#All because of something he can't control

[spooky-cryptid-friend]

Some things I do:

If you can't stand or get into your bed, make a blanket nest on he floor! Bring activites and snacks if you can, and it can be a good activity for brain fog

Nausea snacks. Find a consistant food that you can eat when nauseous (for me its buttered toast, for op its shortbread) and make sure you always have it on hand, or the ingredients to make it

If you can't eat due to being paranoid about someone poisoning you, try to bake or cook something. Go to the store and get new ingredients if you have to, just having the food be under your control can help

If you have trouble paying attention during lectures, try to learn a small thing and do that. I have friends who doodle, one who makes things out of clay, and I make paper cranes (i have around 300 now)

Heating pads and ice packs can both be great, and using both at the same time can help more than just using one (ex. ice on your head, heat on your hips)

Find railings! Whichever side the pain is on, grab the railing on your other side (painful leg should be on the outside of your body) and put weight on your hand and painful leg at the same time to minimize pain

Scoot around. If you can't walk due to weakness and not pain (for the love of all that is holy please do not do this if you have too much hip pain) then walking on your knees can be helpful

Similarly, "duck walking" is a bit easier but tends to exasperate my knee pain sometimes so be warned

Safe drink. Can be for nausea or paranoia or just because of the texture, but having a drink that you like does wonders. It can be water or a smoothie or tea or a drink from a cafe, just anything that can hydrate you

BRING THINGS PLACES! I carry my wrist brace wherever I go incase I need it. "But I'm not having a bad wrist day" well, you might soon. It sucks, but it's nice to not have to "save" when you can use your wrists

These may not apply to every disability, but I use these regularly and they help with my pain, anxiety, adhd, and so on

I've been disabled for almost 29 years. Here's what I've learned.

Tablets sink and capsules float. Separate out your tablets and capsules when you go to take them. Tip your head down when taking capsules and up when taking tablets. Liquigels don't matter, they kinda stay in the middle of whatever liquid is in your mouth.

If your pill tastes bad, coat it with a bit of butter or margarine. I learned this from my mom, who learned it from a pharmacist.

Being in pain every day isn't normal. Average people experience pain during exceptional moments, like when they stub their toe or jam their finger in a door, not when they sit cross-legged.

Make a medical binder. Make multiple medical binders. I have a small one that comes with me to appointments and two big ones that stay at home, one with old stuff and one with more recent stuff.

Find your icons. Some of mine include Daya Betty (drag queen with diabetes), Stef Sanjati (influencer with Waardenburg syndrome and ADHD), and Hank Green (guy with ulcerative colitis who... does a bunch of stuff). They don't have to be disabled in the same way as you. They don't even have to be real people. Put their pictures up somewhere if you want; I've been meaning to decorate my medical binders with pictures of my icons.

Take a bin, box, bag, basket, whatever and fill it with items to cope with. This can be stuff for mentally coping like colouring books or play clay or stuff for physically coping like pain medicine or physio tape.

Decorate your shit! My cane for at home has a plushie backpack clip hanging from the end of the handle and my cane for going places is covered in stickers. All of my medical binders have fun scrapbooking paper on the outside. Sometimes, I put stickers and washi tape on my inhalers and pill bottles. I used my Cricut to decorate my coping bin with quotes from my icons, like "I've seen enough of Ba Sing Se" and "I need you to be angrier with that bell".

If a flare-up is making you unable to eat or keep food down, consider going to the ER. A pharmacist once told me that since my eye flares can make me so nauseous that I cannot eat, then I need to go to the hospital when that happens.

Cola works wonders for nausea. I have mini cans of Diet Pepsi in my coping bin.

Shortbread is one of the only things I can eat when nauseous. Giant Tiger sells individually-wrapped servings of shortbread around Christmas or the British import store sells them year-round. I also keep these in my coping bin.

Unless it violates a pain contract or something, don't be afraid to go behind your doctor's back to get something they are refusing you. I got my cardiologist referral by getting in with a different NP at my primary care clinic than who I usually saw. I switched from Seroquel to Abilify by visiting a walk-in.

If you have a condition affecting your abdomen in some way (GI issues, reproductive problems, y'know) then invest in track pants that are too big. I bought some for my laparoscopy over a year ago and they've been handy for pelvic pain days, too. I've also heard loose pants are good for after colonoscopies.

Do whatever works, even if it's weird. I've sat on the floor of the Eaton Centre to take my pills. I've shoved heating pads down my front waistband to reach my uterus.

High-top Converse are good for weak ankles. I almost exclusively wear them.

You can reuse your pill bottles for stuff. I use my jumbo ones to store makeup sponges and my long skinny ones to hold a travel-size amount of Q-Tips.

Just because your diagnostics come back with nothing, it doesn't mean nothing is wrong. Maybe you were checking the wrong thing, or the diagnostic tool wasn't sensitive enough. I have bradycardia episodes even though multiple cardiac tests caught nothing. I probably have endometriosis even though my gynecologist didn't see anything.

You can bring your comfort item to appointments, and it's generally a green flag when someone talks to you about it. I brought a Squishmallow turkey (named Ulana) to my laparoscopy and they had her wearing my mask when I woke up. I brought a Build-A-Bear cat (named Blinx) to another procedure and a nurse told me that everyone in the hall on the way to the procedure room saw him and were talking about how cute he was. Both of those ended up being positive experiences and every person who talked to me about my plushies was nice to me. If you don't feel comfortable having it visible to your provider during the appointment, you can hide it in your bag and just know it's there, or if you're in a video appointment, you can hold it below frame in your lap.

Get a small bucket, fill it with stuff, and stick it in your bed (if you have room for it). I filled a bucket with Ensure, juice boxes, oatmeal bars, lotion, my rescue inhaler, etc. in October 2023 in anticipation of my laparoscopy and I still have it in my bed as of January 2025.

If your disability impacts your impulse control (e.g. ADHD, bipolar disorder), you should consider setting limits around your spending -- no more than X dollars at a time, nothing online unless it's absolutely necessary, and so on. Or, run these purchases by someone you trust before committing to them; I use my BFF groupchat to help talk sense into myself when I buy stuff.

Feel free to add on what you've learned about disability!

[calypso-rt]

HONEYMOON

with Rafe Cameron

-> Rafe x F!Reader

📍 Amalfi Coast, Italy 🇮🇹

You knew honeymooning with Rafe Cameron would be an experience.

But as you step onto the sun drenched terrace of your private villa overlooking the endless stretch of the Mediterranean, waves crashing gently against the cliffs below, you realize nothing could have prepared you for this.

It’s breathtaking. The kind of view that belongs in a postcard, all golden light and soft ocean breeze, the scent of lemon trees lingering in the air.

And then there’s Rafe, grinning like he planned this entire thing himself (he didn’t), hands in his pockets, watching you expectantly.

“Well?” he prompts, shifting closer, voice dipping into something softer. “Worth marrying me for?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. “Jury’s still out.”

Rafe hums, unconvinced. “Mm. Guess I’ll have to spend the next week proving you made the right choice.”

Before you can fire back, his arms loop around your waist, pulling you into him with that effortless ease, the kind that still makes your breath catch, even after everything. His lips find your temple, lingering just long enough to send warmth spreading through your chest.

And suddenly, you don’t care about the luggage still sitting by the door. Or the very long flight it took to get here.

Because Rafe is here. And he’s yours.

And if the next week looks anything like this?

You’re definitely in trouble.

☀️ Lazy Tanning on the Coast

The afternoon sun is warm against your skin, a lazy breeze rolling in from the water as you stretch out on the lounge chair. The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below is almost hypnotic, so much so that you don’t even notice Rafe shifting closer until you feel his fingers graze your wrist. “You’re not even trying to tan,” he murmurs, lips curving into a smirk. You peek at him over your sunglasses. “Maybe because I don’t need to turn into a lobster like you.” Rafe scoffs, dramatically offended. “Lobster? Baby, I’m gonna be golden.” “You’re gonna be burnt." He ignores that, reaching over to steal your drink without asking, sipping lazily before setting it back down, closer to his side of the table. You huff, but before you can snatch it back, he shifts onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as he studies you. “What?” you ask, suspicious. His expression softens, a slow grin tugging at his lips. “You just look good. Happy.” The words settle warm in your chest, and for once, you don’t have a teasing remark ready. Instead, you reach out, threading your fingers through his where they rest between you. “I am,” you admit. And with him under the golden Italian sun, you really are.

🏍 Him absolutely renting a Vespa just to “impress you”

“You’re going to kill us.” Rafe scoffs, revving the Vespa like it’s a full blown motorcycle. “Baby, have a little faith.” You tighten your grip around his waist, already regretting this. “Last time you drove something this small, you ran over Topper’s foot.” “Okay, first of all, that was his fault for standing too close. Second, this is different. I’ve got it under control.” Famous last words. The Vespa wobbles as he takes off, and you let out an actual scream, clinging to him for dear life. Rafe just laughs, one hand way too casually gripping the handlebar. “Relax,” he says over the wind, sounding downright smug. “You’re in good hands.” You peek over his shoulder, past the stunning coastline, the rows of pastel-colored buildings, the winding cobblestone streets you’re probably about to crash into, and sigh. “Just try not to get us banned from Italy, okay?” Rafe chuckles, his free hand reaching down to squeeze yours where it rests against his stomach. “No promises, Mrs. Cameron.” And despite yourself, despite the very real possibility of disaster, you can’t help but smile.

🍝 Romantic candelit dinners where you can't keep your eyes off of him

The restaurant is tucked into the cliffs, candlelight flickering against white linen tablecloths, the sound of waves crashing below blending seamlessly with the soft hum of conversation. It’s the kind of place straight out of a dream: warm, intimate, effortlessly romantic. And yet, the only thing you can focus on is Rafe. He sits across from you, sleeves rolled up, tanned skin golden in the glow of the candles. There’s a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he watches you, fingers idly tracing the rim of his wine glass. “You’re staring,” he murmurs. You roll your eyes, spearing a piece of pasta with your fork. “You’re imagining things.” Rafe leans forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Mmm. Don’t think so.” His voice dips, teasing but quiet, like it’s meant just for you. “Starting to think you like me, sweetheart.” You hum, pretending to consider. “Well, I did marry you. So, I guess you’re not totally awful.” His smirk deepens, but instead of responding, he reaches across the table, fingers grazing your wrist before curling around your hand completely. The warmth of his touch sends a flutter through your chest, one you pretend not to feel as he rubs slow, lazy circles against your skin. For once, there’s no bickering. No teasing. Just him. Just this. And as the night stretches on, wine glasses emptied, dessert shared, his foot nudging yours under the table, you realize something for the millionth time. You don’t just like Rafe Cameron. You love him.

🌊 A boat ride that ends with both of you in the water.

The sun is high, the water impossibly blue as the boat drifts lazily along the coast. It’s quiet except for the occasional hum of the engine and the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull. Rafe stands at the bow, arms outstretched like he owns the ocean, wind ruffling his sun-bleached hair. “See? Told you renting a boat was a genius idea.” You lean back against the railing, sipping your drink. “Mmm. I’ll be impressed when you actually do something.” He turns, raising a brow. “Is that a challenge?” You smirk. “More like a fact.” And then, before you can react, Rafe strides toward you, that dangerous glint in his eye as he sets your drink to the side. “Rafe—” Too late. His arms wrap around you, warm and solid, and in one swift motion, he dives off the side, taking you with him. The water is a shock, cool against your sun-kissed skin, bubbles rushing around you as you resurface with a gasp. “Rafe!” you splutter, shoving wet hair from your face. He’s already floating beside you, grinning so smugly you could throttle him. “You said I should do something.” “You’re impossible!” You flick water at him, but he just laughs, swimming closer. Then, his hands find your waist beneath the waves, tugging you against him effortlessly. His voice drops, lower, softer. “But you love me anyway.” You roll your eyes, but your arms loop around his neck, your legs tangling with his in the water. “Unfortunately.” He grins before closing the space between you, his lips warm despite the cool water, the sea carrying you both in lazy circles. And maybe his boat idea was kind of genius.

🛏 Mornings spent tangled in crisp white sheets, sunlight spilling through open windows, his lazy grin the first thing you see.

Morning comes slow, golden light spilling through the open windows, the soft rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through sheer white curtains. The sheets are a tangled mess, warm, wrinkled, wrapped around your legs and twisted somewhere between you and Rafe. You blink sleepily, stretching against the pillows, only to be met with the sight of him. Rafe lies beside you, arm thrown lazily over your waist, his bare chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. His hair is a mess, sun-kissed strands falling over his forehead, and when he stirs, just barely, his lips curve into a lazy, lopsided grin. “Morning, Mrs. Cameron,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. Your heart does that stupid fluttering thing, but you roll your eyes anyway, fingers tracing absentmindedly along his jaw. “You just like saying that.” He hums, eyes still half-closed as he tugs you closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your bare shoulder. “Obviously.” You sigh, letting yourself melt into him, into the warmth of his skin, the steady press of his heartbeat against yours. Neither of you rush to move. There’s nowhere to be, nothing to do but exist here in this perfect little pocket of time where the world is quiet and love feels as easy as breathing. And as Rafe buries his face in the crook of your neck, mumbling something about five more minutes, you know, without a doubt, you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

A/N: Inspo struck guys I'm on a roll

[filthygalli]

Hush

Fem!Reader x Hwang In-Ho

Warnings: MDNI18+, Oral (F receiving), Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, SoftDom! In-Ho, Secretive In-Ho, Mentions of Gunshot wound, Light Alcohol consumption, No usage of Y/N (but readers getting called as "Sweetheart" and "Darling"), Not proofread, Let me know if I missed anything! 🖤

Word Count: 1,686

Author's Note: I was so sleepy and I zoned out with this idea, I had the urge to write it because I'm afraid if I sleep it'll be gone by the time I wake up, so I apologize if there's spelling and grammar mistakes!

© Pictures are from: I come by the rain (2009)

You've been married to In-Ho for 3 years. You've known him since you were kids, he's a dominant man but he would worship the ground you walk on, give you expensive things, treat you romantically without you noticing it. That's probably the main reason why you married him.

For over 3 years of marriage, you still don't know what's his work, he always tell you that he's just going out for a ‘business trip’ that he'll be gone for 7 days, you begged for him to tell you what's his work about—but he's just changing the subject quickly, avoiding the question about his work. You let it pass every time though, maybe it's something that you don't need to know, something that it's private—but you're worried, what if something bad happens to him during that ‘business trip'? Though, when he's away he always call you and send you messages when he can, one time you told him you missed him and you need him that you cried on the phone while begging for him to come home, In-Ho's heart ache at the sound on your voice breaking through the line on the phone, sometimes he hates himself from not telling you the truth about what he do, on who he really is…but for the sake of your safety—he choose not to.

He went straight home and cuddled up with you on your shared bed, whispering sweet nothings to your ear as you lay your head on his chest, his breathing calms you down—the way his chest would slowly rise up and down, matching the pace of your breathing, you relaxed at the soft hum of his voice as he tells you that he's sorry for leaving you for almost 3 days, that he'll take you out tomorrow to go and shopping and eat at one of your favorite restaurants in Italy.

But sometimes, you just can't help but ask In-Ho about it, even though you know he'll avoid the question, you wanted to know the truth.

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you in detail, but even if I did…you won't understand.” He said, sitting on the leather sofa, a whiskey in his left hand while looking up at you, “It's just…I'm worried,” you sat down beside him, “Last time you went home…you had a wound on your shoulder,” In-Ho clenched his jaw tightly, recalling the incident between him and his brother Jun-Ho, he sighed softly, eyeing you, “I know sweetheart, but I promise I'm ok, nothing to worry about.” he sets down the glass of whiskey on the coffee table as He assured you, he gave you a kiss on top of your forehead, You smiled up at him, “I love you, In-Ho.” You said kissing him, the kiss was gentle and delicate, you liked it when he kiss you like this—taking his time with you, making you take control of him if you want to, his hands travelled up to your waist as he picks you up to sit on his lap, he pulls away slowly, “I love you too, Sweetheart.” He said as he trails down kisses on your jaw all the way down to your neck, you whimper, “In-Ho…” you start to feel a familiar sensation between your thighs, “I know, sweetheart…let me take care of you, hmm?” you nodded eagerly, In-Ho chuckled at your response. He hooked his finger on the strap of your shirt, pulling it down slowly revealing your bare chest to him, “You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart,” he said as he plants kisses on your chest, sucking the exposed skin—leaving reddish marks on it, you whined, “In-Ho…please–” you begged as you looked down on him, still sucking your skin, he looked up, dark brown eyes turned up at you, he trails his warm tongue on your nipple, you moaned as he started sucking it gently. In-Ho can feel himself getting hard, he wants to fuck you right here, right now, but he wants to push you first, to make you feel good.

He released his mouth on your nipple with a loud pop, his saliva glistened on your nipple, “Tell me what you want sweetheart.” He said gripping your neck lightly, not too much to hurt you, “Please.. In-Ho,” you begged, tears started to prickle on the corner of your eye, “Please what, sweetheart?” He said reaching through your cheek to wipe your eyes using his thumb, “Fuck me, please, In-Ho…” you once again begged as In-Ho chuckled, “Want me to fuck you, huh, sweetheart?” He said cupping your chin to look down at him, you didn't say anything and just gave him a whinny look, “Need your words sweetheart,” he said giving you a smirk, “Want you to fuck me, Please In-Ho…” “As you wish, sweetheart.” He said as he lays you down softly on the sofa, he motioned you to lift your hips as he pulls down your shorts, revealing you in your undies, he leans down and trails kisses on your thighs, licking your skin, you whimper as In-Ho chuckled, the vibration of his chuckle sends shivers down on your spine, “Please…” you cried out, “Patience is a virtue, Darling.” He whispered on your skin, his breath feels hot on your skin, you want him to touch you, to fuck you to put you on your place, He hooked his index fingers on the waist band of your undies—exposing your bare cunt Infront of his face, “So wet for me, Sweetheart.” He said as he traced his middle finger on the slit of your pussy—earning a whimper from you, He leaner in as you felt his warm breath on your aching cunt, “In-Ho…please–want you,” your hips jerked up as he looks at you, he glared at you, your breath hitched as he stick his tongue out slightly licking your clit, teasing you as he smirk, “Mmm–” you mumbled, lips pressed together, “Wanna hear your voice, sweetheart, let me hear them.” He said in between kisses on your pussy, You moaned, When In-Ho heard your pornographic moans he eats your pussy like a starved man—slurping every juices that your pussy could offer him, sucking the bundle of nerves, biting the soft skin as your eyes rolled back from the back of your head, you arch your back—gripping your hands on the leather couch as you moaned his name like a broken record, He continues to eat you while looking at you, he reached for your hand that's grabbing the leather couch, softly putting it on his hair, your grabbed his hair tightly—pushing him down on your cunt—you want more, you want more of him, He flicks his tongue faster as he slides his index finger inside your pussy, “Fuck–In-Ho!” You moaned as he curled his fingers inside you, he smirked at the sound of you, priding himself that he could make a mess out of you by just doing this, making you beg for more till you break—of course he will keep giving you more till you can't cum anymore, he'll make you writhe against his touch, make you feel sore, he'll make you unable to walk for days as he pride himself for eating you out and making you cum and squirt all over his face. You started to feel a familiar sensation in your stomach as In-Ho continuously flicked his tongue on your aching clit, you're so gonna be sore for days you'll be staying in bed and call In-Ho for help to stand up, he hasn't fucked you yet and you feel worned out, what more if he rammed his thick cock inside your pussy? He'll rip you apart, not that you don't mind though, you're going to take it like a good girl. His good girl.

“In-Ho…” you cried out, In-Ho felt your pussy clenched around his index finger, he knows you're about to cum and he'll give it to you no matter what. “I know sweetheart, cum for me, Be a good girl and cum on my face,” he said in between a flick of his tongue as his husky voice sent shivers down your spine “ruin my face with your sweet juices, squirt on my face like a damn fountain.”

his voice soft but demanding, you whimpered at his words as you felt him go crazy on your clit, he added a second finger inside you, making you feel full of him already, he pumped his thick fingers inside and out of you, shoving it harshly—hitting every spot inside of you as you shivered and moan his name, “In-Ho!” Is the last thing you screamed as you squirt your juices on In-Ho's face, he hurriedly opened his mouth and slurped everything he could get, not wasting a drop as he repeatedly fuck's you with his tongue, you felt so overstimulated, it's all too much, but you need In-Ho inside of you, you want him badly.

“Stop–I can't! Too much!” you breathe out, “Want you.. inside ah!” You heard him chuckled darkly, “Sweetheart,��� he said as he brought up his face a little, his chin and cheeks glistened with your juices, he licked his lips before opening his mouth to talk to you, “Let me make it up to you for those days that I'm gone.” He said as he sat up, unbuckling his belt—not breaking an eye contact with you, you moaned at the sight of him; it always excite you when he does this, it's simple yet so fucking hot and sexy, “I'll make sure you'll forget to ask that damn question,” he said as he threw his pants on the floor revealing his cock, he lined it up on your entrance, gathering some of your juices to use it as a lube for his cock, pre-cum beaded on his tip as he slapped the tip of his cock on your now swollen clit, “The only thing you'll remember is this moment, while I fuck you senselessly with my cock, I'll pump you full with my cum that you'll be leaking for days that I'm gone, You'll only remember how I fuck this pretty cunt of yours.”

Author's Note: I hope you like this one, Its longer than what i've imagined. Anyways, Let me know if you want a part 2 of this one, Thank you for the support!

< Squid Game Masterlist I Main MasterList >

[sylus-doll]

Synopsis: It's normal to feel insecure every once in a while. But what would Sylus think of it? You wonder if he'll think that you're too much but you still ask to look through his phone anyway. And he willingly lets you.

Warnings: Low self-esteem and self-doubt, insecurity, jealousy issues (thinking he has other girls), bad relationships (not with Sylus), mentions of stalking (done by Sylus to you), mentions of threat messages.

Author's note: Is this controversial. Idk. I think I'm overbearing, so this is self-indulgent but I hope that it helps if you can relate to it as well. This is based on one of his Destiny Café and affinity level up lines. Comments and reblogs are appreciated! <3

You had always been a little insecure of yourself. Comparing yourself to others, envying the life they have, wishing to be a different person entirely. All of this had been ingrained into you like heated iron scorching skin, branding itself onto the fragile fabric of your soul. It would be alright, if it didn't consume your being and take the reigns of your mind at the worst of times.

Previous partners always brushed you off when you wanted to speak to them about your troubles. Telling you that it was fine— that they could handle it. Lies. Maybe they would indulge you once or twice, but they would always end up angry at you for being... difficult. Your jealousy is out of control, your clinginess is overbearing, your need for reassurance is exhausting. Always too much, too high maintenance. It all ends sour.

But you can't help it. The need to satiate this overwhelming emotion withers you away. Your desperate want for someone to claim you as their number one— the only one—overrides rationality. Yet you have learned to bite your tongue. Force your words to die in your throat because you never want to be too much. Especially not for someone like Sylus. Sylus who has always been so understanding and patient and you are terrified that this might tip him over the edge.

Sylus, however, notices that you seem rather lost in thought. Although he has been on his phone for quite some time, nothing gets past him. Not your jittery behaviour or the sighs that escape past your lips as if they were the words you wished to convey but held back on. He sees you fiddling with a trinket, some gemstone he left lying around the base that Mephisto probably went for. Switching off his phone, he sets it aside in favour of staring intently at you, two fingers resting on his temple as he leans on his elbow.

“You seem quite fascinated with that pretty gem, sweetie. Has Mephisto influenced you with a crow's instinct?” Sylus teases you, an opening line for conversation.

You jerk, scowling at the man, “Don't compare me to that bird!”

He only chuckles, shaking his head.

“What's on your mind, sweetie?” The tone of his voice shifts, now noticeably softer. So are his eyes.

Sylus is worried about you, it seems. You glance at him, taking in the way he keeps his eyes only on you. Then briefly direct your gaze towards that damn phone of his before looking into his eyes. Vicious scarlet turned lovesick velvet; it engulfs you in safety. Your lip quivers, and you bite down to stop it from doing so. What would Sylus say if you asked to look through his phone? How irritated or annoyed would he be? But his eyes are so warm, and you crave the gentle adoration it drowns you in.

“Can I... look through your phone?” You ask hesitantly, breaking eye contact first.

Well. That was the last thing he expected you'd ask him. He stares at you a little dumbfounded, only briefly, before regaining his composure. He expected a favor, something grand or perhaps requested the impossible from him. Of all things Sylus owns, and you ask for his mobile device. With a quirk of his brow and small tug at his lips, he gestures for you to come closer. When you do, he sits you across his lap, pulling his phone from the coffee table with his evol and drops it off in your hands.

“Go ahead, sweetie. I have nothing to hide from you, only the authorities.”

Sylus is patient when you begin your... search. Throughout all the apps he has; social media, websites, albums, contacts. You find that most of it contains you and N109 business. Pictures of you that you don't recall him taking, candid ones looking away from the camera. Auction sites where he's betting on antique weapons and vintage wine. Messages to Luke and Kieran regarding missions, and sometimes about keeping an eye on you. Ominous ones from others that come in the form of—

“What do the codes mean?” The question tumbles out of you before you fully think it through. Damn you.

His hand envelops yours, scrolling through the messages with his thumb.

“This one, is a location. Some sort of trap, most likely. The one you looked at earlier was a threat. And as for this...” Sylus explains every single one, not even hesitating.

Once you're satisfied, you give him back his phone. There was nothing. No other girl, no secret lover, not a single piece of incriminating evidence. Shame and guilt immediately take root within you. Sylus is not that kind of person, you should have known that. Should have trusted him more and let it be. Why were you like this? Apologize. It's what you need to do now because maybe he thought you were doubting him.

“I'm sorry—” he cuts you off.

“No. You have nothing to apologize for. Didn't I tell you that you have access to all my resources? Including, but not limited to, my phone. You can take a mile if I give you an inch.”

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle. Even the tips of your fingers, and a final one on the inside of your palm.

“Next time, you don't need to ask. Just snatch it away from me if you think I'm giving it too much attention. I'll drop anything to show you how much I adore you.” He looks at you, gaze unwavering.

You will never be too much for Sylus. Everything that you have to offer, he will devour like a dog starved. He has been deprived of the intensity of your affections for far too long to be picky. If your love is tender, he will soften himself from metal to clay and be molded by your hands as best he can. And if your love is untamed ferocity he will embrace you with open arms, ready to be ripped apart. It will be alright— Sylus will stitch himself back together if that was what you needed him to do. That is what he will do to love you.

[seewetter]

"ofc we’re stupid and illiterate our schools suck!!!"

The whole framing is wrong.

Why are people talking about "stupid" Americans? Because they're discussing why America so often is plagued by decisions with foresee-ably terrible outcomes.

But America is an oligarchy, it's participatory elements are minimal and often pure aesthetic. How much control do people exercise in a first-past-the-post electoral system with massive corporate bribes (Superpacs) that also influence media reporting, which is also a surveillance and police state?

Rhetorical question, right? So if Americans barely exercise control, what are we criticizing? Are we criticizing the >70% of Americans who don't even own a firearm? Or the majority of Texans that vote Democrat...even though it's a "red state" due to how their laws work? Are we criticizing the American majority that shows sympathies for Bernie Sanders, support abortion, queer rights, trans rights, realizes climate change is real and is the reason why "woke" (diverse) Hollywood movies make such money?

Why criticize Americans for watching Marvel, when Marvel viewership numbers have collapsed over the years?

Why criticize Americans for not knowing who James Baldwin is, when James Baldwin is in many ways not someone who affected the course of history or someone who Americans -- who I am CERTAIN use the public library all the time -- would necessarily stumble upon when reading in a public library. What, did you learn about Baldwin from watching Nosferatu? Or maybe a Cronenberg movie? Would Americans borrowing books on history naturally stumble on Baldwin? If they borrow the collected speeches of Martin Luther King Jr. or the Autobiography of Malcolm X, will these reference James Baldwin?

People know who James Baldwin is because he is an excellent writer and certain white Jewish intellectuals in the 1970s stumbled across his prose and made him famous and later Baldwin would burn those ties and became famous within progressive activist circles. This does not mean that a visit to a public library will make people aware that he exists. You have to know what to look for.

Also progressives often know who he is but not what he said. How many progressives do you know who don't care that James Baldwin talked about the "myth of race", that James Baldwin considered post-racial thinking to be more progressive than identity politics? Most progessives who know Baldwin quote him second-hand or third-hand, why are you not mad at them? Why some nebulous idea of "Americans"?

"because you assholes have had FREE ACCESS to THOUSANDS of books and audiobooks and classic films this ENTIRE TIME you’ve been blaming your schools for your elected ignorance!!!"

In 19th century anarchist literature, a distinction was often made between the freedom to do something and the capacity to do something. The freedom and legal right to buy a yacht is nice...but if you can't actually buy a yacht, you have the freedom but not the capacity.

Like how many holidays and free weekends does the average American have? There has to be a better way to educate people with a busy schedule than shaming them about their ignorance, especially when ignorance is tied to class. DON'T misread me. I'm not saying working class people are ignorant. I'm saying some people can afford a very nice education for their kids and other people can't. "Oh, it's on the internet, which is free" is not how people spontaneously become enlightened.

Like: just have a chat with a Joe Rogan listener. They're mostly Trump supporters, but all of the ones I've met are achingly sincere. They really do have the wool over their eyes, they're usually not malicious. And they're really really ...like they don't have a good research strategy. They don't even know what that looks like. They think they're "studying" when they listen to podcasts. That's a thing they think. Do you think free access to libraries and internet has given these people all they need to free themselves from their shackles and the risks they pose to others? Do you think people just spontaneously sit down and every week for a year devote all available time to researching academic literature on a hot button topic? Many of these people don't even know where to find appropriate academic literature ("It's too expensive" thought one Rogan listener I know) and many of them associate these resources with academic agendas.

Look up "hermeneutics of suspicion". It's when people approach a topic looking for ways to confirm their suspicious feelings. That's what's going on there. People read some academic article and they suspect it's all BS. If they don't understand a concept, they assume someone is trying to manipulate them. And why shouldn't they, the media is blatantly dishonest, academia has a number of crises and universities have certain conflicts of interest. Why shouldn't these people spontaneously start from such a place? It's not your job to shame them, because if you do, they assume you are doing so from a place of ideological fanaticism, rather than from a place of informed frustration. You know the meme where trans people talking about gender is represented as Plato and Aristotle in the agora, having a debate, while trans people talking to cis people about gender is represented as a mom helping her toddler assemble building blocks? That analogy applies to any topic. There are a lot of adult "toddlers" out there and if you call them toddlers to their face, they will rightfully be ashamed and upset. They put a lot of work into forming their beliefs, they just don't have a good starting point. Or decent tools. Or non-judgmental 24/7 help. And they exist in a quagmire of bullshit claims. And they relate to misinformation in a vibes-based way if the information otherwise seems to be applicable and more useful in their life.

If someone lives in a media environment that reassures them that they are currently studying the (alternate) facts and informing themselves, or that they are currently getting the gist of the facts from experts, then people won't necessarily use the library or grasp its value. Also you have to use the library correctly.

"and if you expect me to you’re classist and 18 year old Americans are too stupid to know bombing foreign countries kills people so it’s okay if they choose to do that rather than work at McDonald’s and of course I have no idea what stocks are or what colonialism is and MCU is the height of cinema and it’s feminist to wear makeup like."

I find teens accusing every intellectual impulse of being classist and ableist unbearable too, but not so long ago, this website popularized the idea that the only valid criticism of feminism was an anti-racist, anti-classist, anti-ableist, anti-transmisogynist, anti-perisexist etc. criticism.

In other words "I refuse to course correct unless you show me how my current course hurts a minority."

So yes, people will defend American complacency using ridiculous "anti-classist" rhetoric. Because it's the only defense they've seen modelled and maybe even the only defense that's socially permitted in their circle of friends.

Defenses of war crimes are horrible. Period. If people think Americans don't have a partial responsibility just because they were ignorant, they're wrong. But partial responsibility isn't full blame and more importantly: are real Tumblr users actually saying that exact thing in good faith? Are people out there defending ignorant Americans who never talked to a soldiers about what a bomb is and does or who never watched a bomb dropped in a movie?

I agree Disney adults can be irritating, but I think that most Americans aren't Disney adults and those that are... are from all walks of life and varying degrees of ignorance. Are Disney adults, Marvel fans, the ones who don't grasp that bombs kill people? Or is this a weird mishmash of stereotypes that don't capture why America, as a state institution, is such a horror? To me it's also sad that Americans get overly emotional about Mickey Mouse and that Marvel movies got so successful, but I think this is not really connected to America. Marvel movies and Disney parks aren't uniquely American, America is just -- at gunpoint -- the largest economy in the world, so a lot of junk that people worldwide consume comes from there. Disney Parks in Japan or France do quite well and also involve Disney Adults, we just don't hear about them so much and the money is ultimately made by America, a country with military bases in almost every other country. Is this the fault of Disney Adults in Orlando, Florida? I don't think so.

Also makeup is an "unfeminist choice", but feminists should, in fact, fight for people's freedom to make unfeminist choices. Kate Harding had an entire essay on that.

As for the reply:

When trying to convince someone that their reasons for believing something are faulty, always make sure to point out what they may have missed and try not to miss anything yourself.

Let me provide a few examples:

"Did you know that to get to a library here, you have to travel?"

The person you are responding to wrote (and you acknowledged it with "I'm glad you found a way to access our libraries") that to read the contents of a library, all that is needed is digital access.

So then "did you know you have to travel" doesn't make sense as the next sentence. It's on its face unconvincing.

"Since you know so much about us, you must know that our public transportation system is all but non-functional, and a lot of people can't even afford bus fare, let alone their own vehicle, and most of our cities are not walkable. The closest library in the town where my half-siblings grew up was a 30-minute drive away. But there are digital libraries, of course!"

Of course! And their existence invalidates all the detailed descriptions you just provided for the inaccessibility of American libraries. Americans that don't use the libraries don't use them because (A) they forget these exist (B) they don't want to use them (sometimes out of shame, sometimes out of misguided conviction).

"Did you know that not every single one of us stupid Americans has access to a home computer and internet?"

The OP you are responding to was concrete about being frustrated by kids (18 19 20 year olds) on Tumblr. If they're on Tumblr, they must have internet and must be able to access an internet library.

"Did you know that exceptionally strict conservative parents monitor their childrens' internet usage and restrict what they can see?"

Yes and.

Yes, and this influences blindspots that some Americans have.

See, on its own "do you know some parents monitor internet" creates a strawman example, where the people OP was attacking (people who freely use tumblr.com, "the queerest site on the internet") are somehow being treated as if they have parents that monitor their internet usage and censor all content that might burst their conservative bubble. I hope we can agree that these are two different groups of Americans.

"Did you know that school library media centers (computer labs) restrict access to a lot of websites and information that do not pertain to curriculum? Of course you did."

But if the people are goofing around on Tumblr calling others "classist" for expecting them to know stuff, how is the computer lab not restricting their Tumblr access? How does Tumblr pertain to their curriculum?

It's possible that this is a censorship oversight or something, but again, the real counterargument against OPs nonsense isn't "Americans aren't free to know new information" and rather "Americans often lack the capacity to even know what they're looking for". I don't think OP name-dropping James Baldwin and stocks will have given people any real idea of what they need to look for, especially if they need comprehensive education on everything from ecology to statecraft and civics to economics, to history, geography, moral philosophy, epistemology, foreign policy, marginalized perspectives and activism, statistics, organizing, protesting safety, IT security and data protection, narrative structure, narrative experimentation, artistic craft, avant-garde sensibilities (I'm being entirely unironic about that.), reading comprehension, project management, culinary skill, survival skills, networking skills, the list goes on.

This also isn't merely an "American" problem. I know plenty of Australians, Kiwis, Canadians, Europeans who use gmail accounts, don't understand imperialism and need a crash course in epistemology every time a hot button issue comes into discussion because they just keep shouting at each other without treating the other party as a human being with their own heuristic for gathering, evaluating and processing information.

"Did you know that lobbyists are trying very hard to defund and even actively shut down our libraries. Partially because they don't want us to have access to free recources, but also because ignorance works in their favor? Did you know book bans are being placed in libraries across the country, based on what conservatives deem inappropriate?"

Most of those points seem a little off topic (lobbyists trying to defund libraries may affect future ignorance but doesn't account for ignorance today), but I grant that the book bans really might have some kind of impact that prevents people from having heard of James Baldwin. It's a decent reply to the OP, who seems to think all libraries serve up the same information to all Americans. But you should be fair enough to recognize that it still is a bit weird when the people who show up ignorant are ...Tumblr users smart enough to be making accusations of classism.

"Since you know all about how we are educated, you must know that American curriculum is designed to discourage curiosity and create the illusion that we are far and above all other nations and that everything we are taught in our classes about others is simply all there is to know."

What I've heard is that many public school teachers in America are extremely dedicated well-meaning people. I've met a few American teachers and their German counterparts, for example, earn about 20 times what they earn. So American teachers often really are in it to help kids learn.

I'm not sure that the American curriculum really exists to "discourage curiosity", that sounds a bit weird to me. I do know the Texas board of education tried to ban critical thinking and I know American schools have some weird national anthem singing and I bet they teach American exceptionalism. But I would say perhaps the only reason any of that sticks is because Americans often can't afford to visit other countries.

I have not heard that Americans learn that school teaches them all there is to know, but when I think of ignorant Americans, they often give me the opposite impression: that of a "do your own research type" who doesn't think "I know everything from school" and instead just never bothered to buy a book about Atmospheric Phenomena (or grab a illegal free .pdf copy) and therefore thinks some glittering orb in the sky is a alien spacecraft. Genuinely, ignorant people are often really nice people who try to learn about the world, have a real desire to learn new things... and then they watch Graham Hancock or some other well-designed nonsense and they mis-educate themselves and get very defensive if anyone tries to correct them, however gently, in part because they lack even the basic skills to know whether the correction is plausible.

"So, with all of this information that you clearly already had at your disposal, do you genuinely believe these children are cognizant or at all concerned with how much they know about other countries and cultures?"

I think the better question to ask is "Do you really think only Americans would fail at "Are you smarter than a 5th grader?""

Because let's face it, I've seen European versions of that premise, where they go out into the street, ask a basic question ("What's the equator?") and get embarrassing answers ("A line that floats in the sky above the center of our planet").

OPs gripe with "Americans" is that they know other countries exist but just don't care. But hey, are Europeans that much better? In Europe, people know European countries...because countries are small and these are almost like American "states" in a way, especially since the EU is in many ways a country in all but name (and lack of military). How many Europeans know how many African countries there are, what their names are, what their capitals are, what their history is, what colonial powers kept which country under control when and for how long? How many Europeans know anything about Laos or Cambodia? Do Europeans even know which continent Cambodia is on?

And I've talked to Japanese people and found incredible ignorance. And do we imagine that the education system in, say, Burkina Faso or Brazil produces much more worldly individuals?

If you want to criticize specifically American ignorance you need to things: you need lots of real-life examples AND you need to prove these examples are unique to America.

Like India recently managed to get a lot of kids into school long enough to learn how to read, which is awesome! But if someone from India (like OP) is attacking American ignorance, OP is likely doing so from a certain degree of "wealth in the family". That's not a criticism, just a (hopefully humbling) observation. Countries around the world can blame their widespread ignorance on colonialism...and then get upset at ignorant colonizers. But maybe no place on Earth really produces a completely sufficiently informed citizenship.

"Adults who are groomed through adulthood to believe that "bombing foreign countries" and selling their body to their government is one of the only accessible options to receive further education."

Isn't the American military facing historically low recruitment numbers and worried about morphing into a "warrior caste" (their words, not mine) because their recruits mostly come from old military families where everyone's in the military? Not to say the poor person going to the army doesn't exist, but aren't most Americans pretty anti-military, especially these days?

"You believe these people are simply bumbling idiots too self-absorbed to want to learn about the history and inner workings of every other nation around them?"

Why emphasize that public schools brainwash the kids with American exceptionalism and then turn around to argue that the people leaving public school AREN'T self-absorbed about their own country? That comes off as overly defensive, not as a reflective response. I doubt OP found that argument very convincing.

"Like, you understand that not knowing what you don't know is a thing, yes?"

But OP must at least be partially correct. Like -- I would blame maybe feelings of overwhelm at all the information, and maybe mistrust of information sources -- but it does often come across, at least at first glance, that a lot of Americans can't be bothered to understand basic geography. Like they know countries outside of America exist, but aren't bothered enough to find out what they are.

Again, this is probably not a purely American problem, but one does sometimes get the impression that many Americans approach conversations without making sure they have a bit of an overview of the topic. They often just seem to research the talking points of their side in a debate (i.e. they know the history of colonialism better than they know which countries have Spanish as an official language, so it's easy to make them look stupid or they have to ask what tariffs are but they already think tariffs are great since Trump is doing them...like why aren't they reading the "tariffs" page on Wikipedia or whatever, to get at least a general idea? What's going on?)

"I would go as far as to point out the hypocrisy of all of your shaming when the beginning of your post clearly states that you were ignorant of a resource available to you before it was pointed out to you."

Now that's a sick burn. But don't get cozy.

"Your time spent belligerently accusing a whole society of people which you deem unintelligent of being willfully uneducated and unwilling to reach beyond their own privilege would be better spent sharing resources you've found and encouraging others to broaden their own horizons. But hatred of the American public as a whole is a lot easier when you can paint us all as intentionally dumb and heels-dug-in fascists."

It is hard for people to grasp how little control Americans have over their society. When America always advertises itself as "land of the free" it seems like they freely choose to be giant assholes on the world stage.

And it's only with a lot of reflection and/or research that people realize just how much the game is rigged. But still...the people who just flat out support tariffs, for example, without wasting a single braincell on experimenting on how they can find information on it that doesn't come from a possibly biased pro-Trump source...like it feels like willful ignorance. Part of me can't believe it isn't.

ever since i got access to american library cards thanks to tumblr user anneemay (pbuh) 2 weeks ago ive lost even the 3% sympathy i had for americans crying ofc we’re stupid and illiterate our schools suck!!! because you assholes have had FREE ACCESS to THOUSANDS of books and audiobooks and classic films this ENTIRE TIME you’ve been blaming your schools for your elected ignorance!!! from my home in India I’ve listened to eight audiobooks and watched half of cronenberg’s oevre and I’m watching nosferatu (1922) today and I can’t even go to a library in person and you people have had these things your entire life yet you come on tumblr at 18 19 20 and say you don’t know who james baldwin is and if you expect me to you’re classist and 18 year old Americans are too stupid to know bombing foreign countries kills people so it’s okay if they choose to do that rather than work at McDonald’s and of course I have no idea what stocks are or what colonialism is and MCU is the height of cinema and it’s feminist to wear makeup like. my god. you people are going to go through the rest of your life being incoherently stupid and it’s not because you’re poor and it’s not because your schools suck but its because you’re so ensconced in your American privilege that you will never be forced to confront the realities of life and you can go on living your Disney adult fantasies because you’ve destroyed your innate human curiosity and potential at the altar of hyper consumption.

[poisonf0rest]

First ask, kinda nervous - but let's go (I found your blog yesterday, and I already became a fan✨️)

I saw you like love and deepspace, do you have a headcanon about one of the characters?

I swear, before the new update (that they put a period calendar), one of my biggest headcanons was that Zayne has a period app in his cellphone because of the MC. So he knows when she is moody because of the period, then he gives her a lot of sweets and hugs and cuddles ❤️

rafayel headcanons

♱⋅── Don't be nervous, love~ That's such a sweet headcanon for Zayne, I definitely can see it happening as well! If you've been following my blog then you already know I'm obsessed with a certain fishie, so here are some (a lot) of headcanons I have for him~

general headcanons:

If this were a normal!AU I definitely headcanon Rafayel being younger than the MC (she'd be 27, a full-time bodyguard and he'd be 24 but a famous art protegee since 15), but Rafayel insists he's the older one to everyone you meet. It drives you insane.

He canonically has a Mercedes Benz AMG Gran Turismo and Ferrari 250GT, but I think he has at least three sports cars.

It's not a symbol of wealth to him because, honestly, Rafayel simply doesn't check the price tags on anything-- if it's a beautifully designed car, suit, jewelry, or painting, he buys it without another thought.

And vice versa. If an expensive label offers to sponsor him but he hates the designer he'll refuse no matter what the pay is.

Also suuuch a niche thought but I can so see normal!AU Raf and you first hooking up in a club or bar. You disappear the morning after mind-blowing sex, and Rafayel can't get you out of his head-- but he doesn't even know your name.

He makes paintings of hidden freckles on your body, of your blurry figure dancing in the dress you wore that night, of colors and swirls that remind him of your touch. The media goes crazy over this mystery woman who's taken over the famous artist's heart.

He has no reservations about calling you his muse and within hours the press is abuzz with speculation on this mystery person who has captured the artist's heart.

"Love? Yes, I'm in love with her."

You, on the other hand, are mortified. You try to forget about him and move on but cue a series of further coincidences and shenanigans that tie you and Rafayel closer and closer together.

Also, he would fuck you in the passenger seat of his sportscar while the paparazzi are swarming outside.

And since it's a cold January, of course Rafayel would use any excuse to whisk you away somewhere warmer:

Rafayel would love taking you on vacation to different islands.

Beautiful secluded villas on the ocean with no one around to disturb the two of you as you spend your days lounging around the open-air rooms, Rafayel’s paintings strewn about the entire villa, splashing it with more color anytime you're not walking along the beach, cooking something together, swimming in the ocean at sunset, or fucking on every possible surface.

On days the two of you would want to go into civilization, he'd take you to lively local bars and restaurants, and as soon as reggae music starts playing you best believe he's tugging you up to dance. Especially if he has a drink or three in his system.

Laughing, one arm laces around your waist as the other spins you around. Rafayel chases away any sort of anxiety or awkwardness you might initially feel just by how happy and natural this seems for him. You're the only person he cares about, so what does it matter if no one else is dancing? Or if a dozen other couples are doing the same? As long as you're in his arms, happy, Rafayel couldn't care less.

He's a damn fine dancer too. Being a swimmer and all he has to have good control of his body, and we all saw him be a natural center during that lnds dance show lmao.

You best believe you're also fucking nasty in the sand.

Disguised as a cute dinner date, he blindfolds you and leads you to a hidden cover decorated with string lights, a candle-lit dinner on a picnic blanket waiting for you, which he spent all day preparing while feigning fighting art block.

It’s romantic and sweet, the way Rafayel expects praise for all his hard work and the way you’re more than happy to shower him with it. You feed each other as the sun sets behind the ocean’s horizon, yet you can’t even get to dessert before kissing him senseless.

"Wow, someone's excited."

"Shut up and kiss me."

Rafayel's smug grin is swallowed up by your lips, and he barely has the sense to shove aside plates of food before pulling you down atop him on the blanket.

You're grinding on each other like lovesick teens, moaning and giggling between yourselves before you pepper kisses down Rafayel's neck as you thank him for everything— for planning this wonderful vacation, for setting up this romantic diner, for being yours.

And being called yours? Being lovingly, irreversibly claimed?

That does things to Rafayel.

"Ya, I'm all yours cutie, my muse, my sweet darling." Rafayel smiles up at you, covered in the deep red of your lipstick from his cheeks to the jut of his collarbone peaking out under his ruffled shirt. "Yours."

He flips the both of you around, swallowing your yelp with a kiss and cushioning your head with his hand as it hits the sand. Hooking your leg onto his shoulder, Rafayel kisses the delicate bone of your ankle, lips tracing up the curve of your calf, up to the tender bend of your knee, all watching your expression twist with desire as his other hand teases your inner thigh.

I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours. It's a promise, a prayer whispered into your skin between love bites, between suckles on your skin that taste like seasalt and desire.

When Rafayel does finally kiss your cunt, it's light, teasing, and he admires the pretty lace, bunching up your dress just enough to still hold eye contact over the folds as he sucks your swollen clit through the fabric.

One of your hands tugs against his hair, Rafayel moaning at the sudden pressure as you bring the other up to stifle your cries.

"No, no, please don't do that," he whines, nuzzling into your thigh, looking up at you with puppy eyes before roughly fucking two fingers into your weeping cunt. "Wanna hear you, my little siren. My heart."

Greedy. Rafayel is greedy for everything you give him, taking your hand from your mouth and gently kissing your knuckles as every precise curl and thrust of his hand makes you moan and writhe against the sand. Each sound you make a melody, each cry of his name intoxicating.

It's not long before Rafayel goes back to eating you out, unable to keep his mouth off you for long. He forces you to hold eye contact as he makes out with your cunt, eyes rolling back at the wet, sloppy sounds in between his pussydrunk moans and the distant roar of the ocean.

Only when you cum for the third time, desperately tugging his hair between pleas for mercy, does Rafayel relent with a whine.

Placing one last kiss on your swollen clit, his dazed smile meets yours, the dark pink blush covering his face matching the hearts in his eyes. Your lipstick stains are still visible, branding your kisses into his high cheekbones, neck, and sweat-slick chest. Shit, even his undoubtedly expensive shirt is stained around the collar.

But the marks around his lips and down his jaw are all smudged by your release, marring Rafayel's pale skin with a dark red, dripping down his throat as he swallows the taste of you once more. And when you meet his eyes again, you realize he's far from done.

"Say I'm yours. Say I'm yours again."

[godmadeaterribleerror]

No More

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, so much angst, hurt/comfort, small fluff at the end, pre-established relationship, past abusive/toxic relationship, soft Dean

Summary/Warnings: Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them.

And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one's heavy guys. If you think that past abusive relationships might be a no go for you, make the right choice for yourself <3. If not, enjoy (?) the story.

Word Count: 4k

It had been a good hunt. An objectively good hunt. Done in two days, no bodies to burn or bury, an alright bar in the town, and Sam managing to get his own room because he’s sick of you trying to bang Dean in front of him.

“Hey, don’t blame my girl for how you’re always sticking your ass in our business-“

“We share a room, Dean!” Sam had said, half-throwing his hands in the air. “Where else am I supposed to stick my ass if not in our communal living space-“

Dean had snorted. “Communal living space? Dude, you sound like such a jackass-“

“Why, because I can use big words like space?”

“I- Watch it, Sammy-“

“I’ll watch it if you stop trying to fuck on my bed!”

They’d kept arguing. You’d remained silent, picking at the wood of the table and wondering if—should you actually attempt to—you could sink into Dean’s chest and just stay there for a while. It would be warm and solid, and probably not all that safe—that man got himself stabbed and shot a lot—but safer than being in you. Then your traitorous and useless body, made only to be snapped in half. It must have something written on it or in it, emit some kind of blacklight or stench that said weak. Dumb, weak little bitch, lucky to have this because you don’t deserve it. Couldn’t deserve it.

Better, you could turn to stone, right here in the booth. If you could do that, you’d never get another bruise on your throat or hear venomous words spat in your ear. Sam and Dean could leave you behind and never have to feel any guilt. Dean could stop having to pretend he likes you as more than a body, and pull away without beating himself up about abandoning you like a used and worn couch. 

Moth-eaten and stained, only still in the house because it feels wrong to throw it out. Because you have a little sentimentality for the couch when it was nice, before it had been beaten and abused and reduced to just a lumpen sack of feathers and cloth.

You don’t think that comparison is fair to the couch. 

At least the couch was once useful.

Because it had been a good hunt.

You were the problem.

You’d slipped and wavered and fallen. But the whole place had smelled like lavender soap, and it had carried you back to where that same smell had suffocated you. He had loved that smell, and said it made you seem prettier and softer than you were. 

This whole case had reeked of him. And you’d told yourself you’d be fine. That it was in the past, and he wasn’t supposed to have that kind of control over you anymore. That the world seems gray in that vamp nest, but it was winter, so that was to be expected. And when you’d been knocked flat on your back, you’d seen a crack in the ceiling—identical to the one that had been over his bed—but had been a coincidence. Ceilings cracked, and there were only so many patterns in the world.

And when a Vamp had wrapped its hand around your throat, that was just something that happened to hunters. You all got hurt and beaten and had close calls. That was the job. You’d faced worse than this. You’d faced blood coating your fingers and splattered on your face, guts pooling at your feet and long moments where you’d been sure no one would come and save you.

Dean had always saved you. Even before you’d started doing more—and then more and more and more, until it seemed pretty obvious you were dating and it was more exhausting to fight it than accept it—Dean had always been saving you. He’d had to do it today, yanking the Mare off your chest and cradling your head against his chest until you were breathing easily. 

Yet again, you’d been the problem. The hunt had been easy and simple, and you’d still fucked it because you sucked. You were dead-weight. You couldn’t stop feeling the hand around your throat—imprinted like a tattoo that made your words small and body smaller—and you couldn’t stop the weighed down feeling of hopelessness. Your brain stuck on a scratching loop around the Vamp’s hiss of dumb, annoying, weak little bitch, until you couldn’t manage to smile at anything at all.

It just made you feel worse, because Dean might be worried you don’t think he’s being funny. That whenever he makes truly horrible joke and you don’t giggle like a lovesick schoolgirl, it’s because he’s gone wrong.

He’s done nothing. You really hope he just gives up and tosses you aside, because he shouldn’t have to put up with worry about something so valueless. He’d find someone else. Someone better and more deserving. You’re just lucky he ever even looked at you, let alone bothered to try and stay. To try and be the hero that keeps rescuing the princess, even when the princess is just a peasant who can put on a show.

You’d tricked him into thinking you’re better than you are. Lied to him until you’d trapped him, and now he had to stay with you, because he’s a good man and you’re simply the fucking worst thing in the world to darken his path, and he’ll leave if he really saw you-

That’s not fair to Dean. He is a good man. Better than he was, by miles and stretches and eons, but that really just made it hurt more. Because Dean’s not him, but you’re still you. The same you who was weak, and stupid, and undeserving. That doesn’t change. It only grows now that you have someone you really don’t deserve. Someone who glows in the low light of the night, laughs in a way that fills the bar with life, and always touches you like he’d like to keep you.

You aren’t something that should be kept. But he’s doing it anyway.

And there’s some bile in your throat at the thought. And that’s just another way in which this—in which you—are horrible.

But the worst part was that things like this happened all the time, and you still weren’t strong enough to build an immunity. To just move on, like a big girl. To actually teach yourself that he was in the past, and this you—now, in the present, sitting with your smoking hot boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders—didn’t have any right to be afraid anymore.

“Are you feeling okay?” 

You blink at Dean as he guides you out of the bar, Sam walking a few feet ahead and the wind of the night is so cold-

Dean says your name, his brow furrowing in the way it does when he’s worried, and you give him your best, softest, most docile smile.

“Everything’s fine.” You say, and you can almost believe yourself. Your voice is gentle and small and doesn’t sound like you, but it’s the best way to end the questions. You’ll fold over. You’ll bend until you snap. And nobody needs to push you for that to happen. 

But Dean’s still frowning. “Are you sure? ‘Cause if you’re feeling well we can head back to the bunker tonight, and Sam won’t have to get his own room-“

“No, Dean, I’m-“

“Yeah, no, Dean.” Sam turns, shooting his brother a glare. “How would I get home?”

“You’re smart, Sammy, you’d figure it out-“

You tune out the rest of their fake-argument. You’re mostly listening to the wind. It’s loud, and strong, and cold. So cold, biting at your skin and making your joints stiff, but at least you can feel it. It’s not numbing, and it’s indifferent, and Sam and Dean don’t seem half as affected by it as you are, but they’re also not weak-

“C’mon,” Dean says your name, and you realize you’re moving again. That he’s guiding you into the shotgun seat, and a grumpy looking Sam is clambering into the back.

“Wait, why-“

“We’re dropping Sam off, then heading back.” Dean turns the engine on, his voice barely raising to match the rumble, and you’re not sure you heard him right.

“Why- I don’t-“

“I wanna go home.” Dean shrugs, and it’s too casual. “And Sammy’s a big boy, he’ll be fine without Mommy and Daddy watching him.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, built by Sam’s groan from behind you, and you can’t stop the words from slipping out. “I told you to stop calling us that.”

“Yeah, but you also told me that you were-“ Dean cuts himself off, shaking his head slightly and clearing his throat. “That you weren’t into car sex, and that ain’t ever stopped us-“

You cover his mouth with a hand—his shit-eating grin just as blinding in only his eyes—and Sam makes a fake gagging sound.

And you think Dean knows. That he’s realized that you’re just so tired and weak and useless, and he’s trying to work out if it’s worth keeping you around. If you’ll listen to him and do what he asks—and you will, you always will, not because of the threat of being left but because he’s Dean and he couldn’t lead you astray if he tried—or if he needs to leave you on the pavement to scrape yourself back together.

So you don’t fight him, or insist that Sam can have his privacy and sanity without getting another room or you and Dean leaving, because you don’t really want to be touched like that right now. You just drop Sam off at the motel, grab your bags, and slump back into the Impala’s bench as Sam and Dean exchange low words outside.

By the time Dean joins you, you’re half asleep. And you try to stay awake—to entertain him half as much as he entertains you—but he pulls you right into his side, lets your head rest on his shoulder, and Dean doesn’t smell like lavender. He smells like evergreen and apples, he’s warm when your ears are still a little numb from the cold, and when he starts to hum along to the low music, you’re gone. Everything fades, and it’s just the deep sound of Dean’s voice like a lullaby and a big, firm hand on your thigh that isn’t going to leave a bruise.

Maybe you don’t deserve a bruise. 

Maybe you don’t deserve anything. Maybe you’re lucky to be stuck in this bed with stinging marks around your throat, and a voice like nails on your ears sneering that you’re a weak little bitch. If you were stronger you’d fight back, but you’ve been broken in and can’t be put back together. If you were stronger, you’d scream for help, but you’re also so horribly you that you know nobody will ever come and save you.

Who would try to save you? Who could possibly care about something like you enough to bother and patch up you up, to take string to your skin and heart and organs and tie them back together? You’re not strong enough to make anything stick. You’re made of glass and linen, and any attempt to put you back together would be futile, because you’d probably just break further. Someone would have to be patient enough to pull you back together when you spooled apart, and warm enough to fuse and meld you in a way that wouldn’t shatter with one touch.

You don’t think a person like that would be real. And if they are, they wouldn’t want you.

Because they’d be strong, and you really are weak.

If you were strong, you would’ve left. But you’re still here in this freezing cold bed, staring at the crack on the ceiling.

And you don’t think you’ll ever be more than that. Not as another hand wraps around your throat—you don’t remember what you said, but you must have said something—and there’s a heavy weight on your chest and you can’t breathe-

“Breathe.” A deep voice that sounds like it cares says your name, and you listen. “It’s okay, you’re okay, just breathe for me.”

For him. There’s a hand on your head that’s combing through your hair and pressing you into a place that warm and solid and safe. You’re held steady by an arm around your waist, and it fits so well there. You don’t think it could hurt you if it tried.

He’d sounds kind and caring, and he’d said your name like you mattered, so you’ll try to breathe.

And you don’t remember how to do it for yourself yet, so—just for now, until you can teach yourself to do anything for you—you’ll breathe for him.

“There you go, baby,” the voice mutters, and when you make a weak, choked sound his body tenses, but he doesn’t push you away. “I know, but I’ve got you. Swear I’ve got you.”

He says he’s got you. Dean says he’sgot you.

And you believe him.

So you start to cry.

He’d never liked it when you cried. He’d said it was useless, and that the sound was annoying.

Dean just keeps holding you, and muttering soothing words in your ear until the tears stop flowing. He only keeps rubbing a circle on your back until your breathing slows, and you can lean back to meet his gaze.

He’s not angry. Just worried. 

You’re going to start crying again.

“Are,” you sniff, trying to pull yourself back together by force, and look around the dark space. “Are we still in the car?”

“Pulled over earlier.” He mutters, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone with a care you don’t deserve. “You started doing that tossing shit when you’re about to have a nightmare. Wanted to get ahead of it.”

You swallow. You’d made him pull over, and you had enough nightmares that he knew what one looked like, and you were just a burden and problem and he should just shove you out of the Impala and leave you to rot like carrion on the highway-

“Stop doin’ that.” Dean grunts, and you tense.

“I- I’m not-“

“You’re freakin’ out. You’re freakin’ me out.” Dean scans over your face, pulling you close until you’re half on his lap. “If you’re hurt, you know you gotta tell me, sweetheart. I’m not looking to do a zombie bite thing, where we get home and you start bleeding all over the floor. So tell me.” He takes a deep breath, and his exhale is warm over your lips. “Please tell me.”

You can’t tell him. You’re not ready for him to leave yet.

You drop your brow to Dean’s, taking low, slow breaths and shaking your head. “It’s okay-“

“It’s fucking not.” He snaps your name, his grip tightening slightly, and you flinch. “I- shit- did I hurt you-“

“No.” You mumble. “I’m just tired-“

“You’ve been sleeping for five hours. You’ll get another seven once we get goin’ again. But,” Dean narrows his eyes, even as his grip loosens once more. “We’re not getting back on the road until you answer me. What’s wrong.”

“I-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound. He’s angry. You’d made him angry, and he won’t hurt you but if he did you’d deserve it-

You start crying again, and Dean’s eyes widen. This is it. He’s going to push you out the window and you’ll have to wander through the marshes until the mud just swallows you whole-

Dean pulls you fully into his lap, holding you there carefully and muttering in your ear with a care and reverence you don’t deserve.

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry, fuck, please don’t cry-“

“No, it’s- I’m-“ You take a long, strangled breath, wrapping your arms around his torso until you’re sure you’re going to suffocate him. “It’s not you, Dean, I- It’s not your problem-“

“Fucking hell it’s not my problem.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck. Maybe you really could move in there, and nothing would ever hurt you again. “It’s- You don’t have to-“

“I do.” He mutters, guiding your head back to meet his gaze. He brushes the tears from your eyes. You don’t deserve this. “You’re hurtin’.”

It’s not a question, but you nod anyways. Holding a lie too long has never done you a favor before.

“Tell me how to fix it.”

“You- you can’t fix this,” you mumble, staring at the bridge of his nose. You aren’t worthy of looking him in the eyes. “It’s, it’s just me, Dean. I’m just like this.”

He frowns. “Like what?”

“Weak.” You whisper. “I- I risked the hunt, I always risk the hunt, and I’m not strong like you and Sam are, and I just wanna go home-“

“We’re going home, babygirl.” Dean’s voice is soft, and low, and cautious, and you let out another sob that shakes your whole body. “And you’re not weak, you ganked like three vamps-“

“Could’ve done more.”

“There were seven of them. Three is pretty awesome numbers.” He gives you a nervous small smile. “You’re awesome. I don’t know who’s been telling you otherwise, but you are.”

That’s what breaks you. The floodgates don’t open—they’d barely held anything to begin with—but something snaps along your spine, and you can’t stop the horrible, rotten truth from falling out of your mouth. 

“But he was right.” You whisper. “I’m weak, Dean, and I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

“There’s nothing to see, and I- Who’s he?”

You wish that you’d slept better. If you had, your tongue wouldn’t be loosened with pure exhaustion, and you could lie.

But you’re so tired. Unbelievably tired. Mind-numbingly and persistently tired, all the time, and it’s grow so intolerable you just want to be anything else. And if what you are is weak and alone, at least you’ll know that’s where you're supposed to be. 

And you’d never wanted Dean to know. He was never supposed to learn from your own mouth how foul you are. He was supposed to find out himself, and then leave you like everyone always has the right to do.

But you’re telling him that you’re weak and fearful, that you’d never been able to fight tooth and spit and leave. You waited so, so long to leave and even then, it had only been because he’d been gone for a while, and you were so tired, and you needed to be anywhere but there. 

And you stepped out, and never gone back.

There’s not going back now either. It all spills out, from how you met him to the day you left. And Dean’s so quiet. Only watching you as you speak and squeezing his hold on your hips when you trail off or cry.

But he doesn’t kick you out. And when you finished, you’re still in his lap. You can’t read the expression on his face. The highway lights are dim, and there’s nothing obviously hateful or disgusted written over his features, but you might just be too stupid to see it-

“I’m-“ Dean clears his throat, his voice hoarse. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You blink at him, the tears still blurring your vision. “What.”

“That’s- I didn’t know, I never even fucking guessed- I should’ve guessed-“

“How would you have guessed?” You whisper, risking a drop of your brow back to his. He lets you stay. “I never told you-“

“But I know you. I should’ve seen it, you- I should’ve made you feel like you could tell me, I-“ His face hardens in his second, his grip tightening, but not to suffocated you. To protect you. To wrap his whole body around yours and keep it there safely. “I should fucking kill him. Cut off his arms and stuff them up his ass, get Cas to put the fear of god in him-“

“Dean, no-“

“He doesn’t just get to fucking do that to you and keep walking around-“

“He shouldn’t.” You mumble. “But he did. Men do all the time. And, I- I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-“

“Don’t apologize.” He grunts, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “You’ve never done anything wrong, baby, it’s just that son of a bitch, who’s gonna get a knock on his door soon-“

“No knocking on doors,” you wrap your arms around his neck, shaking your head against his brow. “Please, Dean, that’s- that’s not what I want-“

“What do you want?”

His question is immediate, and it crashes into you like a tidal wave. Numbing your whole body and kickstarting it in the same second, because you don’t know. You haven’t really known, haven’t had a direction, in years. You wandered and wandered and just tried to keep on breathing, to keep on your feet,  and never let yourself look back. 

You’d never been good at that last part. You kept on breathing because you didn’t have a choice. You’d kept on your feet because if you faltered, you’d fall over and it would be so painful to get back up. 

But you’d always looked back. On nights like this one, over and over and over until your eyes were sunken and your neck was craned to always make sure nothing was behind you. 

It might be nice to rest. To breathe not because it’s a labor, but because it feels nice to breathe the same air as Dean. 

It would be amazing to keep looking back—it’s a habit, and it will die a slow and withering death until it’s gone, and you never pinpoint the moment you lost it—but to also start looking forward. Looking for that place to rest, that you already seem to have found.

What do you want?

“I want some food.” You whisper, leaning back to scan over Dean’s face. “And a nap. Please.”

Dean gives you a small grin, and nods. “I think we can do that. And after, you’ll give me an address-“

“Please don’t kill him, Dean.” You drop your voice slightly, holding his gaze. “I just want to stay with you, and to never see him again. Please.”

Two more wants. You’re on a roll. 

“Just me?” Dean asks, and you don’t he believes you.

But it really is the truth.

“Just you.” You say, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his lips, and humming when he grins against them.

“Lucky you,” he mutters your name against your lips, squeezing his arms around you “I think I know a dude who can swing that.”

You let out a soft giggle—barely a breath, but there—Dean squeezes his arms again, and you really like how he does that. It’s not because he’s trying to remind you where you belong, it’s because he trying to check that you’re there. Like he’s just as afraid that you’ll flee as you are that he’ll shove you aside, and he’s trying to hold you together with everything he has before you slip away.

“You’re really cheesy,” you say, and he chuckles.

“You like it. We start drivin’ again, you think you’ll be able to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, but food-“

“We’re only a few hours out from home.” Dean shrugs, really making no attempt to move you from his lap. “I’ll order whatever you’re feeling when we get back.”

You pause, playing with the hairs on the back of his neck as you think. “How about pizza?”

“Who’s cheesy now-“

You lean back to give him a mock glower. “Dean Winchester.”

“What did you not like that one-“

“It was horrible-“

“That’s not a no-“ 

You cut him off with a long, soft kiss, and you like it here. Wherever Dean is, you’ll like it there.

“Can we please get pizza?” You mumble, and he nods. It’s such a small, normal movement. 

It makes you feel a little more found.

“We can get anything you want, princess.”

End Note: Oof that was a sad one. Sorry squad.

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[mamayura]

Okay but what's crazy is that the episode does subtly reveal that Adrien did keep it a secret from Marinette that he's more than silent jogging buddies with Sublime

In the beginning, Marinette says that when she asked Adrien if he and Sublime talk when they go running he always says "no". This is factually correct as we find out in the end through Sublime:

But there is obviously something not adding up here. Sublime literally says "Outside of running, of course Adrien and I talk". They just arent talking in any of their morning runs because Sublime in particular is doing it as serious training. So no talking because that would impact their breathing, but outside of that? Well, yeah, duh.

And that makes sense

Adrien and Sublime are in the same ancient Greek class, of course they would talk. I'm gonna go with the assumption that this is why Sublime started running by his side, because they vaguely knew each other from Greek class and when they crossed each others running paths one morning they were familiar enough to just run together in silence

Look, I- I dont know how to put this more elegantly, so I'll rip off the bandaid. The vibes I'm getting from this episode are that Adrien was more than cool with not talking anyway because he deliberately keep his friendship with Sublime a secret from Marinette because he knew Marinette would be weird about it and that made him uncomfortable.

He knows his girlfriend and she's peanut-butter-and-jealous.

And the thing is, as much as this certainly is a complicated topic with a lot of factors to consider for both sides, the way the episode had Marinette go about all this...

... the episode proved him RIGHT. He was right to be too uncomfortable with letting Marinette know about being friends with Sublime. She merely found out that they were running together in silence and proceeded to not only keep watching them each morning and taking photos, Marinette even proceeded to stalk the hell out Sublime:

No, this isnt normal. This isnt a "quirky girlfriend" thing to do, or "funny haha". Its one of the reason why Adrien didnt feel comfortable letting her know.

And, I mean, yeah. I can't blame him for it, can I? :I

Later on, Sublime is very quick to piece together that the girl hiding behind them is Adrien's girlfriend. Not the thing I would immediately go with, unless of course Adrien did already vaguely mention having a girlfriend to Sublime at one point. Then yes, her coming to this conclusion after Marinette followed her all day makes a lot more sense. Even if those are not.. nice implications. The episode does go on playing it straight at first that Marinette is the weird and a bit alarming girlfriend.

Look, you can pretty this up if you like, but for me, Adrien is clearly a solid bit uncomfortable and very apologetic here to Sublime because of Marinette's behavior. Sublime too is being nice about it to a degree you shouldnt take for granted. She would have had been perfectly justified in saying something else entirely. Adrien is trying to be a good boyfriend about this, but Marinette is out here proving him right in having struggled with wanting her to know about Sublime. Marinette has been following her around all day, Sublime noticed, and Adrien is doing good faith damage control here by telling Sublime that Marinette has good intentions and only wants to be her friend.

Something, though, that the episode clarified 3 times wasnt really the case:

It is so weird that at the core of the problem for both sides of Adrinette WAS Marinette being peanut-butter-and-jealous.

Marinette did NOT try to befriend Sublime out of some pure-hearted desire to know her. She did so because she feared that Adrien could end up not loving her anymore if she doesnt gain some control over the Sublime situation real quick

And Adrien DID keep his friendship with Sublime a secret from Marinette because, well, was he wrong?

And thats the thing. The episode just DROPS this in favor of saying that Marinette only had these pure-hearted intentions to know her when that isnt true. The episode proved Adrien alarmingly RIGHT in his gut feeling to keep Sublime a secret from Marinette, they just-

They just didnt let him know about any of it as if that makes it any less true. I would understand it if this episode had been entirely about tackling this issue for good. Adrien not being wrong for feeling uncomfortable with letting Marinette know about any new female friends and then Adrien gets proven right, but the situation is saved by Marinette's secondary desire of befriending Sublime.

Sure, not the plot of my choice, but I would GET IT because it would actually cover the given problem. Here it is... they didnt do it. Adrien was proven right, Marinette did everything wrong to Sublime that was possible and ended up breaking her prosthetic and ruined the sponsorship with a combo of Marinette's and Ladybug's harmful inconsideration.

Marinette did exactly what Adrien was afraid of... and they just DON'T resolve the initial Adrinette core of this issue. It's still ongoing. Marinette didnt even get to react in the end to finding out that Adrien did keep her in the dark about talking to Sublime:

I guess for now the explanation for that will be that Adrinette switched positions in this for once and now it's Marinette who isnt questioning it enough that Adrien only said the truth to her going by the technicality of "She only ask him if they talk while running".

Obviously, this is not how it works. He kept her in the dark. And whether he was right to doing so or not isnt important for the feeling I'm getting that this is just the beginning of a streak of similar problems like this. The postponed resolution to this will happen at a later point, and knowing Miraculous, they'll do it after it escalates to hell.

We already saw it in "Illustrhater" and the synopsis for "Werepapas" for example also sounds like Marinette will not stop here being a questionable girlfriend

I just dont understand why they would keep on DOING that?

[shadowmaat]

This is all good information to consider, and the perspective of fostering as opposed to adopting would be a good one to explore more in depth.

While I agree that Din's role was "take care of the kid til I find the right people to raise him," and that this shares a lot in common with fostering, it obviously isn't a traditional set-up. There's no Agency to act as a middleman. No Agency to keep track of records and information. There's just Din.

And that's why I think the handover scene fell apart. Sure, from a cinematic perspective it's all cool and mysterious and brief. Luke swoops in, saves the day, and takes the kid.

But from a realism perspective I think exchanging names and comm codes would be the very least they could do. Even if Din fully plans on never seeing Grogu again. Even if Luke intends to raise and train Grogu in the ways of the Jedi. There are still likely to be questions Luke might need to ask. Does Grogu have any allergies? What's his vaccination status? He's telling me you let him eat five frogs for dessert, and he's so convinced of this I can't tell if he's lying. Is he?

Sure, Luke can get some information direct from Grogu, but he's limited both by what Grogu knows and what Grogu believes. Having another perspective would be useful.

Also, just because a kid gets adopted or goes back to their "real" family doesn't mean the foster parent has to sever all contact forever. That's something that usually gets worked out between the parties. By talking.

It was blatantly obvious that Din and Grogu shared a bond. The least Luke could have done was toss out a breadcrumb. Or explain why he didn't want to maintain contact. Telling Din (and Grogu) that Grogu needs to concentrate on his studies and can't afford any distractions would be a good one. Warning them that their bond is in danger of becoming a threat to them both and everyone around them (as evidenced by Grogu's misguided attempt to strangle Cara) would be great, too, and would emphasize the need for a permanent separation.

Otherwise I don't see the point of implying they'll never be allowed to see each other again. I could get behind a moratorium of, say, a year, to allow Luke to work with Grogu to strengthen his shielding and skills and so forth so that he'll know how to control himself, his emotions, and his bond with Din so that there won't be any danger in a visit/return. But permanent? Why? Canon Jedi lore is a bit of a nightmare to try and parse, but given that Jedi were allowed to go "home" to learn more of their culture, I think there's at least some wiggle room. It could also vary from person to person, rather than being a Temple-wide mandate. Not that it should matter since Luke is doing his own thing and isn't bound by whatever came before.

Anyway! I don't believe Luke "stole" Grogu. That's Sith propaganda right there. I do, however, think things could have been handled better. Even if TPTB hadn't handled it in the moment (and thus ruined all the dramatic tension), there could have been a filler scene showing Din and Luke (or more likely Din and Ahsoka) setting up some ground rules and going over some of the basics of the Care and Feeding of a Tiny Chaos Gremlin.

Favreau really said that Luke Fucking Skywalker is a baby snatcher. The ONE GUY who has never given a single blessed fuck about the jedi attachment rules. He would STEAL A BABY without bothering to leave a name or number to keep in touch with the baby’s dad.

[obito-in-disguise]

Reader's cursed technique is slowly killing them won the poll. So without further ado, I present to you:

| The price of power |

Featuring- Suguru Geto, Fushiguro Toji, Ryomen Sukuna, Kamo Choso, Nanami Kento, and Satoru Gojo.

Ryomen Sukuna

At first, you try your best to hide it from Sukuna. You already know how he despises your life as a sorcerer, the very thing he loathes above all else.

You can’t even fathom the storm that will erupt when he discovers it’s not just your choice but your death sentence.

But alas, you’re only human. Bound to slip up.

You return from a mission one day, pale as a ghost, barely able to keep your feet moving. A sickening weight presses against your chest, your limbs sluggish. The world spins violently. Before you know it, you collapse to your knees, hacking up blood, your body betraying you.

Sukuna watches from the corner of the room, arms folded over his broad chest, a glint of barely constrained fury in his crimson eyes. He doesn't move to help. Of course, he wouldn’t. This was your punishment for being foolish enough to put your life on the line.

The room falls into tense silence until his voice cuts through it.

"You are never to use that technique again."

Your head snaps up, heart racing. "How…?"

He scoffs, stepping closer. "Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice? I can see your life force depleting with every breath you take." His eyes darken with contempt. "I stayed out of it, thinking maybe, just maybe, you had an ounce of common sense. But it’s clear I was wrong."

"You don't understand, Ryo-"

"Be quiet." His voice booms like a thunderclap, sharp enough to make you flinch. He exhales harshly, forcing himself to regain control. "I've let you play the hero long enough. Running around as a jujutsu sorcerer? That ends today."

A part of him almost felt guilty, knowing that the only reason you clung so fiercely to your role as a sorcerer, fighting at the cost of your life, was because you were trying to atone for something that wasn't even your sin. It was his.

You futilely hoped your heroic actions would be enough to balance the weight of his transgressions, somehow blot out his sins. For every sin he committed, you'd supplant with twice as much good deeds.

And that infuriated him more than anything else.

"You can't just ask me to do that!" Your voice cracks with desperation. This was your life. Your identity.

"I can, and I will." His words are final. He grips your arm, helping you up, but you shove him away with trembling hands.

"You don't own me!"

He freezes for a moment, then tilts his head slightly, an impassive look washing over his face. "Very well, then. You’ve left me with no choice."

His voice drops into something more sinister. "Return to that place, and I’ll personally inform them that their highly esteemed sorcerer has been frolicking with the King of Curses."

Your blood runs cold. You know who you’re dealing with. You know the lengths Sukuna will go to get what he wants. His cruelty knows no bounds.

"You wouldn’t," you whisper, shaking your head in denial.

He leans closer, eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. "Try me."

Tears sting your eyes, but Sukuna remains unmoved. He pulls you into his arms despite your resistance, petting your hair with a gentleness that makes you want to tear yourself away from him and collapse all over again.

"This is for your own good" he mutters, voice almost tender.

Your life as a sorcerer is officially over.

As much as you want to hate him, resent him for his cruelty and selfishness, you can’t ignore the part of you that feels the faintest twinge of relief.

Twisted as it is, this is Sukuna's way of keeping you alive. His own brand of protection, drenched in menace and obsession.

When you look up at him, he tilts his head in response, his expression unreadable. And you know, no matter how warped it may be, this is love, as monstrous as the man who holds you.

Suguru Geto

Suguru believes this is some sort of divine punishment from the universe. Every night, haunted by dreams of past sorcerers lost to the system, he’s convinced that everyone he loves is destined to suffer at the hands of jujutsu society.

And so, with a heavy heart and a resolve forged in despair, he decides to strike back.

To do something about this God-awful system that drains every ounce of worth from its people until nothing remains.

One cold, rain-soaked night, when the world seemed as broken as his own heart, he acted. You were at your weakest, a moment when doubt and exhaustion blurred your senses. Before you could protest, he grabbed you and vanished into the storm.

Soon after, he emerges as a whirlwind of rebellion. The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons marks his war against jujutsu society, declaring that every act of violence, every sacrifice, was done in your name.

"Suguru, what the hell are you doing?" you yell, fists pounding against his chest when you realize what he's done "You made me a defect! I'm branded a traitor now!"

He grabs you, his eyes wild, glazed over with something akin to madness. "I did it to save you" he insists, his voice unwavering. "Don't you see? If you stay with them, they'll keep sending you on missions until you’re dead!"

The air seems to still as your mind races back to memories of simpler days, quiet moments shared in the soft glow of a setting sun, laughter echoing in corridors that once felt like home. You recall a time when every scar told a story of bravery rather than betrayal.

"That wasn’t your choice to make! I love being a sorcerer-" you begin, but your words are swallowed by the storm of your emotions.

"Why should your love for these people spell the end of your life!" he yells out, gripping your shoulders as though trying to shake sense into you, eyes pleading with you.

For a long, agonizing moment, your anger falters under the weight of his vulnerability. You watch him shake with emotion, watch the man you love unravelling before your eyes.

With everything Suguru had been through, you were surprised he didn't crack sooner. Haibara's death, Riko's murder, falling behind Satoru, you'd wondered how he seemed to stomach it all, but it was clear as day to you now. Suguru was not well.

He cups your face, his touch both tender and resolute. "Hate me if you want, but at least you'll be alive" a reassurance meant more for himself than for you.

For the next few months, he keeps you as a prisoner of love. Isolated and weakened, your mind becomes fertile ground for his manipulative truths.

He presents the scars left by the system, scars not only etched into your body but twisted deep into his soul. The memory of every lost friend and every bitter injustice converges in his words, painting the jujutsu world as the real enemy.

Slowly, insidiously, his beliefs begin to seep into your consciousness. The line between your thoughts and his conditioning blurs until you find yourself wondering:

'maybe the world wouldn't be such a bad place without those damned monkeys'

Fushiguro Toji

"Are you scared?" Toji’s voice is low, steady, but there's a dangerous edge to it. He tosses his gun up and down in his hand as he waits for you to respond.

Your throat tightens. What's the point in lying now? You already have one foot in the grave. "Yes."

"Those bastards" he says, pushing himself off the wall. "They did this to you."

The rage that flickers across his face is immediate and terrifying, but he immediately reels himself in.

They made you scared.

You grab his arm before he can move. "Being a sorcerer is where my heart is. It's not their fault."

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding audibly. "The hell it isn’t." He yanks his arm free with a force that nearly topples you. "You're not dying for these people."

"And I'm not quitting!" you snap back, desperate "If I'm going to die anyway, isn't it better I die doing what I love? for the people I love?"

Without a word, Toji turns on his heel and disappears into the night.

Something flickers in his eyes, something raw and guttural. His expression falters, not in anger, but in something far more devastating; heartbreak, pity.

Watching you plead to sacrifice yourself for people who never gave a damn was unbearable.

You don’t know how long you wait. Each second stretches like an eternity, gnawing at your nerves. And when Toji finally returns, the world as you know it has already shattered. The jujutsu headquarters is left in ruins, higher ups dead.

His shirt is torn, skin slick with blood, some his, most not. The stench of iron clings to him, thick and nauseating.

Your heart races. "Toji...What did you do?" you demand, voice trembling.

Toji wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, gaze cold and unrepentant as he begins to take off his bloodied clothes. "I handled it."

"You, you killed them? how could you! they were good people" The words falter on your tongue, disbelief mingling with horror.

He steps closer, towering over you, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. "You're not well, listen to yourself! They were killing you slow!"

He pauses, his grip loosening, and his expression darkens. "You think I care what they were? Sorcerers, civilians, it’s all the same bullshit. They use people, grind 'em down, and toss 'em out when they're empty. I’ve seen it over and over, and you’re just the latest offering on their altar of self-righteousness."

His voice grows quieter, more resolute, tinged with a harsh philosophy born of survival. "The strong eat the weak. That’s the truth of this world. You can dress it up with loyalty and love, but at the end of the day, it’s kill or be killed."

Toji tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "You wanna die a noble sorcerer? Fine. But I’m not gonna stand by and watch it happen."

The sheer weight of his actions crashes over you, several people were dead because of you. You can't stop yourself when you whisper "You're a monster"

His lips curl into a sadistic smile. "If keeping you alive makes me a monster, I’ll wear the title proudly doll."

Nanami Kento

Nanami is a man who lives by control. The jujutsu world is chaotic, but he navigates it with precision and discipline. Until the day they return your body.

The mission was supposed to be simple. But when your cursed energy surged one last time, your body gave out. The autopsy is clear; years of strain from your technique had broken you down from the inside out.

Nanami listens in silence, face blank. He barely hears the words, an incessant ringing pounding in his ears. His eyes are glued to your face.

It was the most peaceful he had ever seen you. You looked like you were simply sleeping, finally free of the burdens of being a sorcerer.

He abruptly walks away without a word, unable to bear the gruesome details of your departure any longer. Gojo tries to stop him, but Nanami doesn’t even glance back.

He doesn't cry. He doesn't yell.

Grief claws at his chest, desperate to break free, but he just can’t process it. Instead, he stares blankly at the letter Gojo had managed to press into his hand. He reads it over and over, willing a miracle, willing all of this to be some twisted joke.

'Kento,

I know you'd hate this letter, but I needed to tell you that I was happy. Being with you made all the pain worth it. Every single second of it.

I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave you like this. You have every right to hate me, I understand.

But I just wanted you to know that being with you were some of the best moments of my life, you made it all worth it.

You reminded me that there’s beauty in a world filled with curses.

I love you Kento, please take care of yourself.'

He slides down to the floor, hands gripping his hair. He wants to resent you, to hate you for leaving him so selfishly, but he can't. All his hatred and resentment are reserved for the system that chewed you up and spit you out.

Nanami Kento wasn't the type to die on missions. He was the type to survive no matter what.

But when he stands before Mahito that day in Shibuya, he finally understands. He sees what made you put your life on the line, the hope for the younger generation, the fleeting chance to make a difference.

So he closes his eyes and welcomes his demise, smiling as memories of you fill his mind for the last time. You were everything to him, and you always would be, even in death.

Gojo Satoru

You'd become something of Gojo's emotional support person. It took him years to open up to you, but when he finally did, he opened the floodgates.

So you felt terrible, terrible that you were wronging him by not telling him the true cost of your cursed technique, the very price of your life.

Each innocent, unaware smile he sent your way was like a dagger to your heart. Yet you were too afraid to tell him, so you tested the waters instead.

"Hey, Satoru… what would you do if something were to happen to me?" you ask gently, unable to make eye contact as you lie on his bed, your fingers absentmindedly toying with the sheets.

"What?" he replies, his tone light, but only for a moment.

"Like if my cursed technique was killing me…" you cringe as the words tumble out unchecked, so much for testing the waters.

In that instant, Satoru's stomach sinks. The moment you reveal what your technique is doing to your body, it's as if the very ground beneath him shatters.

He laughs at first, a hollow, forced sound as he desperately tries to maintain levity. "You're joking, right? that's ridiculous. We'll fix it. I'll fix it."

But when you shake your head gently, his heart plummets.

"I tried everything, Satoru…" you murmur, the admission hanging heavy in the air.

And that’s when you see a side of Satoru Gojo you’ve never seen before. His entire being stiffens with resolve as he rises from the bed, his playful personality shifting to something cold.

"Then you'll just have to never use that technique again" he declares.

You get up as well, hoping he was joking. "Satoru, that's not realistic" you argue, trying to meet his intense gaze. "What kind of sorcerer would I be without my technique?"

"Then I guess you don't have to worry about being a sorcerer anymore"

"That's ridiculous! I dedicated my whole life to this!" you exclaim, shock and desperation mingling in your voice.

Satoru simply smiles, a sickeningly sweet smile that quickly turns menacing as his tone hardens. "There's no point in fighting, Y/n. I have the higher-ups in my palm. If you don't quit, I'll do it for you."

He swallows, gazing at you with a pained expression, his demeanour desperate. "My mind is made up, Y/n, you’re not dying. Not now, not ever."

You stare at him in shock. Did he just threaten you? A part of you wants to lash out, but you stop yourself.

Behind his threats, you see a man desperate to save someone he loves. A man tired of being the strongest, of being unable to save the people he cares about.

Kamo Choso

When Choso loved, he loved fiercely.

His dedication and loyalty to the ones he loved knew no bounds, and you were no exception.

As you lay there, slipping away in his arms, he could feel his world crumbling. "No." he says, voice trembling "You're not leaving me."

"Choso…" you whisper, reaching for him weakly. "I'm sorry."

But he can't. He refuses to accept it. His love for you, his grief, warps into something monstrous. The raw emotion burns through him, uncontrolled. Without even realizing it, he curses you as your last breath escapes.

When you awaken, everything is different. Your body is no longer your own. It's ethereal, consumed by cursed energy that has become embedded in the very fabric of your being. You’re not human anymore. You’ve become a curse.

You both stare at each other in stunned silence, horror painting both of your faces. The weight of what he’s done, the horror of what you’ve become, sinks in.

"I... I didn’t mean to-" Choso’s voice cracks, guilt flooding his words.

"I just wanted to keep you with me" he chokes out in panic, not knowing what to do. His fingers shaking as he grips you tighter. "I didn’t know-"

Before he can finish his sentence, you burst into uncontrollable tears. You’ve become the very thing you’ve fought against your whole life. The very thing that has caused so much pain to others.

And when your friends and colleagues see you, they’ll be horrified by what you’ve become.

Without thinking, he pulls you into a hug, half-expecting you to shove him away, knowing that he’s the one responsible for this. He did this to you. But you don’t pull away.

Choso is all you have now. The only one who sees you as you still are, not as the monster the world will now see you as.

As Choso holds you, he can't stop the sick feeling of satisfaction that blooms up in his chest. He'd never let you know but he was relieved.

He knew your time together was always going to be limited, you were human and he was a curse.

Not anymore.

Now you were going to be with him.

Forever and ever.

Well that was creepy.

Tiny taglist: @catlover19282

feel free to check out more of my jjk fics and other stories!

[kayhi808]

OK, let’s say he comes back from a mission and it was really rough on him and he kind of relapsed into the winter soldier(slightly very very slightly) and Steve let’s reader know that a lot happened. Abby has went away with Natasha for a weekend together as reader was really busy w work. Bucky comes home and is so so on edge and is afraid he will hurt reader and isolates himself especially after he almost hurt reader when she crept up too silent behind him. so he hates himself rn. BUT THEN ABBY RUNS IN OUT OF NOWHERE AND HUGS HIM CUS SHE WAS WAITING FOR HIM TO COME BACK AND BOOM man either lets out the craziest sigh or low keys cries because he realizes he is okay. idk something like that if it makes sense ¯\_(ツ)_/

🧹

Thank you, to my favorite anon!💕 It took me forever to get to this one. This was a lot to go on. It could have gone really dark and angsty, but I'm trying to keep my Abby stories a little lighter. Hope you like it.🤗

Bucky was gone on what turned out to be an intense mission & word just came back that his team was returning. Steve and Bucky were heading the mission so you weren't too worried. You always like when they are sent out together because you knew they had each other's backs. ALWAYS

The quinjet touched down & the crew disembarked. You saw Bucky and Steve walking down the ramp, deep in conversation. As soon as Bucky made eye contact with you, you felt something was wrong. Then he veered away from you to another entry into the Tower and you knew something was very wrong.

You started to follow him, but Steve blocked your path. "What happened? What's wrong with Bucky??"

"Y/N, give him some time, this mission was rough on him."

"Is he hurt? Is he ok?"

"Physically he's fine..."

Impatiently, "then tell me what happened!"

"It's his story to tell. He needs a little bit of time to sort out the demons in his head. That's all."

"That's all?!?"

"It's what he wants."

******

You were able to give him 2 days to himself, until you caved in & tried calling Bucky just to hear his voice. For him to tell you he's ok but needs time to himself. You'd understand that. But for him to send your call to voicemail pissed you off. You left a message last night & today's you were leaving to pick up Abby, you tried again & you got his voicemail.

"Babe? Can you please call me back, text me...or something, so I know you're alive yet purposefully ignoring me? That would be great." You sigh, "Is this how we are going forward in this relationship? This will be the new communication norm?"

You gather your things to head out of the building, but up ahead you see Steve & Bucky. You hurry to catch up with them. You grab onto Bucky's arm & before you can even say his name, his hand is on your sternum, and you're shoved against the wall. A startled yelp escapes & he releases you immediately. "Fuck!" His hands drop to your arms, "Are you ok? Did I hurt you?" Steve pulls Bucky back.

You reach for his hands, "I'm fine. You startled me." You look up at him and he looks so tired. You go to hug him but he pulls away from you. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, Buck?" You turn to Steve, "Would you do me a big favor and pick-up Abby from pre-school, please?"

"Yea, sure " He shoots Bucky a worried glance before he leaves.

*****

Once you're back at Bucky's residence, "Are you ready to tell me what happened?" You flop yourself down on his couch.

"I can't... I can't let those things...touch you. You don't need to know about HYDRA."

"Bucky, I know about HYDRA. I work here! Nick Fury is my boss."

"You don't need to know about the Winter Soldier. You don't need to know about me back then." Bucky stops pacing & drops down into his chair.

"You don't think I've done my research before dating you? Before I let you be around my daughter? What you did back then was not your fault. You weren't given a choice. HYDRA had control of you. Babe, you are not the same person."

"I'm still capable..."

You move to sit at the foot of his chair, "No! Stop it."

"Doll, I could have killed you back there!"

"You didn't. You wouldn't. You're James Barnes, not the Winter Soldier!" You squeeze his hands. "Talk to me, Bucky. Let me share your burden. We're in this life together. Please tell me what happened."

With a deep sigh, "We went to hit an active HYDRA base camp." You nod. "Doll, there were cribs there. In the lab, there were children's bed and restraints." You softly gasp, squeezing his hands tighter. "We couldn't locate any of the children, but now I know they're out there somewhere."

"Oh, Bucky." Tears prickling your eyes, "I'm so sorry."

"I killed them all. Whoever was there." You kneel up to wrap your arms around him. It took a while for him to return your hug, but you didn't let go. He gives in and pulls you tightly to him.

"You think I wouldn't do the same if I could? Wouldn't anyone do the same? The only difference is that we don't have your skill set." Pulling away, cradling his face between your palms to get him to look at you, "Just because you have the skills, does not make you the Winter Soldier." You give him a soft kiss. "The job you took on isn't an easy one, but you're making the world a safer place. For people like me and Abby."

"I saw the cribs and beds and I...I thought of Abigail. And...I snapped." You nod.

"I understand how that could happen." Bucky pulls you onto his lap & he holds you for a long time in silence. You offered him comfort any way you could. You understand now why he was so affected by this mission. "You need to talk to me and tell me what's going on. You can't shut me out, Buck. I was so worried. If the situation was flipped, how would you handle me shutting down on you?"

"Not well." He gives you a slight smile.

Nodding, "exactly." You lean back against him as he wraps you in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

*******

Steve picks up Abby and visits with Ms Grace before returning to the Tower, hoping you and Bucky ironed out your differences. He texts you both letting you know he's got Abs in the common room watching TV.

"You knows what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs."

"Chloe and Mia says a new Lilo & Stitch movies coming outs."

"Oh, yea? Wow."

Abby stands up on the couch next to Steve and slings her arm across his shoulders. "Rights?? I so 'cited! You know what, Uncle Steve?"

"No, what Abs?"

"You wants to take me to the Lilo & Stitch movies?"

"Won't your Mama and Bucky take you to see it? Did they say no?" Steve has to ask. He's not going to be caught up in one of Abby's tricks and get in trouble with you.

"Mama gonna takes me, but you can takes me," holding up two fingers, "two time." She gives Steve a sweet smile.

"Abigail."

She cackles. "What if I likes it so much and wants to sees it again? Like Wicked?"

Steve rolls his eyes, "Fine. If you like it so much, I'll take you to watch it again."

Abby squashes her cheek against Steve's while strangling him around the neck, "Oh, tank you! Yous the best Uncle in all the worlds!" She sees Bucky in the doorway and Uncle Steve is quickly forgotten. "Papa! You homes!!" She bounces off the couch and runs to Bucky with arms spread wide.

Bucky steps back, away from your incoming toddler, banging into you. "It's ok, Bucky."

Abby doesn't slow down, so Bucky is forced to catch her and lift her into his arms. "I missed-ed you so much!" Abby peppers his face with kisses. She pulls away & squishes his face between her palms, "You missed-ed me, too?" A happy hopeful smile on her face.

Bucky nods, answering quietly, "Yea, baby. I missed-ed you, too," dropping a kiss on her nose which makes her do a happy wiggle.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood @jvanilly

[midnite-c6]

hear me out — nam-gyu is actually soooo icky. i don’t care what anyone tells me. he’s a icky icky man. he’s so fucking mean too. he thinks of women as possessions (he’s sooo misogynistic. you can’t convince me otherwise) like what do you mean women are their own person and can control their own lives?! no…. they are possessions!

additionally, he is sooo convincing with his words — he can get anyone to trust him quite easily (especially if they’re naive) and he’s taking full advantage of that.

honestly nam-gyu probably has anyone naive trying things they were always against. he has such a way with words when it comes to getting anyone to open up or doing what he wants them to do. he'll give them everything they need to get them to say yes even if it means making promises he doesn't even plan to keep or fulfill.

also, no one can convince me otherwise that this man doesn’t have a thing for trad wives. he definitely likes the idea of codependency and the fact that someone clings to him like a second skin (but let’s be honest, he definitely doesn’t make it out to seem like he likes it — it’s always constant degradation from him: “stupid bitch, can’t ever do anything for yourself, huh? i have to do everything for you”). also likes the idea of baby trapping, because you can’t leave him ♡ but 100% does not like kids.

i also can see him fetishizes the FUCK out of lesbians (once again… this man is ICKY) and i definitely feel like if he was the type to get into a relationship with someone who is bisexual (or closeted lesbian. specifically if he coerces them) he would exploit the shit out of it. bro definitely has a premium subscription to ph. constantly doom scrolling to find something he hasn’t watched yet (specifically lesbians or threesomes (two girls, one guy) it’s definitely one of his biggest fantasies. he is soo gross ♡)

he would probably likes giving some naive, lightweight (never done drugs before) drugs that he knows they wouldn’t be able to handle just so he they can take advantage.

I AM GOING INSANEEEE. i am clawing and gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

warnings: 18+, DARK content, dubcon, baby trapping

bro i am so sorry i haven't let this out to the public sooner, this is so good and factual fr 💔 like this guy is an misogynistic incel honestly, idfc what anyone else says, u literally can see it in the show how he treats se-mi. he's a meanie.

THE PH SUBSCRIPTION IS SO REAL. also, forces or not, makes u watch porn with him, the disgusting ones like heavy bondage/bdsm, prolly whilst sticking a wand vibrator on ur clit in a setting that's intense BUT wont make u cum so its pure torture..

guys has anyone done se-mi x reader x nam-gyu ? like hello? hello????? ITS RIGHT THERE prolly would watch u & se-mi whilst he's cucking himself. or he's right in the middle of the action, both ur pussies rubbing on his dick.

also, i love nam-gyu corruption kink, to someone whos absolutely clean, pure, law abiding citizen, prolly doesnt even know half of the kinks or stuff u see in pornhub, BUT THAT'S WHY NAM-GYU EXISTS!! to teach you allat, to corrupt u :^

i just dont feel like hes a good person at all, in smut mindset, and in fr the character, hes those toxic bfs who's only "strong" cuz u're just a lil bit weaker than him. and if u try to leave, nuh-uh, u can't, u wanted a child to begin with right?

"fuck you mean, 'i'm leaving you'? bitch please," he scolds, pumping another load inside- straight to your womb, "you wanna be a single mom?" you shake your head immediately, you were on birth control.. but maybe not... oh no! "then don't bullshit me with saying you're 'leaving me'... you know you love me." let's just hope he'll be a good dad... (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

if anyone needs a fluffy lovey namgyu smut this aint the place.. jk, i would prolly post one too heheh <3 also, now i wanna make a full on incel!nam-gyu x reader smut mannn

[writeriguess]

Hey hun! Welcome back 😘

So, i have a kind of slow burn idea for a Bakugo x fem!reader fic. They both like each other and when she tries to ask him out or talk to him about it, he's kind of an ass 😅

He thinks she'll be in the way or a distraction to his goal, so he pushes her away. He can't get her out of his head though and their friends tell him he's being an idiot. Eventually, he cracks and tells her (in his very 'katsuki' way) that he does want to be with her.

Angst ending with lots of fluff, confessions, and a kiss please!

author's note: Thank you so much! <3 I just wanted to say that your idea was incredible, and I had such a great time writing it. It turned out to be much longer than I expected, but it was definitely worth it!

Heart of Dynamite

It started with stolen glances. You weren’t sure when you first noticed, but something about the way Bakugo Katsuki acted around you was different. He wasn’t nice, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there was something else buried beneath the rough edges and sharp remarks. A fleeting glance when he thought you weren’t looking. The way he always seemed to hover nearby during group exercises, subtly ensuring you didn’t get caught off guard.

You weren’t blind. You saw the way his crimson eyes would flick to you during lunch, only for him to look away just as quickly if you caught him. You noticed how his explosions during sparring would seem almost… controlled when directed your way—less destructive, more calculated. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you wonder. Enough to make you hope.

The problem was, Bakugo being Bakugo, he’d never admit to something as human as feelings. If he did like you, he was keeping it buried under a mountain of anger, pride, and whatever complicated emotions made up Katsuki Bakugo.

But still, the moments added up. And with each passing day, your crush grew stronger. You hated the way your heart fluttered when he called you by name instead of his usual nicknames for everyone else. You hated how you’d secretly look forward to his biting remarks because, in some twisted way, it was his version of paying attention to you.

And most of all, you hated how much courage it took to even consider confessing to him.

After weeks of agonizing over it, you finally decided you couldn’t live with the "what if." No matter what, you needed to know.

The opportunity came on a rare quiet evening at the dorms. Everyone else had gone out for karaoke, leaving you and Bakugo alone. He was sprawled on the couch in the common area, his arms crossed, staring at some mindless action movie playing on the TV.

You hovered at the doorway, your heart racing. You almost turned back, but then his gruff voice interrupted your thoughts.

"What the hell are you standing there for? You look like a damn idiot."

You flinched, but quickly steeled yourself. "I just… needed to ask you something."

His gaze flicked to you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Then spit it out already. Don’t waste my time."

Your hands were clammy as you stepped closer, each word feeling heavier than the last. "Do you… want to go out with me? Like, on a date?"

For a moment, Bakugo just stared at you. His usual scowl didn’t shift, but you could see the flicker of surprise in his eyes—so quick you almost missed it. His jaw tensed, his hands clenching into fists on his lap.

Then, he scoffed. Loudly.

"You serious?" he said, leaning back against the couch like your question was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. "Why the hell would I want to go out with you?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your throat tightened, and your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

"I mean, come on," he continued, his tone sharp and cutting. "What makes you think I’d waste my time on something dumb like that?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment—from the sting of his rejection. You struggled to keep your voice steady. "I just thought… maybe—"

"Well, you thought wrong," he cut you off, his voice cold and unrelenting. "So stop acting like some lovesick idiot and get over it."

The silence that followed was unbearable. You felt like the floor had been ripped out from under you, like you were standing on the edge of a cliff with no way to step back.

"Got it," you said finally, your voice small and strained. You turned on your heel before he could see the tears pooling in your eyes.

Bakugo didn’t move. He stayed on the couch, staring at the TV that he wasn’t really watching. His nails dug into his palms, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

"Idiot," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn’t sure if he was talking about you—or himself.

Hours passed, but Bakugo didn’t leave the couch. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind: the look on your face, the way your voice had cracked when he tore you down.

He hated himself for it. Hated the way he’d lashed out, even though he knew it was because he was terrified. Of what? He didn’t know. Maybe of admitting to himself that he cared. Maybe of the fact that you could make him feel so out of control with just one stupid question.

But now it was too late. He’d pushed you away.

You, on the other hand, locked yourself in your room, curled up on your bed, and let the tears flow. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid, so naive. Of course Bakugo didn’t like you. Of course he didn’t care. You’d just been projecting your feelings onto him, imagining things that weren’t really there.

Still, the hurt lingered. You tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that you’d move on, but the ache in your chest said otherwise.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting downstairs, fists clenched, consumed by his own turmoil. Because for all his bluster, he’d never wanted to hurt you. He just didn’t know how to deal with the truth: that he did like you, more than he was willing to admit.

Bakugo tried to convince himself that what he’d said to you was necessary. He had goals—real, tangible goals—and nothing, no one, was going to distract him. Becoming the Number One Hero wasn’t just a dream for him; it was a mission, an obligation, a destiny he was determined to carve out with his own blood, sweat, and tears. He didn’t need complications. He didn’t need feelings. He didn’t need you. That’s what he told himself over and over as he sat alone in his dorm room, glaring at the wall like it had personally offended him. His fists were clenched tightly in his lap, the tendons in his hands straining from the pressure.

But no matter how hard he tried to justify it, he couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind. The way your expression had crumbled when he snapped at you, the hurt in your eyes as you turned and walked away—it all replayed in his head on an endless, agonizing loop. He could still hear your voice trembling when you’d asked him out, soft and vulnerable in a way he wasn’t used to hearing from you. You weren’t the kind of person who let your guard down easily, and he’d taken that rare moment of courage and crushed it underfoot.

“Tch,” he growled under his breath, running a hand through his hair and gripping the strands in frustration. “Stupid.”

He thought that pushing you away would make things easier, but it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. You were everywhere. Every time he walked into a room, his eyes automatically searched for you, even when he told himself they wouldn’t. When you laughed with your friends, the sound sent an irritating warmth through his chest, only to be followed by a sharp pang of regret when he remembered the look on your face that night. During training, he found himself tracking your every move without even meaning to, his instincts on high alert every time you dodged an attack or threw a punch. He hated it. Hated how you’d wormed your way into his head and refused to leave. Hated how much he wanted to be near you, even after he’d made it clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you.

It didn’t help that everyone else seemed to notice his turmoil. His friends had started giving him strange looks during meals, their eyes darting between him and you as if they were waiting for something to happen. Kirishima, in particular, had been annoyingly persistent, watching him with that infuriatingly knowing expression he always wore when he thought Bakugo was being an idiot. Bakugo did his best to ignore it, but the tension was impossible to escape.

One evening, when the others were hanging out in the common area, Kirishima finally confronted him. Bakugo had been sitting on the couch, staring at his phone without really looking at it, when Kirishima plopped down beside him with a heavy sigh. Mina and Kaminari weren’t far behind, hovering nearby like vultures waiting for a meal.

“Alright, spill it,” Kirishima said, his voice casual but firm. Bakugo barely spared him a glance.

“Spill what?” he snapped, his tone as sharp as ever.

“Don’t play dumb,” Mina chimed in, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at him. “You’ve been acting weird for days, and we all know why.”

“I’m not in the mood for this crap,” Bakugo growled, standing up to leave, but Kirishima quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his path. Bakugo glared at him, his crimson eyes blazing. “Move.”

“Not until you admit what’s going on,” Kirishima said, his voice steady despite the obvious tension in the air. “You pushed her away, didn’t you?”

Bakugo froze, his scowl deepening. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Kirishima said, his tone unusually serious. “Come on, man. It’s so obvious you like her. Everyone can see it.”

“I don’t—”

“Save it,” Mina interrupted, stepping closer with a look that could cut through steel. “We’ve seen the way you look at her. And don’t even get me started on the way you lose your mind whenever she partners up with someone else during training. You care about her, and instead of doing something about it, you’re being a total dumbass.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have time for this crap,” he muttered, shoving past Kirishima and heading for the door. But before he could leave, Kirishima’s voice rang out behind him, stopping him in his tracks.

“You think pushing her away will make you stronger,” Kirishima said, his voice softer now, almost sad. “But all you’re doing is proving how scared you are.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed, his hand gripping the doorknob so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out,” Kirishima continued, his tone unwavering. “But running from it won’t make it go away.”

For a moment, Bakugo didn’t move. The room was silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, he yanked the door open and walked out, slamming it shut behind him without another word.

That night, Bakugo lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that could have set it on fire. Kirishima’s words echoed in his head, mingling with the memory of your voice and the image of your face. He hated how much it all got to him, how much he couldn’t stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. He hated the way his chest ached every time he thought about the hurt in your eyes and the way you’d walked away from him, your shoulders slumped in defeat. But most of all, he hated how much he wanted to see you again, to fix things, to say something—anything—that could make up for what he’d done.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to move on. You’d been avoiding Bakugo as much as possible, throwing yourself into training and schoolwork to keep your mind occupied. It wasn’t easy, though. Every time you saw him, whether it was in class or during meals, you felt a sharp pang of hurt that refused to go away. You hated how much he still affected you, even after he’d made it painfully clear that he didn’t feel the same way.

But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you’d be fine without him, the ache in your chest lingered. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong to hope, if you’d been foolish to believe that he might have cared about you even a little.

Little did you know, Bakugo was sitting in his room, wrestling with his own feelings and cursing himself for the way he’d handled things. Because for all his bravado and pride, the truth was unavoidable: he couldn’t stop thinking about you. And the more he tried to push you out of his mind, the more you consumed his every thought.

The days following your rejection from Bakugo had been a haze of hurt and confusion. You tried to keep yourself busy—extra training, study sessions, anything to keep your mind from replaying the harsh way he’d dismissed you. But no matter how much you told yourself to let it go, it lingered. You still felt the sting of his words, the way he’d looked at you like you were an obstacle instead of someone he cared about. That wound didn’t heal easily.

You avoided him as much as you could. You’d shift to a different group during training, sit at the far end of the cafeteria during meals, and leave the common area whenever he showed up. It wasn’t as subtle as you hoped; your friends noticed, and you were pretty sure Bakugo did too. Still, you couldn’t face him—not after everything he’d said.

What you didn’t know was that your absence weighed on him far more than he let on.

Bakugo was not a man who easily admitted to mistakes. Pride had been ingrained in him from an early age, and he carried it like armor. But lately, that armor felt suffocating, like it was pressing in on him from all sides. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, couldn’t stop replaying the hurt in your eyes when he’d lashed out. Every time he saw you purposely turning away from him or laughing with someone else, he felt a sharp pang of regret that he didn’t know how to fix.

Kirishima’s words lingered too. “You’re scared because you like her so much it freaks you out. But running from it won’t make it go away.” As much as Bakugo wanted to punch him for saying it, he knew it was true. He’d been running from his feelings because they terrified him. You terrified him—not because you were weak, but because of how much power you had over him without even realizing it. And that was what scared him most of all.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore. Watching you avoid him, knowing he’d been the one to hurt you—it was eating him alive. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to explode.

That’s what led him here, standing awkwardly a few feet away from where you sat on the bench outside. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on the notebook in your lap. For a moment, he hesitated, his chest tightening with something unfamiliar. Was this… nerves? He growled under his breath, frustrated with himself. He was Bakugo Katsuki, for crying out loud. He didn’t get nervous.

“Oi.” His voice came out rougher than he intended, and you jumped slightly, startled by his sudden presence.

You looked up, your eyes widening for a split second before your expression hardened. “What do you want?”

Bakugo flinched at the coldness in your tone, though he tried to hide it. “We need to talk.”

“About what?” you asked, already sounding exasperated. “If this is about training or some stupid lecture—”

“It’s not about training,” he cut in, stepping closer. His jaw tightened as he tried to find the right words. He wasn’t good at this, but he had to try. “It’s about what I said to you before.”

Your eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping into your expression. “Why are you bringing that up now? You already made your feelings perfectly clear, Bakugo. I don’t need to hear it again.”

He winced at the way you said his name—so formal, so distant. You used to call him Katsuki, back when things were simpler. Back when he hadn’t ruined everything.

“Just shut up and listen for a second, will you?” he snapped, though there was no real heat in his voice. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “I… I screwed up, alright? I said some shit I didn’t mean, and I hurt you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your expression softened slightly, but your arms remained crossed, a barrier he knew he’d have to break through. “Then why did you do it? Why push me away if you didn’t mean it?”

“Because I’m a goddamn idiot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. His gaze dropped to the ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “I thought… I thought if I let myself like you, I’d lose focus. That you’d get in the way of my goals.”

“And now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now I know that’s total bullshit,” he said, finally looking up to meet your eyes. “You don’t make me weaker. You make me want to be better. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You’re in my head all the damn time, and it’s driving me insane.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, but you still hesitated. “You really hurt me, Katsuki,” you said softly, the pain evident in your voice. “I don’t know if I can just forget that.”

He stepped closer, his gaze intense and unwavering. “I’m not asking you to forget it. I’m asking for a chance to fix it. I was a dumbass, and I don’t deserve it, but… I want to try. With you.”

The vulnerability in his voice was so raw, so uncharacteristic, that it left you speechless. You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was regret and determination.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

“Look, I know I’m not good at this,” he interrupted, his hands twitching at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m not some smooth-talking idiot like Kaminari, and I’m probably gonna screw up a hundred more times. But I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m not gonna hurt you again.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his words sank in. This was Bakugo Katsuki—the same boy who never admitted when he was wrong, who bulldozed his way through life without looking back. And here he was, laying his pride at your feet, just for a chance to make things right.

“You’re really bad at this, you know,” you said finally, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

He huffed, his cheeks turning pink. “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my strong suit.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. For the first time in weeks, you felt the tension between you start to dissolve.

“So, what now?” you asked, taking a tentative step closer.

“Now I do this,” he said, his voice low as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks as he leaned in. His crimson eyes searched yours for a moment, and when you didn’t pull away, he closed the distance and kissed you.

The kiss was tentative at first, almost shy, but it quickly deepened as you responded, your hands reaching up to grab the front of his shirt and pull him closer. He kissed you like he was trying to make up for every moment he’d wasted, pouring all the unspoken feelings he couldn’t put into words into that one act.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads resting together, you were both breathless. He smirked, his usual cocky confidence creeping back in. “Told you I’d make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “You’ve got a long way to go, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed the gruffness of his tone. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around and prove it.”

And for the first time in weeks, everything felt right.

Feel free to request <3

[indycinders]

Gonna add my own thoughts to this too because this was cool to think about /w\ maybe mild spoilers ahead?

When you think about them and MC, it makes a lot more sense.

Caleb wants you to only see him as that person that's always been by your side, that's always played with you and took care of you and protected you. He never wanted you to see his dark thoughts, his obsession, his feelings. And his eyes reflect that. He's carefully guarded and chooses what you see. It's almost scary how good he is at manipulation and deception. I wouldn't want to piss off the Colonel if I wasn't MC haha.

Even after the events of his chapter and when you unlock him, in his following memories, he still struggles with dropping that mask after you know everything. Even if you accept all of him, as he is, flaws and all, he's so conditioned to this that it's his default now. In one of his phone calls, we hear his vulnerability with him saying something like, "Even if he's the worst Caleb of all of them, you still want him?"

Caleb is so tragic to me but that also makes me love him so much more. I'm waiting on the last shard before I peruse his myth, so my feelings might change, but what I know so far makes my heart break.

When it comes to Sylus, he's got that carefully crafted criminal leader persona. And that's what it is, a persona. Made from the struggle of survival, from the judgment of humans, from not being good enough for whatever reason he feels that is. I wouldn't say he's manipulative, but he is definitely calculating. He's playing 4D chess while we're all still figuring out checkers.

His eyes are so expressive because that's how he communicates. He feels the weight of responsibility for a position such as his and he can't often let himself outwardly show emotion. In his Night of Secrecy card, when he covers our eyes, even then he's hiding himself from us. We get a glimpse of him losing control of that facade and giving into that weakness, that vulnerability that we cause him.

I also think he's not afraid of showing his emotions through his eyes simply because of his power with the Aether core and ability to know people's desires. And maybe a part of him lets himself be vulnerable in that way because he can expose others vulnerabilities.

We know he's not guarded like Caleb. We see it in the way he treats us, the way he cares and shows love. Anything we ask, he has an answer for. He never lies, not really. He might omit the truth but he also expects us to be keen enough to know what he's saying. Like, again, in his Night of Secrecy card. He tried to slip away by making an excuse but knew we would catch on and follow him.

I haven't gone through his Conqueror myth yet (thanks Caleb for distracting me lmao), but I know his Abysm Sovereign myth. We know some part of him feels self loathing and almost shame for what he was.

In my opinion, he doesn't bother fully masking his emotions because he knows that the only one worthy and capable of handling what he lets slip through is us. He knows that we can and have accepted every part of him, good and bad.

He said it best in Razor's Grip. "There is no love purer than mine." And there really isn't.

Not to be weird on main or anything, but I've been studying screenshots of Caleb's expressions and it's so funny how comparatively less expressive his eyes are to Sylus'.

Like Sylus communicates 98% with those big red eyes of his. Caleb communicates only very VERY big changes of his expression solely through his eyes.

So I was compiled some eye screenshots because I really love the expressions Sylus has and did the same with him, (and have way too many saved), but I realised how little his eyes share. These however, are some gems;

When compared to Sylus's eyes though;

It becomes super obvious how much of Caleb's expressions are pretty performative, in the kind of way that is very familiar to me as an autistic person, and feeds in quite nicely to the common theme of him wearing a mask throughout the main story.

Sylus' communication is done mostly verbally because the game actively conveys the fact that he doesn't emote or physically show his feelings very often (he's labelled cold or numb or distant, in a similar way to Zayne, but with more disdain from those around him. It's only the twins who have ever looked at him and realised he was lonely.) because of that his expressions reflect it. His lips don't move much, but his eyes tell stories for him because they're much harder to control.

Meanwhile, Caleb's eyes betray him in big moments. When he's overwhelmed or very emotional, often in the negative, but for the most part he keeps it under control and performs his emotions through the use of smiles and expression. Without his full face, his expressions don't come through properly.

🤷 it doesn't mean a lot, but it was fun to dig through while I was compiling images.

[sunsetsover]

i wish i wasn't so exhausted because i want nothing more than to sit here and properly pick apart the inherent but unconventional ways their dom/sub dynamic presents itself between kant and bison. bc it's definitely always been there esp in these last few episodes but in episode 10 it was in everything. everything.

the pool scene was obvious. i already pulled that apart. but it was also in the way kant's reaction to being told off for being distracting during the mission was so different from the way bison reacted when kant told him off - bison basically looks like he's indulging a pouting child, while kant's face drops and he gets all sad looking. and it's in how different their reactions were to the being distracted too, how kant whined about how bison had promised not to distracted while bison firmly tells kant off for even trying.

and it's in how pissed and hurt kant when he finally saw bison in that car park - imo not so much because bison had told him they needed to stay away from each other, but because bison had been sneaking around watching kant when kant had no way of seeing bison or knowing he was alright at all, and that was so unfair to him, because that's not how it was supposed to work between them. they had just found their equilibrium and here bison was knocking it off kilter by giving and receiving while simultaneously withholding kant's ability to give and receive back. and that's not how they were supposed to work.

and it's in how silly kant was. how rambly and cute when he talked about the titanic experiment he saw or when he tried to get bison to reenact the king of the world scene. but also the way kant was just a brat the entire episode - going kinda rogue while on mission and mentioning the narc thing when he knows it pisses bison off and constantly pushing and pushing and pushing bison to find where the line is where bison will stop indulging him and start reprimanding him.

and it's the way bison does reprimand him and how kant listens. and it's in the way kant's eyes got all big and pleading when bison got all pissy and asked him if he wanted another scratch - and dare i say that and the pool scene were the first real little glimpses we see of what kant's like in actual subspace. and it's in the way you see bison notice that and realise kant's reacting positively, and how he reacts to that reaction with clear desire, but also decides to store that info away as opposed to acting on it bc it's not the time or place.

and most of all it's in kant asking bison to teach him to be like him. in kant handing himself over to bison the assassin and going 'use me. please please make use of me. mould me into a weapon you can wield.' and bison refusing to do that. refusing to make a killer of the boy he loves. in bison knowing kant's limit when kant doesn't and not crossing it. of protecting him from himself. but also making use of him anyway. knowing kant well enough to know that that's what he needed. to be used. because being used is being useful, and being useful is what kant has learned will have him kept around. and bc right now they don't have the time or spare energy to start unpicking that knot, bison meets it where it is: he finds uses for kant while also doing everything he possibly can to give kant agency and control: you don't have to do this. i can take it from here. will you help me with one more thing?

i know i've missed so much that i will kick myself for later. i also know this is incoherent. i've got maybe 10 hours of sleep in the past week. but i can't stop thinking about this fucking dynamic. it's so unique and yet so well defined in what it is. and i know the people that don't get that dynamic won't get what i'm trying to point at with this post. and tbh i get it! as obvious as it is there's also something elusive about it! it reminds me of that kaveh akbar quote where he's says trying to describe god is like trying to imagine a bladeless knife with no handle. the more language you try to put to kant and bison's dynamic, the more it recedes from view.

[kiemiu]

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍: 𝓞𝐧 𝓜𝐲 𝓜𝐢𝐧𝐝

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 3.4k

summary → sae-byeok can't get you off of her mind, and ji-yeong notices. warnings → none.

(beneath the quiet masterlist )

12:39am

𝐒𝐀𝐄-𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐃 in bed, her eyes darting across the ceiling decorated with water stains, her fingers splayed across her blanket as she gripped it loosely only to release it, repeating the motion over and over again. Sleep refused to come like it did most nights. Always a lingering reason for why she couldn't sleep. Whether it be the worry of what came next, or the fear of some drug lord kicking down her door because he felt cheated for betting on the wrong girl. No longer was it the acrid scent of bleach seeping in from the locker room next to the employee break room that kept her awake. No, she had long since gotten used to the lingering chemical smell after late-night cleanings at the gym. What kept her from drifting off was the persistent image of you occupying her thoughts.

Sae-Byeok turned to lay on her side, exhaling through her nose as if that would expel the unwanted warmth creeping into her chest, her body exhausted but her mind refusing to quiet. The sheets felt cool against her skin, and the muffled hum of the gym’s old ventilation system filled the silence.

She exhaled sharply, jaw tightening as she shifted her position once again. It was pointless to pretend otherwise. What kept her from drifting off was the persistent image of you occupying her thoughts.

It had started with a simple observation—you had looked more tired than usual today. There had been a weariness in your eyes, subtle but noticeable, a heaviness in your movements that suggested you hadn’t been sleeping well. Sae-Byeok had seen it immediately, even when no one else seemed to. She had watched the way your posture slumped just slightly, how your fingers toyed absentmindedly with the hem of your sleeve.

Sae-Byeok wasn't used to something so small and insignificant as you being tired had stayed in her mind throughout the day, it was strange.

But then, there was the bruise.

A dark, ugly mark decorating your arm, just below the sleeve of your shirt. It hadn’t been there before, she knows it hadn't because it wasn't there the last time she visited when you wore a short-sleeve shirt.

Sae-Byeok was nothing but an observer. Catching sight of it while you were reaching for a spoon, her gaze lingered longer than she intended. A flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in her stomach at the sight. Annoyance? Concern? She wasn’t sure, but she hated the feeling all the same.

She should have said something. Asked.

But what would she have said? Who did that to you? Did someone hurt you? She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted to hear nor was she sure if she was prepared to hear it.

Instead, she had stayed silent, only stealing glances when she thought no one would notice. But the image stuck with her long after, the deep purple of the bruise imprinted in her mind like a phantom stain she couldn’t scrub away.

And now, lying in the quiet of the employee break room, she was still thinking about it. About you.

At first, it was nothing but fleeting worry. Until it drifted off to other things. Small details—harmless things. The way your hair shaped the curve of your face perfectly, the way you pressed your lips together whenever you were lost in thought, the way you always smelled faintly of something sweet despite working with 20+ messy children. But then, like a slow unraveling thread, her mind drifted further, past the point of control. Her thoughts drifting from the bruise on your arm, to your big doe-like eyes.

Her heartbeat faltered for just a quick moment as she pictured your soft gaze..

They held an innocence, a quiet curiosity, but there was something else beneath the surface—something deeper, something unreadable. Sae-Byeok had spent too long trying to decipher that look, trying to figure out if it was ever directed at her in the way only she had imagined and hoped you reciprocated.

And then her thoughts drifted to your lips.

Soft. Full. Always slightly parted, as if you were on the verge of speaking but never quite did. The thought slightly unsettled her as she shifted against the mattress, but she couldn't keep her thoughts away from you.

Her thoughts continued to linger on the soft curve of your lips, the way they might move if you spoke her name in the quiet of the night. Would your voice be as soothing as she imagined? Could it lull her to sleep better than the restless silence surrounding her now?

She wondered how they might feel—if they would be as soft and warm as they looked, if they would move slowly against her own in your own quiet rhythm or if you would take her by surprise.

Have you ever noticed her staring at them? At you?

The thought made something tighten in Sae-Byeok’s chest as she turned once again onto her stomach, pressing her face into her pillow as hard as she could in hopes it could smother the thoughts away. But even in the darkness behind her eyelids and in the softness of her plush pillow, she could only see you.

She hated how you haunted her thoughts, and she hated it even more when you followed her into her dreams.

She barely had time to dwell on herself, let alone anyone else, especially someone as insignificant as a “babysitter” or so she told herself.

No matter how many times she’s tried to shut you out, the maddening truth remained—you lingered in her mind every single day, constantly, and it frustrated her to no end.

Yet, even through her frustration, she couldn’t help but wonder—would your presence ease the restless ache in her bones? If you were by her side, would you run your fingers through her hair, whisper soft reassurances, and hold her close, offering the quiet comfort she didn’t know she needed? Would you make it easier for her to breathe, even just for a moment?

She knew you would. You wouldn't even have to try because everything felt easier around you.

The idea sent a shiver through her, a quiet, unfamiliar ache settling beneath her ribs as she released another restless sigh. Lifting her head from her pillow to press the heels of her hands into her eyes, as if she were trying to scrape the image of you out of her consciousness Silently begging in her head for you to stop haunting her..

She didn’t know why this was happening. Why had you taken up so much space in her mind?

Despite all the times she pushed you away, all the moments she refused to acknowledge you, maybe—just maybe—she didn’t want you to leave.

Maybe she wanted you to stay.

And that realization alone terrified her.

Eventually, her exhaustion had won, slowly pulling her under. But even in sleep, she wasn’t free of you.

You followed her there too—your presence slipping into her dreams like a whisper, threading through the quiet corners of her subconscious. It had been that way ever since the night you first opened your home to her. Since the moment you unknowingly carved a space for yourself in the restless expanse of her mind.

You wrapped around her like a warmth she never realized she had been yearning for, seeping into the hollow spaces she had long convinced herself were unfillable. In her dreams, she let herself sink into that warmth, let herself believe—for just a little while—that it was real. That it was hers to keep. That you were hers to keep. To protect, to love, and to hold.

But the morning was cruel.

The shrill blare of her alarm shattered the illusion, ripping her from sleep with all the subtlety of a knife against glass. Reality yanked her back into the cold, fluorescent-lit sterility of the gym, where the air smelled of lingering bleach and steel, and the walls felt just as unyielding as she had forced herself to become.

The warmth of you faded like a dying ember, slipping through her fingers before she could hold on.

The day began early, the world outside still cloaked in the muted hues of dawn. With a hefty sigh, Sae-Byeok began moving through her morning routine with quiet efficiency—stepping into the cold tile of the women’s locker room, the overhead lights casting a harsh glow against the steel-gray walls.

She let the scalding water of the shower wash over her, steam curling around her like a ghostly embrace. It was a fleeting moment of solitude before the day truly began. By the time she was dressed, her damp hair pulled into a loose ponytail, the gym had begun to stir with the faint hum of early risers.

She met Ji-Yeong in the center of the gym, their movements seamless, familiar. There was no need for words—they had done this routine a hundred times before. Together, they moved with practiced ease, adjusting punching bags so they hung at just the right height, their chains rattling softly with each shift.

The mats needed wiping down, the scent of disinfectant mingling with the lingering musk of sweat and rubber. They checked the gear, ensuring every glove, wrap, and pad was in its place, making sure the space was primed for the trainees who would soon filter in.

It was muscle memory now—preparing the gym for the day ahead, partnered with Ji-yeongs usual sarcastic remarks, tossing playful jabs like she was already in the ring.

“Man, you’re quieter than usual today,” she mused, adjusting the last punching bag before turning to glance at Sae-Byeok. “C’mon, throw a dog a bone here. Am I that unbearable without some back-and-forth?”

Sae-Byeok barely acknowledged her. A noncommittal shrug, a flicker of attention, but nothing more. It wasn’t like she was ever particularly talkative, but today, the silence stretched longer, heavier.

Ji-Yeong huffed, stacking weights onto the rack with exaggerated force. “Great. Guess I’m talking to myself now.”

Sae-Byeok let out a vague sound—half a hum, half a sigh—but her mind was elsewhere. Her hands moved on instinct, tightening wraps, straightening mats, checking the gloves lined up along the wall, but none of it really registered.

Because you were still there. Lingering in her mind like a shadow that refused to fade. Even after hours of sleeping and fighting—both physically and mentally, even through the exhaustion that should’ve drowned out everything else, you remained—woven into the edges of her thoughts, slipping into the quiet spaces she had no control over.

She hated it.

Or at least, she told herself she did.

Ji-Yeong, never one to let a shift in mood go unnoticed, finally turned to face her fully, hands on her hips. “Alright, what’s up with you?”

Sae-Byeok blinked, the question pulling her out of her thoughts. “What?”

Ji-Yeong narrowed her eyes. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been weird all morning.”

“I’m fine,” Sae-Byeok said, too quickly, too flatly.

Ji-Yeong snorted. “Yeah, okay. And I’m a professional ballerina.” She leaned in, studying her closely, as if trying to read something beyond Sae-Byeok’s carefully guarded expression. “Did something happen?”

“No.”

Ji-Yeong didn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because if you’re secretly planning to rob a bank or something, I’d love to be included.”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply through her nose, shaking her head. “You watch too many movies.”

“And you dodge questions like it’s your full-time job,” Ji-Yeong shot back, smirking. She nudged Sae-Byeok with her elbow, a playful yet probing gesture. “Seriously though, if something’s messing with your head, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Sae-Byeok hesitated for half a second—so quick that most people wouldn’t have caught it. But Ji-Yeong wasn’t most people.

Her smirk softened slightly, the teasing edge still there but gentler now. “Just putting it out there. In case, you know, someone is occupying your thoughts more than usual.”

Sae-Byeok tensed. The instinct to deflect, to shut down, to deny, flared up instantly. But she forced herself to keep her expression neutral.

“It’s nothing,” she said, grabbing a towel and turning away before Ji-Yeong could see anything crack through the surface.

Ji-Yeong sighed, stretching her arms over her head as she let the conversation drop—for now.

“Alright, alright,” she relented. “But just so you know, ‘nothing’ doesn’t usually look like you staring off into space every five minutes.” She grinned, slinging an arm around Sae-Byeok’s shoulder for half a second before stepping back. “But hey, keep your secrets. I’ll just be here, suffering in silence, tragically left out of whatever’s messing with your head.”

Sae-Byeok rolled her eyes, but a small—very small—smirk tugged at her lips.

Ji-Yeong caught it.

“Ah-ha! Emotion!” she declared triumphantly, pointing at her. “I knew I’d get something out of you.”

Sae-Byeok shook her head, but before Ji-Yeong could press further, the first few trainees trickled into the gym, breaking whatever thread of conversation they had left.

Ji-Yeong stretched once more, shooting Sae-Byeok a final glance before turning toward the newcomers. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

And just like that, the moment passed.

But even as they slipped back into routine, even as Sae-Byeok focused on the day ahead, she couldn’t shake the truth that had been gnawing at her from the start.

It wasn’t nothing.

And no matter how much she tried to push it away, she knew it wouldn’t stay buried for long.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Hours passed, the steady rhythm of the gym fading as trainees filtered out one by one. The clatter of weights, the sharp echoes of punches meeting pads, the low hum of conversation—all of it slowly gave way to silence, leaving only the faint hum of the overhead lights and the sound of their own breathing.

By closing time, it was just the two of them. Which meant one thing—training together.

Sae-Byeok barely needed to exchange words with Ji-Yeong as they stepped into the ring, slipping into their routine as naturally as breathing. They squared up, circling each other, gauging movements, waiting for the first strike. It was muscle memory now—the sharp snap of a jab, the instinctive dodge, the controlled counter.

But something was off.

Ji-Yeong could tell almost immediately.

Sae-Byeok’s form was the same, her stance solid, her reflexes sharp—but there was a hesitation, a split-second delay in her movements that shouldn’t have been there. She wasn’t fully present.

Ji-Yeong exploited it without mercy. She faked left, then sent a swift jab toward Sae-Byeok’s side, expecting her to dodge. She didn’t.

The impact wasn’t hard, more of a tap than an actual hit, but Ji-Yeong immediately dropped her guard and leaned back against the ropes with an exaggerated sigh.

“Alright, what the hell is up with you today?”

Sae-Byeok exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist. “Nothing.”

Ji-Yeong’s smirk widened. “Oh, it’s definitely something.” She tapped her chin in mock thought, drawing out the moment. “Let me guess…” She snapped her fingers like she had just solved the greatest mystery of the century. “You got a little crush on someone, don't you?”

Sae-Byeok scoffed, reaching for her water bottle, her movements carefully indifferent.

Ji-Yeong, of course, wasn’t buying it.

“Wait—” Her eyes lit up with sudden mischief, her lips curling into a knowing grin. “Is it a boy?”

The sheer disgust that flickered across Sae-Byeok’s face was all the confirmation Ji-Yeong needed.

She cackled, pointing at her like she had just caught her in a lie. “Ohh, it’s a girl, huh?” She nudged Sae-Byeok’s arm, grinning. “Kinda figured. Never really took you as someone who liked boys anyway.”

Sae-Byeok huffed, rolling her eyes as she took a long, deliberate sip from her water bottle, refusing to dignify Ji-Yeong’s teasing with an answer.

“Hey, no shame in it,” Ji-Yeong said with a casual shrug, unwrapping the tape from her hands and tossing it onto the bench. “If anything, you’ve got good taste. She must be cute if she’s got you spacing out like this.”

Sae-Byeok ignored the remark, focusing instead on shutting down the gym for the night. She moved through the gym with quiet precision, her body on autopilot as she wiped down the last of the equipment, ensuring everything was in place before locking up for the night. The scent of sweat and disinfectant lingered in the air, the steady hum of fluorescent lights casting elongated shadows across the mats. She focused on the routine, on the muscle memory of closing down a space she knew as well as the back of her hand.

Ji-Yeong, of course, didn’t make it easy.

She trailed after her, tossing out playful remarks, nudging at the edges of Sae-Byeok’s silence, waiting for her to crack. It was the same as always—Ji-Yeong’s way of getting under her skin, of making her react, of reminding her that she wasn’t as unreadable as she liked to think she was.

And usually, Sae-Byeok would roll her eyes, brush her off, dismiss her entirely.

But tonight, she didn’t mind.

Because even if Ji-Yeong was teasing, even if she was just poking fun, there was something comforting about the way she noticed things. About the way she never pushed too hard, never pried with the intent to unravel, but instead just existed beside her, offering the kind of easy companionship that Sae-Byeok had never quite known how to accept.

She didn’t have to say anything. Didn’t have to spell out the tangled mess of thoughts she refused to acknowledge. Ji-Yeong already understood, in that frustratingly effortless way of hers.

Sae-Byeok wouldn’t talk about the way her mind had been preoccupied all day, about the way you had taken up space in her thoughts without permission. She wouldn’t admit that her usual focus had been shaken, that there was an unfamiliar warmth lingering beneath her ribs, something unnamed and unsettling.

But Ji-Yeong didn’t need her to.

She just threw out her jokes, her playful nudges, her knowing glances—never demanding anything, never forcing Sae-Byeok to confront what she wasn’t ready to.

And somehow, that was enough.

So Sae-Byeok let her talk. Let her tease. Let her existence fill the space where words might have gone.

Because even if she wouldn’t say it outright, it was nice.

Having someone like Ji-Yeong.

Having someone who knew when to push, and when to simply stay.

With the gym locked up for the night, the world outside greeted them with a sharp contrast—the crisp night air wrapping around their sweat-cooled skin, the distant hum of traffic, the neon glow of streetlights casting long streaks of color onto the pavement. The city was still alive, even at this hour, buzzing with movement and voices that blurred into the background like a song on low volume.

The exhaustion of the day clung to Sae-Byeok’s limbs, but it wasn’t heavy—not in the way that weighed her down. It was the good kind, the kind that came from a body well-used, from muscles worked to their limit, from the familiarity of routine.

Ji-Yeong stretched her arms over her head with an exaggerated groan before stuffing her hands into her hoodie pockets. “Food?”

Sae-Byeok didn’t hesitate. “Obviously.”

They fell into step beside each other, the chill of the night a stark contrast to the heat that still clung to their skin. Sae-Byeok tucked her hands into her hoodie, glancing at Ji-Yeong with a smirk. “You’re paying.”

Ji-Yeong scoffed, shooting her an incredulous look. “Oh, come on. You don’t have any more viper money to spare on little ol’ me?”

Sae-Byeok groaned, tilting her head back. “You know how my last fight went.”

Ji-Yeong chuckled, her grin widening as she bumped her shoulder lightly against Sae-Byeok’s. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. But next time, you better win. I have a taste for Korean BBQ, not some sad, gas station ramen.”

Sae-Byeok huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she nudged Ji-Yeong’s elbow in retaliation. “Well, you better start saving up too, then.”

Ji-Yeong clicked her tongue, feigning offense. “Wow. So now I have to treat you?” She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “I swear, the things I put up with for you…”

Sae-Byeok rolled her eyes, but she didn’t bother hiding the smirk that lingered on her lips.

For a moment, with the cool air easing the tightness in her chest, with Ji-Yeong’s familiar presence beside her, she allowed herself to not fight it.

The thoughts.

The feeling.

The quiet tug of something she wasn’t sure she fully understood.

She didn’t know why you had taken up so much space in her mind—why your presence lingered long after you were gone, why she caught herself searching for you in quiet moments when she should have been focused on anything else.

But maybe… maybe she wasn’t so sure she wanted to fight it anymore.

Maybe, it was something she could get used to.

NEW ENTRY ! NEW ENTRY ! NEW ENTRY ! NEW ENTRY !

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

LEE YOO-MI as JI-YEONG

"what's a life without excitement?"

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