#just that i was scared it was going to be. bad....

[shadesofmauve]

I want to step away from the art-vs-artist side of the Gaiman issue for a bit, and talk about, well, the rest of it. Because those emotions you're feeling would be the same without the art; the art just adds another layer.

Source: I worked with a guy who turned out to be heavily involved in an international, multi-state sex-slavery/trafficking ring.

He was really nice.

Yeah.

It hits like a dumptruck of shit. You don't feel stable in your world anymore. How could someone you interacted with, liked, also be a truly horrible person? How could your judgement be that bad? How can real people, not stylized cartoon bogeymen, be actually doing this shit?

You have to sit with the fact that you couldn't, or probably couldn't, have known. You should have no guilt as part of this horror — but guilt is almost certainly part of that mess you're feeling, because our brains do this associative thing, and somehow "I liked [the version of] the guy [that I knew]", or his creations, becomes "I made a horrible mistake and should feel guilty."

You didn't, loves, you didn't.

We're human, and we can only go by the information we have. And the information we have is only the smallest glimpse into someone else's life.

I didn't work closely with the guy I knew at work, but we chatted. He wasn't just nice; he was one of the only people outside my tiny department who seemed genuinely nice in a workplace that was rapidly becoming incredibly toxic. He loaned me a bike trainer. Occasionally he'd see me at the bus stop and give me a lift home.

Yup. I was a young woman in my twenties and rode in this guy's car. More than once.

When I tell this story that part usually makes people gasp. "You must feel so scared about what could have happened to you!" "You're so lucky nothing happened!"

No, that's not how it worked. I was never in danger. This guy targeted Korean women with little-to-no English who were coerced and powerless. A white, fluent, US citizen coworker wasn't a potential victim. I got to be a person, not prey.

Y'know that little warning bell that goes off, when you're around someone who might be a danger to you? That animal sense that says "Something is off here, watch out"?

Yeah, that doesn't ping if the preferred prey isn't around.

That's what rattled me the most about this. I liked to think of myself as willing to stand up for people with less power than me. I worked with Japanese exchange students in college and put myself bodily between them and creeps, and I sure as hell got that little alarm when some asian-schoolgirl fetishist schmoozed on them. But we were all there.

I had to learn that the alarm won't go off when the hunter isn't hunting. That it's not the solid indicator I might've thought it was. That sometimes this is what the privilege of not being prey does; it completely masks your ability to detect the horrors that are going on.

A lot of people point out that 'people like that' have amazing charisma and ability to lie and manipulate, and that's true. Anyone who's gotten away with this shit for decades is going to be way smoother than the pathetic little hangers-on I dealt with in university. But it's not just that. I seriously, deeply believe that he saw me as a person, and he did not extend personhood to his victims. We didn't have a fake coworker relationship. We had a real one. And just like I don't know the ins-and-outs of most of my coworkers lives, I had no idea that what he did on his down time was perpetrate horrors.

I know this is getting off the topic, but it's so very important. Especially as a message to cis guys: please understand that you won't recognize a creep the way you might think you will. If you're not the preferred prey, the hind-brain alarm won't go off. You have to listen to victims, not your gut feeling that the person seems perfectly nice and normal. It doesn't mean there's never a false accusation, but face the fact that it's usually real, and you don't have enough information to say otherwise.

So, yeah. It fucking sucks. Writing about this twists my insides into tense knots, and it was almost a decade ago. I was never in danger. No one I knew was hurt!

Just countless, powerless women, horrifically abused by someone who was nice to me.

You don't trust your own judgement quite the same way, after. And as utterly shitty as it is, as twisted up and unstead-in-the-world as I felt the day I found out — I don't actually think that's a bad thing.

I think we all need to question our own judgement. It makes us better people.

I don't see villains around every corner just because I knew one, once. But I do own the fact that I can't know, really know, about anyone except those closest to me. They have their own full lives. They'll go from the pinnacles of kindness to the depths of depravity — and I won't know.

It's not a failing. It's just being human. Something to remember before you slap labels on people, before you condemn them or idolize them. Think about how much you can't know, and how flawed our judgement always is.

Grieve for victims, and the feeling of betrayal. But maybe let yourself off the hook, and be a bit slower to skewer others on it.

[lizardho]

Being at BYU after my mission was weird. Like. Bad weird. Everybody was still acting like missionaries but they had nobody to teach so it all turned into the holier-than-thou bs that missions always degenerate into over time. Just the forced establishment of some weird social hierarchy where value is based on how devout you are, with people digging and scratching and clawing their way around humanity in order to become even more devout.

And this bullshit was actively killing me. The attempts to stay Good Enough were scraping the remnants of my humanity out of my husk like a spoon scraping the last bits of watermelon from a rind - I was doing what I had always done, be Mormon, do what Mormons do, be as good a Mormon as I could be, only it was breaking me. Instead of healing me, making me whole, taking away my burdens, it was pulling the life out of me in exchange for nothing. I was just being squeezed dry of everything I had to offer and being given back shame and isolation and rejection because I didn’t do it first, or fast enough, or with a willing enough heart, or whatever the hell they could come up with.

But despite myself, because most people smarter than me AND dumber than me would have left already, I found myself trying over and over and over again to make it work with no success.

One day, I snap. I’ve had enough. I need answers. I’ve looked everywhere and done everything I could by myself, and nothing had come of it, so I went to talk to a faculty member. A teacher at the school. He taught religion classes and his lessons were powerfully and inspiringly honest, earnest, and filled with raw humanity. I figured if I could get a straight (ha) answer from anyone, it would be that guy. He wasn’t involved in the Mormon rat race. He wasn’t playing the stupid “I’m Worthier Than You” games that were so pernicious on campus. He was being real and open and vulnerable and I needed that from someone.

So I go into his office and I lay my cards on the table. I figure if I’m gonna get helped, I need to be honest. I share with him my weird feelings about dad leaving the church on my mission. About my siblings leaving the church. About my own doubts and hurts. I tell him about how hard it is to be in limbo like this without knowing what to do or where to turn. I tell him I need answers.

And he listens. And then he starts with the usual Mormon apologetics bullshit. And I say “no” because I’m done with that. That doesn’t fly with me anymore. And he sees and hears me say no and he puts a hand on mine, makes direct eye contact, and says,

“You know, you don’t have to go to church, right?”

I, being a person who was hurting, interpreted that as “if you have questions that I can’t answer you should fuck off.” I got defensive immediately and he again listened, put his hand on mine, and said,

“Not what I meant. You can stay if you want, but I want you to know you can leave too. Take a break. Give yourself time to heal. This isn’t supposed to hurt this much, and if it hurts you can take a break and come back when it feels good.”

I’m actually getting choked up just writing that out. Nobody had ever said that to me before. When I talked about my dysphoria to my parents, they said teenagers are supposed to feel like that a little bit. When I talked to people about my difficulties at church they had always told me that it was a sign that church was working. That I was doing it right. That growth was supposed to hurt, that excising the Natural Man from me was supposed to be difficult, that I was supposed to be feeling this anxious and sad and scared. I had never ever ever been told that pain and suffering were signs things were going wrong. I had actually explicitly been told by many many many many many many many many people that it was good, that the hurt and the heartache and the constant feeling of never being good enough and never being able to fit into my own skin or love myself in any meaningful way was desirable. That it was something they envied.

It’s not supposed to hurt. Some things can, and should. My parents were right that some body concerns were normal (although we later found out my specific concerns were more abnormal lmao, I got that tgirl swag). My family and friends were right that challenging myself with difficult assignments and ambitious goals was supposed to feel uncomfortable.

And at the same time, THIS was not supposed to hurt. I was not meant to have this gaping throbbing aching hole in my Me that never let up. It wasn’t supposed to hurt. IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HURT.

I don’t know when exactly I started crying, but I was crying the whole rest of the day. It was the first time in a while I had to actually take a Valium to clam down. It wasn’t supposed to hurt.

He also told me that if it ever stopped hurting I could always come back.

I think that was the day I really left. Others might say otherwise, I still tried to make it work for a few more months after that, but the idea that it wasn’t supposed to hurt really changed me.

If any of you are reading this - there are things that are supposed to be difficult. Things that are supposed to hurt. But if your faith or your beliefs about the world or yourself leave you feeling like you’ve been hollowed out at a minor mistake or setback, if your failures and setbacks leave you feeling raw and numb frequently, if the company you keep or the places you stay leave you feeling constantly inadequate with out hope or help, then I’ll tell you the same thing that professor told me:

You can go somewhere else. You can do something else. And you can always come back when you want.

But it’s not supposed to hurt.

[457gf]

hwang inho who . . inho x fem!reader

₊˚ʚ warnings : smut, dark content, age gap, naive!reader, manipulation, sexual coercion, dubcon / noncon, slight somnophilia, inho being a creepy old man for you, use of the word 'rαpe'

hwang inho who loves taking advantage of innocent naive girls, practically drooling when he spots you nervously fidgeting with your fingers, eyes squeezed shut as you silently begged for others to vote x. you wanted to go home so bad, but of course inho couldn’t let that happen.

hwang inho who can’t help but throb in those stupid cheap sweatpants when your smile drops even further from the result of him continuing to stay. obviously you didn’t know the real reason he said yes, though thinking of the look of betrayal that would form on your face after he tells you makes his grin that much wider.

hwang inho who approaches you gently, almost as if you’re a porclein doll who could be broken at any moment. you’re understandably weary because of the blue O stuck on his chest for the time being, almost as if a mockery. he’s the one that sealed your fate of staying here, after all. instead of bothering you like you initially thought, he politely invites you to sit with him and a few other people, under the ruse of “you look like you needed a friend.” in actuality, he just wanted to make sure you didn’t stray from his sight.

hwang inho who does everything in his power to get close to you. promising he’ll protect you, stick by you during all of the game, and put your safety well above his own. not like he was in any real danger with the guards on his side, though those words did give him a few brownie points from you for his generosity. it wasn’t really a lie, because he would protect you through all of the games, and he had no doubt about that.

hwang inho who watches you at night, promising to keep lookout for the whole group, though he spends most of his time staring at you. pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, pushing your hair out of your eyes so he’s able to see your pretty face better. inho can’t help but run his hands over your body, feather light touches across your perky tits and your hips, careful not to wake you up. you’re so god damn beautiful, you could be classified deadlier than the games because of the way you make his heart stop.

hwang inho who quickly pulls his hands away when you start to blink awake, eyes heavy with sleep. he’s a bit embarrassed he let himself be so reckless, but there’s nothing a little lie won’t fix. “oh, you kicked your blanket off so i was making sure you were cozy again.” “you were squirming so i thought you were having a nightmare. are you okay?” “i’m just checking on you, i’m sorry if i scared you.”

hwang inho who runs to the bathroom shortly after, unable to take more of the aching caused by your precious eyes. he’s pressed up against a stall, hand working fast over his thick cock as images of you flood his mind. you’re so cute and naive, he wants nothing more than to break you. you’re so stupid, you believed his little lie, not even questioning any further. and god, the way you called him “mister young-il” in that tired voice of yours before flopping back down, a sigh of relief escaping, made him feel even more perverted. you were so young and truly trusted him to look after you. he couldn’t get the thought of you underneath him, begging him to keep using you like a fleshlight out of his gross head.

hwang inho who can’t decide if he finds the idea of you crying out for him to stop and get off you hotter than you asking for more. definitely the former, he thinks. he wants to rαpe you, to sneak his hands underneath your pants in the middle of the night and play with your sopping cunt, the idea of your own body betraying you and giving into his sick desires and love for you makes his head fall back, roughly hitting the stall door in the process. he couldn’t care, he’s too far gone thinking about you.

hwang inho who can’t help but plot when the best time to take advantage of you will be, finally coming to the conclusion of mingle. the guards take a few minutes to clean up the bodies and some of the blood of each deceased after each round, leaving the players trapped in the locked rooms whilst doing so. all he had to do was wait for two people to be called out, tell the guards to take a little extra time, play your knight in shining armour, then push you against the wall and make you squirm.

[producedbysohyun]

Protective

Squid game x reader hcs

Summary: How the squid games characters would be protective over you

Includes: Thanos, In-ho, Gi-hun, Dae-ho, Myung-gi, Hyun-ju (squid game au)

Warnings: mentions of death, might be a little repetitive because I just feel like they would act similar.

Masterlist

a/n: Mb this is pretty short but I haven’t posted in awhile so I wanted to post something (I might add to this as time goes on) !! Please enjoy !!

Thanos:

Let’s just say that if anyone lays a finger on you, they are dead 🤗

You literally don’t have to worry about dying when you are with him

Always has his arm around your shoulder or waist so everyone knows to not try anything with you

During the night he holds onto you so tightly you feel like you could suffocate

He just really doesn’t want anything to happen to you 😔

If you really don’t want to play the games he will cave and vote X

You mean way more to him than money

No matter how bad his debt is

*cough* 1 billion *cough*

In-ho:

Idk how you would get in the game in the first place cause he definitely wouldn’t let you but

Ya you are not dying

Has full control of the game and will do everything he can to make sure you don’t die

Even if it means playing unfairly

Tells the guards to not kill you even if you didn’t pass the game

Definitely tells the guards to give you extra food so you have energy 😭

You’re basically just gonna be playing the games on easy mode

Gi-hun:

Bro has nothing to lose besides you so he’s gonna do everything he possible can to keep you alive

Doesn’t let you go anywhere alone

Beats himself up about not trying harder to end the games because if he did then neither of you would be in this situation right now

Never sleeps because he knows that fights happen at night and he wants to make sure you’re safe

Would immediately put himself in danger if it meant you would be ok

Makes sure you pass the games before even worrying about himself

Dae-ho:

Does not take his eyes or hands off of you

Is not afraid to defend you either verbally or physically

Even tho he is freaked out about the games as well he doesn’t let it get to him and tells himself he has to be brave for you

Always puts your safety above his

Ends up getting no sleep at night because he’s so scared something is gonna happen to you

Always insists on giving you his food even tho he is hungry

In his mind, you matter more.

Myung-gi:

Wanted to keep playing the games but when he figured out you were there he voted for X as he wanted anything but for you to be dead or hurt

Will literally kill anyone who bad mouths you (that one scene when he killed Thanos because he said something about Jun-hee 🤭 rip Thanos 😞)

Doesn’t let you leave his sight for a second

During the special game where the lights went out and everyone was killing each other he just kept you behind him the entire time

Boy was ready to risk his life for you 😭

If you get separated during a game he will probably scold you out of worry before realizing that he’s literally yelling at you for something you couldn’t control

You better believe he won’t let you get separated from him again

Hyun-ju:

Girl would do absolutely anything to keep you alive

Holds your hand 24/7

You guys are NOT getting separated

Doesn’t care about herself

As long as you’re alive she’s ok

Would absolutely crash out if anything happened to you

If you wanted to join the revolt with them she would tell you no instantly

Because if you ended up dying and it was her fault she would never forgive herself

Can’t sleep because she wants to watch over you pt.2 😢

a/n: I hope you guys liked this!! I know I say that requests are closed rn but I will take requests for hcs !! Not for a singular character but if it’s for multiple characters I will gladly write it !!

[lemonsdietcoke]

“Carrion” - Player 230

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

Warnings: This fic contains themes of drug abuse, toxic relationships, emotional and physical abuse, violence, NON CON sexual content, trauma, and self-destruction. It’s a dark, heavy read with little to no comfort. Please proceed with caution.

Summary: “My feel for you, boy, is decaying in front of me Like the carrion of a murdered prey” You thought you could save him. But Su-bong was never looking to be saved — he was always chasing something…darker. based on Carrion-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: so I spent all night writing this and let me just say this is a wild ride. I don’t know what came over me lol but grab your tissue and a snack and lmk if y’all fw it. Also this is set before the games.

…..

You thought you could handle it.

That’s what you told yourself in the beginning.

When you met Su-bong, he was magnetic. The kind of person who could walk into a room and command everyone’s attention without even trying. He was funny, reckless, charming in that careless way that makes people think he doesn’t care what anyone thinks — but secretly, you know he cares more than anyone.

You met him through Ji-hye, a mutual friend. You two were out drinking at a shitty bar in Itaewon, the kind with sticky floors and flickering neon signs, when she waved him over to your table.

“Su-bong! Over here!”

He turned, cigarette dangling from his lips, and when his eyes landed on you, you swore you stopped breathing.

He made you feel special.

That was the thing about him. From the moment he sat down, all his attention was on you.

You didn’t even notice the red flags at first — the way his hands shook slightly when he lit another cigarette, the faint twitch in his jaw when he reached for his drink. You were too busy drowning in his attention, his laughter, the way he leaned in close when he talked, like he couldn’t bear to be too far away from you.

He made you feel seen.

Later that night, when Ji-hye pulled you aside and whispered, “He’s trouble, you know,” you just laughed it off.

“I can handle trouble,” you said.

And at the time, you believed it.

The first few weeks were a whirlwind.

Late-night phone calls, long walks through the city, kisses stolen under flickering streetlights. He was softer back then. He’d show up at your door with a crooked smile and a bottle of soju, leaning against the doorframe like he belonged there.

He told you stories about his childhood, about how he hated his hometown, how he moved to Seoul to start over.

“I want more than that small-town life,” he’d say. “I want everything.”

You loved that about him.

His ambition. His hunger.

It wasn’t until later that you realized he wasn’t just hungry for success.

You thought he only did it on weekends.

That’s what you told yourself at first. It’s just recreational. Everyone does it once in a while, right? It’s not a big deal.

But when you took a closer look, you started noticing things.

The way he always had an excuse to disappear.

The way his hands shook in the mornings.

The way his pupils stayed blown wide, even in the middle of the day.

It wasn’t just weekends.

It wasn’t just recreational.

The first time you confronted him about it, he laughed.

“What? This?” he said, pulling out a small bag of powder from his jacket pocket. “It’s nothing.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, unsure whether you were angry or scared or both. “You said you were going to stop.”

He shrugged, already pulling out a cigarette. “I will. It’s just… it helps me focus.”

You hated how calm he sounded. How casual.

But you let it go.

Because you wanted to believe him.

Because you loved him.

That’s how it started.

With small compromises.

You told yourself it wasn’t that bad.

You told yourself you could manage it.

You told yourself he would change.

But he didn’t.

The cracks started to show slowly, like hairline fractures in glass. You didn’t notice them right away. Or maybe you did, but you ignored them. You told yourself it was fine, because you wanted it to be fine.

You wanted him to be the man he was when you first met.

The man who made you laugh until your ribs ached.

The man who kissed you like he couldn’t get enough.

The man who whispered, “You’re the only one who really understands me.”

You didn’t want to see the other side of him.

The side that disappeared for days at a time.

The side that came back high, twitchy, eyes glassy and distant.

The side that couldn’t stop.

You loved him.

But it wasn’t enough.

The first time he really scared you was on a rainy night in November.

He showed up at your apartment soaked to the bone, trembling, eyes wild.

“Let me in,” he said, voice low and frantic. “Please.”

You didn’t hesitate. You unlocked the door, pulling him inside, wrapping a towel around his shoulders as he slumped onto your couch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

You knelt in front of him, brushing his wet hair out of his face. “What happened?”

He didn’t answer.

He just reached for you, pulling you into his lap, burying his face in your neck.

“I just need you,” he whispered. “I just need this.”

And you let him.

Because you loved him.

Because you thought you could save him.

But you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

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

The door slams open at 2:48 AM.

You know the time because you’ve been staring at the clock for the past four hours, watching the minutes crawl by, waiting for him to come home.

The waiting is always the worst part. The silence. The dread. The way your stomach twists tighter with each passing hour, until it feels like you’re going to snap in half from the tension.

He’s late.

Later than usual.

And when the door finally swings open, you know something’s wrong.

He stumbles inside, slamming the door shut behind him with more force than necessary. His hand lingers on the handle for a moment, like he needs the support to stay upright.

He doesn’t look at you right away.

His head is down, his shoulders tense. His breathing is ragged, too loud in the quiet apartment.

You stay where you are, curled up on the couch, watching him with a knot of unease tightening in your chest. You’re already bracing yourself.

This isn’t Su-bong coming home drunk from a night out.

This is worse.

He takes a few unsteady steps forward, his movements jerky and disjointed, before slumping against the wall. His head tilts back, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

You can see the tremor in his hands.

The sweat clinging to his neck.

The way his pupils are blown wide.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice is soft, careful. Testing the waters.

He doesn’t answer.

He just tilts his head to the side, blinking slowly, like he’s trying to focus on you but can’t quite manage it. His lips twitch into a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Hey, baby.”

And that’s when you know for sure.

He’s high.

Not just drunk.

High as hell on something stronger.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

The question comes out sharper than you intended. You hate the way your voice shakes, the way your hands clench into fists at your sides.

He doesn’t answer.

He just pushes off the wall, staggering toward you with that same careless grin.

“Miss me?”

You want to slap him.

You want to scream.

Instead, you cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep yourself together.

“What the fuck are you on?”

He laughs.

Soft. Slurred. Distant.

“What’s it matter?”

“It matters.” Your voice is rising now, cracking under the weight of your frustration. “Look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

He shrugs, grabbing the back of the couch for support. His fingers twitch against the fabric.

“I’m fine. We’re fine…”

“You’re not fine.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with tension. He just stares at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

And then, slowly, he starts to sway.

His knees buckle.

“Su-bong—”

Before you can reach him, he collapses onto the floor.

For a long moment, you just stand there, staring down at him.

He’s out cold. His head is tilted to the side, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His hair falls into his eyes, damp with sweat.

You should help him.

You should shake him awake, drag him to bed, clean him up.

But you don’t move.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

Instead, you start searching.

You move on instinct, heading straight for his jacket. Your hands are shaking, your chest tight, but you can’t stop.

You dig through the pockets, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, a lighter, loose change. And then —

A bag of powder.

Fuck.

Your stomach twists, but you keep going. You can’t stop now.

You move to his bag next, unzipping it with trembling fingers. More powder. Pills, tucked into a side pocket. A tiny syringe, wrapped in tissue.

It’s worse than you thought.

So much worse.

You finally check the place you know he most definitely has drugs. That damn cross necklace. He wears it everywhere, everyday, all the time. Even when he’s sleeping. Even when your fucking.

The only exception being when he showers.

Your heart began to beat out of your chest as if you had just completely a six mile run. Staring at his passed out form on the cheap carpet of your shared apartment.

What if he woke up and caught you.

You tip toed up to him, the floors betraying you as it creaked with every step.

You took a deep breath unintentionally holding your breath as your shaky hands toyed with his chunky necklace struggling to open it.

He didn’t move though.

In fact the only thing moving on him was his chest falling up and down as he fell deeper into sleep.

But you continue to toy with the necklace until it eventually popped open unevenly, causing colorful pills to fly every which way, and click across the floor.

Fuck.

Why does everything have to be so loud right now?!

You got on your hands a knees scooping up the candy colored pills and probably some dirt with them. Before quickly dropping them into your pocket as Su-Bong lied still on the floor.

Your chest heaves as you gather everything up, cradling it in your hands like you’re carrying a corpse.

You don’t think.

You just move.

The bathroom light flickers on.

The toilet lid creaks as you lift it.

And one by one, you throw everything in.

The powder.

The pills.

The syringe.

Every. fucking. thing.

The water ripples, murky and disgusting, but you don’t hesitate. You flush it all away.

Like it never existed.

When it’s done, you stand there for a long time, staring down at the empty toilet bowl.

Your reflection stares back at you from the water.

Red-rimmed eyes.

Trembling hands.

A stranger.

You press your palms to the sink, breathing hard. Your chest feels tight, your throat raw.

What are you even doing?

But you know the answer.

You’re trying to save him.

Even though he doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You hear him before you see him.

The sharp bang of a drawer slamming shut.

Then another.

And another.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The noise is jarring — too loud in the early morning quiet, rattling through the apartment like gunshots.

For a moment, you just lie there in bed, heart pounding, staring up at the ceiling. The air feels too thick. Your throat is tight. You already know what he’s doing.

He’s looking for them.

Fuck.

You sit up slowly, moving on instinct. Your bare feet hit the floor, and the cold bites at your skin. You don’t bother with a sweater. You barely notice the chill.

All you can hear is the sound of drawers being ripped open, items clattering to the floor, Su-bong’s frustrated muttering.

You step into the hallway, moving toward the living room like you’re walking into a minefield. Every step feels heavier than the last, each breath dragging in your lungs.

The apartment is a fucking mess. Drawers pulled out their hinges. Glass shattered on the floor. your shared belongings scattered across the floor such as, mail, silver wear, books, wires and more. He even emptied his fucking ashtray on the carpet staining it with dark powdery ashes creating a fucking smudge. Who the fuck hides drugs in an ashtray?!

When you see him, your stomach drops.

He’s on his knees in front of the dresser, tearing through the drawers like a man possessed. His hair is sticking up in every direction, sweat clinging to his neck and temples. His shoulders are tense, his hands trembling as he yanks out clothes, papers, random shit — anything that might be hiding what he’s looking for.

You watch in silence for a long moment, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

This is worse than you expected.

He’s worse than you expected.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended — a whisper, almost cautious.

He doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t stop.

He just slams another drawer shut, cursing under his breath.

“Where the fuck are they?” he mutters. His voice is low, rough — shaking with barely-contained rage. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your stomach twists.

You take a shaky breath.

“What are you looking for?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

This time, he freezes.

Just for a second.

Then, slowly, he turns to look at you.

His eyes are dark, bloodshot. His pupils are blown wide, so black they almost swallow the brown. His lips are cracked, the corners pulled down in a sneer.

And in that moment, you feel it —

The fear.

The dread.

You’ve never seen him like this before.

“You know what,” he says, voice low and venomous. “Where the fuck are they?”

Your mind races.

Your palms start to sweat.

Think. Think. Think.

You can feel the anger radiating off of him — simmering just under the surface, threatening to boil over. And you know what happens when he reaches his limit.

You’ve seen it before.

The broken bottles.

The slammed doors.

The bruises on his knuckles after a night out, when he came back bloodied and laughing, saying, ‘You should see the other guy.’

You swallow hard. Your throat feels raw.

“I don’t know,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “Maybe you left it at the club. Or with Ji-hye. You’ve been out all night—”

“Bullshit.”

He stands up slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans as he takes a step toward you.

“Don’t fucking lie to me.”

Your back hits the wall.

Fuck.

“I’m not lying.” Your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it. “I don’t even know what you’re looking for.”

He doesn’t believe you.

You can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to grab something — to throw something.

You think about the last time you saw him like this.

The broken lamp. The smashed picture frame. The bruise on your wrist that took a week to fade.

“I’m serious, Su-bong.” Your voice is shaky now, pleading. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He tears through the dresser again, frantic.

Each drawer pulled out with a sharp crack, each item tossed aside without care.

Your heart pounds.

Your breath comes faster.

And then, the drawer slams shut.

He turns to you again, and you can see it — the realization sinking in.

You.

It had to be you.

It was the only logical answer. Though he was thinking far from logically right now.

“You fucking took them.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a statement.

A terrifying sentence.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

But the way you flinch — the way your body stiffens, your lips press together — it’s enough.

He explodes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

He grabs the nearest object — a book, heavy and solid — and hurls it across the room. It hits the wall with a loud thud, just inches from your head.

You gasp, pressing yourself tighter against the wall.

“You hid them?” His voice is rising now, loud and furious, filling the apartment, making the walls shake. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You need help!” The words burst out of you before you can stop them. “You’re killing yourself, Su-bong! I’m trying to help you!”

He laughs.

A sharp, bitter sound.

“Help me? You think this is helping me?”

“Yes! Because I love you, and I can’t fucking watch you do this to yourself anymore!”

“Where are they?” He spits out through his teeth anger radiating off of him as he stared at you through narrowed fiery eyes. His hand slightly raised. Almost like threat. “Where the fuck are they?!”

That was all he had to say? Really?

You’re crying now — sobbing, desperate, the words tumbling out like a flood. “I threw it all out. I flushed everything. I couldn’t—”

He grabs another object — a picture frame — and throws it, shattering it against the floor.

You cover your face with your hands, trying to hold yourself together, but the tears won’t stop.

“I’m trying to save you,” you whisper through sobs. “Why won’t you let me save you?”

He doesn’t answer.

Because you both know the truth.

You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

~~~~~

The apartment is dead silent.

It’s been like that all day.

You’ve been cleaning for hours, but the mess never seems to get any smaller. There’s glass on the floor, torn-up drawers, clothes and papers scattered everywhere. His cigarette ashes that stained the carpet, a dark smudge you can’t scrub out no matter how hard you try.

And Su-bong hasn’t said a word.

He’s been on the couch since morning.

Since you screamed at him. Since he threw things at you.

He hasn’t moved.

He hasn’t looked at you.

The sunlight has shifted across the room, cutting through the blinds in harsh slants. Afternoon light. Late afternoon. Time has passed in that slow, suffocating way it does after a fight — heavy, dragging, relentless.

And all you can feel is the weight of his silence.

You sweep broken glass into the dustpan, your hands shaking, your breath shallow.

You can feel the tension hanging in the air — sharp, brittle, ready to shatter.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You want him to say something.

But at the same time, you’re terrified he will.

Because when Su-bong speaks, it’s never gentle anymore.

You dump the dustpan into the trash, brushing your hands on your jeans. Your palms are sweaty. Your chest feels tight.

He’s still sitting there, legs spread wide, one arm draped over the backrest, his cigarette burning down to ash.

He hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t looked at you once.

Fuck.

You glance toward the shattered picture frame on the floor.

He threw that at you this morning.

You think about the sound of it hitting the wall, the way it shattered into pieces. The way he looked at you — cold, furious, distant.

Your throat tightens.

Your hands start to tremble again.

Why are you still here?

You pick up the broom again, brushing up some paper that was planted on the floor.

Your mind is racing, filled with what-ifs and regrets.

What if he explodes again?

What if you say the wrong thing?

What if this is the time he doesn’t stop?

You swallow hard, trying to push the thoughts away.

But they stay.

Lurking. Whispering.

“I flushed everything.”

You can still hear yourself saying it — the way your voice cracked, the way his face twisted with rage.

He hasn’t forgiven you for that.

You don’t think he ever will.

You set the broom aside, pressing your palms to your thighs to steady your shaking hands.

You have to say something.

The silence is suffocating.

And you can’t take it anymore.

But your chest aches with dread. Your stomach is in knots. You feel like you’re walking into a trap.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, more out of habit than anything. Your fingers are clammy, trembling.

Finally, you take a shaky breath and step toward the couch.

“Su-bong?”

Your voice comes out softer than you intended.

Tentative.

Small.

He doesn’t respond.

He just takes a slow drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling into the air between you, twisting and fading before it reaches the ceiling.

Your pulse kicks up, your nerves buzzing like static.

You wipe your hands on your jeans again, fidgeting.

He’s ignoring you.

You take another step closer, your knees unsteady. The sunlight cuts across his face, making the dark circles under his eyes look deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

But you see the way his jaw tightens.

The way his fingers twitch, clenched around the cigarette.

He’s listening.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to keep going. Your voice shakes.

“I just…” You trail off, unsure what to say.

Unsure if it even matters.

The words feel too heavy, too fragile.

Like they’ll shatter in the air.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

Finally, he moves.

He leans forward slowly, crushing the cigarette into the ashtray with a soft hiss.

And then, he looks up.

His eyes lock on yours.

Dark. Bloodshot.

And completely unreadable.

“You didn’t know what else to do?” he echoes, voice low, rough.

You flinch at the sound of it.

The tone.

The quiet anger simmering underneath.

“You didn’t have to do shit.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

Your hands won’t stop trembling.

“I was scared,” you say softly, desperate now. “I was scared for you.”

His lips twitch into something bitter.

“Scared for me?” He laughs, but it’s not a kind sound. It’s sharp. Cold. Empty.

“Mmm.” He nods sarcastic as if you were telling some kind of joke.

You step closer, kneeling beside him now.

Your heart is pounding.

Your head feels light, like you’re on the edge of something dangerous.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Nothing.

“I love you,” you say again, voice cracking.

Because you need him to hear it.

Because you need it to be true.

Finally, he looks at you.

And there’s nothing soft in his gaze.

Just anger. Disgust. Exhaustion.

“Then why the fuck are you still here?”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You feel it — the sting of them, the weight of them, pressing down on your chest.

You want to say something.

You want to scream, to cry, to tell him that you’re here because you love him, because you want to save him, because you can’t imagine your life without him.

But before you can speak, he grabs your wrist.

His grip is too tight. Too rough.

As he’s pulling you into his lap, his hands already moving to your hips, digging in hard enough to bruise.

“You said you love me.”

His voice is low, soft, dangerous.

“Show me.”

His hands don’t feel the way they used to.

There’s no softness in them anymore.

No warmth.

Just frustration. Impatience. Roughness.

You lie there, your body pinned beneath his weight, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands trembling against his shoulders.

You wanted this to be different.

You wanted this to be soft.

Forgiving.

But it’s not.

His lips press against your neck, messy and forceful. His teeth graze your skin, biting down hard enough to sting. You flinch, but he doesn’t stop.

His hands move to your hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s yanking your clothes off, rough and unrelenting.

There’s no tenderness in the way he touches you.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s not love.

It’s control.

You try to touch him.

Your hands tremble as you reach for his face, hoping to ground him — to bring him back.

But he grabs your wrist, pinning it down.

“Don’t.”

His voice is low, rough, filled with something you can’t quite place. Anger. Frustration. Exhaustion.

“Just let me.”

Your chest tightens.

Your stomach twists painfully.

You don’t want this.

Not like this.

“Su-bong—”

He cuts you off with a sharp tug of your jeans, dragging them down your legs, his hands trembling slightly.

He’s impatient. Frustrated.

“I said, don’t.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your breath catches in your throat.

You close your eyes for a moment, tears burning behind your eyelids.

This isn’t right.

This isn’t what you wanted.

“Wait.”

The word slips out softly, almost a whisper.

Tentative. Hesitant.

He doesn’t stop.

His hands are still moving — grabbing at your thighs, pulling you closer, positioning you the way he wants.

You press your hands against his chest, trying to push him back.

“Wait.”

Still, nothing.

You swallow hard, your voice shaking now.

“Su-bong, stop.”

He freezes.

For a moment, you think he’s going to listen.

You think he’s going to stop.

But when he looks at you, his gaze is dark, bloodshot, distant.

“I need this,” he mutters. “Just… shut up and let me.”

And then he moves again.

You go still beneath him.

Frozen. Paralyzed.

Your heart is pounding, loud and insistent, telling you to get up, to run, to scream.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

Because you love him.

Because you keep telling yourself it’s just a moment.

Because you’re still trying to make excuses.

His frustration only grows.

His touch gets rougher, more impatient.

He grabs your thighs, spreading them apart with more force than necessary.

His hands are shaking slightly, but he doesn’t slow down.

He doesn’t stop.

You try to speak again, but he cuts you off with a sharp kiss — more teeth than lips, more bite than kiss.

“Just stop talking,” he says, his voice low and strained. “Please.”

The desperation in his voice makes your chest ache.

But this isn’t desperation for you.

It’s desperation for something else.

Something he could find in a bag or a bottle.

And he’s using you to chase it.

It hurts.

Every touch is too rough.

Every kiss is too hard.

His grip is too tight.

You close your eyes, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You tell yourself it’s almost over.

Just a moment.

He’s just angry.

He’s just high.

But deep down, you know that’s not true.

When it’s over, he pulls away without a word.

He doesn’t look at you.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

He just rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest heaving.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling too, your body aching, your skin burning, your heart hollowed out.

And when you finally get up, your legs are shaky, your hands trembling, your mind screaming at you to leave.

But you don’t.

You walk to the bathroom instead.

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

The water is scalding.

It hits your skin like needles, burning, stinging.

But you don’t turn it down.

You want it to hurt.

You stand under the spray, scrubbing your skin until it’s raw, until it stings, until you feel like you’ve peeled away every trace of him.

But you can still feel his hands on you.

You can still feel the bruises forming under your fingertips.

The water doesn’t wash it away.

Nothing does.

You press your hands against the tile, your chest heaving with quiet sobs.

Why are you still here?

The question echoes in your mind, over and over.

But you don’t have an answer.

You tell yourself you love him.

You tell yourself he didn’t mean it.

But deep down, you know the truth.

He won’t stop.

He won’t change.

And still —

You stay.

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

When you step out of the shower, your skin is red and raw, aching with every step.

You wrap a towel around yourself, but it doesn’t cover the bruises.

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror —

Wide eyes. Red-rimmed. Lips trembling.

A distant stranger.

You take a shaky breath, running your fingers through your damp hair.

And then, you step back into the bedroom.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

When he hears you, his head snaps up.

For a moment, you think you see concern in his eyes.

His gaze flickers to the bruises on your thighs, to the dark mark on your neck where he bit you.

“You’re hurt.”

The words are soft.

Almost tender.

He steps toward you slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll run.

And you flinch.

His hand, halfway to your arm, pauses in midair.

For a moment, neither of you move. The space between you feels too wide, too tense, too fragile — like a thread pulled tight, ready to snap.

“Come here.”

His voice is soft now.

Quiet. Careful.

Like he’s trying to make up for what he did without actually saying the words.

You stay where you are.

You want to run.

You want to scream.

You want to shove him away.

But you don’t.

Because you’re tired.

So fucking tired.

And you just want it to stop.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are soft.

Almost fragile.

He steps closer, and this time, you don’t flinch.

You don’t move.

You’re too tired.

His fingers brush against the bruises on your arm.

Light. Careful.

Like he’s trying to be gentle now.

Like he’s trying to erase the marks he left behind.

But they won’t fade.

And you both know it.

“I just… I need you.”

The words slip out of him quietly, almost a whisper. His lips brush against your shoulder, pressing soft kisses over the bruises he left.

“I need you to stay.”

You close your eyes.

Tears slip down your cheeks.

You crawl into bed with him, your body aching, your mind screaming at you to leave — but your heart refusing to listen.

His arms wrap around you, warm and heavy, pulling you against his chest.

And you cry quietly into his shirt, trying not to let him hear.

But he does.

He always does.

And still —

You stay.

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

It starts small.

It always does.

A comment.

A glance.

A flicker of something in his eyes — that dark, volatile thing lurking just beneath the surface.

You’ve been walking on eggshells for days.

Ever since the fight.

Ever since the picture frame shattered against the wall.

Ever since you flushed his drugs.

Ever since you cried in his arms after he didn’t stop.

Things have been too quiet.

Too tense.

And deep down, you know it’s coming.

He’s been distant.

Quiet, brooding, his mood shifting like storm clouds rolling in.

You should leave.

You know you should.

But instead, you stay.

You cook him dinner.

You clean the apartment.

You try to make things normal.

But there’s nothing normal about this.

It’s late when he comes home.

Way too late.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, your fingers wrapped around a cup of cold tea, staring at the door like it’s about to explode off its hinges.

When you hear the click of the lock turning, your heart jumps into your throat.

The door swings open, and there he is.

Su-bong.

His hair is a mess.

His eyes are bloodshot.

There’s a bruise on his knuckles, dark and fresh.

And when his gaze lands on you, everything inside you tightens.

This is it.

The storm has finally arrived.

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Your voice comes out sharper than you intended, cutting through the silence.

He steps inside, kicking the door shut behind him with more force than necessary.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything.

He just stands there, swaying slightly, his hands twitching at his sides.

And then —

He laughs.

Low. Bitter.

The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

The words hit you like a slap.

Your grip tightens on the mug, your knuckles turning white.

“You don’t need to explain yourself?”

Your voice shakes.

You hate it.

You hate the way he makes you feel small, like you’re the one who’s wrong.

Like you’re the one who needs to apologize.

“You’ve been gone all day,” you say, standing up slowly, your legs unsteady.

“All day, Su-bong. And now you’re just going to walk in here like nothing happened?”

He shrugs.

Shrugs.

Like he doesn’t care.

Like you don’t matter.

“I made dinner.”

The words sound pathetic as they leave your mouth.

You hate yourself for saying them.

For wanting to fix this.

But he doesn’t even look at you.

He just walks past you, heading toward the bedroom.

“I’m not hungry.”

Something snaps inside you.

The fragile thread holding you together finally breaks.

“No.”

Your voice is sharp.

Louder than it’s been in weeks.

He stops in his tracks.

Slowly, he turns to look at you.

And you can feel it —

The shift.

The crackle of tension in the air.

The storm about to break.

“What did you say?”

His voice is low. Dangerous.

But you’re not backing down. Not this time.

“I said no.”

Your heart is pounding.

You’re scared.

You should be.

But you’ve been scared for so long —

and you’re so fucking tired of it.

“You don’t get to do this anymore.”

The words tumble out, fast and desperate.

“You don’t get to disappear for days and come back like nothing happened. You don’t get to treat me like shit. You don’t get to use me, hurt me, and act like it’s my fault.”

His jaw clenches.

You see the flicker of anger in his eyes.

But you keep going.

“I’ve been here for you through everything. I’ve cleaned up your messes. I’ve lied for you. I’ve loved you, even when you made it impossible.”

Your voice cracks.

Tears sting your eyes, but you don’t stop.

“And I can’t do it anymore, Su-bong.”

Silence.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

The air feels too heavy.

The tension is thick, suffocating.

And then —

He laughs.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

The words hit you hard.

He throws them like a punch —

bitter, angry, exhausted.

“You want me to change? You want me to be something I’m not?”

His voice rises.

“You want me to stop? for you? You want me to be better?”

He steps closer, his hands shaking.

“I’m not better.

“I’m not fucking better.”

Your chest tightens.

Tears spill down your cheeks, hot and burning.

“I just want you to try.”

The words come out soft, broken.

“I love you, Su-bong.”

He freezes.

For a split second, something flickers in his eyes —

something raw.

And then —

“That’s your fucking x problem.”

The slap comes out of nowhere.

Hard. Fast.

It knocks you to the floor.

For a moment, you don’t move.

Your cheek stings.

Your ears ring.

Your whole body feels like it’s been shattered.

And when you finally look up, he’s staring down at you.

His chest heaves.

His hands shake.

And for a split second —

He looks scared.

“You’re right.”

His voice cracks.

“I’m not better.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating.

And this time —

You believe him.

You push yourself up slowly, your whole body trembling.

“I loved you.”

Your voice is soft.

Broken.

“But you killed it.”

He doesn’t stop you as you walk toward the door.

But his voice follows you.

Soft. Bitter. Full of regret.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You pause.

And for a moment —

You almost turn around.

But you don’t.

You keep walking.

And as you step outside, tears streaming down your face, your heart breaking into pieces —

You know you’ll never be free.

Because he’ll always haunt you.

Like carrion.

Rotting.

Decaying.

[space-blue]

Yeah, it also insinuates that people who commit crimes and atrocities aren't human, and aren't capable of creating things skillfully.

"If he's bad then his art must suck." well, if only! But it's not how it works.

Plenty of well known and respected writers and artists were freaks and criminals. Just because you have dark and fucked up desires you decide to act on doesn't mean you're suddenly stripped of your education, your privileges, even your taste.

Especially so in the case of someone like Gaiman, who is clearly a master manipulator.

He has the ability to seduce people and craft an entire persona. He's not some street corner goon who conned the world into thinking he could write literature. He can create chartacters -- including his own.

I think this particularly riles me up because I'm one of the many adult children of abusive parents who are commonly known/thought as narcissistic (good luck getting a diagnosis on one of them) and the entire world looks at my father and 100% believes his cover. He's friendly and generous and would *never* abuse his children or employees, right???

He gets away with it and will go to his grave unchallenged, because such abusers exist!! They have good careers, make money, amass friends and contacts and get into politics or media and keep being horrifying abusers at home, enabled by an entire family of fucked up or scared people.

If the world suddenly knew his deeds, that wouldn't change anything about what he's achieved.

You can be a piece of shit and good at work and friendly at social events!! You can write popular books and you can have bodies buried in your backyard.

Art creation isn't limited to good, nice, normal people.

And please believe people when they talk about abuse... An excellent career, a well written book, or a sexy painting series aren't things that should be weighted against victims' accusations. They definitely are used as a cover by the abusers, but they shouldn't be used to dismiss victims.

My own cousin, to my face as I was seeking refuse in his home, told me "What?? Your father? But he wouldn't hurt a fly, he's so nice?"

Like I chose to make myself homeless for FUN or something??? And my father doesn't have a career as a feminist author, so honestly I can't imagine the level of brainwashy gaslighting Gaiman's victims must have gone through, faced with Gaiman's countless fans believing him a champion of women.

Sorry it's a bit of a rant or vent here...

I just HATE the ongoing thing we got going where humans who commit crimes or abused are deemed "monsters" and not human, like committing such acts isn't part of the human experience. It leads to mob justice mentality, but also serves to help any abuser who has a half decent presentation. Because *surely they couldn't be a MONSTER*, they. are. so. nice.

Give it a rest...

[aimfor-theheart]

hey i'm back, have you talked about ex gf pit!fighter vi...just curious...you know...for a friend...

jazz i can't tell you the psychic damage i took from this ask. looking at it with mine own two eyes. i thought about it all night. i haven't talked about her yet but I WILL NOW !

ex gf pitfighter!vi who never really moves on from you. and she doesn't expect you to move on from her, either. worse than that, she doesn't let you move on from her. she checks up on you still, hangs around you like a stray dog, always on your heels somehow.

ex gf pitfighter!vi who "accidentally" manages to scare off anyone who may be interested in you at the bars or at the fights. she swears it's not her fault that people are too pussy to approach you (never mind that she's been mean-mugging them for the better part of the night). and if you do try to point out that she's been guarding you all night, she just shrugs and claims that if they were worth it, they'd grow a pair and approach anyways.

ex gf pitfighter!vi who still takes care of everything for you. who is still, unfortunately, the one you call when you need help with anything around your little flat or need someone to come pick you up from a night out of drinking. she always dutifully walks you home, let's you drunkenly chatter to her, and keeps her hands tucked respectfully in her pockets to try and crush the urges she has to reach out and snag you around the waist—or throw you over her shoulder, like she used to when you were dating and you got a little too drunk. regardless, you call for vi whenever you're in trouble, because you know she'll always be there for you.

ex gf pitfighter!vi who has a horrible possessive streak with you. one of her opponents tries to goad her about the fact that you're single now and she just—loses it for a few moments. like a bad dog, she attacks and doesn't let go. they call the round quickly but she doesn't let up, like she doesn't even hear them.

they have to pull her off the guy, still snarling, anger still vicious and hot and thrumming in her veins.

ex gf pitfigher!vi who sees you after the fight, knuckles all split and perhaps still a little wound up. you can tell something's wrong, sense it in the air, in the bunching of her shoulders.

"what the hell happened out there?" you ask her, leaning against the doorway of the med bay they have backstage of the fighting pit.

he said something about you, and i just saw red, she thinks. your name barely formed on his lips, and i just lost it. i hate the idea of anyone even looking at you like that. i hate the idea that i'm not yours anymore.

instead she bites out, "i don't know—adrenaline, or something."

"vi—" you say, "that wasn't just adrenaline. what's going on?"

and like a bad dog, she snaps, "what the hell do you even care?"

you look stricken when she says it, and she immediately regrets it, deflates a little.

"i'm not allowed to care about you anymore?" you ask.

"we're supposed to be broken up, sweetheart." she scoffs, finally moving to find the wrap in order to bandage up her bloody knuckles. you drift further into the room, passing the threshold of the doorway, and into her space. you take the gauze from her hands before she can begin to do it.

(you always used to bandage her up after her fights.)

"you don't really act like it." you retort gently, urging her to sit again and she goes easily. sits and lets you approach her. spreads her legs a little and though you drift nearer, you keep your distance. still, you take one of her hands in yours. palm to palm for a moment. she fights the urge to bear down on your hand, to close her hand around yours and pull you to her. pull you into her lap—

"how am i supposed to act?" she asks, leaning back a little to look up at you and—it's a good view, looking up at you like this. always has been.

carefully, you begin wrapping her hand with the gauze. your fingers are nimble, deft.

"you could stop calling me 'sweetheart', for starters." you say and she feels your fingers over the back of her hand, then back under her palm as you wind and wind the bandage around her. there's a ghost of a sad smile on your lips when she finds your face, when she watches your expression.

"you want me to stop?" she asks.

your face twists up a little; several emotions flicker across your face and you've always been so expressive. so open—her little crybaby, her emotional storm of a girl. in the end, the emotion that settles onto your face is some sort of regret or sadness. raw.

you tie off the gauze on one of her hands. you fiddle with the roll of it.

"no." you finally admit, lifting your eyes from your narrow focus on her hand to find hers.

your gaze clashes with hers.

heat sears through vi. an aching burns inside her chest, heart on fire.

ex gf pitfighter!vi who says fuck everything, and reaches out with her free hand to settle on your waist. who urges you closer to her. tugs a little and suddenly pulls you into her lap, makes room for you there with the flex of her hips.

the gauze slips from your hands and unravels across the floor.

"vi—" you warn, but it sounds just shy of desperate. her heart sings.

here you are, her baby, wanting for her so bad. trying to be so brave and strong and independent.

vi exhales, wrangling you into her arms, quelling your minor fussing with a little coo. she leans in a little, and says;

"tell me to stop."

you go still in her arms. caught. your breath hitches.

"this is a bad idea." you manage to get out.

"you want me to stop?" she murmurs, her now bandaged hand coming up to cradle your jaw, the nape of your neck. her thumb skims your bottom lip, your chin. she dips closer, nose nudging yours.

"tell me to stop, sweetheart."

a heartbeat. a breath later—

you shake your head, just fractionally, and mewl, "don't stop."

and who has vi ever been to deny you?

ex gf pitfighter!vi who doesn't stay your ex for very long ever. who always manages to pull you back in, hands all over you in the middle of the night, at the bars, after bad fights. who makes you furious, but also makes up for it tenfold.

ex gf pitfighter!vi who, like a bad dog, is always on your heels, who can't quite let you go when she's got you.

[angelltheninth]

Love and Deepspace Men Pining For You

Pining: Zayne, Rafayel, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, angst with a happy ending, love confession, jealousy, kissing, friends to lovers, pining

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters | Commissions

A/N: Someone needs to take my phone away before I go crazy over these guys. Unless it already happened and I didn't notice.

Zayne is always surrounded by all kinds of attention from women but the only woman he wants the attention of is you. Because he's popular he gets that he might have to be more clear about his intentions with you. It's not just him teasing or being playful when he asks you to those lunch dates, it's not just him wanting to fluster you when he touches your cheek with his fingertips. That is him being completely serious about wanting to date you, wanting to be your boyfriend. You being his girlfriend would make him the happiest man in the world. And if he was your boyfriend he would make sure you never want for anything, he would do anything in his power to make you happy and keep you safe. Kisses would be includes, but they would be more of a bonus to the relationship, a welcome one.

Rafayel feels his whole body flushing when your hands touch. What started as a simple admiration for you has developed into so much more, it's not just about him wanting to be the main subject of his artwork, but the only woman he wants to be his lover. The courtship starts with him painting sceneries that he knows you like and then gifting them to you, they're on small canvases so you can take quite a few of them. Every time he notices you talking to some other guy he gets this adorable pout on his face that he hides by quickly turning on his heel and storming off. Often asks you for whet he should draw next, saying how much he values you and your opinion. He's confesses by saying he's always liked painting beautiful things and to him there's no one more beautiful than you.

Xavier thinks over every little thing you do together, carefully combing through your interactions to try and figure put if you like him too. It could be that he's just imagining things and his affections are one-sided. He would hate that of course but his primary goal is to make sure you're safe and happy. As he finds himself thinking more and more of you when he's away he gets scared. Scared that something bad might happen and you won't ever get to find out how he feels about you. Before he's set to leave again he envelopes you in a tight hug, telling you that he will come back for sure, because there's a woman he loves and he will get back to her one way or another. He doesn't kiss you as he leaves, that should be saved for when he comes back, and it is.

Sylus doesn't hold back once you catch his eyes, he saw you and it doesn't matter who saw you before him. He wants you for himself now, he wants to win you over and wants you to only look at him, to only think of him. Very flirty from the beginning and therefore a little hard to read at how genuine he's being with his advances. After a few nights spent together he can't stop thinking about you. Waking up to you is the best part of his day, as is falling asleep next to you. He wants to hold on to those feelings forever, wants to hold onto you forever. Every kiss from you makes his mind go wild in ways he never experianced before. He never expected to fall for you, or that you would return his feelings past the desires you felt for each other, but he did fall, deep and fast and hard, and he's taking you with him.

Caleb has been pining after you for years, before you went your separate ways. You were the only one who kept him going though all these years and now he finally has you back. He doesn't intent to let you go again, or to let any other man have you. The kisses he gives, the touches he makes, the words he speaks leave no room for doubt of his feelings but he also doesn't want to force these feelings onto you. Every day he tells you how much he loves you, hoping that one day he'll hear it back. When he does he honestly thinks he's still dreaming, that you aren't even there, that you were never real, that you can't love the man he is now. But you can, and you do, and just like him you never want to let him go again.

[yukioos]

we neeeeeed a part 2 of like a tattoo where they argue about him joining the game and her managing to convince him to join too

GENESIS

SUMMARY: hwang in-ho x wife reader // once in-ho tells you that he’s going to be participating in the games, the two of you have an argument due to your reluctance. after resolving it, you come up with a compromise, if he joins the games, so do you. so he accepts, the two of you join the game and vote whether or not all the players will stay in the games for another round.

AUTHORS NOTE: hi! this is pt2 to like a tattoo. hope u guys like it! i’m probably gonna make a part 3 btw. this has 2.5k words

WARNINGS: not proofread, sexual innuendo, cussing, reader n in-ho get into an argument

“what do you mean you’re participating in the games?” your chest and throat tightened, having to choke out your words. heart beating quicker than ever, you sat up and pulled your legs away from in-ho, pulling them closer to you.

“i’d like to take part in the games this time around. the old frontman who made the games, oh il-nam, claimed it was more interesting to be in the games rather than watching from afar.” he reached out for your arm, craving your attention, but you quickly pulled away with a harsh expression on your face. he felt a pang in his chest, but tried his best to ignore it, as he wanted to persuade you to let him act as a player.

“i don’t fucking care what il-nam said, you’re not joining the games.” as your eyebrows furrowed, and deep lines formed between them. your surprise had quickly evolved into anger, eyes narrowing as you glared at your husband. with clenched fists, you kept your stare on him, attempting to intimidate him into backing down. you continued, “i won’t let you.”

you had never talked to him as sternly as you were now. and to be honest, it scared him. he knew you could act like this at times, after all, it was why he married you. you would stand up for what you thought was right, and wouldn’t submit no matter what. however, this was when it could make him frustrated. he knew you had the power to make him stay away from joining the games again, and you knew you had him wrapped around your finger.

“where did this attitude come from?” he argued, biting his cheek and glaring into your now sharp eyes.

you quickly retorted, “oh, come on. do you seriously expect me to allow my husband to go into a place where he could fucking die? it’s clearly not safe out there, we just saw a quarter of the players get shot.” emotions spurred in your body, unable to show how you’re both angry and worried for him at the same time. he knew your heart was in the right place, but was frustrated with your reluctance to let him participate in the games for a couple of days.

he paused for a minute, clearing his mind to find the right words, when he heard a sniffle. he turned his head to your barely shaking body, your sleeves wiping your red eyes. you were crying. that’s when he realized you’d never cried before in your relationship, as he had always treated you fine, but he also realized, in that exact moment, that you cared for him more than any other being. it made him feel a sense of pride but also guilt, as he didn’t want to listen to you.

you averted your gaze and instead thought the ground was much more interesting than the eyes you would admire for hours on end. you then placed your cheek on your knee and glanced back to the man, spotting his eyes still on your frame. a moment of silence occupied the room, then you broke it by muttering, “if you’re in the game, then i want to be in it too.”

he would've never expected to hear those words come out of your mouth.

he took a moment to consider your shy words, not knowing if you only offered to be in the game so you could be closer, or because you felt bad. but the guards already knew your faces, and there were extra tracksuits you could wear. if anything went haywire, the guards could take the two of you out of the game momentarily.

he clenched his fists and made up his mind. he looked into your puffy eyes and smiled at the cute pout on your face, causing him to chuckle. after he took a sip of whiskey, he stated, “we can both be in the games, but we’d be joining in a few hours. we need to have backstories and act as if we are not affiliated with one another. another thing we would have to do is come up with fake names. we cannot risk players finding out our identities, do you understand?”

after the long rant, you nodded and scooted closer to him. your heart warmed that you’re plus be closer to him, but also felt warm and nervous. what if the guards forgot your face and shot you? what if they just didn’t care that you and the frontman were partners? i mean, they killed the players without a second thought, what makes you any different?

as if he read your mind, he stated, “you’re my wife, they won’t lay a finger on you.” he wrapped his arm around your shoulder and kissed your forehead, “i’ll make sure of it.”

you leaned in closer to his warm chest, hands rubbing the cloth, separating your touch from his torso. as you comfortingly ran your hands against his body, you kissed his cheek and apologized, “‘m sorry for yelling at you, honey. i was… scared, i guess.” you peppered his face in kisses, apologizing in every way you could before you had to basically go no-contact for a week.

he ran his hand down your back, loving the feeling of your lips praising him, how in love and sorry you were. of course, he wasn’t mad at you, but he felt pride in knowing no matter what, you would still love him.

suddenly, a filtered voice came through the intercom in the dark room. it stated, “sir, the players will be voting in twenty minutes.”

you turned your head toward him, adoring his features as he pressed a square button, “we’ll be down shortly. grab a tracksuit with the number three, please. keep the number one tracksuit, too. my wife will be participating in the games as well.”

a small noise of acknowledgment went through the intercom, and the two of you made your way to a dressing room. once you were done changing, the guards escorted you down colorful stairs, hearing soft chatter near the bottom. you paused in your tracks and bit your lip, causing your husband to stop right after you.

he held his hand up to the guard, causing him to stop walking. he stood in his position, and in-ho’s eyebrows turned upwards with curiousity. he gently grabbed your hand and asked, “i understand you may be nervous. if you are unsure whether or not you want to play the games, i will have a guard escort you back to the headquarters.”

you glanced nervously at the walls, feeling more and more nervous by every passing second. you reminded yourself you wouldn’t get hurt, as the guards knew what you looked like, so you were safe. if anything went haywire, you could talk to in-ho, and maybe somehow the guards could pull you out of the games.

you nodded, signaling that you were okay. he hesitated but sent you a heartwarming smile, squeezing your hand three times. the three of you continued to walk down the stairs until you saw a group of players at the bottom, waiting to be let into the sleeping room by the guards.

he whispered into your ear, “we must act like we have no affiliation with one another. if we end up having to be in a group together, act as if we are meeting each other for the first time.” as you walked down the steps, his words became more hushed.

you questioned, “what are we doing now?”

“we’ll be voting whether or not we want to stay in the game. there will be three hundred and sixty-five players in the game, two of them are us. i am guessing the votes will be almost even, so i need you to make sure they are as equal as possible when you vote. if the person before you makes the vote 182 o’s to 181 x’s, vote x.” he ranted, making sure you had every detail.

you grinned and nodded. the guard turned around and nodded to the two of you. as they walked away, you gently grabbed in-ho by the neck and pushed your lips together, knowing you’d miss them. you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a tight hug, never wanting to leave. it would be odd not to get a kiss on your forehead before going to bed each night.

you quickly pulled away once feet started shuffling toward the dark blue door. you walked through the crowd of dark green tracksuits, traveling to the back so people wouldn’t spot you easily. a square guard began to speak, but you weren’t listening that much. you had separated from your husband, but you already felt nervous.

words began to catch your attention, “if you wish to continue playing, press the blue button with the ‘o.’ if you wish to stop playing, press the red button with the ‘x.’ you will vote in order or player number, from highest to lowest. player 456.” a man began to walk up toward the podium, causing you to hold your breath. was this the man in-ho was talking about for months on end?

players began to mutter amongst themselves, but player 456 held his head up high, confidently strutting, as he knew what he was going to pick. suddenly, a woman shouted, “this is all useless, there’s no point. just as you didn’t get to choose when you entered this world, you don’t pick when you’re going to leave it. the time and place of each one of your deaths was decided the instant you were born. there’s no changing it now. no matter how hard you try to fight it, you’ll never be able to escape your fate.” the woman in dark eyeliner was quickly ignored by the walking player.

he smashed his hand on the red button and stared at the circle guard. a square guard informed, “once you’ve voted, attach the patch you’re given and stand in the area marked with the corresponding symbol.” he placed the red patch on the right side of his zip-up.

more people began to get called up, and you paid close attention to the score, which would depend on what you would vote for. as your husband informed, the score was even so far, and many people already stood on the side they were assigned to. once player 230 was called up, he ran and clicked a button, snatching his ‘o’ patch from the guard.

a man intervened and yelled, “hold on everyone, wait a minute! don’t do this to yourselves. just think for a second. can’t you see what’s going on? these aren’t regular games we’re playing. if we don’t stop this, they’ll kill us all. just focus on getting out of this place. and to do that, we need to win the vote. we can stop this here and now—“ you then realized it was player 456, seong gi-hun, who you were warned about.

an older man stepped out from his section and began to argue, causing other people to join in the argument. the x’s began to argue with the o’s, and the people who were undecided argued with anyone who didn’t agree with them. minutes passed and the players were quickly silenced once player 456 told the others that he had participated in the games at one point.

suddenly, all chatter was silent once a click was heard. a triangle guard had placed the tip of the gun against gi-hun’s back, who was holding another player by his shoulders. the square guard stayed, “starting now, we will not permit any action that interferes with the voting process. with that, we will now resume voting.” the guard continued to call up players, gaining many different votes from various players.

the players began to cheer once the vote was 181 to 181, making it an even vote. player 6 was called up, and depending on her vote, you would have to change yours. she voted ‘x’ and was quickly given a red patch, ashamedly walking away.

you felt a comforting hand on the small of your back, causing you to smile, knowing exactly who it was. you then remembered you had to act as if you didn’t know him, so you tried to look intimidating and stoic. number three was called up, your number, so you took your time to walk down the isle. as you pretended to hesitate, you glanced up at the pig of cash, causing you to tap the blue button. the players cheered and you were given a blue patch, you thanked the guard with a bow. the vote was even now, and you stood in front of the blue group, wanting to see your husband’s face again, even if he didn’t initiate eye contact.

the guard stated, “and finally, player one.”

another player tom the blue side yelled, “now everybody, say ‘o!’” once everyone turned their heads toward the back of the room. the x side began to arrange their arms into a cross, and the o side made an o with their arms.

his large back stood out to you, the one you had left so many scratches and scars on in the past years, having to wipe it up due to droplets of blood. you missed the warmth of his body already. his hand hesitated, and you heard the ‘o’ sound from the button, causing the blue side to erupt in happiness. you jumped up and down and pushed your fists in the air, pretending to celebrate with the other players.

his veiny hand lingered on the button for a couple of seconds too long, then he finally turned with a blue patch on his chest. as the other red players retreated back to their beds with tears and looks of defeat on their faces, player 456 stood in his place, staring at the ground.

the other players on your side began to walk back to their beds, separating each side based on what they voted for. you followed the others back to a bed, but saw an expression on your husband’s face.

he was slightly smiling, the type of smile only the people closest to him would know of. it was the one filled with malice, one filled with sadism and hate.

but in that moment, you realized your husband was much darker and twisted than you thought.

he relished the way seong gi-hun knew he wouldn’t leave the games any time soon, and how he would have to go through hell once again.

[revelboo]

Hello. I hope you're doing well. May I ask you to write something featuring Transformers Animated Ratchet? I haven't seen many stories with that version of Ratchet, and I really like his personality and your writing style. If it's not too much trouble, could you please write something with him?

Sure! He’s so grumpy, but soft underneath it

Heads Up, Hearts Down

TFA Ratchet

• Rain pattering against him, he tips his head toward the gray sky. Enjoying the quiet only broken by the distant roll of thunder. Because their current, temporary home is under invasion. Optimus and Bulkhead both bringing home humans. And their constant chatter. Sari was bad enough, but the two new ones never shut up except when he or another Autobot enter a room, making him certain they’re gossiping about them. Doesn’t have the patience to deal with them and Sari. So he’s outside, avoiding all of it. Misses Cybertron, home. But more than anything, misses a time before the war. Wonders about the other medics he’d worked with before lines were drawn. If anyone else survived the war, because he’d never bothered to reach out. Too afraid of that answer. Back scraping the wall of the alley he’d slipped into to avoid prying human eyes, he runs his hand over his face. Too old, too tired.

• Don’t run. Skin crawling at the sound of them following you, their laughter and too loud whispers scare you. Trying to convince yourself that they’re only going the same way, that they’re not following you even though they’ve been back there for the last couple of blocks. You’d glanced back only once, quickly to figure out there’s five of them. Maybe early twenties. Knowing that the area you live in isn’t the safest, you keep looking for other people, but no one’s out in the rain except you. And them. Most of the factories closed up shop years ago, heading for cheaper labor overseas. But it’s the middle of the day, not night and you want to believe daylight means safety. Clinging to that up until a hand grabs your arm, another curling around you to clumsily cover your mouth and nose and you can smell the sour, whiskey stink of them as they drag you into an alley and you go ballistic, kicking and biting. Just knowing that if they get you off the street, you’re not coming back out of that alley. Getting smacked by the one you bit so hard you bite your own lip and then smacked even harder when you scream. And then one of your attackers is seized and pitched out of the alley into the street.

• “What do you brats think you’re doing?” Growling at them when he’d initially frozen in surprise seeing a group of younger humans dragging you into the alley he was hiding in. Becoming furious the second one had hit you and you’d cried out. Has no idea what’s going on, for all he knows, this is normal human behavior, but seeing you bleeding, it didn’t matter. And those young males scream louder than you had when they see him, shoving you down at his peds and running away in terror. Squalling about monsters as he almost laughs. Servos flexing with the urge to really put the fear of Primus in them, before he can go after them you make a soft, terrified sound. Cringing into yourself when he looks down at you. Venting tiredly, he crouches and offers you a servo. “I’m not going to hurt you, so stop that,” he grumbles and terrified eyes look up at him. Why are you all so small?

• That rough, grouchy voice pulls you taut as you stare at the huge hand he’s holding out. A robot? Much bigger than any you’ve ever seen and your eyes dart to the medical badging, some of your tension easing. Some kind of new medical unit? Reaching out, you grip his huge servo and allow him to easily pull you to your feet. Seeing that expressive face crease into a frown, jangles through you. He’s much more advanced than what you’re used to and sure, robots are everywhere here, owned by the rich, which definitely isn’t you, but something’s off about him. “Thank you,” you whisper as those too intelligent optics study you, a servo lifting to almost touch your cheek, but stopping short.

• “You know those brats?” Not sure why he’s asking, but the fear still making you tremble isn’t sitting well with him, especially when you just shake your head before reaching up to touch your bleeding lip, seeming almost surprised by the blood. Just staring at your fingertips and then you’re crying and it’s just as bad as when he’d seen Sari do it, twisting uncomfortably through him. “Come on,” he says tiredly, gently cupping his hand and nudging you out of the alley and around to the door. Because he can’t just leave you there shaking like that and sobbing brokenly. “Let’s get you dry.” Much too old for this and too soft for his own good. What’s one more human, though?

[archangeldyke-all]

hi angel!! how have you been? first request so i’m kinda scared, but do you think you’ll bring back club mom reader? i thought that dynamic was soooo cute, maybe reader and sev go on vacation away from the girls and reader misses them, or anything you’d like!

have the best day ❤️❤️

oh my god i was just thinking about this story!! lets do something sweet and cheesy hehe

men and minors dni

buttercup finds you sulking in the locker room.

"mom, i need a bandaid, one of my blisters just burst-- oh, janna." she groans at the sight of you.

you sniffle, wiping up your tears and throwing your tissue behind your shoulder. "i'm fine!"

"you're so not fine." she coos, wrapping you up in a hug. you sigh and cry against your friend's shoulder. "fuck, you're pathetic. sevika's gonna love hearing about this."

"you can't tell her!" you gasp, scandalized. buttercup pulls away from you with a cackle.

"oh, come on. i bet she's crying on silco's shoulder about you right now, too." she teases. you groan.

"i know it's been less than a week but..."

"you miss her." buttercup says with an understanding nod. she's completely right. you do miss her. you thought you'd be able to make it through ten days with your girlfriend on a buisness trip, but apparently you can't go more than forty eight hours without her now. "you want me to show you my tits to make you feel a bit better?" she offers.

you laugh and open your desk, grabbing a bandaid. "no, that's alright." buttercup raises an eyebrow at you and you laugh. "okay, yeah, show me."

she sits on your desk and takes her pleaser off, before untying the string of her bikini top.

you blink at her tits. they're great tits. buttercup even gives you a bit of a shimmy. but you're horrified to find that it does nothing for you. "'s not workin' buttercup." you whine. "they're just not sevika's tits."

she cackles. "oh janna mom, you've got it bad." she ties her top back up and bandages her blister. "i'm telling her you said that, y'know. you two are just too fuckin' corny, i can't stand it."

"have you taken your break yet?" you ask as buttercup stands. she rolls her eyes.

"yes i've taken my break, that's the third time you've asked tonight. have you taken your break?"

"yeah." you respond sadly, staring down at the framed picture of sevika on your desk-- her one and only mugshot-- gifted to you by ran on your birthday this year. "i spent the whole half hour starin' at this picture of her."

"okay, i need to get out of here before i vomit from all the yearning." buttercup kisses your cheek and pats your back. "she'll be back in five days mom, you can make it! love you!" she calls over her shoulder as she walks back out to the club.

"love you." you grunt, slouching back down in your chair.

most of your girls find your yearning sweet. frosty and crystal are practically running the 'mom-vika' fanclub, always squealing over the two of you together.

mandy, trinity, and star have started calling sevika 'dad', to match your 'mom' title.

but you might actually be driving cherry crazy.

"how is it possible for you to look even worse today than you did yesterday!?" cherry groans as she walks into your tiny office at the start of the evening. you sigh.

"thanks cherry, you're a great friend."

she cackles. "awe, cheer up. she comes home in two days! aren't you excited?!"

"i've been excited for her to come home for eight days now. the excitement is starting to wear off." you pout. cherry groans.

"c'mon mom, you gotta get out of this slump! you think sevika wants to come home to some slimy sad sack!? no!"

"well, whaddya want me to do?"

cherry considers it for a moment, before a smile grows on her face.

"i've got the perfect idea."

forty eight hours, an afternoon of the girls teaching you some dance moves, and one nice long bath later; you're ready for sevika's arrival.

you've got it all planned out. she'll come home and find you in your lingerie (trinity's about your size so she let you look through some of the outfits stored in her locker) you'll push her into her favorite armchair, and you'll give her a little 'welcome home' lap dance.

and then, hopefully, you'll get fucked into next week.

you can hear her heavy boots stomping down the street from the end of the block. you squeak in excitement and light a few candles, before flicking the lights off and playing some music.

sevika stumbles through the door just as you're finished spritzing yourself in your favorite 'sexy' scent.

"welcome home ba--" you freeze. sevika gawks at you. her clothes are tattered, her luggage is missing, and some of the wiring on her mech arm is exposed. "what the fuck!?" you scream, scrambling across the room to cup sevika's face in your hands.

"is this for me?" she asks with a sultry smile. you sputter.

"you're bleeding!" you squeal. "what the fuck happened!?"

sevika shrugs and laughs. "some assshole tried to rob the train we were on. i took care of 'em. to thank me, the trainline lost my fucking luggage."

"wh-- are you okay!?"

"i'm much better now that i'm seeing this." she says with a giggle, snapping the band of your sexy undies against your hip. you snort and then lean into kiss her. sevika sighs against your lips, her arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you tight against her chest. "janna, it's good to see you. i don't think i can go more than two days without you anymore, isn't that fucking insane? you're more essential to me than water."

you laugh and kiss her again. "fuck, i feel the same way. cherry almost strangled me for being so whiny."

"silco threatened to fire me if i kept 'moping.'" she says with air quotes.

you can't stop smiling. your plans for the night are likely ruined-- you'll have to bathe sevika and make sure she's not too injured before you can do any lapdancing, and by then you'll be too tired to be sexy anyways. still though. you can dance for her tomorrow night. you can dance with her for every night from now on, because she's back home. "y' wanna get married?" you ask-- the words slipping off your tongue easily, before you can even think them through.

sevika blinks at you. "wh--what!?"

"i don't have a ring or anything, but..." you trail off, realizing what you've just asked. "fuck, what do you want me to say, sevika? i've got a dozen stripper kids to take care of and you make good money--"

sevika cuts you off with a cackle. "you missed me that bad?" she teases. you grin.

"yeah, i did."

"yeah, me too. i had a ring i picked out for you in my suitcase-- saw it at some jewelry shop we passed."

"are you serious!?"

"why do you think i was so pissed they lost my suitcase?" sevika asks with a laugh.

"oh, janna i love you." you sigh as you lean in for another kiss.

sevika grins. "i love you, too. is this the outfit trinity almost killed that senator in?" you burst into laughter and nod guiltily. you didn't think she'd remember. sevika sighs dreamily. "my beautiful bride."

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[cowgirlfawn]

FUCKBOY!LEON X LAME!READER HC’S

warnings: freak boy leon turned lover boy leon, angst, smut AND fluff!!!! no use of y/n, virgin!reader, leon is a CUNT! mentions of reader wearing a dress…:3 reader tells leon “kys”, daddy kink at the end IM SORRY!!!

word count: 0.8k (sorry ik it’s short!)

notes: hello….

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who’s name is known across campus, you wish you could get with him. god it would be a dream come true,,, but no one as chronically online as you could even get close to him…

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who sees you around campus, you have a great sense of style. maybe he should get your number…but no. he couldn’t ruin his reputation by sleeping with a total nerd.

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who sees you at a party, little did he know it was your first party ever. he approached you with nothing but respect, asking you where your friends were and complimenting your outfit. whispering in your ear that you’re dress would look better on his bed room floor

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who’s surprised when you agree to going back to him dorm, but he doesn’t want to wait too long so he just takes you up to an empty bedroom, truly shows what a gentleman he is!: )

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who pushes you onto the bed, kissing you roughly. when things get heated, by that i mean your both half naked.

“i’ve never done anything like this before…” you confess

his eyes widened

“nah i can’t do this”

he gets off of you and started to put his shirt back on

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who feels a bit bad when you leave the room crying. but he knows it’s for the better, that night you watch him leave with other girl. breaking your heart

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who sees you the next day, your both at the mall, he feels bad…maybe you can still be friends?

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who goes up to you and asks if you would still willing to be friends. you think about it and shyly nod your head, he smiles and gives you his number

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who hits you up later that day.

“hey” it was a simple text, nothing that would make you get the wrong idea!

“haiii” of course you replied back with an energetic text, anything to get his attention

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who plans to come over to you’re dorm. when he arrives he’s not surprised! your dorm is full of posters and figurines…he’s almost scared, he sits down on your bed and sighs

“you ever played needy streamer overload?”

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who spends the next three hours playing nso with you. he’s confused on why he likes it. but it’s fun to be around you! he actually doesn’t want to leave…

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who slowly grows attached to you, he doesn’t want to admit it but he really is, he loves your laugh, smile, eyes honestly anything and everything about you . . .

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who who sees you out with another guy. he doesn’t register that he’s just a friend. so he goes back to his old ways. later that night you receive a snap from him of some random girl getting backshots from him ???

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who realizes that he fucked up when instead of crawling back to him you just say

“kys”

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who has to search up what that means. he’s devastated when he finds out : ( he goes to your dorm to apologize but he can’t bring himself to knock. so he just awkwardly stands there for 5 minutes

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who finally knocks, and you answer as quickly as possible!

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who’s so sad that when you open the door and see him an instant expression of disgust appears on your face, you look so tired

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who stars with, “so uh. . .how you been?” and awkwardly chuckles. you scoff and try to close the door, yet he stops it with his foot and forces himself inside.

ꪆৎ - fuckboy!leon who smells the air of your room that he missed soso much ! he feels at home again. . .you guys talk, he apologizes, you don’t apologize because you have nothing to apologize for!

ꪆৎ - loverboy!leon who waits a couple days to show up unannounced to your door with flowers. when you see him you’re eyes go wide.

“leon what are yo—“ your cut off my his kissing you and gently shutting the door behind you too

ꪆৎ - loverboy!leon who is relieved when you kiss back. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. . .

ꪆৎ - loverboy!leon who’s surprised to find him self naked in your bed, his cock buried deep inside you. he knows it’s your first time so he’s gentle with you

“leon!” you cry out in that whiny voice of yours. “i know, princess, i know” he coos. his cock is kissing your cervix, the pleasure is too much and you get let it slip out

“daddy!”♡

his eyes winded as he realized that he liked it. . .so he plays into it ; )

“yeah? you wanna come on daddy’s cock? that it?” you nodded as you felt the knot in your stomach grow, your hips bucked as your breath began to get ragged

“daddy—oh—mmmffhh” are the noises you make when you come. . .leon cums when he feels your cunt clench around him

ꪆৎ - loverboy!leon who now realizes he loves you, and he stares at you on awe as you sleep beside him : )

[baronfulmen]

AMAZING:

Pink (Obviously)

Blue (I'm biased, my memory sucks ass and I'm basically guaranteed to get Alzheimer's which this would presumably at least help with)

Purple (teleport around the planet, arrive somewhere that it's not suspicious to arrive)

GOOD:

Orange (very good but situational, if you pick Purple this gets upgraded to Amazing I guess)

Gray (very good for health reasons if like me you have the taste buds of a toddler)

OKAY:

Brown (Good but just not worth it considering the competition except for very specific situations)

Lime (same, it's good but like... fuck you I want to teleport)

TROUBLING:

Yellow (Assuming "chores" has a fairly broad definition and the fairies do an okay job this could be RIDICULOUSLY GOOD but I'm bothered by the idea of somehow creating a new sapient race that seemingly exists solely to be my servants PLUS what if they suck at doing chores or something)

White (I'm not gonna lie this one scares me, do the three kicks have to be consecutive or might I do it by accident? Does it work on people? Will it also turn my shoes to cheese? If I kick something super big made of multiple parts like a building or mountain or suspension bridge does that still work? I don't want this power.)

BAD:

Green (skill issue, cats already like me)

Black (listen it's fine but if you waste a magic potion on this I'm going to punch you in the face)

TERRIBLE:

Red (Will literally kill you)

[alessiathepirate]

Squid Game

RUSSIAN ROULETTE: Seong Gi-hun x fem!reader

Summary: A game of Russian roulette can reveal many secrets...

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: death and violence, guns, swearing, referenced and/or mentioned trauma, mentioned suicide, Gi-hun and reader being oblivious, the Salesman ships it (in his own way) [the Frontman ships it - in fact, everyone does]

●●●

If a God really, truly exists, she thought, then this is the moment when I should be grateful.

She was grateful. Truly grateful.

She was the one who had gotten into that seemingly unescapeable situation and not Gi-hun.

She was in danger and not Gi-hun.

She had a slim, one in six chance of dying and not Gi-hun.

She'd die if she lost and not Gi-hun.

She liked that thought - the last one. It almost made her smile, almost, since she knew it'd be best if she didn't show any emotion. If she did, she'd give the Salesman a new card he could play and he already had the advantage regarding information.

Russian roulette... What a strange way to die. It's a death by luck, yet it's suicide too - since she'll be the one who'll pull the trigger.

Then, her mind darkened. What would Gi-hun say? How would he feel if he'd find her body? Her dead, bloody corpse. He lost so much already. He wouldn't survive another death.

But still... she'd rather die herself, than see him die.

She picked up the gun as the music played in the background, as that crazy motherfucker sat at the other side of the table in his fancy suit, with his chilly smile.

Her hand wasn't shaking as she put the barrel against her head -- she was ready to die - for Gi-hun; yet she was ready to win too - for Gi-hun.

She pulled the trigger, then blinked. She successfully made the chance one in five.

The Salesman took the revolver, showed her his bare teeth as he put the gun against his head and took the shot. Yet nothing happened.

One in four...

Crazy fucker.

She took the gun again and got ready to pull the trigger - but before she could see if she'll live or die, the Salesman leaned forward and began to talk.

She looked him in the eyes even if his whole being scared her to death, especially the fact that he could go from zero to a hundred in no time. He was usually so calm, so elegant - now he was just the word insanity itself with blood on his face.

"I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive." he said as he examined her, hunting for any sign of weakness. "For one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji. Don't get me wrong, you weren't as bad as Seong Gi-hun, but still... A player like you? Surviving?" he tilted his head to the side and sighed. "The two terrible ddakji players survived and I have to say - you fueled my curiousity." he leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching hers. "So I asked around... and let me tell you what I was told: only one of you was suppossed to live and take the money."

She felt a chill run down her spine as the thought of Gi-hun dying ran through her head. Her hands shook - and he didn't fail to notice it.

"But apparently your relationship with Seong Gi-hun; both of you trying to play the hero to save the other, was much more entertaining to our special guests." the Salesman just smiled, yet this time around there was something wicked and wrong with the way his lips curled upwards. "And then I realized that they were right."

Her hold on the revolver tightened from anger as she imagined some rich fuckers enjoying the 'show' in which they were fighting for their damn lifes.

She remembered what the boss said before he dropped Gi-hun and her off with their new credit card -- but they weren't damn horses!

"You and him, together - that really is more entertaining." he continued, his voice taunting and playful.

She pulled the trigger - in anger. She bit her lower lip to stop herself from saying something stupid.

She lived.

One in three...

The Salesman tilted his head once again as he reached for the gun. It seemed like he found something truly interesting.

"Tell me... did you tell him?"

Tell him what? She shouted on the inside, but she stayed quiet.

The Salesman put the barrel in his mouth, never breaking eye-contact, as he continued: "Did you tell him how you feel?"

Click...

One in two...

She felt her mouth run dry as she looked at him - and this time she was sure she had panic in her eyes.

How she felt?

How did she really feel?

She would die for him - that's how. And one in two, the slim chance of survival, that fifty-fifty; was seemingly leading her there: dying for him.

The Salesman opened his palm, the revolver was laying in his hand. It was like an offering.

"You didn't." it wasn't a question, but a statement. "What a horrible way to die, isn't it? Dying without confessing." his smile was wide and taunting. "Dying for the man you love and he will never even know about it."

She felt her lips tremble.

Won't he? Is he that clueless?

But there's still a chance, a fifty-fifty, that she'd live to...

She took the gun and looked at it. Two shots. She could cheat and kill him. At least he'd finally shut up...

"What's the matter?" he asked, his voice unusually happy and entertained. "Is your mind starting to race? Now your odds of death are one in two. That's pretty high indeed." when she didn't say anything he continued: "I'm sure you're afraid." Was she? "Lots going through your mind. Let me guess what you are thinking right now. 'Screw the rules. The gun's in my hand. Pull the trigger once, or twice and I can blow this guy's face off.' Isn't that right? If you want to meet the person you mentioned earlier, the key is in my pocket. You can simply shoot me with that gun and take it. If you want to meet Seong Gi-hun again without taking that fifty-fifty chance, you can shoot me and call him - tell him to come 'home'. But before you decide what to do I'll have you admit a few things."

She hated his voice, his smile - his damn manipulation techniques... She just wanted to leave or die peacefully - die without confessing...

Did she really want to take that chance?

Before she could answer her own question, the Salesman interrupted her train of thought: "That you're a piece of trash, just like everyone else. Just like Seong Gi-hun. A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster. A piece of trash who isn't even brave enough to make the first move. A piece of trash who's weak, scared - who didn't deserve to win at all. Not when you don't even have the strength to look at the prize you had won."

Click...

She pulled the trigger without even realizing - without a second thought regarding fear of death itself.

Her breathing became fast and uneven as she finally smiled, grinning at the man with evil taunt.

The Salesman's smile disappeared and disbelief took its place.

How... disappointing. Losing your own game.

She gave him the revolver with an open palm.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her voice both happy and angry. "Is your mind starting to race? What a terrible way to die - losing in your own game..." She'd see him again... "That's right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me. But... I'll have you admit a few things. Things Gi-hun thinks about you - truths he knows about you... You put a mask over your face and do whatever your master says. You run, bark and wag your tail for them." she leaned in closer, her voice taunting. "You are nothing more than their dog. A fucking puppy on a very tight leash."

To her surprised, the Salesman just smiled and took the revolver. Then, he looked her in the eyes. For a moment, his expression became calm as usual - for a second, the first impression she had of him was back.

"Well played, Y/N." he leaned in as if he wanted to tell her a secret. "Now -- tell him..."

The Salesman put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

Boom!

Blood tainted her face as his body fell back and the revolver fell from his hand.

Now -- tell him... Should she?

●●●

It didn't take long for that cop to find her with the Salesman's corpse sitting right in front of her.

Jun-ho. The cop who was looking for his brother, and who came to her and Gi-hun for help. And they refused to help the guy, since they were neck deep in debts and danger.

He thought she killed him. And in a way she did. She gave the gun to the Salesman. She wanted him to lose and die.

Yet she didn't feel bad about it all.

Jun-ho was about to cuff her when Woo-seok arrived and saved her from being arrested.

Soon, the cop was in the bathtub, cuffed and unconscious - and Woo-seok was looking at the Salesman with fear and disgust.

She let him grieve. Kim was dead - he died right in front of him, and she knew it wasn't something you can just forget and forgive.

Where's Gi-hun? She wanted to ask, but still waited patiently for Woo-seok to calm down and get dressed.

"What happened here?" she felt his voice before she heard it.

The feelings Gi-hun's voice alone made her feel with her whole body, were the best things in the world. Whenever he was talking she felt safe, calm and loved. More like: wanted.

Gi-hun's hair and clothes were wet from the rain, his voice was full of worry as he looked at the corpse of the man he had been looking for for years.

"Are you all right?" the question was meant for her.

She could hear the Salesman's voice in her head - taunting her, making her jump and tell him right away: next to a corpse, a traumatized guy and a cuffed, unconscious cop...

"I am." she said, and she could feel her heart beating faster than usual as he ran to her and hugged her tightly. "Are you?"

Gi-hun just nodded and then looked at the dead body.

"What happened?"

For a moment she thought about what she should say.

"Russian roulette." she explained - and Woo-seok shook in disgust. "He lost and now I have the 'key'."

Instead of getting greedy, asking for the damn card, Gi-hun just hugged her again, even tighter.

"I'm so glad you're all right. When you didn't pick up I knew something was wrong."

She could feel her heart flutter.

"Gi-hun..." Now or never - the adrenaline was still present, making her brave enough to choose now. "Can we... talk? Please?"

"Of course, is everything all right?"

"Yes, I just..."

Woo-seok just raised his hands and took a deep breath. "I think I... need some air. I'll be outside and then I'll-- help, with the clean-up."

"Will you be all right?" she asked, making sure he won't collapse on the way out.

Woo-seok just nodded and left the room quickly - as if he was afraid the corpse would come back to life and threaten him again.

She looked at the Salesman once again - in a strange way his taunting was the thing that gave her strength.

"While we were playing he said a few things... Truths, mostly." she began, avoiding Gi-hun's eyes. "When I took the gun I thought... how grateful I am that I'd die and not you. And I- I wasn't afraid of dying, Gi-hun, I was afraid I'd die without telling you that--" she stopped right before the confession and closed her eyes.

She was afraid to look at him.

She stared death in the face not even ten minutes ago, yet she was scared to see Gi-hun's reaction.

"Y/N... Look at me, please." Gi-hun held onto her shoulders gently as he made her turn around, and she slowly opened her eyes.

She saw no hatered or disgust. Gi-hun's eyes were full of adoration and love, and she was sure her whole face turned red.

"I know. And I feel the same way, I was just afraid that I'd--"

"--ruin everything?" she finished. "Yeah, me too."

Gi-hun let out a small, quiet chuckle. She smiled, since she barely heard him laugh these days.

"I guess we were a little oblivious and dumb, weren't we?" he asked.

"We were." she agreed. "And I guess that - after everything; I didn't want to ruin what we have and I didn't want to lose the last person on Earth I care about."

Gi-hun leaned toward her and kissed her cheek. She just grinned and grabbed onto his shoulders.

"I love you, Y/N."

The muscles in her cheeks twitched slightly, her grin disappeared. Her lips trembled and she could feel the tears' need to arrive and fall down her cheeks.

"And I'm sorry we don't have a more romantic setting." he continued and she chuckled, then brushed the tears away.

"Our life isn't normal at all. In fact this is the most normal we had so far - so I don't mind." she said and returned the favor - she too gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I love you too, Gi-hun."

"Please don't play any more Russian roulette, okay?" he asked with a faint, sad smile.

"Okay." she agreed. "No more games."

Gi-hun gave her one last peck, before he took a step back and looked at the bloody mess the Salesman caused.

"We have to clean this up."

"Yes." she nodded. "We have to."

"What else did he tell you? Did he say anything important?"

She remembered what the Salesman told her - about them winning, about Them enjoying her relationship with Gi-hun, about them being nothing more than pieces of trash...

She thought about telling him - telling Gi-hun everything, every single detail about the talk she had with the Salesman...

...but she couldn't do it.

She couldn't ruin his last, remaining hope for humanity itself. He still had trust and love and hope... She couldn't ruin it further.

So she just shut her mouth, hugged Gi-hun one more time and began to clean up the blood.

"No. He didn't say anything else."

[the-dragon-hearted]

I don't know why, but I need a road trip Genshin fanfic where Wanderer and Collei meet up, talk, trauma bond, and just decide to kill Dottore. Like it's just a casual decision where they're like; yeah, it's time. He's dying today.

I need them to be at a gas station when Tighnari pulls up, and Collei's all scared he's going to try and talk her down the not-so-steep cliff of Doctor-Murder but instead he just gets in the car and is like: "Let's go, I've got to be back for a consultation on Monday."

So they drive to Snezhnaya and meet with the Traveler because the Traveler shows up everywhere and is always down for murder. Then it goes bad and Dottore gets away and they're all standing in front of his burning lab, wanted by the state, just like: "What the fuck are we gonna do now?"

And the traveler goes: "I know a guy."

A phone call and about an hour later Diluc pulls up like: "Time for another Snezhnayian manhunt. Let's go kill this Motherfucker -"

Special scenes include:

Wanderer realizes Diluc is THAT FUCKER who gave him seven pages of paperwork after his lil "murderous rampage" a few years back

Collei is a cinnamon roll until it comes to Dottore.

Tighnari being a tired Dad

Diluc calls Kaeya from a jail cell to bail him out. Kaeya's like: "I can't I'm babysitting Klee." And Diluc just goes; "I know. Bring her." Queue an explosive jailbreak

Traveler just being happy that everyone's on a road trip. Paimon, the cat, keeps trying to eat all the car snacks and Wanderer's had enough!

Wanderer gets a call from Nahida who's worried about him, ends up saying: "Yeah. I'm fine. Love you too, mom." And his persona is RUINED -

Cyno and Sethos see the news report back at Sumeru and start making popcorn.

Our dynamic group does finally corner Dottore, who starts going on his villain monologue... until Tighnari runs him over with the mini-van.

That's it, that's the fic.

[wendichester]

Hey could you do one where your Bobby's daughter but you've had a crush on Sammy since you were little your best friends and only Dean knows about your crush on Sammy and makes fun of you for it making sneaky comments in front of Sammy he finds out because of a demon and finally confesses his feelings for you as well

Ps love you stories 😘

˚⋆𐙚｡ 𖦹. demonly confessions,

summary. maybe demons aren't so bad... right? absolutely not! but kinda.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 791

notes. thank you so much for requesting this, sweets! hope you like it 🩷

The Impala hums as it rolls into the bunker’s garage, tires crunching softly against the concrete. You jump out before the engine is even off, eager to stretch your legs after the long drive back from the hunt. You've been living with the Winchester boys ever since your father, Bobby Singer, passed. Sam is right behind you, his hand brushing yours as he reaches to grab your duffel.

“You don’t have to carry that,” you say, even though you don’t stop him.

He flashes you that warm, dimpled smile that’s been making your heart flip since you were a kid. “I don’t mind.”

Dean saunters past, smirking like he knows every thought running through your head. “Geez, Sam, you keep being this sweet, and she might just fall for you,” he quips, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

Your face heats instantly, and you shoot Dean a glare that could probably kill a lesser man. Sam, oblivious as ever, chuckles and shrugs.

“I’m just being polite,” he says, glancing your way with a grin that does nothing to slow the racing of your heart.

Dean’s grin widens, and you know he’s dying to push further, but thankfully, he disappears down the hall before you can throttle him.

It’s always been this way. Sam has been your best friend for as long as you can remember, but Dean’s known about your crush since the day he caught you doodling “Sam + Y/N” in the margins of your notebook when you were thirteen. He hasn’t let you live it down since.

But Sam? Sam is clueless. Or at least, that’s what you think.

Later that night, the bunker is quiet, save for the sound of Sam typing away on his laptop at the table. You sit across from him, pretending to read a book, but your eyes keep drifting to him. He’s so focused, the soft glow of the laptop highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair falls into his eyes.

“Do you always stare this much?” Dean’s voice cuts through the silence, startling you.

“Dean!” you hiss, your face burning.

Sam looks up, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,��� you say quickly, glaring at Dean, who just smirks and takes a swig of his beer.

Before Sam can ask more, the lights flicker, and a cold draft sweeps through the room. The hairs on your neck stand on end.

“Demon,” Sam mutters, already on his feet.

The fight is chaotic. The demon is stronger than expected, throwing you and Sam around like rag dolls. It corners you, its black eyes gleaming as it sneers.

“Poor little thing,” it taunts, its voice dripping with malice. “So scared your precious Sam won’t save you in time.”

Your breath catches, panic rising, but before you can react, Sam is there, slamming the demon back with a furious strength you rarely see.

“You stay away from her,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Dean’s there in a flash, helping Sam finish the exorcism. The demon screeches, smoke pouring from its mouth before it drops lifeless to the ground.

When the dust settles, Sam turns to you, his hazel eyes filled with worry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice shakes.

Sam hesitates, then steps closer. “It said… something about me. About you being scared I wouldn’t save you.”

You freeze, your heart thundering. “It was just trying to mess with me,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

But Sam doesn’t let it go. “It also called me ‘your precious Sam,’” he says, his tone soft but insistent.

Your mouth goes dry, and you can’t think of a single excuse fast enough.

“Y/N,” he says gently, his hand brushing yours. “Is it true? Do you… feel something for me?”

You’re about to deny it, to laugh it off, but the way he’s looking at you—hopeful, nervous, vulnerable—makes you falter.

“Yeah,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, and you brace yourself for rejection. But then he’s closing the distance, his hand cupping your cheek as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” he says, his voice trembling slightly. “I just… I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

Your breath hitches, tears pricking your eyes. “You mean that?”

He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I mean it.”

And then he’s kissing you, slow and sweet, and every lingering doubt melts away.

From across the room, Dean groans. “Finally. Took you two long enough.”

You laugh against Sam’s lips, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right.

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