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wcnderlnds · 2 days ago

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to the moon | choi seung-hyun (t.o.p)

・❥・ summary: on a night out with his dearmoon crew, seunghyun bumps into you and it changes everything whether he realises it or not. ・❥・word count: 1.5k ・❥・warnings: none! ・❥・ authors note: hello!! i love nerdy space boy seunghyun so i'm doing a whole series on it <3

Choi Seunghyun was obsessed with space. He loved everything about it. Whether it was the stars, planets or the many theories on aliens, he could talk for hours about his love for what lies beyond. Unfortunately, he didn't really meet many people who shared his love for the stars and what they held. That was why when he was accepted for the Dear Moon project, he was over the moon.

To be surrounded by like-minded people, to thrive off their energy - it was everything he could have asked for. The last few years particularly had been tough for him. This was what he needed to help get his mind on track. It was scary moving to a country on the other side of the world away from his family and friends but he knew It would be good for his mind. The last place he wanted to be was Korea right now. A new environment with new people would be good for his healing process.

Texas was very different from what he was used to. Getting used to the new time difference was the hardest part. His body was so used to being on Korean time that it took him a good few weeks to come around to his new time zone. Through the weeks of adjustment to his new life, he'd been going through tests for the space project - passing all of them. He had also grown close with the other people who were also selected to the part. Making friends used to be easy for him but after everything that had happened, he was a little guarded. Someone had betrayed his trust leading his life down a path he hadn't foreseen. Now, he had to pick up the pieces of himself. It wasn't easy but he was determined to lead a happy life. He just had to be careful about the people he let in.

Nights out weren’t usually his thing - opting to stay home, hiding from the world these days. But, it was one of his fellow crew member’s birthdays and he wanted to celebrate with them. That was how he found himself in a small bar, watching his new friends play pool. He’d spent the night chatting with them, having a few drinks. To his surprise, he found himself with a smile on his face all night. It wasn’t often that a genuine smile made its way onto his face. Since he was in a good mood, he decided that he wanted to treat everyone to drinks. There was a small part of him that felt like he owed it to them for all they were doing for him whether they knew it or not. Heading over to the bar, his snapback firmly on his head, he leaned on the surface, waiting to be served. Seunghyun never used to have patience but these days he found himself a little more willing to wait for things. What he didn’t expect, though, was for you to trip and accidentally fall onto him. It was on instinct that his hands reached out to catch you, resting tentatively on your waist to hold you still. Once you were firmly stood upright, he removed his hands. Seunghyun wasn’t really one for skinship with people he didn’t know but he couldn’t just let you fall now, could he?

“Thank you,” you breathed, relieved that you hadn’t injured yourself or the incredibly handsome man stood in front of you. As your eyes (not so subtly) gave him a once over, you noticed that you’d spilled your drink all over his jacket. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me fix that.”

You grabbed some napkins off the counter, dabbing at the wet patch on his coat but to no avail. Seunghyun couldn’t help but laugh slightly at the panicked look on your face. “It’s fine. It’ll wash off. Don’t go having a panic attack over it now.”

At his accent, your ears perked up, head rising to meet his dark brown eyes. Wow, he really was so beautiful. “You’re not from around here.”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “I’m from Korea but I’m living here temporarily for a few months.”

“Cute accent,” you quipped, tossing the now wet napkins onto the bar. “What’re you doing all the way in Texas then? Must be important if it’s brought you all the way across to the other side of the world.”

Now, usually you wouldn’t talk with some random guy you’d met in a bar – there had been far too many bad experiences but this man seemed different from the rest. He was a little shy; you’d noticed his cheeks tinting red and his eyes gazing down at the ground at your compliment. His eyes seemed kind, maybe that was because not once had he checked you out. That gained major points for him. Most guys in bars ended up being sleazeballs but you had a good feeling about this one.

“I’m going to space,” he smiled shyly. It sounded ridiculous, he knew that but how else was he supposed to put it?

“What?” You burst out laughing. “Do you use that line on all the girls you meet or am I just special?”

“No, really! It’s called Dear Moon. They’re sending a bunch of us to the moon.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Seriously!” He said, determined to convince you as he leaned forward. As he did, you noticed the NASA snapback he had on. Okay, maybe he was telling the truth and maybe he was going to space but… it was highly unlikely, right? “Me and a bunch of other people got selected to go on a trip to the moon in one of the SpaceX rockets.”

“Okay, okay,” you held your hands up in defense, the corners of your lips turning up into a smile. It was adorable how determined he seemed. “If you’re really going to space then tell me a space fact that a simpleton like me wouldn’t know then maybe I’ll believe you.”

Seunghyun sat in thought for a moment, his perfect eyebrows scrunched. He looked adorable, the pout on his face really making you giggle to yourself. Suddenly, he perked up. His eyes were bright as he spoke excitedly. “Neptune has only completed one orbit around the Sun since its discovery.”

“Okay, well, I’ll have to take your word on it because I know nothing about space,” you laughed, eyeing the bartender as he finally made his way over. “Guess I should get myself another drink since I spilled it all over you. I’m still so sorry about that, by the way.”

“No, let me,” he waved the bartender over, giving his own drink orders then asking for yours. “I’m Seunghyun, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Seunghyun,” you held your hand out for him to shake which seemed silly considering his hands had been on your waist about five minutes ago. He happily shook your hand, his large hand warm in yours. The sparks flying through you the second your skin touched his was something you’d never experienced before. It was almost like you didn’t want to pull away, your eyes drawn to the small smile on his face. It was a moment that you’d never forget. Unfortunately, the bartender decided to ruin it, clearing his throat causing you both to pull your hands back, awkwardly grabbing for your drinks.

“It was nice to meet you, Seunghyun. Here,” you grabbed a pen, writing your number on a napkin, sliding it over to him. “Maybe text me some more cool space facts sometime.”

With a bright smile, you headed off back to your friends. Seunghyun couldn’t help but watch as you walked away. It had been a very, very long time since he’d been so drawn to someone. It had been easy to talk to you, he hadn’t felt the need to hide or make an excuse to walk away. He actually liked the small interaction you’d had; already replaying it in his mind. The way you smiled, the way you kept eye contact with him when you spoke to him. It made tingles run up his spine the way your hand had felt in his. But, no. He couldn’t let himself think like that. The last thing he needed right now was to catch feelings for anyone. Friendship, maybe. There was no harm in that. As he clutched the napkin in his hand, he gave one last look in your direction, seeing you laughing with your friends. He tucked the napkin in his pocket – maybe he would text you at some point.

When you got home that evening, kicking your shoes off, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you unlocked it seeing a text from an unknown number but as you read the text you instantly knew who it was.

If you look out of your window right now you’ll be able to see one of the coolest star constellations. Ursa Major (or big dipper for you, space newbie). Looks like a bowl with a handle :)

Opening the doors to your small balcony, you looked up to the sky, your eyes searching for the constellation that Seunghyun had mentioned. It didn’t take long to see what he’d described, a smile creeping onto your face. Bracing your arms on the railing, you typed his name into your phone putting the moon emoji next to his name.

Yeah, maybe this space boy was going to be a danger to your heart.

taglist (ask to be added!): @ldydeath @infinetlyforgotten @justsisse @maskedcrawford @come-as-you-are-111 @sherrayyyyy @loveesiren

#choi seunghyun #t.o.p #top x reader #choi seunghyun x reader #bigbang x reader #my fics

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shushiewrites · 1 day ago

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a/n: hi!! this is my first ever piece of writing, taking place in the wonderful cod dukedom au by @beloveds-embrace. i love a good piece of angst but i felt like it was high time that our dear duchess gets off her butt and starts to live her life instead of wallowing and enduring. sorry if it feels like she gets over her heartache super quickly, i just wanted to get to the good stuff lol

Shirin arriving in your home was the start of some long forgotten blossom unfurling in your chest. All of a sudden, instead of being locked away in your own self confinement, you had a ray of (albeit pushy) sunshine, tidying up your room, forcing you on walks and making sure you were keeping up your appearance.

“You’ll feel pretty once you look pretty,” she had told you seriously as she was brushing your hair just before bed. The candlelight reflected your small, sad smile in the mirror, and you sighed, resigning yourself under her care.

You’ll never forget the heartbreak in her eyes when she saw what lay under those ribbons on your wrists. Why do you care? Nobody does. You wanted to scream at her. You didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve this-

She looked at you, and with a calm and firm voice: “Everybody deserves kindness.”

She took your hands, and with the gentleness of a mother caring for a newborn babe, she cleaned your wounds and wrapped them in clean gauze. You couldn’t hold your tears back at the tender gesture, and cried, long into the night, as she soothed you.

Slowly but surely, you felt yourself starting to change. Shirin was the push you needed, but ultimately, you had decided that enough was enough. You were not going to let this life pass you by. If you were condemned to a loveless marriage, so be it. If this house didn’t want you, then you would learn to live without it. You were going to carve out your own sanctuary from these cold and unfeeling walls.

At least my situation is leagues better than some others, if the rumors are to be believed, you muse to yourself. The flagrant disrespect in your own home is being remedied, with all the staff realising you don’t make idle threats. A few well-timed firings later, and you were now able to walk in your own home without being subjected to vile gossip from those who had no place. What a luxury.

Shirin has been a godsend, with her whirling optimism and friendly companionship. She stayed with you as you ate, each meal somehow tasting better than the last. You’ll never know how much she berated Johnny for daring to serve you that which she claimed “even the pigs would turn away from.”

And at her encouragement, you hired a personal chef. One from your hometown, close to your family. Even though he was old, he was overjoyed to come back and work for you. Suddenly, it felt like you had allies. No longer would you sit at the table across from John with a sad excuse for a meal, but rather your plate would be piled with delicacies that you had savoured ever since you were a young girl.

Shirin noticed, with satisfaction, at how you brightened as food you actually enjoyed came your way. How, for the first time in a long time, someone cared about your tastes, and cared enough about your pleasure and happiness to deliver it to you.

You filled your days doing your wifely duties, but no more than what was required. Why go above and beyond for a house that didn’t value you anyway? Nobody could criticise either, you were doing exactly as much as you were expected to do. With your time freed up, you turned to what you used to enjoy: reading. You would whirl your way into knowledge, consuming more and more, pecking at the gristle of wisdom, leaving no morsel behind.

You returned to high society with purpose — not just to rekindle old connections, but to find solace in the one place that truly valued you: the orphanage. Those children, with their wide eyes and quiet hope, reminded you of what it felt like to be cast aside.

Determined to spare them that same ache of neglect, you spent hours poring over budgets, finding ways to divert funds toward charity. You bought warm winter clothes and filled their desks with school supplies. You stayed up late crafting lesson plans, determined to give them the tools to build a better future. Their hiring prospects, their sense of self-worth — you fought for it all.

The orphanage became your second home, a place you visited more than your own room. And somehow, amid the ledgers and lesson plans, you found yourself again — painting, writing poetry, and embracing the parts of you that had long been forgotten. You were blooming once more.

Things were going to change, you decided that much. No longer would you let life slip past you, nor would you let the cold stares and whispered scorn from your so-called husband and his partners reduce you to a helpless damsel.

Yes, it hurt, knowing that the person meant to stand beside you now seemed to despise you. But you’d had enough.

You refused to keep wasting tears on someone who didn’t — and never would — care. Instead, you chose to shift from mere endurance to quiet acceptance. That, you realized, was where your salvation lay.

You were done mourning what was lost. It was time to start living again.

You take the laces, bows, ribbons and chokers, all a dainty mockery of the facade you were living in for so long, and throw them in the fireplace, every gift from Simon, Kyle, and even John, burning up into ashes.

You were going to live again.

Without them.

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0wlettie · 1 day ago

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sfw, dogboy!caleb thoughts cont. (pt. I, II), reader pov, gege usage, wc 1.4k

you were dumb to just leave like that. you knew that it was a bad idea to not say anything to caleb, but you just couldn’t take it anymore! the rolling pit of jealousy and anger in your gut forced you to act in the only way you knew how. by retreating into yourself; finding a quiet, calm spot for you to just be. there was a park nearby the school that you would occasionally sneak off to in the past, so you figured that spot was as good as any. and, when caleb inevitably noticed your absence, it would be easy for him to find you there. if you didn’t run into him on the way back home.

except, you didn’t expect there to be someone already there when you hopped over the short rail separating the park from the street. you freeze in your tracks when you notice someone hunched over at the bottom of the slide.

it’s a boy. wearing a high school uniform that’s slightly messy looking, tie missing and the first buttons of his shirt undone. he’s holding a cigarette in his hands, and his eyes flick over to you as he takes a drag of it. nerves settle heavy in your belly and you look at the ground rather than meet his gaze. you��this wasn’t apart of your plan. should you just, leave? it’s the smarter idea, considering the fact that you don’t know this person and you’re just a tiny little girl. but your feet are frozen to the ground, and you can feel the boy’s stare on you as the ambient noises filter in from the street.

‘what’s a little kid like you doing out here alone?’

you flinch when the boy speaks to you, and you struggle to say anything. when it’s clear that you won’t, you hear the boy let out a breathy laugh. you can’t help but compare it to caleb’s, in your mind. how the boy’s nasally chuckle doesn’t sound as nice to listen to as your gege’s.

‘cat got your tongue? aw, don’t be so scared. i don’t bite.’

you glance at the boy, blinking when you see the smile on his face. it’s not a forced expression, judging by the laugh lines you can just barely notice around the curve of his mouth and eyes. but still. there’s something ringing in your head, warning you against getting any closer. so you keep your eyes on him, tensing your body in case you need to make a break for it.

‘…you could. i don’t really know you.’ is all you end up saying, and despite how clipped your words come out, it seems to amuse the other boy. his smile grows wider, and the gleam in his eyes turn a bit more contemplative as he flicks ash to the ground. you flinch when he suddenly stands up, and that warning in your head gets louder when you realize how tall he is.

‘but you could get to know me, right? maybe we can be friends? i’m kai, by the way.’ you watch as the boy—kai—drops his cigarette on the ground, stomping on it absently as he keeps up that same smile. again. there’s nothing outwardly wrong with him. his eyes aren’t mean, the smile on his face is natural and even though he is smoking on a playground, there’s nothing menacing about him that should set you off. but, you still feel uneasy.

you’ve never really been around older boys before. after moving in with your grandma and being essentially shut out by other kids your age, you usually spent your time alone in your room. the only people you interacted with were adults—your grandma, the nice man who owns the bakery down the street, your teachers and the occasional cashier or passer by who nods hello to you and your grandma. so maybe being in the presence of someone other than that was making you nervous?

‘friends…?’ you ask, dubiously.

‘yea, i even introduced myself to you! we’re not complete strangers now, right?’

you nod slowly. well, he did have a point. you quietly tell him your own name, biting your lip when he repeats it back to you. grandma always calls you something sweet like ‘honey’ or ‘dearie’. caleb’s gotten it in his head to call you ‘pipsqueak’, as well as a whole bunch of other silly little nicknames when he’s trying to be playful. you’re not entirely sure if you like hearing kai use your full name like that, it’s honestly kind of weird.

‘okay then, since we’ve got our introductions outta the way, will you mind telling me what you’re doing here by yourself. you aren’t lost, are you?’

you purse your lips. it’s not like kai is trying to intimidate information out of you. neither is he being overtly strange or creepy. maybe you can tell him a little of the truth?

‘no, i’m not lost. just wanted to be alone, s’all.’ you mumble, eyes darting to the swing set you were initially going to hop on. it’s fun, being that high in the air. and the sky is always nice to look at when you just want to forget about things for a little while.

‘hm, i see. don’t you think it’s dangerous for you to be alone here, though?’

you shrug, looking back at the slightly worried set to kai’s face. you relax your tense shoulders after you look. it seems like a genuine expression, and maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to trust others when both caleb and grandma have done their best to warn you about strangers, but kai doesn’t seem like a bad person at all. you’re just, nervous, you guess. about being alone with someone other than your grandma or caleb. it’s only natural that you’re nerves would come off as suspicion. you think so, at least.

‘it’s not that big a deal, i don’t live very far so i’ll head back before it gets too dark.’ ‘or when gege inevitably finds me.’ you think.

‘well, how about i just sit here until you’re ready to leave. it’s not dangerous at this time of day, but i wouldn’t feel like a good guy just leaving a little girl by herself here.’ you blush at the smile he sends you, shyly returning it with a nod. you think the smile sits nicely on his face, but again, you can’t help but compare it to caleb’s. kai is clearly a few years older than caleb, but you still prefer his bright smile rather than the subdued one pointed towards you now. they’re both very nice to look at, though.

‘you can do whatever you want.’ you shrug, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks and keep your cool. you don’t think you come off as nonchalant as you think when kai laughs, but you pretend you don’t hear it as you get ready to head over to the swings. your eyes widen, however, when you catch sight of a familiar face rushing towards you. before you can say anything—maybe shout something to assure caleb that you’re fine and that he doesn’t need to look like that—he’s suddenly there. stepping in between you and kai, you get a quick glimpse of the tight almost painful looking smile on his face before he deliberately blocks the entirety of your body with his own. all you can see is his back, tail stiff and raised, his ears sharp and trained on kai ahead of him.

‘and who might you be, mister?’ caleb asks, though he sounds…off. like he’s trying to be friendly, but the notes fall flat. you swallow, but you shuffle forward to press against his back anyway. caleb is upset, you can see that, but he’d never turn you away…right? if you just explain, then maybe he can relax? maybe he can remove that awful expression on his face if you just tell him that kai isn’t a bad person or anything like that.

‘gege, it’s fine, he’s not trying to—‘ you attempt to peek around his arm, but he moves along with you; reaching a hand back to gently keep you behind him.

‘just let me handle this, okay?’ you press your lips together, wilting a little at the firmness to his voice. you mumble out your agreement, leaning against his back to hide your hot face. you feel stupid. you shouldn’t have left the library like you did. or maybe, you should’ve stayed somewhere closer to the school. caleb is clearly upset, and you hate that you caused him to be that way.

you just hope that he’s not too mad at you. you don’t know what you’d do with yourself if he was.

alright, that's the end of part three ! a bit of a different style to this, adding the reader's pov, but i think it's flows decently despite being a lil short. i won't put a time frame on part four, as unfortunately i'm gonna be juggling some other stuff along with this series, so until next time !!

as for those who wanted to be pinged! @thigh-o-saur, @asrasmysoulmate

feel free to lemme know if you also want to be tagged for this series i don't mind making it easier to keep up with updates !

edit: if you want to keep up with this story, i have no issues tagging ! but if you do follow me and you don’t have an age in your bio i will block you, i’m sorry but im an 18+ blog despite the fluff and i don’t want minors following me; adding this because i’ve seen an influx of people and i guess they didn’t realize i’ve got rules ;;; so please, have an age in bio or you will be blocked !!

#owlettie's works #owlettie writes #lads caleb #love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x reader #caleb #l&ds caleb #l&ds

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 hours ago

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Little Surprises 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, cheating/established relationships, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Andy Barber, side of Mike Weiss

Summary: You have a baby on the way but it's not the only surprise.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You inch the door open and wince. You knocked once but no answer came. You’re surprised to find someone within. You rap again with your knuckles, that time on the door frame.

“Excuse me, Mr. Barber,” you say, “you mind?”

He sits up straight. He clears his throat as he forces his shoulders high, resuming his usual rigid posture. He’s of the few attorneys there that acknowledges you. He nods.

“Uh, sure,” he wiggles the mouse and clicks. “Come on in.”

You open the door wider and cross the office to his desk. You pick up the wastebasket beside it, holding back a grunt as your waist band presses tightly beneath your belly. You carry the bin to the cart at the door and dump it. It’s just coffee cups and crumpled paper, a wrapper from an egg wrap. The thought of eggs makes you nauseous.

“Need the break,” he rubs his eyes as you near him again. “Eyes are getting fuzzy.”

“Oh no,” you humour him. You hold the cloth in your hand, “you mind?”

“Go ahead,” he rolls his chair back.

“So sorry, sir, I'm running behind today.” You wipe around his keyboard and mouse. You pause and hover over a wrapper for a protein bar. “All done with this?”

“Um, yeah,” he answers.

You smile and scoop up the wrapper with a crinkle. “No problem.”

Your back spasm and you suck in a sharp breath. You rub between your hips as you retreat. You feel him watching you.

“You... alright?”

“It’s so sweet of you to ask,” you preen as you go back to the cart and toss the wrapper. “I’m just fine.”

You go to the book shelf and clean around the awards, the decorative gavel, and statue of Lady Justice. You feel him watching still. A few people have noticed despite you borrowing Mike’s shirts. Even those are starting to cling.

“You’re... expecting,” he guesses correctly.

You drag the cloth over a shelf, “I am.”

“I’m sorry if that’s...”

“Nah, it’s okay. I just don’t like anyone fussing over me,” you assure him. “All tidy, isn’t it?”

You step back and admire your work. The wheels of his chair roll over the mat.

“Why don’t you sit? Take a load off?” He offers.

You face him and smile. He’s so nice. He spends all that time working and he’s still worried about you. You’re just the cleaner. You know well how stressful law work can be. You barely see your boyfriend with him running around the public courts.

“Really, Mr. Barber, I still got the rest of the floor to do.”

“I remember when Laurie was expecting,” he says. “She was exhausted all the time.”

“I can manage. I’m not too far. Three months is all.”

“You really shouldn’t be doing so much,” he keeps his hand on the chair. “Not in your condition.”

“My doctor says it’s good,” you argue. “I really appreciate you worrying for me, but I’m fine. Really.”

He looks at you. The same way Mike does. They reflect each other in certain ways. They’re always so serious. They don’t like to be told no and they win most arguments. It’s probably why they do what they do.

“Well,” he sighs, his hand going to his hip. That posture defines him. It underlines his age. At least ten years older than Mike, who’s got a couple on you himself. “If you need somewhere to sit down, you come back here.”

“Oh, Mr. Barber,” you smile. “That’s so kind.”

You back to the door and tuck the dust cloth away. You get behind the cart as he follows. “Should you be pushing that around?”

“It’s not much,” you roll it back and forth. “Paper and sponges.”

He nods, his lips thinned in disapproval. That’s why you don’t tell anyone. They treat you different. And Mike doesn’t want his family to know yet. He says his mom will want you to marry first but he hasn’t even asked yet.

“You should be on accommodated duty. You know, I dealt with a few labour cases?” He insists.

“Mr. Barber,” you chide softly. “You got enough to worry about.”

You roll the cart away, down to Mr. Logiudice’s door. It’s already opens. He greets you with a flick of his fingers as he holds his phone to his ear. You clean quietly, certain not to disturb his call.

As you leave, Mr. Barber is still by his door. He stares at you for a moment before he retreats into his office. You hope you didn’t bother him too much.

You finish up your rounds and dump the bag in the dumpster. You stay outside for your break, sitting at the picnic table near the corner of the building. You drink water and chew on crackers. The baby is picky. Your breakfast ended up in the sink.

“Ahem,” the deep noise draws your eyes up as you stare at your phone. Mike’s busy. Not answering.

“Oh, Mr. Barber.” You blink at the attorney in his grey jacket.

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks.

You look down at your long-sleeved shirt.

“Baby’s got me running hot,” you shrug.

“Hmm, I just ran out to the coffee place,” he points over his shoulder. “Slow day.”

“It’s not so bad,” you look up at the grey clouds.

“They had a special. Muffin and coffee for three bucks,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a white bag stamped with the cafe logo. “I just needed the caffeine.”

He has a cup in his other hand as he sets the bag on the table close to you. You look at it, then him. You find his eyes on your phone. You peer down and find your conversation with Mike still open. Still no reply.

“Thanks, uh,” you pull the bag closer. “I’ll save it for after work.” Odds are, you’ll give it to Mike. The smell of cinnamon is already sickening.

He gives another flat hum. His blue eyes search you. “Too early? You don’t know if it’s a girl or boy?”

You shake your head, “not yet. Don’t think I’ll ask.”

“Oh,” he clucks. “Laurie had to know. Had the nursery done two months early.”

“A lot to figure out,” you agree and stand, gathering up your phone and snack. “Gotta get back to it so I can buy the baby a crib, huh?”

He’s quiet. He walks with you back to the building. You feel him glancing at you repeatedly. He opens the door for you and you thank him.

“Least I can do,” he says.

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #series #little surprises #defending jacob #mike weiss #dark mike weiss #dark!mike weiss #mike weiss x reader #puncture #drabble

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htaesan · 1 day ago

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　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ WHERE NO ONE KNOWS ME 　　────　ᅠ ( lee heeseung )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀after a long day of relentless fame, you find yourself in the comfort of a small cosy coffee shop, only to be met with a barista who treats you like any other person. in his quiet kindness, you find something worth living for again𑁋a place to be unknown, and maybe the start of something more.

　　　ᅠ 이희승 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 1.4k ⠀ genre fluff meet cute barista au non idol au ⠀ contains mentions of food ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ note ᅠ from ᅠ 𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐈 ! ᅠ i.. have no idea how i managed to pull this off amidst having like 10 reports to write but i pulled through !! happy birthday @flwrstqr, this is for you !

　　　ᅠ ＞︿　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

THE city lights blur around you as you step out of the car, pulling your mask over your face. You sigh, taking in the view around you—everyone is busy with their own lives. Some are walking, hand in hand with their partner; some are on the phone, talking to someone on the other side with no care in the world; and some are enjoying a stroll through the city’s nightlife. Ordinary, simple, tranquil.

And that is all you want.

Your schedule has been busy these past few months—brand deals rushing in like a massive flood, photo shoots every other day, interviews here and there, paparazzi and flashing cameras everywhere you go, people recognising you and taking videos of you anywhere. You didn’t expect it to turn out like this. You didn’t expect that your debut album, filled with songs which lyrics you heartfully wrote and melodies you intricately built, would blow up almost instantly over the course of three weeks. And the hype hasn’t died down, even after six months. It just got bigger and bigger.

It’s not like you don’t like it—your fame is what you rightfully deserve after all the sleepless nights working to make sure your debut is as perfect as possible. But now, you’re tired, and it’s like your life isn’t yours anymore.

You take a deep breath, eyes glued to the café in front of you. It looks cosy, tucked into one of the only quiet streets of the city. The warm glow radiating from its windows pulled your interest. You walk towards its entrance, realising that this place is near your apartment, but you’ve never had the time to visit. Not until now.

You push the café door open, the warm air bursting against your face. You scan the small space—there’s a few customers, but so far, none of them are paying attention to you.

You gulp. You can’t let your guard down just yet.

You approach the register, lowering your cap down as you instinctively prepare to lower your voice—an attempt to mask your well-known identity, even though the entire country already knows who you are just from one look at your eyes.

From the other side of the counter, the barista is cleaning a mug. He looks a little too stylish—perhaps a little too good looking to be working in such a tranquil place. He perks up at your presence, and you immediately look at the name tag pinned against his apron.

Heeseung.

“Welcome,” he says, his smile polite and his voice calm. You narrow your eyes at the black-haired man in front of you.

He didn’t let out any gasp of recognition, and there wasn’t any frantic energy radiating out of him.

You pause.

This is new. This is weird.

“What would you like to order?” he asks, fingers ready to key in your order into the iPad in his hand.

You clear your throat, ordering a drink and a dessert for yourself, your voice steady but alarmingly cautious.

“A caramel latte and a pavlova, please.”

“Alright. Name?”

The world goes silent for a minute. You look around rather anxiously. For a moment, you think everyone’s listening.

“Elle,” you lie.

You watch as Heeseung raises a brow at the way you’re eyeing him, but he doesn’t do anything about it. He keys in whatever you’ve told him, then he nods at you before turning to make your order.

You linger at the counter for quite a while before retreating to a table at the corner of the café, away from everyone else.

It’s weird. Why is he treating you like any other person here? Doesn’t he know who you are?

You sink into your chair, letting the cushions embrace you. You lean against it, letting the exhaustion settle in. The day’s events rush to your head, and it makes you feel like you’re spinning.

And it makes you question Heeseung too.

Every second you’re outside, you have to keep your guard up, in case of anything. You can’t really do what you like, afraid that it’d make you face ridicule. You have to make sure you’re always donned up, and you have to make sure you’re following all of the other ridiculous rules society sets upon you—you never know when people are watching.

But why isn’t Heeseung treating you like everyone else does? Why doesn’t he treat you like you’re the most perfect person on earth? Why isn’t he analysing your every move, waiting for some kind of mistake that he could bring you down with?

“Excuse me,” Heeseung’s voice rings through your ears, and as you eyes flutter open, you don’t realise you’ve been dozing off. He gives you a polite smile, a tray with your drink and your dessert in hand.

“Here’s your order, Elle,” he says, setting down the mug and plate on the table. “Enjoy.”

You sit there, frozen as you don’t know what to do.

Then, as he’s about to turn to leave, the question that’s been lingering around in your head leaves your mouth without you realising. “Do you know who I am?”

Heeseung pauses. “Yeah.”

“Who am I, then?” you ask, and albeit the awkwardness, you meet his eyes.

“You’re Y/N,” he replies, his voice quieter this time.

Your chest tightens.

“Then… why aren’t you acting like everyone else?”

Heeseung gives you a small smile, and you feel goosebumps jolting through your body. “Because you’re you. You’re a celebrity, you’re a talented singer, and you’re beautiful—I admit that. But I don’t see why I have to make you uncomfortable over those facts.”

Your eyes widen, and something begins to stir in your chest.

When you don’t reply, Heeseung’s smile shifts from something more genuine back to his polite, customer-service smile. He turns and walks away, leaving you watching him in a complete daze.

Your heart is hammering against your chest, more violently than you expected it to.

When was the last time someone ever saw you as just a person, not as a celebrity?

You take a glance at Heeseung, who’s back to his work behind the counter. Suddenly, you notice everything—the way his sleeves are rolled up at just the perfect angle, the way his brows furrow when he’s focused on making another drink, and the way his black hair falls on his forehead, and the way he looks just… perfect. Cute, even.

You remember his small smile, and the way it tingles you in a way you’ve never felt before.

Your fingers tighten around the warm mug.

For some reason, this fuzzy feeling that’s filling up your heart feels rare.

You don’t even realise you’ve finished your latte, and that your pavlova is completely devoured. You’re too lost in thought to even realise how much time you’ve spent in the cosy little café.

Quickly, you take your things and pull your mask up to your nose. For some reason, you hesitate as you approach the counter.

But then, some kind of nervous energy rushes through you, and you quickly scribble a note on the napkin you’re holding.

Thanks for your kindness. It made my day.

You hand Heeseung the money, slipping the note with it.

Heeseung immediately notices the napkin. He looks down, his eyes scanning the words.

When he looks back up, your eyes meet, and you give him a small eye smile. “See you next time,” you say softly.

And for the first time in a long while, you actually mean it.

Heeseung watches you walk out the door of his café, the small bell hanging on top of it chiming as the door closes. He leans against the counter, fingers tracing the edge of the folded napkin. Once you’re out of his sight, and the café settles back into its usual rhythm, his focus turns to the note. He unfolds the napkin, his eyes scan the neat handwriting. He chuckles—there’s something just adorable about it.

Thank you for your kindness.

He smiles.

It made my day.

The quiet smile on Heeseung’s lips grows larger. His mind replays the memory of you: how you looked so at peace, sipping the hour away at the corner of the café that he worked hard to establish. He remembers looking at you, and in the midst of admiring how pretty you actually are, he realises that you’re different from what the media made you out to be. Quieter, maybe. Softer. More beautiful, definitely. Less of the dazzling, perfect, and untouchable figure he sees on the billboard everywhere he goes. Instead, you’re more… human.

His gaze flickers to the door, where you stood a few moments ago.

Would you come again?

He dearly hopes so.

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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talkaustentome · 1 day ago

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Very good and true points! I'd like to add/emphasise that Darcy not despairing over Elizabeth misunderstanding his character is actually very important in the book. One consequence of his faults is that he initially doesn’t even realise that and why she dislikes him. That is what leads to the messy first proposal in the first place and makes his character growth so satisfying.

Like OP says, Darcy is intentionally “not inviting”, but I don’t think he means to be an outright asshole. As he later explains:

“I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit.” — Volume III, Chapter XVI (Chapter LVIII)

He was never a bad person at his core, but he at first lacks the self-reflection to recognise when he is not living up to his own principles.

Given his pride and the way he looks down on others, he might even be telling himself that he’s just setting necessary and appropriate boundaries for someone of his social standing. @fourthfolio suggests in the comments that one reason for Darcy’s rudeness to Elizabeth could be that he was raised to make sure to not give young women “false hopes”. That would track with this moment when Elizabeth is visiting Jane at Netherfield and Darcy has already realised he’s attracted to her:

“She attracted him more than he liked; and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her and more teasing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him—nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that, if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday: and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.” — Volume I, Chapter XII

That type of thinking wouldn’t be surprising for someone who grew up as rich, high-ranking, and spoilt as he did. I’m not saying this as an excuse for him. He is definitely wrong for his arrogance, looking down on others, etc., as he later admits himself. However, I believe he doesn’t truly recognise his faults as such until the proposal which is why it’s such a shock to him when Elizabeth shows him that he isn’t living up to his own standards of gentlemanly behaviour:

“Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me; though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.” — Volume III, Chapter XVI (Chapter LVIII)

The passage at Netherfield that I quoted above also makes clear that Darcy doesn’t originally realise Elizabeth dislikes him. He knows he’s attracted to her, he believes Miss Bingley notices, and he therefore thinks Elizabeth might also notice (and reciprocate) his feelings. In Kent, there are several moments — including the scene at the parsonage that OP mentions — where I believe Darcy is flirting and trying to gauge Elizabeth’s interest, not realising that she just thinks him rude and his behaviour odd at best, which leads to further misunderstandings between them.

The first proposal is the painful consequence of Darcy’s lack of self-reflection and his misconception of Elizabeth’s feelings. We, just like her, have experienced him as rude, and obviously telling her he loves her against his supposedly better judgement doesn’t help his case, leaving us to wonder how he could expect to be accepted, which he clearly does (“I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”).

Until this rejection, I don’t think Darcy fully realises how he comes across to other people, including Elizabeth. That – and the fact that Elizabeth has a similar, parallel arc regarding her own faults – is precisely what makes his character growth so satisfying. If he had always been aware that people thought him a jerk, but had struggled to adjust his behaviour due to social anxiety, Elizabeth calling him out wouldn’t be half as satisfying because we’d probably feel sorry for him. But the fun of Pride and Prejudice is that, while we might understand where the characters are coming from, we also enjoy seeing them confronted with their faults because that is what they need to grow.

I came across this screenshot of a YouTube comment about Pride and Prejudice on Pinterest ↓

Ordinarily, I don't go out of my way to pour scorn on other people's interpretations, and certainly not without good reason. But this one really, really irked me.

I don't know what's more depressing; that someone interpreted Mr Darcy and Elizabeth's dynamic in this way, or that 12,000 people apparently agreed...

...because there are two major problems with this interpretation:

Firstly, Darcy is an asshole.

Secondly, he's very much not a stupid man.

This isn't just my opinion. This is canon.

Elizabeth doesn't think Mr Darcy is a terrible person because she happened to feel like it one day. Darcy gave her every reason to think he had absolutely no redeeming features. I mean, their very first interaction, before (contrary to what adaptations portray) they had even said a single word to each other, was when he insulted her.

Not only that, Darcy knew what he was doing, as this excerpt from chapter 3 proves:

'Turning round [Darcy] looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.'

Darcy wanted Elizabeth to hear him. There is no mistaking that. Yes, Elizabeth should have listened to the repeated warnings she received from others that Wickham was not all he seemed and that, perhaps, Darcy wasn't so bad... but you can completely understand why she was prejudiced against him. I wouldn't forgive someone saying something like that about me in a hurry.

There are other examples of Darcy's rudeness to Elizabeth. His tone of voice is described as 'grave' and 'cold' when they dance at the Netherfield ball in chapter 18; when he visits Hunsford Parsonage in chapter 32, he ends their exchange in a rude manner '[Darcy] experienced some change of feeling; he drew back his chair, took a newspaper from the table, and glancing over it, said, in a colder voice: “Are you pleased with Kent?”' and there are too many examples in the proposal in chapter 34, but for me the worst is, 'towards him I have been kinder than towards myself.'

If a man implied that separating my beloved sister from the man who loved her, was kinder to them both than the agony of him proposing to me... well, I don't think he would've walked away from that exchange. Elizabeth Bennet you are a better person than me.

Regarding the other point: Darcy's intelligence is never questioned. In fact, the narrator devotes time to ensuring we understand that in chapter 4:

'In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting.'

Again, this man knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't sorry about any of it, and he certainly was not 'internally crying.' Mr Darcy was a conceited, spoiled rich man who needed to be made aware of his flaws and reflect on them in order to become a better person; or at least, improve enough that he ceased to give the impression that he was not, at his core, a compassionate man with many great qualities.

At the same time, Elizabeth was not a poor, innocent angel who was slighted by a man and who subsequently never did anything wrong. She didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of Darcy's unpleasantness, no; but she, too, was absolutely blind to her own flaws... until she read Darcy's letter.

I just think that if you don't grasp this fundamental aspect of their respective personalities and subsequent interactions, then how can the payoff possibly be satisfying?

Pride and Prejudice is, amongst many other things, a story about two flawed people whose love for the other shapes them into the best possible versions of themselves. It's really beautiful and it's a shame to think such a key part of it is being misinterpreted.

#and as much as I love p&p 2005; sad puppy boy darcy causes the film to be way more lenient towards him than elizabeth #and I hate that because the whole point of the book is that they're both flawed and grow as people #sorry for yapping so much under your post op; it‘s one of my favourite topics #pride and prejudice #mr darcy #analyses #pride and prejudice analyses #jane austen

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 days ago

Text

MDNI 18+ | Adults Only

Pairing: GHOAP x Serial Killer! Italian! Housewife! Female Reader!

Content Warnings: Italian cursing| Swearing, Italian sarcasm, implications of smut. Polyamorous Relationship. Smut implications. BJ mentioned. Soap is real horny for both you and Simon. Female Reader is curvaceous, Junoesque, curvy, voluptuous. Italian Swearing & Sarcasm (Female Reader).

Note: Junoesque meaning: (of a woman) imposingly tall and shapely.

Word Count: 2922

Summary: Johnny meets you and then understands why Simon didn't want him to meet you.

Simon didn't want Soap to meet you at first, thinking the Scotsman wouldn't know how to handle an Italian woman like yourself. Better to keep you far away from him. Simon's British sarcastic nature was one thing. But yours?

Yours?

Your Italian Sarcastic nature compared to Simon’s British sarcasm. Your dry, “Hai fatto la scoperta dell’America.”

Simon Still thinks you would leave in a heartbeat if it meant he would be happy with Soap. But he didn’t want that. No. He wanted both of you. And you’re far too selfless for your own good. If a serial killer like yourself can ever be called or labelled as selfless in any kind of capacity.

Curvaceous, Junoesque, curvy, voluptuous. These words were always used to describe a woman like yourself. You always wore black, a neutral colour. A favourite of yours.

Soap met you when he saw you in your backyard shed tending to your mushrooms. Part of your large green house you get most of your food from. The large reason why you don’t need to spend nearly as much on food as someone else would have. The smell of various fungi filling the air as Simon warned him.

“Don’t touch the mushrooms.” Simon warned him with a slight smirk. “She won’t forgive you otherwise or at least she’ll lecture you on the complexity of cultivation of whatever mushroom your fingers touched.”

“Cazzo! I’m not that bad!” you protested from inside the mushroom shed.

Simon yelled back with a definite smirk this time, “That’s only because you’ve never seen him try to cook anything beyond toast and tea, love!”

“You mean burn toast and make tepid tea?” you retorted. “Almost like he loves the taste of charcoal. How truly and utterly devastating for his taste buds.”

The black gardening overalls, the 3/4 black shirt underneath and the wide brimmed black hat shielding your eyes from the sun, didn't hide your allure. The matching black gardening gloves that you have sewn yourself reaching your elbows.

The ducks, chickens, and geese wandering around the backyard only made the scene more whimsical than Soap was ever expecting Simon to be part of. The chickens were only ever allowed to wander in a small patch due to their tendency to tear up with moss lawn.

No wonder you were determined to smack on the hand when he suggested on eating chicken eggs scrambled. But when you gave him soft boiled salted duck eggs? Simon laughed when Soap’s eyes widened.

“You can tell she’s Italian right?” Simon remarked with the smugness of a man who knew the antics of an Italian’s temper all too well to ever be ‘bothered’ by it.

Soap is given a full Italian style breakfast, Soap didn’t know it was against your ‘rules’ to make himself breakfast. But Simon said he was the ‘guest’ and ‘guests’ don’t do such things. Unless the host said they could. And Soap wasn’t given that go ahead.

Simon snickered as Soap rubbed his knuckles. “I told you this could happen. Blatantly warned you too. ‘I don’t think you could handle her’ and you were all ‘I can handle her. A little tap on her lovely peach and she’ll be fine’ and yesterday is was more of ‘Oh shit!’ than ‘Oh darling, that was delightful’.”

Soap looked at the notes written by Simon, all of which were pertaining to what he liked about his lunches. Clearly you cared about knowing what he preferred to eat because there is no such thing as a picky eater in your mind. Just a preferred palette that hadn’t been fully explored yet. All of these were written on a coloured white lined rectangle cards.

Things Simon wrote for you in his notes were like ‘I liked the way you roasted the potatoes yesterday. But the steamed carrots were too plain for my liking. And don’t forget the rosemary on the chicken this time’ & ‘I don’t like oranges. But I like orange flavoured things like marmalade or chocolate’. You suggested him to write notes on what he liked more about certain meals so you could replicate it again if he wanted or wished for that same meal or a similar one.

You knew he didn’t like talking all that much and you were insistent on him at least writing notes down when he wanted to get a message across but didn’t feel comfortable voicing it aloud.

A happy middle ground.

Now that Soap had met you? He had to keep you and Ghost as soon as possible. A giant British man is one thing. But A giant British man with an Italian Housewife? It’s like a dessert on top of a hot meal. A two for one combo.

Two people just for him and him alone. Who cares what others thought? He’s the lucky one. Luckier than most people possibly to think.

You were laying on the couch one afternoon, watching a shark documentary a few hours ago, and you had fallen asleep. Soap might have sucked off Simon a few hours ago. But he planned on getting his two warm hands on your body. On your curves.

As soon as you got in that velvet soft lace lingerie you bought last weekend in a pastel blue? The white lace edges and the tiny white silk bows. The tanga underwear in matching white lace. Your breasts looked like watermelons about to burst through the material. Your thighs? Like a pair of marble pillars. Strong enough to choke the life out of him.

You looked like a delicate dessert. A delicate painstakingly long made dessert. And Soap? He had a large insatiable sweet tooth.

The sight of you like this made his mouth water. Aroused. A delicate sleeping beauty. Or perhaps a sleeping Venus or… perhaps even Aphrodite herself. A living goddess in front of him. Using shark documentaries as a way to self soothe into a semi-decent sleeping pattern.

The whale shark body pillow clutched between your arms. The shark themed weighted blanket draped over you. The velvet shark shaped cushions all around you on the charcoal-coloured couch.

The other three had black dresses you liked the look of from certain model runways. Sometimes taking certain aspects and mushing them together to make something you personally thought would ‘look better’.

He assumed you bought it. Until he saw the sewing room or what Simon had lovingly called it your ‘Workshop of Horrors & Lustful Nature’. Where you had at least six mannequins displaying your most recent creations. Three displayed shark themed lingerie. Each one designed after a specific type of Shark species.

The whale shark body pillow was definitely yours. The shark themed weighted blanket and velvet cushions, all yours. The couch was definitely Simon's choice though, a stark contrast to the rest of the room.

Though, once Simon saw the soft shark shaped cushions decorating the couch? And the recent strawberry shaped mugs you made in your last weeks pottery lessons? The same ones you use for your morning cappuccino.

You certainly knew how to decorate. If you counted the eery paintings done by artists like Vincent van Gogh, Francisco Goya, Salvador Dalí, Edgar Degas, Otto Dix, Rembrandt, El Greco, Caspar David Friedrich, Diego Rivera, Théodore Géricault, Peter Paul Rubens, Zdzisław Beksiński, H.R. Giger, Enrico Pollastrini, John Everett Millais, Jacques-louis David, Gustav Klimt, Albert Edelfelt, Piotr Stachiewicz.

Soap looked at all the artwork your house had. He had to admit the collection is eclectic and extensive. Not too hard to imagine the ‘why’ Simon had married you to begin with. Now that he’s taking in all you particular tastes.

The black coffin shaped bookshelf either side of your television unit with fiction books by authors like Algernon Blackwood, Bram Stroker, Edgar Allen Poe, H.P Lovecraft, Marry Shelly, Oscar Wilde, Robert William Chambers, Stephen King, and many others. All of which are in their original bindings.

The living room alone felt like a museum of the macabre and the avant-garde, Simon saw soap taking it all in. The black woollen rocking chair you sit in whenever you read at night before bed. You say those books are comforting. If one could be comforted by fictional horrors. Then maybe you had found a rather peculiar yet ‘holy grail’ to ‘resting well’.

Perhaps the real horrors were the ones you were more scared of. If the ‘Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable’ Cesar a Cruz quote on the wall inside the entryway of the mansion| estate. If that is anything to go by. Then perhaps he shouldn't be too surprised that you had a penchant for the macabre.

The flooring in the entire building is a deep ebony cherry wood, your choice and he still remembers Simon gushing over how his wife’s aesthetic choices were impeccable. Soap assumed he was only being polite to you, but now that he’s seen what Simon was talking about at the time? He couldn’t agree more. It appears the man had good taste after all.

Simon’s choices were obvious, the charcoal grey couch in the living room, the instant hot water dispenser, the stainless-steel dishwasher, the sleek black counter tops and stainless-steel cabinet handles. The glass containers with black & white shark shaped labels like, ‘Sugar’, ‘Tea’ ‘Coffee’, ‘Cookies’ and ‘Loose Leaf Tea’.

The loose-leaf tea being crafted with herbal blends of either calming chamomile or invigorating mint, picked fresh from your very own garden. It's a blend that suited Simon's moods perfectly.

You shared a Chocolate, pistachio & nougat semifreddo with Soap. Soap thought Simon was a daring romantic to sweep you off your feet. No. He just as a sweet tooth just like you and you suggested trying it on a first date.

“It had dark chocolate, so it has a little bitter tang to it, but for the most part it’s sweet, it’s rich. The pistachio & nougat adds a crunchy and chewy texture. On the first date I took him on, don’t get it twisted, I asked HIM out first, I took him out to dinner in a nice little restaurant, hole-in-the-wall, then to a nice dessert place where they had the best Semifreddo. My personal favourite place, ever, that man was on it like he was a starved beast in the middle desert. And that is when I knew. I knew ‘I’m keeping this one’.” You remarked.

“Though I did tap him on the arse, wink at him and say, ‘call me if you want a second date sweetheart’. After that first date.” You added painting an even clearer picture of Simon and your first date. “So, imagine that with the added finger guns as I walked away backwards for a few steps.”

Soap’s eyes grew wide at the image you painted for him. “And that was enough to win over Simon?”

Simon overheard the conversation, he spotted the dessert on the kitchen counter alongside the one you made with a cotton candy machine. A cotton candy cake, an experiment to see if you’d like it before sharing it with him.

Simon remembered the first date from a different perspective, he remembered how you approached him. How you looked him up & down. He thought you were looking at Soap or John Price or Kyle Garrick. No. No you weren’t look at either one of those three. When he heard the pick-up line ‘You come here often?’ used on him?

And the added, ‘Then what’s a sweet thing like you doing in a place like this? You should be in my bed, your clothes on the floor and your lips on something far more delicious than that whiskey glass.” From you?

At the Simon was at the bar with the rest of the Task Force 141, Simon thought you were going to approach one of the other three. But no. No. It was like you didn’t see them at all. Like you honed on his large figure and his broad shoulders. Like you said ‘He’s mine’ without saying it aloud.

You had bought him a gin & tonic to see his reaction, the bartender handed to him and told him an anonymous patron bought it for him. Simon didn’t know you’d approach him soon after. The look on John’s face? Priceless when he heard the bartender’s words. Followed by your pickup lines he only heard a man use on a woman.

You didn’t ask for his number. That would have been far too easy. You gave him your number like you expected him to call you. The way you used your charm to win him over through dessert, and the fact you weren’t asking to marry him. You just outright hinted at the fact that you expected to be in your bed by the end of the week.

When you tapped him on the arse after the first date though? The ‘Call me if you want a second date sweetheart’. Simon didn’t expect you to be so bold, so forward. He assumed you were playing hard to get. But no. You were extremely blunt and knew what you wanted. No. No you were a shark rather than a lioness.

You wanted him. You clearly wanted Simon.

As soon as he also saw that you had a sweet tooth like him? Simon the man who hides his face with skull balaclava?

Though it was your Garfield pyjamas you bought him to match yours on your sixth date? Simon didn’t expect you to buy him such a gift. Your wrapped the pyjamas in a black wrapping paper and placed the black mug sized gift box. His name ‘Simon Riley’ with a metallic gold brush marker.

The feeling of being addressed by his actual name rather than his callsign? He felt seen. Heard. Caressed without the act of physically touching him.

Your Alaskan Malamute, Cardigan Corgi and two black cats. The Alaskan Malamute is the stray you found in the woods as a two-month-old pup you had named Butterscotch. You adopted the Cardigan Corgi with Simon, he named her ‘Moss’ and you found it too cute to change. So, Moss it remained.

The cat were already your two babies before you met Simon. You named the long haired, chubbier one, Mayhem and the slimmer long haired one Bullet. Both are pitch black with sapphire-coloured eyes. Mayhem with a lavender collar and Bullet with a red collar.

The felines greeted him at the door when he first got there. The two following him around like he was the most fascinating ‘cat’ they’d ever seen. You found both cats abandoned inside of a box on the side of the road. Taking them in the same care and love you have for Butterscotch.

Butterscotch didn’t know what to think of him at first. You also warned them. That Butterscotch just needed to adjust to him first. She is a skittish pup, an anxious pup and easily frightened. Despite her larger size.

Moss on the other hand chased Soap, nipping his heels like he was an animal he needed to herd. The corgi’s excitement is infectious making Soap chuckle as he dodged the small corgi’s attempts to nip the back of his feet. His attempts to dodge only excited the little furball more.

Soap spotted Simon with Mayhem and Bullet. Speaking to them, reading to them despite them being unable to understand a thing he’s saying. It was a routine thing he did when strangers came around, a safety blanket of sorts, a way for them to get comfortable with the new person in their home. Though, it was information about the new person Simon read to them. He said it was to keep them safe.

“Watch out for how people treat cats and dogs, that will tell you everything you need to know about them.” You told the both of them.

Soap replied. “Yeah. I noticed some sour types get keen on getting their rocks off by harming defenceless animals until they snap at them. Taking pleasure in knowing in their torment, torture and whimpering sounds. It makes my blood boil.”

Simon gets really moody, talkative, and more ‘Ghost’ when someone threatens to shoot their animals. “Threaten me all you want. But you go near my animals, and I’ll show you what a real ghost looks like.” You remembered that one time too clearly.

You always had a thing for big guys who loved their pets. Simon fit that bill 11%. And you LOVED it.

The way he talked to them like they were his babies? You were putty in his hands.

The way he cuddled Butterscotch and took her out for runs in the woods with Moss? Oh baby, that was it for you.

The way he helped you take them to the vet during their trimonthly check-ups? You had never felt so cherished.

The gentle giant is the best thing that had ever happened for you. Despite your insidious nature. He loved you.

Soap on the other hand couldn’t wait for the moment he would be able to put his hands on your luscious deliciously tasty curves. Scrumptious. A delight from all angles.

Simon saw Soap gazing at your figure as you slept. “Are you absolutely sure you want to do that? Are you certain you want to even try it?” he asked in a teasing tone and a raised eyebrow.

“You know the rules. Ask before you take.” Simon chastised gently. “Wake her first. Consent is a big thing in this house. And don’t wake her without tea or coffee in your hands first.”

Divcider Credit: @cafekitsune

#Muggy's Ideas #muggy's ideas #ghoap x you #ghoap x reader #ghoap x female reader #ghoap x fem reader #ghoap x f!reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #Ghoap x reader smut #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod x female reader #cod x fem reader #cod x f!reader

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linics · 2 days ago

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sae itoshi’s different flags in dating

every man has their faults, don’t they?

cw ; possibly ooc sae , implications of manipulation , possessive sae mentioned , not proofread , no capitals are intentional

sae itoshi’s green flags would be —

how public he would be about you. sure, maybe his management would hate him for it, but he has no shame. he’s proud of you, and he wants everyone to know that.

he would put your preferences above his. you don’t want to go out somewhere that he loves? he’s always open to recommendations. you’re obsessed with some media he has no interest in? he’ll listen to you ramble about it, asking occasional questions.

he listens and actually does things. he’s very upfront about what he needs or wants from you. so when you reciprocate, then expect whatever you ask for to be granted to you instantly.

he doesn’t care what you wear. don’t mistake it as he doesn’t mind it if other people hit on you — he does, but he trusts you.

he will interfere if you seem uncomfortable. as much as he trusts you and knows you are capable of standing up for yourself, he’s not scared to help you out. and sometimes, you need that help.

sae itoshi’s yellow flags would be —

he doesn’t often apologize first, at least he doesn’t outright. maybe he’ll give you a few extra gifts, make you dinner for a few days. he’ll do everything he can before saying he’s sorry.

he’s really, really dense. you’re having a bad day? you’ll just have to tell him straight up or be painfully obvious about it. and honestly, a lot of the time, he notices, but he doesn’t know how to help.

he will respond late. if he’s at a game or training, you’re not his priority at the moment. his focus is on improving. he won’t answer your calls, nor texts for however long it is. but he always tells you when he’s going.

he’s can be jealous. not because he doesn’t trust you, like i’ve said before, but i’m a firm believer in him being at least a bit possessive over you. he knows his schedule is filled, so if you mention going to breakfast with one of your male friends too frequently, it might get stuck in his head. after all, you’re just so wonderful, who wouldn’t fall for you?

he’s brutally honest. he sees no point in lying to you. if he thinks your hair would look better in a different style, and you ask how it looks, he’ll be honest. then again, he’s always trying to be gentle with it. but at the same time, if he tells you he stayed out training for longer than expected for whatever reason, you’ll know it’s nothing but the truth.

sae itoshi’s red flags would be —

he isn’t emotionally available, at all. if you’re having a bad day and want to cry and have him hold you, forget it. maybe, if you convince him enough, he’ll hold you, but forget him reassuring you.

he’s not going to put soccer above you. if you don’t want him to go to a game, or want him to quit, it’s something he’s willing to dump you over.

he’s oblivious to other people’s feelings. if someone’s flirting with him, then he won’t notice. he’ll simply continue conversation with them.

he’s very busy. want to go out sometime? yeah, sure. but then the day of, he might cancel due to some meeting or a game that interests him. if quality time is your love language, just forget him.

he’d try showering you in gifts and expensive items to try and make you forgive him. will he change? no. but he’ll buy you things. he’ll keep buying you more and more, money isn’t a problem. if there’s a fight between you two, he’s going to buy his way out of it.

a/n : oh my gosh i’ve been so busy i’m so sorry. i’ve been in and out of the hospital a ton, but im now taking a long-term break from school so i should have more time to focus on this i hope. gonna try to upload maybe once per week. anyways i love sae sosoossososo much. this guy i really like loves him sm and now i love him too lmfaof. sorry if these are ooc i didn’t have ideas for 5 per flag

#sae #sae itoshi #itoshi #sae bllk #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #blue lock sae #blue lock sae itoshi #red flags #bllk #blue lock #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #fluff

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finchyclarkemd · 2 days ago

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Breaking Apart

~Angst~

The apartment felt smaller every day. You could feel the weight of it pressing in on you, the air thick with things left unsaid. The space between you and Chris had been growing for weeks now, inch by inch, until it was all you could feel anymore. The silence was louder than anything—louder than the soft hum of the refrigerator, louder than the distant sounds of traffic outside.

You sat across from him on the couch, the space between you nearly suffocating. Chris wasn’t looking at you, not really. His eyes were focused on the blank TV screen in front of him, his thumb absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, but you could tell his mind wasn’t on anything in the room. It hadn’t been for a long time.

“Chris,” you said softly, testing the waters, but your voice felt too quiet, too hesitant. You didn’t know if you were afraid of the words that might come next or if you were afraid of the silence that would follow.

He didn’t answer immediately, but you could feel him tense, the way his shoulders tightened at the sound of your voice. You weren’t sure if that was a good sign or not, but it felt like the first crack, the first hint of something slipping. But you didn’t know what it was anymore, or even what you wanted it to be.

You leaned forward slightly, the urge to close the gap between you too strong to ignore. “We need to talk.”

His eyes flicked toward you, the briefest of glances, before he returned to whatever was on his screen. He let out a small sigh. “About what?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the frustration bubbling inside you. It wasn’t the first time you’d tried to reach him, to bridge the distance that had been growing between you both. But each time, the gap only widened, no matter how hard you tried to reach out.

“You’ve been distant,” you said, your voice more fragile than you wanted it to be. “For weeks now. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but it feels like you’re… slipping away.” The words hung in the air between you, and you could see him stiffen. He didn’t like that. He never liked when you pushed, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

He shrugged, his eyes still focused on his phone. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t do that.” The words were out before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. “Don’t pretend like it’s nothing, Chris. Don’t shut me out.”

He didn’t flinch at the tone of your voice, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw, the muscles working under his skin as if he was trying to hold everything inside. Trying to keep the storm contained.

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, finally putting the phone down beside him, but he still wouldn’t look at you.

You felt the pit in your stomach deepen. He was pulling away again, and you didn’t know how much longer you could let him do it before it broke you entirely.

“You’re not making it simple, Chris. I’ve been here for months, trying to understand you. Trying to figure out what’s going on, but you won’t let me in.” Your voice cracked as you said it. It was harder than you thought it would be. You had tried so hard to be patient, to be the person he could rely on when the weight of everything seemed too much for him to carry alone.

He was silent for a long time, and it was worse than any argument. It was the way he didn’t respond. The way he didn’t even seem to care anymore.

“I’m not… I’m not good for you,” he said, the words barely audible, but they hit you like a slap in the face.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. You’d been waiting for something like this, expecting it, but you still couldn’t quite believe it.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You wanted to laugh, to let out the frustration in a burst of something, anything, but all you could do was sit there, blinking back tears that threatened to spill over. “Of course, you’re good for me. What, you think I’ve been wasting my time with someone who’s not good for me? Do you even hear yourself right now?”

He finally looked at you, but there was nothing there. No warmth. No emotion. Just a kind of emptiness that made you shiver. His eyes, once full of that light you’d come to rely on, were flat, distant, as though he had already shut you out.

“I don’t know how to be the person you want me to be,” he said, almost as if he were confessing something. “I’m trying, but I just… I can’t do it. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I never asked you to be anyone but yourself.”

He stood up, and for a moment, the silence grew thick again. His hands were trembling slightly, and for a brief, terrifying second, you thought he might walk away. Maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that was what he needed—just to leave everything behind. But instead, he turned his back to you. The distance between you wasn’t just physical anymore. It felt like an entire lifetime of unresolved fears and regrets had been built between the two of you, brick by brick.

“You don’t deserve this,” he said, his voice cracking at the edges. He didn’t turn around, but you could feel the weight of his words. “I’m not good for you. I’m not…” He paused, his shoulders sagging, and you could see how broken he really was. But it wasn’t enough to stop him. Not yet.

“Chris,” you whispered, standing up, your hands trembling as you reached for him, but he stepped back, like the very touch of you was something he couldn’t bear. “Please, don’t do this. You’re not broken. You don’t have to—”

“You don’t get it,” he cut you off, his voice raw now, as if the words had been clawing at his throat. “I keep pushing you away because I can’t let you love me. I don’t know how to be loved. I don’t know how to let you in without… without destroying everything.”

You took a shaky step toward him, your hands desperate now, but he moved back again, shaking his head like he was fighting against something inside himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice so small, it almost broke you. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t be what you need.”

And just like that, the final piece of the wall between you both fell. You were left standing in the middle of the room, watching him back away, and all you could do was watch him walk toward the door, your heart splintering into pieces. He didn’t look back. And just like that, you realised that nothing you said could ever make him stay.

The door closed with a soft click, and the silence that followed was more deafening than anything that had come before. You stood in the middle of the room, staring at the space where he had just been, where he had just walked away from you. From us.

You couldn’t breathe. Every breath felt like a laborious act, every inhale burning your lungs with the sharp sting of something that had broken but not yet fallen apart. You knew, deep down, that you were no longer in control of this. Whatever was happening between you and Chris wasn’t something you could fix anymore. You had tried. You had tried so damn hard. But you couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it clearly wasn’t.

The walls of the apartment felt like they were closing in on you, the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do something to release the pressure building inside your chest, but all you could do was stand there.

Your phone buzzed on the counter, the sharp sound slicing through the quiet. You glanced over at it. It was a message from him. Chris. You hesitated before you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you unlocked the screen. The message was short.

I’m sorry. Please don’t hate me.

You stared at the words for a long time, the suffocating sense of finality gnawing at you. The pain of those words wasn’t that they came from him—it was the hopelessness behind them. The way they seemed to say that he believed he was beyond saving, that you would never be able to forgive him. That you would never want to.

You ran your fingers over the screen, your heart pounding in your chest. You wanted to respond, to make him understand that this wasn’t something you could just walk away from, that you needed him, but you couldn’t find the words. There was no answer that would undo the damage, no response that would make him walk back through that door.

You dropped the phone onto the counter with a shaking hand, the feeling of it slipping from your grasp symbolising everything else that had slipped away in the past few months. You didn’t know how long you stood there, motionless, the world outside continuing as if nothing had changed. But inside, everything had.

The apartment was cold. The space where he used to be—where his laughter used to fill the room, where you had spent countless nights curled up together—was now an empty reminder of the distance that had crept between you. You felt it more now than ever before: the space that had once been filled with connection, with love, was now hollow.

Your mind kept replaying his words, his refusal to let you in. I’m not good for you.

You knew, deep down, that he didn’t believe that. Not really. But it didn’t matter. He’d convinced himself of it, and that was enough.

You walked to the window, staring out into the night, trying to steady your breathing, trying to convince yourself that it would all be okay, that time would heal everything. But the truth settled heavy on your chest, and you realised it wasn’t the time that would fix this.

It was him.

But what if he couldn’t be fixed? What if, in the end, he was right? What if he wasn’t meant to be loved? What if you weren’t enough to save him, no matter how much you cared? The thought tore at you, but you pushed it away. You refused to let that be the answer.

You grabbed your jacket from the chair, the cold fabric slipping through your fingers as you pulled it on. You didn’t know what you were doing, or where you were going. You just knew you couldn’t sit in the silence anymore. Not now. Not when every second without him felt like an eternity of self-doubt and regret. You needed to see him. You needed to talk to him. To make him understand that you didn’t want to fix him. You just wanted to love him.

The streets were quiet, the city lights casting long shadows as you walked aimlessly, your feet taking you wherever they could find solace. Every corner you turned felt like it led you farther from something you could never get back. But the moment you saw his car parked on the side of the road, your heart jumped in your chest. You knew he was inside. You knew he hadn’t gone far.

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. You didn’t want to be the one to chase him. You didn’t want to feel like you were begging him to let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there.

But what else could you do? You couldn’t just let him walk away.

Your hand trembled as you knocked on the window of the car. It took him a moment to look up, his eyes still hollow with exhaustion, but when he saw you standing there, his face softened for a fraction of a second before it hardened again, the walls coming up between you both once more.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and guarded.

“I couldn’t just let you go,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and desperation. “Chris, I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending that everything is okay when it’s not. I can’t pretend that I’m okay with losing you.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as if you were asking for something impossible. “You should be. You should be okay with it. I’m not what you need. I’ll just end up hurting you, like I always do.”

“You’re not the only one hurting here, Chris,” you said softly, your voice breaking under the weight of everything you couldn’t say. “I’m hurting too. But I can’t just walk away. Not when I love you.”

The words felt like they left your chest in a rush, as though they had been trapped inside for far too long. But even as they left your lips, you felt the heavy weight of doubt sink into your bones. Would he believe you? Could he even hear you through all the walls he had built around himself? He closed his eyes, his head resting against the headrest of the seat as he let out a long sigh, the weight of everything between you pulling him down.

“I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes finally meeting yours with a look so broken it made you ache. “I can’t be the person you need. Not when I can barely hold myself together. I don’t know how to be what you want me to be.”

The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, and you took a step back, feeling the sting of everything crashing down on you.

“I don’t need you to be anything,” you whispered. “I just need you to stay.”

But the door stayed closed. And you were left standing in the street, feeling the cold seeping into your bones, as he pulled further away from you—just like he had so many times before.

The city felt colder now, the air biting at your skin as you stood frozen in place, the weight of his words lingering, suffocating. You stared at his car, the one place that felt like home just hours ago, now the one thing keeping you apart from everything you still wanted to believe in.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the beat erratic and harsh, as though it was trying to remind you that you were still alive, still breathing, even when everything around you felt like it was crumbling into nothing.

You took a step back from the car, the feeling of the pavement under your shoes grounding you for a moment. But even as you stood there, trying to pull yourself together, it felt like your insides were unraveling with every passing second.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you could keep fighting for something that was slipping further away. But you couldn’t help yourself. You couldn’t walk away without knowing that you’d given it everything you had.

You didn’t look back when you turned and started walking down the street. Your feet felt heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between you and Chris, but you couldn’t stay there. You couldn’t keep standing in front of him, hoping he would let you in when he had already made it clear he didn’t want you there. Still, a part of you hoped—hoped that something inside him would snap, that he would see you standing there and remember the love you had shared, the one that still lingered in the corners of your heart.

But the further you walked, the more the doubts crept in. The cold air seemed to match the freezing distance between you both. It was as though the universe had conspired to keep you apart, to remind you that no matter how hard you tried, some things were just too broken to fix.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You hesitated for a moment before pulling it out, your hands shaking as you unlocked the screen.

Chris: I can’t do this to you. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t hate me.

Your breath caught in your throat. The message was more of the same—more of his self-doubt, more of the words that were destroying you both. You wanted to scream. To shout at him that you didn’t hate him, that you could never hate him. That you loved him in a way that went deeper than anything he could understand. But what good would it do?

The silence between you two was deafening. It was like the longer you stood there, the more the world around you seemed to blur into a backdrop of white noise. You thought about going back. You thought about knocking on his door, asking him to listen to you one more time, to finally hear what you had to say. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything.

He had already decided. And maybe you had, too.

The thought struck you like a cold slap to the face—maybe you weren’t enough. Maybe he was right. Maybe you had tried, too hard, for too long, and now it was too late. Maybe there wasn’t anything you could do to make him see that you loved him, flaws and all. Maybe he would never believe it.

The tears you had been holding back spilled over, each drop like a shard of glass in your chest. You wiped them away quickly, as though the act of doing so could stop the flood, but it didn’t. It only made it worse.

You stumbled into a nearby café, trying to find some semblance of warmth, of something that could pull you back from the edge. You ordered a coffee, your hands shaking as you paid for it, trying to compose yourself in the moment. But nothing felt right.

There was a quiet hum of chatter around you, the kind of noise that you used to find comforting. Now, it was just another reminder that the world kept moving, while you were stuck in this horrible, aching place. Your phone buzzed again. This time, you didn’t have to look to know who it was. You could feel his presence through the screen, the words that he was too afraid to say in person.

Chris: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.

You read the message over and over, the words cutting deeper each time. The guilt he carried—the guilt that had been pushing him away for so long—was taking over him entirely. And you were powerless to stop it.

The barista at the counter called out your name, breaking you from your thoughts, but you didn’t respond immediately. You stared at the message, feeling as though you were suffocating. How many times could you hear the same thing before you believed it? Before you started to think maybe he was right, that you were just waiting for something that would never come? You stood up slowly, walking to the counter and taking the coffee from the barista without saying a word. You didn’t know what you were doing anymore. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel.

But you did know that nothing would ever be the same.

You stepped outside and found yourself standing on the same cold street, your breath clouding in front of you. The city seemed louder now, its noise filling the empty spaces where Chris’s voice used to be. The thought that he was still out there, somewhere, probably still sitting in his car or back at his apartment—still trying to convince himself that he didn’t deserve you—was more than you could bear.

You texted him one more time, your fingers trembling as you typed the words.

Please. I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to stay.

You stared at the screen for a long time, waiting for the familiar response that you thought would come immediately. But it didn’t. Minutes passed. And still, there was no reply. The reality hit you like a punch to the gut. Maybe this was it.

Maybe the love you had for him wasn’t enough to fix him. Maybe the person he thought he was would always be a wall between you both. Maybe you were never meant to be the one who saved him.

You couldn’t wait forever. You couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, keep pouring everything you had into someone who couldn’t see it. But as you stood on that street, staring at your phone with your chest tight, you realised one painful truth: You weren’t ready to let go. You couldn’t let go. And that was the hardest thing of all.

It had been days.

Days since you last saw him, since you last heard his voice, since you last stood face to face with Chris and felt like everything between you was still real, still salvageable. Days of endless silence, punctuated only by the cold, unfeeling texts that seemed to make everything worse.

You sat on the couch again, the very spot where you had once sat with him, where his laughter and warmth had filled the room. Now, it felt empty. Hollow. And it was that emptiness that gnawed at you most—the constant reminder that no matter how much you wanted to bridge the distance, no matter how much you longed for things to go back to what they were, you were just as far apart as you had been before. But you refused to give up. Not yet.

The message he had sent a few nights ago still burned in your mind: I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you. But I will. It’s just who I am.

It wasn’t just the words that haunted you—it was the tone. The way he had resigned himself to this fate, as though there was no escaping it. He truly believed that he was a burden, that the damage he carried would tear you apart, even if you didn’t see it. He had convinced himself that his love for you wasn’t enough, that nothing could ever be enough to bridge the gap in his heart. And yet, here you were, still sitting here, still waiting. Still trying.

A knock on the door broke your train of thought. You froze, heart skipping a beat as you glanced toward it, wondering if you had imagined it. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you. Another knock, this time louder. You stood, hesitating for only a moment before you crossed the room, your heart racing in your chest. You swung the door open.

And there he was.

Chris stood in the doorway, his eyes swollen from lack of sleep, his hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to run a hand through it in days. But it was the look on his face that stopped you in your tracks—raw, vulnerable, and more broken than you’d ever seen him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice faltered, like he wasn’t sure if he was even worthy of being here. The words didn’t come immediately, and for a moment, you both just stood there in silence, caught in the gravity of the moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” Chris said quietly, finally managing to find his voice, though it was thick with emotion. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice, and without thinking, you reached for him. You didn’t care that you had no idea how this would turn out. You didn’t care that he had pushed you away over and over again. You just knew that you needed him, and that was enough.

You pulled him into an embrace, feeling the weight of everything between you both crash down in that one instant. His arms hesitated around you at first, like he wasn’t sure if he could touch you, but slowly, he tightened his grip, as if afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeated, his voice muffled against your hair. “I hurt you. I pushed you away. I thought it was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t. I was just afraid… afraid of ruining everything.”

You held him tighter, the fear that had been simmering inside you now bubbling to the surface. “Chris, don’t you see? You already ruined everything the moment you shut me out. You pushed me away, and now I’m standing here, holding on to nothing but a memory of what we used to be. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, like he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there, that you were still here.

“You don’t understand,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’ve been running from everything I feel. From you. From this. I was so scared that I would ruin us, that I would hurt you so much that you’d hate me. I’ve convinced myself that I don’t deserve you. That I couldn’t be the person you wanted me to be, that no matter what I did, I would destroy this.”

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He had spent all this time, these last weeks, fighting himself, fighting the love you shared because he believed he wasn’t worthy. And yet, here he was, standing in front of you, vulnerable and shaking, like he was letting you see him for the first time.

“You don’t have to be anyone other than yourself,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you wanted to say. “I don’t need you to be perfect, Chris. I just need you to be here—with me. I love you. I need you.”

His face crumpled at your words, and before you could fully understand what was happening, his lips were on yours. It was soft at first—tentative, like he was afraid to make the wrong move—but it quickly deepened, a desperate need in every touch. Every kiss seemed to say the words that neither of you had been able to say before.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t know how to be what you need,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’m willing to try.”

You closed your eyes, your hand resting over his heart. “That’s all I ever needed. You don’t have to have all the answers. We just have to be willing to fight for this… together.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. It was as if the weight of everything had finally settled, and you could both breathe again. The past few weeks of fear, pain, and self-sabotage seemed to fall away in that simple moment of honesty, of vulnerability. He kissed you again, this time with more certainty, more passion—a promise, a plea, a final letting go of everything that had been holding him back.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered between kisses, his hands tangled in your hair as if trying to pull you closer. “I’ll never push you away again. I swear.”

And in that moment, you knew. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, the tears that had been threatening to fall finally slipping down your cheeks, but they weren’t from the pain anymore. They were from the relief, the overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t so far apart after all.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered softly, your voice full of conviction. “We’ll figure it out, together.”

Chris looked at you then, and for the first time in so long, there was something in his eyes that had been missing: hope. And in that moment, you both broke through the walls you had built. Slowly, but surely, you started to find each other again.

The days after that night blurred into something softer, something almost easier to bear. But even as you held onto him, clung to him like he was your anchor, you both knew that healing wasn’t instant. It wasn’t a fix you could just bandage over with a kiss, no matter how many times you whispered to each other that everything would be okay.

The truth was, there were still pieces of you that weren’t whole. There were still cracks where trust had shattered, and silence had turned into walls that both of you had to climb over, brick by brick. It was a slow process—agonising, even—but it was progress.

You spent more time together in the days following, the kind of quiet time that allowed you both to breathe and settle back into a rhythm. But there was always that underlying tension, that fear of the unknown. You couldn’t erase the past, couldn’t erase the mistakes, no matter how badly you wanted to. But it was easier with him near. Easier to pretend that things could go back to normal, even if the truth was you both had changed.

It was a lazy afternoon when the conversation finally came. You were sitting on the couch, Chris’s head resting in your lap as you ran your fingers through his hair. The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft patterns across the floor. The stillness was comforting. But the words that hung in the air between you both weren’t so easy.

“I never meant to hurt you,” Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes closed as if afraid to face the weight of what he was about to say.

You stopped running your fingers through his hair and looked down at him, watching the vulnerable expression on his face. You had asked for honesty, begged for it, but hearing it from him still carried the weight of all that had happened.

“I know,” you whispered, tracing the outline of his jaw with your fingers. “But you did. And that’s… that’s the part I’m still trying to understand. That’s the part I’m still trying to accept.”

He nodded slowly, his brow furrowing with regret. “I wanted to protect you. I thought that if I kept pushing you away, I wouldn’t hurt you. But it never worked. I kept breaking everything without even realising it. And now, I’m scared that I’ve gone too far.”

You looked away for a moment, your chest tight with the truth of it. You could feel the hurt, the sting of the past few weeks, still lodged in your chest. But at the same time, you knew you weren’t the same person you were when it started. Neither of you were.

“I think… I think we’ve both hurt each other,” you said quietly. “And I can’t pretend that it didn’t matter. It did. But we’re here now. And I think... I think we can heal. Together.”

Chris opened his eyes then, and there was something so raw in them—something vulnerable that made your heart ache. “Do you really believe that?” he asked, his voice thick with uncertainty.

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing against his skin once more, grounding him in the moment. “I do. But it won’t be easy. And I won’t pretend like I’m okay with everything you did. I’m still angry. I’m still hurt. But I can’t just walk away from you. I don’t want to. I want to make this work, Chris. But we both need to do the work. We both need to be better.”

He sat up then, his body tense, but his gaze never leaving you. “I know I have to change,” he said, his voice shaking a little. “I don’t want to keep pushing you away. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re not enough. You are enough. I just… I just don’t know how to stop being afraid of losing you. I don’t know how to stop thinking that I’ll ruin this too.”

You reached for him, pulling him into your arms again, knowing that words wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap in the space between you. But touch—touch—was a way to communicate everything that words couldn’t.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your hand tracing his back, offering comfort, offering love. “I’ll be here. But you have to be here with me, too. You have to let me in. For real, Chris.”

He nodded, burying his face against your shoulder, breathing in the scent of you like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the moment. You could feel his tears soaking through your shirt, the quiet tremors of the fear that had been eating at him. You didn’t say anything more. You didn’t need to. The air between you both had shifted, and there was an understanding that had taken root—one that had to grow, slow and steady.

For the next few weeks, the world around you seemed to blur even more. Time passed, but it didn’t matter. You both moved through it in a kind of limbo, learning how to navigate each other’s pain, learning how to talk without the fear of being misunderstood.

Chris started sharing more with you—his fears, his insecurities, the things he had kept hidden for so long. It wasn’t always easy to hear, but it was real. He showed up, every day, fighting against the urge to run. And when he faltered, when he let the fear creep back in, you were there to remind him that he wasn’t alone anymore.

There were setbacks. Nights when you both lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were doing the right thing, wondering if this was really enough. But there were also moments that made it all feel worth it. Quiet mornings when you shared a cup of coffee and let the world outside fade into the background. Laughter over a silly inside joke that only the two of you understood. The small victories, the moments of tenderness, the moments when he looked at you and smiled like he had never made a mistake.

One evening, after a particularly quiet night of talking, Chris held your hand tightly, his thumb tracing the lines of your palm as he spoke. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, the words still heavy on his tongue, but this time there was a different kind of conviction behind them. “But I’m going to spend every day trying to show you that I can be someone worthy of your love.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated, just like you had that night at the door. “But you don’t have to try alone. We’re in this together.”

And for the first time in so long, Chris didn’t pull away. He let himself be held. He let himself be loved. And slowly—so slowly, you almost didn’t notice—the walls began to crumble. The fear, the self-doubt, the distance that had once defined your relationship started to fade, replaced by something quieter, something stronger. Trust. Patience. Hope.

You didn’t know what the future would bring. You didn’t know if this was the end of the story, or if it was just the beginning of something new. But you knew this: whatever happened, you were no longer afraid of loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t afraid of loving you either.

—————————————————————————————————

Another angst. I do throughly enjoy writing angst but i think i might write a fluff next 👀

Tags-

@themdera

@tyna-19

#chris dixon x reader #chrismd x reader #chrismd #chris dixon #arthur hill #arthur frederick #george clarke #harrylewis #uk youtubers #harry lewis #james marriott #w2s #willne #wroetoshaw

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ssentimentals · 2 days ago

Note

hi baby! i’m a new follower here and i don’t know if you’re still doing the prompt game but i would absolutely loveeee 17 and 25 with seungcheol please :)

hi love! welcome-welcome :') prompt game is still ongoing, thank you for requesting, hopefully you will like it!💜

prompt: 'tending to an injury/wound/illness' + showing up injured at the enemy's house'

'what the fuck?' you mumble when someone starts banging at your door at - you squint at numbers on your laptop screen - at two freaking am.

there are lots of things you expected to see when you open that door. maybe some neighbor kids pulling a joke, a delivery guy who got here by mistake - not seungcheol, who's clutching at his left side, trying to stop the bleeding. your grip on the knife that you managed to grab on your way tightens and you repeat again, louder this time: 'what the fuck?'

seungcheol glances at the knife in your hands and weakly chuckles: 'you're late for that,' he mutters and lets presses harder on the wound. 'already got stabbed.'

you squint at him. there are millions questions on the tip of your tongue but what comes out first is: 'what the fuck are you doing here?' and it's a valid question, because you and cheol are enemies. you work for different people, you gather data on one another, you set up traps for his team and he tries to gain the upperhand on yours.

'i just need-' he pauses, wincing at the pain. he looks pale and worn out and his voice shakes a little as he continues: 'just- twenty minutes. that's all i need. rest up and i'll go. they won't find me here.'

accepting a guy in your house who is a) your enemy, b) has people looking for him and c) is injured, is not a smart move. but the more he stands there, the higher is the risk of someone else noticing and you doubt that he can go back on his own legs, so: 'get in, asshole.'

you push him towards the bathroom, cringing at the metallic smell of blood that fills your nose as soon as he takes off his coat and gets rid of his t-shirt. the cut is not very deep to be extremely risk for his health, but it's still a cut deep enough for- 'you're staining my carpet with your blood.'

seungcheol looks down and huffs, rolling his eyes. 'i'll buy you new one.'

you hand him soap and point towards the bath: 'get undressed and wash that wound in the bathtub. i'll come back with bandages and antiseptic.' you look him over and add: 'don't die in my bathtub.'

'bossy,' seungcheol notes but it's clear how he's barely holding himself upright. 'gonna stay here while i'm undressing?'

you should've never let him in. but people say that best defense is attack, so: 'why? do you want me to?'

seungcheol reaches for his belt, pauses and looks up at you. 'yeah. maybe then you'll like me.'

you both freeze. the way he said it - the tone - was different. not the usual teasing or rude comments, but something serious, something.. sincere. 'i won't like you,' you mutter, puzzled.

'won't? or can't?' seungcheol asks in a quiet whisper.

it's too much. an unknown territory for you that you're afraid to breach. without saying anything you walk out to get bandages and antiseptic, not noticing how seungcheol looks at you with longing that only a person who loves someone he can't have feels. and he knows it's complicated; it's the story as old as time itself - star crossed lovers who are doomed for tragedy. but when he climbs into the bathtub and tries his best to wash the wound carefully, he can't help but hope. because you let him - that has to mean something, right? you help him - that has to mean something. and maybe with enough effort seungcheol can make that turn into something beautiful, not tragic.

a/n: cheollie is so popular for requests lately, i hope i'm managing to keep up with everyone's expectations :/ hope you liked it! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

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unabletonotlovesatoru · 4 hours ago

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youtuber!nanami headcanons: part 1, part 2

if you and nanami met through his channel, it would probably be completely unintentional on his part. maybe you’re just another stressed-out professional who stumbled across his videos while spiraling at 2 am, trying to figure out how to fix your sleep schedule. his calm, no-nonsense advice is exactly what you need, so you binge-watch everything—then, on impulse, you leave a comment under one of his videos. something like:

“this man is single-handedly preventing my burnout. sir, i owe you my life.”

you don’t expect anything to come from it, but for some reason, nanami actually replies. “i strongly encourage you to take breaks and not depend on youtube videos for survival.”

and that’s the beginning.

maybe you’re active in his comment section, always leaving some mix of genuine appreciation and dry humor. nanami, despite himself, starts recognizing your username. he never responds to gojo’s chaos, but he finds himself replying to you sometimes—correcting a financial misconception you mentioned or, occasionally, indulging in a bit of deadpan wit.

then one day, he does a q&a video (reluctantly, because shoko convinced him), and someone asks, “do you have any favorite commenters?”

he pauses, debating whether to answer, then says your username. “they seem reasonable.”

you nearly die.

from there, maybe you’re the one who initiates actual conversation—sending him an email about a question you have, not expecting a response. but nanami, ever the professional, actually replies. you start talking more, and before you know it, he’s recommending books to you, subtly checking in on whether you’re still overworking yourself.

eventually, the line blurs. he starts looking forward to your messages a little too much. one day, you jokingly say, “if you ever want to test out cafés for a future video, i volunteer as tribute.”

and to your absolute shock, he replies, “this weekend?”

the weekend rolls around, and you can’t believe it’s actually happening—you’re about to meet nanami kento, the reluctant youtube dad, in real life. you half-expect him to cancel last minute, realizing that meeting a random viewer is strange, but no. he shows up exactly on time, dressed in one of those perfectly tailored suits that he swears he doesn’t meticulously plan out.

seeing him in person is almost surreal. he’s taller than you expected, even more put-together, but there’s something slightly softer about him without the usual sterile youtube backdrop. when he spots you, he nods—polite but reserved—and says, “you’re punctual. good.”

you sit across from him in a quiet, low-lit café, feeling half like you’re on an interview, half like you’re on a date. nanami, ever the professional, asks for the house recommendation, then turns his attention to you. “so,” he says, sipping his coffee, “what makes you qualified to assist with café reviews?”

you grin. “i have excellent taste.”

his mouth twitches—so brief you almost miss it. but as the conversation flows, he relaxes. you talk about everything—his channel, your job, the way burnout feels like an inevitable cycle. he listens intently, offering the same calm, measured advice you’ve grown addicted to in his videos, except now it’s just for you.

at one point, you joke, “are you always this serious? do you ever just… slack off?”

he exhales, looking away. “not often.” then, a pause. “but i suppose i’m doing that now.”

and that’s when it really sinks in—this isn’t just some casual meetup for him, either.

after that day, the messages between you become something more. they start lingering beyond finance and work-life balance. he asks about your day. he shares articles he thinks you’d enjoy. one evening, you offhandedly mention feeling exhausted, and an hour later, you get a message:

“remember to rest. you won’t be productive if you collapse.”

then, a minute later, as if he’s hesitating—“goodnight.”

the next time he uploads, his video is titled “how to maintain a work-life balance (advice i should probably take myself).” you leave your usual comment, something teasing but supportive, and for the first time, he pins it.

#— teddy’s writing shop 𐙚🧸ྀི #i love youtuber nanami #well #i just love nanami so #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jjk x you #kento nanami x you #nanami x you #nanami fluff

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callikari · 14 hours ago

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A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

⋆˙⟡ une nu𝓲t à se souven𝓲r

synops𝓲s — when you run into nishimura riki at your high school reunion, the guy you once had feelings for, you can’t help but feel the pull of old emotions. riki, now a little more grown-up, still carries that same charm, but you’re not the same shy girl from high school anymore. as he starts showing interest in you, riki slowly shifts from his usual nonchalant, carefree attitude to someone who genuinely cares. fem!reader x nishimura riki, fluff, slow burn, healing moments. a little sweet!!

more ? —❔

perm tagl𝓲st — @ash-engen @cheruphic

riki who walks into the reunion like he owns the place, a grin plastered on his face as he bumps into a few old friends, laughing without a care in the world. he spots you across the room and waves casually, a slight smirk on his lips. “didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, but there’s no urgency in his tone—he’s just being his usual carefree self.

riki who barely gives you a second thought, letting you catch up with your own friends while he spends the night chatting and laughing with his crew. you try to focus on the conversations around you, but every time you catch his eye, something in your chest stirs. he’s the same riki you remember, but there’s something different about him, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

riki who texts you later that night after the reunion, a random message asking if you got home okay. you chuckle at the casualness of it, figuring he’s just being polite. but the next day, he texts you again, and again, and it starts becoming clear that riki’s interest is more than just casual. he starts sending you little notes, like asking if you’d like to grab coffee, or telling you about a new game he’s playing, always slipping in a joke to make you laugh.

riki who’s still nonchalant about it all, but you start noticing the little things—like how he always asks how your day was, or how his texts now carry a bit of warmth you didn’t expect from him. he’s no longer just the guy who would walk away to game when you needed help, but someone who genuinely wants to know about your day, your thoughts, your life.

riki who shows up at your favorite café one afternoon without you asking, just because he knew you’d be there. he doesn’t make a big deal out of it, but when he sits down across from you and offers you a shy smile, there’s a shift in the way he looks at you. “i thought you’d like the company,” he says, but there’s something softer behind his words.

riki who, after a few weeks, finally drops the act. during a quiet moment, just the two of you, he looks at you differently—no teasing, no jokes. he reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle, a little uncertain. “i’ve always been a little… nonchalant,” he admits, his voice quieter than usual. “but i’m starting to realize i don’t want to be that way with you anymore.”

riki who, in that moment, is no longer the carefree, aloof guy from high school, but someone who’s finally ready to give you his full attention, someone who’s willing to take things slow, to heal the wounds you’ve both carried with you over the years. he doesn’t rush you, but the warmth in his eyes and the sincerity in his voice tells you he’s in it for the long haul, even if it means slowly unraveling the pieces of his heart along the way.

letter — new layout / format ... what do we think ?

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hrizantemy · 20 hours ago

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“She spent five hundred gold marks in a single night.” Cassian’s voice was tight with barely restrained frustration, his wings flaring slightly behind him.

Rhysand, seated at the head of the table, leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. “On wine and gambling.” His tone was measured, but the weight of it pressed down on the room like a storm gathering on the horizon.

“She’s reckless,” Amren added, swirling a goblet of deep red wine. “It isn’t just the money. It’s the drinking, the behavior. She doesn’t care what happens to herself, and that makes her dangerous.”

Mor scoffed. “I walked past her the other day, and she didn’t even look like she knew where she was.” She turned her gaze to Feyre. “You saw her, didn’t you? She looked awful—worse than usual.”

Feyre hesitated. “She… hasn’t been well.”

“That’s an understatement,” Cassian muttered. “I tried talking to her again. She wouldn’t even look at me. Just—just walked past like I wasn’t even there.” His jaw tightened. “If she keeps going like this, she’s going to get herself killed.”

Silence settled, heavy and expectant. Then Rhysand exhaled, rubbing his temples. “Maybe it’s time we take action. Real action. We can’t just let her drink and waste away.”

“What are you saying?” Feyre asked carefully.

“We should consider… containing her,” Rhys said slowly. “Not forever. Just until she gets herself under control.”

The words dropped into the room like a stone into deep water.

Amren nodded. “It might be the only way.”

Mor hummed her agreement. Cassian looked away, jaw clenched.

Then—

“No.”

The voice was soft, but it cut through the room like a blade.

Elain.

She sat straight-backed, her hands folded in her lap, but her brown eyes burned with quiet fury. “You’re talking about locking her up. Like a prisoner.”

Rhysand met her gaze. “If that’s what it takes—”

“No,” Elain said again, her voice stronger this time. “You’re all talking about her like she’s a problem to be dealt with. Like she isn’t Nesta.”

“Elain,” Feyre began, cautious.

Elain shook her head. “She’s grieving. She’s hurting. And instead of helping her, all of you want to punish her for it.” Her hands curled into fists. “You think she doesn’t know what you say about her? That she doesn’t see the way you look at her?” She turned to Cassian. “She walks past you because she knows you think she’s a lost cause.”

Cassian flinched as if struck.

Elain looked back at Rhysand, her delicate features set in rare, unyielding defiance. “You would never do this to Feyre. You would never do this to me.”

A cold silence stretched between them.

Elain’s voice softened, but the steel remained. “Nesta is drowning, and you want to throw her into a cage instead of reaching for her.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you.”

Rhysand studied her, unreadable, but there was something dark and considering in his violet eyes.

“Elain,” he said at last, “this isn’t about punishing her.”

“Isn’t it?” Elain countered, her voice steady. “You say it’s for her own good, but how is taking away her freedom supposed to help her? You think she’ll come out of it grateful? That she’ll suddenly be the person you all want her to be?”

No one answered.

Elain shook her head, disgust creeping into her expression. “You are all so used to solving things with force that you don’t even consider another way.” Her gaze flickered to Cassian, then to Feyre. “Nesta doesn’t need to be locked away. She needs someone to listen. Someone who doesn’t just expect her to be… different.”

“She won’t let anyone help her,” Cassian said, voice raw. “What are we supposed to do, Elain? Just watch her destroy herself?”

Elain’s hands trembled in her lap, but she lifted her chin. “You don’t stop someone from drowning by tying their hands behind their back. You jump in after them.”

A long silence.

Feyre exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples, as if a headache had begun to pound behind her eyes. “Then what do you suggest, Elain?”

Elain hesitated—because she didn’t have all the answers. Because she was afraid. Afraid that no matter what she did, Nesta would slip away, and there would be no pulling her back.

But she knew one thing.

“I’ll go to her,” she said. “I’ll talk to her.”

Cassian scoffed. “You think she’ll listen to you?”

Elain turned to him, her brown eyes flashing. “She listens to no one because no one speaks to her as if she still matters. As if she’s more than a burden. You all act as if she’s already lost. But she’s not.”

She swallowed hard. “She’s still here.”

Rhysand watched her, calculating, and for a moment, she wondered if he would dismiss her outright. If he would remind her, as he always did, that she was quiet and gentle and not enough to handle this.

But something in his expression shifted, his gaze flickering to Feyre, then to Cassian, then back to Elain.

At last, he said, “Fine.”

Elain released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Rhysand’s voice was cool, firm. “You have one week, Elain. If Nesta gets worse—or if she refuses to listen—you will step aside, and we will handle this our way.”

It wasn’t a victory. Not really.

But Elain nodded.

Because a week was all she needed.

Elain turned on her heel, her skirts brushing against the stone floor as she strode toward the door. Her hands were trembling, her heart a furious drum in her chest, but she refused to let them see it. Refused to let them know how much she felt—how much it hurt to sit there and listen to them talk about Nesta like she was nothing more than an inconvenience, a problem to be solved.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open, Feyre’s voice cut through the silence.

“Elain, wait.”

She didn’t.

But Feyre was quick, catching up to her in a few swift steps, her fingers brushing Elain’s arm. “Please,” she said softly.

Elain stopped.

She didn’t turn, didn’t look at Feyre, only stared at the dark wood of the door before her. A long breath slipped from her lips. “Are you going to try to convince me I’m wrong?”

Feyre hesitated, her fingers flexing at her side. “No.” A pause. “I just… I don’t want you to leave like this.”

Elain finally turned, her expression carefully composed. “Like what?”

Feyre’s lips parted, then pressed into a thin line. She searched Elain’s face, as if trying to decipher something unreadable in her soft features.

“Angry,” Feyre admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry.”

Elain let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Maybe because I finally decided to say something instead of sitting there like a pretty decoration.”

Feyre flinched. “That’s not—”

“But it’s what you all think, isn’t it?” Elain cut her off, tilting her head slightly. “That I’m soft. That I’m incapable of anything real.” She let the words hang between them before shaking her head. “Nesta is the strongest person I’ve ever known, and even she couldn’t come out of this unscathed. But you all expect her to just… be fine. Or at least be someone you can understand.”

Feyre swallowed. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” Elain agreed, voice steady. “It’s not.”

For a long moment, Feyre just stared at her. Really stared at her.

Then, softer, “You love her.”

Elain closed her eyes for half a heartbeat. “Of course I do.”

Feyre shifted, exhaling. “I love her too, Elain. That’s why I’m scared.”

Elain finally let her own fear show, just for a moment. “Then help me.”

Feyre hesitated, her weight shifting between her feet. Then, carefully, she said, “What about Solstice?”

Elain stiffened, her hand still on the doorframe.

Feyre pressed on. “You were angry with her then. You didn’t even look at her when you gave her your gift. You barely spoke to her.”

Elain exhaled sharply through her nose, her grip tightening. “And?”

“And now you’re standing here, furious with us for the way we talk about her. You say we don’t try to help her, but you were angry too. You were—”

“Hurt,” Elain said flatly. “I was hurt, Feyre.” She turned back slightly, just enough for her sister to see the quiet storm brewing in her brown eyes. “Because I waited for her. I waited for her to come back, to see me, to be my sister again. And she never did.”

Feyre’s throat bobbed. “I know.”

Elain let out a sharp laugh. “Do you? Because you had Cassian. You had Rhys. You had people who refused to let you slip away.” She shook her head, voice bitter. “No one did that for her.”

Feyre flinched. “That’s not true.”

Elain raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

Feyre ran a hand through her hair, exhaling. “I just—I don’t understand how you can forgive her so easily when she—”

“I never said I forgave her,” Elain interrupted. Her voice was quiet, but it cut like a blade. “I am angry with her. I’m angry that she pushed me away. That she let herself sink so deep I couldn’t reach her. That she makes it so damn hard to love her sometimes.”

Feyre’s brow furrowed. “Then why—”

“Because she’s still my sister,” Elain said fiercely. “Because she’s still there—whether or not any of you want to see her.” Her voice wavered, but she lifted her chin. “Because I know what it’s like to want to disappear, to feel like you don’t belong anywhere. And I wouldn’t have survived it if I didn’t have her. If I didn’t have someone who fought for me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

Feyre opened her mouth, then closed it again, something breaking in her gaze.

Elain turned fully to her now, softer, but still unyielding. “Nesta is drowning, Feyre. You don’t have to be the one to save her. But at least let me try.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Feyre nodded.

And Elain walked away.

Elain didn’t even know where she was going.

Her feet carried her forward, down the halls, through the open doors and past the wide, moonlit terraces, but there was no destination. Only movement. Only the rush of blood in her ears, the jittering nerves making her hands tremble at her sides.

She had never spoken like that before. Not to them. Not to Feyre.

Anger still coiled hot in her chest, but beneath it, curling in the shadows of her heart, was something else—something sharp and aching. Guilt.

Because Nesta had left her. Nesta had built a wall so thick between them that Elain could no longer find the way through. But there had been a time—there had been a time—when Nesta had been the one to keep her upright. When Nesta had stayed.

The memory slammed into her, sudden and brutal.

She had been nothing after the Cauldron. A shell, a ghost, something vacant and quiet and wrong. And in those first awful days, she had not spoken, had not moved, had not tried to live.

But Nesta had been there.

Elain could still feel the weight of her sister’s hand, firm but gentle, guiding a spoon to her lips when she refused to eat. Could still hear the soft, even voice that coaxed her into the bath, into clean clothes, into existing, when she would have wasted away.

She remembered how Nesta would place a hand on her back, warm and grounding, whenever Elain wandered too close to the edge of the balcony. Never pulling, never forcing—just a silent tether keeping her from stepping too far, from slipping over into the dark.

And now… now Nesta was the one teetering on the edge, and no one was holding her back.

Elain exhaled shakily, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked, as if she could push down the guilt pressing against her ribs. Because she had been angry too. Because she had turned away.

Because when Nesta had withdrawn, when she had become sharp and cruel and reckless, Elain had let herself believe it meant her sister no longer cared.

But Elain knew what it was like to disappear inside herself.

And she knew Nesta had never let her stay lost.

So Elain would not let her stay lost either.

Elain had a week.

Rhysand had given her that much—one week to reach Nesta before they decided to lock her away.

She only needed a day. Maybe two.

Because Elain wasn’t going to waste her time arguing with Nesta, trying to coax her into changing, into staying here, where everyone watched her like she was already lost. No, Elain had made her decision the moment she walked out of that room.

She was leaving.

And Nesta was coming with her.

The thought steadied her, solidified something in her chest. Nesta would resist, of course. She would sneer, would lash out, would tell Elain she was wasting her time. But Elain had spent too long being patient, being soft, waiting for someone else to reach Nesta first.

No more waiting.

Elain quickened her steps, already thinking of what they would need. They couldn’t stay in Velaris, not with Rhysand’s watchful eyes, not with Cassian and Feyre trying to interfere. No, they would go far. Somewhere Nesta could breathe, somewhere no one expected her to be anything but herself.

Elain didn’t know exactly where that was yet.

But she would find it.

Nesta had saved her once. Had held her above the dark waters threatening to pull her under.

Now it was Elain’s turn.

#anti acosf #anti inner circle #anti acotar #anti rhysand #pro nesta #anti feysand #nesta archeron deserves better #anti cassian #anti azriel #anti amren #elain archeron deserves better #anti nessian #anti morrigan #anti night court

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sramoonlight · 2 days ago

Text

Part of me

What if Damian Wayne had a sister?

Content you’ll see here: Batsis, batfamily, reader

English is not my first language! Please be patient.

Even if they prepared a room for you, you couldn’t accept it and neither did Damian, preparing a little bed next to Damian’s you listened to all your brother could say even if was trivial

— So, Robin? — you asked looking at him as you raised an eyebrow, Damian rolled his eyes before he layes on his stomach

— What’s so weird about it? — he seemed to not like the tone you used for that question and you couldn’t but chuckle at the image

You thought, looking at the room, it was quite big for him but you knew it wasn’t enough, not when you two are used to sharing rooms

— Mother told us that Robin was some type of boy wonder — and you lay down looking at him, for some people that would look weird, the Damian Wayne acting like a kid of his age

But for you, he was just your brother who don’t has any sense of humor

— That was a Grayson thing, and Robin can be everything — he seemed offended by the way you say it and it makes you smile

— I don’t think father would be happy knowing that I know your secret identity — your hands pressed on your stomach as you keep looking at him before he rested his head on his palm

That boy had the heavy eyes that your father has but for you it was the vivid image of your mother

— You can’t lie to your reflection, do you? —

The way he said it made you think, his tone didnt changed always talking in a serious one but you knew, you knew how much it meant for him

After all, you were the one who said that to him when you were little

Your reflection on the mirror even if there was no mirror

— Are you going to be a vigilante? — He asked, and that snapped you out of your thoughts even if it makes you go back there to get the answer

It was weird, you could feel the expectation on his words like if he needed to hear an answer and that doesn’t look like your brother

He was sure someone who would be direct on his questions, never too shy or too bold, just direct about what he wanted to hear

That’s the worst part, let’s think about it, Damian wasn’t a member of the league of assassins anymore but you were, that feels weird, thinking back about the incident, you left the country a week before Damian was sent to you father

Was it a sign? That you only can be part of the league? That question seemed so weird but still so necessary

— I don’t know brother, I don’t have a date to leave — and you turned to him, using your hands as a pillow

You had a moment to think before opening your mouth again

— Do you want me to? —

You woke up the next morning, 6 am exactly as you looked beside you, Damian was still sleeping and that made you wonder if he changed his schedule

Putting that thought aside you got up walking to the kitchen of the manor, your first day and you already knew where it was.

As you used to do in your mornings on London you prepared the coffee maker instantly placing a cup beside one you borrowed, for Damian

— Coffee is bad for someone your age — the voice made you jump on your place before facing him, that guy, Jason Todd looked at you from the door frame

Was that a helmet on his hands?

— Where are you going? — you asked as he walked to your side taking a cup and placing it beside the other two

— I gotta leave this place before B asks me to eat breakfast — you brushed the tiredness out of your face before looking up and him

Damn, he is tall.

— Is that for the little demon? — he asked you pointing at the cup — Is it a twin thing? How could you know which one is his favorite? —

With a smile you served the coffee now on the three cups before adding sugar to yours, and without letting Jason notice, you did to Damian’s too

— I just know when he use something — not that you were some kind of freak, but once you start watching Damian you can notice a few things he does

And one of those, was that he does not let the spoon get to the bottom of any cup, so no mark is left behind.

The man beside you drank the coffee in a hurry almost surprising you, how could he not get burned?

— You can let me know that later kid, welcome to the manor — he ruffled your hair before running to the door.

A quiet steps could be heard from the halls and the same butler from yesterday looked at you

— Master (reader)? — you took the two cups before walking past him nodding as a greeting, you went upstairs quick trying to not find any other family member.

Let’s think about it again, you know Jason, well not know know because you only shared a few words with him so it is normal that he just don’t know much about it, and that makes you go to the other question, why do they want you here? You can’t find an answer, if you ask Damian he would answer with another question and that makes you mad but you can let your guard down

They may be Damian’s family but for you they’re strangers.

— (reader)? — Damian asked getting up as you entered the room, you sat down at his side giving him the cup

— Don’t worry, I didn’t put any milk on it —

You looked at the cup thinking about it, too many things moved inside of you head as you tried to put them in order, first, why was it so easy to convince your mother? You know she’s the type of person who needs at least three days to take a decision but once you told her about what you wanted to do.. she just said yes, you didn’t question that but it feels so out of her.

But now, you haven’t talked with your father since you arrived, well, you would if Damian hadn’t took you upstairs to talk and even if it was disrespectful you couldn’t say no to him

Again, why do they want from you?

— You’re overthinking — just two words (or three?) that made you come back to reality, Damian’s cup was almost empty but yours was still full.

You didn’t notice when you started to drown on your thoughts

— Im sorry I just- I can’t put a finger on it — you sighed, taking a big sip and you couldn’t feel it extremely hot, a hit that you were out for too long

— if you keep thinking you won’t see the answer — Damian copied your actions drinking all was left before getting up, his hand brushed against his hair trying to get it fix.

Once again, you sighed trying to finish your coffee, it felt so weird to not be at your London apartment

— Let’s go downstairs, I don’t want Grayson here —

With that, you chunked all was left following him, the manor was starting to get noisy as you could hear the butler cooking some breakfast

The middle child, Tim drake walked through the halls and you can notice how messy is his hair, before you could judge him you can see how one of his hands is covered with a glove

So that means he’s a vigilante too, interesting.

Damian walked to the dinner room where you could see Bruce looking at some papers, your eyes traveled to his eyes noticing the heavy bags below them, didnt he get any sleep?

Ah, of course, he was the Batman, another weird thing, why didn’t he asked Damian to patrol last night?

— Good morning father — Damian said as he sat down next to him, you had to cleared your throat before talking

— Good.. morning father — that tittle rolled so weird on your tongue, you were used to saying it with a grand before it.

Grandfather, you do quite miss it though

— Good morning to you two, how did you sleep? — the man didnt stop reading and you looked surprised of that, still, you brush it off before talking again

— Quite nice father, it is a relief to sleep next to my brother again — you tried to do a conversation but before you could say anything

That eyes lifted from the work looking at you, did you do something wrong? You analyzed your words again trying to find something out of the page but there was nothing

Then, you looked a Damian who seemed bored at the trivial conversation, was it something your father only had seen?

— Good morning B, little demon — Dick Grayson, the man from the night before walked in and he ruffled your hair — Good morning to you too, little bird —

A weird feeling found his way on your heart as you tried to fix back your hair, you know your guard is up but why couldn’t you react at that?

Still, it didnt felt like an attack.

— I was thinking, what about if we go to a trip together, to take all the time we didnt met —

Your eyes moved to where his arm was, he grabbed your chair but he didn’t seem to be moving it any time soon, just like if he wanted to be close but not knowing how to approach

— Uhm, I guess that’s okay —

The man seemed to be happy about if ruffling your hair once again, and now you looked at Damian wanting to see a reaction from him but he was looking across the room like he didn’t care or like he didn’t see anything weird about it.

— So, I heard that you were in London, was it fun? — The short chat made you jumped as you tried to keep it up.

— Uh, it was fine it was just for a mission — a mission that lasted five years, well, you can say it wasn’t just a mission

You felt like overthinking again so you brought your hands above the table trying to find an anchor back to earth.

— Ow, so you didn’t have any fun there? — Dick walked to the other side of the table sitting in front of you as he keep talking

It was so weird, he keep seeing you even if he was moving

— I guess I didn’t, but I kept my communication with Damian —

You brought your siblings name to the conversation, maybe that could make him stop asking about how you were back there, it looks like he wants to take any information from you. Sighing you look at the way the butler comes with the breakfast and you do a note in your head to help him clean the dishes before you go.

The manor went silence again, Damian was doing some school work, Dick went out for something you didnt heard, Tim is probably sleeping and Bruce… you don’t know where he is, but that leads you the perfect moment where you can find your thoughts about what is going to happen

Of course, being a twin represented that you were raised to be a successor for the league but, unlike Damian you weren’t raised for being something now that you think about it, your whole existence was a mistake, not that you cared, you’re alive now and no one would change that

That makes you wonder, if your mother left you go without fighting back, does that mean that your work was over? But, what work were you performing?

You see back at your passed actions, doing minor jobs like getting rid off of noisy politicians, none of them seemed like a job a high level person would do

What was your purpose now?

— You’re overthinking — You looked up at the person who was talking to you, ready to say a sassy comment to Damian but there was your father, a book on his hand as he hit you with it softly.

You didn’t notice when he get on you behind, that was a consequence of overthinking and you felt like it was a mistake to be sorry about but, his eyes were as kind as they were this morning.

— Whatever is in your mind, don’t let it affect you — the man with kind eyes and still heavy ones, only a few words from him were enough to lighten your heart.

You still can’t put a finger on why he’s too kind, you just met him a few hours ago and still he treats you like he met you all his life, you don’t know why your chest feels so warm.

— You’re my daughter too, so whatever makes you worry, it hurts me too — The man sat down beside you opening the book, you knew the conversation came to an end so you didn’t tried to answer

Was this how it feels to have a father?

#batsiblings #damian wayne x batsis #batboys x batsis #batfam x batsis #batsis!reader #batfamily #tim drake x reader #damian wayne #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #jason todd #robin damian #bruce wayne #fem reader #x reader #female reader

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