your lips lingering against her skin. “And now you’re not scared of the storm anymore, huh?”

She glances toward the window, where the rain taps gently against the glass. “What storm?” she says, her tone light and playful. “I don’t even remember what I was scared of.”

You chuckle, your hand sliding down to rest on her hip. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight.”

She shifts slightly, her body pressing even closer to yours, her warmth seeping into your skin. “Like I’d want to,” she mumbles, her voice muffled against your chest.

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. The room smells like sex and rain, the air thick with the kind of quiet that only comes after something real. Her heartbeat syncs with yours, steady and slow, and for a moment, the world feels perfect.

“You’re my favorite,” she says suddenly, her voice soft but sure.

You glance down at her, raising an eyebrow. “Favorite what?”

“Everything,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Back at you, Dahyunnie,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to her hair.

She sighs, content, her body relaxing completely against yours. Outside, the storm fades into nothing, but inside, it’s just her warmth, your arms, and the quiet promise of more nights like this.

[no-sp4g-4-b4by]

Kanye West and Bianca Censori's appearance on the red carpet was something out of a nightmare. If you haven't seen the clip, go look it up.

It starts with them posing, then they face each other and start to talk. Their conversation is not audible, but you can see Bianca shaking her head no and readjusting her large fur coat to cover herself. After three or four words are exchanged, she turns away from the camera and starts taking off her coat slowly. Revealing her naked shoulders, then her back, then her buttocks. She turns around to finally show off the dress she's wearing, a tight, see-through piece of nylon (designed by Kanye himself, according to a post he made on his Instagram) that leaves her breasts, genitals and ass exposed. She's essentially naked. During this whole scene, Kanye is just facing the cameras with sunglasses on, neutral expression on his face.

Now, I'm not shocked by nudity. Censori is definitely not the first celebrity to walk the red carpet wearing a very revealing outfit (and she won't be the last). What disgusts me is the scene they built around the outfit.

First, the little conversation they have. You can clearly see Bianca shaking her head no and tightening her coat around her before being made to undress. There's two possibilities here:

A) Either this wasn't rehearsed, so we essentially witnessed Bianca being pressured into undressing herself in front of dozens of cameras or;

B) It was rehearsed (the most likely option, in my opinion). But then why? Why act out this discomfort before the reveal?

Some could argue they were talking about something totally unrelated, but I very much doubt it. It's their big moment on the red carpet, in front of cameras, it's not the time to talk about the groceries.

What I think is happening is that they (but most likely Kanye) voluntarily chose to paint a scene of a woman being forced to undress herself in front of thousands for the amusement of her husband. It's essentially a brag, a show of force for Kanye. He's saying: "Look at my wife and what she'll do for me. Look what I can make her do. "

The last thing I haven't mentioned, and the scariest, is Censori's facial expression through it all. Neutral expression, no smile. Her eyebrows are trimmed downwards in a way where she looks slightly worried. And her stare is totally vacant. I've seen people say she looks drugged, dissociated, downright "stupid."

I think this is the main difference between Bianca's look and others who have worn skimpy outfits in front of the cameras. Whether it be Lady Gaga, Kendall Jenner, or Madonna, they all share something: confidence. A sultry look, a cheeky smirk, hell, at least a smile! Something to show that they feel desirable, that they're in control. That they choose to show us their bodies.

Whereas Bianca looks dead inside as she's posing.

After standing in front of the cameras for a little while, Kanye takes her hand and leads her away.

The whole sequence (no matter how much Bianca has consented to it) feels like a humiliation ritual. Kayne, standing there fully dressed, pressing his wife to expose her body to the entire world before parading her around. A gross display of chauvinist male domination on the body of a woman. Like, I don't know how else to say it, but it looks like he's walking around with his sex doll, still partially in her plastic wrapping.

Why are we seeing this? What is the point? I can't help but relate this to Elon's n*zi salute. It feels like we're witnessing more and more rich and powerful men pushing the boundaries of what is socially acceptable, trying to see how far they can go. How much of their toxic, repressive views they can share before we come for them.

My heart goes out to Bianca, I hope she's safe and happy in her marriage.

[summertimesadnessirl]

No.

It's just...

There is only a tiny chance anyone will ever care that this happened and do something about it.

It can only happen if I literally die from it and then someone goes through my phone and stuff on social media to see what happened and believes it.

It was more likely before my old tumblr got deleted.

Because I had more documentation on there.

Of specific incidents as they happened like the time there was that guy outside in the middle of the night by my garbage cans when I went out to take it out smoking and saying creepy things.

But if I don't die there is absolutely no chance at all that anyone will get charged with a crime for what they did to me.

It will just be something I have to clean up.

It will require me to lie to a bunch of people and claim that it was for the best because it taught me an important lesson and led me to new opportunities, also.

I hate that shit. That's the most degrading thing about being poor. You have to tell everyone how romantic it is and how it's making you a better person. You have to beg rich people not to punish you for being unlucky.

See how grateful I am for being fucked over look I will be such a good employee I swear.

I got sexually assaulted, lied to, set up, and someone spent 4 years stalking and retraumatizing me and ruining a business I took 10 years to build and that I got lucky enough to have my dream job in and get out of debt and like... 8 tenths of the way to my dream life and they're making fun of me and telling me it's my fault. They made a fake pop star to make fun of me who is getting rich for stealing my style and my image and my life and claiming it's somehow "karma" even though I didn't steal anyone's shit. The closest I came was doing porn commentary?

And the most likely outcome when I die will be that no one cares, the police think I somehow have undiagnosed schizophrenia or had a psychotic episode, but at least I won't have to tell everyone how it's for the best and it made me a stronger better person while I beg them for another shitty low paying abusive job.

At least I can have that.

The only way to get that is to die. The only way to have any dignity or hope is to die. My only hope is that someone understands what happened and fixes it. Like on a systemic level. I know justice barely exists in the world we live in. But maybe somewhere out there, there is someone who would care enough to solve my murder.

But I tried reporting it and I tried telling people and they just tell me how crazy I am and how I should just quit and go back to being miserable and let them steal my life and get away with it.

If they want my life, the price is they have to murder me fair and square. There can be only one Eva Rinaldi.

[promptedwordsmith]

LaDS guys receiving flowers

Caleb

Caleb would feel a bit conflicted receiving flowers. His initial instinct would be to downplay it, even if the gesture was deeply appreciated. Caleb’s pride and self-reliance might make him feel somewhat uncomfortable with such an outward symbol of affection, especially if it’s in front of others. He’s used to being the one who takes care of others, not the one being cared for. Receiving flowers might stir a mix of emotions—thankfulness, a hint of discomfort, maybe even a slight defensiveness as he tries to reconcile this with his more stoic, soldier-like nature.

That said, if the flowers came from you, Caleb would likely feel a deeper, softer reaction. He would appreciate the gesture more than he let on, even if he didn’t show it outwardly. Flowers from you would remind him of his vulnerability, and he’d treasure them in a way he wouldn’t with anyone else’s. Caleb might keep them close, even if he didn’t fully understand why they meant so much to him. They would become a symbol of the love he sometimes struggled to express, something to keep as a reminder that, in this one thing, he doesn’t have to be the strong, unshakable figure—he can let you love him in a way that feels different, but still significant.

Rafayel

Receiving flowers, on the other hand, would be a very different experience for Rafayel. He’d appreciate the gesture, of course, but there would be a part of him that’s unsure of how to handle it. He’s someone who values deeper, more personal connections, and while he’d love the sentiment behind receiving flowers, he might not always know how to respond in the moment. His pride could make him a little awkward with such an outwardly “romantic” gesture. He’d appreciate the beauty of the flowers, the thoughtfulness, but the attention might make him blush or fumble over his words. In his mind, the flowers would be a beautiful token, but he’d still see them as something outside of his more personal, intimate connection with you.

Deep down, however, receiving flowers from you would touch him in a way that goes beyond his initial reaction. It would remind him that you notice him, that you care about him in a way that feels very tender. He’d likely keep the flowers for as long as possible, perhaps even preserving them in a way that allows him to keep the memory of the gesture close—because, despite his usual aloofness, moments of emotional sincerity are ones he holds onto tightly.

Sylus

Sylus would find it somewhat unusual, maybe even a little uncomfortable at first. Flowers—such delicate, fleeting things—are not something he often associates with his world of power, strategy, and control. He would likely accept them with his signature coolness, perhaps offering a polite smile, but internally, he might feel a little out of place. It’s not that he dislikes the gesture, but it’s not his usual mode of communication. Sylus prefers actions that have substance, that are tied to results, not symbols of affection that fade too quickly.

That said, if the flowers were given by someone he cares about—especially you—he might soften, just slightly. The gesture would still feel foreign to him, but the fact that you took the time to choose something for him, something so intimate and vulnerable, would cause a shift. He would appreciate it in his own quiet, understated way, perhaps in the way he keeps them nearby, his usual aloofness momentarily replaced with something gentler. Still, he’d never fully embrace the idea of receiving flowers as he would with giving them—it would always be a bit of a curiosity to him, a contrast to the power-driven world he inhabits.

Xavier

Xavier would likely feel a moment of surprise if someone gave him flowers. It’s not something he’s used to, and the gesture might make him a little uncertain about how to respond. But once the initial shock passed, he would begin to recognize how special the moment is. The flowers would likely hold a deep meaning for him, and he would appreciate them not for the act itself but for what they represent: attention, care, and connection.

He’s not the type to outwardly express excitement over receiving flowers, but inwardly, he would feel grateful and touched. There’s something so intimate about someone giving you flowers, and for Xavier, that would feel like a small, precious gift. He might keep the flowers in a place where he can look at them quietly, perhaps on a windowsill or a small table by his bed, allowing them to remind him of the person who gave them.

Xavier is more likely to treasure the flowers over time, allowing them to serve as a reminder of the bond shared with the person who gave them to him. Even if the flowers eventually wilt, the sentiment behind the gesture would stay with him. He might even be the type to preserve the flowers somehow, pressing them between the pages of a book or keeping them in a special place as a token of that shared moment.

Zayne

if you gave him flowers, Zayne would appreciate the sentiment and the effort behind it, even if he didn’t outwardly show it as much. He might not immediately show the emotional impact, but deep down, he would feel touched by the thoughtfulness, knowing that you understood him enough to express your care in a way that was uniquely meaningful to him. In a quiet moment, he might even keep the flowers in his office or by his bedside—hidden away, but cherished in his own way.

[animamii]

letter from lockedup!Toji that goes along with this drabble ‎♡‧₊˚

...Beautiful, I just want you to know; you're my favorite girl...

— Beautiful~~Snoop dogg + Pharrel

‎

Hey, princess.

Got your letter today. Been reading it over and over, like I always do. I swear, these pages are the only thing keeping me sane in here. When everything else in this place feels like it’s closing in, I got your words, your handwriting, the way I can almost hear your voice saying all this to me. It keeps me steady. Keeps me from losing my head.

And that picture you sent? Fuck. You tryin’ to kill me in here? I swear, if these walls weren’t in the way, I’d be home already. You look good, baby. Too good. Almost makes me mad that other people get to see you like this when I can’t. But I know you’re mine. Always have been. Always will be.

You don’t even gotta try, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Sitting there, all sweet, all perfect. Makes me crazy knowing I can’t reach out and touch you, pull you into me, feel your skin, hear you laugh in my ear. It ain’t fair. But I guess nothing ever has been for me. Except you. You’re the one thing in this world that ever felt like it was mine. I don’t say this enough, probably don’t say half the shit you deserve to hear, but I need you to know that. You ain’t just my girl. You’re my peace, my home, the only thing I’ve ever been afraid to lose. And that’s saying something.

I laughed when I read about Megumi and his damn ramen obsession. Stubborn little punk. I wonder where he gets it from. (Yeah, yeah, don’t say shit—I know.) Tell him I said to listen to his stepma, eat a real meal, and quit acting like he doesn’t miss me. I know how he is. Pretends he don’t care, but I bet if I walked through that door tomorrow, he’d be the first one running to me. He won’t say it, but you can see it in his eyes. Just like his old man. Make sure he’s eating real food, alright? He might act like he don’t care, but I know he listens to you. Probably more than he ever listened to me.

And you. You better be taking care of yourself too. Are you sleeping? Eating? Taking care of yourself? I know how you get—running around, worrying about everyone else, not stopping to breathe. You always got so much to worry about, but you forget you’re supposed to take care of you too. I don’t wanna hear that you’re running on empty, staying up too late, stressing yourself out. You always act tough, but I know you, baby. I know when you’re holding too much inside. I know when you need me. And I swear to you, I’m coming back.

You tell me you’ll wait. That you don’t care how long it takes. But, baby, I care. Every second in here is a goddamn eternity. Every night I go to sleep thinking about you, and every morning I wake up counting down the days until I can get back to you. And I will. No matter what I gotta do, no matter how long it takes, I will get home to you.And when I do? You better be ready. Because I’m never letting you out of my sight again. You hear me? You’re stuck with me, forever.

Wait for me just a little longer. I love you. More than I’ll ever be able to put into words.

Toji

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Weird black neglected!reader and the things the hate about the batboys do that disgust reader

So basically, there was a post ask what the bafamily does that disgust readers, or what disgusts readers—that's something like that. I can't find the ask because I answered it by accident when I wasn't finished, so whoever asked, you know who you are.

What disgusts readers the most about Bruce is his playboy persona; it irks readers to their core. Readers have always held Bruce to high expectations because their mom only spoke well of him. But all that changes when they attend a gala and see Bruce flirting with a girl decades younger than him. It makes their blood boil. Readers know the next girl is just the woman of the month, maybe day. When they were younger, a lot of the ladies would try to be nice to readers just to get on Bruce's good side. And Bruce tries to tell the reader it's just a fling and it means nothing, so no one will think he's the bad guy, but you don't care (he could be loyal, and loyal to your mother). Making the bat really guilty.

Dick, with his fake smiles and womanizing ways, makes it hard for the reader to support someone who hides their feelings or opinions when reporters or paparazzi approach him. He feels compelled to smile even while seething inside. Not only that, the reader dislikes when Dick attempts to fix everyone else's problems just to elevate himself and suppress his feelings; his womanizing tendencies are even more off-putting. The reader once looked up to Dick as a younger sibling would to an older brother, but his constant flirting with anyone within a five-mile radius has turned that admiration into disdain. This makes your poor older brother feel horrible and like a bad remodel.

Jason's nonchalance or indifference to things is perplexing, especially since you know deep down he is passionate about something he cares about. Yet, he'll never express this, at least not with you. He acts as if nothing is wrong when there is indeed something wrong. Deep down, a little Robin is screaming out and asking for help, but he'll never let it out. This type of denial disgusts the reader. Being your true self is the best self you can be; being passionate and headstrong is the best feeling in the world. Yet, he refuses to embrace it; he would rather stay constant than move forward. Jason really wants to make connections; he desperately wants to be a part of something. He wants to confide in the reader, but it might be a little too late for that.

Tim, a hypocrite and a smart-ass, reader is okay with being corrected; it just shows that they needs to learn. However, nitpicking every little thing he does really irks them. Telling the reader that something is wrong is not actual criticism; it’s just a way to put someone down. Boy, he is such a hypocrite! Timothy will literally tell you that monsters are bad, yet he goes and downs six Red Bulls before a patrol. Sure, he needs the energy, but he could eat a protein bar like a regular person. Not to mention, he is always telling you that something is really unhealthy, only for him to eat little to nothing at all. You always snap at him, and he’ll try to tell you he’s looking out for you like a brother should, but you don’t care. He really just wants you to be better than him, and be more responsible but the reader doesn't care for that.

Damian, pretentious and with a God complex, is literally an Arabian prince, so what did you expect from that little twerp? He thinks he’s better when he’s not that special. He’ll show off to readers every day and in every way. You pick up new hobbies, and it's his hobby now, and he’ll be better at it than you, probably discouraging you in the process and making you give up. If you're good, he'll try to be twice as good. Some younger siblings want to be like their big brother or sister or whatever, and it’s cute, but this isn’t cute; this is just stupid, and you hate it because Alfred always makes you hang out with the hellspawn. He’ll show off to your friends or brag about being Robin or how he used to live before the manor, and you want to hit the living daylights out of him. But even if you're taller, the kid was trained to kill at birth, so there’s no way. But all of this is because he really wants your attention and praise. You’re the only person in the house who doesn’t praise him or give him the time of day. He’s your younger brother; he shouldn’t be ignored like this. He’s royalty! Why are you rolling your eyes while he’s telling you about all the places he's been? You should be clapping and smiling—don’t ignore him!

[zhoopideedoo]

All of this but also: a lot of published books aren’t held to that high of a standard. Many fan fiction authors hold themselves to a higher standard than many published authors, particularly in genres popular in fan fiction (romance, anyone?). I think this is true in part because of the love that goes into fan fiction. Most published authors also love writing but for others it’s just a job/revenue stream. Fan fiction authors aren’t getting paid so they’re really doing it for the love of the thing. And they share it freely with the world and I love that generosity.

So let’s keep it positive in fan fiction spaces. If it’s not your taste, move on. If it’s flawed, remember that someone is wearing their heart on their sleeve to share this with you and have some respect and a lot of compassion for that. If there’s something in it that you like/love, something that speaks to you or moves you, leave kudos and comments. That’s the only currency we have to reward fan fiction authors for their hard work and passion.

I’m still astounded every day that there is a whole world of fiction out there (far more than I could ever read) to suit every taste and it’s all freely accessible.

Fan fiction authors, we see you and we love what you do. Thank you

I think that “there are some fanfiction that are on par with or better than some professionally published books” and “you shouldn’t hold fanfiction to the standards you hold professionally published books as they are often only written by one not professional writer with no editor” are two statements that can and should coexist

[littlelamy]

Pouge!Reader x Rafe(season 4-isch): She has a crush on Rafe (maybe he comes somewhere she works, say café, bakery or whatever) and she thinks her feelings obviously are unrequited given that she is a pouge. Rafe is still at that point where he is struggling between the thoughts of ‘’Pouge-vs-kooks are ridiculous’’ but also caring. Perhaps he is having a crush on Reader but is finding his internal thoughts so he goes on a date with some kook girl and Reader see them somewhere, and her dreams are crushed since the girl is the complete opposite of her (expensive clothes, barbie pretty face and manicured etc) and she feels so stupid since she was clearly not even Rafe’s type. She says yes to a date with some random Pouge guy and….well…..Rafe sees them---the dude holding her hand, kissing her cheek and making her smile, and decides to talk to her when she goes off by herself

the salty tang of the ocean still clung to your skin as you adjusted your apron behind the counter of the little seaside café. it was nothing fancy—wooden tables scuffed from years of service, mismatched chairs that creaked whenever someone leaned back too far. but it was yours. well, not yours-yours, but a place you’d carved out a piece of yourself in.

you wiped your hands on a towel and glanced up just as the bell above the door jingled. and there he was. rafe cameron.

he didn’t belong here, not really. everything about him screamed kildare royalty—the sharp cut of his jawline, the too-clean sneakers that probably cost more than your entire paycheck, the faint whiff of something expensive and unattainable. and yet, he came here.

it started a month ago, the first time he strolled in like he owned the place, squinting at the menu board above your head. you’d fumbled with the cash register, your palms clammy. “can i get a black coffee?” his voice had been low, smooth, and it did stupid things to your stomach.

he’d been coming back ever since.

you told yourself it was nothing. he probably just liked the quiet, the way the café was tucked away from the usual kook place. but then there were the moments. the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long when you handed him his order. the faint curve of a smile when you tried to make small talk and ended up rambling about nothing.

but you were a pouge. and rafe? rafe was… not.

“uh, hey,” his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. he stood at the counter, hands shoved into his pockets.

“hey,” you replied, trying to sound casual even though your heart was doing somersaults. “the usual?”

he nodded, but his gaze flicked over you like he was searching for something to say. “yeah. uh, thanks.”

you busied yourself with the coffee machine, grateful for the excuse to not look at him. because every time you did, you felt it. that stupid, hopeless crush that made your chest ache and your cheeks burn.

when you handed him his cup, your fingers brushed briefly. you swore he hesitated, just for a second, before pulling away. “thanks,” he said again, softer this time, and then he was gone, the door jingling shut behind him.

it wasn’t long before the café became the place you dreaded most. because it was where you saw her.

the girl was flawless, all shiny hair and manicured nails and a wardrobe that probably came straight from vogue. she sat across from rafe at one of the tables by the window, laughing at something he said. the kind of laugh that sounded effortless, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.

you hated her. not because she’d done anything to you, but because she was everything you weren’t. and rafe? he looked at her the way you’d imagined he’d look at you in your wildest dreams.

you tried not to stare as you cleaned tables , your chest tight. but then rafe glanced up, and for a split second, your eyes met. he looked away quickly, like he’d been caught, and you wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was. of course he wasn’t looking at you. why would he?

you said yes to the date with ethan out of sheer spite. he was nice enough, a fellow pouge who worked on the docks, but there was nothing earth-shattering about him. still, when he held your hand and kissed your cheek, you let him. you let him because it felt good to be wanted, even if it wasn’t by the person you wanted most.

it was during one of those kisses, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth as you both walked along the beach, that you saw him. rafe. he was leaning against his truck, arms crossed, watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

you pulled away from ethan, your smile faltering. “i’ll catch up with you in a minute,” you mumbled, ignoring his puzzled expression.

you made your way over to rafe, your heart pounding. “what are you doing here?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. then: “he’s not right for you.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the raw edge to his voice. “excuse—what?”

“he’s not right for you,” rafe repeated, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “and you know it.”

you laughed, a short, bitter sound. “and who is? you? last i checked, you were pretty happy with barbie over there.”

he flinched, and for a moment, you thought he might walk away. but then he stepped closer, his voice low and strained. “she’s not you.”

those three words stopped you cold. you stared at him, your mind racing. “what are you talking about, rafe?”

“i…” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched across his face. “i can’t stop thinking about you, okay? every time i see you with him, it’s like…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “i don’t know. but it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

you opened your mouth, but no words came out. because this couldn’t be happening. rafe cameron couldn’t be standing here, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“why now?” you finally managed to ask, your voice trembling. “why are you telling me this now, rafe?”

he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ground. “because seeing you with him made me realize how fucking stupid i’ve been.” he looked up again, his eyes burning into yours. “and because i can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

you wanted to scream at him, to tell him he didn’t get to do this—didn’t get to mess with your head when you were finally trying to move on. but instead, you said nothing, the weight of his words sinking in.

“i need to go,” you whispered, turning away before he could see the tears welling in your eyes.

“wait,” he called after you, his voice breaking. but you didn’t stop. because if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to walk away again.

lamy's notes: i hope you liked it!!!

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[hauntedbydreams]

The long awaited part 2 to the Cuddly!Vi Headcanons as promised

Cuddly!Vi Headcanons Pt. 2 💞

P.S. it’s a bullet point kinda day

Actually loves to read before bed because she used to pass time in prison like that

Her favorite is when you cuddle up and you each read your own copy of the same book so you can discuss your thoughts about it later.

She’s a very restless reader, blame it on the undiagnosed ADHD, but she fidgets all the time and takes forever to get comfy.

Even when she does, she’s switching positions and rummaging around the blankets and pillows every few minutes

You’d think she’d be the same with sleeping but oh no. Once she’s asleep, she’s out like a light.

Didn’t used to be like that. In prison she had to keep her guard up all the time and never let herself fully relax. She also had nightmares about the beatings a lot but after moving in with you and realizing she’s safer than she’s been in years, she’s back to her teenage habits of sleeping like a log.

Snores, a lot! You just kinda shove her and she snorts, maybe turns her head up, half consciously, and then goes right back to sleeping, pulling you closer to her by the waist in the process

Vi always has her hand on your waist when you sleep. Always. And good luck getting out of bed to go pee at night.

“Mmgh where are you going” she grunts sleepily as you try to nudge her off so you can get out of bed.

“I’m just going to the bathroom Vi”

“Mm…hurry back, can’t sleep without you”

But by the time you’re back she’s already snoring. You crawl into bed beside her and almost on cue, her hand is back around your waist as she sleeps face down snoring into the pillow. Even subconsciously she always keeps you close.

Loves being big spoon

Unless it’s her turn to be little spoon. That’s a whole other story. (sHe’S jUsT a LiTtLe BaBy!!)

She’s really gotta be in a mood for that to happen, or it’s one of those days when she’s being quieter than usual and you notice. So you’re all about taking care of her, washing her hair, making her dinner and of course letting her be little spoon.

She kinda likes that it’s a special treatment thing because she feels like she earns it then, even though you’ve told her a million times that you love her and she doesn’t need to earn your love. But not much you can do to rewire an eldest daughter’s brain when it comes to earning and deserving love…!

Vi’s favorite cuddling position though, is when she can crawl up between your legs to lie face down on ur chest. She falls asleep every time while u scratch at her scalp through her pink hair.

Loves to sleep in with you on lazy mornings.

Those are her absolute fave cuddle sessions. Sun on your skin, messy sleep hair, PJs riding up and the warmth of your bedsheets, she swears she could die happy.

Contrary to popular belief, Vi’s not doing her workouts and going for runs at the ass crack of dawn. She prefers to do them later in the day or especially at night while half the world is asleep and everything is dark out, shimmering streetlights as she goes for her midnight run.

She comes back home, showers and then crawls into bed next to you, where you’re usually still awake anyway, waiting for her. Those late nights are her second favorite cuddle sessions. Just you her and the moon.

Cuddly!Vi def comes out when she’s sick

Vi is such a cry baby when she’s sick

“Baby, come cuddle me please” she’s whining before you’ve even made it to the kitchen to make her some tea.

“Can you kiss it better?” With the puppy dog eyes

“Vi it’s literally a cold, where am I supposed to kiss it better?!?”

“Mmm my forehead” “no wait, and my nose” “actual also my lips” and she’s jutting out her bottom lip in a mini pout.

“Yeah ok at this rate I’m gonna get sick too, and then who’s gonna take care of you?”

She’s just pouting up at you and giving you those powder blue puppy eyes. You really can’t deny her.

Very touchy cuddly coded, like will be extremely touchy and soft when you’re out, literally ANYWHERE.

Needs to have her hands on you, on your waist, on your thigh, in your hand, arm around your shoulder, around your hips, head nuzzled in your neck, or resting on top of your head… you name it, she’s tried every PDA move under the sun.

Just a touch starved baby who’s love languages are definitely physical touch and acts of service.

[cloverapple]

how do you induce emotion / feel like your in your dr? maybe inducing isn’t the right word but how do you feel feelings when shifting?

There are so many ways to do this! Like listening to music, a song that sparks a memory from your DR, or even an ambient soundtrack that lets you fanfic your way deep into a scenario, really sinking into the vibe of the scene. There's no right or wrong method here. I promise, something in your life right now connects you to your DR and your DR self—whether it’s a song, a specific scenario you replay in your mind, or just that one thing that makes you feel like you’re already there, pulling out those strong emotions like a magnet.

Now, there’s this visualization I love—a simple, step-by-step process (because, ADHD brain here, I live for structured steps leave me alone). I usually use it to manifest in my CR, but it’s perfect for inducing that feeling of being in your DR, too. It goes like this:

Relax. Take a few deep breaths, let your body soften, melt into your chair, your bed, wherever you are. Let the tension drain away—really let yourself sink in.

Now, pick the scene you want to drop into. Maybe it’s your first morning waking up in your DR, maybe you’re chilling with your friends, maybe you’re wrapped up with your S/O. Whatever feels right.

Once you’ve got your scene, you’re going to count from 1 to 10. But with each number, you’ll visualize something specific in that space—look around, touch your surroundings, feel the textures, the warmth, the coolness. Flex your hands, feel your body in that world. It’s about anchoring yourself in the moment, fully immersing.

Let me give you an example so it’s crystal clear.

Say I want to shift to a DR where I’m waking up in a bedroom with an ocean view and my cat curled up next to me. I’d do it like this:

“One.” *I glance up at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin, I notice the little imperfections in the paint, like I’ve seen them a thousand times before*

“Two.” *I sit up, feeling the softness of the sheets against my skin. I look at the clock on my nightstand, it reads 9:03 AM in glowing red numbers*

“Three.” *I turn my head toward the window. The ocean is right there, stretching out into the horizon, the waves crashing, the sunlight beaming through the window*

“Four.” *I stretch my legs under the blanket, my cat shifts displeased beside me, purring, and I reach out to scratch behind their ears, feeling the warmth of their fur beneath my fingertips*

“Five.” *I slide out of bed, my feet touching the cool, wooden floor. I hear the faint creak of the floorboards beneath my weight*

“Six.” *I walk over to the window, press my palm against the glass. It’s warm from the sun*

“Seven.” *I glance around the room: the books stacked messily on the desk, the glow of morning light spilling over everything. I can even see the coffee mug I left out the night before because I'm an idiot*

“Eight.” *I look down and adjust my pajamas, running my hands over my body, flexing my toes*

“Nine.” *I run my fingers along the windowsill, feeling the smooth wood beneath my touch, and I think about what I'm going to do that day*

“Ten.” *I reach for my phone, gripping it in my hand, feeling its weight against my palm, before unlocking it and seeing a dozen messages from my friends*

4. Once you’ve hit ten, just sit with it. Let yourself marinate in that feeling of already being there, of already having it. You’re not reaching, you’re not chasing, it’s yours now. Feel the weight of that reality settle into your chest. How do you feel? Happy? Calm? Relieved? Whatever it is, let it flow through you. Own it. You’re not imagining anymore—you’re experiencing.

And that’s it. That’s the whole process. Simple, but powerful, trust me!

[evie-lyn]

I came up with this idea for a story last night, little Danny Phantom goes to the DC universe and meets the Batfamily, and is possibly adopted? Well, not really.

This is how it begins, Sam and Tucker along with the rest of the passersby of Amity Park have just seen the ghost known as Skullker flying over the streets, and they panic. That this ghost is free is not the worrying part that upsets them, but what he is carrying in his arms, which is clearly a childish and smiling version of Danny Phantom who does not seem to understand the danger he is in the hands of the hunter. Unfortunately they turn invisible and disappear before Sam and Tucker can think of how to stop them.

So what happened?

Simple, the Fentons were testing a new weapon that was supposed to shoot rays, but in reality it shoots green slime that they don't know what it does, and that slime hit Danny, who was worried at first because he didn't know the effects of the weapon, but after five hours without any changes He forgot about the incident, and went out to patrol the streets of the City. There he encountered Skullker, and starting to chase and try to hunt the other for sport, is good practice for both of them now that they get along better and aren't actively wanting to take down the other.

Well, mid-hunt and mid-flight, Skullker sees a green halo pass by Danny and manages to catch him in time before he crashes to the ground only to hold in his arms a small version of Phantom who barely knows his name and where he is. Knowing that this is not normal, the hunter decides to seek help, he knows about the guardian of time and his role as mentor to the boy, a boy who turns out to be the new ghost king and although Skullker is not really interested in who the king is and what he does, even he knows that this is a big problem, and he proves it when the knight under the king's orders appeared in front of them worried about the state of the young monarch. They both take Danny to the guardian who, after a small checkup, assures them that Danny is fine, that the reason for his condition is the hit of a defective weapon created to weaken ghosts, and with Danny being a halfa but his true form being that of the ghost king, the attack Instead of weakening him, it warped the ectoplasm in his body back to its primary form, which in turn and unexpectedly affected his physical appearance and mental state.

Fortunately it is temporary, and will last until the affected ectoplasm is renewed, which in the human world will take longer and be more uncomfortable and tedious for Danny, and since he has to be cared for now that he is essentially a ghost baby, it It's better for Danny to stay in the ghost zone. With Clockwork unfit for the job and Fright Night unable to do it alone, it's up to Skullker and the rest of the ghosts to take care of Danny. Surprisingly, no one is against it, most of the inhabitants of the ghost zone are on good terms with Danny, or at least tolerate him and do not hate him, and many of them recognize his position as King, so they have no problems in be his babysitters. (Some of them with the idea of ​​molding the young mind of the ghost king and planting ideas that are convenient with their own interests for when Danny takes the throne.)

Do they do a good job as babysitters? Yes and no. It mostly helped that Danny is not difficult to care for, to entertain, it's mostly obedient, and well, adorable, and that he was so interested in getting to know everyone, but ghosts, apart from preventing him from suffering permanent damage, are not the most responsible and safe when It's about taking care of a small child. The good thing is that Danny, who still maintains his powers and transformation into a ghost, is having a wonderful time, and the ghosts are appreciating and forming bonds with their king (whom they all quickly and unanimously establish that they love more than anything. and they will protect him at all costs).

Danny enjoys playing with the ghosts, listening to their stories, learning their skills, such as using each and every one of Skullker's hunting weapons, Fright Night's sword, Ember's guitar after he showed interest in her music, eating the food that the lunch lady prepared especially for him, getting into mischief with her daughter and Young blood and generally just enjoying his time in the ghost zone with the other ghosts.

A couple of human weeks of extreme peace and fun pass in the ghost zone, until as expected, something unexpected and problematic happens. It's Fright Night's turn to be babysitter when Danny asks him to go explore what will be his castle when he is king, and although currently his king is no more than 4 years old in mortal age, Danny is still his king and he as his most loyal servant, he grants him wish. Now, we said that Danny is not a complicated child, but he is impulsive, has little to no sense of self-preservation, and is too curious for his own good, and it took Fright Night taking his eyes off of Danny for two seconds for the boy to walk away and begin exploring the castle on his own, finding a pond of glowing green water in one of the rooms downstairs, where Danny got too close to the edge of rock with strange writings that he couldn't understand and that began to vibrate when he touched them, leaned too close to take a closer look at what inside the water he can distinguish as a rock ceiling that is not that of the room, and inevitably his hand resting on the edge slipped and Danny fell into the pond before the horrified look of Fright Night who had finally given his whereabouts, only to see him disappear into the waters and thus vanish from the ghost zone.

Danny almost immediately resurfaces from the waters of the pond, coughing and moving his arms and legs frantically to avoid drowning, but stops when he realizes that the pond is not deep and that when he stops, the water barely reaches his waist, so he stands up. He calms down and begins to walk towards the edge only to hear gasps of surprise and a couple of grunts from above and when he looks up he finds 5 individuals in uniforms and masks watching him in various states of shock, horror and caution. Danny quickly knows that he is no longer in his castle and that he doesn't know these masked people and that he doesn't know their intentions, and despite that Danny is not afraid, he is confused but not scared, and soon his confusion turns to curiosity, and being the friendly and gentle little ghost he's always been, Danny smiles at them.

Danny: Hi! I'm Danny Phantom, and who are you?

Batman and his team were informed by magic users about the discovery of a Lazarus Pit in Illinois Michigan, in a cave under a cemetery. But that's not all, they were also informed of an alarming change in the axis of this plane that according to magic users cannot mean anything good.

They immediately set out to investigate this phenomenon, hoping that it is a false alarm and thus be able to appease the magic users and the paranoia that they all share, and if so, protect the place to prevent the wrong people from approaching. Hood is restless the closer they get to the place and when they reach their destination he is shaking slightly, so imagine their surprise when they actually find themselves with a new Lazarus pit that they had no prior knowledge of and they do not know if anyone has already used it, and they are even more surprised when they see a small boy with white hair and a black and white suit rise from the waters, approach the edge of the pit, look at them with the greenest eyes they have ever seen and with the most adorable and innocent smile in the world simply greet them.

Everyone freezes, Batman takes a defensive and suspicious stance, Hood takes a step back with his eyes open and glued to the boy's figure, Danny, while internally going into a panic attack, Red Robin remains alert but leaning slightly to see better, and Robin imitates his father although there is a slight touch of curiosity in his expression that cannot be hidden. No one moves for a long time, unsure of how to proceed.

The boy tilts his head at their lack of response to his greeting, looking confused, but soon he smiles again and with the ease of a feather rising in the wind he flies over the pit until he is in front of Robin with a particular emotion in his eyes, everyone prepares for the worst.

Danny: Tag, you're it!

He says touching Damian's forehead and just as if it were the most normal thing in the world he flies over their heads and towards the entrance of the cave while laughing. The five slowly turn toward the exit, listening to the infant's laughter and his excited cries for Robin to come after him.

Hood: ... What The Actual Fuck?

[orangeocelotmartyn]

Martyn: It is-it is not lost on me how privileged my position is. And not to say privileged as in like, it’s just been handed to me. Like, I absolutely worked hard, I, y’know. I put out some—a good product into the world. It does take…an open mind and receptiveness from people to-to want to watch the content, you know what I mean? And especially for something like this as well, like the card game—oop, ah, fucked it. Nevermind. Uhm. You know, this is—this goes above and beyond any, you know, realistic expectations that I have of anybody in terms of support. Same with the plushie as well. The plushie is one of those things. Um, that, you know, seems almost silly to me. But I’m very pleased that a lot of people have decided to— to nab one.

Martyn: “And we could take that all away—“ you can, dude. Because, (quoting) “Cancel culture is like a witch hunt.” (Pause, then as if quoting chat) “He did an impression, crazy, he spoke about the thing, crazy—(laughs)”

[ruruumin]

phone call.

₊˚ ᗢ itoshi rin x gn! reader.

⤷ an unexpected phone call breaks you out of your mess.

going home, by all means, should mean good things. you no longer had to worry about your next paycheck or whats in your fridge. your parents dote on you every now and then, checking up on you as you lay in bed, noting the change in smell of your sheets. you should be happy, you keep telling yourself, but every time you wake up in the morning with the grease in your hair and a frown that doesn’t seem to turn upside down, you’re growing ever so frustrated by the circumstances. 

there lacks a feeling of agency that you felt when you left. whenever you ask your family what they have planned for the week, your parents shrug their shoulders, meanwhile your siblings roll their eyes and wave you off. outings are reserved for only the most special of occasions, like someone’s birthday or a national holiday. and if things couldn’t get any worse, the stickiness in your hair hasn’t gone away.

two weeks. thats all you have to endure, so why is it so increasingly difficult to feel normal? your bed should be the comfiest it has ever been, but its uncomfortable when you toss and turn, struggling to find the sweet spot that lulls you to sleep. in the morning, you have to continuously tug the corners of the sheets down so they don’t roll up on you again. you’re determined to say you’re no princess and pea, but the bags underneath your eyes are telling you to wake up and fix the bed.

for a moment, you start to miss your job. as much as its dreadful having to wake up early every single morning and motivate yourself in the mirror that it’ll be an easy day, you’re starting to realize the beauty in routine. the miniscule of joy that bubbles up in your chest whenever you come home and drop your bags to the ground, sighing in relief as you pop all the joints in your shoulders. even with exhaustion hanging off of you, at the end of the day, there was something to do. something that made everything all worth it.

and yet you lay in bed, staring up at the popcorn ceiling that you swear will one day come crashing down on you like dust. its obsessive the way you check your phone for any new messages, scrolling through dozens of instagram stories and seeing your friends travel the world with their families. 

suddenly, your phone goes off. rising from your coffin you take it into your hands, seeing the caller id flash. itoshi rin is calling! fumbling, you hurriedly answer the call, nervous beads of cold sweat running down the side of your neck. you pat down the frizz from your hair as you sigh.

“rin-chan?” 

his nickname rolls off your tongue as easily as your sanity in this room. you’ve been calling him with the same honorific since you were middle schoolers. despite the childishness of it all and how frighteningly shocked his friends look hearing it, he never once corrected you. 

“hello.” his voice is deep and alluding. sometimes it comes off as a little dry from the way he ends each sentence with a raspy breath. you hold the phone close to your ear, pressing your lips together as you eye the clock on your wall. 

“is something wrong? you don’t call unless its an emergency.” 

ever since sae left for spain, he’s lost interest in calling people. he would prefer texting his parents over answering their phone calls. even when he’s gotten lost on multiple occasions, ending up next to a river five miles from his house, he refused to make the first call. perhaps its the pride in his heart that has him refusing any form of voice-related communication, like asking for help was the equivalent of kneeling down and begging. 

you could already imagine his voice: that’s disgusting. i’d never call unless i need to. 

however, that’s not the thing that comes out of his mouth. 

“...nothing, i just wanted to call and ask how you are.” he replies with the same nonchalant tone you’ve grown too fond of. “i haven’t seen you in a while.”

“oh, i see.”

“are you busy?” 

you shake your head, even if hes unable to see it through the other line. “no, i was thinking about watching a movie or something to pass the time.” you look over to the laptop on your bed. its covered in stickers from different conventions you’ve been to. some of which you’ve miraculously dragged rin into attending, only because the author of dragon head was doing a panel. 

“i see.” there is a pause before he speaks up again. “do you want to watch anything together?”

“like—in person? or stream something online?” 

he hums with a melodic trill that has you on the edge of your bed. 

“either or works. but i like watching horror movies in person.” 

a shiver immediately runs down your spine as you close your eyes, teeth clattering together comedically. the last time you agreed to watch a horror movie with rin (regrettably you were the one to ask him what he wanted to watch since you asked him out first), he chose the goriest film known to man. 

at the time, you were both high schoolers sneaking out past curfew to watch movies at the local theater. you were holding onto his arm, begging to squeeze his hand to ease your worries. he somehow agreed despite knowing your grip strength, and allowed you to grip his hand as tight as you wanted. during the movie, you didn’t think much about it, not wanting to overcomplicate the strange relationship you had. all you did remember though, was that his skin felt warm against yours and how perfectly your fingers fit against the cracks of his hand. 

“please don’t make us watch another film like the sadness. i couldn’t handle it.”

“it’ll be tamer than that.” 

“really?”

“would i lie to you?”

you suppose he wouldn’t. he hasn’t for the last few years you’ve known him. he’s been open as a book. he’s a quiet man but his eyes scream the words in his throat. you think he’s the true definition of the quote: eyes are windows to the soul, because every time he’s drooling over icy-blue popsicles, it shows in the slight sheen in his eyes.

he’s sweeter than sugar when he wants to be and it makes you wonder if there was more to this than just a simple phone call. you want to think by some heavenly force, he heard your thoughts and wanted to pull you out of this slump. unknowingly, you let out a soft laugh. 

“what are you laughing about?”

you exhale in response, “i just thought it was funny that you would call. you normally don’t—so i was wondering if there was more to it.” 

he’s quiet on the other line. 

“sorry, did i say something wrong?” 

“no. i guess i was thinking the same thing.” 

you hold back a surprised gasp. for someone calm and rational as rin, going out of his way to call you was already a big step. but him asking to watch a movie with you? out of nowhere? surely there was something at play here that you weren’t quite seeing. swallowing your nervousness, you open your mouth to ask him the most important question of all:

“what is the real reason you’re calling, rin?” 

he takes a deep breath before saying three words. just three. nothing more. nothing less. but enough to convey to you the true intent of his actions.

“...i like you.” 

“huh?”

“i liked you since we met, (name). i didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else but me.”

“what are you—wait, rin—”

there is knocking on the other side. you could hear rin’s exasperated sigh and the sharp inhale he takes when the door opens. you heard isagi call out his name alongside bachira. they stumbled into the same place as rin, asking him if he will confess to his special somebody, not knowing that this special person was listening into their conversation, heart stopped and cupid-struck. 

rin brings his phone back up to his ear, “if you feel the same, can you watch a movie with me? i’ll be at the same place we always go to.” 

after that, the call ends abruptly. you’re left in shock, hand trembling and fingers fumbling over the call back button. you wanted answers. like how long did it take you to find out? why confess now? did something happen between him and the other boys at blue lock? and will you be joining him? 

looking at his caller id, you press your lips together, swiping your phone and running to your closet to throw on any fitting clothes. you realize after exiting your house that he had kept you from spiraling.

[luvst4rc0r3]

HII so idk what's going on with the whole pregnant reader thing but I feel like u stabbed me bcz why u gotta make it so sad😭 but I thought about the idea that after reader's miscarriage and Jinx takes in Isha, she gets a taste of what it's like to be a mom and it gives her the hope to try again. But then after Isha dies, everything all goes to shit again (events of act 3 play out), but then after Jinx gets out of jail and teams up with Ekko, she goes to reader and says something like "once this is all over, we're getting out of here." And they move to bildgewater together and have an actual child there in a more healthy and happy space :)) maybe for a time skip part but idk lol, anyway just thought I'd leave this here!! Live laugh love Jinx

request: Your “I don’t wanna be here anymore.”

It was super interesting.

And also made me cry😭😭

Can you write a happy ending for it?

TY if you do

request:I'm gonna need a good ending where Jinx and r have the baby and live happily ever after because that last ask fucked me up😭😭😭😭

"But good things don’t always last forever"

Jinx x F!Reader

WARNINGS: DEATH, MENTIONS OF MISCARRIAGE!! WC: 3165

NOTE: erm I hope yall are ok now.

Summary: After a heartbreaking miscarriage, you fall into despair, but Jinx—determined to bring light back into your life—unexpectedly finds a little girl named Isha, who needs a family just as much as you both do.

PT.1

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The hideout was quiet. Too quiet.

Jinx hated it.

She sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing her leg as she watched you, curled up with your back to her, shoulders trembling under the blanket. You’d barely moved in hours. Days. It felt like weeks.

Jinx wasn’t great with words, but she knew that whatever she said wouldn’t make it better. The grief sat heavy between you, thick and suffocating. She wanted to tear it apart, blow it up, do something—but this wasn’t something she could fix with bombs or bullets.

So, she stayed. As much as she wanted to run from feelings, from pain, she stayed.

She reached out, brushing her fingers over your arm.

“Hey, toots…” Her voice was softer than usual. Hesitant. “Y’wanna get outta here? Just for a bit?”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even stir.

Jinx sighed. She pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder before getting up.

“I’ll be back,” she muttered.

You didn’t respond.

Jinx wandered the streets of Zaun, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. She hated seeing you like that. Hated knowing there was nothing she could do to take away your pain.

She needed to find something. Something that could help.

It had been weeks since everything fell apart—since the baby was gone. Since your heart had shattered into something unrecognizable. You barely left the bed, barely ate, barely breathed.

Jinx never said it, but you knew it scared her.

She’d always been the reckless one, the impulsive one, the wild one. But now, you were the one slipping away.

And Jinx? She didn’t know how to stop it.

So, she did what she always did when the world felt like too much. She ran.

Jinx wasn’t looking for a kid.

She was looking for a fight, for trouble—something, anything to pull her out of her head. Out of you and the way you wouldn’t even look at her anymore.

But what she found was a girl.

Small. Filthy. Silent.

Fell on top of her while some guys chased her.

Once Jinx shot off the guys she crouched in front of her, frowning.

“Hey, shorty. What’s your deal?”

No answer.

The girl just stared.

Jinx clicked her tongue. “Oh, great. You’re broken too.”

Still nothing.

Jinx was about to leave—she wasn’t in the business of picking up strays—but then she saw it.

A fresh bruise, deep and purple, blooming along the girl’s cheek.

Jinx’s stomach twisted.

“…Shit.”

She wasn’t good at this stuff. She wasn’t you. But you… you would’ve stopped. You would’ve helped.

And maybe, just maybe, if she brought this kid home, you’d look at her again.

Jinx sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“follow me or not. I don’t care”

She followed.

She studied the kid. Dirty, scared, alone. Just like she used to be.

Maybe… maybe this was it. The something she’d been looking for.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You didn’t know what to think when Jinx came home with her.

You sat up in bed, blinking blearily as Jinx strolled in, dragging a small, silent child behind her.

“Babe, meet Isha. Isha, meet Babe.” Jinx grinned like this was normal. Like she hadn’t just brought home a whole person.

You just stared.

“…What?”

Jinx flopped onto the bed beside you, throwing an arm over your waist.

“She fell on me. Didn’t say a word. Figured, y’know, she could use some better company. We could use some better company.”

You looked at the child.

She was thin. Too thin. Her hands were curled into tight little fists, her lips pressed together in an unreadable line. She looked… wary. Not scared, not trusting. Just waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure.

But you knew that feeling.

Jinx sighed against your shoulder. “You’re not mad, are ya?”

You swallowed. No. You weren’t mad.

You were just… tired.

But when you looked at Isha—really looked at her—something deep inside you cracked.

Maybe it was the way she wouldn’t meet your eyes. Maybe it was the way she stood, stiff and defensive, like she expected you to tell her to leave.

Or maybe it was the way, despite all of it, she still stayed.

“…She can stay,” you murmured.

Jinx made a triumphant noise.

Isha didn’t react.

But when you got up and grabbed a blanket, draping it over her tiny shoulders, she didn’t flinch away.

That was enough.

For now.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first few days were quiet.

Isha barely made a sound. You barely spoke. Jinx bounced between watching you both like a hawk and blowing things up in the dead of night, like movement could stop her from thinking too hard.

But, slowly, something shifted.

It started small.

You’d wake up in the morning, roll over, and instead of being met with an empty bed, you’d find Isha sitting on the floor, drawing.

She wasn’t great at it—her little hands were too shaky, the colors smeared—but it was something.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you wanted to do something, too.

So, one day, you sat beside her.

She tensed—always waiting for rejection—but when you picked up a crayon and started drawing next to her, she hesitated. Then, slowly, she handed you a blue one.

That was the first good day.

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement when she saw the two of you, sprawled out on the floor, doodling nonsense.

“Holy shit, progress!” she cheered, flopping onto your back. “Babe, you’re alive again!”

You snorted, nudging her playfully.

“This is a miracle!” Jinx gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “Someone get me a camera—this belongs in the history books!”

Isha watched Jinx’s antics with wide eyes, and when you turned to her, you swore you saw something flicker on her face.

Something close to a smile.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

You couldn’t sleep much anymore.

ever since everything.

And tonight? Tonight was bad.

She woke up to the sound of you breathing too fast, fingers twitching in your sleep.

She didn’t hesitate.

Sliding closer, she brushed your fingers through your hair, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“Babydoll,” she murmured. “Wake up, love.”

you gasped awake, eyes darting wildly until they landed on her.

She didn’t say anything. Just held you.

Your arms wrapped around you tight—desperate, grounding—and for a while, you both  just stayed like that.

Then, small movement.

You looked up.

Isha stood in the doorway, blanket clutched in her hands, staring with wide, uncertain eyes.

Jinx let out a breath, forcing a smirk. “Hey, shortstack. Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”

Isha hesitated, then shook her head.

You lifted the blanket, silently inviting her in.

For a moment, she stayed frozen. Then, carefully, she climbed onto the bed, curling up between you both.

Jinx snorted. “Well, well. Looks like we’re officially outnumbered.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s hair.

And for the first time in forever, you slept through the night, peacefully.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with a rainy day.

Zaun’s skies were always grim, but today, the rain came in heavy, flooding the alleyways and making the apartment feel even smaller.

Isha sat by the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. Her little fingers traced them, following each droplet with quiet concentration.

Jinx groaned dramatically, sprawled upside down on the couch, legs hanging over the backrest. “I’m bored.”

You smirked, looking up from your book. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours,” she shot back immediately, flipping onto her stomach. “Entertain me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not my job.”

Jinx gasped, hand over her heart. “Wow. Rude.” Then, she perked up, eyes gleaming. “Wait. I got it.”

She jumped to her feet, startling Isha, who turned and blinked.

“Pillow fort.” Jinx grinned, pointing dramatically at you. “Right now.”

You raised a brow. “Aren’t we a little old for—”

Jinx was already tearing cushions off the couch.

Isha watched her with wide, curious eyes.

Jinx caught her staring and grinned. “Whaddya think, shortstack? Wanna help?”

Isha hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded.

Jinx let out a victorious whoop! and tossed a blanket over her head. “Welcome to the chaos, kid!”

You couldn’t help but smile.

Within half an hour, the living room was transformed.

Blankets draped over chairs, cushions stacked like castle walls, fairy lights strung across the ceiling. It was warm, cozy, perfect.

Isha crawled inside, eyes wide as she ran her hands over the soft fabric.

Jinx flopped down beside her, arms behind her head. “Not bad, huh?”

You sat across from them, watching as Isha slowly, carefully, curled up between you both.

For the first time all day, she relaxed.

Jinx smirked, nudging you playfully. “See? Told you it was a good idea.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, fine. You win.”

Jinx puffed out her chest. “Damn right I do.”

Isha watched your banter, something soft in her expression. Then—carefully, hesitantly—she reached out and took your hand.

Your breath caught.

She turned to Jinx, then did the same.

Jinx’s eyes widened.

Neither of you spoke.

You just squeezed her tiny hands, warmth blooming in your chest as the rain pattered softly outside.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It started with Jinx.

Because of course it did.

She thought it would be hilarious to put blue dye in your shampoo.

You stepped out of the bathroom, dripping wet, staring at her with murderous intent.

Jinx, sprawled on the couch with Isha in her lap, burst into laughter.

“Oh—oh my god—babe, you look—” She was wheezing, wiping tears from her eyes. “I—I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Isha, sitting innocently beside her, covered her mouth, eyes shining with amusement.

You crossed your arms. “You think this is funny?”

Jinx gasped for breath. “Babe, c’mon, you’re literally blue!”

Isha let out a small, breathy giggle.

You smirked.

“Alright, Powder,” you said sweetly. “Game on.”

Jinx’s laughter stopped.

“…Wait.”

By the end of the week, it was war.

You switched Jinx’s sugar with salt.

She short-sheeted the bed.

You put hot sauce in her morning coffee.

She filled your boots with glitter.

Isha, watching the chaos unfold, was delighted.

And then—

The prank truce.

Because somehow, somehow, Isha got caught in the middle.

Jinx had set up an elaborate bucket trap for you, but you weren’t the one who walked through the door.

Isha did.

The bucket tipped.

Flour everywhere.

A long, long silence followed.

Jinx paled. “Oh. Shit.”

Isha, completely dusted in white, blinked.

You braced for tears.

But instead—

She grinned.

Then, the softest, most mischievous giggle bubbled out of her.

Jinx gasped. “Babe.”

You were already smirking. “She’s one of us.”

Jinx wiped a fake tear from her eye. “I’m so proud.”

And just like that, Isha became the ultimate prank war champion.

You had created a monster.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Your life finally feels complete again.

For weeks you felt alone and scared. 

Scared that you failed Jinx.

You saw Jinx actual feel like she has a purpose again.

But then—

when you both were finally settling in your guy’s new life.

she was gone.

But now—

you guys have Isha

finally feel full again.

but good things don’t always last forever.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It happened too fast.

One second, you were all together—fighting, running, surviving.

The next—

Isha was holding a gun.

Your breath caught in your throat, legs moving before your brain could catch up.

Jinx screamed.

“Isha!”

Jinx lunged.

She almost made it.

Almost.

Isha’s eyes met yours—And then—

She was gone.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

And then—nothing.

Silence.

it wasn’t fair.

Not again.

Not her.

Not your baby.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Everything burned.

Piltover was drowning in smoke, fire licking at the streets, sirens screaming in the distance. The air was thick with dust and blood, and the world felt like it was cracking apart.

And maybe it was.

Maybe you were.

Jinx stood beside you, gun smoking, eyes wild. Her fingers twitched on Fishbones, but her grip was steady. It always was in a fight.

She turned to you, breath ragged, face smeared with dirt and sweat.

“Once we’re out,” she rasped, voice raw from screaming, “we’ll get the life we always wanted.”

You swallowed, gripping your own weapon, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Jinx—”

“I mean it.” She reached for you, gripping your wrist like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. “No more running. No more fighting. Just us, babe. We’ll leave. Start fresh. We’ll have—”

She choked on the words.

But you knew.

She meant Isha.

She meant family.

She meant the life that was stolen from you both.

Your throat tightened. “Jinx…”

“I swear.” Her eyes burned, desperate, pleading. “Just hold on a little longer. Please.”

You exhaled shakily.

Then—slowly—you nodded.

Jinx let out a breath, pressing her forehead to yours.

For a moment, just one, the war didn’t exist.

It was just you and her.

Like it used to be.

Like it could be again.

If you survived.

If you made it out.

Jinx pulled back, smirking despite the blood on her lip. “C’mon, babe.” She lifted Fishbones. “Let’s finish this.”

And so, you did.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The war ended in fire.

You made it out.

Barely.

With nothing but your weapons, the clothes on your backs, and the weight of ghosts in your hearts—

you both flew away.

Flew away from the wreckage. From the war. From everything.

And when you stopped running—

You were in Bilgewater.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

The first thing you noticed was the salt.

Bilgewater smelled like the sea—like salt and spice and damp wood. The docks groaned under the weight of ships, traders shouting over each other as people bustled past.

It was chaotic. Loud. Messy.

It was perfect.

Jinx stretched, arms high above her head, letting out a long, satisfied sigh.

“Smells like fish and crime,” she said, grinning. “I love it.”

You snorted. “You would.”

She turned to you, nudging your side. “You sure about this, babe? New place, new start—no more blowing stuff up for fun. You ready for that?”

You exhaled, looking out at the ocean.

The wind was soft here. The sun actually touched your skin instead of hiding behind smog.

You turned back to Jinx, taking her hand in yours.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m ready.”

Jinx’s grin softened.

She squeezed your hand.

“Then let’s go home.”

It wasn’t much.

Just a small shack near the docks—rickety, barely standing, but yours.

Jinx spent weeks fixing it up, scrounging for parts, muttering about “engineering genius” and “making this place badass.”

You just watched her work, heart full for the first time in what felt like forever.

Because she was happy.

You both were.

No more war. No more running.

Just waking up with Jinx tangled around you, her hair messy, her breath warm against your neck.

Just late nights on the rooftop, watching the waves, talking about nothing and everything.

Just peace.

And one day, as Jinx lay beside you, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm, she whispered—

“We made it.”

You turned to her, brushing blue strands from her face.

“We did.”

She smiled, soft and real, and for the first time in a long time—

There were no ghosts.

No war.

No grief.

Just you and her.

And the life you always wanted.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

Bilgewater had been home for a couple months now.

The war was a distant memory, just a story told in whispers between you and Jinx when the nights stretched too long and the past felt too close.

Life had settled.

Jinx still tinkered, still got into trouble, still stole things just because she could. But she was happy. She laughed more, slept easier, held you like she was afraid you’d slip away in the night.

And you?

For the first time in your life, you were at peace.

But something was missing.

Something you and Jinx didn’t talk about out loud—not for months, not after what happened.

Then one night, as you both lay tangled on the couch, a storm raging outside, Jinx spoke—soft, hesitant.

“…Do you ever think about it?”

You didn’t have to ask what she meant.

You turned to her, fingers brushing absentmindedly through her blue strands. “Every day.”

Jinx swallowed.

She sat up, looking at you—really looking—and her voice was barely a whisper when she said—

“What if we tried again?”

Your breath caught.

Jinx rushed ahead before you could answer.

“Not—not to replace her,” she stammered. “Never that. Just… I dunno. We had a good thing. A great thing. And I think we could—” She exhaled sharply, eyes darting away. “Forget it. Dumb idea.”

You caught her chin gently, making her meet your gaze.

“It’s not dumb,” you said. “It’s perfect.”

Jinx blinked.

Then—slowly—her lips curled into a small, hopeful grin.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

BONUS!!!!!

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

It took time.

But one day, finally, you held her.

Tiny. Fragile. A weight so light it barely felt real in your arms.

You stared down at the baby, throat tight, heart pounding in a way you hadn’t felt in years.

Jinx hovered beside you, practically vibrating.

“D’you think she’s defective?” she muttered.

You snorted. “Jinx.”

“She hasn’t said anything.”

“She was literally just born.”

Jinx huffed, poking the baby’s cheek. “Still. I expected more personality.”

The baby let out a soft, sleepy sigh.

Jinx melted.

“…Okay, that was kinda cute.”

You shook your head, smiling. Then, quietly, you whispered—

“Isha.”

Jinx froze.

The boat went silent, save for the distant sound of the waves against the docks.

You looked up, meeting Jinx’s eyes.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then—slowly—Jinx exhaled, her lips curling into something small, soft.

She reached out, tracing a gentle finger over the baby’s tiny fist.

“Isha,” she repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

Like it was something sacred.

You nodded, eyes stinging.

“She deserves to be remembered…both kids need to be remembered”

Jinx swallowed, blinking rapidly.

Then, suddenly, she grinned.

“Well,” she said, nudging your shoulder. “Let’s just hope this one doesn’t start a prank war.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to Isha’s tiny forehead.

“No promises.”

Jinx smirked.

Then she leaned in, brushing her lips against yours, whispering—

“We made it.”

You smiled.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We did.”

And as Isha let out a tiny yawn, curling into your chest, the past finally let go.

The war was over.

The ghosts were gone.

And the life you always wanted?

It was here.

It was real.

And it was yours.

I love making angst and fluff stories!! They are so fun to craft!!

I want sleep.

[steddieas-shegoes]

i love him on purpose

for @steddielovemonth using red, white, and royal blue for inspiration

rated t | 1385 words | cw: forced coming out | tags: established relationship, secret relationship, royal steve harrington, wayne munson is the president (god i wish)

🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵🔴⚪🔵

The news broke in the middle of the night, long after Eddie had fallen asleep, and just before Steve’s alarm woke him up.

PRINCE STEVEN CAUGHT HOOKING UP WITH FIRST SON EDDIE, ROYAL FAMILY INSISTS ON SECRECY

Every headline is some variation of Steve and Eddie being caught, but there’s no photos. Most articles point to the royal family not wanting to allow it, but they didn’t even know about it.

Steve’s been so careful, much more careful than Eddie. Eddie’s told his best friends and Wayne, who deserves to know when his nephew turned son is getting into things. Especially when the thing he’s getting into is the Prince of England.

Steve doesn’t really have many friends. He has Robin, who is more like a sister to him, and an entire advisory team, publicists, security…

He won’t answer his phone, which means all of those people have probably informed him he is to have no contact with the outside world until they figure out what to do. Eddie doesn’t know what to do.

They talked about hypotheticals, as any young adults in the public eye are wont to do. How they’d handle the press when they come out. How they would handle Steve’s family when they come out.

All under the assumption that they would have control over their coming out.

How naive.

“Ed. I have to give some kind of message here,” Wayne says softly, gently like he knows that Eddie is gonna beg him not to say anything until he hears from Steve. “Silence ain’t gonna win us any favors.”

“I promised he wouldn’t have to do this alone,” Eddie says. “If we make a statement now, I’m just throwing him to the wolves.”

“Not necessarily. Plenty of options with what to say. As long as we acknowledge we’ve seen it, they don’t have to have any other information,” Wayne says. “I’ll follow your lead, kid.”

“I don’t know what the right thing is.”

Wayne pulls him into a hug. This isn’t the first time they’ve had a PR nightmare on their hands, and probably won’t be the last. Wayne’s always been good at handling things just fine.

But this is something Eddie needs to handle. He accepts the comforting hug, then he decides to be brave.

****

“Forcing anyone to come out is disgusting, and the media has done it time and time again. In this case, they took something that should have been up to me, and up to Prince Steve, and made it world news based on a false report of someone seeing us together at an event. Whether we are together romantically or not isn’t up for speculation. We are what we are. We choose how to define that to ourselves, to our loved ones, and maybe someday, to everyone.” Eddie takes a deep breath and looks into the many cameras facing him, trying his best to ignore the reporters anxiously waiting to be able to ask questions. He’s not letting them, but they don’t know that yet. “Respect goes both ways. Pops has always taught me that respect is earned, not freely given. No one in this press room has earned my respect. Until you do, the only news story you can break about me is that I’m disappointed in the way the media has handled this news story. Thanks for your time.”

Eddie leaves the room.

Wayne is waiting for him in his office.

“Proud of ya, son.”

“Thanks.”

“Your boy will be here in four hours.”

Eddie’s jaw drops. “He called?”

“He did more than call. He caused a scene with every secretary in the building. He insisted he needed to speak to me.”

“He could’ve called me,” Eddie is pacing.

“You left your phone in here earlier, remember? He was desperate.”

“Is he okay? Have they made a statement yet?”

“They haven’t. They wanted to see what we’d do first.” Wayne holds Eddie’s phone out to him. “But I think he could stand to hear from ya.”

Eddie steps in to take the phone from him, but Wayne clasps his hand between his, holding tight.

“I can’t protect you from the media forever, but I’ll always stick up for you and your happiness. You know that?”

“Of course I do,” Eddie answers.

“That goes for your Prince, too,” Wayne smirks. “His family’s on thin ice, though.”

****

Eddie talks to Steve on the phone for a few minutes, but Steve’s not alone, and Eddie’s trying not to hide away entirely from everyone who cares about him. It’s a short conversation, but it’s enough to get them through until Steve arrives.

He sounds like he’s being stoic.

Eddie knows he’s struggling.

It takes nearly two hours of security for Steve to actually get to Eddie’s suite.

“Baby,” Eddie says as he pulls Steve into his chest, feeling whole for the first time since he woke up. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay.”

“They’re making a statement any minute now,” Steve says miserably.

“I’m guessing it’s not what you wanted.” Steve shakes his head in response. “That’s okay. We can work with whatever we need to.”

“They wouldn’t let me do it,” Steve explains. “I wanted to do something like what you did. They said I was too emotional.”

“I think you’re just emotional enough. God forbid you show signs of being a human.”

Steve laughs. Eddie smiles.

“Have you eaten? Do you wanna get cleaned up? I know you hate how airplanes make you feel,” Eddie offers.

Steve tightens his grip around Eddie. That’s answer enough.

****

“We sincerely hope the media will understand that making accusations of this nature about a member of the royal family will not go unpunished. Whether it is true or not, we will be handling this discussion internally. We have contacted the President’s office to have a discussion with their team. Eddie’s statement today was not discussed with us beforehand, nor did it go through any of our approval, and should not be seen as our official statement.”

“Does your grandfather always look like someone pissed directly in his eye?” Eddie asks Steve as they watch the official statement from his room.

“It depends on which of us has displeased him,” Steve laughs. “If it’s my mother, his lip curls up over his teeth.”

Eddie pulls Steve into his side on the couch, turning off the television so they can have some peace. They sit in the silence for a couple of minutes, something neither of them get to do very often.

“Wayne offered us the house in Indiana for a bit. Said it might be nice for us to just be away from the chaos,” Eddie runs his fingers up and down Steve’s arm, smiling to himself when Steve shivers against him. “At least for a few days. Let the media move on and give time for your family to get the sticks surgically removed from their asses.”

“That sounds nice,” Steve agrees, leaning his head back to kiss Eddie’s lips. “I wanna do something first, though.”

Steve pulls away so he can get his phone from the coffee table. It’s been on silent and face down since he arrived. He types for a minute, and Eddie waits.

Steve sets his phone down and turns back to Eddie with a grin.

“Okay, ready to go.”

Eddie’s phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out and looks down at where he’s been tagged on Instagram in Steve’s post.

It’s a picture from the trip they took with Wayne to Indiana last month, the two of them by a fire with melted marshmallow all over their lips. They’re both happy.

The caption makes tears pool in Eddie’s eyes and a semi-hysterical laugh burst from his throat.

Doesn’t matter who pissed in his eye, as long as I’ve got you. Let’s go off the grid, baby

“You’re gonna be in so much fuckin’ trouble, baby,” Eddie laughs with disbelief.

“I don’t care. They know better than to cause a bigger scene.” Steve kisses the corner of his mouth. “Can we go to that diner when we get there? The one with the burger that have cheese inside the meat?”

“How American of you,” Eddie teases. “I’ll make sure Wayne calls Benny ahead of time so he knows we’re on our way.”