#and then i hung up because what do you say to that????

[shaiyasstuff]

wilted promises | sylus

synopsis : Once, he swore love was enough. He chose you despite his world of wealth and expectations, despite everything that should have kept you apart. But time has turned your marriage into a gilded cage, your love into something distant and fractured. The boy who once promised to protect you is now a man of cold silences and sharp words. As you stand among the ruins of what once was, you wonder—was it ever truly love, or just the fleeting illusion of it?

content : non-canon!, marriage!AU, Sylus is mean, ANGST with little comfort(?), reader goes insane, set in somewhat victorian era, painter!reader, childhood lovers.

writer’s note : I initially had no vision of how this would go but I winged it. (Also I do not own any pictures used, all creds go back to their creators)

parts : one | two

quote : "It’s amazing how someone can break your heart and you can still love them with all the little pieces." – Ella Harper

“The datura blooms in the dark—beautiful, intoxicating, and laced with quiet poison. Much like love once promised, and now turned to ruin.”

The day you became his wife, you thought you were stepping into a dream—a life built on whispered promises and stolen glances.

But dreams fade quickly, and yours shattered beneath the weight of cold indifference.

Sylus, once the boy who traced love across your skin with gentle hands, had become a man of ice, his tenderness buried beneath sharp words and colder silences.

It’s been years since then.

Now, your marriage was a gilded cage, and you stood within it, wondering if the love you once shared was a lie—or if it still lingered, buried beneath the ruins of what you had become.

“I promise to you now, with this datura flower that I will protect and love you for all eternity!”

Do you still remember when you made that promise to me?

—•

It was like any other night when he held a celebration at the estate. The grand foyer buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses.

You tried to blend in, but it wasn’t enough.

He found you.

His hand seized your wrist, dragging you into the shadowed hallway. The wall was cold against your back as he pressed you into it.

“I warned you,” he muttered, voice low and sharp.

“Don’t act like you know me. It’s bad enough that I married you.”

You became a ghost in your own life, unseen and unwanted.

“You do not belong here.”

But still, everytime you looked up at him, your eyes shimmered with a tender, melancholic longing—an unspoken plea for a love that might one day heal your wounded soul.

Did you not say you would protect me forever?

You closed your eyes, as if shielding yourself from his harsh words, while you stood helpless, your own tears slipping free—mourning the love you deserved but were denied.

After a while, he released you, frustration flickering in his eyes as your silence offered no satisfaction. With a huff, he stormed off, leaving you alone with the echo of his absence.

You lingered for a moment, then pushed yourself off the wall that had held you captive. Your steps were slow but steady as you walked away, blinking back the sting of unshed tears, determined not to let them fall.

Because you understood him, you always did.

—•

You found yourself curled by the windowsill, your knees drawn tightly to your chest as though they could shield you from the heaviness pressing against your heart.

Your gaze stretched beyond the glass, tracing the endless expanse of the meadow, its silver-tinged grasses swaying gently beneath the hush of night.

Lifting your head, your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, lingered on the sky above, where countless stars glittered like scattered diamonds across a velvet canvas.

Their distant beauty seemed almost cruel, each shimmering point a quiet mockery of your own helplessness—so close to your longing, yet forever out of reach.

The moon hung low, casting a soft, ethereal glow that bathed the world in a ghostly silver sheen.

Its pale light painted the landscape with shadows and whispers, and within that stillness, you felt a hollow ache settle deep in your chest��a longing for something you could neither name nor grasp, a yearning as endless and unreachable as the stars themselves.

Your fingers trembled as they traced the delicate fabric of the scarf draped around your body—a fragile barrier against the chill that crept beneath your skin, a cruel reminder of the warmth you craved but could never grasp.

It was his warmth you longed for, the comfort of an embrace that now seemed as distant as the stars.

You closed your eyes, your heart aching as you sent a silent plea to the moon, begging it to carry you away, to lift you from the shadows that bound you.

You longed for escape, for freedom from the coldness that had settled not just in the room, but in the space where his love had once lived.

But your hands tightened around the scarf when you felt the sharp sting of realization.

How foolish you had been to seek escape when all you truly wanted was to stay—if only it meant feeling his warmth again.

How could you dream of running when your deepest yearning was not for freedom, but for the love you still clung to, the love that once made you feel alive?

How could you have been so blind, so desperate, to believe that fleeing would ease the ache when it was his love you craved most of all?

Your gaze remained fixed on the tranquil meadow beyond the window, its quiet beauty a stark contrast to the chaos that lingered behind you.

You didn’t turn, not even when the heavy shuffle of footsteps broke the silence, nor when the sharp, bitter scent of alcohol invaded the air.

You stayed still, rooted in place, unwilling to disturb the fragile calm you’d wrapped around yourself.

He stopped just short of you, his shadow falling over you like a cloud.

You felt his eyes on you, lingering, uncertain.

He swayed slightly, an uneasy smile tugging at his lips—one that never quite reached his eyes.

He’d stumble into the room, words slurred with remorse, apologies falling from his lips like broken promises.

And every time, you wondered if they held any truth.

Did he really regret it?

Or were his apologies just another habit, as hollow as the love that used to bind you?

“There’s my pretty wife,” he murmured, his voice soft but unsteady as he stumbled forward.

His hands were warm, almost tender, as they wrapped around your upper arms, pulling you gently against his chest.

You stiffened, but he didn’t seem to notice, burying his face into the curve of your neck.

The sharp scent of whiskey clung to his breath, stinging more than the words that followed.

“I’m so sorry…” he whispered, the words broken, fragile.

“I never meant… never meant for things to end up like this.”

For a moment, your heart faltered, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of his vulnerability.

But it was a cruel warmth, laced with pain—because your heart wasn’t just softening, it was breaking. Over and over again.

Your expression softened despite the ache, and you coaxed him gently toward the bed, guiding him with a touch that was both careful and resigned.

He sank into the mattress, his body curling toward you, seeking comfort he didn’t deserve.

As his breathing slowed, heavy with exhaustion, his voice broke through the quiet one last time, a whisper soaked in regret.

“Why can’t I stop hurting you…?”

The question lingered, thick and suffocating. You said nothing, only brushed your fingers through his hair, your silence an answer in itself.

And as his breaths deepened and sleep took him, you stared at the shadows on the ceiling, your heart echoing the words you could never speak aloud.

“I ask myself that every day, Sy.”

—•

You stood by the mirror, your fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, smoothing it as if that could erase the doubt gnawing at you.

The softest of hopes lingered in your eyes, a silent question you didn’t dare voice.

He stood behind you, his reflection sharp and cold in the glass. His gaze slid over you, lingering too long, too critically, before his lips curled into something cruel.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The words sliced through the air, sharp and precise, cutting deeper than any blade. Your breath hitched, but you said nothing. You only lowered your gaze, focusing on the tremble in your hands, the sting in your chest.

Silence stretched between you both, heavy and suffocating.

He turned away first, already dismissing you, already walking out the door as though you were nothing more than a shadow.

You stayed where you were, staring into the mirror, wondering if the glass reflected the truth—or just the broken pieces of what you had once believed yourself to be.

—•

You woke with a start, your breath catching in your throat as the cold emptiness of the room pressed in around you.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The memories of that night rushed in like an unwelcome tide, blurring the edges of sleep with bitter reality.

But the harsh morning light, spilling cold and indifferent across the floor, offered no comfort.

The bed beside you was empty, cold, and the realization struck you like a blow to the gut.

You were still here, still trapped in this hollow existence, your hopes dangling by the thinnest of threads.

Later, you sat in the quiet of the garden.

The air was cool, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and wilting blossoms.

It should have been peaceful, but the silence weighed heavy, mirroring the ache in your chest.

A servant approached, his footsteps soft against the stone path.

He set down a tray with careful hands, his gaze lingering on your face, etched with sadness too deep to hide.

His smile was gentle, laced with understanding—he had seen enough to know the truth that lingered behind closed doors.

He spoke softly, his voice carrying a warmth you rarely felt anymore.

“Missus, I’ve brought your tea. Would you like me to pour it for you?”

You nodded, your lips curving into a faint smile, though it barely touched your eyes.

The servant poured the tea with steady hands, the delicate stream of amber liquid filling the porcelain cup. Steam rose in soft tendrils, curling into the morning air like a ghost of comfort, ephemeral and fleeting.

You watched in silence, your gaze distant, as though the simple ritual might offer you some measure of solace.

But the warmth of the tea would be fleeting, just like everything else you had once believed in.

The red datura bloomed in defiant splendor, their crimson petals unfurling like drops of blood against the pale green leaves.

Each flower stood as a silent testament to the pain you carried, a reflection of the suffering that rooted itself deep within your soul.

As you sat in the garden, the delicate porcelain cup warm between your fingers, you couldn’t help but remember his words—sharp and cutting, carved into your memory like stone.

“I don’t want them to know I’m married to an ugly woman like you.”

The bitterness of the tea was nothing compared to the bitterness of those words, still echoing in your mind.

Your fingers trembled as they reached out, tracing the soft outline of a datura’s petal.

The texture was smooth, delicate, a stark contrast to the raw ache in your heart.

For a fleeting moment, the flower’s beauty offered you a distraction, something to focus on besides the hollow weight of rejection.

The garden was your only refuge, the one place where silence was a comfort rather than a weapon.

Here, you could be alone with your thoughts, your pain, and the quiet longing that pulsed through you like a second heartbeat.

“I wish I was as beautiful as you,” you whispered, your voice fragile and uncertain, the words trembling on the edge of hope and despair.

It wasn’t just a wish—it was a desperate plea, a longing to be seen, to be wanted, to be loved in the way you once believed was possible.

The daturas swayed gently in the breeze, their movements soft and graceful, as though they had heard you and offered some unspoken comfort.

But their beauty only deepened the hollow ache within you, a cruel reminder of all that you were not.

The flowers were perfect, untouched by harsh words or cold gazes.

And as you looked upon them, you wondered if you would ever feel beautiful again—or if you had ever truly been so at all.

As you stared at the delicate petals of the flower, you wondered if you would ever truly find acceptance, not just from your husband, but from yourself.

The doubts and fears you carried weighed heavy on your heart, a constant reminder of your unhappiness.

Loneliness was your constant companion.

“What happened to eternity?”

You were not born beneath gilded ceilings or within the embrace of wealth.

Your hands knew the weight of labor, your feet the uneven paths of cobbled streets.

You did not have the luxury of a name that commanded respect, nor the safety of connections that shielded one from the world’s cruelties.

You had nothing but your own spirit, your own quiet resilience.

And yet, against all odds, he loved you.

Once.

In the early days, his love had been a promise whispered beneath moonlit skies, a vow pressed into your palm like something sacred.

He had looked at you as if the stars themselves had settled in your eyes, as if wealth and status were mere trifles before the force of what you shared.

You had thought he did not care for such things.

That love, your love, was enough.

When he took your hand and led you into his world, you believed it was because nothing else mattered—his family’s disdain, the weight of his image, the whispers of high society.

He had chosen you despite them all.

And in return, you had given him everything.

But time has a cruel way of unraveling the illusions we cherish.

Now, you stand upon uncertain ground, watching the distance between you grow wider with each passing day.

The love that once defied the world now wilts under the weight of expectations, of cold glances and unspoken regrets.

You search his eyes for the boy who once swore to love you, but all you find is a man sculpted by duty, hardened by obligation.

And for the first time, you wonder—was it ever truly love?

Or had you simply been a dream he once indulged, only to wake and realize it had no place in his world?

—•

“I’ll protect you from all harm,” the young boy had said, silver hair gleaming under the sun, red eyes sharp with confidence.

He had pushed a red datura behind your ear, his smirk as bold as his promise.

“I’ll marry you and take care of you for the rest of my life. You can’t escape me.”

You had only beamed up at him, your laughter light and carefree. “Okay!” you had giggled, eyes crinkling into crescents, unaware of the weight those words would one day carry.

It was true. You couldn’t escape. You didn’t want to.

You stood in the garden, fingers brushing over the dark blooms—black and red daturas that thrived beneath your gentle hands.

You misted them gently, marveling at their deceptive beauty, at how something so poisonous could flourish under your care.

A low, gruff voice broke the silence behind you. “May I join you?”

Ah, your beloved.

You gestured for him to sit while you continued tending to your flowers. Even as sunlight bathed the garden, a shadow seemed to linger—an unseen presence, like the grim reaper waiting to claim the death of what remained between you.

“Why do you love daturas so much?”

You could’ve told him about the care and patience it took, the time you’d poured into nurturing them.

But that wasn’t the whole truth.

“No reason,” you said softly.

Because he doesn’t even remember why.

—•

As the years passed, and you learned to exist in the quiet, in the absence of warmth and words.

The house now felt colder, larger, echoing with memories that no longer seemed to belong to you.

You moved through it like a shadow, your steps soft, your eyes distant. You learned to stop waiting—for his gaze, his words, his apologies.

You caught glimpses of him, glass in hand, shoulders heavy with regret he wouldn’t voice.

There were nights you heard him outside your door, a faint presence, as if he lingered there, torn between entering and walking away.

But he never knocked.

Never crossed the threshold.

And that hurt more than his anger ever had.

It was simply easier to pretend you didn’t notice.

Easier to let the silence stretch between you both like a vast, impassable sea.

You couldn’t bear to reach for him again, to extend your hand only to feel it slapped away by his indifference.

So, you built your own walls.

You found comfort in the loneliness, in the numbness that settled over you like a shroud.

If he wouldn’t come to you, if he wouldn’t speak, then you would learn to exist without him.

And yet, when you sat by the window, eyes on the dark horizon, there were moments when you thought you felt him standing there, just beyond the door.

Close, but not close enough.

That’s what was painful. Not the insults. Not the cruelty.

The distance that seemed to stretch on forever.

The distance that he did not dare cross.

—•

A giggle echoed through the empty, abandoned chapel.

A young girl stood radiant in the wedding gown her father had sacrificed his life’s savings for, its fabric a symbol of hope and dreams.

Beside her, young Sylus looked dashing in his tuxedo, his hands warm as they clasped hers.

Two souls, bound by innocent promises, painfully unaware of the cruel, unrelenting pull of the future.

Now, you sob quietly, your forehead pressed against the cool pane of glass.

Outside, the trees sway gently, whispering their silent consolation.

The moon drapes the world in silver, casting a serene glow that masks the storm within you.

In these moments of despair, you wonder how your life has unraveled into this—a marriage in name only, a gilded prison built from wealth and social standing.

A promise once made in love, now broken beneath the weight of reality.

You could have left—walked away from it all and started anew.

But you didn’t.

Some deep, stubborn part of you still clings to the hope that he could change, that beneath the hardened facade, the boy you once loved could be saved.

But the more reasonable part of your mind whispers the truth you try so hard to ignore.

People like him don’t change, no matter how badly you want them to.

No, because to you.

He’s still the boy you loved all those years ago.

You wanted to believe in love’s power to heal, to transform.

You wanted to believe that love could reach into the coldest heart and warm it again.

But the more you let yourself fall into nostalgia, the sharper the ache in your chest becomes.

“How could I have loved him?”

The thought tears through you, painful and bitter.

It’s as though you’re seeing the world for the first time since your youth—seeing it without the haze of love that had shielded you from the truth.

And with that clarity came pain, sharp and unyielding, as if the illusion you’d clung to had shattered all at once.

You surrendered.

Because he’s gone.

—•

You were in the garden again today, much like all your days.

You were knelt in front of the bed of daturas that you had so painstakingly nurtured to life.

They were your hope, your last thread tethering you to him.

You heard the familiar crunch of footsteps behind you again, only this time, they sounded angry.

You turned around to see your beloved.

But.

It all happened too fast.

Snap.

“..no..”

Crunch.

“…stop...”

Snap.

“…please...”

Crack.

Another stem bent, snapping underfoot, followed by the weightless thud of a petal hitting the ground, fading into the soft rustle of the air.

You silently fell to your knees, reaching for the broken remains.

Your hands trembled as they hovered over the crushed petals, fingertips brushing over them as if trying to piece the beauty back together.

But nothing could fix it now.

Your garden lay ruined—just as your love had long been.

You knelt among the wreckage, your fingers ghosting over the ruined flowers as if touch alone could mend what was lost.

The soil was still warm, the scent of crushed blooms lingering in the air—faintly sweet, but tinged with bitterness.

It felt like a funeral, not just for the daturas, but for every unspoken word, every quiet hope you’d buried deep within yourself.

He stood above you, silent and unmoving, his shadow falling over you like a storm cloud.

Yet he said nothing, offered no apology, no explanation.

Perhaps there was none to give.

And as you gathered the shattered petals into your trembling hands, your heart echoed with a single, hollow truth—some things, once broken, could never be made whole again.

You didn’t cry—you simply sat there, as if mourning something deeper than flowers. Something far older, far more fragile.

It wasn’t just the flowers he’d destroyed that morning.

—•

Days blurred into weeks, and the grand, empty halls of your home became suffocating.

You stopped reaching for him, stopped pleading for affection that was never returned.

Your tears had long dried, your heart hardened beneath the weight of rejection and cruelty.

You retreated into yourself, building walls of cold indifference that even his sharpest words couldn’t pierce.

It was safer this way.

You met it all with silence.

Your face an emotionless mask.

You wouldn’t offer him another fragment of your heart.

Not when he had crushed it beneath his heel so many times before.

You became a shadow, drifting through rooms that once held memories of laughter and hope.

You lingered in the garden, not for solace, but out of habit.

You sat by the fire, not for comfort, but because the silence was easier to bear than his presence.

And though it hurt—God, it hurt— you told yourself this was better.

Safer.

Because indifference was easier than hope, and distance was easier than love.

And yet, you knew he was there.

He was always there.

You felt his presence linger just beyond the doorway, heavy and hesitant.

But you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him.

What was the point? Words had failed you long ago.

The glass trembled in your hand, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill in the air or the ache in your heart.

You traced the rim of the glass with slow, deliberate motions, focusing on the sensation, on anything but the weight of his stare.

Once, you might’ve called to him.

Once, you would have reached out, hoping for warmth, for comfort, for the man you had loved in another life.

But that man was gone, buried beneath cold words and cruel actions. And the woman you had been?

You weren’t sure if there was anything of you left.

So you sat there, still and silent, letting the firelight dance across your face.

If he wanted to speak, he would.

If he wanted to leave, he would. It didn’t matter.

Because you were already alone anyway.

You heard him take a hesitant step forward.

“I never wanted it to be like this.”

You didn’t turn to face him, your gaze still fixed on the fire. “But it is.”

His jaw tightened. “It doesn’t have to be.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft but sharp.

“I was angry,” he said, his words rushed, desperate.

“I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew. You just didn’t care.”

His hands clenched at his sides. “I care now.”

“It’s too late, leave.”

The words settled between you, heavy and final.

“Fine,” he growled, bitterness lacing his words.

“Stay in your prison, then,” he said, his voice sharp as glass.

“It’s what you seem to want.”

And with that, he walked away, the finality of his words lingered like smoke in the air.

You didn’t move. You didn’t call after him.

But as the silence settled, a single tear traced the curve of your cheek, falling into your lap—silent, unseen, and unanswered.

His footsteps echoed down the hall, each one hammering against the walls of your heart.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak.

You remained by the fire, your gaze fixed on nothing, your hands cold and still.

The finality of his words echoed in your mind, bitter and heavy.

Stay in your prison, then.

You swallowed hard, the tear slipping down your cheek burning like acid against your skin.

But you didn’t wipe it away.

You let it fall, let it soak into the fabric of your dress, a quiet mark of pain you refused to acknowledge.

Because wasn’t this your prison?

These walls, this silence, this love turned to ash?

It’s what you seem to want.

He’s wrong.

You had wanted him—his warmth, his love, his promise of forever.

You had wanted the boy who once tucked a datura flower behind your ear and vowed to protect you.

But that boy was long gone, replaced by a man who wielded his cruelty like a weapon.

And yet, even as you sat there, your heart breaking in the quiet, you could still feel the remnants of that old love clinging to you like a child.

Love that refused to die, no matter how much pain it cost you.

You let the silence fill the room, heavy and suffocating, and wondered if this was how it would end—not with screams or accusations, but with quiet indifference, with love burned down to its embers.

Still, you waited.

Even after his footsteps had faded into the depths of the house, after the walls swallowed the last echo of his retreat, you waited for him to come back.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, filling the space where his presence had once been.

But he never did.

The realization struck you like a blade to the chest, sharp and merciless.

He wasn’t coming back.

Not tonight.

Not tomorrow.

Not ever—not to that room, not to you, not to the memory of the promises you had once shared.

Your breath shuddered, a ragged, broken thing that tore through the stillness.

You clenched your fists, nails biting into your palms as if pain could anchor you to something real, something that wasn’t crumbling beneath you.

And perhaps that was the cruelest wound of all.

Not his harsh words. Not the fights.

Not even the destruction of the things you had once held dear.

It was this—his absence.

His choice to walk away, to leave you there in the cold wreckage of your love.

His silence said more than any apology ever could.

He had left you.

Willingly.

And you hated him for it.

But more than that, you hated yourself for still wishing he would come back.

—•

Mindlessly, you began to paint with swift, deliberate strokes.

You drew upon the storm of anger and sorrow within you, channeling every raw emotion into the canvas.

Colors bled and swirled, each hue a reflection of your inner turmoil, a silent confession of all you could not speak.

When you finally leaned back, surprise flickered in your eyes.

There, staring back at you, was a portrait of your husband—his gaze dark, piercing, and unrelenting.

The image was shadowed yet captivating, an honest depiction of the conflicting emotions he stirred within you.

Your heart splintered beneath the weight of realization.

No matter how cruel he had become, you still loved him—the boy who had once held your hands and whispered comfort into the darkness.

It was a bittersweet truth, a love laced with quiet agony.

How could you still care for a man who brought you nothing but pain?

How could the warmth of old memories survive beneath the shadow of his cruelty?

As your emotions tangled with the strokes of your brush, you traced the outline of a delicate datura blossom along the portrait’s edge.

Its beauty was deceptive, hiding a venomous danger beneath its soft petals.

Just like him.

You were exhausted. The relentless push and pull had begun to erode you, wearing you down piece by piece.

Staring at your creation—those crimson eyes that seemed to pierce through you—as the weight of it all crashed over your body.

Your hand flew to your mouth, but it couldn’t muffle the sobs that tore free, raw and broken.

The loneliness of the room closed in, wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud.

That was the moment your descent into madness began.

—•

You didn’t look at him. You didn’t even pause.

Another painting—another part of your memories, another part of the past you shared, slipped into the fire, its edges curling as the flames devoured it with you alongside with it.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need them anymore,” you said, your voice low, steady.

“They were only ever reminders of what I could never have.”

You didn’t need them.

You didn’t need him.

“Everything can burn for all I care.”

—•

It had been days since you had last eaten a proper meal, and your body felt as though it was devouring itself from the inside out.

Hunger gnawed at you, a relentless ache that clawed through your stomach and seeped into your bones.

Each movement was sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, and the simple act of standing felt like a battle against your own frailty.

The meals prepared by the staff, once rich and enticing, now repulsed you. The aroma that drifted through the halls, once comforting, now turned your stomach.

Everything tasted of ash and regret, and the thought of swallowing even a morsel felt impossible.

You weren’t sure if it was defiance or despair that drove your refusal, but either way, you welcomed the sharp pangs of hunger.

It was a punishment you could control, a pain of your own choosing.

Your gaze lingered on the portrait—your hollow eyes, the pallor of your painted skin.

The woman in the frame looked brittle, fragile, like she might break with a single breath. Perhaps she would.

The datura blossom in your painted hair mocked you, its delicate beauty a cruel contrast to your suffering.

Like the flower, you were toxic—wilting beneath the weight of your own pain.

And with each passing day, as your body weakened and your ribs pressed sharper against your skin, you wondered how long it would take before you faded completely.

You watched as it burned, the flames hungrily consuming the portrait until it was nothing but a pile of smoldering ash.

A hollow ache settled deep in your chest, heavy and suffocating. The image of yourself—those tired eyes, that weary smile—crumbled beneath the heat, dissolving into smoke and shadow.

Yet, even as the portrait vanished, the bitterness it had captured lingered, thick in the air, clinging to you like a second skin.

You stared at the ashes at your feet, feeling as though they mirrored your own ruin.

All the hurt, all the broken pieces of your heart, lay scattered there—burnt and lifeless.

And yet, beneath the weight of it all, one truth pulsed relentlessly within you.

You loved him. You still did.

Despite every cruel word, every wound he carved into your soul, your heart remained bound to him.

You had wanted nothing more than to love him, to be enough, to be seen and cherished by the boy who once promised to protect you.

And that was the final straw.

Not the sharp sting of his words, nor the weight of his silence.

But the slow, aching truth that love had unraveled between your fingers.

Thread by thread, until nothing remained but emptiness where warmth once lived.

—•

It’s been weeks.

You stood there, watching him from the threshold, the dim light casting shadows across his face.

The man slouched in the armchair was no longer the Sylus you had once known.

There was no trace of the boy who had promised to protect you, nor the man you’d vowed to love.

All that remained was a hollow shell drowning in liquor and self-loathing.

His laugh echoed in the stillness, sharp and cruel, but it did nothing to stir your heart. You felt nothing.

No anger.

No pity.

Only emptiness.

This was who he had become, and maybe who he had always been.

Your eyes lingered on the glass in his hand, the tremor in his fingers, the desperation in his gaze.

You wondered if it was the alcohol that made his voice so brittle, or if it was the weight of regret.

Either way, it wasn’t your burden to bear anymore.

When he raised his glass and whispered, “To strangers, then,” you didn’t flinch.

You didn’t speak.

There was nothing left to say.

Some things didn’t deserve words.

Only silence.

And so, you turned. Your footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the shadows.

You didn’t look back.

You didn’t need to.

The sound of glass shattering behind you was the only thing you needed—a final, broken farewell.

—•

Soon, you holed yourself in the studio, the scent of turpentine and oil paints thick in the air, wrapping you like a drunken haze.

You painted with a feverish intensity, your hands trembling, your eyes wide and unfocused.

The brush moved as though guided by something outside of your control—desperate, frantic, relentless.

And always, it was daturas.

Daturas blooming in the dark.

Daturas wilting beneath heavy skies.

Daturas twisting around faceless figures, their vines coiling like serpents.

You painted them over and over, their red and black, poisonous petals staining the canvas like blood.

You whispered to them as you worked, your words soft and broken. “You’re all I have left,” you’d murmur, your fingers tracing the curve of painted petals.

“You’re the only ones who stayed.”

You looked deranged, the way you watched them dry, your gaze lingering as though they were speaking back to you.

You no longer saw the man who had torn you apart—only the flowers. Only the symbols of beauty, of danger, of betrayal.

They were your audience, your confidants, the only ones who understood the hollow ache gnawing inside you.

Sleep and food became distant memories.

You survived on bitter sips of water and the scent of paint.

Your body grew weaker, your mind sharper—every shadow in the corner of the room another datura blooming on a canvas.

And sometimes, you swore they bloomed for you.

You swore they watched you, their pale faces turned toward you as though they, too, mourned the pieces of yourself you’d lost.

“Ah, what pretty datura.” You’d say as you admired your work.

The brush quivered in your grip, dragging across the canvas with trembling intensity. Your voice, low and sharp, sliced through the silence.

“I promise to protect you from all harm.”

Stroke. A smear of red, like blood blooming on white.

“To love and care for you.”

Drag. The bristles tore the paint, rough and unforgiving.

“I’ll marry you and make you the happiest girl in the world!”

Scrape. Hard, cruel, final.

You laughed—a jagged, broken sound that echoed off the walls, sharp with sarcasm and bitterness.

“Oh, how happy I am,” you whispered mockingly.

The datura bloomed beneath your brush, dark and venomous. A twisted parody of love, petals inked with betrayal.

Each stroke felt like a wound reopened, each flower a grave for every promise he’d shattered.

Soon, the datura multiplied. Like a plague of ghostly blooms spreading across the canvases, like a sickness you couldn’t escape.

Each stroke was feverish, each flower more twisted, more grotesque than the last—petals like blades, stems like nooses.

They weren’t just paintings; they were screams, confessions, curses etched in oil and pain.

The studio reeked of turpentine and madness, suffocating in its intensity.

The walls closed in, adorned with your torment, each canvas a tombstone for the love you’d buried with your own hands.

What was once a sanctuary had become a crypt, a shrine to the betrayal that gnawed at your bones.

And still, you painted.

As if capturing the poison would give you control over it.

As if every brushstroke could bleed the agony from your veins.

The words echoed in your mind like a chant, a twisted mantra that danced around your thoughts, taunting you with the remnants of something you had once believed in.

Your fingers gripped the brush tighter, the bristles scraping the canvas with a violence that mirrored the chaos inside you.

Your movements were robotic, each stroke deliberate yet erratic.

The red of the datura on the canvas burned like a fever in your veins, painting the room in a scarlet haze.

You couldn’t escape them.

They consumed you.

Its delicate petals now mocking you, reminding you of every promise broken.

Every hope crushed.

The words from him, once sweet and tender, were now nothing more than a cruel joke.

“Your eyes are the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

They were beautiful, yes, but they had dried from endless tears, had grown cold from the endless betrayals.

The sparkle had dulled, replaced by an emptiness you couldn’t fill, not even with the most feverish painting session.

Your laugh was hollow, a bitter sound that barely rose above a whisper.

Your eyes flicked back to the canvas, staring into the crimson abyss you had created.

The flowers stared back at you, indifferent, cold—like him.

The promise of beauty and love had been nothing but a lie.

You dropped the brush, your hands trembling, covered in paint you did not bother to wash.

You were consumed by the endless sea of datura, but you knew one thing for certain: you were never going to escape.

“I’ll always protect you.”

“What a beautiful lie.”

Insanity came knocking, and you had welcomed it.

—•

Day and night, you remain in front of the easel, lost in a whirlwind of crimson and black, colors that bleed from your heart onto the canvas.

The vibrant hues reflect the chaos within you, the echoes of a silver-haired man who once vowed to protect you, only to become the shadow that haunts your steps.

Your mind becomes consumed with painting, each stroke of your brush a desperate attempt to give shape to the emotions you can no longer voice.

The portraits of blood-red daturas that bloom across your canvases are more than mere art—they are confessions, silent screams captured in color.

Every petal, every shadow is a testament to the love and agony entwined within you.

Your art becomes your only sanctuary, the brush your sole weapon against the pain.

Each painting is a battle fought in silence, an offering of your soul laid bare, layer by layer, stroke by stroke.

And though your hands ache and your eyes burn, you paint on—because it is the only way to feel again.

You could feel his eyes on you, heavy and searching.

There was a time when his gaze had meant the world to you—a silent approval you craved, a warmth you clung to.

But that woman is gone, buried beneath years of indifference and pain.

Now, his stare feels like a shadow, something you can step out of whenever you choose.

“Came to see the show?” Sarcastic, bitter.

His eyes flickered, confused, surprised.

A part of you wants to feel satisfaction at that, but all you feel is emptiness.

He can no longer break you, because there is nothing left to break.

And yet, beneath your calm exterior, something aches.

The smallest, cruelest part of you wonders if he would fight for you, if he would peel back the layers of distance and try to reach you like he once had.

But the silence between you both only stretches, confirming what you already know.

He wouldn’t.

He never would.

Let him linger in the doorway, unsure and powerless.

You were done waiting.

—•

The studio felt like a tomb, every inch of the room suffocating with the weight of your despair.

The canvas is an unforgiving witness to the storm that has consumed you—a mixture of vivid reds and sickly hues, each stroke painted with the agony of a love that has withered to nothing.

The datura flowers bloom in grotesque profusion, their twisted forms reflecting the nightmare your life has become.

But it isn’t just the canvas that carries the weight of your pain.

You feel it in your body—your very soul burning with exhaustion.

Your hands tremble violently as you tried to reach up to your mouth.

You can taste the blood, warm and metallic, as it splatters across the canvas.

Each breath feels like it could be your last, the world around you blurring as darkness creeps in from the edges of your vision.

You felt warm hands gripping your shoulders, shaking you with desperate urgency.

You try to focus, to make sense of the blurry figure hovering above you, but your mind is fading.

Sylus..?

Your heart, heavy with confusion and sorrow, still called out to him, the name slipping past your lips as though it were a forgotten prayer.

His pale face swims into view, panic etching every line of his features, his wild, silver hair rippled softly as he shook your shoulders, those carmine eyes that you loved so much reflected panic, but you can’t find the energy to care about him anymore.

You had no more strength left.

The world around you grows distant as you fall into unconsciousness, the last thing you see—the twisted flowers you have painted and the shattered remnants of what once was.

And for a fleeting moment, you wish that you could forget it all.

It’s the last bit of warmth, a small comfort before everything slips away into the darkness.

“Ah, what pretty datura.”

.

.

[wendichester]

hi, can you do a dean winchester one where the reader is his fiance, and when she is all sad and mellow on her birthday because she found it that her mom died. and dean comforts her and he does chessy stuff to get her to smile again. they obviously do the birthday traditions of course because it is her birthday

࣪ ִֶָ☾. happy sad birthday,

summary. dean will always do everything to make you feel better

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 604

notes. thank you for requesting hun! 😙

Dean knows something’s wrong the second he walks into the motel room.

You’re curled up on the bed, arms wrapped around your knees, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows on your face. You should be happy today. It’s your birthday. But instead, your eyes are red-rimmed, your lips pressed into a thin line, and the moment you look at him, he just knows.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is softer than usual, careful. He sets the bag of takeout on the table and crosses the room in a few easy strides. “Talk to me.”

You swallow hard, looking away. “My mom…” The words come out shaky, barely there. “She passed away.”

Dean stills. His heart twists, because he knows—he knows how deep that cuts. Losing a parent leaves something hollow inside you, and there’s nothing in this world that can truly fill that void.

“Aw, baby…” He sinks onto the bed beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in. “Come here.”

And that’s all it takes. You bury your face in his chest, fists gripping his flannel like it’s the only thing keeping you together. His arms tighten around you, steady and warm, his hand stroking slow circles on your back.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I wish I could make it better.”

You sniffle, fingers loosening just a little. “You being here helps.”

He smiles against your hair, but it’s laced with sadness. “Always, sweetheart.”

For a while, you just sit there. Breathing him in, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against your cheek. And then, because he’s Dean Winchester and he can’t stand seeing you sad, he pulls back just enough to tip your chin up, his eyes sparkling with something mischievous.

“So,” he says. “You wanna get out of this motel room?”

You blink at him, wary. “Dean—”

“Come on.” He nudges your nose with his. “It’s your birthday, and birthdays mean cake and candles and obnoxious amounts of attention from yours truly.”

Despite yourself, you let out a tiny huff of laughter. “I don’t really feel like celebrating.”

“Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I already got a plan.” He stands, grabbing your hands and pulling you up with him. “And I don’t half-ass birthday plans.”

“What kind of plan?”

“The kind that starts with burgers and pie,” he says, winking. “And ends with you having a damn good birthday.”

An hour later, you’re sitting in Baby, a burger half-eaten in front of you, Dean’s knee knocking against yours. He keeps the conversation light, making ridiculous jokes, telling you stories you’ve already heard a million times just because he knows they make you laugh. And when you do, when that first real smile breaks through, his whole face lights up like he just won the lottery.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and God, the way he looks at you—it’s like you hung the damn moon and stars in the sky.

And when he pulls out a tiny cupcake, a single candle flickering on top, you roll your eyes but can’t stop the warmth from spreading through your chest.

“Make a wish, sweetheart.”

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. You could wish for a lot of things. But right now, all you want is this. Him. The way he holds you, the way he makes the world feel just a little bit lighter.

You open your eyes, meeting his, and blow out the candle.

“Happy birthday, baby,” he whispers, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. And for the first time today, you believe it just might be.

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

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ⋆ @i-love-gvf ⋆ @lemonswinchester ⋆ @4k1vrr ⋆ @bejeweledinterludes ( continues in the comments )

[moosesarecute]

Pyjamas party

Azriel x reader

-

It wasn’t unusual for you to miss out on the family dinners once a while.

It wasn’t unusual for you to stay home instead of going to Rita’s.

It wasn’t unusual for you to quietly leave a social gathering without anyone noticing before long after.

However, it was unusual for you to not show up for the big party on Starfall. You loved Starfall! It was you and most others from the Night Court’s favorite holiday.

Rhys had told them that you just weren’t coming, but Azriel didn’t trust him.

“What’s going on with her?” He asked his brother.

He hated knowing that you might miss out on the celebration if it was something he could’ve done to help you.

He had noticed you being antisocial sometimes, but he figured it was just that: you didn’t want or need to be more social.

He hadn’t thought twice about it before that Starfall evening.

Azriel and the rest of the inner circle, except for you, were all dressed up in the prettiest clothing. He’d expected to see you arrive with the rest of the females. He’d expected you to be dressed in the beautiful light blue gown his shadows had found laid out for you in the House of Wind.

When Rhys said you weren’t coming, he felt himself worry.

“She’s just not up for it tonight, brother. If she wanted you to know why, she would have told you,” was Rhys’ only answer.

He wasn’t surprised by that answer, but he still got annoyed. Azriel didn’t want to relax before he knew for sure that you were alright.

“She didn’t want company?”

Rhys looked at him with a glint in his eyes.

It wasn’t a secret that Azriel crushed on you. It also wasn’t a secret that you crushed on him too. The only secret was that the two of you had grown even closer the last couple of weeks and that Azriel had prepared to ask you to be his girlfriend that evening.

“She didn’t say anything about company, but I wouldn’t push her too far,” Rhys answered, gave as a pat on his back and walked over to his mate.

Azriel had heard what Rhys said, but the only thing chose to hear was that you hadn’t said no to company.

-

The knock on your door surprised you.

Who would visit you in the middle of the Starfall celebrations?

Then, shadows flew into your room and you immediately understood who.

You loved Azriel and it pained you to not explain why you didn’t go to Starfall, but you didn’t know how he would react.

You were scared he would look at you as weak or frail. Or that he would be scared of asking you to join him in doing something. Or that he’d overthink it and worry way too much about you.

So you figured not telling him anything was the best solution.

You should have known you were wrong.

You used all willpower you had to get out of the bed.

Your entire body felt heavy. It felt like you were carrying at least ten extra kilos on your upper body. Your arms hung at your sides and even putting a smile on your face was a struggle.

You still wore the pyjamas you had slept in that night and it now had different food spots on it, but it was too much for you to change it.

You wanted to, but it would take too much of the energy you didn’t have.

You wanted to climb a mountain, go dancing, start a new project, clean your apartment and so much more, but you hadn’t been able to do as much as showering for the last couple of days.

And what triggered all this energy loss?

A night out at Rita’s.

A single night, and you were bedridden for at least three days. You hadn’t gone home when the exhaustion started to build, because you were having fun. So you had stayed out long past your limit and now you were paying for it.

“Hi, Az,” you said as cheerfully as possible when you opened the door.

He didn’t buy it though.

Azriel almost took your breath away. It wasn’t often he dressed up to such an extent and he looked perfect. His hair was slicked back and he wore a black shirt and pants with a black vest with golden details. His eyes were glowing.

However, he looked worriedly at you.

“What’s going on, dreamy?”

You had fallen asleep on him, speaking loudly as you dreamt a dream about all the most random stuff. You mentioned stuff like ice cream, goats and rain.

Ever since, dreamy had been his nickname for you.

“Nothing. Why are you here?” You answered in an attempt to make him worry less.

He didn’t believe you though.

“May I come in?” He asked in a tone that made your heart melt.

You moved away from the door and let him in. He took your hand, closed the door and lead you to the couch. He then laid down and carefully pulled you down so that you laid on him.

“Talk to me, please,” he said as he brushed his fingers through your hair. “I want to know what’s going on or if I can do something. And if you don’t want to tell me, we can stay here.”

Azriel was the best male in all of Prythian. You were sure of it.

The reason you hadn’t told him about it was that you didn’t want him to worry, but it seemed like he was worrying anyway, so you decided to just tell the truth.

“You remember the sickness that made all of us sick four years ago? Well, I suppose I never really recovered from it. I don’t know if you remember the feeling of total exhaustion you and Cassian were complaining about? I felt that too and I still do from time to time. I usually just push through it, but I’ve done way too much this week, so I my body just said stop.”

You looked up as Az and saw that he was in deep thoughts. You knew he probably had many questions, he always did, but he didn’t ask you any of them and you appreciated that. You were just too exhausted to answer.

Azriel himself was thinking through the absolute awful feeling of exhaustion he had felt for about two weeks after the sickness. He still felt uncomfortable thinking about his body struggling to do the simplest tasks. And he hated knowing that you had been carrying around such exhaustion many times since. However, Starfall wasn’t the day to question you. He would ask questions on the days you had more energy.

He gave the top of your head a strong kiss.

“Is there anything I can do to get you up to the House without it being way too much for you?”

You shook your head.

“Showering and getting dressed are way too much for me right now,” you answered truthfully and you felt yourself feeling vulnerable.

However Azriel only nodded once more, before he stopped the movement of his head.

“Nobody said you had to shower and get dressed though. Give me five minutes,” he said, carefully lifted you of him and laid you down on the couch instead.

-

“Thank you.”

Azriel had gone into the celebrations to get you the biggest plate of food. There was a little bit of everything on it. Both dinners, dessert and snacks.

The two of you sat on one of the private balconies. Azriel had, with the help of his shadows, carried a small couch outside so that you could have the best view while still laying down.

“No problem, I would do anything to see that smile on your face,” he answered and kissed your forehead.

Then he took some of the food from your plate.

The souls were dancing in the sky as you two sat there in silence for a while.

“Did you get any weird looks?” You asked him quietly after a while.

“Only from Cass,” he answered. “It doesn’t matter, dreamy.”

You thanked him again and leaned into his chest. He took the now empty plate and laid it on the ground before he wrapped his safe arms around you and laid down.

You started making a buzzing sound.

“What’s going on?” He asked you laughing.

“I’m charging,” you answered. “You’re my personal charger.”

“You’re mine too,” he answered.

The two of you then fell asleep outside on the couch. But that was alright, because you both wore pyjamas.

[amyzworldds]

Title: Echoes of Exhaustion

Part two

SEVENTEEN’s relentless world tour preparations have left Jeonghan exhausted and irritable. When his concerned girlfriend, surprises the group with food during practice, hoping to ensure they’re cared for, she’s met with an unexpected backlash. Pairing: Idol Jeonghan x reader Genre: Angst

The practice room was a blur of movement and sound—sharp choreography, the echo of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor, and the faint hum of music looping for what felt like the hundredth time that day. The group had been at it for hours, preparing for their upcoming world tour, and exhaustion hung heavy in the air. Jeonghan, in particular, was running on fumes. His usually playful demeanor had been replaced by a tense, quiet focus, his body aching and his mind begging for rest. All he wanted was to push through the last set and collapse into bed.

The door creaked open, barely audible over the music, but the sudden shift in the room’s energy made it impossible to ignore. You stepped in, arms laden with bags of takeout—warm, comforting scents of rice, fried chicken, and kimbap wafting through the space. A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips as you scanned the room, spotting Jeonghan among the members. You’d been worried about him—about all of them—knowing how relentless their schedule had been. They weren’t eating properly, weren’t resting enough, and as Jeonghan’s girlfriend, you couldn’t shake the nagging concern that had settled in your chest.

“Surprise!” you said softly, setting the bags down on a nearby table. “I thought you guys could use some food. You’ve been working so hard.”

The members perked up almost instantly. Seungkwan let out a dramatic groan of relief, clutching his stomach, while Dino was already halfway to the table, muttering a grateful “Noona! you’re a lifesaver.” Even Joshua flashed you a warm, tired smile as he paused to catch his breath. But Jeonghan? He didn’t move. His eyes flicked toward you, then away, his jaw tightening as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

You stepped closer to him, voice gentle. “Hannie, I brought your favorite—spicy tteokbokki. You should take a break and eat something.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, not meeting your gaze. His tone was clipped, edged with irritation. “We’re almost done. I just want to finish this.”

You hesitated, the smile faltering on your face. “I know, but you’ve been at it all day. Just a quick break—”

“Yn, I said I’m fine,” he snapped, louder this time, his voice cutting through the room. The music stopped abruptly as someone—probably Woozi—hit pause, and a heavy silence descended. All eyes turned toward you and Jeonghan. “God, why are you being so clingy right now? I don’t need you hovering over me. We’re busy.”

The word *clingy* landed like a slap, sharp and humiliating. Your cheeks burned, and you instinctively took a step back, clutching the edge of your sleeve. The other members shifted uncomfortably—Seungcheol cleared his throat, Mingyu looked down at his shoes, and Hoshi busied himself with adjusting his cap. No one knew what to say, and the awkwardness only made it worse.

“I—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m sorry, guys.” You turned to the group, avoiding Jeonghan’s gaze entirely. “I’ll just… go. Enjoy the food.”

“Yn, wait—” Vernon started, but you were already grabbing your bag and heading for the door, your steps quick and unsteady. Jeonghan didn’t move, didn’t call after you. He just stood there, chest heaving from practice and frustration, his hands clenched at his sides.

You left the building with tears stinging your eyes, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm of embarrassment and hurt swirling in your chest. What Jeonghan didn’t know—what you hadn’t had the chance to tell him—was that this wasn’t just a random visit. You’d come because your own schedule was about to get insane. Work was piling up, deadlines looming, and you wouldn’t have time to see him for weeks. You’d wanted to steal a moment with him before everything pulled you apart, to make sure he was okay. Instead, you’d been sent away, branded as *clingy* in front of everyone.

Back in the practice room, the mood was somber. The members picked at the food in silence, the earlier excitement replaced by an unspoken tension. Jeonghan slumped against the wall, running a hand through his damp hair, replaying the scene in his mind. He hadn’t meant to snap like that—not really. He was just tired, stretched too thin, and you’d caught him at the worst possible moment. Guilt consumed him, but he pushed it down, telling himself he’d fix it later. You’d understand. You always did.

Except ‘later’ didn’t go as planned. That night, he texted you—a simple "Babe, sorry about earlier. I was out of it. Can we talk?”—but your reply was short: “It’s fine. I’m tired, going to bed.” He frowned at the screen, unease settling in, but he let it go, figuring you just needed space.

The next day, he messaged again: “Good Morning babe. You okay? ” Your response came hours later, a short “Yeah, just busy.” No emojis, no teasing, none of the warmth he was used to. He tried calling that evening, but it went to voicemail after a few rings. Another text—“Babe, you sure everything’s good?”—and this time, you didn’t reply until late: “Yep. Work’s crazy. Talk later.”

Days turned into a week, then two. His messages grew more frequent, more desperate—“Haven’t heard from you much, you alright?” “Miss you. Call me when you’re free?”—but your responses, when they came at all, were brief and distant: “Busy right now. I’ll let you know.” He scrolled through the thread, the one-sidedness of it glaring back at him. You weren’t just busy. You were pulling away.

Jeonghan sat on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the last message he’d sent—“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. Can we please talk?”—and the “Read” status beneath it that had been there for a day with no reply. His chest tightened. He’d messed up, he knew that, but he hadn’t realized how deep the wound had gone. Now, he was left wondering if you were mad, hurt, or worse done with him entirely. The thought made his stomach twist, and for the first time in weeks, the exhaustion from practice felt insignificant compared to the ache of missing you.

[stagkingswife]

What I've Done Instead of Shadow Work

This is going to be the last thing I say on the topic of shadow work, because, honestly I'm getting bored of the subject and would rather go back to talking about spirit work, or spells, or any of the many other subjects that I care a thousand times more about. Some folks seem to be hearing “I refuse to do any introspection” when I say "I have never and will never do shadow work". I have done lots of introspection, I've done therapy that follows evidence based practices, I just see no reason do try and guide myself through a method of therapy with little to no scientific evidence. But in case anyone's curious, or wants some tips, here's what I've done instead! Mindfulness exercises: I love mindfulness exercises that train you to think about your thoughts, but not judge them. Consistent mindfulness practice has really helped me become more aware of my internal thought processes, what I get hung up on, what I struggle with, what emotions I’m feeling and what caused them.

The Artist Way & Embrace Your Weird: These are both self help books for creative folks with a heavy emphasis on journaling and self expression. I found both of these helpful in different ways when I felt like I was struggling with creative burnout or felt like I was stuck in the daily grind of my day job.

Journaling: I keep multiple journals! One is a commonplace book that I fill up with on the spot thoughts, quotes, song lyrics, etc. just stuff I want to remember. The other I write in every morning when I first wake up, a continuation of the morning pages from the Artist’s Way, to just unpack and process whatever going on in my head.

Therapy: Actual real therapy with a licensed professional. I specifically see a pain psychologist because most of what we focus on is the impact my chronic pain has on my and developing healthy coping mechanisms for that.

I think what gets a bee in my bonnet the most about the few negative reactions I’ve gotten on this topic is that these folks seem most concerned about the trauma and “inner demons” aspects of shadow work. There’s always something about how dangerous or unhealthy it is for me or even those around me for me to have not delt with my trauma via shadow work. I don’t like that they presume to know my life and mental health history without having ever spoken to me. And I really don’t like the insistance that everyone has the same kind of trauma that needs to be healed in the same way.

[takumiraine]

Once Upon a Time chapter 13

I attempted to move towards fluff and humor in this chapter and the next one. Also half of this chapter was written on actual paper. Gasp.

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny liked Jason’s apartment. It was cozy in a way his wasn’t. Even though there wasn’t much furniture, the couch, a small coffee table, the arm chair, and a little dining table with wooden chairs near the kitchen summing up everything Danny could see, it felt warmer than his own. There were signs of life in the dishes on the counter, the sweatshirt hung over the back of a wooden chair, the weights on the floor. Even the stuff that was put away, oozed life.

Danny looked over at the couch where Jason had his book and froze. Jason was watching him scope out his apartment. Shit. Fuck. What…. What was he going to do or say? He looked like he’s planning on robbing him. Which wasn’t true! “You…. Uh…. Have a nice place.” Danny said, swallowing nervously. “Warm. Homey.” Stop talking Danny. “Nothing actively trying to kill you.” Ancients fucking damn it.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Thanks….?”

Danny tried to go back to reading but he felt Jason staring at him yet. Which made sense. He tried to read the first sentence on the page. Failed. Tried again. Failed again. Closed his eyes. Opened them again. Then slowly tore a piece off of the current page of his notebook and stuck it in as a makeshift bookmark, closing the book.

“Ask.” Danny turned to look at Jason, who was doing a very good job of pretending he hadn’t been staring.

“Ask what?” Jason asked, instead of one of the millions of questions Danny could tell were swirling in his head like stars in the galaxy.

“Your questions. You’ve been…. Unreasonably patient.” Danny was used to prying, both intentional and unintentional, invasive and subtle.

“Well. You aren’t a threat.”

Danny snorted. “To you maybe not. But if you saw video you know what I can do. That’s not even all of it.”

“I said what I said.” Danny frowned at how offhand Jason sounded.

“How can you be a protector of Gotham and not take me seriously as a potential threat?”

“Do you want to know what I saw during our dive into your history? I saw a scared kid who didn’t want to hurt anyone. I saw someone who when having people better armed and going for lethal damage attacking them and the people they cared about using only enough force to escape. Not sinking to their level. Protecting others even at a cost to themselves. You are not a threat to anyone who doesn’t attack you first.” Jason’s voice was calm and steady, low in a way that was unique to Red Hood.

Danny stared. Jason knew so much about him already. Had so many insights. Just from the GIW footage! Danny has never felt or been so seen so quickly.

He hated it.

Having spent most of his life a ghost, pun intended, in the lives of his loved ones, he didn’t like a relative stranger seeing things his parents and teachers hadn’t seen. His classmates had even struggled to understand Phantom even as he was actively saving their asses.

Danny scrunched back in the chair. His face pinched up and his eyebrows furrowed. He resisted the urge to cross his arms. “Gotham has attacked first.” He pointed out instead.

Jason laughed. Danny’s eyebrows furrowed more. Infuriatingly hot bastard.

Wait. Nope. No time for that right now.

“Yeah, but not in any way that mattered. If they did, you would have fought back,” Jason countered. He was still so casual about it. Danny still hated it.

What was worse was that he was right. Danny hadn’t been attacked meaningfully. Not until Batman demanded answers.

Even then, he had almost run.

“Fine,” Danny conceded, definitely not pouting or sulking. “So I’m not a threat without reason. What now?”

Jason leaned back, smirking a bit, “now we thank whatever gods exist that you’re an actual adult because you’re adoption bait. Besides.” Jason’s eyes narrowed slightly, dangerous, “the title of ‘half dead kid’ is already taken. By me.” His words were a weird mix of humor and deadly serious. The smirk gave way to teeth. Not unlike how Danny would sometimes let his smile go too wide or show more teeth than normal.

It did, admittedly, throw Danny a little. He just nodded. “Okay then.” He didn’t want to be adopted anyways. “I’m good with being essentially parentless. Between my actual parents and Vlad…” Danny couldn’t suppress a shudder. “Pass.”

Jason grabbed his book again, letting Danny lapse into silence. Probably to give him a moment or two to recover. To unclench. Danny took one slow breath, then another. Even though he didn’t need to breathe it helped him remember that he wasn’t in any obviously immediate danger.

Only once Danny was settled again did Jason close his book. “How did you settle the pit?”

It took Danny a moment to realize that Jason was referring to the previous offer to answer questions. Still. This wasn’t one he knew of. “The pit?” Danny returned, head tilting to the side.

Jason’s expression went from curious to confused as well. “The pit rage?” He began, then paused. “Makes you angry all the time?” He paused again. “Turns your eyes green?” That is what sparked recognition in Danny. Finally.

“Oh. That. Well. It’s a bit complicated. So….” Danny took a breath. He hated giving this speech. He really needed to make a ‘So you recently died but not really’ pamphlet.

Danny bit his lip, trying to figure out where to begin. “So I’m not going to ask how you died. That’s kind of a rude question with ghosts and ghost adjacent people. But how you die has an effect on your core. It influences your obsession and your domains. It also determines whether you’re a half ghost or a revenant, or something else entirely. Being a halfa, or half ghost, means you’re a bit more malleable at first. Revenants are less easy to control as they’re vengeance focused and unless that is satisfied they tend to go nuts. You seem to be a weird cross between the two. But your domain or obsession might just be vengeance so…. It’s hard to tell. I’ve been a ghost…. A while. and I’m considered a pretty powerful one unfortunately. So my ecto is probably smoothing your core out. It was a bit…. Rough.” And the award goes to Danny for ‘understatement of the millennia’. “Especially since the ambient ecto around here is…. Honestly disgusting.”

Danny knew he had just dropped a whole lot of information on Jason. Potentially unsettling information. Very quickly. As a result, he expected a sort of…glazed look on the other man’s face. Instead when he looked up again, Jason’s gaze was laser focused on him.

Danny resisted the urge to fidget.

“Can I see my core?”

Again, Jason was asking questions Danny hadn’t really expected. “I…. Can try?” Danny hadn’t had anyone want that before. Cores were intensely personal. Usually heavily guarded by the owner. “It might…. Well probably will…. Feel really weird. And I’m gonna have to get close.”

Jason nodded then made room for him on the couch, gesturing at the empty space. He set down his book properly and watched Danny as if he didn’t want to miss a single detail. As if it was important.

Slowly, Danny unwound himself and stretched. He definitely was not hesitating. Not at all as he hoped he could do what was asked. He’d only seen his own core once, when he was first formed. Even then it was only a flash of something blue that his chest formed around.

He… hadn’t really given a lot of thought on how he had seen that.

Danny went and sat next to Jason, suddenly fully aware that even though Jason couldn’t kill him again, he could certainly get close enough to doing so just with his hands if he wanted. Danny didn’t have any indication that he should worry about that, but he had seen people go a bit…. Haywire under any kind of supernatural influence before.

“Are you sure?” Danny asked, looking for confirmation one last time.

“Never been more sure.” Jason nodded. Danny took a deep breath, eyes changing from blue to green in a blink. Then he plunged his hands into Jason’s chest.

[ranneondeeznuts]

Imagine a Yandere! Idol who sings every song based on you.

𖹭 You met Ivys when you two were 8. It was the cliché childhood bff trope.

𖹭You guys were stuck to the hip since his mom was your mom's boss and they were actually pretty good friends. You two hung out a lot. Well, often because you were forced to as Ivys was quite clingy, and when meeting up, he'll kind of force you by his side. You were used to it anyway.

𖹭Growing up, Ivys was like, your only friend, Well, true friend, actually. He was a handsome young fella and you were just… Well. You. He was popular and talented. And you were just a little fly around him (Well, according to your classmates)

𖹭Whenever Ivys was absent, the others will put down their masks and start insulting you, claiming that Ivys would just throw you away when he'll get bored of you.

𖹭It got so bad, that you started getting uncomfortable around him, trying to push away the haunting words of those stupid bullies.

𖹭But, no matter what you did, he won't budge. He's in every corner, no matter where you go and it's sort of creepy. But, you think he's just being nice, right? I mean, if he avoided you, you'd probably still try to catch up to him, right?

𖹭Thankfully, when you're with him, no one will disturb you, He liked everything that you like and you didn't really hide anything from him. You gave him your interests, and one of them was to be an idol (Just pretend guys)

𖹭You were saddened when during fourth year high school, he left because his family had a new country to continue his business. But, it was how life went. So, you needed to move on.

𖹭You expected the bullying to continue, but it stopped. Even after he moved out.

𖹭Ivys loves you. He always did. Even after he moved away (He punched the glass of his mirror and wall when he found out he was moving away)

𖹭He was considered the perfect boy. Handsome, talented, and smart. But, of course, not everyone is perfect.

𖹭He always knew about the bullying. He always knew about your insecurities. He always knew your interests. And those were idols.

𖹭He silently thanks the bullies because he could comfort you and wrap you to his side tightly. Sure, you were being quite stubborn because you feared the bullies, but don't worry, sweety. He'll chase them out. (He doesn't need to cuz a single glare will let them run away)

𖹭He knows your likes, dislikes, hobbies, and every little thing you do! Like, chewing on your pen to focus, squeezing your pillows to make them more comfy, and swaying around when you get bored. Oh, so so cute!

𖹭And he knows your current fixation on idols. Its so cute when you chatter about them, saying how they're so handsome, have pretty voices, and nice dance moves (Hm? No, he's definitely not planning for their demise)

𖹭So, when he moved away, he immediately sought your attention. Even if you aren't together. So, he's following his dream. Technically, no, but it's what you want! To be an idol.

𖹭Imagine a few years later, you're staying at your cheap apartment, eating some lame-ass ramen noodles. It was your average Saturday until the show you were watching had an ad. You sighed and tried to click the skip button. But your hand froze when it flashed a familiar name.

"Ivys Yveonne!"

𖹭You almost choked into your noodles. "What the fuck." she stared at the screen. He looked handsome as always. But way more handsome now. Then, it showed his concert address and ticket cost. It was happening in your town! And the ticket was only 300 dollars!

𖹭You wanted to see him again. Not in an obsessive way, but in an "I miss you" kind of way. It's been 8 years now and this was a good opportunity.

𖹭Little did you know that he planned all of this.

𖹭Ivys was shaking in excitement. He planned all of this. He easily got into the agency, got famous, and ordered some agents to track where you were. He literally didn't have to wait because, after a week, you were located.

𖹭He immediately scheduled a concert in a week (By blackmailing his managers) and already made the list of  all the songs he was gonna sing. (Love songs)

𖹭Nah, it isn't particularly love songs. You know those Japanese songs that sound innocent and have a catchy beat but in reality, it's about suicide and cannibalism? Yeah. But in his case, its about him wanting to sleep with you, keep you in his basement, marrying you (Forcefully)

𖹭Imagine his excitement when he sees you in the crowd. His non-existent is basically wagging in a hundred miles an hour. And when you ask his managers if he did good, they will all say the same thing. He sang like it was the end of the world.

𖹭You had a free VIP seat (Somehow), and you were amazed. He was majestic even. The lights shining his white hair and his yellow eyes looked like golden jewels. His movements were swift yet smooth, like a river.

𖹭You were cheering your heart out, supporting your friend, but you were afraid he already forgot about you. Well, he probably already did. You were just your average overworked business girl, stuck in an office with paper work.

𖹭He was looking at you. He noticed you the moment you entered. Of course, he had to keep his eyes to the crowd, knowing he'll get a scolding if he doesn't.

𖹭When the concert was over, you wanted to go up to him and hug him, but of course, you can't, too afraid to get rejected and let the body guards get you.

𖹭But, when you were just about to go to the exit, you were blocked by large bodyguards, "Please come with us," they said. Without waiting for your answer, they immediately took a hold of you and dragged you to the back stage, despite your protests.

𖹭You were scared for your life. Were you about to die?! Did you do something?! But, you were seated on a chair, as the bodyguards went back to guarding the entrances.

𖹭You looked around, frightened. Just as you were about to ask and probably scream, a pair of familiar yellow eyes was in your sight, the same white fluffy hair that you have missed so dearly.

"Hello, love." 𖹭

[buckevantommy]

AU with Buck's Bakehouse where he promotes on tiktok and goes live some days in the shop when baking and taking orders. Tommy comes in one day asking about a cake/cupcakes Buck made that Sal or Lucy brought to work and he just had to scout the bakery they came from because his sweet tooth has high standards and those sweet treats were some of the best he's ever had.

Cue: a fluffy meetcute where Tommy's face is unseen but we can hear his voice and see Buck's radiant smile and pleased blushy grin, and his captivation when Tommy talks about being a pilot and/or firefighter.

The chat goes wild with how cool and kind and sexy and sassy Tommy sounds and how they love seeing Buck get the praise he deserves. After Tommy leaves - with a bunch of treats and free samples because how could Buck not? - Buck reads through the comments and gets all smiley and blushy, and laughs at people wanting to see what the firefighter looks like because he sounds hot; says something like, "He is! And totally jacked. I should've asked him about his workout routine.." (re:a totally straight thing to say..)

It's not the last time Tommy visits the bakery and he tends to drop by during Live time; when Buck explains the tiktok thing he pokes his face into view and smiles a shy scronchy smile waving at the camera. The chat once again explodes with hearts and stickers and comments about how hot and sweet the buff firefighter is.

Over a month or two, Buck and Tommy get acquainted and become somewhat friends. Buck bakes for a fundraising event for Tommy's work and is encouraged to film some content to get them more awareness online so he does. The footage heavily features Tommy: from a distance zoomed in amongst a group, as well as devouring Buck's sweet treats - with Buck grinning wide in the foreground and when Tommy notices and freezes Buck cracks up followed by Tommy's quintessential scronchy smile as he wipes his mouth. Buck also films him doing a talk and helping with demonstrations and even gets a private tour of Tommy's favorite chopper. It's a good day and he feels like he's making a real new friend.

Tommy also drops by Buck's stall at the local markets and they chat for a bit and he circles back at the end to help Buck pack up.

Needless to say: the chat is divided between those who want Buck, those who want Tommy, and those who ship them together. Buck doesn't understand 'shipping' but Tommy laughs and explains, making Buck go shy. There might be a reveal where Tommy mentions that Buck (Evan, to him btw) is his type but way out of his league, and Tommy isn't Buck's type so he apologises to the chat before leaving - and leaving a confused Buck behind. He wonders if Tommy was joking or if he actually likes guys? That doesn't matter, but was he just being nice in a jokey way, or is Buck really his type? And how could Tommy think he wouldn't be Buck's type? Gender aside he's totally cool and hot and.. it's a little confounding and Buck stutters through the end of his live, forcing a smile he doesn't quite feel.

Maybe what follows is Buck learning Tommy and Eddie are hanging out - they met at the market stall - and Buck gets jealous, especially because Buck has known Tommy longer and yet they've hung out less. So he crashes their basketball game - despite hating basketball - and the only way the chat knows is because Tommy mentioned it during a too-brief visit to the bakery, so brief they didn't really get to chat and Buck was left feeling bereft and tamping down jealousy.

Also: Eddie, but moreover Chris, helps Buck in the bakery a couple times a week. Next time we see Eddie he's got matching crutches to Chris as he playfully eyes Buck's phone from where he's propped on a stool, a contrite looking Buck in the foreground: they're okay, Buck apologised for the hip-bump and Eddie's not actually mad at him about it. Chris is all smiles as he cuts some cookies. It's a video not a live and the caption is something like: when you maim your best friend but he forgives you because he accepts your idiocy and loves you anyway. The video ends with a happy smiley Eddie and a contrite looking Buck. There's no mention of Tommy but the chat has extrapolated from what they know and post a bunch of theories - some closer to the mark than others.

Tommy, meanwhile, has been catching up on Buck's videos and reading the comments. He decides an in-person conversation is due and drops by the bakery at closing: he asks if they can talk and Buck ends the live so they can.

The next time we see Buck on live he's different: dazed in a happy way. He doesn't give much detail but answers a question about Tommy saying they did talk but giving no details - but his shy blushy smile is enough for folks to guess. Buck focuses on his baking walkthrough for the rest of the Live, and when it's done he mentions it being a special delivery order and he has to leave to drop it off; the chat correctly guesses it's a surprise for Tommy but Buck neither confirms or denies, just says it's for a valued vip customer.

[h0efor2ho]

DK X Reader

TW : Best friends to lovers, Oral (f) Fingering, PIV, Unprotected ( wrap it up kids ) Creampie

WC : 1.7k

You couldn't remember the moment you met Seokmin. Not the first words he said to you, not the first time he made you laugh, or smile or the first time you hung out together. And that simply is because outside of your immediate family, Seokmin is the first person you met after birth. Yup, that always gets you guys puzzled looks when you tell people. When you explain that Seokmin's mom and yours are best friends. So naturally after you were born she was one of the first people to come and visit, bringing little Seokmin along with her. 

As soon as you too could walk you two did everything together. You went to the same school, had the same friends, went on vacation with each others family's. You cant count how many sleepovers in your families living rooms you'v had. Needless to say you two were inseparable, so it wasn't a shock when your families found out you planned on going away to the same college. You two were the best of friends. 

Which is why it was no shock to your friends when you turned down plans to go to a frat party to spend the night in your apartment with Seokmin. Cuddled up on the worn out couch in your little apartment, where you had spent many nights like tonight. The room bathed in the soft glow from the movie, some horror slasher film, casting long shadows over the two of you. You had just turned your head and buried it into the side of Seokmins shoulder as something on screen jumped out at the lead actor. 

It's a second before you feel fingers cupping your chin, his long delicate fingers lifting your face up, his big brown eyes looking at you. "I can't keep pretending, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "What do you mean Min' " You ask confused. You get his answer when he leans down placing a small gentle tentative kiss to the corner of your mouth. You gasp at the contact. He pulls back slightly eyes searching yours. "I can't keep pretending that I'm okay with just being friends. I'v been in love with you for years." Your brain short circuits, eyes going wide. 

Seokmin, your best friend of your whole life just confessed his feelings for you. All the years flash before your eyes, all the times he's made you laugh, all the times he's ditched his friends to hang out with you, all the times he's been there letting you cry on his shoulder. All the times you had noticed his looks change over the years, growing into his handsome face. The times you took note of his body after he started going to the gym. All the times his touch made your heart flutter, or the sound of his laugh made your stomach do this flippy thing.  But you always pushed those feelings down. Fear of rejection making you scared to lose him. 

He clears his throat, your silence giving him an answer he thinks. "I... I'm sorry.... I'll go." He quickly stands up, going to make his way to the door. You spring up following him, grabbing his wrist "Wait!" Slowly he turns, looking from where you grip his wrist up to your face.  "I.. Dont go" you say. Your hand sliding down to interlock your fingers with his. An act you have done countless times but this time having renewed meaning. "I.. I don't want you to leave" you say, your heart pounding in your chest. "The truth is, I have loved you for years. I'v never said anything because you mean so much to me and I didn't want to ruin our friendship." 

He takes a step toward you, hand coming up to cup your face, leaning in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Let me show you, how I'v dreamed of ruining this friendship" he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. Before you can say anything he crashes his mouth to yours. The kiss is fierce and demanding and full of need. You quickly wrap your arms around his neck, and lace your fingers through his dark hair. His hands roamed your body, pulling you closer, his desire evident against your hip. You gasp when he dips down, hands cupping your thighs and lifting you into his arms, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist.

He walks the two of yo back to the couch, softly laying you down. Breaking the kiss, his eyes never leaving yours as he placed his hands on the hem of your shirt, his eyes asking the silent question. You shake your head yes, giving him the go ahead. Slowly he pulled your shirt over your head. Your body on fire as he slipped a hand under your bra, his fingers tracing circles around your nipples, sending shivers down your spine, before his hands move to the back to unclasp it, pulling it away from your body. 

You can feel his hands slightly tremble as he cups your bare chest. You watch as he leans down, taking your nipple into his mouth giving it a harsh suck before flicking it with his tounge. Your back aching at the sensation as a moan slips past your lips. He leans over and give your other nipple the same attention. After a few minutes he begins to pepper your chest with kisses as his hands moved to the waist of your jeans. "Please" you whimper out. You didn't realize how bad you'r body had been yerning for his.

His fingers unbutton them with a swift motion before pulling them down and off you completely. His hands moving to your knees to spread your legs open wide for him. Slowly sliding up your thighs, his eyes taking in every exposed inch of your skin till his hands meet the apex of your body. His thumb gliding over your pantie covered center.  "Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his fingers pressing into the fabric. "You're so wet."

He knelt between your legs as he pulled your panties to the side exposing your core to him, his eyes devouring your naked body. "I've dreamt about this for years," he said, his voice thick with desire as he leaned in, his tongue flicking against your clit. A moan you didnt even think you were capable of slipping past your lips as your back arches off the couch. He lapped at your pussy, his tongue exploring every inch of you. His prominent nose bumping into your clit as his tongue pocked at your entrance. 

"You taste so fucking good," he groaned, his lips vibrating against your clit. He sucked it into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it, as your hands gripping the couch cushions for support. Slowly he slipped two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out in a steady rhythm. "I need you to cum before I can fuck you baby," he murmured, his fingers curling inside you hitting that sweet spot. Your body trembling as you neared the edge, his fingers and tongue working magic on you. All it takes is one more flick of his tongue over you clit before he sends you over the edge. Body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you, gushing all over his fingers as your core tightens around them.

Slowly he eased his fingers out your entrance. You watch through half lidded eyes as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. "God you are the best thing I've ever ever tasted." He says as he stands up. You watch as he starts pulling off his shirt, the abs he's worked hard for on display disappearing into his jeans. You watch as he revels more and more of his body to you as he undos his pants, tugging them down his hips. Your mouth waters as his cock springs free. Hard and throbbing and the pretty pink tip oozing pre cum.

He kneels down between your legs, his cock nudging against your entrance. "Please Min'" You whine out, opening your legs wider for him "Need you so bad" "Fuckkk" he groans as he slides the tip of his cock through your slick folds, bumping your clit before slotting himself at your entrance again. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard," he growled. His eyes locked on yours as he slammed into you, his cock filling you completely. You cried out, your body stretching to accommodate him. "Fuck your so tight" He moans "I'm not gonna last long" He pulled out till just the tip was in you before slamming back in. 

He sets a brutal pace as his cock pumps in and out of your cunt. "Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned, his pace quickening. He pounds into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your body trembling as another orgasm builds, your nails digging into the hard plain of his back. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue as he explores your mouth. "I need to feel you cum on my cock," he growled against your lips. Reaching between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubs tight circles, as his cock brutally pounds away at you. Its not long before your crying out, your body shaking as you cum all over his cock.

"Fuck yes, thats it baby, squeezing my cock" he moans "Fuck, FUCK" he groans as his thrusts become erratic. You feel his cock twitching deep in you as he slams home and stills. Filling you with ropes of his hot cum. He collapses on top of you, his body slick with sweat as he places soft kisses to the side of your face. Slowly he pulls out of you, being extra careful after you wince at the loss of his length. He rolled over to lay next to you before pulling you into his arms.

"That was....amazing" You panted, your body still trembling as you lay on his chest. He smiled down at you, his eyes shining with satisfaction. He held you close, his heart beating in sync with yours. "So, what now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. He smiled, his eyes shining with love. "Now I can tell my mom to stop hounding me about confessing to you and asking you out" he laughs. "She knew!?" you ask joining in on his laughter. "Oh yes" he says "Which means your mom does too."  "Oh boy, at this rate we might as well start planning our wedding" you joke. "Yeah, we might as well" he says as he lays a kiss to your forehead. 

[heevee-likes-soup]

San x Reader |1K- 1 Trope|

>> 1K- 1 Trope series: A start of me to start publishing/ Get back into writing, 1 character, 1 Trope, 1 K words <<

>> First Kiss<<

>> Summary: Joining your friend as a plus-one at this random house party sounded like a fun idea. Something different, right? Well, what you didn't expect was to be left alone, and now find yourself serving your 7 minutes in heaven with the cute hallway-boy. <<

>> Rating: Fluffy/ SFW <<

It was such a stupid game, you thought to yourself. Such a stupid game that you didn't even know why you participated in. You felt pressured, that was it. You were at a birthday party, you tagged along as a plus one and after about half an hour your friend was nowhere to be found.

They took mercy on you, and let you join their circle, you should be thankful, and yet you couldn't help but fight the lump of nervousness inside your throat. You didn't really go to such parties that often. If so, you were usually accompanying a friend. It had little to do with how extroverted or introverted you were, but the prospect of sitting around and drinking with people you didn't know just didn't thrill you the same way it did some of your friends-

And see where that got you.

The closet was smaller then it looked from the outside, and the fact that you could feel San's body heat radiating onto yourself was enough to make you blush furiously and want to leave. On top of the small closet- San wasn't a small guy. Not anymore at least. The introverted guy who chattet you up at the beginning of Highschool about your Pokemon plushy keychain was only a memory by now.

This San, was broad, went out and was part of the sports team. Yet he still smiled just as cutely, and seemed just as nervous as you imagined when the bottle landed on you and him. To say he was your crush was an overstatement- a hallway crush was a better way to described it. The two of you didn't talk much, the occasional chat in the hallway or in class, but nothing beyond that.

To you, San looked like this since only yesterday, but most people only knew him as this athletic- arguably sexy guy.

"So… what do we do?" You asked, into the dark of the closet. You only got a small chuckle as a response. A laugh that was a little too adorable for the muscle mass that was rivaling your personal space. "You mean usually, or what we do here? Because we don't have to do anything." You could hear the smile in his voice. It made you huff out a small laugh as well. "I know what people usually do with seven minutes in heaven, San." You chuckled in response.

"So, do you want to?" The question hung thick in the air and made your mouth fall dry. Something inside you was nervous about being this close to each other- but your mind didn't even take into consideration that CHOI SAN of all people, might be the one wanting to-

"what?" you asked, a little in disbelieve, gaining a small laugh from him. "What do you mean 'what'? Y/N… only things you want to are happening in here." He was being so sweet, and something inside you felt a little bad that this was what he assumed you were nervous about. "No.. I-" it was laying heavy on your tongue. Because… "Do you"want to?" The way he let out a soft chuckle, made you feel warm. "Y/N, why would't I?" It made you blush, furiously, and it made you thank the heavens that invented this bullshit to not put lights in a closet.

"I somehow just assumed you'd not want to kiss me." you spoke truthfully. It was meant very matter effect.

"That'd be so foolish of me-" he said, one of his hands carefully raising up, very gently testing the waters as he placed it onto the side of your face. "Y/N, you're one of the nicest people I've ever met."

Your breath felt like it stopped- you felt like you had to reboot yourself. In no fucking way was this how your first kiss was gonna go. You felt nervousness settle in your throat like a thick slime, making talking hard. What were you suppose to do? Tell him not to do it? Ask him to do it? Should you instigate? In movies it always looked like neither of them thought about it much- so was this even the right moment when you were so painfully hyper aware and overthinking it, even?

"Y/N, are you nervous?" San asked, voice gentle, yet laced with a smile on his lips. He always was just so carefree- "Most people only started inviting me to things after they declared me with some official popular 'hot' mark" he spoke gently. "You never treated me any different, you were always… a ray of sunshine." This made the slime in your throat cloak up even more. What was he doing talking so sweet to you, while you could feel his warm hand caressing your cheek?

"I never kissed anyone" you blurted out a little. After a second of silence, it was San's soft laughter that filled it, as he retrieved his hand. "As I said, nothing happens as long as you don't want to." he smiled, and you could feel how he subtly tried to back off into the limited space of the closet.

"No" you then said, a little quieter then you anticipated. Because who else, then the sweetest person you knew, could make for a better first kiss? Then you wouldn't have the pressure on you anymore-

"Kiss me." you said softly, your voice a bit more strained then you wanted it to. The hand gently placed itself back onto your cheek, and you could feel his breath soon brush against your face. It was hot, pleasantly so. "Just relax." he smiled, before he leaned in, crossing the remaining space.

San gently put his lips onto yours, first just resting them there, warm and soft. Then he started moving them, and you soon understood and joined the gentle and slow rhythm- before you knew he pulled back again with a smile. "Was it bad?" you finally let yourself breathe again, shoulders slumping. "No… another one."

[rekino2114]

Yesss I'd love a scenario where Cassidy and Chiaki are in love with M. Reader. I think having him be in Chiaki's class works, and he regularly hangs out with her, and he's also friends with Cassidy. Both girls are in love with him, so it should end up as a competition, but Chiaki, being who she is, just outright says why dont we both date him. Blowing straight past the conflict and just going with what she sees as obvious.

Chiaki and Cassidy fighting over you

Pairing:chiaki nanami(dr2) x male reader x Cassidy amber(p:eg)

A/n:I am actually having so much fun writing these crossover posts, I already have requests for two more stella and Emma ones one more with chiaki and Cassidy and I've been loving everything that you guys suggested so keep them coming

You were always best friends with chiaki. Not only were you classmates, but you also had a in common a love for videogames so most of your evenings were spent gaming at one of your dorms until you fell asleep

She was great,cute,nice (even if a bit lazy) and her whole presence just had a way of filling you with hope and making you smile, you two hung out basically every day and got incredibly close, half of your class started thinking you were dating which always made chiaki blush whenever they brought it up for some reason

One day, chiaki couldn't hang out with you because she had something else to do, but since you were already mentally prepared to game with her (and didn't really wanna do anything else) you just went to one of your usual hang out spots (a bench outside of school) and just played on a Nintendo switch for a while

"Yo dude, you have that game too? I thought it was super niche!"

You turned to see a red-haired girl with a Russian hat on who you almost immediately recognized

"Oh yeah i-..........wait a minute.....ARE YOU CASSIDY AMBER?"

"Oh you know me?"

"Do I know you? You're like my favorite streamer, what are you doing here?"

"You're a comrade? Thanks for the support. It's always nice to meet a fan, this is where I go to school by the way"

"......we go to the same school and I never knew about it?"

"We probably go to different classes then, I'm in the eden's garden class"

"Oh yeah I did hear that they just added it, but like seriously? I can't believe I'm meeting you"

"And I can't believe there was a cute guy with such great video games taste at school"

"O-oh thanks, my friend actually recommended it, she's the ultimate gamer chiaki nanami"

"Never heard of her"

"Really? I thought with your ultimates-"

"Anyway you got room for one more over there? Now I gotta see the other games you have"

"O-of course, I'd love to"

And so you spent the rest of the evening playing games with Cassidy, unintentionally ignoring chiaki's messages who told you that she was free now and that you could hang out

"Hey, hey y/n why didn't you answer my messages yesterday?"

"Uh? You texted me?"

"Yeah, I really wanted to play with you too"

"Oh sorry I was just hanging out with someone else"

"....who....who was it?"

"A girl from another class, you've probably heard of her actually, she's Cassidy amber"

"......oh.....yeah.....I guess I did watch a couple of her streams"

"I'm still sorry though if that makes you feel better we can go to an arcade today"

"R-really? I'd love to- i-i mean....I guess if you want to"

"Hehe, it's settled then"

You two did go to the arcade and had a lot of fun, chiaki, especially until you saw a familiar face playing a game

"[Gasp] it's y/n! What's up dude?"

"Hey Cass, didn't think I'd find you here"

"Whenever there's games to be played, I'm always there"

"Hehe"

"Uh....... Y/n who's this?"

"That's Cassidy, I thought you said you watched her streams"

"......yeah......so you're already on nickname basis?"

"Uh?"

"Oh hey, you must be the gamer y/n talked about, it's nice to meet you"

"Yeah it's chiaki........nice to meet you too"

Chiaki had a crush on you, she realized that pretty early in your friendship, but she still hadn't done a move in fear of it being too early, so the fact that you had gotten this close in such little time to another girl, another gamer girl nonetheless, made her feel weird

She wasn't jealous, more like worried that Cassidy was going to hurt you in some way or that you'd never hang out with her again after meeting her. She loved you so much so she really didn't want that to happen

Meanwhile, even if Cassidy knew you for just an afternoon, she already knew she was in love. You literally liked all of the games she liked what was a more obvious sign of soulmates?

Chiaki didn't bother her that much, she thought she was just your friend who didn't have any romantic feelings for you so she just challenged her to a friendly gaming competition, which the pink haired girl took a bit too seriously

"Woh you're pretty good, I see why you're the ultimate gamer"

"Yeah, you're pretty good too actually"

"Did you expect anything else?"

"............"

"By the way y/n, wanna exchange numbers? you seem like a pretty cool guy, wanna hang out more?"

"Oh definitely"

"N-now you're exchanging numbers too?"

"Is......there a problem with that?"

"O-oh no I was just thinking aloud"

You could see something was off with chiaki after that. She was still mostly her usual self, just a bit more eager to hang out. She always wanted to be with you and was weirdly touchy she also pouted a lot whenever you mentioned that you had to go see Cassidy

Cassidy herself was already pretty flirty and touchy, so you didn't assume nothing was wrong, and you especially didn't think that she was actually into you and her flirting was genuine and not just a joke

You also noticed that they spoke....not nicely about each other, chiaki refused to watch Cassidy's streams and said stuff like "she's only the ultimate pro gamer cause she plays professionally unlike me, I could beat her" and Cassidy replied with stuff like "I dunno who that girl thinks she is but I'm the best gamer there is k?" You did not know why this sudden hatred started between your best friends but you decided you had to do something about it

So you invited both of them to hang out and play together only to text them that you weren't going to make it when they were already there in hopes of them getting along, it was a drastic measure but you couldn't stand them talking about each other to you like that anymore

They were angry for a bit, but once they calmed down, they actually started talking and discovered they had a lot in common, mostly a love for videogames and for you, they played together and got to know each other more and chiaki's doubts about Cassidy slowly disappeared so she decided to ask the question

"Hey,hey you like y/n too right?"

"Obviously, he's super cool"

"No I mean.......like like him"

"O-oh I mean I guess I can't really say I don't......wait what do you mean too?"

"Yeah I have a crush on him too"

"......oh.....I get it....so I guess you want me to back off huh?"

".......not necessarily"

".......uh?"

"You really love him right? Like actual love?"

"Yep, it's the real deal, butterflies in stomach and everything. He's just so cool and nice, not to mention really hot too. We also like the same games, which is just so hype"

"Yeah I feel the same.....so why don't we just both date him?"

"........what do you mean?"

"Like we share him, I really don't wanna leave you like this, it's clear you love him as much as me and you're actually really cool and nice, so why don't we both date him?"

"Oh I get it, it's gonna be like a mini harem, like in dating sims"

"Oh is that how that works? I don't really play dating sims"

"Well I'd love to, I love sharing stuff so I have no problem with sharing y/n if you want to, as long as you don't keep him to yourself obviously"

"Don't worry we'll work something out, now let's go tell him"

The two shook hands and went to find you

"Oh hi chiaki, Cass, how did it go in there?"

"Really well actually, we set aside our differences and found some stuff we both really loved"

"I'm happy to hear that, like what?"

"Well videogames and-"

"And you! Most of all you!"

"O-oh really?"

"Yep we actually love you waaaaayyyy more than you think, like I wanna smooch you on the lips right now type of love"

"........what?"

"What she's trying to say is that we both have a crush on you"

".....well I'm flattered but I really can't choose I love you both-"

"That's absolutely no problem dude, me and chiaki here actually struck a little deal that I'm sure you're gonna love"

"What is it?"

"We both date you"

"Huh?"

"Like together, both of us will be your girlfriends, we're gonna go on dates together and all that"

"And you're both OK with that?"

"Yeah, I was the one who suggested it actually"

"And I love sharing my stuff, so it was a no brainer"

"So what do you say?"

"......of course, I'd love to, I get to be with both of the girls I love? That would be amazing"

"That's great then it's settled, let's begin the bestest and most nerdy relationship ever, wanna do a sleepover where we play games until we pass out as our first date"

"That sounds great"

"I'd love to"

[matts-hersheys-kisses]

"prove it"

-matt sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo! x f!reader (enemies to lovers)

warnings: suggestive, hair pulling (kinda), angst (if you squint), nicknames, tension

she and matt hated each other. everyone knew that. she only ever hung out with him because she was friends with his brothers chris and nick. but tonight was different. chris and nick had gone to pick up chris's girlfriend and get food, leaving her and matt sitting in the living room on their phones, completely ignoring each others presence.

after way too long scrolling on tiktok, the girl got up from the couch, wandering over to the kitchen to get something to eat. matt's head shot up, raising his eyebrow as he notices her get up. after watching her for a second he stands, following her closely to the next room.

her head whips around, stopping for a second "what do you want?" she asks irritably, turning back around and walking to the fridge. even with her back turned to him, he holds his hands up in false surrender, continuing to follow her across the room. "someone's in a mood" he spoke. she turned and glared at him before rolling her eyes and facing the now open fridge, whipping her ponytail in his face as she mutters a curse under her breath.

he laughs softly before reaching out to grap her hair harshly.

"what'd you jus' call me?" he murrmers.

"i said your an asshole" the girl says teasingly, smirking at matt.

his face changes as he yanks her hair backwards so she's forced to look at him. "watch your language sweetheart" he whispers into her ear.

she straightens up and shoves his chest away from her as she grabs an apple from the fridge, and walks back to the living room again. he laughs softly again and follows after her.

"your so annoying" he states as he plops back down on the couch beside her, closer this time.

she just looks up at him, an eyebrow raised before taking a bit of her apple. keeping eye contact as she does. He just stares at her, his eyes flicking from her hair, to her face, down to her body and then back up again.

"you lookin' for something?" she taunts. he just shrugs, shuffling closer to her with a smirk on his face.

"maybe i am sweetheart?" his voice is low, quiet.

he chuckles as he hears her breath hitch and reaches out for a strand of her hair, beginning to play with it mindlessly. your heart beats faster as she looks up into his eyes.

suddenly he pulls his hand back, ripping the hair out of her head, causing the girl to yell out in pain.

he laughs softly at her yelp and pulls the strand in front of her face, waving it slowly at her.

"looks like it's easy to get you to make noises" he teases.

"oh shut up" she complains, shoving him away by his shoulders.

his smirk only widens as he raises an eyebrow at her.

"what're gonna do if I don't, huh?"

the girl scoffs quietly. "i live a 5 minute walk away matt, you forget that"

"i'm aware" he responds with a shrug "why? you afraid of me?"

she looks at him for a moment before leaning over, her head placed in the crook of his neck as she whispers in his ear. "anything but". she mutters, keeping close.

he shivers at the feeling of her breath on his neck and turns to her. his smirk returning as he locks eyes with you

"prove it."

AHH what do we think?? this is short asf and lwk basic but i has the idea and i wanted to write it.

also i do not currently have a taglist so im just gonna tag a bunch of cuties but lmk if you want to be added or taken off xoxo

-𝒜 💋

taglist - @shadowthesim237 @hunyoucantresistme @angeliolo @chrepsi @chrisspussygang @feinforchris @imgoing-backto505 @ikyoudreamofme @iluvnicksturniolo @mi-co-uk @mattswrinkleton @sturniolotripletlover @st7rnioioss @welovestromboli @whore4mattsturniolo @y3sterdaysproblem

(ik none of yall asked to be on my taglist so please lmk if you wanna be taken off xx)

[hopecorps]

"as much as everyone seems to want me to be hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it just isn't like that"

the dialogue this season and honestly just this episode has been so. purposeful and specific. and also crazy. and this line sort of went over my head when i watched at first because i was so genuinely thrown off by the fact that this was a real conversation we were having in the first place

my initial reaction was twofold: 1. who is Everyone, buck? what are you talking about? no one has actually accused you of this. You're the only person who's used any of these words. and 2. you're really leaning on straight here. is it just that he's straight? what if he wasn't?

but. beyond all of that. i basically woke up in a cold sweat and i'm probably in the early stages of cornplating but. buck. what do you mean by hopelessly pining?

who said it's hopeless? do YOU think it's hopeless? buck do you think the only outcome -- IF -- you were in love with eddie (which you're NOT) is that it would be hopeless pining? is it because he's straight? is it because he's your best friend? is it because he's left you?

is it because you understand that tommy would be threatened by what you and eddie have (which is what, exactly?) because it's that special? that big and important? so important that you can't look at it directly?

because tommy said essentially two sentences in that conversation: 1. the competition is gone and 2. you're living in his house. he said nothing about being in love with eddie, he didn't even do very much to imply that BUCK was the one he was worried about. if anything, it feels like tommy was saying like: i feel in competition with eddie. that competition could have been coming from eddie OR from buck. and considering eddie has physically left and buck is so hung up on him that he's living in his fucking house, but he STILL felt that the competition is gone?? i think he was more threatened by eddie than by buck. tommy thinks he has a chance with buck because eddie isn't in the picture, even though they're fucking standing in eddie's goddamn kitchen. so like i am personally saying that tommy is ignoring the very obvious eddie shaped hole in buck's heart, but then buck is defensive in the other direction. he overcorrects and makes obvious his feelings that tommy was purposefully ignoring

buck SWERVES by saying "i'm not in love with eddie. and even if i was, which i'm not, it wouldn't be requited anyway. i would be hopelessly pining after him. good thing i'm not. good thing i don't have feelings for eddie, but even if i did, it's not like i sleep with everyone i have feelings for."

it's all very. out there. they're doubling down on this thing that we've all known for ages but some people are just starting to see: buck has put thought into this. not a lot of thought. i don't know if i would say he's realized his feelings. but i think he's had the thought: "eddie? no, he's straight. that's a relief because everything would change and he's not even here and it could be bad. i won't put myself through that" and never analyzed it further. to me he has the defensiveness of a man who has locked something away

even in his imaginary scenario where buck is in love with eddie like "everybody" seems to want him to be. eddie doesn't love him back. he has shut out the idea so completely that he's not even saying. people want us to be together. people think we're so close that we could be dating. he's saying: there is no universe where eddie loves me back. if i WERE in love with him (which im NOT) i would be Helplessly Pining after him. forever.

so maybe i'm wrong. and he does know. i don't sleep with everyone i have feelings for. i don't sleep with everyone i have feelings for.

[lilislegacy]

Weird thing to be hung up on but when it comes to fanfics and shipping, if the story takes place in the “Canon” timeline, I can’t really imagine Percy and Annabeth not together or with anyone else. Like both character wise and narratively they’re too interwoven and for each other. Only stories I can really read that have Percy and Annabeth not together are AU or alternate timelines where the characters and events are supposed to be fundamentally different. But because of how much they’ve gone through their relationship with each other is a core part of their characterization, so any story that take place in the canon timeline but doesn’t have them together is already seeming OOC to me.

What are your thoughts?

Yeah, I’m with you. A lot of people say they’d still work as just friends. And while their friendship is my favorite part of their relationship—I love when they refer to each other their best friend—I don’t see them working long-term as purely platonic, or being able to permanently be with someone else. Sure, they could date other people! They could fall for other people. But marry someone else? Have a different lifelong partner? I just don’t think it would work. People say to marry your best friend for a reason. Chemistry and attraction can fade, but true friendship and partnership? That’s not as fragile. And if someone is truly your life partner, they have to be your #1. Your biggest fan. Your greatest ally. And honestly? I’m not sure anyone else could fill those roles for them better than they do for each other. I can see them staying just friends, but I can't see them choosing other people over each other.

That's the thing about Percy and Annabeth; while their chemistry is very natural and strong, it has never once been “easy” for them to actually be together. They consistently choose each other. The world has tried to tear them apart in so many different ways, so many different times. A child of Poseidon and a child of Athena aren’t even supposed to like each other in the first place. Athena tried keeping them apart. The gods have tried keeping them apart. They’ve both been kidnapped and taken to the other side of the country. They are complete opposites in many ways and were raised extremely differently. And not only are they both very flawed and just overall very difficult people, but they also low-key annoy the crap out of each other lol. So it’s not like being together has ever been a simple or effortless thing for them.

And yet, Percy chose Annabeth to go on every one of his quests with him. Annabeth chose Percy to go on her quest through the Labyrinth with her. When each of them was kidnapped, they chose to follow each other, no matter the distance. Percy chose to fall with her into Tartarus. Annabeth chose to live in New York to be with him. They met each other when they were 12 and since that day, they've never chosen anyone or anything else but one another.

So yeah, no one else could ever understand them the way they understand each other. But their lives and traumas aren’t so deeply interwoven just by chance. They actively chose to go through those horrors side-by-side. And that, combined with their natural chemistry and attraction, makes it hard to imagine them truly working with anyone else. Even when Luke and Rachel played important and slightly romantic roles in their lives, Percy and Annabeth still consistently prioritized each other. And that was before they were even dating.

So it’s not that they couldn’t survive apart or love someone new. It's not that they couldn't be attracted to other people. It's not because they are "perfect." It’s because long-term marriage and relationships can't rely on lust or convenience to last. Things can get complicated and messy and dark real fast. So for a relationship to be strong and to last, even under the harshest of conditions, two people have to choose each other, every single day, no matter what. Over everyone else. And despite the blemishes of their relationship, that is exactly what Percy and Annabeth's entire relationship has been since the first book. Alternate versions where they don’t put each other first feel wrong because it goes against their nature.

I know many people—even Percabeth shippers—disagree, and that's fine! I'm not against shipping them with others or having them remain purely platonic. But for me personally, it just feels wrong and OOC. But to each their own!

[erraomens]

Chapter 4 . Set Me Free, I Think I’m Giving Up.

Pairing . Noah Sebastian x Eden Blackwood Word Count . 2,522 Summary . Eden learns that Noah called, but not intentionally, stirring a storm of emotions that drives her to confront him in person. Meanwhile, Noah, unable to face an interview with her, requests a different interviewer, unknowingly setting off consequences beyond his control. Their conversation is heavy with unspoken regrets, both blaming the other for leaving yet knowing neither of them truly fought to stay. As tensions rise, old wounds resurface, forcing them to finally acknowledge the weight of their past. Warnings/Themes: Unresolved tension, emotional conflict, guilt, miscommunication, past relationship angst, self-sabotage, yearning, manipulation (by a third party), featuring strong language, mild sexual content, and hints of past trauma. My inability to be happy with my writing. taglist . @fadingangelwisp . @chey-h . @flowery-mess You can read the first three chapters here . chapter 1 . chapter 2 . chapter 3 .

Lover boy called, and I might’ve accidentally hung up on him.

The words took a second to land. They floated around her mind, circling like smoke before finally sinking in. Eden stood frozen, towel clutched tight in her fingers, damp hair sticking to her shoulders. Lia’s expression made her stomach drop—like something was wrong. Really wrong.

“Why was he calling?” “I—accidentally called him an—”

“Why would you do that?” Eden’s voice cut sharp, her feet already moving. She grabbed the phone before Lia could stop her.

Lia flinched as Eden snatched the phone, hurt flashing across her face. And Eden felt bad—she really did—but it was all too much. This whole thing with Noah, seeing him again, the mess he always dragged back into her life.

Every time she thought she was getting over him, he was right there.

The idea of what they could have been clung to her like a phantom limb—something that should have been gone, but still ached like it was real.

“You cannot fix this, Lia.” The words flew from Eden’s mouth before she could stop them. “No matter how much you think you know—just because you’re screwing their drummer doesn’t mean you can fix this.” She saw the way Lia flinched. How each word sliced her open, deeper and deeper.

“He keeps leaving me, Lia. He is the one who keeps walking away from me. So why does it feel like you keep putting me in a position to be hurt by him?”

She doesn’t wait for Lia to answer. Just turns on her heel and walks away. Anything to keep from crying in front of her. Anything to stop herself from breaking down and admitting the truth— she was tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of seeing his face everywhere.

Tired of wondering why she was never good enough.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Eden pressed her back against it, forcing air into her lungs. The room was too quiet, too still. She focused on anything to keep herself grounded—the low hum of her LED lights, the scratchy fabric of the towel still clutched in her fingers. Anything to stop the panic from creeping in.

He keeps leaving me, Lia. He’s the one who keeps walking away.

The words echoed through her mind, the reality of the situation was standing there right in front of her. She could keep blaming Noah, keep hating him for always walking away—but wasn’t that the easy way out? She never told him to stay. Never gave him a reason to. She let him leave, over and over, because saying ‘stay’ would have meant giving him the power to hurt her.

She crossed her room, pulling the towel from her frame and quickly drying her hair before dressing in a pair of shorts and one of his old hoodies, one of the original merch ideas for the band before they had made it big. 

Eden stared at her phone on the bed, wondering if it would tell on her if she had picked it up and scrolled through the old photos of them that she had saved in a private folder on her phone. Wondering if it would tell the world that even though she had done everything in her power to avoid him, she wished that he would fight for her as well.

Picking it up and unlocking it, she was met with the contact photo of the two of them together, his name in bold letters, and all she could hear was Lisa's words in her head, how he had called and she wants to call him, wants to know what he had said and – maybe she just wanted to hear his voice.

Her thumb hovered over the call button. Just one press, and she’d hear his voice. Maybe she’d finally get the answers she pretended not to need. Or maybe it would be worse—maybe it would pull her right back into the spiral she was barely holding together. 

She could delete his number.  Erase him from her phone. Pretend he was gone for good. 

But his number was etched into her memory, an imprint she could never scrub away. He was her person. Her everything.

Was.

It was a split second decision to get dressed, shoving her phone into her pocket as she exited her room, seeing her best friend in the kitchen, tears streaking her cheeks. The sight broke her heart, and she knew that she had fucked up, knew that she had hurt one of the people who loved her the most, so it didn’t even warrant a moment of hesitation before she had hugged her tightly. 

She whispered apologies into Lia's hair, feeling her best friend trembling as she held onto her, Eden promising that she wasn’t going to hurt her again. That she was sorry and would do better. After what felt like a lifetime, she pulled away from her, thumb brushing a tear from her cheek.

“I’ll be back.” “Where are you going?” “I’m going to talk to him, in person.”

Lia looked like a wave had crashed over her, like she’d been hit with whiplash. But she didn’t argue. “Did you talk to him?”

Eden shook her head no, lips pressed tightly together as she tried to compose herself with a deep breath. “I think I should talk to him in person. I think we both deserve that much.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” “No, why don’t you go hang out with Folio?” 

One eyebrow raised slightly, sadness still tainted her features, but she couldn’t help a playful smirk. “I did ruin your night with him.”

With a quick goodbye, Eden slipped into the night. Each step felt heavier, her heart hammering, her mind screaming at her to turn back. This was a bad idea. She should just go home, crawl into bed, and forget about him. Or pretend to forget about him.

A cruel echo of her own choices played on a loop in her head, one lyric that tormented her.

But it’s too late to turn back now.

And maybe it had been too late for a long time.

Noah's POV.

“Hey Ava, it’s Noah.”

Noah spent the last hour staring at his phone, cycling through every possible scenario. No matter how he spun it, the answer was always the same. He couldn’t do that interview, he couldn’t sit there with Eden and talk to her about his music, about the things that inspired the lyrics and what his future looked like.

He couldn’t sit across from the woman he once thought he’d spend forever with and talk about the future—not when every version of it still had her in it.

“Sorry for calling so late–”

“No, don’t apologize. Is everything okay?” Ava interrupts, sighing loudly, as if he was inconveniencing her.

“I had a request for the interview.” “Are you cancelling?” “No–” “ –then what’s the issue?”

Noah couldn’t believe the rudeness of this lady, how she had spoken to him as if he wasn’t doing her production studio a favor by going on one of her shows. But he swallowed back the comments, not wanting this to become about him and his possibly hurt ego, but about doing what he thought was right.

“I want to see if I can do the interview with someone else.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone, so much so that he worried that she might’ve hung up, but before he could question he heard an annoyed,’Of course she messed this up’, and then she replied.

“We can set that up, what caused this change? Did Eden do something?” “No, I just think it’s better this way.” “Was she inappropriate with you? You know, I can’t allow that in my company.” “No, Ava. No. It’s a conflict of interest on my part, she did nothing wrong.”

Ava let out a dry laugh, a click of her tongue as he heard what seemed to be a clacking of a keyboard from her end.

“Fine, I’ll make the change. But you know this doesn’t look good, right? You’re the biggest name on our schedule, and–”

“I’m not cancelling,” Noah cut in, jaw tight. “And don’t put this on her. This is my decision.”

“Of course,” Ava said smoothly. A little too smoothly. “I understand.”

Noah knew that he should feel a sense of ease, that he had done what he thought was right, but there was something that nagged at him. Something that ate at his resolve and he wasn’t sure if it was the anxiety of the interview, Eden finding out, or if there was something more manipulative at work here.

“See you tomorrow, Noah.”

And with that, she hung up the phone, not allowing him a chance to respond. 

Eden felt like she had been cast as the villain in a horror movie, standing outside of her victims house, waiting for the right time to strike. But instead of going in and causing bloodshed and destruction, she would be going in and facing her fears and everything that she had avoided for years.

Somehow that seemed so much worse.

Approaching the front door, she once again hesitated, finger hovering over the button of the ring doorbell, swallowing hard and reassuring herself that she could do this, she pressed it. The doorbell’s chime echoed through the night like a death march. No turning back. No stopping this.

The door opened after what felt like an eternity, wondering if he had seen her and had planned to ignore her, but his damp hair and the way his shirt clung to his body was a clear indication that he had practically jumped out of the shower and ran to the front door.

“What are you doing here?” “I can leave if yo–” “No!” He yelled, clearing his throat, stepping back and letting her in. “No, please come in. Sorry.”

Eden was holding her breath, waiting for him to change his mind, but when he didn’t she had allowed herself to take that step forward and crossed the threshold of his place. She had never been there, never been inside, and it had looked exactly what she expected it to look like. Of course she did see his streams, so there was some familiarity because of those, but nothing was like looking at it in person.

“You called me.” “I meant to text.” “But I didn’t get a text.” “I’m a coward.”

The conversation felt like deja vu for Noah, but this time instead of making excuses, he admitted what he knew was true.

“I didn’t call you back.” “No, instead you showed up here.”

There was something awkward there, the air between them thick with tension, uncertainty of what they would talk about. Noah could see the way that she was looking around, rubbing her arm and shifting on her feet.

“I asked to be interviewed by someone else.” Noah blurted out, breaking the silence, and Eden practically shot daggers at him, jaw dropping in utter disbelief. She went to yell, to tell him that he had no right, but he cut her off before she could.

“I’m a coward, Eden.” She couldn’t help but take in the way he said her name, the way that it felt like a prayer, like it was the most delicious thing to touch his lips. But she wasn’t going to allow herself to fall into him that easily, not when he ruined her interview.

“You are the most important person on the schedule, that interview is important.”

She made sure to emphasize that point, made sure that she was to tell him that he had no right to do that and he should’ve talked to her first. This is the issue, this was their problem. There was never any communication about major things.

“And that’s why I asked.” He hesitates, tongue darting over his lower lip, fingers brushing through slightly damp locks and he sighs. “It’s important for the band, it’s important for the production company. I can’t do it, Eden. I can’t sit across from you and pretend you aren’t still the answer to every question about my future.”

The answer takes a moment to sink in, hitting her like a freight train and she’s speechless, eyelashes fluttering as she tries to find the words to say. She knew that this was going to be difficult for the both of them, but she wasn’t aware that it would be this difficult for him.

“You left.” “You stayed behind.” “You didn’t fight.” “Neither did you.”

They could go back and forth on the blame, but they knew that it wasn’t just one or the other who was at fault. But Eden didn’t want to admit that, she didn’t want to admit that she had a part to play in their downfall. That all of this pain could’ve been avoided. Because who is to say that it was.

“I should go.” Eden turns to head towards the front door but stops herself, head tilted down as her fingers twitch, flexing slightly before she turns around to look at him again.

“Eden.” He steps forward, hand reaching out to grab hers, for the first time he was not going to let her go. At least, that is what he hoped for. It wasn’t up to him.

“Ask me to stay.” the words fell from her lips, a plea for him to fight for her even though she wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Wasn’t sure if staying there with him was something that would do either of them any good. They didn’t talk about the past, they didn’t talk about all the different ways that they were different, how they had changed.

They never talked about how broken they were and how they might not even be good for each other anymore. They were not those 18 year olds who finally admitted they loved each other, they weren’t those kids who planned forever only for it to be ripped away from them.

It was heavy, suffocating—the weight of every unsaid word, every unresolved moment. The air between them screamed for something, anything to break. Anything to break the barrier that they had built between the two of them.

But Eden didn’t know who moved first, if it was her who closed the distance, or if he had– but she was standing in front of him, his tall frame towering over her. One hand was pressed to the side of her face, thumb brushing over her lower lip and she felt vulnerable with him. She felt every nerve in her body thrum to life, and how his touch had ignited something below the skin.

She felt alive. But at what cost?

“Kiss me, Noah. And if you can’t, I need you to let me go.”

With that, his lips pressed against hers, the world shifting below them as their resolve crumbled around them. Knowing that everything had changed, and that whatever happened next would either bring them closer, or destroy them.

[whosyourmommy69]

Two Little Lines

Summary- Rafe x reader find out something unexpected.

Rafe and I shared a quiet understanding. We respected each other’s space, kept our interactions polite and at a distance, as if we were still strangers, despite the fact that we’d been living under the same roof for months. The arrangement was simple enough, I was here for duty, he was here because it was expected. We were both products of families who had more power than love.

But then, one night, I felt it.

That strange flutter in my stomach, a small discomfort at first, but it didn’t go away. Over the next few days, the nausea came in waves, and the dizziness wouldn’t let up. Something in me knew. I was pregnant.

The idea hadn’t been a part of the plan. Hell, he wasn’t a part of the plan. We barely knew each other beyond the surface, beyond the polite exchanges. How could this be happening?

I waited. I waited for it to sink in. But when I finally found the courage to take the test and it came back positive, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. It wasn’t fear I felt, not exactly. It was more like an awakening, like my body had just betrayed everything I’d been trying to ignore.

I didn’t know what to do with the information. How could I even begin to tell Rafe? What would this mean for us, for the future? Would it make things worse between us, or would it somehow bring us closer?

The thought of telling him terrified me, but I couldn’t keep this from him. It wasn’t just mine to carry.

That night, he came home late as usual. The house was still, quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, the test tucked into a small box on the nightstand. He entered the room, his eyes scanning the space briefly before landing on me.

"Hey," he said, his voice tired, but soft. He removed his jacket and tossed it onto the chair, loosening his tie. "Everything okay?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first. I had rehearsed this in my head so many times what I was going to say, how I was going to say it, but now that the moment had come, the words felt foreign.

"Sit down," I managed, my voice shaking slightly.

He raised an eyebrow at my tone, but did as I asked, sitting beside me on the bed. There was a tension in the air, a quiet expectation between us that neither of us could name.

I took a breath. "I’m pregnant."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. I watched his expression change, his brow furrowing, lips parting in surprise. His gaze moved from my face to the box on the nightstand, and for a moment, he was silent.

"You’re… what?" His voice was low, almost disbelieving.

"I’m pregnant," I repeated, feeling the weight of the truth in the pit of my stomach. It was out there now, something neither of us had planned for, and there was no taking it back.

He stared at me for what felt like forever. Then, slowly, he reached for the box, opening it with careful fingers. The test, the proof, was there two little lines that sealed everything.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing in that way they did when he was processing something he didn’t want to understand. Finally, he let out a short, frustrated breath, standing up and pacing.

"How the hell did this happen?" he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I stood too, my heart racing as I watched him pace, a storm building in his eyes. "Rafe, I—"

"No, I need to know how this happened," he cut me off, his voice rising. "We’ve been careful. We’ve been… we’ve barely touched each other. And now this?"

I flinched at his words, the anger creeping into his voice sending a sharp pang of guilt through me. "I didn’t plan for this," I said quietly, trying to keep my voice steady. "I didn’t want this either. But it’s happening. Whether we like it or not."

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration turning into something else. "What are we supposed to do now? I didn’t sign up for this, and I’m pretty sure you didn’t either."

The words hit me like a slap. Of course, he didn’t want this. This marriage had never been about love. It had been about family legacy, about duty. And now, in the middle of that cold reality, was a pregnancy.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything to ease the tension, but the words caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure what he needed to hear, or what I needed to say to make it better.

Instead, I stood still, watching him. The space between us felt like a chasm, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cross it or if I was too afraid to.

Rafe turned to me, his eyes dark with a mix of emotions I couldn’t read. "I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with this, but I can’t just pretend it’s nothing."

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words crash down on me. "Neither can I."

He closed his eyes for a moment, running his hands over his face in frustration. "I don’t know how we fix this. I don’t know how this changes everything. But it does, doesn’t it?"

I bit my lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. "Yes," I whispered. "It changes everything."

For a long moment, we stood there, the silence thick between us. There was no escaping the reality of it the fact that we were tied to each other in ways neither of us had expected, and now we were facing something neither of us was prepared for.

Finally, Rafe spoke again, his voice rough. "We need to figure this out. Together."

I nodded, unsure of where this road would take us, but knowing that, for better or worse, we were going to have to walk it side by side.