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

[sadboiforlife]

.

[feederprincess]

cw: manipulation

good morning darling,

open up. new year, new you, remember? you said i get to feed you whatever i want for the first three months of the year, if you manage to keep your active lifestyle up during it i will do whatever you want for the rest of the year, and if not…

you are dropping your job and becoming my stay at home boyfriend that i get to spoil every single day 💞

its okay baby, look i brought you your favorite chocolate shake, made with brownies, heavy cream and ice cream. i also made you plenty of bacon pancakes just the way you like them, with extra butter. you have to start the year off strong - don’t bother getting out of bed, let me suck you off while you are eating so you can pass out as soon as you are done <3…

good evening! you slept right through lunch so i made you an entire pot of alfredo with buttery noodles, can i feed it to you? you must be hungry after so long ~ what do you mean you want to go to the gym? you won’t spend all of our first day of the year together? but it would mean so much to me��� you could always go to the gym tomorrow instead…

except i will never let you go. manipulating you was so easy, i only had to make you feel guilty whenever you left me alone. all i had to do was keep feeding you fattening meals loaded with empty calories and ice cream shakes to wash them down, all i had to do was suck you off and not let you cum until you fully finished your plates. day after day of this, telling you to go back to the gym tomorrow but it would be a shame to not give my food a try. whenever you even suggested going out to get some exercise in i would tear up asking why i’m not good enough to spend time with - and you, as the good boyfriend you are kept doing everything in your power to make sure i felt loved<33

you started moving less each day, piling on weight extremely quickly and slowly craving fattening foods more and more. you stopped working because i missed you too much when you were out of the house, and instead spent the days inside completely isolated playing games and ordering takeout out of boredom. thanks to my conditioning you began getting hard while eating, and without me there to take care of it for you you found yourself jerking off while shoveling food down your throat, not exactly sure why you were so turned on<3

you stopped being able to pull your pants over your thighs so you began walking around in underwear and a shirt, although by the end of each day you were covered in crumbs. your moobs are pressing against your shirt, being more sensitive each passing day to the point you get randomly aroused simply because they brushed against something - it doesn’t help that i play with them while jerking you off 💞

a couple months after and your belly won’t let you jerk off while sitting down, so instead you have to lay in uncomfortable positions to even reach your buried cock - tongue out trying to catch your breath, while your chubby arms squish against your belly fighting for space… god you are such a helpless food addicted fatty

i tell you that it’s becoming harder to keep your belly out of the way while getting you off, and instead start asking you to get on all fours so you can happily eat while i jerk you off like that - and luckily for me you are too far gone to even consider that it might be humiliating <3

it’s okay baby, we aren’t gonna stop until your belly touches the floor and you can barely stay on all fours. i love you so much 💞

[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.

[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! Below are the fandoms I currently write for.

Glen Powell (himself and the characters he's played)

Twisters (Mostly Tyler right now, but possibly others soon)

Top Gun: Maverick (Hangman, Rooster, possibly others soon)

Marvel / MCU (Bucky Barnes as of now, but possibly others soon)

WWE / Wrestling

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!

[doll-for-you-11]

Fantasy I can't stop thinking about:

I slip on a short skirt and crop top. I just got rejected and need to get some validation of men stating at my ass. I walk around and take a few different trains in random directions.

Almost every guy ive passed has either blatantly stared, or catcalled and Im feeling better about myself. Ready to go home, I realize I don't know what train Im on, and Ive never been to the station we're approaching.

The train is basically empty. Theres one guy accross from me, but he's ignored me most of the time so I feel fine. I stand to wait at the doors for when we stop. Feeling him stand and get very close. I try to step forward but theres no space. "Theres no running bitch". I freeze unable to get away. I feel his hand on my hip, rising to my chest, groping me as he grinds against me, pressing me to the door.

As we stop I see other people on the platform and sigh hoping he'll stop when the doors open and I can run. As the doors open I try to take a step but am stopped by a hand grabbing my ponytail. Getting dragged off the subway by my hair. My clothes ripped off as Im being degraded and abused. The man that grabbed me loudly saying disgusting, humiliating things as he drags me along like a ragdoll.

By the time he gets me to the middle of the platform, Im naked and sobbing. A crowd gathering around, all the men who have been "working late" and the creeps stalking the subway for new prey.

He throws me to the ground, laughing as I try to crawl away. Wrenching me back again by my hair, as I scream out in pain. Looking around hoping someone will help, but all I see are buldges and hungry eyes.

He wips me around, slapping me, threatening my life if he feels any teeth as he pulls his cock out, shoving it all the way down my throat as I violently gag around him. "Fucking good little whore, take it".

You moan as you wrap your hand in my hair and begin to face fuck me so harshly my lips and throat are bruised before I even run out of breath. Drool and precum pour down my chin, dripping onto my tits turning them into a shiny, sticky mess. You fuck my throat like you're trying to destroy any brain cells I might have left. I feel your hot cum spew down my throat. You hold your cock balls deep telling me to swallow, but I gag, dripping some onto my already dripping tits. You rip your cock out and slap me accross the face, throwing me to the edge of the crowd.

I look up at the man in front of me and he just laughs, kicking me back towards you and following, pulling his belt off as he goes. I feel your hand come from behind me, gripping my throat and pulling me to my knees as the other man binds my wrists with his belt. My mind is still reeling from your raping of my throat, I dont even fight back and you remove your own belt, pushing my face down into the other mans still clothed crotch.

He humps my face, humiliating me as the crowd laughs. He holds my head down as you begin whipping my ass with your belt. Im trying to get away as I scream in pain, but he's too strong. You ask the crowd for a number, someone yells 50 and you tell me to count. It hurts so bad I lose track and you restart again and again and again until my ass is black and blue and my eyes have clouded over from the pain, my tears soaking the mans pants.

He flips me over onto my back, pulling out his hard cock and straddling my head. He slaps me with his cock, his pre cum joining the streaks of mascara on my cheeks before forcing himself down my throat and pushing down with his full weight sitting on my face, grinding his hips as his cock fills my windpipe.

Struggling to breathe I dont notice your belt trailing up my legs until you whip my cunt with it. I jump, forcing his cock impossibly deeper as I choke and panic. You altrinate between my pussy and tits, whipping harder and harder as I writhe, my hands pinned and bound under me, the other man on my face.

He pinches my nose and laughs as I begin to lose consciousness. Just as I'm about to black out he pulls me upright and savagely fucks my throat, pulling out to coat my face in his hot sticky cum. I cough and sputter but before I'm able to catch my breath you're pushing my face into the ground and ramming balls deep into my cunt. Using my hair as a handle you pull me to my knees.

The other man sucking and biting my nipples. Groping my bruised tits hard enough you can see his finger prints. "Look at you, you disgusting cum dump. Your cunt is dripping, theres a fucking puddle under you and you want to act like you didn't want this? That cunt is an open invitation when it drips like that." He slaps me, rubs my clit, slaps me with his cock and fucks my tits all while youre animalistically fucking my dripping pussy.

You join in growling in my ear. "Little bitch thinks it can get on the fucking train wearing a skirt that barely covers its ass and not get used? You that stupid you little whore? Or did you want this? Huh? Was this what you wanted? Get raped and ruined in front of a crowd ? Put on a little show? Yeah?" You fuck me harder and faster, my eyes rolling back as I cum around you harder than I ever have before.

"Did you just fucking cum?" The man abusing my tits asks. "Did you just cum from getting raped? Are you that much of a dirty rape whore?" You pull out throwing me to the ground as the other man pulls me on top of him pushing me down on his cock and thrusting up using my tits as handles to slam me up and down painfully.

You get behind me pulling my hair and whisper in my ear "we're gonna see just how disgusting of a cunt you really are". You ram your cock into my virgin asshole with no preparation besides the slick from my cunt already on your cock, matching the other man in speed as you thrust in and out, your cocks stretching me out like a used fleshlight.

The pain shocks me enough that my jaw drops in a silent scream, my eyes rolling back as my body goes limp. My mind shutting off as I become a living sex doll. You reach around harshly rubbing my clit. I scream as I arch against you cumming, but you keep rubbing my sore oversensitive clit. Making cum non stop over and over. My whole body shaking uncontrollably.

I hear laughter and see other people recording and jacking off. It feels like forever before you both cum and you stop rubbing my clit. Your seed flooding inside of me as you both groan in satisfaction. You pull out and I whine at the feeling before you pull me off of the other man and toss me to the ground.

I can barely open my eyes but I begin to feel something falling on me and look up to see the crowd gathering closer, coating me in cum and piss as I lay broken on the platform.

I feel disgusted with myself, how could I have cum from that? But I can't help but moan as I feel the cum dripping from both holes and the showers of it coating my body. Soon enough I feel more hands on me, I hear men saying what I know are disgusting perverted things but I can't make it out.

The sun is starting to come up by the time they all finish with me. Im too broken to move, but some part of me is okay with it. After all, If I stay here, they'll know where to find me when they want to use me again.

[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.

[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😋

[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

[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.

[cheeeeseburger]

Illicit affairs

Sergio Perez x Reader

Masterlist

A/N: Hi, I'm not sure about this one! English is not my first language, apologies for the mistakes!

You and Sergio had just gotten into a fight.  It was a big one, the kind that left you wanting space from the other. Since the hotel room forced you to be in the same space, you had gotten on a long walk around town. You had time to think, and although it hurt, your choice was made.

As soon as you walked in the hotel room, Sergio got up from where he was sitting on the bed. “Mi pastelito, I was worried you were not going to come back.” He pulled you in his arms. You hugged him back, taking care to note how he smells, the way it feels to be in his arms, how loved you felt. “This was a stupid fight. Let’s forget about it, okay?” he asked while carefully brushing your hair with his fingers. You immediately got teary eyes.

“Sergio, we need to talk.” You pulled his hand, so you were both sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked so concerned that it only made you want to cry harder. “¿Qué pasa?” You took a deep breath before saying out loud something that would break both of your hearts.

“I think we should stop seeing each other. I can’t be your mistress anymore.”

Every single word from those two sentences hurt. You had been his mistress for the last two years, ever since you had fallen for his charms at a GP. Since you were working for an F1 team, you were at all the races, and you and him naturally started and affair. You knew what you two shared wasn’t right, you knew you were the other woman, but you two shared something so special that you ignored all your moral judgement. You just listened to a lot of Lana Del Rey and cried whenever the urge to publicly show off your love was too strong.

Being his lover was a terribly beautiful thing. Nobody on Earth could ever feel as loved as you when you were with Sergio in private. He adored you and worshiped you for your mind, your body, your love. During those moments, you pretended he was your fiancé, your husband, the father of your children. You cosplayed as his wife. But your fantasy was always interrupted. In public, he had his wife and kids, and you stood to the side, pretending your heart was not longing for more, acting like you didn’t even know him. You let guys flirt with you since you were technically single. They all thought you were playing hard to get when you didn’t text them back.

But after two years of this illicit affair, your heart couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt was starting to be overwhelming. You were afraid of confessing everything anytime someone mentioned his name. This wasn’t fair to you or his family, and that’s why you had to stop seeing each other.

“What? Are you serious?” Unfortunately, you were. You batted your eyelashes to chase the tears away. “Sergio, this has been going on for too long. I can’t live with the thought that I’m possibly a homewrecker.” He looked at his ring finger that was always empty whenever you were together.

“Mi pastelito, you’re not a homewrecker, my wife doesn’t know about us, and she will never find out! We don’t have to stop, please don’t make us stop.” He was in agony, truly panicking when he thought about losing you. You caressed his face, trying to comfort him. You needed comforting too.  “Baby, you know the truth always comes out, especially with your level of fame. This isn’t fair to your children or your wife. I can’t be the one to ruin your relationship with your family.” A selfish little voice inside of you was screaming at you to ruin his family, make him divorce his wife so he’d finally fully be yours. Mine mine mine mine

“I’ll divorce my wife. My children, they’ll understand. It will be fine!” The selfish voice roared at his words, but the rest of you didn’t.  At this point, he was desperate, trying everything to make you stay. “Don’t say that. You don’t mean it. If you divorce your wife to be with me, one day, you will wake up and realize that this was all a mistake, that you should have stayed with her. You’ll start to resent me, I’m sure. I love you too much to let you do that,” you said softly, like you would to a child.

Sergio closed his eyes and let you comfort him. You continued: “I don’t want to be the other woman anymore. I want to be someone’s girlfriend in public, maybe even someone’s wife. I want to kiss you after a race, I want to go out in a restaurant with you, I want the whole world to know we’re in love, but I know you can’t give it to me.”

He immediately protested. “Mi pastelito, that’s what I’m saying! I’ll get a divorce, and I’ll marry you instead. I’ll get you a big diamond ring. We can have a big wedding, so everyone will see. Please, mi amor, give us a chance!”

You gave him a soft kiss. Saying yes would be so easy, and it was everything you wanted. But you could never live with yourself if he let his family down for you. “Baby, it’s okay. It’s all okay. In a few minutes, I’m going to leave this hotel room, and you’ll have to let me go, okay? We will probably see each other at the races, but we will look away and continue walking. The only thing I ask for is that you be the best version of yourself for your wife and your children. Please, work on your marriage, take care of your wife, be the perfect father for your children. You owe me that much.” You were both crying now, realizing that in a few minutes, you would never be in each other’s lives ever again. In a few minutes, you would walk out as a free woman, heartbroken but free, nonetheless.

“I promise. I’ll really try, even though you will always be in my heart. I will always look for you in a crowd, always wish that things had been different. I love you, mi pastelito.” It was his turn to comfort you. He took your hands and gently caressed them.

“I love you too, so much it hurts.” You smiled weakly through the tears. “When I’ll see you with you wife and children, I will be happy. I’ll know that we have done the right things. And when you see me in the paddock with some other guy, you’ll have to be happy, too.” He made a pained face at the last part.

“You know I could never be happy to see you with someone else. You should be with me.” He looked so sad, so hurt.

“Then you know how I have felt for the last two years, whenever I saw you with your wife. That’s why I must go, baby.” You kissed him, and Sergio and you knew it was the last kiss you two would ever share.

It was tender, filled with love and adoration for the other. It tasted like “maybe in another life” and “how come we can’t be together in this one?”. The kiss felt like heartbreak and love at the same time. When you pulled away, the look in his eyes almost crushed you to death. Leaving him was the most difficult thing you had ever done. When you stood up from the bed, he did not let go of your hand. He tried to pull you back, but you stood strong. When he realized you were actually leaving, he kissed your hand and laid his head on your arm. This was the final act of your story. You were the one that got away. If this was a movie, the director would get an Oscar for filmography and another one for screenplay.

He finally let go of you, after what could’ve been minutes or hours. You did not dare to look back as you stepped out of the room, because you knew the look of anguish and despair on his face would be the death of you. When you closed the door, you were not longer a mistress, but a lovesick woman. At least, you were guilt-free. Almost guilt-free.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+

The next few weeks were hell. You were missing your lover like crazy, and apparently, so did he, because he had sent multiple texts asking to see you again. Even though the temptation was there, you did not reply to any of his messages. You did read them multiple times and cried a lot over them, but that doesn’t count, right?

The fact that you were working in F1 and attending all the races didn’t help. You wanted to swoon every time you saw Sergio’s face on a poster. On a few occasions you almost ran into him, but you always managed to hide before he could see you. Your heartbeat was so fast and so loud, you swore he would discover you because of it.

To distract you and to respect your part of the deal, you started seeing an engineer. It had been four months since you lost your title of Sergio’s mistress, and when he asked you out, you said yes. He was kind, gentle, and way more into you than you were into him. In other words, he was the perfect rebound.

It was the week of the Australian GP, and the guy who was now your boyfriend took you to a nice restaurant to celebrate your two months. Honestly, things were going great. You were taking things slow with him, and although your stupid heart betrayed you by beating fast every time you saw Sergio, you weren’t nearly as upset as you were three months ago. You felt good about yourself.

You excused yourself to go to the bathroom before dessert. It really was a nice place. You might have had one too many Aperol Spritz, though.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, please excuse me!” You apologized as you ran into a man. When you looked up, it was Mr. Sergio Perez himself, thankfully without Mrs. Perez. That would have been awkward, or at least more awkward than this already was.

“Mi pastelito, it’s you. It’s really you,” was all Sergio said. He wasn’t sure if you were real or not. Perhaps you were cake?

“Hi,” you avoided his gaze and tried to run away, but he grabbed your arm. His touch immediately took you back to endless illicit nights spend together, where you had to restrain yourself from leaving marks on his body. Instead, he left love bites on yours.

“Are you really going to run away from me? Hide from me once again?” Oh, so he had seen you. Oops.

“Sergio, I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m on a date right now, we’re celebrating our two months” you confessed sheepishly.

He held on to your arm possessively. “Yes, I heard everything about that new boyfriend of yours. Congratulations, I guess.” He pulled you closer to him, so he could whisper in your ear. “But I don’t think you’ve truly moved on. I know I sure as hell haven’t. Mi pastelito, does he know you’ll never love him like you loved me? Like you still love me?” He pulled back then kissed you on each cheek, like you were old acquaintances meeting again. “It was lovely to see you. Have fun on your date, mi amor.”

He left you standing there, in shock and more in love with him than you had ever been. A five-minute interaction with him made you head over heels once again. How cruel was that for you, but also for your new boyfriend. When you went back to your seat, your boyfriend happily informed you that an anonymous gentleman had picked up your tab. You didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out who was the mysterious man.

The next morning, you broke up with your boyfriend.

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Oh, you were definitely tipsy. Perhaps even drunk? But that’s the Miami GP afterparties for you!

Hey baby, it’s me!!!!!!!

Sergio jumped when he saw your name pop on his notifications. It was like a siren call he had hoped for in vain since you left him. He replied immediately.

Hello, are you okay mi amor?

Are you alone?

Yes, why?

Can I call you?

“Hello?” Sergio picked up the phone, confused but happy that you were calling him at midnight.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii baby, it’s me!” He chuckled when he realized that you were drunk. He would have preferred that you had called him sober, but when it came to you, he would take anything.

“Hello, mi pastelito. Are you alright?” He hoped you were not passed out somewhere. He heard people shouting your name in the background, so you were probably with friends, thankfully.

“Oh baby, I’m doing soooooooo good actually. These guys keep buying me shots. It’s great!” He definitely didn’t like to hear that.

“I think you should slow down. Tell these guys to back off.” You were pleased to hear his possessive tone.

“Are you jealous? Because if you are, that’s hot. All of this is your fault, anyway.”

“Really? How come? And when it comes to you, I am always jealous.” He heard you sigh.

“Well, because I saw you the other day, I had to break off with my boyfriend. It wasn’t fair to him. Now, I’m drunk in the club, and I keep telling people it’s because I just broke up with my boyfriend but really, I’m trying to get over you.” He softened at your words.

“I don’t want you to get over me, mi amor. In fact, I’m glad that you’re not with that other guy anymore. Why don’t you come over and we can talk about it?” You were drunk, but not drunk enough to forget why you shouldn’t see him.

“Checo, I really, really, really think that this is a bad idea. We were doing so good, we hadn’t seen each other in months.” You whined. “But I just miss you so much, I can’t help it.” He smiled at your words. This was the longest conversation you two had since you broke up.

“Don’t fight it, mi amor. Text me the address, and I’ll come pick you up.” Oh, he was good. It almost worked.

“I see what you’re doing,” you could hear him laugh. “Here’s what going to happen, okay? I’ll convince some guy in the club to buy me some shots, and if it works and I get drunk enough, I’ll call a cab to go see you. Text me the address of your hotel, please, just in case.” He wasn’t so sure about your plan.

“I don’t like this. Why don’t I just come pick you up?” He especially didn’t like the part that involved you flirting your way to free shots.

“Come on, baby, learn to live a little! It’ll be a surprise. I’m going to hang up right now, okay?” He tried to stop you, but it was too late. He texted you his location and kept checking his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed your call or a message from you.

Finally, at one in the morning, his phone rang.

“Hey baby, it’s me again!” He liked that you had started calling him baby again. “I’m on my way to your hotel, will you please let me in?” He was already sprinting down to the hotel lobby.

“Of course, mi amor, I’ll be there.”

“Also, the last guy that bought me a drink was pissed that I was not coming home with him, until I said that I knew Sergio Perez really well. He said he would forgive me if you sent him an autograph. Do you think you could do that?” He laughed.

“Yeah baby, I can do that. Are you nearby? I’m in the lobby.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes.” You shrieked when you got to the hotel. “Okay, I’m here. Bye bye now!” You hung up the phone and practically jumped out of the car. Maybe you shouldn’t have drunk that last sex on the beach.

“Mi pastelito, you look gorgeous.” He smiled in appreciation. It’s true, you did look gorgeous, in your short dress that barely covered anything. You gave him a little spin.

“Thank you, baby, it got me so many free drinks!” He chuckled at that, even if he didn’t like the thought of other guys circling you like sharks. “Although maybe I should’ve toned it down, because if I wasn’t so drunk, I wouldn’t be here.” You sighed. He pulled you in a hug, and it was like coming home. It was like nothing had changed. The mistress was back.

“I’m glad you’re here, mi amor.” He kissed the top of your head. “Let’s go inside.”

You didn’t make it to the elevator before you were all over him. As soon as the doors closed, you were kissing him like a starved woman, which is what you were. You had cut him off your diet, but the craving was too strong. He made you sit on the handrail to get a better angle. This could have been a shot straight out of a porn movie, the way you were both desperate to touch the other, the sounds you made. Plus, an elevator scene is always a hit.

“I just missed you so much, baby. I can’t help loving you!” You said between kisses.

“That’s good, because I love you too.” The elevator doors opened. Thank God there wasn’t anyone else. He led to you to his hotel room, never breaking the kiss. Your lover was talented.

Once you were inside the room, he pushed you against the wall to stun you with kisses all over the skin your dress showed. So, basically everywhere on your body. You were already moaning.

“Baby, we have to think. We shouldn’t be doing this. We are supposed to stay away from each other, remember? I’m drunk, so I have an excuse, but you don’t!” He took his sweet time to answer you, as he was too busy marking you.

“It’s funny, I can’t remember anything, except that I love you. Oh well.” You protested weakly. His touch on your body after months apart felt too good for you to remember your morals. You forced him to remove his shirt. You still remembered the number one rule of being a mistress: never leave a mark. You were very careful not to scratch him, even if that’s all you wanted to do. You both made your way to the bed tangled with each other.

“I want to be on top of you, baby, so I can remember this moment. This is our last time, for real this time.” He sat against the headboard and let you straddle him.

“Mi pastelito, I don’t think there’ll ever be a last time when it comes to you and me.” You shut him up by removing your dress. He looked you up and down lovingly. “I missed this, mi amor. You’re way too beautiful for your own good.” He made you blush.

“Thank you, baby.” You started to move on top of him. He gripped your waist to help you move while kissing you. Oh, your affair was so back, whether you wanted it or not.

When he started to unzip his pants, you suddenly remembered one tiny detail.

“After I dumped my boyfriend, I stopped taking the pill. I know it sucks, but do you have a condom?” Sergio shook his head.

“No, mi amor, I was not expecting you to come here, I don’t have anything.”

A big neon sign with the word DANGER flashed in your head, but stupid drunk you decided to ignore it. Having him again was just too good.

“I’m clean, so that’s okay. But we’ll have to be really careful!” He nodded.

“I’m clean too. I’ll pull out, it’s going to be okay.” He started to make you move on top of him again. You continued kissing him. The sign still flashed in your head.

After that, things got hot very quickly. When he got inside of you, you couldn’t help but scream his name everytime he moved. You started to breathe rapidly. Still, you were watching him to make sure he really did pull out. You were already in a big enough mess, adding to it was unnecessary.

“Baby, I swear, I’m going to come very soon.” He was too busy pleasing you to comment, but he did make grunting noises. Why did you two every stopped seeing each other again?

Only a short while later, when you were arching your back, you had your orgasm. It was heavenly. You fell lifelessly against his shoulder, and your guard slipped. You heard him finish inside of you at that exact moment. You gasped, and immediately tried to get off him.

“Oh no, this is bad, like really bad.” He realized his mistake.

“I really tried, I swear!” You weren’t listening to him. You were too busy freaking out.

“I have to... I have to go!” You were scrambling to get dressed. He was freaking out too, more by the fact that you were preparing to leave him once again.

“Mi amor, calm down! It’s going to be fine! At least stay the night, we'll deal with it in the morning!” He was desperately trying to get you to stay.

You were putting on your shoes. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go.” You hadn’t noticed, but you were crying. “This was a mistake. It won’t happen ever again!” You got out of the hotel room. He tried to chase you, but you were running down the hallway, and you were surprisingly fast, even with how much you had drunk.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror in the elevator, you had mascara tears running down your cheeks. You were nothing but an illicit affair. You saw nothing but the other woman in your reflection. This was your Black Swan moment.

[kumkaniudaku]

Requesting sadness 15: “I can’t do this anymore.” w/ Terry Richmond but it could be an unrequited love story that maybe was reciprocated idk

@pocketsizedpanther put NFL!Terry in my mind and this is what came up.

Silence. Unusual, unbearable silence. The kind of silence that hung in the air thick like humidity in Georgia, choking the life out of every living being in its vicinity. 

Silver forks scratched porcelain plates while two lovers sat across from each other trying to salvage a romantic dinner gone awry before it could ever start. Terry sensed the discomfort when he flew into town with no welcoming hug at the end of the tarmac. She left no text, no call, not even an insight into her whereabouts via Instagram stories. Only an empty space where her pretty red BMV usually sat awaiting his return. 

She hadn’t been in the stands lately either. From the cloudless skies of Los Angeles to the bitter chill of Philadelphia, she was a mainstay on the sidelines, wearing his last name on her back like a badge of honor. But tickets had gone unclaimed here and there. Not enough to raise alarms, but enough for him to bring it up as they dug into the night’s dinner. 

“If you wasn’t trynna be in the cold, that’s cool too. It’s just…you know. I wanted you to be there to see us win the conference. It’s kind of a big deal. First time in like six seasons or something like that. I don’t know. I just got here.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’d rather make sure you’re good than get tight over a game. Football isn’t more important than you. You straight?” He shoveled a forkful of branzino into his mouth, looking across the table for a response that she never provided. “Tia, what’s up? You feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Did I forget something?” 

“No.” 

“Somebody DM you something crazy? Fans bothering you again? Let me know something.” 

Her distant stare slowly drifted to his face with tears welling in her waterline. “I-Terrence, I can’t do this anymore?” 

“Do what? What you mean?” He knew. He’d seen the text messages and how she rushed out of the room to answer phone calls. The rumor mills and blind item reports never missed a beat. Atlanta wasn’t a city for secrets. But, he prayed that they’d been mistaken. Taking a sip of his water, he took a deep breath and repeated himself. “What can’t you do anymore? Sneak around like I can’t see you? Lie? Cheat? What is it, Tia?” 

Each question came out louder than the one before, making Tia wince in her seat. 

She knew he’d never put his hands on her. Terry was too sweet for that. So sweet that it made life boring. Being a kept trophy wife wasn’t her speed, but she allowed him to woo her in the VIP section of a club in Las Vegas and drag her back to a slow life full of WAG meetings and nosey neighbors. The thrill of being All Star tight end Terrence Richmond’s girlfriend lost its luster the moment engagement rings and wedding dresses became the topic of every conversation. 

One-night stands turned into sneaking around during long road trips until feelings and another life threw a wrench in what was supposed to be a quick fling with someone far too stupid to be a long-term beau. She’d fucked up. 

“It’s not you,” she choked out, trying to offer him some solace. “He was around when you weren’t and I-”

“Bro, don’t explain that shit to me! You don’t think I’m lonely sometimes? That I don’t meet women ready to fill a void if I snap my fingers? C’mon, Tia. This me you talkin’ to right now! Stop playing in my face!” 

He was fuming and fighting to keep his emotions at bay as he paced across the lavish dining room. 

Tia drew in a deep breath to calm the tears forcing a painful lump into her throat. “I’m sorry, Terry. I know I messed up. I embarrassed you and I’m so fucking sorry for that.” 

“Did you fuck him?” Dread attacked their bellies simultaneously. Seconds passed so slowly that he looked over at the wall clock to make sure time wasn’t standing still. Her silence became confirmation. 

She swallowed hard and nodded. “I’m pregnant. Yesterday makes eight weeks. Terry...”

“The Houston game, wasn’t it. When you said you got sick halfway through and had to leave early. You lied in front of my mama and got pregnant while she was worried about you. You fuckin’ sick in the head, Tia, what the fuck!”

Any explanation Tia intended to offer became lost in a swirl of profanity and angry shouting. Betrayed was the prevailing sentiment. All of his hopes for a family smiling back at him before pre-game intros were dashed, leaving him grieving in real-time. He blamed himself for believing that she was ready for something serious and ignoring the warnings. Now, all he had to show for his blind optimism was a broken heart. 

Tia watched Terry dissolve into a near rage with tears ruining her foundation as they poured without ceasing. All of the trust, all of the love they’d built in two years together was washed away by her selfishness. 

“You gotta go,” he finally managed to grit through clenched teeth. “Get the fuck out. Nah, fuck it. I’ll go. You stay until I can get some shit figured out, but you can’t stay here past the weekend.”

“Terrence! I don’t have anywhere to go!” 

“That’s not my fuckin’ problem! Call your sister or that nigga or some shit, I don’t care. All I’ve ever done is take care of you. If you think you can keep makin’ a fool outta me, you got the wrong motherfucka. This shit is over. Forreal this time!”

“But, I can’t -” 

“What the fuck are you fighting for, Tia? You made your decision. Deal with that shit!”

Sobbing and pleas to rethink his decision hit the condo’s walls like bricks, likely fueling a noise complaint that would be slapped on the door come morning. Tia listened to Terry rifle through drawers and closets on the hunt for enough to get him through a few nights at the Four Seasons. 

He just needed to blow off some steam. They’d been in this place before, angry and screaming at the top of their lungs behind her indiscretions, only to come back together and push the pain of the past to the far recesses of their mind. But, as he stomped his way out of the front door and into the night without so much as a second look, the future became more clear. 

He was gone. For good this time.

[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.

[villainofmyownstory]

Blurry

masterlist

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pairing: exhusband!Captain John Price x fem!Reader

summary: You visit your ex-husband, in your once shared home. The memories are painful. But only for you. Unfortunately, after that one bloody mission, John doesn't remember you. The memory of your life together, blurred in his mind.

tags: afab reader, hurt, ex lovers, ex-husband, recollection of death, loss of memory , ambiguous/open ending

1.6 k words

author's note: Once I wrote some random thoughts about our gorgeous captain. Today I've put it all together. Comments welcome, let me know if it's worth writing another part, because I don't know what to think. I guess I like sad stories…. and can't get the ex-husband plot out of my mind. Sorry not sorry <3

——————————————————————————————————

The clock ticked quietly somewhere in the distance, deep in the corridor, steadily, rhythmically. The water in the kitchen tap dripped, quietly reminding you that you need to change the gasket but also to fix some other things in the flat. Even though you moved here a few months ago, you still don't feel at home. You feel uncomfortable. Like a guest in a hotel. All the objects seemed foreign, belonging to someone else. Or maybe nobody's. Everything has been renovated, painted, bought and new. Just for you.

Cat curled up in a ball, lies next to you on a small red sofa. And in front of you on a small, vintage coffee table steams warm coffee. Another one that day. The only meal for many weeks. You rub your eyes, even though no more tears have appeared in them for days. It still burns you and you feel this tingling under your eyelids. Something like fine sand, irritating your eyeballs and hurting the soft delicate flesh of your eyelids. You try to take it in stride. On days like these, weekends, holidays, when you are left alone in a small flat. You fall apart into millions of pieces. Alone. The pain under your ribs, the pressure in your sternum, your throat squeezed like in a vice. Memories haunt you at every step. A constant battle with the past, something you beg for every sleepless night to finally go away. To be finally erased. You should burn the photos, throw away the gifts. Bury the past at last. To move on. After all, this is what you wanted. A lot of time fighting, trying. Days of sweat shed, of anger, of trying again and again. And in the end, powerlessness.

Sunk in your thoughts, you stare, with heavy eyelids, at the empty space under the TV. Once, in another warm home, the shelf was filled with DVDs of one's favourite films. Classic.

A familiar sound interrupts your gloomy rush of thoughts. Looking at the phone screen, you smile slightly. Your boys have been calling every day. ‘Hi Johnny’ You say with a grunt, trying to chase away the sad thoughts, not letting him know that you are tormenting yourself with the past again.

You should not agree. The paperwork you signed, and the arrangements in the documents, were approved, many months ago. That was not the deal. This is not how you discussed the contract. This is not why you are sitting here now. Yet, you can't say no to them. Not after all they've given up their lives, made sacrifices and…

Sitting in an old rusty cheap car. In your familiar driveway, in this new, friendly neighbourhood. You hesitate to get out. Your hands are sweaty, in a firm grip on the worn-out steering wheel. So you give yourself a few minutes to calm down. You never wanted to show them, him, that you were continuing to suffer badly. That you haven't really moved on.

You have to be tough.

As the door finally slams shut behind you with a quiet click, the same scent reaches your nostrils once again. Earthy and heavy from the cigars and the cherry wood burning in the fireplace, a slightly sweet smoke with a subtle fruity aftertaste, with a slight bitter note. A scent so familiar, so close. But it's not your scent. The resignation has been signed. The decision had been made. There was no going back. Johnny stands in front of you looking at you apologetically. ‘Sure I understand. Duty calls.’ You say gently squeezing his shoulder in a gesture of understanding. Or maybe you want to convince yourself that you're not angry. There's no problem. Some kind of confirmation that it's not their fault you have to be here again. That you are standing in this big modern house, from a dream project . In the place that was supposed to be your home.

Of course boys hired 24/7 nursing. But also they themselves, his squad soldiers, alternated days and nights here. They practically lived here. So if the medical caretaker went for a few days' holiday and the three men had to go on a sudden urgent mission for a few days. It was your job to be here and help. You couldn't let them down. You could not say no. You could not answer the phone. Pretend it doesn't concern you. You had to be here. You had to be strong. For him.

When you are finally left alone in the hallway and the big car disappears around the corner. You feel that hole in your heart, opening up again. Those missing pieces to fill it. They are just behind a thin, wall. A couple of steps. A few seconds.

When you finally stand in the large room, as usual, dark curtains hang from the ceiling to the floor, covering the terraced windows. The semi-darkness of the room has always accompanied him when he watches movies. You stare at his profile illuminated by artificial television light. Despite the years spent in the army, the many litres of blood shed, the many scars on his body. He continued to watch the same films. War movies, classics. The screams and gunshots accompanied him since he opened his eyes and when he closed them. It was already burned into his mind. Written into his gut. It's just a shame that this one fucking wound, made him forget. He forgot about you. ‘Hi.’ You say uncertainly standing in the corner of the couch. You can't look at him.

You don't want to see the ocean blue of his irises, the wrinkles around his eyes. The slightly grey hair. The little freckle on his nose. The fidgety trimmed beard - which his boys were now taking care of. ‘Oh, mornin’ ‘ His voice seems even deeper to you, slightly hoarse. Perhaps already stranger. ‘How are you feeling today. Captain?’ You spit out the last word like a poisonous snake. You want to say something completely different. To shout what you said to him every night. Every morning intertwined when you were here, together. Alone. ‘You don't have to be so official, ma'am. I'm out of the army.’ John is gallant as ever. It's the same every damn time. Ma'am, lady. Miss. He's never said your name since that day. Forgotten. That hole in your heart, never to be filled by his pieces again.

The conversation goes on as usual, John again thinking you are just another medical assistant employed by his former teammates. Brothers in arms. Brothers in war. Brothers in the last of the battles. You want to shout to him how much you hate him, how much you despise him. How much it aches you. How much it hurts you that he doesn't remember anything. A bloody mission. Yet, as usual, you sit and listen once again to the same questions, the stories. As if you've turned on that worst episode of your favourite show again. The last one.

Every time he leaves. During every time he was away. On every such occasion. You were ready for the funeral. The black dress continued to hang in that wardrobe, a few rooms away.

Perhaps it would have been better if it had simply been buried six feet underground. In an oak dark box. Cold and with an equally empty head about you. Maybe it would be easier for you that way. You've already said goodbye to one light casket with his last name on it. Because that hole in your heart was much bigger than the missing fragments of your husband, ex-husband.

For a longer monologue, more memories, of his past work. Of his previous life. What you counted as ‘before’. Because what was ‘after’ was a blur. No matter. John stares at you, finally taking his eyes off the TV. The end credits move lazily across the large TV screen. You smile slightly when your gazes finally meet. He is handsome still. Maybe even more beautiful than you remembered him. It would seem that the man's calm face does not hide his wounded, hollow mind.

Physically he looks maybe even better than during his time in the army. In fact, better than at the time of your marriage. Unwittingly the corners of your mouth gently lift up. Doubtless Simon has been training with him, the hard workouts and the proper diet prepared by the new Captain are yielding great results. A well-deserved successor. A plain red t-shirt lightly framed John's broad, muscular shoulders. Grey casual sweatpants once too loose were now gently stretched around his massive thighs.

You don't have the strength to explain to him once again who you are. So when he once again addresses you as a total stranger you don't react. You wanted so badly to climb on his thighs, to punch him in the chest, maybe even scratch him. To make him feel some kind of pain at least for a moment, that thing you feel non-stop, something to bring you two together again. Feel his heart beat faster, and enter his mind, scratch out every shadowy particle. To brighten and put your memories there. Ours.

Nothing in this house resembles that life anymore. There are no pictures here. There are no flowers. There is no more laughter and joyful banter. No more singing and quiet murmurs of delight. The three of you are gone.

Finally, as you lower your gaze to his hands, which hesitantly stroke the fabric of the armchair. The image is blurred. Finally, tears well up in your eyes. You can no longer see a trace of the ring. No lighter stripe stands out on the slightly tanned skin. There is no faint hollow in the fleshy part of his worked-up ring finger. Although everything is a blur. The gold glistens gently reflecting the soft light of the television. The object that was such an important symbol. A vow. A promise. As if playfully winking at you.

[notlongtolove]

That old familiar body ache The snaps from the same little breaks in your soul You know when it's time to go

this work is part of the burnt norton series and a continuation of part 3! spoilers ahead!

“No.”

You watch as Spencer’s entire body goes limp, the tension draining from him as he lets you drop your hands from his without so much as a struggle. He stares at you in confusion, unable to fully grasp what’s happening.

“What—”

“Spence, I can’t do this anymore.”

The words hit you as soon as they leave your mouth, and in that moment, you realize how much of your life you’ve built around him—around this constant cycle of longing, of waiting for him to finally see you. To choose you. But now that you have it, now that he’s finally admitted it—it feels wrong.

You don’t want it.

The endless cycle. The back and forth. 

“I can’t,” you begin, your voice faltering. Your throat tightens. You’re fighting against the need to break down, to give in to the tears once again. But you know you can’t. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that, even now, you’re not sure whether you can walk away. But you know you have to. 

“I can’t keep doing this with you.”

You can see it in his eyes—the push and pull of wanting to make things right, but not knowing how. You’ve waited long enough, given him all the space and time in the world to get his act together. You’d braced yourself for the weight of his baggage. You were ready to carry it all. And you would have. You stayed patient. But nothing changed, and it never will. 

Spencer opens his mouth to say something, but you stop him with a look—one that tells him there’s nothing left to be said. Not anymore. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says quietly, the words feeling almost rehearsed, almost like he’s said them too many times before. “I’m sorry—for this, for everything.” His words carry the weight of a thousand apologies—apologies he’s never truly backed up.

“I know.”

Every word feels heavy. You don’t want to be vulnerable, not now, not with him. So you speak in fragments, closing yourself off a little more with each sentence. You don’t owe him that anymore. He doesn’t get the satisfaction of seeing you break. Not today. Not ever again. 

You don’t look back as you push past him. The words he’s saying are drowned out by the scream in your head—But you can hear enough to know he doesn’t try to follow you. 

When you finally step through your door, the apartment feels oddly vacant. Your footsteps echo, the emptiness in the air pressing in on you. The anger, the sadness—they’ve faded, leaving only their remnants behind, faint impressions on the mattress where you once lay. Nostalgia isn’t anywhere to be found now, maybe she slipped through the cracked window letting in the cold.

But then you see her, standing out on the balcony. She’s smiling, the wind tangling in her hair. Her eyes hold a hint of sadness, but her smile tells a different story. She’s there—She’s change, hope, and all that comes with new beginnings.

“Thought you’d forgotten all about me,” she says with a smile. 

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