#Stopped trying because what was the point

[hot-patootiee]

Part 2 of this. And can you tell I had issues with my ex? Like holy shit I’m having flashbacks writing this.

Nancy stands up and walks over to Eddie though, and gently pushes him towards the door.

“Go fix it.” She demands.

Eddie makes a confused sound as he is gently pushed out of the house, having to push open the door or be squished into it.

…

When Steve’s doorbell rings again, he’s getting a little annoyed.

He swings open the door and Eddie is there.

Steve begins to close the door.

Unfortunately he is forced to deal with his feelings, so Eddie puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.

“Did you think we were dating?” Eddie seems almost accusatory in his tone, which immediately annoyed Steve.

“What do you mean by ‘think’ Eddie? I asked you out, you said yes.” Steve was still trying to shut the door in Eddie’s face, but he looked more angry than sad. “Unless this is some sort of strange apology and declaration of love, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“It is! It is! Just don’t close the door.” Steve furrows his brows and lets the door swing open.

Eddie stumbles in, tripping over the entrance and nearly falling into Steve.

Steve stares at Eddie, waiting.

“I thought you were just experimenting and I’m so sorry for thinking your confession was a joke.” Eddie says sincerely, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort.

“You think everything I do is a joke. Everyone does! Poor little Steve Harrington gets hit in the head too many times and now is incapable of a coherent thought.” Steve finishes with a self deprecating laugh. His eyes are shining and Eddie can see the rage festering in them, the resignation transforming into simmering anger.

Eddie opens his mouth to refute it, but is cut off instead.

“Was kissing me a joke too? Am I too stupid to know?” Steve moves into Eddie’s face, crowding him before pulling back suddenly. A strong gust reminds Eddie the door is open and anyone close enough could hear them.

“No, no of course not. Shouldn’t we close the door?” Eddie suggests.

“You’re the dumbass who didn’t close it. There is no we in that.” Steve sneers at Eddie’s implication at Steve being incompetent.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie murmurs, pushing the door hard and letting it swing shut. His shoulders are hunched, as if he was trying to placate Steve by making himself smaller.

“I thought you were different, I put up with everybody else calling me stupid all the time, because most of them are children, and I thought you, my boyfriend, was different. But, apparently, you think I’m too incompetent with my own feelings that you need to make the judgement for me.”

“I thought you were joking.” Eddie repeated, Steve was honestly beginning to hear the needle on the vinyl from how many times Eddie had been repeating himself.

“And when I kissed you, was I still just joking?” Steve probed.

“No, can you just let me explain for a second?” Eddie spat his words out quickly, knowing if he went slower Steve would continue to yell at him.

“No, because you’re charging in here with some half cocked apology to try to fix something, just because someone else pointed out that you should. You need to feel better, so you came over to apologize, without considering that I’ve been wallowing in my house for days because of something you did. Actually fucking apologize because you feel bad about putting me in pain, not because you want to stop being uncomfortable with your own actions.” Steve lectured, he massaged the bridge of his nose slightly in an attempt to alleviate his own frustration.

“What do you want me to do? How do I fix this?”

“Those are questions you have to answer yourself. Maybe apologize with something that screams ‘sorry for thinking our entire relationship was a joke’. If you come here with some fucking flowers or chocolate and think that that’s adequate, I will break your fucking guitar.” The wrinkles in Steve’s brow just became deeper as he threatened Eddie. His muscles trembled slightly as he reminded himself of how angry he was.

Eddie nods, looking slightly resigned.

“Oh, and your fucking behavior should change, treat me like a goddamn person. I pulled your ass out of hell, I’ve proved myself to be capable a thousand times over. Treat me like I am.” Eddie couldn’t help but focus on how Steve’s hands shook.

Eddie nods and begins to pull away from Steve, looking sad as he slowly moves to the door.

“What are you doing?” Steve looked genuinely puzzled, prompting Eddie to stop with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, I didn’t think you’d want me here.” Eddie shrugged, looking a lot like a kicked puppy as he whimpered. He then began to turn the doorknob to exit the Harrington house.

“What did I just say about making decisions for me?” Steve has his hip cocked and his hands resting on his waist in his signature annoyed mom look. Eddie freezes, unknowing of what to do.

“Come on, go to my room and wait, I just need to run the dishes.” Steve shoos Eddie, who quickly scampers up the stairs and slipped inside Steve’s room. He was unsure of what to do so he waited at the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, but Steve finally pads into the room.

Steve pushes Eddie onto his back. Crawling inbetween his legs.

Eddie opens his mouth to express his confusion, but is interrupted by a firm “scooch” which spurs Eddie into backing up into the headboard. Steve follows quickly behind.

Steve tucks himself into Eddie’s collarbone. He settles easily, even though Eddie is still incredibly tense.

“Tell me the other thing you came here to say.” Steve demands.

“Oh darling I like you so much. I’ll stay with you forever, I’m so sorry for leaving.” Eddie rambles, like the floodgates holding him back had been released.

“Again?” Steve said quietly, barely louder than his breath.

“I like you a lot, Steve. I got the biggest crush on you. Never thought you’d ever like someone like me. I don’t deserve you.” Eddie ends with a damn near whimper, but Steve’s resolve didn’t change in the face of Eddie’s words.

“You’re right, you don’t. You left me and you were planning on leaving me again if I didn’t accept your apology. It’s been days and all I want is to be with my boyfriend.” Steve’s voice slowly tampered down to a whisper as he spoke.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Eddie murmured shamefully.

“Yea, no shit.” Steve snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Your formal apology better be fucking amazing.” Steve countered playfully.

“I’ll do my best.” Eddie pauses for a second. “What if it’s not good enough?”

“Then I break up with you.” Eddie deflates slightly. Steve continues though. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value me or respect me, I’ve made that mistake before.”

Eddie felt his stomach sink, but began to brainstorm on how to make it up to Steve.

Btw El and Will are making Brownies for Steve rn.

PART 3 IS HERE

Omg I’m such an ass, pt 3 coming soon if I’m harassed enough to do it.

Also, psa if you fuck up big, you need to actually show you’re sorry. Don’t apologize to make yourself feel better, apologize to make the other person feel better. Make an actual effort to not repeat your past actions. If someone doesn’t accept your apology, remember you aren’t entitled to their forgiveness. No matter how much society tries to act like you deserve it for simply apologizing.

Also if it isn’t evident, I was forced to accept a lot of apologies when I didn’t want to.

@stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

Rest of the mentions will be in the comments because fuck there is a lot of you.

[starry-bi-sky]

im being hit with The Visions again

the Vision this time is a "homeless danny in gotham" au except its pre-robin Batman again because im on a batdad kick. --------------------

Danny finds a car.

Which-- isn't, like, anything super interesting or impressive. It's Gotham, it's a big city. There's cars on every corner, can't throw a stick without hitting one somewhere. And then setting off the alarm.

But-! It's a car, and it's past midnight-- or he thinks it might be past midnight, it's late enough to be. He doesn't have a watch and he left his phone at Vlad's; asshole put a tracker on it after the last time Danny ran off.

It's been over a month since, it's a new record -- last time it took just over two weeks for Vlad to find him and drag him back to the mansion. This time, Danny ran further. Left the state and everything. See how long it takes Vlad to find him now, hah.

People go missing all the time in Gotham.

Anyways-- there's a car, and it's midnight, and it's parked in an alleyway. Danny would've called it invisible with the way he pretty much trips over it, phasing through the wall of the building beside it and not watching where he's going, but it's not. So he doesn't.

Danny runs into the hood and nearly faceplants right into the darn thing with an 'oomph', hands catching himself on the metal as a flash of irritation flashes hot through his gut. It doesn't hurt or anything, but getting the wind knocked out of you sucks always, and he's tired and hungry, and as a result not in the best state of mind.

He's just about to sink his foot into the side of the wheel -- it wouldn't do anything, he's not that big of an asshole, but it's the principle -- when he stops.

Danny pauses.

He takes a step back, holding his hands out 'n' everything, and examines the car. He squints, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness, considering the closest streetlight is twenty feet that way and positioned in a way that none of the light is hitting it.

Danny would not call himself a car guy. He doesn't think he counts, considering his size and lack of everything. But, but, he knows his way around a few cars, and he had an old obsession with older models when he was little that kinda petered out of existence after his accident. Had a bunch of little car models sitting on one of his shelves back in Amity, and Dad offered to get his hands on an old car for the two of them to fix up together so it'd be ready for Danny when he got his license.

...Anyways.

Point is: Danny can appreciate an old car, and this car has an older -- albeit obviously modified, if the matte paneling and plated wheels meant anything -- look to it. That kind of flat top went out of style years ago, and it's got this kinda rectangular look Danny doesn't see often these days on modern cars.

Other than the electrical cars, but he doesn't think those count. That's boxy, not rectangular.

Danny frowns, tilts his hands down, and leans back further as if that will let him get a better look at this thing. "...What model is this?" He mutters, it's hard to tell in this lighting.

Wait, he should see if there's anyone in the car. It's not running or anything, and nobody's come out to yell at him -- or shoot him -- but, still. People are crazy in Gotham, crazier than they've ever been in Amity. The last thing he needs to do is piss off some guy from the mob.

Danny peers into the window and-- there's no window, okay. Well, no window, and no driver. Some idiot left their car unprotected and without windows, in Gotham?

He pulls on the door handle just to be annoying -- it doesn't budge. Okay, maybe not that stupid. Especially since Danny didn't even see it until he was quite literally running into it.

So. Not that stupid.

Danny looks around warily, pulling his hoodie around him tighter, and then starts circling the car slowly. Like a vulture. No license plate; shocker. Hear how shocked he is? Clutching his pearls right now.

"Reinforced bumper. Cool." he says, er- whispers, really, quiet enough that it doesn't even echo. Danny squats in front of the car and runs his hands over the -- what, should he even call this a bumper? It's bigger than his head, and it's covering the grille. He picks at these... things on the side that remind him of leather straps. Probably to keep this bumper up? Like a ratchet strap?

Danny leans back until his butt hits the ground and he can sit back properly, propping himself up on his hands -- maybe not a good idea. There's probably broken glass somewhere here and he doesn't wanna pick shards out of his palms, again. It's like popping the world's most annoying zit depending on if it gets under the skin.

(He could always just phase them out, but the picking gives him something to do. It doesn't hurt that much.)

Eh. It'll be fine.

With one knee propped up, Danny looks the front up and down, and furrows his brows. The style kinda reminds him of a dodger, especially with the placement and style of the headlights. He plants his hands on the concrete -- hissing when he feels something cut into his palms, ow, there's that glass he was talking about -- and leans down to look under the car.

Hm, nothing jutting out that much. Looks pretty normal. Good space between the bottom and the ground.

He gets up and circles the side again, brushing whatever pebbles or glass that could've stuck into his skin off. He's really curious about where the owner got matte plating for it, or if it's just a wrap. The silhouette's definitely sixties or seventies; too angular for the eighties and fifties.

...There's no one here, Danny looks around again just to make sure, cranes his ears to catch anything. Nope, just the typical quiet rumbling of Gotham's underbelly. It kinda reminds him of Amity, or-- no. No, it reminds him of the quiet groan of the Zone.

That's far more comforting, he thinks. Danny's never really liked Amity all that much.

Back to the car: there's no one around, so Danny folds his arms against the side of the door and sticks his head inside the window. No keys in the ignition, should've figured.

Not like Danny was planning on stealing the car anyways -- anyone capable of modifying a car into this kinda beast -- or paying someone to modify -- was not someone he wanted to piss off. Danny's an orphan, not stupid.

Ignore the fact that he's got his head stuck through the window. The interior isn't anything interesting, but the seats are made of leather, which is nice. Must be a pain in the summer or winter, but leather is cool, and gets stains out better than cloth.

No stick shift though, he's a little disappointed.

Danny presses his mouth into a line and then slants it, humming in the back of his throat. Honestly, he's kinda tempted to crawl in and go to sleep. The leather seats look really inviting, and he's been sleeping on the ground or on park benches for weeks, and the car is really well hidden. No need to worry about being kidnapped.

But, it still belongs to someone. And they're probably using it for something shady. They'll come back for it eventually, so he should get this gawking over with anyways.

And, and-- and. He wants to get a look at that fucking engine. 'Cause holy shit!

Danny pulls his head out of the window and half-dances over to the back, his hand curling around one of the bars as a grin spreads across his face. Now, Danny hates Christmas, but this, this is like it came early and good for once.

"You could smuggle moonshine with this thing," Danny says to himself, grinning ear to ear and running his hands over the edge of the metal. The car is too conspicuous for backroads driving, but the engine, wow. What a thing of beauty.

One of Auntie's friends would probably know what engine it is -- or what type of engine it's based off of, it could very well be a bunch of different engines frankenstein'd together. Danny doesn't recognize it.

Which means it could be illegal. Again, what a shocker. In Gotham? He's clutching his pearls.

Fully satisfied with himself, Danny dances around to the front again and holds his hands out. He makes an 'L' with both hands and shuts one eye, getting the car within the frame of his fingers like he's about to take a picture.

"I rate you," Danny makes a camera shutter sound and mimics taking a photo, "one cool fuckin' car."

"Thank you."

Danny doesn't scream. He does not. He's taught himself better since ghosts started popping up in Amity, and honestly he deserves some credit for that considering they only started popping up over half a year ago.

He does, however, gasp. And he gasps hard, the type that has a high chance of giving you the hiccups afterwards; the painful, chest-thumping kind. Danny slams both hands over his mouth and stumbles backwards, eyes wide and his heart kicking into the fifth gear in his ears.

Bleeding out from the shadows is a man entirely drenched in black, Danny can hardly make out his silhouette and barely catches the white glints of his eyes. Fear like a prey animal burns in his lungs, wild and rabid, Danny has half a mind to bolt.

His ghost sense didn't go off, which might just be the most terrifying thing.

The man doesn't move any more than a step, just enough that Danny can barely see him, but he can feel him watching him. Shit. Shit. He should've never stuck around.

His hands are still over his mouth, Danny, shaking, flutters them open, "How-- h-- how--" he wheezes, "how long have you been standing there?"

[wendichester]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. sweet, oblivious, you²,

summary. dean likes you. sam likes you, too. lucky you, oblivious to it all.

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester  genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 2263

notes / warnings. as requested by many families, here's the unholy part 2. i need to go confess myself now to the pope (my local priest isn't equipped enough) ✌🏻// explicit language, explicit sexual content ( sex on the kitchen table!!! ), just weird and kinda hot??

ᯓ★ read part 1

It starts to change after that night.

Not in any big way, not all at once. It’s not like Dean drops to one knee or Sam starts reading you poetry by firelight (though honestly, neither would be completely off-brand at this point). No, it shifts in the quiet ways. The subtle ones. The ways that feel like they’re nothing — until suddenly, they’re everything.

Like how Dean now insists on sitting next to you at every meal. Not across, not diagonally. Right next to you. Close enough that your elbows brush when you cut into your food. Close enough that his arm accidentally finds the back of your chair more often than not, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder, like he just needs to rest his arm somewhere. Totally innocent.

Sure, Dean.

Sam counters with morning coffee.

You don’t even remember telling him how you like it, but one day it’s just there — your exact brew, perfect amount of sugar, that one creamer you love but keep forgetting to buy.

“You didn’t have to—” you start, blinking sleepily.

He shrugs, easy and casual, but there’s that gleam in his eye. “Didn’t mind.”

Dean starts walking into the kitchen shirtless.

Because of course he does.

“Too hot to wear a shirt, sweetheart,” he says one morning, voice husky with sleep, like it’s a suffering he’s graciously enduring for your benefit.

Your brain hiccups for a second. Sam drops his knife against the counter with a little too much force.

It’s war.

You just sip your coffee and try not to combust.

Training sessions become the next battleground.

Dean offers to “spot” you during strength drills. And by spot, he means stand behind you, one hand on your lower back, one guiding your wrist, voice low in your ear, breath brushing your neck like he’s trying to reprogram your nervous system.

“Atta girl,” he murmurs, just a little too close. “Keep that form tight, yeah? Just like that.”

Meanwhile, Sam’s out here playing the long game — patience and precision. He takes you through defensive maneuvers, calm and steady. But his hand lingers when he helps you up off the mat. His body presses just a second too long when you crash into his chest. And his praise?

Way more dangerous than Dean’s.

“You’re a fast learner,” he says one afternoon, gaze locked on yours, his thumb brushing your cheekbone after a sweaty match. “I like that.”

You freeze. Swallow hard. Laugh it off.

They both see it.

They both want more.

One night, Dean finds you in the library, legs curled under you, hoodie slouching off one shoulder. You’re so into whatever lore you’re reading that you don’t hear him until he drops onto the couch beside you, legs spread wide, knee bumping yours.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asks, all easy charm.

You hold up the book without looking. “Something about Norse possession rituals. Kinda creepy. Kinda cool.”

Dean watches you over the rim of his beer. “You’re kinda cool.”

You blink at him. “What?”

He grins. “Nothin’. Just sayin’. It’s… cool. That you’re into that stuff.”

You stare at him, a little amused. A little suspicious. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.” He throws his arm across the back of the couch — again, purely accidental — and lets his fingers brush your shoulder. “You cold? You can borrow my hoodie if you want.”

You’re wearing a hoodie. His hoodie.

He knows. He gave it to you last week and hasn’t stopped thinking about it since.

You’re about to make a joke when Sam walks in, sees you two curled up, and stalls.

Something flashes behind his eyes. Something dark and determined.

He says nothing. Just walks over, grabs a book from the shelf — and drops it in your lap.

“You should read this one next,” he says smoothly, ignoring Dean completely. “It ties into that ritual text. Same demon class. More dangerous, though.”

Your fingers brush when he hands it to you. His touch is warm and deliberate. You feel it all the way down.

Dean clocks it.

His jaw ticks.

Game on.

Later that night, you’re walking down the hall toward your room, yawning. Dean’s voice calls out behind you.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You turn — and he’s there, way too close, one hand braced on the wall beside your head.

His smirk is soft, but it’s hiding something sharp underneath. Something hungry.

“You got plans tomorrow?” he asks, voice honey-slick and low. “Thinkin’ about takin’ you for a drive. Just us. Sunset. You know. Mood lighting.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Oh. Um. Yeah? That sounds nice.”

He leans in — just slightly — enough that your breath catches.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

Before you can answer, a door opens behind you.

“Hey,” Sam says, voice calm but cool. He steps into the hall, barefoot, shirt rumpled, like he’s been pacing. “Didn’t know you were still up. I was about to make tea. You want some?”

Dean doesn’t move. Sam doesn’t blink.

You’re caught between them, flushed and wide-eyed, every cell in your body screaming that something’s happening, even if you don’t know what exactly it is.

You laugh — nervous, flustered — and nod. “Sure! Tea sounds great.”

Sam’s eyes flicker to Dean. “Coming?”

Dean peels himself off the wall with a lazy roll of his shoulders. “Nah,” he says, but the look in his eyes promises blood. “I’ve got other things on my mind.”

And then he walks off, all swagger and smirk, leaving you and Sam standing in the hall like the first scene of a very slow, very dangerous fire.

Sam turns to you, gentle again. “Chamomile okay?”

You nod, suddenly short of breath.

He smiles, soft and devastating. “Good.”

⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

It starts with a look.

One look, too long. Too loaded. Too everything.

You’re in the kitchen again. Nothing special — tank top, sleep shorts, mug in hand. It’s late. You can’t sleep. The bunker hums with quiet and warmth. You’re barefoot on cold tile, staring into the fridge like it holds answers to questions you haven’t asked yet.

And then Dean’s there.

Leaning against the counter like he was born to brood, beer bottle dangling from two fingers, jaw shadowed with stubble and sleep. His eyes drag over you, slow and simmering, and for once?

He doesn’t look away.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and sandpapery.

You shake your head. “Nope. Thought warm milk might help.”

He smirks. “Old school. Cute.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, grandpa.”

But your heart ticks faster.

He doesn’t laugh. Just watches you, like he’s trying to memorize something.

You go to the stove. Pour milk into a saucepan. And then?

You feel him behind you.

Not close — not inappropriate — but present. Solid heat. Quiet intensity. You stir the milk and try not to notice the way your breath shortens. The way you’re aware of him in a way you weren’t before.

Dean doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

He’s just there. Waiting.

And then Sam enters — quieter than usual, in joggers and a soft black tee, hair mussed, eyes unreadable.

You expect things to ease.

They don’t.

He sees you.

Sees Dean.

And something shifts in him too.

He walks over to you — not Dean. To you. And places a hand lightly on the small of your back, fingers splayed.

“Everything okay?” he murmurs, voice soft but loaded with that same heat Dean’s carrying. A different flavor — gentler, deeper — but no less intense.

Your mouth goes dry.

Dean watches Sam’s hand. His jaw flexes once.

And suddenly… something clicks.

You freeze, spoon mid-stir.

They aren’t just being friendly.

They haven’t been for weeks.

The lingering touches. The quiet glances. The midnight coffees and training sessions that feel like something out of a dream you’re not sure you should be having. The way Dean’s hand finds your waist when you pass too close. The way Sam’s voice drops when he calls you by name, like he’s saying something sacred.

Holy shit.

You’ve been so dumb.

You look up — Sam on one side, Dean on the other — and finally, finally see it.

They want you.

Both of them.

The room tilts.

The milk starts to boil.

Dean moves first — reaches over you, kills the burner with one flick of the wrist. His body brushes yours, solid and hot, and you gasp just slightly when you feel his chest at your back.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he murmurs, mouth just behind your ear.

You nod. Lie. “Fine.”

Sam’s hand still hasn’t moved.

Dean’s breath ghosts down your neck. “You sure?”

You should say yes.

You should say you’re going back to bed, thanks for the weird vibe, have a good night—

But instead?

You turn.

Right between them.

Your eyes flick from one brother to the other, and for the first time, you don’t play dumb. You don’t look away.

You look back.

Sam swallows hard. Dean licks his lips. You feel the air crackle.

“Tell me,” you say, voice shaking slightly. “Tell me what this is.”

Dean tilts his head, watching you like a lion would a lamb that just bared her throat. “What do you want it to be?”

Sam’s voice cuts in, soft but certain. “We want you.”

Dean nods. “We’ve wanted you.”

The words slam into your stomach like heat lightning.

You blink.

“Both of you?”

Sam steps closer. “Yeah.”

Dean moves in, too. “We know it’s… different. But we’re not gonna lie to you. Not tonight.”

Your pulse hammers. “You’re serious.”

Dean’s fingers lift to your jaw. “Sweetheart. Do I look like I’m fuckin’ around?”

You open your mouth — to argue, to ask more, to do something — but then Sam kisses you.

Just like that.

Big hand curling around the back of your neck, mouth warm and sure, and it’s like your brain short-circuits. You melt against him instinctively, fingers curling in his shirt, lips parting under his with a helpless, startled noise.

And then Dean’s mouth is on your throat.

Not kissing. Tasting.

His tongue flicks along the line of your neck, rough stubble scraping gently, and your knees almost give out.

Sam pulls back just enough to breathe. “You okay?”

You nod. Whisper, “Please.”

That’s all it takes.

Dean lifts you like you weigh nothing. Hands under your thighs, mouth crashing into yours now — hot and filthy, tongue sweeping past your lips like he’s trying to ruin you from the inside out.

Sam follows, fast and quiet, hand sliding under your shirt, warm palm skimming your waist.

“Bed,” you gasp between kisses.

Dean growls against your mouth. “Didn’t plan on making it that far, sweetheart.”

They lay you out on the kitchen table.

Dean strips your shorts off in one smooth tug, kneeling to drag his mouth up your thigh, slow and reverent. Sam kneels opposite him, pressing soft, lingering kisses up the other.

You stare at the ceiling, panting, heart trying to escape your ribs.

This is real.

This is happening.

Dean hooks his arms under your knees, spreads you wide. “You still with us?”

You nod frantically. “Yes. God, yes—”

Sam’s mouth replaces your answer.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

He eats you like it’s worship.

Dean groans at the sight, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Fuck, Sammy. That’s not fair.”

Sam pulls back just enough to smirk. “She tastes like heaven.”

Dean doesn’t wait — he takes the other side, tongue flicking over your clit as Sam pushes two fingers inside you, curling just right, deep and slow.

You scream.

They hold you down gently, murmuring filth like a prayer.

“Look at you,” Dean groans. “So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

“She’s shaking,” Sam says, awed.

They devour you.

And when you come — because of course you do — it’s not quiet. It’s not graceful. It’s violent. Ripping through you like fire, hips arching, fists gripping Dean’s hair while Sam strokes you through it with something dangerously close to reverence.

When you finally breathe again, Dean’s standing, mouth wet, unbuttoning his jeans.

“You want more, sweetheart?” he pants, eyes blown wide.

You nod, half-drunk on bliss.

Sam kisses your shoulder. “You sure?”

You pull him down by the shirt and kiss him hard. “Yes.”

Clothes vanish — you’re not sure how. You’re all hands and mouths and noise. Dean presses inside you slowly, groaning so deep it shakes the table. He fills you like he was made for it, rocking into you with slow, brutal thrusts that make you keen.

Sam kisses your lips, your throat, your chest, whispering praise against your skin.

When Dean pulls out to let Sam take his place, your whole body trembles. Sam’s slower — deeper. He kisses your temple when he bottoms out, hands holding your thighs like you might disappear.

They trade you.

Again.

And again.

And when they both finish — one groaning against your neck, the other gasping into your mouth — you lie there, boneless and wrecked, caught in the heat and scent and feel of them.

You’re not sure who moves first.

Dean brushes your hair back. Sam kisses your knuckles. You curl between them, blinking up at the ceiling, heartbeat finally slowing.

Dean grins. “Still think we’re just bein’ friendly?”

You snort, dazed. “You two are the least friendly people I’ve ever met.”

Sam chuckles, breath warm against your shoulder. “Guess we’ll have to prove otherwise.”

Dean presses a kiss to your temple.

And for once, you don’t feel like the prize.

You feel like the winner.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[cameronsbabydoll]

Set-up:

You're the wife everyone envies. Perfect hair, quiet smile, the kind of softness that turns into silence over time. You live in Rafe Cameron’s high-rise glass mansion, designed by the best, filled with expensive emptiness.

But you're dying. Slowly, quietly. And he doesn’t even see it.

Core Themes:

Unseen suffering. You ache and wither in private, never wanting to "burden" him.

Emotional starvation. He doesn’t cheat on you—he just isn’t there. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. You’re a ghost in your own home.

Growing dread. You feel time slipping. You mark it by how cold he’s gotten. How your body is failing. How nothing tastes right anymore.

His ignorance is the real heartbreak. He isn’t cruel. He just doesn’t notice you’re disappearing.

Key Scenes:

1. The Quiet Illness Begins:

You start forgetting things. Coughing blood in the sink and rinsing it down before he comes in. You hide the pills in your makeup drawer. The irony is: you’re dying, but still trying to be pretty for him.

2. The Dinner Scene:

You make his favorite meal. He’s two hours late. Takes one bite. Says he’s not hungry. You eat alone, your body weak, but forcing every bite down because you want to pretend this is normal.

3. The Anniversary Gift:

You write him a letter for each anniversary you won’t live to see. You keep them in a locked drawer. On your final one, you leave a photo from your wedding—he isn’t even looking at you in it.

4. The Missed Call:

He finds out from your doctor’s voicemail. The one you forgot to delete. His face when he hears “stage four” is not panic—it’s confusion. As if he never noticed you were sick.

5. The Confrontation:

He begs to know why you never told him. You just look at him and say,

"You haven’t looked at me in months, Rafe. What would’ve been the point?"

6. The Last Month:

He finally starts trying. Cancels trips. Tries to cook for you. Reads to you in bed. But you’re too tired to care. You’ve already let go. And now he’s clinging to a version of you he never noticed when you were alive.

7. The Final Day:

You die in the home you designed to feel like his. Wearing the silk robe he bought you two years ago—the one you never wore because he never noticed when you did. He finds you in the garden, asleep forever, surrounded by the flowers you planted alone.

8. The Aftermath:

Rafe doesn’t cry. He just stops. Stops speaking. Stops hosting. Stops going out. The house is quiet now. Too quiet. He reads one letter a year. He can't handle more than that.

And every night, he sleeps on your side of the bed.

Extra Elements:

He finds your journals—realizes you knew from the start and still loved him through every cold, distant morning.

He sees the baby shoes you bought but never told him about. You miscarried alone.

Your voicemail is still saved on his phone. And he plays it to hear your voice.

[undyingdecay]

pairing: robert reynolds x reader cw: smut, mentions of the void, overstimulation, dumbifiaction, sub!robert, usage of the term 'good boy'.

robert reynolds is a pervert.

not in a sleazy, frat-boy way. not the kind of pervert that leaves behind smudges on phone screens or searches for content that disappears after midnight. no—bob’s perversion was quieter. more intentional. it was in the way he read. the way he lingered. the way he looked at you like you were the first and last real thing in a universe he barely believed in anymore. the kind that reads neuroscience books with a glassy look in his eyes and one hand suspiciously low on his thigh.

he was draped over the big, circular couch in the middle of the common space—gray, soft, impossibly wide. you’d insisted on it after moving in. you’d pointed out the couch in some overprice magazine—something walker scoffed at—and bob had ordered it the same day without saying a word, just a gentle nod like he understood what you were trying to do. you made space feel like something worth staying in.

the bar stark left behind had made the place look like an empty bachelor pad—just black glass, chrome, and a monument to drinking problems. that didn’t feel like a home, especially not with yelena tossing back beers like water, and walker nursing bourbon while pretending to read his own press.

so you’d pushed for the couch. something cozy. something human. and now there bob sat like a statue come to life, long limbs sprawled across the upholstery, fingers curled around a paperback. “reaching down the rabbit hole.”

you’d brought him the book that rainy sunday. the tower had gone soft and quiet, raindrops streaking the long windows of the library. you’d wandered off, fingers trailing along spines, stopping in the neuroscience section—bizarre, given that everything there usually put you to sleep. but you remembered him talking about it before. how damaged brains lied to themselves, how some patients created entire lives out of nothing just to make their reality feel whole. you’d caught maybe every third word he said, too mesmerized by the way he licked his lips when he got excited explaining neurons misfiring like overloaded circuits.

now, he was devouring it. not quickly—no, he moved through it like a man savoring a final meal. eyes slowly tracking each sentence. sometimes mouthing the words. sometimes whispering them like they mattered more than he did.

you were behind him, mixing a drink in one of those glasses that were too thin to feel real. the ice had melted. twice. but you were still standing there, watching him as he shifted on the couch, his broad frame sinking deeper into the cushions, spine curling just a little. his thighs parted naturally, his sweatpants stretched over the lazy curve of his cock—noticeably half-hard, twitching slightly under the thin fabric. maybe it was the book. maybe it was you.

maybe both.

your fingers absently stirring a drink in one of the highball glasses everyone kept reusing because nobody wanted to admit they were too lazy to do dishes. the spoon clinked gently, ice long since melted into a lukewarm pool. you stood just far enough that he couldn’t feel you, but close enough that you could smell him—the subtle scent of ozone and storm-scorched pine bark that clung to him no matter how often he bathed. the scent of the void, perhaps.

every now and then he licked the pink of his lips, slow and plush, and shifted like he needed to make room for something—like the fabric of those soft gray sweatpants was suddenly too tight across his thighs. he took his time with each sentence, eyes dark and gleaming, mouth slightly open. he was dissecting it, you knew. reading it the way he wanted to be touched.

god, he was teasing you.

or maybe you were projecting. maybe it was you who was the pervert, letting your eyes drift down the hard line of his stomach, to the subtle bulge rising beneath that book. the way he kept twitching, rolling his hips against nothing, like the words themselves were getting him off.

it wasn’t fair—how every little gesture from him felt like an invitation. the way his fingers slid over the paper like he was stroking skin. the way he exhaled through his nose, low and humming. the way he moved his hips to get comfortable, drawing your eye back to the heat pooling in his lap.

when your spoon finally tapped the edge of the glass, the chime rang out like a siren, and bob’s head turned toward you, slow and fluid. his gaze locked on yours, eyes molten gold, pupils slightly blown. your breath caught. the look he gave you was lazy. knowing. like he’d been aware of your stare this whole time and was just letting you think you were sneaky.

something flickered deep in your core. the press of damp fabric between your legs now felt unbearable. your panties clung to you like second skin—soaked, hot, aching.

you were a pervert—but maybe bob was even worse for letting you touch him like this.

your hands wrapped snugly around his pretty, leaking cock, and he was bucking up into your palms like a man possessed. the shape you made with your fingers had him gasping, breathy and high, whimpering out what you thought might be your name—until it broke into a needy, guttural whine that came from somewhere deep in his chest. god, he whined so much.

you tightened your grip, feeling the slick warmth of his pre cum trickling down your fingers, and he sucked in a sharp breath before his head dropped back against the pillow. he looked ruined—beautiful. lips parted and pink, eyes squeezed shut. you swore you could see the gloss of tears clinging to his lashes, streaking faintly down his cheeks. his chest heaved, his throat worked visibly as he swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

you started moving your hand again—slow, deliberate strokes that dragged from base to tip with a little twist at the top, just how he liked it. the sound it made was obscene: wet, sticky, lewd, echoing through the room like it wanted to humiliate him.

you leaned down, pressed a kiss to the flushed column of his neck, humming low as you felt a desperate little “please” spill past his lips. you started moving your hand again, slow and tight. the slick, obscene sounds of it filled the room.

“baby,” you murmured against his skin, “you said you were gonna tell me what you were reading about, remember?”

“uh-huh,” he breathed, a thin, helpless sound—like the wind had been knocked from him. there was nothing left in him but pleasure, but you pulled back just enough to force his mind to scramble for the right words. desperate to keep your hand on him, he spoke.

“it was—fuck, wait—neuro—neurotransmitters,” he gasped, words tumbling over each other as his hips twitched again. “dopamine, mostly. i—i was reading about how it spikes during sex—fucking hell—and how just, just touching like this—oh god—it lights up the reward system, m-makes the brain think it’s dying or flying—shit, i don’t even know—”

his voice cracked into a moan, thick and raw. you watched his lashes flutter, lips trembling as he tried again.

“and oxytocin—‘s the bonding one, the cuddle chemical or whatever—jesus, your hands—baby, your hands—” he whined, nearly sobbing with it now, legs twitching as he babbled. “it makes you—mmf—makes you crave the person touching you. that’s why i can’t—why i can’t think when you—ah, fuck—when you do that thing with your thumb—!”

you obliged, dragging your thumb slowly over his leaking tip, watching his entire body jolt under your touch. he sobbed.

“please, i don’t—don’t even know what i’m saying anymore,” he hiccuped, voice breaking as he clenched the sheets, trying to stay grounded. “there’s this part of the brain—nucleus accumbens—that lights up like a fucking—fuck, a firework—when you touch me like this. i—i read that. i swear i read that, baby, i just—oh god.”

he squirmed under you, legs shifting restlessly, hips twitching up in search of more, always more. every little movement of your wrist pulled another moan from him, another soft curse or hiccuping breath. you watched the way his body responded—so open, so reactive. the way his thighs tensed, his belly fluttered, his toes curled. the way his throat bobbed again and again like he was trying not to choke on how good it felt.

you gave him more. your pace stayed slow, steady, torturously controlled. you gripped tighter, just a bit, and felt the tension in him spike. his cock was flushed red, veins standing out, the head swollen and slick with so much pre it coated your fingers, dripped down to your wrist. he was absolutely soaked.

your thumb swept over the sensitive ridge just beneath the tip once more and his whole body arched—his back lifting clean off the mattress, mouth falling open in a soundless cry. his hands clawed at the sheets, knuckles white, nails dragging lines in the fabric like he was trying to hold on to something—anything

you leaned down, kissed the underside of his cock, then the head, soft and slow like you were worshipping him. the taste of him stuck to your lips—salty and hot like honey drawn from a fever dream. you felt his thighs tremble again.

he was close.

your hand sped up just a little, slick sounds building louder, rougher, the friction bordering on unbearable. his head thrashed from side to side, hair clinging to his temples, chest heaving with every breath he couldn’t catch. he was unraveling—falling apart with nothing but your hand around his cock and your mouth praising every inch of him.

“you’re so smart, bobby,” you whispered, voice soft and adoring, your lips brushing the head of his cock before kissing it sweetly. his milky pre clung to your mouth like honey. and the praise—just like always—hit his cock first and his brain second. that broke him.

his entire body seized—legs locked tight, back arcing sharply off the bed, muscles pulling taut like a drawn bow. his mouth dropped open in a cracked, ragged cry that caught in his throat and splintered into a gasping moan. his cock gave a heavy twitch in your grip—then another—and then he came.

hot, thick release spilled from him in violent pulses, the first rope hitting your wrist with a warm, wet slap. it was creamy, almost milky in color, streaking across your hand and his lower belly in messy, uneven lines. he came hard—a lot—like his body had been holding it back for far too long. more followed in sharp bursts, painting his skin in long, slow ribbons that glistened in the low bedroom light. it clung to him, sticky and hot, catching in the fine trail of hair below his navel, smearing against his tense abdomen, dripping from the flushed head of his cock in long, glossy strands. your grip stayed steady, coaxing him through it with tender, unrelenting strokes. he whined—high and soft and pitiful—as his hips gave a last, desperate jerk, like his body still hadn’t caught up with the release tearing through it.

“good boy,” you breathed, voice low, thick with praise and want. “look at you, baby. that’s it. you made such a mess.”

the words hit him like a second orgasm.

he whimpered again, legs trembling, hands fisting into the sheets with weak desperation. his chest rose and fell in frantic, shallow gasps, sweat-slick skin glowing in the soft light, flushed pink across his cheeks, his chest, the tips of his ears. he looked utterly, exquisitely ruined—come-drunk, dazed, blinking up at you like he couldn’t remember how to speak.

you watched his release slowly slide down his skin—thick drops trailing along the curve of his hip, pooling slightly in the dip between his abs. you swiped your fingers through it, sticky and warm, then brought them to your lips and licked him clean, deliberately slow—letting him see it.

he groaned, eyes fluttering shut like he was about to fall apart all over again.

“…did you… retain any of that?” he asked between gasps, voice wrecked.

you laughed softly, “not entirely, tell me tomorrow—i want to learn.” and honestly you had, for whatever interested bob in its own way interested you.

you crawled up beside him, tugging the throw blanket from the back of the couch to wipe your hands, still warm and shaking from the intensity. bob curled into you, heavy and loose with post-orgasmic bliss. his head rested against your chest like it belonged there.

outside, the rain hadn’t stopped.

and in the space between seconds — the quiet hum of a god drifting into sleep — the world felt almost safe.

[mwphisto]

LaDs: You have a High Libido

~ inspired by an anon’s ask!

~ all love interests included

Warning, this post contains: smut, 18+ content, mentions of sex, sweat, cum, bodily fluids, you get the idea.

Xavier

⭐️He is thrilled actually, because so does he

⭐️Don’t let the sleepy tendencies fool you, Xavier is ready to go whenever (and wherever) you are

⭐️You can push him past his limits, even out do him in the horny department, and he’ll still attempt to keep up

“Again?” You’re both breathless, cheeks red and bodies sweaty. The room reeks of sex and sweat, with the comforting mix of your perfume and his cologne. The sheets are damp with your combined fluids, a variety of them for that matter. Sweat, drool, cum… definitely a wash day tomorrow! “Yes, please. I still need you Xavier.” You’ve cum so many times you’ve lost count, poor cunt so puffy that it’s a miracle you can even feel anything down there. Still, it’s aching, throbbing with need, you need him again. “Sure, baby.” And he’s on you, a worn out smile on his lips as he showers your heated skin in wet kisses. You can — and will — go until sunrise

Rafayel

🎨Rafayel’s libido on a normal day is pretty decent, he’s down whenever you are and that’s… often

🎨It takes him some time to build his stamina… unless it’s ebb day. Lemurian heat cycles are something else.

🎨He breaks before you do, but all it takes is the off hand comment of “I’ll finish myself” and he’s ready to go

“You’re tired, Raf. I’ll just go take care of—“ tired be damned, he’s hauling his sweat slicked body up and pushing you down again. “I won’t stop until you’re satisfied.” His cheeks are a permanent crimson, pupils blown wide. Even if he is exhausted, his cock is still twitching at the sight of your ruined cunt. So much cum, arousal, all just leaking down your thighs. You’ve been going at it for two hours at this point, nonstop, barely a break between each round. Even if you didn’t mean too, you’re slowly training your lover to have a libido as high as yours. “It’s okay, re-really I can—shit!” He stops all complaints by shoving himself inside, one easy, slipper go. “I’m. Not. Stopping. Until you are satisfied, cutie.”

Zayne

🩺Zayne doesn’t quite know what to do with himself at first. He’s a tad bit overwhelmed by your high libido.

🩺Give him a little time, he’ll get used to it, and slowly realize his libido is pretty high up there too… just takes a couple weeks of separation and he’s ravenous

🩺Zayne controls the situation by edging you both, keeping the game going until you’re both exhausted

“Can’t cum yet, darling. Gotta hold it in.” It’s been an hour… maybe two? Possibly three. You’re not sure, nor do you care. You have Zayne wrapped around your finger… well maybe he had you wrapped around his finger but still. “P-please, Zayne! You’ve ruined it like…shit I can’t remember… seven times? Probably more…” what’s worse than being completely denied is having your orgasm ruined. He’s brought you to the edge, pushed you over, and then stood back and watched it fizzle out. Completely unsatisfying, your poor cunt twitching for more, a real one at that. “You’re doing so good for me though, the reward will be so good if you just…” a gentle motion with his fingers and you’re jerking into him. “…wait.”

Sylus

🍒He didn’t realize that your… eagerness could rub off on him so easily… or maybe he’s always been this way.

🍒Your high libido is damn near torture, considering you’re in Linkon and he’s in the N109 Zone… you’re always tied up with work, he’s always away for business…

🍒Even then, Sylus does try and make it so your time together isn’t entirely… sex. Doesn’t it always work? No.

“I swear all we do is fuck when we see eachother…” you’re giggling as you say it, laying on top of him, chest to chest. His slowly softening cock is begin to slip out of you, the copious amounts of release following. “Because it is all we do… you’re insatiable.” Sweaty and flushed, but still smug, Sylus is twirling your hair around his fingers. “Hey!” A smack lands on his sweaty shoulder and he’s laughing. “You’re one to talk, mister.” But Sylus isn’t letting you live it down that easily. “You made me this way… nothing but a greedy soul.” And just like that, you can feel him hardening again. He studies your expression, tear stained cheeks and flushed skin. So beautiful, even as your lips part in a little “o” as he fills you up.

Caleb

🪐You thought your libido was high… till Caleb finally stopped holding his feelings back

🪐He is on cloud nine when he finds out you’re just as horny as he is 24/7

🪐He’ll travel to and from Linkon if it means getting that pussy for the night. You have zero complaints either, other than maybe the fact that you wished he didn’t live so far

“You’re going to miss… miss…. Caleb!” His hips pound into you, every time you attempt to remind him about missing his train back to Skyhaven he just thrusts harder. “Such a weird way to say that I’m fucking you so damn good, I think a thank you is in order.” He’s nearly in your stomach and he has the audacity to be sassy. You give up on trying to remind him, as if you wouldn’t call off work the next day just to keep him tied down to your bed, balls deep like you had been so boldly begging him for over text a few hours earlier. You’re going to get a noise complaint, maybe even a notice from the city since you have your windows open. The room reeked of sex after all, you needed something to clear your fogged up heads.

[foreid]

smoke and stack come into the shop looking for bo chow only to find y/n at front desk and bo chow discreetly under her hehe

anon i love the way u think! one eater chow blurb coming right up :3

your hair was a mess, curls sticking up through every end and frizz spiking through its texture.

lips parted letting strings of whines as your husband was kneeled down in front of you, tongue lapping slow stripes against your slit.

the day was slow, only usual customers coming in and barely even meeting you at the counter.

bo thought he could use it to his advantage, missing the taste of your every aspect against his lips.

forearms holding you up against the counter, legs trembling from behind it as you hid moans between your lips.

“b— bo… someone’s comin’.” you gasped out, nails digging into the edge of the counter as he started to suck against your clit, knees buckling beneath your dress the more he continued.

he was humming in content, devouring you with full lips, his entire upper body hid by the fullness of your skirt.

your hand quickly covered a moan trying to escape your mouth as two men stepped through the doors, the jingle of the bell alerting you back to reality.

they walked sternly towards the counter, they were broad and a lot taller than you, staring down at you as they stood a respectable distance from the counter.

you swallowed dryly, the extra bodies in the room seeming to not stop bo at all.

“h— good evenin’, how ca— can i help ya?” a chirpy yet cracked voice, as if a moan was threatening to escape past your words.

the twin wearing red sort of just stood there, staring around the market curiously.

the other man, wearing blue, stared for a moment before he opened his mouth to speak.

“we mean no harm, missus, jus’ lookin’ for bo chow.” he spoke to you and his voice was low, gruttal, but he looked like he meant business, intimidating you for just a moment.

“is he here?”

only for a moment did you almost forget about the sensation between your legs.

and just as you thought, bo was not about to let you go through this without a fight.

before you spoke up, you felt a digit teasing your entrance, and as you were opening your mouth to speak, he was shoving it inside of you. knuckles deep.

“he’s— oh!” you perked up, gasping and quickly slapping your hand against your mouth.

you stared up at the two men, eyes wide as if even you were shocked at the noise you just made.

they both just looked at you with an insane amount of concern in their eyes.

you held a finger up, signaling them to give you a second as you swallowed dryly. clearing your throat.

when you tried speaking up again, all you did was choke up. so you decided to just expect your fate.

shaking your head ‘no’, and they seemed to get the hint.

one of them slowly nodded, a cocked up brow as if he was trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“well. in that case, tell ‘im smoke needs t’ talk to ‘im.” with one last nod, as if to say ‘thank you’, he and his twin walked out the clear doors.

when their figures discarded out the stores line of view, you slammed your forehead against the countertop, letting out all the choked moans you’ve been trying to hide.

your hands grabbed at whatever was near, lips parted as bo started to fuck you with his fingers, plunging an extra one inside.

his tongue didn’t stop, and your hips started to rut against his face, your clit bumping against his nose, adding onto the pleasure.

he somehow managed to fit two digits knuckles deep inside of you, curling them against the plush of your walls.

that was it. he hit a familiar spot and you came undone against his lips.

your moans were unhinged and loud, legs feeling weak and knees practically giving out.

bo let you ride out your orgasm against him, letting you come down from your star-seeing peak.

one last moan of his name and a string of curses, your upper body became slack against the counter.

he appeared in front of you at some point that you couldn’t recollect because of the state of euphoria the orgasm had you in.

you managed to pick yourself back up, eyes meeting with a very proud bo chow.

his lips were glistening, eyes low and full of nothing but lust.

the look of frustration on your face made him chuckle, his hand reaching to your lower back in order to hold you close.

“did s’good, darlin’. taste j’s as good.” he murmured against your mouth, pressing his lips with yours.

lewdly tasting yourself momentarily. you still had a brain of putty, melting into the kiss as easy as ever.

“‘m give it to ya s’good tonigh’. my pretty lil’ wife.” he hummed as he broke off the kiss, hands grabbing at your ass through the dress, somehow simultaneously pulling you closer.

his words and actions screwed a quiet giggle out of you, fingers curling around his suspenders.

“i’d like that. maybe.” you teased, staring at your fingers as they played with the suspenders then back up into his eyes.

his head tilted a bit, grinning against your mouth again. “yeah? tha’s what ya want, peach?” before you could even respond, he was kissing you again.

this time with more fever, a hand grabbing beneath your knee to hold your leg against his side while he devoured your lips.

this is exactly what life was about.

a sexy husband who loved everything about you,

and that's exactly who bo chow was.

[karl-von-moor-official]

Recently had this exact conversation with a fellow neurodivergent friend:

"But ever since I've been able to recognise my masking behaviours and been trying to mask less, I realise how..."

"How much that sucks? How much easier it is to fit in when you're masking?"

"Yes! Like, that was the whole point of masking!"

"Yeah, and even though it's exhausting, it's either that or behaving socially awkward."

"Exactly! Before I knew that I was masking, I could at least pretend everything was fine. I wanna go back!"

We both laughed at this, for some reason. Probably from the relief of being understood.

It's weird, this phenomenon, but also very obviously going to happen. If you were masking for a reason, and then you stop masking, the reason won't have gone away. You'll get people telling you how you've changed and that you're faking or being weird about getting a diagnosis.

And then, you'll have other people telling you that "you don't need to mask around me, I'm safe!" Even though those people usually mean well, it's not actually that easy. You can't just switch the mask on and off, it's so internalised.

(For example, I've come to realise that I only unmask around people when I don't have any other option anymore. When I'm so exhausted, I just have to either leave the social setting or let people see me at my lowest. Only once a person has seen me in this unmasked, burnt-out state - not by my choice, but because I couldn't hold it together any longer and they happened to be around - only then can I start to unmask on purpose in their presence. And only if they reacted in a kind manner, of course. Only once I've made the experience that they're actually safe.)

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that masking isn't necessarily always bad, or rather you needn't feel bad for it, it doesn't make you a liar or a fraud, unmasking isn't easy, hating yourself for unmasking isn't healthy but also kinda normal, because unmasking often comes with a bit of an identity crisis, and talking to other neurodivergent people about these problems? HELPS LOADS! Just being understood in that struggle is so relieving. That's why I wanted to share the conversation. You're not alone. <3

My doctor and therapist: now with this autism + ADHD diagnosis you need to learn to unmask because masking all the time will make you burn out again and feel like shit

Other people: well it's just interesting how after getting the diagnosis you suddenly start behaving like that I mean I'm not saying you're faking it's just funny how you suddenly cannot be normal like you were before

[mangooes]

Shooting Games

The street market of the N109 Zone was bustling under the soft glow of hanging lanterns, every corner filled with the sizzling of street food and the murmur of weekend crowds. Normally, Sylus Qinche, the most feared criminal lord in the city, would’ve never been caught dead strolling through such a lively, chaotic place.

But here he was—hand in hand with his far-too-cheerful wife—being dragged around like a glorified bodyguard.

“Sysy, look at that!” (Name)’s eyes lit up, pointing towards a stall where skewers of glazed scallops sizzled on open fire. “We have to get some!”

Sylus sighed, though a soft smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “For the record, kitten, I don’t do waiting in lines. Not even for seafood.”

“That’s funny, because you’re literally doing it right now,” she grinned, winking as she tugged him forward. “Look at you. So domesticated. So obedient.”

“I prefer the term devoted husband, thank you.” He leaned down, murmuring into her ear, “Obedient, however, is not part of my vocabulary. As you’ll be reminded later tonight.”

(Name) rolled her eyes, but the slight blush on her cheeks betrayed her. “Behave, Sysy. Public setting. Kids around.”

That earned a low chuckle from Sylus.

But just as they were about to move on, (Name) stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes locked on something across the street. Dangerous. Focused. Sylus recognized that glint.

“What is it now?” he asked warily.

“There.” She pointed dramatically.

A shooting game stand, decked out in neon colors and lined with oversized plushies, stood proudly among the other vendors. And at its very top, hanging like some glorious trophy, was a giant dragon plush. Midnight black, crimson eyes, little wings spread in a cocky flair.

It looked insultingly like Sylus.

“Oh no,” Sylus muttered. “I see where this is going.”

“This one’s coming home with me, Sysy!” (Name) declared, grabbing his arm.

“Sweetie, you do realize those games are rigged, yes? The house always wins.”

“Well, they haven’t met me yet.” She shot him a grin that spelled trouble.

Moments later, she stood at the counter, plastic gun in hand, eyes narrowed at the stacked tin cans. Sylus folded his arms, watching with bemused fondness.

First shot—direct hit.

The cans wobbled.

But didn’t fall.

The gamemaster chuckled nervously. “Oh, tough luck, Missy. Maybe another try?”

(Name), being her stubborn self, didn’t back down. Shot after shot, she aimed perfectly, yet the cans barely budged. A few onlookers began to gather, murmuring quietly.

Sylus could see it—the faint crease of her brows, the downturn of her lips. His wife was frustrated. And as much as he adored that pouty face, seeing her sad was not something he tolerated.

“Tch.” Sylus’s crimson eyes gleamed. “I told you, sweetheart. Rigged. Just say the word, I’ll burn this stand to the ground.”

She stopped him before it escalated further.

“No worries Sysy, let’s not waste our time here tonight.”

Sylus, however, had had enough.

Just as (Name) sighed, ready to give up and step away, a firm hand circled her wrist.

“Oh no, kitten. You’re not walking away yet.” Sylus’s voice was velvet smooth, dangerously low.

He gently took the plastic gun from her hands, his fingers brushing hers, lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“Let me teach them a lesson in… fair play.”

“Oh? So you think you can do better?” (Name) teased, arms crossed, eyebrow arched.

“Sweetie, I don’t think. I know.” His Evol coiled unseen beneath his skin, licking out like a serpent toward the rigged cans.

With the laziest stance imaginable, Sylus aimed.

Bang.

The cans exploded off the platform as if shot with a cannon.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The gamemaster paled.

(Name) just stared. “You totally cheated.”

Sylus gave her an infuriatingly smug grin. “Kitten, I’d never stoop to such things.” His mist twirled teasingly around her wrist, giving him away. “But if I did, it’d be because someone owes me a prize.”

The gamemaster, still pale, scrambled up and offered the dragon plush with trembling hands. “C-Congratulations, sir…”

With a little bow, Sylus took the plush—far too large for him, hilariously out of place in his arms—and passed it to (Name).

“There. Your dragon awaits you, my queen.”

His wife’s grin was blinding as she hugged the plush to her chest, practically vibrating with happiness. “You’re the best, Sysy.” She tiptoed up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, my dear husband.”

And just like that, any irritation Sylus had towards the scammy stall evaporated.

“I should make you thank me more often,” he murmured against her ear, tugging her close, “in private, perhaps.”

(Name) merely laughed,

“We could have find something else better to do, you know,” she muttered.

“Of course, kitten. And I could’ve let you.” Sylus’s lips curled into a slow grin. “But you pout so sweetly when you’re frustrated. Consider it my civic duty to intervene.”

“You just wanted an excuse to show off.”

“Always. But more importantly—” he squeezed her hand gently, “—I hate seeing you disappointed. Rigged game or not, no one gets away with making my wife frown.”

Her heart did a little somersault at that.

Linking their fingers again as they continued their stroll. She carried the dragon plush proudly, like a trophy, while Sylus kept stealing glances at her—the way her cheeks still held that glow, the way her smile hadn’t faded.

For him, the real prize wasn’t the game.

It was that look on her face.

Totally worth it.

I hate arcade games smh, i always loose and i suck at shooting but of course sylus doesnt.

[rcmclachlan]

I don't know if the comparison between Eddie and Tommy is intentional on the writers part, but they're turning me into an Eddie hater and I don't really want that, but it's so fucking hard to like Eddie at this point, even taking grief and regression due to grief into account. I mean am i supposed to like this fella who doesn't apologize or do what he promised and belittles his best friend? When I see that there's a Tommy who genuinely likes Buck and treats him well and risks his life and/or career willingly for his ex-colleagues and his ex-boyfriend? The contrast just highlights how much Eddie isn't bringing to the table in their friendship and it sucks so much because I do think he's an interesting character and I want to like him

PQ, I'ma be honest about something I've forced myself to downplay ever since I started watching 9-1-1 last May: I don't like Eddie, full stop. Never have. I just never clicked with the character, and the more I saw of him, the less I liked. But he's loved by so many in this fandom that I felt it prudent to keep my mouth shut about how much I don't like him—mostly because I was trying to make friends 'round these parts. Also, I'm not here to yuck on anyone's yum.

I really feel for the people who have loved this character, or at least loved the potential of what he could be, for years—and who have given him a lot more grace than I think he deserves—just to have him turn around and be the worst version of his worst self when faced with a supposed loved one's pain. To be deliberately cruel and weaponize the love Buck has for his son against him. To have the audacity to call Buck selfish for grieving his surrogate father's death.

Eddie's been a terrible friend to Buck from the get go and their relationship has always been incredibly one-sided, but this episode really exposed the imbalance. Like, Eddie may be Buck's best friend, but Buck sure isn't Eddie's.

And nothing made it clearer than 8x17's opening scene when Hen asks Eddie when he's going to tell Buck he's going back to El Paso. And Eddie asks Hen to do it. Actually, he doesn't ask Hen—he says something like, "I was hoping his acting captain would do it." Eddie wants Buck to hear the news in a professional capacity so he doesn't have to deal with Buck getting emotional about it. What kind of fuckass prick would do that to a "friend"?

I said to @screamlet a couple of days ago that if Eddie had posted any of this in r/amitheasshole, there'd be 6.1k comments all saying variations of "YTA, your friend should've left your ass in the dust ages ago, and you should probably live alone in the woods until you get that bitch-ass attitude under control."

Meanwhile, Tommy—who is operating under the impression that Buck feels nothing for him and that he's good for no-strings sex and nothing else—gets one (1) phone call from the man after weeks of radio silence and happily steals another helicopter so Buck can commit some light domestic terrorism.

Like, Tommy, my lad, you have nothing to worry about. There's no competition in this game. Eddie's name isn't even on the roster.

[killishin]

domestic hcs with jason

oookay so domestic jason? cus why not.

heavily inspired by the prompts from this post by @novelbear (i love her prompts so much)

dividers by @cafekitsune

in the beginning of your relationship, both of you were kinda awkward, yet less so because it took both of you quite sometime to get over the cautiousness and trust issues, and during that time the awkwardness had shredded to an extent.

it was almost smooth sailing after becoming official, sure there were still a lot of areas that were left unexplored, going wrong somewhere, having long talks or none, because sometimes neither of you needed words. you just knew what the other wanted.

and so slowly both of you eased into each other's lives, like puzzle pieces truly molded and shaped for each other, not a mere gap left. at this point nothing weirded either of you out. best friends along with lovers.

as lovely and cosy this domesticity was, it had its fair share of little bickerings.

"no. no no no. no—" jason took hold of your shoulder with one of his hand while the other easily pulled the cart away, and guided you in the opposite direction from the aisle of biscuits.

you let out a small 'tut' of disappointment before looking up at him with semi puppy eyes, since there was a hint of warning in them.

he lets out a huff of disbelief before giving you a pointed look, "no."

"oh come on what's the issue here?" you ask as if you don't know and his eyes simply become more pointed, "really? really sweetheart?"

you shrug as you take on a sort of diplomatic demeanor, as if negotiating, "trying new things isn't that bad."

"it is when you choose those horrendous new oreo flavours."

"some turn out good!"

"some, sweetheart. most don't, and then you push it away like some cat and i gotta eat it all."

"i promise I'll eat it full this time." you swear with such sincerity that he almost falls for it, almost. his lips quirk up into a smirk as he pinches your jaw in between his index and middle finger, squishing your cheeks a bit.

"not falling for that again."

"jay–"

"its the normal flavour or nothing."

"babe-"

"normal or nothing."

"fine!" you hiss in irritation and he has the audacity to smile triumphantly, leaning to brush a kiss on your forehead, "atta girl."

well jokes on him, cus the moment you approach the aisle, you put the normal one in and then your eyes inevitably pause at that new flavour, gaze fixated on it.

"sweetheart no—"

you push the packet in the cart, silence engulfing you both as you both stare at the packet in the cart.

"i am not finishing that."

you share a lot in common with him, reading is one of them. when jason is off to do his nightly duties you read to occupy your time, as that is one of the things that give you peace, other than your boyfriend. now it is not always that jason gets a night off. so when he does, you'd rather you spend it cuddled by his side, having the best sleep, since having been tired by your prior activities.

and since he has a night off, he really wants to catch up on his reading. so he does, perched on the bed with a book in hand while you were cuddle beside him with your arm thrown over his lap and head beside his thigh, fast asleep. sleep is just much much better with him, but you cannot, for the love of god, sleep with any sort of noise. light sleeper, unfortunately.

you let out a small sleepy groan, nudging your face in his thigh, tapping on his arm. "can you stop that?"

he raises a brow, brushing your hair away from your forehead, an amused smile on his face. "stop what?"

you huffed before groggily opening your eyes and propping yourself up on your elbows, "you know what? no more reading before bed. you keep waking me up with your dramatic gasps every time you turn the page."

he lets out a surprised chuckle, ruffling your hair, irking you more, "well, i'm sorry that i engage and connect deeply with literature!"

"well gasp quieter!"

"its not a gasp then!"

you give him a deadpan stare while he just gives you a pointed look with a smug smirk. not to worry he acquiesced later on, getting under the covers with you while partially draping himself on you like a weighted blanket.

".... you gasp too while reading— wha– ow! alright!"

mornings are mostly quiet between you two, neither being a morning person so naturally you're both grumpy in the morning, you more than him specifically.

you're brushing your teeth in front of the sink with a dazed look in your eyes when he enters the bathroom behind you, yawning and scratching at his abs. he nudges you gently, breaking you out of your daze as if he knew you had dissociated for a while.

as you spit and wash your mouth, your eyes hone in on his brush, particularly on the amount of toothpaste he took. and maybe normally you wouldn't have cared, it isn't even an issue.

you quickly splash your face with water before leaning your arms against the sink and staring at him through the mirror, not even drying off your face yet. "thats a lot."

he pauses as his brows furrow, ever so cutely as he looks down at his brush and then back at you, "the toothpaste?"

"yeah?"

"thats the normal amount."

"sure. normal amount for a dinosaur."

he scoffs as he leans on one of his legs, resting his arm on his hip while holding the brush in his other hand , "so how much should i take? like you? that's not enough even for a mouse?"

"how do you know how much a mouse needs?!"

"well how do you know how much a dinosaur needs?!" he retorts back and you roll your eyes as you pat your face dry.

"im just saying you don't need that much— hey!" he snatches you away by hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you snug against him. he leans down with a smirk and your brows furrow in an almost glare.

"you wanna know how much i need hm? you wanna check?" he teases as he dips his head, pecking at your lips, coaxing you into a deeper kiss while you swat lightly at his lips.

"jason!" he pecks your lips, "you-" another one, "stink!"

jason is jason for you, for the world he reserves none of his smiles, none of those charms— none. its the red hood, and if in his civilian state, he is simply a big unit with a glare that can freeze sahara. his heart along with his scars are reserved for you, but his anger and disdain is all for the world to take.

the world and anyone who hogs your attention. now, jason is protective, and maybe even jealous— to an extent, but he would never cross a line that would make you feel uncomfortable. doesn't mean he appreciates people thinking they have a chance with you, or in this case, take his place beside you.

his glares aren't as subtle as he thinks, his arms crossed as he looks at the plushies on your bed. his glare drops into an exasperated groan when you bring out a new one.

"oh my god if you buy one more plush to occupy my spot on the bed i'm kicking you out to sleep on the couch." yet he sounds rather petulant than angry, and of course, hell would freeze and he still he wouldn't dare let you take the couch.

"but they're so nice and warm and fuzzy and cuddly, like you—"

"yes and apparently im not enough."

"you should at least try—"

"i have you."

you chuckle under your breath as you slip out the bed and pass him, pressing a chaste kiss on his downturned lips, "nice try but they're staying."

cleaning the dishes is something that if prolonged, it starts getting on your nerves. more so when you're nearing the end of the pile, and a new dish is added. a sharp sigh leaves your lips as your hands go lax and you turn to stare at jason, who's looking back at you like a deer caught in headlights.

"i was about to finish."

"... saw that."

as you sigh again, more so in frustration as you continue scrubbing he laughs nervously, mumbling quiet apologies as he nears you, wrapping his arms around your waist. he rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a kiss on it.

"tired? i can finish the rest, you should go and rest."

"no i–" you sigh as you hold the washed plate towards him and he takes it, immediately falling into a natural synergy. "you were way too tired from your patrol last night. and besides im done anyways."

"two dishes won't tire me out, you know."

"yeah i know but i think you work better in cuddling me so stay there."

"whatever you say."

again, jason is a protective man. he never tires from caring for you, be it outside or even in the confines of your shared home. he always has an arm around you, shielding you from potential creeps who unnecessarily push their bodies onto you, holding hands is an absolute necessary when walking, his eyes are always on you in any gathering— like a very doting bodyguard.

but thats when you're out, at your home somehow its even more intense and it shows in those small moments. he always keeps his hands on the sharp corners if you're near, maneuvers you around the walls if you're about to smack right into them, blows on the hot pipping food too much to the point it isn't even warm— he just loves you a lot.

"you going somewhere?" he asks as he straightens up on the couch, lowering the book in his hand and you could see just how desperately he wanted to go with you.

"yeah, i promised to meet my friends over dinner." you respond as you recollect your things after pulling on your shoes.

"need me to tag along?" he asked and you could just see the tail wagging, you sigh with a smile as you wave your hand dismissively, "no no. I'll come home early don't worry."

"im still coming to pick you up."

"i know." of course he will.

"that's a really thin jacket." he points out as his eyes narrow and you pause to look down, "is it?" your lips tug in amused grin.

"take an extra jacket. its cold out." he said as he relaxed back on the couch, picking up his book again.

"okay, mom."

"i heard that!"

its not that you don't have any serious arguments, you do and they are often but they don't last long. they can't, not with jason. he can't stay away from you for much longer, he silently agrees for some space after exchanging heated words but it rarely ever prolongs to more than an hour or so. guilt and worry gnaws at his heart while his arms ache for the solace in your skin.

because at the end of the day, you are what he comes home to. that after a grueling night of wear and tear, being and living as red hood takes its toll on him. so he returns, he returns and hopes to everyday, fights to return everyday— all to see that sweet smile that comes onto your face as he comes back home.

you should be long asleep, he doesn't like it when you stay up for him. but he wouldn't deny how his heart always warms up at it, how it beats faster.

as he closes the window you straighten up on the couch, your head tilting a bit as you smile while beckoning him over.

"you okay big guy?"

somedays he banters, somedays he absolutely smothers you— but somedays, when it was particularly rough, he is quiet. so he took off his helmet, picked off his gloves and discarded his jacket just as his knees hit the floor beside you. you didn't question, you just knew he needed you and the silence.

a soft sigh left his lips as he rested his forehead on your lap, arms circling your waist and your hands immediately tangled in his hair, carding through them softly. your nails lightly scratched his scalp, then you knelt down and pressed a kiss on his head, illiciting another sigh.

"missed ya."

"missed you too."

he may one day be beyond saving, maybe his scars would just run too deep, yet even then he wouldn't dare submit to death— not when you still exist in his life.

NOTE: this was supposed to be a small drabble but i got carried away....

[jaxon-exe]

This one is a bit darker than my normal ones so

TW: suicide/suicidal thoughts

Dp x dc prompt: Insanity is doing the same thing over… and over… and over… and over…

Danny was unable to save them. His family, his friends, his whole town all dead and gone. He spent awhile just in shock amongst the rubble before deciding he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t live with himself and his failure. So he flew higher than he ever had before, then turned human and started free falling. When he hit the ground, everything went black. He never expected to wake up again.

But he did. The pain all over his body was so unbearable he almost passed out again. He didn’t though, instead he was awake as his body knitted itself back together. It was the most painful thing he ever experienced.

That didn’t stop him from trying again. And again. And again.

He couldn’t keep living. Not with everyone gone. Not with everyone dead because of his failure. So he kept trying. At some point after what was probably the 100th attempt he wondered if this was what truly drove Dan to madness. If he too, in that lifetime, tried to die over and over again but couldn’t. He wondered how many times Dan tried before he gave in to the insanity of it all.

But Dan wasn’t Danny. Danny had proven that in their fight. Danny was more stubborn. More determined. He was stronger than Dan was and was certain he could succeed.

So he tried.

Over and over…

And over…

And over…

When the Justice League finally passed the Meta Protection Acts, they had learnt of the Anti Ecto Acts. They learnt of a small town in the middle of Illinois that had been cut off from the rest of the world because of bogus laws and bias science. When they went to intervene, it was with the hope of liberating the town. Of shutting down the bigoted idiots hiding behind government approval.

What they found instead was ruins. The solo survivor seemingly haven taken his own life moment before they had arrived.

Before they couldn’t fully process was lied before them however, the teenager’s heart started beating again.

[malsmind]

antisocial!reader 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 vampire!matt 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

✰ - content warnings: ✦ underage drinking ✦ mentions of social anxiety ✦ mentions of injuries & blood ✦ pet names ✦ a LOT of tension ✦ male masturbation ✦ getting caught ✦

wc - 3.2k

the party was loud. too loud. bodies packed into some random kid’s house like sweaty sardines, music shaking the walls, the sticky scent of cheap beer and perfume making your throat itch. you’d been trying to keep your distance—stuck close to your best friend while chris hovered nearby, trying to keep a lid on matt’s temper before shit inevitably exploded. and it was already close. you could tell. you were leaned against the kitchen counter, plastic cup in hand, watching it all from across the room. matt was all sharp edges tonight. jaw clenched, hands fisted in the pockets of his hoodie, his stare practically burning holes into the side of some douchebag’s face across the room. you didn’t even know what set him off, but he was on edge—restless, dangerous, way too close to snapping. every little thing seemed to piss him off. his lip twitched when people got too close. his knuckles were white.

chris was already trying to calm him down—had been for the past twenty minutes, whispering shit to him with an annoyed look—but matt wasn’t listening. hadn’t even spared you a glance. not that you expected him to. not after that night. you hadn’t spoken since. hadn’t texted. hadn’t even looked at each other at school or when you studied with your best friend. it was easier that way. pretending nothing happened. pretending you didn’t kiss him. that he didn’t let you. that the heat in your chest from that moment didn’t still flicker up at the worst possible times.

but tonight, that flicker turned into full-blown flame. because not even five minutes later, you heard it from the living room. loud. angry.

“oh yeah? why don’t you shut the fuck up before i give your fucking face a redoing?”

you turned your head so fast you nearly spilled your drink.

matt.

your stomach dropped when you pushed through the crowd, chris already halfway in between them, trying to hold matt back, but it was too late. matt lunged—shoved the guy hard enough for him to stumble, and then fists flew. people gasped, pulled back, drinks spilled. you felt your heart in your throat.

fucking idiot.

your social anxiety evaporated with the rage that took its place. before you even realized it, you were grabbing matt’s arm—tight, firm—yanking him back from the chaos.

“come the fuck on,” you hissed, ignoring the mess of voices around you. he jerked at first, trying to resist, but you weren’t having it. your grip was unrelenting. “dude, stop,” he snapped, trying to pull away. “get off—”

“no. shut the fuck up and move.”

he blinked at you, caught off guard. but you didn’t give him time to recover. you dragged him out of the house, past gawking faces and hushed whispers. you could feel his eyes on you as you stormed toward your car, yanked the door open and shoved him into the passenger seat like a damn toddler.

“jesus christ,” he muttered, breathless. but he didn’t stop you. didn’t argue when you started the car and peeled out of there.

the silence was thick. the kind of quiet that made your teeth grind. you didn’t speak, hands clenched on the wheel, heart pounding too loud in your chest to think. and matt didn’t say a word either. which was weird. for him. he only looked at you, and kept looking. even when you pulled into your driveway, even when you stepped out and slammed your door. he followed like a shadow. no protests now. you threw open the door to your house, letting him in without a glance, heading straight for the bathroom. he didn’t sit until you pointed at the couch like you were dealing with a dog. he sat. you came back with the first aid kit, slamming it down on the coffee table. his lip was split. cheek scratched. knuckles bruised. stupid fucking boy.

“don’t move,” you snapped.

he raised an eyebrow. “what the hell is this, the ER?”

you pressed a cotton pad to his lip and he flinched hard. “jesus—ow, fuck. you’re hurting me, dude.”

“well fuckin’ stop squirming like a little bitch and we’re good,” you muttered, pressing harder. “could’ve just kept your stupid mouth shut and none of this would even happen. fuckin’ dickhead.”

he went quiet. mouth shut. eyes on yours. for once. finally. his breathing shifted. heavier now. more deliberate. you noticed, even if you tried not to. your hand hesitated just slightly, hovering near the cut on his cheek.

“why’re you nervous?” you muttered, voice low. “the fuck’s all that attitude gone now?”

his cheeks flushed. just faint, but enough.

he swallowed. “i dunno. you’re all up in my fucking face… who wouldn’t… get nervous…”

your breath caught. you pulled back slightly, trying to ignore the way your hands shook. “just relax, matt, please.” your voice was quieter now. raw.

you bit your lip. old habit. always did it when you focused. hard enough this time that you tasted blood. and that’s when everything changed. his pupils dilated. breath hitched. he tensed—every muscle in his body pulled taut like a bowstring. his eyes weren’t on your face anymore. they were locked on your lips. and not in a horny way. in a dangerous way. your heart stopped.

“…matt?”

his eyes snapped back up. he blinked. twice. like trying to shake something off.

“you’re bleeding,” he muttered, voice thick. not quite his own.

you licked your lip out of reflex, the taste of iron sharp on your tongue. “yeah, it’s nothin’. i do that sometimes—”

“don’t,” he cut in quickly. sharply. his voice cracked, like it hurt him to speak. “just—don’t.”

you stared at him, silent. frozen. he turned away. dragged a hand down his face. shook his head like it might clear the fog.

“i should go,” he said after a second, standing too fast. but you caught his wrist before he could bolt.

“wait.”

he froze.

“just… just sit for a second. please.”

he turned, eyes narrowed, expression unreadable. still flushed. still tense.

“why?” he asked. and it wasn’t sarcastic. wasn’t smug. it was almost soft. like he needed the reason.

you didn’t know how to answer that. because you didn’t want to be alone tonight? because something about him made you feel less… cracked? because when you looked at him, all angry and broken and bleeding, it made something inside you ache in a way that wasn’t painful, just familiar? you looked up at him, unsure what he saw in your eyes. but whatever it was, it made him sit back down without another word. you finished patching him up in silence. and when it was done, he didn’t move. didn’t speak. you didn’t either. you just sat there. both of you bruised in different ways. both of you pretending not to feel whatever this was. whatever it was becoming.

the blood was still there. matt’s eyes hadn’t left your mouth in minutes. dried now, but stark against your skin—this tiny, dark smear across your bottom lip where your teeth had broken through earlier. and it shouldn’t have mattered. it was barely anything. but to him? to what he was? it might as well have been a full-course fucking meal. he was trying. fuck, he was trying not to look. jaw tight, hands clenched into fists in his lap, shoulders drawn up with the strain of it. but the scent of it—metallic, warm, yours—lingered in the room like smoke, and his fangs ached just below the surface, a dull, familiar throb that scraped against every inch of self-control he had left.

you were still so close. crouched in front of him on the coffee table, legs tucked under you, your fingers stained with a little of his blood from the cleaning, your lip still bitten, your face so damn soft in the low light. and you were looking at him like that—like you weren’t scared. like you trusted him not to do anything stupid. he was going to lose it. but then—

“you’re staying the night.”

his head jerked up. “what?”

you just blinked at him, flat, unimpressed. “what what?” you echoed, like he was the dumb one. “knowing you, you’d go back there and beat that guy’s ass. again. you’re staying.”

he blinked. once. twice. that soft flush returned to his cheeks, and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, glancing toward the door like maybe if he looked hard enough it’d open and he could ghost out of here before he did something stupid.

“and your parents?”

you rolled your eyes. “not home.”

he was silent. for a long beat.

you stood up, stretched a little, then disappeared down the hallway—leaving him alone in the quiet hum of the living room with the smell of your blood still hanging in the air, and the echo of your command in his head. you’re staying. it shouldn’t have gotten under his skin the way it did. shouldn’t have made his stomach twist with something warm and uncomfortable. but it did. it always did, with you. the way you talked to him. like you knew him. like you didn’t buy his act.

he heard your voice again after a moment, muffled from the hallway. “you want something to wear, or are you gonna sleep in your bloodstained hoodie like a psycho?”

he snorted, loud. “i am a psycho.”

you padded back in with some oversized t-shirt in your hands. one you probably slept in, he guessed, and that thought alone made him feel something tight settle in his chest.

you tossed it at him. “shower’s down the hall. towels under the sink. don’t bleed on my sheets.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you planning on tucking me in too, sweetheart?”

you gave him a blank look. “you wish.”

he huffed a laugh, caught the shirt, and stood—shoulder bumping yours as he passed. your lip was still stained. and he still couldn’t look away. he didn’t move for a second. just stood there in front of you, holding that old, stretched-out t-shirt in one hand, the other still balled into a fist by his side. the space between you throbbed—full of something he couldn’t name, like a pulled wire ready to snap.

your lip. still stained red.

and fuck, it wasn’t fair. you were standing there, all casual and stubborn, in your little tank top and shorts, like you hadn’t just dragged his ass out of a party like a pissed-off girlfriend, cursed him out in your living room, cleaned up his mess like you cared, and told him to stay the night like it didn’t mean anything. like it wasn’t driving him insane. matt wasn’t used to being looked after.

especially not by you.

and now, here you were. blood on your mouth. still touching his skin in places—his jaw, his temple, the side of his neck where your thumb had pressed in too hard. and you didn’t even seem to notice. but he did. god, he fucking noticed.

“matt,” you said finally, voice a little more cautious now. like you could sense the shift. “go shower. you’re gross.”

his lip twitched, but he nodded, saying nothing, and moved down the hall. he wanted to leave the bathroom door cracked, needing the faint sounds of the house to stay grounded. needing the space, but he closed it anyway. the water ran hot, nearly burning, but it helped. the sting reminded him to stay in control. reminded him he was still human enough to pull it back. barely.

𖤓

you knew he’d been in there too long. at first it didn’t register—just the sound of the water running behind the closed door while you sat on the edge of your bed, half-heartedly pretending to scroll through your phone. your fingers were idle. your mind wasn’t. you kept replaying it. his face. that stupid fight. the way he let you drag him out like he wasn’t twice your size and full of rage. the way he sat still and let you clean him up, even when you weren’t gentle. especially when you weren’t gentle. the way his breath stuttered when you snapped at him. when your lip bled and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. he hadn’t said much since. just listened to you mutter and nodded, eyes dark.

but now it was pushing thirty minutes, and the sound of the water hadn’t stopped. you blinked down at your screen again. a minute ticked by. another. your stomach twisted. you didn’t know what the hell possessed you to get up. maybe it was just genuine concern. maybe it was that same stupid tug in your chest you felt every time he looked at you too long. or maybe it was the part of you that needed to know—needed proof that you weren’t just imagining the way he was staring. like he wanted to bite. like he wanted to fuck.

your feet were quiet on the hardwood, like you were doing something wrong. your breath caught a little when you got close enough to hear it—not just the water—but him. low, quiet sounds slipping through the half-cracked bathroom door. you froze. his breathing was uneven. heavy. labored in a way that had nothing to do with steam. you stepped closer, barely. heart in your throat now.

then you heard it.

a soft curse. the distinct sound of skin on skin. a sharp inhale. a low groan, almost swallowed by the water pressure. you should’ve walked away. fuck, you should’ve.

but you didn’t.

you stood there, knees weak, face burning, biting down on the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting. you imagined him leaning against the tile, water pouring down his back, head tipped forward. imagined his fingers around his cock, jaw tight, lips parted, thinking about—fuck.

you turned around so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet, stormed back to your room and slammed the door a little too hard, heart hammering, thighs clenched, pulse between your legs. you sat on the edge of the bed again, tried to breathe through it. but your mouth was dry. your whole body was buzzing. you could still hear him in your head—those sounds. that voice. quiet and fucking desperate in a way he never let anyone see. you didn’t know how long it was before the water stopped. you didn’t know how long it took before you heard the bathroom door open, the sound of his footsteps in the hall, the faint creak of your door as he pushed it open without knocking.

your eyes snapped up. he was standing there, towel low on his hips, hair wet, chest rising and falling like he’d just been through hell. his eyes locked with yours. and you knew. instantly. he knew you’d heard.

you could see it in the way his mouth twitched, in the way his pupils were blown wide, like he hadn’t really finished what he started.

“couldn’t find the clean towel,” he said, voice rough. teasing. but low. darker than usual.

you didn’t say anything. couldn’t. just swallowed hard and looked away, blood rushing in your ears.

“you good?” he asked, stepping a little further into your room. towel still barely holding on. water dripping down his chest.

you nodded, still not looking at him. “fine.”

matt let the silence stretch. let the tension crackle like a live wire between you. and when he finally spoke again, it was low. almost soft.

“you heard me.”

your eyes snapped to his.

“i—”

“it’s fine,” he cut you off. but his voice was tight now. jaw clenched again. not angry—something else. restrained. careful. “fuck, angel. it’s not like i don’t want you to know.”

you stared. breathless.

he smirked, tired and wrecked. the kind of smirk that wasn’t smug—it was desperate. worn down. his eyes raked over you, slow. “you gonna tell me to get dressed, or you want me to stay like this?”

you didn’t answer. and he didn’t move. you stared at him—dripping, flushed, towel hanging too low on his hips, eyes dark and pinned to you like you were something worth sinking his teeth into. and maybe you were. god, maybe you wanted to be. your thighs clenched involuntarily at the look on his face. like he wanted to devour you. like you were the reason he’d been in the shower so long, with the water turned all the way hot and his hand moving over his cock, head thrown back against tile while your name probably slipped past his lips like a fucking prayer.

“matt,” you breathed, throat dry.

he took another step forward. slow. deliberate. his smirk was gone now. whatever bravado he walked in here with? it cracked beneath the weight of the silence between you, thick and humming.

“come here,” he murmured.

your heart stuttered. “matt…”

he leaned down, towel shifting a little with the movement. his fingers ghosted over your jaw, barely touching, but it was enough to make your skin light up like a struck match.

“we both know you want me too, baby.” he said, voice low, breath brushing your lips now. “you’re looking at me like you’re starving.”

you were. and he wasn’t wrong. but that didn’t mean—

you turned your head, jaw tensing. “you’re drunk.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose. like he expected that. like he hated that you were right.

“i’m fine.”

“matt.”

“i know what i’m doing,” he insisted, fingers tilting your chin back toward him. “and i want you. have wanted you. even when you drive me fucking insane.”

you stared at him. at the honest desperation in his voice. at the sheer want he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore. and god, it was tempting. every fiber in your body screamed to give in, to feel his mouth against yours, to drag that damn towel off and crawl into his lap, into his skin, into whatever the fuck had been building between you all summer long.

but no. not like this.

you pressed your hand to his chest, firm. “matt. you’ve been drinking. and you just fought someone. and you jerked off in my fucking shower.”

he blinked. laughed once. kind of breathless. “you weren’t supposed to hear that part.”

“i know,” you said, trying not to let the warmth creep up your neck. “but i did. and you’re still dripping water all over my floor.”

“you’re changing the subject.”

“yes,” you snapped, hand still on his chest. “because i’m trying really hard not to do something really fucking stupid.”

his gaze flickered. softened a little.

you swallowed hard. “don’t make me be the responsible one right now.”

for a second, neither of you moved. his fingers were still near your face, your hand still pressed to the heat of his chest. the air between you felt like it might snap. but then matt exhaled. slow. pulled back a little. ran a hand through his wet hair, muscles tight with restraint.

“you’re right.”

you didn’t expect him to say it. you just blinked at him.

he dropped onto the far end of your bed with a heavy sigh, towel hitching up slightly but thankfully not abandoning ship. he dragged a hand over his face. groaned softly. “fuck. i hate when you’re right.”

you tried not to smile. your heart still hadn’t slowed.

“get dressed, asshole.”

“yes, ma’am,” he muttered. “wouldn’t want to ruin your precious self-control.”

you rolled your eyes. turned toward your dresser, mostly to hide your face. but deep down, you were already dreading how much harder it was gonna be to pretend nothing had shifted between you. because it had.

you both felt it. and next time?

next time, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop it.

dividers by @issysh3ll

[wcnderlnds]

what is right ★ choi su-bong (thanos)

・❥・ summary: su-bong loves you, he does but sometimes he's an idiot and doesn't always make the right decisions. but, maybe this once, he can try to. ・❥・word count: 2.6k ・❥・warnings: 18+, mdni. fingering, unprotected p in v. drug mentions bc thanos. swearing. usual squid game shenanigans. thanos is soft while still being thanos. ・❥・ authors note: lowkey hate everything i write lately but i missed writing for my boy. this was a request i’ve had in my inbox for a while <3

The dulcet tones of Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto woke you up, rousing you from a sleep you didn’t even know you’d fallen into it. Disorientated, you sat up, rubbing your eyes in a bed you didn’t recognise. Where the hell were you? The last thing you remembered was going to the meeting place the guy on the phone told you and now, here you were. You took in your surroundings, the colorful patterns on the wall, the hundreds of bunk beds piled up around the place. There were so many people here. What the hell had you got yourself into?

You quickly joined the crowd of people that were gathering. There had to be at least over four hundred people here. You glanced down at the number on the blue-green tracksuit you were wearing. 231. Huh, that must be your number then. Some pink guard came out, explaining things. Then, they started playing videos on the screen of all the people who owed debts. There was one person in particular that caught your eye.

That purple haired menace you called your boyfriend.

There he was on the screen, his bright green shirt blinding, vape in his hand as he stared at the screen. So, he was here? You were moving before you even realised it, pushing through the crowds of people to try and find him. It wasn’t hard, his purple hair standing out above everyone else. When you sidled up to him, you gripped his wrist, pulling him to look at you once he was done whining about his limited edition shoes. His eyes widened almost comically when he saw you.

“The hell are you doing here?” He hissed. It wasn’t maliciously, though there was a hint of annoyance in his voice.

The night before, you had got into an argument. It was a stupid one, it didn’t even matter in the long run but when you fought, it was bad. Both of you were too stubborn to admit you were wrong so the anger and annoyance always lingered until one of you - usually you - finally caved. No matter how annoyed you were with him, you loved him. And, you knew he felt the same way. You had been together for almost three years now. They hadn’t been easy by any means. There had been so many challenges along the way but you’d always come out of it stronger, together.

“Trying to get some cash to help your stupid ass,” you huffed, arms folded across your chest.

Thanos rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your help.”

“Says the guy who got himself into millions of debt by investing in some stupid bitcoin that I told him no-“

He cut you off, holding his hand up to stop you. “I don’t want to hear it again, okay?”

Your mouth opened then closed immediately. It wasn’t worth it, it was a fight that had been continuously happening since he’d lost all his money. You weren’t exactly angry at him, just at the fact he’d fallen for something so stupid, losing all the money he’d worked so hard for because he’d got greedy. It was a broken record at this point. You sighed, wrapping your arms around yourself and that caught his attention. He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he saw the defeated look on your face. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass but don’t ever doubt that I love you, aight?” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head when his attention was suddenly caught by the infamous MG Coin. You let him do his thing, his friend Namgyu trailing after him like a lost puppy.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

This wasn’t happening.

There was no way.

Your eyes glanced down to the body in front of you, blood everywhere including all over Thanos’s face. You dared to glance at him, his face frozen in shock. You could see the panic setting in, his anxiety threatening to bubble to the surface. If this was any other time and place, you’d reach out, take his hand in yours and reassure him that everything would be okay. But, you couldn’t. Not if you wanted to stay alive.

Things had been going so well before this. When you’d first stepped into the giant room with the sand floor and creepy doll standing at the other end, Thanos had decided to try and impress you with a stupid rap. Unfortunately, it had worked, your cheeks flushing red as he rapped about how you were his ‘beauty flower’.

Now, it had turned into a nightmare.

The second the light turned green, you ran and turned to look behind you to watch your boyfriend pull out his cross. You knew what came next. He’d take out a pill, pop it in his mouth then for the next few hours it’d be like he was on another planet. It broke your heart that he relied on this to help him feel okay. There had been so many late night conversations while he was off the drugs where he told you how scared he was, how everyday he felt anxious and terrified to the point that he didn’t know what to do. It broke your heart. His crutch was those colourful little pills. It pained you to know that you couldn’t help him. Maybe one day but that wasn’t any time soon.

Thankfully, you got through the game in one piece and so did Thanos. He had bounded over to you, crushing you to his chest with a huge smile when he saw that you’d both made it. Muttered praises of how proud he was of you, how strong you were whispered in your ear. You knew he was high but something you knew better than anyone was that he never lied to you. Not when he was high or sober. He was always brutally honest, it was one of the things you loved about him. It made your heart swell, calming down the tears that were threatening to spill at the nightmare you were now locked in.

The second game was just as bad. Thanos had sworn to protect you and he had. He hadn’t let you out of his sight for one second, always making sure to have some part of him touching you whether it was his hand on your lower back, or his shoulder pressed against yours. He had popped another pill that morning, lost in his own little world. Now, he’d even started giving them to Namgyu so you had to deal with two high idiots. There had been a brief moment where he tried to offer you one but you refused. No matter how scared you were, you weren’t going to get hooked on those. You worried about him enough, you didn’t need to worry about yourself either.

It was when the third game came around when things took a turn.

Mingle had almost been your demise.

When it sounded out that it was two people to a room, Thanos had immediately tried to grab your hand to drag you with him but Namgyu got his hands on Thanos first, pulling him away. He had yelled out for you, his eyes wide with fear as you stood there frantically looking around to find someone to pair up with. Your feet couldn’t move, accepting your fate but Minsu came in clutch, wrapping his hands around your wrist and pulling you to a room.

He had saved your life.

Once you got back to the room, Thanos had almost tackled you to the ground, his strong arms holding you close against him.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so sorry, baby,” he mumbled into your hair, clutching to you like you were his lifeline. You could feel his heart pounding against his chest. “I thought I had you. I thought you were with me but this fucking asshole dragged me off.”

He glared daggers at Namgyu and so did you. But, that could wait. You had to reassure Thanos that you were okay. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine, I’m here. Minsu saved me.”

“I should’ve. I thought I’d fucking lost you.”

“You didn’t, okay? I’m right here.” You pulled back to cup his face in your hands. The regret and guilt swirling in his eyes made your stomach flip. He was terrified, even high on the drugs he was still that frightened boy that you’d met years ago. “It’s not your fault. Listen to me, Su-bong. It’s not your fault.”

“No, it is, I should’ve protected you. I said I would and I failed.”

He pulled you back to his chest, cradling the back of your head. Your eyes caught Namgyu and if looks could kill, he’d be dead on the floor. The intesity of the anger in your eyes almost made him recoil.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

When the vote had came that night, you were fully prepared for Thanos to vote to stay in but you watched as he solemnly walked up to the button and without hesitation pressed the button to leave. It took you back. His eyes met yours, the guilt still eating at him. So, you followed suit, pressing to leave.

Settling into your bunk, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Even though you’d voted to leave, too many people had voted to stay which meant you were still stuck in these deathly games. The mattress dipped and you didn’t need to guess who it was, you instantly knew. Thanos slid in next to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind. Usually, you’d feel safe in his arms but in this place, it was hard to feel safe even if your comfort person was holding you.

You turned around to face him, meeting his eyes. The drugs had worn off. He looked tired, defeated. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

“Can’t, Senorita. I almost lost you. If I had? There’d be no fucking point to anything. What would I have left?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek then found your lips. He kissed you eagerly, desperately.

It left you breathless, your hand gripping onto his arm as his tongue slid into your mouth, tangling with yours. He managed to move you to lay on your back, settling himself on top of you. This was more than just a kiss, he needed this. He needed to know you were here, he needed to feel you. So, you let him. Maybe it would help both of you calm down.

His kisses became more desperate, his lips trailing down your cheekbone to your neck leaving sloppy, open mouth kisses along the column of your throat. His hips grinded against you, a soft, quiet moan slipping past your lips at the feeling of his clothed length pressing against your core.

“Someone will hear us,” you breathed, feeling his fingers dipping beneath the tracksuit pants you were wearing.

“Then be quiet, yeah?” He mumbled against your skin. His fingers pressed against your clothed core, feeling the damp patch that had began to form there the second he had put his lips on yours. “I need to feel you. Need to know you’re really here.”

Now, his fingers had dipped inside your panties, one of his long digits trailing along your slit. Your arousal coated his fingers, eliciting a groan from him. He found your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles on the sensitive bud. It had your body arching, aching for more. He knew your body better than anyone, knew exactly what you needed. You gasped as you felt him slide two fingers into your entrance. “Su-bong!”

Hearing his name fall from your lips in a breathy gasp, spurred him on. His fingers began to slide into and out of you. Slowly at first but he sped up, your walls clenching around his fingers. His lips found yours again in another messy, desperate kiss. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

He wasted no time at all yanking your pants down, baring your glistening heat to him. He shoved his own down just enough to free his cock. He wrapped his hand around his length, pumping himself a few times. He teased you a little, rubbing the tip of his cock against your folds, coating himself in your slick before he nudged the head at your entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, holding a finger up to his lips to signal you to be quiet.

Then, he pushed in. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying your hardest not to moan out as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You had never been more thankful that you were on the top bunk, less prying eyes able to see what you were up to. You could tell he was fighting to be quiet too, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth. He pulled all the way out then thrust back in. “Shit, you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He wasn’t slow. Not at all. He set a quick, hard pace from the get go, your body moving with the force of his thrusts. One of his hands gripped your hip, his fingers digging hard into your skin while the other held him up. This was messy, desperate. It was his way of reminding himself you really were there and he hadn’t lost you.

Your hands gripped onto the fabric of the jacket on his back, scrambling for something to hold on to as you tried your hardest to keep quiet but it was hard with the way he was fucking you. It felt so damn good, you couldn’t help yourself as a moan tore from your throat. His eyes widened, one of his hands clamping over your mouth to muffle the sounds.

“Be quiet,” he grunted, hips still thrusting into you. “I’m not trying to get us both killed here.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking me in a murder game then.”

“You’re so annoying.”

There was no malice behind his words, in fact he was grinning at you, causing you to grin too. He angled his hips, hitting that deep spot inside you that caused your head to spin. You were close. He knew it with the way your walls were tightening around him. He hid his face in your neck, his thrust growing erratic. He groaned against your skin, his own orgasm fast approaching. “Come for me, Senorita. Come on, give it to me.”

That was all it took, your legs wrapping around him as your body tensed. He quickly pressed his lips to yours swallowing your moans as you came around him. That triggered his own release. One hard thrust into you and he stilled, spilling himself inside you, his own moan muffled by the kiss. He shallowly kept moving his hips, prolonging your pleasure for as long as he could before he finally collapsed on top of you. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming out in heavy pants.

“We’re getting out of here, I promise. Fuck this shit and fuck Namgyu. I might kill him myself,” he brushed some of your hair away that had fallen in your face.

“Aw, but I wanted to,” you pouted.

That caused him to laugh. “Together then?”

“Deal.”

For once in his life, he knew he had made the right decision to try and leave and God forbid he’d do everything in his power to get you out of this shithole. It wasn’t often he made good decisions but you and your safety came above anything and everything else. He’d do anything to make sure you were safe.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @loveesiren @justsisse @sherrayyyyy @aizshallnotbefound @fleabagspurplewife @gemzyy @bettelaboure @gdinthehouseee @breakmeoff @babyrvis @flymetothexmoon @forevervibezzzz1 @ttturnitup @szonyix6277

[saintshadow]

ALCHEMICAL GOLD:

HOW TO TRANSFORM UR CURRENT SITUATION

↳ a/n: I hope you all enjoy this reading, I’m really trying to work on having more cohesive and attractive layouts for my readings. Feedback would be wonderful! 🩶⚔️

☿ 𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲 ☿

You may be the first of your family or friend group to choose or think differently. Ie; coming from a family of alcoholics and choosing sobriety- coming from a family of abuse, Christianity, Strict//Traditional values & choosing whatever is true to YOU. I sense that people respect this different frame of mind. You have a massive impact on your close ones, I see that maybe in the past it has even led to violent outbursts from friends or family. Perhaps you feel trapped by the circumstances of life, you feel like others cannot comprehend your ideas. It may feel difficult, because there may be part of you that understands your connection to your community or your family is an INHERENT point of your success in spite of the fact they make you feel held back. I’m in tears with this pile, you guys are amazing and I hope you know and feel that. Even if others don’t always acknowledge what you are doing or what you are capable of- deep down they know.

You definitely reincarnated from your bloodline.

Your advice is to stop waiting for approval from your partner, mother, sister, brother, friends, WHOEVER- whoever's approval you're waiting on- they're unfortunately not going to give it to you likely until it's a bit too late. I understand how painful this is for you, and for some I understand that rather than approval someone may have died or passed away- and you are wanting to know that they support you. I see a lot of you are very hopeful for the future, but you're waiting- so patiently and very obediently for something. I heard someone whisper "go" it was a woman's voice, I feel that you are far more powerful than you or anyone else could have anticipated. Maybe you weren't born into the best circumstances- perhaps you almost became a statistic. Take wise action, don't move on pure impulse. You know what you've been wanting to do- so you need to go and do it. For those who feel confused by this pile I feel called to recommend pile 2 to you though I haven't written it yet. With the 7 of Pentacles, The Magician, and the Ace of Pentacles-

it's clear to me you have everything you need to make this happen. You have literally nothing to worry about, in fact. There's some kind of truth or situation you may feel called to share publicly. For some this could have to do with bringing justice to a situation, speaking on a horrific thing that happened- defending a loved one even? If not that, then you are being called to take measured steps to re-establish yourself socially. You're supposed to cut through something, someone could have used your name or reputation as a punching-bag. I heard something about cutting off the head of the dragon, and it's weird bc I was watching Percy Jackson Yesterday- I remember the scene with the hydra in the book and that is coming to mind for me. You're revealing something about yourself to others. The way you carry yourself, I heard "emblem". So that definitely makes me think of your public image. Embrace the lessons that difficulty as a child taught you, I feel very sad for your childhood pile one. It is abundantly clear to me that you have been misunderstood for a very long time. People get upset with the things they cannot understand, you are not bad. I promise. The things your family taught you- the values, the structure and foundation no matter how broken have endowed you with great wisdom and strength. You have everything you need my love, I promise you that you do. I know some of you don't feel ready, some of you may feel angry or frustrated or stagnant, just take the leap of faith. Start doing the thing, start working the process, don't give up now. You have a vision that goes far beyond what other people could visualize, it doesn't matter if they think it won't work. Not when you KNOW it will.

Find the wisdom in your heartache, and work to defy all odds. Take the pain as an opportunity to reflect, to gain knowledge- as a step towards your ultimate truth. Rework the way you experience pain. I know it's tiring, it's frustrating, it's unfair- but this lesson isn't to punish you. It is to propel you, there is a reason this theme continually pops up. I think this group should study their Chiron placement, there seems to be something there. Your pain heals others, your pain opens the door to wisdom, healing, truth, and release. Allow yourself to exist truly and freely as the most authentic version of yourself while working to rise above the pain as often as s possible.

☿ 𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓲 ☿

You need to sit tight through this period of uncertainty, I'm seeing the sails on a ship moving direction/course. So much has built up to now, you're tired of sitting and waiting in uncertainty. You're tired of pain, boredom, confusion, and the likes. It feels like rage, ready to bubble over- you may even be losing your faith in the divine. Because it seems like nothing works. Like nothing goes in your favor, you are angry. Scorned, you feel scammed. This is because intuitively you know a wish is about to be fulfilled, it's starting to come together now. Most ironically, I sense that you're preforming a type of martyrdom right now. You are sacrificing for a future that you're scared you won't be able to see. You feel as if you are blindfolded in the dark, and honestly you are- I also get frustrated at these circumstances. I find them to be unnecessary and unfair, though I am a human and probably super biased because I get the same way sometimes.

Your blessings are secretive, they aren't coming to you in a normal way. It's so weird, I really don't know why this is the approach your spirits are taking. It looks like it's because you need to learn something about balance and calmness. You have to develop a better discipline with negative emotions so they are taking this opportunity to teach that skill.

It's giving "we're going to literally make your external experience match your internal experience until you realize you're the problem" Let me tell you friend, some beautiful shit is headed your way- it's genuinely best if you just get with the memo and recognize that good things can happen to you. A lot of this "negativity" you're feeling is literally a release, you're purging a lot right now, and it's hard for you, I really do get that honestly. It isn't easy, it's in fact quite difficult and I'm sure overwhelming to feel forced into this position. You're tired of suffering, but you must take action to end your own suffering, and not like killing yourself cus I just get the vibe some of this group has been suicidal.

Fight your negative thoughts, when they tell you "something bad is happening everything will go bad" argue, point out the work you've done and the blessings you've reaped.

I get this vibe that any conflict you're seeing is not actually "real" so to speak, like- literally ignore it lowkey. Not like don't pretend it exists, but don't FEED it, it's fickle- it will come and go. There are so many other things in your life that have an actual sturdy foundation. Hold onto your healthy love/romance/friendships/relationships, hold onto your talents and gifts, hold onto your future desires- and keep your eyes ahead. Don't fixate on the dramas and bullshit of the now. Focus on something that showers you in hope- because I promise- just because you aren't seeing it in the now doesn't mean it isn't here. Once it all arrives, you'll FINALLY understand my dear.

Knight of Pentacles, 2 of pentacles, the empress, the queen of cups, and the 2 of cups.

Slow and steady wins the race, keep balance the best that you can- reap the fruits of your labor, penny pinch, be mindful of keeping the balance in check- and with a hopeful and emotionally calm heart look towards your future. If you've been feeling downtrodden or drained, you have a pick me up coming. Very soon, and it'll put quite a bit of pep in your step. You will see things changing drastically in your life very soon. Trust the process, I know you're starting to get fed up but just trust and believe in yourself. You are going to do just fine, frfr.

Since this pile is a bit shorter than 2, here is some further advice for tapping into this empress version of you: This is a hard one Pile Two, but- this is about releasing control. Going with the flow of life, while tending to your metaphorical "garden". When you feel the fear and control flaring back up, remember that you literally can only do what you're able to do. Stop to appreciate the things you do have, and look for a new perspective or find a way to avert your attention. This is a battle, girl, so you gotta buckle up and dive in. You are rewiring your mind and this is not an easy task, but you will come out better for it.

☿ 𝓹𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓲𝓲 ☿

Pile 3, I can tell you're working on something important to you. You're really transforming yourself, I see that a lot of what you need to do to transform your life you are already doing. So perhaps this is going to be more like an explanation of your life's current "season". I want to start by highlighting an interesting combination of cards pulled on the side, they seem to be the shift in the tide. We have the high priestess, the sun reversed, and the 2 of wands, all forming a little pyramid. The sun being the furthest towards the bottom, the high priestess being more towards the middle, and the 2 of wands being on top. You are observing a lot right now, you are looking at the world and your environment and everything at large and you may be realizing how small your view had been for so long. The wisdom is being culminated within you in every moment you gain clarity. I see you may have a message to deliver to this world. A light shines deep within you, this sun reversed to me paired with the high priestess almost reminds me of the black sun. The light concealed within darkness, the eternal flame I also heard. You are opening something up inside of you, something that once opened cannot be stopped. This is a good thing, you may be realizing that your past emotional patterns do not serve you anymore. You are slowly culling them off, one by one, plucking them from the root so they may never return. I see you are building your wish fulfillment, perhaps you are looking to be a spiritual elder, or a person with authority. Someone who other people listen to and rely on, some of you could even be working to enter politicians, teachers, preachers even- Wisdomatic souls with much to give to others. People may begin to respect you more, you could find that the deeper you step into this energy the more "correct" things feel, the more things fall into place for you and the more you realize that your grapple with control was fruitless.

For those in relationships that are healthy and who will resonate strongly with this message then take it: Hold on to your person, and be steadfast, trust that something is being done in your favor and remember how much the two of you have overcome in the past. When the world seems out of control, confusing, and overwhelming remember the peace you will have one day. Remember what this is all for, you have a beautiful future ahead of you. Some of you could become very wealthy for your esoteric or spiritual knowledge, others could become very wealthy for their depth of knowledge on a particular subject- in especially niche or unknown//misunderstood areas.

You will taste true independence, and possibly even some sort of fame or recognition. You will be blessed with a higher position of authority and people may just start to really respect your hustle more. If someone isn't for you, then let it be what it is. Perhaps some of you have some friends/family members who can be fickle/unreliable. Be more intentional with what friendships you'll decide to keep & why? Be more mindful about what you share with friends and family right now as well, even the people you trust. Keep things to yourself, and be patient with the growth of the fruits of your labor bae.

[itstheghostofmypast]

Sick Leave

Mafia AU Choi San x (f) Wife Reader

Summary: Listening to your boss is important. Listening to your colleague is important, and most of all, listening to your WIFE is VITAL.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort- tinge of fluff

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Gore, Torture, strong language.

Word Count: 2.3k

Read Time: 11 min

Rating: PG- 17

Networks: @k-labels

A/N: I was supposed to post something else first, but then I had the URGE to write something like this. I hope ya'll like it! It has the much needed girlboss vibes.

"Did you find it?" The old man, Mr.Byun as he had introduced himself, huffed out a puff of smoke, smirking when the woman tied to the chair infront of him coughed, clenching her eyes shut to decrease the burning.

"The longer you take to give us his location, the longer you'll have to wait here," the lewd man leaned closer, trying to get a better look at the pretty potential toy tied up in front of him, "Trust me, being secretary of the year won't be worth it- I can't control my boys for so long, ya know."

With a soft sigh you opened your eyes and leaned back a bit, eyes flickering from the fat ugly manwhore to the space behind him, trying to gather intel for future plans. Honestly it pissed you off how you had decided to work over time and then had the tough luck of being kidnapped, honestly, could this night get any worse- oh yes, you wore a skirt today. Of all the days to be sick, that bastard had to take a sick leave today, did he ever listen to you? No.

Did he listen to you when you were explaining the coloured filing system? No, that's exactly why you were working late, trying to fix the atomic mess of his files. Did he listen to you when you had urged he wore warmer clothes? No, because his 'big built' was enough to keep him warm. Did he take you seriously when you had seriously advised him about the security risks? No, he had not, because 'My boys will handle it'. At this point, you were sure that once you were out of this mess, you'd rough up not only that bastard but his 'boys' too.

"How long have I been here for?"

Your tone was firm, yet composed enough to tick off the man before you, as you continued to look past him- honestly, ugly things were not your suit, you had always leaned towards prettier, more useful things, lifestyle, people- a more elegant aesthetic as you had tried to explain to him and his boys once all of you had begun to work together- a partnership you had offered when a certain mountain had caught your interest, the night you had barged into your brother's private clinic, demanding the reason behind his absence for a family dinner-, 'One must look elegant during the toughest of times'.

"Aw, doll, if you tell us where to find that bastard I'd be happy to let you go-"

"Your lack of intellectual back up and poor set up seems to be wasting my time, I charge per minute," You cut him off, crossing a leg over the other, "It's disappointing how you assumed to be on the same level as, well, me." You nodded towards the right of the space you were currently in, "You're all sloppy, that door isn't even locked-"

A loud slap echoed across the warehouse, followed by the thump of his chair. He was furious, the stubby man, standing above you stared you down with a kind of hatred you were all too used to, as your eyes flickered to meet his- he looked like a constipated bull. God, you should stop spending time with Wooyoung.

"Listen up bitch," his fingers gripped your hair, your once neatly combed back bun being brutally ruined, oh God, you'd have to take a long bubble bath after this. The thought of him running his greasy fingers through your soft locks irked you, but your lips betrayed you, curling into a smirk, the tip of your tongue running over the cut on your freshly bruised lower lip, watching him continue his monologue.

"I don't know how much that bastard pays you or what he has on you but," his grip in your hair tightened, tugging you closer, your nose scrunching at the unpleasant odour- perhaps that was the last nail in the coffin.

A loud slash was heard, followed by the howl of the man who stumbled back, only for you to grip his collar and turn him around, kicking him behind the knee to have him topple over. A Cheshire like grin plastered on your face as you gripped the fowl thing by his hair, ensuring your nails dig into his skin, looking at all of his goons aiming at you.

"Sorry boys, but I don't like playing rough, especially with dirt," You shrugged, twirling the blade between your fingers, eyes flickering to the sound of a gun clock, the tip of your blade pinched the skin of the man who gasped, "You boys really should do your research."

Before anyone could react the doors burst open, and several gunshots echoed in the warehouse, you watched as one of the men ran towards you, only to be pulled back by his coat, you watched as he gasped up in horror at the sight of the man with blood dripping off his face, his extravagantly large fur coat hanging off his shoulders- no, no, this man did not come here in his pyjamas.

The supposed boss man watched in horror as the man they had been doing all of this for was busy abusing the assailant, stomping on his chest with no mercy, his knuckles digging into the fallen man's face before he picked him up by the collar, to get a better aim- he was going to do it. His signature, that's how you know this man had struck, each man in his team had a specific, blood curdling signature, a mark they'd leave behind. That's how you knew that Ateez was here, a general corporation, with the general capitalistic approach during the day, but a darker role during the night.

Kim Hongjoong would slice the corners of the lips, creating a joker like smile. Park Seonghwa was known to shoot right between the eyes. Out of all of them, he was the most merciful. Jeong Yunho, the sniper would shoot into one ear and out the other to kill, but his signature was his bursting bullet, one that he would intentionally shoot into a muscle and the bullet would burst releasing a painful toxin. Kang Yeosang's signature was equally gruesome, the beautiful Prince of a man would disfigure the face of his rivals, unlike the brute Song Mingi, who assumed his signature was unique, but as Jung Wooyoung claimed, 'busting knee caps ain't new, bro'. Which was an iconic statement to pass considering how he too would follow the similar route, but target the knuckles and the youngest, well, he just learnt from his big sister, one clean slice, though his splatter was nothing compared to the shower her slice was famous for, an ability that had their mountain of a man on his knees for her.

The loud crunch had the man recoil, only to wince when she poked his neck with the blade again, her grip on his hair tightening. He was waiting for his chance to overpower this sleazy secretary-

"DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO STAY IN BED!?"

Appalled at the tone, he glanced up at the woman who was glaring at the man before them, broad shoulders covered by the fur coat evidently slumping as he let go of the man with the punched in face-who was this woman?

"B-but I'm wearing something warm! I promise I took my medicine too before coming, and this coat is-"

"AND ARE YOU WEARING YOUR ANNIVERSARY GIFT?"

Anniversary? Wait, she was his wife?

"I am!" He smiled proudly, flailing it around, the dirt around him turning into a dust cloud, "My wife's so thoughtful! So smart and caring, this is the comfiest thing ever-"

"Too bad we'll have to burn it."

"Eh?"

Laughter broke out in the warehouse, a particular witch like cackle the loudest as Byun took this as an opportunity to escape. Pushing you backwards and turning to you, "YOU BITCH-"

San's eyes widened at the futile attempt of the pathetic man whom he pounced at, grabbing him by the back of his collar, holding him still, as his wife's arm flung in pure reflex, a slice so loud that all of them could feel her boiling anger, so much so that Mr.Choi who was holding the bleeding man forgot to let him go, holding him right infront of his wife- oh they were so going to get an earful afterwards.

What signed the deal was how you had managed to slice his neck, though he was facing you, and let's just say showering in a lowlife's blood is not how you wanted to end your Friday night. All of them stood there in horror, watching as you stood there, blood dripping off your face and onto your stained clothes, oh no- Choi San was a dead man and all of them knew that when they sprung into action once their boy dropped the body, stepping over it to run to his wife, "I am so sorry-"

Your raised hand stopped him in his tracks, only for him to crouch to his knees, beside you, and rubbed your back soothingly when you began to hurl out your dinner. Everyone around you runs around to clean up and prepare to evacuate.

"Here," Jongho, who was now standing beside his sister who was still vomiting, handed his brother in law a packet of wet wipes, knowing very well how she'd now have to go for a fullscreen checkup too, isn't she lucky her brother's a doctor?

"Thanks man," San mumbled, not taking his eyes off you for a second, he had been feeling guilty all night, and now he just felt worse than before, not only did his sick leave have you kidnapped, he had noticed the cut on your lip and the bruise on your soft cheek the moment he had arrived, but his brute ways had put you in more danger- his pretty, precious doll who loved cleanliness a bit too much, ironic how this was your choice of work.

His eyes softened when you stopped, gasping for air as you tilted your head up, flinching when you felt the cold, damp cotton of the wipe on your cheek, this better have been a disinfectant too. He gave you a gentle smile when you met his tender gaze, though his fingers were busy cleaning up your face and neck, "I'm sorry..." he whispered before slamming you into his chest, causing you to gasp at the force.

"S-stop it! You idiot! You'll get blood all over the coat!" You struggled against him, feeling his arms around you tightened, his hair tickling your face when he shook his head, burying his face in your neck, causing you to sigh. "You're sick... your immunity is already low. You didn't need to come with them tonight... I would've been fine, Sannie."

The man silently stood up, not before pulling you up in the process, only to toss you over his shoulder, ignoring your screech, and how you were hitting his back with your fists,"Let's go home." He declared ensuring to step on the face of the man who had led a poor husband who was on sick leave to come save his wife, who was technically his world- and world bank, the financer of Ateez, the person who, all of them could blindly rely on, especially Hongjoong, considering his management system was not the best before she had arrived.

The crunch caused her to slap his back, barking at him to let her go, only for him to playfully slap her bottom, giggling when he felt his wive scream, "I'LL BLOODY KILL YOU!"

Would you really, though? No, you'd just have him take you to the tub, let you enjoy a good soak, and knowing him, he'd dive into the tub like it was personal pool, either way you knew the rest would handle everything else, you trusted them with your life, you trusted him with your life. Especially when he gently let you down and sat you in the back seat, smiling at you like the goof he was behind closed doors, "I'd kiss you but I don't want you to get sick."

"I think we're way past that precaution, Mr.Choi."

He giggled at your response, pushing you further onto the seat as he closed the door behind him, the driver who was already on the other side of the partition began to drive as soon as he heard the door close, knowing not to disturb them.

.

Bonus:

Yeosang looked at the bodies and shook his head, "Eleven men to kidnap a single woman?" He mumbled before kicking a body, then glancing at Wooyoung, who was on his phone, "What are you doing?"

Wooyoung glanced up at him and snorted, "Maybe if you checked the group chat, you would've known."

Jongho snatched his phone and shoved it in his pocket, "Stop placing stupid bets, she's your boss, no?"

A static voice rang in their ear piece, "Oh please, you're not the one driving a hazardous couple," Yunho narrated, "I'm just saying, she's gonna be on sick leave for a day or two at this rate."

Mingi, who was staring at Byun's disfigured face, mumbled to himself, "Knowing how riled up San was, I wouldn't be surprised if she takes a maternity leave."

"Good God, shut up all of you!" An exasperated voice rang in their ears, "I am in no mood of this shit, hurry up, clean up so we can head back to the base, it's bad enough San's sick, we don't need her getting sick aswell!" Hongjoong who tossed an empty gun aside yelled as he walked out of the warehouse, followed by a collected Seonghwa who just shrugged, "Don't worry guys, he's just afraid our World Bank and perfectionist filer will be on sick leave for a while."

The gang collective laughed at their leader, who just groaned in response about to retort when they heard,

"San's asleep, and I heard all of you, expect to see a massive cut in this month's salary. Mrs.Choi out."

Oh, they really should have known better, Mrs.Choi wasn't the nicest when it came to the health of her precious Mr.Choi.