#i’m suing for emotional distress

[taevincii]

Do you guys know how crazy it is that there are literally insanely talented writers among us?

Like I can’t believe my mutuals are just out here writing damn near New York Times best sellers and everyone is so nonchalant about it.

HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO BE CALM?!

[i-dont-have-time-for-this]

Thought I would have a great time binge watching all of part 2. Now I am emotionally damaged. Why would they do that to my baby

[kingofmyborrowedheart]

The way they had “The Path” playing during that final scene.

[pheroyyay]

i am only just watching the new dnp now and boy oh boy i thought yall were fucking w them by editing those pink wigs on but they’re REAL??????? i am doing a phil and calling the fucking cops i never want to see this again

[ember-16]

This chapter- aaaaa,

This series truly owns my heart and soul

I’ve seen a couple of people say that the shift feels to sudden, but I think it shows just not desperate hak (Mr I suck at letting go) is, and that it still is habit for him, ( and su won too) to trust each other, we saw it in the sei arc when lili was about to be excused, and all hak needed was a glance to know what su won was going to do. And that glance was also more than enough for su won to trust that hak would catch her.

I think there’s also something to say about that fact that so many people called out to hak but it was su won that he responded to, that he found grounding in su won,

I mean su won probably never stopped trusting hak absolutely, and I don’t think it’s unreasonable to say that the reason he felt confident in killing il himself is that he knew no matter what hak would find a way to protect yona, even when he was pretending that he didn’t care about leaving them behind.

Anyway I’m rambling cause the person I usually scream about the manga with hasn’t responded in a while so I’m out of my normal screeching corner-

[peletiersdixon]

No matter how many times I’ve read Fourth Wing, chapter 36 never gets any easier. I’m never not crying getting through that chapter.

[sacredjake]

i need to punch something.

[bluestrd]

send tweet.

It is exhausting to be a Jonathan Byers fan

[genderkoolaid]

In 2014, the Gloucester county school board voted to ban Grimm, then 15, from using the boys’ bathrooms, even though he’d been living openly as a boy for months and using the restroom without incident. The policy turned deeply intimate facts of Grimm’s life into a media spectacle. With the ACLU, he sued to defend his rights to use facilities that matched his gender, launching a groundbreaking national case on bathroom access. Grimm became an LGBTQ+ icon, celebrated by Laverne Cox at the Grammys and interviewed by Whoopi Goldberg on The View. He eventually won a landmark federal decision asserting trans youth’s constitutional protections against discrimination. [...] And while Grimm became a civil rights trailblazer, the case did not secure him stability or financial security. The Pride parade invites have stopped coming, and like so many other marginalized trans people, Grimm has faced significant mental health challenges and struggles with poverty. He recently lost his housing, and is now facing homelessness. “I’m someone who has had worldwide visibility. I represent an outer crust of privilege most people will never see, and I cannot make ends meet no matter how hard I try,” he says. [...] Much of his family rejected him [after coming out], but many friends and teachers were supportive as he entered 10th grade as a boy and clearly more comfortable in his skin. He initially used a private nurse’s restroom, but it was inconveniently located; peers and staff noted his long bathroom breaks, leaving him alienated and humiliated. So the principal and guidance counselor agreed to let him use the boys’ restroom, and for two months, he had no issues. But gossip circulated outside school and on a community Facebook forum, where people posted vicious comments. Friends defending him online faced harassment. “It was the adults who made it a problem, because their mentality spread to their kids,” recalls Evelyn Hronec, another friend. “These were grown adults talking about a 16-year-old’s genitals. It was vile.” At school board meetings in 2014, speakers stood feet away from Grimm, misgendering him, asking questions about his body and transition, calling him names and demanding he be kept out of boys’ facilities in the name of “safety”. In one speech, Grimm pleaded for the opportunity to “use the restroom in peace”. When a man called him a “freak” and likened him to an animal, Deirdre lunged out of her seat, she recalls. “I was fighting for his life.” [...] In 2021, the supreme court allowed Grimm’s victory to stand, and the school board was ordered to pay $1.3m in attorney’s fees. Grimm, however, only got a symbolic $1. To secure damages, Grimm would’ve had to give the opposition’s lawyers access to his medical records to scrutinize the cause and extent of his emotional distress, a process he couldn’t stomach after years of fighting. The idea he’d have to prove his anguish was unbelievable to his mom, who can’t shake the memories of her son becoming suicidal. Grimm doesn’t regret moving on without damages. But he desperately could’ve used financial help – especially as the trauma of his childhood began to catch up with him.

[lemonsdietcoke]

Get Gone - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 3 of my mini series love ridden

Warnings: physical abuse, DV, implied NONCON, toxic relationship, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and intense depictions of psychological distress. Reader discretion is advised.

Summary: “How many times do I have to say To get away, get gone?” A late-night confrontation unearths buried truths, forcing you to confront the cost of her own survival. loosely inspired by Get Gone-Fiona Apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: yall I’m sorry this took so long, I have work & school during the week and low-key got lazy lol but it’s finally here!!! Lmk if yall fw it. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!! <3

…………………….

The room feels smaller now, the air pressing down on you like it’s alive, like it’s conspiring with him. Every second ticks by painfully, loud and sharp in your ears. You swear you can feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“If you walk out that door,” Su-bong says again, his voice low, deliberate, “you’ll never see me again.”

There’s no anger in his tone, no malice. Just a quiet certainty that chills you to your core. It should feel like a relief—like a clean break. But instead, it feels like a threat wrapped in a promise.

Your hands tighten around your phone. Ji-hye’s name still flashes on the screen like a lifeline you’re too afraid to grab.

“Why would you say that?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“Because it’s the truth,” he says, tilting his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. “I don’t want to play games anymore, Y/N. I can’t do this halfway. Either you stay, and we figure this out together, or you leave… and that’s it.”

The simplicity of his words makes them hit harder. They slice through you like glass, leaving behind wounds you can’t see but can feel.

“You don’t mean that,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His lips curl into a faint, humorless smile. “Don’t I?”

You feel like the floor is shifting beneath you, like the ground you’ve been standing on has suddenly turned to quicksand. “You’re just saying that to scare me,” you accuse.

“Am I?” His voice is calm, measured, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “You think I don’t mean it, but deep down, you know I do. You know I’ve always meant it when it comes to you.”

“Stop,” you say, your voice cracking.

“Why?” he presses, taking a slow step toward you. He’s close now, too close, his presence overwhelming. “Because you don’t want to hear it? Because you don’t want to admit that it scares you?”

“I’m not scared of you,” you shoot back, even though your heart is hammering in your chest.

“No,” he says softly, almost thoughtfully. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared of what happens if you leave. You’re scared because you don’t know who you are without me.”

Your stomach twists violently. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but that only makes it worse. “You don’t want to leave, Y/N. You’re just trying to convince yourself that you do. But we both know the truth. You’ve always been afraid of being alone.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” His words are quiet, but they land with the force of a wrecking ball. “You stayed with me for two years, even when you knew you should’ve left. You forgave me for things most people wouldn’t. And why? Because you didn’t want to be alone. Because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You don’t get to do this,” you say, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “You don’t get to make this about me. You’re the one who—”

“I’m not making this about you,” he interrupts, his tone sharpening. “I’m just telling you the truth. You don’t want to hear it, fine. But don’t act like I’m the bad guy for saying it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your chest heaving as you struggle to hold yourself together. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”

He scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “I know everything about you, Y/N. I know how you think, how you feel. I know you better than anyone, including Ji-hye.”

The mention of her name sends a jolt through you, sharp and electric.

“that’s who you’ve been talking to, right?” he asks, his voice dropping into something quieter, more dangerous. “Ji-hye?”

Your throat tightens. “She’s my friend. Of course I’ve been talking to her.”

“About me?” His question is calm, but there’s something venomous just beneath the surface.

“She’s my best friend,” you say, lifting your chin even though your hands are shaking. “I tell her everything.”

His jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I thought what we had was private. I guess I was wrong.”

“Private?” you repeat, your voice rising. “You’ve been calling me nonstop for weeks, leaving voicemails threatening to kill yourself, and now you want to talk about privacy?”

“That’s different,” he snaps, his control slipping for the first time.

“Is it?” you shoot back, your voice cracking. “Because it feels a hell of a lot like you’re just mad that I told someone the truth about you.”

He steps closer, and you instinctively take a step back. “You’re the one dragging her into this,” he says, his voice low but cutting. “You’re the one making this worse.”

“She’s worried about me!” you shout, your emotions spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “She’s worried because she knows what you’re like!”

His expression darkens, his gaze boring into yours. “She doesn’t know you like I do. She doesn’t know what you’re like when you’re falling apart. When you’re scared. When you don’t know what you want.”

“I know what I want!” you yell, your voice breaking. “I want to leave!”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“Then go,” he says, his tone soft but razor-sharp. “But don’t come back. Because if you walk out that door, Y/N…” He pauses, his gaze steady and unrelenting. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”

Your chest tightens, panic clawing at your insides. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m done,” he says simply. “I’m done chasing you, done begging you to talk to me, done waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

You stare at him, your mind racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen, Ji-hye’s name flashing like a lifeline.

“She’s outside,” you say, your voice trembling. “She’s waiting for me.”

He doesn’t react at first. And then—

“Of course she is.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “You always need someone to save you, don’t you?”

The words hit you like a slap, the sting radiating through your chest.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Go ahead,” he says, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door. “Run to her. But don’t pretend you’re doing this for you. We both know you don’t have the guts to face this on your own.”

Your legs feel like lead, your heart pounding as you take a shaky step toward the door.

And as you reach for the handle, his voice cuts through the silence one last time.

“When you realize I’m right,” he says softly, “don’t bother coming back.”

You don’t look at him as you open the door.

But you feel his eyes on you the whole way out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The car door shuts behind you with a heavy, final thud.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your own ragged breathing, loud and uneven in the stillness of the cabin. The air inside feels thick, stagnant. You reach for your seatbelt with trembling hands, but the buckle slips from your fingers twice before you manage to click it into place.

Ji-hye doesn’t start the car. She doesn’t even move.

Her knuckles are wrapped tight around the steering wheel, her nails biting into the leather. The dim glow of the dashboard casts her face in sharp relief — her set jaw, the hard line of her mouth, the slight tremble in her lips she’s fighting to keep still.

Her eyes flicker toward you, then away, like she can’t bear to look too long. “You okay?” she asks, her voice low, strained. The question sounds more like an accusation than concern.

You nod — a jerky, unconvincing motion that does nothing to quiet the storm inside you. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice breaking on the last syllable.

Her fingers tighten on the wheel, the tendons standing out in sharp relief. “You don’t look fine.”

“I just…” You press your hands to your lap, flattening them against the fabric of your dress to keep them from shaking. “I just want to go home.”

She exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. But she doesn’t start the car.

“What happened, Y/N?” Her voice is still low, but there’s an edge to it now — a tremor beneath the surface, like she’s holding herself back from grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking the truth out of you.

“Nothing happened,” you say too quickly, too defensively.

Ji-hye’s head snaps toward you, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t bullshit me.”

You flinch at the sharpness in her tone, the anger laced through it, though you know it’s not directed at you.

“I…” You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t know.”

Her jaw tightens. She turns back to the steering wheel, but her fingers twitch against it, like she’s holding herself back from punching something. “What the fuck does that mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean I don’t remember!” The words explode out of you before you can stop them, loud and jagged and filled with panic. Your chest heaves, and your eyes sting as the tears start to well up again. “I don’t fucking remember, Ji-hye! I blacked out, okay? I don’t know what happened!”

She goes still, completely still, her hands frozen on the wheel. Slowly, she turns to look at you again. “You don’t remember anything?”

Your breath hitches, and you shake your head.

Her gaze sharpens, her eyes scanning your face like she’s searching for the pieces of a puzzle you can’t see. “But you woke up there,” she says finally, her voice quieter now but no less intense. “At his place.”

You nod, and the weight of the admission makes your chest tighten, makes the shame press down harder.

Ji-hye leans back in her seat, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

Her reaction makes your stomach churn. “I—” Your voice cracks, and you have to swallow hard before you can speak again. “I don’t know if anything happened.”

Her head snaps toward you again, her eyes widening. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t know,” you whisper, the tears spilling over now, hot and relentless. You clutch at your dress, twisting the fabric in your fists as the words come tumbling out. “I don’t remember getting there. I don’t remember going to bed. But when I woke up—” Your voice falters, your breath hitching painfully. “There were bruises, Ji-hye. On my thighs. And my underwear was—” You choke on the words, unable to finish the sentence.

The silence in the car is suffocating.

Ji-hye doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and when you finally glance at her, her expression makes your chest tighten even more. Her lips are pressed into a thin line, and her eyes are dark, her gaze fixed on the dashboard like she’s barely holding herself together.

“You think he—” She can’t even finish the question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, the words barely audible. “I don’t know, Ji-hye. But what if he didn’t? What if I’m just overthinking it? What if I’m—”

“Stop.” Her voice cuts through your rambling, sharp and commanding. She turns to you fully now, her gaze locking onto yours. “Stop right there. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. Don’t you fucking dare.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’” she snaps, her voice rising. “You were drunk, Y/N. If he did anything — anything — that you didn’t consent to, it’s not your fault. Do you understand me?”

You can’t answer. Your throat is too tight, your chest heaving as you fight to keep yourself together.

Ji-hye exhales sharply, dragging her hands through her hair again. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath, her voice trembling now. “That fucking piece of shit.”

Her words make your stomach twist, the nausea bubbling up again. “What if I—”

“You didn’t do anything,” she cuts you off again, her voice softening but no less firm. “Do you hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong. He’s the one—” She stops herself, her voice breaking on the last word. She clenches her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable.

Finally, Ji-hye starts the car, but she doesn’t drive. The engine hums beneath you, the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

“What do I do?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

Ji-hye’s hands tighten on the wheel. She stares straight ahead, her gaze burning with quiet fury. “You don’t go back to him,” she says, her voice steady now. “Not ever. I don’t care what it takes, Y/N. He doesn’t get to be a part of your life anymore.”

You swallow hard, her words cutting through the fog in your mind like a lifeline.

“We’ll figure it out,” Ji-hye says, her voice softening. She reaches over, her hand resting on yours. Her grip is warm and steady, grounding you. “I promise. Whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

The weight of her words sinks into you, anchoring you to the moment. You don’t know what comes next. You don’t know if you’ll ever be able to put the pieces of last night together.

But for now, you let her words steady you. For now, you let yourself believe her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air smells like caramelized sugar and charred meat. Smoke curls from food stalls, the sizzle of grilling pork belly mingling with the faintly sweet aroma of tteokbokki simmering in spicy sauce. Somewhere in the distance, someone’s laughing, the sound light and bright, cutting through the low hum of the crowd.

Ji-hye’s arm loops through yours, her grip warm and grounding as she steers you through the maze of vendors. It’s loud here, chaotic in the way only street markets can be, but you’ve missed it—this pulsing rhythm of life, the neon lights reflecting off puddles of rainwater on the pavement, the voices overlapping as vendors shout over one another to hawk their food.

“Y/N,” Ji-hye says, tilting her head toward a stall where skewers of fish cake glisten in the warm glow of a heat lamp. “You want one?”

You start to shake your head, but the look on her face stops you. She’s been trying so hard to pull you out of your own head, to make you laugh, to make you eat.

“Sure,” you say. Your voice feels foreign, stiff and distant, but Ji-hye beams anyway.

She orders two skewers, handing one to you before taking a bite of her own. “This is the best part about winter,” she says, her words muffled around a mouthful of food. “I swear I could eat eomuk every single day.”

You take a bite, the broth-soaked fish cake warm and savory on your tongue. It’s good—comforting, even—but it doesn’t reach the hollow ache in your chest.

Ji-hye is still talking, something about the new club opening next weekend, but her voice fades into the background as your gaze snags on something across the street.

Purple hair.

Your breath catches in your throat, the skewer trembling slightly in your hand. It’s not him—it’s a girl, her hair cropped short and spiked, her face unfamiliar—but your body doesn’t know the difference.

Your heart is racing, the world around you narrowing to a pinpoint. The noise of the market fades, replaced by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.

“Y/N?” Ji-hye’s voice cuts through the haze, her hand on your arm.

You blink, your chest heaving as you drag your gaze away from the girl. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Her brow furrows, concern etched into every line of her face.

“I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just—thought I saw someone I knew.”

Her lips press together, like she doesn’t believe you, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she squeezes your arm and changes the subject, dragging you to the next stall.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. You smile when Ji-hye laughs, nod when she talks, but your mind is elsewhere. Your skin feels too tight, your senses stretched thin. Every shout from a vendor, every gust of cigarette smoke, every glimpse of purple in the crowd sends your heart skittering in your chest.

When you finally part ways with Ji-hye, your cheeks ache from forcing smiles, and your stomach churns with the weight of pretending.

The walk home is quiet. The market’s noise fades into the background as you leave it behind, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a stray dog.

Your apartment building looms ahead, its shadow stretching long and dark across the street.

You reach the door, your fingers trembling slightly as you punch in the code. The lock beeps, the door clicking open, and you step inside, the familiar scent of your apartment wrapping around you like a blanket.

Safe.

You kick off your shoes, leaving them by the door. The silence is heavy, pressing, but it’s better than the noise. Better than the chaos.

You make your way to the bathroom, the tiles cold under your bare feet. The fluorescent light flickers to life, casting your reflection in sharp relief.

You look… tired.

But not the same kind of tired you were before. It’s different now—less hollow, less fragile. Still frayed around the edges, but stitched together enough to pass.

You wash your face, the cool water shocking against your skin. Your movements are slow, methodical, each step of your routine grounding you just a little more.

The week since you left Su-bong’s apartment has been a blur.

You’ve thrown yourself into small, safe routines: going to work, meeting Ji-hye for meals, scrolling aimlessly through your phone until sleep overtakes you. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to drown out the questions.

For the first time in years, you feel like you’re breathing again. Slowly. Unevenly. But breathing.

Ji-hye says you look better. Healthier.

You believe her, mostly. Even though you still jump at sudden noises. Even though crowds make your chest feel tight. Even though you sometimes find yourself scanning unfamiliar faces for someone who isn’t there.

The clock reads 12:03 AM when you finally collapse onto the couch, a mug of tea cooling in your hands.

You’ve only just started to relax when the knock comes.

At first, you think you imagined it.

You weren’t expecting anyone this late.

Then it comes again. Louder this time.

You freeze.

Another knock.

“Y/N.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

It’s him.

No. No, this isn’t possible. He doesn’t even know where you live.

You moved after the breakup. You didn’t tell anyone except Ji-hye.

So how the fuck does he know?

Your chest tightens, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you stare at the door.

Another knock.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there.”

His voice is slurred, thick with alcohol or something stronger.

“I just want to talk. Please.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushion, your nails scraping against the fabric.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says, the words cracking in his throat. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You know I didn’t mean them.”

The lump in your throat grows heavier, your stomach twisting violently.

“Don’t ignore me.” His tone shifts, harder now. “I can see the lights are on.”

Your pulse roars in your ears. You grab your phone from the coffee table, your hands trembling as you scroll to Ji-hye’s name.

The knocking stops, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“Y/N.”

Your fingers freeze.

“Just open the door, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight of his words settles over you like a lead blanket.

“I need to see you.”

No.

“You’re not being fair, you know that? After everything we’ve been through…”

You press the phone to your chest, your other hand gripping the armrest so tightly your knuckles ache.

“Do you really want me to cause a scene?” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but the threat is clear beneath it. “Your neighbors don’t need to hear this, do they?”

The knot in your chest tightens, fear and anger twisting together into something sharp and unbearable.

“Come on,” he says again, his voice breaking slightly. “Please. I just… I just need to talk to you.”

The silence stretches, your own breathing ragged in the quiet.

Then, a softer knock.

“I’ll leave if you just talk to me,” he says. “I swear.”

You close your eyes, your stomach churning violently.

You don’t want to open the door.

You don’t want to see him.

But you know Su-bong.

You know how loud he can get when he doesn’t get his way.

And it’s late. Your neighbors are probably asleep.

You take a shaky breath, your body trembling as you rise to your feet.

The floor feels unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the door, every step heavier than the last.

Your fingers tremble as you unlock the deadbolt, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness.

You open the door just a crack, your body blocking the gap.

And there he is.

His hair is a mess, his shirt wrinkled and half-untucked. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils blown wide. The faint smell of alcohol wafts off him, mixing with the cloying scent of his cheap cologne.

But it’s his expression that makes your stomach drop.

The desperation in his eyes.

The anger lurking just beneath it.

“Y/N.”

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, soft and broken.

You grip the doorframe, your nails digging into the wood. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

“I want to talk.” He shifts his weight, his hands twitching at his sides. “That’s all. Just… just talk to me.”

The second you crack the door an inch more, you regret it.

It’s instinctive, the way you step back as he pushes forward, brushing past you into the apartment like it’s his. Like there aren’t layers of pain, distance, and boundaries between you now.

“Su-bong, wait—”

“I’m not waiting,” he says, his voice low, a slur of alcohol softening the edges. “Not after you’ve been ignoring me for a week.”

He’s already halfway to the couch. The door is still open, the cold night air seeping in as you stand frozen, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe like it might ground you.

He turns back to glance at you, his expression unreadable in the dim light of your apartment. “You’re going to leave it open?”

You blink, your heart hammering in your chest. Slowly, reluctantly, you close the door.

The sound of the lock clicking into place feels like a nail in your coffin.

When you turn back, he’s sitting on your couch, slouched like he’s settling in for a long stay. His elbows rest on his knees, his hands clasped together loosely, but there’s nothing casual about the way his gaze locks onto you.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding.” His voice carries a hint of something sharp, but his eyes stay soft, almost sad. “I didn’t even know where to find you, Y/N. Do you have any idea what that felt like?”

You stay near the door, keeping as much distance as you can, your pulse roaring in your ears. “How did you even—”

“How did I find you?” He cuts you off, leaning back into the couch like he owns it, like it’s still the one you used to share. “I have my ways.”

Your stomach churns. The vagueness in his tone makes your skin crawl. “What do you want, Su-bong?”

He lets out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “What do I want? I want to know why you blocked me.”

His words hit like a slap, the audacity of them stealing the breath from your lungs. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” His gaze sharpens, the softness in his eyes hardening. “You didn’t even let me explain, Y/N. You just—what? Cut me out? Pretend I don’t exist?”

“I had to,” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Because I needed you!” The words burst out of him, loud and raw, echoing in the quiet apartment. “I didn’t know where else to go! I didn’t know what else to do!”

Your throat tightens, your chest heaving as you fight to keep your composure. “That’s not my problem anymore, Su-bong.”

He flinches, just slightly, but the hurt in his eyes is quickly replaced by something sharper. “You really think you can just shut me out like that? Like I don’t matter?”

“I never said you don’t matter,” you whisper. “I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Couldn’t do what?” he demands, standing suddenly. The movement makes you instinctively take a step back, your fingers brushing against the wall behind you.

“This.” You gesture between the two of you, your voice cracking. “You calling me nonstop. Showing up here. Saying things you can’t take back. I couldn’t—” Your voice falters, breaking on the words. “I couldn’t keep letting you drag me down with you.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “Drag you down?” he repeats, his tone quiet but venomous.

You press yourself harder against the wall, your palms flat against the cool surface. “You know what I mean.”

He takes a slow step toward you, and your stomach twists violently. “No,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t think I do.”

“Su-bong, please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just leave.”

He stops, just a few feet away from you now. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Your breath hitches, your chest tightening painfully. “Get what?”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “You’re scared,” he says finally, his tone softening. “You’re scared because you don’t know what you’re doing without me.”

The words land like a punch to the gut. “That’s not true,” you say, your voice trembling.

“Yes, it is.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, suffocating. “You’ve always been scared of being alone, Y/N. That’s why you stayed with me for so long, even when you knew you shouldn’t.”

Your nails dig into the wall behind you, the sharp pain grounding you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know exactly what I’m talking about.” His voice softens, but it only makes the words hit harder. “You blocked me because you couldn’t handle it. Not because you’re over me. Not because you’re moving on. But because you’re scared of facing me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, your chest heaving. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” His voice drops to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. “If it’s not true, why’d you let me in?”

The question cuts deeper than you want to admit.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice breaking. “I don’t know why I let you in.”

His lips curl into something that’s not quite a smile, something that makes your stomach twist. “I do,” he says softly.

“What do you mean?”

He steps closer, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. You flinch, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You let me in,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, “because you still love me.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head. “That’s not—”

“You do,” he says, his tone almost gentle. “And that’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I’m not mad at you.”

His hand lingers on your arm, and you feel like you’re drowning, like the walls are closing in on you.

“Su-bong, please,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face now. “I can’t do this.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says, his voice soft and coaxing. “Just… let me stay. Just for a little while.”

You shake your head, your breath hitching. “I don’t want you here.”

“Yes, you do,” he says quietly, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “You don’t have to say it, but I know you do.”

The weight of his hand on your face is unbearable.

And in that moment, you realize—

You’re trapped.

His hand lingers on your cheek, warm and steady, but the weight of it feels crushing. Your breath catches in your throat, your vision blurring as his thumb brushes gently over your skin. It’s too much — the closeness, the intimacy he’s trying to pull you back into.

“Stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t.

“You don’t have to fight this,” Su-bong says softly, his voice slurring at the edges. “I’m not your enemy, Y/N.”

The words twist in your chest, sharp and suffocating. You push his hand away, your fingers trembling as you take a step back.

“You need to leave.” Your voice is quiet, but there’s an edge of panic creeping into it.

He doesn’t move. Instead, he watches you, his gaze heavy and unreadable. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, his voice low and raw. “Why are you pushing me away when you know—”

“Know what?” you snap, cutting him off. “What the fuck do I know, Su-bong? Because right now, I don’t know anything.”

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” you continue, your voice rising, breaking under the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know why you can’t just leave me alone. And I don’t know what the fuck happened that night.”

The room goes still.

For a moment, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Your chest tightens, your stomach twisting violently. “Don’t do that,” you say, your voice cracking. “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N.”

“Stop lying!” The words burst out of you, loud and jagged, echoing in the suffocating silence. Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and relentless, as you take a shaky step forward. “Stop fucking lying to me, Su-bong!”

“I’m not—”

“Yes, you are!” Your voice breaks, the weight of your anger and fear crashing over you all at once. “You’ve been lying this whole fucking time, haven’t you? About everything.”

His gaze flickers, something dark and frantic flashing in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Tell me what happened that night,” you demand, your voice trembling but unrelenting. “Tell me what you did.”

He flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. “I woke up in your bed, Su-bong. I had bruises on my thighs. My underwear was backward.” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of the words. “And I don’t remember anything.”

His face goes pale, his eyes widening ever so slightly before he quickly looks away.

“Say something,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Fucking say something.”

He drags a hand through his hair, his movements jerky and unsteady. “I didn’t—” He stops, his jaw clenching so tightly you think it might shatter. “I didn’t mean for it to—”

Your stomach drops. “For it to what?”

His gaze snaps back to you, wild and panicked. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?” His voice rises, cracking at the edges. “You were just—”

He stops himself again, his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around your throat.

“I was just what?” you demand, your voice trembling. “Say it, Su-bong. Finish your fucking sentence.”

He doesn’t.

He looks at you, his chest heaving, his lips parted as if he’s searching for the right words. But none come.

And that’s worse than anything he could have said.

The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. Your mind spins, piecing together fragments of the truth you’ve been trying to avoid.

“Did you…” The words catch in your throat, your stomach churning violently. “Did you touch me?”

“No,” he says quickly, too quickly.

You flinch, the sharpness of his denial cutting through you like a blade. “Then why can’t you just tell me what happened?”

His hands shake at his sides, his knuckles white as he clenches them into fists. “Because it doesn’t fucking matter, Y/N!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“It doesn’t matter?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not what you think, okay? I didn’t—” He stops himself again, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

The room tilts, the weight of his words crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

“That far?” you whisper, your chest tightening painfully. “What the fuck does that mean, Su-bong?”

He doesn’t answer.

The silence is deafening, your pulse roaring in your ears as you stare at him, waiting, hoping for something—anything—that makes sense.

But all you get is the look on his face.

The guilt.

The shame.

The fear.

And you know.

You know.

Your legs give out, and you sink to the floor, your back pressing against the wall as your breath comes in short, shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice soft now, pleading. He takes a step toward you, but you hold up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice shaking. “Don’t come near me.”

“Please,” he says, his tone desperate. “Just let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” you say, your voice cracking. “You did it, didn’t you?”

His silence is all the confirmation you need.

You press your hands to your face, your tears spilling over, hot and relentless.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice breaking. “I swear, I didn’t—”

“Get out.”

The words are quiet but firm, cutting through the suffocating tension like a knife.

“Y/N, please—”

“Just fucking go!” you scream, your voice raw and jagged, echoing through the apartment.

He doesn’t.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream again, your voice raw and jagged, slicing through the suffocating tension.

But Su-bong doesn’t move.

Instead, he stares at you, his chest heaving, his face twisting into something you can’t quite recognize. Something darker. “I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Your stomach twists violently. “You need to leave, Su-bong. Now.”

“Why?” he snaps, his voice rising. “So you can sit here and hate me? So you can keep twisting this into something it’s not?”

“Something it’s not?” Your voice cracks, your hands balling into fists at your sides. “You just admitted it! You just fucking said—”

“I said I didn’t mean for it to go that far!” he shouts, cutting you off. His face is flushed now, his eyes wild, the faint slur in his voice sharper. “That’s not the same thing!”

“It’s exactly the same thing!” you scream back, the words ripping out of you like a knife. “You knew I was drunk! You knew I couldn’t—”

“You didn’t say no,” he interrupts, his voice low and venomous.

The room falls silent.

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

And then, quietly, trembling—

“That never stopped you before.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

Su-bong’s face twists, something dark and ugly flashing across it. His jaw clenches, his fists tightening at his sides. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You know exactly what it means,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve always pushed, always taken. And I—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight of your emotions. “I let you, because I loved you. Because I thought you loved me.”

“I do love you!” he shouts, his voice breaking. He takes a step closer, his movements unsteady, uncoordinated. “I’ve always fucking loved you!”

“Love?” you laugh bitterly, the sound harsh and cutting. “This isn’t love, Su-bong. This is control. This is you trying to fucking own me.”

“I don’t want to own you!” he yells, his voice cracking. “I just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair, his movements erratic. “I just want you to stay. I just want us to be okay again.”

“There is no ‘us,’” you say, your voice trembling but resolute. “Not anymore.”

The words hit him like a physical blow. He staggers back slightly, his eyes wide, his chest heaving. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

And that’s when it happens.

He lunges forward, grabbing your wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you flinch. “Don’t do this,” he says, his voice desperate, pleading. “Please, Y/N. Don’t fucking do this.”

“Let me go.” Your voice is sharp, but your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Not until you listen to me!” he shouts, his grip tightening slightly.

“Let me go!” you scream, jerking your arm back. The force of it sends you both stumbling, and for a moment, everything is chaos.

Your hand connects with his chest—an instinctive push to get him away from you. He stumbles again, his back hitting the edge of the couch.

And then he snaps.

“Fuck!” he yells, slamming his fist into the wall beside him. The sound is loud, jarring, the plaster cracking under the force. “Why the fuck do you always have to make everything so goddamn hard?”

Tears stream down your face, hot and relentless, as you back away from him. “Get out,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, his voice low, dangerous. “Not until you stop lying to yourself. Not until you admit you still love me.”

You laugh. Bitter. Sharp. The sound scrapes its way out of your throat, raw and venomous.

“Love you?” you say, the words trembling on the edge of rage. “I fucking hate you.”

The air in the room shifts.

His expression changes — a flicker of something unrecognizable crossing his face before it hardens into something darker. He steps toward you, his chest heaving, his fists still clenching at his sides.

“What did you just say?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet.

“You heard me,” you snap, your voice rising, shaking. “I hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate what you’ve done to me, what you’ve made me. I fucking hate you, Su-bong.”

For a second, you think he’s going to hit you.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he reaches for the mug sitting on the table beside him.

“You hate me?” he says, his voice shaking with barely-contained rage. “After everything I’ve done for you? After everything I’ve put up with?”

The mug is in his hand now, his knuckles white as he grips it.

“You could barely last a week without me,” he spits, his voice rising. “You think you’re so fucking strong now? You’re nothing without me, Y/N. Nothing.”

And then he throws it.

It happens so fast, you barely have time to react.

The mug shatters against the wall behind you, fragments raining down around your feet. You flinch, your heart slamming against your ribs, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Are you fucking insane?” you scream, your voice cracking.

“You’re the one who made me like this!” he yells, his voice raw, ragged. He takes a step toward you, and you instinctively step back, your shoulders hitting the wall behind you.

“Get out,” you say, your voice trembling. “Get the fuck out of my apartment, Su-bong.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

“Yes, you are!” you scream, your voice breaking. “You don’t get to do this to me anymore! You don’t get to keep fucking breaking me and acting like it’s my fault!”

“I never broke you!” he yells, his voice rising to a roar. “You were already broken, Y/N! You’ve been broken since the day I met you!”

The words hit like a slap, stealing the breath from your lungs.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, tears streaming down your face.

“Go ahead,” he snaps, his voice venomous. “Blame me for everything. That’s all you’ve ever been good at.”

“Blame you?” you shout, your chest heaving with rage. “You ruined my life, Su-bong! You fucking destroyed me, and you don’t even care!”

“I cared more than anyone else ever did!” he shouts back, his voice cracking. “No one else gave a shit about you, Y/N! No one else stayed!”

“I wish you hadn’t!” you scream, your voice breaking. “I wish I’d never met you!”

The room goes silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a guillotine.

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands shaking at his sides.

“Say it again,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet.

“I wish I never fucking met you,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

The air in the room shifts, heavy and suffocating.

His chest heaves with every labored breath, his fists trembling at his sides. And then he moves.

It’s a blur—the way he closes the distance between you, the way his hand shoots out and tangles in your hair. Pain flares at your scalp, sharp and instant, as he yanks you closer with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Su-bong!” you cry, your hands flying up to claw at his wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“No,” he snarls, his face inches from yours, his voice cracking with rage and desperation. “No, you’re hurting me, Y/N! You’re hurting me!”

His words are guttural, raw, as though they’ve been ripped from the deepest, ugliest part of him. His grip tightens, pulling harder, and you stumble, your knees buckling as you try to twist away.

“Let me go!” you scream, panic lacing every word. Your nails dig into his arm, leaving crescent-shaped marks against his skin, but it only seems to fuel him further.

“You don’t get to do this to me!” he yells, dragging you closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your face, the wildness in his eyes swallowing you whole. “You don’t get to walk away like none of it mattered!”

“I didn’t—” Your voice cracks, tears spilling over, hot and relentless. “I didn’t do anything to you!”

“Liar,” he spits, his grip jerking you violently. “You’ve done everything, Y/N. You’ve ruined me, and you don’t even fucking care.”

Your heart pounds, a frantic, desperate rhythm that drowns out everything else. “Please,” you choke out, your voice trembling. “Please stop.”

But there’s no stopping him.

You twist sharply, pulling against his hold with every ounce of strength you have. He lets out a snarl of frustration as you manage to free yourself, stumbling back against the wall. For a moment, you think it’s over, that maybe he’s come to his senses.

But then his gaze drops to the lamp on the side table.

“Don’t,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

He doesn’t hesitate.

The lamp is in his hand before you can react, his fingers curling around its base like it’s an extension of his rage.

“You want me to stop?” he spits, his voice rising. “Fine. I’ll fucking stop.”

And then he throws it.

The lamp sails through the air, and for a split second, time seems to slow. You see it coming, but there’s no time to move. It smashes into your shoulder with a sickening thud, the force of it sending you sprawling to the floor.

Pain blooms instantly, sharp and white-hot, radiating from your shoulder down to your fingertips. You cry out, clutching the spot where it hit, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

“Does it hurt?” he taunts, his voice dripping with venom. “Good. Maybe now you’ll fucking listen to me.”

Your vision blurs with tears, the pain and fear twisting together into something unbearable. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, your voice breaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he snaps, his voice cracking. “You, Y/N. You’re what’s wrong with me. You made me like this!”

“You’re insane,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

His laughter is low and bitter, a sound that sends chills down your spine. “You drove me to this. You, with your lies, your fucking games—”

“I didn’t play any games!” you shout, your chest heaving. “I just wanted to get away from you!”

“You don’t get to run!” he roars, his face twisting into something unrecognizable. “Not after everything I’ve done for you! Not after—”

He stops abruptly, his gaze flickering to you, then to your throat.

And before you can move, before you can scream, he’s on you.

His hands wrap around your neck, his grip cold and unrelenting.

At first, it doesn’t feel real—the pressure, the way your breath catches in your throat, the way his face looms above you, wild and furious. But then the reality slams into you all at once, and the panic sets in.

You claw at his hands, your nails scraping against his skin as you gasp for air. The world narrows to the sound of your strangled breaths, the pounding of your pulse in your ears, the fire spreading through your lungs as you fight to inhale.

“Why do you always make me do this?” he growls, his voice shaking with anger. “Why do you always push me, Y/N? Why?”

Your vision blurs, black spots creeping in at the edges.

He’s saying something else, his voice a low, guttural snarl, but you can’t make out the words. All you can focus on is the pressure, the way it feels like your throat is collapsing under his grip.

And then—

A loud, sharp knock cuts through the haze.

“Police! Open the door!”

The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, like it’s coming from another world.

But it’s enough.

The knocking grows louder, more insistent. Voices shout from the other side, commanding, urgent.

“Police! We’re coming in!”

Su-bong’s grip falters, just slightly, as the realization dawns on him.

His gaze snaps to the door, then back to you.

“You called the fucking cops?” he snarls, his grip tightening again, his face contorting with rage. “You think they can save you? You think anyone can fucking save you from me?”

The sound of the door bursting open cuts him off.

In an instant, the room is flooded with voices—sharp, commanding, barking orders that you can’t quite process.

“Get off her!”

“Hands up!”

Su-bong freezes, his hands still around your throat, his body trembling with barely-contained fury.

“Let her go now!”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. The tension in the room is suffocating, the weight of his anger pressing down on you like a vice.

And then, finally, he lets go.

You collapse to the floor, gasping for air, your body trembling violently as you clutch your throat.

The officers swarm him, grabbing his arms and pulling him away from you. He struggles against their hold, shouting obscenities, his voice wild and broken.

“She fucking lied!” he screams, his voice cracking. “She lied about everything!”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

All you can do is lie there, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with tears, as the reality of what just happened crashes over you.

The officers’ voices blur together, a cacophony of sound that you can’t quite make out. One of them kneels beside you, their hand on your shoulder, their voice soft and steady.

“Miss, are you okay?”

You don’t answer.

Your gaze drifts to Su-bong as they drag him toward the door, his screams echoing in the apartment.

And for the first time in years, you feel something you haven’t felt in so long—

Relief.

You know what’s good for you.

You’ve done what you could for him.

And he was finally gone.

[n1daehodefender]

can you write headcanons with your usual characters (dae-ho, thanos, etc) were they find reader crying in like the bedroom or smtg and they just got home so they don't know what happened, but still kinda comfort reader the best they cant (idk if this makes sense)

Their reactions to finding you crying

Pairing: kang dae ho, Nam gyu, thanos (Su Bong) Separately!

Warnings: Warnings: Emotional comfort, mentions of crying and emotional distress, gentle themes of reassurance.

A/N: requests are open

Kang Dae-Ho

Dae-ho had been looking forward to seeing you all day. Work was exhausting, and all he wanted was to relax with you, maybe joke around about something silly or talk about your day. But the moment he walks through the door and hears the faint sound of muffled crying coming from the bedroom, his heart drops. His playful energy vanishes, replaced by deep concern.

He doesn’t barge in immediately. Instead, he pauses to collect himself, not wanting to startle or overwhelm you. Quietly, he knocks on the doorframe, his soft, “Hey, are you okay?” breaking the silence. When you don’t respond right away, he carefully opens the door to find you curled up on the bed, tears staining your cheeks. The sight of you like this pulls at his heartstrings, and any jokes he might’ve planned to crack to lighten the mood are completely forgotten.

Dae-ho moves slowly, not wanting to make you feel pressured to explain yourself. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. His voice is soft, filled with that golden retriever-like warmth you’ve come to love.

“I’m here, okay? You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

He gives you space to decide whether you want to lean into him or not, but when you do, his arms wrap around you like a safe cocoon.

Dae-ho’s hugs are everything: firm yet gentle, warm and grounding. He strokes your hair with one hand while the other rubs soothing circles on your back. Occasionally, he presses a light kiss to the top of your head. His presence is steady, reminding you that you’re not alone.

He doesn’t push you to explain, though it’s clear he’s worried. Instead, he keeps his words gentle and encouraging:

“You don’t have to say anything right now. Just know that whatever it is, we’ll get through it together.”

His tone is earnest, his voice trembling slightly from how much he hates seeing you hurt.

Once your tears subside, Dae-ho suggests small things to make you feel better, like getting some fresh air, eating something comforting, or just lying together for a while. He stays with you the entire time, not leaving your side even for a second. If you eventually open up about why you were crying, he listens without judgment, offering reassurance and positivity where he can.

Nam Gyu

Nam Gyu doesn’t expect to find you upset when he gets home. He’s usually the one you greet with a smile or a sarcastic comment, so the quiet, heavy atmosphere hits him immediately. He hears faint sniffles coming from the bedroom, and his mind races with worry.

The second he sees you crying, his heart clenches painfully. He doesn’t hesitate to approach, his strides purposeful but not rushed. Kneeling in front of you, he cups your face gently, his eyes scanning your expression for any signs of what might’ve happened.

“Hey, what’s going on? Did something happen? Who do I need to deal with?”

His tone is serious, laced with protectiveness, but his touch is gentle.

Nam Gyu hates seeing you cry and will do everything in his power to make it stop—not because he’s uncomfortable with your emotions, but because it physically hurts him to see you in pain. If you don’t want to talk about it, he respects that, but he’ll still hover protectively, sitting close to you and holding your hand. If you lean into him, he wraps you in his arms tightly, his chin resting on top of your head as he murmurs reassurances.

“It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you. Whatever it is, you’re not alone in this.”

His hugs are firm and grounding, making you feel like nothing in the world could touch you as long as he’s there. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, occasionally tilting your chin up to wipe away tears with his thumbs.

Though Nam Gyu isn’t the most emotionally expressive person, he steps up when you need him. His words are straightforward but heartfelt, and he’s willing to listen for as long as you need, his attention completely focused on you.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

If you eventually explain, he listens intently, his jaw tightening if it’s something that upset or hurt you. You can see the barely restrained protectiveness in his expression.

Nam Gyu will insist on taking care of you afterward, whether that means cooking your favorite meal, running a bath, or just lying down with you. He’s not the type to leave you alone, ensuring you feel safe and loved before he considers relaxing himself.

Thanos (Su-bong)

Su-bong is in a great mood as he walks in the door, ready to tell you about something funny that happened during his day. But the moment he hears soft sobbing coming from the bedroom, his mood shifts entirely. His heart aches at the sound, and he immediately heads toward you, his earlier excitement forgotten.

When he sees you crying, his playful demeanor is replaced by quiet concern. He kneels beside the bed, his brow furrowed in worry as he gently calls your name.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Talk to me, love.”

Though his instinct is to crack a joke to cheer you up, he knows better than to do that right away. Instead, he focuses on being present for you, letting you feel whatever you need to feel.

Su-bong’s approach is a mix of gentle affection and lighthearted attempts to make you smile. He’ll wrap you in a warm hug, one hand stroking your back while the other holds your hand. If you don’t pull away, he presses a soft kiss to your temple and whispers:

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”

If you’re unresponsive, he doesn’t push but stays close, his presence steady and reassuring.

He’s incredibly tactile, holding you close and wiping away your tears with the sleeve of his shirt (despite you protesting that he’ll ruin it). His touch is gentle, and his hugs feel safe and secure.

Su-bong’s words are soft and soothing, filled with unconditional love and support. If you eventually share what’s wrong, he listens attentively, nodding along and offering comforting words when needed. He’s also not afraid to be vulnerable with you, admitting that it hurts him to see you cry.

“You don’t have to explain, but if you ever want to, I’ll be here, okay?”

Once you start to feel better, Su-bong’s playful side re-emerges. He might crack a light joke or do something silly to make you smile, but he’ll also make sure you’re comfortable—bringing you snacks, cuddling with you, or watching something lighthearted to lift your spirits.

[saebyeokbliss]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU— PART XI.

synopsis: on a cold january day, you were worrying about the reason your girlfriend wasn’t texting back. when she finally does and asks to meet at your apartment, you’re met with heartbreak as she ends your relationship. no explanation. two years later, you run into her at a cafe with someone new. what are you to do?

warnings: violence, threats of harm, use of weapons, gagging and restraining, emotional distress, mild language

pairing: sae-byeok x fem!reader

The alley felt smaller with him in it. The way Deok-su loomed over you, his shadow stretching long across the pavement, made the narrow space feel suffocating. His sneer was sharp in the dim light, his eyes gleaming with something cruel and unrelenting. You could almost smell the malice radiating off him, thick and heavy like oil.

“I asked you a question,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. “Where’s Kang?”

Your heart pounded so hard you thought it might burst out of your chest, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. You straightened your back, your bag still slung over your shoulder, and glared at him.

“She’s not here,” you said firmly, your voice sharper than you felt. “And even if she was, you’re not going to get anywhere near her.”

Deok-su’s sneer widened into a grin, but there was no humor in it—just teeth and malice. “Oh, really? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to tell you to fuck off,” you snapped, your fists clenched at your sides. “Leave her alone. Leave both of us alone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his grin faltering slightly as though he couldn’t believe you were talking to him like that. Then his expression twisted into something darker, more dangerous, and he took a step closer.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, his tone low and almost amused. “I don’t think you understand who you’re talking to.”

“And I don’t think you understand that I don’t give a shit,” you shot back, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound confident. “You’re not going to scare me into giving her up. So why don’t you crawl back into whatever hole you came out of and leave us the hell alone?”

The words were out before you could stop them, and the moment they left your mouth, you regretted them. His grin disappeared entirely, his face hardening as he closed the distance between you in two quick strides.

Before you could react, his hand shot out and grabbed you by the front of your jacket, slamming you back against the cold brick wall of the alley. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs, and you gasped, your hands instinctively reaching up to try and push him away.

“You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that,” he growled, his face inches from yours. “But you should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

His other hand came up, and your blood ran cold when you saw the glint of a knife in the dim light. The blade pressed against your neck, the cold steel biting into your skin just enough to make you freeze. Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your chest as your mind raced.

“See, I don’t like being told what to do,” he continued, his voice low and venomous. “Especially not by some little nobody like you.”

“Go to hell,” you spat, your voice shaking but defiant.

His grin returned, but it was crueler now, his eyes narrowing as he pressed the blade a little harder against your neck. “You’re brave. Stupid, but brave. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Before you could process what was happening, he pulled the knife away and shoved you roughly toward the ground. You stumbled, catching yourself with your hands on the cold, grimy pavement, but before you could get up, his hand was in your hair, yanking your head back painfully.

“Stay quiet,” he hissed, pulling something out of his pocket. You struggled, kicking and clawing at him, but he was too strong. He forced a gag into your mouth, tying it tightly behind your head before you could make a sound.

Panic surged through you as he pulled a strip of fabric out next, wrapping it around your eyes and knotting it securely at the back of your head. The darkness was immediate and disorienting, your other senses suddenly heightened as you felt his rough hands grabbing your arms and yanking them behind your back.

You thrashed against him, trying to scream through the gag, but all that came out were muffled sounds. His grip tightened painfully, and you felt rope biting into your wrists as he tied them together, the coarse fibers scraping against your skin.

“Keep struggling,” he said mockingly. “It only makes this more fun for me.”

Terror gripped you as he hoisted you to your feet, your body jerking against his hold as you tried to get away. You couldn’t see anything, and the darkness made every sound sharper—the heavy thud of his boots against the pavement, the distant hum of traffic, the sharp intake of his breath as he dragged you further into the alley.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice dripping with false reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway. You’re just going to help me send a little message to Kang.”

You shook your head violently, trying to scream again, but it was no use. The gag muffled every sound, and the blindfold left you completely disoriented. You had no idea where he was taking you, and the thought of what might happen next made your stomach churn.

You heard the sound of a car door opening, and before you could react, he shoved you forward. Your knees hit something hard—the edge of a seat—and he forced you down into it, his hand on your shoulder keeping you in place. You felt the cold press of the knife against your arm, a silent warning not to resist.

The seat beneath you smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and something metallic, and the air inside the car was stale and heavy. The door slammed shut beside you, and a moment later, you heard him climb into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life, and the car lurched forward, sending you sliding slightly against the seatbelt he hadn’t bothered to fasten. You twisted your wrists against the rope binding them, but it was too tight, the fibers digging painfully into your skin.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” Deok-su said from the front seat, his tone almost conversational. “I can see why Kang keeps you around. But don’t worry—we’ll see how long that attitude lasts when she shows up to get you.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the realization of what he was planning sinking in. This wasn’t just about you. This was about Sae-byeok. He was going to use you to get to her, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

You tried to scream again, the sound muffled and desperate, but he just laughed.

“Save your energy,” he said. “You’re going to need it.”

The car sped up, the hum of the engine and the vibrations beneath you the only indications that you were moving. Your heart pounded in your chest, fear coursing through your veins as you struggled against the ropes, the gag, the blindfold—anything to free yourself. But it was no use.

For now, all you could do was wait.

The apartment was quiet when Sae-byeok got home, the kind of stillness that settled after a long day. She dropped her bag by the door, kicking off her shoes with a sigh. Her body ached, but her mind was louder. The image of you standing in the break room earlier, your voice breaking as you talked about how lost you felt, had been replaying in her head all day.

She didn’t know why it got under her skin so much. Maybe it was the way your hands trembled when you tried to hold back tears, or the way you said you felt alone. She knew that feeling too well. It was one she carried every day, no matter how hard she tried to bury it.

“Looks like someone’s brooding again,” Ji-yeong’s voice broke her thoughts, light and teasing. She was sprawled on the couch, one leg draped over the armrest as she scrolled through her phone. She glanced up at Sae-byeok with a smirk. “What’s got you sulking this time?”

Sae-byeok rolled her eyes, but a faint smile tugged at her lips as she made her way to the couch. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Ji-yeong shot back, sitting up and tossing her phone onto the coffee table. “You have that look on your face. The one where you’re thinking about her.”

Sae-byeok paused mid-step, her expression hardening. “I’m not—”

“Oh, please,” Ji-yeong cut her off, grinning. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’re so obvious. Did something happen with her today? Did you two make up? Did you kiss? Oh! Did you f—”

“Shut up,” Sae-byeok said, though her voice lacked any real bite. She sat down on the couch, leaning back with a sigh. “She came back to work today.”

Ji-yeong’s grin widened. “And?”

“And… nothing. She’s dealing with a lot right now.” Sae-byeok hesitated, her jaw tightening slightly. “Her sister just died. She’s barely holding it together. I don’t think now’s the time—”

“Now’s exactly the time,” Ji-yeong interrupted, jabbing a finger in Sae-byeok’s direction. “She needs someone. And lucky for her, you’re, like, annoyingly good at pretending you don’t care while secretly being the most loyal person on the planet.”

Sae-byeok raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ji-yeong said, leaning forward, “you still love her. And if you keep waiting for the ‘right time,’ you’re gonna end up waiting forever. Life doesn’t work like that, Sae-byeok. Sometimes you just have to take the leap.”

Sae-byeok frowned, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is,” Ji-yeong said, flopping back against the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Step one: Go to her. Step two: Tell her you’re sorry for being a stubborn idiot. Step three: Kiss her. Step four: Profit.”

Sae-byeok snorted, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“No, you’re ridiculous,” Ji-yeong shot back, pointing at her again. “You’re sitting here moping instead of doing something about it. What’s the worst that could happen? She already forgave you once, didn’t she?”

Sae-byeok didn’t respond right away, her thoughts swirling. Ji-yeong had a point—not that she’d ever admit it out loud—but it didn’t change the fact that things were complicated. You had every reason to hate her after everything that had happened. The fact that you didn’t made her feel even more guilty.

“Just think about it,” Ji-yeong said, her tone softening slightly. “She’s a good one, Sae-byeok. Don’t let her slip through your fingers again.”

Sae-byeok glanced at her, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Ji-yeong said, grinning again. “But for the record, if you don’t make a move soon, I’m going to do it for you.”

Sae-byeok rolled her eyes, standing up and heading toward the hallway. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re boring,” Ji-yeong called after her, laughing. “Go get your girl!”

Sae-byeok shook her head as she made her way to Cheol’s room, the faint sound of Ji-yeong humming to herself fading into the background. She pushed the door open quietly, peeking inside. Cheol was already asleep, his small body curled up under the blankets with only the top of his head visible.

For a moment, she just stood there, watching him. He looked so peaceful, so untouched by the chaos of the world around him. It was moments like this that reminded her why she was still fighting—why she had to keep going, no matter how hard things got.

She stepped inside, tucking the blanket more securely around him before brushing a hand gently over his hair. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and she allowed herself a small smile before slipping back out of the room.

The next morning, Sae-byeok woke up early, the faint light of dawn filtering through her curtains. She went through her usual routine—showering, getting dressed, making sure Ji-yeong didn’t eat all the bread for breakfast—before heading out to work.

The diner was as busy as ever when she arrived, the usual clamor of customers and coworkers filling the air. Sae-byeok slipped into her role effortlessly, taking orders and clearing tables with the same quiet efficiency she always did. But her mind kept drifting back to you.

She hadn’t seen you yet today, though she knew you were scheduled to come in later. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say to you, but Ji-yeong’s words from the night before were still rattling around in her head. Maybe it was time to stop holding back. Maybe it was time to—

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, cutting off her train of thought. She frowned, pulling it out to see a text from an unknown number.

She almost ignored it, assuming it was spam, but something made her open it. The moment she did, her blood ran cold.

The text was short, just two words: "Come alone."

But it was the picture attached that made her stomach drop. It was you—tied to a chair, your face bruised and bloody, your eyes wide with fear. The background was dark, but that didn’t matter. All Sae-byeok could see was you.

Her chest tightened, and she felt a surge of panic and fury all at once. She didn’t recognize the number, but she didn’t need to. There was only one person who would pull something like this.

Deok-su.

Without a second thought, Sae-byeok shoved her phone back into her pocket and stormed toward the door. She didn’t stop to explain to Mrs. Hanuel or anyone else why she was leaving. She didn’t have time. All she could think about was getting to you.

She didn’t know where you were or what Deok-su wanted, but one thing was certain: He was going to regret ever laying a hand on you.

taglist: @monroesturnns@everly-summers-solace@holyshtimgay@knfthxv@delfinadolphin@madebysae@jetaimeeeee@m0rtifiedg0th@katieschry1@erika-mon2-blog@tcvazq not taking anymore taglist additions!! sorry!!

[xoxorealitygalore]

Trust and Believe II

You pushed me far

You brought me to it

You had my heart

But then you blew it, oh

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

Keyshia Anoa’i Ordered to Pay $100,000 to Woman She Assaulted in Roman Reigns’ Penthouse

Following an assault in September, Keyshia Anoa’i's three-month-long legal drama has finally come to an end and the singer will have to fork over a large amount of money.

According to a report from TMZ, Anoa’i's lawsuit ended in a default judgment after the singer never showed up to court. Anoa’i has been ordered to pay $100,000 to the woman suing her.

Anoa’i was originally arrested in September, for assaulting the woman, after she noticed the woman in the penthouse of her husband Roman Reigns. The singer reportedly went into a fit of rage and immediately attacked the woman, leaving bruises on her face.

Following the attack, the woman pressed charges against Anoa’i. The victim then filed a lawsuit and sought punitive damages for battery, intentional infliction of emotional distress, negligence, and premises liability.

Keyshia stood near the window in Joe's office, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched him carefully write out the check for $100,000. The words Court-Ordered Payment were typed at the top, followed by the name of the woman who had sued her—the woman Keyshia had attacked after discovering her with Joe.

Keyshia couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of bitterness. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but part of her resented the fact that this whole situation had spiraled so far out of control. Joe had betrayed her, yet she was the one facing the consequences. The weight of the money, the legal issues, the humiliation—it all felt like a cruel reminder of how little control she had over her own life at that moment.

Joe placed the check in an envelope and sealed it, his face a mixture of frustration and resignation. “I hope you learned your lesson, Keyshia,” he said, his voice firm. “You can’t go around putting your hands on people.”

Keyshia rolled her eyes, not bothering to reply immediately. She wasn’t interested in hearing him lecture her on right and wrong, not now, not after everything that had happened between them. The whole situation felt exhausting, suffocating. She exhaled sharply, her gaze drifting to the backyard outside the window where the party for their daughter, Jovie, was taking place. It was a beautiful scene—a Ballerina and Bows-themed birthday party in full swing, with their youngest daughter smiling and playing with her friends.

“Whatever,” Keyshia muttered, her voice flat. “I have better things to worry about, like our daughter’s birthday party that’s happening downstairs in our backyard.” Her voice trailed off, as if the party—Jovie’s special day—was just another thing to get through. The weight of her words hung in the air as she stared out at the scene.

Joe, trying to keep his calm, responded, his tone clipped but measured. “That doesn’t change the fact that you attacked someone, Keyshia. You have to take responsibility for your actions.”

Keyshia's eyes narrowed, and her lips curled into a bitter smile. “And what about you? You think writing a check is going to fix everything, Joe? You cheated on me, remember? That’s why I’m here, standing in this room, having this conversation.”

Her words were sharp, cutting through the room like a blade. Joe’s expression tightened, and for a moment, the weight of his own guilt seemed to cloud his face. “I told you already, it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. I messed up. I was stupid. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Keyshia’s laugh was hollow and full of disbelief. “Heat of the moment,” she repeated, the words coming out like venom. “You think that’s an excuse?”

It was clear that Keyshia’s anger was not just about the attack. The check, the lawsuit, and the court orders were all secondary to the deep, gnawing wound in her chest—the betrayal Joe had inflicted on her and their family. She was so hurt, so angry that the words poured out before she could stop them. Every sentence she spoke felt like a raw, jagged edge.

Joe’s face softened, the guilt and regret now evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Keyshia. I know I hurt you. I’ll never be able to undo what I did, but I am sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Keyshia snapped. “You don’t get to be sorry now, Joe. You don’t get to apologize and pretend everything is fine. You cheated on me, and you’ve destroyed everything. I’ve been by your side through thick and thin, and this is how you repay me?”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last words. The emotional weight of the situation was too much to bear. Keyshia had spent years supporting Joe through his chronic myeloid leukemia diagnosis—standing by him during the toughest times of his life. But in return, he had betrayed her in the most intimate way possible, with another woman. It was something she would never be able to reconcile, and the pain was still too fresh.

Joe shifted uncomfortably, his gaze now directed at the floor. He could feel her anger, and he could feel the blame resting squarely on his shoulders. His voice was quieter now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I love you, Keyshia. I love our family. I know I messed up, but I’m trying to make it right.”

Keyshia let out a humorless laugh. “Love? That’s rich coming from the guy who took another woman to bed behind my back. You’ve broken everything, Joe. Everything. I don’t even know who you are anymore.” Her voice trembled with the weight of her emotions.

There was a brief silence between them, the tension palpable. Joe’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, Keyshia saw the man she had once loved—a man who had been broken by his own actions. But the hurt was too deep. She couldn’t see past the betrayal anymore. She had been through so much, not just for Joe but for their children as well. She had sacrificed so much, and now, everything felt like it had been for nothing.

The silence was interrupted by a knock at the door, and before either of them could respond, Joe’s mother, Lisa, poked her head inside. “You two are missing your daughter’s birthday,” Lisa said, her voice a mixture of concern and gentle reprimand.

Keyshia sighed heavily, her anger still simmering beneath the surface. She turned away from Joe and walked toward the door, not wanting to engage any longer. She couldn’t deal with him, not now, not with the weight of everything else on her shoulders. Joe followed her, his eyes still full of remorse as he tried to find some way to reach her.

Downstairs, the party was in full swing. The children were laughing, running around the backyard, playing games and enjoying the festivities. Jovie, their three-year-old, spotted her parents and squealed with joy. “Mommy! Daddy!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up with excitement as she ran toward them.

Keyshia forced a smile, her heart aching as she knelt down to hug her daughter. “Hey, baby,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “Are you enjoying your party?”

Jovie nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing as she smiled up at her mother. “Yes! I love my cake!”

Joe stepped forward, scooping Jovie up in his arms. “Let’s cut your birthday cake, little lady,” he said, his voice affectionate as he carried her toward the table where the three-tiered birthday cake sat.

Keyshia followed them, her heart heavy as she watched the interaction between father and daughter. Jovie, oblivious to the tension between her parents, kissed Joe on the cheek and then turned to Keyshia. “Mommy, kiss Daddy!” she said, her little voice insistent.

Keyshia hesitated, her hands fluttering nervously at her sides. Everyone was watching, and the weight of their eyes felt suffocating. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the wave of emotions threatening to crash over her. Her smile was forced, and there was an edge to it that didn’t quite reach her eyes. But Jovie didn’t care—she just wanted her parents to be happy, to be together.

Keyshia hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving in to her daughter’s request. She leaned in and kissed Joe on the cheek, the brief touch feeling like a stark reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Jovie, delighted, blew out her candles with a dramatic puff, and the room erupted in applause. Everyone gathered around the cake as Lisa began cutting slices. The birthday party continued, and Keyshia did her best to maintain the facade of happiness for the sake of their children. But inside, everything felt broken.

Hours later, the party was over. The house had been cleaned, the decorations taken down, and the children tucked into bed. Keyshia made her way to the guest room—the same room she had been staying in for the past three months since the incident.

As she passed the hallway, she saw Joe standing near the door, blocking her way. His eyes were tired, and his face was drawn with the weight of their unresolved issues.

“I keep trying to hate you,” Keyshia said, her voice strained with emotion. “It’d be so much easier if I did.”

Joe sighed deeply, his expression heavy with regret. “Don’t worry. I hate myself enough for both of us.”

Keyshia felt the words land like a weight on her chest. She didn’t know what was worse—the fact that Joe had cheated, or the fact that now, both of them were lost in their own pain, unable to fix the broken pieces of their once happy family.

For now, all she could do was turn and walk away, seeking solace in the solitude of the guest room, where she could bury her grief and confusion. It was the only place she felt she could truly breathe. But deep down, she knew that their story—her story—was far from over.

Keyshia closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. The guest room, small and sparsely decorated, felt like a prison. It had been her sanctuary since the night of the incident, a place to retreat when the walls of their home, once full of warmth and laughter, now felt cold and suffocating. The bed, unmade and untouched, seemed to mock her attempts at peace. She dropped her purse onto the chair, removed her shoes, and sat on the edge of the bed, her mind swirling with emotions she couldn’t sort through.

Her hands trembled as she pulled her phone from her bag, but she quickly dropped it back into her lap. What was the point of checking it again? She had already seen the messages—Joe’s constant apologies, his mother’s concerned texts asking if she was okay, and a few messages from family and friends offering sympathy. None of it mattered. None of it could fix what had happened.

For a brief moment, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel the weight of everything—the attack, the lawsuit, the broken trust, the children who still didn’t fully understand the gravity of the situation. Her mind replayed the night she had walked into Joe’s penthouse and found him with another woman. The shock had hit her first, followed by a surge of adrenaline that clouded her judgment. She had lashed out, not thinking of the consequences, not considering how much more it would cost her—emotionally, financially, or legally.

How had it come to this?

The thought echoed in her mind as if trying to make sense of the chaos her life had become. They had been through so much together, and yet, here they were—on opposite sides of a divide neither of them seemed to know how to cross. She had loved Joe. Truly loved him. And despite everything, part of her still did. But love wasn’t enough when the trust was shattered. It wasn’t enough when the man you had given everything to betrayed you so completely.

Keyshia pulled her knees up to her chest, resting her chin on them as she stared at the empty space in front of her. The dim light from the hallway crept in through the cracks of the door, casting long shadows across the floor. It felt like the darkness inside her was reflected in the room. She had been angry—furious, in fact. But now, the anger was slowly being replaced by exhaustion. She couldn’t keep fighting like this. She didn’t have the energy anymore.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside the door. Joe’s voice, muffled but clear, called through the wood. “Keyshia, please,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”

She didn’t answer right away, not because she didn’t hear him, but because she wasn’t sure what there was left to say. Joe had apologized over and over again, but the weight of his betrayal felt too heavy to lift with mere words. She didn’t want to talk to him, not now, not when everything felt so raw and unresolved.

But then, she heard the faint creak of the door. Joe had opened it, even though she hadn’t invited him in.

He stood there, a few feet away, looking at her with a mixture of guilt and pain in his eyes. He had been through so much over the years with his chronic myeloid leukemia diagnosis, and Keyshia had been there, every step of the way, supporting him through the treatments, the hospital visits, the endless rounds of chemotherapy. But in the end, it wasn’t the cancer that had nearly destroyed their family—it was Joe’s choices, his infidelity, his inability to keep his promises.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me,” Joe said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I get it. But I’m asking for a chance to fix this. Please, Keyshia.”

She raised her head, her eyes locking with his for the first time in hours. His face was etched with sorrow, but Keyshia couldn’t ignore the sense of self-pity that also lingered there. He was sorry. She could see that, but that didn’t change the fact that his actions had left her broken.

“You want to fix this?” Keyshia asked, her voice steady but cold. “You think writing a check, making promises, and saying you’re sorry is enough to fix this?”

Joe stepped further into the room, his hands slightly raised in a gesture of peace. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right now, Keyshia. I know I don’t deserve it. But I need you to know that I’m going to do whatever it takes to make things right. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Keyshia couldn’t suppress the bitter laugh that escaped her. “How can you possibly make things right, Joe? The damage has been done. You can’t un-cheat. You can’t erase the way I feel right now. Do you really think we can go back to how things were?”

Joe flinched at her words, the truth cutting through him like a knife. “No, I don’t think we can just go back,” he admitted. “But I want to try. For us. For our family. And for our kids.”

The mention of their children made Keyshia pause. It always did. They had seven kids—Josie, Kayleigh, the twins Jonas and Kingston, Jarvis and Kingsley, and little Jovie. Their lives were intertwined, their futures linked in ways that Keyshia couldn’t ignore, no matter how angry or hurt she felt.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said, standing up from the bed. Her voice had softened now, but there was an underlying desperation. “I can’t just forget this, Joe. I can’t go back to being that woman who believed in us, in you. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at you the same way again.”

Joe’s eyes filled with tears. The ache in his chest was palpable as he looked at the woman he had loved for so long, the woman he had betrayed in the worst way possible. “I know. And I hate myself for it. I wish I could change everything. But I can’t. I just need you to know that I’m not giving up on us. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise.”

Keyshia took a step back, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can believe you anymore,” she whispered, the weight of her words hitting both of them.

There was a long pause, as if the very air between them had become heavy and thick with everything unspoken. Finally, Joe spoke again, his voice broken. “I understand if you need time. But please know, Keyshia… I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Keyshia’s heart wavered. There was something in his voice that made her believe him—just for a second. But that was all. One second. And then the walls she had built around her heart rushed back into place, pushing out any tenderness, any chance of reconciliation.

She stared at him for a long moment, weighing his words, his promises, his tears. But in the end, she could only nod slowly. “You should go, Joe. We both need time.”

Without another word, Joe turned and left the room, the door clicking softly behind him. Keyshia let out a shaky breath, her legs giving way as she collapsed back onto the bed. The tears she had been holding back for so long finally broke free, flowing freely as her body trembled with the weight of everything she was feeling—anger, pain, betrayal, confusion.

For the first time in months, Keyshia allowed herself to cry. Not for the woman she had attacked, not for the lawsuit, or the court order—but for the woman she had once been, and for the life she had lost. She didn’t know where they would go from here. But one thing was clear: the road ahead was uncertain, and the road back was blocked by too much hurt to navigate.

As the night wore on and her tears slowly subsided, Keyshia realized that she didn’t have all the answers. But perhaps, in time, she would find a way to heal. The future was a blurry horizon, but she wasn’t about to give up on herself.

[webslingingslasher]

HI BESTIE idk if this ask went through but! grumpy x sunshine trope/i hate everyone but you trope with peter and reader? like sweet boy peter with an absolute menace of a gf whos only soft for him <3

ok so i imagine this in a few different ways. 

the first way is the ‘touch him or hurt him and i’ll kill you’ way

“Don’t fucking talk to him that way!” 

You barked orders at Flash so harshly he winced and turned his eyes to the table, he couldn’t look at your direct stare of a thousand burning fires. Your voice was sharp like a whip and curled around his throat, it even made Ned and MJ look down, afraid to add fuel. 

Turning your head back to Peter you soften your eyes and coo at him, you bring your hand to his shoulder and squeeze, it makes him look at you. He wears a soft grin, it tells you that he’s just fine, you want confirmation. 

“Are you okay, honey?” 

Peter places his hand on yours, “I’m okay, I don’t think Flash meant much harm.” 

“Didn’t know you had a guard dog, penis.” Flash’s words are mumbled but you seeth, no one was allowed to talk about Peter that way. 

Your hand comes down on the table, Ned jumps but stays quiet as you hiss words out at him. 

“The only dog here is you, don’t demean my boyfriend you fucking piece of -” 

Peter’s hand pulls at your elbow, his best attempt at stopping you but MJ called your name out cutting you off, Ned flickered between you and Flash, if looks could kill he’d be dead. 

“Flash is an idiot, don’t waste your breath.” 

Flash whines at the comment but resides when you huff and agree, finding Peter’s hand to hold in your own. 

Peter leans in to whisper in your ear, warmth coats your cheek when his lips brush against your earlobe, “easy killer, you don’t need his mom suing you for emotional distress.” You pout at his words and move to whisper in his, peter’s thumb swipes at the back of your hand, “but he was mean to you.” 

You lean into Peter when he presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips move against the skin. 

“He was, wasn’t he?” 

—-------------------------------------------

the second kind has gotta be when you’re upset but only peter can calm you down

May was in a panic, you were standing in the middle of her living room with your arms wrapped around you crying. She’s never seen you so upset, you’ve always been cool calm and collected around her, imagine her surprise when she opened the door to your shaky knocks and sobs. 

“Oh, honey!” Her hand reaches out to grab at your shoulder, you move to dodge her touch. It wasn’t anything to do with May but there was only one person who could calm you down right now and it wasn’t May. 

You feel a prickle at her frown, “I need peter.” You speak between shaky breaths, concentration on getting your words out, May looks real sad, “he’s not here right now, honey. Come in, I’ll give him a call.” 

You don’t even feel your legs move, they carry you to a stop in the middle of the room, you can’t even get to the couch. They feel like lead, you hold yourself steady, it took almost everything in you to come to peter and he wasn’t even here, instead you have May’s sad eyes and you’re not sure to open up to her yet. 

“Peter? I need you to come home right now, yes, everything’s okay, just as soon as you can, okay?” 

May knows you heard her, but you still blankly cry and stare at the floor, shaky breaths escape quickly. You jump when May’s hand grazes your elbow, “sweetheart, please come take a seat.” She knows you’re not too fond on touch, or attention from her, and she knows she can be a bit overboard with it, but this was one of those times she couldn’t rein it in and she needed you to feel her love. 

You nod, and even lean into her hold when she pushes you to the couch. It makes May’s heart soares, she doesn’t take the moment for granted and settles you before rushing to get you water. You sniffle and wipe tears, you appreciate May but she’s not who you need. 

Within minutes the front door swings open, May gives him wide eyes, she’s sitting on the coffee table in front of you, you keep your eyes on your shoes, you punish yourself for not taking them off, you know May hates that. 

“May! What’s- Baby?” 

Peter’s eyes hit his aunts the second he sails through the door until his attention is called to the back of your head on the couch, then he gets a sinking feeling in his chest. May’s eyes give him a sense of urgency, he rounds the couch and feels like his hearts been punched when he sees you’ve been crying. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Your lower lip wobbles, you were feeling better, May had been gentle enough the initial upset went away but having your comfort person look at you with sad caring eyes it made all the pain and hurt flood back, fat tears drop and May flys up to move Peter in, she hides in the kitchen. 

“Hey, hey, hey, stop crying, I’m here.” Peter sits in the space next to you and wraps his arms around you, his love swallows you and makes you find comfort in his chest. 

—---------------------------

but yeah, i see so many ways this fitting cause this is the mcu peter/mj trope and i love it so much 

[darkintothedawn]

RUNWAY FEVER || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x female reader

Summary — The runway can't be that bad, right? Not when you've got Stiles hyping you up and a goddess telling you she's jealous of your relationship with Stiles. It's going to be fine. Maybe a little more than fine.

Memo — This is the first of the two stiles x fem reader fics I've got planned. Hope you enjoy this, guys! Also, I'm posting this now because day nine of The Boyfriend Code is going to be a little late ;;;;;;

Word Count — 3013

Warnings — Fluff. Suggestive comment. A single dirty joke. Completely head over heels, obsessed Stiles.

Masterlist | Stiles' Adventures | Pt.2

Backstage at the runway show is pure chaos. Models rush past, some still adjusting their heels, while stylists and designers scramble to make last-minute changes to outfits. Makeup artists hover around with brushes in hand, dabbing, fixing, perfecting. The air is thick with hairspray and anticipation, a mix of nerves and adrenaline buzzing through everyone.

But the only thing on your mind is him.

Stiles stands a few feet away, leaning against a clothing rack stacked with designer dresses that cost more than his Jeep. His hands are shoved into the pockets of his jeans, but there’s no disguising the way his gaze is locked onto you—hungry, intense, devouring.

His hazel eyes track your every movement as you adjust your dress, a stunning, high-slit masterpiece with a plunging neckline that leaves little to the imagination. You feel powerful in it, like you belong here, about to walk the runway in front of hundreds of people. But damn, does Stiles make you feel like you’re the only person in the room.

“Babe.” His voice is rough, low, practically strangled. You meet his gaze in the mirror, and the second your eyes connect, he runs a hand down his face like he needs a second to collect himself. “Holy shit.”

You smirk, turning toward him slightly, shifting just enough so the slit in your dress reveals even more of your thigh. His jaw visibly tightens.

“You like it?” you tease, voice light but sultry.

His lips part like he wants to say something—probably something witty, something Stiles-like—but all that comes out is a quiet, strangled noise. His eyes drop, dragging over every inch of you, and then, for the third time since you came out of the dressing room, he shifts on his feet and readjusts himself.

Not discreetly. At all.

You fold your arms, amusement flickering in your expression. “Are you—?”

His head snaps up like a deer caught in headlights. “What?”

You bite your lip, fighting the grin threatening to spread across your face. “Stiles.”

“What?” he repeats, like he has no idea what you’re insinuating, even though the heat creeping up his neck betrays him.

“You’ve adjusted yourself like five times.”

He groans dramatically, dragging a hand down his face before gesturing at you like you’re the one at fault. “Yeah, well, maybe if my ridiculously hot girlfriend wasn’t out here looking like a literal goddess, I wouldn’t have this problem!”

You raise a brow. “Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“Absolutely your fault.” His voice is firm, but his expression is wild, his hands flailing in frustration. “I mean, do you see yourself? I should be suing this designer for emotional distress. I’m barely keeping it together over here.”

A laugh bursts from you, the nervous energy from the upcoming show melting under his ridiculousness. He always does this—grounds you, makes everything feel right. “You’re so dramatic.”

“No, I’m suffering.” His voice drops into something deeper, and before you can react, he’s in front of you, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you in just enough that you feel the heat radiating from him. His breath is warm against your lips as he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your heart stutters, and suddenly, the bustling backstage disappears for just a moment. The music in the distance dulls, the frantic chatter of models and designers fades, and all that’s left is him—his warmth, his presence, the way his fingers flex against the fabric of your dress like he’s barely resisting the urge to press you closer.

Your smirk softens, your hands resting against his chest as you whisper, “Oh, I have an idea.”

Before he can respond, someone brushes past with a very pointed, “Not the time, Stilinski.”

Stiles groans, tilting his head back dramatically, but he doesn’t step away, just loosens his grip enough to let out a frustrated exhale. “Okay, but after the show—”

“You’ll wait like a good boyfriend,” you interrupt, grinning as you tap a finger against his chin.

His eyes darken, his hands flexing against your waist again like he’s imagining a million different ways to make you pay for this later. “Babe, you’re killing me.”

You step back, adjusting your dress as the stagehand waves for you to get in line. But just before you turn away, you glance at him over your shoulder and wink.

“Good.”

The air backstage is thick with anticipation, a humming mixture of adrenaline, nerves, and controlled chaos. The bass of the runway music vibrates through the floor, and the chatter of stylists, designers, and models is a constant buzz around you. It’s almost time.

You take your place in the lineup, stepping behind one of the other models, and immediately feel your stomach do a weird little flip. Because the girl in front of you?

She’s stunning.

Like, next-level, out-of-this-world, sculpted-by-the-gods beautiful. She has that effortless, intimidating beauty that makes heads turn without her even trying—long, elegant limbs, perfect bone structure, and skin that looks airbrushed in real life. And while you know you belong here, standing next to her makes a tiny flicker of self-doubt creep in.

She catches you looking and offers a warm, knowing smile. “You okay?”

You snap out of it, forcing a small laugh. “Yeah, just pre-show nerves.”

She hums, nodding in understanding as she shifts slightly, checking her posture in the nearby mirror. “Yeah, I get that. This part is always the worst.” She glances past you for a split second, then her lips curve into something playful. “But, honestly? I’d kill to have a boyfriend looking at me the way yours is looking at you right now.”

Your brows lift slightly, and instinctively, you glance over your shoulder.

And sure enough—there he is.

Stiles is still exactly where you left him, leaning against a rack of expensive designer pieces like he’s trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. His arms are crossed over his chest now, but his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his eyes haven’t left you once. He looks like a man barely holding it together, like he’s physically restraining himself from marching over and claiming you in front of everyone.

Your heart does a weird little flutter at the intensity of it.

The model in front of you smirks, crossing her arms. “Yeah, see? That’s the look of a man who’s two seconds away from storming back here and hauling you over his shoulder.” She tilts her head slightly, observing. “And I don’t mean in a controlling way. I mean in a he’s literally in physical agony having to watch you and not touch you kind of way.”

The ego boost hits.

This woman—this goddess—who could have anyone in the world, is jealous of you? Of the way Stiles looks at you like you hung the moon? The way he’s so visibly obsessed with you that it’s noticeable to other people?

Yeah. Yeah, that feels really good.

You bite your lip, trying so hard not to grin like an idiot. “Yeah, he’s, uh… persistent.”

She lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Understatement of the year. I bet he’s counting down the seconds until you’re off that stage.”

You steal another glance at Stiles, and just like that, he shifts—his fingers drumming against his biceps, his foot tapping slightly like he’s forcing himself to stay put. And when you move slightly, your dress shifting just enough to reveal more skin, you swear you see him mouth holy shit under his breath.

Your stomach flutters, and suddenly, the nerves about walking the runway don’t feel as overwhelming anymore.

But before you can respond, someone shushes the two of you, snapping your attention forward.

The first model moves around the corner, stepping onto the runway with effortless grace. The energy shifts instantly, the chatter quieting as everyone watches.

The show has officially begun.

The moment the first model steps onto the runway, time seems to shift.

You stand tall, trying to steady your breathing as the lineup slowly moves forward. The music thrums through your chest, deep and rhythmic, matching the precise pace of the models walking ahead of you. One goes, then another.

You’re fifth in line.

You watch the model in front of you disappear around the corner, stepping into the blinding runway lights. The crowd’s reaction is muffled from here, the sound barely cutting through the heavy bass of the music and the distant clicking of cameras.

Fourth in line.

Your fingers twitch slightly at your sides, the nervous energy starting to build again. You take a breath, lifting your chin like the stylists taught you, rolling your shoulders back.

Third in line.

You shake out your hands once, exhaling slowly. The girl in front of you is poised, relaxed, like she’s done this a hundred times before. Maybe she has. But to you, it all feels surreal.

Second in line.

Your heart beats a little faster. One more. Just one more.

Then suddenly—it’s you.

You step around the corner, and the world erupts.

The lights are blinding. The flashes go off in rapid succession, the music pulses through your body, and the moment your foot touches the glossy runway, everything else melts away.

The cameras. The people. The nerves.

All that exists is the rhythm—the smooth, practiced movements of your walk, the way your dress flows effortlessly with each step, the subtle shift of your body as you pause at the end of the runway. Pose. Hold. Turn.

It’s all muscle memory.

A blur of white lights, shifting shadows, blurred faces in the audience. Somewhere, you know Stiles is watching, but you don’t dare break focus to find him. Instead, you keep your expression sharp, confident, the way you’ve practiced a thousand times.

Before you even process it, it’s over.

You step back into the wings, the sounds dulling instantly as the thick curtains swallow you whole. The shift from the runway to backstage is like stepping out of a dream and straight into reality again.

And just like that, you’re standing next to her again.

The stunning model from earlier, the one who made you doubt yourself for even a second, is standing there like nothing just happened, like the two of you weren’t just parading in front of an entire crowd.

You exhale, shaking out your hands.

She glances at you, tilting her head slightly. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

You huff a soft laugh, the adrenaline still thrumming under your skin. “Yeah. It all just… blurred together.”

She nods, like she knows exactly what you mean. “It always does. The nerves before, the rush during… and now we just stand here and pretend like we didn’t just walk in front of hundreds of people.”

You snort, and just like that, the tension melts. The two of you fall into easy conversation, the chaos of the show still raging around you, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s done. You did it.

And somewhere in the crowd, Stiles is definitely still struggling to pick his jaw up off the floor.

You shake your hands out again, the last bits of adrenaline still tingling under your skin. The whole thing happened so fast it barely feels real, but here you are—backstage, done, standing next to the stunning model from before like you didn’t just walk in front of hundreds of people.

She eyes you with a knowing smirk, arms crossed. “You crushed it.”

You huff a small laugh, still catching your breath. “I barely remember any of it.”

She grins. “That’s how you know you did it right. It’s all muscle memory—one second you’re waiting in line, the next you’re back here like nothing happened.”

You nod, still processing. “Yeah, that was… insane.”

She studies you for a beat, then smirks. “So, tell me. Are we taking bets on how long your boyfriend lasts before he’s on you like a man possessed?”

Your cheeks heat instantly. “Oh my God.”

“I’m serious.” She gestures toward the direction where he’s waiting. “He’s either about to drag you out of here or spend the next ten minutes hyping you up so hard you’ll be floating for days.”

You bite back a grin, because honestly? She’s not wrong.

Before you can respond, one of the assistants appears, clapping her hands. “Alright, let’s go, let’s go—get changed, and if you have any finale outfits, be ready in ten.”

You give the model a quick smile before getting ushered toward the changing area. As you step inside, you glance down at your dress, running your fingers over the fabric.

God, it’s perfect.

For a brief moment, you seriously consider begging them to let you keep it. Maybe even buy it if you have to. Then you check the designer tag and nearly laugh at yourself—yeah, not happening. This dress probably costs more than your rent.

With a reluctant sigh, you slip out of it and change back into your own clothes, handing the dress off to one of the assistants.

Then, with a deep breath, you make your way through the bustling backstage, weaving past crew members and models, until you finally reach the section where Stiles is waiting.

And the second he sees you?

Yeah, you’re in for it.

The moment Stiles spots you, his entire face lights up.

Like, full-on cartoon heart eyes, jaw practically on the floor, body vibrating with excitement kind of reaction. His arms drop from where they were crossed over his chest, his mouth opens, closes, then opens again, like his brain is short-circuiting trying to find the words.

Then, just as you reach him—

“Oh my God, babe.”

It starts immediately.

He grabs your hands, eyes wild, voice bursting with so much enthusiasm that a few people actually glance over in amusement. “Are you kidding me? Are you literally kidding me right now?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—”

“You were insane!” he barrels on, shaking your hands for emphasis. “Like, top-tier, next-level, shut-the-whole-runway-down level insane. I blacked out! I think I actually blacked out!”

You let out a breathy laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “Stiles—”

“No, don’t Stiles me, because I need you to understand that I was not okay watching that,” he continues, throwing a hand over his heart dramatically. “I almost had to be escorted out, okay? Security probably had an eye on me because I was looking at you like a deranged fanboy—which, by the way, I am—but holy shit, baby.”

You bite your lip, fighting a massive grin.

“I mean, the walk? The look? The way that dress moved with your body? I almost died on the spot. I think I did die at one point, actually.” He presses a hand to his forehead, shaking his head like he’s still trying to recover. “I saw the light, babe.”

You lose it, laughter spilling from you as you squeeze his hands. “Stiles, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic,” he counters, pulling you closer. “Do you even realize how insane you looked? How freaking sexy you were up there?”

Your cheeks heat instantly, and Stiles sees it, grinning so big you think his face might split in half.

“And don’t even get me started on how unfair it was that I had to sit there, in public, watching you be all hot and powerful and confident—knowing I couldn’t touch you? Couldn’t grab you and kiss you senseless? Torture. Actual, physical torture.”

You giggle, shaking your head. “You’re so dramatic.”

He gasps, offended. “Excuse me, I am being so serious right now.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart is so full you feel like you might float away.

Stiles softens slightly, squeezing your waist. “I mean it, babe. You were incredible. And I know I joke around a lot, but seeing you up there? Owning it? Being everything I already know you are? I was just… so damn proud.”

Your breath catches, and for a second, it’s hard to find words.

So instead, you just cup his face and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss—one that’s filled with everything you’re feeling but can’t quite say.

When you finally pull back, Stiles blinks at you, dazed, then exhales a dreamy sigh. “Yeah. Okay. That helped.”

You snicker, resting your forehead against his. “Good.”

He grins, eyes shining. “So, uh… how do we steal that dress?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes as you smack his arm. “We are not stealing the dress, criminal.”

Stiles gasps, hand flying to his chest. “Criminal? Wow. Hurtful.”

Ignoring his dramatics, you grab his hand and start pulling him toward the exit, your body still buzzing from the post-show adrenaline and his nonstop praise. “Come on, let’s go. Where’s my favorite girl?”

Stiles groans, dragging his feet slightly. “Ugh, here we go.”

You glance back, raising a brow. “What?”

“You mean Roscoe, don’t you?” He gives you a deadpan look, but his lips are twitching. “You just rocked a runway, looked like an actual goddess, and the first thing you ask about is my Jeep?”

You smirk, squeezing his hand. “Well, you did say I looked insanely sexy. I figure I should reward myself with some quality time with my second favorite ride.”

Stiles chokes, tripping over his own feet. “Oh my God.”

You just giggle, tugging him along as he stares at you, wide-eyed, like he can’t believe what just came out of your mouth.

Finally, he shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable. I have to compete with my own car for my girlfriend’s attention.”

You glance at him with a playful grin, voice dropping just enough to be suggestive. “Maybe you should remind me why you should be first on my list, then.”

Stiles stares at you for a solid three seconds before groaning dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “Babe, you are killing me.”

You just laugh, swinging your joined hands as you step outside, feeling on top of the world.

[schokoleibniz]

ealing studios I’m suing you for emotional distress