#having to fight back the tears every time i feel the empty space you left behind is tiring me out

[enderlovez]

out on the couch

Spencer Reid x Reader WORD COUNT: 1300+

Summary: You and Spencer have an argument, and in the heat of the moment, he says something pretty hurtful.

Content Warning: arguments, it's winter and cold, hurtful words, guilt

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

The argument starts over something stupid. It always does—not to say you fight with Spencer frequently, but when you do, it's always over something ridiculous.

Maybe it's the way he corrected you on something small—some minor detail that really didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. Or maybe it's the way you left your coffee mug on the counter instead of rinsing it out immediately.

You don't even remember the specifics. All you know is that it escalated fast, the frustration mounting between you like a growing storm.

"I don't understand why everything has to be a debate with you!" you snap, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Spencer's jaw tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm not debating you. I'm just pointing out that—"

"That I'm wrong?" you interrupt, your voice sharper than you intended it to be.

"No, I—" He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable. "You're twisting my words again, Y/N. You always do this."

That does it. His tone is clipped, dismissive, and it slices through you like a hot knife. Your chest tightens to the point of pain as you glare at him, trying to hold back the sting of tears.

"Right," you say bitterly, your voice trembling. "I'm impossible to deal with, aren't I? That's what you're thinking."

It's cruel of you to say. Even in the moment, you know it's wrong. Spencer's eyes flash with irritation, and before you can take back the words, he says the one thing he shouldn't.

"You said it, not me."

The room goes quiet.

It's not the loud kind of quiet (you know), where tension hangs thick and heavy. It's the hollow kind (you know that, too), the kind that presses against your chest and makes it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your lips parted in shock, but no words come out. He doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he does, but he's too stubborn to back down.

Instead, he turns on his heel and storms off, his long legs carrying him into the bedroom. The door shuts behind him, not quite slamming but still loud enough to echo in your ears.

You stand there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he stood. The weight of his words lingers, heavier than the argument itself. You swallow hard, the ache in your chest growing as the tears you'd been holding back finally spill down your cheeks.

But you don't follow him.

Instead, you grab the old throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and curl up on the sofa. It's not comfortable—the cushions are firm, the blanket thin, and the chills of winter seeps into your bones—but you can't bring yourself to go into the bedroom.

────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ──────

In the bedroom, Spencer sits on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

The anger that had burned so hot just moments ago is gone entirely, snuffed out like a candle. What's left is the cold weight of regret, pressing down on him like a lead blanket.

He knows he shouldn't have said what he did. He knows it was cruel, unnecessary, and completely unfair—especially when he could see the beginning of an apology on your face.

But at the time, it had felt like the only way to defend himself.

Now, with the argument over and the silence settling in, all he can think about is the look on your face when he said those words. The way your shoulders sagged as if weighed down, the way your eyes widened just slightly, as if he'd struck you.

The thought makes him feel a little nauseous.

He waits for you to come to bed, his heart sinking further with each passing minute. The silence stretches on, broken only by the faint hum of the heater kicking on in the corner.

You don't come.

Maybe at some point in his life, he'd have been grateful for the quiet. But now that he's spent almost every day with you when he's not working, listened to your quiet ramblings, it feels more suffocating than comforting.

You're comforting.

Finally, he gets up and steps into the hallway. The dimmed light from the living room spills into the darkness, and he follows it, an unfamiliar discomfort swirling around his stomach.

When he sees your curled up on the couch, trembling slightly, his chest tightens painfully.

You're lying on your side as to stay on the narrow sofa, your knees tucked up to your chest, the thin throw blanket doing nothing to shield you from the cold. He can see the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your body is curled in on itself, as if trying to make yourself small.

The sight breaks his heart.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stir, blinking groggily as your eyes flutter open. For a moment, you just stare at him, the hurt in your gaze twisting the knife of guilt in his chest.

"What're you doing out here?" he asks, kneeling beside the couch.

You shift slightly, your voice quiet and trembling when you finally speak. "I figured you wouldn't want me in the room."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

There is nothing on Earth that could make him not want you around, not even a silly argument. Nothing that could convince him to keep you at arms length for more than a few minutes.

His breath catches, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm. You don't flinch, but you don't lean into his touch like you usually would, either. The hesitation in your posture is enough to make his broken heart ache.

"Y/N," he murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "That's not true. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. I... I never should have said that, I promise you're not impossible to deal with."

You don't respond, your gaze dropping to the blanket. He lets out a shaky breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to find the right words. His hands somehow find your face, thumbs wiping away the dampness still there.

"I'm sorry," he continues. "I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate that I did. You're not impossible. You're—God, you're everything to me..."

For a long moment, you don't say anything.

Finally, you sigh, your voice barely audible. "It d-didn't feel like that earlier."

Spencer's shoulders slump, his head bowing as shame washes over him. "I know," he whispers. "I was awful to you. I don't have an excuse, but I... I can't stand the thought of you feeling like I don't want you around. Because I do. Always."

You look at him then, your eyes glassy with unshed tears. "It's hard to believe that when you say things like that, Spence."

"I know," he says again, his voice breaking. "But I'll spend every moment for the rest of my life making it up to you, if I have to. If you want me to."

Your lips press together, and for a moment, he thinks you're going to push him away. But then you shift, sitting up slowly and letting the blanket fall away from your body. You lean into him slightly, nose pressing against the top of his head.

"Come here," he says softly, holding his hand toward yours.

You hesitate, but eventually, you take it. He pulls you into his arms, wrapping you in his embrace as if he's afraid to let you go. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, chasing away the lingering chill.

"I'm sorry," he whispers again, his lips brushing against your hair. "I'll do better, I promise."

You rest your head against his shoulder, the tension in your body slowly melting away. "Please... just don't make me feel like that again."

"I won't," he vows, holding you tighter.

He'll never let you feel like this again—like you're less than enough. Like you're not everything and more to him. Like he doesn't want you around. Like he doesn't love you. Never.

And as he carries you back to the bedroom, his arms never leaving your frame, you let yourself believe him.

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : established relationship, light kisses, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, reader has a bad day, kinda slight references to 'hidden motive', it's like if the "youtiful" series had no smut LMAO, use of pet names "love" "sweetheart". ((also... unedited... i finished this at like 2:30am... AHFNNSNF))

wc : 3k (haha......)

an : so i have. been on a bit of writer's block since i recovered from my sick week, but i did somehow get the urge to write something a little angsty… so this was actually the perfect request to work on and i had sm fun with this!! TYTYYY FOR REQUESTING @deepspacenova ILY <333 (also i know canonically valentine's day is azure's echo day but… for consistency we'll stick with valentine's :D)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

Valentine's Day wasn't supposed to go like this.

When you woke up, the space beside you was empty.

The curtains were drawn, and the room had been left relatively dark despite the little rays of sunshine peeking through. Comforting, in a sense, but—your hand reached out to run through the sheets beside you, now cold and devoid of the warmth of his presence. He'd left it like this on purpose; you knew that.

And it was quiet without him.

The kind of quiet that was loud, the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable.

Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the nightstand, and your heart sank at the realization—you'd slept in, and completely missed seeing him off. On Valentine's Day.

You'd both known from the start that he wouldn't be getting a day off despite the occasion, and you'd accepted it, but you had promised yourself to be present for him in the morning. What kind of girlfriend would let him leave just like that, right?

There was a note on the stand.

You reached out to grab it, and something about the emptiness in the bedroom made you feel so small. Even though you'd always been fond of the neutral colors surrounding you, they looked drearier and gloomier than they'd ever been. Your arms twitched with the urge to reach out for a hug—

There was no one there.

Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? I noticed you've been very tired lately, so please get some rest. Don't feel too bad that you didn't see me this morning. I'll be home in time for dinner, let me know when you wake up.

It was so sweet. So Zayne. Yet the heaviness in your heart didn't seem to lighten in the least, because the circumstances didn't change:

It was Valentine's Day. And you were spending it all alone.

In retrospect, you could never place the blame on your boyfriend. It had been this way from the start; you'd talked about it, accepted it, that with all of this came his busy schedules and the ever-present possibility that he would miss days like this without having much of a choice himself. You, yourself, weren't exempt to the setup, anyway—normally, your own work hours would have you out of the house in a similar manner. It was only that, this time… the mere prospect of having to spend a majority of the day alone with your thoughts had your skin crawling.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

You could beg for a new work assignment to come in and save you from drowning, but you had been ordered to take a rest.

…Was this resting?

The air was stifling. You could breathe, but only barely.

You felt nailed to the bed, your head heavy, your body heavy, the tension in your shoulders nearly having you want to cry out if only you could muster a sound.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

On Valentine's Day, the day of love. You would feel so pathetic, and needy, and so desperate to feel him next to you when you knew that it could not be so and you understood that this was simply the way things were. How they always have been. And it took every ounce of your energy to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, because what kind of girlfriend would be like this, and why couldn't today be a day you felt normal?

You had to hastily wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and your hands reached for the phone next.

A simple good morning, a little how-are-you.

You would make yourself be normal today if you could help it.

So you did the only thing you could think of:

You redirected.

Pushing yourself out of bed was a task difficult enough to do, but you grit your teeth through it. Feet touched upon the soft carpet, footsteps padding across the room and towards the door. If you had the majority of the day to yourself, you could do something productive, couldn't you? You could still do that, couldn't you? You could still be the simplest, simplest form of a functioning human being… couldn't you?

A mantra repeated in your head as you made your way to the kitchen.

A list of things: you could clean, you could organize, you could read, you could play… You could cook something, maybe even bake, just so he could have some sort of surprise waiting when he got back.

It sounded like a good plan.

…

It was a difficult plan.

Deep breaths weren't enough to calm you down. Sure, every movement pulled you out of the rubble of your thoughts for a moment, allowed you to continue being for a moment. But a moment was merely a moment. And once that moment was over, then it was over. The wreckage dangling above your head would come crashing.

It was a terrifying, terrifying thing to be alone.

Every so often your eyes would drift towards your phone in hopes for a text; even a simple update, anything, anything—

You liked the quiet, but you liked it when he was around.

You liked the slowness of things, but you liked it when he was around.

On days like these, then only when all this empty space could be filled by the warmth of his presence… that was when everything else could be bearable.

And you stirred the cookie batter absentmindedly, only barely paying attention to what you were doing, when—

Ding!

Your heart jumped.

Immediately, you dropped the spatula back into bowl and turned towards your phone.

—heeeeyyyy, happy valentine's, bestieee!!! —hope you get to have a sweeeett, sweet time with your boyfie!

Ah.

Your racing heartbeat calmed down in slight disappointment; the last conversation you'd had with Zayne had been an hour ago, and you knew realistically enough not to expect another message so soon.

And, sure, you were disappointed, but… to Tara's defense, these texts still made you smile.

She sent a flurry more of messages; silly things, cute things, just a couple of somethings to leave in your chat log. You didn't know if she'd picked up on your own behavior being off at work, but you supposed that if Jenna had, then it was more likely that Tara hadn't overlooked it, either.

A thought rang suddenly in your mind, because you could spend the rest of your day with her. A glance at the time told you that it was only half past two in the afternoon, and you still had a couple of hours left before Zayne would be on his way home. If you were looking for a distraction, perhaps, a day out could have solved it, but—

Realization dawned.

You'd have to put on something pretty, spend a couple of minutes doing makeup. You'd have to speak with people, interact with them, seem normal to them… and then maybe, then, you'd be more conscious of the fact that you were blatantly masking in front of people you held close to your heart.

Vulnerability was a fickle thing.

Though you could desperately want to be so, it was difficult to know where to begin.

It was something to accept—you didn't have the energy to… be.

Not today.

Maybe Zayne was right; you did need to rest.

And the realization furthered in that really, truly, all that you wanted was to spend a moment curled up in his lap, maybe watch a movie, maybe sit in silence… Just enough to recharge, just enough to feel safe enough to be.

You wouldn't have had to think of anything else.

But, he wasn't… Here.

He wasn't here.

Hours passed by in a similar manner, then. A cycle of distracting yourself, and failing, and trying again, and failing… You had gotten a few things done, in your defense. The kitchen and the bedroom had both been cleaned spotless. Your newly-baked batch of chocolate-chip cookies sat to cool on the counter, a treat for your boyfriend, something to remind you of what day it was today. You were proud of yourself for it, of course; despite everything, you could still do a little something.

But the feeling in your chest, the heaviness of it, the burden you bore that you couldn't quite place, yourself… it was still there. Unmistakably, still there.

And then it was late.

Later than you knew his shift to be.

You glanced at your phone once, twice—thrice, and a few times more.

The message you'd sent had received no reply.

It must have been an emergency.

You understood; really, you understood. It was like this. He had no access to his phone when things were busy, and especially not when something had come up. You knew this. You knew.

And so you grabbed a blanket from the bedroom to drape over yourself, as you curled up on the couch.

You could wait.

You could.

You could.

…You could, right?

Surfing through channels proved easy enough.

Not that one.

Not that one.

No, not that one, either.

You huffed as each channel played a show that didn't particularly interest you, the sound of their dialogue merely causing you to be irritated rather than successfully distracted. You had little to no choice but to passively play on a show, lower the volume—and at this point, truly… it was difficult to take.

You curled up, drew your knees up to your chest.

The blanket smelled like him.

You could recall how often it had been like this; it had been busy at the hospital, as much as it had been busy at work… The two of you had barely any time to spend with each other these past few days, and undeniably it had started to take a toll on you.

Because it had to line up with the way that you'd been feeling.

Useless. Worthless. A little bit less like yourself.

Thoughts like these were easy to ignore when you had the capacity to, but you didn't anymore. Once again, the space around you was too big; too heavy; too much. It cemented on you all these feelings of helplessness, the way you were left in the middle of this cold, empty space with nothing to offer solace. It was pathetic to feel this way, you thought, but you no longer had the ability to rationalize it.

You didn't like it here without him.

You missed him—a feeling that had built up all these days spent away from each other.

And then the tears started to fall.

Silent tears, an occasional sniffle here and there… Your eyes glazed over as you continued to hug your knees to your chest, head resting upon them. You weren't focusing. The television remained what it was—white noise. You could barely remember what channel you had left it on in the first place.

Your phone lit up a couple of times.

You no longer noticed it.

—

A light shaking could be felt over your body.

It was a colder touch, you could feel it through even the blanket. Your eyes stirred open. Yet, truly, even before your gaze could focus enough on the figure next to you, you knew this touch.

Zayne.

He had his hand on your arm, having nudged you awake, and you could see the faint outline of a bouquet of flowers seated right next to him. Your favorites, no less.

In front of you, the television had been turned off, and a quick glance at your phone to the side showed several missed calls and texts from him. The time flashed as eight in the evening. You had fallen asleep. Your eyes were likely puffy, and you probably looked exhausted…

Yet, these things, despite how much you had noticed and despite how much you were still thinking—

They didn't matter anymore.

The moment of silence between you two, the way he didn't ask, the way he waited, the way he watched… A wave of understanding passed over the both of you before he pulled you into his arms, and that was it.

This was home.

It wasn't dark, and gloomy, and empty, and cold—

It was warm. Comforting. Full of his presence, just the way you had been longing it to be since you'd woken up. The smell of his cologne was one familiar enough to make you tighten your hold on him, make you snuggle deeper into his chest. It was secure. It was safe.

You'd missed him, truly.

And there was no need for words, not really. Instead, he stroked your hair, patiently, lovingly. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. A little reassuring squeeze of your hand.

"Zayne…"

"Mn. I'm here."

Another moment of stillness.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You could still hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, but this time, it didn't bother you. Not when you could just as well hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, not when his quiet words of reassurance could resound in your head like a lullaby.

And a stray tear fell.

Maybe, it was the relief of it. Maybe, it was how everything had bubbled up to crash into you like this.

But—

You lips trembled, and you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried.

And it was such a stupid way to spend the day of love.

"You're… You're home, hic, I-I'm sorry, I didn't— hic— I fell asleep, a-and then—"

"Shh. It's okay, my love."

His voice was low. Soft.

"B-but I was… It's Valentine's Day, I should've…!"

"No, you do not owe me anything. On the contrary, I, too, have not been a satisfactory partner… I apologize, sweetheart. I wish I could have spent the day with you."

"It's… It's not your fault…"

"Then, it is not your fault, either."

He paused.

"You… feel unwell. You've been unwell. Haven't you? Aren't you?"

Slowly, gently, he coaxed your head up to look at him. His thumb raised, moving to wipe away your tears; to draw you closer by your chin and place a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.

You sniffled slightly. "I… I didn't want to be needy… I know it's been busy at the hospital, and I thought I could manage, a-and I'm sorry, I know I should be more understanding! I-I should be better, be good, be someone who can give you the world like you deserve, be— something more worth of the comfort you give me, than this…"

The words flowed out before you could stop them, and, in the end, you appreciated that you could be vulnerable with him. But it still tore at your heart to have him listen. Because what if it was silly? What if it was stupid? In the back of your mind, even though you thought these things, you were hoping for him to tell you otherwise. And what would you do if he didn't? If he agreed with you? What if these words, these insecurities, would make him think less of you, or find it irritating, or…

You were spiraling.

You could see yourself drowning, reflected in the very window of his gaze.

But he gripped your shoulders—he wouldn't let you.

"I never asked for you to give me the world."

It was firm this time, and not necessarily gentle... Yet, the look in his eyes told you everything even before he spoke.

Slow, careful words, and his eyes never strayed from yours:

"All I've ever wanted was you."

Your breath hitched.

You waited, quiet, a little stunned; watched as he leaned in to give you a soft kiss. One to your forehead, one on your eyelids. Your cheek, the corner of your lips—

"I ask nothing of you, if only to know that you are okay. If only to know that you understand… that I will cherish you, and care for you, for as long as you are alive. Do you remember that?"

A memory stirred.

I should think about… how to live my life to the fullest. Because in this world, there's someone who'll like me for as long as I'm alive…

Those were your words.

A wave of warmth washed over you once more as he brought back memories from that day, one that, likely, was one that he thought of often himself.

"The moon…" he mumbled. Gently, he nudged your head sideways to allow you to glance out the window. He'd drawn the curtains back, and the night sky showed itself in full view to you. "Is beautiful tonight. Just as you are. Less than you are. Because you always shine brighter. And, to me… That is all of the world that I need."

"Zayne…"

"I bought you flowers, and I saw the cookies that you left on the table. However… how much you mean to me is not meant to be celebrated for simply one day of the year, and I don't plan to do that. I would celebrate it every day, every minute, every hour of my life. Besides… no matter how hectic things get, I will always want to see you."

This time, he pulled you back to him, gently easing his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, but a meaningful one. One that made the world disappear, your troubles disappear… at least, enough for you to focus on him, and all the love that he offered— to you.

"…Zayne?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

You snuggled into his chest, curling into his warmth.

It felt lighter, now. Perhaps, not to be completely freed from the chains you had put on yourself, but… it felt lighter. More bearable. No longer suffocating.

No longer difficult.

"I love you," you repeated. You would whisper the words, quiet as you focused on his heartbeat. "I love you, twice… thrice… and more times… Because saying it once wouldn't be enough."

"And I love you, sweetheart." Once more, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Twice, and thrice, and more. And, for tonight… We can do whatever you want. My time is all yours."

And perhaps, you thought, he was your world just as much as you were his.

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[rootedinrevisions]

Just...Stay: Part 2

SUMMARY: Tyler has to prove himself and win back your trust after nearly losing you for good. As he tries to commit to building a life together, the past tensions resurface, challenging both of you to confront the insecurities and fears that have kept you apart.

PART 1 HERE

A/N: I tried to write this using some of the ideas that you guys had for where YOU would like to see the story go (ie: a little bit of Tyler groveling, her moving on, and Tyler having to try and win her back! Hope you like it! xx

WORD COUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Angst. Fluff.

TAG LIST: SEE COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists or be tagged for a specific character please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

You stand on the porch, watching Tyler’s taillights disappear down the long, winding road. The ache in your chest tightens, and you whisper to yourself, He’s gone. This time, for real. You let out a shaky breath, gripping the porch railing as if it can steady the chaos churning inside you. You’ve waited so many times for him to turn around, to decide he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But he’d made his choice, and you can’t keep waiting for him to want you.

With a shaky breath, you went back inside, the echo of his last words still hanging heavy in the air. Your hands trembled as you reached for your phone, already pressing the familiar contact without needing to see the name. When the line connected and your mother answered, you could barely get out a word. But she didn’t need you to; she recognized the silence, the breathless, broken sound of you holding back tears.

“Oh, honey,” she said softly, with that knowing sadness in her voice. “You don’t have to say a thing. I know.”

The crack in her voice brought the tears you’d been fighting up to the surface. The dam broke, and everything you’d been holding in—the hope, the ache, the final goodbye—poured out, leaving you unable to respond as she filled the silence with soft, soothing words.

“I’m coming over,” she assured you. “Just sit tight. I’ll be there soon.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, wiping away tears as you settled back against the counter, feeling like the empty space Tyler left behind was somehow everywhere now, pressing in around you. The quiet house felt so much bigger without him in it, the emptiness swallowing every corner that once held laughter, whispered promises, and the comfort of his steady presence—even if it was always temporary.

Later, you and your mom sit in the living room, the stillness almost too much to bear. She’s wrapped her arms around you, her gentle strength holding you together when you feel like you’re falling apart. You try to hold back the tears, but the weight of everything—of hoping he’d turn around, hoping he’d realize he was making a mistake, hoping he’d come back up those steps to say he was staying—finally breaks.

Your mom rubs small circles on your back, her voice soft and steady. “He made his choice, and someday, he’ll understand what he’s lost,” she murmurs. “You did everything you could, honey. You deserve someone who’s going to put you first.”

You nod, though it doesn’t stop the ache gnawing at you. For the first time, though, you start to let the truth settle in: that you deserve more than the waiting, the hoping. That you deserve someone who chooses you fully, every single day.

Later that night you stand in front of the bathroom mirror, the harsh light making your face look even more worn from the day, you brace yourself for another quiet night. You slip into your pajamas, ready to try and sleep through the ache in your chest, when your phone lights up on the countertop. Tyler’s name stares back at you, as if daring you to pick up.

Your heart thuds painfully, and for a split second, you’re tempted. He’s calling, just like he said he would. But you can’t answer this time. You can’t let him back in, not after everything. So you hit the red button, sending his call to silence.

Thirty seconds later, your phone lights up again—his name filling the screen once more. The resolve you’d tried so hard to build threatens to crumble, but you steady yourself, knowing you need to stay strong. You told him what would happen if he left. You’d made it clear, and this time, you have to stay firm with that.

With a deep breath, you hit “Ignore” again, feeling both the sting of regret and the strength of your own boundaries. It hurts, but you know it’s what you need to do.

You turn your phone face-down on the bed, trying to ignore the nagging pull to check it. But when you do, Tyler’s message is there, waiting.

Tyler: Can we talk? I just want to talk to you.

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of every unsaid word between you. He wants to talk, but he still isn’t saying what you need to hear—no apologies, no acknowledgment of what he’s putting you through, just the same vague promises. Another message appears as you sit, reading it with an ache building in your chest.

Tyler: Please. Talk to me darlin.

You want to answer; some part of you always will. But there’s no real shift in his words, no sign that he understands what you need. It’s just Tyler reaching out like he always does, and leaving you to carry the weight when he pulls away.

So, you let the messages sit. They stare back at you, blue checkmarks confirming that you’ve seen them, leaving him on read for once. It takes everything in you, but you put your phone on silent and push it to the side. This time, you’re standing firm.

* * * *

A few months had come and gone since you’d last heard Tyler’s voice, and while the ache lingered, day by day, you’d felt it dull. The first few weeks had been the hardest—filled with reminders of him in places you hadn’t even thought to look. But with time, you’d found a new rhythm. You packed up his things and stored them in the barn loft, out of sight and mostly out of mind. There’d been a few days when you’d thought he might call again, but each week that passed with no message made it easier to let him go.

Then, just a few nights ago, you’d bumped into Matt at the bar. The quiet, shy boy you remembered from high school was still there, but he’d grown more self-assured, his conversations easy and light. He’d listened intently, asked thoughtful questions, and laughed at your jokes, which was a nice change after months of heartache. When he’d asked if you’d join him for dinner, his eyes hopeful yet calm, you found yourself agreeing without hesitation.

Now, as you finish getting ready, you catch a glimmer of that anticipation you thought you’d lost. It’s a soft, hopeful excitement, different from the wild spark you’d once had for Tyler, but maybe that’s exactly what you need.

As you slip on your shoes and give yourself one last look in the mirror, a strange mixture of nerves and excitement tingles in your stomach. It’s been so long since you let yourself look forward to something like this—putting on a new dress, curling your hair, and swiping on lipstick just to feel a little spark. It feels nice to step into a night that’s full of possibility, even if it’s quieter than the whirlwind you once imagined with Tyler.

Matt isn’t the kind of guy who will leave you on edge, wondering what comes next. That thought is comforting as you smooth the fabric of your dress and check your reflection one last time. He’s steady, warm, and easy to talk to, and when he’d asked you out last week, you’d felt a genuine flicker of excitement—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself in ages.

Your phone chimes, breaking the silence of your room. You glance over, expecting it to be a text from Matt saying he’s on his way, but instead, you freeze. 

Tyler’s name flashes across the screen, and for a moment, everything else fades.

Tyler: Hey. I know it’s been a while, but can we talk? I’ve been thinking a lot. Just… if you have a minute.

You stare at the message, feeling a swirl of emotions you thought you’d buried. It’s been weeks since his last message, and each day that passed without one felt like another small step forward. You’ve been letting him go—pushing his things up into the barn loft, moving him out of your thoughts inch by inch. But tonight, of all nights, he’s suddenly there, reaching out again.

The phone chimes again, and another message appears.

Tyler: I’m sorry. I miss you. Just thought you should know.

Your heart clenches, but this time, you feel a new kind of strength holding you back. You let out a shaky breath, reminding yourself that you deserve someone who doesn’t make you wait and wonder, who doesn’t leave just to come back again. Tyler’s voice and his words, tempting as they are, can’t keep pulling you under. Not anymore.

With that, you tuck your phone into your bag, letting his message go unanswered as you grab your keys. Tonight, you’re stepping out into something new, something steady and full of hope—maybe even something that finally lets you move on.

At dinner, you and Matt settle into a cozy booth near the window, the glow of candlelight casting a soft warmth across the table. You offer a smile, and he returns it, looking just as eager and nervous as you feel. The waiter takes your orders, and for a moment, you both fumble with your menus, using them as a buffer against the quiet that settles between you.

“So,” Matt says, clearing his throat, “how’s work been treating you?”

You launch into a polite summary, and he nods along, sharing his own stories from the hardware store, a few of which earn a chuckle. But as you finish, another silence slips in, and you feel that small, familiar tension build in your chest. You drum your fingers lightly on the table, scanning your mind for something—anything—to say. Just as the silence is about to become too much, Matt asks if you’re excited for the weekend, and you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

You tell yourself it’s probably just nerves, that this is normal. After all, it’s been a couple of years since you’ve been on a real date, and first dates are always a little awkward. But as you lift your glass to take a sip, you can’t help but think back to the times you’d come to this same restaurant with Tyler. How the conversation would flow so easily, sometimes even late into the night. You’d swap stories, share laughs, and talk about everything and nothing all at once. There was never a lull, never a forced smile or the need to fill the quiet.

You catch yourself before the memory sinks any deeper and shake your head, forcing a smile as Matt picks up on a new thread of conversation.

Stepping outside the restaurant after dinner with Matt, you hold the door open just long enough to make sure he’s following when you feel yourself bump into someone headed in. You stumble back, and strong hands instinctively reach out to steady you. You begin to apologize, breathless from the sudden collision, only to look up and freeze. 

Those familiar, green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything around you blurs. Tyler stands before you, in a red button-up, worn jeans, and that off-white Stetson you know all too well. He murmurs your name, his voice thick with something unreadable as he holds you in place for a heartbeat longer than necessary. 

But before you can react, Matt is by your side, his hand pressing warmly against your lower back, gently pulling you away. 

Tyler releases you, his gaze lingering as Matt asks if you’re okay. You nod, feeling a bit dazed, and allow Matt to guide you toward the street.

Tyler calls your name again, his voice softer, a thread of desperation woven through it. But you glance back only briefly before following Matt down the sidewalk, his arm curling around your shoulders protectively as he continues talking, oblivious to the moment that just passed. 

You try to steady yourself, but the weight of Tyler’s gaze is still on you, even as you walk away.

Watching you leave with someone else beside you, Tyler’s heart twists in a way he didn’t see coming. The sight of Matt’s hand resting comfortably on your shoulder, of you turning away from him so resolutely, strikes deeper than any storm he’s ever chased. It’s in this moment that something cracks, and he realizes with painful clarity just how much he’s let slip through his fingers. The thought of anyone else sharing the moments you once shared together is a weight he can’t shake. As he watches you disappear into the night, Tyler makes a silent vow to win you back, whatever it takes.

Matt drives you home, the quiet hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between you as you watch the streets blur past. He’s considerate, not pushing for conversation, as though sensing the hints of distraction lingering in your gaze. When he pulls up to your house, he steps out first, hurrying around to open your door. You offer a grateful smile, following him to your porch as you fish for your keys.

Standing under the dim porch light, you both pause, caught in that familiar, tentative moment that usually ends with a goodnight kiss. Matt smiles, leaning in with a softness in his eyes that tells you he’s hoping for more than the simple goodbye you’re about to offer. And though part of you wants to bridge that gap—maybe even craves the closure it could bring—Tyler’s face flashes in your mind, his eyes catching yours across that restaurant entrance, and you can’t shake the thought.

You lean forward, placing a gentle kiss on Matt’s cheek before stepping back, your hand lightly on his arm. He seems to understand, though a hint of disappointment flickers in his eyes. “Goodnight, Matt,” you say softly, your hand dropping back to your side.

“Goodnight,” he replies, a warm smile slipping back into place. He pulls you in for a quick hug, his embrace steady and reassuring, but he doesn’t push for more. 

Watching him walk back to his car, you feel a pang of guilt. Matt’s a good man, and he deserves someone whose heart isn’t scattered across memories and what-ifs.

You let out a slow breath as his car pulls away, whispering into the stillness around you. You know you’re not quite there yet.

Minutes later you are in the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water when you hear it. When you hear him. The rumble of his truck reaches you before the sight of it does, that familiar low, steady hum breaking the quiet night. You freeze in place, feeling the sound more than hearing it, the way it seems to settle into your bones and send your heart racing. You step over to the kitchen window, barely breathing as you watch him pull up, headlights cutting through the darkness until he shuts the engine off.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, just sits there, his silhouette still and contemplative. You’d know the tilt of his head, the set of his shoulders, anywhere. 

Slowly, he climbs out and makes his way up the path, boots crunching on the gravel. With each step he takes your mind races, grasping for words, trying to brace for the conversation you know he’s here to have.

When he reaches the front porch, he pauses, hands on his hips as he lets out a long breath. His eyes flick to the window, and you step back instinctively, as though he might see you. 

You feel a sharp pang in your chest, the past month of silence cracking open like fresh heartbreak. Then he’s knocking, the sound a low, insistent rhythm that echoes through the house, reaching you where you stand, rooted in place.

You take a deep, steadying breath, one hand reaching to your chest as if to calm the beat of your heart. You can’t avoid him now. Whatever he has to say, you need to hear it. Your fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting it as you remind yourself to stand strong, to keep your heart guarded.

With one last breath, you open the door, meeting Tyler’s gaze—the same gaze that’s held you and let you go too many times to count. Tyler’s eyes find yours, raw and pleading, and his face softens in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. He takes a shaky breath, his words tumbling out in a rush like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I know I messed up. I know I’ve given you every reason to walk away,” he begins, his voice low and thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you. I can’t…not like this.”

His hands run through his hair, and for a second, he looks at the ground, gathering himself. When he looks back up, his eyes glisten, and he steps closer, his words growing more insistent. 

“These last few months, you not talking to me… I can’t even explain how much that hurt. How much I’ve missed you—missed everything we had. I kept thinking, maybe if I left you alone, you’d be better off. But I was wrong, and now I can’t stand not being near you.”

He takes another breath, his voice catching slightly as he adds, “I want to come home. I want to be with you. I want to come back and stay this time…if you’ll have me.”

You feel your heart stutter, your mind racing to process what he’s just said. You’ve wanted to hear those words so many times before, but now…now that he’s here, your defenses come rushing up. 

You try to keep your voice steady, shaking your head as you take a step back. “Tyler…you don’t just get to come back whenever you feel like it. You left. You made that choice, and I—” But you stop, seeing the way he looks at you, eyes shining with the tears he’s trying to keep back.

He’s holding his breath, his chest rising and falling like he’s struggling to hold himself together. The vulnerability in his face hits you like a wave, breaking down the walls you’ve been trying so hard to build.

“Please,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I…I just need you to know that you’re it for me. You’re home. Not just this house or the land…you, darlin’. Anywhere you are, that’s where I want to be. I don’t want to run anymore.”

You feel a knot in your chest tighten, torn between the longing in his words and the pain of what’s happened.

“Tyler,” you begin, voice unsteady, “I can’t do this again. I can’t open myself up just to watch you walk away.”

His hand reaches out, hesitating before he rests it on your arm, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your skin. “I’m not going anywhere this time,” he says softly, his voice trembling. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The look in his eyes tells you he’s here, truly here, every bit of himself laid bare for you. And for the first time, you see a man who’s willing to fight—fight to be with you, fight for a future together, fight to make up for every broken promise.

You cross your arms over your chest, the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air between you. For a second, it almost feels like you can’t breathe. His words are exactly what you’ve wanted to hear, but there’s still a part of you that’s scared—scared to believe him, scared to fall for this all over again. You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from the emotions that have flooded your chest.

“How do I know?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper but carrying the weight of every question you’ve been holding onto. “How do I know this time is going to be different? How do I know you’re not just saying what I want to hear, again?”

He pauses, his face tightening for a brief moment, before his eyes soften, his sincerity cutting through the uncertainty. “All I can do is prove it to you,” he says quietly. His words are steady, but there’s an ache beneath them, something that makes your heart skip. “I can’t change the past, but I can damn sure try to make up for it.”

He glances toward his truck, his hand dropping to the side before he looks back at you. “I brought an extra bag with me this time,” he says, his voice steady with a quiet determination. “I was hoping you’d let me leave it here. Maybe when I come back in a couple weeks I could come back with the rest of my stuff…and that you’ll let me stay.” He looks at you, his eyes open and honest, no pretense, no bravado—just the raw truth of a man who wants nothing more than to rebuild what he lost.

You feel the sharp sting of his words sink into you, and for a moment, you’re speechless. Tyler Owens, the man who once seemed so lost, so unsure of anything but the moment, is telling you he’s ready to plan. You feel the ground beneath you shift as he continues.

“I’ve talked to Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani about it,” he says, almost as if it’s something he’s already put in motion. “I’ve been thinking about moving up here, about making it work. I know it’s not just about me anymore. I know what I did, and I know what it’s going to take for you to trust me again. I want to be here, with you. And I’ve already been figuring out how I can make it work with storm chasing. With the team.”

The weight of his words hits you like a freight train. Tyler, who’d never seemed the type to plan, to make a life out of more than just surviving, is telling you that he’s thought ahead. He’s thought about you—about living with you. The logistics of his work, where he’d fit in with the team, how he could make it all work—things he’d never even considered before.

He never once brought up the idea of moving in, of building a future with you, before. Now, he’s here, telling you that he’s ready. And as much as your heart aches with uncertainty, something inside of you can’t help but feel the tiniest thread of hope tugging at you.

You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to find the right words, trying to keep your guard up, even as your heart beats louder with each passing second.

“How do I know this is real?” you whisper, your voice breaking slightly.

Tyler’s eyes are locked on yours, his expression soft and full of sincerity, the words that leave his lips quiet but sure. “You’ll know by what I do. Not by what I say.”

As you stand there, the flickering hope mingling with every guarded part of you, you can’t hold back anymore. You have to ask him, to hear him explain it in a way that might finally make sense.

“Why, Tyler?” you say, your voice laced with hurt and frustration. “Why do you do this? The hot and cold? Coming back and then leaving just when I start to trust that you’ll stay? Why am I never enough for you to choose me?”

Your words hang in the air, heavy, but Tyler doesn’t flinch. He looks at you, and for a moment, you see something raw and vulnerable cross his face—an expression you don’t think you’ve seen before. He takes a shaky breath, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to find the words.

“It’s not that you’re not enough,” he says, his voice soft but resolute. “You’ve always been enough—more than enough. It’s me who hasn’t been enough. I’ve been scared… scared of needing someone the way I need you, of letting myself feel things that deep. I kept convincing myself that I’d be fine on my own, that I didn’t need anyone, but that was never true.”

He pauses, glancing away before he meets your gaze again, his eyes intense and filled with regret.

“Seeing you moving on, watching you with him tonight…” He trails off, swallowing hard. “It made me feel something I never want to feel again. The thought of you with anyone else—it made me sick. It took almost losing you for me to see that I can’t keep doing this. That if I kept running, I was going to lose you, really lose you. And I’d have no one to blame but myself.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers hesitant at first, as if he’s waiting for you to pull away. When you don’t, he takes your hand fully, his grip firm yet gentle.

“I know it doesn’t excuse anything,” he admits, voice heavy with sincerity. “I know I messed up. But being without you, thinking I’d lost you for good… it’s been hell. And if there’s any part of you that can still trust me, even a little, I want to show you that I’m ready to be here for real. To stay. I can’t keep running from the one thing that matters most to me.”

Tyler’s gaze doesn’t waver from yours as he takes a slow step closer, his hands resting at his sides, waiting. He opens his mouth, then closes it, the tension in the air so thick you could almost touch it. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet, but you can hear the vulnerability underneath.

"Please, just… give me a chance," he says, his words hanging in the air.

You swallow hard, your heart caught in a war between hope and doubt. You’ve been hurt before, but everything in you is screaming to believe him. You close your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s happened, everything that’s led to this moment. And then you open your eyes again, meeting his gaze.

"Tyler," you begin, your voice softer now, but still firm. "This is your last chance. If you mess this up, there’s no coming back from it. I can’t keep doing this. I won’t."

He nods immediately, his face lighting up with the smallest hint of relief. "I swear, I won’t. I won’t mess it up." His voice is more confident now, as if something in him has shifted—something that wasn’t there before.

You feel a knot in your chest loosen, though doubt still clings at the edges. But as you stand there, looking at him—really looking at him, all of the pain, the fear, and the uncertainty—starts to fade away. It’s like for the first time in so long, you feel like you can let your guard down, just a little. You give a small nod, the corners of your lips lifting despite the tears threatening to fall.

"I’m trusting you," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t make me regret it."

Tyler doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps in closer, his hands gently cupping your face, as if he’s scared you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on to you. His thumb brushes along your cheekbone, a slow, tender motion. The air between you both feels charged, full of something real, something raw, something that hasn’t been there in so long.

And then, without another word, he leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that’s soft but intense. His mouth moves against yours with such tenderness, like he’s trying to pour everything into it—his apology, his promises, his love—everything he’s been holding back. You melt into the kiss, feeling his warmth, his sincerity, his desire for you.

The kiss deepens slowly, as if testing the waters, but it’s gentle, filled with the kind of care and emotion that you’ve been missing for so long. And in that moment, all of the fear and doubt you’ve been carrying seems to dissolve, replaced by something that feels like home.

When the kiss finally breaks, you both stand there for a few moments, foreheads resting against each other, breathing the same air. Tyler smiles against your skin, and you can feel the weight of everything shifting.

"I won’t mess this up," he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. And for the first time in a long while, you believe him.

[rose24207]

The weigh of words

Summary: After a heated argument fueled by his frustrations on and off the track, Lando's harsh words pushes you away, forcing him to confront his guilt and fight to mend your relationship through heartfelt apologies and unwavering effort.

Genre: angst, fluff

TW: arguments

A/N: hellooo!! How are you doinnnngg?! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Based of this request

Masterlist

Lately, Lando hadn’t been himself, and you couldn’t blame him. The last three races had been nothing short of disastrous. Whether it was bad strategy calls, mechanical issues, or just sheer bad luck, it felt like the universe was conspiring against him. But it wasn’t just his performance on the track that had been suffering—it was everything else, too.

It started subtly, with him being quieter than usual during dinners or zoning out during conversations. But as the weeks passed, his frustration grew sharper, manifesting in clipped tones, rolled eyes, and muttered curses under his breath. You tried to give him space, but tonight, as he slammed the apartment door shut behind him, you knew you couldn’t keep walking on eggshells.

“Rough day?” you asked gently as he dropped his bag onto the floor with a thud.

Lando ignored you, heading straight for the kitchen. The sound of the fridge door opening and closing filled the silence before he leaned against the counter, chugging water as if it might wash away his irritation.

“Lando,” you tried again, your voice softer now. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” he snapped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“The race,” you said, fighting to keep your tone even. “And everything else. You’ve been...off. I just want to help.”

His laugh was bitter, almost mocking. “Of course you do.”

Your stomach tightened at his tone, but you pushed on. “I’m serious, Lando. You’ve been carrying this around for weeks now. I know things haven’t been easy for you lately, but shutting me out isn’t the answer.”

“Easy for me?” He set the bottle down with a loud clank, his eyes narrowing. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be me right now? To work your ass off and still come up short every single time? To have everyone scrutinize your every move, waiting for you to fail?”

“I’m not them,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m not the media, or the fans, or your team. I’m me.And I’m here for you. But I can’t help if you won’t let me in.”

He scoffed, raking a hand through his curls. “Help? What help? You think talking is going to fix this? God, not everything is about you, you know!”

The words hit you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

“That’s not what I meant,” you said quietly, your voice trembling.

“And God, you’re so sensitive sometimes,” he added, shaking his head in exasperation. “I can’t do this right now.”

You stood there, stunned, as he stormed past you and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

For a moment, you stayed rooted in place, replaying his words in your mind. Not everything is about you.

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you grabbed your coat and keys and left the apartment without a word.

Lando woke up the next morning to an empty bed. The events of the night before came rushing back in vivid detail, and a sinking feeling settled in his chest. He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but there were no messages from you.

He wandered into the living room, hoping to find you there, but the apartment was eerily quiet. The absence of your presence was palpable, and guilt hit him like a freight train.

He hadn’t meant to lash out at you. You weren’t the problem—he was. You’d been nothing but supportive, and he’d thrown it back in your face.

Running a hand through his hair, he sat down on the couch and stared at the floor. He needed to fix this, but he didn’t know how.

By mid-morning, he decided to go out. He walked into the florist, determined to pick something that might make you smile. The woman behind the counter helped him select a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and he even bought a card to go with it.

But when he sat down to write something, he found himself staring at the blank card for several minutes.

"I’m sorry" felt too simple.

"I didn’t mean it" felt too hollow.

He ended up scribbling a few lines, sealing the envelope, and sending the flowers to your workplace.

But flowers weren’t enough. Lando knew that.

That evening, when you didn’t come home, he decided to write you a letter. A real one. He sat at the dining table, pen in hand, and poured his heart out.

Dear [Y/N],

I don’t even know where to start. Last night, I said things I didn’t mean—things that hurt you—and for that, I’m so sorry. You’ve always been my biggest supporter, and I repaid you with anger and cruelty. You didn’t deserve that.

The truth is, I’ve been feeling like a failure lately. Every time I get in that car, I feel like I’m letting everyone down—my team, my fans, myself. And instead of dealing with it the right way, I took it out on you. I blamed you for things that had nothing to do with you, and I hate myself for it.

You are the best thing in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I know I messed up, and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. But please know that I’m going to do everything I can to make this right.

I love you. I always have, and I always will.

Lando set the pen down and reread the letter twice before folding it and slipping it into an envelope.

When you finally returned later that night, Lando was sitting on the couch, his leg bouncing nervously. He stood as soon as he heard the door open, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Hi,” he said softly, his voice laced with apprehension.

You didn’t respond immediately.

“I got your flowers,” you said after a moment, your tone guarded.

“And the letter?” he asked, taking a tentative step toward you.

You nodded, setting your bag down. “I read it.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I was a complete idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things, and I hate that I hurt you.”

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression unreadable. “Do you really mean it?”

“Every word,” he said, his eyes pleading. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’ll do whatever it takes to earn it. Just...don’t give up on me.”

Your resolve softened as you saw the sincerity in his eyes. Slowly, you stepped closer, and his breath hitched as you reached out to take his hand.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But, Lando, you can’t shut me out like that. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“I know,” he said, gripping your hand tightly. “And I’ll do better. I promise.”

You let out a small sigh, the weight of the day finally lifting as you allowed yourself to lean into his embrace.

“I missed you,” you admitted, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And I’m never letting you go again.”

Thank you for reading!

[ayumigotabittoolonelyquitted]

is there someone else?

(Satoru gojo xreader angst part 2)

Last part 3

Part 1

(I used chat gpt to fix my grammer!)

Part 2 : is there someone else?

The morning light crept into the apartment, stark and unforgiving, illuminating the cold, empty space you had left behind. Satoru sat at the table, his head in his hands, the smell of untouched dinner still faint in the air. He was the strongest, they said, but in this moment, he had never felt weaker.

His phone buzzed on the table. Utahime’s name flashed across the screen for the third time that morning, but he ignored it again. He couldn’t bear to hear her voice, not when it would only remind him of the destruction he had caused.

Satoru Gojo was a man who could bend reality to his will, who stood at the pinnacle of strength and invincibility. But none of that mattered now. None of it could bring you back.

He had faced curses that could tear apart the world, adversaries that brought armies to their knees but he couldn’t face you. He couldn’t fix the cracks he had allowed to spread in the one thing that had made him feel human.

You sat on a bench by the harbor, your knees pulled to your chest as the salt-tinged breeze stung your face. You hadn’t slept. The night had passed in a haze of wandering, of replaying every fight, every word, every bitter silence.

Gojo Satoru, the man who could shatter mountains and tear through dimensions, had made you feel like nothing.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket again, and you didn’t have to look to know it was him. He was trying, but it was too late or at least, it felt that way.

You swallowed hard as the memory of his hesitation surfaced again, the way he had frozen when you’d asked, “Do you love her?” That pause was louder than anything he could have said.

What was worse was how easily you had believed it how deeply you had let his silence confirm your worst fears.

When Satoru found you later that morning, you were still sitting by the lake, lost in thought. He approached hesitantly, his usually confident steps faltering. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say.

You glanced at him as he sat down beside you, leaving a careful distance between you.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. The sound of the waves filled the silence, a cruel reminder of how far apart you’d drifted.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this, Satoru. Sorry doesn’t make me forget how you made me feel.”

He flinched but didn’t argue. “I know,” he admitted. “I just… I don’t know how to make this right.”

“Then why are you here?” you asked, your voice trembling. “To say what? That it wasn’t what it looked like? That you didn’t mean to make me feel like I was nothing?”

“Utahime and I…” He trailed off, his words catching in his throat. “She’s someone who understands parts of my life I don’t know how to explain. She’s familiar. She’s… safe.”

“Safe?” you repeated, your voice breaking. “And what am I, Satoru? A risk?”

“No,” he said sharply, his voice cracking. “You’re everything. That’s the problem. You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle. You make me feel vulnerable. And I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I…” He buried his face in his hands. “So I screwed it all up.”

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sight of the man who always seemed untouchable now crumbling before you.

“You could face the worst curses in the world without flinching,” you said softly. “But this us was too much for you?”

He looked up at you, his eyes raw and unguarded. “I know it sounds pathetic, but yes. You terrify me, because I don’t know how to protect this. How to protect you. I thought I could keep everything under control, but I couldn’t. I failed you, and I hate myself for it.”

You felt tears stinging your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You’re right. You did fail me. And I don’t know if I can forgive that.”

Satoru’s shoulders sagged, his head hanging low. “I don’t blame you if you can’t. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you if you let me.”

You stood, your legs unsteady beneath you. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, but the pain in your chest was still too fresh.

“I need time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I need to figure out if this is something I can survive.”

He watched as you turned to leave, his heart shattering with every step you took.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, could save countless lives, could win every battle thrown his way. But as he sat there, alone on that bench, he realized that this was one fight he couldn’t win. Not with his strength, not with his power.

And for the first time in his life, he wondered if being the strongest meant nothing at all.

@anonnieghost @a-s-illustrations @kawaiithingtraveler

FOLLOW FOR TAG!

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 10

Pairings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Angst, stupidity, annoyingness lol

A/N: This is the shortest chapter i have lol i also lowkey might add flashbacks into each chapter to add more depth and show more of the before.

The door slams behind you, leaving the apartment in silence, and for a moment, Bucky just stands there, his fists clenched, heart pounding as he processes what just happened. His chest is tight, and he feels the rage and regret building up until it erupts.

With a frustrated yell, he grabs the nearest lamp and hurls it across the room. The shattering glass echoes, cutting through the silence like a knife. Pieces scatter across the floor, a reflection of the chaos inside him.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, his voice cracking as he rakes his hands through his hair, pacing in circles like a caged animal. His breaths come fast and shallow, his mind racing through the night, every word exchanged like a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

For a few seconds, he just stands there, staring at the broken lamp, his hands trembling. But the stillness is unbearable. He bolts for the door, flinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, shouting your name, his voice raw and desperate. He runs outside looking up and down the sidewalk “ Come on, don’t do this—please!”

But his voice is swallowed by the noise of a New York City Saturday night—distant laughter, honking horns, the steady hum of life moving on without him. He looks up and down the street, hoping, praying for even a glimpse of you, but you’re gone.

His pulse quickens, panic clawing its way into his chest. He rushes back inside, snatching his phone off the coffee table. His fingers fumble over the screen as he types out a frantic message.

Where are you? Please come back.

He hits send, but the empty silence that follows feels like a punch to the gut. He types again, his hands shaking as his heart pounds against his ribs.

I’m sorry. Just tell me you’re okay.

The seconds stretch into eternity as he stares at the screen, waiting for something—anything. When nothing comes, he dials your number, his thumb trembling as he presses the call button. He presses the phone to his ear, the ringing tone like a ticking clock in his mind.

Then he hears it: a faint buzzing, too close. His stomach drops as he turns toward the ceramic bowl by the door—the one he’d made for you last year on your birthday. A bowl meant for keys, little mementos… or your phone. He steps toward it slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, and peers inside. His chest tightens when he sees your phone lying there, abandoned.

“Dammit,” he whispers, his voice cracking. His hand hovers over it for a moment before he picks it up, his knuckles white around the edges. You’d left it behind. The weight of it all—the fight, his words, the reality of you walking out like that—hits him like a freight train.

He sinks down onto the floor, clutching your phone in his lap, his head falling into his hands. His breaths come in uneven gasps, and for the first time in years, tears spill freely down his face. He sees it all replaying in his mind: the way your face crumpled as you turned away, the sound of the door slamming behind you, the silence that followed.

Go. I don’t want you here.

The words ring in his ears, echoing with all the venom and finality he hadn’t meant but couldn’t take back. They were born out of fear and frustration, but now they feel like the truth—like he’s pushed you away for good.

After a moment, he wipes at his face, sniffs, and forces himself to his feet. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

He throws on his coat and rushes out the door, his mind racing as he retraces all the places you might have gone. First, the bar down the street—the one you’ve spent countless nights in, laughing over drinks, sharing secrets you wouldn’t tell anyone else. But it’s packed, unfamiliar faces filling the space where you should be.

Next, the café where you always get your Sunday morning coffee. The lights are dimmed, chairs stacked on tables. Closed. His heart sinks, but he presses on.

The bookstore is next. The one with late hours, where you could spend hours flipping through old paperbacks and laughing at obscure poetry collections. But it’s empty too, the familiar warmth of the shop now a cold reminder of how lost you are.

Finally, he heads to the park. The park where you’d spent so many nights sitting on the old wooden benches, talking under the stars. It’s quiet here, the hum of the city fading into the background. He sits down on one of those benches, his head falling into his hands as his shoulders shake.

He’s failed you. He’s failed himself. The weight of everything he’s been holding back—the fear, the love, the guilt—crashes down all at once. Silent tears stream down his face as he tilts his head up toward the sky, the stars blurring through his tears.

Then his phone buzzes in his pocket.

He scrambles for it, hope surging in his chest, but when he sees the name, his heart twists painfully.

Steve.

His thumb hovers over the screen before he opens the message.

She’s here. She walked from the apartment without her phone or coat. You let her walk out like that? What the hell were you thinking?

Bucky’s throat tightens, and his fingers curl around the phone. His vision blurs as he reads the words over and over, Steve’s anger matching his own self-loathing. He types out a response, but his fingers falter, and he deletes it. What could he say? There was no excuse for what he’d done.

Instead, he slips the phone back into his pocket and leans forward, burying his face in his hands. The ache in his chest deepens, and for the first time, he lets himself feel the full weight of what he’s lost.

He stares up at the sky again, the stars offering no comfort, only the cold realization that he might have pushed you away for good.

And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever get you back. But he never really had you in the first place.

As you step out of the shower, the quiet hum of voices drifts down the hall. Curiosity—and a bit of anxiety—tugs at you as you wrap yourself in a towel and press your ear to the bathroom door. Relief washes over you when you recognize Natasha and Wanda’s voices mixed with Sam and Steve’s, and you close your eyes, exhaling slowly. They’re here; you’re not alone.

Gathering yourself, you open the door and step into the living room, where Natasha is pacing, visibly agitated, while Wanda sits on the couch, her face full of concern. Sam and Steve stand nearby, leaning against the counter, both looking serious. When they see you, the conversation pauses, and Natasha stops mid-rant.

“Hey, there you are,” Wanda says softly, standing up to meet you. “Are you feeling any better?”

You offer a small smile. “Yeah, thanks. Just… processing, I guess.”

Wanda nods, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you. Whatever you need.”

Natasha, however, looks ready to explode. She crosses her arms, her eyes flashing with anger. “It is not okay,” she says firmly. “You don’t just let your so-called best friend walk out alone at night, without so much as a phone or coat.”

You shrug, avoiding everyone’s eyes as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe… maybe we were never really friends. Maybe it was just the convenience of it all, you know?”

Wanda’s eyes widen slightly as she squeezes your shoulder, her voice soft. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t answer because you know thats just bullshit, but thinking that hurts less, you sigh running a hand through your wet hair, glancing down as the hurt lingers in your chest. The silence stretches for a moment before Natasha breaks it, her tone gentler now.

“So… how was your date with Dean?” she asks, a note of curiosity softening her expression.

A sad smile tugs at your lips. “It was… everything a girl could dream of. He was respectful, charming… and he actually listened to me.” You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “It was perfect.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, looking hopeful. “So… are you going to go on another one with him?”

You hesitate, glancing in Steve’s direction for a brief second before looking back at Natasha. “Yeah… I think so.”

Sam shifts, clearing his throat, a hesitant look on his face. “So, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but… you and Bucky still live together. What’s the plan?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and for a moment, the weight of it all settles heavily. You swallow, looking down, and shrug. “I don’t know,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t just… keep going back to the way things were. But I don’t know what comes next either. He’s Bucky yknow?”

Steve watches you, his face soft and understanding, and he offers a reassuring nod. You take a deep breath and settle onto the couch, feeling the weight of everyone’s concerned gazes. After a pause, you look around, your voice soft but firm. “Look, you guys can’t just be here for me. You’ve gotta be there for Bucky, too.”

Natasha scoffs, crossing her arms and shooting you a look. “As if! He’s the one who let you walk out in the middle of the night!....In New York!!! You’re too good of a friend if you’re even thinking about him right now.”

You give her a sad smile, shrugging slightly. “It’s… not about that, even if it was i wouldn’t of let him stop me, i made the decision to leave, i-i could have went to my room and --”

Natasha throws her arms up “Really? Are you kidding me? I love you babe but you’ve been defending him your whole life, he needs to take fault!”

You shake your head, your voice slight rasing “Its not that simple Nat and you know it” You hear her grumble before continuing “He’s going through something too. We’re all friends for a reason, right? We don’t get to just pick sides.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, groaning. “You’re way too good of a friend. Honestly, you’re killing me here.”

You manage a weak chuckle, but before you can respond, you hear Sam moving toward the door. He grabs his keys and his phone, his expression resolute.

Steve raises an eyebrow, looking over at him. “Where are you going?”

Sam glances back, determination in his gaze. “You heard the woman,” he says, nodding toward you. “I’m gonna go be a friend to one of my best friends.”

A surge of gratitude rises in you, and you give him a small, sincere smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you, and his voice holds a quiet warmth. “What are friends for?”

1 month ago

The air was crisp, filled with the mingling scents of freshly baked bread, blooming flowers, and sizzling street food. The bustling energy of the farmer’s market buzzed around you as you strolled through the vibrant stalls. Your arm was linked with Bucky’s, the two of you laughing as you navigated through the crowd, the warm Sunday morning sun casting a golden glow over everything.

Natasha and Wanda were a few stalls back, rifling through retro furniture pieces and vinyl records for their new apartment. Sam was predictably at a food truck, enthusiastically sampling every free bite they offered.

“You know where we’re headed,” you said with a grin, gently tugging Bucky toward the familiar book stall at the far end of the market.

He chuckled, squeezing your arm lightly. “Obviously. Can’t leave without finding something we don’t have space for on our shelves.”

You both were English majors, and literature had always been your shared sanctuary. The book stall was a small haven of dog-eared novels, rare editions, and hidden gems that called to you like an old friend.

But as you approached, Bucky suddenly stopped in his tracks. His grip on your arm loosened, and his head turned sharply, his expression shifting. “Kate?” he said, more to himself than to you.

Before you could even process it, his arm slipped out of yours, and he was weaving through the crowd, heading toward a figure you hadn’t noticed until now. A brunette. He didn’t say another word, leaving you standing there, your heart sinking as his back disappeared into the sea of people.

You blinked, dumbfounded. “Okay… what just happened?”

“Hey,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned to see Steve approaching, a paper bag of pastries in hand. His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced around. “Where’d Bucky go?”

You shrugged, trying to keep your voice light. “He saw someone he knew. An old friend, I guess.”

Steve nodded slowly, his concern softening into curiosity. “Did you two make it to the books yet?”

You forced a small smile. “No, not yet. We were about to.”

Steve tilted his head, offering his arm with a warm smile. “Well, do you want to look somewhere else while we wait for him to come back?”

Your heart ached a little, but his kindness made it easier. “Sure,” you said, linking your arm with his. Steve always had a way of making things feel okay, even when they weren’t.

He led you toward the next section of the market, where stalls displayed vintage jewellery, scarves, and other unique trinkets. As you browsed, your eyes caught on something that made you gasp softly—a locket, its delicate gold surface glinting in the sunlight. It looked almost identical to the one you’d lost at some stupid college party that led to a panic attack, it had been so precious to you because it was a family heirloom passed down multiple generations that you of all people lost. It hit you hard.

You picked it up carefully, running your thumb over its intricate design. It was beautiful, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pang of nostalgia, of longing. But when you flipped it over, searching for a price tag, you found none. You sighed quietly, already knowing what that meant. You’d only set aside money for books today—not for a locket, no matter how much it tugged at your heart.

Reluctantly, you set it back down, giving it one last wistful glance before turning back to Steve. He’d been watching you, his expression soft, but before he could say anything, Bucky reappeared, his usual grin plastered on his face.

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said, running a hand through his hair. “I saw someone from college.”

You raised an eyebrow, forcing your smile to stay in place. “Oh?”

“Yeah, remember that girl I had the project with in our last year? Kate. That was her,” he said, nodding toward where she’d vanished into the crowd. “Haven’t seen her since graduation. Got her number, though!”

“Cool,” you said, your voice light but not quite steady. Your chest ached, but you buried it quickly. Even the farmer’s market wasn’t safe from heartbreak, it seemed.

Bucky held out his arm again, his smile as warm as ever. “Shall we?”

You nodded, linking your arm with his once more. “Sure,” you said, glancing over at Steve. “You coming with?”

Steve shook his head, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’m gonna check out one more stand. Meet you guys at the benches for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said, steering you back into the crowd. “Don’t take too long, Rogers. Sam’s probably already ordered for everyone.”

Steve waved you off, waiting until you and Bucky were out of sight. Then, he turned back to the vendor, his gaze settling on the locket you’d been admiring.

“I’ll take that locket, please,” Steve said quietly, pulling out his wallet.

[sturnsblogs]

THE OTHER WOMAN

Matt!Sturniolo X Wife!Reader

Word count- 831.

Warnings- Angst. Cheating.

The walls in the house still held the echoes of laughter, but it was hollow now. You sat at the dining table, tracing the rim of your cold coffee cup, watching the man across from you as if he was a stranger. In a way, he was. You used to know him like the lines on your palm, used to read the little quirks in his smile, the tilt of his head when he told you he loved you.

But that was before.

Now, the man who sat across from you only smiled when little feet came running into the room. Only laughed when your daughter’s voice filled the air. And when she wasn’t looking, his face would fall back into that same distant, empty gaze.

Matt wasn’t yours anymore. Maybe he never really was.

You told yourself you were happy. Or at least you tried to be. You told yourself you had everything. A husband. A daughter. A life people envied from the outside.

He kissed your forehead in the mornings, held your hand at soccer games, laughed at your jokes during family dinners. He played the part well. For Miley. For the world. But when the doors closed, and your daughter was tucked safely in bed, the silence between you two screamed louder than any fight ever could.

You knew about the other woman.

She was everything you weren’t. Effortless. Graceful. She didn’t have tired eyes from staying up all night with a sick kid. She didn’t smell like leftover spaghetti from Miley’s favorite dinner. She smelled like luxury and freedom, like the kind of woman men left their wives for.

Sometimes, when you were feeling particularly cruel to yourself, you imagined her with perfectly manicured nails, red, always red. You imagined Matt brushing the hair from her face, whispering things to her in the dark that he hadn’t whispered to you in years.

You liked to tell yourself that maybe, just maybe, she was the other woman. That Matt loved you more than her. But you knew deep down—that was the lie you told to survive.

You were the other woman.

The shadow in his life he couldn’t quite erase because of one little girl who still saw her parents as a perfect love story.

It wasn’t love anymore. It was a truce. A silent agreement stitched together by bedtime stories and birthday parties.

You could still remember the night you both decided it. It was burned into your memory, every word, every breath, every tear.

It was a Tuesday.

Miley was already asleep. You sat on the couch, knees to your chest, the TV flickering something meaningless neither of you were watching. Matt came in late. Smelling like her. You knew the scent by now. You didn’t even flinch.

He sat down next to you, leaving space, too much space.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered into the quiet.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t deny it. That hurt worse than any shouting match.

You looked at him, and for the first time, you both let the truth suffocate the air between you.

“She deserves better,” he finally said, his voice cracked and empty.

Your throat tightened. “She deserves a family.”

“And if we leave, she loses that.”

You bit your lip until it bled. “So what, we stay? Pretend?”

His eyes were rimmed with guilt. “Yes.”

You laughed bitterly, tears streaming down your face. “You love her, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

But was an answer.

You broke. Completely. Ugly sobs tearing through you like wildfire. You didn’t even try to hold it in. And he just sat there, letting you fall apart, like he always did now.

But then, through the suffocating pain, you both looked down the hallway, to the little room with the nightlight still glowing.

For her.

It was always for her.

“Promise me,” you whispered through the tears. “You’ll fake it. You’ll hold my hand, you’ll tuck her in, you’ll tell her we’re okay. You’ll be my husband… even if you aren’t.”

His jaw clenched. His voice was tight. “For her… I will.”

And that was it.

An agreement between two ghosts.

Now, months later, you lived in that agreement.

You smiled in photos, you held his hand at parent-teacher conferences, you sat on his lap on Christmas morning while Miley giggled in front of the tree. But at night… you cried yourself to sleep, his back turned to you, the warmth in your bed long gone.

You hated her. You hated the woman who took him. But most of all… you hated yourself for still loving him.

For still hoping.

For still waiting for a man who was never coming back.

And every day you stared at the perfect little family portrait on the wall, you reminded yourself—you were the other woman.

And this wasn’t a love story.

It was a prison.

And you locked yourself inside of it.

For her.

Always for her.

You will always be the other woman.

A/N- This made me cry.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

my dear! I'm your fan, I love your writing. Thank you for taking us out of our reality and allowing us to enter a world of our own! Could I make a request for a crazy idea I had? An anguished Y/N and Chan fight and he tells her to leave and leave him alone. When Y/N leaves in a daze he doesn't see the car and is run over. In the end I trust you. =) If it doesn't bother you and you can fulfill my request, I would be very happy!

Can we turn back time?

Warnings: blood, tragic, angst, accident.

Summary: ^^ Requested

A/N: hey baby :) not the best :/ butttt I hope you like it. Sorry for any grammar mistakes.

**

Her heart was beating at a fast pace. Why was he not understanding what she was trying to say?

“You always come home late Chan! I thought I could have this one night. This one night to ourselves but you chose to go drinking instead?!” She poured her heart out as she stared at her idol boyfriend.

“Please Y/n now now okay? I get you wanna talk but can I please just go to bed? We can talk about it tomorrow,” he pleaded as he put down his black leather jacket on the couch.

His curls sat neatly on his head and his black shirt fitting him perfectly and his jeans neatly ironed.

“Chan it feels like you don’t love me anymore!”

“Well maybe I don’t, okay?!” He got up and yelled. His anger was now full on visible as he aggressively slammed his hands on the table.

She stood there looking at him shocked. Tears pricking through her eyes. What was this mess?

His eyes softened as looked her scared figure. “I- I didn’t mean too,”

“Save it Chan.” She sobbed. Her hand was fiddling with her promise ring that Chan has gifted her on their 2 year anniversary. It was the most beautiful ring that she has laid her eyes on but as time went on she realized it was just a ring it was a stress reliever because anytime she was sad, frustrated, mad or confused she would play with the ring on her finger.

“Why can’t you see the things you keep doing hurt me Chan?” She sobbed and looked up at him. Praying that somehow she can find answers.

“I-“ he took a deep breathe trying to keep his own tears in, “I’m failing okay? Can you just leave me alone? Please?” He took a shaky breath before taking a step back and grabbing his jacket.

“Am I a burden now?” Her chest tightened. Chan couldn’t look at her. He had no courage, no strength.

“I’m going upstairs,” he simply said and walked past her.

She wanted to stop him, beg him to hold her, beg him to be there for her but the pain in her chest told her otherwise. She looked so silly, like a kicked puppy.

She wiped her tears and walked over to grab her shoes before leaving her house totally forgetting her phone and keys.

**

It was dark and cold. The sun had officially set and people were either out having dinner or rushing home from work.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel bad as she watched the couples sitting outside restaurants talking and laughing.

She felt empty, she felt deceived. Chan was the perfect boyfriend. He made sure of it but when they started becoming a hit he started slowly pushing her to the side leaving her at home and going out to drink and party or he would be locked up in the studio trying to make new songs.

She was lost without him. She had created her whole routine off of him and now she would wakeup every morning feelings lost not knowing what to do.

Her mind was runnning so fast that she couldn’t keep up. The tears in her eyes were were blurring her vision as she took quick steps to the park.

It wasn’t far. That was always her safe space. Everytime she would get overwhelmed or exhausted she would run away and hide behind the big old oak tree down by the river next to the park.

It was a little foggy, she couldn’t see anything but Chan’s loud voice kept playing in her head until she heard a loud screech. She looked to the side but it was too late. A painful scream left her body as she watched the car crash into her body.

She didn’t feel pain all she could hear was a ringing sound then a few sirens before everything went quiet.

**

“199 what is your emergency?”

“I-I crashed into someone, help! Please! I don’t know what to do-“

“Okay sir is she breathing? I need you to calm down and tell me what happened,”

“Y-yes she’s still breathing, I- I was driving and she just stepped infront of the car, I don’t know! It wasn’t my fault,” he sobbed as panic was filling his chest.

He looked down at the frail body, blood was everywhere and yet he still didn’t pass out. He tried to put pressure on the area that was bleeding the most but it wasn’t working. Blood was still gushing out of her.

She looked familiar tho, he thought.

“Sir, I’ve sent an ambulance. I just need you to keep breathing and tell me if she stops breathing. Keep your hand on the wound,” the dispatcher kept telling him over and over again.

“Oh God this is a lot of blood. Please God, please don’t let her die,” he whispered as he looked up at the car that was parked by them.

It felt like hours until he felt like who could breathe. He heard the sirens. They were here. The paramedics were finally here.

**

“C’mon Y/n please pick up,” Chan cursed at himself as he walked back and forth in the living room.

He was now in sweatpants and a hoodie. His hair wet from the shower.

When he had come downstairs he saw no sight of Y/n and at first he thought that maybe she had gone for a breather so he decided to do some work knowing that she wouldn’t pick up his phone even if he had tried to call so he just chose to distract himself.

He felt guilty for the fight they had. It was chewing him alive but he knew it was his fault and he needed to make it up. As time kept passing by; 30 minutes turned into 2 hours.

He started to feel uneasy so he decided to try her phone but she wasn’t picking. He called all the boys at the dorm asking if she was with them but they said they hadn’t seen her then he called her bestfriend and she too hadn’t seen her. That’s when the panic started to set in.

He called her phone over and over again while making sure to text her too. He rushed upstairs to grab his crocs and that’s when he saw her phone on the night stand table.

“Shit, Y/n,” he groaned and rubbed his eyes before grabbing his car keys.

He put on his crocs and rundown the stairs and that’s when he got a call from his manager.

“What is it Soon-hoo, I can’t really-“

“Chan we need to get to the hospital now,” he said in a panic. Chan’s blood went cold as he could hear shuffling in the background.

“W-what is it? What happened?!” He managed to say.

“It’s Y/n Chan,” Chan’s senses came to a hold. Everyhting around him felt like it was moving in slow motion, “she got run over Chan, I’m coming to pick you up,” their manager said as he started the car.

All Chan could hear was a ringing sound as he stared at the blank floor. Tears running down his cheeks as his heart was beating faster.

______

Don’t forget to reblog😋

[eeerrrrewsd]

Fractured Wings

It started with silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

Not the kind where two people could exist in the same space, wrapped in quiet understanding.

No—this was the kind of silence that ached.

The kind that stretched too long, too sharp, filled with unsaid words and buried hurt.

And it was killing you.

“Are you coming home tonight?”

Your voice was quiet, careful. You already knew the answer, but you asked anyway. Because that’s what you did now—you asked questions that you didn’t want the answers to.

Dick didn’t look up from lacing his boots. His shoulders were tense, his movements stiff, like even the act of tying knots was too much.

“Not tonight.”

A beat of silence.

Of course not.

He hadn’t been home in three days.

“Right,” you murmured, pretending that didn’t feel like a knife in your chest. “Patrol’s important.”

Something flickered across his face at that. He was good at hiding it, but you knew him. You knew him better than anyone. And yet—

Lately, it felt like he was becoming someone you didn’t recognize.

Someone distant. Someone distracted.

Someone slipping through your fingers like sand.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, reaching for his jacket. His voice was calm, unreadable. Like this was just another night. Like you hadn’t been fighting back tears for weeks.

And you should have let him go.

You should have let him leave.

But instead—

Instead, you whispered, “Dick… are you ever going to talk to me?”

That made him pause.

For a second, just a second, you saw the hesitation in the way his fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. But he didn’t turn around.

Didn’t face you.

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

That was the thing, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want him to say anything.

You wanted him to see you.

To see the way this was breaking you. To see the way his absence was eating away at whatever was left of the person you used to be.

You took a step forward. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Dick. I just—I need you to let me in.”

Finally, finally, he turned to look at you.

And it hurt.

Because the man standing in front of you wasn’t the same one who used to pull you into his arms after long nights, whispering soft reassurances in your ear.

He looked exhausted.

Not just physically, but something deeper.

Something hollow.

And he was trying.

God, you could see it in the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something real. Something true.

But then—

Then he closed his mouth.

Then he looked away.

And when he spoke—

“I have to go.”

—he shattered you.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks into months.

And then one night—

You heard the window creak open.

You were sitting in the dim light of the living room, half-empty coffee cup in your hands, when he landed softly on the floor.

His suit was torn in places, mask hanging loosely around his neck. He looked—

Wrecked.

But you didn’t move.

Didn’t run to him. Didn’t ask if he was okay.

Because you weren’t sure you cared anymore.

Or maybe—maybe you did.

Maybe that was the worst part.

You exhaled, voice steady. “Why are you here, Dick?”

He flinched.

Not at your words, but at your tone. At the weight behind them.

Like he felt it now.

Like he was finally realizing what he’d done.

“I…” He swallowed hard, stepping closer. “I messed up.”

No shit.

But you just stared at him, waiting.

“I thought—” His voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding into every movement. “I thought if I kept my distance, if I didn’t bring you into it, I’d be protecting you.”

A humorless laugh left your lips. “Protecting me?”

“Yeah.” His voice was so desperate now, so full of something raw that it almost made you want to reach for him. Almost. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” You stood then, your own anger finally bubbling up, months of pain spilling out all at once. “Like someone who shuts down every time things get hard? Like someone who pushes away the people who love him?”

He exhaled sharply, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I didn’t—”

“You did.” Your voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. “You did, Dick. And the worst part? You didn’t even notice.”

His breath hitched.

Because that was the truth, wasn’t it?

He had been so wrapped up in his own demons that he hadn’t seen how they were swallowing you, too.

Hadn’t seen how you were drowning right beside him.

He stepped forward, hesitant. “I don’t want to lose you.”

And God—

God, that was the one thing you had wanted to hear for so long.

But now?

Now you weren’t sure it was enough.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Then why did you let me go?”

Dick sucked in a sharp breath, pain flashing across his face like a storm. “I don’t know.” His fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he had the right anymore. “But I know I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

You swallowed, throat tight.

There was a time when you would have melted at those words.

Would have thrown yourself into his arms without hesitation.

But now—

Now, you weren’t sure if he meant them.

If he meant you.

“I can’t be the only one fighting for this, Dick.” Your voice was quiet, but firm. “Not anymore.”

His blue eyes were wide, searching. “You’re not.”

You wanted to believe him.

God, you wanted to.

But the wounds were still fresh, still bleeding. And trust? Trust wasn’t something you could rebuild in a single night.

So you exhaled shakily, turning toward the door.

“Then prove it.”

And with that—

You walked away.

For the first time—

You made him chase you.

[amara-scott]

Imagine... ...Mattheo promising to protect you by erasing every memory of you from his own mind so Voldemort won’t use you against him. When you approach him the next day, his eyes are empty, cold—he has no idea who you are, and he walks away without a second glance.

The tears streaming down your cold cheeks feel like fire burning your skin. Your vision almost too blurry to focus on his pained expression. “You can’t just erase everything we are, Mattheo. You’re asking me to lose you.”

You can tell he holds back a groan, growing more frustrated, more desperate. “And I’m asking myself to lose you, too. Do you think this is easy for me? Every second I remember you, he’s closer to finding out. To finding you.”

Finding you. Mattheo always promised to protect you, not let his dark heritage get the better of your relationship. “Then let me fight this with you. We’re stronger together, we always have been.” You try taking his hands, warm against your cold fingers. He hesitates, eyes fixed on the space between you, carefully taking a step closer.

“Not this time, (Y/N).” His voice breaks slightly, “the Dark Lord knows I’d do anything to keep you safe—and he’s going to use that. He’s going to rip us apart if I don’t do this now.”

You know in that moment that he has made up his mind a long time ago. The storm brewing in his mind calming down and a clear vision left behind. A vision you would never be prepared to face. Never wanted to face.

“So you’re just going to walk away, forget me like I was nothing?” The words leaving your quivering lips were harsh. You knew that. Mattheo's piercing eyes find yours as he steps back, pulling his hands away from you.

“Don’t you get it? You’re not ‘nothing,’ (Y/N), you’re–” he cuts off, looking up to find the right words, eyes glossy as he catches my eyes again, “You’re my everything. And if that means you’ll be safe, I’ll let myself be nothing to you.”

"And what about me? What do I do when you’re gone?” You feel the next wave of nausea hit you at the thought of not having the chance to pull him into your embrace again. Not having the opportunity to turn to him with your thoughts. Not seeing that smirk of his every time you playfully fight with him over mindless stuff, knowing he is right.

“You live. You live a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder. You find happiness, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll forget me too.”

[stevesgother]

Can you write some Steve angst please and thank you 🙏🏽 🙏🏽🙏🏽

Pairing - Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

WC - 869

Warnings - hurt/no comfort, ANGST, arguing, depictions of a breakup, Steve not knowing how to cope apparently, cursing,

this one is heavily inspired by ‘merry christmas, please don’t call’ by bleachers, a little shorter because i think i’m forgetting how to write angst?? This is y’alls fault for making me write so much cute fluff all the time

Maybe it was the lack of a healthy depiction of love in his childhood. Maybe it was the fact that his first and only relationship before you were tumultuous. Whatever the case, Steve Harrington couldn’t seem to get a grasp on how to love; how to be loved.

It wasn’t, however, for a lack of trying. Steve loved you– more than he loved Nancy, more than he loved himself, more than he’s ever loved anyone. Maybe that was the problem.

That’s how he ended up spending his first Christmas in two years alone on his couch in four-day old clothes with unwashed hair, drowning in a hell of his own creation. About three miles in the opposite direction, on the other side of town, you were doing not unlike him. In your shared bedroom– a space that once brought you tranquility and peace, surrounded by the remnants of the person you loved– you lay under copious layers of blankets and quilts where you had remained for a little under a week. Soaking your cotton pillowcase with salty tears.

–

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this, I mean if I– if I did something or– or there's someone else that’s fine but please, would you just tell me?” You plead, eyes watery, to a stone-faced Steve. You can’t understand, after everything, where this is all coming from.

“I just feel like this is the best decision for us right now,” he whispers, running a hand through limp hair– exasperated from telling you this exact thing for the fourth time in the last hour.

“Why, Steve?” You push.

That’s what finally breaks his resolve. He had tried to let you down slowly– to lay your heart on the ground with gentle hands that wouldn’t shatter it to pieces– but he didn’t know if he could stand to look at your face twisted with such sorrow anymore. Being stabbed would’ve felt easier.

“Because! All we do is fight! And I know it’s my fault, I know you deserve better. I’m– Christ– I’m doing this for you!” His hands tremble when they gesture at you.

“Bullshit, Steve! If you were doing this for me then you would stay and fight for us. You don’t give a fuck about how I feel– don’t I get to have some sort of say in this?!”

He shoots you a warning glance, “Don’t.”

Without another word or a single thing packed, Steve grabbed his keys from the top of the dresser and slammed the door behind him. There was no attempt to beg for him to stay– you knew hours ago that he wouldn’t. With your back against the wall, you sank slowly to your knees, sobbing into your hands.

That night and every night since, you lied in bed alone. The space where Steve used to be, cold and barren. You reach for him in the space between consciousness and sleep, always expecting him to be there– solid and warm– like he had been every night for the last two years.

–

Now four o’clock, your parents had brought you your gifts earlier in the morning. They sat stationary under the unlit tree you and Steve had decorated together, mere days before he tore your relationship apart. Leaving the safety of your bedroom felt like a death by a thousand cuts– there wasn’t an inch of space in your apartment that didn’t remind you of him.

Your gaze landed on the neatly wrapped box in the corner of your shared closet. Images of Steve– alone in his big, empty childhood home– conjured in your mind and left a sour taste in your mouth.

Despite the weather being below freezing, you didn’t bother letting your car run before closing yourself inside and throwing it in reverse. The gift sat beside you in the passenger seat like a chunk of lead the entire trek to Steve's house– heavy with things unsaid and loose ends.

His car was sitting idly in the driveway when you arrived, as you expected it would be. As quietly as possible, not even bothering to close the driver’s side door behind you, you approached his front door and set the gift down on the stone porch.

Standing in front of his fridge, staring blankly at the contents inside and trying to will himself to be able to stomach any of it, he hears the unmistakable sound of his doorbell ringing. His first thought is that it’s Robin, or one of the kids– but then unsure of how they would’ve gotten here. He trudges to the French doors, in no hurry to see who’s on the other side of them.

But when he opens the door, all that awaits is a small, festive box with a bow and a note placed carefully on top.

Steve recognizes the elegant stroke of your cursive handwriting immediately, and it hits him like a ton of bricks to the sternum.

‘Merry Christmas, please don’t call.’

divider credit @cafekitsune

[coffeeaddictbluebird]

Limbo - Charles Leclerc

Summary: Charles invites her to dinner, and she doesn't know how to feel about it. WC: 0.8K Warning: None. Genre: Angst?

She entered the quaint restaurant that Charles had chosen for the evening. It did not go unnoticed that it was an Indian establishment—her favourite cuisine. She was beginning to regret this decision; it was starting to hurt her heart already. Her tired eyes scanned the mostly empty venue. He was sitting in a corner, facing the door, quietly perusing the menu as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. He looked up just as she caught sight of him, as if he was subconsciously aware of her presence. He nodded at her— acknowledging her presence just enough. Nothing more, nothing less.

He didn’t even get up to greet her. She was vexed that it bothered her; even a little. She quickly crossed the small space and sat across from him. She glanced at the menu, as she waited for him to speak. Two could play this game. She asked the server for a simple chicken curry and rice, and a light frown appeared on her face for less than a second upon hearing his order—a decaf latte. Even more pins pricking her heart as she realised she had lost the right to comment on his choice for dinner. She sat there, staring out at the street and mulling over the fact that he could converse with the server, but not with her. What had happened to them?

They were here because he told her he had something to say. Minutes passed in silence. The server returned with their orders, and she began eating. The fact that the silence was still slightly comfortable between them, even after all this time, vexed her. She was content just eating in his presence. The memory of the last time she felt this kind of peace was just out of reach. She cursed her heart, realising that she did not even possess it. It was with him, tucked away somewhere, albeit securely. More pinpricks. That seemed to be the running theme of this meet.

She quickly finished her meal, still without a single word from Charles. She was trying not to shy away from the fact that he was observing her. His gaze scrutinised every bite, every sip of her buttermilk. The server cleared away their table, placing a bowl of lemon water for her. She glared at him as he picked up the bill, but said nothing. This whole ordeal had left her feeling like a fool for being here. She thought she might receive answers to at least some of the questions that have been keeping her up at night. 

She gathered her things. “Say what you need to say, or I’m leaving. I don’t have time for this.”

“I have nothing to say,” he replied, his calm exterior unchanged. She frowned.

“Then why did you invite me to dinner?” She was entirely frustrated now. This did not make sense.

“Because you haven’t been eating properly. You’ve lost weight.” He averted his eyes. She wished she had had some kind of warning for that response.

“I’m confused, Charles.” He frowned at that. He did not remember the last time she had called him that. “What are we? Are we broken up, or did we fight?” He noticed how her nostrils flared. He would never not find it cute. “What are we? Are we going to break up, are we still fighting, or did we break up? He flinched.

“I’m still in the process of getting over you,” was the only answer he could give. That was the only answer he had. He didn’t know why either.

“So you are still doing it.” A single tear rolled down her eye, her throat closing up as she tried to control herself from breaking down in front of him. The scene was a bitter reminder that sent him back to that cruel night.

“Please let me give up.” Why was he pleading? Maybe because she still held all the strings.

“Next time, instead of feeding me, answer me. Tell me whether we are breaking up.” She swiped harshly at her eyes.

With that, she stood up and left. He slumped down in his chair, staring at the door and hoping for it to open again. Waiting for her to come back, climb into his lap, and tell him it was all a stupid fight. And that they were okay.

His phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, not knowing why he was expecting her to text him after this fiasco. All he found was a credit in his bank account, roughly equivalent to her share of the meal. It felt like a knife piercing through his heart. She had never paid him back. Not after their second date. She always reciprocated by doing something for him, buying him things, or paying the next time they went out. A grave realisation dawned upon him. Opening the banking app on his phone, he quickly picked up his keys and ran out.

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading my work. Please like, reblog and follow for more content. Let me know if you want a part two. This fic was inspired by a scene in a K-Drama called Descendants of the Sun. The side couple in the drama have a similar conversation, but the setting and the plot is something totally different from the actual drama.

Chapter 2

[panerasbox]

—I CAN SEE YOU; 30 Days To Go

Pairing: melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, eventual fluff, workplace romance.

warnings: jealousy? that’s really all I can think of.

Word count: 1,041.

summary: Hurt by Melissa's confusing behavior, Y/n confronts her in an empty classroom. This sparks an intense emotional exchange where pent-up frustrations and hidden feelings finally come to the surface, significantly shifting their dynamic and opening the door for something more between them.

30 DAYS OF MELISSA SCHEMMENTI MASTERLIST

"It's like you don't even see me," you choked out, the words thick with tears you refused to let fall. "I'm right here, Mel, and it feels like I'm invisible!" The familiar sting started behind your eyes.

Melissa’s smirk vanished, her expression hardening. "Oh, I don't see you?" she repeated, her voice dropping low, that unmistakable South Philly edge sharpening her words. "How could I not see you? You're practically attached to my hip twenty-four seven." The sarcasm was biting, hot with an irritation that seemed to flare up from nowhere. You saw the regret flash in her eyes the second the words left her mouth, but the sting was already there. "Y/n..." She reached out a hesitant hand, but you pulled back like you'd been burned.

"You won't have to worry about that anymore," you whispered, the tremor in your voice finally letting a few tears escape, tracing hot lines down your cheeks. You turned, fumbling for your bag on the back of a small chair. Before you could even take a step, Melissa moved, quick as ever, closing the space between you and grabbing your wrist. Her grip wasn't rough, but it was firm, stopping you cold.

"And where the hell d'you think you're goin'?" she demanded, chin jutting out in that stubborn way she had.

You sighed, letting your head drop. The fight suddenly fizzled out, leaving only exhaustion. "Mel," you pleaded softly. "I can't keep doing this."

Her eyes widened just a fraction, a knot tightening low in her gut. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," you started, your voice getting louder despite yourself, echoing a little in the empty classroom, "that ever since I started as your aide four months ago, you've done nothing but mess with my head!"

Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, broken only by the muted sounds of traffic outside. You’d liked her from day one – how could you not? Melissa Schemmenti was a whirlwind: fiery, funny as hell, sharp, and yeah, gorgeous. But she was also stubborn and kept her real feelings locked down tight. The easy way you two got along had quickly turned into something charged, full of flirting from her end that never went anywhere solid. Remember Mark, that perfectly nice guy from the bookstore you were actually excited to go out with? The moment Melissa found out, it was like a switch flipped. Suddenly, every coffee break involved her loudly dissecting his 'questionable taste in sweaters' or making pointed comments about how he seemed 'too agreeable,' whatever that meant. Then you saw her talking to him near the school entrance one afternoon – she wasn't yelling, just standing close, arms crossed, giving him that flat, unimpressed stare she perfected. Mark had texted you later that day, stammering out some weak excuse about being busy. You’d cancelled the date, feeling a confusing mix of annoyance at him and white-hot frustration at Melissa. And honestly, it wasn't just Mark, was it? Thinking back, it was the subtle tension whenever Gregory merely complimented your organized desk, or that time last week when Ava sashayed over while you and Melissa were actually having a normal conversation in the hall. Ava had thrown an arm around your shoulders, leaned in conspiratorially, and announced, "Y/N, you're glowing! Must be my influence. You're way too cute to be stuck talking shop with this one all day. Come help me pick an outfit for my principal's gala photo shoot!" Melissa hadn't said a word then, just gave Ava a look that could freeze lava, before grabbing your elbow and declaring, "We gotta reorganize the entire lost and found, now. C'mon." Little possessive glares, sharp comments disguised as jokes, a pattern of pulling you back into her orbit whenever anyone else got too close. It was thrilling and draining all at once, and you were done.

Melissa scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest like armor. "That's ridiculous," she snapped, shaking her head. "If anyone's been sendin' mixed signals, sweetheart, it's you."

You stared, disbelief making your jaw tight. "Me? Are you serious right now?"

She shifted her weight, her gaze flickering away for just a second before snapping back to yours. "Look," she mumbled, the sound gruff, almost forced. "Yeah, alright? I have feelings for you."

A frustrated sigh puffed out of you. Another breadcrumb. "Mel, I'm not playing games," you said, weariness creeping back in. "Please, just... stop."

"Why don't you ever believe me?" The question exploded out of her, louder this time, frustration finally cracking her usual cool. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. "What do I gotta do, huh? If I told you right now, flat out, that I love you, would you even buy it?"

Your breath caught. The room seemed to tilt, the school noises fading to a dull buzz. Your heart hammered against your ribs like it wanted out. "W-what?" you stammered, the word barely a whisper.

Melissa stepped closer, right into your space, her eyes locked on yours, intense and unwavering. "I said," she repeated, her voice lower now but vibrating with feeling, "you never believe me! So tell me, Y/n. If I told you right here, right now, that I love you... would you finally believe me?"

The air between you practically crackled. Her gaze searched yours, raw vulnerability showing under the tough exterior. This wasn't a joke, wasn't deflection. This felt real, torn from somewhere deep. You swallowed, struggling to find your voice.

"Do you...?" you started, stopped, licked your dry lips. "Do you mean that?"

For a long moment, she just looked at you, the fight seeming to drain away, replaced by something softer, less certain. She gave a small, jerky nod. "Yeah," she said, her voice husky. "Yeah, I do." She blew out a breath, running a hand through her hair. "Look, I'm not... I'm not good at this stuff, Y/n. All the talkin' about... feelings." She made a vague gesture. "Easier to crack a joke, y'know? Push a little." A faint blush crept up her neck. "Maybe I was scared," she admitted, the words quiet but clear in the still classroom.

Understanding softened the hurt inside you. It wasn't cruelty; it was Melissa's brand of self-defense, fueled by a jealousy she couldn't admit. A small, watery smile touched your lips. "You could've just told me," you murmured, reaching out, your fingers brushing her arm. She leaned into the touch, just slightly.

A shadow of her usual smirk flickered, though her eyes were still serious. "Yeah, well, where's the fun in that?" she countered, but there was no heat behind it.

"So," you said softly, stepping a fraction closer, your hand now resting gently on her arm. "What now?"

Melissa met your gaze, her expression clearing, real warmth flooding back into her eyes. "Now?" she echoed, and then her own small, genuine smile bloomed. She closed the tiny space left between you, her free hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Her thumb brushed softly against your skin, right below your eye, where a tear track had been moments before. "Now," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion you rarely heard, "I do this."

And then she leaned in and kissed you. It wasn't hesitant, but it wasn't demanding either. It was soft, firm, full of all the things she couldn't easily say – the frustration, the fear, the affection, the love she'd finally admitted to. It tasted like relief and the peppermint gum you had been chewing. You melted into it, your hands coming up to rest on her waist, pulling her just a little closer.

When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours for a beat, her eyes searching yours. "Okay?" she asked softly.

Relief washed through you, warm and complete. "Yeah," you breathed out, a full smile finally breaking through. "More than okay."

Her smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. "Good." She took your hand, her fingers lacing firmly through yours. It felt different this time – not a restraint, but a connection. "So, dinner? Pizza? My treat. Somethin' that doesn't involve lesson plans?"

"Yeah," you said, squeezing her hand. "I'd like that a lot."

"C'mon," she said, that familiar smirk firmly back in place, but softer now. "Let's get outta here."

And hand-in-hand, you walked out of the classroom, leaving the argument, misunderstandings, and unspoken jealousy behind, stepping towards something real.

[fushizhuo]

Synopsis: You're the youngest member of SKZ and the younger brother of Bang Chan. However, you're sick. And your parents sent you to the US to get treatment. But, they couldn't treat your disease. No matter how hard they tried. So as a final goodbye, you sang a song for your hyungs and your fans.

Genre — Angst.

Warnings — Death

Pairing — M! Reader x SKZ (platonic)

AN note — Transferring my wattpad works over to Tumblr, I made this when I was 12 don't judge 🤞🏻

WC — 4.8k

The arena hums with quiet anticipation, the energy heavy with sadness. Stray Kids are on stage, but the usual vibrant atmosphere is missing. Eight members stand in a row, their faces somber. The space next to them is empty—the place where you always stood.

Chan steps forward, his hands gripping the microphone tightly, his voice trembling as he addresses the crowd. “STAYs, tonight is… different,” he starts, his eyes flicking back to the members, all barely holding back their emotions. “Our member, y/n, couldn’t be with us tonight. But he left us something. A message for all of you.”

The crowd stirs, sensing the gravity of the moment. Then, the massive screen behind the group flickers on, and there you are, sitting in a chair, pale but smiling gently at the camera. You look weaker than ever, but you’re trying to be strong, for them, for the fans.

“Hello, STAYs,” you begin, your voice soft, yet steady. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there tonight with my brothers. The truth is… I’m sick. Really sick.”

The arena falls into a deafening silence. Even though rumors had been swirling for weeks, hearing you confirm it feels like a punch to the gut for everyone present.

“I’ve been fighting this for a while,” you continue, a sad smile tugging at your lips, “but it’s gotten worse. And… I don’t think I’m going to survive this.”

The weight of your words sinks deep into the hearts of the fans, many of whom have already started to cry. The members on stage are barely holding it together. Felix wipes at his eyes, his face twisted in sorrow, tears falling down uncontrollably with I.N comforting him, while Hyunjin clenches his fists, his shoulders trembling.

You pause for a moment, as if gathering the strength to go on. “I’m sorry I couldn’t sing live with you tonight. But I wanted to say goodbye properly, the only way I know how—through a song. This is my final song, and I want to dedicate it to all of you.”

The camera zooms in slightly as you take a deep breath. “STAYs, thank you. You made me braver than I’ve ever been. Every moment on stage, every song, every smile—I did it because of you.”

You look down for a second, composing yourself, before looking back up at the camera, your eyes brimming with tears. “To my hyungs, thank you for taking care of me. You’re my family, and you’ll always be my home.”

With that, you reach for your guitar and start strumming the familiar opening chords of Castle on the Hill. The stadium quiets, listening intently, as your voice fills the arena.

"When I was six years old, I broke my leg,

I was running from my brother and his friends."

The soft, nostalgic melody washes over the crowd, each note filled with bittersweet memories. The camera flashes between you, playing your final song, and old clips of Stray Kids—the early days when you were all just starting out, moments in the dorms, behind-the-scenes laughter.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real."

Your voice trembles slightly, but you keep going, pouring everything you have left into this performance. The members on stage are frozen in place, their eyes locked on the screen as you sing about the good times, about the innocence of youth, and about home.

"When we watched the sunset

Over the castle on the hill…"

The song continues, each lyric hitting harder than the last, and the fans can barely contain their sobs. You sing not just for them, but for your hyungs too, for the family you’re leaving behind.

"One friend left to sell clothes,

One works down by the coast,

One had two kids but lives alone,

One’s brother overdosed,

One’s already on his second wife,

One’s just barely getting by."

As you sing these lines, the camera flashes again to moments from the members’ lives—Chan struggling as a leader, Lee Know dancing through exhaustion, Han and Changbin composing until the early morning, Seungmin’s late-night vocal practices, Hyunjin’s quiet moments of self-reflection, Felix’s smile breaking even through the toughest days.

"But these people raised me,

And I can't wait to go home."

Your voice catches on the word home, and it’s clear that you’re thinking of the members—your brothers who stood by you through it all. The camera shows clips of all eight of you together, laughing, crying, working, living.

"And I'm on my way,

I still remember these old country lanes,

When we did not know the answers."

The music swells, and the arena is filled with your voice, with memories, with everything you’ve been through together. The fans, the members, everyone is united in the sadness of your goodbye.

"And I miss the way

You make me feel,

And it’s real,

When we watched the sunset over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill,

Over the castle on the hill."

As the final chorus fades, the screen cuts back to you. Your guitar falls silent, and you look into the camera one last time, tears filling your eyes but a soft smile still on your lips.

“Thank you, STAYs. You made me feel alive. You made me brave. I love you all so much.”

Your final words are barely above a whisper. “I’ll be home soon.”

The screen goes dark. For a few moments, the arena is completely still. No one moves. No one speaks. It’s as though the world itself is holding its breath, not wanting to acknowledge what just happened.

Then, the sobs start—quiet at first, then louder, until the entire stadium is filled with the sound of heartbreak. The members on stage are in tears, clutching onto each other for support. Chan tries to speak, but no words come out. He steps forward, wiping his face, and finally manages to say, “Thank you, y/n. We love you.”

The concert ends not with an encore, not with cheers, but with the weight of your goodbye hanging in the air. STAYs leave the arena with heavy hearts, each one carrying a piece of you with them, your voice still echoing in their minds, the final notes of Castle on the Hill playing over and over.

You never made it back. But in that final moment, you felt at home.

[moodymisty]

for requests, I'd love to see anything with Horus (if not necessarily the reader) having a good time. sex or not, just he's having fun with whatever is going on.

I'm kind of ridiculously into cnc lol

Author’s note: These requests couldn't go together better, so why not? tbh I really struggled with this one, but i can't really afford to do a total rewrite of it, so i hope this is still ok ;3

part of the 'horus takes lorgar's wife' plotline, but no pregnancy. yet

Relationships: Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader, Implied Lorgar Aurelian/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Dubcon that could also tbh be just full Noncon, Horus interprets A LOT of body language incorrectly

Horus has spent months waiting for this moment.

He’s stayed by your side, offering support as you grieved through Lorgar’s abandonment. He wanted to be there, taking care of your every need while Lorgar danced around with frivolous religions.

Eventually however, your heart began to heal. You started smiling more, calling him Horus instead of Warmaster, or Primarch Lupercal. The first time his name fell from your lips was a joyous occasion, just for him alone. His men didn't understand why the simple gesture made a smile stick to his face for the rest of the evening.

Once you were emotionally healed, Lorgar slipping further from your mind with each passing day, Horus began to try and slip himself into the empty space he left.

You didn't need Lorgar. You never needed Lorgar. He could do everything Lorgar did for you and more, without paltry distractions and his possessive sheltering.

It was gradual- slow, gentle touches and kind words with implications behind them only he knew, waiting for you to welcome him into your heart fully.

The moment finally revealed itself one evening alone, and now he finally had you.

You wore a dress given to you by Lorgar; He can tell by the design and filigree. It doesn’t fit or flatter you properly, the style is all wrong; He will get you clothing that will be perfect.

Laying on his massive sea of a bed beneath him, your body tremors as he slowly lifts the hem of your dress, revealing your knees, then your thighs. The softness of your skin is instantly apparently and his muscles tighten with a yearn to touch.

"You are so nervous, i can smell it. I won't hurt you,"

Horus speaks with a gentle tone, his hand drifting up your thigh softly to reveal your underwear. He knows how much taller he is, how much bigger, the way his shadow consumes you must be unsettling. “All I want is to tend to you the way you deserve.”

You’re so fragile- your body shivers underneath his touch. Lorgar must’ve been too rough with you, to make you fear this; He can remedy your nervousness.

“H-Horus, please I-“

It’s not moments later that he pushes his fingers between your thighs, pressing them against your puffy outer lips. He can feel your warmth, your softness even through the fabric, and it isn’t long before he has his fingers hooked around them to pull them down your legs and toss them aside.

“Relax, let me take care of you. It has to have been such a long time since you were last with someone.”

The mere thought of Lorgar’s touching your body disgusts him. He doubts he cared what you desired, unlike him.

Horus slips two of his fingers into the soft tight heat of your cunt and listens to the way you gasp, gripping the pillow your head rests on.

You feel so wonderful, even just his hand; If he was a more selfish man, one less caring about your survival- or how you felt - he might just force himself into you right away.

His fingers curling inside of you he feels the soft velvet of your inner walls, the way they wrap around him and tighten and loosen. When he touches a sensitive spot he feels the way you clench down and how your back arches, body writhing under his touch. He can't think of a better sight, as the blankets bunch around you and brush against your skin.

“Let go my love, stop fighting so much.”

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes- you’re so close - and eventually he feels you tighten around his fingers as you bite your lip. The whimpers you let out of your mouth are the sweetest, most gentle thing he's ever heard; He wants so much more.

He removes his fingers slowly and listens to the whine you let out, as they leave you empty.

He’ll give you something much larger- you just have to be patient. He would call you greedy- if he didn’t know you’ve been long neglected since Lorgar’s punishment.

Horus' cock aches and throbs, twitching at the sight of your ass when he flips you over onto your stomach. You let out little noises as his handling, even with as gentle as he can be.

It'll be easier this way; Your thighs can't spread wide enough for you to take all of him, this way he can sink into you fully. As he does- Listening to your sweet little mewls and whines as your face grimaces in pleasure, as he groans at the feeling of your puffy wet cunt tightening around him until his balls press against your ass.

The way you feel is indescribable, your hot, velvety walls wrap around him so snug it’s like you’re pulling him in deeper.

The sound of skin of skin echoes in the room filling it, along with the sound of his grunts and your whines like music. Horus is almost lost in it, feeling the way your whines get higher in pitch when he drives himself deeper and the thick base of his cock fills you past your limit.

He’s big, he knows that well, but you take him so well and he’s being so gentle. You'll get used to it overtime, he has no doubt.

You attempt to rise up onto your elbows but quickly fall, face pressing back into the pillow and blankets. Horus chuckles and places a hand on your lower back.

“Careful, my dear.” You do little more than whimper in response, feeling the way he twitches inside of you and groans deeply. Suddenly your body tenses under his grip, and you once again try to rise up.

“W-wait, please don’t-“

He sinks himself deeper, barely pulling out a third of his cock with each thrust. You whimper some more, words jumbled together, but they’re all noise as he finally cums inside of you. You tense at the feeling; The warmth spreading through you as you feel his cock twitch over and over again inside of you.

He feels your gasp as the head of his cock stretches and pops out of your entrance, leaving his cum to partially slide out of you.

“Horus…”

You whisper, and he can see your eyes glistening. He cradles the back of your head with his hand and leans to press his lips to the corner of your mouth.

“What do you want, my love?”

[cheollipop]

okay but imagine after pussydrunk woosanhwa passed you around for sloppy seconds and thirds, you’re filled up to the brim with their cum so ofc woosan slurp it out of you and share it with you and hwa hehe <333

I'm gonna fight you. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM- I barely survived this one your honour.

this kinda counts as a part one

nsfw under cut—minors dni

wooyoung went first, then san, before passing you over to seonghwa—all heavy limbs and sweat-covered skin. ever the gentleman, he kissed away your tears and held you close until the spasms shaking your body spaced out.

but then he was pushing his cock inside you, his lips parted in concentration as he watched spurts of cum leak out of your used cunt every time he sheathed himself inside you. your senses turned to mush, and you were left a drooling mess under the three men, unable to discern whose lips latched onto your nipple and whose fingers tweaked your clit. all you could feel was seonghwa's hard length pounding you with vigour, moving your body up on the bed with every rough thrust.

"our baby's not gonna walk tomorrow, is she?" wooyoung whispered against your jaw, his fingers tapping over your clit before going back to rubbing it back and forth.

san pulled off your nipple with a pop, kissing up you chest to nibble on your collarbone. "how does it feel, sweet girl? is seonghwa fucking you good?" he mumbled over your skin, pressing his palm down on your lower belly, groaning at the slight bulge.

"s-so good—hnngh!" Your back arched off the bed, hands flailing around to grab hold of Seonghwa's forearms. "please, hwa-"

"our dirty girl," seonghwa panted, his cock twitching between your clenching walls as he neared his release. "getting two loads fucked into her and still asking for more." seonghwa came without warning, his whole body shuddering while he emptied inside you and added to the mess painting your insides. "have some more, cumslut," he pulled out, lowering his head to watch a stream of cum leak out of your clenching hole, pursing his lips and spitting over your clit.

just as you were about to complain about not finishing, san was pushing seonghwa away and flipping you over, lifting your hips and sliding his hard length through your soiled folds. "can I have you once more, jagi?"

your hips jerked when his cockhead brushed over your swollen clit, a broken moan leaving your lips. "s-san-"

"you can take it, right? my good girl," he planted a delicate kiss between your shoulder blades, his cockhead prodding at your entrance. "what do you say? I'll breed you full of cum, have you leaking for days."

you nodded frantically at his words, pushing your hips back until his cock slipped inside you. he straightened up, groaning deeply as pleasure soared through his body. he peeked at your face, smiling lopsidedly at your fucked-out expression, drool pooling on the sheets under your head. San knew he wasn't going to last, and that the two men were going to tease him for it later, but the feeling of your cunt pulsing violently around him was all-consuming, and any thought not about you faded into nothing. he dug his knees into the mattress and held onto your hips, fucking into you with a desperate need and reveling in the squelch of the cum being pumped into you. with san's cockhead pressing into your g-spot, you quickly came undone, your thighs vibrating forcefully and your walls clamping down on his cock. the familiar warmth of his seed seeped through your abdomen, his heavy breaths blowing over your back where he leaned over you. he rolled his hips into your used cunt, milking himself of every last drop before pulling out.

falling sideways, you managed three deep breaths before you were being rolled onto your back, your legs spread wide open and a tongue licking up your slit. you jerked when it brushed over you clit, a whispered apology over your skin. wooyoung buried his head between your legs, slurping at your swollen enterance as it clenched and unclenched uselessly. he pulled away, grabbing san by the back of the neck and towering over him, angling his head upwards and using his other hand to pry his lips open with two fingers. rolling his tongue out, you watched as a blend of cum and his spit dribbled into san's open mouth.

"don't swallow," wooyoung instructed, licking the residue off his lips and signaling towards seonghwa—slumped against the bedhead, watching the two men silently interact.

wooyoung’s mouth was back on your pussy, panting like a dog over your leaking hole as he sucked out the last of their cum from inside you. your hips spasmed at the overstimulation, but your eyes were fixed on the two men beside you—san, with his legs thrown over seonghwa's thighs and his tongue down his throat, a line of cum streaming down seonghwa's chin while their teeth crashed against each other. seongwha's hand kneaded the younger man's ass, drawing him closer by the back of the neck to lick over the roof of his mouth, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed down the bitter liquid.

wooyoung's mouth pressed against yours, drawing your attention back to him. you tasted a blend of yourself and everyone else on his tongue, and he spat the wad of cum in his mouth down your throat. with a final peck to your lips, he pulled away and swiped his thumb over your bottom, wiping off the leftover translucent mixture and feeding it to you.

the two men beside you had already separated by the time you looked over at them again, now holding damp towels and water bottles, ready to pamper you for the rest of the night. cleaned up and trapped between the three of them, they showered you with kisses and praise until you drifted off into pleasant dream.