#he hurt my soul and shatters it into a million pieces

[cheriecoke]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

[very-merry-birthday]

🍓 Screwdriver 🍓

Summary: Kidnapped and missing the Winchesters.

Warnings: Torture, Injury, Hurt with minimal comfort.

---

"I'm a cowboy!" You sang out, your voice strained and tired "On a steel horse I ride!"

You dangled from your restraints, the metal handcuffs digging into your wrists, tight. All you could focus on was the coppery taste of blood filling your mouth, your head pulsing.

"I'm wanted dead or alive! Wanted dead or alive!" You wanted to succumb to the unconsciousness, it would be so easy to relax back, let your eyes shut, sink into the black-

"I'm a cowboy! On a steel horse I ride!" You jolted yourself back awake. Having forgotten the verses hours ago, sometime between having your nose broken and the knife to your shoulder, you were stuck on repeating the chorus to keep yourself awake. You pictured it blasting out of the Impala, Deans voice loud over the music. Your hoarse voice was nothing compared to the way he used to sing it but it was the best you could manage.

You heard the lock on the door click and watched as it swung open wide. You sung out to the figure in the doorway. "I'm wanted dead or alive- dead or alive-"

The demon stood still, unfazed by your display of disruption. You looked down at the screwdriver in his hand, no doubt the next source of your pain.

"Do you like my singing?" You smiled at him, blood dripping out the corner of your mouth. He stepped before you, grabbing your jaw tight in his hand, pain radiating out. You coughed out a thick wad of bloody saliva, no longer able to keep up the pretense of apathy.

"You better shut up unless you're answering our questions." He pushed the screwdriver deep into the cut in your thigh and you let out an animalistic scream.

"I don't- I don't know what you're talking about." You panted, your face wincing in pain.

"You tell me where the Winchesters' bunker is, and I'll finally let you die." He twisted the screwdriver again, and black spots flooded your vision.

"I don't- I don't know any Winchester- or a damn bunker-"

"Stop lying to me-" he smiled a sadistic grin and pulled the screwdriver out, "I'm having far too much fun here."

The sound of wet blood hitting floor filled the room. "I'm a cowboy-"

He slammed his elbow into your temple, and you let your mind collapse.

--

Dean. His gorgeous green eyes looking back at you in the rearview mirror, the music blasting out on the speakers as the Impala sailed down the road. Bon Jovi could barely be heard over Dean's voice. He tapped his brothers shoulder in the passenger seat, coaxing him to join in the singing.

You sighed, letting the cold air hit you. This felt good, it was good to be back with them- why had you ever left.

But the pain you felt in your leg- where was that coming from. You looked down- no cuts in sight. And your head- god your head hurt. Copper. Copper filled your mouth. Thick. You tried to shout, get the boys' attention. But you couldn't. Something wasn't right.

--

You jolted awake, the tapping of blood on the ground had subsided, suggesting you'd been out a while.

You pulled you head up, eyes desperate to close again, focusing on the handcuffs above your head. You tugged at them, your bruised purple wrists worsening in pain, and let out a small yelp. If you could get them off- days you'd spent trying already- you could finally break free. At least then they'd have to kill you, you'd given up hope of full escape.

A man cried out from outside the door, what other poor soul had found their way in here.

You closed your eyes again, the pain filling your body too much to bare. You felt the agony from your swollen wrists radiating through you, through every muscle, every bone, every nerve. Your head hung low, your jaw feeling like it had been shattered into a million pieces, no longer real. Your voice was horse and meak, no louder than a whisper. "I'm... a cowboy..."

The door swung open, a man standing panting in the open space. You barely let your eyes open, not wanting to see what pain was about to be inflicted on you. You couldn't understand the image in front of you. It looked so normal. So familiar. So...

Sam.

He ran towards you, his face ragged with fear, immediately breaking you down from your binding and grabbing your body so he could lower you to the ground. You couldn't speak, you could barely even blink, all your emotions shown through the darting of your eyes across his face, trying to take in what was happening in front of you.

"...Dean..." you managed to croak out, not even truly understanding what you were saying, just knowing you had to say it.

"He's just outside, he's coming, we're here, we're here."

As if being manifested, Dean rushed in only moments later, sliding down next to you, his eyes immediately wet, his hands shaking as he went to cup your cheeks. You couldn't hear what the two men were saying, only watching as their mouths moved, muffled sounds coming out, clearly they could understand each other.

Then he looked back at you, carefully moving your hair out your face, his fingers pulling away covered in blood, "We've got you, darlin', we've got you."

[green-butterfly-writes]

Yandere Batfam concept: neglected trans reader

Warnings for: child neglect, unintentional transphobia as a result of child neglect, (non bigoted) religious imagery, blasphemous imagery, idolizing Bruce Wayne

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so mistakes are likely to happen.

Standard neglected reader, they are Bruce’s bio kid, don’t get involved in Batman stuff, and end up getting punished to the side.

They realize they are trans while still living with the Waynes, and aren’t sure if they should come out or not. Not that they think the batclan would hurt them, but given the total lack of support or attention they were raised with, they were worried.

After a year or two of suffering through dysphoria and anxiety, they decide to come out to Bruce.

Except Bruce is very difficult to get a hold of. Especially for them. So when they do finally tell him, he’s distracted and not paying attention. The conversation goes roughly like this:

You finally managed to find time he wasn’t Batmaning, spending time with your siblings, or in the office, and even though you’d prefer he look at you and not the paper work he was doing, you’ll take what you can get.

You were in his darkly furnished home office, in a deep blue plush chair sitting at an angle from Bruce, who was behind the large dark wood desk in the center of the room. The walls were lined with bookshelves taller than mount Olympus, each and every one of them filled with neatly organized text books, encyclopedias, and dictionaries.

Bruce sat in front of the only window in the room. It was tall, and a made of neatly organized, fractured glass. It lit Bruce from behind, like one of the stained glass murals from your grandmother‘s church, and made him look like an angel. A heavenly messenger you prayed to every night for protection, and every day for love. But the world is cruel, and so is its creator, so your prayers continued to go unanswered.

“Dad,” you started hesitantly, “I have something I wanted to talk to you about. I thought it best to tell you in person.” Typically, if you had something you wanted to share with Bruce, you would write it in a letter, leave it on his bedside table, and he’d get back to you in a week or two. But you wanted to tell him yourself. You need to see his face when he found out.

Bruce only hummed in response.

“I’m trans. I’m not going by (dead name) any more, I’m going by (chosen name) now. And I’ve changed my pronouns too. It would mean a lot to me if you used them.” You stared down at your lap, fidgeting with your intertwining fingers, waiting for a response.

Silence suffocated you as Bruce continued his even scribbling across his note pad, turning to the next page in the grant proposal he was reading.

“That’s nice (dead name). Why don’t you go see if Alfred needs help in the garden, I’m sure he’d love to hear your stories.”

You felt as if your very soul had shattered into a million pieces. Your heart burred in your chest, and your mouth went dry. It felt like someone had dunked your head a pile of fresh snow and held you there. You couldn’t feel your body, or hear your mind, and at the same time you felt it all too much, and heard it far to loud.

You had prayed to your heavenly messenger, your savior, your prophet. He who had granted you life and meaning. Who had saved you from deaths door, and carried you into his home. And you were just turned away at the altar.

That was the last time you called him dad.

You considered coming out to Alfred, the only member of the family that remembers your existence without you needing to remind him, but he’s old and you wouldn’t be able to stomach another rejection.

The next few years were hell.

Every event felt like a nightmare, trapped in a cage of fabric, every time you put on your school uniform you wanted to scream

Everyone called you the name you were desperate to forget, used the pronouns that made you skin sit wrong on your bones

You stopped looking in mirrors, hating what you saw.

Once you turned eighteen you practically ran out of the house.

You got excepted to a school in another state and took it, never looking back.

You wrote Alfred monthly letters about how you were doing for the first two years, then every other month, then every four. Slowly weening him off of updates about your life. You still send him a card during the holidays and one for his birthday so he knows you’re alive, but the address is for a P.O. box, so he doesn’t know where you live.

It’s now ten years after you left and you’re doing amazing. You’re flourishing in your career, have an amazing group of friends, and maybe most importantly, changed your first and last name. You got the surgeries you wanted, went on hormones, and can look yourself in the mirror now. You love your life

Sometimes when you’re watching tv or walking through the streets, you’ll see advertisements, magazines, or talk shows with imagery of your now forgotten false idol. Sometimes you wonder how he’s doing, how his kids have grown. You wonder if he misses you. Your therapist told you that’s normal for victims of child abuse. You pay the thoughts no mind.

You don’t watch the every move of your golden bat anymore, in fact you don’t watch any. And you don’t realize that he’s watching you, praying for forgiveness, not only for what he has done, but for what he’s about to do.

[suempu]

tw: nonconsensual kissing. graphic wording.

"you look lonely."

ivan sighs while you situate yourself on the sofa beside him. his room is pitch dark, save for the light from the tv broadcast.

mindless advertisements and commercials mix and buzz into the air, creating a fog of background noise. and you wonder whose poor soul is getting killed on that stage at this very moment.

you spread your arm and dramatically bring him into a side hug. "nothing a bit of booze won't fix. ha ha ha!!" exclaiming with the vigor of an alcoholic, ivan can only groan in frustration.

"i'm not getting wasted with you." his eyes look worn down, mouth wrinkling into a frown as he tries to hide the agony behind a stone cold face.

a part of him is comforted by your presence, a sense of normality washes over him. as if you two were still children playing across the fake fields and staring at the equally as fake sky, laughing as you tackled each other to the ground and picked flowers.

"too late, i brought the good shit." you snicker as you bring out weird looking bottles. you're not exactly sure how safe these are for humans but the aliens seem to love it so, who cares? "this was hard to steal by the way, i got it from those private rooms."

ivan stares at you for a moment and eventually rests his head on your shoulder. he looks at you, cold ice wall melting down and you're met with the sight of absolute pain and distress on his pretty face when he sighs.

"why does it have to feel like this?" he whispers, voice cracking from the amount of vocal training and warmups he's been forced to endure that day.

you take a deep breath and open a bottle, careful with your movements as his heavy head rested on your arm. "what? wanna runaway? you know i wouldn't hesitate if you asked." chuckling as you tried reading the labels.

ivan knows though. you're the closest thing he's got to a friend. you'd do anything for him and with him. and of course he'd do the same but... you're not the person he holds nearest to his heart.

"it's funny," he watches as you sniff the alcoholic aroma before taking a sip. "no matter how much they make us do these—things, no matter how much it hurts... why is this thing in my chest more painful?"

your face falls blank, glaring at the bottle before taking a big chug. you hope it'll get rid of your own pain, wash away all the emotions and feelings of him.

and its funny. because what kind of weird fucking love hexagon is this?

you despise till.

you wish you could tear his bones out and wear his skin, take out his tongue and say all the things ivan has always wanted to hear and keep his heart for your own.

"i wish i knew the answer to that."

looking down at him and seeing his exhausted face, makes your heart break. you want to gather yours and his shattered pieces and construct a deformed statue of love and just hope it'll be enough for him. enough to replace the burning loneliness he's been forced to go through.

but no. even if he were to love you, it'd take a million years to pass, thousands of stars to die, and hundreds of planets to explode until then.

you bump your forehead into his and watch as his eyes widen. smirking to yourself, you think, what more could i lose?

"let's be lonely together then. just this once."

you whisper before kissing him.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

FAIRYTALE- WINTER SOLDIER

day six of the june bug masterlist

pairing: hades! winter soldier x persephone! fem! reader

word count: 2k

summary: an inspired retelling of hades and persephone, where bucky takes you for himself, sheltering you from the cruel world. it may be cruel- but hes even crueler.

warnings: darkish? kidnapping, arranged marriage, bucky is a bit controlling, petnames, swearing

(this fic is more artistic freedom than anything:) so its more detailed in scene then any kind of smut or romance)

 “ im in love with a fairytale/ even though it hurts/ cause i don't care if i lose my mind/ i'm already cursed" - fairytale, alexander rybak

He was unable to have her.

And that made him want her more.

It was twisted, really. He was twisted.

He was dark and cold, callus and cruel. He was everything she was not.

The Winter Soldier was many things. Kind was not one of them. Which is why he had taken you.

You were not his to take. But he never claimed to be a selfless person. 

He had his eye on you for a long, long time. He knew who you were.

Your desires.

Your dreams.

Your wants, your needs.

What brought you comfort in the darkest of storms, and what caused your outer shell to crack into millions of pieces.

You were not a mere test subject to him, for him to observe.

No, you were a person- a goddess, who had her whole life ahead of you.

One he had stolen.

You had captured his interest, the first time that had happened to a man like him. It was foreign, and immediately he knew he had to do something about the warmth that spread through his chilled body near your presence.

He was disgusted with himself, with the way you plagued his thoughts.

Haunted them.

You would not leave his mind, as if you had been shackled there, to each ridge and neuron in his brain.

Your laugh.

Your smile.

The way your eyes twinkled with excitement and sheer joy when a flower bloomed under your touch, its petals opening wide to bask in your light.

Your smell, sickly sweet- of citrus and warm cherry blossoms in the sun. It clung to him like a second skin, one he could never fully wash off.

His compulsive, obsessive thoughts churned in him, a storm brewing until lightning had cracked and shattered his restraint.

It grew dark that day, so unfamiliar to you. The sunlight you basked in was kept prisoner by rolling grey clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance.

The rain began to pour, the icy cold droplets like pin pricks of a needle on your skin. For whatever reason, you couldn't move. You were frozen in your garden, looking up to the sky.

To Mother Earth.

Was she angry with you? You felt this punishment was needed. Deserved.

So you embraced the pricks of ice on your skin, letting it soak through your white dress that once flowed out around you. Now it clung to you like a marble statue, chilling you to the bone.

A crackle of lightning shot through the sky, illuminating the darkness with crackles of white, blues and deep purples. It was hauntingly beautiful. It was then the sky lit up again- and you felt darkness itself wrap its chains around you, pulling you under.

When you awoke, it was cold.

That was the only thing you could feel. Coldness.

It was a heaviness on you, trying to hold you down as you blinked your eyes open, the room blurring in and out of focus. Dark spots flashed across your vision, a lingering fear it was the darkness around you that was consuming your very soul.

You shuffled upwards, crouched in the corner as you observed the room around you.

It appeared as a showroom. An illusion, an attempt to bring false light and hope between the four walls.

A mirage.

Your hands were unbound, despite your abduction. You were free to move as you pleased, and yet you felt etched to the floor beneath you.

Darting your eyes around, you noted things in the room- presumably your room, that caught your eye.

The bed was large, seemingly soft as it had an old granny quilt, covered in florals. Blankets and piles of pillows adorned its surface, an old oil lamp flickering dimly on the bedside table. A bookshelf was filled with bound classics, different novels you had picked up over the years and read tirelessly under an old willow tree.

A kettle lay on a little counter, shelves above filled with different herbal tea blends and fresh leaves.

He had been watching you. And he had been for the last ten minutes, silent in the shadows as he observed you.

You jumped as he emerged into the light, scurrying back into your corner like a feral cat being cornered. A gasp was stuck in your throat, and you wanted more than anything to scream for help, to scream for anyone to save you from the large man who towered over you, slowly walking over to you- his footsteps silent.

He was darkness reincarnated, a living vision of cold, lonely nights and wilted flowers. Long dark hair curled around his neck, meeting the curled inky swirls that poked out underneath the collar of his shirt. Deep blue eyes watched you intensely, yet a gentle softness lingered in them as he looked into your own.

As if he were seeing someone familiar. Someone who brought him comfort. His arm reached out to touch you, and you flinched, scooting back into your corner until you were trapped by two wooden walls.

“Please-“ you cried out, silenced by the feeling of his fingers stroking your cheek tenderly, and the fresh tears that dripped down them.

“Please don’t hurt me, my family-“

“I’m not going to hurt you, my love. I am going to care for you.”

His words sent a chill down your spine.

“W-what?”

He smiled softly, removing his hand from your skin. Though he missed it. Your skin was so soft, so warm. He did not tell you of how you got here, where you were. He did not tell you of how the vines and the leaves seemed to bend and curl around him, trying to prevent your body from leaving. He did not tell you that you were not going back.

Instead, he stood, so large and tall he seemed to block all the light from view as you curled in on yourself, hugging your knees tightly.

“You are to be my wife.”

Your eyes widened. Voice became stuck in your throat at his words.

“You’re not a prisoner here, my love. Come and go as you please. Explore. And if you need anything, tell me and I’ll go to the ends of the earth to find it for you.”

He turned, striding over to the door. It was unlocked. You slowly pulled yourself up to shaky legs, looking like a newborn fawn as you took a step forward.

Then another.

“I need to go home.” you said, voice as shaky as your legs as you stumbled towards the bed, the feeling of darkness overcoming you again.

He frowned sympathetically, tilting his head as he started to shut the door behind him.

“You’ll learn to trust me soon, my цветок. I promise. Now rest.”

And with that, the door was shut. He was gone, leaving you alone with your broken heart and broken thoughts.

But the click of the lock never came. Despite this, all you could do was obey.

Sleep overcame you, and you let it.

════ ✣✤✣ ═════ ═══ ✣✤✣ ════

He repeated those words every single day.

Mentions of trust. Mentions of promise.

And yet, you refused to believe him.

The first two days you refused to leave your room. Looking out the window, you watched the rain run down the glass pane. It was always dark, always cloudy. The trees were barren of leaves, the air foggy and suffocating.

There was no point in leaving. You couldn’t. You were in the Underworld. No one could reach you here.

You had cried and cried until you could cry no more. Your eyes were puffy and heavy, sleep washing over you like a wave throughout the day.

And yet, he did not try and comfort you. He left you be. He knew that trying too much, too soon would leave you feeling more anxious. So he lingered. But didn’t hover over you.

You would come to him when you were ready. It would take time, but he was patient. He had all the time in the world to be patient. But he couldn’t help but worry, just a little.

You were still as bright and radiant as ever, the flowers still blooming in your woven hair. When you emerged from your room to slip to the bathroom, he noted you had put on some of the nightgowns he had left in your dresser.

And though he knew you were sleeping well, and had even done so much as to make some chamomile tea, you refused to eat. It worried him. He knew the change would be hard, and you’d need to adjust, but you needed something in your body.

Your stomach had been grumbling for the last two days, and you grew weak. Your thoughts were cloudy, and consumed with the idea of fresh fruits and berries from your garden back home. You longed for the sweet taste of nectar and honey on your tongue more than anything.

It was late when you snuck out of your room- though sneaking wasn’t the right word, since you were technically free to go where you wished. But you were trying to avoid the man who was now sitting at the kitchen table.

Watching you.

You froze, fingers clutching the door handle to slip back in your room. But sometrhing held you captive, like a deer in headlights.

“You need to eat at some point petal. You grow weak. And we can’t have that, now can we?” he hummed, pushing the chair across from him with his long leg.

You swallowed, slowly making your way over to sit. “I’m not hungry.”

“I can hear your stomach grumbling from inside your room.”

You stared at him blankly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But you were caving.

“I did not want to bother you while you’re adjusting. It makes you anxious, I'm sure. I can feel it rolling off you in waves.”

“You make me anxious.”

He smiled to himself, as if you had told a funny joke he was remembering for later.

“I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure.”

He pushed forward a bowl, and when you peered inside your mouth watered.

Pomegranates.

Oh you had missed the sweet taste of pomegranate seeds. But you couldn’t trust him, or his food.

“How can I trust you? That this isn’t poisoned?”

He shrugged. “You can’t. But you’re a smart girl. You look and tell me if it has any traces of nightbane in it.”

You examined it throughly, finding no traces of the white powder that could be dusted around the seeds. Nothing but deep red juices stained your fingers as you poked around. It looked like blood.

“I want to go home.”

“You can visit home if you eat. I’m trying to take care of you, and you’re making it very difficult.”

Your eyes widened. “I can go home?”

“You can visit.”

You frowned.

“Visit?”

“I’ll make a deal with your father I’m sure.”

You didn’t know of the conditions he had left your homeland in. Whether it was because of his presence, or the loss of you- it had turned dark. The crops would not grow, the clouds would not part.

Mother Nature cried so hard the plants drowned and wilted. There was no sun. The sun was with him, sitting across from him at the breakfast nook.

Your parents were desperate. Not only for your presence again, but for the sun to shine again. Nature did not call to them the way it called to you. The deer had scurried off, skittish, away in the brush, the vines had turned brown and thin.

He watched as you practically scarfed down the fruit, juices seeping from the corners of your lips and down your chin to stain your dress. He smiled, watching as you began to eat another, before he gave you a basket of fresh fruits from your garden.

Licking your lips, your eyes closed as you felt energy seep into your pores. It felt like being bathed in spring water, refreshing and cool.

“Thank you.”

He nodded and watched as you retreated to your room, lips still stained. Unbeknownst to you, you had thanked him for sealing your fate in the Underworld.

You’d see what he needed soon enough. 

To care for you. To keep you safe. To make you his queen. 

[enbypotat53]

(SPOILERS FOR TNM6!)

Holy fucking shit. Two years of waiting was so worth it. I'm not even kidding I have been sobbing and shaking for the past half an hour.

I have way too many screenshots so I'll try to condense it but FIRST OFF LOOK AT THESE CUTIE PATOOTIES??? Oh my god realising that this was a year onward from the murders was like a knife to the chest; seeing Tophat and Sketchpad living together and ACTUALLY HAPPY FOR ONCE?? AUGHHH I LOVE THEM 💔

I'm not joking when I say I went back and screenshotted almost every scene GPS was in, but I'll include this one when talking about the memories because GPS hiding behind the couch is SO damn cute 💙

And. Oh. Oh my god. My fucking heart. They care SO much about Tophat and Folder, and the new song?? PEAK. Average TNM W. Seeing all of the adorable moments of these three together?? Heals the soul, but it's SO bittersweet knowing they'll never see eachother again. I'm ABSOLUTELY redrawing some of these, they're too cute not to :,3

Okay but THEY ARE SO IN LOVE?? THEY. AJDJFJFJFJ THEY ARE SO IN LOVE. I. WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS. HOW IN LOVE THEY ARE. GOD. PLEASE ALLEN JUST. LET THEM BE HAPPY FOR ONCE. P L E A S E.

"You just.. wouldn't get the full picture. It's the same with memories for me. Would it still be me.. even if I was missing a few bad ones?"

This is.. genuinely such a fantastic line. GPS has always been my favourite character, but.. damn. The idea that even bad memories hold value because they're still memories; still a part of you, and still might contain the people you love most? They're genuinely such a well-written character, and it's plain to see just how much they care for their friends. And they have a point! Memories shape you, good and bad. As much as the bad ones hurt, it can also help to learn from them in order to make more good ones in the future. And it seems Sketchpad and Tophat did just that.

God. Codey's betrayal was definitely forseeable, but it still hurts. The "I'm just following my programming" line gives me similar vibes to Speech Bubble and Spraypaint in a way; everyone has their part to play, even if (in Codey and Binary's case) it's a harmful one. I'm glad they did the right thing in the end, though. And Binary for SURE gives me Airy vibes, I both adore and despise them and to be honest that's EXACTLY what I could've hoped for in an antagonist. They're GREAT.

Wait a sec..

Binary..

OH I GET THE JOKE IT'S BECAUSE GPS IS NONBI-

Oh.

OH.

Hear that sound? That's the sound of me wailing in agony as my heart shatters into a million pieces.

"This is.. really it.. huh?" THEY SOUND SO SCARED?? God this entire episode I wanted to give them a huge hug and a slice of cake and to tell them that everything would be okay, my hEART. This entire scene broke me, the fear in their eyes and voice hurt so much to hear, my BABY HE'S BEEN THROUGH SO MUCH 💔

And just. This. Entire scene. I cannot tell you how fucking PERFECT of an ending this was. The fact that Tophat was the last thing GPS thought of before he died? The happiest moment they could think of was their high school prom dance, spending it with the person they love most? One final memory to end it all, and it was the most important one in their life. I've said this before but god. They're so in love. It's genuinely gutwrenching watching this scene; they're so happy yet this moment is so fleeting. Knowing how temporary it was and how everything ended makes it worse. Tophat moved on, maybe not fully but at least he's happier. GPS on the other hand? They're stuck reliving memories of people they can NEVER see again; people they hurt.

It's bittersweet as hell, and honestly kind of a perfect juxtaposition to the puzzle scene. Then, they relived bad memories, yet still seemed happy. Now, they're re-experiencing a moment that should fill them with joy, and yet...

Nothing lasts forever.

The ending song being a response to Imaginary Friend, too? Perfection. 💙

Thank you, Nightly Manor. Thank you, Allen. This series was fucking phenominal, and the wait was worth every second. My heart is in tatters but good lord I wouldn't have it any other way. Now it's time to redraw some scenes and try not to cry any harder than I already am! :,D 👍💙

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

You

So I went from listening to "If I Die Young" by The Band Perry (because it was stuck in my head for some reason) to listening to Burying the Dead by Kevin Kiner from Star Wars The Clone Wars and all I could feel was angst. Obviously I have to pass it on.

Summary: Astarion realises he's known all along what it means to live, all thanks to you

He can feel the stickiness of the liquid sandwiched between your palms, feel it sliding down his wrist and trail along his forearm. He can feel your hand slowly slipping from his grip, your fingers weakly grasping at his palm for purchase, unwilling to let go. He doesn't want to let go either, but your ragged breaths remind him of the pain you're in, the hurt in your eyes tearing his soul apart.

"It's alright, love. Everything's going to be alright." A lie. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes and swallows as hard as he can, willing his sorrow away.

Just endure it for a while. Until they move on.

Your chest is barely moving, crimson bubbling from your lips as you desperately suck in whatever air your weakening lungs can. Your eyelids flutter, your body fighting to shut down and Astarion has to force his hands to stop trembling, his undead heart crying out with each weak gasp that slips from your fading body.

He brings your bloody hand to his lips, hating the way the sweet taste floods his mouth. The smell fills his nose and his fangs reveal themselves, his body urging him to drink but he forces his mouth shut, pushing down the hunger that threatens to take over.

Your lips move, but Astarion can't make any of them out, rendering your final words lost forever. His hand shakes as it clasps tightly around the hilt of his dagger, his eyes squeeze shut as he inhales deeply. He can't do this, he can't.

He can't kill you. But he has to.

His dagger trembles as its tip hovers over your heart, the steel of the blade reflecting the setting sun. The evening sunlight casts a beautiful yet saddening glow over you, framing you in its radiance like it has a thousand times before, but today is the last time he will ever see you bask in the sun.

The poison has chewed its way through almost your entire body, your pained laboured breathing is all that remains. He has to do it now, put you out of your misery or the poison will drag your suffering out until your lose your mind, and he can't let that happen.

His fingers tighten around the hilt, hoping that it will stop the dagger from shaking so much and forces his hand to move downwards.

One strike and it will all be over. One strike and you wouldn't have to suffer any longer.

Blood springs forth from the new well he has created and he gags. He loves your blood, yes, that is an undisputed fact. It nourishes him, tastes absolutely divine, but only when it's you giving your blood of your own accord. Not like this, not when it's being poured out all over the ground, not when it steals you away from him.

He watches as your body twitches for the last time and hears your last breath leave your lips, a quiet thank you for everything he's done. He stares blankly at your now dead body, mind and body numb to the core.

Where does he go from here?

He sits on his heels, feeling the pent up tears trickling down his cheeks. It starts out with quiet sobs, soft whispers of words he never got to say to you that grow louder as he starts to cry, his heart shattering into a million pieces. Reality hits him hard. You're gone now, forever. He will never see your radiant smile again, never hear your melodious laugh again, never feel the warmth of your skin as you hold his hand tightly, never feel the softness of your lips, never…never see you again.

He wails out his agony to the deaf gods above, the tears flowing freely as he curses the hand he's been dealt, wanting nothing more than to have you back. He'd made a promise to you, to always be by your side, to never leave you but that promise lies broken at his feet, buried beneath the dirt you too will soon lie under. He will live on, alone once again, with the weight of world crushing him.

He cries until he has nothing left to give, cradling your now cold body against his chest, and feels exhaustion taking over. The sun has set, turning the sky pitch black with few twinkles from the stars above. He remains where he is, kneeling in the bloodstained dirt surrounded by the forest and the creatures that inhabit it, holding your cold corpse tightly and ignoring his body's call to rest. He doesn't want to rest, he wants you, he wants your warmth.

He wants this all to end.

He contemplates the idea, nearly giving in when a familiar whisper pulls him back from the brink.

"I want you to live."

He lets out a pained chuckle, even in death you're still there for him, catching him when he falls. He remembers exactly when you had said those words. It had been at his tent after everyone else had fallen asleep, under the moonlit sky as the campfire was fading out. You'd held his hand in yours, a fiery earnest look in your eyes as you delcared out loud that you didn't want his body in exchange for keeping him around.

"I want you to live. That's all. What living means to you, I don't know, but I suppose that's what life is for, to find out what all these fancy words mean. I know you'll find it, you're the kind of person who will."

He presses his forehead against yours, drawing a shaky breath and closes his eyes. He steadies himself and lets the breath out, opening his eyes to take in the sight before him.

"Darling, I…" His throat clogs. This is stupid, he's talking to a corpse. You can't hear him anymore, you're dead. His words will never reach you, but he has to get this weight off his chest, and maybe by some miracle your soul will hear what he has to say. He regrets not being able to tell you this while you were alive, but he supposes it's better late than never. Besides, it's more than just words he wanted to say to you, it's a declaration to himself, a reaffirmation of what he's discovered alongside you.

"I've found out what it means to live. It's more than just staying alive, more than just waking up to the next day. It's making my own decisions, choosing what I want to do, knowing who I am and who I want to be. You've taught me all that, you've shown me what it's like to live, and I…I thank you for that. It's because of you that I'm free from the shackles of my past, it's because of you that I know the path I should take. I owe you so much, more than I've been able to repay you, but knowing you, you don't care about it."

Astarion lets out a huff of amusement, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"Still though, love. You could've asked anyone else to ease your suffering. It's not fair, to make your beloved vampire do all the work."

He looks to the sky, wondering if you're able to see him through all the damn clouds and laughs. He can't stop laughing at the absurdity of it all. The laughter soon turns to sobs, fresh tears dripping onto your cheeks.

"I'm sorry, darling."

[seokgyuu]

Strawberry Wine - Part 1

Pairing: Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fake Dating, Smut (not in this part) MDNI!

Synopsis: After breaking off your engagement to your cheating fiancé, you decide to take the planned trip to Paris anyway. A vacation alone with the honeymoon suite all to yourself seems like the perfect distraction. Just that, due to an internal error at the hotel lost soul Jihoon, who still isn't over his first love's death five years ago, is staying in the same honeymoon suite as you.

Warnings (in this part): mentions of cheating, alcohol consumption, angst, probably a not so good description of paris tbh, the word "cock" is mentioned once, slight sexual tension

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: hi everyone!! this is part one of my story for the world tour collab hostes by @svthub!! check out the masterlist here! this one is a bit of a... beginning, i guess, lol. the real drama and smut and all that will be in part two. but i still think this is a a fun part to get to know our characters! this not beta read and i might edit it later... thanks for reading i hope you enjoy <3 header & divider credit to @okiedokrie!

one; the author

The flash of the camera goes off and you’re almost sure your eyes were closed. The teenage girl next to you smiles brightly and waves at you once more before rushing off to go over to her mother. You lightly smile back and look over to your right where Minghao is giving you a thumbs up. Apparently, so you interpret his gesture, you’re holding up quite well for someone who just caught her fiancée cheating two weeks ago. 

You’re aware that you could have canceled the book signing today. No one would have been mad. But even though your heart is shattered to a million pieces and you don’t think you’ll ever heal from this hurt - you still need to earn money and make those who give you that money happy. Just sucks that the person you build this with is somewhere on the Bahamas with your biggest rival on the romance book market. Or, well, as your publisher says: your bestest friend on the romance book market. Since you’re both making money, of course. You can’t count the times you and her have been sent to events together, not saying a word to each other on the way there and playing happy family the second you are in front of the cameras. 

Her books weren’t even good! Boring and predictable if anyone asked you. Your ex had always agreed with you, even if he was her agent as well as yours. But Jaehyun was slick - he told her the same about your books. 

“Hi, oh my god, I love your books so much! I can’t wait for the next one!” It’s a boy with the brightest and whitest smile you have ever seen and for a second you can forget your sadness.

“Thank you so much. What name do you want me to sign?” 

The book signing ends about half an hour later. You’re in the car with Minghao who’s typing something on his phone as he sits in the backseat with you. 

“You did great, you know.” He says, not looking up. His words make your stomach turn uncomfortably even though you know he means well. 

“Thanks,” is your mumbled response, your head slowly turning to look out of the window. Minghao sets down his phone, realizing his words didn’t come out the way he wanted them to. He sighs.

“Best friend dearest,” he starts, “you know what I meant. Considering you have been in your room with no lights on and Adele on repeat for the last few months - you did exceptionally well socializing with people you don’t know.”

“It’s my job after all, isn’t it?” 

“No, your job is writing brilliant books, Y/N. This is just a bonus. Your books would sell wonderfully even without you doing this.”

Three months ago this would have made your chest fill with pride. You’d be beaming and agreeing with Minghao, content with your life and what you had made it to be. But now, it’s different. 

Now, all you feel is ache in your chest. No sense of pride, no smile in sight. No contentment with how your life is going. Joy has been missing in your palette of feelings for a long time. 

The city lights are what keep you awake. Exhaustion and the feeling of sadness that you have become so used to are close to make you falter, to make you want to go home and put those Adele songs right back on repeat. It’s not fair, you think. Not fair that your life was ruined this way and you can’t get back up. That all you’re able to do is live because you have to, not because you want to. And the closer July 17th comes - the more you feel yourself falling deeper into a hole. 

It’s hard to believe that three months ago you were a completely different person. A person who loved to laugh, who had fun game nights with her friends, cooked every day, went for runs in the morning, planned a wedding. You were a person who loved to love. All of this was accompanied by the person you had been sure you’d spend the rest of your life with: Jaehyun. He was tall, handsome, kind. You had met him through work - he had been assigned your agent when you switched publishers. He was your muse. Helped you with your books, made the sales sky rocket with the way he marketed you. 

For five years he was your everything. In some ways (ways you loathed) he still is. Your whole life revolved around him. Wherever you went - he did too. Whenever you fell - he was there to catch you. Nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for what was going to happen. But then again, when is someone ever prepared to be cheated on by the person they trusted the most in their life? 

To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Accidentally finding the messages he sent to her on his iPad. Confronting him and seeing his face fall, his expressions change into something you had never thought possible. He looked caught. Mainly because he was. Also because he never thought the truth would come to light. You had been the only one left in the dark. Everyone at the publishing house knew what he was doing. He and her. 

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but in the beginning you couldn’t handle being mad at Jaehyun. Instead you focused all your anger on her, all the hurt you felt. It wasn’t like you had particularly liked her before - she was your rival, the person everyone always compared you to. She was younger than you, didn’t have as much experience - but she was more successful. At least to an extent. Her books regularly went viral on ‘booktok’, mainly because she wrote them like she worked in a factory. Every couple of months there’d be a new one - and people ate it up. You, on the other hand, liked to take your time, liked to write stories with captivating characters, with characters people could relate to - fall in love with. 

Suddenly your biggest rival became the person you hated and wanted to be like the most in the world. To be her would mean to have him. Him, who you still love so much, who still means everything. 

It is a little different now. 100 days later and you feel like you don’t love him as much anymore. Yes, it still hurts like hell and, yes, you want to stay home most of the days. But you don’t miss him as much as you used to. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Minghao asks now even though he already knows the answer. Gosh, you wish you could give him a yes. A smile and a yes. Instead, you only present him with the first, stretching out your hand and reaching for his.

“I need to get home, Hao. Today has been a lot.”

Minghao nods slowly, a sad smile on his pretty lips. He understands, he really does. But he also misses his happy best friend. Misses the way your eyes crinkle when you smile wholeheartedly , misses the sound of you honest laugh. No matter how many time will pass, he doesn’t think he could ever forgive Jaehyun for what he’s done to you.

Fighting with a french man on the phone at the crack of dawn surely had not been on your agenda for today. 

“I’m sorry, miss, but the cancellation period ended two weeks ago, there is nothing we can do.” 

It’s too early and you are too tired. He is probably too by now, considering he has been saying this sentence at least five times in the past seven minutes. You pull a hand through your hair and let it drop back onto the mattress after.

“My wedding isn’t happening anymore, and you really won’t let me cancel the honeymoon suite?” Usually, you’d never snap at anyone over the phone - especially custom service personnel, but this is different. What he’s implying means you won’t get any money back from one of the most expensive purchases you’ve made. Worst thing about this: you paid for this yourself. Jaehyun had paid the location - which of course could still be canceled. But the freaking hotel stay in Paris of course was set in stone! 

“I am very sorry, miss. I wish there was more that I could do. Perhaps you can take the trip yourself and enjoy our beautiful honeymoon sui-“

You hang up on him. It’s not polite, you’re aware. But just the thought of being alone in the suite you were supposed to enjoy with your freshly baked husband… no, absolutely not. Then, fine, you’d have to live with having spent thousands of dollars on a hotel suite you wouldn’t be able to use. 

As if life isn’t horrible enough already.

When you sit at brunch later that day with Minghao and your mutual friend Mingyu, they both stare at you like you’ve just told them you decided to get Jaehyun’s face tattooed on your thigh. 

“Are you kidding me? You basically get to have a Paris vacation for free for yourself!” Mingyu says, the glass of mimosa he is holding in his hand is almost spilling with the way he moves his arm. You scoff.

“What do you mean “free”? I literally paid for it months ago!” 

“Okay, and did you already make that money back?” Mingyu continues and raises his brow. You stay silent for a moment. 

The restaurant Minghao chose is filled with people enjoying the vegan food made from scratch. Your own very delicious avocado toast with a side of fresh fruit and soy-yogurt is laying in front of you, waiting to be eaten. The mimosa Minghao had ordered for you remains untouched. 

“She has.” Hao decides to answer for you as he sips from his mug of matcha. You shoot him a glare.

“So what! I’m not going to go to Paris by myself when this was supposed to be my honeymoon!” You try to stay quiet, looking from Minghao to Mingyu and back. Judging by their faces, they don’t seem to understand the big deal. 

You envy them. God, how much you wish you could just do it. Go on that already paid for vacation by yourself, not give a single damn about Jaehyun and his new girlfriend. Your heart sinks. Just thinking these words is making you feel like crawling back into bed. 

Minghao groans and puts his mug back on the table. 

“Y/N,” he starts and his voice sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard him talk before - even Mingyu seems startled, “I get it, okay? I get that he hurt you, that he made you believe in something that was never going to work. He is an asshole, if not the biggest asshole walking freely on this earth. But you’re young! You’re young and you deserve better than this! Keeping to yourself, barely leaving your apartment - your bed, honey, it’s not good for you. I understand that you want to stay away, that the world is a fucking scary place without the person you thought was your person right there next to you,” he grabs your hand over the table, “but do you know what all of this means? That your person is still out there! That you can still find them! And what better place to start than Paris, the literal city of love!”

He means well. Just like the other night after the book signing. He means well and he wants just what’s best for you. No one wants you to feel better as much as he does. Then why does it make you so mad that he is asking this of you? That he is calling you out this way? 

You pull your hand away from his and grab your purse from the free chair next to yours. Both men gawk at you, startled.

“Y/N-,” Mingyu tries, but you raise your hand to interrupt him.

“You get it, Hao? Really? Has your significant other of five years also cheated on you with your biggest rival? Did you also have to cancel a wedding you put hours and hours of work and money into? Because I don’t remember this happening to you! So, I would really appreciate it if you gave me the time I need to grieve this relationship and decide for myself when I am ready to get out again!”

Without giving them another look, you storm out of the restaurant. Everything around you is a blurr and you only notice that you’re crying when you reach your car. Cursing to yourself, you move to open your car, tears dripping from your cheeks down onto your shirt. God, what a pathetic little woman. Crying in your car after yelling at your best friends for what? For caring? For only meaning to help? 

It takes a while before you manage to start the engine and get on the road to drive home. The radio is silent and for a second you wished you could turn off your brain the same way. Just one switch and all thoughts gone. All the self doubts and the hurt, all the thoughts of what-if and the wish to travel back in time and never have you take his iPad. 

You stop at a red light and wipe away some more tears. You don’t dare to look into the mirror and check your make-up. 

Never finding the iPad, you circle back, if you had never found it, you wouldn’t be in this situation. No, you’d most likely still be in a relationship with a man that cheated on you. That didn’t love you half as much as he claimed, that didn’t deserve the time and care you’d given him. 

When the light turns green, you continue your way, your thoughts still roaming around the what if. And while your heart yearns for him back, for what you believed you had - your head knows it’s better this way. Jaehyun isn’t the one for you, as much as you would have loved him to be, Minghao is right. It’s just that the thought of starting over with someone new makes you cringe, makes fear rise within you. Someone new to give your heart to and hope they don’t break it the way Jae had. 

Once you’re on the highway you think back about the time you had decided to travel to Paris for your honeymoon. It had been your idea, your wish. Your first ever book, even if it never made it onto a bestseller list or into the mouths of the best romance critics - it was set in Paris. The city of live, the city you decided would become your favorite even though you had never been. Spending two weeks there with the love of your life after becoming his forever, seriously, nothing had ever sounded as wonderful as that. 

Minghao’s words ring in your ear. Your person is still out there, he said. And that Paris, as the city of love, would be the perfect place to go look for them. Your knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. You never wanted to spend time in Paris with anyone but Jaehyun. 

Or maybe, you think as you take the exit leading to your neighborhood, the only Person you need to spend time with in Paris is yourself. 

two; the lost soul

He never should have listened to Jeonghan. No one should ever listen to Jeonghan. The cab driver is speaking in quick french that Jihoon knows he wouldn’t understand even if he spelled out every word for him. Then again, he isn’t even sure the driver is talking to him or just about him. Jihoon can’t really blame him. After all, he is the stupid American with the stupid big guitar case and a backpack almost bigger than himself. 

The backseat is hot and Jihoon’s sunglasses do little to keep the sun from blinding him. 

Paris in the summer sounded better on paper than it does actually experiencing it. It’s nothing compared to the summer in Arizona, where Jihoon grew up, but having lived in Vermont for a while now, he wasn’t used to the burning hot, scorching sun that threatened to give him the sunburn of his life if he didn’t re-apply his sunscreen every few hours. 

Tara had always laughed at him and his easily burned skin. She never burned, no, she got a tan right away, looking beautiful in the rays of sunshine dazzling on her skin like they belonged there. 

Right now, he misses her more than he has in a while. When he passes the beautiful architecture of his first love’s favorite city, he smiles even with the sun shining directly into his eyes. 

In all seriousness, Jihoon doesn’t know why he is here. It feels wrong to be here without her, but it also felt like he had to take the invitation from his friend. She would have never forgiven him, if he let this opportunity fly. Visit the city of love, the city she had always dreamt about, he knows as wrong as it feels, it’s the right thing to do. 

A few minutes later, the cab stops in front of an old looking building. Without saying anything, the driver takes Jihoon’s Euros and drives off after heaving Jihoon’s suitcase out of his trunk. 

Jihoon looks after the car, his dark hair falling into his forehead. Once the cab takes the next corner, he looks at the building, something stirring in his stomach. This… doesn’t look like the pictures on AirBnb at all. Quickly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, happy he booked the data package at the airport back home. Opening his app, he feels like he’s about to throw up his airplane food.

It’s not there. The apartment is gone from the app, not newly put in under a different name, not just gone because of a glitch. It’s like it never existed. Jihoon curses, moving his fingers over his screen, calling the customer service only to be met with a french speaking automatic voice that doesn’t help him in the slightest. 

Hanging up again, he stares at his phone for a few seconds. He shouldn’t have come. It feels too much like a sign. Maybe he should try changing his flight to this evening, maybe he should try to run after that cab and-

The phone in his hands rings and he quickly picks up.

“Hello?”

“Jihoonie!” It’s Jeonghan, the only reason he is in Paris in the first place, “did you make it to the city of love?”

“Yeah, and I wish I didn’t,” Jihoon mumbles in response, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Why? What happened?” Jeonghan does sound concerned, which might be a first.

“My Airbnb doesn’t exist.”

Silence. Jihoon just knows his friend is trying his hardest not to laugh. Oh, to be Yoon Jeonghann and always get entertained by his friends’ miseries. 

“Jeonghan, this isn’t funny, okay? I’m about to call another cab and get my ass back home.”

“No! No, you can’t go home! You’re here and I’m going to make sure these will be two of the most amazing weeks of your life, alright? Look, instead of home, get your ass to my hotel. I think I might have a solution for your problem.”

When Jeonghan texts him the address and Jihoon hails another cab, he doesn’t dare to hope that his friend has an actual solution. 

Perhaps Jihoon should have asked Jeonghan more thoroughly what kind of Hotel he works at. Because this looks very different to the building Jihoon just left. This is art, this is a fancy hotel in the middle of Paris’ most elegant streets, people in expensive clothes walking around Jihoon who has only a backpack and a guitar on his back. Jihoon gapes at the building, words he has read a million times suddenly filling his head, suddenly coming to life.

The façade of the hotel stands proudly on the bustling Parisian street, an exquisite testament to classical elegance and modern charm. The building’s cream-colored stonework is adorned with intricate carvings and ornate embellishments, each detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Above the entrance, a grand arch frames a large window, its glass shimmering in the soft light of the early evening.

Striped blue-and-white awnings shade the windows, their cheerful colors contrasting beautifully with the building’s stately architecture. Delicate wrought-iron balconies extend from the upper floors, offering glimpses of lush potted plants and inviting chairs, perfect for an intimate evening under the stars.

The entrance is framed by deep blue columns, and a passageway, warm light spills out from within, hinting at the luxurious interior that awaits guests. A pair of elegant lanterns flank the doorway, casting a gentle glow on the stone steps below.

Above the entrance, a crest adorned with elaborate scrollwork and a regal shield stands as a proud emblem of the hotel’s storied history. The name of the hotel is etched in graceful letters, a promise of the enchanting experience that lies within. 

He doesn’t dare to move from where he is standing. Doesn’t dare to step foot into the hotel that looks exactly the way he had envisioned the one Tara would always read to him. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin and he swears there are tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. This must be a dream, a different reality, because there is no way Jeonghan works here. 

But when Jihoon lets his eyes wander over the façade and into one of the magnificent windows - he spots his friend. Spots him on the phone behind the wooden counter, writing something down. He is here and this is real. 

So, Jihoon slowly moves. One foot before the other, eyes glued to the entrance, nis heart beating in his chest. He feels silly, but he wonders if Tara had seen this as clear as he had back when she had read the book to him over and over again. 

A welcome warmth meets Jihoon inside. It’s just as beautiful as the outside, he finds, his stomach turning over once more. 

The lobby exudes a warm, inviting glow, courtesy of the golden chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft light over the polished marble floors. Rich hues of deep blue and soft gold dominate the color palette, creating a sense of opulence and sophistication. Jeonghan stands behind the mahogany desk, still talking on the phone, still not spotting Jihoon. 

Jihoon, who feels so insanely out of place in his worn out jeans and the old leather jacket, with his hair unkempt and his eyebrow pierced. He moves over to the front desk, trying his hardest not to care about the stares he is getting from the people who clearly know he doesn’t actually belong here.

Jeonghan’s eyes light up when he sees him, a wide smile now on his lips as he holds up a finger as if to tell Jihoon to just be a little more patient. Jihoon carefully puts his hands on the top of the counter, his eyes roaming the lobby again. 

“Of course, we can’t wait to have you back here again so soon, Miss Jones. Have a great day, bye bye!” 

Jihoon’s eyes fly over to Jeonghan again when he hears the phone click. 

“You’re actually here!” Jeonghan’s smile grows and he moves forward to give Jihoon probably the most awkward hug of his life over the counter. Jihoon laughs at that, patting his friend on the back. 

“Well, it’s either this or the streets,” he smiles, “you never told me how… grant all of this is.” He gestures with his hands, as if to make sure Jeonghan knows he means the hotel. His blonde haired friend chuckles.

“Yeah, I thought it would come off like bragging if I did say so. I never would have heard the end of it from the boys.”

Jihoon nods. He knows exactly what Jeonghan means. Still. He can’t shake the feeling that if he had known about this… his stomach drops again.

“It’s beautiful.” Is all he eventually says, ignoring the worried look of his friend. Jihoon doesn’t know (and Jeonghan will never tell him) but there was a reason he had never mentioned this to him. 

“That, it is,” Jeonghan finally responds, wiping the worry off his face and replacing it with a broad smile, “and you will get to live here for the next two weeks!”

“I will what?!” Jihoon’s eyes widen in surprise, “Jeonghan, I can barely pay rent at home, what do you-,”

“Obviously for free, dummy,” Jeonghan chuckles, “we have a free suite that has already been paid for, full price.”

Jihoon raises his brows, his hands feeling damp on top of the fancy counter.

“How come it’s free when it’s fully paid?” He asks.

“Well, there was supposed to be a wedding and…. now there isn’t one. They didn’t meet the requirements for the full or the partial refund. So, it’s free for the next two weeks since we can’t legally double book. You want it?”

It feels a little bit too good to be true, but Jihoon is in no place to turn down Jeonghan’s offer. The little voice in his head is trying to get to him, trying to make him speak the words to himself. It tries to get him to admit that this feels a lot like fate. Like a sign from above, from Tara. He doesn’t let it get to him. He’s not ready for that, and he’s certainly not melancholic enough for thoughts like this - even as a songwriter. 

“I do, thank you, Han, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

“Oh, most certainly sleep on the streets. Find a rat for a friend, or maybe a pigeon. They are crazy over here,” Jeonghan sings as he types something in the computer, scanning one of the key cards he takes from the drawer beneath him. Jihoon watches him with his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Yeah, never been a big fan of rats. Or pigeons.” Jihoon dares to look around the lobby again, seeing all those people living their life, probably never worried about any of the things he worries about. He wasn’t lying when he said he has trouble paying his rent. Work hasn’t been easy these days. 

“Aaaaand, here we go!” Jeonghan grins brightly, “your key, Mr. Lee.” He holds it mid air, pulling it back slightly as Jihoon is trying to grab it. The latter gives him a funny look. Jeonghan pouts as he thinks.

“That rhymes. “Your key, Mr. Lee”.” Jihoon closes his eyes for a second. Jeonghan chuckles happily.

“Watch out, I’m coming for your job.”

“Well, stop it and do yours instead,” Jihoon replies, allowing himself to grin back at his friend and take the card from his hands, “where is this suite you promised me?”

-

Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned what kind of suite this is. There is nothing Jihoon can do but stare at his surroundings with his mouth and backpack dropped, his guitar slowly sliding down his arm. 

He is in the honeymoon suite. In retrospect, it makes sense. Jeonghan did say a wedding had been canceled. 

There are three rooms. Right now, Jihoon is standing in the enormous entrance way. Golden and blue like downstairs, with wood accents, a big round table in the center of the room that connected all the different rooms, a centerpiece of flowers as beautiful as a summer day adjoining it. The walls are high and plastered with fine drawing, ornating through all of the hallway and over to the other rooms. Flowers and patterns so elegant Jihoon doesn’t know how to even describe them. 

He feels out of place as much as he feels content. Letting his luggage rest on the floor, he moves into the first room. It’s a large sitting room, probably as big as his whole apartment back at home. Two couches of rich dark blue; cushions in different colors, some of them reminding Jihoon of the ocean, some of the sky, rich blues and light blues, and then there is the color of dawn, orange and yellow. 

A majestic cremé colored carpet lays beneath the sofas, a glass table standing between them. On top of it magazine stacks and a glass tray holding what looks like whiskey and two glasses. High windows let the sun shine through and Jihoon spots a balcony leading around the living- and bedroom, holding his breath as he imagines himself out there softly strumming his guitar with a glass of whiskey or wine. His heart warms at the thought of finally having peace. Peace in the city his former lover had loved so much. 

Next up he walks into the bedroom, a king sized bed greets him with white linen covers and pillows almost as big as his torso. It looks incredibly comfortable and he couldn’t wait to lay down and relax after the day he’s had. Golden curtains sway in the wind let in by an opened window, and the view is so poetic he almost feels himself tear up. Quickly, he looks away and instead finds his way into the master bathroom. It’s all held in gold as well, gold and white for a change, an enormous tub next to a high rain shower behind a glass wall. He sighs.

This is perfect. And he most definitely needs a shower right now. 

So, he retraces his steps and grabs his luggage, setting everything down next to the bed and letting his guitar rest in the corner of the room. He decides to actually unpack his backpack that probably doesn’t even hold as much clothes as he probably needs for this trip (he did think he had a washer, though) and places everything in the large closet opposite the bed. 

Finding himself humming, Jihoon allows a little bit more of that earlier peace to find place in his head and heart. Perhaps there is no reason for him to be worried - to look for something to go terribly wrong on this trip. Jeonghan is off work by now, and they’ll go catch dinner together, then he’ll come back here and maybe watch a movie, fall asleep to the sound of Paris outside his window. He doesn’t know what it sounds like just yet, but he’s already excited to find out. 

Ridding himself of his clothes and feeling another threat of tears when he touches the towels hanging in the bathroom, Jihoon finally lets himself step into the shower and wash all of his worries away. 

three; the mix-up

You don’t think your heart has ever beaten as fast as it does when you walk out the Charles de Gaulle airport and right into the arms of the driver Minghao has arranged for you. It’s not about the driver or the airport - but where you are. 

Paris, the city of love, the city you feared to visit after what had happened with Jae. Yet, here you stand. Handing the driver your luggage and fishing for your phone in your purse, texting Minghao you already found your driver and are now on the way to the hotel. It all feels surreal and like you’re going to wake up any second.

Minghao forgave you without hesitation. Hugged you close to his chest and cried with you as you told him you were sorry and that he was right. You needed to do this - needed to face your demons. Together, the two of you had finalized the plans, popping open a bottle of expensive champagne and gossiping about Jaehyun and who he left you for. Little by little, you knew, you would find yourself again. And perhaps Paris was the perfect way to start. 

The drive from the airport to the hotel was spent staring out the window. First you saw the highway leading from the airport to the city - greenery with trees on each side, all passing by you in a blurr. And then the beautiful streets of Paris. The fine architecture, the elegant bridges over the Seine. Heart warming at the sight of the city you dreamt about so much. Your first ever book had taken place right here, you had let your main characters kiss for the first time right there on that bridge leading from one side of Paris to the other, so close to the Louvre, to the glass pyramid you made them fight and make up all the same, just months apart. The sun is dazzling onto the dark water of the river, light dancing on the surface. 

The driver comes to a stop in front of the hotel about 45 minutes after your departure from Charles de Gaulle. He holds open the door for you and helps you out of the car, smiling at you warmly and finally getting your bags out of the trunk. You thank him in some broken French and he nods at you before finding his way back to the driver’s seat. 

One of the bell-boys spot you right when you walk in, their English sounding a bit like your French just now. You thank them and hand over your luggage, letting them help you carry it to the mahogany reception.

It is exactly like you remember it. You had never seen it in person, no. But you’ve found this hotel during your research, falling in love with it right away. It was a no-brainer that your honeymoon was to be held here. 

You felt overwhelmed at the sight of the colors you had tried so hard to bring to paper, at the sound of soft music in the background, at the knowledge this was real and you were gonna stay here for two whole weeks. 

Finally, you reach the counter where a small man stands and smiles up at you, his hair styled back.

“Welcome, how can I help you?” He says in perfect English and you place your hands on top of the counter.

“Hi,” you tell him your name, “I have a reservation.”

The man nods, looking up the reservation and finding it right away. Not marked as checked in, he notes and gives you another big smile.

“It is wonderful to have you, Miss. Will your husband be joining you?” 

You expected as much. While it does hurt a little, having to say these next words, you know it’s a step in the right direction.

“I will be staying here alone, thank you.”

It is more beautiful than you could have imagined and it takes you a whole lot not to start crying. Your luggage gets brought up by the nice bell-boys and you thank them by tipping them each 50 Euros. Their smiles make the loss of the money worthwhile. 

Once the door closes behind them, you dare to look around. See the beautiful entrance way in all its glory. See the living room in all it’s elegance, the high ceiling and windows, the smaller bedroom with a queen sized bed and a little reading nook, two ceiling high bookshelves standing around a comfortable looking loveseat. This must be what heaven looks like. 

There is nothing that can wipe that smile off your face. Everything inside you tingles with happy excitement, moving to go look at the master bedroom with the on-suite bathroom you remembered staring at for at least five minutes when you booked the room. Imagining yourself in the enormous bathtub with a glass of champagne and classical music playing, letting all the stress and hurt from the past months fade away with the notes. 

You don’t notice the closet and how there are clothes hanging inside it. Neither do you see the guitar case in the corner of the room. It fascinates you - how your mind tricks you into thinking you already hear the sound of water running, accompanied by humming along to a tune. Magnificent, what the mind can do. 

When you finally reach for the doorknob to push it down, yanking the door open in one swift move, you realize perhaps your mind isn’t as magnificent as you thought.

Jihoon doesn’t notice you until you scream. He swirls around, which is inherently a foolish thing to do inside a wet, slippery shower, his eyes widening whe spots you, reacting to your scream by screaming himself. He realizes he’s naked and tries to find something to cover him, taking a step forward to reach for the towel and forgetting there is literally a glass wall separating you two. 

Watching the man walk face-first into the glass and stumbling back, slipping on the wet floors and falling onto his ass would have made you laugh if it wasn’t inside your shower. 

“What the hell!” You yell, turning around so you don’t look at the naked man any longer.

“Who are you?!” He yells back and you almost gasp.

“I should ask you that!”

The two of you need to yell because Jihoon has not yet managed to turn the shower off. Only now does he (while rubbing his hurting back) get up, struggling in the process, his hand finding the lever to turn off the water. His nose hurts and his ass and his back. 

He moves out of the shower without running into glass this time, and wraps one of the soft towels around his waist. 

“I’m Jihoon,” he finally says. You think you’re suddenly stuck in a really bad movie.

“That- you’re telling me your name?!” You turn around again, staring at the stranger with disbelief in your eyes. 

“You did ask who I was, didn’t you?”

For a few moments the two of you continue to stare at each other. With every passing second you notice just how naked he is. Yes, there is a towel around him now, but you certainly did not… miss what was under there when you first walked in. As much as you don’t want to, your eyes scan the stranger, or well, Jihoon as he told you, stopping at his wet torso, the defined abs and the broad chest. He might be small in height but the rest of him seems… big. 

You swallow.

“If you’re done checking me out, would you mind telling me why you’re in my room?”

Heat spreads through your body and right into your face, your eyes jumping from his torso to his face.

“Your room? I’m sorry, this is my room!”

While Jihoon did hit his head, he isn’t hurt enough not to understand that you’re most likely telling the truth. But Jeonghan had said the wedding was off… that you wouldn’t come here. So, why on earth, where you here?

“I- I can explain,” he begins, taking a step forward only for you to take a step backward. He holds out his hand as if to signal he wasn’t going to do anything.

“Go right ahead,” you hate that your voice is shaking, but it’s not like it is an everyday occurrence you find a beautiful stranger in your hotel room. If this wasn’t your actual life but a book this might have been sexy, might have led to the bed behind you finding the two strangers entangled, giving in to the sexual tension between them. Not that there was any of that in this situation.

“My friend, Jeonghan, he- he works here. He told me this suite wouldn’t be used and so I- well he asked me if I wanted to stay here for my trip after I told him my airbnb didn’t actually exist and I needed a, uh, a place to stay.”

You blink at him.

“He just- he gave you my honeymoon suite for free?

Jihoon swallows.

“Well…,” he thinks a little longer on his answer, “yes. Yes, he did.”

Telling the truth is probably his best bet. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him, clenching and unclenching your hands.

“As you can see, I am here. So, please, find somewhere else to stay.”

Jihoon saw it coming, obviously. It was all too good to be true. Without saying anything else, he walks over to the closet, ready to dress himself. Just that he didn’t quite calculate the new luggage now laying in front of the bed. 

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

Jihoon tripping over your suitcase, his hands desperate trying to find something to hold on to before he falls. As if on reflex, you grab his arm, yanking him up so he doesn’t fall flatly on his face, just that you somehow manage to yank him so hard, you fall off balance. With a high pitched squeak, you fall onto the bed, Jihoon landing on top of you, his towel falling off in the process of the fall and save. 

A naked man is on top of you, brown eyes wide with shock staring into yours. His hands somehow moved right to the sides of your head as if to catch himself from falling even further on top of you. 

You can feel him. Feel his breath on your face, his skin on yours, his friend against your thigh. More heat rises, your face, your neck, your chest, your core. It’s bad. This shouldn’t be happening right now. 

The two of you are so engulfed in the moment, you don’t even realize when the door opens yet again. When voices you would normally recognize without trouble seem to fail your ears this time. Jihoon’s face so close to yours - way too distracting.

“What the fuck?!” 

Realization hits you at the same time as recognition and you gasp, your knee coming up, right into Jihoon’s lower parts, a yelp escaping him as he slides off the bed, hands now covering his private area and his face in a grimace of sheer pain. 

You don’t even notice it. Not really, at least. Now it’s not his face that’s distracting you but the one you used to love for so many years.

“Jaehyun?” You whisper. And for a second you think he came here to make amends, to win you back, to get on his knees and apologize - then you spot her walking in, her eyes scanning the room with distaste. 

“Who is that?” Jaehyun asks and you feel your blood boil. 

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his question. He isn’t looking at you, but at Jihoon still on the floor. 

“Oh, well, you know. We thought that it would be such a waste to let this suite go to waste,” it is her who answers you now, her deep red manicured hands now curling around Jaehyun’s biceps. 

This bitch. Your blood starts boiling. Anger makes you see red. 

“You brought her here?” You hiss at Jaehyun who has the decency to look guilty at least. You snort. Then, your eyes find Jihoon who’s still on the ground, Jihoon who is still naked. Jihoon, who desperately needs a place to stay. 

God knows what makes you do what you do next. Desperation? Foolery? Who knows. But you move to help Jihoon up, grabbing the towel and holding it in front of his lower half. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun starts but you interrupt him.

“I see that we both had the idea to bring our new partners, or in your case old partner, to the suite we booked together, Jae. But since I was the one who paid for it, I would kindly ask you to leave.”

New partner. Jihoon needs a few seconds before he grasps what you just said. 

“New- new what?” He mumbles, but you clear your throat to drown out his voice. Jaehyun’s face is priceless and you don’t want the bluff to be uncovered so quickly.

“That is your new boyfriend?” She asks, her brows raised. You can see that she’s checking him out - his abs, his cest, his pretty face. It makes your insides turn with hatred and disgust. 

“Got a problem, Sierra?” You reply, your jaw tense. Her eyes only briefly meet yours.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m glad to see you finally got out of that moping phase, honey. It really didn’t suit you.” 

Your grip around the towel tightens. 

Slowly, Jihoon begins to understand what is going on. Who these people are. There was supposed to be a wedding and a honeymoon, but neither of these happened. You are the bride, or well, were supposed to be the bride. And he, the man you called Jaehyun and who had caused all the color to fade from your face, surely seems to be the groom who… never got to be the groom. And judging by the way you reacted to him and her, he guesses the reason the wedding didn’t happen was… the woman you’d called Sierra. 

Blinking a few times, Jihoon realized that you were trying to convince him that he was your new boyfriend. That you had brought him here, to this hotel. It was ridiculous and straight out of a bad movie, but somehow… even if he didn’t know you, he felt like he should help you. And so, he let his arm wrap around your waist, catching you by surprise. 

“I would kindly ask you to leave us be. You have done enough.”

Your head swirled to look at the man next to you. His stern face and his wet hair. Drops of water sliding down the side of his neck. 

“How long has this been going on?” Jaehyun asks, ignoring Jihoon’s request. You turn to look at him again.

“That’s none of your business. You heard him, Jae. Leave. This isn’t your room anymore.”

Another beat of silence falls between the four of you. You try your best to ignore Sierra and cling onto Jihoon’s hand like it was the only saving grace. Perhaps that was true. Holding Jae’s gaze and trying to calm down your hurting heart, your wishes to throw something at him. 

“Fine. I heard the honeymoon suite in the Hilton is much nicer than this one, baby.”

It is then that you see it. The rings on her finger. Your stomach drops. He married her. Oh, you’re about to throw up. Jihoon seems to notice your change of emotions, quickly clearing his throat.

“Great. Have fun in Paris then.” 

He carefully takes the towel from your hand, wrapping it around him fully again. Then, he looks at you. The overwhelming urge to give you a hug is almost unbearable.

“Maybe,” Jaehyun said, “since we are both seeing other people and have moved on - we could grab dinner sometime this week. All of us.”

Jihoon sees the way your eyes shake at the suggestion. And he is just about to say no, that that’s not a good idea, when you push your shoulder back and hold your head high.

“What a lovely idea. We’d love to, isn’t that right, baby?” You interlock your fingers with Jihoon’s and he stares at you for just a second, before nodding.

“Sure,” he breathes out, looking at Jaehyun and Sierra. 

It most certainly isn’t a lovely idea, he is well aware of that. This whole thing isn’t a good idea. But here he is. Holding the hand of a woman he barely met twenty minutes ago. A woman who has seen him naked, a woman who had his half hard cock against the inside of her thigh. A woman he had been closer to than any other in the last five years. 

No, this wasn’t a good idea. This was an awful, horrible idea that could only go so, so wrong. 

[writtenbyan-aries]

need a soul crushing colby angst

maybe seeing him again after a breakup and hes like so indifferent and nonchalant while reader is going nuts

∶ Summary: anon sums it up

∶ Warnings: angst, wine, breakup flashbacks, upset reader, ex!Colby, quick talk of depression, kind of a fluff end

∶ Word Count: 3.2k

I wanted to incorporate a song into this and Haunted was the first one that popped into my head because the lyrics instantly gave me ideas - enjoy!

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

For the last three years, you’ve given Colby everything you had to offer. All of your love, time, effort. He got it all. You spent each free moment you had with each other. Went to sleep together. Woke up together. Had breakfast, lunch, dinner together.

Everything. You didn’t think you’d ever live to see what you had with him break.

You were so blindsided by the breakup, that when it happened, it sent you through all the stages of grief.

Denial - For weeks, you kept telling yourself it’s not over. There’s no way it’s over. He’s not gone, he can’t be gone. Telling yourself, your closest friends that he just needs a break, he’ll come back. There’s no way he won’t come back. You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that three years was just gone, like it didn’t matter. You kept texting him, asking him to talk more about why he did it, asking him if it’s really over, and you just got the same response back, silence. That then pushed you into the second stage of grief.

Anger - You were angry that he didn’t answer. Angry that he didn’t give you any closure that you felt like you desperately needed. Angry that he could just drop you like you meant nothing. You let him hear it, too. Even if he didn’t respond, you gave him a peace of your mind. You ultimately moved into being angry with yourself, wondering if you could have put up a harder fight for him, and that led you into the third stage.

Bargaining - You became sad all over again, rethinking everything. You kept thinking, what if I had done more and what if we’re only meant to be just friends. You thought you had it all figure out, him all figured out. If you just give him time he’ll come back. But, over time, you felt a huge sense of guiltiness wash over and drown you in his place, leading you into the fourth stage.

Depression - You haven’t left your house in few weeks. Ordered in. Rotted on the couch and in your bed. It took your best friend coming over to tell you that you needed a shower for you to actually get up and get one. You were drowning, feeling like something’s gone terribly wrong. You felt like you had been shattered into a million tiny pieces, and no matter how much ‘glue’ you had, nothing made them stick together. Just when you thought you were getting better, you fell apart all over again. Wanting to text him, talk to him, hear his voice, but knowing he wouldn’t even give you that, hurt you even more. Eventually, with the help of your friends and their pep talks, you gradually floated into the final stage.

Acceptance - It took a few months, but you finally got to a place to where you didn’t cry when you thought about him, or when you seen something that reminded you of him. You were finally starting to feel like yourself again. You avoided looking in your camera roll because you just didn’t have deleting all of your photos in you yet, so you left them go. But you managed. You left your house, accepting the fact that you were a single, semi-healed girl, and staying in the house wasn’t going to help.

It’s been six months since the day you and Colby broke up. Four months of those six, weren’t spent dwelling and laying in a pool of self pity, but the last two you spent focusing on yourself, coping and moving forward.

You were actually feeling pretty good. You had heard through the grape vine that Colby was seeing someone new, but you tried not to let it get to you, no matter how haunted by him you felt.

“Are you okay? How do you feel?”

You gave your best friend, Leah, a confused look, “I’m fine? Why?” You set your phone down and turn towards her. She shakes her head, “No reason, I just- you have your first date with Noah tonight, and I’m just making sure you didn’t have the jitters.”

“I’m good, Leah. I promise. Noah and I have been talking for a few weeks, and it seems to be going well. I told him I wanted to take things slow, and tonight just feels like the right time to actually take things public.”

“Does he know you used to date the Colby Brock?” She raises her brows and you scoff, “That shouldn’t have anything to do with my future. Clearly, Colby wanted to stay in the past, so. Why should I care?”

“I’m just saying, Colby is-“

“Enough about Colby, Leah.” You take a deep breath, “I’m over him. I got myself all healed and glued back together, I don’t understand why-“ you pause and Leah tilts her head, “It’s okay if you’re not.”

“I have to be.” You could feel your eyes burn, but you fight back the tears, “I have to be. Colby moved on, so it’s time for me to as well.”

“Noah is really sweet.” She gives you a soft smile, “I just don’t want you hurting him, or yourself, by rushing into something you’re not fully ready for.”

You shake your head, “I like Noah. Noah.. he’s good for me.”

She smiles, “What time is your date?”

“Picking me up at six, then he said about going to the beach, taking a walk along the shore.” You feel your cheeks grow warm, “It’s new. It’s a clean slate.”

She nods, “Let me know how it goes.”

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

Noah knock on your door and led you down to his car like a gentleman.

The car ride to the restaurant was subtle, full of small talk and him telling you how beautiful you looked.

You felt good, but there was still a little part in you that held onto Colby. More so, you weren’t able to trust anything now, because of what he did to you.

You swallowed, pushing down the thoughts that creeped in and gave Noah a smile, “Have you ever been to this place before?”

He nods, “When my family comes to visit, my mom always takes us here. It’s one of her favorite spots, and mine.” He chuckles, “The food is phenomenal.”

“That’s good, I don’t think I’ve ever been to this place before. I was googling it before you came to get me, it looks fancy.” You glance down at your dress, “I hope I dressed up enough.”

“You dressed perfect.” He smiles, “We should be, ah.” He points, “Here we are.”

Your eyes can over the building. It looked rich.

“Wow. This place looks expensive just by the architecture.” You laugh, “Are you sure you-“

“I’m sure. You deserve a place like this.” He smiles, unbuckling to get out. He walks around, opening up your door. You take his hand as you get out, smoothing your other hand down over your dress.

As you’re walking through the parking lot, your heart sinks as you see a familiar looking car, but as you grow closer, it’s not who you think it is.

You let out a relieved sigh and give Noah’s hand a squeeze. He smiles and opens the door, “After you.” He motions and you nod, “Thank you.” You smile as you walk in, coming to a stop at the host stand.

“Good evening.” The gentleman smiles, “Name for the reservation, please.”

“Reynard. Noah Reynard.”

“Perfect. If you will follow me this way.”

Noah takes your hand and walks with you through the restaurant, stopping at the table, “Thank you.” He smiles at the host and moves to pull your chair out, “Here we go.”

You sit down and help him move your chair in towards the table, “Thank you.” He nods, “My pleasure.” He smiles as he sits down and the host nods, “Your waiter will be with you in just a moment.”

“Thank you.” You give the host a smile and look back at Noah, “What’s good here?”

“Everything.” He chuckles, “I usually go for the lobster and foie gras, but I can guarantee you that no matter what you get, you’ll like.”

“Hmm.” You look down over the menu, “Well see.” You smile as you glance up at him and he raises his brows, “Oh, I see you have accepted the challenge.”

You shrug, “I guess I have.” You laugh and let out a sigh as you continue perusing the menu.

A little bit later, after placing your orders and downing a glass of wine, you were in the middle of talking about where you both grew up.

As you were listening to Noah, someone in the corner of your eye, caught your attention.

Internal panic sets ablaze. You realize you were staring at Noah, but you weren’t listening, “Sorry.” You laugh, “I um, what did you say?”

“I just said that I grew up in Dallas, but moved here when I turned eighteen.” He smiles, “Have you ever been to Dallas?”

You shake your head, “No, I haven’t. But isn’t the saying, um, everything is bigger in Texas?”

“Yeah, yeah they do.” He nods with a laugh, “You said you grew up in Virginia?” You nod, “Yeah, pretty much the same story with you. Well, only the states are different.”

“I knew I’ve always wanted to come to LA, it’s always been a dream of mine to live where there’s sunshine and palm trees.” He smiles, “To think, if we never moved here, we probably would have never met.”

You smile, trying to hold it as you see Colby and his date walk behind the host across the restaurant to a table, his seat, directly in line with your view.

“Yeah, it’s, um.” You laugh, “It’s crazy how the universe works, is the waiter coming back?” You finish your glass of wine, “I need another drink.”

“Yeah, he should be coming back any- oh, here he is.” Noah moves his napkin out of the way and you do the same, laying it on your lap. You smooth out the fabric a few times, taking quick breaths as you try and settle the now full inferno inside of you.

What are the odds of seeing Colby for the first time some the breaking while you’re on a first date with someone new?

Slim to none, you’d think.

“Y/n?”

You look up, Noah staring at you, “Huh?” He laughs slightly, “Another glass of wine, you said?” You nod, looking up at the waiter, “Oh, yes, yes please.” You swallow, “I’m actually- I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick, wash my hands before I, uh, dig in.”

“Are you okay?” Noah furrows his brows and you nod, “Yes.” Your face turns into confusion, “Why?”

He shrugs, “You just seem nervous all of a sudden, I hope I wasn’t laying it on too thick, I know you said you wanted to take things slow.”

“I’m good.” You give him a smile, “Just going to wash my hands really fast.”

You get up, keeping your head down, but as soon as you look up, Colby’s eyes are already on you, and they’re cold.

Just his look alone sent you right back to the day he left.

“No, come on, come on, Colby. Don’t leave me like this.” You sob, “Please, you’re all I want, p-please. We can- we can work this out, please. Colby, I can’t- I can’t do this.”

“It’s for the best, y/n. We can’t- you want more in life, and you can’t get that if I’m not ready.” He runs a hand through his hair, eyes glistening as he locks them onto yours.

“I-I love you, Colby. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. You’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever h-happened to me, I can’t just move on from this, I can’t, I won’t.” You shake your head, walking up to him, “Please. Don’t leave me like this, please, Colby.”

You stood there, watching him, figuratively, walk further and further away from everything you had. His eyes growing colder and colder with each second, almost like he’s making himself not have a choice with doing this.

Your head pounding more and more with each sob, “Colby-“ your voice breaks, “Please don’t do this.” You gasp for air, “What went terribly wrong? We’re all we’ve ever wanted, I don’t-“

“I just know, that right now, doing this will benefit us both.” He closes his eyes, quickly wiping a stray tear away, “I love you, and with that, I need to let you go.”

Your lip quivers as the sobs start all over again, your hands moving to cover your face as you gasp for air. The sound of the door shutting sends you into a full on breakdown.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe with him being gone.

You thought you had it all figured out, but you were wrong. You thought you were good, fine without him. You thought that being with someone else would help, but seeing Colby sit there, with another girl, acting so nonchalant and like he didn’t rip your heart out six months ago makes you feel sick.

You felt like you were spiraling out of control, standing in the bathroom, holding your breath as you try not to let the feelings of six months ago take over.

You were trying so hard not to lose it all over again, and the fact that you had to go out there and act like everything was fine made it all worse.

You calm yourself down, slowly reaching for the lock and twisting it. You move to the mirror, leaning in to make sure your makeup isn’t out of place.

As you turn, the girl Colby is at dinner with, walks through the door. She gives you a small smile and you just stare at her, moving your eyes down to the floor.

She was beautiful.

You swallow, taking a deep breath before walking back out to Noah.

“I thought I was going to have to send in a search and rescue team.” Noah jokes, “seriously, though. Are you okay?”

You nod, grabbing your glass and taking a sip, “I’m perfect.” You smile, fully acting like you aren’t going nuts on the inside, “This look delicious.” You look at your plate and Noah nods, “So, let’s see if I was right.”

“Oh, right.” You laugh, “Yes.” You cut off a piece of your food and take a bite. Your eyes go wide, “Oh, you were right.” You hum lowly, “This is delicious, my god.”

The whole time you were eating, especially before Colby’s date came back, his eyes were on you. Watching your every move, listening to every fake laugh that slipped from your lips.

As dinner came to a close, you motioned, “all of this wine in going right through me.” You laugh, “Do you want me to-“

“I got it. You go, I’ll meet you back here.” Noah smiles, “That beach walk is calling our names, I can hear it.”

You smile, “that’s what I’m most excited about.”

He scoffs, “Well if I would have known that, I wouldn’t have taken a loan out to pay for dinner.” Your jaw drops and he laughs, “I’m joking, I can pay for this all on my own.”

You let out a sigh, “Jokster, I see.” You smile, “I’ll be right back.” You get up, avoiding Colby as you walk by, entering the bathroom.

You walk into the stall, doing what you need to do, and stand up, walking out to the sink. As you’re washing your hands, you stare at yourself in the mirror, taking a few calming breathes as you try to push Colby from your head.

You straighten up, letting out a sigh and walking to dry your hands. As soon as you open the door, you stop, your heart dropping into your stomach as you see Colby standing there.

“I don’t..” he turns, dropping his hands, “I don’t know why I’m here.”

“Aren’t you on a date?” You swallow, trying to keep the upper hand, “That’s what I’m doing here.”

“No i-“ he scoffs, “Yeah, I know that.” He clenches his jaw, “I just-“ he shakes his head and you sigh, “You and I are walking a fragile line here, Colby.”

“Yeah, I’ve known it all this time, as soon as I seen you sitting there with him.” He tilts his head, “I- you look good.”

“Thank you.” You look down, “I um, I have to-“

“Do you miss me?”

You stare at him, “Do I miss you?”

You scoff, “Colby, I-“ you shake your head, “Does it even matter? You seemed to move on rather quickly, sitting there, acting like seeing someone you once gave everything to doesn’t hurt you in the slightest.” You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t say anything, so you sigh, “but.. yeah, of course I do. I still mean every word I said to you.”

“I’m haunted by you.” He laughs slightly, “I still look for you in everyone I come across, I don’t-“ he shakes his head, “I don’t kn- I was so stupid to let you go.”

“But you did.” You tilt your head, “For months, I was a wreck, thinking I had you figured out, figuring out a way for us to make it work, but in the end, I was the one who looked stupid. Telling everyone that you had your reasons when I literally had no idea why you left, other than you thought I wanted more, but in reality, Colby. I wanted you. No matter what.”

His eyes fall to the floor, his head nods slowly, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?” You sniffle, “I just- I don’t need this. I don’t need you messing with my head, you did that enough when you first sat down at the table.”

You go to walk away but he grabs your hand, and sparks trickle up your arm, “Wait.” He pulls you in, “Tell me you’re happier with him.”

You stay quiet for a moment, your eyes staying on his hand in yours, “He might try to take my pain away and he might make me smile, but..” you look up at him, “the whole time, I’m wishing he was you instead.”

He nods, eyes bouncing from your lips to your eyes and you knew what was about to happen, but you pull away. You clear your throat, “I um..” you shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts.

“What?” Colby asks, “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You shrug, taking a deep breath, “A part of me wants to know where we go from this, but then another part of me can’t trust anything now and I don’t want to keep holding onto nothing.” You look up at him and he nods, “Why don’t you just go back to your table, I’ll go back to mine, and then maybe..” he shrugs, “One of us is dumb enough to call the other later on.”

────────── •✧✧• ──────────

Thank you so much for reading! I love you so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Like and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[solarecliipse]

if i dare to say !

akaashi keiji x reader.

a/n: sooo my laptop got broke, and i had a hard time getting it repaired, which is why this one's coming like a week later than it was suppossed to, but here it is! make sure to take care of yourselfs and get enough sleep :)

you can still remember the way he looked at you that day, eyes cold and distant, like a stranger wearing the face of someone you used to know. the words he said, the way he broke you apart, still echoes in your mind like a song stuck on repeat.

“it’s not working,” he had said, his voice devoid of the warmth that once embraced you. “we need to end this.”

you had asked him why, your voice trembling, but he only shook his head, refusing to give out any real answer. “it’s just better this way,” he had said. And then he walked away, leaving you standing there, with your soul shattered into a million pieces.

for weeks, you tried to understand what went wrong, replaying every moment in your head, searching for signs that you might have missed, but all you could find was more pain, more confusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. you had to let go, even if you didn’t have all the answers.

months passed, and the wounds he left behind began to heal, slowly and painfully. you forced yourself to move on, to build a life that didn’t revolve around him. you surrounded yourself with friends, threw yourself into your work, and even began to rediscover the things that used to make you happy before he came into your life. it wasn’t easy, and there were days when the ache in your chest felt like it would never go away, but you kept pushing forward, determined to find yourself again, to be whole without him, even if it meant staying away from the things you shared.

and just when you thought you were finally getting there, he came back.

you were sitting at a café with a friend, yukie, laughing over some silly story she was telling you, when you saw him. he walked in as if he belonged there, as if he hadn’t ripped your heart out and left you to pick up the pieces alone. 

you froze, laughter dying in my throat. yukie noticed the change of demeanor and followed your gaze. “oh no,” she muttered.

 “what’s he doing here?” you ask in a hoarse voice.

“i don’t know”

he hadn’t seen you yet, and you had half a mind to slip out before he did, but it was too late. your eyes met across the room, and his face lit up with a smile that made your stomach churn.

he walked over, and you couldn’t help but notice that he looked just the same. same tousled hair, same easy smile, as if no time had passed, as if nothing had changed, but everything had changed. at least for you.

“hey,” he said, his voice annoyingly casual. “it’s been a while.”

“yeah,” you replied, your tone clipped. you wanted to say something more, something sharp and biting, but couldn’t find the words.

yukie glanced between you, clearly uncomfortable. “i’ll, uh, leave you two to talk,” she said, grabbing her purse and giving you a look that said, call me if you need an escape. you nodded, appreciating her unspoken offer, but stayed put. even if it hurt, you needed to hear what he had to say.

“so,” he began, once yukie was gone, “how have you been?”

you stared at him, incredulous. “how do you think i’ve been?” you asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

he winced, as if the words had physically hurt him. “i know, i know. i messed up, okay? but I’ve been thinking about things, and i realized that i want us to be friends again.”

friends. the word hung in the air between you, heavy and unwelcome. you almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “you can’t be serious,” you spat, crossing your arms over your chest.

“i am,” he insisted, leaning forward as if that would make his words more convincing. “i miss you. i miss us.”

“us?” you echoed, shaking your head. “there is no ‘us’ anymore, remember? you made sure of that.”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “i know i screwed up, and i’m sorry for that, but I was going through a lot, and i didn’t know how to deal with it. breaking up was a mistake, i see that now.”

a mistake. that’s what he called it? a simple mistake, like forgetting to return a phone call or misplacing your keys. not the complete and utter devastation of someone’s trust and heart.

“well, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” you said, voice shaking. “you didn’t just hurt me, you broke me, and now you think we can just go back to being friends, like nothing happened?”

“i’m not saying we can go back to how things were,” he said quickly. “i just… i miss having you in my life. can’t we at least try?”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, didn’t feel that old, familiar pull. the one that used to make you forgive him for everything, that made you overlook the things that hurt. instead, all you could feel was exhaustion, you were tired of fighting for something that was already dead.

“i don’t think we can,” you said quietly, finally admitting the truth to both of you. “too much has happened, and i’ve changed. i��m not the same person you left behind, and i don’t think you are either.”

he looked at you, his expression a mix of regret and something else you couldn’t quite place. “i understand,” he said after a long pause. “i guess i just hoped…”

“yeah,” you cut in, not wanting to hear whatever hope he had been holding on to. “well, we can’t always get what we want.”

he nodded, standing up slowly. “i’m really sorry,” he said, and for the first time, it was like he actually meant it. “for everything.”

you didn’t answer, instead looking away. what was there left to say? he lingered for a moment, as if waiting for you to change your mind, but when you didn’t, he finally walked away.

after he left, you sat there for a long time, staring at the empty seat across from you. and you should have felt relieved, maybe even proud of yourself for standing your ground, but all you could feel was a deep, aching sadness.

[jusst-you-race]

30 and GEWIS PLS🥺🙏

i'm so sorry this one is evil but i cannot help torturing george i guess... much love <3 from this angst prompt list

"You can't tell anyone."

“Lewis,” George calls as he opens the door to Lewis’ driver room, half distracted by the data printout in his hand. There’s a noise of surprise from the man in question, and George looks up. 

Only to come face to face with a shirtless Lewis.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking, George?” Lewis asks. He’s smiling, like he isn’t embarrassed, and George can feel his own face go red enough for both of them. 

“Oh my god I am. I’m so sorry,” George stutters, almost dropping the papers in his hands as he tries to back out of the room. 

“It’s fine, George.” Lewis waves him off, then leans over to grab his top from where it’s neatly folded and sitting on a chair. 

Still flustered, George tries, and fails, to look anywhere other than at Lewis’ bare chest. His eyes skim down the line of Lewis’ torso, catching on the patches of ink that make up all of Lewis’ tattoos. Just as he’s beginning to wonder about Lewis’ soul mark, he spots an achingly familiar design on Lewis’ lower back, just peeking out of the band of the jeans slung low on Lewis’ hips. 

George knows that mark. 

He inhales sharply.

“Lewis…” His voice wobbles, and it catches the attention of the other man who pauses halfway through pulling his top on to turn towards George. He raises a questioning eyebrow. “Your mark,” is all George can manage to say. 

Panic flashes across Lewis’ face, and he quickly yanks his top down. 

“You weren’t supposed to see that.” Lewis’s voice is cold, closed off, and George almost flinches at the change in tone. He drops all the papers in his hands on the ground unceremoniously.

“Lewis just–” He yanks his own shirt up and turns around. “Look.”

Silence. 

After a minute, George works up the courage to turn back around. Lewis’ face is stony, pale. None of the joy and care that George is so used to seeing. 

“We match.” It’s barely more than a whisper, but the room is so quiet he knows Lewis has heard it. Whatever George was expecting, whatever romanticised idea he had in his head about discovering his soulmate, it all comes crashing down when Lewis flinches. George feels tears burning behind his eyes. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but Lewis doesn’t look happy. His soulmate doesn’t look happy. George feels like the floor has fallen out from under him. 

“Lewis?” He hates how small and fragile his voice sounds. 

Lewis looks up, pain written across his face. 

“George.” A moment of hesitation as something conflicted flashes across his expression. “You can’t tell anyone.”

It seems strange that George’s heart could shatter into a million pieces and not make a single sound. He swallows the lump in his throat. 

“Why?” 

Lewis sighs, shoulders sagging. 

“George, you know we can’t.” He gestures vaguely around them. “Not like this.” His voice takes on a pleading tone. Like he’s asking George for a favour, rather than tearing a hole through his chest. 

George nods jerkily. 

“Right.” His voice comes out steadier than he expected. Relief washes over Lewis’ face, his shoulders already looking lighter. George feels it like a knife between the ribs. 

“You understand, right George?” Lewis smiles at him reassuringly. 

“Of course.” George gives a tight lipped smile in response. He bends down to pick up the papers from the floor. It feels like picking up the shards of his heart. He clears his throat and pushes down the tears, pushes down the hurt, pushes down everything. George stands up. “Lewis, if you have a moment I just wanted to run over some data.” His voice is controlled, even. George clings to his facade with a white-knuckled grip. 

Lewis smiles, easy.

“Sure thing, Georgie.”

This time George doesn’t even feel the knife.

[asgard23]

Nothing Left To Fall From

Bucky x Reader

Warning : this has a descriptive scene of cheating , mentions of rape,depression, trauma ,angst, just sad.

Broke my own heart writing this y’all😭

Summary: After a traumatic mission, Y/N pushes her boyfriend Bucky away, struggling with depression and lack of intimacy. Despite support from the team and her best friend Natasha, a betrayal leaves Y/N in deeper emotional pain she feels she will never recover from.

Part 2?

The weight of the world felt lighter on your shoulders when he was near. Bucky Barnes. The ghost from the past who became your present, your impossible future. He was everything you hadn't known you needed, a steady anchor in a life that felt constantly adrift. And you loved him – loved him with a fierceness carved from shared scars and unspoken understanding.

But that was before. Before the mission.

The mission had broken something inside you. Something fundamental. A part of you that felt safe, that felt whole, was shattered into a million irreparable pieces. You came back, physically unharmed in the ways that mattered on a medical report, but psychically fractured. Sleep offered no respite, only a replay of the screams, the smells, his touch.

Depression settled over you like a shroud, thick and suffocating. The vibrant colors of your life, the easy laughter, the captivating beauty people always commented on – it all faded into a monochrome existence. You retreated, not just from the world, but from the person you loved most. From Bucky.

He tried. Oh, how he tried. For six long months since you’d returned, he’d circled you, gentle and persistent. He held your hand, cooked your favorite meals, just sat beside you in silence, his mere presence a silent plea. "Y/n," he'd whisper, his voice rough with concern, "Talk to me. Please. What happened?"

But the words were stuck. Glued to your throat by terror and shame. How could you tell him? How could you vocalize the degradation, the violation? You couldn’t even bear to think about it yourself without the world tilting on its axis.

Intimacy, the connection that had once felt as vital as air between you, became a foreign concept. The thought of touch, of being seen, of vulnerability it sent shivers of revulsion through you. Sex? It hadn't happened since before the mission. Months of shared nights where he would hold you stiffly, a chasm growing between your bodies as wide as the one in your soul. You felt his hurt, saw the confusion and pain flicker in his blue eyes, and the guilt clawed at your insides, adding another layer to the crushing weight. You loved him, desperately, but you were drowning, and you were pulling him down with you.

Fury had insisted on counseling. A S.H.I.E.L.D. You refused. Flatly. The idea of dissecting the horror, putting words to the unspeakable, felt like ripping open a wound that might never close.

Your friends visited, though. Steve, bless his earnest heart, would sit with you, sharing quiet stories, his presence a comforting anchor. Sam would crack jokes, trying to coax a smile, a flicker of the old you. Wanda, with her gentle empathy, sometimes just sat and held your hand, her power a silent understanding rather than an intrusion. Tony sent expensive, ridiculous gifts and occasionally dropped by with awkward, well-meaning advice.

But it was Natasha who was there most often. Your best friend. Nat. She didn't try to fix you. Didn't ask questions you couldn't answer. She just was. She’d climb into bed with you, under the covers, and just hold you. Sometimes you’d sob into her shoulder, the tears silent and endless, and she’d just stroke your hair, murmuring soft comforts. On those days, Bucky would quietly leave. He saw the bond, understood that sometimes you needed a different kind of comfort, maybe one he, with his own complicated past, couldn't currently provide. He trusted Nat. You trusted Nat.

You remember one of those days, curled up with Nat, the world outside a blur. Her presence was a warmth against the coldness inside you. You felt safe with your best friend. Safe. The irony of that word, now.

Sometimes, when you were alone, or when sleep finally claimed you, the memories would break through the dam you’d built.

Flashback

The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and something chemical. Your breath hitched in your throat, ragged and shallow. The concrete floor was cold against your skin, damp with an unknown liquid. You tried to move, but restraints dug into your wrists and ankles, biting into your flesh.

He stepped into your line of sight. A Hydra operative. Not just any operative, but the one who had led the ambush, the one whose face was seared into your nightmares.

His smile was slow, predatory. "Look at her," he sneered, his voice a low rumble in the small room. "The beautiful Avenger's pet. So brave on the battlefield."

He knelt down, his touch sending a wave of pure terror through you. As he began to unbuckle his belt.

He leaned closer, his foul breath on your face. "Let's see how brave you are when you can't fight back."

Your screams were swallowed by the thick walls. The world narrowed to the feel of his hands, the cold, clinical violation, the utter powerlessness. You closed your eyes, trying to retreat into yourself, but there was nowhere to go. It went on and on, a timeless horror. Your body felt like it wasn't yours anymore, a vessel being defiled. When it was over, he stood, wiping his hands with a casual indifference that was almost worse than the act itself. He left you there, broken and discarded, the silence echoing with the phantom sounds of your own strangled cries.

End of Flashback

The memory would leave you breathless, trembling, the phantom touch lingering on your skin for hours. That was why you couldn't let Bucky touch you. Why the thought of intimacy was a physical pain. It wasn't him. It was him.

Six months. He'd been so patient, so loving, so hurt. And you had given him nothing. You saw the toll it took on him, the shadow deepening in his eyes. He felt impotent, unable to reach you, unable to help. You were pushing him away, and part of you, the sick, damaged part, wondered if he’d finally give up.

Tonight, though, a fragile spark flickered within you. A tiny ember of the old you. You looked in the mirror, really looked for the first time in months. The face staring back was gaunt, shadowed, but beneath the pain, you saw the ghost of the beauty everyone spoke of. You felt a pang of guilt so sharp it stole your breath. He deserved better. He deserved the woman he fell in love with. He deserved you.

Maybe, just maybe, you could try. Try to climb out of the darkness, take a step towards him. You needed to talk to him. To try and explain, even if you couldn't bring yourself to say the worst parts.

You found a dress – one he loved. Simple, elegant, emphasizing the curves he used to trace with such tenderness. You brushed your tangled hair, applied a touch of makeup, trying to mask the fatigue and sorrow. It felt strange, alien, like wearing someone else's skin.

You needed to see him. Needed to feel his presence, maybe even just sit near him and hold his hand without flinching. You knew he wasn't home. He'd been spending more time at the Tower lately, training late, maybe to burn off energy, maybe to avoid the suffocating silence of your shared apartment.

You pinged his phone. Location: Avengers Tower. 11:47 PM. A slight frown creased your brow. Why was he here so late? It wasn't a mission night, wasn't a scheduled training. He should be home.

A ripple of unease went through you, quickly dismissed. He was Bucky. He had his reasons. You grabbed your keys and headed out, the cool night air a stark contrast to the heat rising in your chest – a mixture of anticipation and fragile hope.

The Tower was eerily quiet when you arrived. Security waved you through, used to your late-night visits. You walked through the silent corridors. You headed towards the training area, assuming that's where he'd be if he was still here working out.

As you got closer, another sound reached you. Faint at first, then growing louder. Moans. A sound that sent a prickle of alarm up your spine. It was coming from the main combat training room. Your stomach tightened. Who was in there?

You crept closer, the sounds becoming unmistakable. Not sounds of pain or struggle, but of... pleasure. Your heart lurched. Who...? And then, the familiar inflection of a voice, a woman's voice, cut through the air. A voice you knew intimately. Natasha.

Panic flared, cold and sharp. What was Nat doing in the training room with someone, making those kinds of sounds, this late? A knot of dread formed in your gut. You reached the doorway, peering around the frame, your breath catching in your throat.

The scene that unfolded before you ripped the fragile hope you'd nurtured minutes ago into a million agonizing pieces.

They were on the floor of the padded training mat. Completely naked, slick with sweat under the harsh overhead lights. Your Bucky. And your best friend. Nat.

Natasha was straddling him. Her red hair was damp and plastered to her neck and shoulders. Her breasts, full and bobbing with every movement, were directly in your line of sight. She was riding him, happily, relentlessly, her face tilted back, eyes squeezed shut or rolled back in her head, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss contorting her features.

Her strong thighs were clamped tightly on either side of his hips as she bounced and swirled, using his chest for leverage, driving herself down onto him with a rhythm that echoed the frantic beat of your own heart.

Bucky was lying beneath her, his metal arm thrown back, his organic hand gripping her hip. His face was a mask of pleasure, eyes heavy-lidded, a low groan rumbling up from his chest as Natasha ground herself against him, taking him deeper with every movement.

You watched, horrified and unable to tear your eyes away. Bucky's metal arm was wrapped around her waist, steadying her, while his human hand reached up, grabbing, fondling her breast. Nat leaned back slightly, bracing her arms on his legs as she continued her mesmerizing swirl on his dick.

Bucky’s hand shifted, reaching down, his fingers finding her clit. He began to rub, soft circles, then faster, firmer. A move you knew too well, a touch that gave you ecstasy. Now it was hers.

You couldn't breathe. The air was thick with the scent of sex and betrayal. Your Bucky. Your Nat. Like this. Together. The pain that shot through you was instantaneous, devastating. It was worse than the time you'd taken a knife wound to the gut on a mission years ago. That was physical. This was soul-deep. 

You wanted to run, to turn around and erase the image from your mind, but you were rooted to the spot, unable to tear your eyes away from the horrifying spectacle. You had to admit, through the haze of agony, that Natasha looked beautiful. Powerful, desirable. And it hurt even more. Like a physical blow. All those little things you’d dismissed, those moments of discomfort you’d buried, Natasha's gaze lingering on Bucky a second too long, their easy, playful banter that sometimes felt just slightly charged, her subtle touches. She had wanted him. All along, she had wanted him.

Bucky shifted, placing both his feet flat on the mat. With his lower body now anchored, he began to thrust upwards, meeting Natasha's downward drive with powerful, rhythmic strokes. The sounds intensified. Skin slapping against skin, wet, heavy breaths, urgent moans.

"Oh, Buck! Yes! Just like that!" Natasha cried out, her voice raw with pleasure. Your tears, silent and unnoticed, finally began to run down your face, hot trails on your cold cheeks. You saw he wasn't even wearing protection. He was fucking her raw. This wasn't some brief, meaningless encounter; this felt... intimate. Entangled.

Bucky’s voice, rough with desire, filled the air. "Oh fuck, Tasha, keep squeezing my dick just like that, you slut," The words, his words, directed at her, twisted the knife deeper. Your vision blurred, but you couldn't look away. You watched, a silent, invisible witness, as they climaxed.

 And then came the horrifying words from your friend, screamed out "Cum in me, Buck! Cum in me now!" Natasha threw her head back, a long, drawn-out moan escaping her lips. 

And you saw him nod "Yeah, baby," he groaned, his thrusts becoming faster, more desperate. He lifted his hips into her one final, shuddering time, burying himself deep inside her. Natasha cried out again, a joyous scream, her body convulsing around him. Bucky let out a guttural roar, his back arching, his face contorted in release as he poured himself into your best friend.

Natasha cried out again, a sound of completion and pure surrender, her body slumping onto his, exhausted and satisfied.They lay there for a moment, gasping for breath, the only sounds the ragged inhale and exhale of their lungs.

Then, Bucky shifted slightly. "Nat... we... we can't do this again."

The words hit you like a physical blow, even softer than Natasha's previous scream.

"Again?" you thought, the small snippet of admission splintering your heart further. This hadn't been a one-time mistake, a moment of drunken weakness or unexpected passion. This had happened before. This had happened before.

Your heart was not just broken; it was pulverized. The betrayal was deeper, more calculated, more sustained than you could have possibly imagined. They had been doing this behind your back.

You couldn’t hear anymore, the heartbreaking reality became overwhelming. Your legs, stiff from standing frozen, finally obeyed. You turned blindly, a gasp caught in your throat that you quickly choked back, suppressing a sob. You stumbled back from the doorframe, your eyes blurred with tears, turning and running, needing only to be away. 

You didn't look back. You ran down the corridor, not caring how much noise you made now, your only thought survival, escape. As you rounded a corner, stumbling slightly on the polished floor where the carpet ended, something slipped from your clenched hand, something small and cold against your palm moments before. You didn't even notice it fall. Your world had narrowed to the frantic pounding of your own heart and the desperate need to breathe air that wasn't tainted by their betrayal.

Back in the training room, silence settled around Bucky and Natasha as they slowly began to disentangle, catching their breath in the aftermath of the storm. Bucky shifted on the floor, preparing to stand, his gaze sweeping over the area closest to where they lay.

Something small glinted on the polished concrete floor near the entrance of the room, just beyond where the padded mats ended. It hadn't been there before. He reached for it, curious.

His hand froze as his fingers closed around the cold metal. It was small, a delicate silver charm shaped like a winter flower, intricately detailed, nestled on a thin, worn leather cord.

He knew it instantly. His blood ran cold.

Natasha, starting to sit up, followed his gaze. Her eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat as she saw what he held.

It was the charm Nat had made and given you for your birthday, just a few months ago. A symbol of your friendship, something she knew you cherished and often wore around your wrist or kept in your pocket.

The silence in the room became deafening. Bucky's face drained of color, mirroring the dawning horror in Natasha's eyes.

They knew. They both knew.

The quiet horror in his eyes, the dread in hers, mirrored the silent scream tearing through your own vanished world as you fled blindly through the empty tower, leaving behind everything you thought you had.

[cairo-morningstar]

Mortal

♡ Word count; 858

♡ Warnings; Mentions of blood, death, violence, angst, cursing.

♡ Genre; Reverse Comfort & Established Relationship

♡ Notes; Wrote this while listening to a song, not sure how I feel about it, but decided to put something out there even if it was a small drabble.

♡ Summery; Heimdall needing comfort from mortal!reader after he is confronted by their mortality.

Silence fell in the great hall, no soul dared to breath wrong in the direction of the God whose fist dripped strings of blood. And, as he moved the crowd made sure to part for him and for you. "Heimdall!" He kept moving, his steps unfaltering. "I did not want this" Heimdall stopped at your words before turning suddenly anger as hot as coal seething through his eyes and words "I don't care what you wanted, I don't care what you think this isn't about you, I promised no harm to befall you, and he laid his hands on you. He broke my word, the word of a god under my roof. Count yourself fucking lucky his alive." Behind you, healers surrounded the unrecognisable man hoping to salvage his life, Heimdall had beat him to a shape other then human, they didn't know if they could do much. You did not care. Your eyes still focused in the direction where his figure disappeared, brows furrowed and horror shining through your features.

Love made Kings fools, peasants abundant, and Gods sometimes monsters.

The room was quiet expect for the slight splashing of water, he was inside the washroom cleaning off the blood from his hands, unlike his brothers, he hated being dirty, hated the feeling of blood on him. "Hemie... I-" you try to reach out, to comfort him but he flinched out of your touch as if it were hot iron "Don't touch me" he breathed out, you retreated your hand "Heimdall it's ok-" "leave". You frown. "I never left you before when you needed me, I won't start now" He cringes at your soft voice and places both hands on the basin of water "My only job was to keep you safe, as a god, as your husband it was my only job and I failed" somehow during his low toned words he found himself with his arms wrapped around you and yours wrapped around him, he sounded broken like a glass shattered into a million pieces

"It's not your job Hemie-"

"Yes it is, I am the God of Forsight, the watcher and protector of Asgard, and a mere fucking low life managed to hurt the one thing I care about more then my fucking title" anger returned to his voice, yet he didn't raise it at you.

"You weren't there"

"You're right I wasn't there" You pull away to look at him. His face had become unreadable, he looked completely neutral, an empty canvas ready to be painted on.

"I wasn't there" his lips shakily quirked up "would I not be there when someone decides to kill you? Would I not be there if you fall or if an accident happens? Would I come home one day and find you dead? Is that it?"

The once warm Himinbjörg felt cold. No longer did the hearth banish away the shivers or the tears, instead, it seemed the orange glow called for it. Light fell on the man you fell for, illuminating the side of his face making his glowing eyes shine even brighter. After not hearing an answer, his already stiff body turned rigid within your embrace, he seemed to find it unbearable as he quickly pulled away while still keeping himself close to you.

"You're a mortal"

Those three words were enough. A gentle hand placed upon his cheek, you pull him close resting his head on your shoulder. You move a hand to the back of his head threading your fingers through his hair, the other you pulled over his back and hugged him with it tightly. Heimdall was afraid, he was afraid to loose you.

"I thought.... thought that your mortal life span didn't matter, that I had a hundred years with you. But it's not enough, its no where near enough, I can't bare the idea of anything less than an eternity but I learned to cope, I learned to enjoy the time we had but now? Knowing it's not just you growing old but that it could be a simple fall or a bad meal away for you to leave me? That it could...that it could be one fuckers bad day for you to die? and I wouldn't even be there"

"One day I will die sure-" He moved you before you could finish, now, you laid on the bed with his face stuffed in your chest and his arms holding you so tight it ached slightly. "Stop it. Just... just stop don't talk I don't want... I don't need..." His voice trailed off when he felt your fingers scratch his scalp easing his tense body and forcing his voice to catch in his throat, "I know, it's okay, I'll be okay, you'll be okay Heimdall" he felt a chuckle leave his lips, a breathy pained laugh tempered with his voice giving out "A mere mortal comforting a god, how funny" you only responed by kissing his forehead. You never saw him this way, vulnerable, open like a new born baby bird that fell from his nest, "Well let's hope the mortal is doing a good job with it"

"You are"

[angxlofvenus]

A Shoulder To Cry On Pt. 2

Requested By: @saturnsapothecary Genre: Hurt/comfort Ship: Side Characters x reader TW: Mentions of crying, physical touch, Distressing situations (not specific), hugging, mentions of kissing, sad Solomon, Word count: 805 words AN: Hi! This is the second installment in this, This one is sad just like the last one and has some depressing topis, please heed the TW and happy reading!!

Find Pt. 1 Here! (Demon Brothers edition!)

Diavolo

You can hear this man's heart shatter into a million tiny pieces

He just wanted to surprise you at the HoL but he never expected to see this!

Runs up to you and kneels in front of you, “What’s wrong, my dear?” 

He doesn’t have much experience with consoling people but everything comes to him so naturally as he gently lifts you from the ground and brings you to your feet before asking you to accompany him to the castle

Once you all arrive, He’ll send Barbatos to start you a bath and will try to make your stay as comfortable and luxurious as you let him.

Unlike the others he actually can do something about your problem, He is the prince, One day king, of the Devildom- He has a lot on his plate but you will always be his top priority no matter what.

Barbatos

He had come over with Dia to attend a meeting with Lucifer, While the two conversed he decided to pay a quick visit to you, Not knowing what he would discover,

A soft gasp resounded throughout the room as light steps, almost like a ghost grew nearer and nearer.

His presence would almost dance around you as his eyes took in your being, Looking for signs of wounds or anything else that the naked eye could find.

Very slowly, a gloved hand would take your face, No words were spoken as he looked into your eyes, His hand would curve around your arm and gently rise your body up before creating a portal to lead you to the HoL, Sending a quick text to Lucifer and Diavolo of you whereabouts

He’d lead you to a couch in a private sitting room before disappearing for a couple of minutes, coming back with tea and a large box of things, He’d set the tea and other assortments down on the coffee table.

He would settle himself beside you at a comfortable distance, Just in case, Before pulling things out of the box, Tissues, A blanket, etc 

He’d bundle you up and would start preparing the tea as he’d let you talk about the situation/anything you’d want to talk about

He isn’t allowed to fix tiny things with his powers, But he will always be there for you- no matter the outcome.

Simeon

Oh this sweet angel

He could probably feel your distress through the door

One of the only people to actually know what to do, He is an angel who not only is raising another angel but is also a very naturally nurturing person

He is by your side before you can even register that he’s there, His presence washes over you like the sun as he immediately frets over you in a soft tone

You get to your feet with his help, He leads you to the bed before tucking you in with a soft hand running over your forehead (He would also kiss your forehead if you’d like)

Sleep takes over your tired state as he whispers reassurances and praise to you, He is a warm soul and will help you in any way he can

Solomon

He was just returning a book he had borrowed when he saw you.

His entire body stiffens up as your own racks with sobs

“Mc..?” he says in a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear

You meet his eyes, Swirls of grey remorse float through his eyes as he tries to understand what he’s seeing

He lingers near the door as he watches you try to get yourself together, Unsure of what to do.

“I-How can I help?” Your eyes will meet his again as he searches for an answer.

Whatever you want at that moment, He’ll do. If you want to talk, He’s all ears, If you want comfort, His body will slowly unwind- muscles untensing, as your bodies melted together

He is in a world up against demons and angels alike, fighting over your attention daily. But if he can be there for you in these moments, Minds so close together, Him helping you, That would be enough.

Luke

“Mc!-” The boy would say cheerfully as he entered, Once he saw you though, Whole demeanor change.

A little gasp leaves him before he runs towards you, Immediately looking you over, “What have those demons done to you!?” 

Please reassure him that everything is okay, This boy is jumping to conclusions as soon as he sees your face

He will hug you tightly as tears well up in his eyes, What can he do to make it better? He just wants you happy- You don’t deserve this!

Will invite you to come and de-stress at the Purgatory hall by baking with him.

Will definitely be over protective of you for a couple weeks after that

[eureka-its-zico]

ROBBY MY POOKIE pls I could NOT handle his sad little face this final episode! Especially towards the end he was just gone😭 Mr sad brown eyes really took it to the next leve. Noah said in an interview that he didn’t know what would have happened if Abbot hadn’t gone up to the roof with Robby💀 There’s one particular expression he makes towards the end when Dana tells him to give himself some grace that just shattered my heart into a million pieces 😭😭😭😭

YESSSSSSS 🥹😭😭😭 the way he looked at Dana after she told him that rocked me. Noah is such a phenomenal actor to convey so much emotion in a look; a heavy sadness that just sits in his eyes and crushes the soul. That’s why I immediately thought, if he comes to work Monday and she isn’t there, he’ll be so lost and heartbroken. She’s the center in all this craziness and just helps hold him up.

The season finale just made me want to just wrap everyone in a tight hug (except Langdon because he officially just pissed me off. I get being scared and stuff, but even when he spoke with Dana he never ONCE asked how SHE was doing clearly seeing she was also not having a great fucking day and was like, vouch for me. Nah hoe it’s called the consciences of our actions and what Robby asked wasn’t unreasonable and was meant to HELP his dense ass, not hurt it, and it’s HIS fault he can’t be trusted atm) and just try and give them as much love as humanly possible.

I’ve been knuckle deep in thought since I watched this season finale and it’s the traumatized kind 🤣🤣

[seokgyuu]

Strawberry Wine - Teaser

Pairing: Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fake Dating, Smut (not in this teaser, but the actual story!) MDNI!

Synopsis: After breaking off your engagement to your cheating fiancé, you decide to take the planned trip to Paris anyway. A vacation alone with the honeymoon suite all to yourself seems like the perfect distraction. Just that, due to an internal error at the hotel lost soul Jihoon, who still isn't over his first love's death five years ago, is staying in the same honeymoon suite as you.

Word count: 1229 (the teaser)

Release date: Part 1: 4th of August, Part 2: tba

A/N: this is a teaser for my upcoming fic for @svthub's world tour collab! I want to thank the admin team for arranging this wonderful collab and also @okiedokrie for the beautiful header and divider! All the smut warnings will be in the actual fic!

The flash of the camera goes off and you’re almost sure your eyes were closed. The teenage girl next to you smiles brightly and waves at you once more before rushing off to go over to her mother. You lightly smile back and look over to your right where Minghao is giving you a thumbs up. Apparently, so you interpret his gesture, you’re holding up quite well for someone who just caught her fiancée cheating two weeks ago. 

You’re aware that you could have canceled the book signing today. No one would have been mad. But even though your heart is shattered to a million pieces and you don’t think you’ll ever heal from this hurt - you still need to earn money and make those who give you that money happy. Just sucks that the person you build this with is somewhere on the Bahamas with your biggest rival on the romance book market. Or, well, as your publisher says: your bestest friend on the romance book market. Since you’re both making money, of course. You can’t count the times you and her have been sent to events together, not saying a word to each other on the way there and playing happy family the second you are in front of the cameras. 

Her books weren’t even good! Boring and predictable if anyone asked you. Your ex had always agreed with you, even if he was her agent as well as yours. But Jaehyun was slick - he told her the same about your books. 

“Hi, oh my god, I love your books so much! I can’t wait for the next one!” It’s a boy with the brightest and whitest smile you have ever seen and for a second you can forget your sadness.

“Thank you so much. What name do you want me to sign?” 

-

The book signing ends about half an hour later. You’re in the car with Minghao who’s typing something on his phone as he sits in the backseat with you. 

“You did great, you know.” He says, not looking up. His words make your stomach turn uncomfortably even though you know he means well. 

“Thanks,” is your mumbled response, your head slowly turning to look out of the window. Minghao sets down his phone, realizing his words didn’t come out the way he wanted them to. He sighs.

“Best friend dearest,” he starts, “you know what I meant. Considering you have been in your room with no lights on and Adele on repeat for the last few months - you did exceptionally well socializing with people you don’t know.”

“It’s my job after all, isn’t it?” 

“No, your job is writing brilliant books, Y/N. This is just a bonus. Your books would sell wonderfully even without you doing this.”

Three months ago this would have made your chest fill with pride. You’d be beaming and agreeing with Minghao, content with your life and what you had made it to be. But now, it’s different. 

Now, all you feel is ache in your chest. No sense of pride, no smile in sight. No contentment with how your life is going. Joy has been missing in your palette of feelings for a long time. 

The city lights are what keep you awake. Exhaustion and the feeling of sadness that you have become so used to are close to make you falter, to make you want to go home and put those Adele songs right back on repeat. It’s not fair, you think. Not fair that your life was ruined this way and you can’t get back up. That all you’re able to do is live because you have to, not because you want to. And the closer July 17th comes - the more you feel yourself falling deeper into a hole. 

It’s hard to believe that three months ago you were a completely different person. A person who loved to laugh, who had fun game nights with her friends, cooked every day, went for runs in the morning, planned a wedding. You were a person who loved to love. All of this was accompanied by the person you had been sure you’d spend the rest of your life with: Jaehyun. He was tall, handsome, kind. You had met him through work - he had been assigned your agent when you switched publishers. He was your muse. Helped you with your books, made the sales sky rocket with the way he marketed you. 

For five years he was your everything. In some ways (ways you loathed) he still is. Your whole life revolved around him. Wherever you went - he did too. Whenever you fell - he was there to catch you. Nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for what was going to happen. But then again, when is someone ever prepared to be cheated on by the person they trusted the most in their life? 

To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Accidentally finding the messages he sent to her on his iPad. Confronting him and seeing his face fall, his expressions change into something you had never thought possible. He looked caught. Mainly because he was. Also because he never thought the truth would come to light. You had been the only one left in the dark. Everyone at the publishing house knew what he was doing. He and her. 

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but in the beginning you couldn’t handle being mad at Jaehyun. Instead you focused all your anger on her, all the hurt you felt. It wasn’t like you had particularly liked her before - she was your rival, the person everyone always compared you to. She was younger than you, didn’t have as much experience - but she was more successful. At least to an extent. Her books regularly went viral on ‘booktok’, mainly because she wrote them like she worked in a factory. Every couple of months there’d be a new one - and people ate it up. You, on the other hand, liked to take your time, liked to write stories with captivating characters, with characters people could relate to - fall in love with. 

Suddenly your biggest rival became the person you hated and wanted to be like the most in the world. To be her would mean to have him. Him, who you still love so much, who still means everything. 

It is a little different now. 100 days later and you feel like you don’t love him as much anymore. Yes, it still hurts like hell and, yes, you want to stay home most of the days. But you don’t miss him as much as you used to. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Minghao asks now even though he already knows the answer. Gosh, you wish you could give him a yes. A smile and a yes. Instead, you only present him with the first, stretching out your hand and reaching for his.

“I need to get home, Hao. Today has been a lot.”

Minghao nods slowly, a sad smile on his pretty lips. He understands, he really does. But he also misses his happy best friend. Misses the way your eyes crinkle when you smile wholeheartedly , misses the sound of you honest laugh. No matter how many time will pass, he doesn’t think he could ever forgive Jaehyun for what he’s done to you.