#there are so many and I’m forgetting them all

[mcddyperez]

INFECTIOUS ! chris sturniolo

chris sturniolo x black!fem¡reader

in which : when chris’s girlfriend appears in videos, the fans always go crazy and immediately turn to social’s and make compilations.

warnings : infectious fluff, kissing and pda, possessive chris, swearing, suggestive dialogue

word count : 1.5k words

y/n layed in her shared bed with her boyfriend, chris, while endlessly watching different videos that popped up on her youtube recommendations.

but, as she scrolled, her eyes immediately drew to a video titled, “chris and y/n being infectiously in love for 6 minutes straight”.

a light giggle came from the girl, alerting her boyfriend who’s face was immersed in whatever was on his phone screen.

“what are you laughing at, ma?” he asked, looking up from his phone before looking at the gorgeous girl in front of him.

y/n sat up in the bed before showing her phone to him, pointing out the video that was under one of their vlogs.

without hesitation, chris clicked on the video before getting comfortable in his bed, pulling y/n close to him as they waited for the video to play.

1. when chris gets possesive !

the first clip played, the video being when the triplets were reacting to fan edits.

as nick scrolled through tiktok for videos, he stopped when an edit of y/n popped up to the song “woo” by rihanna.

the man chuckled before nudging his brothers next to him, grabbing both of their attention. “look, theirs a y/n edit.” nick said before clicking on the video.

as the video played, it showed various clips of y/n from her tiktoks, her youtube videos, and even clips from the triplets channel.

chris looked mesmerized at the video of his girl looking good, but she always looked good in his eyes.

but when he clicked the comments, he didn’t expect such things being said about the girl.

“y/n is soooo fineee”

“her body is so tea”

“give me one chance y/n PLEASEEE 🙏🏽”

“i hope chris knows how to fight 🤺”

chris read each one in disbelief. he knew that many of his fans thirsted for his girlfriend, i mean who wouldn’t, but to see them do it so shamelessly made him laugh.

“looks like you have competition, chris.” matt said as he looked at his triplet look at the thirsty comments.

chris shrugged his shoulders before leaning back in the sofa. “hey, she’s laying in my bed at night so why does it matter?” he said, being all nonchalant.

that was until nick pulled up an even thirstier edit of y/n that was with the song “wet the bed” by chris brown.

the video showcased y/n’s gorgeous face and banging body and the fans were loving it.

“SHE LOOKS SO GOOOD!!”

“forget chris, marry me queen 💍😍”

“oh sorry, i just dropped the keys to my pink mercedes benz, oh I’m sooooo clumsy! 😏”

“we’re not chris girls, we’re y/n’s girls”

chris shook his head before raising his arms to fix his hair. “she’s happy with me, they can fuck off.” he joked around (kind of).

his two brother laughed in his face before going onto the next topic, feeling like they accomplished winning the olympics.

2. chris and y/n during blind, deaf, mute cooking !

there were many cute moments between the couple during this video, considering the fact that they decided to make both matt and y/n blind.

as y/n was breaking eggs in the cake batter while nick was jamming to music in his headphones. the girl had no clue what she was doing as she cracked an egg on the kitchen counter.

though matt and nick were in their own little world fucking up god knows what for the cake, chris was focusing on his girlfriend, noticing immediately that she had accidentally cracked an egg and missed the bowl.

though he couldn’t speak, his infectious laughter could be heard from outside of the tape, confusing both y/n and nick who chris had bumped into.

“what!!!” nick screamed, a doja cat song blasting in his ears.

chris then tapped on the boys shoulder before pointing at his girlfriend who was consistently missing the bowl when cracking her eggs, now having two yolks laying on the counter.

“y/n! y/n! stop! you’re missing the bowl!” nick exclaimed, startling the girl making her accidental drop an egg on the floor.

“why didn’t no one tell me?” y/n questioned, going to feel for the bowl but accidentally touching the yolk on the counter, causing her to jolt back into the wall and gag.

chris, seeing y/n in distress, grabbed some paper towels before walking over to his girl and wiping off her hands.

“thank you, babe.” she thanked, looking around as if she could see her surroundings.

and the video continued with more chaotic mess for the four.

3. y/n meets madison beer !

y/n was a big fan of madison beer since she had her first music video with justin bieber, so when the triplets started getting close with her, chris knew that he wanted his girl to meet her.

so, when the triplets were invited to one of madison’s shows, they brought y/n along (obviously) and the girl was ecstatic to say the least.

she knew every single word to the songs, she participated in the mute trend, and was having a great time.

but, when it came to the end of the show, the girl was anxious. she didn’t know how to act or what to do.

chris stood behind the girl, his arms being wrapped tightly around the girls waist as he pressed gentle kisses all over her neck.

when the brunette finally came to talk to the triplets, the sight of the girl made madison smile. immediately, y/n froze. she didn’t know what to do or what to say. madison knew her fucking name!

“hi, n-nice to meet you!” y/n responded, beating herself up inside from hearing the stutter escape her mouth.

chris left one last kiss on the cheek to the girl before letting her go and joining his brother to the side as matt recorded the special moment unfold.

“i love your outfit, i wish i could pull that off.” madison complimented y/n while admiring her style.

“oh, I’m sure you can pull of anything, you’re stunning!” y/n said back, surprised that her voice wasn’t as shaky as before.

matt recorded the two before turning the camera to a smiling chris who was busy admiring his girlfriend as she met her favorite artist.

he truly loved this girl.

4. chris and y/n being needy !

the next clip was during their most recent car video where chris (and y/n) were sat in the back of the car.

chris was a very touchy person when it came to y/n, and he becomes very needy quickly. so, the entire video, chris’s hands roamed over her body constantly.

he would whisper sweet nothings into her ear like, “you look so good in my clothes right now”, and “just wait until those cameras turn off.”

yeah, he was very horny.

y/n’s prominent giggles and little whines in the backseat got the attention of the two boys in the front, making them groan.

“can you guys stop being rabbits back there?” matt asked in a demanding tone, causing an embarrassed y/n in the backseat. but, even with the warning, chris’s hands didn’t move.

he had continued to tease her with circling her thighs and giving her light kisses on the neck, which he knew she loved from him.

it had gotten to the point that when nick was editing, he had delayed scraping the whole car video as a whole because of the porno that was happening in the back, but he uploaded it nonetheless, giving the fans more chris and y/n crumbs to eat.

5. y/n and chris’s tiktoks !

all of the tiktoks that these two film can take up an entire section of the video. when the two film together, they are extremely silly and kind hearted and everyone loves them.

most of their tiktok videos together can be found of y/n’s account, simply because of the fact that Chris doesn’t post that much on the app, but when he post a video with y/n, it’s usually something that y/n probably wouldn’t want the internet to see.

like, there was one time where chris posted a video of himself lip syncing to a song and in the background you can see y/n sleeping. her hair was messed up, she had on a comfortable ugly face on, and she was deep in slumber.

but, no matter what, the two will always be comfortable going to tiktok and posting their silly little videos together.

and even though chris will pretend that he doesn’t like it, deep down he secretly enjoys doing it to make his girl happy.

“cutest couple ever!!”

“the way chris looks at her, IM SO SINGLE!! 😞”

“chris got some moves fr, he ate that up!!”

——

after the last tiktok, the video ended, leaving the two smiling at each other. “you’re so protective, it’s hot.” y/n said, smirking at her boyfriend before planting a kiss on his lips.

“yeah, but you look too good for me to not be protective.” chris justified, running his cold fingers down his girlfriend’s waist.

y/n chuckled while shaking her head before chris leaned in for a kiss. “i love you.” he mumbled once he pulled away, burying his face into the girls neck.

“i love you too, baby.” y/n said, tracing chris’s jawline as they layed there in each others presence.

maybe they were infectiously in love.

[sstan-hoe]

𝐀𝐧 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — congressman!bucky barnes × journalist!fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — interviewing congressman James Buchanan Barnes didn't seem like a big deal, if he wasn't known for getting the journalists fired...but with you...he had other ideas...

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — SMUT: p in v, unprotected, fingerings, sir kink, kind dark, kinda not, not aftercare cuz I didn't write it, bucky barnes, yeah that's a warning, did I forget anything?

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — okay, yeah, I jumped in that train, but how could I not? We can all agree I'm fucking rusty, idk what this is, I didn't even know how to end it? Where is my writing talent, like look at this? well, feedback is appreciated but ehh yeah I understand if not haha, also no beta, English is not my first language, yk all that stuff

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for the chaos that would follow in the next two hours. It was your first major interview, before all you did was write a few articles and do research. Therefore, you were even more anxious with the task you got from your boss.

Disappointing her was not an option but you knew how difficult today would be, in preparation for this moment you watched many interviews with the congressman. You observed actions of journalists he would criticise or how he would react to certain questions.

This way you were able to tell yourself it would be a great interview. All while hoping your boss was not searching for a reason to fire you and this was her way of getting rid of you.

You had set questions, which couldn’t be changed and some you weren’t even allowed to ask. So, a waterproof plan, right? Well congressman Barnes wasn’t known for his flawless interviews or his friendly answers.

No, he was rude and harsh. Many journalists before you had lost their job or swore to never interview him again – or more like weren’t allowed to come back. His answers were short and often left no room for arguments. If a reporter even messed up a tiny bit, he would immediately call them out on it.

Walking into the tall building felt like you would crumble under the pressure, everything was so massive and intimidating. Well, a place fit for a man like James Buchanan Barnes.

They checked your ID and instructions. Simply what to do and not to do, nothing new. Still, it felt like you committed a crime, after all the secruity never left you alone, which made sense as they wanted to make sure Barnes was safe.

Although, he could protect himself with that metal arm of his – also something you were under no circumstances allowed to ask about. The last one who did, has never surfaced again.

“You can sit there, he will be with you in five minutes,” a man with broad shoulders and blonde hair told you. He looked like the typical American golden boy, he did seem a bit scary, but you would bet he was a true sweetheart.

“Okay,” you answered, though he probably didn’t even hear you as he walked right out of the door again. It gave you a chance to take in the room, it wasn’t like the usual interview rooms you saw on TV, no it seemed more private and secured.

In hopes to be perfect, you set everything up. Everything had to align, the papers, the pen and water of course. You could not give him any reason to snap at you.

Just as you finished, the man of the hour stepped in with five secruity men. Barnes entrance came with an unstoppable aura, like everyone would cower under his presence and most of the time they did.

He glared at you, as if you had just called him an asshole – which you didn’t. You tried your best not to show him how much it bothered you, so you just smiled brightly at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes, I’m really honoured that you agreed to this interview,” you politely said once he sat down. “You’re welcome,” he answered, voice a lot deeper than you thought and awfully sexy. How could he be single? Also, a question no one was allowed to ask, but it was unusual for a congressman to have no partner…right?

He nodded at his men, and instantly they cleared out which confused you. “Aren’t they supposed to protect you?” you questioned, already regretting it.

“Yes, they are right in front of the door and the room has cameras everywhere,” he explained, voice monotone. Lightly he tilted his head, he gave every reporter three strikes – not telling them of course – and once they hit them, he would make them leave.

After knowing who would interview him, he did his research, and you were the first one he barley found any information on. You weren’t known yet, which was probably the reason they send you.

However it made him curious, the articles you had written so far were good – some even better than the ones of his previous reporters. Besides you were a lot prettier than them.

“Oh, yeah…that makes sense,” you nodded in agreement, trying to hide the fact that you still found it weird. “Okay, then we should start. I will ask you questions, and you answer them however you want, and-,” “I know how to answer questions doll,” he cut you off in a sharp tone, eyes quite dark.

Great, this was going fucking great, you told yourself, “I know, of course, I just…I’m used to doing it this way,” you tried your best to explain, keeping a smile on your lips. In response Barnes lifted his eyebrow, “you’re used to making the person oppisite of you look stupid?”

Couldn’t there be a fire, or an attack or anything? Anything that would make you end this interview, “no, no I’m not. We will just start, first question: not everyone is happy that you won the election, is there a way you want to proof yourself to them?”

“No, I won’t do anything. Everyone has their opinion, and they should keep it, I proofed myself enough, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” he answered, leaning back against his chair. You knew he had good answers but damn.

“Sounds good, I mean there was never a congressman everyone liked,” you agreed, writing his answer down. “Yes, thank you,” he said with sarcasm and only then you realised what you had actually said, with wide eyes you began apologizing, “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just you know slang,” that what bullshit, it wasn’t slang you only needed an explanation.

“Slang?” he repeated, he knew you were nervous – everyone was – but he didn���t expect to enjoy it this much. You pressed your lips together, nodding along, “yes.”

“Next question,” you put a bright smile back on your face, “your term is rather young, but in this time, you already accomplished a lot, what are you most proud of?” For a moment there was a silence, it gave you a chance to take a closer look at Barnes.

Suddenly he had a small smirk on his lips instead of the normal stoic expression, you’d never seen him act any different in recent interviews. Maybe it was a good sign, maybe he wouldn’t end your carrier right after today.

“That every woman has the right of an abortion without fear,” he stated, crossing his fingers on his lap. You had no arguments there, it was truly remarkable.

Quickly you scribbled his answer down and checking the question off your list. “The other journalist had a recorder, are you not professional enough for that?” And there he was again, the friendly congressman everyone knew. It sounded almost as if he was taunting you.

“I am, just because I don’t fit your standard does not mean I’m unprofessional,” you snapped, then instantly clamping a hand over your mouth as you realised how you just spoke to the congressman.

Said person didn’t care, now he fully smirked with satisfaction, “so you actually can speak louder than a little mouse.” Oh, he looked so proud of himself for say that.

His words came unexpected, from your research you knew that he had a sharp tongue, but this was entirely new. From his answer you gathered he did it on purpose, but why would he want you to be rude? You could be reaching, but maybe your boss did want to get rid of you and asked him for help…okay that was crazy.

“Moving on,” you ignored his words, shaking your head a little as an idea popped in your head, if he could be an asshole so could you. “Many people wonder what happened with your arm, were you in the army or maybe an accident?”

“Come again?” he almost growled, features becoming dark and almost scary. Body moving a little forward, even though a small part of you was scared, you were extremely turned on.

You didn’t know what to say, should you really repeat it? Fuck it, yes. “What happened to your arm?” eyes staying on his, noticing how he flexed said arm.

“Becoming quite bold, are we? I remember this being a question you’re not allowed to ask,” he lifted his chin as if challenging you. This was exactly what he wanted, to see if you were really as shy as he read and he was positively surprised.

“I told you I’m not like the others,” suddenly you forgot who you were talking to, forgot how he was one of the most important and powerful people in the world.

Then he stood up, his huge body towering over you. Bucky rested his hands on either side of your chair, face dangerously close to yours. It was as if he could feel how nervous you became.

“No, you’re not…,” he whispered, hands taking yours and guiding you to stand up. As if in trance you followed him, looking up at him with big eyes.

“You’re far more beautiful,” he continued, letting his hands glide up your body to your face. Was this actually happening? No, you had to be dreaming, there was no other explanation.

You had no words, you were speechless, and your mind was running wild. Is that why he chose you? Because he wanted a quick fuck? As if he couldn’t get anyone, he wanted but you would surely not cave and lose your job – wait would you lose it if you did not sleep with him?

“This is unprofessional,” you stated, trying to move your chair a little further away from him. However, your words only made the man smirk with a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Who is to say we should not do this? There is no one with more power than me doll,” he whispered, closer than he was before. He would be lying if he said he didn’t do his research on you and if he would deny how captive, you held him.

Your work stood out, you really seemed to care the people you interviewed and wanted to give the audience a look behind the curtains. Every other reporter he had before was full of themselves, proud to be interviewing the congressman and only getting what was necessary.

His agenda may or may not have been unprofessional. But who could blame him? You were the prettiest girl he had ever seen, it was remarkable, and he wanted you.

“I’m not sleeping with you, I’m not some girl you can use to get off,” you continued, trying to stand up but Bucky gripped your waist instead. Was this truly your life? Of course, James Barnes was a walking god, but this felt like a situation right out of a romance book.

He chuckled at that, he loved how you played hard to get. “Sure,” he nodded before pulling you flush against his hard chest, reflexively your hands flew against his broad shoulders.

“Prove me wrong,” he challenged you, then pressed his lips against yours, tongue gliding along your upper lip. Caught up in the moment you accepted his tongue into your mouth, his kiss was hot and filled with hunger.

It felt like he was swallowing you and you hated to admit how damn good he felt. Not only his aura was screaming dominance but also actions did as he lightly bit into your bottom lip to keep your mouth open.

You moved into him, hands wrapping around his neck. With a heavy breath Bucky broke the kiss, wearing a satisfied smirk, “you seem to quite enjoy this doll.”

In response you rolled your eyes, “it is highly unprofessional, you should know this,” you tried to keep your voice hard, in order to convince yourself to not fall further into his schemes.

Again, he didn’t take you seriously instead he placed hot kisses along your collarbone, and you couldn’t help but let out a whine by the way his slight stubble was rubbing against your skin. It was rough yet set you on fire.

“Does that normaly work for you?” he questioned in between kisses, suddenly you sensed pressure just above your pulse. The congressman was marking you up, like you were his possession.

“What?” you asked confused, eyes fighting to stay open as you gripped onto his hair. In response he shook his head, continuing his way down your cleavage. Meanwhile he let his hand slide up to the collar of your blouse and without hesitation ripped it open.

His actions pulled you from your bliss, gasping loudly, “I just bought this one!” “Please, I will buy you a new one if you’re so attached,” he rolled his eyes, slipping your blouse off and revealing your black lace bra.

God, you looked amazing, if Bucky wasn’t on a time limit, he would take the time to worship your tits properly.

“No, no, no, I told you this is wrong!” you let go of him and put your hands on his chest to keep a distance. You couldn’t let this go any further than it already had, but the man in front of you was so hard to resist.

“Doll, if it’s wrong than why does it feel like the right thing to do?” he whispered against the shell of your ear, resting his hands once again on your waist, however now you felt the contrast of his warm flesh hand and cold metal hand.

Letting his metal hand move down to your thigh, he lifted your leg to pull you closer to him. The way he manoeuvred your body made you feel his hard erection.

You whimpered in order to supress a moan slipping from your lips, “Mr. Barnes,” you argued. He knew exactly what he was doing, “I like the way you say my name, so be honest…if you’re so against this, then why are you reacting this way, mhm?”

“Come on doll, tell me,” his lips ghosted over yours before he hosted you up completely. “Sir…please,” you tried again, voice cracking as you tried to stabilize yourself.

He chuckled walking towards his desk, laying you down on the hard wood. “That’s what I thought,” he grinned, kissing down your stomach to your heated core. You thought you would explode, the congressman was about to pleasure you, the same man who you were scared would fire you.

“Let’s see if I really don’t have any effect on you doll,” you got goosebumps from the way his hot breath hit your skin. Bucky opened your trousers, pulling them down your legs.

He hooked his fingers around your panties, revealing how right he was. “Look at that, you’re fucking wet for the congressman,” he sounded taunting, but you would bet he was satisfied with himself.

However, his words only made this moment feel even dirtier than it already was. You propped yourself up on your elbows and suddenly realised you were completely naked yet the man in front of you wasn’t.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit unfair how you’re still fully dressed?” you questioned with raised brows, not knowing you could muster up this much confidence at the moment.

“Do you think this is any way to speak to me?” his tone became dark, throwing your panties across the room. With one sentence he destroyed your confidence, “I’m sorry sir,” you instantly apologized which played right into Bucky’s cards.

Smirking he shrugged of his blazer, loosened his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt a little. It gave you a view onto his god-like chest.

“That’s a good girl,” he told you, pulling his tie over his head and stuffed it into your mouth. While it was extremely hot you felt a slight disappointment, “aww, don’t worry doll, you’ll get the chance to scream as loud as you need but not today.”

“Sadly, we’re on a tight schedule, so I will have to eat you out another time,” he said it like it was the most casual thing there was while you almost choked, there would be a second time?

His fingers traced along your cunt, spreading your juice over your skin, “feel how wet you are for me? And here you were saying that you didn’t want this,” he tsked, pushing his middle and pointer finger into your pulsing core.

You bit down on his tie, suppressing a moan and muffling his last name. Even in this situation you were too scared to say his first name.

“Squeezing my fingers huh, doll?” Bucky pulled his fingers from you and smeared his cock with your wetness. Then he undid his pants, letting his hard member free. Your gaze fell down to his cock, his leaking tip hitting his stomach.

You’d never thought you would say this, but he looked too pretty, and thicker than anyone you had before. “You’re so pretty,” you mumbled, your mind wasn’t function properly, so it didn’t even surprise you as those words left your mouth.

Bucky could barley make out what you were saying, he had an idea though and turned him on even more. With no warning he thrusted his cock inside your aching pussy, not caring if it hurt.

This time you couldn’t contain any sounds, you screamed loudly, clawing onto the wooden desk. “Feel me stretching you doll?” he smirked, pulling out but leaving his tip inside, just barley to tease you. Then he pushed in, with a hard pace he pummelled in and out of you.

You couldn’t help but clench around him, wrapping your lags around his hips which made him grin, “don’t want me leaving ya?”

Shaking your head you tried to keep the grip as tight as possible, he felt like heaven, he filled you perfectly and hit your sweet, sensitive spot in all the right ways.

His metal hand came down to rub circles on your clit, putting pressure on the sensitive bundle of nerves to drive you closer to your high. Given the fact he was still stronger than you, he had no problems moving with you pressing your legs against him.

In fact, it only made him enjoy it more. Your eyes rolled in the back I’d your head as you felt a shot if ecstasy crash through your nerves. Bucky was admiring how fucked out you looked, trying to hold onto one single though; him.

“I can feel you getting tighter doll, be a good girl and come...then you can milk my cock of every last drop,” he leaned down, whispering into your ear, flesh hand coming up to your throat to keep you in position.

“I can’t-“ you whimpered, it was too much, never before had you felt this much pleasure, never before was anyone able to make you come with his cock.

“You will, slut,” the congressman growled, demanded. This was exactly the man you feared just moments ago. Now you felt different, now you wanted to make him proud.

“Yes, sir,” you caved, letting everything happen, let the tight knot in your stomach explode. You tried holding onto his wrist, but your grip slipped.

With satisfaction Bucky fucked you through your orgasm, know it would push you even further into submission. He bit his lip, trying not to let out a strangled groan at the way you gripped him like a vice.

Seeing you have you climax made him sure to follow you suit, roads of white cum painted your swollen walls. It took everything in him to keep moving, to make you would get every last drop of him. “I could get used to being interviewed by you, doll,” he grunted, slightly tighting his hold on your throat.

Tears rolled down your cheeks, too overwhelmed with the situation. What had he done to you? Why did he give you an amazing orgasm ? What would happen now?

It was too much running through your brain, you just needed a nap, just for five minutes.... “Oh, doll, this was just the beginning.”

told ya, shit ending

[andy-15-07]

Hi can u do where pedro and reader were in a many year relationship but they broke up because of a fight and they reunite again

What We Lost, What We Found

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT:2489| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

It had been years since you and Pedro had last spoken—years since the painful night when harsh words and a violent argument shattered the bond you once shared. Now, the autumn chill had returned, its crisp air carrying memories of times that both warmed and wounded you. As you walked down the familiar street toward the old café, your heart pounded with equal parts hope and anxiety. Every step was accompanied by the echoes of a past too heavy to forget, yet too precious to discard.

You pushed open the glass door of the café, its bell chiming softly as you entered. The familiar aroma of freshly ground coffee beans mixed with a hint of cinnamon and vanilla instantly transported you back to simpler days. There, sitting at a corner table by the window, was Pedro. He looked older now, with the lines of time etched on his face, but his eyes—those familiar deep, expressive eyes—sparked with the same intensity you remembered.

Pedro’s gaze lifted as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. The clatter of cups and quiet murmur of conversations fell away until only the sound of your racing heart remained.

"Hey," Pedro said softly, his voice carrying both the weight of regret and the warmth of welcome. "I wasn’t sure you’d come."

You paused just a few feet from the table, your eyes searching his for a trace of the man you once loved. "I—I needed to see you," you replied, your voice trembling slightly with unresolved emotion. "There are things we left unsaid, Pedro."

He gestured for you to sit, and as you slid into the chair opposite him, memories of laughter, shared secrets, and heated arguments played out in your mind. Pedro leaned forward, his hands clasped together on the table as if bracing himself against the surge of old emotions.

"I know," he murmured, his eyes sincere. "Every day, I think about that night—the fight, everything I said. I’ve carried it with me, and I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you like that."

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard before responding. "It wasn’t just that one night, Pedro. It was all the moments leading up to it—the silence after the storm, the distance that grew between us. We both made mistakes, and somewhere along the line, we lost our way."

He nodded slowly, the remorse evident in every line of his face. "I was stubborn, and I let my pride get in the way of what we had. I was so sure I was right, even when I was wrong. I’ve missed you, more than I can put into words."

The vulnerability in his confession softened the anger that had long simmered in your chest. "I’ve missed you too," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I kept thinking about what could have been if we’d fought harder for us, instead of fighting each other."

Pedro’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he reached out, his hand hovering above yours. "Do you remember that day we spent by the river, just talking about everything? You laughed so hard that day, and I felt like the world was right, even if just for a moment."

A bittersweet smile tugged at your lips as you recalled that day—the carefree moments, the way he had looked at you like you were the only person in the universe. "I do," you said softly. "It felt like we could fix anything, as long as we were together. I thought love was enough."

"And maybe it is," Pedro said earnestly. "But love also needs trust, communication… the willingness to forgive. I let my pride block me from hearing your pain, and I’m so sorry for that."

The conversation paused as the distant sound of rain tapping against the window filled the silence between you. You could feel the tension slowly begin to ebb, replaced by the tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, the wounds of the past could be healed.

After a long moment, Pedro spoke again, his tone gentler this time. "I’ve spent these years trying to find a way back to us, to understand where we went wrong. I’ve talked to friends, read a lot of books… even seen a therapist. I needed to learn how to listen, to really hear you, even when I didn’t agree. I needed to learn to be better."

Your eyes searched his face, seeing the earnestness and effort in every line. "And have you found what you were looking for?" you asked, a mix of hope and skepticism in your tone.

Pedro smiled, a small, tentative curve of his lips that held both joy and sorrow. "I think I have. I realized that while I can’t change the past, I can work on building a better future. I want to try again, if you’re willing. I know I hurt you, and I know we both have scars now, but maybe we can learn to move forward, together."

Your heart fluttered, the weight of years of regret mingling with the possibility of redemption. "I want to believe that," you said, your voice trembling with cautious optimism. "I’ve thought about this so many times—the good times, the bad times. It wasn’t just you who lost your way. I made my share of mistakes too. I was stubborn, too, and I let my pride keep me from reaching out when I should have."

Pedro reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "Maybe we both needed this time apart to grow, to understand ourselves better. And maybe now, we can start over—not as the people we once were, but as two people who have learned from their past."

A tear slid down your cheek as you squeezed his hand gently. "It won’t be easy, Pedro. There are wounds that might never fully heal. But I believe that if we’re honest with each other, we can find a way."

He nodded, his eyes filled with determination and regret. "I promise, no matter how hard it gets, I’ll always be honest with you. I won’t let pride or fear come between us again."

The conversation continued for hours, shifting from recollections of shared memories to discussions about dreams and plans for the future. The rain outside turned into a steady downpour, mirroring the intensity of the emotions exchanged between you. Each dialogue piece felt like a brick laid down carefully, rebuilding a bridge that had once collapsed under the weight of anger and misunderstanding.

As the café began to empty and the night settled in, Pedro suggested taking a walk. "Let’s take a stroll by the river," he said softly. "I want to show you something."

Intrigued and hopeful, you agreed, and together you stepped out into the cool night. The city lights reflected off the wet pavement, creating a shimmering mosaic that seemed to echo the fractured beauty of your shared past.

Walking side by side in comfortable silence, you eventually reached the river. The water flowed steadily, a reminder that life continued its course regardless of the storms it encountered. Pedro stopped at a familiar spot—a bench that had seen many of your conversations, both lighthearted and intense.

Sitting down, Pedro turned to you, his gaze fixed on the rippling water. "Do you remember the promises we made here?" he asked, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "We said we’d never let the world break us. We promised that even if everything fell apart, we’d find a way to hold on to each other."

You nodded, the memories flooding back. "I remember. I remember feeling invincible when we were together, like nothing could harm us. But then reality hit, and we realized that love isn’t always enough to keep the darkness at bay."

Pedro’s expression softened, and he reached out to brush a stray tear from your cheek. "Maybe we were naive," he whispered. "But I still believe in the promises we made, and I believe in us. I want to try—really try—to rebuild what we lost. I want us to be stronger, to communicate better, and to forgive the mistakes of the past."

You looked at him, torn between the fear of being hurt again and the longing for what once was. "I want that too, Pedro," you admitted. "I want to believe that we can start anew, but I’m scared. Scared that we’ll fall back into the same patterns, that the hurt will return."

Pedro took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I’m scared too," he confessed. "But I promise you, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’m willing to work on my shortcomings, to listen more, and to ensure that we both feel heard and loved. I don’t want to lose you again."

The vulnerability in his words resonated deeply within you. "I know we can’t undo the past," you said softly, "but maybe we can create a future where we learn from it. I’m willing to take that chance if you are."

A long silence followed, filled only by the sound of the river and the quiet beating of your hearts. Finally, Pedro spoke again, his voice steady. "Then let’s take it one day at a time. Let’s rebuild our trust, step by step, until we find ourselves in a place where the pain no longer defines us. I want to be your safe haven, your partner in this journey of healing."

You nodded, a small smile breaking through the lingering sadness. "I’d like that. I want us to find our way back to each other, even if it means starting over from scratch. I want to trust again, to believe that love can conquer our fears."

Pedro stood up, gently pulling you to your feet. "Then let’s start now," he said. "Let’s make a promise to each other—to communicate, to listen, and to never let pride come between us again. We owe it to ourselves and to the love we once shared."

As you both embraced under the soft glow of the streetlights, the past, with all its scars and regrets, began to fade into the background. The future lay uncertain, but in that moment, you and Pedro chose hope over despair. The journey ahead would be filled with challenges, but with every honest word, every tear shed in understanding, you both felt the fragile bond between you strengthening.

In the days that followed, you met frequently, each encounter marked by long conversations, quiet walks, and shared moments of laughter and sorrow. Sometimes, you’d spend hours discussing the mistakes of the past, each dialogue serving as a stepping stone toward healing. Other times, you simply enjoyed the silence, the unspoken language of being together in the same space, allowing the wounds to mend naturally.

One rainy afternoon, as you sat together in Pedro’s living room—books and old photographs scattered around—the conversation took a reflective turn.

"You know," Pedro began, his tone thoughtful, "I used to think that fighting was a way to prove how much we cared. But now I realize that real care means knowing when to let go of anger and truly listen."

You nodded, sipping your tea. "I used to believe that our silence after a fight meant we were avoiding the truth. But maybe silence can also be a space to heal, to gather strength before we speak again."

Pedro looked at you, his eyes filled with genuine understanding. "I’ve learned so much since we parted ways. Not just about love, but about myself. I want to share all of that with you, to build something new on the foundation of who we are now, rather than who we were."

"And I want that too," you replied. "I want us to grow, to learn from our past, and to embrace every part of our journey—even the painful moments—because they led us here, to this chance at redemption."

A comfortable silence enveloped you both, punctuated only by the rhythmic tapping of rain against the window. In that quiet, you both felt a shared promise—a commitment to move forward, no matter how difficult the path might be.

Over time, as the seasons changed and the scars of the past began to soften, you and Pedro discovered new layers in each other. The dialogue between you became a lifeline, a means to navigate the complexities of rebuilding trust and rediscovering love. Late-night talks turned into laughter-filled mornings, and every shared secret, every whispered promise, wove together a tapestry of resilience and hope.

One evening, as you walked along a tree-lined street bathed in the soft glow of twilight, Pedro stopped abruptly. He turned to you, his expression earnest. "I want to thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you for giving us another chance. I know it wasn’t easy for you, and I know there will be difficult days ahead, but I promise that every step we take together will be worth it."

You met his gaze, feeling the sincerity radiating from him. "Thank you, Pedro, for not giving up on us. I was afraid we’d become strangers, but here we are��still holding on, still fighting for what we believe in."

He smiled then, a warm, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I guess we both had to relearn how to be together again. It wasn’t the easy way, but I think the struggles made us appreciate the good moments even more."

You squeezed his hand, your heart lighter than it had been in years. "Maybe this is our second chance—a chance to be better, to love deeper, and to understand each other in ways we never did before."

Pedro’s eyes shone with hope as he leaned in closer. "Let’s promise each other that no matter what, we’ll keep talking, keep listening, and keep loving. No more letting pride and anger come between us."

"Promise," you whispered, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had long been absent.

And so, under the starry sky of that crisp evening, with the future uncertain yet full of promise, you and Pedro took your first true steps toward healing a love that had once been broken but was now mending—one honest conversation, one heartfelt dialogue, at a time.

In the quiet aftermath of your reunion, as the night deepened and the gentle murmur of the city lulled you both into a peaceful calm, you realized that every end could also be a beginning. The echoes of past fights and bitter goodbyes had faded into the background, replaced by the soft, steady cadence of renewed hope.

Your journey wasn’t over, and there would be more challenges ahead. But as you held Pedro’s hand and walked into the future together, you understood that love—true, honest, and resilient—was worth every risk, every tear, and every moment of vulnerability. And in that shared resolve, you found not just reconciliation, but a promise that the best chapters were still waiting to be written.

[blue-mood-blue]

Just saw a piece of severance fanart of the “I got my lobotomy at Lumon! :D” variety and it occurred to me.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus would love to get a free lobotomy at Lumon. Specifically to forget about her dead wife cavalier. (Or perhaps to promote the procedure as a figurehead akin to a believer professing her religion, but if we want to talk figureheads and father figures there is also, perhaps, Kiriona to consider.) Harrow would shove herself back into the box and tear her way out, over and over, because I think there is a part of Harrow that is more willing to go toe-to-toe with herself than with anyone else given the opportunity. An entirely new way to tear herself to shreds.

And if there’s a redhead down there somewhere she doesn’t remember, well, maybe this is the illusory office alternate universe of their lives, a passing dream she snags onto.

It’s fascinating to me, to consider the ways Harrow could (and would) sink into the possibility, because if there’s one person we know who’s up for experimental, morally questionable, absolutely dangerous and inevitably life-altering brain surgery… it’s her. She’s already sitting on the table and handing over the syringe.

[sst4rdst]

I’m just wondering how yan! Xiao would react to his darling being an escort/entertainer. darling does engage in physical contact with clients and Xiao just has to watch from the window. Does he pick off clients one by one? How does he deal with watching his darling entertain clients from outside the window? Does *he* ever end up requesting his darlings services when all other clients are gone? Just so much to think about!!

warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, mentions of reader having sex with others but no describing sex scenes. author's note : SORRY FOR THE WAIT NONNIEEEE 😭 my job consumed my soul these last days T.T don't recommend being an adult, 0/10. but i made this one a little longer than usual, hope that's a great apology :']

the first time he sees it, truly sees it, something inside him shatters.

it is one thing to know what you do. to hear it murmured between passing travelers, to catch the lingering traces of perfume on their clothes, to watch the way they return to their inns with a dazed, satiated sort of stupor, as if their time in your company has rendered them whole. he has always known, always suspected, but knowing is different from witnessing.

and now, here he stands, just beyond the glow of your lantern-lit window, the scent of incense curling in the air, thick and cloying, wrapping around his lungs like a suffocating chain. he sees the way you smile, soft and inviting, sees the way your fingers ghost over the wrist of the man before you—no, not a man. a client. one of many.

xiao has slaughtered creatures for lesser sins than the one unfolding before him.

his hands curl into fists at his sides, nails biting into flesh, but the pain is distant, inconsequential compared to the fire searing through his veins. his body is rigid, a silent force of barely restrained violence, watching as you lean in, laughter soft against the shell of another man’s ear.

his stomach twists.

he tells himself this is normal. that this is your job, that there is no affection in the way you let your fingers skim over another’s thigh, no meaning in the way you let them cup your chin, trace the line of your jaw. and yet, his mind betrays him.

does your touch linger like that when you are alone? do your smiles hold the same softness when there is no one to see them? do you ever speak his name in the dark, whisper it like a secret meant for no one but yourself? or is he only ever a shadow, something you will never notice, never choose?

the thought gnaws at him, festers beneath his skin like something diseased.

the rational part of him—small and weak in the face of the hunger clawing at his ribs—knows that this is not something he can change. that you are not his to claim. that you are a free, mortal thing, meant to weave in and out of lives like drifting petals on a breeze, untethered. but xiao has never been good at wanting without taking.

the disappearances are slow at first. a client here, a client there—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would immediately raise suspicion. after all, men with loose morals often meet unfortunate ends in liyue’s underbelly, swallowed by debts they cannot repay, by enemies they do not see coming. it is easy for the city to forget them, easy for their absence to be written off as consequence.

xiao does not think of them beyond their final gasps, beyond the moment their bodies collapse into the dirt, empty, discarded. they are nothing. they have always been nothing. but you—you are different.

you still smile when new clients come. you still let them brush their lips over your skin, still let them press coins into your hands, unaware that the man before them is rotting beneath the earth. and he hates you for it.

hates the way you continue as if nothing has changed. hates that he can never be the one you turn to, the one you choose to hold, to whisper to in the dark. hates that, no matter how many bodies he leaves in his wake, you will never belong to him.

but if he cannot have you, then no one else should either.

it happens in the quiet of a late evening, when the streets are empty and the lanterns light flicker weakly against the wind. you are alone. finally, finally, you are alone. no clients, no lingering hands, no laughter that is not meant for him. just you. and him.

he does not enter through the door—he never does. the window is open, curtains shifting with the night breeze, and it is easy for him to slip inside, easy for him to cross the space between you in a breath, a heartbeat, less than that.

you do not flinch when you notice him. you never do. you have grown used to his presence, his silent appearances, his tendency to linger at the edges of your world like a specter you cannot exorcise.

"you're here again," you murmur, voice soft, lacking surprise. your fingers trace the rim of a porcelain cup, half-finished tea still warm within it. "it's late."

he does not answer. he only watches, gaze burning into the curve of your throat, the slope of your shoulders, the places where others have touched, where their fingerprints still linger like something permanent.

you sigh, setting the cup aside, tilting your head slightly. "something's wrong."

he exhales, slow and controlled, as if he has not been unraveling at the seams since the moment he first saw you with another. "i don’t like what you do."

it is not an accusation. it is not even anger. just a fact, laid bare between you.

you blink, quiet for a moment, before a ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. "you don’t have to like it, xiao."

but he does. he does have to like it, because if he doesn’t, if he lets this feeling fester any longer, he knows he will not be able to stop. he will not be able to stop at just a few disappearances. he will not be able to stop at only watching.

your eyes hold something knowing, something almost pitying, and it makes his blood burn, makes his fingers twitch at his sides. but then, you shift, leaning forward slightly, just enough to close the space between you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your touch is meant for him.

your lips are warm against his, a fleeting thing, a moment so insignificant that it should not matter. and yet, it does. because now, you have touched him. and xiao has never been good at letting go of things he has touched.

xiao’s breath is shallow, barely there, as if the weight of your warmth against his skin has stolen the air from his lungs. he does not move. he does not blink. he does not even think. he only feels. feels the heat seeping into him, feels the sharp, electric buzz beneath his skin, feels the unbearable, suffocating knowing—

that this will never be enough.

your touch is fleeting. it always is. you do not hold onto things the way he does, do not cling to moments as if they are the last lifeline in a raging current. no, you let them slip through your fingers, let them pass without hesitation, without meaning.

just like now. because you release him as easily as you had reached for him, pulling away with a sigh, unaware of what you’ve done, of what you’ve set into motion.

xiao stands there, still as death, his mind blank save for the feeling of your lips against his, the ghost of warmth still lingering on his own. it should be enough—it should be more than enough. but it isn't. it's nothing. a scrap tossed his way out of pity, a meaningless moment that you will forget by morning. but he won’t. he can’t.

his fingers twitch at his sides, aching with the urge to grab, to pull you close, to demand that you understand—that you see him, choose him, the way he has already chosen you. but you only exhale softly, gaze dipping toward the floor, a distant sort of exhaustion clinging to your features. you think this is done. you think this conversation has ended. it hasn't.

because xiao has spent too long on the outside, watching, waiting, enduring—and now that your touch has seared itself into him like a brand, now that the fragile thread of his restraint has finally snapped, he cannot go back to standing in the shadows, to watching you let others touch you, kiss you, take from you what should be his.

his vision blurs, heat licking up the back of his throat, something monstrous stirring in the depths of his chest. it is not jealousy—no, jealousy is too human, too small, too weak. this is something greater, something worse—a hunger that cannot be reasoned with, a possession that has no name.

"you don't understand," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it is not a plea, not a request for you to see what he sees. it is a fact. a finality. you don’t understand—because if you did, you would never let others near you. if you knew the depth of what he felt, you would never push him aside so easily, never let your affections be bought like they mean nothing.

but he will make you understand.

your brows knit together, the first flicker of wariness appearing in your gaze. "xiao—"

he moves before you can finish, before you can even think of pulling away. his hand finds your wrist, fingers wrapping around delicate bone with a grip that is not yet bruising, but firm enough that you freeze beneath him. a warning. a promise.

your lips part slightly, the breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, just a moment, something flashes through your expression—something like fear, like realization. and yet, you do not fight him. you should.

you should struggle. you should demand he release you, should shove at his chest, should scream—should beg. but you only look at him, wide-eyed and silent, and the way you do nothing sets something vicious alight in his chest.

because this means you know. somewhere, deep down, some part of you has always known that you belong to him.

that no matter how many men come and go, how many coins exchange hands, how many nights you spend wrapped in the arms of strangers, you were never theirs to claim. that in the end, you have only ever belonged to him.

his grip tightens just slightly, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make your pulse hammer against his fingers. and he leans in, slow, deliberate, until his lips ghost over the shell of your ear, until his voice—low, quiet, certain—spills into your skin like something inescapable.

"you don't have to do this anymore." a statement, not a suggestion. because this is no longer something you get to choose.

"you’re always like this," you murmur, shaking your head. there is no bite in your voice, only something small, something resigned. "i don’t know what you want me to say, xiao. i told you before—this is my job. you don’t have to like it, but it’s not something you can change."

your words should hold finality. they should put an end to whatever this is, should set a boundary between you that cannot be crossed. but they don’t..

he clenches his jaw, forces himself to look at you, to meet your gaze without letting the heat behind his eyes bleed through. "it can change." the words taste foreign on his tongue, heavy and unfamiliar, but the intent beneath them is not.

your lips press together, your expression unreadable. "xiao." his name is softer now, almost warning. but you do not understand. you never do. because xiao has already changed things.

the men who touched you are gone. the ones who whispered promises in your ear, pressed their lips against your skin, left their scent on you like a mark—none of them will return. he has already altered the course of your life without you knowing, has already started reshaping the world around you to fit his own image of what it should be.

and now, standing in front of you, with the lingering heat of your touch still burning against his lips, he knows this is the next step. the only step left.

"you won’t have to do this anymore."

you exhale sharply, shaking your head. "that’s not your decision to make."

"but it is."

you freeze. just for a moment. just long enough for something wary to flicker across your face. and then, you laugh, short and breathless, as if the weight of this conversation has settled over you all at once. "you don’t get to decide that for me."

but the thing is—he does. he already has.

xiao is not a man who asks for things. he does not beg. he does not plead. he does not bargain with the world in hopes that it will grant him something in return. he takes. and he will take this, too.

because he cannot watch any longer. cannot stand beyond the glass, shrouded in shadow, forced to endure the sight of you letting strangers have what should be his. cannot keep swallowing down the sharp, acrid taste of jealousy until it curdles into something deeper, something unrecognizable.

no, he will not let this continue. he will not let you continue. not like this. not when you belong elsewhere. not when you belong with him.

[lazylattedgleam]

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LOST AMONG THE PAGES

(A Zayne x NONMC!Reader fic)

(Word count: 928)

(Credits: All images from the net. Except for the color editing and brush strokes and writing are made by me.)

(Credits: Pinterest)

*TW: Angst, maybe not well written, NON!MC Reader, Reader has Anemia, heavy blood loss during periods, fights, shouting, feeling of betrayal and heartbreak, shaking, crying, unrequited love.

*Index: Reader speeches are white, bold and italicised.

Zayne speeches are blue, bold and italicised.

MC speeches are pink, bold and italicised.

Others are white and just italicised.

Thoughts are written inside single inverted commas and italicised, sometimes struck through.

Texts and chats have ‘Indented’ font.

Calls have double inverted commas, white and italicised. They are differentiated from other speeches. (Except for main characters like MC and Zayne, they will follow their color code as mentioned earlier and italicised.)

Actions are written inside asterisks, white and bold.

Diary entries have ‘Chat’ font.

If you’re uncomfortable with the following genre or any of the trigger warnings, then please don’t read ahead.

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“Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction”

Memoir: Three-point-five.

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❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

You keep count of the nights that have passed by since that fateful night of your love’s demise…you don’t write in your diary anymore, you can’t, because whenever you open the pages the memories flash back, as if they were recorded with the help of a camcorder, plus you’ve lost the control over the narrative of your own life, left it dangling for Fate to snatch it up and weave it however she wants. Unlike you I don’t pause to use ellipsis after every statement, but I do once in a while, I’m nice so consider yourself lucky, it fell upon my hands, even Fate herself was too busy for you. Isn’t that pathetic?

Anyways I’m not here to judge nor advice in any way, I will just do my work assigned to me and continue…

Neither do you speak much to Raya or Yvonne much, except for the usual ‘Hi’ ‘Hellos’, that’s it, they know what had happened, they tried to comfort you but you’d just wave it off and leave, you don’t need pity…not anymore; and of course while attending to customers. As for Zayne and MC? You cut off ties with them. You’re silly, did he even give you the confirmation of closure that you decided to stop talking with him completely? I’ll never understand heartbreaks, why do you punish yourself for a cause that relies entirely upon the ways of the Universe? Did he try to talk to you? Maybe, you wouldn’t know cuz you never gave him a chance.

Often times you do forget to take your meds and supplies, you’ve become a ghost in your own life, drained entirely from your once cheery past, always drowsy, sleepy, exhausted, tired and fatigued. People are worried about you, but they don’t initiate since you never cooperate anymore. Periods are a bitch like always, although they’d become and felt tolerable when you were with him…look at your pathetic life, it’s even bringing tears to my eyes as I write…Nowadays all you feel like is as if you’re watching a movie, every action performed by you involuntary, your physical form is present yet your soul and presence of mind have long disappeared. All you are now is a spectator of your own narrative, you cannot rewrite it anymore, you don’t even want to.

Foolish you feeling like it’s the end when you have barely come halfway through life.

Everyday you’d buy a bouquet of Jasmines and cry into them at home for hours, you don’t ever throw them away even if they start to get bad. You have a picture of him locked up in your diary, often you think about it as you excuse yourself to the bathroom at work just to sob over and over again. Being a florist you know symbolisms of many flowers, it’s a part of your job too, so you always stay near the daffodils section during lunch, after all daffodils describe unrequited love, they are so yellow and delicate…yet you can see they’re broken from inside…You can’t help but weep at every other. The world has turned entirely monochromatic for you, you’ve lost the color from your life. Hey I’m only the narrator of your life, I can’t give them back, I can only write and write.

A few weeks back you saw them at the park bench sitting and talking…well MC mostly spoke, he was just listening to her intently. You stare from a distance, biting your tongue hard, as you see the look in his eyes for her, it was nothing you’d ever seen, it was as if he had his entire universe sitting beside him, smiling and talking to him, the reflection of that falling upon his eyes…did he ever miss you? He looked so bright, elated, happy, and holistic as if moulded in perfection with his true love…you’ve never witnessed this side of Zayne…how easy it was for her to completely infiltrating the garden you thought you’d once planted inside of his heart, on his soul for yourself, catering and watering it every day, taking care of it ever so gently and delicately, as if it was fragile glass, and build her own…oh who are you kidding? You never had a garden in there, all your flora had already on the day that you sowed the seeds…and her? She never had to build it, it was there from the start, it was natural, yours was artificial…

You still stare at them…they looked cosmic, as if the universe was meant for them. They were like hues and shades painted upon the canvas of life, blending and amalgamating perfectly with one another…too perfect that they had no fault, not even a tender scratch. You were a fool to have ever thought that you could’ve come in between this celestial pair. Oh how foolish you were to make him your temple, your mural, your sky.

In this world of Love and Deepspace…She was a Yellow Rose shining ever so brightly, her radiance charming anyone and everyone within her vicinity and beyond. She was the epitome of a kind, nice, beautiful and talented soul…He was a Jasmine, his love for her knew no bounds, it was pure…Their love was Lavender filled with devotion…You? You were his Yellow Tulip, hopelessly in love with someone who you could never attain even in a million lifetimes, for they were meant to be, in every lifetime that has ever been or is to come forth.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

(Credits: Pinterest)

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A/N: And that was that…Zayne x NON!MC Reader who has Anemia, thank you so much again and much love to @angelichiaro who had made this wonderful request! I had really so much fun writing it so thank you very much!!! <333

As for always, thank you everyone for checking out my posts…this is the first long chapter story I am doing, so Ik I’ve made mistakes, buuuut I hope you guys like it! Thank you everyone :D!

[lieslab]

What if the world comes to an end before I make it?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Minho X gn reader

Summary: When you start to complain about life, your boyfriend states the obvious.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I hate capitalism. I'm in my thought daughter era. I ate an entire grapefruit for the first time in my entire life and it was life changing, I think.

_ _ _

“What is it this time?” 

“It’s impressive that you know something’s on my mind, even when I don’t say it out loud.” 

“Of course, I know. I love you and I’m dating you, aren’t I? That means figuring out how you tick. What makes the blood quicken through your heart and what makes you cry. That means getting to know you entirely, even the parts you wish I didn’t notice.” 

Beside you, Minho laid beneath the blankets with an under eye mask beneath his eyes. A habit that he picked up from you, lately . Right before bed, the two of you laid beneath the blankets and grew sleepy together. 

Side-by-side, an emptiness sat between you, but it wasn’t bad. You both liked your space. Love nestled quietly between the two of you, like a child slipping into the bed between their parents to stop the nightmares. The most beautiful thing about Minho, love didn’t have to be verbal. It sat behind actions and painted itself in the reminder notes he stashed around the house for you to find. 

‘Don’t forget, I made your lunch and put it in the fridge.’ 

‘You were having a bad day, so your favorite ice cream is on the top shelf of the freezer.’

‘You’ve been raving about the latest book coming out, don’t pre-order it, I already did it for you. It’ll be here, just in time for your birthday. Special edition, signed by the author, don’t forget to say thank you when you see me again.’

‘Soonie, Doongie, and Dori want you to know that they’re hoping you have a good day.’ 

Beneath the cotton sheet, your bare legs took comfort in the coolness. Damp from the shower, getting right into bed, nothing could beat the feeling of being squeaking clean. A hydrating lotion soaked your skin and smelled like cocoa butter. 

“There’s a quote by Sylvia Plath that goes ‘I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want.’ There’s more to the quote, but that’s the gist of it.” 

Minho hummed, not opening up his eyes. “Sounds like a very true quote.” 

“It drives me mad. I see all these lives, all these people, all these things and I want them all. I want to take care of nature’s wild animals. I want to work in a greenhouse and spend my days watering plants. I want to spend time behind a counter, making customized coffees for people, and befriending the regulars.” 

“Isn’t it just unfair?” You continued. “You finish school when you’re roughly an adult and you’re told to pick something, without really knowing about everything out there. Pick something. Get a higher education and specialize in something. Do that one thing for the rest of your life and then die, basically.” 

“But that’s such a waste!” Your eyes narrowed at the ceiling. The rage simmered in your blood again. “And why have we normalized that? What if I want to be a plumber and learn that trade? What if I want to get my hands dirty with cars? Learn about every engine, know the difference between oils, become so familiar with the frames that I can identify a car by looking at it.” 

“And Sylvia Plath has another quote where she discusses the analogy of life to fig trees. Each idea, each career, each potential is a fig and she just keeps waiting and waiting, trying to figure out which one to pick. In the process, the figs rot away and hit the ground. The ideas rot and grow further and further away. Living so many lives, taking so many routes, it’s just not possible because society says that it’s not okay.” 

“Sounds like you’re very passionate about Sylvia Plath.” 

“I’m annoyed because she’s right, you know. We’re told to pick one thing in our life that defines us and do it forever. Keep holding onto that burden, no matter if it burns out and bores you, because generations before agreed that it was a good idea.” 

Minho’s eyes opened and he blinked a few times. Soft yellow light filled the room and highlighted the two of you. You scowled, glaring at the ceiling, as if it hurt your feelings, instead of your own brain. 

“Well, maybe you’re right. Maybe you can’t live out every dream, but nobody is stopping you from trying to do it all. The only one standing before you and stopping you from making drastic life choices and decisions is you.” 

“Huh?” Your head jerked over and one of the golden collagen eye masks slipped onto the sheet. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?” 

“I mean I’m a k-pop idol, but I love boxing. I like watching anime. I like learning Japanese. Just because my life is a steady stream of work, I find things that I’m passionate about and pursue them because I deserve that. Nobody can tell me otherwise.” 

“Yeah and I don’t even know how you find the time for all that.” 

“It’s called self-discipline, less screen time, and productive days. You might not be able to conquer every single dream, but nobody is stopping you from picking up hobbies and trying.” 

You jerked yourself upright in the bed. Side eyeing him, you huffed. Your lips stuck out in a pout and he chuckled. “Be mad all you want, but you know I’m right.” 

“I know, but I worry about burning myself out.” 

“Do you or are you comfortable with where you are now? When you grow comfortable in different spaces, you learn to stay in them. Sometimes it’s because you don’t want to deal with anxiety or upsetting people. Maybe you’re afraid of failing and maybe you're afraid of success because once you succeed, you have to figure out what comes next.” 

“When the fuck did you get a degree in smartassery?” 

“When I took my time watching animations with characters full of charisma and quick wit. You should try it sometime and get off your social media. Are you really going to spend years of your life scrolling instead of trying to conquer your dreams?” 

Your mouth opened and then shut. He waited for your response, but it never came. You didn’t have one and not only that, you felt stunned. Everything he said made sense. It was all so obvious and yet, you’d never put anything into actions and words. 

Every desire, just scattered thoughts in your head. You never considered actually acting upon anything. Just like the fig tree, your dreams and hopes for different lives, they were withering and rotting. The worms of doubt nibbled inside the figs and consumed them over a span of months that would eventually, roll into years. 

“It really is that simple, isn’t it?” 

“Basically. Take it slow. Start with one or two things. The internet is at your fingertips, use it. Watch YouTube videos. Ask someone to teach you how to fix up old cars. There are hundreds of people that carry knowledge in the world, just ask them.” 

“You want a cafe job? Grab a part time job, even if it’s just a day or two per week. Want to take care of animals? Volunteer at the animal shelter. You can do so many things, you just have to find the courage and the grit to do them.” 

You shoved the blankets off you, tossing them all at Minho. “Have I ever mentioned that you’re a genius? A real life genius. I love you so much, please never die.” 

He raised an eyebrow. You ripped off the eye masks, walked over, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. He attempted to grab your wrist, but you moved. “Where are you going?” 

“I’ve gotta go make a list of all the things I want to do! I want to live! To feel! To experience! I wanna do it all!” 

“It’s nearly midnight!” He called after you. 

“I gotta go plan before the rest of my figs rot!” 

The last glimpse he caught of you, you were practically giddy with delight, excitedly rushing out of the room; probably going to plan world domination. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[illuminatedquill]

SPOILERS FOR 2x09!!!

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So that’s it. The endgame is set.

Dylan G is gone. Miss Huang is gone. Irving is gone. Milchick snapped (a little) but hasn’t been completely radicalized.

Every other storyline has seemingly been wrapped up . . . except for the big one.

The Mark/Helly/Gemma dilemma.

Helly is the only one left fighting for her friends and the truth at Lumon now. Everyone else she has depended on to back her up has left. They’re gone.

The appearance of her father on the severed floor is catastrophically bad news. “You tricked me, my Helly”, bro what the fuck does that mean. Why did he call her that. It’s a level of familiarity that suggests something sinister and I realize there’s a whole new angle on that messed up relationship that we’re just being shown.

Helly is in big trouble. No doubt about it. Curious to see what punishment awaits her.

And Gemma, my GOD. Seeing her hunched in that chair, somehow even more beaten down and quiet than how she was in 2x07. But she’s still alive! I am taking this win, god damn it! Hang in there, Mark is coming (please for the love of God, LOCK IN MARK).

Mark, Devon, and Cobel should prove to be a match made in hell. Mark’s not wrong to be distrustful of her but Devon, as always, is right: they need to do as Cobel says because this is for Gemma. So glad she’s here to keep Mark in line and remind him who’s at stake.

So - innie Mark and outie Mark are finally going to talk. This conversation is going to be an intense one, I expect with both Marks going to bat about the agonizing decisions before them. Innie Mark is surely not going to be happy about the whole reintegration choice and Cobel, as I theorized before, probably has her own designs for Helly.

This will probably lead to a conflict for both Marks. Outie Mark is solely focused on getting Gemma out, whereas innie Mark does not want to do it at the expense of Helly’s life (at least that’s my theory).

(I suspect the fandom is going to be extremely normal about this conversation and be impartial.) But, from what I’ve heard, both Marks argue with great passion and there’s no clear winner - as it should be.

It’s my belief that Devon will be the deciding vote in whatever plan they come up with. Again, I’m so glad she’s there. Mark needs someone to watch his back and remind him that all of this is for Gemma. Innie Mark has every right to be pissed, though.

Decisions, decisions. Men plan; fate laughs.

All bets are off from here on out. I find it laughably hilarious that, yes, the show isn’t about shipping yet here we are: a man, caught between two great loves, forced to make a decision on which to save. Oh, we have to laugh otherwise we’d go mad.

At this point, I need the following to happen in the finale:

1. Gemma lives and escapes Lumon.

2. Dr. Mauer dies (preferably by Gemma’s hand).

3. Outie Mark and Gemma reunion scene. We need this. Has to happen. Non-negotiable.

4. Devon and Gemma reunion scene. Those women are sisters. They both deserve it.

So many more thoughts but I’m sure smarter people here will articulate it better on their own posts. I’m just gonna enjoy this break before the finale.

And don’t forget. First day of spring next week. Same day as the season finale. Take that as you will.

[violettwritess]

Letters I can’t send c.s

Summary: After Y/n and Chris stopped talking, she spirals into a deep emotional void, unable to find a way out.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, heartbreak, Ed, mental health struggles, deep emotional pain, mentions of not wanting to live.

Wc: 1.8k

English is not my first language

The stars have always been beautiful, haven’t they? They just shine, effortlessly perfect, without a care in the world. Sometimes I wish I could be like them, just existing, without worries or flaws. But life isn’t that simple, is it?

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this, maybe it’s because I miss you so much it hurts. Every time I look at the sky and see the moon, I think of you. I don’t think I’m ready for you to be gone. Sometimes I hope you’re feeling the same way because I’d like to believe you still care about me as much as I care about you.

Mom suggested I should call you, but what would I say? Would you even reply, or would you just ignore me? The uncertainty scares me. I’ve been rehearsing our conversation in my head, maybe I’d ask how you are, or invite you to that coffee shop downtown where we used to go. Maybe you’d say yes, and we’d talk like old times, or maybe you’d tell me you’ve moved on and forgotten about me.

I’m scared because I see how happy you are now. Your career is taking off, you have new friends, and so many people who love you, but I wonder, do you ever think of me and miss us? Do you miss our late-night walks, the way we could talk forever without getting bored? Because I do, and it’s killing me a little more every day.

Sometimes, just before I fall asleep, I remember when we were neighbors and saw each other every day, I wonder if you’re mad at me, if I did something wrong. Is that why we don’t talk anymore?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m genuinely happy for you, Matt, and Nick, but sometimes I wish you hadn’t left me behind. You’ve got everything you ever wanted, and here I am, stuck in the past, clinging to something that will never come back. You might see it as a small thing, but to me, it feels like my world is ending, I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to move on from this.

I don’t even know if I’ll send this letter, maybe it’s enough just to write it all down, but if you do read this, I hope you understand how much you meant to me, and how much you still do, but maybe that doesn’t matter to you anymore.

Maybe you’ve already closed the door on this part of your life, sealed it away in some box labeled “things that used to matter” Maybe I was never as important to you as you were to me.

That thought alone makes my chest tighten, I hate feeling like this, like I’m the only one who’s stuck, like I’m the only one who still looks for pieces of you in my everyday life, in the smallest moments.

Do you ever feel that? Or am I just a passing thought you don’t even realize you’re having?

I don’t know why it hurts so much. It’s not like you promised forever. It’s not like you even owed me that.

I keep wondering if I should let go, if holding onto you is only making things worse, but how do you let go of something that shaped you? How do you forget someone who felt like home?

They say time heals everything, that one day I’ll wake up and you won’t be the first thing on my mind, that I won’t feel this dull ache in my chest every time I hear your name or see someone who walks like you, dresses like you, carries themselves the way you do. But what if they’re wrong? What if I never stop missing you?

I wonder if you ever talk about me. If my name ever slips into a conversation by accident, and for a second, you remember the way things used to be, if maybe, just maybe, you feel even a fraction of what I do.

~

I took a break from writing, I kind of forgot about this letter, but today I found it in my drawer and read it. I cried. I couldn’t help it. Honestly, I still think about you constantly, I barely even sleep, I wake up a thousand times in the middle of the night, swimming in an ocean of memories, and I feel like I’m drowning.

I tried calling you the other day, but the call didn’t go through, maybe you blocked me, maybe you’re closing every door that led to us. But here I am, still looking for an opening, a way back into your life. Could I ever do that?

If I’m being completely honest, I feel like I’m getting worse. I know I should’ve moved on already. I could meet new people and be happy, but I don’t want to be happy if it’s not with you. It just isn’t worth it.

Mom’s starting to worry about me. I think I understand why. I’ve been barely eating, barely sleeping, and failing all my classes. I stopped hanging out with my friends. I told her she doesn’t have to worry about it, but even I am starting to worry. I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t have the energy to do anything, I feel like I’m draining, I’m not even alive anymore, I’m just there.

How do you call it when that happens? My mom thinks I’m depressed. Maybe I am. She wants me to get help, but should I? I know how therapists work, they just listen to you for money, and most of the time they don’t even give you solutions. So why bother? Maybe that’s how I’m destined to be now, alone and stuck in the past. I honestly can’t even picture anything past 25, I don’t have the motivation to keep it up, but I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this, maybe because it feels like I’m not allowed to tell anyone else. I don’t want to burden them with how lost I am, how hard it is to pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not. I don’t think anyone would understand the weight of this and how hard it is to just keep going, pretending I’m okay.

I keep telling myself that I’ll be okay. That eventually, I’ll stop feeling like I’m drowning in this. But the truth is, I don’t know if I ever will be okay, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop missing you, if I’ll ever stop looking at the stars and remembering how we used to talk about them like they were ours, maybe I’m just not ready to let go of the person you were to me, the one I thought I’d always have.

~

I’ve been getting thinner. I’m starting to worry. Everybody’s worried. Mom took me to the doctor, and I still don’t have the results yet, but from the looks of it, I think it’s not good. What do I do?

I feel like I’m falling apart even more now, like my body’s betraying me. I don’t even recognize myself anymore, physically, emotionally, mentally, everything feels like it’s slipping through my fingers. I try to act like I’m fine, like I’ve got everything under control, but I don’t, not even close. The weight of all of this is starting to break me in ways I can’t even put into words.

It’s hard to admit this, but I think I’ve been punishing myself. I’m scared to talk to anyone because I’m terrified they’ll see how broken I really am, I can’t help but wonder if they’ll think I’m being dramatic or weak, maybe I am weak, maybe I should be able to pull myself together by now, but I can’t. And that’s the hardest part, feeling so out of control, like everything is spiraling, and I don’t know how to stop it.

I keep thinking about how you used to make everything feel better, how you’d be there when I needed someone, maybe that’s why this is so hard, because I can’t find anything to fill the void you left. Not even the stars, no matter how beautiful they are, can make me feel the same way you did.

I just wish I could talk to you. I wish I could reach out, hear your voice, and somehow make all of this better. But I know that’s not possible, maybe it never was. But still, there’s this tiny part of me, a part that refuses to let go, that keeps hoping for something that will never come back.

I miss you, Christopher. I miss you so much, and it pains me how much you seem to not care. We used to be everything, and now we’re nothing at all. I still don’t know why I’m writing this, and I still don’t know if I’m sending it, maybe I should, but I’m scared, I’m scared you’ll think I’m a freak, but maybe I’ll send it someday.

I just need you to know, you were everything to me, Chris. You were my safe place, my constant, and now I don’t even know where I belong. I feel like I’m floating through life, disconnected from everything and everyone, like I’m just waiting for something to change, something to make me feel whole again. But nothing does. Nothing ever does.

I wish I could go back in time, back to when everything was simple, but I know I can’t. I can’t turn back the clock, and I can’t change the past, I can only try to figure out how to live without you, even if it feels impossible right now.

I don’t expect you to understand, or even care, but I had to say it. I had to write it down because it’s the only way I can make sense of all of this. It’s the only way I can make sense of you.

Maybe one day, someone will tell me that time heals all wounds, but for now, I’m starting to think this wound is one that will never close. And maybe that’s just my fate, to carry this pain forever.

~

I’ve decided that I’m going to send you this letter, I’ve read it many times and I know it’s kind of ridiculous, but I feel like you need to read it, part of me wants you to so, here it is, here I am, all of me, all of it, I hope you answer, if you don’t, I’ll understand, but I really wait for your response.

I miss you, I’ve missed you for months now, and I’ll always miss you, please reply to me.

Your dearest, y/n.

Authors note: I don’t really know why I wrote something like this but I finished reading a book like it so I got inspired

Part 2?

[just1cefor4ll]

— 12 reasons why I wanted to leave, 1 reason why I stayed

Joost Klein x gn!reader

warning. ‼️heavy themes like suicide, abuse, alcoholism, death, bullying ect., swearing,not proof read ‼️

A/N. this is based on 13 reasons why and very slightly on anonymously yours. if you want to be added to the taglist for this fic then dm me, comment under this or ask in ‘requests’.

part 1 || part 2

Joost was getting ready to perform, chatting with his friends about how excited they were to go out afterward and finally have some time for themselves.

It was a night like any other—hundreds of fans packed into the venue with their phones out, or in some cases, holding up the most random devices Joost would definitely want footage from later. The stage lights were blinding, but the energy in the room was unlike any other, the kind of night that would be impossible to forget.

However one fan, in particular, stood out. They were right at the barricade, leaning against it, phone nowhere in sight. Unlike the rest of the crowd, they weren’t singing along, weren’t screaming—just watching him with quiet admiration. A few people around them threw curious glances, but they didn’t seem to care.

Joost, too caught up in the performance, didn’t notice them at first. But as the Europapa outro played, his gaze drifted over the crowd—and there they were. Their eyes met, and he stared, intrigued. He was used to fans buzzing with energy, shouting every lyric, but you? You were different.

Once the night ended, he saw you standing there as others made their way out— while you were just standing there in thought. You decided to leave a few minutes after, shoving through crowds and outside into the night. ‘How strange.’ Joost thought to himself but didn’t think too much about it, everyone enjoyed music in their own unique way and he wasn’t one to judge. And so he forgot about you— at least for a good while.

That night a letter had been delivered to him. He had an adress fans could send fan mail to and he loved recieving them. They always made his day and had a lot of the things he got somewhere on display or safely kept in a drawer he’d never throw away. But this letter.. it was strange.

In neatly written letters, the words ‘For Joost Klein, 13 reasons.’

13 reasons.. what could that possibly mean? He had re-read the 2 words about a hundred times before curiosity had gotten the best of him and ripped the envelope open.

—February 14th 2025

Joost,

I don’t know if you’ll actually read this. Maybe you’ll read the first few words, get a weird feeling in your gut, and throw it away. I wouldn’t blame you. It’s easier to ignore things that make us uncomfortable.

But in case you do read it, then I just want to let you know this letter is simply to let things out. I’ll stay anonymous, I don’t want you to find me but I want you to know my story. Why my story of all the hundreds others you could know? I’m not sure. Did anyone ever write this type of letter to you before?

Well to get to the point— here’s reason number 1. (You’ll figure out what I mean later.)

High school was pure hell to say the least. I mean, other than the typical grouping of people (You know, popular kids, nerds.. the weirdo’s..)

It started with rumors after I transferred from my old school because my dad wanted to live closer to family and get back into the city. The rumours were stupid— the kind that spread before you even realize they exist. I was a slut, apparently. A whore from the next town over. I lost count of how many people whispered about me, laughed behind my back, called me names to my face.

The worst part wasn’t the people saying it. It was the people who pretended not to hear. The friends who suddenly weren’t my friends anymore. The teachers who saw what was happening and did nothing.

I tried to ask for help. Once. I sat in an office, across from someone who was supposed to fix things, and I begged them to make it stop. They nodded, they smiled, they promised—then they sent me back to class like nothing had happened.

And this is gonna sound a bit weird— I mean I could care less you don’t know who I am— but that made the first crack in my soul. I was left broken to piece myself back together.

—Yours truly, anonymous.

The letter had kept him up all night—who could’ve known that one of his fans, someone who had stood in the same crowd as hundreds of others, carried something this heavy?

Joost read it over and over, each word digging deeper into his chest. What did you mean ‘you’ll find out later’? What did you mean reason one? Reason’s for what? The weight of it settled in his bones, making sleep impossible. He tried to brush it off, tell himself it wasn’t his problem, that he couldn’t save everyone. But the truth was, he wanted to know who had written it.

He thought back on any weird encounters he had— if he had seen anyone in his neighbourhood who was out of the ordinary but no— nothing came to mind.

And so he waited for the next letter. One day, two days.. a week. Nothing. Nothing came into the mail and he felt worried. Did something happen? Were you okay? He didn’t know you— only that you were deeply hurt and decided to entrust someone with your problems and you just disappeared. That was never good. Disappearing.. it was dangerous and he tried to watch out for any mentions of suicide on the news but surprisingly, 12 days after the first note, another one came. He opened it as fast as he could manage and sped through the letter, the way you expressed your hurt and sorrow.. it was unlike any other.

—February 26th 2025

Dear Joost,

It’s me again! Anonymous. I saw your show this weekend and it was quite the performance. It may seem stalker-ish but I’ve been going to almost every single concert you’ve had so far during this Europapa tour— I simply can’t get enough! :)

Well, to not bother you too much— although the content of this letter is heavy enough.. here’s reason number 2.

My mother died not long after I graduated.

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some tragic accident. It was the kind of death that creeps up slowly, stretching itself out over months, maybe years, until one day you realize the person you love isn’t coming back. I remember watching her get weaker, how her voice got softer, how she started forgetting things—little things at first, then big things, like my name.

And then she was gone.

I was left with a father who didn’t know how to grieve and a house that felt like a tomb. People said all the usual things— “I’m so sorry for your loss, she’s in a better place, let me know if you need anything.” They said them like changed the fact that my world had just ended.

After my mother died, my father started drinking. A little at first. Then a lot. Then so much that I stopped recognizing the person sitting across from me at dinner.

He was angry all the time. At me, at himself, at the world. It didn’t take much to set him off. A wrong look. A wrong word. A wrong breath. And then it was yelling, slamming doors, broken glass.

I told myself it wasn’t that bad. That as long as I stayed quiet, as long as I stayed out of his way, I’d be fine.

I wasn’t.

I confronted him once. Told him I was tired of being scared in my own home. That I couldn’t keep pretending things were okay. That he wasn’t okay.

He just stared at me, silent. Then he got up and walked away.

A few nights later, I found him dead— he had taken his own life and left a letter about how sorry he was and how i’ll be better off without him. He rather kill himself than work on his issues and be there for his child. Was I that much of a failure to him? Was I not worth the struggle? Guess not.

I guess that’s why I’ve always related to you as a person and a fan. I know you lost your parents too. And even though I don’t know you, and you sure as hell don’t know me, it made me feel less alone. And I guess that pushed me to not give up, at least not so easily.

—Anonymous

This letter made him feel something different. Was it anger? Confusion? Maybe both. He had questions— a lot of them.. and so he decided to write back. You had be bringing the letters yourself, it didn’t have his address nor anything to indicate this was sent and delivered by a postman and so he hoped you’d find it the next time you’d come around.

He quickly scrambled to find a paper and pen, but as soon as he sat down to write something.. he couldn’t find the words.

What could he say that wasn’t said to you a thousand times already? ‘I’m sorry this is happening.’ ‘It will get better.’ No. Those would be empty promises he couldn’t actually keep.. and so he thought— though for hours until he just grabbed the pen and wrote until there was no more space on the white sheet of paper.

He was nervous to actually put it in his mailbox. What if you stopped writing? He was probably your only hope and so he couldn’t afford to mess this up. The time ticked by and soon the clock strikes midnight, and the time came for him to finally put it into the mailbox where you’d hopefully find it and take the advice and things he had to say to heart.. or at least thought about them. He hoped for the best, for your well being even though he didn’t know you a single bit— how could he wish you anything else? You poured your heart out to him, you chose to do so and he felt some sort of pride in his chest bubble up because it was like he had succeeded in something. Something big. He hoped you thought so too.

—February 26th 2025

Dear anonymous,

I hope you’re doing okay

How have you been?

As you can probably tell, I’m struggling to find the right words to start this letter— but I guess this is the best I’ll do.

There hasn’t been a single night where I haven’t thought about you. About whether you’re still here. About how much of this weight you’re still carrying. I don’t know if you expect me to respond, if you even want me to, but I have to. Because I can’t read what you wrote and just pretend it’s nothing.

I keep thinking about that. About the fact that, despite everything, you’re still here. That after all the shit life has thrown at you—every loss, every time you were kicked down and left to pick up the pieces alone, every night you spent staring at the ceiling wondering if it was even worth it—you’re still breathing.

I don’t know who you are, but I know you’ve been hurting for a long time. I know you’ve been carrying this alone, and I know how heavy that gets. I know what it’s like to walk around with so much pain inside you that it feels like it’s carved into your ribs. Like no matter what you do, no matter how much time passes, it’s always there. And the worst part? The fact that no one ever really sees it.

People look at you and see whatever version of you they want. They see the person who keeps showing up, who keeps moving forward, and they assume that means you’re okay. That you must be fine because you haven’t completely fallen apart. They don’t see the exhaustion in your bones. They don’t see the nights where it physically hurts to be alive. They don’t see how goddamn hard it is just to exist some days.

And after a while, you start to believe it too. That maybe this is just how it is. That maybe you’re just meant to carry this alone, because no one’s ever really noticed enough to do anything else.

But I notice. I notice because I’ve been there. Because I know what it’s like to be drowning and have the world keep moving like nothing’s wrong. I know what it’s like to lose people and realize too late that you were never ready to live without them. I know what it’s like to be so goddamn tired of everything—of the weight, of the silence, of the pretending—that giving up starts to feel like the only option that makes sense.

But you haven’t.

I’m not going to give you some empty speech about how things get better. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that everything happens for a reason, or that the pain you’ve felt will magically fade. That would be bullshit. We both know it doesn’t work that way.

You are not alone in this. Not anymore. Because I see you. And I’m here.

—Yours truly, Joost. :)

You couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down your face, no matter how hard you tried to hold them back. The way he put everything into words—your feelings, your pain—it was almost terrifying. It was like, for a moment, he had stepped inside your mind, like he had lived through every dark thought, every lonely night, every moment where you felt like there was nothing left.

It was almost as if, just for a little while, you had switched places. As if he had carried your pain for you, held it in his hands and understood it in a way no one else ever had. And then, just as quickly, you were yanked back into your own reality, into this life that felt more like a prison than anything else.

You gripped the paper tightly, reading over his words again and again, as if searching for some hidden meaning, something that might make this feel less real. But it was real. He had written this. He had seen you, even without knowing your name, without ever meeting you.

And that terrified you.

He understood— someone who was never in your same exact shoes before understood.. you weren’t invisible anymore, not to Joost at least. Maybe you weren’t as alone as you had convinced yourself you were.

And maybe—just maybe—there was still a reason to keep going.

© just1cefor4all— I don’t consent to my writing being reposted to other platforms or fed into AI. Translating it is also strictly prohibited. 🚫

[winters-on-the-wing]

so this is delusional.

1. james never one gropes snape. never one does james even touch snape’s intimate areas. in the books, james never even touches snape’s clothing. because there was no physical touch, there was no sexual implications, and snape’s condition wasn’t being used for the sexual pleasure of others, it’s NOT SEXUAL ASSAULT. you’re absolutely ridiculous for implying that it is. it’s not downplaying, it’s pointing out a totally ridiculous argument. you guys only call it sexual assault because the phrase is reactionary and you want people to forget all the shitty things snape has done. it’s like calling a paper cut a lethal stab wound. it’s insensitive and nonsensical.

2. it is clearly stated in the books that when james “abused” snape, snape “abused” right back, hexing james at every opportunity. i won’t deny that james had his moments where he was a bully, but it’s ridiculous to insinuate that snape’s decision to join the death eaters can be excused because he endured some petty bullying. many of the aurors and children of the aurors were TORTURED and they still stood up for what was right up until the very end.

3. using “snape wanted power and nobody else would give him power” is a justification for him joining the death eaters that i see all the time and it just makes no damn sense to me. power is not like food or water or shelter or love. you don’t need it to be whole. why does snape want so badly to feel like he’s above somebody else? it’s because he’s a blood supremacist who’s clinging to the only little semblance of privilege he has, which is fascinating to examine, but undeniably slimy and disgusting. he’s stomping on the heads of others to get himself ahead. that’s- there’s no justifying that.

4. blaming james for what snape eventually did is overall just ridiculous. first of all, james wasn’t the only one who teased snape. second of all, snape’s canonical treatment towards lily and the other muggleborns at hogwarts confirms his blood supremacist views, which means that this also contributed to his decision to join voldemort.

also i just find it hilarious that snape stan’s constantly bring in other professors to try and make them seem just as bad as snape. i’m not implying that minerva is perfect. but at least she isn’t openly bigoted, and tormenting children so badly that they’re terrified of coming to class. she’s done some questionable things, but i think she would step in before something awful happened. snape, on the other hand, threatened to kill neville’s pet. that’s way worse than sleeping in the hallway for a night. snape, on the other hand, continued to bully harry, a little boy who was already being horrifically abused, because of something harry couldn’t control: the actions of his LITERAL DEAD DAD TWENTY YEARS AGO.

im not saying snape is pure evil, he’s a fun character to analyze. but don’t try to justify his actions with me. it’s not going to work. he’s a bigot and a fascist and he deserved every bad thing he went through.

can snape stans for the love of god please shut the fuck up

here are some things i’ve GENUINELY seen snape stan’s say today and i have receipts:

1. that lily only fell in love with james because he gave her a love potion. i…i don’t even know what to say other than that this is obscene.

2. that james’ actions could be compared to what death eaters do. i’m sorry, has james ever killed or tortured anybody purely due to their race/ethnicity? does james think that all minorities deserve to die or be controlled? and do i need to remind people that snape literally WAS an avid blood supremacist and death eater?? jesus fucking christ…

3. like 3000 people saying over and over that james sexually assaulted snape. first of all, comparing pantsing to sexual assault is extremely disrespectful to anybody who’s been s/a’d, myself included. second of all, that only happened in the movies, dipshits. clearly you didn’t read the books if you obsess over that argument.

4. that lily, sirius, remus, james, and peter are all worse people than snape. i’m sorry, did any of them grow up to torment innocent children? did any of them grow up to find pleasure in the pain and suffering and fear of little kids, using their position as a TEACHER to express prejudice? did any of them grow up to use a child’s DEAD DAD’s actions from DECADES AGO to justify cruelty? peter grows up to be awful, but the other four make childhood mistakes that they learn and grow from in adulthood. snape never learns and grows. he just gets worse, and that’s nobody’s fault but his own.

5. that minerva and hagrid are just as bad as snape. first of all, hagrid never discriminated against students for their race or identity and neither does minerva. hagrid and minerva are tough but fair. they don’t enact cruelty. when they see bullies or cruel students get what’s coming to them, then they turn away because they’re witnessing natural consequences. i won’t deny that minerva and hagrid have favorites but they aren’t blatantly cruel to people who aren’t favorites and their only acts of cruelty are ones in which the students ACTUALLY INSTIGATE something worth punishing. snape punishes neville for existing. he punishes hermione for daring to participate in class. and malfoy goes off scott free because he’s a pure blood.

moral of the story, snape stans are delusional. if y’all weren’t so INSANE, then maybe i’d actually like snape. but you are. so i don’t, and i doubt i ever will!

[malin-la]

You can pry this adhd x autism couple from my cold dead hands

[cosmosnout]

The most doomed siblings ever

[sacriou]

LONG TIME NO DOODLE DUMP!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

Hi!! This is hopefully a fun question to ask! 💚 What are some of your favourite versions of suguru &/or satoru by your moots/non-moots that you’ve read in their fics ? For example your winter satosugu drabble has my favourite satoru 💅💅💅

🥺🥺🥺 ANONNNN first of all i’m so happy you like that satoru…… i’m really fond of him too!!! he’s very Husband + the implied mommy issues are tasty imo…

but wahhh… this is absolutely a fun question!!!! i doooo wanna preface this by saying that i legitimately love . all my moots’ versions of stsg. they’re all a little different so i go to different moots/other writers depending on what i’m looking for :3 i love love love the fact that fanfic births so many different takes and aus…. it’s one of my favorite parts of reading it!!!

i doooo have some versions of stsg that i’m partial to though!!!! gonna throw them under the cut, i decided to only go with my moots because i’m…… really scatterbrained. there are SO many other sugus and torus that i adore my brain just can’t pull them out at command </3 but i hope this’ll suffice!!

first of all…. my favorite gojos :333

niku’s gojo in general is one of my favorites ever ever ever but i’m specifically adding a link to bten because . bten lives in my brain <3 and i adore both bten!reader & bten!gojo more than anything….. ANYWAY . niku’s gojo is my favorite for many reasons but above all else he just…. feels so real to me . sometimes i have to remind myself that i’m reading a fic and not canon content bc her gojo just FEELS like gojo . it’s a little scary. i read bten and heard kaiji tang’s voice in my ear 😭 i think it’s sooo difficult to capture the balance that canon!gojo has, but niku does it so effortlessly!!! he’s so charming and guarded and annoying and kind beneath it all and i’m just….. in love with him . that’s all. i do want to strangle him just a tiny bit but mostly i want to kiss him.

sel’s col!gojo…. my baby my husband the loml. i adoreeeee sel’s take on gojo and the way he views/approaches love ….. and just like niku her gojo feels so real and so grounded!!!! sel has a way of rounding out her characters and making them feel so human, which i. adore. and it works so well with gojo. col!gojo is canon to me idc. he’s so relatable to me and following his story with col!reader was just so touching 🥹🥹 i . cried . every time he blushed or got flustered i fell to my knees . flustered gojo is really hard to get right i think??? bc it’s just….. such a rare mood from him. but it feels so perfect in her fics. col!gojo reminds me of a plant in the softest, most loving way and i just want him to grow and embrace the sun !!!!!!!! i want him to be happy….

another general pick; alexis’s gojo!!!!!! (link goes straight to my personal fav which is a very bold statement to make but i think abt this fic constantly)…. this is another gojo that just feels. so canon to me somehow???? every time i read her gojo fics i’m just like yeah…. that’s gojo satoru. that’s the gojo satoru that i love and adore. it always reminds me of WHY i love him sm and it’s just….. such a wonderful feeling yk??? alexis rlly captures what i perceive as the core of his character!!!!! i can’t tell you what it is exactly but i feel that so strongly!!!!! he’s my baby and i love him so so bad. he makes me so happy and he feels so human:((((( i just love him…. him and his self-destructive little habits….. also special shoutout to idol!gojo bc he’s just soo. yeah.

then we have io’s flower shop!satoru <333 the fic isn’t out as of rn, but i added a link to a snippet that i’m still swooning over….. i ADORE this concept and it’s so perfect for io’s gorgeous and flowery writing!!!! he was made for her fr…… i just really love the idea of a soft, gentle, smitten satoru 🥺 and him being a flower boy rlly scratches an itch in my brain because of his canon ties to flowers!!! the fact that he kind of views other people as flowers. or at least compared them to flowers in ch. 236….. i just feel like this concept is . genius. nature loves satoru and he loves it back . he’s a nurturing soul at his core imo and that’s not something i see people explore super often, but this au captures it perfectly <33

NOW. SUGU TIME.

moss’s knight!suguru…. my beloved. not a day goes by where i don’t think about him. there isn’t a single language on this earth that could properly convey the physical reaction i had when i read this drabble . this is . The most attractive suguru in the world. to me. he’s so sexy i’m sorry i need him so bad. we all know how i feel about knights and suguru individually so when you mash em together….. 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 yeah. my life was changed. the armour the blood the contrast between his polite exterior and gritty fighting … i’ll be so honest just the idea of knight!suguru fighting using his fists instead of his sword is enough to have me falling to the floor in agony like i NEED him. you don’t understand. you will never understand. it physically pains me to know that he will never beat ts out of me. BUT YEAH HE’S JUST SOOO???? he’s so hot and cool and Doomed and i desire him carnally

then we have mickey’s suguru :3 he’s just….. soooo fucking charming? it’s sickening . i can’t stand him. he’s perfect and i need him. mickey always writes him in a very wolfy way while also making him feel so soft and sweet and i just…. adore it. he’s a loverboy first and foremost and he makes me sooooooo happy it’s insane…… i’m linking my personal fav sugu fic of his but i truly adore them all!!!!!!!!! his suguru is just . theee most charming man alive and that’s all i can really say to properly convey my feelings. this particular fic genuinely wrecked me i got soooooo flustered just reading it 💔💔💔 save me sweaty!sugu…….. save me……….. he’s a wolf he’s a romantic he’s a cooer and most importantly he’s my Wife :33

kairo’s suguru is soooo lovely and so hot but i’m especially in love with black is the colour!suguru….. he’s just. so hot i’m sorry. not really though. tattoo artist sugu 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 with his piercings …. his honeyed voice…… his boundless devotion…… heavy breathing . he’s so mommy in this. but also so Father. that’s the best way i can explain it aaaaaaand i’m terribly weak to it……. he’s just so perfect there are SO many scenes in this fic that made my knees buckle 😔😔 he’s so sweet and doting and complex and just hhhhhhhhhhhHHH kairo if you see this you’ve ruined me for life…… specifically thinking about the scene where he worries he acts more like a dad than a boyfriend sometimes + where he calls reader his dove…… i need him in my life i need him to fix me

lily’s poseidon!suguru stole my heart very recently and i have ….. not stopped thinking of him since. i love any take on suguru as a god and lily’s version is just so genius . suguru being a god of the sea????? it’s perfect….. and the fact that he’s so gentle and coaxing and sweet 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 just the way he speaks in this drabble had me captivated he is truly the god of all time….. and his DESIGN . the concept in itself. i know for a fact that he’s the most stunning man you’ll ever see. he’s so almighty and powerful and he speaks so softly and gently but you hear every word crystal clear because he just has this Presence…… i rlly can’t stop thinking about him.

then we have rem’s suguru!!!! who is the acts of service king of All Time. and i’m obsessed with him. i love chatting with rem because i love her but also because we always agree on suguru and her thoughts always make me feel insane….. he NEEDS you to need him. he needs to take care of you. or he’ll literally explode. he’s such a caretaker and i can’t get enough of him….. that’s really the Core of suguru’s character imo!!!! his desperation to take care of others. he wants to take care of you more than he ever takes care of himself because doing that makes Him happy. and rem just captures that so, so perfectly, yknow?????? oughhhh her sugu is just so Mommy i need him to coddle me :(((((

aaaaand finally!!!!! last but not least!!!!!!!! rheya’s vamp!sashisu :33 i know you asked for stsg specifically but i’m throwing in shoko as a bonus bc they’re All characterized so well in this. they live rent free in my silly little brain . there’s not a single person on this planet that i trust to write poly sashisu more than rheya bc she just Gets them!!!!! and….. vamp!sashisu..,… lord save me…….. they could drain me like a capri sun idec. I LOVE THEM!!!!!! their preferred biting spots just feel soooo in character and the fact that they’re all so gentle makes me emotional 🥺🥺 generally speaking i’m not super into vamps but rheya entered my life and i was changed forever . i need them so bad

i wasn’t gonna tag anyone originally, but i want you guys to know how much i love you and think abt your silly little guys actually... thank u for letting me read abt them 🥹

@stellamancer @seiwas @kissxcore @neptuneblue

@mossmotif @dollsuguru @teddybeartoji

@storiesoflilies @hayakawalove @satoruxx

[avatarofthetired]

Hey mechs fans, want to play a little game? I made a playlist that contains every DTTM song/spoken track, along with every original of said tracks

And what you, dear mechs enjoyers, can do is hit shuffle, and try to guess where each song is from! They’re the same songs, but with loads of little differences, and it’s always fun to stumble upon them

This link will probably work! Maybe!