#there’s too much that i don’t know and it’s insurmountable if i want to be smart

[yaminerua]

at this point idk what it is specifically but I don’t think there’s a single neurotypical person living in this house and the state it’s in shows that

if you walked into this place you’d immediately stage an intervention bc clearly none of us are able to get started on what needs fucking done let alone maintain it to an acceptable level jfc

[transmascxielian]

this is the most esoteric and pretentious and up itself vent post ever but how the fuck am i going to get into oxford university if i only have a surface level understanding of the cultural significance of spanish cinema

[stellasdrafts]

Slow Morning with Leon Kennedy

Summary: a warm winter morning after with your boyfriend. (RE4R Leon x Reader)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: alludes to sexual content happening the night before, no smut, ur so in loooooove. would it even be a story of mine if it wasn’t at least a bit angsty? tooth-rotting fluff, unspecified gender of reader.

Notes: writing the aftermath because i’m scared of writing smut. #needthat. also, happy holidays to everyone celebrating stuff at the moment! <3

You awaken with the golden morning sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains and casting an entrancing glow on your bedroom walls. Every morning, the sight reminds you of that afternoon spent at the furniture store where you and your boyfriend deliberated way too long over picking the perfect amenities for your first place together. Leon wanted some blackout curtains, but you figured some pretty see-through ones could start off the day with some much-needed serotonin. You got your way and you were right. You’re home a lot more than Leon, anyway. It feels like he’s always gone on missions. He typically can’t even disclose the details of them to you, either, leaving you to find out he was risking his life across the globe only when he comes back. That feeling of hopelessness – of not knowing where your partner is, or if he’s safe… it’s a most devastating feeling you wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

It's that D.S.O. agent’s arm, sleepily thrown across your midriff, that now pins you down to the heavenly mattress. You couldn’t escape this warm, golden confinement even if you wanted to. He’s recently come back from Spain and can’t keep his hands off of you since – not that you mind the constant affection. You can’t so much as brush your teeth without having strong arms wrap around you from behind, or cook dinner without him plastering kisses down your neck and shoulders, or even pick out your clothes in the morning without getting groped lovingly. And despite all of that, there’s still a tenseness to the way he moves, the way he carries himself. As if you’re both waiting for the other shoe to drop – waiting for him to be ripped away from you again. So you take the time you have now to admire his sleeping form. It’s the only time he truly looks peaceful. You trace a careful thumb over the space between his brows. There are usually a few tense lines there, giving away the insurmountable stress he carries with him wherever he goes. You’d give anything to have him like this all the time: warm, safe, at ease and at home.

He begins to stir and you continue to caress the angles of his pretty face. His long lashes flutter slowly. He looks godly, with the white sheet thrown loosely over his bare frame and the celestial light glowing from the window behind him…

“Morning, baby~” he croaks groggily, making you smile. He only calls you pet names when his mind is dazed from sleep, or in especially tender moments.

“Shhh,” you coo. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shakes his head ever so slightly, despite struggling to keep his stormy eyes open. He nuzzles closer to you. “M’awake now,” he mumbles against the skin of your chest.

“Sorry.”

He gives you a look that you read perfectly – don’t apologize – and playfully nips the fat of your chest. You squeak, still sensitive from his generous attention to it last night, before giving his hair a light tug away. He just grins like the beautiful fool he is for you. “Careful. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish. Must still be pretty spent from last night.”

“Fiend.” You scoff, but he can’t see anything other than amusement on your angelic face. “You’re that confident in your abilities?” you pull his leg for no reason – he very well should be.

“Mhm.” The blond yawns. He stretches onto his back causing the thin sheet to drag down and his defined v-line to peek ever so slightly from above it.

Your face warms and you make to get out of bed before the urge to start last night’s endeavours all over again takes over. “First thing in the morning. Shameful,” you scold half-heartedly as if you aren’t having the exact same thoughts.

Leon groans and hooks a toned arm around your waist. “Don’t,” he pleads, pulling you back down into his warmth.

You giggle, reaching back to hold him back. “Don’t you have anywhere to be? Won’t Hunnigan want to see you?”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, never getting enough of your warmness, your smell, your everything. The linens already smell like you. Part of him aches at the realization that there isn’t a hint of him there, granted he’s been gone on missions a lot. He’ll take waking up and having his senses consumed by you over waking up sore in a shitty motel, or even worse on something that’s not even meant to be slept on in the middle of a mission. Anyday. “No. I fought like hell to get time off for the holidays.”

That snaps you out of your cozy wooziness in a shared heartbeat. Your head jerks back to look at him, your eyes wide in disbelief, shining with a rare light of hope. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He dares to grin, pleased with your adorable reaction. Lovingly, he pulls you up to straddle his lap.

It always makes your stomach turn, how effortlessly he can handle you around. With a last-second thought, you pull a sheet along with you to create a weak barrier between your intimate parts and him, still wanting to relish in the comfort a moment more before things inevitably turn heated again. You bask in the idea of the two of you getting to pretend to live a normal life for a week or two. You could have this domesticity every morning…

He shoots you a mischievous look. “Minx.”

You only laugh. “We have all the time in the world.”

He sits up to litter warm kisses along your tender neck, his hands resting firmly on your hips. “And I plan to take advantage of every second,” he finishes your sentence.

To egg him on, you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Oh! We can make breakfast together… And I didn’t finish decorating the apartment! And we could go ice staking! I still can’t believe you don’t know how,” you begin to ramble, getting pleasantly overwhelmed with the possibility of all the seasonal activities you could finally do with the love of your life.

He chuckles softly, lifting his head from your neck. His lips are starting to swell deliciously. “Sure, baby. Anything you want.”

Leon was never a religious man, but he’d worship you if he could – drop to his knees and pray for a drop of your attention – his saving grace. He intended to make his devotion clear every crisp morning during this break.

[retiredteabag]

Choso watching you interact with children

Babysitting with Choso and him getting emotional realizing that his love for you goes deeper than he understands...

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

The two of you had been watching your niece, spending hours together, playing outside, drawing, and making snacks, and now you, Cho, and your niece were watching a cartoon on the television.

Nobody was really paying attention, too focused on the conversation that bounced from your niece's school friends to her hobbies, to her neighbor's pet lizard.

Choso was listening intently, asking questions that made the girl leap on the sofa, eager to tell him more. He never seemed annoyed or bothered by her attention. He was very intentional with his care.

You found yourself staring at him with hearts in your eyes, he was just so good with kids.

“And when I first met him he was this big-“ she brings her palms together, “but now he’s this big!” She dramatically pulls them apart, showing the width of what must have been the world's largest bearded dragon. “But anyway… yeah, I need to go potty!”

You look over, “okay, I can pause the TV, we’ll wait for you.” You offer her a smile and she makes a serious face.

“Good. I like this episode a lot.” She bounds off to the restroom and you chuckle, knowing she wasn’t paying any attention to the show on the screen. You look back to the man at your side and smile.

“Ya know, you’re pretty good with her.” You nudge Choso.

Choso’s love language was words of affirmation, through and through, but you didn’t praise him because you knew this, he truly just had so many good qualities, it would be a crime not to tell him!

He beams, “It’s easy loving people.”

Your heart warms, knowing he was telling the truth. “You’re so good at conversation though, she gets so excited when you're with me. And when you don't come, you're all she wants is to talk about.”

He lights up, “Really? That makes me happy! She's very silly.” He looks at your face intently, "She has so much energy, it reminds me of Yuuji." He plants his palms in his lap as if really considering what he had just said.

The two of you had fallen into a comfortable silence before eventually, you began to hear a repetitive jolting sound.

Frantic rattles were coming from the door of the bathroom and it wasn’t long before you heard a cry of your name.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” You shouted, rushing to the bathroom door, sure the child had somehow locked herself in.

Dramatic weeping came from the inside and you were instantly brought back to a time when you had been stuck inside of an elevator as a kid. The panic you experienced in that moment had been insurmountable as a child.

You jiggle the knob, “Sweetie is it locked?”

But your niece wasn’t hearing you, “I-I can’t ge-t it open!”

“Okay! That’s alright, I’ll get it, don’t worry, honey!” You look around for something to push the lock through to the other side.

Choso was pacing, unsure of what to do, nibbling on his pointer finger. You’ve just pulled a pin from your hair when the child’s wails reached a new height.

“Help me! Help me, please! I’m stuck!”

“Okay, okay, it’s alright, honey, I’ve got it.” You push the pin in the doorknobs hole and punch the lock out of place, immediately twisting the door open.

And within a second your niece is flinging herself into your arms. You kneel to her size and hold her in your grasp. Petting her hair and cooing in her ear.

“It’s okay, see? Nothing to worry about, we were here, you were okay.”

You rock her back and forth, her little shoulders shaking wildly.

“I was s-scared I was gonna be in there for-for forever!”

“Noooo-” you don’t laugh, knowing she truly had been frightened, “No, I wouldn’t let that happen.”

The little girl pulls back with a ridiculous frown, fat tears are in her lash line but she pulls a face and whines, “Only cause my mommy would be super duper mad if you did!”

She tugs you in for a big, tight hug, and is gone in a flash. Sitting before the TV as if nothing had ever happened.

You’re stuck squatting by the bathroom door, aghast at how quickly children move on. Just as you’re making to stand though, Choso kneels to help you up. He’s smiling sweetly but there’s something else in his face, something you haven’t seen before.

The television starts up again and you go to grab Choso's hand, the stress of the moment evaporating but he just squeezes at your touch and mutters something about needing the restroom himself.

You nod and make your way back to the living room, distracted by his odd behavior, but still, you focus your attention on your niece, who was suddenly enthralled with the show she had been ignoring not ten minutes earlier.

It was a while before you realized Cho was still gone. Had he never left the bathroom? What was he doing in there, you wondered.

After such an eventful afternoon, your niece, who had been so captivated by her "favorite show" seemingly dozed off, laying on the couch.

You stretched your legs, stood up, and made your way back to the bathroom, expecting to just check up on Choso when you began to hear sniffles and huffs from behind the door.

Not wanting to wake up the kid, you knock gently with a knuckle, whispering, "Cho, baby, are you alright?".

It was a moment before there was a response, but after hearing a shuffle of feet, the door was creaking open and Choso's tear streaked face came into view.

Seeing him like this sent you into overdrive, "Oh- Baby what is it? Cho, what happened?" Your brain is trying to recall what might have happened to have caused his obvious distress but you're pulling a blank.

He looked as if he was almost getting the words out before a choked sob left him and he was squatting on the floor suddenly. You crouched down to meet him, frantic to understand.

His shoulders were shaking, it broke your heart but as you were patting his shoulders you noticed that his cries sounded a bit different.

"Baby, baby, what's wrong? Can you tell me?" You rubbed on his back, it was just as he was lifting his head that you noticed, his shoulders weren't shaking with cries, but rather, laughter.

He looked at you with a wobbly smile on his lips, his eyes still full of tears and he chuckled. Your dread eased some but you kept your hand on him, rubbing at his arms.

"What?" You smile back, "what is it?"

"I just-" He began, but a bout of air broke out from his lungs. He sucked in a deep breath and sighed, "I just... It was watching you...with her." He points to the living room from his squatted position on the bathroom floor.

"I just realized...how gentle you are, with her and me... and everyone." And his smile wobbled again and more tears broke his waterline.

"Oh, Cho, that's-" You smile at his embarrassed face but he holds up a hand to cut you off.

"I just. I know you're the one for me, I've known forever, but I-I" He huffs a deep breath again, a hand on his heart. "You say I'm so good with kids, but you are too, I just think... I just think we would make a good f-family...".

His voice wavers and the tears are steadily falling now. "Cho," You pat his arm and smooth over his hair, "Cho, it's okay, you're the one for me too. Didn't you know?"

He nods shakily, a wet smile still on his face.

The two of you are still crouched on the bathroom floor, Choso has a drippy face and is looking at you with so much love you could hardly bear it.

You want to scoop him up the way you had with your niece, he is quite a bit larger than the girl so you settle for wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you can.

The two of you stay like that, Cho falling to his knees a bit to get a better angle to hold you. You had been with the man for some time, you had known you loved him as well. But the desire to marry, to be one and start a family, that was new. But the sudden surge of emotion was so new and so present, that you could not ignore how obvious it was that Cho would make the most perfect father.

You both had been so lost in each other's embrace that you didn't hear your niece stomping her way back to the bathroom door before she shouted,

"AH! Did you get trapped inside too?!"

Choso pulled back, shocked at her sudden appearance, he giggled in a happy way. His face morphed gently into his normal demeanor, tuning his neck to look you in the eye, he maintained contact as he brought your palm to his lips, only breaking to look at the child again.

"Yes..." he chucked, "I think I did."

His neck slumps as blood rushes to his ears and he hides the embarrassment.

"It's okay! Now that it's over, we can go finish the show!" She shuffles from foot to foot. It was clear she wanted to make Choso feel better after experiencing something she knew to be scary.

Cho dips his head low and pushes his hips to stand, a bright smile on his face. He never took his hand from yours, tugging you with him from his little emotional hideout in the bathroom as he quietly states,

"Thank you, I'd like that."

You knew Choso could not care less for the story playing on the television but nothing brought him more joy than to see a smile on his loved ones faces. He pulled you along to the living room and when the two of you were seated once more, he leaned his face onto your shoulder, kissing the fabric of your shirt before watching the screen intently.

Of course, he was keen to discuss the episodes happenings with your niece over dinner.

[brunchable]

"Come Back To Me" || Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x F!reader. Themes: ANGST. ANGST. The one that got away. Summary: He’d been struggling for so long—struggling to find a way to piece himself back together. He’d told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that every day felt like walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything he was trying to build could explode, destroying whatever progress he’d made. A/N: I'm feeling a bit. . .emotional today. . .if this goes well, i'll make a happy ending. . .

The rain was relentless against the windowpane, blurring the view of the city outside. Y/N watched as the drops streaked down, tracing random patterns, much like the course of her life over the past few years. A packed suitcase sat by the door, and an eerie silence filled her apartment. The city she once called home now seemed foreign, unwelcoming. And she was finally leaving it all behind.

She picked up her phone, glancing at the unread messages. Her thumb hovered over one of them—Bucky Barnes. She hadn’t spoken to him in almost a year. A part of her wondered if she should’ve reached out, but then, what would have been the point? She was getting married. Moving on. Or at least trying to.

Just as she was about to put the phone down, it buzzed—another message. This time from him.

“Where are you?”

She stared at the screen, her heart tightening painfully in her chest. She knew she shouldn’t respond, but her fingers moved on their own accord.

“Leaving.”

Seconds passed before his response came through.

“Don’t go.”

Tears blurred her vision. She forced herself to breathe, to remind herself that she had made this choice a long time ago. But the memories clawed at her, dragging her back.

× × × × 

Two Years Ago

The room felt warmer that night, filled with a calm that rarely visited Bucky’s place. Y/N could still recall the way his heartbeat echoed in her ear, strong and steady beneath her cheek as she rested against his chest. It was one of those rare moments when he seemed at peace—when the walls he kept so carefully constructed around himself had lowered just enough for her to see a glimpse of the man he was underneath the scars.

She’d stayed over countless times before, but this felt different. There was no rush, no urgency or desperation to cling to each other like they’d had so many nights before. Just a quiet acceptance that, for now, in this sliver of borrowed time, they could pretend everything was okay. He’d wrapped his arms around her that night, pulled her close like he never wanted to let go.

“Do you think we’ll ever be normal?” she had whispered, more to herself than to him.

There was a pause, his fingers running through her hair, then trailing down her back as if grounding himself. He’d never been one for words. Never had to be. But that night, something had been different in the way he touched her, held her—like he knew he was about to break both their hearts.

“You know I love you, right?” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard.

She looked up at him then, her eyes searching his face. His gaze was fixed somewhere far away, staring past her, as if he could see something she couldn’t. But it was his eyes that gave him away. Eyes that had seen too much, carried too much. They were distant, resigned.

“Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Bucky had closed his eyes, his hold tightening. She didn’t know if it was because he was trying to hold onto her or if he was bracing himself to let her go.

They’d been here before—wrapped in each other, their skin touching, their breaths mingling, but the space between them felt like an insurmountable distance. He was always just a little out of reach, a little too far from where she needed him to be. Y/N had spent the better part of their relationship trying to close that gap, trying to be enough to pull him from the darkness he was drowning in.

But love wasn’t enough to save someone who was still learning how to love themselves.

He’d been struggling for so long—struggling to find a way to piece himself back together. He’d told her once, in a rare moment of vulnerability, that every day felt like walking through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything he was trying to build could explode, destroying whatever progress he’d made.

She knew he was dealing with more than she could understand. That his past was a heavy chain around his neck, dragging him down every time he tried to rise. 

Y/N had her life planned out—knew where she was headed, what she wanted. She’d had a future mapped out long before she met Bucky Barnes. But somehow, he had become part of that future, even though he was still figuring out how to fit into his own.

They had tried to make it work. God, they had tried. But the timing was always off. Every time she reached for him, he took a step back. Every time he looked ready to stay, something would pull him away. It was an endless push and pull, a dance neither of them could master.

So, that night, she hadn’t pushed him. She hadn’t pressed for promises or reassurances. She’d just held him, clung to the moments they had together, hoping—praying—that he would see that what they had was worth staying for.

In hindsight, she should have known something was off. Should have felt it in the way his grip tightened just a little too much, in the way he pressed his lips to her hair as if he were trying to commit every detail of her to memory.

But she hadn’t known. She hadn’t known that while she was drifting off to sleep, secure in the thought that they’d get to wake up like this again and again, Bucky was silently saying goodbye.

When morning came, the first thing she registered was the absence of his warmth. The sheets beside her were cool to the touch, and a strange sense of unease crept through her as she opened her eyes to an empty space.

“Bucky?”

Silence greeted her in return. The apartment felt colder now, the lingering traces of their night together evaporating into the early dawn light. She pushed herself up, glancing around the small living room they’d spent hours in, talking about everything and nothing.

His shoes were gone. The jacket he always left draped over the armchair—vanished. It was as if he’d erased every trace of himself from the room, leaving it as bare as it had been the first time she’d stepped through the door.

A sick feeling churned in her stomach as she stood and moved through the small space, half-expecting to find him in the kitchen making coffee or standing by the window like he often did when he couldn’t sleep. But each room she entered was the same—silent, empty, devoid of him.

Her eyes landed on the coffee table, and she froze. There, in the center, sat a single folded piece of paper.

No. No, no, no.

She walked over slowly, almost afraid to touch it. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the note, the familiar scrawl of his handwriting sending a fresh wave of pain through her chest.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words. That’s all he’d left her with.

A sob built in her throat, but she forced it down, shaking her head as if she could deny the reality in front of her. He was gone. He’d left in the middle of the night without a word, without an explanation. Just a hastily scribbled apology, like that could somehow justify tearing her apart and leaving her to pick up the pieces alone.

She sank onto the couch, the letter crumpling slightly in her grip. All the promises they’d made—the moments they’d shared—it was all unraveling around her like a cruel joke. She had believed in him, in the person he could be, the person he was when he was with her. And yet, he’d left.

Just like she always feared he would.

But no matter how much she had braced herself for this day, it didn’t make it any less excruciating. Because she’d been foolish enough to think that maybe—just maybe—love could be enough. That she could be enough.

She could still remember the way he looked at her the night before, those blue eyes filled with unshed tears, glassy and pleading. He’d looked like a man caught between two worlds—one where he wanted to stay and one where he had to leave.

“I just can’t,” he had said softly, voice cracking under the weight of it all, “I can’t keep pretending like I can give you everything you want. I’m still trying to figure out who I am—what I am. And you—you have your life together. You have a future. I’m just holding you back.”

And with those words, everything had shattered.

Love alone had never been enough to keep him from running.

× × × ×

Bucky sprinted through the terminal, breathless.

People moved aside, startled by his urgency, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting to her—seeing her. The thought of her boarding that plane, slipping through his fingers forever, was like a vise around his chest. He pushed past families and travelers, his eyes scanning the crowd frantically. It felt like every step he took was a battle against time, a race he was destined to lose.

He hadn’t meant to come here. Hadn’t meant to break the silence he’d imposed on himself when he’d walked away from her all those months ago. But when he’d heard she was leaving, something inside him snapped. The reality of losing her—really losing her—had hit him like a freight train.

He spotted her near the gate. Y/N stood with her back to him, her shoulders squared, the familiar tilt of her head making his heart twist painfully. She was right there. He could see her. He could—

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos of the terminal.

She turned slowly, and their eyes met.

For a moment, the world stilled. The noise of the airport faded into a distant hum, and all that existed was her—standing there, looking at him with an expression that tore him apart. There was surprise in her eyes, yes. But there was also pain. A deep, aching sadness that mirrored his own. He took a step forward, his throat tight, but the distance between them felt like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Y/N,” he repeated, softer now, his voice breaking.

She shook her head, lips trembling as she blinked back tears. He could see the resolve in her eyes, the determination. But there was something else there, too. Fragile and broken, something he knew he had put there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but the words felt hollow. Inadequate. He wasn’t just sorry—he was devastated. Ruined. He’d spent the last year running, trying to convince himself that letting her go was the right thing. That she deserved better than him. That he was sparing her the pain of loving someone who was still trying to piece himself back together.

But he hadn’t spared her anything. He’d just left her to suffer alone.

She looked at him, really looked at him, as if memorizing his face one last time. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn’t move toward him. Didn’t close the gap. She just stood there, staring at him like he was a stranger.

And then she smiled. A small, heartbreaking smile that nearly brought him to his knees.

“I know,” she mouthed, and he saw the acceptance in her gaze. She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t going to scream or cry or demand answers. She was simply… done.

Panic surged in his chest. He took a step forward, then another, but she turned away. His heart plummeted as she handed over her ticket to the gate attendant, her shoulders squared as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“Y/N, wait!” He surged forward, desperation clawing at him. He tried to push past security, tried to reach her, but an attendant stepped in front of him.

“Sir, you can’t go past this point.”

“Please,” he begged, voice cracking. He could feel his heart breaking, could feel everything slipping away from him. “Please, I need to talk to her.”

But the attendant shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s too late.”

Bucky stumbled back, his legs weak as if they could barely hold him up. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, battered notebook—the one he’d kept hidden all this time. The one he’d filled with the words he could never say to her.

He flipped through the pages with trembling hands, each letter a reminder of his cowardice, of the things he should have told her when it mattered. 

But as he reached the last page, his heart stuttered in his chest. His breath caught, and the world seemed to tilt as he stared at the words scrawled there in unfamiliar, yet achingly familiar handwriting.

It wasn’t his.

The ink was slightly smudged, as if someone had been gripping the page too tightly, but it was still clear. Still legible.

“Come back to me.”

His hands shook violently, a wave of emotion crashing over him as he traced the letters, his fingers brushing over the paper as if he could somehow reach her through it.

These weren’t his words. He hadn’t written this.

She had.

He squeezed his eyes shut, a pained noise escaping his throat. When had she seen this? How long had she known? He tried to piece it together, but everything felt jumbled, his thoughts spiraling out of control. He remembered all the way back to the times she’d looked at him, hurt and longing and so damn patient as she waited for him to say something—to do something that would prove he wasn’t going to leave again.

But he hadn’t. He’d let his fear win. Let his insecurities drive a wedge between them until there was nothing left but goodbyes.

“Come back to me.”

The words seemed to mock him now, a plea she must have written when she still believed he could change. When she still hoped he’d stay.

But he hadn’t found it. Hadn’t known what she’d been asking of him. And now it was too late.

The gate remained closed, and the plane carrying the only person who had ever truly seen him began to taxi away, taking her further and further out of his reach.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, the words breaking apart in his throat, filled with a desperation that echoed through the hollow spaces inside him.

But she wasn’t coming back.

[prythianpages]

Wanna Be Yours | Part Two

Rhysand x Reader | Rhysand is absolutely smitten with you and you appear to be blind from it.

This is a part two to this. You can find the masterlist to keep track of future parts here.

warnings: none

a/n: I use a prompt from the lovely @thepromptswhisperer . you can find the post here. I bolded & italicized the dialogue I used from it.

The secrets that Rhysand holds in his heart are harder to hide than he thought. He can’t help it. His heartbeat is at its peak whenever you speak or simply look his way. The weight of his confession persists, akin to an inconsolable ache nestled in his chest, right above the delicate golden thread that intimately connects his soul to yours. 

Three months have passed since that night—the night when he found himself grappling with delirium, induced by the venom coursing through his veins. It was the result of a miscalculated move when patrolling the Night Court’s borders. His injuries, though not fatal, seemed insurmountable due to the poison's cruel deception that night. In a panic, he insisted on seeing you and only you. If he were to face oblivion, he wanted you to be the last person he saw.

The poison, however, proved powerless against your skill. You healed him and brought him back from the brink. "I think I might be in love with you," were the words he had uttered to you and though he was lucid, he meant them. Wholeheartedly.

And now, there's no uncertainty. He is in love with you. The Cauldron may have destined you two together but Rhysand is beyond doubt that he would love you, bond or no bond. You’re beautiful, sweet and kind. Everything he could ever dream of, and dream of you he has done. A lot. 

Rhysand wonders if you dream of him too. If you think about him as much as he thinks about you. He wished he had been there to see your reaction when opening his gift but you had been busy all day. It sparked a worry in him that you were being overworked. Then, his own duties got in the way, leaving him with no choice but to leave it at your door. You had greeted him the following morning when you went to check up on him. The smile you graced him with in appreciation for the gift was as golden and glorious as the sun itself. One he wants more of.

You have him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know…

“Whiskey for your thoughts?”

Dragging himself away from the labyrinth of his thoughts, Rhysand brings himself back to the sitting room of his house. He accepts the glass of golden brown liquid from Cassian with gratitude, leaning back into the soft cushion of his chair. 

“I miss her.”

Azriel’s shadows seem to flicker with a knowing gleam. He doesn’t have to ask to know who Rhysand is referring to.  “It’s only been a couple of days.”

“A couple days too long,” Rhysand replies with a sigh, prompting a chuckle from Cassian. As he swirls the liquid in his glass, mirroring the stirring emotions within him, his usually composed facade begins to waver. “She’s my mate.”

“We know,” Cassian grins, though it’s the first time Rhysand has said it. A quick exchange of glances with Azriel makes Cassian shrink back sheepishly, putting on a surprised expression. “Sorry, I mean. What??”

Rhysand glances between Azriel and Cassian. ���You know?”

Cassian and Azriel exchange another guilty glance before Azriel turns to Rhysand. “We suspected,” he replies.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know. We also heard your confession–ow!” Cassian's words were cut short as he shot Azriel a glare, rubbing his arm.

Rhysand arched an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his eyes. He takes a sip of his drink, the corners of his lips lifting into a wry smile. "How is it that you two heard, but she didn’t?" he asks, his tone taking on a solemn note.

“I invited her to dinner and you know what she did?” Rhysand doesn’t wait for his brothers to reply to continue. “She brought Madja and another healer with her. Thought it was a group dinner. I bought her flowers and she handed them out to her patients. Thought I had given them to the infirmary, not her. I asked her to join me for a coffee but she said she was busy and I do believe her–there’s been a nasty flu going around. By the Cauldron, is she even taking care of herself? Maybe, I should pretend to be sick just to get her to see me…”

Rhysand downs the remainder of his drink, the burn in his throat paling in comparison to the burning he feels for you. Turning to Azriel, his eyes sparkle.

“Hit me.”

Azriel chokes on his drink and Cassian grimaces as droplets land on his arm. “What?”

“C’mon. I’m sure you’ve been longing for it, especially after I sent you to parole the Illyrian camps last week,” Rhysand says with a smirk. He then angles his head, giving Azriel perfect access. He taps his jaw. “Hit me. Hard. So that I don’t heal as quickly.”

“Why aren’t you asking me?” Cassian asks, tone on the brink of offense. “I can give you a nasty black eye!”

Rhysand is about to reply when a shiver runs through the air. The room then falls into silence. Rhysand feels something teasing at the edges of his senses. His eyes narrow. There’s an unsettling disturbance within the rhythmic pulse of his court. An intruder.

Azriel’s shadows pick up on the stirrings of Rhysand’s instincts. He’s rising from his seat, ready to take on the uninvited presence. However, Rhysand, swifter than his fleeting shadows, vanishes into the embrace of the dark night before Azriel can.

**

There’s a knock on your door and you pull your gaze away from the gold trinket box Rhysand gifted you. Carefully placing it back onto your nightstand, you make your way toward the door. Madja, your mentor, is on the other side. She holds a faelight in the palm of her hand that highlights the gentle contours of her face. The small smile on her lips speaks volumes and you don’t have to ask why she’s coming for you in the late hour. Still, you can’t help but voice your curiosity as she guides you to the foyer of the infirmary.

“What is it this time?” 

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.”

You smile in greeting to the Shadowsinger who is waiting for you. He nods his head at you and without a word, offers his arm. Madja calls out words of encouragement to you. 

Azriel’s shadows wrap around you both and winnow you to Rhysand’s private residence. A beautiful and vast estate nestled in the heart of Velaris. He guides you to Rhysand’s room, though you know your way around well. As your hand reaches for his bedroom’s door, Azriel’s voice stops you.

“I must warn you…he’s in a mood.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, echoing Madja’s words from earlier. It’s more to reassure yourself than him. Azriel only smiles at you in response.

Rhysand’s room is spacious. Its walls are bathed in a deep shade reminiscent of midnight and adorned with tapestries of celestial landscapes. Everything about the room reflects the refined taste and mystical elegance of its inhabitant and what a mystery he is to you. The High Lord of the Night Court is the most powerful in Prythian history. To many, he is careless and as cold as the winds from the Illyrian mountains. 

Only those dear to him know the truth of his nature. You still can’t wrap your head around as to why he chose to let you see the man behind the mask. Perhaps, it’s all attributed to your power but with Madja living here, you don’t quite understand the need for two healers in Velaris.

“Daybreak.”

Rhysand looks like a dream. 

He stands under the arched openings of his balcony.  Wispy curtains sway with the light night breeze, carrying with them the intoxicating fragrance of citrus and sea that caresses your senses. As moonlight spills into the room, it bathes him in a stellar glow, causing his membranous wings to dance in magnificent midnight hues. You can’t help but wonder which is more beautiful–the breathtaking view of the Court of Dreams from his balcony or him.

A stifled sound from Rhysand pulls you out of your trance, blinking away a gentle intrusion you felt in your mind.

“I have a name, you know,” you remind him.

“I know.” Though his back is to you, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

He turns to face you and you pick up on the telltale signs of subtle surrender in the slump of his shoulders. His wings vanish and your eyes trace down to his chest, where he cradles a feebly wrapped arm. A subdued darkness stains the light bandage. As your eyes lift back up to his face, his lips press together into a fine line.

“Come,” you say as you motion for him to sit. With a casual flick of your wrist, your first aid kit materializes from the pocket realm, settling gracefully onto his desk.  “May I?”

Rhysand promptly slips his shirt off before extending his injured arm to you with a nod. You arch a brow. “You didn’t have to take off your shirt.”

“It’s warm here,” he protests, though a mischievous glint dances in those violet eyes of his. He leans back into his desk chair, manspreading those glorious sweat clad thighs of his. “Feel free to admire me, darling,” he smirks at you and you force yourself to look away only to catch his biceps tensing with purpose.

“You’re blushing.” He muses, his eyes tracing every nuance of your reaction. 

“Yeah, so? Never seen anyone fall for your charm before?” You retort, feigning nonchalance. Internally, you’re cursing the way your blush deepens and the way your stomach flutters at the sound of his laughter. It’s deep and alluring, wrapping around you like a sweet melody. You’d think after months of knowing him, you’d be immune to his shameless flirting.

Focus, you remind yourself as you do your best to ignore the playful smirk that continues to grace his luscious lips. So much for Azriel’s claim of Rhysand being in a mood. Whatever had soured his temper must’ve gone away, you think. Despite his injury, he looks perfectly fine to you. 

You gently grasp his forearm and begin to unwrap the bandage carefully. Up close, the flush of his cheeks become more pronounced and the thin sheet of sweat glistens on his tattooed chest. Your keen eyes immediately pick up on the black ink trickling from the small wounds on his arm. Recognition dawns in your eyes.

“These are puncture wounds from a Puca.”

“Very astute of you, darling.” 

A furrow appears on your brow as curiosity mingles with bewilderment. You can't fathom how a Puca, a dangerous creature that roams throughout Prythian, managed to get this close to someone as powerful and even more dangerous as Rhysand. 

“What did it appear to you as?”

Rhysand's demeanor undergoes a shift. A-ha, there is that sour mood you had been expecting. Something akin to embarrassment flickers in the depths of his violet eyes. He instinctively pulls his arm back, but you tighten your hold, silently demanding an explanation.

"They say that a Puca uses your own desires to lure you and then eat you," you remark, your tone a mix of caution and concern.

Rhysand, attempting to maintain an air of nonchalance, hums thoughtfully. "Is that so?"

You drop your gaze as your hands fall into the familiar rhythm of tending to his injuries. “Azriel said you were in a mood so whatever it appeared to you as, must’ve been something for it to get you this go—“

“You.”

Confusion clouds your expression, and your glowing hands still. "What?"

You can feel the heat of his gaze, so intense that it lingers on you. "It appeared as you."

A moment of silence stretches between you two. The corner of Rhysand’s lips quirk up, the silver fleck of his violet irises sparkling with a mix of amusement and something more elusive. His gaze holds yours and there’s the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath his charismatic exterior. One you don’t catch.

"You flatter me," you finally say with a soft laugh, not believing him for one bit. 

And all Rhysand can do is look at you in bewildered wonder as your hands continue to move with deliberate care. He needs to try harder.

**

Days later…

Come back home.

Those three words stare back at you. Haunting and persistent. "Home," you quietly muse to yourself.  Dawn is your home. Or so you once believed. 

A home is meant to be a sanctuary. A place of safety. A place of comfort. Over time, it transformed from your sweet haven into a source of distress. But if Dawn is no longer your home, then what is? 

Is it the Night Court? You don't feel suffocated with high expectations here. The nights may be dark, but the stars shine their brightest here. They watch over you, listening to your silent whispers. There is a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows, almost like a sense of belonging.

You crumple the letter, the tangible weight of memories folding with it. Time is healing, you remind yourself. With a heavy sigh, you turn back to the stack of books and paperwork on your desk. Yesterday had been a slow day in the clinic so Madja asked for you to accompany her while she bought supplies. She treated you to a nice dinner afterwards. It was a much needed break but now, you found yourself behind in your studies and patient’s charts.

With a glance toward your desk candle, you use your powers to light it up. Leaning forward slightly, you fix your gaze on your first report with a strong determination to finish the stack by the end of your shift. No distra–

A knock echoes through the slightly ajar door.

Your office door is often left open, a practice maintained for moments just like this - in case a patient requires urgent attention. While there’s a room in the clinic set up with rows of cots and medical equipment, your office provides an additional space for those seeking a more private examination.

"Hello, daybreak.”

Rhysand strides in, his easy confidence filling the small space of your office. You glance up only momentarily before returning your attention to the task at hand, responding with a dry humor that matches his tone.

"Hello, High Lord. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Rhysand tilts his head, his gaze lingering on you. Moving with quiet elegance, he walks past the examination table and approaches your desk instead. His attention is immediately drawn to a book resting on top of one of the many stacks. A poetry book, he recognizes, adorned with a delicate cobalt blue ribbon. 

“What’s this?”

“A gift from Azriel,” you reply casually and miss the way his face twists at the nonchalance of your tone.

 Rhysand blinks at you. “A what?”

“A book. That Azriel got. For me.” You repeat, deliberately slower this time. 

Rhysand heard you perfectly well the first time. His eyebrows knit together as he gazes at the book, a storm brewing in his expressive eyes. If looks could scorch, the innocent book would be reduced to a pile of ashes. Your birthday is months away and Solstice was weeks ago. 

“I’m hurt.”

You look up, keen eyes glancing over his form again. “You don’t look hurt.”

Undeterred, he saunters closer, swiping a finger across the papers on your desk. "Come on, surely you can spare a moment for a poor High Lord in deep pain."

You inspect his outstretched hand, where a barely visible mark is displayed on his pointer finger. "It's a papercut," you deadpan. 

“It hurts.”

"It's already healed."

Rhysand dramatically lets out a deep sigh and you suppress the urge to smile. The sound of a bell ringing–a sign that someone is in need of help–has you rising from your seat. You walk toward Rhysand, who continues to brood. Holding his gaze, you bring his hand to your mouth and press a light kiss right over where the papercut had been.

“There.” You say, giving his hand a squeeze. “Feel better now?”

Every nerve in his body tingles with excitement, and there's a giddy flutter in his stomach. “Much better,” Rhysand breathes with a grin, savoring your touch.

He doesn’t allow your hand to drop, brushing it over his cheek instead and holding it there with his own. If you can’t see the flush to his cheeks, then surely you must be able to feel its warmth.

“How can I ever repay you?”

“You’re already paying me,” you remind him with a soft exhale, a laugh almost. The sound is music to Rhysand's ears and all his heart wants to do is dance to its rhythm. He realizes he can’t let this moment slip. Not when he finally has your full attention and a golden opportunity to seek more of it.

“You can come with me to the Midnight Eclipse ball.”

“Midnight Eclipse ball,” you repeat, your voice laced with intrigue, and Rhysand can't help but admire the way your eyes gleam with curiosity. “What is that?”

“Come with me and find out,” Rhysand replies, his eyes sparkling at you. He leans in closer, captivated by the softness of your gaze, and with a smile, he boldly adds, “As my date.”

“Your date?” you ask, your breath catching slightly. 

Rhysand only hums in reply, taking pleasure in the way his cheek presses further against your hand as he does so. The look he gives you is almost pleading as he gazes down at you. 

“Okay,” you finally say after a moment of silence with a small smile of your own. “I’ll join you. When is it?”

Rhysand beams down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and anticipation. Shifting his face in your hold, he presses a kiss against the palm of your hand and now it is you who is overcome with a giddy flutter in your stomach. Rhysand, normally attuned to your every shift in expression, is too caught up in surprise to take note of it.

“Next Saturday,” he replies, holding your gaze.

The bell rings again, the sound prompting Rhysand to reluctantly let go of your hand. You give him an apologetic smile as you turn toward your desk, grabbing a couple of supplies. “I’ll see you next Saturday.”

You excuse yourself, walking around him to exit your office. Rhysand follows but chooses to lean against your doorframe, watching as you rush toward the infirmary.

“Don’t forget, it’s a date!” Rhysand calls after you, putting emphasis on the word ‘date.’

“Yes, I got it!” You reply, giving him a thumbs up before disappearing around the corner.

Rhysand smiles to himself. Though Saturday is almost five days away, he doesn’t mind the wait. Not when you just agreed to be his date. He looks down at the hand you kissed, closing it into a fist, overwhelmed with the giddy excitement building up inside him. You’re so utterly endearing. He brings his fist close to his mouth, suppressing the urge to bite it as he swoons over the thought of having you as his date for the Midnight Eclipse ball.

Reality begins to set in and his smile widens into a grin. Now, he has to plan the ball he literally just made up…

a/n: tbh, I don't know how I feel about this part. I feel like I set up expectations too high for myself because I really loved how the first part turned out and this part is kinda meh to me. anyway, I hope you still enjoyed this. I'm looking forward to writing the other part(s) as those include scenes I've had in my head for weeeeeeks lol. (You'll finally learn the little secret or two reader is hiding in the next part...any guesses? )I estimate only like 1-2 parts left, depending on how long the next part is.

tagging: @minnieoo , @phoenixgurl030, @nebarious, @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444

[chlmtsdoll]

i need some obsessed love sick art with reader…yummyyyyyy <3

Girl yessss. Writing this kinda reminded me of that one lyric from The Bolter by Taylor that’s like “taming a bear, making him care” idk I thought it was sweettt 🫶🏽🫶🏽 love sick Art is my fave

Fluff ! With a little bit of my size kink added 😉

To the world he was an icon. A star. The undefeated Art Donaldson. But away from the court, tour life, all the eyes, he was insurmountably tender. The sweetest as they come, overly caring and cub-like if you will, all for you.

When it had been just the two of you, nothing could take his mind a drift from being as close as possible. And that was as literal as it could be. He was on you whenever and wherever. It didn’t matter. Being their to swaddle you in a warm towel right after a bath, being the first person he ran to after a torment, kissing on your neck even as you read a chapter of your book before bed.

He loved picking you up. Tossing you over his shoulder, carrying you like a baby, whenever he could. Even with his gentle touch to everything and sensitive approach to most situations — it was obvious Art was physically a big guy. And you were in fact the ironic smaller girlfriend to his side, “look at your little toes.” He would chuckle to himself as you perfectly fit snug in his hold when the two of you would cuddle. He also would purposely use the excuse of him being much bigger to lay himself slightly on your lap so you couldn’t escape his hugs or when he’d kiss on your knees and thighs all sweet and cloying. It made you go crazy.

It was quite daunting the man could have had you so love struck by his cling to you when you’d always been the reserved type. Never too good with overtly being in your lovers space, or craving that contact with them every minute of the day — but with Art it was just different. He entranced you. With his sweet gestures and bashful doting eyes you couldn’t help yourself. He was your kind, warm hearted Art.

He loved watching you get ready, leaning on the counter top or lounging on the bed as he observed you from the bedroom while you did your makeup or hair. He was a girls guy after all. Always wanting to know the products you used and how you would do the styles he liked the most.

“Is this okay ?” Art questioned as he touched your locks, hardly, as if it would break if he clamped down too hard on the curling iron when you were showing him how to curl your hair for the first time, your giggle coming from where you sit between his legs.

“It’s fine, your doing great.” Your voice was encouraging, but that only got so far to the man who was a natural over achiever. He just wanted to do it right, impress you. You could tell from the way he looked in the mirror ahead of you, so serious as he pulled his lip underneath his tongue and he twirled your hair in a manner as best as he could. But quickly getting slightly upset when the curl hadn’t been as tight as the ones you showed him prior.

“You make it look so easy, baby… I don’t know how you do it.” His pouty voice matched the one on his lips, which was probably the most adorable thing to you really, you smiled fondly as you patted his hand as he frowned upon his work of your hair.

“You’re learning, with practice comes perfection, Artie.” Your voice was soft with him, and he liked that. Leaning down to leave a sweet peck to your cheeks that warmed up on instant at your blush from the man’s tender touch. He made you feel so loved — occupying all of his free time away from his career to love on you. He couldn’t get enough. He truly was obsessed with you.

Other times when you two would be watching a movie (or more like the movie had been watching you). You’d fallen into Arts trap to really lure you into making out with him, somehow always ending up on his lap as your thumbs caressed the skin of his soft cheek as you smooched and nibbled at his lip. Art groaned into every kiss you laid on him, letting you take control of the way his mouth moved with you. Hands going over your hips, he wanted to feel your angel like skin. Confessing in between kisses “wanna lock you down so bad.” And you’d giggle into the kisses before there had been a knock on your hotel room door.

Pulling away from the blonde as he groaned, “I’ll get it, lover boy.” You joked with a soft grin before getting up from his lap, but Art only lounged after your presence as he held on to your arm with greed not to let you up.

“No, no, no. I’ll miss you too much, princess.” Art whined as he stayed put relaxed against the pillows of the bed.

“I ordered take out for us, baby. I’ll only be a second,” you responded with a soft chuckle at the way his eyes watched your figure, following up the sight of his tongue darting out to lick over his lips at the plain sight of your adorable little bloomers.

“Fine.” The man sighed out and you gave him a sympathetic smile before turning on your heels to grab the food — but not to your much surprise, Art had followed right behind you. Turning around to notice him towering in coyness as he stuffed his hands in his pockets only to walk behind you as you scoffed at his needy response to loosing you for a quick second.

“What??” You laughed.

“I told you I’d miss you too much,”

You rolled you eyes as you opened the door to greet the delivery person and almost immediately after handing you the bags, they notice Art behind your figure, standing hunched against the wall with his attention proudly on you. There was a colossal gasps when they’d really examined who the tennis player was as you’d already known to be prepared by now. “Art Donaldson!” They screeched before you shut the door kindly with a cheeky smile.

“Bye!” was all you noted before locking the door and It was soft chuckles coming from the blonde as you narrowed your eyes at him with a grin before folding your arms. “Was it really worth giving them a near heart attack just to watch me walk down the hall ?”

“Yes. I don’t like being apart from you for too long, sweets.” Art shrugged before his lips curled up into a grin as he reached behind you to squeeze your ass just a bit. “And the sight of this can’t be missed.”

You swatted his hands away playfully even though you would of attacked him with more smooches if your food hadn’t been getting cold. Art smiled and took the bag from you to only catch your lips in a kiss anyways, and your flush grew as you couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness, yet sweetness that Art naturally was in his quality time with you always. Even if it boarded on quite obsessive. <3

[fanficlolsblog]

WE DON’T TALK ANYMORE

back to my main masterlist

pairing: fem singer!reader x taylor swift

summary: falling in love with taylor swift felt like a whirlwind, but when the pressure of fame and her struggle with coming out grew too much, you broke up. as she tried to move on with travis kelce, you both admitted to missing each other, but her jealousy over your friendship with shawn mendes created tension. despite the distance, you both realized that your love story wasn’t over and that there was still hope for a future together.

warnings: contains themes of unrequited love, heartbreak, and emotional distress, struggles of coming out, complexities of a relationship affected by fame, jealousy and emotion turmoil.

a/n: i posted this on wattpad to, i would appreciate it if you would go check it out :) loversxoxoxo.

w/c: 2.1k+

you never thought that falling in love with taylor swift would feel like stepping into a whirlwind. the world had always seen taylor as a perfect fairytale princess—her songs echoing tales of love, heartbreak, and personal struggles. but for you, she was so much more than that. taylor was the girl who stole your heart with a smile that could light up a room and laughter that made everything feel okay. you shared stolen moments, whispered secrets, and a love that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

the first time you and taylor kissed, it was in the dim light of her apartment, surrounded by the remnants of late-night songwriting. taylor had been nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “are you sure about this?” she had asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“i’ve never been more sure,” you replied, pulling her closer, your lips brushing together softly. that kiss marked the beginning of something beautiful, yet complicated.

as the months passed, you and taylor navigated your relationship in the shadows, always careful to keep your love hidden from the public eye. you found solace in private moments—lazy afternoons spent cuddled up watching movies, spontaneous road trips, and the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. taylor would often write songs inspired by your time together, her lyrics weaving the essence of your love into melodies that resonated deep within your heart.

but as your love blossomed, so did the pressures of fame. taylor felt the weight of expectations, the scrutiny of the media, and the fear of coming out. you understood her struggles, but as time went on, the walls between you grew thicker. it became clear that taylor wasn’t ready to embrace her bisexuality publicly. the more you tried to be patient, the more the silence between you grew.

“i just need time,” taylor would say, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

“how much time?” you would ask, frustration creeping into your voice. “i can’t keep hiding, taylor. i love you, and i want the world to know.”

the conversations turned into arguments, and the love that once felt so strong started to fray at the edges. it hurt you to see taylor struggle, but it also hurt to feel like your love was being treated as a secret, as if it were something to be ashamed of.

finally, you reached a breaking point. one night, as you sat on the balcony of taylor’s apartment, staring at the stars, you made the hardest decision. “i can’t do this anymore,” you said, tears in your eyes. “i can’t keep waiting for you to be ready. it’s tearing me apart.”

taylor looked at you, her expression a mix of shock and sadness. “please don’t say that. i love you, but—”

“but you’re not ready,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “i can’t keep pretending. it’s not fair to either of us.”

that night, you parted with heavy hearts, a silence stretching between you that felt insurmountable. you walked away, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, while taylor watched, knowing she had let go of something precious.

the weeks that followed were a blur for both of you. taylor tried to distract herself with her music, pouring her heart into her songs, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t escape the void you left behind. she heard whispers about a new romance with travis kelce, a handsome athlete who seemed to have everything figured out. it felt like a desperate attempt to move on, but taylor knew the truth—her heart still belonged to you.

on the other hand, you struggled to breathe without taylor’s laughter and warmth. seeing her with travis in the headlines was like a dagger to the heart. every time you scrolled through social media, you were met with photos of the two of them together, laughing, enjoying life, while you felt like a ghost in the background.

“i just heard you found the one you’ve been looking for,” you sang softly to yourself one evening, the ache of longing flooding your chest. “i wish I would have known that wasn’t me.”

you would lie awake at night, haunted by memories of taylor’s smile, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy, and the warmth of her embrace. it was unbearable, knowing that she was moving on without you while you were still stuck in the past, replaying every moment you shared.

“why can’t I move on?” you wondered, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down your cheeks. “why can’t I let her go?”

the loneliness was suffocating, and with each passing day, the world felt a little darker without taylor’s light. you wished for the courage to reach out, to tell her how you truly felt, but fear held you back. what if taylor was happy with travis? what if she had moved on completely?

the pain of seeing taylor with someone else was a constant reminder of what you had lost. every time you caught a glimpse of her in the tabloids, smiling next to travis, it felt like a cruel twist of fate. you couldn’t help but wonder if she ever thought about you, if she missed your late-night talks and your shared dreams.

one night, as you sat alone in your room, you picked up your phone and hesitated. what if you sent a message? would it hurt more to reach out, or would it provide the closure you desperately needed? finally, with shaking fingers, you typed out a simple message: i miss you.

after pressing send, anxiety washed over you. what if taylor didn’t feel the same? what if she was truly happy with travis? you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late, that your moment had passed.

but to your surprise, taylor responded almost immediately. i miss you too.

the floodgates opened, and soon you were exchanging messages late into the night, your words filled with longing and regret. it felt like old times, like you were reconnecting the pieces of a love that had been shattered.

despite the distance and the silence that had stretched between you, you realized that your love for taylor had never truly faded. it was still there, waiting, just beneath the surface. as you talked, hope began to blossom anew. maybe it wasn’t too late for you both. maybe love could find a way back.

in that moment, you understood that your story wasn’t over. the road ahead might be rocky, but you were willing to fight for the love that had once burned so brightly between you. you couldn’t forget about taylor, and perhaps, just maybe, she felt the same way.

the late-night messages between you and taylor flowed for weeks, reigniting feelings you thought were long buried. but the more you talked, the more you felt the weight of her new relationship with travis pressing down on you. you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was unfair to her, that being in constant contact with her would only complicate things more. you didn’t want to be the reason she felt guilty about her new life.

one night, as you sat on your bed strumming your guitar, you started writing a song. the lyrics spilled out of you like a torrent of emotions, reflecting your heartbreak, your longing, and the bitter truth that you and taylor had become strangers. we don’t talk anymore, you wrote, each line dripping with the pain of loss. it felt cathartic to put your feelings into words, but the more you wrote, the more you realized that this song was your goodbye.

you reached out to shawn mendes, a friend and fellow musician, hoping he could help you shape the song into something meaningful. when you asked, he didn’t hesitate. “of course, i’d love to help,” he replied with a supportive grin. “i know how much this means to you.”

together, you poured over the lyrics, crafting melodies and harmonies that captured the essence of your lost love. shawn’s presence brought comfort, and as you worked, you felt a sense of healing in creating something beautiful out of your pain. but deep down, a nagging guilt lingered in your mind. you were hanging out with another musician, and the thought made your heart heavy. you didn’t want to be the person who came between them, even if your connection with taylor was special.

as you finished the song, you decided it was time to take a step back from your conversations with taylor. you couldn’t bear the thought of being a temptation for her, so you quietly withdrew, letting the silence settle between you once more. it felt like a dagger to your heart, but you knew it was for the best.

when the song was ready, you released it, pouring all your emotions into the music video, which reflected your journey of love and loss. the haunting melody and poignant lyrics resonated with fans, and soon, it began to gain traction online.

but the moment you shared the song, taylor saw it. she scrolled through social media one afternoon, and her heart sank as she came across pictures of you and shawn hanging out. your smiles, your laughter, the undeniable chemistry—it all struck a nerve. jealousy burned inside her, igniting feelings she thought she had buried beneath her new relationship.

we don’t talk anymore played in the background as she watched video clips of you two, the lyrics echoing her pain. taylor felt a mix of emotions: anger, longing, and a deep sense of loss. how could you move on so easily when she was still reeling from the end of your relationship? she scrolled through your posts, her mind racing with thoughts of what could have been.

every time taylor saw you and shawn together, the jealousy swelled within her. she couldn’t shake the image of you laughing and sharing moments with someone else, and it hurt her more than she could admit. travis noticed her distraction, the way her smile faltered when he mentioned you in passing. “are you alright?” he asked one evening, concern etched on his face.

“of course,” taylor replied, forcing a fake smile. inside, her heart was breaking, and she struggled to hide her true feelings. deep down, she knew she wasn’t just jealous of your success; she missed you, the connection you shared, the intimacy that seemed irreplaceable.

as days turned into weeks, the silence between you and taylor grew heavier. she found herself staring at her phone, hoping for a message that never came. you had put up walls to protect her from guilt, but the absence of your voice left her feeling hollow. you had become a ghost in her life, and the ache of your absence gnawed at her.

taylor played the song over and over, the lyrics haunting her thoughts. it became her anthem of longing, a painful reminder of what she had lost and what could never be again. each time she sang along, she felt the tears sting her eyes, realizing how much she missed the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about your dreams.

one night, after a particularly long day, taylor sat down with her guitar. she began to strum the chords that had become familiar to her, attempting to write her own song. but as she tried to find the words, all she could think about was you. the memories flooded back—your smile, your embrace, the way you understood her like no one else ever could.

“why can’t we just talk anymore?” she whispered into the silence, feeling the weight of her unspoken feelings.

as time passed, it became clear that neither of you could truly move on. you focused on your music, finding solace in your art, while taylor fought against the whirlwind of emotions that surrounded her. she missed you, and it hurt to know that you were trying to find happiness with someone else.

in that moment of realization, taylor understood that she had to make a choice. she couldn’t keep pretending that everything was okay. if she wanted to find peace, she needed to confront her feelings and, maybe, just maybe, reach out to you again.

but as she made that decision, she also knew it wouldn’t be easy. the lines had been drawn, and the world was watching. could she find the courage to step away from travis and follow her heart back to you? the journey ahead would be uncertain, but deep down, she felt a spark of hope that your love could be reignited. and for now, that was enough.

[crescenthistory]

…….e1 with Paul? 🙈 you write him so beautifully !!!

thank you lovely, i find paul so endearing to write<33 this is just a little drabble lol

Prompt: E.1 "Loosen up a little"

Words: 1.4k

Warnings: light smut (mdni), more suggestive and spicy than directly smutty, no on-screen sex, gn!reader, not proofread, paul is Stressed Out, established relationship, pre-arrakis

Caladan, the home that was once Paul’s sanctuary, feels tighter around him these days. The salt-scented air that used to bring him solace now feels like a weight pressing down on his shoulders. Endless preparations, the constant shadow of responsibility, and the looming presence of Arrakis in the distance have carved a tension into his posture that has become impossible to ignore.

You notice it before he speaks, of course. You always do. The slight tremor in his fingers as they press into the edge of the table, the way his jaw sets just a little too tightly, as if words he doesn’t dare speak are fighting to get out.

It’s late, the room dim with the light of Caladan’s moons spilling through the windows, casting soft shadows over Paul’s face. He sits at his desk, a mess of reports and holoscreens spread in front of him. It’s been hours. You’ve watched him from across the room, hoping he would come to bed, but the space between you feels insurmountable tonight. The distance isn't in the few metres separating you – it’s the weight of everything that rests on his shoulders.

“Paul,” you murmur softly from your spot, the sound of your voice gently slicing through the quiet hum of the room. He doesn’t turn, but you see the way his fingers curl, gripping the table harder. That alone is answer enough.

You stand, the quiet rustle of your movement barely registering in the large room, and cross the floor towards him. Your footsteps are soft, deliberate, but each step seems to echo louder in the space between you. When you finally reach him, you place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tightness of his muscles beneath your touch. You ache to massage out the knots that torment him.

“Maybe it’s time to call it a night, love,” you say gently, your voice warm, like an offering.

He doesn’t move for a moment, but you can feel the tension in him, like he’s on the edge of something, holding himself too tightly. His eyes stay fixed on the reports, but you know he isn’t really seeing them. He is somewhere far away – in Arrakis, in the halls of responsibility he’s already learning to walk, in a future he can’t quite yet control. It would be too much for anyone, let alone someone still so young, though sometimes it feels like Paul has always carried the weight of someone older. As if the universe has never really given him the chance to just be. You want to.

“I can’t,” he finally says, voice rough with weariness. “There’s too much–”

You press a little harder against his shoulder, grounding him. “Paul,” you repeat, your tone firmer now. He exhales, his breath coming out in a shudder that he tries to mask, but you hear it. “You can’t carry it all tonight,” you whisper, hand sliding from his shoulder down to his forearm, fingers brushing the cool metal of the ring he wears – a symbol of everything waiting for him. “You need to rest.”

He finally looks up at you then, his eyes dark, filled with something like frustration, but it’s not with you, you can see as much in the fondness crinkling around his mouth. “I have to finish here.”

“You won’t finish before morning, Paulie. And then the same thing will happen tomorrow. You need to rest between the punches. Relax.”

Paul's jaw tightens again, and you can see him struggling with the need to take a break and the part of him that has had no rests drilled into him..

You move in front of him, pulling the reports gently from his fingers, letting them scatter back across the desk in a forgotten mess. He doesn’t resist, just watches you with those sharp, intense eyes of his, always calculating, always thinking. Right now, you don’t want him to think. You want him to feel. To let go, even just for a moment.

You slide onto his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, and his hands instinctively come to rest on your waist, though his touch is hesitant, careful.

“You’re allowed to need this,” you murmur, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the tension there. “You’re allowed to want this.”

Paul’s gaze flickers to yours, a storm brewing in the depths of his intense eyes. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable, like the boy he still is under the weight of the expectations placed on him. His hands tighten on your hips, and you feel the tension in him, like he is teetering on the edge.

“I don’t know how,” he admits quietly, his voice rougher now, thick with something unspoken. His eyes drop from yours, looking down at where your fingers trace idle patterns on his chest. “How to let go.”

Your heart aches for him, for the weight he carries alone even when you’re here beside him. You cup his face gently, forcing his gaze back to yours. “Then let me help you,” you whisper. “Loosen up a little.” 

Paul’s breath shudders out again, but this time it’s softer, like a crack in the wall he’s built around himself. Slowly, tentatively, you turn his head to the side and lean down to kiss his neck. You begin at the small part of shoulder you can see beneath his white linen shirt, and press open-mouthed kisses up towards his ear and jaw, fingers undoing the top buttons of his shirt as you go, splaying your hands out over his chest. Pressing down, you hope to ground him with your presence, your love.

When you reach his face, you lean in, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing his, but you don’t kiss him just yet. You wait, letting him close the distance. Paul’s eyes are closed and his features seem to be relaxing.

Without opening his eyes, he knows you are waiting, and with a squeeze to your hips he kisses you. It’s slower than usual, almost unsure, as if he hasn’t decided to fully let go with you yet. But as his lips move against yours, the tension in him begins to melt away, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the world slips away, leaving you with your Paul.

Through your fumbles, you have fully unbuttoned Paul’s shirt and let your hands explore his familiar chest unabashedly. He sighs into your mouth at your touch, and you take the opportunity to slip his bottom lip in between yours, sucking lightly with enough bite to satisfy and entice him. One of his hands moves from your side to your hair, grasping at it.

You break the kiss to drag your lips further over his jaw, grinding your hips into his, revelling in the soft sound he makes. It’s like he has given himself to you, allowing you to work out his tension with your attentive care. Every part of Paul is in your possession as you roll your hips against his, night slip rolling up with each move, your fingers trail across his bare flesh, scratching as you please, and your lips move feverishly down the other side of his neck. 

When you kiss his neck this time, there are no restraints. You nibble on his earlobe, bite his pulsepoint and lick over it soothingly, leaving as many marks as you please. He whispers your name into your hair and you come undone for him.

Your hand travels down to hook into the waistband of Paul’s pants, and he gasps. You depart from his neck to look at his expression. His breathing is heavy, but the tightness in his shoulders has eased and he looks at you with absolute reverence.

You smile softly, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “Better?” you ask.

Paul closes his eyes, resting his head against your chest, letting out a long, slow breath. His arms wrap around you, holding you close.

“Yes,” he murmurs, voice softer now, almost reverent. “Better.”

“Convinced to come to bed to let me help you relax yet?” There is a teasing tone in your voice that you are sure he doesn’t miss.

He kisses your chest, pretending to nip a bite at you, before looking up to smile at you. 

“You win, my love.”

[galactic-magick]

Life Changes: Viktor x Reader

Part 3 of my Viktor story, find Part 1 here and Part 2 here.

Summary: Viktor confides in you about his meeting with Jayce, and he contemplates his future with you a lot more seriously.

Words: 1.2k

Author's Notes: This part was a little harder to write for some reason now that the story is directly coinciding with the canon, but hope y'all still enjoy. This AU means a lot to me and I appreciate every single one of my readers :)

-

“It’s intriguing, isn’t it?” Viktor asks, eyes bright from discussing the events of the day with you. “I mean, what if it really is possible?”

Viktor got reacquainted with a fellow Academy student today, a man named Jayce Talis who was caught doing illegal research. Viktor has spent the last hour explaining the whole situation to you—how Jayce was attempting to create magic with science—but the equipment was so dangerous it blew up the lab. Jayce’s trial with the council resulted in him being expelled and banished from Academy grounds, and Heimerdinger believes it best to destroy everything.

Viktor was able to snag Jayce’s notes and journals, furiously reading through them and sharing his findings with you. You’re certainly not as science-brained as he is, but you’ve been with him long enough that you can somewhat follow his train of thought.

“I wish I…” he trails off, flipping back and forth on a particular page.

“What?” you ask, scooching closer to him to see what he’s reading.

“I wish I could help him.”

You shrug, “Who says you can’t?”

“He’s banished from the Academy, remember?”

“So? You’re Heimerdinger’s assistant. If anyone can sneak him in, it’s you. Don’t you have access to everything?”

“I do—but darling—I could lose my job if I’m caught. I can’t afford that, especially not if we want to-”

“Viktor,” you cut him off, knowing exactly what he’s going to say. He’s made it very clear he wants a future with you, saying he wants to marry you and move in together as soon as you’re both more stable in your careers. You’ve told him time and time again you don’t mind waiting, and you wouldn’t mind just a simple wedding, but his ambition often gets the best of him. He’s always insisted on giving you the best, never satisfied with what his current position can provide you. He’s been the Dean’s assistant for a few years now, and you can see how it frustrates him at times that he hasn’t been able to work on his own studies and aspirations. Viktor is a scientist, a brilliant one at that, and his life is lived entirely in someone else’s shadow. He respects Heimerdinger greatly, just as everyone does in this city, but the Professor is set deep in his ways and rarely takes risks. The amount of times Viktor’s had to hold his tongue around him is insurmountable, and their conflicting opinions on Jayce’s Hextech seems to be the last straw.

You take his hand, “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it, okay?”

He nods, “You’re right.”

You kiss his cheek and smile, “Now go find him.”

-

You don’t see or hear from Viktor the next couple days. You desperately hope he hasn’t gotten caught, and he’s able to get what Jayce needs without much trouble.

Both your hopes and worries are confirmed when you see glowing blue light coming from the Academy building, and a commotion of enforcers chasing towards it. You loosely follow them, managing to sneak in.

You wonder if it was the wrong decision, to encourage him to pursue this. What if he got arrested? What if he got banished as well? You know how much his dreams mean to him, how hard he worked to get where he is now. You couldn’t live with yourself if he lost all his opportunities to be a real scientist.

The worst part is—you know Viktor would never blame you or resent you for anything. He would move on and keep going out of stubbornness, as he always does. He’s too strong willed to truly let anyone ruin him completely. He would continue to believe in himself, finding the next best thing for him to succeed in. But you would know. You would forever live with the idea of what could’ve been.

You need this to work out for him.

The ruckus finally stops, and you peek out of your hiding spot down the hall. You see several council members come out of the lab, closely followed by Jayce and Viktor.

“We stabilized it!” Viktor exclaims, seeing you waiting for him. He stumbles over to you, his cane broken in his grip. He drops it to the ground and grabs your face, kissing you in excitement, hardly able to contain himself.

You run your hands down his body, terrified you’ll find any wounds, “Are you okay? I thought there was another explosion-”

“I’m fine, we’re all fine,” he assures you. “The council is going to reconsider their decision. Jayce wants me to be his partner in the Hextech company if it gets approved. My life is about to change, our lives are about to change…”

“Viktor, this is amazing.” you share in his joy. “I can’t wait to see what you do.”

Jayce approaches the two of you, placing a hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“You must be Y/N. I’ve heard quite a bit about you the past couple days,” he moves his hand out in front of him. “I’m Jayce.”

You shake it with a smile, “I’ve heard a lot about you too. Try not to kill my boyfriend with all this Hextech stuff, yeah?”

Jayce laughs, “Don’t worry, the first thing we’re going to work on is safety. I’ll meet up with you tomorrow, alright, Vik?”

Viktor nods in response, watching as Jayce walks away. He then turns his attention back to you, his eyes softening.

“Are you ready for this, darling?” he asks.

“I...don’t know,” you say, truthfully. “A lot of things are going to change, but it’ll be good change, right?”

He breaks your gaze, his mind firing at a million miles a minute. The adrenaline rush is finally clearing enough for the reality of it all to set in, and honestly he should be asking the same question to himself. He has grown used to his simple life as the Dean’s assistant, slowly building a relationship with you and focusing his aspirations on a future with you more than his career. He would’ve been happy to just have you, but now he can have both.

All he knows for sure right now is that he wants you by his side no matter what. He’s tired of waiting to make you his—tired of not coming home to you and waking up next to you every day. If his life is really going to flip upside down, he needs you there with him.

“Vik?” you turn his face back to you and giggle. “Zoning out on me?”

He kisses your palm, eyes locked back on yours, “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he says. “And how badly I want to marry you right now.”

“Right now?” you chuckle, unsure how literal he meant that.

“Mmm mm,” he shakes his head, brushing a hair out of your face. “Tomorrow. I at least want time to make everything special for you. But I can’t wait any longer than that. I refuse to move on to this next phase of my life without being married to you.”

You lips quiver into a smile, joyful tears filing your eyes.

“Oh, Viktor…”

He kisses you desperately, cradling your head in his lanky hands, “Please say yes, sweetheart.”

“Of course the answer’s yes, silly.”

-

More Author's Notes: Next part will be the wedding and some sloppy freshly married smut heehee

[pupyuj]

Ena!! Imagine this! Yujin is reader's rival (sort of) and one day Yuj suddenly calls reader in the middle of the night and she tells the reader to talk and she's all hasty about it too! And so you do just that but suddenly you hear whimpering and moaning on the other line?!? She's whipped enough to get off to your voice...

-🐝

rivals mentioned and ofc i have to make it academic rivals bcs that’s… yeah that rlly scratches the right parts of my brain 😍😍

you and yujin have created some sort of not-so-playful competition when it comes to your studies! listen, the two of you were college students in an irritatingly-difficult field, and if your entire time in that university was going to be hell, you might as well make it fun! and what better way to do that than a lovely little challenge with the only other smartass in the class every now and again? 🥰 so the two of you do just that? every quiz, tests, recitations, presentations, and assessments were your battlefield and your respective grades were your prize… it was simple; whoever has the higher grade wins and it was usually always a close battle between the two of you… but lately you’ve been winning a lot and that really pushed the wrong buttons in yujin 🫢

see, she knew that at the end of day, she can’t beat you in everything! you were quite possibly the smartest girl she has ever met—your grades were fucking insurmountable, yujin was never going to beat you ever 😭 but this upcoming test… she has to get a higher score than you 😤 yujin has been lacking way too much in her academics and no amount of studying was enough for her to snap out of this streak of less-than-ideal test results… so she had to find a way to shake your confidence 🤓☝️

and she’s sooo fucking lucky you have a massive crush on her annoying ass. otherwise you wouldn’t have answered her stupid ass call at 12:38 am in the middle of cramming for that test both of you were dreading to take the next morning 🤭

“if you’re here to try and brag about how you can already see that you’ll beat me tomorrow, please pack it up. i have no time to deal with your delusions.” oh, you were so cute when you tried to be mean 🥺 yujin figured that you must’ve been studying all day what with the stress on your voice and how you were mumbling profanities as you read through the material… god that really turned her on.

“good evening to you too, my dear rival!” yujin was delighted to practically ‘hear’ you roll your eyes on the other end.

“yujin… i really don’t have time to play around tonight, okay? i wanna get this over with and then get the best sleep of my life knowing i’ll have another victory over you in the bag.”

“oh come on, you need the company, (y/n). i know you and you’ve probably been swamped with textbooks and modules all day. you need a life!”

“aha, no thanks. you know what ‘getting a life’ would do to me? losing to ‘my dear rival’ after every exam because i was too busy partying and making out with and fucking three girls at a time to sit down and study.”

yujin bites her lip, holding back a seriously slutty whimper. “okay, i’ll give you that one, (y/n). i love it when you’re feisty.” and the fun ends there for you… but not for yujin! 🤭 while you’re busy going off on her for being so goddamn annoying so late in the day, she had her hand shoved inside her panties rubbing her sensitive cunt to the sound of your voice 😳 you were just too adorable trying to lecture her and her falling grades… and she could imagine your pretty little face all flared up in anger whilst scolding her and it’s such a turn on for her 😵‍💫😵‍💫

and it was on your third time repeating that yujin should party less and get serious more than she lets a moan slip out… and that literally made you freeze 🫨 see, yujin should be terrified that she got herself found out… but she was actually hoping that you’d catch her… it adds to the pleasure 🫠

“a-are you… what are you doing..?”

“mmhn… no, no, continue, (y/n).. unless y-you want to come over and finish what you started yourself, hm…?”

“me…? b-but…” a pause. “it’s late…”

“ha… you’re so cute… just keep going.”

she found it sooo endearing how you clumsily guided her 🥺 telling her how many fingers she can put inside her cunt, how fast she can fuck herself, how loud she can be, and when she gets to cum… demanding to let her see you so she opens up her camera and shows you just how well she’s fucking herself under your guidance 😵‍💫 yujin wasn’t all too fond of edging when she just wants to get off quickly but with your sweet voice telling her that it’s not time yet, she just had to obey! and ofc she loved it when you did praise her for following your words… 🥰

yujin making you admit just how much you want to touch her yourself… having to tell her about all the times you’ve wanted to kiss her and hide away to some empty classroom and fuck with her, then ofc your fantasies of getting fucked by her which rlly takes the cake and only pushes yujin closer to her climax 🤭

“ahh… f-fuck, don’t worry, (y/n)… once classes are over tomorrow, i’m taking y-you here and i’m giving you the best fuck of your life.. you fucking need it… god..!”

“really…? you’d do that, mommy?”

it was a real fucking shame that you weren’t there to really see how hard yujin came after hearing you call her that 😵‍💫 needless to say that after that test, you and yujin were more than happy to skip all of your other classes that day and just release all of your pent-up sexual frustrations to each other for the remainder of the day 🤭

[pastryfication]

Can you pretty please do a equestrian!reader x Max Verstappen? She fell off her horse while competing and is disappointed with herself and Max comforts her?

back on the horse | max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x equestrian!reader. note: thank you for the request!! i hope you like it xx

the stadium buzzes with the low hum of the crowd, but all you can hear is the rush of your heartbeat in your ears. the course in front of you feels like an insurmountable challenge, but you've trained for this moment, poured every ounce of yourself into it. your horse, a powerful bay with a coat that glistens in the sunlight, shifts beneath you, sensing your nerves. you take a deep breath, trying to steady your shaking hands, and give a gentle squeeze with your legs. you’re both ready—or at least, you thought you were.

as you guide your horse toward the first jump, everything else fades away. it’s just you, your horse, and the course. the first few obstacles pass in a blur, your horse soaring over them with the grace and strength you know so well. but then it happens. a misstep, a moment of hesitation, and before you can even process it, you’re on the ground. the fall knocks the wind out of you, and for a split second, you just lie there, stunned. your horse snorts, trotting a few steps away, and you can feel the weight of the crowd’s silence pressing down on you.

someone’s calling your name, but it sounds distant, muffled by the roaring disappointment in your head. you’ve fallen before, but this time feels different. this time, you were supposed to succeed. this was supposed to be your moment.

by the time you’re helped to your feet, your horse is already being led away, unharmed but confused. you mutter something about being fine, about not needing help, but the truth is, you don’t know how to face what just happened. you can feel the tears burning in your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall in front of everyone.

the first face you see when you step out of the ring is max’s. he’s waiting for you just outside the arena, his usual confident expression softened with concern. he’s seen you ride countless times, but this is the first time he’s seen you fall in competition. your heart sinks further at the thought of disappointing him, too.

“hey,” he says quietly, stepping forward to meet you. his voice is gentle, but it only makes the lump in your throat grow.

you manage a weak smile, trying to brush it off. “i blew it,” you whisper, hating how small your voice sounds. “i let everyone down.”

max shakes his head immediately, his eyes locking onto yours. “you didn’t let anyone down,” he says firmly. “falls happen. it’s part of the sport.”

“but not today,” you argue, the frustration and disappointment spilling over. “i was supposed to do well today, max. i’ve been working so hard, and now…” your voice cracks, and you have to look away, unable to bear the sympathy in his eyes.

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, just reaches out and gently pulls you into his arms. the embrace is warm, comforting, and you feel yourself relax just a little, the tension in your shoulders easing. max holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world, like your disappointment is something he wants to share, not dismiss.

“you’ve done so much already,” he murmurs against your hair. “one fall doesn’t change that. you’re incredible, and you’ll come back stronger.”

his words sink in slowly, wrapping around the raw edges of your pride. you know he means them. max wouldn’t say something just to make you feel better. he believes in you, even when you’re struggling to believe in yourself.

you take a shaky breath, burying your face in his chest, letting the familiar scent of him calm you. “i’m just so mad at myself,” you admit, your voice muffled against his shirt. “i wanted this so badly.”

“i know,” he replies softly, running a hand up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. “and that’s what makes you such a great rider. you care so much. but sometimes, things don’t go the way we want, no matter how hard we try. it doesn’t make you any less amazing.”

you nod slowly, not quite ready to believe him but willing to try. max pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders. “besides,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips, “i’ve seen you fall before, and you always get back up. this time won’t be any different.”

his words bring a small smile to your face, and you feel some of the heaviness lift. max is right. you’ve fallen before, and you’ve always found a way to get back in the saddle, both literally and figuratively. this time won’t be the exception.

“thank you,” you whisper, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he grins, that familiar spark returning to his eyes. “luckily, you won’t have to find out.”

as you stand there, wrapped in max’s embrace, the disappointment still lingers, but it doesn’t feel as overwhelming. with max by your side, you know you’ll find the strength to try again, to push through the setbacks and keep going. and the next time you enter that ring, you’ll do it with him in your corner, cheering you on every step of the way.

[devildomwriter]

A Step in the Future | Simeon x Reader

.9K | GN! Reader | CW: children, domestic

Simeon groaned and rubbed his forehead from which a large bump protruded.

“What…happened?” He asked himself quietly as he sat up and looked around.

He immediately ascertained this wasn’t the Devildom. He lay in a field of bright green grass, neatly cut, in the shade of a willow tree. The sun shone down behind scattered fluffy clouds and birds sang above his head.

Was he in the Celestial Realm? He got to his feet and put his hands on his hips as he looked around before deciding to head down a stone path.

In the distance he heard the laughter of children, it always brought a smile to his face and he sighed happily, sure he was somewhere safe.

As he trailed along the stone path by tall rose bushes and small bird baths he came to an open field of bright flowers. Among them was a boy dressed in fine clothes, smiling brightly as he picked the flowers and gathered them in a woven basket.

Simeon approached the boy cautiously, not wanting to alarm him but the boy was startled anyway. His shock faded and he beamed, dropping his basket and flowers and running to Simeon to embrace him in a hug.

“Father!” He exclaimed and Simeon froze in place, now considerably more confused than before.

“Oh—“ was all Simeon could exclaim. The boy parted from him and smiled again, he ran back to the flowers and brought the basket to Simeon.

“Dad, I got these for you.” He said sweetly.

Regardless of his confusion, Simeon smiled at the boy and patted his head as he accepted the flowers. He crouched down to meet the boy’s level and smiled.

“Thank you very much. I can tell you picked these with great care.” Simeon’s words were not a lie. Among all the flowers in the field, the boy brought the ones Simeon found most appealing.

“Does mom know you’re home yet?” He asked and Simeon shook his head.

“I don’t believe they do,” he replied truthfully.

Who was his mother? If he were the father, Simeon had only one person come to mind. You. He blushed as he imagined you as the mother to his children. Perhaps this was the Celestial Realm, his Father had granted him the opportunity to be with you in a grand dream.

The boy gripped Simeon’s hand, laughing, and pulled him through a beautiful garden to a circle of trees with a polished table in the middle, blocking the direct sun with the shade of the trees.

That’s when he saw you and his heart fluttered. In your nicest attire, you sat at the table watching another child color as you held an infant in your arms.

You smiled excitedly at your husband’s early return and the girl at the table jumped down and ran to Simeon, hugging his leg and waving her drawing in the air.

“Daddy! Daddy, I drew you! Look! Isn’t it good? Look!”

You chuckled and carefully got up, holding the baby in your arms.

Simeon approached you quickly and held out his arms to cradle the child, wrapped in light white cloth so they didn’t get too warm.

Simeon looked into the sleepy child’s eyes and saw his own. He smiled and you gently hugged his side as your daughter ran back to the table to keep drawing.

“Mary’s been drawing all day, that’s all she wants to do,” you sighed and Simeon smiled but never spoke as he listened attentively.

“Simon’s been picking flowers for an hour, Raphael and Luke are watching the twins, and I’ve been trying to get John to sleep for a few hours now.”

The baby, whom Simeon presumed was John, yawned and shifted in his arms, eyes fluttering closed.

“Of course, he was just waiting for you. He’s such a daddy’s boy.” You teased.

Simeon chuckled, the joy he felt in this moment was insurmountable. As the light breeze blew his bangs across his eyes, Simeon felt a shiver throughout his whole body and handed John back to you.

You gave him a concerned look but your worry dissipated as he leaned in and gently kissed your forehead.

He gave you a gentle smile and looked behind you.

You turned around to see Michael. “Oh, hello Michael, it’s been some time,” you remarked and he nodded but looked past you at Simeon.

Your brows furrowed concerned Simeon got himself into some mischief again. For an angel, he certainly caused his higher-ups a lot of headaches.

Simeon nodded back to Michael and disappeared before your eyes.

“Daddy?” Mary gasped and dropped her crayons.

“Mama?” Simon asked and gripped your shirt, confused.

You gave an equally confused look to Michael who briefly explained, “That wasn’t your Simeon. Don’t worry you’ll see him again soon.”

“Not…my Simeon?” You asked, nervous.

Michael shook his head and smiled at you, “He seems to have stepped out of time briefly, but we’ve sent him back to your past self.”

You had a moment of recollection and realized today’s date.

You raised a brow and looked at a pleased Michael, “Michael…was that Simeon from eleven years ago?”

Michael chuckled and nodded. You laughed to yourself and looked at Simon who had just unknowingly picked the bouquet Simeon would give you on the date he’d propose.

You patted your son’s head and kissed his cheek. He looked surprised but gave you a tight hug and laugh.

Time was strange like that. You’d planted the flowers Simeon gave you on your date as a reminder of that day, only for those flowers to be the ones you’d been given. It was hard to wrap your head around so you didn’t think about it for long. Instead, you waited in the garden until Simeon came home.

[igotanidea]

Family unity: Dick Grayson x reader (pt 1)

Request: Damian's fullblood older sister age 19 and Dick's ex coming to live with Bruce and Damian. She gets shocked about seeing Dick and it's obvious they both still have feelings for each other. But upon realising that she had a romantic history with Dick, Bruce and Dami goes into full protective mode.

A/N: this is part 1, with part 2 coming, cause I wanted to really dive into that "protecive mode" without writing a story of 20 pages :D

***

“So this place is like a hellhole?” she asked, watching Gotham’s landscape unveil from behind the windows of Bruce's limo.

“Indeed. But in time I think you might find some charm to it.”

“Charm? Damian, please, don’t joke like that.” Y/N Al-Ghul Wayne scoffed at her younger brother. Don’t you remember the surroundings of the league of assassins? That had a charm to it. And this place –“

“I’ve been here for almost two years, sister. I believe I may have a better background to claim Gotham has a charm too.”

“You have changed, little brother, haven’t you?” the girl raised an eyebrow at him, only earning a boyish smile in response. No matter how much Damian was trying to hide it, there was something softer about him. And something more mature and human in respect of his behaviour.  And there was no chance in the world that this switch wouldn’t move something in her older sister’s heart.

Using the moment of Damian’s complacency she leaned forward on her seat and ruffled his hair playfully. Almost like back in time in Eth Alth'eban. They may have been raised by Thalia and Ra’s to be living weapons, but aside from all that, the same blood running in their veins was insurmountable. Both Damian and Y/N were similar on so many levels and trusted only each other when it came to showing that more human face.

Well.

Almost.

In Damian’s case that has clearly changed during the few months of their father’s upbringing.

And in her case…

There was one person she trusted back in the days. The boy she liked. Maybe even more. But it backfired on her, leaving her with a very painful lesson that people come and go, feelings flee and you end up getting hurt. After two years of losing him, she was still careful with her heart and even more careful with letting down her walls.  

“Y/N…” Damian asked softly, seeing her blurry eyes fixed on the horizon as they turned and got on the driveway to the manor. “What are you thinking about…?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. There was truly no way to burden Damian with her past. Not when he was clearly starting to open up to the world.

“Hey…” the younger boy slowly reached for his sister’s hand. “You’re my sister. I care.”

“I know, Dami. I know.” She squeezed his fingers and sent a soft smile. “I know and I got a feeling it might be handy if I am to stay here.”

“My katana is still sharp.” Damian smirked, but underneath that teasing face expression she could see obvious concern for her well-being.

“Are you fighting skills?”

“Duh! Fighting room is the first place I am going to show you.”

‘Can’t wait for that.”

Before she could add anything else the car pulled off signalling that they’ve reached their destination. Second later, the door opened and Y/N was greeted with the sight of the Wayne Manor.

“That’s it?” she tilted head, taking in the magnificent building with its surroundings. “Thought it was bigger.”

“I know. At first I was disappointed too. Still am. But you’ll get used to the poor housing conditions. Oh, there’s father… Hello father.”

Bruce was already descending the stairs to greet both his real kids home.

“Y/N.”

“Father.”

“Welcome to Gotham.”

“Such generosity of you to let me crash here.”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted. This exchange was awkward to say the least and not the way he thought it would come. Perhaps he should have expected that being raised by her mother would not exactly make Y/N open and trusting, let alone a chatterbox. If anything, she was keeping her emotions and her words close to her chest, examining the surroundings as if internally coming up with contingency plans.

Just like Damian when he first came to Gotham.

Just like Bruce himself.

The fact that she was his daughter was undeniable, after all the blood does not lie.

And that was why Bruce had to take a different approach to her.

“Let me help you with that.” He reached for her backpack, quite small considering the fact she was keeping most of her belongings there. Not much fancy clothes, make up stuff or anything you might expect of a 19 year-old – woman.

“No need. I’ll handle it.” Y/N effortlessly swung the bag over her arm. “Shall we?” Her watchful gaze moved between Bruce – a man who helped bring her to life and yet, who she did not know – and Damian – who was standing idly by. “I mean – we are going inside, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” Bruce grunted again, only adding fire to Y/N’s assumption that living here would be a huge challenge, and slowly led her towards the manor door.

***

“Miss Y/N. A pleasure to meet you. I am Alfred. The butler.”

“Pennyworth?” she made sure, connecting the dots in her head, examining the older man from head to toe.

“Yes. And you, Miss, are truly a spitting image of your father and brother. I suppose everyone within the Wayne blood range has an utterly terrific tendency to use last names instead of the first…”

“Y/n?!”

The exchange between the girl and Alfred was abruptly interrupted upon the appearance of a young man with just a towel around his waist, bare chest and wet hair, all of the above indicating that he has just finished taking a shower.

“Master Dick, how many times do I have to tell you to not wet the floor?”

“Grayson!” Damian hissed, taking quite a different approach to his older brother’s attire. “Dress up! We got a woman in the house and you will not deprive her with your nakedness.”

The situation was already hilarious but 12 year old Damian talking about the depravity of his 19 year old sister only added to the grotesqueness.

And then Y/N finally realised what both Damian and Alfred said.

Master Dick.

Grayson.

And that half-naked man, leaving water marks on the floor, knew her name!

Shit.

No.

***

“What was that?” Damian asked half an hour later, while he and Y/N were in her room, having stopped her from spinning on her feet, running out the door and going back to League of Assassins even if she had to crawl there for a month. “Since when do you run Y/N? That’s disappointing.”

“You are not going anywhere.” The door opened and Bruce walked inside.

“Hm.” She only muttered turning towards the window with her back to him. Bruce’s blood for crying out loud. She might as well stay in this position for the hours, days and weeks to come, but upon looking down she noticed that fuckingly annoying Dick Grayson looking up, right at her window, now fully dressed, with a  smirk and  carelessly waving at her.  “I’m going back home.”

“You are violating my privacy.” She hissed.

“Did you have much of that while living with your mother?”

“You will not speak about my mother.” The girl looked at him with anger and need for revenge in her eyes “You didn’t care much about her when you banged her and left with a kid, did you? And then, you did not care much about me, when while I was 7 you showed up to have another steamy banging with her, did you?”

“Y/n.” Bruce muttered with a hint of warning

“Y/n…” Damian muttered at the same time, having forgotten how straight-forward and oblivious to societal norms his sister could be. And listening to their parents’ turbulent history in Y/N’s words wasn’t pleasant for the younger one either.

“Shit. Sorry, Dami. Didn’t mean to bring that out, it’s just-“ she clenched her fists.

“Just what?”

“Damian, please leave me alone with Y/N for a moment will you?” Bruce turned to his son. Whatever was eating up the girl it was quite obvious that a kid, that Damian still was, should not listen to it. If his daughter was having something against him, Bruce was not going to drag the entire family into the fight.

“No.”

“Damian.”

“I am not leaving her alone with you, father.”

“But-“

Damian frowned, getting up and walking towards his sister, taking place right next to her in a form of stubbornness and quiet support. Shockingly, those actions made his father both proud and annoyed but it was obvious that a parent stood no chance against the joined forces of his assassins kids.

“Fine.” He grunted. “So you hate me Y/N. You have every right to and –“ in fact, the great Bruce Wayne, the CEO of a company, honorary citizen and benefactor of charity causes had no idea how to talk to a young woman.

“I hate all men…” she muttered, with fists still clenched and jaw tight.

“Hm?”

“I hate-“

“We heard but-“

“What did he do?” Damian cut their word exchange, being faster than his father to caught up on details.

“What?” Bruce looked between their kids with a confused frown.

“He left me…” she whispered, looking at the floor.

“When?”

“Two years ago…”

“What are you two talking about?!” Bruce finally exclaimed, getting two mocking gazes from Y/N and Damian. At this moment neither of them could believe that with such an amount of obliviousness their father claimed to be the greatest detective in the world. Ignoring him, they continued their conversation.

“How did that even happen?” Damian inquired “How did you meet? When did you meet? Did you – ugh! – did you two--?!”

“You should not be concerned with that—”

Bruce quietly sighed and sat on the nearest chair, almost blending into the wall, figuring out that it was best to gather information by pretending he wasn’t even there in the first place.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” Damian asked her, but she only fixed her eyes on him with no sign of emotion. “You can’t use that trick on me, sister.”

“I’ve taught you that trick.” She pointed out.

“And since the apprentice has surpassed the master you can’t use that trick on me. He hurt you.”

“Yes.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“No one will be killing anyone here.” Bruce decided this was the time to cut in, before someone got hurt physically. “Did he… um… I assume we’re talking about Dick?” Another batch of condemning looks was enough of an answer “ Did Dick break your heart?”

“Father!”

“That’s it. I’m going home!”

“What did I say this time?!”

“Y/N does not have a heart to break!”

“You have no right to interfere in my life! I barely know you!”

“Well I want to help!”

“Why do you even care?!”

Three Waynes under one rooftop were clearly too many, because their similar characters caused them all to start fighting and yelling at each other, forcing Alfred to walk upstairs, sat each of them in the different corner of the room, threatening with putting all the house duties on them, forcing them to stop the screams and actually start the talk.

***

It's been an hour since Alfred’s intervention and neither of them said a word.

Y/N was mad at the question about her emotions.

Damian was waiting for Y/N’s word to support her against the father.

And Bruce was making plans and schemes on how to best approach his daughter with a belated teenage rebellion going on.

“When Damian left for Gotham…” she finally started, with a voice so quiet it was barely audible in the room. “I wanted to see some of the world too… I packed my bags and just moved.”

“Grandfather couldn’t have been happy about it.”  Damian muttered

“You were always his favourite. After your departure he didn’t pay much attention to me, so –“ she shrugged. “Anyway, I started travelling. And during one of my travels I met Dick Grayson.”

“He was having his self-exploration time at the moment…” Bruce added and Y/N nodded.

“That’s what he said to me too. Not that I asked. Honestly, I never asked him a single thing. He just seems to have that effect on people when…” her voice broke a little and in that short moment of hesitation both Damian and Bruce moved to sit closer to her, leaving their respective corners. “I was 17 and out in the world for the first time. Such a stupid kid…”

“You liked him.” Bruce said softly, knowing he had to thread carefully.

“Too much apparently.” A single tear fell from her eye but instead of getting cold because of that, she felt warmth in the area of her hands. Looking down she realised that both her brother and father were holding them as a form of reassurance she decided to accept. “I knew he was Nightwing. He knew I was trained as an assassin. I even told him we could work together, but – “

“He left.”

“Yes.”

“He came back to Gotham, because of his duties here.”

“Well, I know that now…”

“Y/N.”

“I got closure now, right? He put the duties before whatever stupid thing we had going. You can learn from heartbreaks, right?” she was trying her best to not fall apart, but it was too much.

After all, behind all those layers of indifference, harshness and assassin upbringing she was only a girl whose heart was broken and who never let it in. After Dick abandoned her, she dug her emotions inside, instead deciding on travelling more and forgetting about the incident.

Only now, when she saw him again, after two years, this deeply hidden thorn has pierced the layers of inaccessibility she has built around herself. Bringing out tears.

And that was as surprising to her as it was for Damian and Bruce, who froze at first.

But when Alfred decided to open the door once more, getting alerted by the ominous quietness coming from upstairs, he saw three Waynes on the floor, almost snuggled together (which was the Waynes equivalent of sitting next to each other with Bruce’s arm around Y/N;s shoulder and Damian’s head on her shoulder).

And even though he was as quiet as a mouse, he got three pairs of eyes fixed on him immediately, warning him to not speak a single word about it to anyone.

***

She was just like he remembered.

With fire in her eyes, intelligence on her face and a fighter attitude.

All the traits that made him fall for her.

All the traits that made him stay in love with her.

Little did she know, that when he was waving at her from the driveway, with that teasing smirk and aloof attitude it was not supposed to tease her. It was a desperate attempt at reaching out. A foolish belief they could mend the gap and maybe – maybe …

No.

She was not going to forgive him let alone let him enter her life again.

And the worst part was that he was already in the lost position.

For all his golden boy attitude, all his friendliness and the fact he was Bruce’s first adopted kid and Damian’s favourite brother was nothing in comparison with the fact that with Y/N coming to live in the Manor the roles switched.

Bruce becoming a protective father and Damian turning into a revenge seeking sibling.

It was going to be a hard time for Dick Grayson. 

[suguru-getos]

Hii I just wanna say I love your writing your one of the best fanfiction writers😭 would it be okay if I can request gojo x cursed!reader?

Aww thank you so much nonnie 🤭🥰 this just made my day :C I usually don’t take requests but I love the topic of Gojo x Cursed reader so much :3

Gojo Satoru x Cursed f!reader:

-> it was weird, how her entire being was suddenly corroded because of that one incident. She didn’t even know if such things exist, or if it’s just the PTSD from the incident. You see, a few months ago. Y/N had lost her best friend in a car accident. A car driven by her, and ever since… despite taking therapy, for several months. She hallucinates about her best friend. Where she is latched onto her, hugging her tightly. There is a tightness on her chest during the nights when she jolts awake, panting heavily. There are times she breaks down for nothing but this insurmountable grief. She wonders if that’s what her life has become. Endless grief.

-> until one day, when she returns from work, not batting an eye to this feeling anymore, learning to live with it, learning to accept it — that she sees him. The man looked ethereal almost, and it’s a pity she could lose her heart just like that. In a coffee shop that’s famous for selling the best mochis. “I’d like some matcha mochi.” He hums, and in that moment… she could feel a relief like no other. The curse of her best friend attached to her shoulders, not so eager to leave had now vanished. The relief that she could feel when she made eye contact with the man with those sky-blue eyes, hidden behind those black Prada sunglasses… the realisation is almost instant. “Thank you.” She mumbles, looking at him, smiling.

-> ah? Satoru is impressed, but in all honesty, the curse escaped immediately upon being in the presence of the strongest sorcerer in history. “Eia- I didn’t do anything.” He dismisses with a soft smile, hand waving in denial. “If you didn’t do anything then how do you know what I thanked you for?” She asked again, smiling back at him. That’s how she came to know Gojo Satoru, and that’s how Gojo Satoru came to know Y/N. Someone so fierce and yet so kind & beautiful.

-> “if you truly want to thank me, ask me for coffee.” Satoru grins, goodness — she’s gorgeous. No wonder her best friend didn’t want to leave her in a time of grief. Satoru thinks to himself when he sits in front of her in a secluded, cozy coffee corner… upon knowing the incident. She just didn’t want to leave her at a time when Y/N was this sad. No wonder, love is truly the greatest curse of them all. Satoru often wonders if spending his time like this instead of being a part of the constant schemes of the higher-ups would yield anything… then again; why should he always wonder if what’s something yielding… he just wants to live his life at times.

-> and so he decides to live his life for a change, to let his heart soar for a change. Exchanging numbers with her, texting her good mornings, good nights, inviting her to lavish dates that finally make sense of all the old-money bank account that the Gojo clan head has. It gives Satoru a new ambition when he realizes he’d trade anything for the smile she has, the way her eyes smile too, the way she chuckles… oh goodness. Whipped, Satoru Gojo is whipped.

-> to his surprise, she is the one that asks him out first. Even if Satoru has taken her on plenty outings, she is the one who asks him to be her boyfriend. The blush lingering on Satoru’s cheek is probably the cutest thing she’s seen. The first kiss felt like fireworks in Satoru’s gut, the way he could just ensure, kissing her passionately, caressing her cheeks, kneading her hips. Everything was electrifying.

-> boyfriend Satoru is so much different though, the way his attention is always on her. The way he desperately tries to free up his schedule just so he can spend time with her. The way he worships the ground she walks on, the way his eyes glow when her face contorts in pleasure whenever he’s toying with that beautiful body. Satoru doesn’t waste time to gift her a cursed energy embued tennis necklace. This would ward off the curses, and also keep her safe should his enemies feel a little wild.

[htpssgavi]

JUST A PRANK-PART TWO

The weeks stretched into months, each day without Y/N heavier than the last. At first, I thought I could fix things quickly, that with time, her anger would fade, and she’d realize how much we belonged together. But as the days passed with no word from her, reality began to sink in: I might have lost her for good.

I threw myself into football, hoping the sport I loved would distract me from the emptiness inside. But even on the pitch, I couldn’t escape the thoughts of her. Every goal, every victory felt hollow without Y/N to share it with. The perfume prank haunted me, the memory of her tears cutting deeper than any physical injury ever could. I replayed that night over and over, hating myself for the stupid mistake that had cost me everything.

I wanted to reach out, but every time I picked up my phone, fear held me back. What if she didn’t want to hear from me? What if she had already moved on? The thought was unbearable, so I did nothing, hoping that maybe, somehow, she would reach out first. But she never did.

Months passed. The silence between us grew louder, and the distance felt insurmountable. I heard from mutual friends that she was doing well, that she seemed happy, but no one mentioned if she was seeing someone new. I didn’t ask—I couldn’t bear to hear the answer if it was yes.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know where we stood, even if the truth was painful. So one evening, when the loneliness became too much, I finally worked up the courage to text her.

*Pablo: Hey. It’s been a while. Can we talk?*

I waited, my heart pounding in my chest as I stared at my phone, willing it to buzz with a reply. Minutes felt like hours, and I was on the verge of giving up when my phone finally lit up.

*Y/N: Pablo, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.*

Her response was polite, but distant, and it stung more than I expected. I swallowed the lump in my throat and typed back.

*Pablo: I just need to talk. Please, Y/N. One last time.*

There was a longer pause this time, and I could imagine her debating whether or not to reply. When her next message came, it was a small relief.

*Y/N: Okay. Tomorrow, 4 PM at the café?*

*Pablo: I’ll be there.*

The next day, I arrived early, my nerves on edge. The café felt smaller than I remembered, the walls closing in on me as I waited for her. I kept glancing at the door, my heart leaping every time someone walked in, only to fall again when it wasn’t her.

Finally, she arrived. My breath caught in my throat as I saw her—she looked as beautiful as ever, but there was something different about her, something I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes no longer held that same warmth when she looked at me, and it tore me apart.

“Hi,” she said, sitting down across from me.

“Hi,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks for meeting me.”

She nodded, but didn’t smile. “What did you want to talk about, Pablo?”

I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “I… I’ve missed you, Y/N. Every day without you has been hell. I know I messed up, and I’m not asking you to forgive me easily, but I need to know if there’s any chance for us.”

She looked down at her hands, her expression unreadable. “Pablo, I’ve had a lot of time to think since we broke up. And… I’ve realized that maybe we’re better off apart.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. “You don’t mean that.”

She met my gaze, her eyes filled with a sad resolve. “I do. I loved you, Pablo. But you hurt me in a way I never expected, and I don’t think I can ever fully trust you again. And without trust… we can’t have a relationship.”

I felt like the ground was falling out from under me. “Please, Y/N. I’ll do anything to fix this. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you can trust me.”

She shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “It’s not that simple. I’m sorry, Pablo, but I can’t go through that pain again. I’ve moved on… I’ve started seeing someone else.”

The world seemed to stop. The words echoed in my mind, a harsh reality that I wasn’t prepared for. She had moved on. Someone else was making her smile, was holding her close, was filling the space that I had left empty.

I wanted to be angry, to blame her for giving up on us, but I couldn’t. I was the one who had driven her away. I was the one who had broken her trust.

“I see,” I managed to say, my voice hollow. “I’m happy for you… if you’re happy.”

She nodded, wiping away her tears. “I am. And I want you to be happy too, Pablo. I want you to find someone who makes you feel whole again.”

The pain in my chest was unbearable, but I forced myself to smile for her sake. “You deserve the best, Y/N. I just wish it could have been me.”

She reached across the table, squeezing my hand gently. “You’re a good person, Pablo. You’ll find someone who loves you just as much as I did. But it’s time for both of us to move on.”

I nodded, unable to trust my voice. We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us knowing that this was truly the end.

“I wish you all the best,” she said quietly, pulling her hand back.

“You too,” I replied, my heart breaking as I watched her stand up.

She gave me one last, sad smile before turning and walking out of the café, leaving me alone with nothing but the echo of what we once had.

As I sat there, staring at the empty chair across from me, I realized that I had to let her go. She had moved on, and I had to do the same. But the pain of losing her, the regret of how things ended, would stay with me for a long time.

Maybe forever.

@gavisfanta @spidybaby @pablitogavii

@lucy90712 @monzabee