#and now he’s gone and nothing will be the same again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stachmousworld · 2 days ago

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"I mean, out of the two of them who actually knows the politics of the 21st century and has worked these sorts of things for decades? Tony."

Fascinating enough, politics didn't really change since the war. Same sleazy government who used to work with Nazis and enable discriminatory behaviors. In the MCU, the government went as far as work on the Winter Soldier program to recreate the serum and used it on black soldiers. Also, nowhere in the MCU it is said or hinted that Steve doesn't know how politics work.

Tony pushed the Accords because of his guilt. He didn't think of the lives of the enhanced people who been seen as subhuman and targeted by the government. Do you think Peter would have signed the Accords? Or Bruce?

He also knew that the only way to have ammendments was to prove he was willing to cooperate. As with any new law and it’s affected parties.

Again. The only person who is not limited or really affected by the Accords is Tony. It could take up to years to get changes in the Accords and by the time they get through it how many enhanced people would have been hunted down by the government? How many sent to the Raft without getting proper trial? (it is literally written in the Accords).

Look at Infinity War, Rhodey, himself, admitted that he regretted the Accords and Ross wanted to arrest the rogues avengers while Thanos was coming.

Tony knew they needed oversight. Everything has some sort of chain of command. Military. Police. Business. Etc. And Tony knew the value of having that chain.

It really didn't age well. The UN is not it. I don't know why westerners think so highly of the UN. Look up all of the scandals overseas.

The chain of command that you talk about is literally what people are fighting against right now. Where there is an unmovable power there will be issues. Especially in institutions like the police/military.

Steve Rogers on the other hand, doesn’t seem to understand the necessity. Need I remind you that he repeatedly went against that chain and was rewarded for it? Sure, he saved a bunch of people when he went to get Bucky, but that’s not the point. He ignored the chain and there could have been dire consequences (as we see in the future after S.H.I.E.L.D fell)

Wh- He "saved a bunch of people....but that's not the point".

So, Tony entering Gulmira and killing the terrorists to help the village is not the same? Right.

Tony went in a highly problematic place knowing down well that if the afghan gov heard about Americans entering illegally it would have had repercussions on the entire country. But that's not the point.

Tony repeatedly disobeyes Fury, Coulson, Steve, Pepper etc. It's part of personality.

Another thing. He went after Bucky. Only Bucky. Noone else. It was pure chance that he let those guys out first, but they were used as a distraction so he could get to his main goal. Bucky. We see time and time again that Steve gets tunnel vision when it comes to Bucky.

Again, have you watched the Iron Man movies? Tony displayed the same kind of behavior.

I don't understand why people expect Steve to not act humanly when they let Tony give his private adress to the press and get himself blown up. He had a tunnel vision when he had to save Pepper.

Realistically talking, who wouldn't be like Steve. He had nothing left and Bucky was with him since they were kids. They lived together. I would do the same for my bff tbh.

Steve did not read the Accords. Fact. He left for Peggy’s funeral while he was skimming. Even if he did read it all, there is no possible way (and Tony Stark would bet his fortune on it) that he understood all of it enough to make an informed opinion. Laws use a lot of big words. Big words that would have been invented in the 70 years Cap was gone. So no, Steve didn’t actually know what the Accords were about.

I-

Because it is not seen on screen doesn't mean that he didn't happen. I don't even want to dive into how insulting this particular paragraph is. Accords are not like any types of contract. They are pretty straightforward and easy to read and understand.

And you too didn't know what the Accords were about: registration, monitoring, deprivation of human rights for all enhanced people. Damn, I wonder why Steve, didn't want to sign them. I wonder why Rhodey admitted that he regretted signing them.

He probably had no idea what the UN was either. Did you see his notebook in CAWS? Pop culture. 7 decades worth of world history? No, Moon landing, that’s it. Politics? Nope. New laws or government organizations (like the UN)? Nada. I think it’s safe to say that Steve wasn’t really caught up if pop culture is the sort of thing he’s catching up on.

I-

Just say you hate Steve and move on. Again, because you didn't see Steve have a debate about politics or whatever doesn't mean that he didn't know what it was. He probably already knew about it, since SHIELD talked to him about what happened after the war. And why would he need to write the UN down or anything since he already knew about it.

Steve had made his mind up already. And he can’t use the Bucky excuse because by then Bucky wasn’t in the picture yet. Steve never gave a thought to the Accords and then Bucky fueled that fire and made him stubborn to a point beyond stupidity.

SIgning the Accords meant giving Bucky to the US government; who guess what? worked on the Winter Soldier Program. It's like giving Bucky back to Hydra.

Or worse, Bucky would have been killed after being found guilty which is so wrong on so many levels. Steve fought for Bucky because no one who's been a pow should live in the fear that their own country could burn them on the cross.

So, to sum up here. Tony knew that the Accords were going to happen no matter what and was willing to help make ammendments to suit everyone affected by the law. Steve went “Fuck you, I know better that 117 countries” and got a lot of people hurt and or killed.

He didn't say any of that and it's speculation especially when the Accords were not really about the Avengers, but Ross' need to have a bunch of enhanced people under his grasp. 117 countries out of 190'something. I wonder which countries didn't agree and why.

The US gov tried to nuke New York during the Chitauri. What happened with crossbone would have killed and created a huge pandemic if none of the Avengers were there. Why can't people be mad at the villains?

Here’s another kicker. Tony convinced Steve to sign the Accords. He was literally about to and then Wanda was brought up, which is another thing

Wanda, an enhanced person who would have stayed in the Raft indefinitely because since she had powers she was deemed inferior to regular people. Ok.

Okay, a) why the fuck is she an Avenger? She was a HYDRA agent. A willing one, might I add. She and her brother volunteered to be experimented on and then work for them. She was the cause of Ultron.

We can also ask the same about Tony. He was a willing weapon manufacturer who created better bombs and guns. We all know that in terms of US politics the US army acts as bully overseas. So Tony was complicit.

If he hadn't been tortured in Afghanistan he'd have kept going.

She had(/has) an illogical and unreasonable hatred for Tony Stark. Sure, the bomb thing was probably traumatizing, but she’s like ~23 now. That’s over a decade since it happened and you’ve got to think, why didn’t the bomb go off?

"Probably traumatizing..." I have no words. Isn't it kind of hypocritical then for Tony to be mad at Bucky? And Wanda was 16-17 not 23.

Stark weapons were brilliant. Top of the line never failing basically. So. Two bombs are dropped, and from the sounds of it, there was no explosion or if there was it was really small. Otherwise how could they be so close to her parents without dying too?

Can somebody please tell me that's a joke?

So, this leaves two possibilities. First, was the bomb actually Stark tech? Her home was war torn at the time. I’m sure some sides would like to intimidate their enemies with the idea they have Stark weapons. OR, the bomb was never armed. Again, war torn country. It’s entirely possible the plane carrying it was shot down.

Anyone? Can someone explain why almost every time the US is involved overseas they shouldn't be there in the first place?

So, unreasonable and illogical. If someone stabs you, who do you blame? The knife, the manufacturer/designer of the knife, or the person who stabbed you? The third one, obviously. So why was Tony Stark to blame? We’ve also got to remember Obadiah was dealing under the table.

I mean you can't compare the creation of a Jericho that Tony demonstrated in Afghanistan to a knife. Isn't Tony supposed to be a genius? Didn't he see what happened with the bombs in Japan? Did he really have such a trust in the military and the government?

b) She is NOT a kid, and I don’t understand why pretty much everyone thinks she is. She’s ~23. She can drink. She can vote. She can drive. She’s killed people. She became HYDRA. In what way is she a child? The way I see it she hadn’t been one in a very long time.

She was in her teens. So no. It's too early for me to talk about endoctrination because it's the same as Nazis did in the war. They took young kids and literally brainwashed them which is a complicated subject when it comes to accountability. Also, you do realize that Hydra didn't advertise themselves as a nazi group. Wanda is Romani and Jewish. Do you think Wanda would have accepted to be experimented on by a Nazi group?

c) back to CW. Steve got all pissy because Tony kept Wanda in the compound (the lap of luxury need I remind you) for her own safety and the safety of those around her. It wasn’t a matter of her starting a fight. If she’d gone out and been attacked and defended herself, the situation would be made so much worse for her. Especially if someone got hurt or dead when she did so.

What about the other enhanced people who didn't have this luxury? So you can see the limit of the Accords and yet still think Tony was totally in the

Okay. So I’ve been stiring on this for a while so I finally decided to take a really good look at what’s actually happening.

I’d like to start off by saying that Steve was pretty much a dick the entire film. I mean I get that he didn’t want to sign the accords but the way he went about it was just so completely wrong. Thing is I completely agree with Tony because he had it right because he knew what was going on. I mean, out of the two of them who actually knows the politics of the 21st century and has worked these sorts of things for decades? Tony.

Tony knew, as soon as the Sokovia Accords were made that he had to sign on. It wasn’t about guilt, although that was part of it. It was about the fact that if they didn’t do it now, it would be much worse later and or done to them and he knew that. (He actually says this in the film.) He also knew that the only way to have ammendments was to prove he was willing to cooperate. As with any new law and it’s affected parties.

Tony knew they needed oversight. Everything has some sort of chain of command. Military. Police. Business. Etc. And Tony knew the value of having that chain.

And in Civil War it escalates to the point where he’s injuring and getting innocent people killed for Bucky. Only Bucky. When it comes to Bucky, everyone and everything else is inconsequential and unimportant as long as Bucky is fine.

Here’s another kicker. Tony convinced Steve to sign the Accords. He was literally about to and then Wanda was brought up, which is another thing.

Okay, a) why the fuck is she an Avenger? She was a HYDRA agent. A willing one, might I add. She and her brother volunteered to be experimented on and then work for them. She was the cause of Ultron.

She did mess with his head, and arguably, because it probably was, it was worse for him. He was alone. He didn’t know she was there, then suddenly he’s shown his worst fears mingled with a shit tonn of major PTSD triggers. He probably didn’t even know Wanda gave him the vision. He has PTSD, he’s probably used to attacks where he sees things.

I mean seriously, Tony has made AI’S before and none of them went bad. (DUM-E, U, JARVIS, then FRIDAY) They (Bruce & Tony) even say in AOU “We’re not even close to an interface yet” which means something jumped the mind stone to hijack the incomplete program.

Then you’ve got to think, an AI is made, with incomplete programming and whatever the mind stone did, and then was instantly thrust into the Internet. No wonder he wanted to kill everything. Information overload much, then attempting to make something of it all.

Now we get to the airport. Tony tries to talk. Steve is dismissive and unwilling to listen. Steve refuses to share vital information that would have helped the situation and the threat they had every reason to believe exists.

Steve starts the fight. His team doesn’t hold back like Tony’s does. They destroy a lot of property and nearly killed T'Challa and Spiderman several times. I mean, fuck you Steve, who just drops a huge heavy walkway create thing on someone who is obviously a teen? And then WALK AWAY while they struggle to hold it up. What if you had overestimated Spiderman’s strength? Congrats, you just killed a kid because once again you show no regard for anyone else besides Bucky.

He leaves his team. They probably knew even less about the situation than he did, because he knew fuck all about the Accords so I can’t imagine the bullshit Scott and Clint were told.

Then fucking Natasha. Ffs, she could have easily either disabled/sabotaged the quinjet or delayed them from leaving. But she didn’t. Then she has the nerve to tell Tony to watch his back after she betrayed him.

Also, Rhodey. Oh my god. Everyone gives Tony shit for point blank shooting Sam, but think about it. If Sam had taken the hit and turned into a glider, Rhodey would be fine. It doesn’t completely make sense, but there was a long moment where Tony was watching Rhodey fall to his death. Sam was a quick way to lash out. He also didn’t hit him that hard, just enough to knock him down.

Zoom ahead, Tony gets evidence that prove Bucky is innocent and admits he was wrong. (About what though I’m not sure, because all he wanted to do was give Bucky mental help and a fair trial but whatever. It’s not like Steve told him about the threat or anything. Because that would have been helpful.)

Clint makes a crack at Rhodey’s condition which is such a dick move. Sam then tells Tony the information he should have been given from the beginning by Mr ‘I-Dont-like-my-team-keeping-things-from-me’ Rogers. Tony heads to Siberia as a friend.

Steve gets a little arrogant cause he’s got this attitude of ‘I knew I was right the whole time and I’m glad you’ve finally seen sense’.

Then the video. This pissed me off the most I think.

You’ve just witnessed your parents brutally murdered by the person standing not 10 feet away from you. This reopens unprocessed greif and causes emotional backlash. Then you find out someone you thought of as a friend had known. Known for years. Since CAWS. And never said a thing in an environment where it would have been okay, instead of watching the murder and then being told someone close to you knew the whole time who had done it. (Again because it was Bucky. Bucky is more important than the world, remember?)

And his face. It’s so broken and betrayed. (I’d add a picture of Tumblr would let me) and he attacks, because who wouldn’t?

And then Steve does the worst possible thing he could in that situation. Fight back. When someone is having an emotional breakdown like that, you hold them until they calm down and Steve was well within his power to do so. If he’d tried he probably could have talked Tony down.

Fighting more fighting. Steve starts disabling the suit. To you can no longer fly properly. Then he proceeds to continue to be violent and make it worse and acts like it’s not a justifiable or reasonable reaction for a human to have (especially one with PTSD and a past of horrible things happening when he’s betrayed by someone close to him)

They gang up on him. Then Bucky had him pinned and is trying to rip out the Arc Reactor. Once again, PTSD. Also, need I remind you that he’s only recently had it removed from his chest. That was the only thing keeping him alive for a long time. In the state of mind he was in, he wouldn’t have remembered he no longer needed it to survive, hence blasting off his metal arm.

By this point he seems to have calmed down a bit and isn’t actively going for the kill, he’s just defending himself at this point.

He tells Cap to stay down, because he doesn’t want to fight him, and when he’s momentarily distracted Cap jumps on him and slams him to the ground. Tony barely does anything and then Steve is punching the faceplate. Then he’s smashing it with the sheild.

There’s this moment, you can kinda see it in the 3 secs of gif tumblr would let me use. There’s this moment where Steve is seriously considering decapitation. Tony sees this, is terrified and emotionally unbalanced and covers his face.

Steve slams the sheild into the reactor and leaves it there. Tony goes wide eyed with terror and let’s out a very not good sounding breath. He’s looking at Cap with such fear because he saw what Steve was about to do. Saw him stab him in the back and literally break his heart. (Kept him alive for years, remember?)

There is so much fear and Steve looks at him with no regret for what he just did and twists the sheild out of Tony’s chest and walks away.

When he drops it, his expression is like indulging a child in something stupid.

Then he leaves him there to die basically. Tony can’t fly, the suit is dead. Can’t contact anyone. The suit is dead. Noone knows where he is and T'Challa took Steve and Bucky with him when he left.

Steve Rogers beat Tony to a pulp after he witnessed something truly traumatizing and then left him to die in the middle of nowhere in an old HYDRA base.

They act like it was Tony’s fault for the Raft as well. I mean, they’re powered and dangerous and also criminals. The Raft was a bit much though, I’ll admit. But Tony didn’t put them there. He brought them in because he was following the law like everyone else on the planet should. Because he didn’t think himself above the law the Steve did. (Aka flipping the bird at 117 countries whose people say they’re scared and what someone to oversee the Avengers) and the jacket and collar on Wanda was unethical. I think the collar on its own would have been fine but wearing a straitjacket for too long is really bad for your health.

And then just to put the icing on the cake. The letter. The damn fucking letter. It’s mocking. It’s arrogant. Not once is there an apology or true regret. Other than regretting that they’re now criminals who hurt so many people that is. But mostly just the fact they have to hide when 'they did nothing wrong’. No remorse for anything. Not for Tony, defiantly not. That would be decent. Not for anyone else either.

“I know I hurt you”. That’s not an apology. There was no mention of the destruction he left behind in his quest for saving a single man, who has killed people. A lot of people. By choice or not, it was still his body. His life was not worth the loss of so many innocent lives. There was no acknowledgement of how deeply you hurt Tony. How much you damaged him.

Steve basically says. “I forgive you for being wrong and because I’m such a nice and just person when you see I’m right I’ll be here for you and all will be forgiven. Because we’re still friends/family. Even if you fucked up.”

Argh. Angry ranting at 2am. I’ve probably missed points I wanted to make but my wrists are cramping and I’m tired.

I just… I used to like Steve, but Tony a little more because he always seemed more relatable to me. (And had a more interesting backstory.) And then this movie just made me hate Cap so much. He was such a dick in it and it annoys me that the movie was obviously trying to get you to side with him. Feel free to add anything to this.

#wtf did i just see #sokovia accords #marvel mcu #steve rogers

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drewsephrry · 22 hours ago

Text

Love Island: Episode 9 - Imperfect for You

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warnings: cuss words, sexual innuendos

words: 5.7k

series masterlist

The moon hangs heavy over the villa, draping the yard in a silver glow that feels too quiet, too still, compared to the muffled laughter and clinking glasses drifting up from downstairs. Y/N doesn’t move. Her hand rests on the door handle like letting go of it would make everything real.

“I…I didn’t think you’d actually come.” He says, voice low, caught somewhere between relief and disbelief. She swallows, eyes flicking away.

“Me neither.”

A silence sits between them for a beat too long. Then he gestures softly toward the couch. No pressure, just hope. She walks in slowly, almost cautiously, smoothing the fabric of her jeans as she sits down beside him, though not too close. Her body is angled slightly away.

“You wanted to talk.” She says, staring down at her hands. “So…talk.”

He hesitates, his breath shaky.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Maybe the part where you lied to me?” She glances up at him, sharp now. He nods, as if the hit is deserved.

“Right. Fair.” There’s another pause, heavier this time and when he speaks again, his voice trembles just enough to show the crack beneath it. “I didn’t tell you about my last relationship because…I thought if you knew, you’d look at me the way I look at myself. And I already hate myself enough for what I did. I’ve gone to therapy, I had multiple conversations, apologies that probably didn’t fix anything but I still said them. I mean…I even apologized to her mom. I’m not proud of who I was. But I’ve tried to change. I have changed.”

She doesn’t answer right away. She just stares at him like she’s searching for the lie in his eyes.

“You could’ve told me.” She finally says, her voice sharp with emotion. “Maybe we could’ve saved ourselves from all of this.”

“I know.” He replies, voice raw. “I was a coward. And the other night, I was a massive dick to you. You were trying to help and I blew up. That’s on me. Every second of it.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes locking on hers with a sincerity he rarely lets show.

“I like you, Y/N. So much it scares the hell out of me. And I will fix this. I’ll fix all of it. If you let me.”

Her gaze doesn’t waver.

“How do I know this isn’t just love-bombing?” She asks quietly. “How do I know you’re not just saying all the right things because you think that’s what I need to hear?”

His face falls and for a moment, he just stares at her, unsure if he should be hurt or if he deserves it.

“Y/N-” “No.” Her voice cuts through his like a knife.

“I can’t sit here and listen to the same lines I’ve heard a hundred times. ‘I’ve changed.’ ‘It won’t happen again.’ Spare me.”

His jaw tightens. The words sting more than he expects.

“I’m not like him!” The words come out louder than he means and her face shifts, just slightly, but enough.

“Him?” Her voice is smaller now. Unsure. He runs a hand over his face, like he’s trying to wipe the moment away.

“Kelce told me. About your ex.” He says it carefully, almost like he doesn’t want to say it at all. “What he did.”

Her body tenses. She looks away, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on nothing.

“That’s not your business.”

“It is.” He softens. “Because it’s still in the room with us. Even when you pretend it’s not.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me right now.” She exhales loudly.

“I’m not. But you call me out for not being honest with you and I get that. I do. But you haven’t been either.”

“You didn’t ask.” She snaps. The words are quick, like armor.

“I didn’t want to push.” He pauses. “But I’m not gonna pretend like it doesn’t matter. You were hurt. And whether you like it or not, that matters to me.”

She stands abruptly and for a second, he thinks she’s going to walk out. But he reaches out, catching her hand. Not to stop her, just to hold something steady.

“I’m not like him.” He says again, quieter this time. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what happened to you. For how it’s still with you. And I’m sorry if I brought even an ounce of that back. You didn’t deserve that. Not then. Not now.”

She doesn’t speak. Her breath trembles and when her eyes meet his, there’s a storm building behind them.

“I’m not asking you to forget it.” He adds. “And I’m not asking you to forgive me. But I know what we have, whatever it is, it’s real. I feel it. I know it.”

He lets go of her hand.

“If even a part of you feels it too…just give me a chance. One more. I’ll spend every day showing you, proving to you that I’m not him.”

She stares at him, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you.” She says quietly. Rafe nods without hesitation.

“You don’t have to. I get it. You didn’t owe me an explanation. That’s fair.”

“But I am sorry…for pressuring you to open up.” She glances down, her voice softer. He shakes his head.

“You don’t need to apologize for that either. This was gonna be a thing sooner or later. I’m just glad it happened now, early enough that I might still have a shot at earning your trust back.” He exclaims. She nods slowly, but her expression stays guarded.

“It’s going to take more than this conversation.”

He nods right back.

“I know. I’ll do whatever it takes. You want me to beg? I’ll beg.” He suggests and her mouth lifts into a smirk.

“A little groveling wouldn’t hurt.”

Without missing a beat, Rafe slides off the couch onto his knees, taking her arms gently.

“Y/N-” “Oh my god, get up!” She says, half-laughing as she pulls him back up. He grins, now standing in front of her, his eyes flicking between hers and her lips. She mirrors the movement without meaning to.

“I’m gonna need time.” She says quietly. “To move past this. To trust you again.”

A beat.

“Though…a kiss like the one downstairs might help.”

He smirks and steps in, hands landing softly on her waist.

“Yeah?” He murmurs. “You mean the ‘10 out of 10’ kiss?”

She groans, pulling back and rolling her eyes. Rafe laughs and tugs her back toward him.

“You’re insufferable.” She mutters.

“You’re gonna have to deal with it, sweetheart.”

Her heart flutters at the pet name, but she tries to play it off. He keeps going, eyes glinting.

“And let’s be real, I’m gonna remind you about that kiss for a long time. Didn’t you call it-what was it? ‘The most amazing kiss of your life’?”

“I never said that.” She insists, shaking her head.

“That’s what I recall.” He teases.

“Are you trying to gaslight me right now? I never said that.”

“No?” He leans in with a smirk. “Hmm. Must’ve been the wind.”

She laughs despite herself, fingers weaving behind his neck.

“This is so wrong.” She murmurs. His brows furrow in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just…kind of toxic, isn’t it? We barely talk things through and then end up right back to our usual horny selves. Like, nothing happened.” She replies.

“Wait, are you horny right now?” He asks with faux innocence.

“Rafe!” She gasps, laughing as she swats his chest. “I’m being serious.”

“Okay, okay. I get what you’re saying.” He pauses, then shrugs. “But why is it wrong? We’re figuring it out. Following our hearts…or whatever Taylor Swift lyric fits here.” He tries not to sound as corny and she snorts.

“She hasn't said anything like that. Just...I don’t want to get into stupid fights with you just to end up making out a few minutes later.”

“So…we are going to make out?” He asks, one hand coming up to cup her cheek.

“Oh my god, do you hear anything I’m saying that isn’t about kissing?” She stares up at him in disbelief.

“I do. I swear I do. But you’re just really pretty. It's distracting.”

She blushes and hits his chest again, though this time she leans in.

“I hate you.” She mumbles.

“No, you don’t.” He whispers, smiling as their foreheads meet. “Can I?”

She nods just as he closes the distance. Soft, slow, but with purpose. His mouth finds hers without hesitation and this kiss is different. It’s full of emotion, but also something darker, possessive, desperate, aching.

It’s gentler than before, but hot enough to make her forget everything else. Forget the kiss with Ryan. The one she shamefully leaned into. The one that had rage flashing behind Rafe’s eyes and a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Now, his hands grip her waist tighter, pulling her against him like he needs her there. Like she’s the only thing grounding him. She gasps softly into his mouth and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His voice drops an octave, low and raspy against her lips. “So…are you getting turned on?” He asks and she giggles, breathless, eyes flicking up to his with flushed cheeks.

“Honestly? Shut up.”

But her mouth crashes back into his before the last word even finishes. This kiss is hotter. Hungrier. His hands slide down her back, then lower, cupping her ass and pulling her harder against him. She moans softly and he groans into her mouth like it’s driving him insane.

When they finally come up for air, her fingers are tangled in the chain around his neck, her thoughts spinning.

“You good?” He murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that almost undoes her.

‘Yeah.” She nods. “Because we’re gonna be fine.” She exclaims. His lips twitch into a smile before he leans in and presses a soft, final kiss to her lips.

“We should…probably head downstairs.” He says, though he doesn’t move an inch. She turns toward the door, but Rafe stays put, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Just…give me a second.” He mutters, nodding down toward his pants, where the fabric is visibly strained. “He needs to chill.”

“I’m sorry.” She chokes on a laugh, hand flying to her mouth. “He?”

Rafe looks away, clearly flustered, trying to will his body into cooperation.

“George.”He mutters, with that smug little grin.

“George?” She raises her brows.

“You know…curious George.” He explains, scratching the back of his neck and she chuckles again.

“Oh, I’m absolutely telling the girls.”

“No. Y/N, wait-”

But she’s already slipped through the door, laughter trailing behind her.

“Fuck me.” He groans, chasing after her, catching up just before she reaches the stairs.

“Please, sweetheart.” He says, voice dropping into that low, sweet tone that usually makes her knees weak. She smirks over her shoulder.

“You said you’d make it up to me any way I wanted.” She recalls, with wide eyes and pink swollen lips.

“Fine.” He exhales, jaw tense “Go. Just…I seriously need a minute.”

She kisses his cheek, laughing softly.

“I said go.” He calls after her with a grin, adjusting himself with a wince.

“Sorry!” She shouts from halfway down the stairs. “Sorry George!”

His laugh follows her, thick with amusement and frustration.

Confessional - Y/N

She stares at the camera, slightly traumatized.

“I am never seeing Curious George the same way again.” She shakes her head. “Ruined. Completely ruined.”

The night winds down as the girls gather upstairs in the makeup room, wiping off their glam and slipping into cozy pajamas. Laughter bubbles up as they rehash the challenge.

“Maddy, you got the best one!” Alyssa teases, referring to Kelce’s win. The girls laugh as Maddy pulls on one of his hoodies.

“Guess I’m lucky.” She says with a shrug and a small smile.

“Anything exciting happen tonight?” Cleo asks, dragging a makeup wipe across her face. Sarah lifts a brow at Y/N, who meets her gaze for a second. Y/N gives a subtle shake of her head before turning back to the group.

“Y/N…” Kiara says, looking at her. “You and Ryan were talking before the challenge, right?”

Y/N exhales quietly, grateful they hadn’t caught the moment between her and Rafe. No one’s brought it up, yet.

“Yeah.” She gulps. “He pulled me for a quick chat. He was really sweet, honestly.”

“How are you feeling about him?” Cleo asks, eyes curious. “I mean…you did give him a ten.”

Y/N lets out a small laugh.

“Okay, to be fair, I didn’t even know that was him when I rated him. But yeah, I told him I want to get to know him. And the kiss didn’t hurt, that’s for sure.”

“What about Rafe?” Abigail chimes in, focused on braiding her hair. Y/N’s smile fades a bit. She glances at Sarah before answering.

“It’s still… complicated.” She replies, her voice softer now. The room quiets for a moment.

“Take your time with it.” Maddy offers gently.

“Honestly, Ryan’s a way better option anyway.” Kiara adds, applying lip balm with a casual shrug.

Y/N doesn’t say anything. She just sits at her vanity, staring at her reflection in the mirror, silently nodding as the buzz of conversation moves on around her.

Downstairs, the boys are in full post-challenge mode. Shirts coming off and banter flying.

“So…Ryan.” Topper says, tossing his button-up aside as he eyes him with a pointed look. “Enjoy tonight’s challenge?”

“Didn’t we all?” Ryan replies with a light scoff, earning a few nods and chuckles from the others.

Topper glances over his shoulder toward Rafe, who’s folding clothes in silence, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

“Just asking.” Topper continues, tone more loaded now. “You did get a solid ‘10’ out there.”

That grabs Rafe’s attention. He shuts the closet door a little harder than necessary and makes his way back to his bed without a word.

“It was…nice.” Ryan admits, a small grin creeping in as he thinks back to the kiss.

“The kiss or the rating?” JJ asks, half-curious, half-confused.

“Uh, both, I guess.” Ryan scratches the back of his neck and grabs a t-shirt to throw on. Topper leans back, watching Rafe again.

“She’s a pretty little thing, huh, Ryan?”

Rafe shakes his head subtly, trying to signal Topper to drop it.

“Yeah, for sure.” Ryan replies casually. Rafe picks up his phone, suddenly very interested in whatever’s on the screen.

“Would you pick her in a recoupling?” Topper pushes, eyes flicking between Ryan and Rafe.

Just as Ryan’s about to answer, the bedroom door swings open. Laughter fills the room.

“I’m serious, Sar!” Y/N’s voice rings out as she enters, wearing Rafe’s hoodie which is oversized on her, paired with boxer shorts. He looks up instantly, a smile breaking across his face.

She walks toward their bed, resting her water bottle on the nightstand as he lifts the blanket for her. The other girls start settling in and the tension in the room visibly eases.

“Neighbor.” Ryan says with a nod toward her as he slides into the bed next to hers.

Y/N nods back politely, adjusting herself under the covers. Rafe watches their exchange carefully. His hand slips beneath the blanket, resting gently on her thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I love that hoodie on you.” He murmurs, voice low so only she can hear. She glances over at him, smirking.

“Looks better on me, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.” He grins, eyes tracing her face as she snuggles into the fabric.

“It still smells like you.” She mumbles, nose wrinkling playfully.

“Is that a good thing?” He teases, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“God, no.” She groans jokingly.

“Oh, really?” He says with mock offense before suddenly launching into a tickle attack, his hands finding her waist. Her laughter breaks through the quiet hum of the room.

“Stop!” She gasps between giggles, trying to wriggle away.

When he finally pulls back, triumphant, she collapses against her pillow, breathless and glowing. Her eyes flicker to his lips for just a second before darting away nervously, checking to make sure no one else noticed.

Right then, the bedroom lights shut off.

“Good night.” She whispers, turning over.

Rafe hesitates, watching her. To him, it almost feels like things are falling back into place. Gently, he wraps an arm around her waist.

“Is…is this okay?” He asks, his voice soft.

She nods slowly, pressing back into him as he spoons her. His hand stays steady on her waist, his breath warm against the back of her neck.

And for now, that’s enough.

Morning sunlight creeps into the villa as the bedroom lights flicker on. Groans echo around the room as the islanders slowly stir to life.

Y/N pulls the duvet over her face, resisting the day with every fiber of her being. Rafe stretches beside her, arm brushing hers before he leans back against the headboard.

Suddenly, a burst of energy enters the scene. Sarah, wide awake and grinning, launches herself from her bed straight onto Y/N.

“Oh my god, Sarah.” Y/N groans, voice muffled by the blankets as Sarah giggles.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Sarah chirps, wedging herself between Rafe and Y/N like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Rafe just laughs, shaking his head as Y/N’s face peeks out from under the covers, eyes squinting against the bright lights.

“Get up, girl!” Sarah urges, grabbing Y/N’s shoulders and giving her a shake.

“Sarah…”

“Come on. Big day ahead. And I want you to curl my hair like you did yours the other day? It was so cute!” She exclaims. Y/N groans but finally sits up, adjusting Rafe’s hoodie on her shoulders.

“Why are you so energetic right now?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Good sleep? Positive vibes? Who knows.” Sarah shrugs. She hops up and tugs on Y/N’s hand, urging her out of bed.

“You’re literally the most impatient person alive.” Y/N mutters, stretching as she stands. Her hoodie lifts slightly, revealing a flash of skin. Rafe watches, a smirk tugging at his lips. Ryan, from the bed nearby, does too, but more discreetly.

Y/N grabs her water bottle, letting Sarah drag her toward the hallway. The two of them head upstairs, just the two of them, chatting casually as they brush their teeth and wash their faces.

“So…” Sarah starts, drying her face with a fluffy pink towel. “What actually happened last night? You totally skipped over the Rafe part when the girls were asking.”

Y/N spits out her toothpaste and sighs. She dries her face with a towel and walks into the makeup room next door, Sarah close behind her.

“We talked.” She says, settling into her seat. “He explained his side. Said he didn’t mean to hurt me, that he was sorry.”

Sarah listens closely, perching on the edge of the counter.

“And…okay, this is something I haven’t told anyone in here.” Y/N continues. “Before Kelce, I dated this guy. Total douche. Cheated on me. Left me feeling like shit.”

Sarah reaches out instinctively, squeezing her hand. “Y/N…”

“I’m fine now, but…that’s why I reacted the way I did with Rafe. Anyway, Kelce told him and Rafe said he didn’t want me to think of him like my ex.”

Sarah nods, quiet, letting her friend talk.

“He said he was willing to do anything to make it up to me and regain my trust. I told him I need time to think. But also…that the kiss during the challenge was really good. And one thing led to another and…we made out. A little.”

“Oh?” Sarah raises her brows.

“And now I feel like such an idiot.” She pauses, biting the inside of her cheek.

“Why?” Sarah tilts her head, waiting.

“Because I said I needed space, but then I jumped right back into kissing him like nothing happened. It’s like…my brain and my heart just aren’t on the same page.”

Sarah nods, letting her speak.

“And what we have? It’s starting to feel real. Stronger even. But…I’m so confused.”

Sarah reaches out, brushing Y/N’s hand gently.

“Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to figure this out right now. Feeling like this is normal. And I know you’re worried, but Rafe is totally down bad for you. Everyone can see it. I honestly believe he wants to make this work. He’s not just saying things to mess with you or make you feel stupid.”

Y/N looks down, voice softer.

“I didn’t want to say anything in front of the girls. I love them, I really do, but I was scared of being judged for forgiving him so fast. Actually, I was trying to find you last night to tell you first. But then Topper cornered me with some protein powder rant or something.”

Sarah laughs softly.

“You’re the one person I thought would really understand me.” Y/N says, glancing over at her. “You’re my best friend here.”

Sarah’s face softens. She pulls Y/N into a tight hug.

“I love you.” Sarah whispers.

“I love you too, Sar.”

“And for the record.” Sarah says quietly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation. If you forgive him, that’s your choice. And if anyone judges you? That’s on them, not you. Period.”

Y/N nods, a small, grateful smile playing on her lips.

“So…” Sarah leans back. “What about Ryan? No pressure, but you said you wanted to get to know him.”

Y/N exhales.

“He’s…different.”

“Different how?”

“He’s softer. Calmer. Compared to Rafe, he feels more…balanced. At least from what I’ve seen so far.”

Sarah watches her, nodding slowly.

“I like where things are going with Rafe and I’m open to giving him another chance.” Y/N says. “But I’m not closing the door on Ryan either. It’s still early.”

Before Sarah can respond, the makeup room door swings open and the rest of the girls pour in, filling the space with chatter and laughter.

Y/N gestures for Sarah to take a seat so she can start on her hair and just like that, the morning rolls on. Chaotic, loud and full of possibilities.

As the girls finish getting ready, a knock sounds at the door, barely catching their attention. It creaks open a moment later and Ryan steps in, one hand covering his eyes, the other holding a glass.

“Is everyone decent?” He calls out, nearly bumping into Maddy, who laughs and steadies him.

“We’re good.” She grins, pulling his hand down from his face.

He blinks, adjusting to the light, eyes scanning the room until they land on Y/N. She’s sitting in front of the mirror, nearly finished with her makeup.

“Hey.” She says, smiling.

“Hi.” He returns the smile, stepping closer. “I made you a smoothie. Strawberries, bananas and blueberries. Hope you’re not allergic or anything.”

Y/N looks up at him, surprised and touched. She stands, wrapping her arms around him in a quick, warm hug.

“Thank you.” She says softly, pulling back to meet his eyes. “That’s really sweet of you.”

He hands her the glass with a small smile.

“No allergies?”

“Nope. Don’t worry.” She shakes her head.

“Oh, good.” He lets out a breath of relief. She takes a sip and her eyes widen.

“Okay, wait-this is actually amazing. Thank you, Ryan.”

He grins, nods once and heads out. The moment the door clicks shut behind him, the room bursts into squeals.

“Told you. The better choice.” Kiara points out again.

Meanwhile, Rafe, Kelce and Topper are mid-set, sweaty and shirtless, but the vibe is easy, until Rafe speaks.

“Y/N and I talked last night.” He says, grabbing a towel and wiping his face. His tone is casual, but the look he shares with Kelce has weight.

“Yeah?” Kelce raises a brow. Rafe nods.

“It wasn’t everything, but…it felt like a start. She said she’s open to forgiving me. Eventually.”

Topper doesn’t miss it. He glances over, unimpressed.

“So not actually forgiven, but you’re getting there?” Topper asks.

“I mean…we kissed.” Rafe says it with a small smirk, but his eyes flicker with hesitation.

“Okay, that’s something.” Kelce replies, leaning against the bench. “How’d it feel?”

Rafe shrugs, then nods slowly.

“Real. She wasn’t trying to shut me down. I didn't pressure her. It was just…her and me. Like before all the bullshit.”

“So why not forgive you already, then?” Topper asks, grabbing a dumbbell. “She kissed you but still left you hoping for her forgiveness?”

“She’s being careful.” Rafe replies. “I don’t blame her. I didn’t exactly make it easy to trust me.”

Topper scoffs.

“I just don’t get it. If she’s still into you, then why all the ‘I need time’ crap? What? Is she keeping you on standby while she explores other options?”

Kelce’s head turns sharply.

“Don’t do that.” He mutters and Topper blinks.

“What?” He asks.

“Don’t talk like she’s playing him. Or like she owes anyone an answer right away.” Kelce says flatly. “You don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Topper lifts both hands in defense.

“Alright, relax. I’m just looking out for Rafe.”

“Cool. Look out for him without throwing Y/N under the bus.” Kelce grabs his water and walks off.

Rafe stays back, running a hand through his hair, somewhere between frustrated and hopeful. Topper watches him for a second longer, then claps a hand on his back.

“Just…keep your head clear, man.” He mutters. “You’ve been through enough already.”

Rafe doesn’t answer. He just stares straight ahead, caught between the weight in his chest and the hope still tugging at it.

Confessional - Rafe

“She just needs time. That’s fair. Honestly, after everything...I get it.” He nods slowly, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “I know she’s not playing me. She wouldn’t do that.”

The day drifts by in a haze of sunshine and splashes, the islanders lounging by the pool or stretched out under the sun. Kiara catches Pope’s eye and motions for him to join her. They head over to one of the yellow couches, the warmth still radiating off the cushions. She adjusts her sunglasses as she settles in, lips pressing into a line.

“How you feeling today? Having fun?” She asks, casual but kind. Pope leans back, smiling.

“Yeah, it’s been chill. I think we all needed a pool day.”

She nods, agreeing, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Listen…” She starts, hesitating. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a few days now.”

Pope squints, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand. His expression shifts.

“I liked the time we spent together. You’re a great guy. But-”

“I get it.” He cuts in gently, a familiar weariness in his voice. “I’ve had this conversation before. You’re not interested. It’s okay.”

Her face softens, eyes searching his.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” He replies quickly. “I just…wish I knew earlier.”

Kiara fidgets with the corner of a pillow.

“You didn’t waste time, Pope. I really did enjoy getting to know you. But we don’t have that…spark. We just don’t click like that.”

“I get it, Kie.” He says, gaze dropping as he looks away.

“You can still meet new people.” She offers quietly. He nods, jaw tight, emotions tugging just beneath the surface.

“Is that all?”

“I’m sorry.” She says.

“Yeah.” He says, standing. “Me too.”

She rises with him, smoothing her bikini bottoms before looking up.

“Can I… give you a hug?”

He doesn’t hesitate, steps forward and pulls her into a hug, brief but sincere. He presses a kiss to her temple and offers a small smile before walking off toward the guys.

Kiara makes her way back to the sunbeds, dropping onto the empty one beside Y/N and Maddy. Both girls peek at her over their sunglasses.

“I think I hurt him.” She says quietly. Y/N sits up slightly.

“What did he say?” She asks.

“That it’s not the first time he’s heard this. And when I apologized, he could barely look at me.” Kiara explains and Maddy sighs.

“He really felt something with you, Kie. That’s why we told you to talk to him sooner.”

“I know.” She murmurs. “But…am I the bad guy here?”

Y/N shakes her head.

“No. Your feelings are valid. But so are his. He liked you and he tried. So did you. You can’t force something that’s not there. But you also can’t expect him not to be hurt.”

“I agree.” Maddy adds, reclining again. Kiara lets out a slow breath and glances over at the kitchen, where JJ is trying to distract Pope with small talk and laughter that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

As the sun sets over the villa, the islanders get ready for another lively night. Cleo lounges on the daybed with a drink in hand, laughing with Maddy and Kelce when Pope walks over.

“Hey.” He says, offering a small smile. The group makes room for him, but then he glances at Cleo. “Actually...I was hoping to talk to Cleo for a second.”

Cleo raises a brow, surprised, but Maddy grins and gives her a playful nudge. With a reluctant smile, Cleo stands and smooths down her dress before following Pope over to one of the couches.

“You look really pretty tonight.” He says, sincere.

“Thanks.” She replies softly.

Pope takes a breath, clearly trying to gather his thoughts.

“Okay, I’m just gonna be upfront and say it. You’re amazing, Cleo. And I was an idiot for not realizing it sooner. And I want to get to know you, if you’re still open to that.”

Cleo studies him, not saying anything at first.

“Pope…” She finally says, her voice calm but guarded, “I’m not interested in being someone’s second choice. You and Kiara just ended things and now you’re here saying all this to me. Can you see how that might not sit right?”

“You’re not a second choice.” He says quickly. “What you said the other night...I felt it too. I just didn’t know how to deal with it then.”

“So how do I know this isn’t just a rebound? How do I know you mean any of this?”

Pope sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I get it. The timing sucks and it probably looks messy. But I’m not making this up. I’m genuinely attracted to you and not just physically. I want to see if there’s more there. I’m not expecting an answer right now, just…think about it?”

Cleo pauses, letting his words settle.

“I want to get to know you too.” She says carefully. “But if this is just your way of getting over Kiara, I need you to be honest now. I’m not signing up to be someone’s distraction.”

“I swear, Cleo, that’s not what this is.” Pope says earnestly. “Just give me a chance?”

Cleo watches him for a long second, then finally gives a small nod.

“Okay.” She says softly. He smiles, visibly relieved.

“Yeah? Okay.”

They sit for a beat, the tension easing slightly, but the air still thick with possibility.

Meanwhile, on the couch beneath the terrace, Rafe and Y/N sit close. Close enough to feel each other’s presence, but not quite touching. Y/N’s eyes scan the villa, landing briefly on each islander.

“You nervous or something?” Rafe asks, his tone casual but observant. His arm slips around her shoulders. She stiffens for a second before letting out a quiet breath.

“Sorry. It’s just…” She hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I haven’t told the girls about us…possibly making up.”

“Okay?” His brow furrows slightly.

“I mean, we talk about everything. And I didn’t want them to judge me for trying to fix things with you. They weren’t exactly Team Rafe after…you know.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.” He says, nodding slowly. Then, more gently. “I…uhh…told Topper and Kelce.”

His fingers trail lightly along her arm, not pushing, just letting her in. She blinks, then nods.

“No, yeah…I get that. I just wasn’t ready. But I will be.”

He nods again, letting it land without pressure.

“Is that why you’ve been kind of distant?” He asks, his voice softer now. There’s a flicker of something in his expression, hurt. “Afraid they’ll see us?”

“I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “Everything just feels messy right now.”

“Don’t apologize.” He says, shaking his head. “Seriously. You’re here. That’s what matters to me.”

She melts a little, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. He immediately darts his head around, pretending to scan for witnesses like a spy. She bursts into laughter.

“Oh! By the way, can I tell you something?” She asks, her voice dipping conspiratorially.

He claps his hands and rubs them together like he’s prepping for drama.

“Spill the tea.”

She chuckles again.

“Last night, during the challenge, when you had headphones on and Alyssa came up to you, she stopped and said ‘I never got my chance with him, sorry, Y/N’ but in this super passive-aggressive, mean girl voice.”

Rafe raises his brows, unsurprised.

“Honestly? Not shocked. You remember how she was when she first got here. I told you I didn’t trust her.” He exclaims.

“I know. It just threw me off because she’s been nice since our talk.” She sighs.

“You’re not seriously thinking about talking to her again, are you?” He asks, suddenly serious.

“I mean…I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t-” “You shouldn’t.” He cuts her off.

“But-” “No buts. You already gave her a second chance. She said she wanted to be your friend and now she’s pulling this? Nah. She’s not genuine.”

“Rafe-”

“You don’t see it or maybe you don’t want to, but she doesn’t care about you. If she did, she wouldn’t keep doing this. Did she even apologize?”

Y/N slowly shakes her head, lips pressing into a tight line.

“Exactly!” Rafe throws his hands up like it proves his point. She lets out a sigh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Okay.” She says, her voice a little steadier now. “I’m not going to bring it up with her. It’s not worth it.”

Rafe nods, firm.

“Good. You shouldn’t let people walk all over you.”

She gives a small nod back.

Suddenly, the sharp clack of heels cuts through the night. The bedroom door swings open and a figure steps out from the corridor of flowers. The villa falls silent as everyone turns to look.

From the beanbag, Sarah gasps.

“Ariana? What are you doing here?”

to be continued...

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timmydraker · 2 days ago

Text

Everyone knows that when Damian is angry at you he will tell you without words, either by stealing your gear and making you search for it or by cutting your line.

Recently Tim pissed Damian off by knocking over some of his paint when getting his pen back from the you gets room and so far nothing had happened.

He still had all his gear, he hasn’t had his line cut.

Hell, even Dick got his line cut again and Tim isn’t even sure why. Dick got upset cause he didn’t know either and, as usual, the two talked it out.

But Tim manages to do a second thing to support Damian and he once again faces no backlash. Don’t get him wrong, he’s not going out of his way to annoy the other when they’ve been so civil for so long, but it’s weird.

It’s also throwing everyone off and eventually Bruce talks to Damian privately and comes back with a red eyed Damian an hour later.

Tim is confused and now genuinly concerned, because he’s an over thinker and this surely means he’s done something to upset Damian or hurt him badly. Or maybe even someone else has?

Tim isn’t sure which is worse.

But then Bruce says, “Tim, Damian would like to show you something upstairs.”

A little slow to respond, Tim almost asks for more information before deciding it’s better to just nod and move.

Dick and Cass are watching but say nothing, putting faith in Bruce seen as the older man has gotten a lot better with emotional support and regulation.

Tim follows a quiet, not ninja-quiet but tired-quiet, Damian up into the manner and into his room.

Damian shuffles around for a moment before getting a turned around canvas and standing in front of Tim with more anxiety then he thought was possible in the young fighters frame. Damian is getting taller, even five years younger than Tim he’s the same height and not done with highschool.

Tim, more unsure than when he was at his first gala, takes a seat on the foot of his brothers bed and offers an encouraging nod.

With a heavy inhale the younger turns the canvas around and reveals a beautiful artwork.

A pale hand holds a deep red rose with careful fingers, only one of the thorns cutting into their thumb and no where else.

A darker hand, sun kissed through generations, holds onto the bottom do the stem and is bleeding heavily. The rose is cutting into their skin, the grip too tight and you can even see how the knuckles go white from the effort of the hold.

There is a beam of light, warm and yellow, cutting through the middle and a second roses on the other side, identical to the other.

This time the pale white hand is not really touching the rose at all, but instead pulling out the thorns. One rest in the gap between a forefinger and thumb, a bead of blood dripping where the point stabs inward.

The bronze golden hand has stopped holding on so tight and instead trying to copy the other as it was above, still with a whole grip but the tension is gone and it’s not bleeding as much.

Tim is a detective though he’s not as skilled with deducting artworks, but this one is clear.

The rose is the Robin mantle, Tim knew how to ah foe it in a literal sense, while Damian came in too harsh.

And the other… Tim is learning to take away the things that truely make Robin to hard for them, for Damian and Maps and even those who aren’t Robin anymore, and Damian is…

It could be that he’s trying to learn from Tim but that… that can’t be right.

Tim, feeling an odd little turning in his stomach, looks up to Damian only to find the other staring at him like he does when he feels the need to catalog every little reaction from someone. It’s clear this is important to him, so much so it’s been on his mind for at least a week and talked to Bruce about it, and Tim can’t stand the idea of messing this up.

So, looking at the painting and appreciating how much effort it must have taken him both mentally and time wise, Tim ask in a careful tone, “The rose is Robin?”

Damian nods.

Nodding as well, Tim gives a curious look and holds his hands at his sides to show his openness. “As I understand this, without your input… I knew how to handle Robin when you came here, you did as well but not without pain?”

Another nod, slower and now with less eye contact.

“Okay. And the second one means that, I’m trying to remove some of the things that make it hard? Or painful even?”

A shaky inhale before a more confident nod.

“And… you are getting trying to hold the rose- the mantle- more carefully and… copy… me…?”

Damian huffs a little and looks away before he speaks, “Not copy you, but learn from you. I know how to be Robin and I am good at it, I’ve just got some things that… I want to learn.”

Tim nods and offers a nod to say ‘go on’.

“I don’t need help fighting or with medical training, or with assuring victims even though that was… something I struggled with for a while.”

Tim nods subconsciously, because he did struggle with that for a while, it was own do the reasons he didn’t think Damian should be Robin but then the little brat went and got better at it. He struggles with adults, still thinking they should just be smarter, but the way he helps people who are younger or have more struggle to bare, it’s incredible. His patience and compassion still surprises Tim some days.

Damian goes on once he sees that Tim is going to comment, “It more… the weight. I’m finding it hard to shut out the reminders of when I’ve failed, when I couldn’t save someone or just when I should have done better. I don’t know how to get it to stop but you… you always keep going and you don’t let it consume you. I… help me understand how.”

The smile that comes across Tim’s face is the most genuine one he has ever given Damian, or even had in his presence.

He looks at the painting again, taking in the careful strokes and details and nods, “Okay. Thank you for… for trusting me and for showing me your art.”

Because Damian might have paintings up in the manner but only the generic ones of pets and landscapes, the ones that have a part of him in them stay hidden.

Damian relaxes greatly at this and Tim presses a hand to his heart before extending it out, “We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with and at your pace. You want my first bit of advice though?”

Damian nods.

“Don’t shut it out. My thumb is still bleeding from the second rose, because it will still hurt. You just have to be willing to let it in.”

Tim leaves and finds the painting up in the library the next day.

#batfam #dc comics #tim drake #bat family #dc universe #batfamily #dc #tim drake is red robin #damian wayne #damian wayne centric #tim drake centric #tim and damian #damian wayne is robin #Damian Wayne is trying and we love him for it #Tim and Damian bonding #good brothers tim and damian #Damian does art #artist Damian #Tim Drake tries

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malebodyexhibit · 3 days ago

Text

The Bright Side

I entered my uncle's room and took a deep breath. It's been days since he was allowed to leave and the room stunk like sweat, cum, and armpit. But my uncle didn't seem bothered by it:

He lounged in his expensive leather couch with his anaconda-like cock dangling out in the open. This was the same man who yelled at me until I cried when I spilled water on his couch. His thick, naked legs tensed as he noticed me. I took careful steps to show nothing was in my hands. My uncle, a man named Morgan, stretched with his muscled torso and armpits out in the open. Sweat glistened on his body and drying streaks of cum smeared on the couch.

To make a wild story short: my uncle was a smart, arrogant archaeologist. When he wasn't living in the gym, he was living in his lab, studying old relics. His latest discovery had him excited at the knowledge he could learn, but instead he unleashed the several thousands of years caveman from his final resting place.

Now for the past week, Morgan had been locked in his apartment while I tried to learn more about how to help him. It's been a helpless endeavor, and his boss is already about to fire him. But he can't return to the lab the way he was now. He's a total idiot. The mind of a scientist gone and just left with an ancient hunter in the body of an athletic late-30-something year old. All I've seen him do is tear off his clothes and furiously jerk himself off. I never thought of my uncle as a sexual man, but for the first day, I tried as hard as I could to have the caveman stop, but he kept finding ways to take off his pants or jerk himself off without hands. Morgan didn't have a girlfriend, or a boyfriend—so little I knew about my uncle—and I thought of him as an asexual intellectual, but now I knew that wasn't the case. The past few days had the caveman and I finding tubes and tubes of lube, condoms, sex toys, and BDSM gear.

Now, I found the caveman, who I just decided to call Morgan, liked to be tied up and used like a chained stallion.

I used the cross necklace around his neck to lead him like a bridle to the bedroom. I could smell the stink of dried sweat on him. Later I would have to wash him, but for now I clipped him in his harness and get up. I had to get back to work in half an hour, so this wasn't a pleasure errand, just something needed to be done like feeding a dog.

I turned my back to him and started to take off my clothes. I heard the creaking of the leather harness as Morgan tried to mount me, but the ties held. I lowered myself on my hands and knees and slowly backed up until I felt Morgan's strong hands grasp at my hips. He dragged me closer, and I felt his sticky knees lock against my ribs and he fully mounted me. As he adjusted his muscular frame and settled his full athletic body on top of me, I fingered my hole with lube.

Then Morgan plunged himself into me. His thick, veiny cock slid in and out. It had only been a couple hours since he last entered me, and my hole hadn't had time to tighten up again. The full filling of his cock felt familiar now. The animalistic grunting of Morgan as he went balls deep into me almost sounded like words. I tried to brace against the force of his thrusts and his weight, but I nearly crumpled under his fucking.

Soon it was over, and I felt the hot, flooding sensation of the caveman shooting ropes of cum into me. I stood up, and dressed quickly. I felt like I needed to shower, but I didn't have time. I'd have to hope no one smelled Morgan's musks on me. I found that his pheromones were heightened and people tended to notice.

I unclipped Morgan's harness and he grunted away back to the leather couch. He recently gotten into the hobby of making cave paintings on the walls. I wished I knew the language he was speaking, but sadly there wasn't enough information. And worse yet, I wondered if I could even save my uncle, but the bright side is, I might prefer this low IQ jock than my stuck up uncle.

#male body exhibit #male body possession #possession #body possession #male takeover #straight to gay #ghost possession #jock possession #iq drain #smart to dumb #himbofication #jock transformation

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kamosaki · 3 days ago

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Same Moon

Pairing: Levi x Civilian!Reader

Summary: You always wait for him to come home no matter how late it gets.

Warnings: Making out, fingering, aftercare

It was late, later than usual but you knew he would come regardless. He always came to you when he returned. You provided him with a sense of normality he had never known before. That's why after all these years no matter the circumstances he still manages to come see you. Suddenly a firm, familiar knock pulls you from your thoughts.

You run a hand over your hair and dress before going to the door. He's told you time and time again your appearance isn't what he visits for but you still like to put in some effort. "Who is it?" you jokingly call out. He lets out a small laugh before replying. "You know who it is, brat."

The nickname brings a smile to your face as you open the door. You practically drag him over the threshold once your eyes meet his. Those bright blue eyes you've become so familiar with. His arms wrap around your waist and his head finds its spot in your neck.

You bring your hand up to run through his hair, it's longer than you remember, maybe he'll ask you to cut it again. His grip tightens for a moment before he pulls back. "You hungry? I made your favorite". He smiles "I could eat."

What he really wants to say is he's starving. The slop they give the scouts is nothing compared to your cooking but he doesn't want you worrying. You hurry off to the kitchen where plates and food on the stove. He sits in the seat he always does, admiring you as you mess about.

You set his plate down in front of him and you can tell he's fighting himself not to dig in but he refuses to eat before you. Once you've sat down and taken your first bite is when he starts eating. "What have I missed?" You always love to tell Levi about the happenings of when he's gone.

Whether it's gossip about the neighbors or a cute cat you saw walking down the street, he wants to hear it all. You never ask him about work, if he wants to talk about it he can but you leave that up to him. "You'll never guess who I saw at the market the other day." Your enthusiasm makes him laugh but you were right the story you had to share with him was shocking.

Everything you did interested him. He was completely transfixed by you. He was in love with you, it took him a while to come to terms with that but when he did he made sure that every time you two were together you could feel it.

From the small glances he gives when he knows you're not looking to the gentle tone he only uses when speaking to you to the way he cares for you during and after intimate moments. All of these actions are ways he displays his love and you graciously accept them, knowing how hard the concept of love can be for him.

After dinner, Levi washes up while you wait for him in bed. You admire the moon that shines through your window, illuminating your bedroom. It's hard to believe that it's the same moon you and Levi look at every night. While you're nestled under your covers protected by the walls, he lays in an uncomfortable makeshift camp outside the gates and directly in danger.

Still, regardless of the two vastly different lives the two of you have during the day at night you're able to feel a sense of closeness knowing that you both share the same moon. "You're not already asleep, are you?" You feel his arms wrap around your waist and pull you back against his chest.

"I can't go to sleep before you pay me back for that dinner you just devoured." He laughs into your neck. I wouldn't say I devoured it." You shake your head at his reply. "Really because I could've swore it was you that ate three plates." He pauses, you can tell he's trying to find some sarcastic remark to answer you with.

"I think you were sleeping just now because I'm pretty sure that was a dream you had." You turn your head to look at him. "Wha-" He cuts you off with a sweet kiss. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." He continues kissing you down the side of your neck. A tiny whimper escapes you when he kisses your sweet spot.

He loves listening to you talk but something about the noises you make when he's pleasuring you really drive him crazy. His hand slides up your thigh and underneath your night gown. "Can I?" You don't hesitate to provide him with a "Yes."

He watches your expression shifts into one of pleasure as he begins to rub slow circles on your clit. Your eyes flutter closed and your lips part slightly. His other hand wraps around your neck and pulls your head back. He reconnects your lips while you feel him prodding at your entrance.

You lightly gasp once you feel him slip inside. He pauses before continuing. "You okay?" You nod and meekly reply "Mhm." He begins to slowly move back and forth, creating a gentle rhythm that has you wanting more. Slowly he eases another finger inside which provides the perfect stretch.

He uses his thumb to stimulate your clit while he picks up the pace. You feel him hit the spot inside you thst only he knows how to. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud moan. "Right there, baby?" You can't reply as you throw your head back and grip onto Levi's arm.

The way you clench around his fingers tells him that you're close. He maintains his pace and reconnects your lips once more. This time the kiss is much more passionate. His tongue laps at yours as you cry out from the pleasure he's giving you. Then suddenly, it hits you.

You bring your legs together trying to fill the stimulation as you cum around his fingers. He slowly stops his movements, letting you ride out your orgasm. Soon he removes his fingers and lets you come down from your high while he grabs a towel to clean you up.

He's gentle, knowing that you're sensitive after you cum. You feel him press a kiss to the top of your thigh before pulling your nightgown back down and lying down beside you. He lays on his back while you have your head on his chest. Your hand begins to trail down to his waistband but he stops you.

You still struggle to believe you have a partner thats so selfless. He'd do a million things for you and still expect nothing in return. "I love you." you say into his chest not expecting him to answer you. "Love you too, brat." For a moment it felt like your heart stopped.

It's rare when he actually says that he loves you. You know he does so it really doesn't bother you but still when he does say it it's like hearing it for the first time all over again. Not wanting to ruin the moment you don't say anything and simply pull yourself closer against him as the two of you drift off to sleep.

A/n: First aot post!! I js had to do Levi<3

Check out more of my stuff here!! :p

#aot #attack on titan #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #aot x female reader #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fluff #kamosaki

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miwiheroes · 2 days ago

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One thing I had always been sceptical about that bylers say is that Mike didn't bother to look for El during season 2. At first I thought that maybe people are exaggerating a little, and while, yes, he does end up spending the majority of his time with Will in the season and starts to help him, there is a clear desire from him to find her at the beginning and shown when he actually does see her again.

However, I've had this random thought that uhhhh I find really interesting.

In season 1, El was extremely connected to the UD, and Mike practically begged his friends to use her powers to find Will. He describes her as a weapon, becomes intrigued with her when she points at Will in a photo/ keeps her safe because she says that bad people are after her.

After she's gone, Mike has to suspect that she's in the UD, because he tries to contact her on the walkie which is what she did to contact Will in season 1. (Lol its all connected to will, anways)

Will then gains what his friends dub 'true sight', and he literally describes this to Mike as being able to see into the UD. My question is:

Why doesn't Mike use Will's true sight to find El like he uses El's powers to find Will?

He doesn't ask Will literally one question about whether he can see or sense El in there. The only time he mentions El in Will's presence is during the crazy together scene where he says that El would understand what Will was going through, which is more a manifestation of missing her than wanting her back. He's just reminiscing, instead of actively trying to find her like he did with Will in S1.

This is the same exact thing with D'art. When Mike finds D'art which is a thing from the place he thinks El is, he doesn't say to his friends "Maybe we can find El", instead he says "Maybe we can help Will."

The thing is, I NEVER used to like the idea of Will having powers in S5, because it could just repeat the trope that was played with Mileven in which Mike puts El on a pedestal because of her powers and nothing else, and he would just do the same to Will. BUT now I'm kind of warming up to the idea, because the fact that he never, not once even took advantage of the fact that Will can literally see into the place that Mike suspects El is, shows that he idolises Will's 'super spy' power because he just thinks its incredible, not because its useful.

You might be saying: "But if they had Mike use Will to find El, then that would just ruin his character"

They had no problem doing it with El in season 1 now, did they? They also could have easily done it with literally one question. They could have had him ask at any point, maybe during some of the earlier stages would have been more appropriate, just to show that Mike actually had some hope of finding El still. But no!

#byler #mike wheeler #will byers #byler endgame #byler nation #stranger things #byler evidence #byler proof

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niceutossu · 2 days ago

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Entertainer | Oikawa x Reader

You regret telling Oikawa he could host. Honestly, you're starting to regret being in his life at all.

No, that’s wrong. You love him, you love your Tooru. So handsome, so witty, so-

“Oh, you have to meet my fiancé!”

So annoying.

You feel yourself take a deep breath and hold back a frown that only adds to the tension in your shoulders. It had been a long night of socializing, and truthfully, if this wasn't your engagement party, you would have Irish goodbyed hours ago.

Still, you can do this. You’ve done this before.

You force yourself to turn with a strained grin, doing your best to keep up the facade that you had been the entire night. You could keep up a conversation, but not like this, not like he could.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say, too tired to feel embarrassed at your unconvincing tone.

Whoever you’re meeting seems unfazed by this, taking your hand in their own. Their presence is warm and solid, like they belong there. Like they’ve always belonged there.

Unlike you.

“Hey congrats! You must be really patient.”

The words are wrapped in what you pray is good-natured surprise, light teasing at most. Nonetheless, you feel their heaviness settle in your chest. You’re not sure why you expect something different after hearing the same sentiment again and again.

Still, you don’t let your face betray the ugliness you feel, ignoring the way your fingers twitched at your side. You should be used to this, used to being gawked at like some sort of impossibility. Of getting treated like some kind of inside joke.

It seemed like everyone half-expected you to be long gone by now, another forgotten name in Oikawa’s long list of admirers.

Tooru laughs, though, effortlessly as always. “Of course, that’s why you’re the best!” He says while looking towards you, squeezing your waist as he leans into you. He acts like this isn’t the hundredth time someone has said something similar. Like it doesn’t matter.

A part of you wishes you could brush it off the same way.

But you can’t. So instead, you feel stuck as you offer a smile that’s anything but relaxed. And before another word can be spoken, you excuse yourself, making your way towards a quiet corner you could safely crumble in.

You had felt insecure sometimes, sure. His erratic schedule and lack of communication were valid causes for concern. Still, the weight you felt on you was nothing like those things. You felt even smaller right now, nearly invisible.

Before Oikawa, you weren’t always so hung up on impressions. Your life was your own, regardless of what anyone thought. It’s what made him so smitten in the first place: your commitment to yourself above anyone else. Still, somewhere along the line, you started to lose sight of that.

He was a force to be reckoned with, unknowingly taking up the room with just a single smile. And sometimes it made you feel overwhelmed, swept off your feet in all the wrong ways.

You hadn’t even known who he truly was when you first started dating.

Not really at least.

You had gotten to know his name, Oikawa Tooru. Gotten to know that he smiled like he knew he was being annoying, and that he walked around like the world belonged to him. You just hadn’t realized that some of the world actually did.

When you eventually did catch on, you were already half a year into your relationship, an occasion you were celebrating a bit early, given his irregular and mysterious schedule.

You were sitting on the floor of his apartment, cross-legged in front of a takeout container while putting on a show to watch.

As his smart TV flickered to life, a volleyball match began playing in the background on one of those random sports rerun channels he probably left on for background noise. You were about to switch to a streaming service before you paused upon hearing his name get called through the speakers.

“Wait,” you said, pointing your chopsticks dumbly at the screen showcasing the bold white lettering. “That’s your name.”

Tooru froze, mid-bite, eyes glancing toward the TV.

“Oh. Yeah.”

“I knew you played volleyball,” you start slowly, still chewing. “But do you play like…professionally?”

He scratched at the back of his neck, and for the first time since you met him, he looked anxious.

“Yeah,” he muttered, suddenly very interested in the leftover rice at the bottom of his container.

You blinked. “Like… stadiums and crowds and… the whole jersey number thing?”

“Yep, the whole thing,” he said, trying to go for lighthearted, but you could hear it; something a little wary hiding beneath the surface.

You stared at him, then the TV, then him again.

“So… you’re like famous?”

Tooru winced like the word physically hurt, throwing his chopsticks into the container dramatically as he brought his hands to cover his face, “God, don’t say it like that.”

“But you are,” you insisted as you laughed, not to mock him but just out of disbelief. “That’s so crazy. So if you have fans, do you have like… fan edits too?”

“I might have fan edits,” he said under his breath, dragging his hands down his face.

“You got any groupies?”

“Can we not?” he groaned, looking absolutely mortified, which only made you laugh harder.

But then you stopped. Not all at once, but gradually.

Because suddenly it clicked: why he always had his phone on silent, why people sometimes stared when you went out together. And why he was so adamant about having zero social media presence despite seeming like the type of person who would thrive online, all things he never made you feel stupid for not knowing.

Things he also never once brought it up himself.

“You should’ve told me,” you said quietly, pouting as the realization and slight sting of betrayal settled over your shoulders like a heavy blanket. Nothing was different per se, but you still felt a little played, a little naive. How could you not have noticed?

“I liked that you didn’t know,” he said, just as softly. “You weren’t trying to impress me. You were just so… you.”

You turn to take a look at him, really take a look at him, with his glasses and messy hair, mouth stained with soy sauce, and legs stretched long across the floor like he had nowhere better to be.

You then go back to stare at the picture-perfect version of him about to serve, hair laid out in a perfect messy crown, and with a glistening sweat that gives him an otherworldly glow. The only reason you could even tell it was the same person was the matching pair of intense, chocolate brown eyes.

“Are we sure this is even the same Oikawa?” You teased after a moment, feeling relieved by how comfortable he seemed around you despite his celebrity status. Yes, he had fans, but none of them would ever get to see such a domestic version of him.

“Heyyy,” he groaned out, but you can tell he’s also relieved you didn’t react poorly.

You lean over to steal a piece of food from his container, shrugging before you speak, “Well,” you said, “I guess if you’re also still you, then I don’t mind.”

He grinned, a goofy and childish one that made your stomach flutter, “Thank you very much.”

The exchange had been simple, truthful, but plain enough to make you stay. The mundane parts of his life were the parts he wanted to spend with you; it was all intentional. You were his choice, and he was yours.

Afterwards, your eyes were open to a new world; one that adored Tooru as much as you did. It rarely made you feel jealous, more so unsure of your place in his life, despite how sure he seemed himself. Oikawa knew so many people, loved so many people. Why you?

After over half a decade together, you weren’t expecting any more surprises. You knew who Oikawa was, a global volleyball star and your silly boyfriend. For a long time, this was fine with you. He was fun. Your relationship was fun. There was no expectation of a lifetime commitment from either of you, only genuine loyalty.

Still, Oikawa was also famous for his long list of lovers; a discovery you made after the fourth ex-girlfriend you were introduced to. You tried not to let it bother you, did all you could to hide the irritation on your face as he was smothered by gorgeous women, and sometimes even men.

You were still human, though, bound to crack under the weight of so many beautiful exes. You had struggled with insecurity before, sure, but not like this. Being faced with so many past lovers had whittled away the confidence you had worked so hard to build over the years.

All these people had been you, or in your position at least. What did you have that they didn’t? Every person you met seemed to be charming in their own way, enough to have you picturing a time where they complemented your Tooru well, in beauty and wit.

And despite the whirlwind of happiness that had come with getting engaged, you also felt so uneasy, like the rug could be pulled from under you at any moment.

‘I don’t actually love you.’ He would say, any future plans for a wedding would be discarded, and you forgotten.

Except, Oikawa wasn’t like that. He was a lot of things, but not cruel, not when it came to you.

Still, being in a room full of people who adore him—treat him like some legend, someone larger than life—you can’t help but feel the weight of everything you’ve tried so hard to swallow force its way back to you.

Things like the fact he was never your Tooru, not really. He was just Tooru. And maybe calling him yours was childish to begin with. But he was your boyfriend. Your charming, extroverted, and stupidly attractive boyfriend.

And the worst part is, he’s not doing anything wrong; he’s just being himself. But still, that’s the problem, isn’t it? You used to love how effortlessly he shined, but now, lingering on the outskirts, you’re not so sure. Watching him laugh, watching him easily command a room, you can’t help but feel like you were never meant to stand beside him.

“Hey,” a familiar gruff voice interrupts the beginning of your silent meltdown.

“Iwaizumi,” you say softly, not turning to look at him directly but making space for him to stand next to you in the crowd.

“Isn’t it too late for a cold shoulder?” You can’t help yourself from exhaling at his words, recognizing his dry humor right away.

You turn to face him, doing little to hide the anxiety written all over your features. At the sight, he falters, unsure how to approach but choosing to reach out nonetheless.

“Did…did he ruin this for you?” He asks, hesitant but seemingly ready to smack his best friend over the head at any moment.

You pause at his words, unsure how to answer. Oikawa had ruined a lot of things for you. Your expectations of a lover. Planned surprises. A chance at love after him…

“I’m ruining it for myself,” you admit, finding his presence comforting despite his status as your fiancé’s best friend and man.

“Well, I was gonna say it looks like you need some fresh air but let’s start with a drink.” He says bluntly.

“Just get me whatever you get.” You mumble out, feeling caught off guard but finding solace in his sudden appearance.

Iwaizumi was Iwaizumi. Just like how Tooru was Tooru, you knew what to expect.

“That’s not like you, he must’ve really ruined this for you.” He grumbled, clearly disturbed by your uncharacteristic nonchalance but still desperately trying to keep a conversation.

“It’s still me, it’s definitely me.” You admit, feeling anything but yourself.

“Hm,” he responds, making his way to the bar but not before giving you a look that says: ‘stay put’.

You oblige with his silent request, despite the ever-growing need to run away from peering eyes. When he comes back with two drinks, you don’t bother asking him what’s in it before taking a long swig.

“Woah, no cheers?” He says, still joking but now visibly concerned. You are an adult. Free to drink as you please. But this, none of this, felt like you.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” You admit, letting the ‘liquid courage’ soar through you, or at the very least, the placebo effect of it.

“I’m me and Tooru is Tooru...you know what I mean.” You croak out, unable to say the words you felt pathetic just thinking about.

Why is he with me?

“What.” Iwaizumi blurts out, his tone more pissed off than questioning.

“Dude, he sucks.” Iwaizumi continues bluntly, face forming into a scowl at the mere thought of his oldest friend.

You laugh just a little, tired around the edges, before sighing out a response, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” He says, meeting your gaze head-on. His eyes are steady, voice firm. And the confidence in them, in you, is so fierce it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

“You know he’s had a lot of girlfriends,” he starts, and you can’t stop your eyes from rolling.

“God, you too Hajime?” You groan, going to chug the rest of your drink before his hand gently catches your wrist.

“Let me finish,” he grunts out, clearly annoyed at your impatience.

“He’s had a lot of girlfriends, but this is the first time he’s had a fiancée.” He says, clearly still trying to console you.

There's a beat of silence. And then two. You can’t rationalize why his words anger you more than comfort. So what? First doesn’t mean you’d be the last. And if you knew anything about Oikawa is that he never settled for the first option. Only the best. And you were starting to feel like anything but.

“Yeah, that’s exactly the problem,” you whimper out and he lets go immediately, as if he had felt your skin catch fire.

You feel your lip tremble as you tighten your grip on the glass before speaking your next words.

“Why me?” You manage to strangle out, voice barely audible, but you can tell he heard you from the way his eyebrows furrow together.

“Hey,” he starts, hand going to your shoulder to steady you, but his touch feels cold. You feel cold. It was like you weren’t even wearing skin anymore, as if it had all burnt off from the shame of admitting you didn't really feel chosen.

“Sorry, please forget I said anything.” You mumble out, taking a deep breath before finishing the rest of your drink. You hold up the empty glass for him to see, “Do you mind? I could really use a refill.” You say, sweet and strained, but he seems to understand what you really need: space.

He takes the glass from your fingertips and, without another word, leaves you just as you had started. Lost in a sea of people, you either didn’t know or only knew through mutual friends.

Deciding you had had enough mingling for now, you waded through the crowd silently, blending in effortlessly as you made your way to the balcony. You’ve never been so grateful for Oikawa’s extravagance, which was now your only chance at escape.

You open and close the door quickly, feeling your skin prickle at the cool night air. You inhale and exhale deeply, letting relief wash over you as you finally stop hearing the murmuring of festive attendees.

Sure, you feel a little guilty leaving a party meant to celebrate you and your love. Nonetheless, you just needed a moment to yourself, away from the clinking of glasses and the feeling of being an outsider looking in. The whole night had just been exhausting.

You were just so exhausted.

Exhausted from smiling until your cheeks hurt. Exhausted of pretending like you loved being the center of attention, and the subtle digs that came with it. Exhausted from convincing yourself that loving someone so bright wouldn’t eventually burn you out.

You lean against the balcony railing at that last thought, pressing your hands to the cold metal as you peer over to the bottom. Its chillness steadies you for a moment, while your eyes absentmindedly trace the skyline. Little by little, you start to feel yourself come back down from the edge you had pushed yourself to.

The muffled laughter behind thick walls brings you back to the reality, though, just for a moment. The sound should be comforting, but instead, it almost feels hollow. Like a symphony of torment drawing out your deepest fears.

Normally, Tooru would be the one to ground you without a word. Still, how could you explain everything without sounding like you were blaming him or like you were bringing up the past? You feel your eyes burn as your frustration with yourself reaches a crescendo. Hopefully, you could get your act together before he noticed you were gone.

As if on cue, a soft knock on the glass door behind you pulls you out of your fog.

You tense up, not turning just yet. You already knew who it was; no one else knocks like he does. Gentle, hesitant, but unwilling to let his presence go unknown.

“Can I please come out?” His voice is low, stifled by the glass. When you do turn, you can’t help a small smile from tugging at your lips at the sight you’re met with.

Tooru, with his forehead pressed against the glass, eyes glossed over like a puppy’s. He perks up when your eyes meet, hand going to turn the doorknob as you nod in confirmation.

Even during your lowest moments, you couldn’t deny him, not when he was being this cute.

You watch as he slips through the doorway, shutting it quietly behind him like he’s afraid any sudden movement might scare you off. His eyes search your face immediately, trying to read what you’re feeling without making you say it out loud.

“You disappeared,” he says, voice softer now, careful in a way that makes your chest ache.

You don’t answer right away, or even look at him. “Just for a little.”

Despite your unwillingness to meet his gaze again, you still feel his eyes on you. Searching for something you were desperate to hide.

“I should’ve come after you sooner, I’m sorry.” He adds, taking responsibility for something he didn’t explicitly name.

You shrug, finally looking into his eyes but the way your stomach squeezes when you do has them darting away just as fast. “You were busy.” You mumble out, slightly wincing at how unconvincing the words sound.

“That’s not an excuse.” His voice sharpens, not with annoyance, but rather guilt. “Not when you looked like you were drowning out there.”

You close your eyes at his words. Why did he have to say it like that? You sometimes hated how he seemed to have a finger in every fold of your brain, ready to speak the words you were only just thinking.

You don’t respond for a moment, feeling a little too raw despite how comforting his presence normally is.

“I didn’t even get to show you my dancing skills,” he says after a beat, trying to be light, but it lands somewhere between awkward and earnest. “I was gonna challenge you to a dance off. It was gonna be real romantic.”

You huff out something that could almost pass for a laugh. “That would’ve made me disappear for real.”

“Hey, don't joke about that,” he says, and the sudden seriousness in his tone surprises you.

You glance back at him, eyebrows pinching. He looks…nervous. Nothing like the entertainer you had seen dazzling guests moments earlier. He had that same look he wore when he proposed with shaking hands and the most un-Oikawa-like stumble of words.

“I thought I lost you tonight,” he admits, voice cracking on the last word.

You blink. “What?”

He steps closer, slowly like you’d run away any moment. He can’t see the way the cogs in your head stopped turning, unable to process his words entirely. “Everyone kept making comments, and I thought—I thought you were finally seeing it. That I waited too long, that I’m too much that, that...I’m not good enough for someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” you ask, brows drawing together, “Everyone was saying they were surprised you were still with me—”

He interrupts you with a small chuckle, one that turns into a deep belly laugh. The way he's smiling has your ears burning with embarrassment and clicking your tongue. When finally he notices your pouty expression his own softens.

“No. No, they weren’t saying that. They were saying they didn’t know how you were still here. With me. Everyone here is genuinely surprised I hadn’t scared you off yet with how crazy I can get.”

The words hit you like a wave, warm and sudden. Unlike the tsunami that almost crushed you earlier in the evening. You turn fully toward him, noticing the way the city lights paint his face in soft golds and moving shadows.

“You,” you start, but your voice dies in your throat. “You’re not too much.” You finish meekly, but it’s laced with sincerity.

He steps closer until he’s right in front of you, gently tugging your hand away from the railing to hold it between both of his. His fingers smooth over the band on your ring finger, lips twitching upwards at the feeling of the massive diamond perched on top. A small part of you wonders how he can still be so cocky even during such intimate moments.

“I think about you constantly. I talk about you even more. Every person I’ve ever known has told me I’m annoying. Hajime told me if I didn’t tone it down a bit, I’d freak you out and then, then you’d leave me.” He blurts out, voice shaky and so unlike the man who had just been smirking at your ring.

You blink again, stunned. “You’re scared of me leaving?”

His lips twitch upward, but there’s no humor in it. “I’ve never cared about someone like this. If I’m being honest, I’m actually pretty terrified.”

You pause for a moment. And then another. You try and take it all in; his vulnerable expression, your complete misunderstanding. How he felt like too much, and you, like not enough. Both desperate to keep the other around.

For the first time that night, you smile, a genuine one that makes Tooru’s eyebrows raise in a hopeful way. You then go rub at your eyes, desperate to soothe the burning behind them because, despite your initial relief, you had failed to see him the way he had seen you.

“Please don’t cry.” He whispers, hands going to curl around both your wrists gently.

You move your hands away from your face, looking up at him through watery eyes. You feel like an idiot having him comfort you when you hadn’t even noticed he’d been drowning too.

“I’m sorry for being selfish.” You say and now it’s his turn to smile, a confused but amused one.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He says cheekily, pulling you closer by the wrists as you happily oblige to his warm touch.

“But seriously, don’t apologize. Thanks for putting up with me for so long.” He mumbles into your hair before giving your head a gentle kiss, as if making a silent vow to himself.

You hum in response, making a move to wrap your arms around his torso as he greedily accepts more of you into his arms.

“I promise I won’t disappear again.” You say, glancing toward the balcony door and the party still pulsing behind it. The night was still young, and you felt strangely refreshed. Renewed even. ‘I tend to have that effect on people,’ Oikawa had teased once. It used to annoy you, and it still did, mostly because it was true.

For a second, neither of you speaks, simply relishing in each other's presence. The wind suddenly picks up a little, tugging some loose hair strands around your face, and he reaches to tuck them behind your ear as if on instinct.

“I promise you won’t regret being mine.” He says, hand going from your ear to cup your cheek, his eyes steeled with a newfound resolve, similar to the one you had seen on tv all those years ago. You were his newfound obsession, someone he willingly devoted all his time and passion to with a cheeky glee. Your Tooru.

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freakmcnastyy · 1 day ago

Text

Baby, come home

Geum Seongjae x f!reader (Angst)

Summary: The reader has no idea about Seongjae’s secret life—until one day.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of blood, mentions of murder.

Note: Requestedd!

⸻

Seongjae was always a mystery.

You could never really know what was going on inside him.

He’d smile, but his eyes wouldn’t.

He’d say he loved you, but his voice never warmed with it.

Still—every word that rolled off his lips somehow pulled you deeper.

Being with him felt like walking into a pitch-black tunnel at 3 a.m.

dangerous, disorienting, and weirdly addictive.

Sometimes he’d vanish without a word. One day, two, maybe more.

Your texts? Left on read. Your calls? Straight to voicemail.

And then he’d show up like nothing happened—

like he’d just stepped out for a smoke five minutes ago.

That same smug smirk on his lips. Those eyes colder than steel.

Even when he said “Did you miss me, baby?” it sounded like a game.

You’d be angry, want answers, demand something real—

but then he’d hold your face in his hands,

look straight into your eyes just once,

and kiss you like he hadn’t breathed without you.

And just like that, your fury? Gone. Your fears? Erased.

His mystery wasn’t killing you.

It was numbing you, little by little, every day.

Seongjae was a riddle—

the more you tried to solve him, the more he slipped away.

⸻

It was 3:20 a.m. when the door clicked open.

Everything was quiet.

The street, the house, even your thoughts.

You were already awake—

too wired, too uneasy, too restless.

Maybe from the sleepless nights, maybe from that awful gut feeling.

You didn’t know how many secrets that door had let in by now.

And then… he stepped inside.

His jacket was on but unzipped—

and his white shirt?

Soaked.

Chest, sleeves, even up to his neck—deep red.

Blood.

You squinted, tried to breathe, but your throat felt like it was closing.

“Seongjae…”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

He didn’t even look at you.

Shrugged off his jacket, dropped it on the floor.

Shoes off in one move.

Straight to the sink.

You stood there, frozen.

“What… what is this?” you finally whispered.

“Whose blood is that?”

He just shrugged.

Didn’t turn around.

Started scrubbing his hands under the tap.

Red turned pink, turned clear…

but nothing about it felt clean.

All that was left was silence.

Then:

“It doesn’t matter.”

That’s all he gave you.

It doesn’t matter.

No explanation. No apology. No story.

No fear, no guilt, just… blank.

And somehow, you weren’t even surprised.

Because this wasn’t the first time.

“What did you do?” you asked again, louder this time.

You didn’t sound like a scared girl—

you sounded like someone who’d had enough.

And he… laughed.

Quiet. Mocking.

“I told you this world isn’t for you,” he said, finally looking at you.

“If you love me… you stop asking questions.”

Something shattered in you right then.

Stop asking.

Was that what love was?

Going blind?

Going quiet?

Seeing blood and still choosing to stay?

And yet your heart…

it still beat for him.

Still lost everything when he looked at you.

He took a step closer.

His hand—still slightly stained—reached for your face.

Thumb brushing your cheek.

He whispered:

“You’re shaking.”

“Because I’m scared,” you said.

“Of me?”

A pause. Then:

“No. Of myself. Because I’m not leaving.”

⸻

You've felt something for weeks.

Something was off.

He was lying.

Not cheating—you knew he’d never cheat.

But something else.

Another life.

Something darker.

And loving someone didn’t mean silencing yourself over it.

One day, you casually asked around.

Not directly—just dancing around the subject.

No one had answers.

Just one word came up: Union.

No one explained it.

Or maybe no one wanted to.

That made it worse.

So one night, when he left saying he’d be back late,

you followed him.

He had his jacket on again.

Hands in his pockets.

Head low.

And from a distance, he looked like a stranger.

He stopped near a dark alley.

Three other men joined.

You couldn’t hear, but his tone was sharp. Angry.

Then—

he threw the first punch.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

It wasn’t a fight. It was a punishment.

He was on top of a guy, slamming fists like he was erasing a sin.

Blood everywhere.

His eyes? Empty.

Then—

you stepped wrong.

A tiny sound.

He turned.

“Y/N?”

Everything froze.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

His voice wasn’t angry.

It was broken.

You were crying. Without even realizing.

“You need to leave.”

“No! You owe me an explanation, Seongjae!”

He marched up in three steps, grabbed your arm. “I said—leave!”

“Who are you!?” you screamed.

“Do you expect me to just stay quiet? To not ask? To clean up your mess like some ride-or-die doll? What the hell are you hiding!?”

He paused.

His eyes locked on yours.

Then:

“Get in the car.”

You didn’t fight.

He didn’t let go.

Silence all the way.

He never looked at you.

Just clenched his jaw and drove.

⸻

The second you walked into the apartment,

the door slammed shut behind you.

He didn’t even take off his jacket.

He was breathing hard. Eyes blazing.

“What the fuck were you doing there?”

His voice cut through the room.

“Were you following me? Are you insane?”

“You don’t tell me anything! What the fuck else was I supposed to do?”

Your eyes stung, but you held your ground.

“While I wait up every night not knowing if you’re coming back covered in someone else’s—”

“Shut up.”

“No! I won’t shut up, Seongjae! I’m your girlfriend, but I don’t even know who the fuck you are anymore!”

He laughed.

That dry, cruel kind of laugh.

“You don’t know me? Then why the fuck are you still here?

What did you think I was, huh? Prince charming?”

He stepped in, close.

“Didn’t I tell you? Stay out of my shit.

You didn’t listen.

You followed me.

And now what—playing the victim?”

“You’re sick!” you shouted.

His eyes narrowed.

He took another step.

“If you ever talk to me like that again…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Just got close.

You were shaking.

But you didn’t flinch.

And then—he grabbed your hair.

“Who the fuck do you think you are to judge me?”

He hissed it against your face.

It hurt.

But you didn’t make a sound.

You stared into his eyes.

Yours were wet.

His were… burning.

But there was something behind the rage.

Something broken.

Like a kid hiding a wound with hate.

Seongjae looked at your face for a second.

Something shifted in that cold, hardened gaze.

His jaw clenched.

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

And then—he stepped even closer.

His lips came just near your cheek.

His breath brushed your neck.

His voice came out low, foggy, laced with threat.

“You know what?” he whispered. “I want to kill you.”

“But I won’t.”

He tilted his head slightly.

His eyes still locked on yours.

“I’m not that kind of person… at least not with you,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “But you… you turn me into this.”

You let out a bitter laugh mixed with disbelief.

“You were already like this, Seongjae. I just chose not to see it.”

He smiled, but it was cold. “Pray that I love you too much to handle your absence,” he said.

And then—he let go of you.

Pulled away slowly.

Looked at you like a stranger.

Empty. Dark. Distant.

Just walked to the door.

Right as he reached the threshold, he stopped.

“You better start hating me,” he said.

And then he left.

The door didn’t slam.

It closed softly.

But the echo of it shattered everything inside you.

You sank to the floor.

And it wasn’t just your scalp that ached, your heart was bleeding too.

#weak hero kdrama #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 1 #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #lee jun young #geum seongje scenario #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class 2 x reader #geum seongjae scenarios #geum seongje #geum seongjae #whc2 x reader #whc2 spoilers #wolf keum #whc2

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wcnderlnds · 3 days ago

Text

to the moon [part four] ★ choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: after being bit by the jealousy bug, you're certain seunghyun would want nothing to do with you but he proves you wrong. ・❥・word count: 1.5k ・❥・warnings: none, really. ・❥・ authors note: consider this a filler chapter before we get to the good stuff <3 i also did not proofread this because it's late and im tired so forgive me for any mistakes.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

The morning came with many regrets but that bitter, sinking feeling still lingered in your stomach. Memories of the night before plagued your mind. You kept replaying it in your head, trying to figure out if you had read the situation wrong but your mind and your heart were pulling you in two different directions. Your head was telling you that you’d acted irrational, Seunghyun and Rhiannon were nothing more than friends but your heart? Well, it was so emotionally attached to Seunghyun that it ached at the mere thought of him even liking someone else. You hated the way you’d acted, it was embarrassing and definitely not the impression you wanted to give Seunghyun or his friends but you couldn’t take it back now. All you could do was deal with the consequences.

Catching feelings for Seunghyun had never been part of the plan but you couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat every time you saw him now or how each time he looked at you, the butterflies in your stomach began to stir. There was no point denying it now. Besides, it wasn’t like he was going to feel the same now you’d made a fool out of yourself.

With a sigh, you grabbed your phone, seeing a few texts from Seunghyun. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at them yet so instead you decided to hop in the shower to clear your mind. Maybe it would bring you some sense of clarity, possibly the courage you needed to finally text him back.

Fresh out of the shower, you got changed opting for something casual – there was no need to make an effort, it was the weekend and you had no plans. Just as you were about to head into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, there was a knock on the door. You stopped in your tracks. You weren’t expecting anyone so who could it be? A little hesitantly, you made your way to the front door and opened it to see the last person you expected.

Seungyhun.

There he stood, a shy smile on his face, hands behind his back like he was hiding something. Your first thought was how the hell did he get your address but then you remembered you’d shared it with him in case he ever needed a place to crash. He looked you over as if he was making sure you were okay. Those big, beautiful eyes of his shining with concern. He didn’t let you have a chance to speak, opening his mouth before you could.

“You weren’t answering any of my texts and I was worried so I had to come and make sure you were okay,” his voice was gentle.

“Oh, yeah, sorry. I… uh, just needed some time to breathe,” you wrapped your arms around yourself.

There was a beat of silence before Seunghyun spoke again, his voice soft. “She’s just a friend, you know?”

Oh. He’d figured it out.

“...yeah, I know. I just…” you trailed off, unable to find the words to say.

Seunghyun finally pulled his arms from behind his back to hold out a bear. The very same bear he’d been holding last night. “I won this for you. Rhiannon was making fun of me because I was asking her if you’d like it and was nervous about giving it to you.”

“Oh.” The corners of your lips twitched up in a smile, taking the bear from him. Your hand brushed against his, sparks coursing through your whole body. You hugged the bear to your chest. It was almost unbelievable how sweet he was and you’d gone and jumped to conclusions. “I’m sorry. For acting the way I did. I’m just… not good at this. People usually end up hurting me so my mind jumps to the worst.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured you. “I’m the same way but I promise you, I have no intentions of hurting you. I… uh, I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to come and get brunch with me. We had our time cut short last night and, well, I wanted to spend more time with you.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, thankful you had the bear to clutch onto at that moment. “...like, as a date or… am I jumping to conclusions again?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, a date. If you want. Doesn’t have to be but I’d like it to be.”

“I’d love to.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Seunghyun had chosen a beautiful, little cafe in a secluded part of town. It was the perfect place for a first date. You still couldn’t believe you were actually on a date with him. After last night you were sure he wouldn’t want anything to do with you, believing that you had been too dramatic for him but here you were. Seunghyun sat opposite you, telling you his latest training. You hung on to his every word, nodding when you needed to ask, asking questions at the right moment. It was like he’d never had anyone to really talk to about this and he hadn’t. Most people weren’t interested but you? Well, you were the complete opposite. It was nice to have someone so interested in what he had to say. He could tell it was genuine, too. A lot of people would pretend to talk to him just because of who he was but you didn’t care about any of that. It was one of the reasons he was so drawn to you.

You finished the last bite of your pancakes, pushing the plate to the side. Seunghyun had insisted on paying for the whole thing even though you’d offered to go half with him. He really was the sweetest, kindest person you’d ever met. He’d literally shown up on your door after you’d ignored him and had a jealous meltdown. Most guys wouldn’t look back after that but he wasn’t most guys.

“When do you actually go to the moon then?” You asked.

“Not for a while yet. Still got a lot of training to do and they need to work on the ship. Why? You worried you’re going to miss me when I go?” He teased.

“Well, duh. Once you get up there, you might not want to come back.”

“I think knowing you’re here is more than enough of a reason to come back.”

You blushed, shyly looking down at your empty plate. Your heart raced, cheeks heating up. Seunghyun only laughed, reaching over to give your hand a squeeze. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“Shutup,” you said with no real bite. “It’s not cute turning into a human tomato.”

“I think you’d be a cute tomato.”

“Oh my god.”

He grinned at you, the dimples in his cheeks showing and it made you want to lean over the table and kiss him. Thoughts drifted back to that almost kiss from last night. Your eyes darted down to his lips for a brief second but he caught it. He must’ve been thinking the same thing because he leaned over the small table, cupping your cheek, his eyes scanning yours for any hesitation. When he saw none, he made the move, his lips a hair's breadth away from yours – you could feel his breath on your face, the ghost of his lips almost touching yours – then his phone began to ring.

“...you’ve got to be kidding me?” He mumbled under his breath. The disappointment in his tone didn’t go amiss. Yet another failed attempt at a kiss. Was this the universes’ way of telling you this wasn’t going to happen?

Seunghyun answered the call. You watched as he spoke, his eyebrows furrowing then he ended the call with a sigh. The apology was written all over his face and you knew what was coming next. As much as you didn’t want him to leave – you could spend all day sitting here talking with him, you knew that it was important. So, you weren’t going to stop him. You smiled warmly at him. “It’s okay. If you need to go, go.”

“I don’t want to,” he huffed like a child. “I want to stay with you but… I have to.”

“Space stuff?”

“Space stuff,” he confirmed with a nod. “You better text me back now. I don’t want to have to show up at your door again.”

“I will, I promise.” Then you hesitated for a moment, a little nervous to ask him the question running through your mind but if he could ask you out on a date, you could ask him this. “Me and my friends are heading out to a bar tonight for a few drinks. Would you like to come? You can bring your friends, if you like.”

Seunghyun’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to. Text me the details and I’ll see you there.”

Once he paid the bill, the two of you made your way out. The warm air of Texas hit you instantly, Seunghyun standing in front of you, barely any space between you. For a moment it seemed like he was going to try and go in for a kiss again but instead he placed a hand on your hip momentarily, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah… later.”

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277 @riddlerloveb0t @youlikeex @septywitch @melanatedhorrorqueen @l5byrinth @tabibabib @moontabi @loonybunny1

#choi seunghyun x reader #t.o.p x reader #choi seunghyun #bigbang x reader #my fics

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mw00nie · 2 days ago

Text

when you first met producer!suguru, he didn’t even say hi.

he just nodded from behind his massive desk, a lit cigarette resting between his fingers, smoke curling around his cheekbone as he tapped something into the beat sequencer. his black hair was messy in an admirable way, his eyes barely flicked in your direction. if shoko hadn’t walked in behind you and gone “suguru, this is her,” you would’ve thought he hadn’t noticed you walked into the studio at all.

“you sing?” he asked, voice low, dry. you nodded. he gestured to the mic booth. “go.”

that was it. no warm-up, no icebreaker, no compliments about your viral video that landed you in this basement studio in the first place. he played a loop, some scratchy vinyl sample over a gritty bassline, and let you figure out what to do with it.

you didn’t impress him right away. he didn’t say anything after your first run. or your second. but after the third take, he reached over and stopped the track.

“try again,” he said. “don’t think so hard this time.”

and for some reason, you listened.

***

three months passed like weather. fast. quiet. unpredictable.

you showed up to that studio almost every day. some days you’d write for hours and only get one clean take. other days you’d record nothing at all. he didn’t force anything. if the energy was off, he’d light up, lean back, and scroll through sounds for hours without even looking at you. but you didn’t leave. you stayed. the silence between you started to feel like music too.

he wasn’t exactly warm, but he wasn’t cold either. he was still. unreadable. a little strange. he didn’t say much unless it mattered. didn’t have any other artists coming in. no flashy equipment, no plaques on the walls. just you, him, and whatever beat he built for the day. his instagram had no posts. no stories. just a profile picture of his recording booth with dimmed lights.

you started calling him “ghostface.” he didn’t laugh, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch once.

you’d talk more in the later sessions. after midnight. when the windows steamed up and your voice was a little rough from singing too long. he’d ask about your old band, your hometown, the first song you ever wrote. you’d ask him why he didn’t work with anyone else, and he’d shrug and say, “don’t like most people.” he never really answered questions. he just let them float.

you started leaving stuff there. your hoodie, your lip gloss, your charger. he didn’t mention it, but you noticed he moved your things to the little side table by the mic booth. like it was your spot.

he smelled like vetiver and incense. clean but earthy. his hands were always cold. he rarely looked you in the eye unless he was adjusting your mic. and when he did, it felt too loud in your chest to breathe right.

you didn’t know when it started. the tension. maybe it was always there. maybe it was the way he listened when you sang. not just to the notes, but to you. or how sometimes you’d glance at him through the booth glass and find him already watching you.

the first time he touched you, it was an accident. you reached for the same knob. your fingers brushed. and you didn’t move yours away.

neither did he.

***

the night it happened, the track wasn’t even finished.

you were in the booth laying harmonies over a hook he’d built that morning. just a scratch loop, moody keys and that signature dusty drum pattern he always defaulted to when he wasn’t trying too hard. you’d run through the same few lines a dozen times, but it wasn’t clicking. you felt off. exposed. raw.

you pushed open the booth door and leaned against the frame. your tank top clung to your skin, sweat cooling on your lower back. no bra. cotton shorts. the kind of outfit you only wore around him now, like it was your shared little secret.

he was in his usual spot. sockless, cross-legged, his bun loose and falling apart, smoke trailing from the joint between his fingers. he glanced at you over his shoulder, but didn’t say anything.

“something’s off,” you said softly.

“your timing’s behind the snare.”

“that’s not what i mean.”

this time, he turned.

for a few seconds, neither of you moved. the beat kept looping on his screen, the faint hum of it bleeding through the room. he just stared at you, like he’d already heard what you were about to say and was waiting for you to admit it.

so you walked up to him. close. he didn’t lean back, didn’t shift away, just tracked your movements, eyes darker than the room.

you took the cigarette from his hand and stubbed it out. his fingers twitched when yours brushed them. still, he didn’t say a word.

“what are we doing?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

his voice was lower than yours, almost a rasp. “you tell me.”

you kissed him like you needed to. his hand caught your waist instantly, grounding you. the other slid up the back of your neck, slow, steady, holding you still like he couldn’t risk you leaving.

his mouth was warm. soft, but patient. deliberate. not frantic, not greedy, just present. every movement slow, like he wanted to drag this out. like he’d been imagining it for a while and didn’t want to get it wrong.

you climbed into his lap without even thinking about it. straddling him, your knees on either side of his hips. his palms found your thighs, dragging up under your shorts. you felt the heat bloom in your stomach when he gripped your ass through the fabric, pulled you tighter against him.

your tank was pushed up before you even noticed his hands move. he kissed your collarbone first. then the curve of your chest. then your breast, tongue slow, eyes half-lidded, like he was worshipping it. your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your nipple.

“fuck, sugu–”

he exhaled through his nose, like he felt that. his name in your mouth.

you pulled his shirt off, then reached for his jeans. he stopped you with a hand around your wrist.

“booth,” he murmured.

“what?”

“i want you in the booth.” which made sense because it was soundproofed.

he stood and lifted you with him in one motion. didn’t give you a chance to protest. just walked you straight into the recording space and pressed you back into the padded wall. the door clicked shut behind you.

you gasped when he dropped to his knees.

“oh–wait–”

but he’d already hooked his fingers into your shorts and tugged them down, slow, mouth dragging along your thigh as he kissed his way up. your legs trembled a little. he looked up at you, one brow lifted, like he was asking if you’d tell him to stop.

you didn’t.

he licked a long, deliberate stripe up your center.

your hand hit the wall.

“fuck–”

his tongue was slow, purposeful, tracing around your clit before sucking it gently between his lips. two fingers pushed into you without warning. the angle was perfect. his rhythm was maddening. steady, unhurried, like he enjoyed how much it wrecked you.

you came fast. embarrassingly fast. legs twitching, breath catching in your throat, hips grinding against his mouth like you couldn’t help it.

he stood up again, mouth slick, eyes so dark they barely looked brown anymore.

“you okay?” he murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“yes,” you breathed. “please–”

you tugged at his belt and he let you, but he didn’t rush. undid his fly slow, dragged his boxers down just enough. when he lined himself up, he waited. forehead to yours, hands on your hips.

“look at me,” he said softly.

you did. and he slid into you in one long, aching push.

your lips parted, breath stuttering. he was thick. deep. your back arched as he bottomed out, the stretch perfect, almost too much. he groaned low in his throat, jaw clenched tight.

“so fucking wet,” he whispered.

you couldn’t respond. just nodded, legs wrapped around his waist, arms hooked around his neck. he started to move. slow at first. then harder. deeper.

your moans filled the space. quiet at first, then louder. helpless.

he kissed you through it. your lips, your jaw, your throat. said your name under his breath like it was something sacred. and when he hit that spot that made you cry out, he kept hitting it. over and over. precise. focused. until you came again, nails dragging down his back.

“oh my god– fuck– don’t stop–”

he didn’t.

he fucked you through it, grunting softly in your ear. you heard him mutter, “good girl,” and you clenched around him so hard he stilled.

“you keep doing that and i’m not gonna last,” he said, breath ragged.

“then come,” you whispered, teeth grazing his shoulder.

he whimpered. actually whimpered. and drove into you once, twice more before pulling you down hard onto his cock and burying himself with a broken moan. you felt him twitch inside you, his arms tight around your back, his mouth open against your neck.

you stayed like that. tangled, panting, your heartbeat stuttering in your ears.

then he blinked. tilted his head toward the mic.

“shit.”

you froze. “what?”

he exhaled.

“…still recording.”

you looked up at the red light blinking on the mic. blinking. still on.

your stomach dropped.

“suguru..how long–”

he leaned out, pressed the stop key on the monitor.

00:49:53

“fifty minutes..”

you smacked his arm. “are you serious?!”

he winced, then smirked, lazy and smug. “fifty minutes of pure soul.”

“delete it.”

“nope.”

“i swear–”

he kissed your temple. then your cheek. then your lips.

“we’ll sample it,” he murmured. “cut around the names.”

“you’re insane.”

***

A/N: i almost went insane while writing this and i have absolutely no motivation so idk if this good :<

#x yn #fanfic #jjk #fanficiton #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk geto #jujutsu geto #geto smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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izzyhandsdeservedbetter · 2 days ago

Text

The Unraveling Of Andrew Minyard

My lovely Co-Author @ghost-inthemirror

Summary: Andrew Minyard accidently made Aaron cry, and it unravels his entire being

The Foxhole Court was a cesspool of idiocy, and Andrew had long since accepted that fact. He tolerated the chaos, the noise, the sheer stupidity of his teammates because it was a means to an end—a scholarship, a roof over his head, a way to keep his hands busy. And, if he was being honest (which he rarely was), because Neil Josten was an interesting distraction. But there was one thing Andrew had never accounted for, one line he had never intended to cross, and that was the moment he looked across the room and saw Aaron’s face crumple.

It happened so fast that even Andrew, with his razor-sharp reflexes, couldn’t stop it. The team had been arguing—something meaningless, something about drills or plays or whatever nonsense they bickered over daily—and Aaron had been trying to mediate, because despite everything, he still cared too much about these people. And Andrew, because he was an expert in self-sabotage, had opened his mouth and said something cruel.

He hadn’t even meant it. That was the worst part. It had been automatic, a reflex, the same way he deflected everything with sharp edges and barbed words. But this time, instead of Aaron rolling his eyes or snapping back or ignoring him entirely, his twin had gone very, very still. And then—

Aaron’s breath hitched. His hands clenched at his sides. His eyes, usually so guarded, so carefully blank, had shimmered with something dangerously close to tears before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

Silence.

Andrew blinked. The court, usually so loud, was suddenly suffocating in its quiet. The others were staring at him, some with confusion, some with accusation. Nicky looked like he was about to say something stupid, so Andrew shot him a glare that shut him up instantly.

But inside, something was unraveling.

Because Andrew had spent years perfecting the art of not caring. He had built walls so high and so thick that even he sometimes forgot what lay beneath them. But this—this was unacceptable. Aaron wasn’t supposed to cry. Not because of him.

Andrew was moving before he even registered the decision, shoving past a gaping Matt and a wary Dan, ignoring the way Neil’s eyes tracked him like he was a bomb about to detonate. He didn’t care. There was only one thing that mattered now.

He found Aaron in the locker room, sitting on the bench with his head in his hands. His shoulders were tense, his breathing uneven. Andrew’s chest tightened in a way that had nothing to do with his usual apathy.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring. Then—

“Aaron.”

His twin didn’t look up.

Andrew exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t good at apologies or comfort or any of the things normal people did when they fucked up. But he had to try.

“Look at me.”

Aaron didn’t.

Andrew gritted his teeth. “I didn’t mean it.”

That got a reaction. Aaron’s head snapped up, his eyes red-rimmed but burning with something furious. “Bullshit.”

Andrew didn’t flinch. “It was automatic. I didn’t think.”

“You always think,” Aaron spat. “That’s the fucking problem.”

Andrew had no defense for that. Because Aaron was right. Andrew calculated every word, every action, every move. But this—this had been careless. And carelessness was dangerous.

He took a step forward. Aaron tensed, but didn’t retreat. Good.

“I’m not apologizing,” Andrew said, because he wasn’t. Not in the way normal people did, with empty words and false sincerity. “But I won’t do it again.”

Aaron scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Andrew didn’t argue. He didn’t have to. Because from this moment forward, he was going to make sure of it.

---

The next day, the Foxes learned very quickly that something had shifted.

Andrew had always been protective of Aaron in his own twisted way, but now it was different. Now, it was blatant.

When Kevin snapped at Aaron for missing a pass, Andrew was there before anyone else could react, his voice low and deadly. “Say that again and I’ll break your other hand.”

Kevin, to his credit, shut up.

When Nicky made one too many jokes about Aaron’s study habits, Andrew kicked his chair out from under him. Nicky yelped, but the message was clear.

Even Neil, who usually got a pass for his general lack of social awareness, found himself on the receiving end of a glare when he made an offhand comment about Aaron’s playing.

Aaron noticed, of course. He wasn’t stupid. But he didn’t say anything, just watched Andrew with wary eyes, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t.

Because Andrew had made a decision. He had spent years pretending he didn’t care, pretending Aaron was just another nuisance in his life. But the truth was, Aaron was the only person who had ever mattered. The only one who had ever been worth protecting.

And Andrew had failed.

So now, he would make up for it.

---

It wasn’t just about the words. It was about the actions.

Andrew started showing up to Aaron’s study sessions, slouching in the corner like he wasn’t there for any particular reason. He made sure Aaron ate, shoving protein bars into his hands when he skipped meals. He even—much to Aaron’s visible shock—started sitting next to him during team meetings, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Aaron didn’t ask. Andrew didn’t explain.

But one night, after a particularly grueling practice, Aaron finally broke.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Andrew, who had been leaning against the wall outside Aaron’s dorm, raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit.” Aaron’s voice was sharp. “You’ve been—hovering. Like some kind of fucking guard dog. What’s your deal?”

Andrew considered lying. Considered brushing it off with a sarcastic remark. But he was tired. So instead, he said, “I made you cry.”

Aaron froze. Then his face twisted. “That’s what this is about? One stupid moment?”

“Yes.”

Aaron stared at him. “You’re an idiot.”

Andrew didn’t disagree.

Aaron exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not some fragile thing you need to coddle.”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like it.”

Andrew tilted his head. “No.”

Aaron groaned. “You’re impossible.”

Andrew didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because this wasn’t about Aaron’s pride or his independence. It was about Andrew’s own fucked-up way of saying I’m sorry without ever saying the words.

And maybe, just maybe, Aaron understood that. Because after a long moment, he sighed and muttered, “Just don’t be weird about it.”

Andrew smirked. “No promises.”

Aaron rolled his eyes, but there was something almost fond in the gesture.

And that was enough.

---

The Foxes, of course, had opinions.

“Dude,” Nicky said one day, watching Andrew wordlessly slide a cup of coffee toward Aaron. “What’s going on with you two?”

Andrew ignored him.

Aaron, after a beat, said, “Shut up, Nicky.”

Nicky grinned. “Aw, you do care about each other!”

Andrew flicked a spoon at his head. Nicky yelped.

But later, when they were alone, Aaron said, “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

Andrew didn’t look at him. “I know.”

“Then why?”

Andrew could have given a hundred answers. Because he owed Aaron. Because he was selfish. Because he had spent so long pretending not to care that he had forgotten how to stop.

Instead, he said, “Because I want to.”

Aaron was quiet for a long time. Then, so softly Andrew almost missed it: “Okay.”

And that was that.

---

The world didn’t change. The Foxes were still idiots. The court was still a battlefield. But something had shifted, something small and unspoken.

Andrew still didn’t say I care .

But he didn’t have to.

Because Aaron knew.

And for now, that was enough.

#all for the game #aaron minyard #andrew minyard #neil josten #twinyards #my fic #andriel

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noorvell · 2 days ago

Text

Fissure

pairing: Jackson!Joel x F!Reader

summary: Joel didn’t die but you almost did. And the aftermath of violence is silence.

warnings: mention of violence and torture, nothing too explicit

a/n: this is a part 1. still works as a stand alone. pt 2

The house creaks with the sound of settling—wood expanding, contracting, like lungs breathing shallow against the cold—and he finds he’s counting each groan like it’s a clock ticking, holding the hours between dusk and morning. The kettle’s long gone cold. His mug of tea sits untouched on the table, steeped too dark to drink. There’s dust on the rim that he should wipe off, but his hands are busy being still.

He’s been sitting on the same chair since after dinner, legs wide, elbows resting on thighs, spine curled slightly forward like he’s bracing for impact. Not reading. Not working. Not thinking, exactly. Just listening.

To you moving around upstairs. To the way your footsteps hesitate outside your own bedroom door. To the silence that followed—the wrong kind of silence—before the soft sound of a door creaking open, and then again, closed. That pause. Like even your choices are tired.

There’s a quilt on the couch he could bring you. There’s chamomile in the cupboard, dried and jarred, the kind Maria insists works better than pills. He could bring you that too. He could do a lot of things. But instead, he does nothing. That’s safer. Cleaner. Less like a lie.

You hadn’t been sleeping—he knows that. He’s seen the aftermath in the way you hold your spine like a broken trellis, the way your eyes don’t blink unless forced. Ellie had started sharing the couch with you some afternoons. A pillow tucked under her chin, one hand always accidentally left touching yours. Joel had stood in doorways and watched it—his own absence like a shadow on the wall behind you both. He helped in ways you didn’t see: keeping the porch light on when the generator blinked, replacing the blown fuse in the heater, fixing the door latch that clicked too loud in the night. You never thanked him. He didn’t want you to. He just wanted to be useful without being seen. That was the bargain he’d made with himself.

But now you’re here, downstairs, padding across the floor barefoot, moving like a ghost with purpose

And then—

“Can we put aside all the complexities?”

It doesn’t come out dramatic. You’re not begging. You never beg. But it lands in him like a goddamn arrow. Not because it’s desperate, but because it’s real. Low, steady, almost defiant in how fragile it is. He turns. Slowly. You’re in the doorway, holding the frame like it’s holding you up, shirt thin enough he can see the outline of your collarbones, the slight hollow at your throat that rises and falls, fast. Your arms are crossed, not for warmth, but out of habit. A defense even now.

“I need to sleep tonight,” you say, and then you pause—not just for breath but for something else, something internal. Like this next part’s going to cost you. “And I need you. Not just your presence. I need you, with me. To keep the void from me.”

He looks at you, really looks, and it’s like seeing a photograph where someone’s almost smiling but not quite. A flicker of something alive under all the exhaustion. But also—he sees the unraveling. The thread pulled too long, too tight. The grief coming back through the seams.

And something inside him recoils.

“Don’t,” he says. Quiet, but fast, as if saying it quickly will undo the whole request. “When you needed me—when we were up there…”

He can’t even say it outright. The ski lodge. The snow in your hair. The blood.

“I wasn’t there then. How’m I supposed to be here now?”

He’d been there. That’s the thing that doesn’t leave him, not even now—not the guilt of not being there, but the deeper rot: that he was. Not far, not lost, not too late. He was there. Shot through the thigh, leg gone useless beneath him like rotted timber. Restrained. Dragged. His body nothing but a sack of pain and age against their young arms, their trained grips, their merciless efficiency. Held down. Forced still. Made to watch. That girl—Abby, he remembers the name the way you remember a snake bite, not by the shape but by the venom—taking her revenge on him, through you. Through your body. Through the one thing in the world he would’ve torn the world apart to protect. And he couldn’t. Couldn’t lift a hand. Couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t move. Not even to scream.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You hadn’t even wanted to go to the ski lodge. You’d said no, it’s too far, let’s wait till the storm clears, and he’d insisted—like a fool—like a man who still believed that time was on his side.

He’d seen it happen in slow motion. That swing—her arm cocked back, the gleam of metal—and the sound your body made, dull and wet, like a sack of meat hitting the dirt. He’d watched you fold, limp, twitching, your breath gone, your eyes rolling back into nothing. And he couldn’t reach you. Couldn’t reach you.

And the worst part—the part that comes back in dreams like rot in the walls—is that for a second, just one, you both knew. He saw it in your eyes when they found his, wide with disbelief and then something else. Acceptance. There wasn’t time to speak, not even to cry. Just your gaze locking with his, and in that glance: I’m sorry. I love you. Goodbye. Everything said without sound. Eyes screaming in the quiet room.

You died. You died. For less than a second. Just long enough for the soul to leave and hesitate. And then Ellie—Christ, Ellie, like the end of a parable—crashed through that door like divine rage, like the miracle she’d always been, pulling you back into your body before the second blow could land. Just in time. But not in time enough.

Because you’d already been gone.

And that—that’s what broke something in him. Not the blood, not the helplessness, not even the pain of being too weak. It was the knowing. The seeing. That moment you both died in the same breath and came back strangers. Something shattered between your hearts, like glass underfoot, impossible to unbreak.

He doesn’t tell you this. Doesn’t tell anyone. He holds it in the way he holds everything: quiet, aching, unspeakable. A ruin built inside his chest. Something no one sees, but that never stops burning.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t scold him for guilt, or let him off the hook, or look away.

“I don’t care, Joel,” you say, and his name on your lips sounds like something worn smooth over years of use. “I can’t—not right now. I need you right now. I need to sleep and not die for once.”

That word—die—makes the room colder. Or maybe it’s the way your hands are shaking. Not visibly. But he sees it in your knuckles. In the tension riding your jaw.

“The meds aren’t working?” he asks, still clinging to the technical side of things like a coward, like that’s safer than meeting the emotional weight of the thing you’re actually saying.

“They do,” you say, and now your voice breaks a little, finally. “They just… I can’t do them all the time. I shouldn’t.”

And there it is. The truth he’s known but hasn’t been brave enough to ask for. That you’ve been white-knuckling it through sleep. Through grief. Through whatever form of afterlife you came back into when you didn’t die. That maybe staying alive was the wrong verb. That maybe you don’t feel alive at all unless Ellie’s hand is on yours, unless someone’s breathing nearby to anchor you to the bed. And tonight—there’s no Ellie. Just him.

“I don’t know what it means to you anymore…” he says, swallowing down the storm behind his teeth, his voice rusted. “Me. What I am to you. If I’m still…”

He trails off.

But you don’t let him stay there.

“It’s everything.”

You say it plainly. Not a declaration. Not dramatic. Not soft. Just the raw truth scraped down to the nerve.

And that—God—that undoes him.

Because if it’s everything, then what right does he have to refuse you?

He follows you up the stairs, slow, like the wood might reject his weight. Like if he goes too fast the whole thing will collapse. The bedroom’s dim. The light from the hallway casts a long yellow wedge across the floor. Your bed’s unmade, the quilt tangled like you’ve been wrestling it. He doesn’t know where to stand.

You lie down without looking at him again. You don’t ask for anything more. Just curl your body inward, your back to him. Vulnerable in a way that makes him ache.

He moves toward the bed. Sits.

Not close.

Not yet.

Just enough that you can hear the mattress shift under his weight. Just enough that the room registers presence.

You don’t say thank you. He doesn’t want you to.

The wind brushes the windowpane. Something creaks in the wall. He watches the curve of your spine under the blanket. Watches the slow rise and fall. He waits for your breathing to even out, to settle.

And when it does, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

You’re sleeping. Finally.

And maybe he doesn’t deserve to be the one who got you there.

But he stays anyway. Because if this is what you need, if this is what it means to be here now—then this time, he’ll stay.

——————————————————————————

a/n: writing emotional suppression and restraint is my favorite thing! i’ll write some fluff in the second part, i don’t like them suffering too much. thanks for reading, see you next time.

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dewberrydusk · 1 day ago

Note

I luv ur writing it makes me throw up violently so therefore I request ajax angst because I HATE him :D

hi anon! thank you so much haha here you go <3

➷ pairing(s) : childe x gn!reader

➷ warning(s) : death, mentions of blood, this is angst no comfort

➷ author's notes : i was giggling when i was writing this

➷ word count : 1143

You had promised him you’d be here when he got back, the same way you always were—without fail, without question, no matter how late the hour or how blood-soaked his coat, no matter how many hours he’d spent buried in violence and war—you always waited, eyes soft, hands open, heart brave enough to love a man the world called monster.

You had always been his home.

And that was the first thing that struck Childe as wrong.

There was no warmth coming from inside the house—not even the faintest flicker of candlelight through the windowpanes, not the comforting glow that usually spilled across the curtains when you knew he was near, not the scent of your cooking or the low hum of your voice singing to fill the silence until he arrived, not the sound of bare feet hurrying toward the door just before it swung open—there was nothing.

Only quiet. Only cold.

And something distant, sharp, and metallic in the air that had his blood running colder with every step.

He paused at the threshold, gloved hand resting on the doorknob, a strange sort of stillness pressing down on his chest—like the house itself was holding its breath, like the walls knew what he didn’t.

“Darling?” he called, softly at first, almost teasing, his voice betraying nothing of the unease now beginning to spread through his gut like ink in water.

He pushed the door open, and it creaked—just barely—and the smell hit him.

Iron.

Heavy. Familiar. Wrong.

Childe froze in place. His eyes scanned the dim entryway, the kitchen beyond, the hallway that led toward the living room—everything looked… off. Not ruined. Not yet. But not right.

The second time he called your name, it was louder. More urgent.

Still no answer.

His feet moved before his mind did, boots slow but certain as he crossed the blood-warm silence of the room, tracking faint smears of red that had begun near the carpet and dragged inward—each step drawing him closer to something his heart already seemed to understand, even if his brain hadn’t caught up.

And then—

He turned the corner.

And saw you.

You were lying there on the floor, your body twisted at a strange angle that made something inside him scream even before his voice caught in his throat. There was so much blood—so much—it soaked the carpet, clung to your clothes, pooled beneath you and stained everything it touched. Your limbs were still, your chest unmoving, your eyes closed in a way that did not look like sleep but something far, far worse.

“No,” he said, but it wasn’t really a word. More of a breath. More of a pained cry.

He stumbled forward, knees hitting the floor with a thud, the pain not even registering as he gathered you into his arms, his hands shaking as they cupped your face—your cold, too-cold face—and brushed hair from your forehead like it would help, like it would undo what had already been done.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking, cracking, shattering into a thousand pieces. “Please, open your eyes. Say something—anything. Tell me I’m late again. Tell me I tracked blood in. Tell me this is just one of your cruel jokes—just wake up—wake up—wake up—”

But you didn’t.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t breathe.

You just lay there, heavy in his arms, silent and gone.

His tears fell before he could stop them, hot and fast, slipping down his cheeks and landing on yours, as if he could give you back some of the warmth you’d lost—if he just cried enough, maybe you’d feel it and come back.

The room blurred.

Everything slowed.

He held you tighter, as if holding you hard enough could undo the reality in front of him, as if pressing you against his chest might jumpstart your heart again, make it beat in time with his, the way it always had.

But the blood was already dry around the edges. Your skin had already gone cold. It had happened long before he got here.

And then he saw it.

A note—folded neatly—tucked between your fingers like a cruel gift, as if whoever had done this wanted him to find it, to read it while holding your broken body in his arms.

He reached for it with hands that didn’t feel like his anymore, fingers numb and stiff as he unfolded the paper.

The words were short. Simple.

“She was holding you back.”

A sentence that ripped through him worse than any blade ever could.

Beneath the note, lying beside your body, was something else—a gleam of silver catching the dim light.

A Fatui insignia. His insignia.

Not his specifically, no—but one of theirs. One of his own.

Someone he trained with. Fought with. Bled beside. Someone who knew him—who knew you. Someone who had to understand exactly what they were doing when they made the decision to come here, to enter this house, to raise their blade, and leave you like this.

Your death wasn’t a mistake. It was a message.

The paper trembled in his hands, and for a long moment, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

“She was holding you back.”

As if they had done him a favor.

As if you weren’t the only reason he still had anything worth fighting for, the only reason he still believed in something beyond blood and death and duty. You, who gave him softness when the world demanded cruelty. You, who taught him how to laugh again. You, who waited every time. Who never turned away.

His chest heaved. His mouth opened.

And the scream that tore from his throat was raw and feral and endless, shaking the house down to its bones. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even pain. It was something more. Something ancient. Something breaking. Like the last fragile thread of humanity inside him had just snapped.

He collapsed over your body, pressing his forehead to yours, his tears soaking your skin, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You were everything.”

He sat there for hours. Days. Time didn’t move.

The sun fell and rose again, and he didn’t blink.

Eventually, with hands like stone, he placed the note into his coat pocket. He picked up the insignia and stared at it for a long, long time. Then he stood.

He didn’t look back.

There was no one left to come home to.

But there was someone out there who had taken you from him—and when he found them, they would beg for mercy. He wouldn’t give them that. He would laugh in their face, cold, emotionless.

And then he would make them pay.

With everything they had.

With everything he had left.

────•⋅⊰༻♥༺⊱⋅•────

@dewberrydusk 2025 | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

#pressed petals.#childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe angst #childe x reader angst #genshin angst #genshin x reader angst #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x reader angst

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clarkeyscvntymullet · 3 days ago

Note

Hello ! Heard you were wanting requests - I have an idea for Harry. Based on the song fade into u by mazzy star, particularly on the line "I look to you and see nothing."

I SEE NOTHING - HARRY LEWIS

content warnings : cringe as fuck - work pressure, lack of communications, alcohol as an escapism, swearing, breakup - pretty angsty shit ngl gang

word count : 1500 words

A/N : thank you lovely anon ! this was lush to write, hope you enjoy !

(apologies in advanced, i have accidentally painted harry as a dick)

Your house, once so happy and loving was now suffocating, every corner of the room feels like it’s closing in on you. His phone pings again, the notification slicing through the silence and you hate how he picks it up immediately – you know it’s work but it takes up every inch of his headspace.

You’ve been standing here for goodness knows how long, staring at the back of his head as he mindlessly scrolls through whatever nonsense is occupying him. It’s the same fucking thing, day after day; Youtube, filming, travelling, mindmapping ideas for videos. It’s consumed him so much now that he no longer has any space for you, no space for anything else. You hate how his eyes, once bright with happiness now remain sunken in his skull, lifeless. The once youthful man you fell in love with, now stripped bare of any joy, as he goes through the motions and you hate it.

“I’m done,” you announce, voice calm, but firm – you need him to listen to you. Your unperturbed tone takes you by surprise, full well knowing that by starting the conversation, is accepting defeat. Calm before the storm, hey? But Harry, Harry doesn’t even look up to meet your eyes – he’s too tired to care, or maybe he’s lost all the fight in him, and is now running on empty.

“Not this again, please, love.” He mutters, voice distant and mind a million miles away. His eyes are still glued to his phone, and something inside you just snaps, but you don’t want to snap, don’t want to cry, don’t want to give him the satisfaction of his creation but your words leave your mouth harsh and sharp; “Again? Again? Harry, is that all I am to you? Just a conversation, oh you really don’t get it, do you mate? You’re never fucking here and I am sick to death of it.”

His fingers stop tapping away for a brief second, and you laugh humourlessly because that is the only form of acknowledgement he gives you. That’s it, you’re still stood still – dumfounded but seething while watching the way his eyes flicker, and he still doesn’t say a single thing, and that makes your blood boil even further.

“Well aren’t you even going to say something?” You seethe, taking a step forward in his direction, fists clenched until your knuckles turn white. “You’re always busy, always doing something which is the complete opposite of spending time with me or anyone else! You’re exhausted, I get it, Harry, I do, but do you think I’m going to just sit here and wait for you to come back to me?”

He finally looks up at you then, face tight with frustration – but underneath you can see the real him, exhaustion in his eyes, and you know it’s building up in him too; his own anger, pain and regret. “I don’t have the fucking energy for this,” he snaps, his voice low, taut with irrevocable tension. “I’m not doing this, I’m working right now. I mean it’s not like I’m sitting around, believe it or not, I am actually trying. However, no matter what I do, you’re too busy looking at me like I’m the fucking problem all the time and I am fed up of it.”

And there it is, the same line he’s been playing for the past half year, “I’m trying.” But that’s not what you need, is it? You don’t need him to tell you that - you need him to see you, to care about you like he once did.

“Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” you grit out, taking another step closer, the fury rising like smoke inside your chest. “You’re the one who’s gone, who’s upped it and left; mentally, emotionally, whatever the fuck you want to call it. I’ve been here, but you’ve been too busy, ‘far too busy’ to even give a shit about me anymore and we both know I don’t deserve that, Harry.”

His eyes flicker with irritation. “I don’t not care, I’m so busy all the time; I’m filming, I’m travelling, I’m not home for days. I don’t get given a break from this either, you know?”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” You laugh again, but it’s dripping with sarcasm. “It’s my fault that you’re not here? You think I don’t even understand, that’s insulting, but it’s even more insulting that you believe that your absence leaves me sitting around like a doormat – pretending we are fine?”

You see it now - the tightness in his jaw, the flicker of guilt. However, it’s not enough for you, not by a long shot. “You think I’m happy, running around all the time, filming this shit for some views once or twice a week? You think I want to be stuck in airports, on buses, on planes, away from home - away from you? But it’s not like I get to choose. This is my job, this is what me and the boys have created, it’s everything we used to want.”

“And this job, this hobby – this borderline destructive lifestyle is killing us,” you shoot back, your voice rising again, the anger is now drowning everything else – the betrayal, the anguish. “You can’t even be here for five minutes, just to look at me, to fucking notice how I’m falling apart, and you think this is what I signed up for? You’re ruined, and now you’re ruining me.”

His fists clench at his sides; he’s angry, and you can see it in the way his whole body goes rigid, but there’s something else behind that anger. Maybe it’s frustration, maybe it’s exhaustion, or maybe it’s the guilt that’s been eating him alive for months now.

But he doesn’t show it. Not really. “I don’t need this shit right now, I don’t need you telling me how fucking bad I’m doing mentally. I don’t want your pity.”

“Pity?” You scoff, and the sound is like something breaking. “I don’t fucking pity you. I resent you - I resent the fact that I’ve been standing here, waiting for you to wake up, waiting for you to stop treating me like I’m just here to fill a void, I’m waiting for you to see me again. But you never do, you don’t see me, do you? You just see the fucking next video, the next trip, the next brand thing, and I’m just here, like one of your stupid afterthoughts.”

He moves then to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of brandy from the cabinet, twisting it open, and pouring himself a drink. You watch him, the movement so casual, like it’s the easiest thing in the world – as if nothing is happening at all. You’re breaking apart right in front of him, and he’s numbing his thoughts with alcohol.

“That’s your answer to everything now, isn’t it?” Your voice is shaking, but you’re not done yet. “You think if you drown your sorrows booze, it’ll all go away? You think that’s going to fix everything? Honey, it doesn’t fix a single thing – at the end of the day, we will still be in the same place as we were before.”

He doesn’t answer, and for the third time that evening, he doesn’t even look at you. Instead, he stares at the glass in his hand, swirling it, his gaze lost in it - he’s shut down completely having already made his escape, and you’re left standing there, burning with the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid.

The silence between you two stretches out, thick with everything that’s been building for months. You can’t breathe, you don’t try to, everything inside of you wants to scream, but you’re so tired of this repetitive cycle. You’re tired of fighting, tired of begging for scraps of attention, scraps of affection when you shouldn’t have to – and at this moment, you’ve never felt more unloved.

“I’m done. I look to you and I see nothing.” you finally manage to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m fucking done. I’m done asking and I’m done waiting. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t keep pretending that things are going to get better when they’re going to get worse.”

He doesn’t move, he doesn’t even acknowledge it. Has he even heard you? He just stands there, motionless, staring at the glass in his hand like it’s the only thing that matters.

Not able to take his silence anymore, you walk out; you slam the door behind you like a final act of defiance. The sound of it echoes in your ears, and you don’t even know if you’re angry or broken anymore.

A/N pt2 : requests are open and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist !

@livvymd, @clarkeysbedchem, @smzyyx, @pretendyoucantseeme, @wherethezoes-at, @mia-maybank, @whorteshawsx

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