#there was nothing that memorable about this thing

[rafes-slut]

You let him hit raw for first time

Pairing: rafe cameron x bitchy!reader

Summary: after he was beghing you for months to hit it raw you finally let him. But he gets too excited to last long

Warnings:( Smut (MDNI), Unprotected sex, Praise & degradation, Rafe being obsessed with you, Slight power struggle, Bitchy attitude (from you), Begging (from him), Possessiveness, Probably some light choking/gripping, A lot of dirty talk

----

"Come on, baby. Just once. Just let me feel you."

It had been Rafe's favorite thing to beg for since the start of your relationship. His obsession. His mission.

Every time he had you underneath him, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his hands gripping at your waist or your wrists or your throat—he'd ask. He'd plead. He'd run his lips over your ear, whispering filthy promises about how good it would feel, how much better it would be, how you’d never want to go back.

And every time, you told him no.

You liked making him work for it. You liked the way his jaw clenched, the way his grip got tighter, the way his frustration seeped into every rough thrust. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t lose, and telling him no? That made him desperate to win.

But tonight?

Tonight, you felt mean.

Maybe it was the way he’d been looking at you all night, the way his hands had barely left your body, like he was starving. Maybe it was the way he pulled you onto his lap the second you got to his house, hands palming your ass, lips dragging along your jaw. Maybe it was the way you wanted to ruin him.

So, when he kissed you breathless and muttered against your lips, "Please, baby, just once," you smirked.

"Fine."

Rafe froze. His pupils dilated so fast you thought he might pass out. His lips parted, brows pulling together like he was trying to process what he just heard.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "You heard me."

And then?

He lost his fucking mind.

The second his cock pressed inside, with nothing in between, he let out a sound you’d never heard before. Like an actual, feral groan, deep in his chest, his body shuddering against yours as he bottomed out.

"Fuck," he gasped, dropping his head to your shoulder. His hands gripped your thighs like he wanted to bruise them, like he needed to ground himself. "Fuck. You feel—Jesus."

His breath was hot against your neck, his whole body shaking with restraint. Like he wanted to ruin you, but he was trying—failing—to keep himself together.

"You good?" you teased, a smirk playing on your lips.

Rafe let out a low, humorless laugh before he pulled back to look at you. His blue eyes were dark, wild, possessive.

"Oh, baby," he rasped, voice dripping with something dangerous. His hand slid up your body, fingers wrapping around your throat, tilting your chin up. "You just fucked up."

Rafe didn’t move for a second. He just stayed there, buried inside you to the hilt, like he was trying to memorize the way you felt around him. Like he was already dreading the moment he had to pull out.

“Holy shit,” he rasped, voice all shaky and breathless.

You smirked, just a little, running your hands up his arms. “What? You’re not gonna punk out on me, are you?”

That snapped something in him.

Rafe let out a choked laugh, but there was nothing funny about the way he gripped your waist. “You think I’m gonna tap out? Oh, baby.” His fingers dug into your skin, holding you down. “I’m just trying not to bust the second I move.”

You laughed, but the sound cut off when he rolled his hips—just once, slow, deep.

His whole body shuddered. His head dropped forward, forehead pressing into yours, his jaw clenching like he was physically fighting his own body.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned, voice wrecked. His breath came out in short, sharp bursts, and his grip on you only got tighter. “Oh my God, this is—this is so much better—”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, dragging your nails up his back. “C’mon, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “I thought you were dying for this. Don’t tell me you can’t handle it.”

That did it.

Rafe’s hands jerked your hips up, making you gasp, making you feel just how hard he was struggling to keep it together.

“You love running that mouth, don’t you?” he gritted out, glaring down at you. “Think you’re so fucking funny.”

You smirked up at him, dragging your fingers through his hair. “You begged for this, Cameron. If you can’t handle it, just say so.”

That was the final straw.

Rafe let out a sharp breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were still talking, still teasing him when he was this close to fucking losing it.

“Okay,” he muttered, half to himself, like he was officially done playing nice. His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing you into the mattress, tilting your chin up so he could look you in the eyes when he said—

“Don’t fucking move.”

Then, he pulled out—all the way—before slamming back in, forcing a gasp from your lips as he stretched you again.

Rafe let out a broken groan, his body shuddering as he tried—tried—not to let it get the best of him. But you were so tight, so fucking warm, and there was nothing, nothing, in between.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. “Baby, I swear to God, I can’t—”

You laughed, breathless. “Already?”

His grip tightened around your throat in warning. “Shut up,” he muttered, voice shaking.

You did, but only because you were too distracted by the way he was trembling above you, holding himself back, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw popped.

You could feel how desperate he was. You could see the way his abs tensed, his muscles flexing as he fought for every ounce of self-control he had.

He wanted to ruin you. He needed to.

But he was so close, and it was killing him.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, glaring down at you. “I hate you,” he muttered, his voice all breathless and wrecked.

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

And then, you moved. Just a little. Just enough to make him jerk inside you, to make his whole body seize up.

“Oh, you bitch,” he groaned, his grip tightening as he thrust forward, his restraint finally snapping.

[sailoryuns]

LUST ─── JJH

genre. jaehyun x f!reader | strangers to ??? (wtv they got going on in this dynamic)

warnings. kinda angsty, some fluff i suppose, smut, mentions of alcohol & smoking (cigs), dom!jaehyun & sub!reader, hookup culture, slight corruption?, reader cries a lot, spanking, choking, oral (m. rec), fingering, unprotected s*x (don’t be stupid pls), reader gets fucked against a window, jaehyun is a little mean in this oops wc -> 3.2k

now playing 🎧 — wus good / curious by partynextdoor

it happened two years ago, yet the memories of that fateful day still carry on with you as if it were yesterday. vibrant recollections of those slender, jewelled hands clasped around your neck as you cry out for him, body subconsciously submitting to all of him— breaking every barrier you’ve built up within. of all your years of existence, that night was the only time you’ve felt truly alive, shedding every ounce of innocence away in one night for a man whose name you didn’t even know.

do you regret losing your virginity to someone who only saw you as a temporary plaything? partly yes and partly no. you were conflicted on the fact you never exchanged info after he left but other than that, nothing regrettable came out of it. the only issue per se was that he’s set your standards far into oblivion, you’ve yet to find a lay as memorable as he was.

it’s not as though you haven’t tried getting over it in the past— you’ve been desperately wishing to forget. suppressing your inner desires with all kinds of self pleasure methods; even going so far as to banging other hot strangers you meet from the bars/club—but even then, you couldn’t replicate how you felt with him and you still couldn’t reach your climax without thinking of your first time.

you’d catch yourself daydreaming of him daily. the raspy tone of his voice, the intoxicating aroma of expensive cologne, his chiseled facial features, and sublime sense of style. everything you could’ve ever wanted, slipped away from your grasp forever. that was, until you were met face to face with him again— a total of 738 days later (yes you did the math).

you went bar hopping downtown with all your girl friends, looking for an eventful weekend. little did you know you’d be running into him again, the nameless man that gave you a night to remember. you were definitely the first to notice him, it felt quite peculiar but as soon as you walked in you got struck with a weird deja vu moment. it all felt so familiar to you, even down to the symphonic melodies of jazz music playing in the distance, everything brought you back to that gloomy autumn night.

you’d try your dearest not to stare but your mind was not complying with any rationality, one look at his broad physique and it was endgame for all your sanity. it didn’t help that your body went inert, lost in a trance of him indefinitely, wanting nothing more than to worship him and give in to his every need. you reminisce about him telling you how much of a good girl you were for taking all of it, sucking on his fingers as you completely come undone underneath him. he left you begging for more that night, crying and pleading for at least a goodbye kiss— which you never got the pleasure of getting.

“i told you this was a one time thing only.. besides, i’m leaving the city tomorrow for good so you’ll probably never see me again. it’s for the best anyway.”

his cold last words left more than a lasting impression on you. it sent you into an endless spiral of overthinking, analyzing any and everything you could’ve done wrong. did that night really mean absolutely nothing to him at all? all the countless times you’d touch yourself to vivid recounts of his face pressed into your thigh, plastering wet kisses all over them and sucking on your bruised skin.

he’d spank each thigh one by one as a punishment, proudly smirking at the way you’d wince out in pain mixed with so much pleasure. he thrived off the idea that he was the first to corrupt you like this, a girl he hasn’t even known for a span of 24 hours willing to give up just about anything she had to offer. had you utterly wrapped around his finger like a brainless puppet.

you still don’t understand how someone can look so divine, even when doing nothing but just standing. you watch as he sips viognier out of an oversized wine glass, gazing at the crowd, ruffling his fingers through his hair from time to time. then it became unreal when you locked eyes with him, catching him stealing a glance when he realizes who you were.

you look almost exactly the same as you did a few years ago, the only part that’s different about you now is the recent butterfly tattoo you got on your lower back. that’ll be a pleasant surprise for him to find out. his eyes never drifted once they landed on you, he was in just as much shock as you were— maybe more. he’d made an internal promise to himself to keep you as a forever one time fling—nothing more just that, but if fate wasn’t real then why would the universe send you back into each other’s lives?

no, not a romantic kind of fate. the fate you get when someone you’ve mindlessly lusted over for ages has finally found its way to you again. a fate that doesn’t occur by chance, or coincidence, it was pure destiny awaiting to happen.

“wow, you haven’t changed at all have you?” he says nonchalantly, acting as if you were an old friend he was catching up with.

you weren’t sure how to respond, the surrealism of the moment brought you everywhere but reality. all you really could do was blink, fluttering your lashes at his towering figure over you. though there was a sea of people in this packed, lively bar, it felt like only you two existed in this confined space. he tried striking up the usual basic conversation with the typical: how’re your studies going? work’s been treating you well? anything exciting happen in your life recently? you gave as much of a vague answer as you could, barely putting any thought or effort, you were only giving him the same treatment that he gave back then. he would often come off as bored or condescending at times, it felt good to take back just the little bit of power you upheld.

you quietly observe as he orders another drink, two actually, not even bothering to ask what you wanted. he hands you a glass with a salted rim, the clear liquid made you believe it was either vodka or tequila, either way you gulped it down in no time and squeeze the lime on the side as chaser. you didn’t have much to drink but his presence alone was already enough to make you feel tipsy.

“i thought you said you were never coming back to the city?” you blurt out, instantly scolding yourself for bringing up the past this quickly. it was just the undying curiosity of wanting to know the inner depths of him, not the stonewall of a persona he portrays to be.

“i don’t know, guess i just felt like visiting. also had some unfinished business to attend to.”

there he goes again with those subtle answers, toying with you so easily. his responses have always annoyed you to a certain extent but this feels even more strange for some reason. what’s the “unfinished business” he’s referring to?

“so” he pauses, never actually finishing his thought.

“so..” you awkwardly mimic, hoping he’ll spit out whatever the hell he has to say.

it took some time before he clears his throat and takes a sip of what seemed like his fiftieth drink of the night. “soo, do you…maybe wanna get out of here?” you’re not sure what’s with the shy act suddenly, he wasn’t this timid when you first met him. it’s like you’re meeting a whole new person.

“uhm, sure i guess” you spoke hesitantly, taking his hand as he reaches out for yours. bumping into loads of drunk people while he weaved you through the crowd, it felt like multiple eternities before you’ve found the exit. he lights a cigarette before heading down the vintage spiral staircase, still hand in hand with you.

“goddamn… look at your fine ass. still just as sexy as i remember you last time.” he gracefully compliments, walking slightly behind in attempts of getting better sight at the back view of the form fitting dress you wore. his hand left yours in favor of wrapping around your waist.

“thanks..” you reply sheepishly, hoping that he doesn’t notice how flushed your cheeks are. before getting in his car, there was one more thing you needed closure with, the one thing that constantly kept you up at night.

“i don’t mean to be this straightforward but, i want to know your name. i know this probably sounds really lame and pathetic but it’s been eating me up inside since the day we met and… i just- i think i deserve the right to know is all.” you wanted to scream at your poor delivery, sounding nowhere near as confident as you did in your head. the cigarette was still tucked between his lips, taking another long drag before answering you.

“damn, even after all this time i still occupy your mind sweetheart? that’s cute,” he teases, reveling in on your confession. “but i suppose i can agree with you since i did keep you guessing for so long. it’s only fair you should know, right?” that sly little smirk never left his face, he knows exactly how to mess with you. “it’s jaehyun. and you are?” ah, so he really does have a name.

“y/n.” you mutter, looking down at the pavement.

“that’s pretty, i like it. suits you well.” his hand raises yours to his lips, kissing it gently, “nice to formally meet you, y/n.”

your eyes dart at him reluctantly, hoping your palms weren’t too clammy. “you too, jaehyun.”

none of this still felt real to you, you wanted to pinch yourself and wake up immediately.

“it’s kinda hot the way you say my name.” he casually admits, the grin on his face deepens, “but that won’t be the only thing you’ll be screaming at the top of your lungs tonight.”

this certainly wasn’t the first (or last) time you found yourself like this. getting severe brush burn from the carpet by being obediently on your knees, swiftly bobbing your head as tears stream down your face, ruining your precious mascara. the only audible sounds were his groans echoing in the room of this giant suite at the four seasons. it gave a sense of familiarity, and oddly enough you found comfort in being in such a compromised situation. especially with him again.

“fuck, you’re so pretty,” he grunts, grabbing a fistful of hair, never taking his eyes off you. “look even prettier with my cock stuffed deep in your mouth.” his words sent chills, all you wanted to do was keep pleasing him.

your mind goes hazy from the end of his shaft hitting the back of your throat, other than the tears, you showed no outright emotion—you had to endure this, you’ve been praying for this moment since your first ever encounter. big doe-like eyes look up at him innocently as you suck the soul out of him, all the shiny gloss you wore on your lips now completely transferred onto him, in this perspective, you were utterly perfect.

“shit- forgot how good you were at this..” he hisses, watching as you kneel beneath him, saliva glistening on your chin as you gag all over his thick cock.

you do the best you can to fit all of him, you did learn from the best after all. you hum against him in response, feeling his cock twitch from the sudden vibrations. if you keep going like this he’s bound to cum for sure, but he doesn’t want to give you that satisfaction— he wants to have all the power and control.

“get up.” he spat harshly, if you swirl your tongue around him like that one more time he feels as though he’s about to combust. the choice of only taking him further in made him even angrier.

“did you not fucking hear me? i said get. the. fuck. up.” he pulls your hair tighter to yank your head back, forcing a semi-loud *pop* with your lips as you detach from his cock, swallowing the string of drool from the corner of your mouth.

silly you for keep going, you should’ve listened the first time. now your forever fantasy of getting to suck him dry and drink his cum has sadly been cut short...

“since you’re so damn greedy for this cock why don’t you go stand up against that window while i fuck you, hm?” your face becomes mortified when you haven’t realized just how big those windows truly were. it took up a quarter of the living room and the curtains were never closed which you also failed to notice. you were at the top floor of this fifty-two story building but still, you were rightfully nervous out of your mind.

the next thing you knew, your body’s pressed up to the cold glass, his big hands caressing both sides of your waist and trailing kisses to the exposed skin on your back. you watch the faint reflection of him toying with the hem of your mini dress, slowly pulling it up then stopping when he gets to a certain point.

“oh.. what’s this here?” he asks, glancing down at your butterfly tattoo, his fingertips lightly grazing over the fresh ink. “guess you aren’t so innocent as i thought you were.”

you shook your head, biting your lip when he gropes your ass, “never was innocent..” you quietly mewl.

“oh yeah?” he breaths warmly against your neck, hiking the dress up further. “then be a good little slut for me and don’t speak unless i tell you to.” the palm of his hand slaps your cheek hard enough to leave a visible print, pushing you up against the window more.

you were enjoying every single minute of this, you were so elated that you could cry again. you feel his touch down lower, grazing over your folds to feel how wet you are.

“shit, you’re already dripping like this just from sucking me off? always knew you were such a filthy whore.” two fingers slid into your heat with ease, pumping them in and out.

“nngh,” you moan lowly, “shh, quiet for me doll. wait ‘til i fill you with my cock then you can scream all you want.” when he pulls them out his chest collides with your back, rubbing himself between your folds and bringing his drenched fingers up to your mouth. of course, you open eagerly to suck on his sleek digits, you remember doing this exact thing last time.

history truly does repeat itself.

once he fully settles in, the clench of you around him makes his brain all fuzzy, you feel so warm and inviting, could stay like this forever.

“fuck..so fucking tight” he husks, firmly gripping at your waist before he begins moving.

first he goes at a normal pace, stuffing you nice and slow with delicate kisses to your shoulders. he soon built up more momentum, sending powerful strides into your soaking cunt as your bodies clash together. you arch your back more as he his cock hits your walls deeper, mumbling a bunch of gibberish whilst he fucks you completely dumb.

“what’s that doll? can’t hear you, speak the fuck up.” he orders sternly, producing another harsh, loud slap to your ass— never letting up on his stamina.

“mmh, fuck. you’re so big, feels so good..” you whine, feeling nothing but cockdumb at this point.

“yeah? you like the way i stretch this pussy out? gonna cream all over my cock just like you did for me last time baby?” his strokes get rougher with each question.

“yes…yes.. oh fuck- jaehyun!” you chant his name over and over like you’re casting a spell, the ring of his name slips on your tongue smoother than the pungent liquor you drank earlier.

“only i can fuck you as good as this right? have you acting this obedient and submissive? bet you were manifesting this shit all along, just can’t enough of my cock can you?” the questions just won’t stop, and the waterworks soon start up again, you’re not sure how much more you can endure.

“don’t even fucking answer, i already know anyway.” his cockiness really pissed you off but at least he had the evidence to back his arrogance up.

his pace grew relentless as he watches himself disappear in you, still gawking over the pretty design of the butterfly. you felt so close— that same knot tied in your stomach like you felt before; you haven’t had this feeling since the very first time, as if only jaehyun was the one to unlock this level of passion out of you.

“g-gonna cum soon..” you alert him, tasting the faint bitter saltiness from your tears pooling down. a pair of strong hands connect around your neck, wrapping tightly as he rams in harder, making every bone in your body tremble and shake.

“go ahead, do it.” jaehyun encourages supportively, “cum with me dollface.”

those words were all you needed to hear to let go, screaming out his name and a slew of more curses. you feel your release drip down your leg, mind completely blank from the buzz taking over you. he quickly pulls out, spilling his white seed onto your back as you whine from being empty again. you could honestly go for another round if he asked you to right now. it was fun while it lasted though, looking over at the skyline view as you’re getting your back blown out— seemed like a literal dream come true.

the aftermath was quiet, you didn’t say much and neither did he, you reverted right back to your shy demeanor. after you’ve finished cleaning up yourself in the bathroom you grabbed your purse to rummage for your house keys but he stops you mid action.

“where’re you going?” that only confuses you more, where else would you be going?

“uh, home?” you meekly respond, unsure of his real intentions.

“don’t be like that, you can stay the night here.” he suggests, “my flight leaves in the morning though but you can sleep here for as long as you’d like, i’ll book this room for an extra day.”

it was sweet of him to do that for you, it was the least he could do to mellow your sorrows. you were hoping to be with him for a bit longer but what were you expecting really? he’s just someone who comes and goes, taking everything you had to give, just to leave you high and dry all over again.

“come here.” jaehyun directs assertively, patting his thigh for you to sit on his lap, you waste no time in propping yourself onto him. “don’t be sad doll, cheer up. we’ll meet again sometime, yeah?”

you nod, feeling so hopeless and broken inside, he’s only saying this because he probably just wants to fuck again. that’s all you are to him, a fucktoy and nothing more. even though he sees you in that light, it still makes you feel validated in some twisted kind of way. at least right now you have all of his attention, it may just be momentarily but it felt so good. one thing was definitely made clear by him though— he was deeply, undeniably, in pure lust with you.

- 完 ♡︎

[hy6erion]

Hi, Christine!!:)

can you pls write Viktor/jayce x small s/o with like small curves? like small breasts and ass etc.

I’m on my knees. PLEASE PLEASEEEE DO ITT😔🥹🙏🙏

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫/ 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 (𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲) 𝐱 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 ᰔ

𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬

𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Jayce is the kind of guy who doesn’t care much about body types—he’s all about personality and connection. But that doesn’t mean he won’t absolutely adore every part of you.

✰ Loves wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder, pulling you into his broad chest. He likes how petite you feel against him.

✰ If you ever express insecurity about your body, he’s quick to shut that down. “Are you kidding? You’re perfect.” His hands will settle on your hips, and he’ll make you look at him. “You don’t need curves to be gorgeous, sweetheart.”

✰ Jayce is a sucker for practical fashion, so if you wear fitted shirts, crop tops, or high-waisted pants that show off your proportions, he thinks you look effortlessly good. He’ll definitely hype you up.

✰ If anyone even tries to make a rude comment about your body, Jayce will shut them down so fast. He’s that boyfriend who will make a whole speech about how beauty comes in all forms.

✰ Playfully calls you “tiny but mighty.” He knows firsthand that physical size has nothing to do with how powerful or brilliant someone can be (cough Viktor cough).

✰ Jayce is very into lifting you up randomly. He’s strong, and since you’re smaller, he takes advantage of it—throws you over his shoulder just to make you laugh. “Too easy. You weigh nothing.”

✰ When he hugs you, you completely disappear in his arms. He loves how snug you feel against him.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Jayce is an ass guy, no question, but he doesn’t care about size. He’s obsessed with the shape of you, how your hips fit into his hands perfectly.

✰ He loves touching your chest. Even if you’re smaller, his hands still grope at you like you’re the most irresistible thing in the world. He’ll cup you, thumb over your nipples, and mutter, “Perfect handful.”

✰ Definitely the type to kiss down your torso slowly, savoring every little curve of your body. He’ll take his time appreciating all the details you might think are insignificant.

✰ “Doesn’t matter how big they are, they’re still sensitive, aren’t they?”—and then he’ll prove it with his tongue, teasing you until you’re squirming.

✰ If you ever try to cover yourself up during sex, Jayce won’t let you. He’ll pin your wrists down and murmur, “Nah, let me see you.”

✰ Loves when you ride him. Since you’re smaller, he loves putting his hands on your waist and lifting you up and down himself—all strength, little effort.

✰ If you wear lingerie, especially something sheer or lacy, he’s done for. He’ll just sit back and groan, pulling you onto his lap. “You trying to kill me, sweetheart?”

✰ Spanking? Oh, he still does it. Just because you don’t have the biggest ass doesn’t mean he won’t leave a red handprint on you. He loves making you feel how much he wants you.

✰ Growls into your skin when he’s deep inside you, holding you tight. Size kink unlocked—you feel so small beneath him, and it drives him crazy.

𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫

𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is completely indifferent to body type. His attraction is all about intelligence, wit, and emotional connection. Your size? Completely irrelevant to him.

✰ That being said, he adores how dainty you are. His fingers ghost over your arms, your collarbone, your waist—he memorizes you.

✰ He loves resting his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, mumbling in his accent, “You are very comfortable, you know that?”

✰ Since he struggles with mobility, he appreciates how light you are. It’s easier for him to pull you into his lap, have you sit beside him, or keep you close.

✰ If you ever mention feeling insecure, he raises a brow. “Who told you that you are anything less than beautiful?” His voice is so genuine that you immediately melt.

✰ Unlike Jayce, he doesn’t physically lift you, but he will pull you into his coat on cold nights, letting you tuck yourself against him.

✰ He’s obsessed with the way you curl up beside him. He traces patterns on your skin absentmindedly, always touching you in some way.

✰ If someone makes a rude comment about your body, Viktor won’t even look up—he’ll just say something so sharp and intelligent that the person leaves embarrassed. “I see ignorance is still thriving. How unfortunate.”

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰

✰ Viktor is fascinated by every inch of you. He’ll trace your entire body with his hands, lips, tongue—his admiration is scientific and intimate.

✰ You can feel the reverence in his touch. He worships your body, slow and deliberate, taking his time. “It is perfect, because it is you.”

✰ He likes being between your thighs. Doesn’t care about the size—he just wants to be buried there, lazy tongue strokes making you beg.

✰ Viktor is teasing. He’ll roll your nipples between his fingers, murmuring, “Sensitive, hm? And you were worried about their size.”

✰ Unlike Jayce, he prefers taking control. He loves pressing you down into the sheets, keeping you under him, making you feel small but cherished.

✰ Eye contact. The entire time. He loves watching your reactions, seeing how your body responds to him.

✰ He loves soft whimpers. If you make any noise when he touches you, he smirks—low, amused, and a little possessive.

✰ Marks your body everywhere. Not just your neck—your collarbones, the inside of your thighs, places only he gets to see.

✰ “Do not compare yourself to others,” he murmurs against your skin. “This body is mine to admire.” And then he shows you exactly how much he means it.

[batboysanonymous]

Watching, Waiting, Wanting (Extended Version)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel was never a good man, not when it came to her—his darkness, his obsession, his carefully crafted devotion was something no one, not even the Mother herself, could sever.

Continue reading below ⬇

───────────────────────────────

Y/n didn’t know he was there.

She never did.

Not really.

She moved through Velaris with a softness Azriel could never replicate. A kind of weightlessness that made him feel like he could breathe when he hadn’t even realized he’d been drowning.

She sat by her window now, curled up in an armchair with a book in her lap, one hand absentmindedly twirling a loose strand of hair. The golden glow of candlelight flickered against the glass, painting her in hues of warmth, softness—everything that was hers and hers alone.

And yet, she wasn’t alone.

She had left her window cracked. Just slightly.

An invitation. A mistake.

Azriel stood across the street, concealed by the darkness, his oldest companion. He shouldn’t be here. He told himself that every time, and yet, every night, he returned.

His little dove.

So delicate. So blissfully unaware of the wolf watching from the shadows.

He told himself it was for her safety. That he needed to ensure nothing happened to her, that Velaris was not as safe as she believed. That if he left her alone for too long, something might come along and take her from him before she even knew she belonged to him.

He was simply looking out for what was his.

She should be more careful. Should know better than to let anything in.

But he liked that she didn’t.

That she was soft in a way that let his darkness wrap around her, unseen, unheard.

That she hadn’t yet learned to fear the thing lurking just beyond her reach.

Because once she did, he would have to remind her—

Fear wasn’t necessary.

Not when it came to him.

─────

Azriel had known her for years, long before the bond snapped.

At first, she had been nothing more than a curiosity, a shift in his peripheral vision that made him look twice. He had encountered countless beautiful females in his lifetime, had trained himself not to be swayed by a pretty face or a soft smile. But her…

She was different.

It started with glances.

Fleeting moments where she felt like an anomaly, an itch beneath his skin he couldn’t quite scratch.

Then, it became more.

He memorized her routine before he even let himself admit how deeply she consumed him.

She had a habit of visiting the same café every morning, ordering tea with three sugars and just a touch of honey. She always brought a book, always tucked her hair behind her ear as she read, always tilted her head slightly when she was deep in thought.

She walked through Velaris without a care, trailing her fingers along shop windows, the rough stone walls of old buildings, the velvet-lined chairs in bookstores.

As if she needed to ground herself to the world.

She never saw his shadows.

Never flinched from them the way others did.

If anything, they curled toward her, drawn to her warmth, her light.

Like him.

And that was the moment he knew.

He wanted to be the one to keep her that way—untouched, unbothered by the horrors of reality.

But he also wanted her to see him.

Not just as the quiet male in the shadows.

But as something inevitable.

─────

It had escalated quickly.

At first, he told himself it was only coincidence.

That every time he found himself in her favorite café, in the bookstore she visited every Sunday, in the marketplace she passed through on her way home—it was chance.

But it wasn’t.

It was control.

His control.

She just didn’t know it yet.

His presence lingered in every corner of her life, woven into the spaces between her laughter and solitude. He made sure she was safe. Made sure no one got too close, no one posed a threat.

She would never have to know about the drunk male who had followed her down an alley one night, only to disappear before he ever reached her. She would never have to know about the shopkeeper who let his gaze linger too long and found his storefront mysteriously wrecked the next morning.

She would never have to know about the nightmares Azriel erased before they could ever touch her reality.

Because he would handle them all.

And he did.

─────

The bond was a mercy.

The bond was a curse.

A relief, because now he knew.

A curse, because it made his hunger insatiable.

She didn’t know yet. He hadn’t told her.

Not because he didn’t want to, but because she wasn’t ready.

She had spent years living a life without him in it, and he would not rip that away from her in one fell swoop.

No.

He would ease her into it.

Let her come to him, let her feel the pull of fate in her own time.

Because once she did, there would be no going back.

And he wanted her to accept it willingly.

To crave him the way he already craved her.

To need him.

The way he needed her.

─────

Tonight was different.

Tonight, she had made a mistake.

She had gone to dinner. With him.

Azriel knew the male wasn’t worthy.

He had watched them together, seen the way his hand had brushed over her wrist, how he had leaned too close, spoken too softly.

As if he had any right.

Azriel waited outside her townhome as the male walked her to the door, his fingers clenching as he lingered.

She was smiling.

And Azriel saw red.

His shadows writhed around him, screaming for violence, for blood, for retribution.

He let the male walk away.

For now.

It didn’t take long to find him.

The scent of her lingered on his skin. The scent of her laughter, of her soft smiles, of the warmth she had freely given.

Azriel stalked him through the empty streets, silent, patient.

When the male finally noticed him, it was already too late.

Azriel was on him in a breath, shadows wrapping around his throat, a blade pressing just below his chin.

“You will not see her again,” Azriel murmured, voice a deadly whisper.

The male stilled, his pulse hammering against the cold steel.

“I—I don’t understand—”

Azriel pressed harder, just enough to make the male’s breath hitch.

“She’s mine.”

The words sank into the silence between them, unshakable.

And then, he was gone.

But the warning was given.

If the male touched her again—looked at her again—

He wouldn’t live to regret it.

─────

Her voice was soft when she answered the phone.

“Hello?”

Azriel didn’t speak.

He just listened.

She hesitated, the silence stretching between them.

She should have hung up.

She didn’t.

She knew.

Not fully, not yet. But some small, secret part of her understood she wasn’t alone.

That something was watching.

That he was watching.

The realization made his lips curl.

He let the silence stretch, let the tension coil between them through the receiver.

Then, softly, possessively—

“I’ll see you soon, little dove.”

And he hung up.

─────

Y/n felt it before she saw it.

That unsettling prickle down her spine.

The feeling of something—someone—watching.

It wasn’t new. No, it had been there for weeks now, an ever-present ghost in the edges of her awareness. She’d tried to ignore it at first, chalking it up to paranoia, to her own mind playing tricks on her in the dead of night.

But then the signs started piling up.

The way the candle by her window flickered unnaturally some nights, as if a breeze had disturbed it—but the window was never open. The way her door, locked before she went to bed, sometimes felt…wrong when she woke. As if someone had touched the handle, pressed against the wood, lingered on the threshold.

And the phone calls.

Always silent. Always stretching long enough to make her heart pound.

She could hear it now—her heartbeat in her ears, the weight of her own breath, the pulse of something unseen tightening its grip around her world.

Still, she told herself it was nothing. That she was being ridiculous.

That she was safe.

She wanted to believe it.

And maybe she would have.

If not for the note.

──────

She found it the next morning.

A single slip of parchment, placed delicately atop the book she had left on her nightstand.

She stared at it for a long moment, her fingers hesitating before picking it up.

One sentence.

“Don’t be afraid of me. I’m what you need.”

Her breath hitched.

The ink was bold, deliberate. A declaration, not a plea.

Her first instinct was to run.

To leave, to get out of her house, to flee into the streets where she wouldn’t be alone.

But something in her made her pause.

A different kind of fear creeping up her spine.

Not of whoever had written the note.

But of what would happen if she disobeyed.

Azriel watched from the rooftop across the street, his shadows curling around him.

She had found his gift.

Her reaction was predictable—wide eyes, sharp breath, that moment of hesitation where she debated running.

But she didn’t.

His little dove was clever.

She was learning.

Good.

He had no desire to chase her.

Yet.

He had been patient. Had watched, waited, ensured she felt his presence before she ever truly saw him.

And now, the game was beginning.

Y/n carried the note with her the rest of the day.

She didn’t know why.

Perhaps some part of her wanted proof. Evidence that she wasn’t imagining things, that the slow-burning paranoia clawing its way into her bones was real.

That someone had been in her room.

And that whoever it was—

They wanted her to know it.

She almost told someone. Almost mentioned it when she ran into Feyre at the market, when Cassian joked about how exhausted she looked.

But the words stuck in her throat.

Because there was something else.

Something deeper than fear.

Something darker.

A part of her that wanted to know who it was.

Not to expose them.

But to understand why she wasn’t afraid the way she should be.

Why, when she read the note again, her skin didn’t crawl—

It burned.

──────

Azriel moved through the shadows, trailing her like a silent storm.

She was thinking about him.

He could tell by the way she bit her lip, the crease in her brow, the way she kept reaching into her pocket—fingering the note he had left.

Good girl.

She was holding onto him already.

It was only a matter of time.

Tonight, she would see him.

Not fully, not yet.

But enough.

Enough to know that running was useless.

Enough to know that she belonged to him.

──────

She felt him before she saw him.

Like always.

She had just gotten home, the door locking behind her with a quiet click. But it didn’t ease the tension in her chest, the feeling that the walls weren’t enough to keep something out.

Something had changed tonight.

The air felt heavier. Thicker.

She hesitated before pulling the curtains shut, her fingers trembling against the fabric.

And then—

A shadow moved outside her window.

Slow. Deliberate.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Not a flicker of darkness.

Not a trick of the night.

A shape.

A figure.

Standing just beyond the glass.

Watching.

Waiting.

She knew she should scream. Should run. Should do anything but what she did—

Which was step closer.

The candlelight illuminated just enough.

Just enough to catch the glint of a scarred hand pressed lightly against the windowpane.

A warning.

A promise.

She barely had time to suck in a breath before the shadows swallowed him whole, disappearing into the night as if he had never been there at all.

But he had been.

And he would be again.

Her fingers curled around the note in her pocket, heart hammering.

Not in fear.

But in anticipation.

Azriel sat in the darkness, the memory of her face burned into his mind.

She had seen him.

Not enough to run.

But enough to understand.

He was not leaving.

He was not letting go.

She would come to him soon.

Whether she meant to or not.

He smirked, whispering softly to the night.

“Don’t run, little dove. You won’t get far.”

──────

Y/n woke with a gasp.

The room was silent, but the weight pressing against her chest was suffocating, as if the air itself had thickened, filled with something unseen, something oppressive.

Her skin burned.

Not a fever. Not exhaustion.

Something deeper.

Something wrong.

She sat up, shoving the blankets away, her breath uneven, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

It was happening again.

That feeling—like she wasn’t alone, like something lurked just beyond her senses, waiting.

Her fingers clenched into the sheets, nails digging into the fabric.

This was worse than before.

Worse than the silent phone calls. Worse than the shadows shifting outside her window.

Because this time—

It was inside her.

Something inside her was fracturing, splitting open, unraveling at the seams.

And she knew.

Knew what it was.

Knew what it meant.

The bond.

It was snapping.

And she had no way to stop it.

──────

Azriel felt it the moment it happened.

The bond, taut for so long, frayed and frayed until it could stretch no more—

Finally gave.

Finally snapped.

He had been waiting for this moment.

Had anticipated it. Had prepared for it.

And yet, as it hit him like a violent storm, like a brand searing into his very soul—he almost drowned in it.

The air in his lungs vanished.

His vision blurred at the edges.

And all he could feel—

All he could taste, breathe, consume—

Was her.

Panic. Confusion. Fear.

But beneath it—beneath the terror lacing her scent—

Was the undeniable pulse of recognition.

Of need.

She was calling for him.

Whether she realized it or not.

And he was coming.

──────

Y/n stumbled to the bathroom, gripping the sink with trembling hands.

She could barely recognize herself in the mirror.

Her pupils were blown wide, her skin flushed, her lips parted as if she couldn’t get enough air.

She was shaking.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Mates.

Azriel.

Azriel.

His name slipped into her mind like a whisper, a call, a demand.

Her chest ached at the thought of him.

Not the normal kind of ache—the kind she had pushed down for weeks, months.

No, this was worse.

It was splitting her apart, tearing into the deepest part of her, pulling her toward something she had no hope of resisting.

Her legs nearly buckled, her grip tightening on the sink.

She needed air.

She needed out.

──────

Azriel had barely given himself time to process before he was moving.

His body acted before his mind could catch up, his shadows twisting through the night, pulling him forward, faster, to her.

She wouldn’t be able to handle it alone.

Not the bond. Not him.

She had fought it, denied it, ignored the inevitable—

But she would not ignore it now.

She couldn’t.

And neither could he.

He had played the game long enough. Had given her space, let her adjust, let her dance along the edges of something she didn’t yet understand.

That time was over.

She was his.

She had always been his.

And now—

Now, she would finally know it.

──────

Y/n barely made it to the door before it blew open.

The shadows came first—pouring into the entryway like living ink, swallowing the light, wrapping around her ankles, her wrists, her throat.

And then—

Him.

Azriel.

He stepped through the threshold like a nightmare incarnate, like he had walked straight from her fears into reality.

Tall. Dark. Eyes burning with something lethal.

Something hungry.

She stumbled back.

The bond roared.

She choked on a breath, her body betraying her, heat curling deep in her stomach, her instincts screaming at her to move toward him even as her mind screamed the opposite.

“No—” Her voice wavered, hands braced behind her against the wall, nowhere to go, no escape.

His head tilted, slow.

Predatory.

“You feel it.”

Not a question. A statement.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

He took a step forward.

She pressed harder against the wall, as if it could swallow her whole, as if it could save her from what was coming.

“I—” She shook her head, her breath shallow, her body betraying her with every second that passed. “You—”

She couldn’t get the words out.

Because he was right.

She felt it.

The tether between them, pulling, strangling, refusing to be ignored.

His eyes darkened, his scars flexing as his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“You ran from it,” he murmured, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “You ran from me.”

She flinched.

His shadows curled tighter around her wrists, not touching—not yet.

“But you can’t anymore, can you?” he breathed.

Her throat closed.

The bond was suffocating.

Too much.

Too strong.

Her body was on fire, her vision blurring, her skin screaming for contact.

And he knew it.

His lips curled, his head tilting as he drank her in.

“You feel what I feel now, don’t you?”

His voice was low, deep, meant only for her.

She tried to deny it.

Tried to shake her head, tried to push down the sharp, desperate pull in her chest—

But she couldn’t.

And he saw it.

Saw the exact moment she broke.

Azriel moved—too fast, too sudden, too much.

His hands slammed into the wall on either side of her head, caging her in, his body pressed close enough that she could feel the heat of him, the strength, the ownership.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he murmured, his breath a ghost against her lips.

Lies.

She should be.

She was.

But beneath that fear—

Was something else.

Something worse.

Because her body—traitorous, weak, his—was leaning into him.

Was giving in.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking.

He let her.

Let her pretend she had a choice.

But then—

Then his lips brushed against her temple, just once, just enough to send a violent shudder through her body.

“I am what you need.”

Her eyes snapped open.

Met his.

And she knew.

There was no running.

There never had been.

Not from him.

Not from this.

The bond had snapped.

And Azriel—

Azriel was never letting her go.

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Taglist: @kathren1sky_blog, @willowpains, masbt1218, @antonia002, bookishcait, fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, quiettuba

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[rgwriteshockey]

the perfect getaway w/ nico hischier

nico hischier x gf!reader

summary: nico takes y/n on a romantic getaway to greece during the 4 nations face-off break. amidst breathtaking views and quality time, he proposes, and y/n says yes, marking the start of their future.

word count: 2k

warnings: none

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nico hischier was always busy. between traveling, playing for the new jersey devils, and just being captain, time off was rare. that’s why, when the 4 nations face-off break came around, he knew he needed something special. he had already planned everything out, keeping it a secret from y/n, his girlfriend of nearly three years. she had no idea what he had in mind for this trip to greece.

they’d been talking about going away for a while, just the two of them. it was hard to find time when their schedules were always so packed, but now, with a little break, nico thought it was the perfect chance to get away. no distractions, no friends, no family—just them. and maybe, just maybe, he’d make this trip even more memorable than either of them could have imagined.

y/n had been excited when nico mentioned the idea of a trip. the two of them had been to a couple of places, but nothing felt as special as what nico had planned for greece. it wasn’t just about the place; it was about the timing. it was about them.

────────────────────────────────────────────

they arrived in santorini on a warm afternoon, the sun hanging low in the sky. the crisp scent of the ocean filled the air, and the whitewashed buildings with blue accents greeted them as they drove through the streets of the island.

“wow,” y/n breathed, her eyes wide as she took in the beauty of the place. “this is incredible.”

nico smiled, proud of his choice. he had been here a few years ago with his family, but this time, it felt different. it felt right, like everything was falling into place. he led her to their villa, a stunning place overlooking the caldera. the view was breathtaking, and y/n immediately started snapping pictures of the landscape, her excitement clear.

“this is perfect, nico,” she said, turning to him with a grin. “you really know how to pick a place.”

“you deserve it,” he replied, his voice soft but sincere. “it’s our time to relax.”

they settled in, unpacking their things and enjoying the view from their balcony. the villa was beautiful, with a cozy living room, a small kitchen, and large glass doors that opened out to the stunning view of the sea. the sunset was starting to color the sky in hues of orange and pink, and nico knew it was the perfect moment.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next few days were spent exploring the island, from wandering through the narrow streets of oia to relaxing on the black sand beaches. they visited ancient ruins, had lunch by the water, and watched the sunset every night. nico couldn’t help but feel like he was on top of the world, just being there with y/n. they laughed, they talked, and they completely lost track of time.

one night, after dinner at a small restaurant overlooking the sea, nico and y/n found themselves walking back to the villa hand in hand. the stars above were bright, and the soft sound of the waves crashing against the shore made everything feel peaceful.

“i can’t believe we’re really here,” y/n said, her voice dreamy as she looked up at the stars. “this is like a dream.”

“it is a dream,” nico said, his heart pounding in his chest. “but it’s real. and i’m glad it’s with you.”

y/n smiled and squeezed his hand, her eyes sparkling. “me too. this has been one of the best trips ever.”

they walked in silence for a few moments, just enjoying each other’s presence. nico couldn’t help but feel like it was the right time. the way she looked at him, the way they fit together—it felt like everything was leading up to this moment.

they reached the villa, and nico led y/n to the balcony where they had been spending a lot of their evenings. the view of the sea at night was just as beautiful as it was during the day, and the sound of the water crashing against the rocks below was soothing.

nico turned to y/n, his heart racing. “there’s something i need to tell you.”

y/n looked up at him, her brow furrowed slightly in curiosity. “what’s up?”

nico took a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves that had settled in his stomach. he had never been great at expressing his feelings, but this was something he needed to say. “y/n, you’ve been the best part of my life. these past few years with you have been... everything. i don’t want to imagine my life without you.”

y/n’s eyes softened, and she took a small step closer to him. “nico...”

he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box, holding it out to her. “i know we’ve talked about the future before, but i want to make it official. i want you by my side, always. so... y/n, will you marry me?”

for a moment, y/n just stared at him, her mouth slightly open in surprise. the world seemed to stop, the sound of the waves fading into the background. nico felt like his heart might leap out of his chest.

“nico, are you serious?” y/n finally asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

“i’ve never been more serious about anything,” nico said, his voice low and sincere. “i love you. i want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

y/n’s eyes filled with tears, and a wide smile spread across her face. “yes, nico. yes, of course i will.”

nico grinned, relief flooding through him. he slipped the ring onto her finger, his heart swelling as she looked down at it, then back up at him. everything felt perfect in that moment. it was just the two of them, standing there under the stars, in one of the most beautiful places in the world, with the future ahead of them.

────────────────────────────────────────────

the next few days were a blur of happiness and excitement. they spent their days exploring more of the island, but now there was an added layer of joy. y/n couldn’t stop staring at the ring on her finger, and nico couldn’t stop grinning every time he saw her do it. everything felt different now, but in the best way possible.

they took a boat tour around the island, stopping at a small secluded beach where they spent the afternoon swimming in the crystal-clear water. y/n had never seen nico so happy, and she was pretty sure he had never seen her so happy either.

one afternoon, while they were sitting on the beach watching the waves, nico turned to y/n. “i can’t believe we’re getting married. it still feels surreal.”

“i know,” y/n said, resting her head on his shoulder. “but i wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with anyone else.”

“me neither,” nico whispered, kissing the top of her head. “you’re everything to me.”

they sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun set over the ocean. it was perfect—just like everything about their relationship. and now, with their future together ahead of them, nico couldn’t imagine ever being more content.

when it was time to head back to new jersey, both nico and y/n were reluctant to leave the island behind. but they knew there was so much more to look forward to. the next chapter of their lives was just beginning, and it was going to be an adventure of its own.

as they boarded the plane back home, nico took y/n’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “this was just the beginning.”

y/n smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “i can’t wait for everything that’s coming.”

and with that, they knew they had everything they needed—each other. and that was enough for now

[kistnlads]

𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕

Zayne x FemReader | Short Fic, 2.7k Words | Anonymous Fic Request

Hintofthescene/Moans/Groans | Likes and reblogs are appreciated

⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆⋆⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆ ❆ ⋆∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋆

You are his greatest distraction, the one thing he can never tune out. He’s memorized the rhythm of your heartbeat, sketched its shape in the margins of his reports, felt its pulse beneath his fingertips more times than he should. And when you remind him that he is tending to his patient, he loses another piece of his restraint.

He wants you.

Zayne exhales slowly, pressing his fingers into his temple. His mind should be focused on the neatly written reports before him, but instead…

Your heart.

Not metaphorically, not in some poetic, lovesick way. No, it’s your actual, anatomical heart. The one he’s listened to countless times, the one that flutters when you’re nervous, steadies when you’re at ease. The one that once faltered after an injury, forcing him to fight to keep it beating. He remembers the sound, the rhythm, the pulse beneath his fingertips.

And so he draws it.

Over and over. In the margins of reports, between scrawled medical notes, on the edges of prescription pads. It’s not just muscle and vessels to him. It’s yours. He knows it, could sketch it from memory, engraved into his mind like something sacred.

His pen scratches against the paper, outlining the delicate chambers, the intricate arteries, the pulse points where life surges through your body. But as his hand moves, the lines shift, detailing not just a perfect textbook heart, but something softer. 

A heart entwined with his own.

The thought sends a heat curling in his chest, but before he can tear the page out, a voice shatters the quiet.

“Still working this late, Dr. Zayne?”

His fingers tighten around the pen. He doesn’t need to look up to know it’s you.

But he couldn't help but wonder how you slipped in so silently—no creak of the door, no knock to announce your presence. Not that it mattered now. 

You stood by the closed door, arms crossed, a teasing smile playing on your lips. You’re tired, he can see it in the way you shift your weight, the faint haze of sleepiness clinging to your eyes, yet you’re here. And suddenly, his focus on the medical reports feels utterly pointless.

“Should you not be resting?” he counters, voice steady despite the warmth creeping into his collar.

You huff, stepping inside. “Funny. I was about to say the same to you.”

You step closer, gaze flicking down to his open journal. Before he can close it, your fingers dart out, flipping the pages back to reveal his sketches.

And then—silence.

You start to take in the countless drawings. Some clinical, detailed, precise. But others… others are different. It was a secret he never meant to reveal.

“What’s this?” Your fingers brush the edge of the page, tracing the inked lines. “You seem to have drawn this a lot.”

Zayne swallows. Deny it. Say it’s just a medical habit.

Your gaze lifts, locking onto his, searching. And he sees it, the slight hitch in your breath, the same racing pulse he’s memorized.

“Zayne…” Your voice is different now as his pulse thrums in his ears.

He exhales.

“I find myself thinking about it more often than I should.” His voice is low, edged. “Your heart. The way it beats. The way it—” 

His jaw tightens. He should take the journal back. Should laugh it off, tell you it’s nothing. But he doesn’t move. 

“How long?” Your question sends a bolt of panic through him. “How long have you been drawing my heart?” 

He can’t answer. He thought he shouldn’t. Because if he does, if he gives even the slightest inch then you’ll know everything.

“When you check my pulse, when you listen to my heartbeat, do you picture this?”

Zayne clenches his teeth, every muscle in his body coiled tight. His instinct is to pull away, to put distance between you and him before he does something reckless.

But then—

You take his hand. Press it flat against your chest, fingers splayed over the smooth fabric of your white dress, right over where your heart beats for him.

Your fingers tighten around his wrist, keeping his hand right where it is. “Tell me… what do you feel?”

His breath is slow, measured, but he can feel it. Your pulse beneath his palm, the delicate but insistent rhythm of you. It would be so easy to pretend this is just another examination. Just another routine check.

But it isn’t.

He spoke your name, his voice was strained, barely holding together, and you tilt your head, lips curving in the faintest ghost of a smile. 

“That doesn’t sound like an answer.”

Damn you.

Zayne could lie. He could tell you he hears nothing unusual, that your vitals are fine, that this is meaningless.

But the way you’re looking at him—curious, knowing, waiting—he knows you won’t let him get away with it.

And then… he pulls away.

The loss of contact is abrupt, but he doesn’t let himself hesitate as he tries his best in ignoring the way his fingers still burn from touching you.

“This is inappropriate.” His voice is clipped, controlled. 

You didn’t move.

Instead, you study him, slow and careful, as if trying to piece him together.

“Why do you always do that?”

His brow furrows. “Do what?”

“Run.”

The word hangs between the two of you, heavy and unrelenting. Zayne’s lips press into a thin line. His shoulders square, arms crossing over his chest in a practiced display of distance.

“I do not.”

You huff, shaking your head. “You’re doing it right now.”

You take a step forward, and Zayne forces himself to hold his ground. He won’t retreat again. 

“You think I don’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I won’t see? The way you touch me just a little longer than necessary? And now this—” You gesture to the journal still open on the desk, the evidence of his obsession laid bare.

His heart slams against his ribs.

“I want you to say it.”

He knows what you mean. And you want him to admit it. To say the words he’s kept locked behind clenched teeth and medical reports and foolish sketches in the margins of his notes.

Zayne swallows hard, forcing himself to meet your gaze. It would be easy—so damn easy—to close this distance. To grab your wrist, to pull you against him, to press his lips to yours just to see if you’d melt against him the way he’s imagined too many times.

So instead, he exhales through his nose, and responds, “You are asking for something dangerous.”

“I can handle danger.”

Of course you can. That’s what terrifies him the most. You’re not someone fragile, someone he can keep at arm’s length forever. You’re relentless, unyielding, just as stubborn as he is. And if you made up your mind about something—about him—then there’s no stopping you.

Your lips curl, amusement flickering in your eyes. “How about you, Dr. Zayne?”

“This is a mistake. You do not know what you are asking for—”

“Then tell me to leave.”

Zayne’s teeth grind together. You’re giving him another out, a way to escape before he ruins everything. But you don't realize—he’s already ruined.

His control is slipping, unraveling piece by piece, and the more you look at him like that, like you’re his, the more he feels himself cracking.

He spoke your name again, but you cut him off.

“Tell me to leave, Zayne.” Your voice is steady. “And I will leave—”

Just like that—he snaps.

His fingers curl around your wrist, flipping your positions in a single, fluid motion. In a breath, you’re against the desk, and he’s in your space now—caging you in, pressing your back until there’s nowhere left to run.

His other hand comes up, gripping the edge of the desk beside you, effectively trapping you between his body and the cold surface.

Your breath catches, eyes wide, but you didn’t pull away. You don’t want to. And that—that—is what breaks him most of all.

“Do you truly believe that I do not want you?” His voice is low, rough, and dangerous. His grip tightens slightly, his pulse a wild, erratic thing in his throat. “Do you think I do not—” 

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. Your lips part, breath uneven.

You’re everything—too close, too warm—and Zayne has spent too long pretending he could live without this. Without you.

Your gaze searches for him. “What are you so afraid of?”

His throat works, his entire body burning from the inside out. Then, slowly and painfully, he brings his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling in the sliver of space that remains between the two of you.

“You.”

Zayne’s lips crash against yours, fierce and unrelenting, as he presses you against the desk. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in like he’s afraid you’ll slip away, but you’re not going anywhere. Not when his body is flush against yours, not when heat coils between you like a live wire.

You push off his lab coat, letting it slide to the floor, and your fingers work at his tie, loosening it with impatient tugs. He groans against your mouth as you make quick work of his buttons, exposing the warmth of his skin beneath your touch.

His breath is uneven, his restraint fraying at the edges. Then, without hesitation, his hands slide down, parting your legs as he steps between them. But you barely notice, not when he’s kissing you like this, like he’s starving, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Zayne’s grip tightens on your thighs as he presses in closer, his breath hot against your lips. His half-unbuttoned shirt hangs open, the tie loosely draped around his neck, forgotten. 

He’s never been like this before—never let himself want like this. Yet, your body is so damn willing beneath his hands, and he knows there’s no turning back.

“You drive me insane,” he rasps against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your jaw, nipping, tasting.

You shudder, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling him down to you again. “Zayne—”

A low growl rumbles in his chest, and then his hands slide up your thighs, gripping firmly as he tilts your hips toward him, his body slotting between yours in a way that sends heat pulsing through every inch of you. His lips find yours again, demanding, greedy, and swallowing every gasp.

The desk creaks beneath you as he presses you down against it, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your top, brushing against heated skin. You arch against him, pulling at his shirt with desperate fingers.

Zayne, for the first time, curses against your skin. His mind is clouding with need. He should take you. Right here. Right now. And he almost does.

But then—

Reality slams back into him.

This isn’t some dark alley, some hidden corner of the world where he can abandon every rule that’s been drilled into him. This is a place of work. A place meant for professionalism. 

This is an office. His damn office.

And here he is, about to take you on his desk like some reckless fool.

Zayne was a man of control. He had to be. 

A doctor who let his emotions interfere with his work was a liability. A mistake waiting to happen. 

And yet, he almost lost about any of that now. Not when you’re right in front of him, lips parted, skin burning against his touch.

Zayne stills. 

His muscles tense, his hands freezing where they rest against your body while your brows furrowed in frustration, lips kiss-swollen and tempting, so tempting.

“Why are you stopping?” You murmur, voice thick with want, fingers still buried in his hair.

His grip on your waist tightened for just a second before he forced himself to step back, though every fiber of his being protested. His shirt was open, his coat discarded somewhere on the floor, and you—you were still sitting on his desk, legs parted just enough to make him ache.

“Because this—” He exhaled sharply. “We cannot proceed with this here. It is unethical. This—this is not the appropriate place for such matters.”

He shut his eyes, inhaling deeply. 

“I must have some self-control.”

“Self-control?” You push off the desk slowly, purposefully, closing the space between the two of you in a way that makes his heart stutter. “You’ve been doing so well, haven’t you?”

You are testing him. And God help him, it was working.

Your fingers brushed over his collarbone, trailing lower, slipping beneath the fabric of his half-unbuttoned shirt.

Shit.

“We—” He exhales sharply, trying to ignore the way you’re still clinging to him.

“It’s late.” Your voice is light, breath fanning against his lips. “No one’s going to walk in.”

“I… I have patients,” he grits out, hands twitching where they rest on your waist.

You lift a hand, cupping his face with a gentleness that nearly undoes him.

“You’re always looking after everyone else. Always tending to someone. Always taking care of others.” Your fingers then trail down, brushing over the rapid pulse at his throat. “But aren’t you already tending to your patient?”

Zayne stiffens.

“P–Patient?”

You lean in, lips grazing his lower lip, and fuck, you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Dr. Zayne,” you murmur, voice sultry, and taunting. “Are you really going to leave your patient unattended?”

A sharp, amused breath escapes him, somewhere between a chuckle and a curse, then his grip tightens, dragging you back against him.

“You—” His voice is strained, his self-control crumbling all over again. “Are going to be the death of me.”

I smile against his lips. And just like that, the doctor abandons all reason.

OUTSIDE DR. ZAYNE’S OFFICE

Yvonne hummed quietly to herself as she approached Zayne’s office, her steps light. She didn’t knock, she already knew she wouldn’t be getting an answer. Instead, she reached for the sliding status sign on the door, smoothly shifting it from DOCTOR IN to DOCTOR OUT.

Just as she was about to turn away, a voice behind her made her freeze.

“What are you doing?”

Yvonne sucked in a breath, schooling her face into something innocent before turning to face Greyson, Zayne’s ever-diligent assistant. He stood there, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Oh, you know,” she said breezily, clasping her hands behind her back. “Just… helping out. Thought I’d take something off Dr. Zayne’s plate. He’s been so busy, after all.”

Greyson narrowed his eyes. “Uh-huh. And that required switching his status to ‘Out’ when he’s clearly still inside?”

Yvonne laughed, waving a dismissive hand. “Maybe he just wants to be out for a bit, you know? Doctors need breaks too.”

Greyson didn’t budge. “Nurse Yvonne…”

She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “You really ask too many questions, Dr. Greyson.”

“It’s my job,” he deadpanned.

Yvonne opened her mouth, ready to spin another excuse when suddenly, a very distinct sound cut through the quiet hallway.

A muffled thump.

Then another.

Greyson’s brow furrowed. “What was that?”

Yvonne laughed a little too quickly. “Oh, uh… probably just Dr. Zayne knocking over some books. You know how he is. Always juggling too many things at once.”

And then—

“Zayne—ahh—!” A voice rang out, breathless, followed immediately by a low, husky groan.

Yvonne winced.

Greyson blinked.

There was a beat of absolute silence before the sound of the desk creaking again, followed by another deep groan.

Yvonne pressed her lips together, trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t hearing this.

Greyson, on the other hand, was frozen. His face was carefully blank, but there was no mistaking the realization dawning in his eyes.

“They’re—” he started.

“Yep.” Yvonne didn’t even let him finish.

“In his office—”

“Uh-huh.”

“Right now—?”

“Sounds like it.”

Another moan. Louder. Longer. Breathless. Followed by a muffled whimper.

“Zayne… don’t stop—”

Greyson opened his mouth, then closed it, then scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

He turned to the door, his hand twitching like he was about to knock. 

“Nope! No, no, no, we do not need to check on that!” Yvonne lunged, grabbing his wrist before he could ruin whatever was happening inside. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose, pulling her hand away. “This is highly unprofessional.”

“So is eavesdropping,” Yvonne shot back.

“But, I’m his assistant, and I need to—”

“Yeah? You wanna assist him right now?” Yvonne arched her brow. “Wanna walk in and ask if he needs a goddamn clipboard?”

Greyson opened his mouth, then shut it, looking vaguely horrified. Yvonne smirked. 

“That’s what I thought.” She patted his shoulder. “Now come on, doctor. Let’s go before they finish, and we have to make eye contact later.”

And as they walked away, another muffled moan echoed behind them—loud enough that even Greyson, despite his best efforts, winced.

He groaned. “I’m taking the rest of the night off.”

“Good call,” Yvonne agreed. “You’ll need therapy after this.”

[vanilladollette]

Your dating headcanons for moon dong eun was really good ❤️❤️❤️

Could you please write the same for Jae Jun and Do Yeong? Thanx ✨✨✨

Dating Ha Do-yeong would include . . .

Author's note: I hope you don't mind me separating them into separate posts. I will do Jae-Joon!

Do-yeong does nothing without careful consideration, and this includes relationships. He is not the type to fall head over heels instantly. Instead, he observes, studies, and contemplates before making a move.

He notices the way you carry yourself, your intelligence, and how you handle difficult situations. He appreciates a sharp mind and someone who can keep up with his pace.

Before officially making a move, he tests the waters. You’ll notice him standing a little closer during conversations, offering small but thoughtful gestures (like sending a car when it’s raining or ensuring you’re seated comfortably at an event).

Unlike someone who openly flirts, Do-yeong prefers exclusivity. He invites you to a private golf match, a members-only gallery, or a dinner at a high-end restaurant where he can focus solely on you without the noise of the world.

Do-yeong is a dominant personality in business, but he values a partner who stands strong. He doesn’t need someone to submit—he needs someone who complements him, someone who challenges him in ways that excite him.

He enjoys discussing philosophy, business, and global affairs. If you’re well-read and articulate, he finds himself drawn to you even more. If you’re not, he enjoys introducing you to new ideas and hearing your perspectives.

With Do-yeong, words aren’t always necessary. A glance across a crowded room, a slight nod, or the way his hand briefly touches your lower back in reassurance—these moments are his way of showing affection

You’ll notice his love through the little things—how he remembers your schedule and arranges things to make your life easier, how he ensures your home is stocked with your favorite wines or how he has his driver pick you up when you’re exhausted.

Despite his busy schedule, Do-yeong values spending time together. Whether it’s a quiet evening at home with a glass of whiskey, a private yacht getaway, or simply reading in the same room, your presence alone is enough to put him at ease.

He is not openly jealous, but he is protective. If another man gets too close, Do-yeong won’t start a scene—he’ll simply position himself between you and the other person, his presence alone making it clear that you’re his

He’s the epitome of poise in social settings, but behind closed doors, his control slips just enough to show how deeply he feels. His kisses are slow yet consuming, his hands firm yet reverent, as if memorizing every inch of you.

He’s the kind of man who notices your stress even if you don’t say a word. He’ll run a bath for you after a long day, massage the tension from your shoulders, and whisper, “Let me take care of you.”

He isn’t overly vocal about his emotions, but the way he looks at you—like you’re the only person in the room—says everything he doesn’t. When he listens to you, he listens with his whole body, leaning in, eyes locked on yours, making you feel like your words are the most important thing in the world.

If he’s in love, he’s all in. He won’t entertain distractions or unnecessary drama. His loyalty is quiet but unwavering—when Do-yeong chooses you, there is no one else.

Do-yeong has immense wealth, but he doesn’t flaunt it. Instead of grand displays, his generosity is refined—a tailored designer dress sent to your home, an all-expenses-paid vacation planned meticulously around your preferences, or an exclusive experience arranged just for the two of you.

As the CEO of a powerful company, Do-yeong is always under scrutiny. He expects discretion and grace from his partner. If you’re pulled into the public eye, he ensures you’re protected and that no scandal ever touches you.

You won’t have to worry about petty inconveniences—Do-yeong anticipates your needs before you even voice them. He is the definition of stability, offering a life where you never have to question your place by his side.

At some point, he is going to introduce you to his daughter, Ye-sol.

Do-yeong is strict when it comes to Ye-sol’s well-being. Ye-sol is his pride and joy.

Though He isn’t cold.

He’s a father who will read bedtime stories in the softest voice, who will quietly brush her hair from her face as she sleeps, and who will always ensure she knows she is loved.

So if he sees a future with you, he slowly integrates you into Ye-sol’s life—weekend outings, quiet family dinners, and moments where he looks at the two of you together and thinks, This is what home feels like.

If she adores you, his heart softens even more. He loves watching you interact with her, and it only deepens his love for you.

Do-yeong doesn’t rush into anything, but when he commits, it’s forever. If he proposes, he has already envisioned a life with you—a home, a future, and a deep-rooted bond.

He ensures you’re taken care of in every way. Whether it’s financial security, emotional support, or simply knowing you’ll never have to face anything alone, Do-yeong is your rock.

He loves a partner who continues to evolve, who challenges herself and him. He supports your ambitions, whether it’s career growth, personal passions, or learning new things together.

He may not always voice his feelings, but the way he touches you, the way he prioritizes you, and the way he looks at you will always remind you of his devotion.

[blxxmingrose]

seeing the turmoil take over june felt like a sharp pain in hans’ heart, like he was being stabbed over and over again. there was a quiet moment of reprieve when june was reading through the list that made hans feel at ease at first—as much as he could under these circumstances, but then hearing the strain in june’s voice, the discomfort so evident in his words, it was too much for hans to take. 

he took his hand, leaving him no room but to stay still, no room to retract it. “you did the right thing,” he whispered gently, his eyes trained on june, letting him see the resolve there. they always worked like this. if one had a moment of indecision or weakness, the other one had to be strong. “you came back to us safe, and now we are talking about what we can do.” 

there was not much they could do, but they were trying. 

hans took a deep breath, one that felt heavy and filled with his own worries, but he wanted to let them out. to not allow them to take room in his body, in their home. “i don’t like that they were here either—seeing us meant confirming that we were here. that whatever information they had gathered, it had been true, they now know where we live.” the words felt like more wounds to hans’ heart, knowing what it implied. their safety could no longer be assured in the foreseeable future. “but i’d take it. i’d take it over you going after them and—” he couldn’t bear to finish the sentence, couldn’t bear to say out loud all the many ways that could have ended. 

instead, he pulled june into a tight embrace, the tightest he could manage, the tears quickly falling down his cheeks now. “you are everything to me. being able to plan right now, is so much better than not having you here because of them. i can’t bear it, june. i can’t.” it was as if all the attempts to be strong for their children, for their family, melted away, leaving hans with nothing but ugly thoughts holding him together. 

hans had felt the very real possibility of losing june several times, but nothing compared to this. the stakes were much higher, and as their love grew over time, the idea of losing him felt even more like losing a part of himself. because they were one, tied together by a vow and their souls united. if he lost june, he knew the tears wouldn’t stop, even if his eyes dried up. he knew his heart would never beat the same way again. and it would be the same if june lost him, the same if they lost their children, who were extensions of their love for each other. 

tears fell and fell until hans felt a numbness wash over him, like an inner voice telling him to gather himself. he was a father now, with a family to protect. with a husband to care for. he needed to keep it together.  

the sobs eventually subsided, and he settled into june’s arms with his fist tightly curled around his shirt, not willing to let go. they were meant to be resting, but he was not going to let june have any ideas about coming after them now. “just a little bit of rest,” he murmured, the crying making his voice raspy and more tired. “you need it. we both do.” as he pulled the blanket over june, he watched him carefully, relearning the details of his face hans had memorized long ago. 

he knew what every curve of his lips meant, every frown, every raised eyebrow. knew every twitch of his fingers, every sigh. he knew how frustrating this must be, but he also needed to remind june that this—being together like this—was a much more favorable move than anything else. “we will do what we can tomorrow, but please, get some rest. tomorrow, our children will need us to be at our very best.”

if tonight was a preview, then tomorrow could be even more challenging. they had no idea what the palace had planned, when they would start to move on them, but if they did, hans knew they both needed to be able to defend their family. and he knew saying this, reminding june of what they had to protect, would help him get some rest, even if, like hans, his entire body was fighting against it.

june took the list from hans, his eyes scanning over the carefully chosen items, the subtle strategy hidden beneath mundane necessities. it was smart — hans had thought of everything, down to the timing, the cover of an ordinary afternoon, the way they would move through town without raising suspicion. june traced his fingers along the edge of the paper, his mind running through each step of the plan again, over and over, as if memorizing it would keep them safe.

it was a good plan. it was the best plan they could manage under these circumstances.

he exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening just slightly around the list before setting it down beside him. when he looked back at hans, he could see the exhaustion written in the lines of his face, the tension that hadn't left his shoulders, even as he tried to comfort them both with words of reassurance. they had been here before, wrapped in whispered promises that everything would be okay, that they would make it through.

june’s gaze softened as he reached for hans' hand again, pulling it back into his grasp. he ran his thumb over hans’ knuckles. “we’ll be okay,” he echoed, though he didn’t know if he fully believed it. he wanted to. more than anything, he wanted to believe that after tomorrow, they would return home to their children, that they would sit down for dinner and tuck them into bed as if nothing had changed.

something had changed though, and no matter how much they tried to control the outcome, no matter how many steps ahead they thought, there was always the risk that someone out there was already moving ahead of them.

june had spent too many years learning not to let his guard down, not even in the quietest of moments. and yet, with hans, he always wanted to.

his hand moved up, brushing along hans’ arm, fingers curling lightly at his wrist before pulling away. he glanced toward the window, toward the darkness outside, his jaw tightening. “i don’t like that they were here,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost as if saying it too loudly would summon their presence again. “that they were close enough to see inside. to see us.” the thought sent a deep unease through him, the kind that settled low in his stomach. “i should’ve gone after them.” he could feel hans’ eyes on him, but he didn’t look back right away.

they had spent too many years fighting for this life, and now — now it felt like someone was trying to rip it away from them.

finally, he sighed, running a hand down his face before shaking his head. “i didn’t. and they’re gone now.” it didn’t make him feel any better. if anything, it made him more restless, more on edge. he hated feeling like he was playing defense, like they were waiting for someone else to make the next move. it wasn’t how he protected the people he loved.

but they needed to rest as hans said. so he nodded, slowly, reluctantly. even if sleep didn’t come, even if june spent the whole night listening for the slightest sound outside — he needed to be still for a moment. to gather his strength for whatever came next. "alright," he murmured, reaching for hans again, pulling him close enough that there was no space between them. "just for a while."

[mirrorball-leclerc]

highlights for the f1 75 live event (there weren’t many)

the fia getting booed by the people in attendance

gordon ramsey saying that the fia should allow the drivers to curse

ferrari

lewis and charles being so bored they started playing chess with each other

aston martin’s reveal being so theatrical

and that’s it…

[turtletoria]

youre never gonna believe this. but i really liked the musical with the miserable middle aged man

[canisalbus]

In portuguese there are no neutral pronouns at all... Even objects, species and verbs have gender!

Some random examples: Tree, house, lamp, wall, clothing, capybara, walk... all female

Paper, floor, soap, dog, cat, shoe, smell... all male

This confused me a lot as a kid when in translated media the animal characters that were referred to as one gender due to the species was actually another. Some words can be slightly altered to be the opposite gender though.

.

[become-mop]

Hi! I'm a catholic. I hope you're doing well!

I believe there is some misunderstanding going on here. I'm not an expert, or have all the details memorized, but I will do my best to share what I know, as a catholic. You are free to look these things up to learn more, if you'd like.

Little lengthy post, but here we go:

- Catholics believe that Jesus Christ is God, together with God the Father, and God the Holy Spirit. They are the 3 persons of the same one God. (This is the Holy Trinity, a divine mystery. It is impossible for us to fully understand on this side of eternity. But we have faith in this as truth.)

- Jesus founded the church in 33 AD, when He said "You are Peter--and upon this rock (Rock/Peter mean the same thing in Aramaic), I will build my church. And the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." (Jesus' church will stand; Nothing can destroy it. Some individual humans unfortunately might fall into sin, but the church itself is indestructable.) If we follow Jesus and His instructions, we are Christian.

- The church had a council somewhere in the 300s AD, called the Council of Nicea. The church leadership gathered in Nicea to sort all things written that were claiming to be inspired by God, and put what was truly inspired by God into one book. That book is the bible.

- At the Council of Nicea, the bible was comprised of 73 books. The catholic church always has, and always will, hold these books to be the bible. The catholic church has neved changed, added, or removed any of these books. There were translations made so the bible may be read in other languages, but that is the only exception.

- I will admit that I'm less versed in the specifics here, but from what I understand, protestantism started when King Henry the VIIIth of England wasn't able to convince the pope into allowing him to get divorced from his wife. She wasn't bearing him sons, and King Henry the VIIIth really, really wanted one.

Since he was King, he figured he could make a loophole. He declared himself as the head of the "Church of England", so that he could give himself permission to get divorced from his wife. It was a personal/political reason that the church of england exists.

Martin Luther was a catholic priest, who had some personal disagreements about decisions being made in the church. He wrote out his thoughts and nailed them to his church's door. This paper is called the "95 Thesis". He was protesting the church, which is where the term "protestant" comes from. A small group of followers supported Luther.

Back to the church of england, (I think it was King Henry the VIIIth), ordered England by lawful decree, that all citizens MUST follow the Church of England. He made participating in the catholic church ILLEGAL in England.

(Once again, all because he wanted a son and a different wife.)

As succeeding english royalty went on, protestants and the church of england grew; both turning in catholics to the law. Catholics were in hiding because it was made illegal to be catholic in england. They were being persecuted, imprisoned, and killed there.

- King James' translation of the bible, is a bible where there are only 66 books. I don't remember which person did it, or what year, but they removed those books because they interfered with their personal beliefs/agenda. There were some changes made in certain books as well. Protestants took this version of the bible and ran with it. The catholic church still believes in very first version of the bible put together at the council of nicea.

- In the middle ages, Islamic nations were enacting jihad (religious war) across Europe. They were strong militarily, and made travel between the eastern/western parts of Europe incredibly difficult for catholics to do.

The Pope at the time, allowed a bishop in Constantinople to keep watch and help lead the catholic church in the eastern half of Europe (due to travel/logistic difficulties). A patriarch, to lead. This is how the Orthodox came to be.

- For the different sects claim, I need to preface my response first. "Catholic" means universal in Latin. Which means that the catholic church is open for all peoples to be able to participate.

The islamic geographic divide over europe ended up lasting a very long time... Since the pope wasn't able to easily communicate with the patriarch, some cultural differences/thoughts regarding how best to practice the faith arised. Relatively minor differences, compared to protestant ideas. In fact, the catholic church considers eastern orthodox to still be in communion with the catholic church, and prays they may rejoin back one day.

Yes, there are some different sects of the catholic church around the world. This is because of some differences in culture, which may desire to worship God in slightly different customs. Some hold the same beliefs, and are in communion with the rest of the catholic church. Just slight variations in how their faith is celebrated.

Some unfortunately, are not in communion with the rest of the catholic church. We pray that they may return back home one day.

From when I last looked, there were somewhere around 20 or 30ish sects of the catholic church. (Not fully sure, but it's something like that).

For comparison, there are somewhere over 30k or 40k different sects of protestantism.

I am sorry I don't have all the details memorized, but I hope this historic/theological explanation from a catholic helps out! (What I've written here isn't hard to find on the internet, if you need to verify.)

Catholics aren’t Christians, Just like how Orthodox Christians aren’t Christian. (orthodox is a cover for all different sects of different religions).

Catholicism is a completely different religion than Christianity, it’s not a subsect of it neither. Catholicism came around when King James(Yes that king James who translated the Bible) and George Villiers were alive (1500 something) it was ostracized by the English and Protestant. It’s not Christianity. Catholics were in hiding well past Queen Elizabeth the firsts reign as well.

Catholics, Christians, Orthodox all have vastly different beliefs, views, bible translations, opinions, etc. they all share Jesus, God, Angels but so does Islam and Judaism.

Catholics, Christians, and orthodox even have all different crosses they wear or don’t wear, even prayer and church styles, imaginary as well.

There’s even different sects of Catholicism. Ie: Roman, Italian, Spanish, Mexican.

[elizabeth-mitchells]

having one of those rare moments at work when i reluctantly go "maybe my job isn't isn't so bad. maybe my degree wasn't entirely useless. maybee it's kind of nice to put it to use, I GUESS 🙄🙄"

[kaeyachi]

One of the probable reasons as to why Kaeya didn't arrive on time for Crepus and Diluc when they were attacked was because he, and the knights with him, had no vision, and thus, cannot use a teleport waypoint.

Him receiving his cryo vision when he was supposed to get scorched by Diluc was genuinely the biggest slap to the face given to him by Celestia. It arrived just in time to save HIM.

Even now, the vision only heals and shields him alone as a manifestation of his desire to keep living from that fight... but he can't use it to help others.

[itspileofgoodthings]

one time my mom was talking about something, I don’t remember what, and she said “have you ever known the poverty of having nothing to say?” and when I say nothing has ever punctured my heart quite like that statement

[nysus-temple]

hiii Nysus here. sorry for disappearing once again. i got stucked in the 8th circle of Hell (university)