#<- has done that. has read it. made the decisions about it together. understands the ethos. forgot all of it entirely in three seconds.

[dcdreamblog]

Okay, okay, so, question, I know Marvel Comics does fiction. But here's the thing, they have a whole series about The Amazing Spider-Man, and I swear I've read actual news reports about a guy by that name in that costume teaming up with Batman. Are they ripping off a real person?

No.

And also, inevitably, yes.

This is a simple question with no real answer and the more I explain it the less sense its going to make. So buckle in.

THIS is comic art from a special graphic novel published by Marvel Comics showing their flagship character the Amazing Spiderman teaming up with the real life flagship superhero Superman.

THIS is a photograph showing a real life Spiderman standing back to back with the real life Superman taken only a few years later, after an adventure that mirrored the events of the comic to a frankly scary degree. See, what some people fail to fully grasp intellectually about the multiverse is that it's a kind of...how do I explain this. My multiversal theory 101 professor called it an "Infinite Reality Superposition". He explained it as a function of the physics concept called Hypertime (which I refuse to explain in detail until someone has the nuts to force me to talk about it directly...because I would need time to go bother someone smarter than me) but my retained understanding of the concept is thus: Because the multiverse is an infinite variation of itself, spread out unto infinity by every event and every decision ever made by any series of conditions stretching back until the dawn of time by definition ALL things are true somewhere in the multiverse. Every idea you have ever had, every idea you have ever NOT had. Every possible version of every story ever imagined by any theoretical human on all possible Earths is, on another Earth just as real as the author's, provable, obvious reality. If you sketch a doodle creature on a piece of paper right now not only does that creature exist somewhere in the multiverse, INFINITE versions of that creature exist on infinite worlds within said multiverse. There are exactly as many worlds on which I am a figment of someone's imagination as there are where I am as real as I am sitting at my keyboard right now: infinity. There are worlds where Spiderman and Superman are equally as real as each other and always have been, there are worlds where both are equally fictional, there are worlds where the two beings are mixed together jumbles of both of their aspects and there are infinite versions of all three previous categories. Some worlds are so similar you could spend lifetimes looking up and down the timeline for a single blade of grass out of place in 1892 somewhere in Wales. Some worlds are so different that you would have to go back to the motion of the first hydrogen atoms after the big bang to find the common root between them and us. WE live on a world where Superman is a real being and Spiderman is a comic book character. But because we ALSO live on a world where extranormal events are a regular occurrence we ALSO saw a Spiderman from a different universe temporarily deposited into this one where he teamed up with Superman to save the day and then fucked off back to where he came from. Marvel characters have done this closer to a dozen times actually with character like the Hulk, the Fantastic Four and the Avengers all showing up for brief moments and then vanishing as quickly as they appeared. That does not change that one THIS world Spiderman is a comic book character. It's just that the OTHER universes in the multiverse could give less of a fuck about us and our airs.

[cthulhusaurusrex]

when the github merge request has all green everywhere green tests green everything hollylyyyy fuckck I'm gonna bust

fuck this gay "video games" or whatever I just wanna make new branches and pull requests. I'm not tryna play borderlands 2 anymore I want to see it say "all checks have passed"

[gb-patch]

Structure Poll Results

Hello again everyone, GB here!

The release structure poll for Our Life: Now & Forever has closed. Nearly 10,000 people voted, and we got hundreds and hundreds of thoughts people left about the idea. I want to say thank you so much for the supportive and understanding messages. It made me pretty emotional to see how much people loved the game and cared about the team 😭 💖

To restate how this worked, players could vote for or against the idea of OL: N&F releasing Step by Step. We would change our original plan to launch the first three Steps together if people wanted us to. But we wouldn’t do such a major shift if people weren’t interested or there was more of a split in the community. With that said, this is the poll-

Yeah, it’s almost exactly 50/50 between people who want the episodic release and those who don’t actively want it! That could have made this complicated, but after thinking about it and reading the reasons for and against the options, I do think the decision we’re going with will be for the best.

Our Life: Now & Forever will not release episodically. However, there’s going to be truly massive updates to the demo this year.

And this is why: a true early access release with DLC content becoming available would impact things in ways that might not be worth it. Us as a company would have to promote an episodic release the same way we would the entire game launching, and then we’d have do that again when the next Step came out. We’d have to be concerned with sales numbers and such before the base game was even done. Also, the game would be releasing for the entire world, not just for our current players. That isn’t the type of work we want to jump into ASAP unless it was what a majority of players really wanted. The point of this was always meant to be something good for the people most excited about the project.

If we keep OL:NF as a demo and focus on putting out a ton of the free-to-play parts of the story, we can make this all about our fanbase and that’s it. We could drop a 100,000 word demo update and move on with our day like it’s nothing ‘cause it’s not a proper launch. A lot of the best content has been left out of the demo, but it doesn’t have to stay that way. We could make the demo a more fulfilling experience without impacting anything behind the scenes or putting anything up for sale.

Not only that, but those who don’t want to see too much of the game before it’s fully launched will then be able to avoid the extra content more easily since it’s hidden away as a demo instead of getting the full marketing treatment. Sure, it might confuse newcomers who try the demo and find out it’s absurdly long for a demo, however that’s not the end of the world.

Since there is this clear divide, I think a compromise that tries to avoid the main things people were worried about while keeping as many of the benefits as we can is better than simply choosing one side or the other.

I hope that sounds like a positive development. Look forward to future announcements about the mega-sized demo expansions that will be on the way in coming months! And thank you again for following along with the development of Our Life: Now & Forever 🥰️

[shiinata-library]

Imagine: First kiss with them

Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, Bilbo's first kiss with you

[ 📚 Main Imagines Masterlist 📚 ]

Thorin

Thorin often thought about kissing you. A lot, in fact. Alright, too many times. Maybe because you’re often very close to him. Physically. Maybe because he likes how you are with him. Or maybe because he is in love with you. But he is a dwarf, a dwarf prince actually, so he shouldn’t do it on an impulse, without courting you first. It wouldn’t be proper, right? Yet, it would be easier, if you wouldn’t be so attractive. It’s your fault! Why do you smile like that every time you look at him ?

Everytime you’re alone with Thorin, in the evening next to the fire or in the morning when everyone packs their things while you’re already done (it’s fast when you have nothing), you wonder how you could be more than friend with him. Do dwarves have any rules about dating? One evening, you ask for advice from Fíli and Kíli. Worst decision ever. As soon as you see their smiles, you regret asking them. Between their “why?”, “which?”, or “tell us everything!”, you will never have your answer, and you don’t dare ask anyone else. Maybe Balin could help you, but he already has a lot to do. 

When things start to be serious with Goblin-town, orcs and Eagles, you decide to focus on the quest, trying to survive. Thorin notices something has changed when he talks to you, as if an invisible wall has been built. You’re not distant, but he doesn’t catch your eyes as often as usual, or you go to sleep as soon as you eat, no longer spending time chatting together. Things like this made his days better during this long, dangerous quest.

“Are you alright?” he has the courage to ask you a night as he closes the front door of Beorn’s house while you’re sitting on a bench. “Yes, I just need a little fresh air. It’s so peaceful here, so I try to enjoy it the most I can,” you say, barely looking at him as he sits next to you. “Dwarves can be loud outside, but it’s worse inside, right?” he says in his usual serious tone. “Yeah, wait! I didn’t mean…” you hurry to say, looking suddenly at him as you raise your both hands in panic. Despite his serious tone, his eyes are smiling like his nephew used to after a joke. Once you chuckle, Thorin gets back to his usual behaviour with you. Then, you both talk like you used to when you can’t fall asleep some night during the journey, before the goblins, orcs and eagles, before even Rivendell. A long time ago…

It’s quiet and dark as you open your eyes slowly, feeling a weird sensation of falling. Thorin is just above you, his face close enough for you to smell the pipe-weed and leather. You slowly blink. His tempting lips just a few centimetres from yours. It could only be a dream, right? 

Someone will tell you later that you fell asleep on Thorin’s shoulder and he carried you to your makeshift bed. He was about to put you in your bed when you opened your eyes. Thorin’s hands are still holding you, one on your back and the other on your hip. But you don’t know that. So you do as you used to in your dreams : with your hand on his cheek, you move your lips forward to kiss him, as slowly as a half-awake person could.

Thorin didn’t see it coming. Not at all. His hands drop you suddenly and you fall on your bed, forced to wake up now. The surprise quiets you as you understand it wasn’t a dream. What could you say? What could you do? Raising your head doesn’t help since you can’t read his eyes with the darkness of the room. Yet, his eyes don’t leave you, and he hasn’t left either.

“I-I’m sorry!” you eventually stammer. Oh it’s hard to speak! “I thought… I thought I was dreaming.” Remaining at the same place, Thorin clears his throat. “Of kissing me?” he says in the deepest voice you ever heard. “Well, hm, yes… But I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about Dwarves' customs about dating stuff. Please just forget it.” You stare at him, waiting nervously for his answers. He doesn’t move, but he eventually asks, “Was it better than your dreams?”

You don’t know how much time passed before you speak again, but it seems Thorin wasn’t joking, so you quietly answer him, “It was so much better…” The silence resumes again, yet you eventually notice his hand in your hair. Since when does he stroke your hair? It’s dark, but you see him smiling. Genuinely smiling. “I don’t know about Men’s culture either. Can I kiss you now?” he asks, hesitating. “Only if you want to…” you reply, hoping you have chosen the good words. 

“Mahal, if you know what I want to…” he sighs before leaning a little to feel your lips again. As he could have barely tasted them before, he takes his time now to devour them. ‘His time’ until Dwalin bursts in, telling Thorin about the latest mistake his nephews had just made.

Kíli

Who knew that escaping a goblins’ horde would be scarier than facing them? As soon as they got out of Gobelins’ town, Kíli was free but it missed something. Or someone. You. He looked for you but didn’t see you anywhere. Only you and Bibo were missing. His brother and the others tried to reassure him but it was no use since they didn’t find you. 

When you finally join them, totally breathless, Bilbo is finishing his speech. Kíli runs to you and hugs you as soon as he joins you. “I thought I’d lost you…” he sighs. “You won't get rid of me that easily,” you laugh. You always wanted to say that. In other circumstances, Kíli might have laughed, but not now. When he pulls back just enough to see you, you notice how scared he was. There's something different about his eyes. His hands on your arms tense but you stay quiet. The only thing you’re focused on is his lips approaching you slowly…

Too slowly! You both jump when Thorin is yelling for everyone to run away. Then, everything happens fast. Orcs, Bolg, wargs, eagles!

Are The Carrock safe? You really hope so because you’re so tired that you remain sitting on the ground, trying to tell your heart to calm down. Then, Thorin wakes up and hugs Bilbo under the eyes of everyone. You look at Erebor from where you are, enjoying the calm of the morning sunrise.

When you’re feeling better, you stand up, tapping your clothes to remove dust and twigs trapped inside. Erk you never have been so dirty! As you remove the last leaves in your hair, you’re thinking about joining the company until you hear someone approaching you. 

“Amrâlimê?” Kíli says, just in front of you, close enough to see the fatigue on his face despite his bright smile. First, you think you've heard wrong. Obviously. He continues to walk toward you, then he hugs you as if it was the last you see each other. You close your arms around him. “I’m glad you’re alive,” he murmurs, his head still hidden in your neck. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, but his smell comforts you. When he moves back a little, you notice how his hair is messy. You smile as you remove some leaves from it. Kíli looks at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen despite the layer of dust still covering your face. But you don’t see it. You stop when he puts his forehead on yours. “As I said, you won't get rid of me that easily,” you say, this time making him laugh. “I hope so, Amrâlimê,” he murmurs as he moves back just enough to see your eyes. You try to say his Khuzdul word, and his smile confirms he understands you. 

Then, the very next moment, his both hands slide over your cheeks to guide your face towards his. He waits a short time before kissing you, a long, tender kiss. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” he says before kissing you again. “I’m glad too,” you say before pulling him to a new deeper kiss, not noticing everyone is already leaving without you.

Fíli

Fíli and Kíli never left your side during the quest. They were always with you, protecting you or teasing you. From the Shire to… Rivendell.  

In Rivendell, you feel safe enough to explore outside or inside alone. Everything is unbelievable. There is so much to see that it's a pleasure to explore both day and night. After some days here, you usually take a short walk after dinner, then you sit at a table in Elrond’s library. Not that you don't like the company, but it’s nice to spend a quiet evening reading an interesting book with the light of a candle.

“So you like books…” you hear as Fíli sits down on the chair next to you. After blocking the page you were reading, you turn back to him. With your finger over your mouth, you shush him, pointing at the elves reading at other tables. Thanks to a quill and a bottle of ink already on the table, you write on a piece of paper, “Once I finish this book, I'll join you outside.” After showing him the paper, he takes the quill and writes back, “I wait here”. 

You frown first, but knowing he's one of the dwarves who can behave, you resume your lecture. Well, he usually behaves, but tonight, you don’t know why, he had decided otherwise. While you try to read the book, he does everything to distract you : making a hat with the paper, tickling you with the quill, blowing on your ear, … You resist until he touches your hair, making braiding a lock of your hair.

You’re sure everyone can hear your heart beating loudly. Wait, where’s everyone? Are they all left? Are you alone in this library with Fíli braiding your hair? When did it get so hot here? 

As you still don’t pay attention to him, Fíli leans toward you. You know he is smirking. You know he is enjoying it. “What can I do to make you stop reading?” he whispers in a chuckling tone. Teasing you is one of his favourite things during the journey. Especially when you’re alone. But here, now, you don’t know how to react. It’s not teasing, for you it’s flirting. And he never flirted like that.

You pretend you’re reading the book but all your senses are on Fíli. So, when he suddenly kisses your cheek, your body reacts alone, turning your head toward him. In no time, his lips are on yours. Even though you’re surprised at first, you’re totally melting then. The book falls off your hand and you feel Fíli laughing. Yet, since you grab his jacket and kiss him back, he deepens the kiss, leaving both of you breathless when he pulls back. “If I'd known…” he starts before you kiss him again, not letting him speak with his teasing tone.

Bilbo 

Danger was everywhere during your journey, but when you arrived at Beorn’s, you could finally relax. It has been a long time since you felt safe, so you truly enjoy it. 

An evening after dinner with everyone, you’re both sitting outside on the grass, in the allowed area that Beorn told you. Thanks to the usual sounds of the night, it’s quiet and relaxing. Bilbo had joined you with tea and Beorn’s cakes, and now you’re chatting. For once, you look at the sky without worrying of the weather…

“It couldn’t be better,” you say while a light breeze blows on your hair as you drink tea. “I don’t remember the last time we were in a safe place. Safe with tea and cake! And that diner! Perfect! What more could we ask? Wine maybe.” Bilbo laughs with you. You both talk until it’s totally dark except the light coming from the house’s windows. Bilbo and you are used to chatting in the evenings. Just with him or with some other dwarves. Silence eventually takes over when you run out of things to talk about. It’s a peaceful landscape on the horizon if you don’t think of the orcs in the east or the spiders in the west.

Lost in your mind, you grab another piece of Beorn’s cake. With all the honey on it, you can't help but lick your fingers. A sound coming from Bilbo makes you turn towards him instinctively. He stares at you, while you –not elegantly– struggle to chew the large piece of cake in your mouth. Trying to understand him, you analyse him, your eyes remaining maybe too long on his lips, but anyway! Why is he staring at you? Did you eat the last cakes? Oh, he wouldn't be happy… He breathes silently before asking you, “Can I kiss you?”.

He almost looks as surprised as you by his own courage. “Wh-what?” you could only say with your mouth full of cake. After swallowing everything quickly and with difficulty, you resume, “Kiss? Who? Me? Now? But I’m eating.” Bilbo is not moving a bit, waiting for your answer. Does he even breathe? Do you breathe? Then, he tries a smile, “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”

With your sleeves, you hurry to wipe your mouth, then you reply to him, “Yes! Absolutely yes!”. In no time, he slides his hands on your cheeks to pull you to his lips. He starts with a shy kiss. Progressively, Bilbo deepens it, making you fall backwards on the grass. He follows you, staying above, not stopping the kiss for a moment. 

While a hand keeps him from falling on you, his other grips your waist firmly. You didn’t know he could be so eager to kiss you. Maybe you should stop him… “Beorn’s cake tastes better on your tongue,” he pants just before resuming the kiss. Alright, who would stop him, right? Forgetting everything except him, you slide your arms around his head and continue to taste his delicious lips, until you hear something far away. An orc’s cry. An orc dying. Then, nothing, not even a night animal. You both stopped when you heard it. “We should go inside,” you whisper. “Yes, indeed…” Bilbo says, looking where the cry was coming from. “I’m sure we can make some tea,” you try as you put everything Bilbo brought on a plate. He stands up, takes the plate, and kisses you quickly. “You’re right. Let’s go inside,” he says, walking to the house with a cute, cocky smile.

[ellouchi]

Yet again I see people mischaracterizing Jimmy as some jerk who lashes out on people for no reason and berates them for anything minor like where did you get this from did you actually read any dialogues in the game????????

Jimmy really only threw one shade at Daisuke, he didn't think he was spoilt rich kid he just said he was covered by his parents because he had support system unlike all of them grown up adults. Most of times Jimmy just awkwardly slid off silly things Daisuke said, like the ladies comment or when they were mixing the drink. Daisuke actually trusted and listened to Jimmy throughout the game (to his own detriment unfortunately). Jimmy sent him to the vent because he was the captain and he wasn't going to do the dirty job obviously and if the Swansea somehow woke up Jimmy could shift the blame like he had already got away with. Even when eventually things went to shits we don't see him blaming Daisuke because Jimmy recognised that it was his decision to send him there. Jimmy didn't want to fatally injure him, he tried to "fix it later" which didn't help at all and Jimmy felt guilty about it.

Jimmy treated Anya dog shit half the time it's true but not to the extent some people make it to be. He loves control, he has said so to Curly's face, to ours and that's why he made sure to put her down and belittle her. That's why he (potentially repeatedly) sexually assaulted Anya — because rape is form of power play, he didn't even want her sexually. Initially, Jimmy didn't hate Anya, he just didn't like her and the feeling was mutual. He continued to do bare minimum for her, like when checking up on the crew. If I had to guess how Jim viewed her by the end, then he most likely found her inferior, incompetent, always putting work on his shoulders (or responsibilities he didn't want (pregnancy)), together with being paranoid of her having the potential to ruin his life. That's why he got so pissed off when he saw her crying to Swansea, very likely having already told another person of what he has done. (I'm 100% sure he holds the grudge for telling Curly, who then rushed to "fix things", making Curly seem like a responsible captain which Jim hated.)

Jimmy never made any attempts at understanding or sympathising with Swansea. He knew him longer than Daisuke yet the latter understood him better. Jimmy probably thought that Swansea was an old grumpy man who hated everyone and everything. As the game went on Jimmy just considered Swansea to be nothing but a selfish drunkard (due to immediately assuming he was hoarding cryopod to himself). After the vent incident who Jim blames for the absence of medicine? If Swansea wasn't so stubborn (for like, few times) Jimmy wouldn't have need to spend prescious recourses on him. He could have saved Daisuke instead and fix his fuck up but Swansea ruined it twice. Swan doing arguably the right thing by putting out Daisuke out of his misery only solidified his role as a villain and a threat in Jimmy's eyes, that's why probably as a revenge (for not giving him enough time to think) he went for the gun instead of cryopod like Swansea allowed him to.

And finally Curly. Honestly this deserves a separate book on it's own at this point. It's almost 3 a.m. here so I'll only mention some stuff. Jim aggressively lashes out twice on-screen, first time because he literally lost his dream job, listened to Curly "bitching about having said dream job" and couldn't come face to the fact that Curly was "abandoning him while also looking unscratched from the fall of the ladder" while Jimmy will return to his struggle of life (he didn't even know about the pregnancy yet...). Second time was when Anya endangered Jim's new status as a captain and like I mentioned reminded him that she could fuck up his life even more. Feeling like he was losing control, Jimmy beat up poor Curly who was stripped out of said control by non other than Jimmy. Finally, he was violent off screen by destroying Polle, out of frustration, irritation from the thing, and/or hatred and resentment for the company (que "Pony express is dead" line). In one instance he says "He's mocking us" which confirms that it's about Jimmy's ego.

In conclusion STOP MAKING MY SHITTY CHARACTER SHITTY IN THE WRONG WAYS. This isn't even a full blown analysis of Jimmy's character but accumulation of posts I read and conclusions I came with.

Focus on his already preexisting shitty qualities stop making up new ones ffs signing out.

[primofate]

Death and Regrets - Alhaitham

Notes: This has been written for quite a while. It will be part of my next Genshin book "Primofate's Angst Anthology Volume 1" I was planning on keeping it exclusive to the book, but I hadn't posted in such a long while that I felt that I had to give you guys something. Grateful to all of you who are still here and please look forward to the release of my next book! I'm planning for it to be out late 2025 on Amazon!

Word Count: 2316 (yes, the death and regrets in my next book are quite long)

Others in the series: (Scaramouche and Kaeya Version) (Thoma, Xiao, Diluc and Zhongli)  (Itto, Gorou, Albedo)

Death, Regrets and Second Chances [An Alternate Ending to Death and Regrets]: (Kazuha, Childe, Scaramouche, Kaeya)

Warnings: not proofread, YOU DIE, no comfort

Characters: gn! reader x Alhaitham

It was not that your relationship with the Scribe was a secret, it was simply because the two of you were private people. There’s no reason to go around telling everyone that the two of you were dating, in fact, it would be rather unprofessional to do that, seeing as both of you held high positions in the Akademiya.

Even before that, however, when you were merely students, there were a few countable times in which Alhaitham and you crossed paths.

“What’s a Vahumana student doing reading a book about ancient runes?” He was a handsome, young man. As he was today. But he was less guarded, less critical of others in his younger years. You had no idea whatsoever that this encounter with him would lead to a blossoming romantic endeavour.

You stared up at him, rather enchanted by his eyes, book held in your hands. You took one look at his uniform and immediately knew he was Haravatat. “…We’re going on an expedition into the Hadramaveth Ruins soon…” you explain, just waiting for him to leave.

He stands in front of you for a good 5 seconds before sighing and exclaiming “…I suppose I can let you have the book for a few more days,” he starts to walk off, adding a brief “Let me know if you’re done with it,” signalling to you that he probably wanted to borrow the book.

It was weeks later that you handed the book over to him, your left arm bandaged up and in a sling. He glanced at the book, then at your arm. “…What happened to you?” it was merely an offhanded question. He was just curious what kind of accident you got into.

You didn’t seem the reckless type.

“Just some trouble in the ruins,” you shrug.

You thought that leaving the book with him was the last you would see of Alhaitham. But, days later, struggling with a broken arm and in a cliché scenario of being unable to reach a book on the highest shelf, it was him who leans forward and retrieves it for you easily.

“…Alhaitham,” he says it with a bit of uncertainty. As if not knowing if he was making the right decision.

“Huh?” You instinctively let out.

“My name. It’s Alhaitham,” You make a sound of understanding, and give him your own.

What happened after that was a whirlwind of intense and exhilarating experiences. Somehow he had made it part of his routine to lend you a hand in the library. Those little butterflies in your stomach start to flutter, wondering why he made such effort for you, when you secretly knew the answer yourself.

Those same butterflies start to fly, flitting about in twists and turns in your stomach when you find yourself sitting side by side with him, studying separate subjects, yet together in each other’s presence.

Until, even when the sun set, the butterflies are awake and alive within you, seemingly escaping your gut and now fluttering with a rhythmic thump-thump-thump in your chest while the two of you meet in the secret corners of the dormitories, head to shoulder, whispering and talking about anything and everything you could think of.

You excelled in your school, as did he, and before long, the two of you were given important roles within the Akademiya. Him as the Scribe, and you, as Vahumana’s Assistant Sage.

“Y/N?” there was a knock on your study door, voice as familiar to you as your own.

“Come in,” you stand as the door pushes open. Alhaitham slips in and just as easily closes the door with his foot, striding over to meet you at the middle of the room.

Knowing that there was no one there except the two of you, both of you walk the full length, up until he opens one arm, and up until you walk into his warmth. His arm wraps you tight for a few seconds, his eyes closing, nose diving into your hair for a quick kiss, before releasing you completely and stepping away from each other.

Just a quick greeting.

Always a quick greeting, in case someone decides to come in.

“Your message…” Alhaitham trails off, he had been out on some sort of task for a few days and the only way to reach him had been through a messenger. The message you sent was clear. Grand Sage Azar was planning something devious, and he had to be stopped. “…are you sure?”

“…At the very least, Azar is suspicious,” you recount how it seems like the Grand Sage had been scheming something. That there was an important project the sages had been working on. That Cyno had suddenly quit his post as General Mahamatra. “…They’re tampering with the Akasha System, and I haven’t seen Naphis in weeks,” you end, face carrying a grim expression.

Alhaitham, as always, remained calm and collected. You had long known that he had been a person of logic. That he was smarter than the average person, his mind always seemed to be working faster than others’ did.

“…Even then, there’s nothing we can do at the moment, without any evidence,” he closes his eyes when he says this, possibly going through all the information that you’ve given him.

“Alhaitham,” you press, words suddenly taking a more assertive edge. “It’s not natural for Naphis to disappear like this. Furthermore, all the other sages assure me that he’s merely busy working on the project.” And it’s here that he detects a hint of your pleading tone. “but he opposed of the project, Alhaitham. They’re hiding something,”

He holds back a sigh, you see it in the way his shoulders tense and his face attempts to remain neutral. “If we don’t have anything against them, then there’s nothing we can do,” he repeats and you almost feel like you’re talking to a wall, but he continues. “I’ll scout around, but there are other things I have to do. We can’t just go by your intuition alone,”

“You’re saying I’m making this all up?”

“That’s not what I said, and you know it. You’re letting your frustration get the better of you, Y/N,”

You bite your lip. He’s right. As he always is. Patience is a virtue, that was always what he said. If he wanted to do something, it had to be mapped out and planned perfectly. It wasn’t his style to go rushing into something, including accusations of people.

“We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” he leaves with only a nod, knowing that the two of you just needed some time to think and gather your thoughts carefully, before hatching a plan. Together, the two of you could easily do it, Alhaitham had always valued your opinions and intelligence.

Early morning the next day the same messenger you had sent to Alhaitham finds his way to your study. Karman, his name was.

“Assistant Sage Y/N,” he respectfully hands you a letter, bows his head and steps away.

The letter is addressed to you, from Alhaitham.

I was on a separate task to the Hadramaveth Ruins and found traces of the sages “project”. I did return to the Akademiya but hadn’t the time to seek you out before leaving for another assignment. I left my letter to Karman. I’ll make quick of my task, and meet you at the Ruins shortly after daybreak.

Karman only watches as you drop the letter on your desk, quickly packing essentials to travel to the ruins.

Pity. He thought to himself. Such a young talent going to waste.

“You’re free to go,” you hurriedly dismiss him and he nods, taking a last glance at the fabricated letter on your table.

Alhaitham wakes far too late to stop the tragedy from happening. When he slips into your study, your door being slightly agape was his first clue that something was amiss. The second was the letter on your table.

‘I didn’t write this,’ was his instant reaction.

‘Y/N’s in trouble,’ was his second,gut-wrenching realization.

He sprinted without a second thought towards the ruins. His legs, as practiced and trained as they were from doing assignment after assignment, burned with a speed that he had never attempted to reach before. He hears his laboured breathing in his ears, hears his heart going faster than he had ever felt it go.

All the while he berated himself. How could he not have seen this coming? Why had he not taken extra precautions?

The desert is brutal, even to him. It was harder to press on, his feet stamping on soft sand, making it difficult to propel forward. He sees the ruins in the far horizon, the doors shut tight.

I can make it! He thinks to himself, pushing his strength to the last limits. You must have been inside,all he had to do was—

BANG!

In a sudden, quick explosion of sand the entrance to the ruins erupt in a lick of flames. And then, one after another bombs set off. The ground shook at the intensity, Alhaitham swayed, tipped over, and fell forward only to push himself up and keep going, his eyes determinedly glued to the ruin entrance despite the sand kicking up everywhere.

I’ll make it. I’m coming.

Explosions were still going off, ringing in his ears. His worst nightmare descended upon him when the ruin doors burst into thousands of pieces, in smithereens and mixing with the sand. The rest of the structure stumbled and caved in, it was sinking so fast into the sand.

Alhaitham pressed on.

There’s no way.

He scrambled forward as the pillars and rocks crumble and sink. For a moment he thinks he hears someone calling his name, but all he can think about is your face.

Your face. In every corner of his life. Now sinking into the sand, trapped for eternity, never to be seen again.

Y/N…!

“Alhaitham!” He’s suddenly jerked backwards, equally strong arms are holding him back, preventing him from going any further into the disaster.

“Y/N!” Alhaitham finally bellows, the sound of his voice echoing through the desert. He struggles against the hold, pulling and heaving himself forward. When he realized that the person holding on to him was just as stubborn as he was, he swerved around with a glare. “I have to go! What’re you doi—” he stopped short, and saw that it was Cyno.

Cyno who had a pained look in his eyes. “It’s too late,” he said as a matter of factly.

Alhaitham stilled, he could hear the structure still crumbling, yet to him it sounded like the whole world falling. He jerked away from Cyno’s grasp, turning towards the crumbling structure, and finally fell to his knees.

His hands grasp on sand, palm stinging at how hard he was gripping on to them. “—Can’t be,” he murmurs something into the wind, only bits of it audible. His frame crumples forward, arms keeping him from falling face first into the sand. “It can’t be…It can’t. can’t. can’t. CAN’T be!” His fist pounds into the sand with each angry word, eyes squeezing shut and wracking his brain for a solution. This can’t be it. Y/N was smarter than that, you might’ve found a way to avoid it.

To Cyno, who had never seen Alhaitham unravel in such a way, who had no idea that the man could even be in such a state, only silently watched. Unaware of what he could do for him. “Alhaitham…”

The Scribe suddenly stood, as if he hadn’t been mourning just a few seconds ago. By now the storm had settled, and where the ruin doors once stood was now just a mound of sand, as if it had never been there before. “Y/N could still be around,”

Cyno could only see his back, now tall and proud. The General Mahamatra watched as Alhaitham picked his arm up, laid it over what would be his face and dragged it, slowly, from left to right. Cyno wasn’t sure if it had been sweat or tears, but the taller man stood there for a moment, and with a hint of a tremble, said “I have to bring Y/N back…”

That’s how Cyno knew, that Alhaitham was conscious of the world, was conscious of the tragedy that had just happened.

But that didn’t stop him from coming back to the ruins every single day, holding out on whatever hope he had, the pain of “We’ll talk about this a bit more tomorrow. Just cool off, for now,” repeating over and over and over again in his head, keeping him awake at night.

How could that have been his last words to you?

How could he have passed on the chance to wrap you in his arms, like all those times the two of you shared in your younger years, and passed on the chance to tell you how much he adored, missed and loved you instead?

The worst part of it all was the fact that he had nothing left. Not even a last look of your face, not even a tombstone to visit. Not even a safe space for you to rest.

All of a sudden it didn’t matter how much he had succeeded in life up until this point. He had failed you so miserably.

What had he been doing for the past few years?

What was it all for?

When all was said and done, when the sun set and the tasks were completed, he came home to you.

And now, there was no home to be found. For a while, he would come home and collapse on the cold, hard, floor. It was so, so quiet and all around the four walls he saw your face and your smile, haunting and piercing his soul.

There was no home here.

Only sadness, and solitude.

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Masterlist

[kaira-diaries]

Backstabber: part two

warning: || mentions of trauma/violence || fluff ||mentions of smut || yearning angst || mentions of anxiety/panic attack ||

pairing: fem!reader x In-ho

wc: 9.7k

a/n: ok ok i know the gif is Mr. Sunshine but rn for the story we're just going to pretend it's not. Was severely hungover while writing this but alas! we got it done. This has been a long time coming & happy reading! (also, is college kicking anyone else's ass already?)

summary: after the events of the games y/n finds herself trying to get back to normalcy and move past the pain of it all, but finds herself back at square one because of a certain someone (wink wink)

-> read part one here <-

-> masterlist <-

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

The city glowed in a kaleidoscope of colors, each hue of the rainbow shimmering like liquid fire against the slick pavement. Neon signs pulsed with life, their reflections stretching and warping in the puddles that pooled on the streets. The rainfall tapped rhythmically against the windshield as the rivulets of water distorted the view outside. Through the blurred glass, the vibrant lights fractured into streaks, painting the dark skyline in smudged prisms of gold, crimson, and indigo.

Your heart swelled with a deep, comforting joy as you drove through the city.

The evening had been perfect—your father was more vibrant and full of life than you’d ever seen, his laughter echoing in your mind like a melody. Your mother’s eyes sparkled with a youthful radiance, her smile brighter than it had been in years, carrying you back to the carefree days of your childhood. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.

When you returned home from the games a year ago, you and Mina made a quiet, resolute decision to sever ties with the relentless chaos of city life. Together, you retreated to the countryside, finding solace in a small, sunlit apartment nestled among rolling hills and whispering trees. The reason was undeniable: the city was haunted. Every corner, every shadow seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his absence, the pain he left behind. It was suffocating, an endless maze of reminders too overwhelming to bear.

So, you both sought a fresh start in a place neither of you had ever called home. The countryside offered a fragile peace, with its golden fields swaying in the breeze and its nights bathed in quiet starlight. Yet, no matter how far you ran, the games had marked you. Their weight lingered in the quiet moments, carving scars so deep you often wondered if they’d ever fade. They had changed you in ways you couldn’t fully articulate, reshaping your very soul, leaving you to navigate a new life that felt as unfamiliar as the land beneath your feet.

Yes, the city haunted you more than you cared to admit, its streets brimming with ghosts of a life you couldn’t outrun. Yet, no matter how heavy the weight of its memories, you couldn’t—wouldn’t—keep away from your parents. They had been your anchor, their concern cutting through your walls with relentless questions about In-ho. What had happened to him? Where had he gone? Were you okay? You could only muster a half-truth, your voice steady but hollow: “He’s okay. We just broke it off. It’s what’s best—so he could focus on his business.” It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The way their eyes lingered on you, filled with implicit understanding, told you they knew better. Yet, the quiet pain etched into your face kept them from prying further.

Now, behind the wheel, your grip tightened on the steering wheel as you approached a red light, the tension in your shoulders mounting as you flinched. A black sedan pulled up too close to your rear bumper, its sleek frame barely visible in your rain-speckled mirror. Your stomach tightened, a chill crawling up your spine, familiar yet unwelcome. You sighed, a long, unsteady exhale, the weight of recognition settling over you. You knew this feeling. You knew him.

As the light flickered green, you pressed on, refusing to look back, your foot steady on the gas. The city’s glow blurred in the corners of your vision, but you didn’t spare an ounce of energy on the creeping dread that clung to you like a shadow. Not tonight. Not now. You moved forward, letting the rhythm of the rain and the hum of the engine carry you through the labyrinth of streets, your focus on the road ahead and nothing else.

You were nearing the edge of the city when your eyes caught sight of the gallery, its elegant facade proudly displaying your name in bold, polished letters. It should have felt like triumph, like validation, but all it brought was a fragile kind of grounding, tethering you to the moment before your thoughts spiraled. It was Mina who had believed in you when you couldn’t believe in yourself, who pushed you to pick up the brush again, to pour your fractured soul into something tangible. Without her, you doubted you would’ve had the strength to confront the canvas.

Growing up, you’d been told over and over that art was a pipe dream, a risky gamble that only fools and dreamers dared chase. But after coming so close to death, what was left to fear? You found the courage—or perhaps the desperation—to create again. Yet, no amount of bravery could erase the color red from your world.

Red.

The very thought of it was a visceral wound, one that tore through you without warning. It wasn’t just a color—it was a specter of guilt, a reminder of lives lost in the cruelest ways. You had seen it splattered across your skin, warm and unrelenting, as innocent eyes stared back at you, lifeless and unblinking. Red was not paint; it was blood. It was screams. It was nightmares.

Now, it was banished. Banished from your paintings, your wardrobe, your home—your entire existence. The sight of it made your stomach twist and your chest ache, the weight of memory crashing over you like a tidal wave. The gallery was proof of your survival, but the absence of red was proof of your scars, the kind that no brushstroke could ever cover.

The breeze wove through your long hair like a gentle whisper as you cracked a window. It was cool and invigorating as you left the city’s glow behind. The hum of your car faded into the rhythm of nature, and the road ahead curved through rolling hills cloaked in darkness. The earth seemed to rise and fall around you, cradling you in its quiet embrace as you drew closer to home.

Above, the night sky stretched endlessly, a masterpiece painted in shades of inky black and deep indigo. The moon hung low and luminous, its surface dappled with grey and white, casting a soft silver light over the landscape. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily across its face, their edges glowing faintly as if kissed by moonlight. Far in the distance, the horizon blurred into a dreamy collage of shadowy mountains and faintly silhouetted buildings, their shapes barely discernible against the star-strewn canvas above.

The scene was mesmerizing, a quiet symphony of beauty that filled the silence in your car and kept your thoughts company. For twenty blissful minutes, you soaked in the view, letting it anchor you in the present and wash away the weight of the day. When you finally turned into your driveway, the familiar sight of your home greeted you, nestled in the hills like a haven waiting to welcome you back.

Stepping through the front door, you let out a tired sigh, kicking off your shoes with a dull thud against the wall. The click of the lock behind you echoed in the quiet house as you shrugged off your pink jacket, the fabric still damp from the night rain. You hung it on the hook beside Mina’s oversized sweater, the two garments swaying gently together like old friends. The promise of relaxation beckoned as you made your way into the living room—until the scene before you sent a jolt through your system.

Your pulse leaped as you froze in place, a startled yelp escaping your lips. “Oh my god!” you exclaimed, spinning on your heel to shield your vision, hand slapping over your eyes. It was Mina—and her boyfriend, James—entwined on the couch, caught mid-act in a moment that no amount of bleach could ever scrub from your memory.

Mina let out a mortified shriek of her own, scrambling off James with the grace of a cat caught stealing food. She grabbed for a blanket nearby, throwing it over herself with a flushed face and wide eyes. “Jesus, Mina, my eyes!” you groaned, your voice dripping with disbelief and exasperation.

Snorting despite her embarrassment, Mina shot back, “Could’ve made yourself known, babe!”

You scoffed, still shielding your face. “Could’ve taken your boyfriend to the privacy of your damn room!” Your voice wavered between frustration and sheer mortification as you heard a muffled laugh from James.

Finally, Mina muttered something about being "decent," and you cautiously dropped your hand, still squinting in case of lingering trauma. Your gaze landed on James, who leaned back on the couch with an infuriating smirk plastered across his face.

“James,” you said flatly, your expression twisted in barely concealed disgust.

“Y/N,” he replied coolly, nodding his head like this was the most casual encounter in the world.

Five minutes later, James slipped out the door, murmuring something vague about an early workday. You didn’t bother to reply; the sound of the latch clicking shut was far more satisfying than anything you could have said. In the kitchen, you leaned against the counter, staring at the stove as the kettle slowly heated. The soft hiss of water simmering filled the quiet space, and the faint aroma of ginger tea grounds you. It was exactly what you needed after… that.

Mina emerged from her room in a plush robe, her damp hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. She hummed a cheerful tune, completely unbothered by the awkwardness of earlier. Spotting you at the stove, she grinned and opened the cabinet, pulling down a mug. “Ooh, make me some too,” she chimed, her voice light and casual. Without waiting for a response, she settled onto the couch, her notebook and a mess of papers spread across the cushions as she began flipping through her homework.

Despite her antics, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride as you watched her. Mina, for all her reckless decisions and impulsive streaks, had come a long way. The debts that once weighed her down like a ball and chain were gone, erased thanks to the money In-ho had given her—a bittersweet reminder of him. She’d left her destructive gambling habits in the past, choosing instead to enroll in college and focus on building something real for herself. You admired her for it, even if she still did dumb things like… well, five minutes ago.

The sharp whistle of the kettle snapped you back to the present. You turned off the burner and poured the steaming water over the ginger tea bags, the fragrant steam curling in the air as you filled both mugs. Carefully, you carried them to the coffee table, setting one in front of Mina before claiming your own.

Instead of sitting on the couch beside her, you chose the floor, folding your legs under you and leaning your back against the side of the coffee table. The image of James smirking on that couch was still too fresh, and you weren’t about to risk reactivating that trauma.

Mina glanced up from her notes, a mischievous glint in her eye as she took a sip of her tea. “Still mad?” she teased.

You shot her a glare over the rim of your mug, muttering, “I’ll get over it. Eventually.”

Mina giggled softly, the sound light and teasing as she took another sip of her tea before setting the mug back down on the coffee table. “How are the old folks?” she asked, leaning back into the couch cushions, her robe bunching around her elbows.

You shrugged, your fingers tightening around the warm ceramic of your mug. “Same old. Happy, healthy.”

Her smile deepened, filling with an undeniable warmth that softened her usual playful demeanor. “We got really lucky,” she said quietly, her voice carrying an earnestness that made you pause.

You let out a noncommittal hum. “I guess,” you murmured, your eyes fixed on the tea swirling in your cup.

Mina sighed, the sound heavy with meaning, and when you glanced up, her expression was serious. “I know what happened was... awful, y/n. I have scars too.” Her voice softened, the raw honesty in her tone cutting through the air like a whisper against your soul. “And I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m proud of you. Of me. Of us.”

Her gaze locked with yours, filled with genuine love and unspoken understanding. The weight of it settled over you like a blanket, and without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your hand gently over hers where it rested on the couch. “I am too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes dropped to your tea, the surface still steaming, faint ripples distorting your reflection. The image wavered, much like your thoughts, and the memories clawed their way back to the surface. What happened was terrible, you thought. The image of In-ho’s face flashed in your mind—the moment his hand slipped from your waist, the cold finality of his silence after you had laid it all bare. Your ultimatum had hung in the air like a blade, and his lack of response had been a response all its own. He had made his choice, and you had been the one left behind.

A sharp ache rose in your chest, unbearable and relentless, like a bruise being pressed too hard. Your throat tightened, and before you realized it, a tear threatened to slip down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, as if denying its presence could erase the pain too.

“Y/n,” Mina’s voice broke through, soft yet cautious, filled with empathy. Her eyes were on you, studying you like she could see the cracks forming. She didn’t push, didn’t prod—just called to you in a way only she could, grounding you before the sorrow could drown you entirely.

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to clear the sting in your eyes, and lifted your mug again, letting its warmth anchor you. “I’m okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than her.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat as you tried to steady your voice. “My gallery looked great on the way home,” you said, steering the conversation into safer waters.

Mina’s face lit up instantly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “The gallery show is going to be amazing!” she gushed, clapping her hands together like a kid on Christmas morning. Then, her expression turned sly. “We gotta talk outfits.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Mina, seriously?”

“What?” she said, feigning offense as she leaned forward dramatically, her robe slipping off one shoulder like she was auditioning for a soap opera. “This is your art, babe! Out in the world! Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to grin. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“I’m serious,” she continued, pointing a finger at you like she was delivering an intervention. “I’ll be damned if I let you show up to your own gallery show looking like—like poop.”

You burst out laughing, nearly spilling your tea. “Poop? Really, Mina? That’s your big motivational speech?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of her tea with the most nonchalant expression you’d ever seen. “Hey, I’m just saying. Your art deserves a look. Something bold. Something sexy. Something that says, ‘I paint masterpieces, and I could also steal your man.’”

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as the laughter rolled out of you. “You are unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smug smile, raising her mug in a toast. “Now, I’m thinking black dress, black heels. You’ll look hot, mysterious, and rich. Total triple threat.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, letting Mina’s playful excitement wash over you. But even as you smiled, that nagging thought returned, creeping into your mind like a shadow. Your name is growing—you’re practically famous now. The words bounced around in your head, but the more you thought about them, the less certain they felt.

There was the real weight of it—the fear that gnawed at your insides, the fear of being found. In-ho. His face, his voice, the way he had slipped out of your life with no real answer, no real closure. The thought of him lurking in the background, somewhere out there, made your chest tighten with dread.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Your black gown gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting of the gallery, the fabric flowing gracefully as you moved through the space. The ceilings soared above you, high and vaulted, their pale elegance juxtaposed with the golden glow of the chandeliers that hung like jewels, casting shimmering reflections across the room. The air was filled with the delicate scent of fresh paint—a subtle reminder of the work that had gone into creating the very walls you now stood beside.

The entire gallery radiated warmth, both in its inviting atmosphere and the rich tones of the wood flooring beneath your feet. The walls, a gentle cream, embraced each of your breathtaking paintings, their vibrant colors popping against the soft backdrop. Each piece was lit by strategically placed lights, their glow accentuating every brushstroke, every detail, allowing your art to breathe within the spacious, airy room.

The space felt alive—alive with the pulse of your skill, the soft hum of voices and footsteps mingling with the soft music of the room. Between the intricate molding along the walls and the polished surfaces, there was an undeniable elegance in the air, as if the gallery itself was a work of art.

Every single one of your paintings was up for sale, except for one. It hung on the wall, almost like a secret tucked away among the rest, its presence more intimate than the others. You watched as your family gathered around it—Mina, James, your parents—all admiring the colors, the brushstrokes. It was your mother's favorite, so you had saved it just for her. No amount of her objections could convince you to let her pay for it. It was a gift, one she didn’t need to argue for.

A cordial smile spread across your face as you observed the happiness that radiated from your loved ones. Their laughter and excitement filled the space, and you couldn’t help but feel proud. You continued your slow walk through the gallery, taking in the joy that seemed to pulse through the room.

You couldn’t help but chuckle when you spotted your agent—an energetic whirlwind, buzzing from one person to the next, mingl..chatting up a storm, shaking hands, and making deals. She was a riot, always moving at a mile a minute, but you loved her for it. Without her, this night wouldn’t be the success it was.

But then, your pace slowed. You came upon the first painting you had made after years of silence. The piece felt almost sacred in its own way as if it held a part of you that nothing else could.

It was a portrait—of eyes. His eyes. In-ho’s eyes. The ones that had once looked at you with a depth you couldn’t forget, even if you tried. The brushstrokes were wide and purposeful, capturing the passion of those eyes in a way that felt almost too raw to bear. You had painted the eyes of a man who no longer existed, a man whose memory you had tried to preserve through this one simple piece.

You felt Mina step up beside you, her presence familiar and comforting as always. Her voice was soft, inquisitive. "I always wondered why you painted him," she said, her gaze fixed on the canvas before you.

You sighed, your chest tightening as you looked into those painted eyes. The memories rushed back, but they were no longer as painful as they once were. "I guess I wanted one last look," you began, your voice thick with emotion, "in the eyes of the man I remembered him to be."

You paused, your fingers brushing the edge of the frame as you spoke. "His warmth. His love. I preferred that fiction over the fact of who he turned out to be. A murderer."

You could feel Mina’s quiet understanding beside you. There was no judgment, no need for more words. She just stood with you, letting the weight of the moment settle between you both.

Mina had excused herself a moment later, disappearing into the restroom with a brief, apologetic smile, leaving you standing alone in front of the painting of In-ho. The eyes in the portrait seemed to follow you, a silent reminder of everything you had tried to forget. You couldn’t tear your gaze away, the quiet hum of the gallery around you blending into the background. Time seemed to stretch, the only thing real in the moment being the image before you—the man you had once known, captured forever in paint.

Just as you were lost in thought, a burst of energy tore through the air, and your agent appeared in front of you, practically bouncing with excitement. She squealed so loudly it almost startled you. "Ahh, y/n!" she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with elation. "I've got wonderful news!"

You had to reach out and grab her shoulders to steady her as she nearly hopped out of her skin, her enthusiasm almost too much to contain. You couldn’t help but giggle, the infectious energy pulling you from your reverie. "Okay, okay, what is it?"

She took your hands in hers, her grip tight with barely contained joy. "Your entire collection has been sold," she declared, her voice cracking with excitement.

You froze, your heart leaping into your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to stop, the words hanging in the air like a dream you weren’t sure you could believe. You had to cover your mouth with your hands as if to prevent the shock from spilling out in the form of a gasp. "What... who?"

Before she could respond, a voice—his voice—slashed through the atmosphere, smooth and unmistakable. It hit you like a cold wave, the shock of it rushing through your veins. "I never knew you had a knack for the arts."

The words settled in your chest, each syllable like a stone thrown into still water. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body tensed, as if time had frozen. There, standing at the entrance of the gallery, was In-ho—his presence as commanding as ever, his gaze nailed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. Your agent looked between the two of you, a slight frown knitting her brows. You heard her mumble just before excusing herself, surely picking up on the change in the air, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

Your sanity seemed to unravel in an instant, a quiet thread snapping, leaving you exposed and trembling. The ability to breathe, something you had taken for granted, felt stolen from you in a cruel, suffocating moment. He stood there, looking just the same as he did a year ago—too the same. In his all-black attire, the sharp cut of his suit made him seem impossibly distant, yet his red-bottomed shoes gleamed like a cruel reminder of the life you once shared. The man you had loved—maybe even still loved—was here, standing in front of you like a ghost you had desperately tried to bury.

Your body betrayed you, as it always did in moments like this. As he took a few slow, deliberate steps toward you, calling your name, every inch of you screamed to flee, to run, but your legs refused to obey. You found yourself moving backward in sync with him, each step matching his, like a puppet on invisible strings. The ground beneath your feet felt unstable, as though you were walking on glass, and you could hear the sound of your own heart pounding so loudly that it threatened to drown out everything else.

Your vision blurred. Your breath became shallow, ragged, as your mind raced to make sense of what was happening, but there was no escape from the crushing reality of it. This man—this man—was the reason your chest had once felt full of warmth, and now, he was the reason it felt as though every breath was being stolen from you.

You stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, as the memories of what you once shared crashed into you like waves in a storm. Three years. Three years of your life—maybe even more—lost but still echoing in the pit of your stomach. The implicit words between you and him were suffocating, the weight of his presence like a pressure pressing in from all sides.

It was as if time itself had stopped, your body locked in place, unable to move, unable to think. But then, like a break in the tension, a sound shattered the air—a crash. You snapped back to reality as you saw Mina, her champagne glass slipping from her fingers, sending shards of glass skittering across the floor in a violent spray. The noise was deafening, but it was nothing compared to the silence between you and In-ho, the suffocating silence that lingered like a storm cloud over your head.

Mina’s face twisted with pure disgust as her eyes locked on him, her body stiffening as she processed the sight of him. The contempt in her gaze was palpable, but her focus quickly shifted to you—to you, the one who was standing there, paralyzed in the wake of his presence. Without a word, she moved toward you, her hand grabbing your arm with urgency, pulling you away from him.

James was right behind, his grip gentle yet firm on your shoulders, a soft, steadying force in the chaos. But no touch could calm the frantic pulse racing through your veins. Your body felt as though it were vibrating with panic, your chest too tight, your breath too shallow. The room seemed to close in around you, the walls pressing in like a suffocating vise. You couldn’t breathe—you couldn’t think. The overwhelming, bone-deep fear that had settled into your bones was blurring your vision, making every step feel like an eternity.

You couldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here, not with him, not in this moment, not in this suffocating air thick with memories you had buried deep.

With a sharp, desperate pull, you wrenched yourself from Mina’s grip, the sound of her shocked gasp barely registering as you moved. Your feet were moving before your brain could catch up, the instinct to escape roaring louder than everything else. You darted for the doors, the sound of your heart in your ears drowning out the world around you.

You ran—no, you fled. Past the warm golden light of the gallery, past the hum of conversations, and straight toward the exit. You could hear your name being called—his voice—but you refused to acknowledge it. It felt like a rope pulling at you, trying to drag you back into the darkness of everything you had tried to escape.

The doors slammed open in front of you, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap, but you didn’t care. Every step was a fight against the panic that gripped you, a fight against the crushing need to keep moving, to keep running. You could feel the weight of the past pressing against your back, but you pushed forward, ignoring the thumping in your chest, ignoring the tears threatening to fall.

You had to get away.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

You found yourself on the nearest rooftop balcony, the city sprawled beneath you in a sea of lights and shadows. The buildings below were faint silhouettes against the dark sky, their windows flickering with life in a world you felt distantly removed from. The cool night air kissed your skin, a small comfort in the stillness that surrounded you. It had taken you nearly an hour to find some semblance of calm, your pulse finally beginning to slow after the frantic rush of fear.

Now, you sat on the edge of the rooftop, your legs dangling carelessly over the side, feet swaying slightly as they hovered inches above the air. The vastness of the city before you seemed to stretch endlessly, the lights below like stars scattered across a canvas too large to take in all at once. Your palms rested in your lap, fingers tense but unmoving, as if your body no longer belonged to you.

You knew you should be heading back to Mina, that you couldn’t stay here, isolated, like some lost fragment of yourself. But you couldn’t bring yourself to move. It was as though your body had forgotten how to function, paralyzed in the space between where you had been and where you needed to go. You couldn’t feel a thing—no warmth, no cold, just an emptiness that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

The world around you seemed muted, distant. Even the sound of the wind brushing through the city, the hum of life below, felt too far away. Then, faintly, you heard the rooftop door creak open behind you. A soft click as it shut, followed by the steady rhythm of footsteps that grew closer with each passing second.

You didn’t need to turn, didn’t need to acknowledge it. You knew it was him—the presence that had once filled your life with warmth, now a shadow that haunted your every step.

Still, you remained frozen. Your gaze stayed fixed on the city ahead of you, watching the endless rows of lights flicker in the distance. You couldn’t look back. You couldn’t face him again.

You let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound barely audible over the hum of the city below. Your gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon, the neon lights of a billboard flickering against the night sky, as if they too were too distracted to focus. You didn’t want to look at him. You didn’t want to acknowledge the weight of his presence that seemed to press in from behind, suffocating the already thick air.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was cold, detached, as if you were asking a question you already knew the answer to, but still needed to hear.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you could feel him take a slow step forward. You refused to glance in his direction, but the quiet shift in the air told you everything you needed to know. He was close now, too close. The scrape of his shoes against the concrete was barely audible, but it was enough to send a shiver down your spine. He leaned against the rooftop’s edge beside you, his body close enough that you could feel his warmth, yet you remained perfectly still, frozen in your resolve.

“I want… I want to try again,” he said, his voice low and tentative, like a fragile promise hovering in the air between you. There was an edge of vulnerability to it, something that clawed at the pieces of you still willing to believe.

You snorted without thinking, the sound bitter and dismissive. Your eyes flicked to the billboard in the distance, the bright lights blinking at you like an illusion—a distraction from the truth. “Leave,” you said, your tone sharp and unwavering. You turned your head slightly, but kept your gaze fixed on the far-off ad, your jaw tight. “You’re wasting your time.”

The words felt like a weight lifted from your chest, but the moment they left your mouth, they felt hollow, the empty space they created echoing back at you. You didn’t want to hear the words, didn’t want to see the man who had once been everything to you standing there, asking for something you could never give him again.

“You never told me about your painting.” His voice was soft, almost too gentle, as if testing the waters, waiting for a crack in your armor.

You swallowed hard, the words like gravel in your throat. "There's a lot of things you don’t know about me anymore," you shot back, your voice colder than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. The words hung between you, each syllable another stone thrown into the chasm that had opened between you. A sudden breeze tugged at your hair, lifting it from your face like a tender reminder of everything you had. But now? Now, it felt like the wind was pushing you away from him.

He stood up, his movements slow, deliberate, and yet, there was a sense of urgency in the way he stepped closer to you. “I doubt that very much, y/n.” His voice was thick with something you couldn’t place—hope? Regret? Whatever it was, it grated against your already raw nerves.

Without thinking, you jumped down from the ledge you’d been sitting on. The movement was sharp and instinctive as if putting distance between you both could somehow silence the noise in your head. Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, but it felt like the sound reverberated through your chest, shaking your bones. You lifted your hand, instinctively warding him off, your fingers trembling with a mix of anger and something far more painful. “No.” The word came out sharper than you meant, but it was all you could muster as you finally met his gaze. His eyes were weary, so weary, but there was warmth there, too—an impossible warmth that threatened to break you.

“Just… no.” You repeated, the words tasting bitter on your tongue, your chest tight. You took another step back, the distance between you growing but feeling like an ocean. “You made your decision. And in a way, I’m glad you did.”

His confusion was palpable, his head angling as if trying to decipher the pieces of you that were slipping through his fingers. You could see it in his eyes—the search for the woman he once knew, the woman who had loved him unconditionally. But she was gone.

"You have no idea what I had to go through to get to where I am.” The words fell out of you, raw and unfiltered, like a confession that had been buried beneath layers of pain, regret, and shattered trust. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to—he needed to hear it.

“I have yearned for you.” Your voice wavered for just a moment before you steadied yourself as if bracing for the impact. “Your touch, your smell, the way you used to make me feel alive… But I’ve realized again and again that my In-ho—the one I loved—is gone. And what’s left? What’s left is a killer.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and you saw the flicker of pain pass through his features—an undeniable flash of regret, or maybe guilt, but it was fleeting. It wasn’t enough. Nothing could ever be enough to undo what had been done, to heal the wounds that had been carved into your soul.

You stood there, breath shallow, heart aching, staring at him as the distance between you felt vast, impossible to close. You weren’t the same person anymore, and neither was he.

A tear shimmered in his eye, threatening to fall, but it never did. His lip trembled, just slightly, betraying the carefully constructed composure he tried so hard to maintain. He nodded, his expression breaking with something raw, something vulnerable that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the first crack in the wall he had built between you—the wall that had torn you both apart.

He took a step back as if distancing himself from the emotion that was rising between you like a tidal wave. Slowly, painfully, he turned away from you and started walking toward the rooftop door, each step heavy, weighted with finality. The space between you and him grew wider, and your chest tightened in protest, but you couldn’t move. You could barely breathe.

His hand hovered over the doorknob, and for a brief moment, time seemed to freeze. Then, with one last, reluctant motion, he grabbed it, his fingers curling around the cool metal. He hesitated, turning his head back toward you just before he stepped into the hallway.

The words he spoke were like a slow, fragile exhale—barely audible but cutting through you with the sharpness of a thousand knives. "For what it's worth, y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, the sound of it scraping against your heart. "I shut the games down."

Your chin jerked in his direction, your eyes widening in disbelief, a rush of shock and confusion sweeping over you. His eyes were glassy, distant, but there was something else in them, too—shame, maybe sorrow. And, beneath it all, a tenderness that still managed to break through.

"For you," he added, his voice faltering as if the words had cost him more than he could bear to admit.

You felt a tremor run through you as if the very ground beneath you had shifted. He had done it. Shut the industry down—for you, carrying out the ultimatum you had given. The realization hit you like a wave, crashing over every part of you that had ever loved him, ever believed in him.

In a flash, he was gone.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

You weren’t sure how you’d managed to end up in your bed, but fragments of the journey flickered in your memory—the way your legs had trembled beneath you, your hand gripping your stomach as nausea clawed its way through you. You could vaguely recall stumbling back to the gallery, the worried looks on Mina’s face blurring into the hum of voices, the soft touch of her hand guiding you. Now, you lay on your back in the quiet darkness of your room, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains and casting pale streaks across the ceiling.

Mina was beside you, her breaths slow and steady, her form curled beneath the blanket like a protective cocoon. The soft rhythm of her breathing should have been comforting, but your mind refused to settle. You couldn’t stop replaying his parting words, couldn’t stop turning them over and over in your head. “I shut the games down. For you.”

The weight of those words pressed against your chest, a maddening mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something else you couldn’t quite name. Why had he waited until now to tell you? Why had he carried that secret in silence all this time, letting you believe he was still the man who had abandoned you for something darker, something cruel?

A bitter scoff escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side, the mattress shifting slightly beneath you. Your hand curled into the pillow, your knuckles brushing against the cool fabric as you begged for sleep to come, to pull you into its merciful void. But your mind betrayed you, spinning endlessly, racing through memories and questions you didn’t want to face.

You cursed yourself for it—for allowing him to take up space in your thoughts, for spending even one more second on this when you should have let it go. But the harder you tried to push the thoughts away, the tighter they clung to you, like vines wrapping around your chest.

Your heart ached with the weight of all you had endured, the heartbreak layered upon heartbreak, carved into you by the games. The memories were jagged and raw, cutting into your mind no matter how much time passed. Yet, as painful as it all was, there was a flicker of something else—something that almost felt like peace.

The games were over. They were done. Nobody else would have to endure that nightmare, to face the horrors you had barely survived. And that knowledge, however faint, eased something deep within you, even if just for a moment. But still… he had betrayed you.

Your chest tightened again as you stared at the darkened wall, his face flashing in your mind, his eyes weary and regretful. And then the thought came, unbidden and unwanted—what if you allowed him to explain? What if you let him tell you everything, from the beginning?

The thought lingered, curling around you like a question you weren’t ready to answer. It was a dangerous thing, entertaining the idea of understanding, of finding closure. Yet, in its own way, it brought a strange kind of calm.

And it was that thought—fragile, confusing, and bittersweet—that finally lulled you into sleep, your breaths softening, your body relaxing as the tension melted away into the night.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

It had been a long day—the longest. You sat stiffly in your office at the gallery, the faint hum of distant voices and footsteps barely reaching your ears. The weight of the day pressed down on you, heavier than the leather chair you were perched in. Your desk, usually a comforting space filled with the chaos of sketches and notes, felt foreign now, as though the air itself had shifted.

Your agent had called earlier, her voice brimming with urgency as she reminded you to sign over the paperwork for your collection to the buyer. You had chuckled at the simplicity of it, the practicality. Of course, it needed to be done. But beneath the surface of that mundane task, a strange sensation crept in—a quiet calmness, one you hadn’t felt in so long. This might be it. This might be your chance to finally get the closure you had been chasing in the recesses of your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you could finally get your explanation.

Your hands trembled slightly as you ran a cold, shaky hand through your curled hair, trying to smooth the strands that seemed to rebel against the order you so desperately sought. The thought of seeing him again, here, in this space, set your nerves alight.

And then, as if conjured by your thoughts, there he was.

In-ho knocked gently on the open door, his presence filling the room like a shadow stretching across the floor. He was composed, his suit perfectly pressed, but there was something different about him now—something weary in the way he carried himself, something almost fragile. You didn’t trust it, but you also couldn’t ignore it.

You gestured silently for him to sit, your throat too tight to speak just yet. He stepped inside, his movements measured, the soft sound of his shoes against the floor somehow louder than your own heartbeat. As he sank into the chair across from you, you stood, the paperwork clutched tightly in your hand. You circled around the desk, placing yourself directly in front of him, leaning back against the edge as if the furniture might anchor you.

The distance between you felt suffocating yet electric, and suddenly, you were aware of every small movement you made. You shifted, crossing your arms over your chest, a defensive barrier against the storm that was brewing inside you.

You couldn’t meet his eyes at first, not when the memory of everything you had said to him hung heavy between you. The words you’d hurled at him, sharp and unyielding, still lingered in the air, echoes of the heartbreak you hadn’t fully processed. And yet, even now, there was a part of you—a cursed, stubborn part of you—that begged you to apologize, to soften the sharp edges you’d used to shield yourself.

But you wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t apologize, not even as the tension between you thickened, not even as your heart screamed at you to do so. He didn’t deserve your apology, not after everything he had done.

The silence stretched on, heavy and taut, as you held the paperwork in your hands, your fingers clutching the edges tightly.

Your eyes flicked to him as he sat, legs crossed with an air of practiced ease, his confident demeanor filling the room like he owned every inch of it. Even now, after everything, In-ho carried himself with the kind of composure that could command a crowd—or, in this case, silence. His posture was effortless, but his presence was anything but. Every movement, every breath he took seemed calculated, deliberate, as if even his stillness was designed to draw attention.

You cleared your throat, breaking the thick, unspoken tension that lingered between you like a cloud. “From the beginning,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn’t a request—it was a demand.

His gaze flicked to yours, sharp yet unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might push back, deflect, or stall. But instead, he gave a slight, measured nod as if he’d been expecting this all along. He gestured toward the door with a slow, deliberate motion, his eyes locking on yours.

“Shut the door,” he said simply, his voice low and calm yet carrying the weight of something far deeper.

You hesitated for just a beat, long enough for your heart to stutter in your chest. Then, wordlessly, you turned and walked to the door, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet room. The faint click of the latch as you shut it behind you felt like the closing of a chapter—or perhaps the opening of one you weren’t sure you wanted to read.

With the door closed, the room seemed smaller, the air thicker. You made your way back to your spot against the desk, leaning into it with an unspoken attempt to steady yourself. The papers in your hand brushed against the wood, but your focus was on him now—on the way he sat, still composed, as if he had all the time in the world.

And yet, you noticed the slight shift in his shoulders, the faint tension in the way his hands rested on his knee. He wasn’t as calm as he wanted you to believe.

You crossed your arms again, this time more for yourself than anything else, and tilted your head slightly, waiting. A strange mixture of anticipation and dread coiled in your stomach as your gaze bore into him, silently urging him to begin.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before leaning forward just slightly, resting his forearms on his thighs. The movement was subtle, but it felt like a shift in the balance of the room, as though he was finally ready to open a door he had kept locked for far too long.

"I had played the games. Once before when I was younger." You straightened at that, fidgeting, as he watched you before continuing.

“My wife... she was sick,” he began, his voice trembling just enough to betray the emotions he was trying to hold back. “She was expecting our child, and I was desperate—so desperate. I didn’t see any other way, so I entered.” He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor as though the weight of the memory was too much to bear.

“My thought process was simple,” he continued, his tone quieter now, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “I’d either save the life of the woman I loved and our baby… or die trying. There wasn’t an in-between for me. But when I made it out, when I finally had the money in my hands…” His voice cracked, and he looked away, swallowing hard. “It was too late.”

Your gaze softened, despite yourself, the sharp edges of your anger dulling for just a moment as your arms slowly uncrossed.

Your throat dried, and your hands shook.

"And then I found you," he looked up, locking eyes with you.

“You were everything—fierce, unshakable, and so utterly beautiful that it hurt to look at you sometimes. The day you left, it was like the air was stolen from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—like the world had come to a standstill, and I was left frozen in the neverending emptiness you left behind.”

He leaned back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with a weight that made your breath hitch. The intensity in his gaze wasn’t sharp—it was soft, regretful, and filled with something you hadn’t seen from him in a while: vulnerability.

“I ended the games the day you left,” he said quietly, his voice steady but thick with emotion, as though each word carried the burden of his actions.

You froze, the weight of his confession hitting you like a punch to the chest. Your teeth pressed into your cheek as you bit down, trying to steady yourself, trying not to let the shock show. But the tightness in your chest betrayed you, your hands fidgeting at your sides.

“I didn’t tell you,” he continued, his tone lower now, quieter, “because you needed to move on. You needed to heal from… from what I let happen. From what I allowed to become your nightmare.”

His voice cracked, just slightly, and he looked away for a fleeting moment, as if even he couldn’t bear the shame. When his eyes returned to yours, they glistened under the soft light, raw and open in a way that felt almost unbearable.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of the words. “For all of it. For the despair I caused you. For the part I played in your agony. For… for breaking the one thing I swore I’d protect.”

You felt your chest tighten, the lump in your throat rising as his words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. There was no deflecting the rawness of his confession, no mistaking the sincerity that poured from him like a dam finally breaking.

He didn’t try to justify himself further, didn’t try to fill the silence that followed. He just sat there, his gaze searching yours, silently asking for something you weren’t sure you could give—forgiveness, understanding, maybe even absolution.

You took a deep breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady the storm of emotions swirling within you. For a moment, you stayed there, leaning against the desk, your fingers gripping the edge as if letting go might send you tumbling. But then, slowly, you pushed yourself away, your movements deliberate, each step toward him feeling like a quiet surrender to the moment.

He watched you approach, his gaze flickering with surprise and a cautious hope, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were closing the distance between you.

When you stopped in front of him, your heart pounded in your chest, but your hand was steady as you extended it toward him. The air between you felt charged, heavy with everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.

“Come on,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, the tension beginning to unravel at the edges. A small, almost tentative smile tugged at your lips, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was for him or for yourself. “Let’s get dinner.”

For a beat, he didn’t move, his eyes searching yours as though trying to understand this small gesture of truce. Then, finally, his lips quirked into the faintest semblance of a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes but was enough to make something in your chest loosen.

He reached for your hand, his touch warm and grounding, his fingers wrapping around yours with a quiet reverence. As you helped him to his feet, the weight of everything between you seemed to shift—not gone, but lighter somehow.

𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔𖣔

Dinner had passed quicker than you anticipated, the hours slipping away like grains of sand through your fingers. Now, the two of you walked side by side down the dimly lit sidewalk, the city alive with a quiet hum. Neon lights shimmered above, their reflections dancing faintly on the wet pavement from a drizzle earlier in the evening. In the distance, the soft melody of a street performer’s guitar drifted through the air, mingling with the occasional chatter of passersby.

You bundled yourself tighter in your jacket, the chill nipping at your cheeks and nose, while In-ho walked beside you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His pace was slow, measured, matching yours as if he were careful not to overstep. The sound of your heels clicking against the concrete filled the silence between you, rhythmic and grounding, giving you something to focus on as your thoughts churned.

A question had been simmering in your mind all night, clawing for attention, refusing to let you push it aside any longer. You stole a glance at him, his profile illuminated briefly as you passed under a glowing streetlamp. His expression was neutral, unreadable as always, yet his presence felt heavier than the cold air.

Taking a steadying breath, you licked your lips, your voice breaking through the quiet. “Have you been following me?”

Your words dangled in the ambiance, remaining in the space between you like a sudden gust of wind.

He turned his head toward you, his steps faltering slightly as his eyes met yours. For a brief moment, his expression flickered—was it surprise? Guilt? Something else? You couldn’t tell. But the tension crackled like static, the city around you fading into the background as you waited for his answer.

He came to a complete stop, his body stiffening as if the weight of your question had rooted him to the ground. His eyes widened, the shock evident as they dropped to his polished shoes, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet yours as he rocked between his feet. The faint glow of the city lights above cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the subtle quiver in his lips.

You tilted your head, studying him with a mixture of resignation and frustration, a heavy sigh escaping your lips. “I knew it,” you muttered, the confirmation settling like a stone in your chest.

Your mind raced back to all those moments—the uneasy prickle at the back of your neck, the lingering sensation of being watched, the inexplicable certainty that he had been near. You remembered the black sedan at the light stop, the way your instincts had screamed his name even before your eyes had confirmed it.

In-ho lifted his gaze, and for a moment, there was something raw in his expression—an apology, perhaps, or a plea for understanding. But before you could decipher it, he moved. He stepped toward you, each footfall deliberate and unyielding, closing the distance between you with a quiet intensity that made your breath hitch.

When he finally stopped, he was closer than he had been all day, his presence towering yet strangely fragile, like he was holding himself together with sheer will as you looked up at him. His eyes softened as they locked onto yours, filled with something that looked like regret tangled with a need he couldn’t suppress.

“I ordered my men to keep their distance,” he admitted, his voice low and unsteady, each word weighed down with guilt. He paused, exhaling shakily as he raked a hand through his hair. “But I wanted to…” He faltered, his gaze breaking away for a moment before returning to you. “needed to make sure you were safe.”

His words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable, each syllable carrying the weight of his choices and the silent fear he hadn’t dared voice until now. You could see it—feel it—in the way his shoulders slumped slightly, as if the confession had cost him more than he was willing to show.

You turned away from him, your breath catching in your throat as you tried to steady yourself. The city lights blurred in your vision, the weight of his words pressing against your chest. You could feel the tears threatening to rise, but you fought them back, not wanting him to see how deeply his presence still affected you.

“I don’t know what to do with this, In-ho,” you whispered, your voice thick with uncertainty. You wiped at your eyes quickly, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tremor in your hands. “I don’t know what to do with you. With… all of this.” His eyes softened as he took a small step closer, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t—not right now.

“I don’t expect you to have the answers,” he said quietly, his tone more fragile than you had ever heard it. “I just…I want to make things right, even if I can’t fix everything.”

He took a tentative step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid that any sudden motion might cause you to pull away. You turned back to him. Your breath hitched in your throat, but you didn’t move. The space between you both felt electric, charged with unstated emotion, yet it was still so fragile.

Without saying a word, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as it cupped your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent a wave of emotion crashing over you—everything you had locked away, all the longing and pain, threatening to break free.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning into the softness of his touch, letting the comfort of it surround you like a fleeting memory. The space between you was still there, but this touch—this small, gentle act—felt like a lifeline.

Your heart was being pulled in two directions. The part of you that had loved him so fiercely, that had believed in him so completely, still burned with the longing for something—anything—to change. But the other part of you, the part that had been broken by his silence, by his choices, couldn’t see a clear way forward.

“I don’t know if I can let you back in,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, the words leaving your lips like an apology you weren’t ready to make. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for that. ”You finally met his gaze, and there was a quiet desperation in his eyes that made your heartache. He didn’t say anything at first—he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all, full of hope and regret and an apology too big to fit into words.

Then without thinking, you whispered, “But I want to try.”

His gaze softened, something in his eyes shifting—relief, hope, or maybe both. Before either of you could speak again, you reached up, your fingers brushing his cheek as you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The moment felt fragile, full of all the things you had yet to say, and yet, it was everything that had remained unsaid.

When you pulled back, you found yourself searching his eyes, trying to piece together the weight of what was happening between you. You weren’t sure what the future held, but in that moment, you knew you wanted to try.

“I’ll be here,” In-ho whispered, his voice thick with something more than words. “However long it takes.”

[s0urw00lf]

When the bow breaks

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader / Sam Winchester x reader / Bobby singer x reader

Summary: Sam Dean and Bobby find out that you made a deal and they’re not happy about it

An: this can be read as either a Sam x reader or a Dean x reader or both just platonically also might be a part two I wrote this in a way that it doesn’t need a part two but one could be added

Supernatural masterlist

“Damn it y/n!” Dean shouted at you throwing down his beer, shattering it to pieces. You felt the shards fall against your boots but you didn’t flinch.

Bobby looked at you in disbelief, he marched toward you grabbing your shoulders firmly, almost knocking you off balance “how could you be so damn stupid!? All this time, all we’ve been through together and this is how you decide to go?!” There was fire in his eyes and his facial expression matched.

You knew they’d be angry, but that’s the way it has to be. You just got back from making a deal to bring back Sammy. You put your head down holding back the tears in your eyes “I’m sorry. But I couldn’t let it be one of you” you said.

Dean scoffed, making you lift your head to him. You pulled out of Bobby’s grip rushing towards Dean pushing him, making him go back a few steps. You laughed bitterly “you don’t get to scoff at me like you’re all high and mighty. You know you would’ve done it if I hadn’t”

His gaze hardened “yeah? what makes it okay for you to do it then huh?!” He challenged. “Because I don’t have anything left! All of my family is gone Dean! Sam needs you, you need him and you both need Bobby. It was only fair”

“What do you think we don’t need you too? We’ve known each other since we were teenagers! And been together damn near ever since” deans anger was more scary than Bobby’s. He resembled John a lot when he was angry abt thy was something that still scared your inner teenage self.

You stepped back “I’m sorry Dean, but I can’t see you like that. I won’t.” You shook your head letting the tears fall finally. “And you don’t have to see me like that. I’ll go home. Spend my last moments there like the rest of my family.” Your voice was quiet and broken, not having the ability to keep up the strong voice.

There was a long silence following what you said, nobody dared to speak, or even wanted to but that question loomed over everyone’s head and no one was brave enough to ask it but they had to.

“How long they give you?” Bobby questioned quietly. His gaze wasn’t even on you, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of you and that broke your heart just a little bit.

You looked to Dean contemplation written all over your features. “How long y/n” Dean pressed. You licked your lips “six months”

It was as if all the sound and air had been sucked from the room at your confession. You awaited an outburst from either of the two men but none came. At least not from them.

“You made a deal!” You heard from behind you. Your heart sank at the sound of his voice, you sis t want him to know, or to find out like this but it was too late and you were at the part of no return.

You turned to face the tall man who looked like you just crushed his soul. “Sam I had to” you said in a pleading tone. “Why would you do that- I mean I don’t understand!” He all but shouted.

“Because it was either me or Dean, Sam. With him gone you’d be all broken up! No matter what you say you need each other more than you need me! And maybe it’ll hurt but you’ll still have each other!” You yelled back.

Sam shook his head “that’s not your damn choice to make!”

You scoffed a laugh, “it’s all my choice Sam. Look I don’t know when it’s gonna occur to you guys but I’m a grown woman! I can make my own decisions without you breathing down my neck. And I did I made my chose, live with it damn it!” You shouted at all three men before rushing out of the house.

[seoll3miwrites]

Inked up | Fem! Y/N x Josh Washington *Smut*

Masterlist

It's spring break, which means Y/N can finally show off the lower back tattoo she got months ago. Josh surely isn't going to complain, especially not when it's paired with such a tight Bikini. (WC: 5999 ) Warnings: Smut, AFAB! Reader, Alcohol, Dom!Josh, Dom/Sub vibes, Deep throat, Face fucking, Brief Slap, Tattoo Kink, kinda PWP, Pet Names, NOT BETA READ.

AN: Tattoo design isn't specified so it can be what ever you want.

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

When Hannah had discussed getting a tattoo with Y/N, the Washington girl had expressed an understandable nervousness about getting anywhere near a needle for a long period of time. Which was why Y/N, as her close friend, had volunteered to go with her and also get a tattoo.

They weren’t matching tattoos by any means, but Y/N and Hannah both liked that it was an experience the two of them had shared together. Yet, it seemed no one else had really noticed that the Washington girl wasn’t the only one inked up.

Sam had, of course, come for moral support, as had Beth, but other than the four of them, no one else knew. However, this was mostly because of the placement of the Y/N new tattoo.

See, unlike Hannah, who had chosen her right arm, Y/N was afraid of what her parent would think, and so she had made the decision to tattoo her lower back. Essentially, Y/N was now the proud owner of a 'tramp stamp'.

She wasn’t ashamed of it by any means; she thought the design was beautiful and would’ve happily shown it off to her friends if she hadn’t gotten it in the middle of winter. Instead the intricate ink work was hidden under layers of fabric to fight off the frigid climate outside. 

Eventually, though the cold winter nights passed, and after a few months, it was time for spring break. Now as she sat upstairs in the Washingtons beachside house in Florida, a small, selfish part of her couldn’t have felt more lucky to be friends with the richest people in their town. 

When it came to spring break, all illusions of modesty went completely out the window. Ninety percent of the men went shirtless while girls simply went out in bikinis, which is exactly what Y/N planned to do. 

“What the hell is that?!” Y/N whipped around from where she was looking in the mirror and looked over at Emily, who was busy trying to look around her.

“What’s what?” She asked genuinely, not sure what the dark-haired girl was talking about.

Emily looked at her like she was stupid, replying like the answer was obvious, “Erm, I’m talking about the tattoo that’s suddenly appeared on your lower back.”

Y/N blinked as understanding came over her. Turning her head, she looked at her back through the mirror and realised her bikini felt low enough that the tattoo was fully exposed for the first time since she’d gotten it. Shrugging, she turned back to her friend and spoke.

“Oh yeah, I got it done at the same time as Han, just in a harder-to-see location.”

“So, you’ve just had this the whole time,” Her friend continued to question, “And just… didn’t think to mention it?”

“I don’t think a small tattoo on my back is life-changing information,” Y/N reasoned, “So it wasn’t something I found important to share.”

“Share what?” Jessica asked as she entered the room, clad in a skin-tight pink floral bikini. 

Emily turned to her best friend and pointed briefly to Y/N before speaking, “Y/N has a tattoo, a tramp stamp to be specific.” 

This perked Jess’ interest to immediately move over to her friend, “Oooo, let me see,” she said, followed swiftly by, “Oh my god, that looks really cute.” When the blonde had actually seen the bit of ink.

Y/N smiled appreciatively at her friend before turning back to the mirror and adjusting her bikini top one final time before looking back at the girls. “Is everyone else already downstairs?”

“Yes, so we better hurry before they get bored and leave without us.” Em spoke as she swiftly grabbed Y/N by her arm and led her out of the room and downstairs, Jessica following behind them.

Everyone else was already in the main living room. Matt was sitting on the floor next to Mike and Josh, laughing at some stupid video the two had found while Beth was sitting in an armchair talking to Hannah. Sam had her eyes locked on the TV, watching the game on the screen, her attention turning towards the sound of footsteps descending from the stairs.

“Alright bitches, let’s fucking party.” Emily announced as she confidently made her way into the living room, still pulling Y/N behind her.

Mike and Josh were the first in the small group to stand up; Mike was the one to speak up, “Bout time y'all got down here.” He joked in a mocking southern accent as he picked up a bottle of beer that was on the coffee table before taking a sip.

Josh, on the other hand, made his way over to Y/N and smiled at her genuinely, “You look… wow.” 

Y/N simply giggled and gave a little playful slow twirl to show off her ‘outfit.’. “Thanks, Sam helped me pick it out.”

However, as she twirled, a hand suddenly reached out and grabbed her waist to hold her in place. Y/N then felt another hand reach down to softly trace the tattoo on her lower back, causing her to shiver slightly.

“How long have you had that for?” Josh couldn’t help but ask, his typical smug smirk spread across his face.

“Got it at the same time as Hannah.” She replied as she pulled away from his touch, suddenly feeling very sensitive in that area.

He chuckled to himself as he watched her suddenly shiver from his touch; it wasn’t a secret to anyone that it was a sensitive area, and that just made it even more fun to him.

“I can’t believe you just hid a tattoo like this from me all year.” He gave her a mock serious look, a sly smirk on his lips, “I’m appalled, how could you?”

“I didn’t do it intentionally,” Y/N bit back, “I wasn’t about to walk around in low-cut jeans and crop tops all winter.”

He laughed brightly and took another swig of his beer before leaning in a little close, “Fair enough, but does that mean I’m gonna get to see it all the time now that you’ve revealed the secret to the world?”

“Ha, you wish.”

He gave her a wide smile, “You bet I do.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully and pulled away.

Before Y/N could react to that, however, Chris and Ashley had emerged from the beach house’s kitchen. As Chris entered the room, he exclaimed dramatically, “Alright party people, let’s get this show on the road.

Matt was the first to respond to Chris, and while he may not have been as dramatic about it as Chris, he still let out an excited holler. “Yeah! Time to go get wasted!”

And soon, after several other shouts of excitement, the group made their way out of the house and straight onto the beach. The beach in front of the Washington’s house was already swarmed with college kids, equally if not more scarily clad than Y/N’s tight two-piece. 

The smell of alcohol and weed permeated the air, and music blared from several speakers that were linked to the stage where a DJ was jamming away on.

“Remember to at least stick in pairs,” Sam maturely said before grabbing Hannah and Beth’s hand and almost running off into the crowd in search of a good drink.

Josh smiled brightly as he watched his sisters having fun with Sam for a moment before turning his gaze back to Y/N. “Wanna go find a drink?”

“Definitely.”

With her reply, Josh started to walk to the makeshift bar that was set up by the other side of the beach, his hand finding the small of her back to lead her into the crowd of people.

“So what do you want to drink then?” He asked as he guided them towards the bar.

As the pair reached the bar, he gave her a small nod and turned to the man running the stand, pulling out a ten-dollar bill as he spoke, “We'll have two shots... something strong.”

The moment he said the word shots, the guy nodded and started to pour them out two shots and handed them both to Josh, who took them both and offered one to Y/N, “Here yah go.”

“Thanks,” She smiled at him before downing the drink. As the liquid hit the back of the throat, she could help but cough slightly, “Well, it’s definitely strong.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as she spoke, and he turned to request another two shots, which the guy filled without delay.

“Y’know I had a feeling you were gonna say that.” He told her as he once again handed her a glass before taking the other for himself, “Ready?”

Y/N winced slightly as she remembered the burning sensation she’d felt just moments before, but it was spring break, and she wanted to get as drunk as possible. So, she picked up her glass and gently hit it against Josh’s, “Ready.”

This time, however, when Y/N downed her shot, her throat forgot to close properly, and she found herself choking as the burning liquid hit the back of her throat. Tears rolled down her cheek as she subconsciously gripped onto Josh’s arm for support.

Josh’s eyes widened slightly as he suddenly felt her grip his arm, “Oh—“ He started to say but stopped as he saw her struggling to breathe, panicking slightly.

“Hey, just breathe,” he said as he quickly put both their glasses onto the bar. “Take a second to breathe.”

When she finally got a breath back, Y/N gently patted him on the arm, “S-sorry, just went down the wrong way.”

He looked at her as he saw she was alright and let out a small laugh, his hand resting gently on her back, “It’s alright, just don’t do that again. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do if I have to perform the Heimlich.”

The smile grew wider on his lips, realising he had his hand on her lower back, right by her tattoo. Yet, before he had the chance to pull away, Y/N shifted her feet and leaned into his touch.

The moment he felt her relax and lean into his touch, he found himself unable to stop himself, letting out a small sound at her touch as his fingers lightly traced the tattoo on her lower back.

It was only when the man at the bar spoke, asking if they wanted another drink, that he reluctantly snapped out of it and quickly pulled his hand away. “Maybe we shouldn’t get any more,” he said. “The beach isn’t a nice place to vomit.”

"Let's go dance then."

Josh looked back to her as she spoke, a large smile on his lips, “That’s a dangerous proposition.”

He smirked coyly, “You sure you trust me enough to not have my hands all over you?”

Y/N stepped forward, a smirk growing on her face. "Maybe I want you too..."

As she stepped forward and spoke, Josh’s eyes locked with her own, his smirk growing even wider as his heart started to beat even faster. He couldn’t resist the temptation any longer, his hand running down her lower back once again, stopping when he reached the edge of her bikini.

“In that case, I won’t hold myself back.”

"Come on then..." she said before pulling away and disappearing into the crowd.

Josh took a second as she left to watch her walk away, a smile on his lips as he followed after her, his eyes fixed on her as he pushed through the crowd.

It didn’t take much time for him to catch up to her, and as soon as he was there, his hands were on her once again, this time her waist, as he pulled her back towards him.

As she felt herself being moved, Y/N couldn’t help but lean into the touch, swaying her hips against him as she began to dance to the music. Since Josh was only wearing a pair of swimming trunks, it wasn’t hard for Y/N to feel just how much he was enjoying it.

Suddenly, she turned in his arms so that she was facing him and tilted her head upwards so she could look into his eyes. “What if I told you there’s another tattoo you can’t see?”

As she turned around in his arms, a smirk spread across his lips, and he raised his eyebrows, a look on his face of both disbelief and lust, “You’re kidding me, you’ve got another tattoo that you’ve managed to keep completely hidden?"

Unable to control her face, she burst into giggles for a minute or two, and when she'd finally calmed down, she replied, "I'm only kidding; unless I had a tattoo on my tits, there's not really anywhere else I'd hide another tattoo in this."

It didn’t take more than a moment for his eyes to dart down her body as his thoughts ran wild, “That’s disappointing.” He eventually said, looking back up at her, “I was looking forward to seeing where you’d manage to hide a tattoo in this.”

"Well, maybe there's something else more exciting under this little swimsuit," Y/N replied before pouting her lips dramatically.

He raised an eyebrow at her as she spoke before looking down her body again. “I think you’d have to prove that for me to believe you.”

"How far are we from the house?"

Josh raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips that was full of lust and desire. “It’s a short walk. Why do you ask?”

A dark look crossed Y/N's face as she reached forward and pulled his face close enough that her breath tickled against his lips. "Listen to me, we either go to the house now, or I go off on my own and find a random stranger to fuck.”

His own eyes darkened as she spoke, her breath against his lips only making it even worse as he had to take a deep breath.

He stared into her eyes for a moment, the alcohol in his system giving him the bravado he needed before he nodded, “We’re leaving now.” He almost growled out as he grabbed her hand and started to pull her through the crowd.

With a proud, smug smile, Y/N happily allowed Josh to drag her through the crowds and back down the beach to the house. When they arrived, Y/N couldn’t help but cheer mentally that none of the others had yet returned, which meant she and Josh had the whole place to themselves.

Josh pushed her inside before stepping in and closing the front door behind them. As she heard the lock click, Y/N was suddenly pulled backward and nearly slammed against the wall of the entryway.

For Josh, his lust had completely taken over, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds before his lips crashed against hers roughly, one of his hands resting against the wall by her head while the other rested on her hip as he pressed himself against her.

Y/N couldn’t help but gasp into the kiss; in all her teasing, she’d never seen this side of Joshua before. He was so forceful compared to his usual soft nature towards her.

As she gasped into the kiss, he took the opportunity to quickly slip his tongue into her mouth. Yet, there was no battle for dominance; from the moment Josh had grabbed onto Y/N’s hand and dragged her away, it was clear who was in control.

“You’re such a fucking tease.” He murmured against her lips, “I bet you’re really fucking proud of yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean…” She replied, playing coy as her hands moved into his thick curls and pulling slightly.

A low growl escaped his lips, one of his hands gripping slightly at her hip. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said, his lips now moving to her jaw as he leaned down to kiss her skin softly. “You just love to give me trouble, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, will you ever forgive me?” She couldn’t help, whining slightly as he moved down from her jaw and began to kiss the hollow of her neck.

A grin spread across his lips as she spoke, and he pulled away from her neck just long enough to respond, “I don’t know.” He said, his hand gripping her hip slightly, “I think you’ll have to make it up to me in some way.”

"I'll do anything."

Josh’s hands now rested on her hips, his eyes burning with lust as he stared at her with a smirk on his lips. He took in a moment to admire her, unable to resist the image before him as his gaze raked over her. “Prove it then.”

And so she did, pushing him backwards Y/N led Josh into the living room and directed him to sit on the couch. Once he had settled himself down, instead of sitting next to him, she took a moment to stand in front before slowly lowering herself until she was kneeling on the floor.

Reaching forward, she began to gently play with the ties of his swimming shorts. “Will this make it up to you?” Y/N asked looking up at him through her lashes.

He nodded his head. “Definitely a start,” he replied, his fingers resting against the cushion as he sat there and watched her, his own eyes taking her entire body in.

Having been given the green light Y/N took the initiative and gripped the hem of his shorts and pulled them down, eyes focused on his cock which had sprung free. She couldn’t help but feel smug in that moment, seeing the evidence of how much she affected him firsthand. 

"Fuck, Y/N," Josh groaned, as he felt the cold air against his now exposed skin. His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of her, her gaze locked onto his aching member. His cock twitched in anticipation, a bead of pre-cum already leaking from the tip. 

Unable to hold herself back any longer, Y/N leaned forward and took just the head of his hardness into her mouth before swirling her tongue. With a groan, Josh’s hand quickly found itself in her hair, gripping the strands tightly.

"Oh fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his hips instinctively rocking forward to push more of his thick length into her mouth. "Your mouth feels so fucking good, baby. Such a perfect little cock slut for me.”

Y/N had never heard Josh talk like this before; he’d always been so mild-mannered and kind towards her. Yet, now as she knelt on the floor listening to Josh calling her a slut, all she wanted was for him to keep talking.

Spurred on, she hollowed her cheeks and quickly found her rhythm, and it was almost too much for Josh to bear. He could feel every flick and swirl of her tongue, every gentle grazing of her teeth against his skin, sending jolts of electricity straight to his core.

Through the pleasure-induced fog, Josh sensed just how much his words affected the girl kneeling in front of him. “Oh, you like that, do you?” he growled, his voice dripping with lust. "You love hearing me talk dirty to you, don't you?"

She tried to pull away to reply, but he quickly pushed her down, shoving his cock even further into her mouth, “Oh no, I don’t need you to speak right now, just let me fuck into that pretty little mouth.”

He began to fuck into her mouth with increasing fervour, his thick cock plunging in and out of her stretched lips. Drool dripped down her chin as he picked up the pace, the obscene sound of his hips slapping against her face filling the room.

"Shit, I'm gonna cum soon," he grunted, his grip on her hair turning painful as he chased his release. "I'm going to pump my load straight down your throat, and you're going to swallow every last drop like a good little slut. Got it?"

All Y/N could do was hum in agreement against his cock; she tried to nod her head too but simply served to push him against the back of her throat, causing her to gag slightly.

That seemed to be all Josh needed as he let out a shout of ecstasy as his orgasm hit him like a tidal wave. Y/N struggled to swallow as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock and down her throat. 

Once he had fully ridden out his orgasm, she pulled away with a loud pop. Exhausted, she couldn’t do anything except rest her head against Josh’s leg, breath heavy as she tried to catch it.

Josh let out a low, satisfied groan as he slowly came down from his intense high, his grip on Y/N's hair loosening. He looked down at her with a smug, arrogant smirk, taking in the debauched sight of her—hair dishevelled, eyes glazed over and unfocused, cum dripping from her well-fucked lips. 

He tucked himself back into his pants before scooping Y/N up and pulling her onto his lap, cradling her against his chest. She melted into him, letting him support her limp, exhausted body as she struggled to catch her breath.

"That was... intense," Josh murmured, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to her forehead. "You did so good, taking my cock like that. Such a good girl." His hand stroked through her hair, trying to smooth out the tangles he'd created.

He could feel Y/N's chest heaving against his own as she gulped in air, her body still trembling slightly from the force of his release. Josh held her close, enjoying the feeling of her soft curves pressed against him, the scent of sex and her shampoo filling his nostrils.

"You okay, baby?" He asked softly, tilting her chin up to look at him. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, wiping away the stray cum and smearing it across her cheek. "I hope I didn't hurt you. I just couldn't help myself; you felt too fucking good."

Y/N, on the other hand, had never felt better. She loved the fuzzy feeling in her head and wanted to keep feeling it. So, she subtly adjusted herself and began to gently grind herself down onto Josh's thigh.

"Mmm, someone's eager," Josh murmured, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her move against him. His hands slid down to grip her hips, encouraging her subtle movements. "You liked choking on my cock that much, huh? Got you all hot and bothered?"

"Mmm," she whined in a near squeal, "I need... fuck, I need..." God, she was such a mess she couldn't even talk.

“What?” He questioned, gripping her face and forcing her to look at him, “I need you to use your words, sweetheart.”

“I…” Her face scrunched in frustration when she still couldn’t speak, so she reached behind and quickly undid the ties of her bikini top before throwing it off.

Josh's eyes widened as Y/N frantically untied her bikini top and tossed it aside, exposing her perfect breasts to his hungry gaze. They bounced slightly from the motion, and he couldn't resist reaching out to palm the soft mounds, squeezing and kneading the supple flesh. Her dusky pink nipples pebbled under his touch, and he couldn't help but lean down to capture one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud.

"Fuck, these tits are amazing," Josh groaned around her nipple, sucking and nibbling gently before giving the other the same treatment. He could feel Y/N arching into his touch, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him close. The taste of her skin, the weight of her tits in his hands, and the needy whimpers spilling from her lips—it was all driving him crazy with lust.

Pulling back, Josh cupped her face, forcing her to meet his intense gaze. "Tell me what you need, Y/N," he demanded, his voice low and rough with desire. "I need to hear you say it. I want to make all your dirty fantasies come true." 

His other hand slid down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her bikini bottoms to cup her mound. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the dampness of her arousal coating his fingers. "Is this what you need? To be touched, to be fucked until you can't think straight? Say it."

“Yes,” she said simply, but that earned her a soft chastising slap on her cheek from Josh. It was a playful slap but firm enough to make a point.

"Yes, what? Come on, baby, you can do better than that," he coaxed, his fingers teasing through her slick folds, not quite touching where she needed him most. "Tell me exactly what you want. I know you've got more imagination than that."

“Ah!” She moaned out in an almost scream from his touch, “Joshua, I can’t…”

Josh tightened his grip around Y/N's throat slightly at the sound of her desperate moan, his eyes flashing with intensity. "Can't what, baby? Can't form a sentence? Come on, sweetheart, you're going to have to do better than that," he growled, his fingers still teasing through her soaked folds without giving her the direct stimulation she craved.

“Please… fuck my pussy.” Y/N spoke rapidly between breaths, desperation evident, “I need your cock in my pussy, please; I wanna feel good.”

Josh let out a low, approving groan as Y/N finally begged for what she needed, her words dripping with desperation. "Fuck, that's my good girl," he praised, rewarding her by pushing two fingers deep into her dripping cunt without warning. He pumped them in and out of her hard and fast, curling them to hit that sensitive spot inside her that made her see stars.

At the same time, Josh captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her wanton moans and cries. He bit at her bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue, his hand still wrapped loosely around her throat. Breaking the kiss, he leaned in to growl in her ear, "Get on all fours and spread your legs, baby. Show me this needy little pussy that's begging to be filled.

Drinking in the breathtaking sight before him, he felt his cock throb at the erotic image of Y/N presenting herself so perfectly, just for him. The way her back arched, her round ass up in the air and her dripping pussy on full display, begging to be claimed. He couldn't resist reaching out to squeeze one of her plump cheeks, kneading the supple flesh roughly.

"Fuck, Y/N... you're so goddamn sexy like this," he groaned, giving her ass a sharp smack before grabbing onto her hips. He rubbed his rock-hard cock teasingly along her wet slit, coating himself in her arousal. "This is what you want, isn't it, baby? To feel my big dick stretching out this tight little cunt."

Without warning, Josh thrust his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Y/N's hot, slick heat with one powerful stroke. “F-fuck!” Y/N screamed out in a stutter as she felt him enter her so deeply.

He quickly set a brutal pace, fucking into her rapidly. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, mingling with Y/N's scream and his own grunts of pleasure. He could feel her velvety walls clenching and fluttering around his cock, drawing him in deeper with each powerful thrust.

His hands found her waist as his thumbs traced the edges of the back tattoo that had started all of this; he thought it looked even more beautiful in this moment. Josh’s eyes focused on the intricate design, yet his pace never faltered.

“So fucking sexy,” he spoke in between thrusts, “Such a sexy little tattoo, but you know that, don’t you?"

“Yes!” She screamed out, cutting herself off with a high moan.

“Tell me,” he spoke suddenly, “Did you get it for me?”

Stunned by the sudden question, Y/N froze in place, her eyes growing wide. “Huh?” 

“Did. You. Get . It . For. Me?” As he asked, Josh emphasised each word with a sharp thrust into her pussy.

“I already told you, I got it with Hannah.” She mumbled, but that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, and almost as quickly as he entered, he suddenly withdrew from her pussy. Y/N lifted her head in confusion as she whined at the sudden loss.

Her head spun as Josh tightened his grip so he could flip her over, laying her down on her back so he could hover above her. Josh gripped Y/N's chin, forcing her to meet his intense gaze as he loomed over her. His green eyes blazed with desire and a hint of frustration.

"I'm not going to keep fucking this perfect little cunt until you admit the truth," he growled. "You got this tattoo for me, didn't you? Because you knew it would drive me fucking crazy seeing it on your sexy back while I fucked you senseless."

Josh reached down and circled her clit with his fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure to make Y/N's hips buck against him. "Tell me, Y/N," he insisted, his breath hot against her face. "You can't lie to me, Y/N. I can feel how badly you want this, how much you need my cock. So tell me the truth."

“Mhmm.” She hummed and nodded her head, struggling to properly verbalise it; her head was getting fuzzy again.

Josh leaned in closer, his lips brushing against Y/N's ear as he whispered intensely, "Not good enough, kitten. I want to hear you say it." His fingers continued their relentless circling of her clit, pushing her closer to the edge.

“It was meant for you,” Y/N breathed out, “It was always meant for you, only you.” As she spoke, she had reached her hands up and tangled her fingers in his, pulling him close, gasping against his mouth as her orgasm ripped through her. Spilling her juices all over his hand before pulling him down so their lips folded together.

Groaning into the kiss, Josh continued to gently stroke her as he helped her ride out the intense orgasm, pulling away to whisper in her ear, “That’s right, baby, it’s all for me.” Earning another whimper from Y/N, “You’re mine now, always meant for me.”

He hooked his arms under her thighs and lifted her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. In one swift motion, he flipped them over so that Y/N was straddling his lap, his hard cock throbbing and pulsing beneath her. He gripped her hips and pushed her down against him, letting her feel how desperately he wanted her.

"Ride me, Y/N," he commanded, his voice rough with lust. "Show me how badly you wanted me to claim this tattoo, this pussy, as mine.”

The only problem was that after her orgasm, Y/N suddenly found herself unable to support her own body and collapsed against Josh’s chest. “I can’t move…” she murmured against his skin, before whining at the sensation of having him inside her once again.

Josh held Y/N close as she collapsed against his chest, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her intense orgasm. He stroked her hair and pressed tender kisses to the top of her head, murmuring soothing words into her ear.

"Shh, it's okay, Y/N. I've got you," he whispered, his arms wrapping around her protectively. "You don't have to move, not right now. Just let me take care of you.”

Josh started to slowly roll his hips, thrusting up into Y/N with deep, languid strokes. He wasn't trying to make her come again, just enjoying the exquisite sensation of her tight heat enveloping him. His hands roamed over her curves, caressing and squeezing, worshipping every inch of her body.

"Oh shit," Y/N cried out from the sensation, "Keep going, please, Josh."

Josh groaned as he felt Y/N's pussy clench and quiver around his cock from his slow, deep thrusts. Her pleading cry spurred him on, and he started to pick up the pace, driving into her with more urgency.

"Fuck, you want me to keep going, baby?" He panted, one hand gripping her hip while the other slid up to palm her breast, kneading the soft flesh. "Want me to fuck this perfect little pussy harder?"

When she did a small but clear nod, he captured her lips in a passionate kiss, all tongue and teeth as he pistoned in and out of her. The wet, obscene sounds of their coupling filled the room, mixing with their moans and cries of pleasure.

Smoothly, he rolled them over again, pinning Y/N down into the floor as he loomed over her. Gripping her thighs, he pushed them up and back, nearly bending her in half as he hammered into her harder and faster.

They continued like this for a few minutes longer; soft moans accompanied the sound of flesh hitting against one. Each of them was chasing a high they both knew would soon crash down onto them.

Eventually, Josh’s thrust began to falter and stutter as he leaned down to speak into Y/N's ear again, “I’m gonna cum, baby; where do you want it?”

“Cum in me.” She replied without hesitation, “Please just cum in me.”

“Are you sure, baby?” He asked again but still made no move to pull out.

“Mhmm,” she moaned out before speaking in a strained voice, “I’m on the pill, so please just fucking come in me.”

At her profanity, Josh let out a small chuckle before speaking again, “Well, if you need it that badly, how can I refuse?”

A high-pitched shriek echoed through the beach house as he suddenly thrust harder than he ever had before, stilling inside her and reaching his second orgasm, spilling his cum inside her.

Y/N’s peak swift followed Josh’s own, pushed over the edge by his thick hot cum coating her walls. She found her eyesight becoming blurry and felt limp against the floor from the sheer force of her orgasm. Josh followed suit and collapsed on top of her, both of them panting and trembling in the aftermath of their intense lovemaking.

"Fuck, that was...holy shit," he breathed, nuzzling into the sweat-dampened skin of her neck. He pressed soft kisses to her racing pulse, feeling it flutter beneath his lips. "You okay, Y/N? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She let out a deep, content sigh, "I'm okay, just feel exhausted now..." Just managing to tilt her head so she could look into his eyes, "Only problem is that I don't think I'll make it up the stairs."

Josh looked into Y/N's eyes, a lazy smirk spreading across his face at her words. He brushed a few damp strands of hair away from her forehead, tucking them gently behind her ear. “Don’t worry about that baby; I’ll carry you up, and we can take a nice long nap together. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect,” she breathed out before connecting their lips with a soft, chaste kiss before pulling away.

Josh brushed his thumb tenderly across Y/N's cheek, savouring the intimate moment. He could feel their hearts beating in sync, still recovering from the intense climax they had just shared. With great care, he carefully pulled out of her, his softening cock slipping from her well-fucked hole with a wet sound. He winced slightly at the sensitivity, but the discomfort was fleeting.

Holding Y/N close, Josh scooped her up into his strong arms, cradling her against his broad chest. He carried her effortlessly, taking slow and steady steps as he climbed the staircase leading to the bedroom. 

Y/N settled contently in his arms, eyes growing heavy. Feeling herself begin to drift off from sheer exhaustion, she embraced it and closed her eyes, tucking her face into his shoulder blade. She was content in his arms, and that’s all she cared about.

[moo-siala]

FALINE — JAMAL MUSIALA

PAIRING: jamal musiala x best friend!reader

SUMMARY: jamal and reader have been best friends since forever but they can't hide their love for each other any longer.

CONTENT: fluff, jamal and reader being scared, slight mention of sexual intercourse (nothing too graphic), some teasing, not proof read.

NOTE: this is a repost because i didn’t realize i posted it with an ask that had nothing to do with this story 💀

you and jamal have been best friends your whole life. your mothers were best friends, so it made sense that you two became so close.

you were there when he had his first try out, you were there when he signed his first contract, and you were there when he won his first trophy.

you were also each other's first, that night being one of the most beautiful and intimate moments you shared. you can still remember how his hands caressed your whole body, how gentle he was, and the sounds both of you made. but in fear of ruining your friendship, it didn't turn into something more, no matter how badly both of you desired it.

when jamal signed his contract with bayern, you thought that was going to be the end of your friendship. with him going away and you still in high school, it was going to be very complicated to see each other. but that changed when two months before graduation, you received an acceptance letter from the university you had applied to in munich, meaning that the two of you would be able to see each other as much as you wanted.

jamal was so happy that he offered to be roommates, not wanting to be away from you anymore. at first you said no because he wasn't going to let you pay half of the rent like you wanted, but after he agreed to let you take care of groceries, you accepted.

it's been a couple of years since that, and you've never regretted that decision, neither has jamal. in fact, it brought you closer than ever, both of you seeing the best and worst versions of the other, and always supporting each other no matter what. that is how you became jamal's rock, like he says.

even on vacation you're together, like right now. after the euro, all jamal wanted to do was relax under the sun and in the ocean, that's how you ended up in italy, on a boat.

"fali, can you help me?" jamal asked, showing you the sunscreen bottle.

oh yeah, alfonso and leroy had given you the nickname "faline" after bambi's girlfriend and it stuck. you didn't understand why faline was the nickname chosen for you instead of thumper, who was bambi's actual best friend, but you never thought much about it.

"of course, bambi" you got up from your seat and grabbed the bottle, pouring some on your hand and rubbing it on jamal's back.

"that feels nice" jamal chuckled, making you playfully roll your eyes.

"you two! get a room already!" alfonso yelled from the other side of the boat.

"they never get tired, do they?" jamal asked and you shook your head no.

"it's okay, we're always bullying each other" you giggled as you rubbed sunscreen on jamal's chest. your hand made its way down his abs making jamal stiffen, but you didn't notice so he sighed in relief.

"all done" you smiled at him.

"thank you" jamal smiled as he planted a kiss on your forehead.

"no problem"

—

after spending the afternoon eating, swimming, and tanning, you all agreed to watch the sunset for a little before going back to the villa. jamal sat next to you, placing your legs on his as vou aave him a small smile.

"did you have fun today?" he asked, softly caressing your thigh.

"i did. did you have fun?" you hugged his arm as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

"i always have fun when you guys are around. when you're around" he was now looking at you.

"me too" you whispered.

"mhm, i'm glad" his hand found your cheek as he stared at your lips. "i have something to confess, but please hear me out before saying anything"

you nodded and jamal took a deep breath.

"i know we agreed on not trying because we didn't want our friendship to be affected, but truth is, it's affected already and it has always been." he caressed your cheek. "it was affected the moment you hugged me and told me i was going to do great before my try outs. it was affected the moment you kissed my cheek and said how proud you were of me when i signed my contract. it was affected the moment we became each other's first, when our bodies became one" his eyes intense.

thank god he told you not to say anything before he was done, because you were speechless, butterflies going crazy in your belly.

"so i want to try. i'm so in love with you it hurts not being able to call you mine just because we're scared of something that may not even happen. so please, give me one chance to prove to you that we can make each other happy" he softly said, his eyes pleading.

"you don't need to prove anything to me, jamal" he looked at you confused.

"you don't need to prove anything to me because i feel the same way. i thought about telling you this, but i was scared you wouldn't want me like that" you blushed.

"i want you in every way, schatz" he cupped your face and gave you a soft and tender kiss.

"ABOUT DAMN TIME!" mika laughed.

"shut up mika" you said at the same time.

"well, now you're officially faline" jamal giggled, placing you on his lap and hugging you tightly.

"i guess so" you kissed his cheek and cuddled up to bambi, your bambi.

[forestmossling]

okay. oh my fucking god. oh god, okay.

this is INSANE. this is absolutely fucking crazy. what i’m about to recommend you is absolutely fucking mind-bogglingly pants-shittingly bonkers in its brilliance, so y’all better read closely.

it’s always the fics with the shortest, least descriptive summaries ever, the ones you absent-mindedly stashed in your “marked for later” and forgot about them, isn’t it?

anyway, this is a masterpiece. in every definition and understanding of the word. there are too many great points about what’s going on in this fic and why you absolutely have to read it, so forgive me if i’m gonna be pretty incomprehensible and incoherent rn, okay?

first of all, the way this fic just ties the whole of the st universe together, the way eddie munson doesn’t just spawn out of nowhere in the beginning of s4, but actually exists in hawkins all this time. the way he witnesses all the crazy going-ons in town from the sidelines, and still has his own opinions and thoughts on them, even if he didn’t actively take part in them. just, love to see it.

second of all, different “first” meeting. oh my god, but how i love thee. obviously it wasn’t really the first meeting here, but steve and eddie coming together before the original timeline is something i will never get enough of, and it was done brilliantly here. the way their first conscious interaction happens when steve comes to apologize for being a piece of shit, and the way the narrative, from eddie’s pov, never lets you downplay and just forget that steve was, in fact, a douchebag in high school, is also something i love to see. yes, he’s forgiven, but not because he wasn’t that bad in the first place, as a lot of fics love to make it out to be (which, i don’t blame them, that’s also fine), but because he actively works to become a better person. we see him, time and time again, actively holding himself back from sliding into the “king steve” persona, owning up to the shit he did and proving that he has changed, and it’s beautiful. and it’s also nice to see here, because eddie doesn’t even find out about all the upside down shenanigans in this fic, so for him, steve isn’t a better person now because he saw him in his heroic martyr era and was impressed. he’s better because he doesn’t just let these objectively heroic and admirable actions automatically absolve him of all his sins, but actively works to repair the damage he did before he committed them. which also happens in canon, i guess, but i really love how it was shown here.

third, eddie. characterization in general, but eddie’s in particular, because oh my fucking god. he’s absolutely insane in the most humane and captivating way possible. the way he has so much history that made him the way he is, the way we see this past overlap with the present and realize how it affects the decisions he makes, the interactions he has with other people. and the way his past was written in general, the way it flashes him out so deeply as a person is absolutely brilliant. and the way he sees the world around him, the way his perceptions of the moments we catch him in is so deep and full of volume, dimension. it’s like one second you’re with him, listening to the conversation he has with another person, and another - in a wave of sound and music he taps on his leg with his fingers, in the songs he hears reverberating through every feeling he has. and the author is so masterful with throwing you around from one plane of reality to another, the way eddie is in his brain, and it’s so much it’s almost overwhelming, but they catch you just on the edge in the last second and keep your brain from being torn apart from trying to comprehend the absolute insanity going on in eddie’s head.

it really felt like this fic was repeatedly slapping me across the face and all i could do was deliriously ask for more.

and, while we’re on the topic of characterization, literally every character and every interaction between them are so real and so fitting for who they are in this universe. the way even through eddie’s warped perspective of him, steve’s actions and views fall into a perfectly functioning justified mechanism for the reader, not a screw out of place. the way through simple, and, on the surface, absolutely mundane conversations about the horror and romance genres, about the characters in the book eddie’s writing (he is, btw, and it’s also brilliant), we see the whole of who these characters are, how they see the world and themselves in it, their deepest fears and desires. and even aside from steddie, a personal stand-out for me was jeff, because he has a whole life outside of eddie’s narrative, and still manages to contribute to the plot and give insights into eddie and himself while not being a cardboard cut-out, only existing for the benefit of pushing eddie’s story forward. and the rest of hellfire - past and present - while mostly serving the purpose of showing how precious steve’s attention and care for things they didn’t get about eddie is, are still their own people.

whatever the next number is, i’m losing count, - the language the fic is written in. it’s just so fucking clever. the dialogues are witty and captivating without stinking of made-up-ness, the metaphors are so deep and colorful and voluminous without being pretentious and over the top. the words of this fic are something you have to chew on before you swallow, let the author immerse you in the picture they’re painting without breezing from one predictable trope point to another (which, they aren’t really predictable and expected here, which is another huge pro) in the everlasting greed for cheap escapism, as i am prone to doing. and that’s another thing i’m really grateful to this author for - making me sit with the words i’m reading for a second, instead of just gorging on them in my haste to get to the end and start another story, frantic to keep my brain occupied.

also, this fic genuinely had me endlessly invested in the fate of the characters, scared shitless or elated for them. it yanked me right out of the usual safety of predictable plot tropes which usually makes fanfiction so attractive for me, but i really wasn’t complaining. on one of the most stressful and deciding scenes of the fic (no spoilers tho), i genuinely started crying. i felt eddie’s resignation and anguish so deeply and personally, i couldn’t hold back if i wanted to. and that’s another thing i’m extremely grateful for - the absolute rollercoaster of emotions i went through before i got the reward of the happy ending.

i would also like to say that i was floored with how period-typical homophobia and other social issues were presented in this work. obviously, i can’t really vouch for it being realistic or not, because i’m not american and wasn’t even alive during that time, but i can say that it did feel very very real. in a lot of other works that talk about these issues the homophobia and societal judgement seem like such nebulous, far-away concepts, that are obviously real and have a tangible impact on the characters, but it’s like their still escapable, still out of reach (which, again, is not a bad thing). but here i felt like the repercussions for being who you are were physically breathing down my neck, incapacitating me with horror. and, on that note, just, the author’s overall attention to detail and period-fitting pop-culture and other little things that painted such a larger picture of living in that time period, tying the fictional story so tightly down to it. it felt so grounded in reality, that i felt like a person could tell me their older relative had gone through this in the eighties and i would believe them. but, as i said, i’m obviously not an authority on that topic for aforementioned reasons.

and also, aside from the reader’s perspective on the work, as a person who tries to write myself, i realize that this is the level of writing skill i’m aspiring towards. this is what i want my works to feel like to a reader, and i’m really not there yet, but seeing works like these inspires me so much to grow.

also, i would’ve absolutely loved to see a little bit more of robin there, to find out how this change in the canon narrative would affect the events of the s4, to see how steddie’s relationship would develop and transform with the upside down thrown into the mix. and that’s definitely not a slight against the fic for not including this things, but more of a testament to how greatly invested the author made me in their version of the story and how hard it is for me to let go of it. this fic is perfectly complete without those things, but, once i got a taste, i couldn’t help but want more and more, even though this story definitely isn’t in any way lacking or in need of those to feel whole. but that’s mostly my selfish desires speaking, don’t mind me.

and, here, have a couple of snippets with no particular reasoning behind them, just because they made me giggle:

i’m getting real rambly and i’m genuinely afraid this whole post is absolutely unreadable with how frantic and jittery i am in trying to get this off my chest, but when i’m telling you i was buzzing with this word-vomit, almost frothing at the mouth with the need to express the absolute glorious hellscape this fic left me in after i finished it, i’m probably underselling it.

so, in conclusion, please read this fic. please please please read this fic. if not for my sake or the @fabelds-blog’s (who got criminally little recognition for this masterpiece), then for your own, because i can guarantee you that not one second of reading this work will feel like a waste of time or a disappointment. *me, pointing a gun at you with shaking hands while tears stream down my face* please, PLEASE read this fic, because it’s absolutely worth it.

so, yeah. i don’t think a number large enough to rate this work even exists, but my closest approximation is 999999836526272910018172654244536384847635526728190199986553781010018654463892010197654272458499900909261379/10, am recommending. and, obviously, it’s up to you if you’re going to actually read the fic, but if after this madman’s rant you still opted not to, i regret to inform you that that is, in fact, the wrong choice, and i’m strongly urging you to reconsider.

[sdeprived]

The Oldest Dream & Kim Dokja's guilt.

Even if 100% kdj could've gone back with the Kimcom after their encounter with OD I highly doubt he would've been able to happily walk out of that train with them as if nothing happened. That kind of development was always impossible, bc kdj himself wouldn't DARE to imagine it after what he discovered when he met Oldest Dream.

He felt so much guilt that he couldn't and wouldn't be able to forgive himself, so that final act of heroism and salvation -stepping up as the OD and staying behind to maintain that world's existence- was also his self imposed punishment, and he needed that more than he needed his own happiness.

That's why the part of him that went back with the Kimcom was the half that didn't remember being OD. He wouldn't be able to look at his companions' faces knowing that all of the tragedies happened bc he dared to read some webnovel to escape his own.

And seeing things from his perspective, his reaction makes so much sense. Imagine you spend all of your time thinking and planning and trying to find a way out of hell for you and your dearest people just to find out you're "responsible" for their misery. That's tough. Even if nobody ever blamed him, it's like 99% impossible that he wouldn't blame himself.

It's commonly said in the fandom that kdj doesn't understand how loved he is, but I think things go a little more deep, bc kdj is no fool (at least the "rational" part of him lmao). He saw his friends sacrifice and fight for him, he heard them say and prove how much they cared for him, and he even felt guilty about how much his repeated deaths affected them, so he's very much aware of the FACT that he is loved and wanted. What I do think is that he refuses to accept all that love bc he thinks he doesn't deserve it after everything he has done.

He thinks he has to suffer and sacrifice himself eternally to atone for his original sin, and also due to his history of trauma, he has engraved in his mindset the thought that he's meant to be alone and separated from the world, that's how it's ought to be, so when the "narrative" had to form the ideal and ultimate torture scenario for him, it was exactly that.

And maybe it's up to interpretation, and this has an explanation inside the fantasy and world building (not up to that part of the Side Story but I've seen some mild spoilers). but that final part in which the Kimcom regressed together and crossed the whole 1865 worldline just for him, while he was reading almost simultaneously what was happening, that they were coming for him, to me personally felt very bittersweet, bc as much as he wanted to go back with them, he also wanted to stay firm in his decision of keeping himself away.

And that's exactly what he did. Him breaking into millions of pieces and scattering through universes to me feels like he -once again- ran away from his happiness. At least metaphorically speaking I believe it was meant to convey that in some way.

Maybe the "magical" consequence has its own explanation, but it also happened bc kdj himself wasn't able to "dream" an ending in which he didn't need to punish and isolate himself anymore.

And that's why the last attempt to bring him back was to reach all of his fragments and show them how he was seen from his companions eyes.

There are so much themes and symbols in orv that I find myself trying to interpret every single event in as much angles as possible. It is genuinely entertaining 'cause there are so many different approaches to this specific topic that could be made.

Btw this whole rant was inspired by this Twitter thread :D go give it a read if you want!

-Sleep🌵

[itsnesss]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

summary | on the run from a conspiracy, you encounter peter, torn between duty and personal feelings. as you flee together, you must decide whether to trust him or go it alone

warnings | intense action, mild language, emotional tension, romantic

word count | 2.4 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The sound of your footsteps is the only thing accompanying you in the silent hallway of the government building. Each echo reverberating off the cold walls seems to accentuate the weight you're carrying on your shoulders. Your breathing quickens as you move forward, aware that every passing second brings you closer to a crossroads of life or death. You know you can't stay much longer, that the people behind you don't offer second chances. But you also know that if you don't do what's right, everything will be in vain.

The phone in your pocket vibrates again, and although the message is inevitable, you hesitate to look at it. It's from Peter. Peter Sutherland. A name that's been echoing in your head for weeks like an enigma. A man with cold calculations, one so committed to his duty that he's left everything else behind in his path. And you, his latest assignment, are something he has to resolve. The problem is, you don't know if he sees you as a piece in his game or if there's something more. Something that can't be measured in codes or missions.

In the distance, you hear the creak of a door. The exit is just a few steps away, but something in the air shifts, sending a chill down your spine. You know it before you see him. The figure standing in your way is none other than Peter.

Your body tenses, your heart races. In his eyes, you see something familiar: determination. But there's also something that makes you doubt. Something in his posture that you can't define but feel deep inside.

"You're running," his voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade.

You stand still for a second, motionless, feeling the pressure of his gaze on you. You try, with all your might, to keep calm. But fear is inevitable. The words stick in your throat, and for a moment, you don't know whether to lie or tell the truth.

"It's not what it seems," you finally say, managing to make your voice sound firmer than you feel. The lie scratches at you, but you have no other choice.

Peter takes a step closer to you, his eyes shifting between what you're saying and what he's seeing. Everything you've done so far, all the decisions you've made, all the lies you've had to tell, are about to collapse in this moment. You haven't stopped to think about what his eyes really mean, but now you know you can't ignore it. He knows something, and you know it too.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his tone calm, but there's an implied threat in his words.

The clock inside your chest keeps ticking, time is against you. Every passing second, the consequences of your escape grow. Your fate is sealed, and it only depends on you how you get to it. You know you're alone in this. You can't trust anyone else. At least, that's what you thought... until now.

The building lights flicker and go out as Peter takes another step toward you. The fear grows, but so does the curiosity. He's not just a government agent. He's a man with his own story, with his own demons, and for some reason you can't understand, that story seems to intertwine with yours. Despite what you feel, you can't stop thinking that maybe, at some point, he was more than just a tool. Maybe, even now, he's willing to do something he never thought he'd do.

"I don't have time for this," you reply, though your words are weak and empty. Time is running out, and the fate of many lives depends on your decision. But, can you trust him enough to share your secrets?

Peter pauses, his breathing becoming more audible in the stillness of the moment. He could follow protocol. He could arrest you and hand over the information, earn the glory, the reward. But something in his face tells you that the decision he's about to make is much more complicated than any mission.

"I won't hand you over," he says finally, and his words fall like a revelation. They're more than a simple promise. They're an unwanted truth.

Your mind spins. You can't believe what you're hearing. This is Peter Sutherland, the same man who never hesitated to fulfill his duty time and time again. Why would he change now? Why would he help you? He's the one who never showed interest in anything outside of his duty. But there's something in his gaze, something that makes you think that maybe, just maybe, his motives go beyond the professional.

"I trust you," you say, without thinking too much, but the words leave your mouth as if they'd been waiting to be spoken. There's a vulnerability in your words that you hadn't allowed before, and you're surprised that, somehow, those words don't weigh on you as much as you thought they would.

Peter nods slowly, as if accepting what just passed between you. And before you can take another step, he grabs your hand and guides you out of the building. There's no time for talk, no time for more questions. The outside world is waiting for you, and now, more than ever, you need to trust him. But as you move forward, your mind keeps spinning. If he helps you, what price will that help cost? What secrets will he have to keep to do the right thing?

[scoops404]

Can I be super boring and just give you sickfic as a prompt? 👀 (I wrote dickfic like 5 times which also works for me lmfao) Bonus points if George is sick hehe

Hi Honelle!! Here is a little slice of a sick fic. Sorry I used it to prove I can write something under 1K, but Chelsey thinks she's some kind of Machiavellian manipulator and so, you understand, I simply had to. And this prompt seemed easiest. 724 words.

If the sniffles took steroids and then cross bred with whooping cough—that’s the type shit that’s got George holed up in his bed, miserable.

“You should have taken the Emergen-C I got you,” Dream says, not helping, while he sits on the edge of George’s bed.

“Stupid,” George croaks out. “Your fault.”

“Yes, which is why I knew you should have taken the medicine, you big baby,” Dream says back. He’d already gotten sick and recovered, transferring his germs to George with their crazy mutation. Somehow, he feels worse than Dream ever did. He’s sure of it.

“I don’t feel good,” he says because sometimes you just gotta get it out. His head feels like someone pounded a nail into it and his throat is sandpaper.

“I know,” Dream says, voice quiet and empathetic. It’s everything George wanted. He just needed someone to hear him and to really get it. Dream gets it. “I’m sorry you’re feeling bad.”

George doesn’t respond. It’s not the kind of statement that needs a response. He’d sat with Dream for hours while he was sick, watching videos with him and bringing him soup. Though he blamed Dream earlier for getting him sick, the truth is that it’s his own fault for not being able to steer clear.

“I should let you get some rest,” Dream says in that way that people do when they’re trying to end a conversation, to sneak out without saying they’re done talking to you. George doesn’t want rest. He wants Dream.

He wants Dream to stay here and make the time pass faster, make the germs explode and give him back his health and vitality, give him a distraction so he can think about anything other than his own sickness.

“No, I just—just stay with me, Dream.” He pats the mattress, not in invitation, but an order he expects to be obeyed.

“You want me here?” Dream asks like he has to ask, like he needs the clarification.

“Always want you here.” Would he admit that if he weren’t feverish and high on cold meds? Maybe. Probably not.

But here they are. He can’t take it back. Especially not when he really means it.

“Good,” Dream says decisively. “Because I always want to be here. With you.”

They turn the television on, the one that George got from Dream—the same way his fingerprints are on everything in George’s life, up to and including the fact that he’s here in Florida in the first place.

He doesn’t think about while they find a video for Dream to cast from his phone. He winds up choosing Technoblade’s Potato War video, something that never fails to make George smile.

“Are you comfy?” Dream asks, his voice a rumble.

George thinks about it. He could be more comfortable, but he doesn’t want to overstep.

“Just do whatever you need, George,” Dream tells him, reading his mind.

“Can I lay on you?” George asks as he moves his head to rest on Dream’s chest before he even gets an answer.

“Always,” Dream says, bringing his arm around to hold George close.

It’s… intimate. They’ve never sat like this together. Cuddling. It’s intimate and it’s nice and George loves it.

Despite the headache and the way he coughs into Dream’s chest, it’s the most comfortable he’s ever been in his life, like Dream was made to be his pillow and George was made to be a weighted blanket and together they were forged to fit perfectly together.

Somewhere around the end of the second video, George feels his breathing fall into a pattern of sleep. He’s on the cusp, sleep bringing up her hands to gently lull him down. But he’s not all the way there. He’s awake to feel Dream’s lips place a delicate kiss on his forehead. He’s awake to feel the way Dream’s staring at him, like he’s taking him in. And he’s definitely awake to hear him speak.

“I love you like this,” Dream whispers against his skin. “I love you always, but I love this too. Please never stop wanting me like this.”

And then, Lady Sleep drags him just another inch further down, and he falls unconscious with a smile on his face and a promise in his heart.

He won’t stop wanting Dream. Ever.

And tomorrow he’ll tell him.

[zhuoyichenpretty]

Ep 25 Commentary

“難受嗎？難受就對了[...]卓大人，你習慣就好。” Is it difficult to bear? Good [...] Zhuo Daren, you'd better get used to it. —Zhao Yuanzhou, Ep. 1

Oh my god what the fuck ep 25. Ohhh my god. I don't think I ever stopped going "holy shit oh fuck" for the entire forty minutes. My head is in my hands. Why is FoF experimenting with onscreen physical/emotional/mental whump at a frequency and intensity previously unknown to man? To my favorite character? 我前輩子得罪了誰？？(Who did I wrong in my previous life??)

Quote from ep 1 because I had just re-watched it earlier in the day and those words came back to me not with any particular use towards interpretation but just as a characterization of—all of this. It is indeed difficult to bear.

Spoilers incoming.

Also spoiler for how I feel about this episode in case the sound of me wailing in lament in the distance makes it unclear: It was probably one of the most effective episodes for me thus far, personally. It struck many, many chords and did not stop for breath at all.

Honestly I'm kind of at a loss for words because I really, truly, did not expect shit would get so much worse for ZYC so incredibly rapidly. The speed with which the situation deteriorated broke the fucking sound barrier (I'm exaggerating, I'm being dramatic, but jfc I wasn't prepared). I apologize in advance if any of my reactions become a little bit repetitive, there are only so many ways I can express continuous distress and shock and despair.

My stomach dropped during the watchman attack scene. I can't believe how effective it was for me, this moment coming at the heels of ep 24, how that episode was a whole meditation on the goodness of ZYC's heart, his gentle and sensitive nature, the reasons why everyone loves him, the way things are bad but they will not break us and we may lose heart individually but we will persevere together.

And then in one single moment, all of that is threatened and very nearly destroyed. I felt every one of ZYC's dry heaves.

This drama is not one I necessarily go to for subtlety of intention, so the fact that I really had no inkling how at-risk ZYC's irreproachability would be in the coming episode despite being very invested in his arc made it all the more shocking and well-done, personally. They set him up as high as they could so they could tear him down as thoroughly as possible in an instant, and I did not notice the set-up at all.

I also have to say, I really appreciate PSJ. How quickly she cut to the chase about what he'd seemingly done, how she'd said the things that aren't just hard to hear but also hard to say. Because that's exactly what ZYC will care the most about. It seems to me her righteousness helped keep his own intact. In such a moment of complete and utter vulnerability and devastation, her moral clarity is as terrible as it is necessary and true to ZYC's belief system, just when it is most susceptible to collapse. And I say this not to mean that I think he is culpable for the supposed attack, given how much discussion the show goes into about culpability or lack thereof when not in one's right mind, but just that I find PSJ's moral compass to most closely align with ZYC's beliefs as he has been carrying them out throughout the show, and she keeps him from contradiction in a moment when it may be on everyone else's mind to spare him from the double-edged blade of his own righteousness. (Also, I may be reading too far into WX's statement later on that PSJ protected ZYC with her decision, but it could be interpreted that WX agrees or understands that as well on some level.)

And the fucking fact that all this takes place in front of a shrine for the Righteous God of Virtue and Blessing. As I said, I'm speechless.

(Speechless, she says, as she continues to ramble.)

Ouughhhhhh the reversals. ZYZ draping the cloak on ZYC this time. Fuck. The dungeon. Oh god. The way ZYZ loses more and more of his facade of calm, even just from his somewhat tense but understated distress in ep 24 to this unblinking, almost unseeing stare at ZYC in shackles.

Also, I'm glad for the moment PSJ and WX have to themselves once ZYZ proves ZYC's innocence. The way we get to see them navigating a situation so dire together despite its potential to push them utterly apart. PSJ's near-silent delivery of "friend" fucking kills me. It's loaded with so much emotion that neither the voice nor the term can truly handle that weight. That's art to me.

And then oh god, the Tianxiang Pavilion scene. I don't even know what to say. How everything spirals completely out of control. How we literally watch ZYC's worst nightmares play out. WX's first shout, the way I don't feel like I've heard that particular shade of emotion in her voice up until now, even with everything they've been through. Honestly, each of their expressions as the mob began to jeer and before they were separated was so effective. Ying Lei's indignation, PSJ's alarm, ZYZ's agitation, WX's fury. And the palpable panic as the crowd surged around them and pulled them apart.

I've watched this whole scene three times now. Every actor is giving their all here, and it's so impressive because this isn't at all the usual context of their angst and heartbreak. This isn't a decisive battle over life and death. The range of tragedy stretches so far in this kind of fantastical drama and yet they are able to create such tension and emotion that the shock of that first egg thrown has all the impact of a fatal wound. And it's worse in some ways because it means so little to an outsider and everything to this family.

That rage and helplessness in WX as she wipes ZYC's face and asks who threw it, when she says if the crowd goes any further, they'll fight back—her delivery is so raw. When I heard her lines, I felt the fantasy genre completely slip away for a moment and it became absolutely personal. Like, this point is getting a little away from mere commentary so please forgive the brief aside but those are words I can hear in my own family's voices.

Then, watching the very last vestiges of ZYZ's composure fully crumble away in real-time. God, I wish I could say something more substantive about ZYZ's entire reaction because it's so so good but I'm feeling levels of angst I truly don't know how to convey, which is really saying something given how much of an essay I usually write despite claiming I'm speechless.

Just. The way this is the most desperate and near-breaking we have ever seen them, in a completely different manner than the grief that has come before.

Alright, and then, the juxtaposition of the mob and the cheering crowd around ZYC?—yeah, that's when I started sobbing. As I've said before, the effectiveness, the efficiency, of TJR's acting. The way we can read every emotion off of young ZYC's face: his awkward pride, his self-consciousness, his bashful happiness. Even though this is a memory only recently and fleetingly alluded to in the previous episode and this is a ZYC we have never actually met, we know him and all his mannerisms and expressions so well. He is so alive with his character and so familiar, and then we cut back and, god, how unrecognizable everything is now. That absolutely broke me.

Finally, ZYC and Li Lun's conversation. Again, so so good and again, not sure I can offer much substance in my commentary to do it enough justice. I've been writing this commentary for over three hours now, so if my coherence is petering out, I do apologize.

This is so much of what I wanted and didn't even know I wanted from them, simply because they've been kept apart by the plot for so long. To see some of this come to pass is so satisfying. For Li Lun to claw so desperately at ZYC and try to bring him down, what that means about how he views ZYC's role in ZYZ's life right now. That this is twofold, to ruin ZYC and to be understood, and how he can never get the latter if he is still holding onto the former, wanting to pull others into the abyss rather than seeking a way to perhaps be pulled out of it. Li Lun is so precise in his brutality towards ZYC, digging his fingers directly into the worst of ZYC's fears, and yet ZYC is so insanely clear-eyed and incorruptible and incisive with his words in a way Li Lun has never experienced or had to combat (ZYC, articulate king fr). And for all of Li Lun's bluster as he continually makes to take the physical and conversational upper hand, how quickly that becomes a pitiful immaturity when ZYC truly fights back (in defense of ZYZ). Yan An plays this part so well, when he's looking up at ZYC.

And seriously, talk about ZYC delivering just the most on point monologues to struggling characters ever (ZYZ, Bai Jiu, now Li Lun), and doing all that after the day he's had?? To be honest, I don't know what direction this conversation will push Li Lun. I can see it go either way because yeah ZYC just basically rubbed in his face how alone and pitiable he is and how he'll never get what he wants out of ZYC, but at the same time I've never seen Li Lun so close to understanding why he has ended up alone, nor look so desperate enough to not be that he might end up making a different choice for himself. And just as Li Lun is that mirror showing ZYC the darkness of the abyss, ZYC must be reflecting to Li Lun how bright the dawn could be. (Oh the inextricable nature of character foils.) Even though ZYC has denied Li Lun the understanding he wants, he has seen through Li Lun so thoroughly that that is an understanding in itself.

And then oh my god. The reverting to Bai Jiu's voice and body. One of the most top-tier narrative choices ever. Li Lun, deconstructed by ZYC completely, is really so unbearably young in his heartache.

Okay, I think that's all I have to offer. I'm so wrung out, and I apologize if the quality of the commentary declined in the second half, but I hope some of this was enjoyable to read!

[elliescove]

Good evening, I loved your blog!!! Sorry if my English is strange, it's not my first language. I would like to request a request, from a fem or neutral reader, with Edward Cullen<3 The Reader arrives in Forks to live with his mother, as he is old enough to study and delve deeper into his inherited mystical and sensitive talents. Edward realizes that he can't read his mind, and also the slight influence that y/n has on events in the weather, and on people's decisions. Note: In the future he discovers that he just can't read your mind, because of a protective necklace he wears, but y/n takes it off, so he can read your thoughts, and see how much the interest and passion is reciprocal. The reader's thoughts are visual styles. (Please let the reader be stylish❤️) Kisses, I hope I'm not bothering you!!! :)

Unseen Heartbeats⋆˚࿔

summary: gn!reader x Edward Cullen, he want's to read their mind

A/N: I tried really hard on this so I hope you like it!! plz send more reqs I love writing!! warnings: none!! word count: 1,141

Arrival in Forks. The rain hit the windshield in steady, rhythmic taps as you pulled into the small, mist-covered town of Forks. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and pine trees, and the clouds hung heavy above, creating an atmosphere that felt as if it belonged to another world. It had been years since you last visited your mother, but now, at 18, you were finally old enough to study on your own terms—and to embrace something far deeper than you ever had before: your inherited gifts.

Your mother’s voice had come over the phone when she invited you to live with her. There was an excitement in her tone, a hope that this change would mark the beginning of something new. But there was more to it than that—something you couldn’t quite explain, yet something you could feel.

You were different. Your talents weren’t just the product of a curious mind; they were woven into the very fabric of your being. Mystical, sensitive abilities ran through your veins. You could sway the weather with just a thought, influence the smallest of events—nothing too grand, nothing too noticeable… yet. And Forks, with its strange ambiance and mist-shrouded forests, felt like the perfect place to delve deeper into your studies. Little did you know, Forks harbored a secret of its own—and one that would soon intertwine with your own.

Edward Cullen had always been able to read minds. It was one of the many quirks of his vampiric existence, a gift that often made things easier—understanding people’s intentions, their desires, their thoughts. But when you arrived in Forks, something about you stirred in ways that made him uneasy, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

He watched you from across the room in your first class together at Forks High School. You were stylish in an effortless way, dressed in a flowy jacket with subtle silver accents that caught the light as you moved. Your dark hair cascaded around your shoulders in soft waves, a natural contrast to your sharp yet elegant choices in attire. You didn’t look like you were from Forks. No one did—but you seemed to stand apart even more. Your eyes, dark and perceptive, held a depth that hinted at secrets, things beyond the ordinary.

As you sat down, Edward immediately tried to focus on your mind—something he’d done countless times without a second thought. But there was… nothing. A blankness. A quiet void that he couldn’t pierce. He narrowed his eyes, confused. How could this be?

You met his gaze once, your lips curving slightly as you wondered why this strange man was looking your way—yet, there was something you were causing, something beyond his understanding. The air around you seemed to shift. The light from the window dimmed slightly, and the temperature dropped by a fraction, just enough for the others to notice the change. Your presence was undeniable.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, your voice light, but with a hint of confusion, as though you wondered what was on his mind.

He snapped out of his focus and gave you a tight smile. “Nothing at all.”

But deep down, the truth was much more complicated than that.

Over the next few weeks, Edward’s curiosity grew. He tried every trick in the book—focusing on your emotions, your body language, anything to get a sense of your thoughts. But no matter how hard he tried, you remained an enigma. Not even the smallest flicker of thought seemed to surface. In a town like Forks, where people were so easy to read, it was unnatural to find someone who resisted.

The more he watched you, the more fascinated he became. You were always so controlled, so self-assured. But there was something else—something far more intriguing. He began to notice subtle changes in the weather around you. On days when you seemed particularly deep in thought, the sky would cloud over, and the temperature would drop, as if the very world reacted to your mood. It was as though you could command the elements without even trying.

One evening, after school had ended and everyone was heading home, Edward finally found the courage to approach you. The forest was quiet, the only sound being the rustling of leaves. You were standing by the edge of the woods, seemingly lost in thought as you gazed at the horizon.

“You’re not like the others,” he said softly, not quite a question, but more of a statement.

You turned to face him, your expression unreadable. “What are you saying?”

He hesitated, searching for words. “I can’t figure you out.”

Your brow furrowed at his words. “I’m sorry?”

“You... you aren’t like the other people here.”

You scoffed lightly, raising an eyebrow at the strange man in front of you. “Yeah? Maybe I’m different.”

As you spoke, the clouds began to lighten around you, catching his attention. His eyes darkened slightly, though he tried to mask it.

It wasn’t long before you grew closer to Edward. He was a really helpful study partner (probably because he’d been repeating high school for decades).

It was only a matter of time before you started to figure out what he was exactly.

You weren’t naive, and your curiosity pushed you to question him often until he finally came clean.

In the woods with him, his skin shone like diamonds, each tiny fragment a million sparkling lights that danced across his body. It was beautiful.

“A vampire,” you said, almost to yourself. “Right in front of me.”

Edward’s voice was calm, yet there was an undercurrent of something deeper as he spoke. “I could never read you. That’s why I needed to get close to you—to figure out what you truly are.”

Your eyes flickered down to the necklace around your neck. You knew why he couldn’t read you. Slowly, you undid the clasps of the beautiful ruby-red pendant, letting it fall into your hands before looking up at him.

He stared back, his golden eyes filled with curiosity and understanding. His mind was finally open to you, reading every inch of your thoughts, every secret, every flicker of emotion. It was as if you were one of his favorite books, and now, he could flip through the pages, reading each one in vivid detail.

You held the pendant loosely in your palm, watching as his gaze softened, feeling the weight of the truth settle between you both. The air around you seemed to hum with the newfound connection, the energy shifting in a way neither of you had expected.

He walked up to you, his skin still sparkling in the sunlight, gently cupping his hand in yours. He glanced down at the pendant for a moment before looking you in the eyes, and in that moment, you knew—you weren’t so alone after all.