#and maybe everything will be okay. just in a different way. maybe a better way. we'll see 💕

[dyingswanpavlova]

Happier than ever

Part 1

Pairing: Nam-gyu × Reader × The Salesman

Warnings: Drug Usage, Overdose, Death, Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Suicide, Mentions of Sexual Activities, Mentions of Rape, Domestic Violence, Domestic Abuse, Mental Health Issues, Anger Issues, Depression, Long Backstory, Minors do not interact!

Nam-gyu and you were a couple for the last eight years. But after you decide you had enough of his anger issues, you leave him and try to be happy on your own. Oh, how naïve you are.

Author's note: Okay, everyone.😩 I know you're waiting for the next part of "Your girl" and trust me, I am, too! I'm sorry that I haven't come up with it yet, but I needed to get my mind off of it for a moment, because I don't want to just write anything and publish it like that - the story means too much to me. I can't publish it unless I'm happy with it, but I promise you, I'm working on it. Until then, I started to furiously hit the key board and this happened. Whatever this is, it is Part 1 of it and I'm doing a Part 2, I just don't know when yet. I love you! 🤍 Lana

Loving Nam-gyu wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world.

In fact, it was almost impossible on most days.

But there was a part of you, a thing, a quiet voice – something that needed to be reassured, that felt like maybe you were the problem.

There had been good days, hadn’t there? Your birthday and the way he woke you up with pancakes every year. Of course they turned out horrible and were barely edible. They were raw on the inside and somehow, he still managed to burn them. But he made them for you. The memory still made you smile, despite everything.

Then there was the day you had your big ballet performance. You had spent so many months rehearsing, trying to be perfect. You went all Natalie Portman on that performance. Since the moment you’d been told you got to play Odette, you were fire and flame, spending every waking moment trying to be everything you pictured in your head. It was hard, very hard even. But you had the great hope that, if maybe you did well enough, they would come.

Your family would come and watch. They’d finally show you that they did indeed love you, that you weren’t just a burden or an accident. They would come and they would be proud of you. Your father would set his work phone down, your mother her pills. They would be there. For you.

But of course, they didn’t. You should have known better. It was your own fault, hoping and praying for something that was never going to happen. You should have known.

And still, the moment the curtain lifted and you glanced along the rows and rows of people, you felt disappointed. But you didn’t feel disappointed like normal people would, no. It was you after all. You felt devastated. You felt all of your creativity leave your mind. Your body slowly forgot the choreography. Your eyes glistened with tears. And your life was over.

You had your own issues. He had his anger. You had your world endings.

That was until the door flew open after everyone was already seated, waiting for the show to begin. A few heads turned and your gaze quickly flashed towards the now open door, revealing the face of the mysterious newcomer. He was out of breath and his hair was a mess, his cheeks glowing red and the look in his eyes pleading.

It was Nam-gyu.

You had just had the greatest argument of your life so far, throwing around dishes and screaming your lungs out at each other. Not even twelve hours had passed since then, so you were more than sure that he wouldn’t come. After all, he was the least reliable person you knew, alongside your family. And that fight had been particularly bad. You actually didn’t expect to ever see him again.

But there he was, his appearance disheveled and his eyes pleading with you. Pleading with you to forgive him, pleading with you to dance.

Dance.

You remembered the way you felt. The way your disappointment suddenly turned into something different, something hopeful and warm.

Something good.

He was good.

He was yours.

And you were his.

In that moment, there was nothing else. Everything around you faded into a dark cloud and all you could focus on was him and the way he stood in the middle of the audience, staring up at you. The world was quiet and everything smelled like flowers. The perfection you were striving for was suddenly there and it had nothing to do with your performance.

It was a slow dance, slow and sensual, between your souls.

Until suddenly the music started and your body remembered the movements again.

And you were indeed perfect.

Unfortunately though it wasn’t always like that. Most of the time, he was simply complicated. When he wasn’t drugged out of his mind, he was angry. Not at all the time – but easily. All you had to do was say the wrong thing and he’d explode. And you’d explode right back, right into his face.

“I fucking hate you!”

“Shut the fuck up, you dumb slut!”

“Who are you calling a slut?! You son a bitch!”

“Say that again!”

It always ended the same way. You sobbing on the floor, him slamming the door shut and disappearing. That were the good fights.

The bad ones were different. You couldn’t count the times you had been forced to take shelter in the bathroom, quickly locking the door, too afraid to let him even close to you. Of course you knew how to fight back. You didn’t let him get away with slapping you, oh no, you kneed him right in the balls so he’d know better not to fuck with you. He’d normally collapse and the fight would be over. But sometimes, on especially bad days, he got that look on him.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant. No, it was murderous and terrifying. You always knew there was something dangerous about him. That was probably what drew you in at first. But this…It was different. When he got that look, when the drugs clouded his mind like that, you were truly afraid of what he might do. And so you locked yourself in and listened to the way he pounded against the door, ready to break it down. So far, he hadn’t. A part of him was still in there, even when got like that.

But you didn’t want to push your luck.

After eight years of up and down, back and forth and through the gates of Hell, you finally left him for good. At first he probably didn’t believe it. After all, you had pulled the leaving card a million times before. But somehow you always ended up back in his bed, with him fucking your brains out and calling it making up.

But this time, you meant it. It had been a pretty normal Tuesday. You were at work, waiting tables and cleaning up after your mindless customers. It wasn’t the best job in the world, but it paid the bills – albeit, barely.

After your father left and married a woman hardly any older than you and you found your mother on the bathroom floor, cold and stiff, her eyes wide and her chin and hair covered in foam and puke, you decided couldn’t do this anymore. Couldn’t be that anymore.

You moved in with Nam-gyu. It started off well at first. He was as cute as ever, when he was sober. Sure, you had fights already, but they were mostly trivial. Yelling was involved, throwing furniture around as well, but he never got violent with you so far.

He found a job, as did you and you paid your apartment together. It was tiny of course, but it was enough. You bought groceries and washed laundry. You even had some spare money to buy furniture and decorations. It wasn’t much, but it was yours. You did everything the way you always pictured it.

You had been with Nam-gyu since you turned seventeen. You met back in school and immediately fell in love with him. He had been so sweet. Acting overly confident and arrogant, of course, but it was just a front which you immediately realized. Under all that he was actually rather silly. He made you laugh without even trying. Even he seemed surprised by how good you two matched. So far he’d been going through life, acting like everyone was beneath him. But in reality, he wasn’t popular. He was a bully. He was mean, with a cruel streak. But never to you. No, when someone dared to speak up their mind against you, he was there, ready to break their jaw. You formed a friendship of sort. He was protective and extremely possessive, while you were caring. His family was a bunch of assholes, just like yours was and neither of you had any real friends.

Most of your friends were other dancers and neither of those were really sentimental. Sure, it was enough to go out for a salad sometimes, but you really weren’t one for bulimia and cigarettes. Most of them were, unfortunately.

You loved food. You loved to eat and you appreciated every bite. You’d grown up rather lonely on your own, praying every night for a sibling or a real friend. Someone you could talk to, about real problems. Your ballet friends though? Whenever they asked you how you felt, they didn’t actually want to know. They were just being polite.

Nam-gyu was just as lonely, though he wouldn’t have ever admitted it. He had friends, who were to no one’s surprise, also a bunch of assholes. Some of them were just bullies, others were straight-up rapists.

“What do you mean, you changed your mind? Are you dumb? Shut the fuck up and take it. You agreed to this!”

Nam-gyu wasn’t. It was another thing he wouldn’t have admitted to out loud, but the thought of fucking someone while they were out of it was something he wasn’t after. A thing that really turned him on was to see the pleasure on the other person’s face. The moans, the sighs. He wouldn’t get that if he just made them take it. And so he didn’t. But he tried to keep a straight face, when his friends shared their immoral stories of last weekend. He tried to laugh, when they spoke about the way the girls curled up in self-hatred after they left them there, their cum leaking out of them.

That was until one of the girls ended up killing herself.

She had been super sad and melancholic for as long anyone could remember. She was rather quiet and no-one really spoke to her. She wasn’t weird or anything, just really shy. That was enough to get bullied. She was an obvious virgin and rather closed-off. A good challenge. A great bet.

So, one of his friends placed a bet with the others. Fuck the girl.

“No way that weirdo is letting you anywhere close to her.”

And she didn’t, at first. She didn’t trust anyone around, because people normally made fun of her. But that guy, who went by Nic, was a real good actor. He didn’t walk up to her and just made advances. No, he played shy around her. Sweet. Funny. He managed to tickle a smile out of her. A laugh. And he didn’t just do it once. He did it for days. Weeks. Two months. He played her boyfriend. Her sweet, shy boyfriend. Until her front slowly crumbled and she fell in love with him. Deeply. So much that she actually decided to give Nic her first.

According to Nic it had been nothing out of the ordinary, but Nam-gyu knew it was more than that. He could read the people around him fairly well, and he could also see the way Nic’s pupils dilated, the way his heart skipped a beat, whenever his sweet, little girlfriend was around.

But his friends, his friends, they were constantly at his back.

“Did you finally fuck her?”

“Did you stretch that weird little cunt, huh?”

“Don’t tell me you’re falling for that Wednesday Addams bitch.”

Nic had a reputation to uphold. And so he did what he deemed necessary. He had sex with her and then he dumped her. But not like any normal person would. No, he made fun of her in the worst ways and ended up sending her nudes to anyone who was interested.

The same nudes he had begged her to send him, to trust him, for only his eyes.

And the next day, the gruesome news were heard over speaker.

She was dead. Jumped off her apartment building, right into her death.

Nic had a mental breakdown. No-one else from his group really cared. No-one except for Nam-gyu. Nam-gyu spent the rest of the day in his car, staring down at the steering wheel and trying not to throw up.

You had heard the news of course and you were devastated. You hadn’t known the girl, but you had never been mean to her. You actually remembered a few interactions you had. You knew there had been something going on between her and Nam-gyu’s friend. But naïve, little you had had the hope that it wasn’t a trick. How stupid you had been.

You spent the rest of the day looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Right when you already thought maybe he wasn’t at school at all, you saw his car. He was inside and God, he looked horrible. With red-rimmed eyes and shaking hands, all day. You tried your best to comfort him, but it was futile. He felt guilty. Someone was dead. And maybe, just maybe, if he had intervened in time…

You tried to make him understand that it wasn’t his fault, not entirely. He never spoke to his friends again.

You’d later find out, that was the day he took his first injection. So far all he had been doing were mushrooms and weed, but Hell, who hadn’t?

You spent more and more time together, because he firmly ignored everyone who was so damn fucked in the head. He was trying to be good, he was trying so hard. Life hadn’t been easy on him, not at all, but he still tried.

A month later, you had your first kiss. Another three days later you had sex. It was your first time and he was being surprisingly gentle and considerate. You loved thinking back to it, because you didn’t regret it at all. No matter what else happened between you afterwards, you could never regret giving your virginity to him, because it meant so much to you. And it seemed to mean even more to him.

Two years later, it was safe to say you were made for each other. Even long after being out of school, you were still a couple. He still got these angry outbursts sometimes, but you tried to understand him. He had grown up, feeling unseen and unloved by anyone. As did you. You weren’t angry per say. But you got angry, when he did. You had these desperate mood swing. And whenever something didn’t go your way, you felt like the world was ending. You felt everything intensely.

Love was great. It was all-consuming. You loved him in the same way he did. You adored him. Anger was different. It felt suffocating. Sadness wasn’t sadness, but depression. And despair was enough to nearly kill you.

You tried going to university, but that didn’t work out, because your father left and so you had no chance to pay the tuition. Nam-gyu never even bothered to try, because he knew he would fail anyway, but he tried whatever he could to make your dream work. You wanted to work with animals, heal them, help them, do whatever you could to make someone’s life better. But despite all your – and his – efforts, it didn’t work out. It was simply too much. He was heartbroken when you were forced to leave school, because of your selfish prick of a father. But it was alright.

You’d find another job. You could still make it in life, even without university. Everything was good.

That was, until you couldn’t afford your dance practice any longer.

That was heartbreaking.

One day, you came home after a long day of playing cashier, only to find your mother had stolen all the money you had saved so far. She took it to buy pills or whatever else. You couldn’t even be mad at her, because she lay passed out in the doorway to her room.

You had no money. And all your dreams were dead.

By the time that happened you were far into twenty-one, so you knew that life was cruel and you turned more and more bitter.

Nam-gyu was simply angry, but there was not much he could do. His parents threw him out at nineteen, so he had been paying his own rent since then. He tried speculating with cryptocurrency, but that didn’t work out. He played it down, but you knew he lost quite the amount of his own savings.

A year later your mother died and you finally moved in together. So far you hadn’t been able to leave her on her own, but now that she was gone, you couldn’t stand to live in the same place where she had died. The cemetery of what could have been. Countless dour memories, not a single one good.

You had never had a particularly good relationship, but she was your mother nonetheless. The sight of her dead body and horrified face, it haunted you in your sleep. You spent more than one night, waking up screaming, sweating and clutching the linens. Luckily, Nam-gyu was there to catch you, before you ever managed to fall into the deep pit that was your mind.

He managed to calm you down somehow, every time. He was perfect. The perfect boyfriend.

Until he wasn’t.

You hated when he did drugs, especially so after what had happened to your mother. And so he said he wouldn’t, but it was obviously just to pacify you. You always noticed when he did it nonetheless, you knew the dazed look in his eyes, the paleness of his skin. Whenever he refused a meal, it was obvious to you. Normally, he’d choke down everything you cooked like a starved animal, but there were days when he picked at his food and that was always the first indication.

His short responses, his temper, suddenly so easily flared. It didn’t take long for your first real argument to break out. It was fine, up until the point when you saw his hand twitch. Obviously, you shot him a murderous look, daring him. If he dared to hit you, you’d break his fucking jaw.

And he refrained. For then.

Things went mostly normal, until the next fight. That time he wasn’t so gentle. Things got out of hand and he pushed you against the wall, smashing your head against it in the process. For a moment, you were simply stunned – and even he seemed to be. He stopped before he could cause any greater damage.

Things went between good and bad, it was a constant battle for dominance. One day was good, the next day horrible. You couldn’t even look at him without earning a harsh comment. You’d ignore him firmly for the rest of the day and eventually he’d come crawling back, begging you to let him back inside the bedroom. He didn’t mind the couch, he just missed you. And somehow you always forgave him, far too easily. Sometimes he did change for a while. Surprised you with flowers or his sad attempts at cooking. Every time he messed up a scrambled egg, you couldn’t help but get weak. He was so silly, it was endearing. Yet at the same time, you knew there was something dark within him. Most likely the drugs, but you could never tell for sure.

Maybe this was just who he was.

Things got better and worse again, until one night, he snapped. You had a fight about one of your co-workers, who he considered a threat. You never understood it, because to you it was so obvious that you never wanted anyone else. Despite your problems, you stayed fiercely loyal to him. You loved Nam-gyu. And a part of you still believed that in the end, things would turn out good. Maybe they would, right?

But that night was bad. He got so furious and when he yelled at you, the walls seemed to shake. You were normally so eager to fight back, so strong, but that day something was different. You were on your period and just a few hours earlier, you had met a dance friend of yours. She told you, she was sure that, if you had stayed, you’d be famous by now. But she wasn’t kind about it. She was subtly looking down at you, shaming you for the way your life had turned out. It made a tight knot form in your stomach and you felt your resolve slowly crumble. All you wanted was to cry, but even that didn’t work, because you came home to a furious Nam-gyu.

Your shoulders slumped and you refused to look at him, which only ever made him angrier.

You didn’t see the slap coming, but once it happened, you couldn’t forget it. Couldn’t forget the anger and the disappointment that welled up in you. When you looked up at him, you expected the tiniest bit of regret or guilt, but there was nothing. He was too deep in his bubble of anger and substance, to see clearly. He got more and more furious and you knew; if you didn’t hide then, he’d do something worse. It was the first night you hid yourself away in the bathroom, one of many to follow. You always told yourself it were the drugs. He was so sweet when he was sober, so gentle and loving. You kept telling yourself, things would be good one day. They would turn out well. With time and patience.

Until you snapped.

You were at work, staring off into the distance. You had been out of it all day, because you spent the previous night locked in the bathroom, until he finally passed out around four in the morning. You snuck out and made your way to your workplace, where you opened more than three hours early. You had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends, no one. Only you and your pain. All day you spent trying to cover the dark marks on your wrists, but no one seemed to care anyway. People went about their own lives and problems and you were just their co-worker, their waitress.

You stood silently, watching an elderly couple whose order you had just taken. They were so sweet, like they came right out of a movie. He held the door open for her and pulled her chair back. He caressed her cheek and she never flinched when he reached out his hand for her. They smiled at each other with such a tenderness, it brought tears to your eyes. That was the exact moment. That was the moment you realized you didn’t want to continue on living like this.

You wanted more. You deserved more.

You made your way back and gathered most of your things while he was still at work. Of course it wasn’t the most intelligent approach, but it was all you could do. You knew, the moment you sat down and tried to explain to him that you were going to leave him, he’d find a way to convince you to stay. It had been eight years, after all. Eight years on and off, eight years up and down. Drugs, violence, lies – at least he never cheated on you.

You’d keep that in tender memory of him. As well as the countless times he had comforted and fought for you. All the times he made you laugh, all the times he made you feel loved. The greatest sex you would ever have, no doubt.

But you still packed your things and left like a ghost. After eight years.

He tried to contact you of course, the moment he came home. But you took your paycheck and went to a motel. Whenever he tried to find you at work, you hid in the kitchen. Your co-workers tried to calm him down, to tell him that you didn’t work there any longer, but he saw through the lie. He got loud and furious, which you could kind of understand. You stayed in the kitchen, crying to yourself and feeling incredibly guilty, but you didn’t ever come out.

He kept coming, but it got less and less frequent. From what your co-workers told you, he seemed less and less like himself. The thought broke your heart and nearly made you go back.

You were constantly in your head, making more and more mistakes at work, until your boss’s patience finally snapped. When you messed up the third customers giant bill, he fired you. You instantly panicked, because you were sure, now you had to go back.

You even drove around in your car, trying to get a glimpse of him in the apartment. But to your horror, you didn’t see Nam-gyu in the window. It were other people, some couple actually. And when you tried to call him, the number wasn’t available. Suddenly, he was a ghost and you were knee deep in horse shit.

It didn’t take long for your money to go and so you ended up panicking. You had to leave the motel soon and if you didn’t get a job – you’d end up homeless. Which was as good as dead.

A few days later, after you realized that you seemed to have no special talents and that no one really cared to hire you, you sat at the metro station. You had only one option left or so you thought. Le girls girls girls. You were a dancer. You were graceful. You were too good for this.

But it was all you could do. After all, the girls didn’t have to indulge in any immoral transactions. They were just dancing, right? Fine, in light clothing, but still dancing. You could do that.

You were deep in thought, your eyes closed and your head leaned against the wall behind you, when you heard someone’s voice.

“Care for a game of Ddakji?”

This was when your life took a dark turn.

You eyed the handsome stranger with suspicion. It was super odd. A man going down the path of middle age, slicked-back hair, wearing a suit and a briefcase on him.

And he was asking you to play a game with him?

You frowned and glanced around.

“I don’t know what you want, but you won’t get it from me.”

He smirked and tilted his head to the side innocently.

“I don’t want anything. Just a little game. That’s all. You got something to win here. I got money.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m not a fucking hooker.”

He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And I told you, all I want is to play a game. Are you scared?”

That made you bristle. You knew the game and you fucking hated it. You were fairly good at playing at, but you didn’t care for this idiot’s audacity. You were about to snap at him again, when you caught sight of the money. Your eyes widened and you sank back against the wall.

“I don’t have any money.” You murmured back.

“Don’t worry. You can pay with your body.”

Your head shot up and you were ready to lunge at him, but he held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I have no intention of fucking you.” He said calmly. “So, I’ll ask again. Are you scared?”

You crossed your arms and got up, giving him a dirty look.

“Get to it, son of a bitch.”

Your eyes fluttered open slowly. You had trouble adjusting your sight to the unnatural, neon light. The smell was odd, somewhat disinfectant. Something was really wrong.

You slowly stretched and turned your head, only to see you weren’t alone. That was enough to nearly make you shriek. You sat up quickly enough to get dizzy. Next to your own bunk was a woman who stared at you through her cat-eyes. She smirked devilishly as she lay on her side.

“Your fate is sealed. There’s no way you can dance your way out of this.”

You tried to ignore the way your heart raced in your chest. This had to be some freakish co-incidence. You took your gaze off her, only to realize you weren’t alone. Countless people surrounded you, some of them awake, others still asleep. They all wore the same green tracksuit, just as you did.

You took a shaky breath and carefully swung your legs over the bed, heading for the ladder.

What, in God’s name, was this? And why did you agree to it?

You only remembered how ashamed you felt and how good the prospect sounded of not having to dance half-naked for strange men.

But was this really better?

You glanced around in the hope of…Of what? The situation was far too fucked up.

The fact that they got you here unconsciously, getting you dressed…

You wanted to throw up. You stumbled through the great hall, hoping to get some answers to your questions, but that hope quickly got crushed.

These were the real strange men. Dressed in pink suits, wearing masks which covered all of their faces and even their voices weren’t their own. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a fun game, you suddenly realized.

That Ddakji playing motherfucker had deceived you.

You lost the first round, which resulted in him slapping you. And that slap, which hadn’t really been a gentle one, awakened some kind of beast in you. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the memory of getting slapped and hunted down your own apartment on a regular basis. Whatever it was, you didn’t lose another round. He gave you money and money and money. But you didn’t want his fucking money. You wanted revenge.

You kept winning, because nothing else was possible. And by the end of the game, he smiled at you while he handed you the damned card.

But right before he turned crawled back into the pit of Hell where he had come from, you called out to him.

“Hey, motherfucker.”

He cocked a brow and regarded you with amusement. “Are you still mad about that tiny, little hit? Come on, you took it like a champ.”

“Then you should, too.”  You slapped him with an intensity, you didn’t think you’d ever possess.

He looked at you like a statue, obviously ready to lunge at and murder you. But he hid his murderous intent behind a well-rehearsed smile.

“That one was free.” He said calmly. “And if I ever do see you again, I want a return match.”

He left and you were left with the card.

And there you were now. This wasn’t some childish game of Ddakji.

No one showed their face. You knew what that meant. Something was wrong – and you were in trouble.

You were about to leave the hall and take part in the first game, following after the others. You wouldn’t even have noticed, had you not bumped into him full-force.

When you pulled back your head, ready to apologize, you froze.

There he was. Your Nam-gyu. Staring back at you with wide eyes, behind them a mixture of something akin to surprise and fury.

“What the fuck?” He hissed.

He rushed forward and grabbed your by the shoulders, backing you up against the wall. Your eyes widened and you tried to push him back, but he was driven by something far stronger than both of you.

“Nam-gyu?” You breathed out.

He frowned deeply and stared at you incredulously.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“I didn’t-“

“Oh my God, I’m going to kill you.” He growled. “Where were you? What’s going on with you? Are you fucking-“

“Is there a problem here?” At first, you didn’t see the guy behind him with his ridiculous hairstyle and pouty lips. Immediately, you hated the sight of him.

“Fuck, she’s my-“

The purple-haired guy gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Whatever, man. We should get going, huh? We’ll be late for the game.”

He eyed you in an odd way, but you pushed it down and used the moment to free yourself from Nam-gyu’s grip and run out, rushing after the others and hiding in the crowd. He attempted to follow you and even called out to you, but you were already gone.

Fuck, you thought.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Chapter 29: Ghosts of the Past

Rating: Teen Audiences

Warnings: Protective!Paige, Azzi, Ice, Mentions of Y/N’s Ex, Panic Attacks

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x !Photographer Fem Reader

Fandom: Women’s Basketball

Summary: Why now...

Welcome to the chapter 29 of Through The Lens. I hope you all enjoy and there is more to come...stay tuned my loveies!! 🏀💕📸

Shopping trips with the team were always filled with laughter, banter, and an unrelenting amount of teasing. It was one of those things that felt like a welcome distraction from everything else. Today was no different. Paige, Azzi, Ice, and I were in our usual group, having fun as we made our way through the aisles. The others had split off to check out a sneaker store just a few blocks down, leaving the four of us to do a little damage in a nearby boutique.

"Are you seriously trying to convince me that green looks good on everyone?" Azzi asked, holding up a neon green hoodie, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

I snorted, glancing over at Paige, who was smirking at me. "I’m just saying," Paige teased. "Some of us can pull it off better than others."

"You mean like you?" Ice chimed in, causing Paige to give a dramatic shrug.

"Obviously," Paige responded, looking pleased with herself.

Azzi rolled her eyes. "Let’s get this over with before Paige starts modeling for us."

The lighthearted atmosphere filled the space, and for a moment, I felt the weight of the past few weeks lift. Between school, practice, and my constant juggling act, I hadn’t realized how much I needed this—just the simple joy of being with people I cared about.

But then, as I turned a corner of the store, the world seemed to freeze. My heart stuttered in my chest.

Standing just a few feet away, browsing through a rack of jackets, was someone I thought I’d never have to see again. My ex.

I froze, the blood draining from my face. The warmth that had settled in me moments ago disappeared in an instant, replaced by a cold, creeping fear that settled deep in my bones.

Paige’s voice broke through my panic. "Y/N?" she asked softly, stepping closer. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her, my eyes locked on the figure in front of me. I could feel my hands begin to shake as memories from that toxic relationship flooded my mind. The manipulation, the gaslighting, the verbal jabs—everything that once felt suffocating was suddenly there, fresh and painful.

"Why are you back here?" I muttered under my breath, my voice unsteady. I could barely even hear it over the roar of my heartbeat.

Azzi, noticing my sudden shift in energy, stepped up to my other side. "Who’s this?" she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

Before I could answer, the guy turned, his eyes locking with mine. "Y/N? Wow, I didn’t expect to see you here!" He said, his tone too casual, too comfortable for someone who had hurt me so badly.

Azzi's arms crossed as she shot a glare at him. "Who’s this?" she repeated, her voice laced with protectiveness.

"I’m her ex," the guy replied, his eyes flicking between Azzi and Paige. He was trying to figure out the situation. "We dated her freshman year."

I felt my knees go weak as the walls I had built so carefully around my past began to crumble. Paige immediately noticed the change in me, her hand instinctively finding mine and giving it a gentle squeeze. "You okay?" she whispered, her voice quiet but firm.

I couldn’t answer. My breath was coming in short bursts, my chest tight with anxiety. My ex’s presence alone was enough to send me spiraling.

Azzi’s voice was sharp and commanding as she addressed him. "Maybe you should leave."

"What? I’m not doing anything wrong," he protested, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"You’re making her uncomfortable," Paige said, her voice steely and authoritative.

His gaze flicked to me, and I could see the confusion on his face. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Hi, and now bye," Ice’s voice rang out from behind us, her words leaving no room for argument.

Azzi and Ice stood like a wall between me and my ex, their eyes fixed on him with a glare that would make anyone back off. In a matter of seconds, they had him out of the store, leaving me surrounded by the people who would always have my back.

I was still trembling, my breath uneven as I tried to regain control of my racing heart. Paige stepped closer, her hands cupping my face, her touch gentle yet firm. "Hey, hey," she whispered softly. "Look at me."

I couldn’t help it—tears welled in my eyes. I didn’t want to cry. Not here, not now, but everything came flooding back. "I... I didn’t want to see him again, Paige," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Why now? Why here?"

Paige’s hands rubbed comforting circles on my arms as she leaned her forehead against mine. "You’re safe now, Y/N. He can’t hurt you anymore." Her words were calm, soothing, like a balm on the wounds I didn’t even realize were still raw.

"I’m sorry," I whispered, the tears breaking free.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Paige said gently, brushing away the tear that had slipped down my cheek. "You’ve been through a lot, and you don’t owe him or anyone anything."

The rest of the team returned, the air filled with quiet tension. Ice, Azzi, and KK had made sure my ex was gone, but the damage lingered in the pit of my stomach. KK was the first to speak up. "What happened?" Her voice was laced with concern.

"Her ex showed up," Ice muttered, her tone sharp. "Total creep."

Paige wrapped her arm around me, pulling me close. "We’re going back to my dorm," she said firmly, her protective instincts flaring. "We’ll figure this out there."

At the dorm, things felt a little calmer, though my nerves were still shot. I sat curled up on Paige’s bed, a blanket draped around my shoulders, sipping on a cup of tea she had made for me. I didn’t want to talk about it—not yet. The memories were still too fresh, too painful.

Paige sat beside me, her presence calming, her fingers gently lacing through mine. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly, her voice quiet, giving me the space I needed.

I shook my head. "Not right now. But…thank you. For everything."

"You don’t have to thank me," Paige murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "I’ll always protect you."

I leaned into her, letting her warmth and comfort settle me. "I know," I whispered. "I know."

Later that night, after I had finally managed to sleep, the nightmares came.

I woke up, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding as though I was back in that dark, toxic relationship. I gasped for air, feeling trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t escape. The panic rose in my chest, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

I tried to calm myself down, but the images were still there, haunting me—his face, the way he used to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough, that I was nothing.

But then, suddenly, a pair of warm hands cupped my face. Paige was there, her voice soft and steady as she whispered, "Hey, look at me. You’re safe."

I turned into her, the tears falling freely now. "I can’t breathe, Paige. I can’t—"

"Shh," Paige soothed, her hands running down my back as she gently rocked me. "Just breathe with me, okay? Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth."

I followed her lead, focusing on her voice, her presence, the way she always seemed to ground me when everything else fell apart.

"I’ve got you," she whispered. "You’re safe. You’re here with me, and no one can hurt you. Not anymore."

Slowly, I felt my breathing steady, the panic that had gripped me loosening its hold.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice still shaky. "I’m sorry for waking you."

Paige smiled softly, her thumb brushing across my cheek. "Don’t apologize, baby. I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always."

I snuggled closer to her, my heart finally beginning to settle. "I’m lucky to have you," I whispered, the words barely escaping my lips as I drifted back into a peaceful sleep, surrounded by the warmth of the girl who would always protect me.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

Tag list: @sayurireidotcom , @astroeliza , @paxaz535 , @0phantom0 , @starlighttsv , @authentic-girl03 , @elalfywhore , @elalfywhore .... (more to be added)

[chimerafeathers]

the concept of intentional boredom/tedium in video games is very much a "your mileage may vary" kind of thing and i go back and forth about it in different situations. where does it work? where does it feel earned/worth the mental toll? why am i gonna play a game that is trying to make me miserable?

i can understand this not being the case for everyone (ymmv, after all) but for ISaT i was so fucking fully on board with the repetitive tedium of it all. rubbing my grubby little hands together and going yesssss, yesssssss, make my immersive gameplay experience directly emulate the exact frustrations and anxieties and mind-numbing breakdowns of the player character. remind me, at every turn, the toll this would take on the person living it. make me live their inner monologue before it's ever verbalized on screen.

how strong you feel, compared to the party you're inevitably leaving behind, how weak they seem now. how annoying it is to cut down these same enemies again and again, always pointlessly getting in your way (oh, how convenient that Siffrin feels the same way so intensely that you can get an item that lets him scare them off by sheer force of will before they attack you!). since when was the King's battle--so terrifying, so impossible before--so easy? can't this go faster? you've heard this all before.

let me skip ahead, loop around, treat my character my body Siffrin as disposable, take the fast and easy way to reach the next goal when you're on the verge of an exciting breakthrough, this loop doesn't matter anyway. but ohh, this next loop might be The One, better do this one right and follow the script to perfection. make all the jokes and say all the right things to get the lovely bonding dialogue so you can carry the Best Version of Everyone through to the end. that'll give you the Good Ending, right? can't hurt to try, right? you don't really believe it but this time will fix everything, right?

how generous and wonderful to have so many shortcuts at hand! dissociating zoning out to skip repetitive dialogue, splitting your head open on a rock slipping on a banana peel in the town to loop right to the floor you need, suuuuurely all of this stuff is purely for the Player's Convenience and won't have any psychological impact on our dear protagonist such that it gets slammed back into the player's face as a stomach-dropping reminder that someone's moment-to-moment experience in this time loop still matters, still carries over, still gets riddled with scars even if they can't be seen!

i've played & watched enough games that trivialize/hand-wave game mechanics that it's pretty easy to detach myself from the minutiae of video game decision-making. "this input gets the Good Response" -> "i will continue doing this input." "this option will be more efficient" -> "might as well save some time then." but this game would not let me stop thinking about consequence.

picking Siffrin's favorite food makes them happy! :) it's also the option that makes Bonnie the happiest! yay! -> i keep picking their favorite food -> Siffrin gradually grows sick of something that once brought him joy -> oh. right. that...makes sense, huh.

okay i asked the King what i needed, mann there won't be any tears after the fight is over so i'll have to do the whole ending scene again and that takes a while and i reeeeally wanna talk to Loop, maybe i'll just lose on purpose this time -> OH. RIGHT. THIS IS MAYBE THE MOST PAINFUL WAY FOR SIFFRIN TO DIE BOTH PHYSICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY HUH. -> never gonna do that again actually!!!!! the ending isn't that long!!!!

banana peel time! we've got places to be and mysteries to solve! -> (you're a living comedy sketch.) (you wonder if you'll ever be able to smell bananas again without wanting to vomit.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry

it's always cute to see Isabeau's reactions! pick the options that make him blush :3 -> (disgusting. manipulative. it's no wonder he thinks he likes you, you made him feel that way.) -> i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry siffrin NO he liked you before any of this happened please don't think of yourself that way--

maybe it won't hit the same for every player (what game can expect to do that?) but holy fuck it hit for me. the way the mechanics let you fall into familiar gamey rhythms but constantly, constantly remind you that this is Siffrin's life you're playing with. the way you end up perfectly in step in the worst ways. muscle memory and habit built up so well that you both stumble when something changes. devastating and delicious

[damnfeelings09]

VALENTINE'S DAY COUNTDOWN

First date - Shadow the Hedghog

Pairing: Shadow the hedghog x female reader Tags: fluff, comfort, awkward crush. Word count: 750. Prompt: you and Shadow have been friends for a while, and although he has a massive crush on you and is dying to have you as more than a friend he's not willing to take that step (secretly he's very insecure okay) after a little encouragement from Sonic he asked you out he never imagined how it would end. Notes: First valentine's day prompt and what better way to start it than with my eternal love Shadow. I'm love/romance depraved so these promts will be fluff in its cheesiest and purest form (like melting chocolate in a super sweet cotton candy ice cream with a Cherry on top kind of sickeningly sweet) This time I'll try a different style so let me know if you like it.

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. He was the ultimate lifeform after all, then… why did his pulse quicken every time he was near you? Why did he feel his palms get wet each time you smiled at him? Why did his fight or flight response activated every time you were there?

Shadow wasn't afraid of anything. But maybe, maybe he was afraid of what he felt for you, afraid that he would become addicted to the feeling of you caressing his cheek, afraid that he couldn't go on without seeing the sparkle in your eyes every day, afraid of getting used to the warmth of your hand on his, afraid that if he said a word of what he felt he would lose you, because let's be honest, who could love a monster like him?

He was unsure, and every time that happened he went to Rouge, however the bat was not at home, so he went to his second best worst option. Sonic

Sonic with his usual cocky grin as Shadow explained the situation. Sonic, the same Sonic that he punched every chance he got just to release some stress and because he enjoyed it, the same Sonic that screwed up time and time again running away from Amy was the one that Shadow had decided to approach for romantic advice.

“Just don't think too much about it Shads” Sonic had said ”She likes you, trust me”

“Easier said than done”

“Well, it's either that or you'll be stuck with ' what could’ve been' forever.”

Honestly, Sonic hadn't been much help, but at least he had planted the seed of doubt in Shadow. What would be the worst that could happen if he kept his feelings to himself? You would probably find someone, that someone would take your hand, receive your caresses, taste your lips and you would forget about him, leaving him aside, alone, unloved.

No. Shadow wouldn't let that happen, the little bit of love he got from you was too addictive and he wasn't about to let anyone else have it. He had made up his mind and although the chances of you feeling the same were low they still weren't 0. He still had no idea how he managed to do it, well maybe he had a little idea. He knew he had walked you home, he knew he had said a few embarrassing things as you walked together making you laugh, what he didn't know was where he had gotten the courage to ask you out when you were about to enter your house.

“See you tomorrow Shadow,” you said waving goodbye to him.

“Wait” he said almost in a whisper. You turned, shaking your head to the side “I... ah...” he scratched his head.

“Is everything okay?”

“I wanted to... I wanted to ask you out.”

“Sure! You know I love going out with you Shadow”

“As... in a date”

“Oh...” oh? What did that mean, it wasn't the yes he was expecting but it wasn't a denial either, it was as if he had surprised you, as if you didn't imagine he could have feelings for-

“I'd love to” you cut off his thought bringing him back to earth. The smile on your face showed shyness but the pink blush on your cheeks and the loud thumping of your heart confirmed to Shadow that his feelings were reciprocated. “I... I'd like you for a while, just didn't know of you might... like me too” you said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear meeting your gaze with Shadow's causing him to blush. If this were a cartoon his eyes would have turned into hearts and little blue birds would fly around his head.

“I've been feeling like this for a while too, just...”

“It’s okay” you smiled “I'll see you tomorrow for our date” you walked up to him and deposited a kiss on his cheek, waving your fingers in a goodbye motion and closing the door behind you. Little did he know that you slid down the door frame, hand on your heart triyng to stop the rush in your body.

Shadow stood outside your door, his hand holding the very spot where your lips had touched his cheek trying to capture the warmth of your touch, his stomach felt funny as if something was churning inside him just remembering your kiss. It was then that he realized that maybe allowing himself to be happy wasn't such a bad thing.

[heartshapedpolaroid]

it’s bitterness at best

warnings: smut, angst, emotional cheating i guess but not on reader

word count: 2.1k

18+ mdni

It’s been over a year since he last saw you. He still remembers the day you’d left, he always will. The day you’d left to go to New York. For college, as if England didn’t have enough schools… and good ones, too. But he’d understood it, it was Juilliard after all. There’s no better place in the world for performing arts. He wasn’t going to stop you from chasing your dream. He already had his, it would only be fair to let you have yours too. He’d wanted to come with you, but you both knew it wouldn’t work. The guys are here, the studio, and they had an album to record. He’d suggested long distance, but you both knew that would be fruitless. The distance would hurt much more knowing the there was someone alone and waiting on a different continent, longing for their other half. You’d promised to text him the next time you were in the area. Now it’s been fifteen months. Sometimes he thinks you’ve forgotten about him by now. But that doesn’t mean that he stopped looking for you. Every woman that even remotely looks like you still catches his eye, and for a split second he’ll let himself believe that it’s you again.

So he did with the woman that’s currently under him. She has the same hair colour as you and that was enough for him. Has been enough for the last few months now. It has to be. His fingers on her clit move mechanically, love-less, like an automated action. He doesn’t actually care if she finishes, but he needs that extra tightness to push himself over the edge. It used to be different with you. God, it was so different with you. Better. There were times he’d barely lasted a minute once he finally got to be inside you. He had to do his best to hold back and last for you. Now he’s doing his best to make it end as soon as possible.

She’s different from you. Too different. He thought that maybe if he’d close his eyes and picture you it would be okay. But no matter how much he tried, it didn’t work. She feels too different. He didn’t think that was even possible. A cunt is a cunt, isn’t it? And he’s never really cared before you. It always felt good. Hot, wet, and tight. But she doesn’t grip him the same way you did, doesn’t pulse and melt around him in the same way.

He can’t stand to look at her face anymore, so he buries his in her neck instead. Mistake. Her scent fills his nostrils at an overwhelming rate. She smells too different. Sweet, like vanilla and candy, way too sweet for his liking. You smelled better. More floral. Fruity. Like a flower field in spring. He liked that, even when it was cold and rainy outside, you made him feel all warm and full of life. He grunts and pulls back.

“Turn around,” he mumbles. Maybe this way it’ll be better. He won’t have to see her face or be so close to her. She complies eagerly, and he hates how desperate she seems. It vaguely reminds him of you, but with the big difference that when you did it, he found it incredibly hot. It made him want nothing more than to give you everything that you’d wanted at the drop of a hat. Now he’s just annoyed. He’s glad she can’t see the way he rolls his eyes when she arches her back, wiggling her hips back at him as she rests her head on her arms. He just pushes back in, gripping her hips for stability. She moans as he starts moving again, and he hates the sound.

It’s too high-pitched. Whiny. Desperate. Exaggerated. It’s like she’s putting on a show for him, like she knows he’s not enjoying himself. It makes him feel even worse. Your moans and whines were music to his ears. No matter how loud or eager you got, he’d always tried to get more out of you. To make you scream. He’d revelled in the way he could make you lose control, always eager to hear every last sound that escaped your lips, constantly needing more. The more the better. Yours were never fake. He knew exactly where to touch you to make you cry out in pleasure. How to move his hips. What to say.

His eyes travel over her back, from her shoulders over her spine down to her hips. Her ass that jiggles slightly with each thrust. But something is missing. There is always something missing. You had moles sprinkled over your back, not many, just a handful, and one of them on your left buttcheek, which you never were aware of until he’d pointed it out. You’d blushed, and he loved it. He made sure to kiss it every time you were positioned in front of him like this, telling you how cute it was. “You know what they say about moles? That they’re where your partner in your past life kissed you the most?” You’d raised your eyebrows at him. “You’re saying my past lover kissed my left ass cheek?” “Can you blame them?”, he’d grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to your right cheek. “Now you’ll have one on your other cheek to match.” Your laugh had echoed through the room, his heart skipping a bit at the gleeful sound. God, how he loved you.

He angles his hips in the way that would have made you come undone in seconds, needing that tiny bit of familiarity, just to keep his fantasy of you alive. Her whine pulls him out of it instantly. She doesn’t like it like that. He groans, though she probably can’t tell it’s out of annoyance and not pleasure. She pushes back against him, moving her hips against his. He complies. Maybe if he just gives her what she wants, it’ll be over quicker. And he needs it to be over. But he needs her to finish before he does, or else he knows she’ll make him use his fingers or mouth to get her off too. And he really doesn’t want to spend more time on her than necessary. Touch her more than necessary.

It's not like he doesn’t like to make his partners feel good. It’s just that he had stopped caring about anyone who came after you. And he can’t bear the thought of going down on her. He’s done it before, but he didn’t like it. Not because she’d tasted bad – she didn’t. She tasted fine. Like a pussy tastes. But she didn’t taste like you.

His favourite place used to be between your thighs. He could spend hours on end making you melt on his tongue, licking up every last drop you gave him, drinking it down eagerly. Like he’d been stuck in a desert and you’re the first drop of water he’s had in days. He just couldn’t get enough of it, even when you were oversensitive and had to push him away, he’d always want more. He’d pout, begging you to let him have it just one more time. Just one more orgasm from you and he’d be done. Just one more lick, one more taste. Just one more.

With a grunt he snakes his hand around her waist, pressing his fingers back to her clit. He’s tired, he needs her to finish, and it looks like she’s not going to do anything to help with that anytime soon. She moans, tightening around him. His name falls off her lips not long after and he cringes at the sound. He fucks her through it, his thrusts getting harder as he tries to find his own release. It’s a few seconds later that she winces, her hips wiggling away from him. She always gets sensitive after she comes. So did you, but you’d still let him keep fucking you after. You needed him to. She doesn’t.

He pulls out, and she turns around instantly, scrambling to get on her knees for him. He sighs and lets her take his cock in her mouth. She’s sloppy, uncoordinated, messy. She’s trying too damn hard. It’s frustrating. He allows her to keep going a bit longer, trying to picture you, the way you’d take him down your throat so effortlessly. How you’d tease him, licking the vein along his cock, kissing the tip. How you’d look up at him through your lashes as you’d let him sink past your lips. He likes it slow, the way you’d build him up slowly, taking him a little deeper with every bob of your head. How you’d gag a little when he hits the back of your throat, but you still kept him there because you knew how much he loved to feel your throat closing around him when you’d swallow, even if there were tears pooling in your eyes. How eager to please you were, wanting to make him feel good, taste him. The spit dripping down your chin as you refused to pull off, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, the other playing with his balls. Completely devoted to him, focused only on his pleasure, doing everything you could.

With a hand in her hair he pulls her off, holding her head in place as he wraps his other hand around his cock. He can’t stand the way she sucks him off, his own hand would do a much better job. She doesn’t complain, instead pushes her boobs up and together with her hands, looking up at him with her mouth open. Strained grunts fall from his lips as he jerks himself, quick, knowing she won’t let up until he came. He’d much rather be alone right now, that way he could really indulge himself, maybe even wrap your one pair of panties that are still laying in the otherwise empty drawer that once was yours around his cock, using them to stroke himself.

He closes his eyes as he gets close, imagining it’s you on your knees for him. He presses his lips together in a fine line, knowing the only thing leaving his throat would be your name if he allowed himself to make noise. His hips jerk into his fist as he comes, his release landing somewhere between her chin and her tits. He doesn’t really care where it goes. In his mind he’s painting your face with his cum. You’d always looked so pretty whenever you’d allowed him to do that, the way your tongue would dart out to taste what had landed on your lips.

He falls back into the mattress as he catches his breath, not even bothering to open his eyes. He’s always been one to fall asleep fast after an orgasm, but he’d willed himself to stay awake for you. To help you clean up, get you some water, hold you close, whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He would do his best try to stay awake until you were asleep, and he’d rarely succeeded. Well, he thought he did, because you’d pretended to be asleep so he could let himself relax. He was too tired to tell the difference anyways.

She gets up to clean herself, not saying anything. It’s always been like this. He doesn’t like to talk after. She figured that’s just the way he is. When she comes back and gets into bed beside him, he’s already fast asleep. He doesn’t like it when she stays, but he lets her anyways. The white sheet is draped lazily over his lower half, messy strands of his hair falling into his forehead that tend to tickle his eyelids. You would always brush them out his face so tenderly, careful not to wake him, but he’s a light sleeper on stressful days so he still felt your comforting touch occasionally. Soft snores escape him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He doesn’t stir when his phone dings, the screen lighting up.

Her heart stops. It’s late. No one would text him at this hour. If it was an emergency, they’d call.

She doesn’t need to look to confirm it, but she does anyways. Lifting herself up on her elbow, she glances over his sleeping form, at the phone on his nightstand.

“I just landed in London.”

a/n: hello... welcome back if u remember me. its ohladymoon. if not, hi :) guess im back now with a new username and everything lol

[studiogrimm810]

Isolation

pairings/characters: (pining) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: sam has his bad days regarding his time in the cage, and even if he doesn't disclose the specifics, you express to him that you're always there

warnings: ptsd episode, moral support, self-doubt, feelings of helplessness

word count: 1,719

A/N: sam needs every ounce of comfort each and everyone can supply. c'mon, everyone give him a hug

———————

The bunker was eerily silent. The space is big and sure, there were usually only 3 of you occupying the area, but today it was just- off. Dean had left a little while ago to go get a drink and some company at a bar in town so that just left you and Sam.

It was often that you and Sam were left to your own devices at the bunker and usually you two would make the most out of it. But tonight was different. You barely even saw Sam at breakfast. He rushed in to get a cup of coffee and has  locked himself in his room since.

As Dean was on his way out, you asked him. “Sammy just has some bad days, best to leave him to himself.”

But that just didn’t sit right with you. “Bad days”? You wondered how bad Dean could possibly mean. You’ve stayed with the boys for a few months and have known them for years so you understand they’ve had a tougher life than most- and you also understand the stressors of this job- but what you didn’t understand was how it could be better to ignore Sam’s presence and not even check on him.

So as soon as the door latches to announce Dean’s newfound absence, you take it in your own hands to march over to Sam’s door and confidently knock on his door. But your march quickly drops to a slug and the anxiety of overstepping your bounds makes your fist too heavy to rap even a knuckle against the wood.

The silence alerts your ears to the deafening sound of silence and you hold your breath, trying to amp yourself up. Just as you’re about to call it quits and just listen to Dean, a pained grunt reels your attention right back to the door.

Your heart is in your throat at the thought of Sam in pain and you force your knuckles up, knocking softly.

“Hey, Sam?” Your voice is soft- cautious. “Dean’s gone for the night. ‘M thinking of some dinner options,” you go for casual. Maybe he just needs a distraction. He definitely needs a meal.

“Maybe in a bit,” his voice was strained and raspy and he cleared his throat before speaking.

It’s quiet and his answer is simple, but you don’t want to give up that easily.

“You want some company?” You try, hoping he’ll let you in and confide in you. It’s quiet again and enough time passes that you assume his words are paralyzed. “If you wanna talk, I’m here, Sam. Always,” you continue, waiting a moment more. When he still doesn’t respond, you give one last go. “I won’t judge you, Sam. I just want to help.”

Quiet.

You sigh softly, your shoulders slump in defeat and you look back down the hallway about to bid a simple, but open, departure, when a muffled spring of the mattress perks your ears. There’s a soft shuffle and sniffle. You hear a drawer open and then Sam clears his throat, the knob ticking for a second of hesitation before twisting to crack the door enough to see Sam’s bust due to the way he’s leaned into the frame.

“Hey,” you greet empathetically, not wanting to overwhelm him with any specific emotion just yet. The corner of his lip perks up just enough to use the smile as a retaliated greeting.

His hair is messy and a 5 o’clock shadow graces his jaw in a way you shouldn’t be this appreciative of right now. He’s wearing a long sleeved v-neck so his tattoo pokes out just enough and he has matching pj pants with no socks- you hold back the sarcastic bite to the lack of socks.

“Everything okay?” You ask, already knowing the answer, but whatever he gives you dictates your chances of getting him to open up. His eyes dip down- duller than usual.

“Just um-,” he clears his throat and looks back into his room, almost like he’s about to dart.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” You rush out a bit too eagerly, immediately regretting it. His face turns back to you and he seems hesitant.

“It’s- complicated,” he shakes his head slightly, “don’t worry about it, jus’ need some sleep,” he nods like he’s assured but his eyes don’t meet yours.

“Sam, you don’t have to do this to yourself. If help would be better, I’m here,” you push, stepping a tad closer to emphasize your point. You can see the apparent conflict in his eyes. He takes a few steps back and lets the door creak open. You take that as a welcome and step into his room which is mostly neat except for the splay of blankets on the bed and a few fallen items on his bedside. He sits on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands.

You take a seat next to him, providing the silence some space before interrupting.

“It’s hell,” he mumbles, running his hands up just enough to let his words be intelligible. You think he’s being euphemistic so you just nod. When you noted earlier that you knew their past was troubled, Sam’s time in the cage was never disclaimed.

“A while ago, when I put Lucifer back in the cage-,” that you knew, “-I could only do it at the expense of my life,” that you didn’t. “My time in hell- it was all in the cage… with Lucifer.”

Your stomach dropped. You’ve heard stories, seen destruction, and now felt the radiating after-shocks of the impact the Devil had on this planet.

“Some days it’s too hard to ignore, sometimes something triggers it. I just become useless for a bit, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ignore you,” he sounds genuinely guilty, as if his mood is such an inconvenience on you that it’s expending you.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” is all you can say.

You hover your hand over, placing it on his bicep, hoping to give him some sort of comfort.

“You don’t need to apologize, Sam,” you shake your head, “bad days happen. And after everything you’ve been through- what I know and don’t know- you’re owed some bad days,” you scoff in a gentle disbelief that he thinks he’s some sort of problem.

He drops his hands but his head is still dipped and shoulders slumped.

“You spend so much time and energy making sure everyone around you is happy and healthy and just- okay. You don’t deserve to be so hard on yourself in return,” you rub your thumb on his clothed arm. He has said nothing yet and shows no signs of doing so soon.

You try to conceal your disappointment in yourself. You pull back your hand and take in a filling breath. “I’m sorry to overstep. I’ll give you some space,” you say with the same warm greeting of simplicity from earlier. As you go to stand, a quick hand wraps around your wrist and it brings your attention down to his exhausted, life-drained eyes that have a returned spark in the form of glossy pain.

“Stay-,” his jaw snaps out the word in a quick breath before he can stop himself, “please?” The second word less rushed, yet more pained with a crack. The trust in this locked gaze between you two alone is enough to make it impossible to leave. You sit back down immediately, placing your free hand over his grip as it slips from your wrist to your hand. “I’m s-.”

“Sam, stop. Don’t apologize,” you shake your head with your brows scrunched in seriousness. “I’m here because I want to be, okay?” You tilt your head and release your brows.

Sam’s mouth is gaped but your words steal the breath before he can form his own.

The tension is odd, it’s not uncomfortable but instead it’s new. It’s thick but all encompassing, like a thick robe with a fluffy belt that cinches you two closer. The room is darker with a single lamp flicked on in the corner, but you can see clearly and without doubt. He’s there and so are you.

“Thank you,” he whispers, a single tear rolling down his cheek and you smile.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, hoping he’s more open to suggestions to get him out of this room. Especially with Dean gone for the night, it allows the bubble of tension between you to expand out of the room and fill the expansive space of the bunker with the same comfort you share between you now. Maybe it’s enough to pull him with the tide and to the kitchen where you can whip him up something sustaining.

“Not really,” he looks down to your interlocked hands. Almost as if placing the first brick back to where his wall used to be before you knocked it down into dust.

“Do you think you could still eat?” You risk another brick or two. “I’ll make those spinach and grilled chicken wraps you like,” you nudge. Hoping to lighten, not the perfect tension, but the dampened mood. A barely heartful laugh passed his lips but his smile remained.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he looks back up to you for a moment, dipping his gaze away in… shame, maybe.

You smile warmly, pulling him up to his feet with you. You lead him through the warming bunker and to the kitchen, pulling out a stool and rounding the counter to grab him one of your sparkling waters that Dean bullies you for but Sam discreetly enjoys.

You take out necessary items for the small meal, not wanting to overwhelm him with food choices, and try to keep conversation light. Sam shares a few more minute personal details about himself revolving past ‘episodes’, as he calls them, and you listen casually yet carefully. You don’t bring attention to them though and you’re glad the stove is behind you so you can turn away when something is particularly painful to hear, but you keep your mood light, airy, consistent, and you somehow find the words to fill empty lulls in conversation.

You hope even if you can’t take away his pain that a distraction will suffice.

And the smile on his face is evidence enough for the latter.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @checkedoutghost

[tsukii0002]

"Anything new?"

"Nothing new, Satan is a complicated person, you know?"

"Sure, I know better than you"

The human in front of him sighed, the way he treated them was stressful, the mere fact of relating with him was.

"Well that's it, I'll keep you informed"

"Okay"

The human stared at him, he snorted at the look.

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Eh?"

"You seem a little… Different than normal"

"It's nothing, now go before Lucifer notices you're gone"

Another sigh.

"Okay, okay, I'm going… Why do you have to be like that?"

“Because he likes you”

As the sound of the footsteps moving away grew fainter and fainter, the voice in his head grew louder. Belphegor squeezed the pillow between his arms.

"Aggg what the hell are you saying?"

“You're still denying it?

"The what????"

“That you like that human”

The demon slowly opened his eyes, however he immediately gritted his teeth and stood up and walked away from the door that held him captive.

"That's stupid, something like that will never happen"

“Are you sure? because I think they've started to notice it”

Belphegor stopped dead in his tracks, nothing could be heard, but he noticed stares from every corner of that empty room. He was starting to become paranoid.

"No, I'm just using them, when they gets me out of here…"

“What will happen then? Will you kill them?”

"Yes, I'll finish them off and this will never happen again"

“Oh you can try to fool yourself, but you can't hide how your pupils dilate at the sight of them”

He tenses at those words, his knuckles are white, he doesn't want to listen anymore.

“The way your pulse races, the little smile that tugs at your lips when you see them appear and the fact that they're the first thing you think of when you wake up and the last thing you think of when you go to bed”

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, they're nothing but a human, a miserable, ridiculous human… because of them Lilith…"

He brings his hands to his ears shaking his head with all the strength he has, falling to the floor, he doesn't want to hear it, he doesn't want to, but he can't stop it.

“Don't lie to yourself, they are a ray of light in your miserable life, they're the only thing that separates you from madness, the only person who cares about you… if it weren't for them-”

"Stop it!!! I would never fall in love with a human!!!"

Silence

"I would never… make that mistake"

“You wish you could tell her that the same thing happened to you, that you understand her now, you wish Lilith knew”

He bit down on his lip, blood had begun to well up, but it wasn't the only thing spilling onto the attic floor, his eyes were filled with tears. It wasn't true, it couldn't be, it was impossible, he, of all demons, would never love a human.

"You can't convince me, I… I…"

“I don't need to convince you Belphegor, you're the only one here.”

The demon looked around, he was alone. As he had been until that human answered his call. He got up and started looking for something he knew he wouldn't find, he looked in the mirror, he seemed on the verge of insanity. Maybe he was already crazy.

"Are you all right?"

From the tears that bathed his face, a smile gave way to a laugh, a broken laugh mixed with a desperate cry. He would get out of there, end that stupid exchange program and everything would go back to normal, he would never see their face again.

He stopped, silence, the attic seemed again as empty and cold as ever.

.

.

Well, this is an idea that reflects a situation in which Belphie fell in love with Mc before leaving the attic, and how this clashed with his convictions, his plan and the feelings he had had for centuries. Reflected in the loss of sanity that being locked in the attic by his own brother meant, and the clash of his desires, which would be the two voices speaking in his head.

How deep I've gotten so suddenly😂😂😂, if you've made it this far thank you for reading 🩷

.

.

[vaguely-concerned]

just going about my day idly contemplating how some of the ways hawke can interact with a romanced anders are not at all unlike how they interact with leandra (and a bit of carver too, especially with a purple hawke), and then thought about my hawke in the timeline where he romances anders and was hit straight in the face with 'was he ever actually in love, or was he just desperately trying to renegotiate with his mother's ghost in any way he could' and now i need to lie down. this is the power of dragon age 2

[cuteniaarts]

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[spamtoon]

i would take their poison

Sketch + Line Art for those Clicking Under the Cut(tm) (archival purposes honestly)

[earl-grey-crow]

.

[quirkle2]

as a huge spyro year of the dragon fan i Hate the reignited trilogy they took all the charm and nostalgia out of it BUT ... spyro's walking/running animation ? they perfected that.

[e77y]

Trying to fix my resume ☝️🤓 Small problem: I sound like a loser no matter what

[musical-chick-13]

Oh not me avoiding a wildly popular piece of media that I’d probably actually like out of sheer spite.

[kaylor]

Real question promise I’m not a troll lol but do you think Kaylor would ever get back together? Seems like a lot of trauma happened there and Taylor would just date someone else

stranger things have happened!!! but fr i would not count on it or hinge your happiness on the possibility of some kind of triumphant reunion or whatever. i understand why it would seem romantic and narratively satisfying but unfortunately real life has a way of getting in the way of that kind of stuff. sometimes it's better to just move on and appreciate it for what it was.

[prosebushpatch]

Was trying to figure out why Hansel and Gretel randomly appeared in a book I was reading, with candy house backstory and everything, in a story that otherwise was not directly informed by a specific fairy tale. At least to my knowledge, it all felt pretty original, until the villainous antagonist started spinning straw into gold and mentioned being betrayed by a miller's daughter and I cupped my head in my hands like, ah, th-the way to defeat him... they gotta figure out his true name... this whole time... he's been rumpelstiltskin.