#+ its not the SAME JOKE OVER AND OVER AGAIN

[melody-magic]

the thing about Dropout's transmisogyny problem in particular is that it seems to stem from the people at all decision making levels not having trans women as part of their worldview, literally forgetting we exist until we come into their vision actively.

like, let me put it this way. if i sat down to have lunch with brennan lee mulligan, i don't think he'd misgender me once. i think he'd be nice, and respectful, and listen attentively when i tell him what its like living as a trans woman and the difficulties that come with it. i really do! and then as soon as the conversation was over he wouldn't think about trans women again until the next time he saw one or heard about us. he wouldn't think of us when planning his games, when building his stories, or when casting his shows. so at the end of the day, yeah he'd be nice to me, but when he imagines the world, ANY world he can create, people like me do not feature in it unless we are already there for some other purpose, like to be someone's girlfriend, or to make a dick joke.

same with sam reich. when he goes into a casting phase, he and his team's rolodex (or perhaps i should say contact list to be more modern) is full of diversity! we can see it spanned across all the shows! except its strangely empty of one demographic and one demographic only. and when he does cast trans women, they're always drag queens first and trans women second.

there's something matt colville says when he finishes out some videos and livestreams, and while it may be pithy and chessy i think its relevant in this case: "imagine people complexly".

these people dont even imagine us, or consider us. to them, we don't exist, not because they don't believe in our existence, or they haven't seen it, or even because they actively hate us, but they simply dont consider it in any way until it is already presented to them. we are, quite literally, not a part of their vision of the world. how can we get them to imagine us complexly when they can't even imagine us in the first place?

[the-kr8tor]

For you Ekko reqs, may I suggest R and Ekko hurt/comfort where Ekko slowly confides with R about what happened at the end of show (like probably a year or 2 of Ekko trying to process everything) and how he sometimes wished he stayed at the alt timeline? 🥲 Just him processing his grief of everything while R comforts him. Mans deserves better

-😅

Ahhhhh writing this made me tear up ngl 🥲 I hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Tags: no use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, established relationship, can be read as platonic, cw violence mention, cw injury mention, cw blood and death mention, hurt/comfort.

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ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Ekko?” Your call is carried by the cool autumn wind, breeze fluttering your lashes as you stare at his back. You see him shrink in his seat, face hidden on the crook of his elbow. Walking closer, footsteps clanging against the metal balcony where you always find him on the same day it all happened. “You'll catch a cold up here.”

Piltover shines in front of you, warm light flickering off by the windows as people settle in for the night. But the glimmering fire paper still flies above the city, its light fading as it burns out in the breeze. It's the anniversary of that day, the day Piltover and Zaun saw war right on their doorstep.

Your arm aches, a phantom pain ebbing in and out when your mind goes back to that exact day where the sky was covered in searing smoke, and the streets splashed in warm crimson. Thumb brushing along your scar, it's a mark, a reminder of what was lost that day.

After a minute, Ekko sighs, still unmoving on his spot. “I'm not leaving.”

“I'm not trying to make you leave.” You fetch the blanket that was folded and draped over your shoulder. “I have a blanket for you. If you want it.”

He turns his head slowly over to you, mind playing tricks on him as he sees the flash of you bleeding and yelling for him. Eyes bloodshot, skin clammy and marred with blood. As fast as it came, he blinked and it's gone. Vision returning to the present, the present that wouldn't be possible if not for his sacrifice.

“Don't just gawk at me, bossman,” you smile gently at him, the blanket now unfurled in front of you, ready to drape it over his trembling form. “Do you want it or not?”

The corner of his lip curls up in a small smile, his eyes are tired, weighed down by the world. “Come sit down?”

He has never asked you to join him. You always left him alone up here whenever the anniversary comes around, thinking that's what he needed. But you always waited patiently just outside the door, sitting down on the cold steps while you let grief wash over you like the tides. Until it's time to pick yourself up again at the sound of the door opening. His hand helping you up wordlessly, grief holding the two of you in place, mourning together silently. When morning comes, everything seems to go back in place. The sun still shines, the world still breathes. But it lingers, that grief that has etched itself in your bones, sorrow that lives in his chest, weighing him down but never letting it fester and spread.

You two continue to fight, to improve the very place where blood has been spilled. Carry their memories, their names and their voices until the end. Lest their sacrifices would be in vain. Ekko's sacrifice would be in vain. He deserves better, to not bear the heaviness left in his soul.

“Are you just gonna gawk there or will you take a seat?” He uses your own words against you.

“Can't help it,” you say, heart pounding in your chest as you take a seat right next to him. Giving him enough space, but close enough to see his heavy eyes marred by unshed tears. “You look good under the moonlight.” You joke in an attempt to make him smile.

Ekko manages to chuckle softly, letting you drape the fluffy blanket around his shoulders. Your warm fingers grazing along his cool skin, sending goosebumps on his lean arms.

“Do you find my frown charming?”

You smile kindly, knuckles brushing down his goosebumps. “It’s the tear stained cheeks that gets me everytime.”

He scoffs with a small smile, attention turned towards the Piltover sky. The smell of burnt paper and violets linger in the air, frown deepening at his racing thoughts.

“Will you stay?”

With trepidation, you take his hand in yours, giving him enough time to pull away. He doesn't, instead, he weaves his fingers around yours. His grip is weak, but you can feel how much he needed it by how his eyes stare at your joined hands.

“Of course, whatever you need, Ekko.” You'll stay forever if he asks.

He nods, eyes staying downturned. “I wanted to stay at that place.” Letting out a shaky breath, he closes his eyes, trying to remember what they look like in his mind's eye. Faces that he once thought that he'll never see again. Faces that he had to say goodbye to. “But that would be selfish. I couldn't—” you squeeze his hand. “—I couldn't just leave this place and let it burn.”

The last two years have melded together in your head. All those months of waiting for him at the edge of the hideout, never losing hope, not even when they declared him dead. And then the war came, and you two didn't have the time to reunite, until it ended with you laying half dead on the streets of Piltover. Waking up to him holding your hand in a grip, wishing for you to open your eyes. And you did. A year later, he comes to you, angry and furious, wanting to let it all out. You still remember the day he told you exactly what happened when he disappeared for months like it was yesterday.

He recalls it all like it was a dream, a dream that was destined to be forgotten once he awakes. He didn't want to wake up, not when everything he always dreamed of was there. He gripped onto you tightly that day, held onto you until the sun rose. Nothing was left unsaid, his story left a hole in your heart, wishing that you've seen it for yourself. But you're afraid that you wouldn't be strong enough to leave, as strong as him who made a difficult choice to leave.

He has experienced unthinkable loss, a longing you've never felt. You don't have the exact words to comfort him, to soothe his want, so you move closer to him, fixing where the blanket has fallen and wrapping it over his body like a warm cocoon. You could only hope that it's enough, but you know it will never be enough.

Ekko tucks his head on your shoulder, hand finding its way over to your raised scar. His thumb traces along the skin, feeling your warmth and in turn comforting you. He knows the pain you're in too, he witnessed it, all the nights you've hid away only to come back with red eyes and grief etched on your face.

“I couldn't leave you and Zaun behind.” He mumbles against your shoulder.

Your heart wretches out of your chest. “It wouldn't be selfish.” You say, whispering it into the air around you. “I think— I would've done what you wanted to do. I wouldn't be strong enough to leave, but you did.” He leans away, eyes soft and shining under the moonlight as he meets with your eyes. “You're brave, Ekko. You might not want everyone to know what you had to do to save everyone, but I know. And I'm forever grateful for what you did. For what you have sacrificed so we could live. I'll remember it until I can't, even then, I'll try not to forget.” Cupping his jaw, you watch as a tear slides down. You wipe it away gingerly, smiling at him as he leans against your warmth, eyes closing, shoulders slumping with every word you utter. “You did well, Ekko.”

He moves forward, leaning his forehead against your own, affection radiating off him. “Thank you.”

“We'll be okay. We have time.”

“I know.” He has seen it, one day that dream will come true.

With a tender squeeze, his hand takes the other edge of the blanket, pulling and covering you with its warmth right next to him.

[josephquinnswhore]

where you go, I go - stalker joel miller x female reader AU.

summary: joel hasn’t been the same since ex his wife abandoned him and his daughter, but he’s been watching you for months.. you’re the perfect replacement.

word count: 1.1k

content warning: extreme stalking, harassment, unhealthy infatuation, murder, brief mention of potential kidnapping, unhealthy idealism, manipulation, gaslighting.

Today was really not the day for this, your complete lack of intolerance to bullshit had reached its capacity.

But this had been happening every attempt for the past week, a relatively new and frankly.. abruptly confusing issue.

The button on your key fob for your car makes the indicators flash orange each attempt to pry the boot open. With a click or the button, it’s supposed to open the boot automatically.

But your car doesn’t do that, no. It insists on a one armed wrestling match while you have to click the button simultaneously.

Thanks to Joel, the man that has been absolutely infatuated with you for months, since you’d hired them for a minor job, just a custom order bookshelf. Not something the men would typically accept but Joel was absolutely infatuated with you.

Since then he hadn’t ever been far from where you were. Even if that meant showing up to your house at night and sabotaging apart of your car.

It’s hot out. These Texan summers were no joke and with no breeze, the beads of sweat meticulously lined upon your forehead, not one inch of it wasn’t covered in sweat.

“Come on!” With a grunt of frustration, you attempt to wrestle the boot open again, pushing it down to try and get the latch unstuck.

He watches on as you struggle with the boot of your car for the third time this week alone, how you managed to live your life without a man to take care of you was a real mystery to him.

As amusing as it is to watch you struggle, he figures he needs to approach before some other man offers a helping hand. The last thing Joel needs is to bury another goddamn prick on your behalf. You should be thanking Joel, really.

But he understands, you don’t know. You’re vulnerable, completely none the wiser to the fact that a man that mowed your lawn once a fortnight, had managed to peep through your bathroom window and caught a glance of your bare skin while you were showering.

Unaware that anyone was watching you groan again in frustration, about ready to pull your hair out. “Why the hell is this happening to me today?!”

“Excuse me, miss?” A well recognised Southern, Texan accent calls out to you with a hint of amusement and curiosity. Turning around, the man was closer than you’d expected.

“You need something?” Perhaps you were snappier than you should’ve been, and he raises a singular eyebrow at you.

“I’m sorry. I just.. need help with this. Pain in the ass. I have cold stuff and it’s hot as shit out here!” You ramble incessantly to the man who just tilts his head.

As he steps forward. “Mind if I give it a try?”

“Good luck to you—“ before you could even finish the scornful sentence the boot was open.

“How did you do that?” Disbelief wavering in your tone.

He shrugs, folding his arms over his chest, the shirt tightens and the muscles in his arms bulge. A fitting distraction to keep your eyes away from the fact that he had just sneakily attached a tracking tab onto your car. Underneath the number plate.

Now, he already knew your home address. But he had to make sure that you weren’t seeing anyone.

You were certain he had caught you staring. “These older models have a few minor issues, I learnt that working on my own truck, I suppose.”

Now that were true. But he wouldn’t really tell you the reason he knew how to fix this particular issue.

“What’s your name anyway?”

He starts packing your groceries into the now open boot, a few bags in each hand at a time.

The veins in his forearms protrude out of the skin.

“Joel. Joel Miller.”

Once he’s finished packing your groceries away, he closes the boot. “Shouldn’t have no more issues with it.”

You raise a brow. “You’re not gonna ask my name?”

He doesn’t want to, because he already knows it.

He almost laughs, almost. “What is your name, miss?”

When you reply with your name, he doesn’t at all seem phased, which was odd. “You kinda look familiar, actually.”

He keeps a calm expression, looking around the carpark as he gives a warm smile. “I live around here. Do contracting for a lot of houses around town.”

He could’ve felt his gut drop in that moment, maybe you’d figured him out. Perhaps you were about to call him out on what he’s been doing, sneaking around your goddamn house at night, sabotaging the boot so that it wouldn’t open properly.

Perhaps if that were the worst case scenario, he would just have to whack you on the head and shove you into the boot of your little car and drive you to his house. Chain you up and explain that he’s not a bad guy, he just cares for you. No one else cares for you like he does.

Thankfully, it doesn't come to that, because you’re clueless, really. It’s sad to see that you don’t protect yourself. If Joel could get away with all of this unseen. Imagine the real creeps that would take advantage of you.

Joel had been creating all of these minor issues for you, so that you would perhaps seek him out if he happened to.. by chance.. be nearby.

Come to think of it, there was a white pickup that had some sort of business name on the side of it. Been around your street a few times this week, actually. Perhaps he’s got work in the area?

Ain’t really your business to ask though.

“Yeah, I suppose. Thanks anyway, for this.. I should get home now. Don’t want all the dairy and meat to spoil.”

By now you really should be leaving.. but you feel compelled to give the helpful man your number.

“Maybe I can thank you properly one day for lending a hand.”

You quickly scribble it down on the back of your long docket and hand it to him.

“I’ll contact you,” albeit a simple response, he vows to you.

He takes the half crumpled paper with your number and nods with a warm smile, watching you as you get into your car and thank him again through the window before driving off.

A grim smile on his wicked lips as he watches the car leave the parking lot, knowing that even now, as you left, he would know where you were.

Because where you were, Joel was always following close behind. He did, after all.. think you were perfect. The missing piece of the puzzle to his family. The right woman to give his daughter a caring, loving mother. And you—would be his wife. Joel was taking all the steps necessary to ensure it.

He would have he perfect family. He would have you.

Finally, with the number in hand, he was one step closer.

[endereies]

BURNT SKIN - CS

No Nut November - Day 27

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ You spend ages hiding your intimacy issues from Chris but he gets you to open up

“I don’t need your pity, Chris.” You’d pushed him back moments earlier, the sudden flip of emotions making him confused.

“Is that what you think this is? Why do you push me away every single time like this!” nothing but silence left you, your chest rising and falling erratically while the grip on your wrist tightened. You were so close this time.

“Well? Why is it that any time I think I’ve finally gotten close to you, to loving you, I get pushed back. Why do you give me this- this false hope that me and you are good.” He didn’t seem angry or disappointed, just… frustrated. You understood why, he’d been patient for months so of course he was wearing thin.

“Do you trust me…?” desperation filled you, desperation to get him to understand you. Just anything to coat the air, blunt the sharpness of the hurt in your heart.

“Of course, I –“

“Then why do you act like my touch burns through your skin!” you couldn’t crack your fingers anymore, the breaths being deeper but there was no air. All of your fingers mangled around each other, scratching the sides of your skin where you’d neglected their length. He couldn’t understand like you did.

You were gripping the same skin he touched, soothing it from the unfamiliarity. It wasn’t your own body touching yourself, the unknown territory was eating you up. For months you noticed the lingering touches Chris would give you, a nudge on your arm at a funny joke or a palm on the small of your back as he passed through. It all felt the same. Easily ignorable and bearable. When it was just you two alone you were suddenly conscious of everything you did. Breathing became irregular and you suddenly didn’t have enough saliva to swallow.

He didn’t know why and neither did you at first. Over time it all started to click together a little more. Things on your body were pointed out to yourself. Your stomach, your jawline, your thighs. Your imperfections. If Chris saw them, what would he think of you. Would he be as disgusted as you are in yourself.

“You’d hate it.” Your words were shallow and mumbled under tight lips. Your eyes twitched, the line of tears shaking where you stood. “I don’t have the body of a lover. It’s not something I love.”

“What…?”

“You’d hate it.” A pause stood between you; a choked sob barely held back. “I- I hate the way I look; the way my body isn’t the way I want it. I’ve tried so much shit and I feel shitty. So, I don’t let people near me, because my biggest fear- is that one day, you’ll see me the way I see myself.”

“Is that… why you’ve pushed me away, because you’re scared, I’ll just leave. Have I ever given you a reason to feel like that?” You ponder for a moment, staring into his eyes for honesty.

“I tell you that you are beautiful whenever I get the chance because its true. I honestly admire your beauty so much. I see you cooking and I just lean against the frame watching you because it reminds me so much of those stupid films you watch. I watch you communicate with strangers, especially that barista at the café all because you liked her glasses. I’m telling people about your little habits because they are adorable to me. Your beauty isn’t in your body, its in you. And i love you.”

Tears silently fell as he talked, his legs bringing him closer once again. His hand so desperately wanted to reach out, hold and comfort you. If you’d let it happen.

You didn’t care in that moment, but maybe you would tomorrow. Right now? Pulling him into your arms felt right.

Progress was progress.

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckers @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa2s @emilyfaith2003 @zariyamitchell-blog @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone @slutf4rmatt @flouvela @lovesturni0l0s @2prcntmilkluvr @ribread03

© ENDEREIES 2024

[synthetickitsune]

To Save The World ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader Genre: angst Summary: Joshua made his choice. Now he has to commit to it. The world must go on. And for that, he has to make you go. Word count: 1.6k Warnings: blood, knives, reader dies A/N: inspired by @chugging-antiseptic-dye's post here bcs you can't say "joshua slitting your throat" and expect me to be normal, and also it's highly recommended to read this as well

The night falls. The stars twinkle above, yet the light seems dimmed. The world must be asleep. Perhaps it might be as kind as to close its eyes to what he’s about to do. If there’s one thing the world’s always been good at, afterall, it’s turning away from those who need its help the most. There's a duty to them that he always carried on his shoulders. He’s always tried to make up for what the universe couldn’t do. Now that he’s in need of help, however, who will save him? 

He never thought that burden would eventually end up being his own demise.

Joshua’s breath comes out as thin clouds that soon evaporate into nothingness. Just the same as him. Every breath is a thought, a memory, a part of him. He wills them to be. He needs to send them all off, so that he can at least hope to be saved one day. He hopes the wind can carry all of him far enough that he won’t be tainted. 

He spent what felt like hours standing under scalding water. As if filth can be washed ahead of time. 

Anyway. 

Washed as best as he could make it and free of all scent, he feels naked. A blank sheet. Now all that’s left is to cleanse himself of himself. Not a man, but a hero. A fragile puppet dancing however fate and duty pull its strings. Empty. To be filled again with a different substance. Transformed. A copy of himself only on the outside.

The cold makes him feel frozen in time. If it doesn’t start ticking again soon, he will surely lose his mind. But perhaps that’s an option he’d gladly take. There is little chance of that happening soon enough, though. No, it’s not going to happen until it’s too late.

He hears lone footsteps slowly approaching. Bile rises up his throat. He closes his eyes and takes a couple of long, deep breaths. He tries to keep them even. To keep the tremors out of his breathing at least. He can’t be heard. He has to keep standing but his knees can barely support him. If only the darkness of the alley could swallow him. If only the wall behind his back could turn into goo. Trap him like an insect in tree sap. Keep him trapped in amber so that everyone could witness his cowardice that even outweighs the sin he’s about to commit.

‘Hero’ is a funny world. A joke.

In the end, he couldn’t save everyone. Forget everyone. Just one person.

The sound gets closer. Have you always walked with a skip in your step when you were rushing home to him? The bile again. His stomach twists. He has to force himself to swallow. The street remains empty. Everything else aside, Joshua can’t let anyone see his face ever again. He won’t ever look at his face again. His hands feel clammy. He can’t breathe. He can’t—

The knife almost slips from his hand. He only sees your side profile for a split second. He can’t double over. Not now. He’s already a coward hiding in the shadows. So it feels like a cruel joke, the sight that his eyes let him see. It’s like the clouds part and you’re suddenly bathed in moonlight. Are the stars taking you before he can? He only has fractions of a second to pray it is so. To hope his hands will pass right through you. That the moon saves you and cradles you in its cold silver arms.

It’s with practiced ease that he reaches from his hiding spot. It’s with hard-earned skill and speed that he grabs you and pulls you back into the shadows, away from the light that exposes his weakness. He ensnares you in the darkness with him before you can make a sound or register what’s happening.

With tender strength he holds you against his chest. His arm wraps around your waist perfectly, pinning your arms to your sides. It should be like this. You belong with him. He should always hold you. What does heaven have that lying with you, your head above his heart and his arms around you doesn’t provide? Your body fits against his like you were made for him. And lately he believes you were, just to make your fate that much crueler. To start his punishment long before he knew he’s going to be punished.

You can’t make a sound with his hand covering your mouth. He wishes you could. Blame him. Hate him. (Love him.) Your struggling is useless. He’s always been stronger than you. Could always easily pin you down. Why can’t you pout about it now? (Please hit his chest. Please call him mean. Please laugh and pull him down for a kiss.)

Your efforts double when the glint of the blade catches your eye. He has already messed up. He shouldn’t have held you one last time. It comes so naturally to him, though. Instincts can’t be overridden. He had to. He tries to make his voice deeper, unrecognizable. To his own ears he doesn’t sound like himself when he shushes you. You sound every bit like yourself when you whimper. (Can’t he hold you tighter? Can’t he pull the blanket over you like he’s always done and shield you from the rest of the world?)

In his memories, it’s always your hair, your cheeks that he caresses. Your lip under his thumb. As he moves his hand lower though, he discovers that the skin on the vulnerable column of your throat is surprisingly soft too. (Did he not explore your body enough? Will this be one more regret to haunt him day and night?) Your breathing, your heartbeat, he can feel it all with his touch. It’s so fast. Like the little bunny’s that you promised to adopt with him. The one you won’t make a half-orphan because you never brought it home. Your eyes look like prey animal’s caught in a trap too.

His thumb strokes over your windpipe. You deserve that. You deserve something more intimate. You deserve something warmer than the cold steel of the knife. You deserve him. Not a stranger.

But he can’t. He’s a coward. His strength isn’t as tender now. It’s desperate. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t make a sound.

(Please whine. Please tell him to let go. Please call him clingy. Please tell him to let you hug him too.)

His hand stops before it can dip under your shirt. His fingertips barely brush against your collarbone. How selfish he can be. You must be so scared - a stranger holding you, a stranger touching you. Joshua knows if it was him you saw holding a knife so close to your face, you wouldn’t be scared at all. 

(Smile at him. See him.)

As if sensing his hesitation, you move. Just one lone, weak attempt to break free. Just a jolt of an animal that doesn’t wish to be pet.

He leans his head against yours. (Hurt him. Do it. Please.) You stay still. For a blink of an eye that lasts an eternity, you settle and relax. Like he’s holding you while you cook dinner. Like he’s comforting you after a long day. Like you’re watching the storm outside from the warmth of your home. Like he’s saying goodbye.

Like you know what’s coming.

It’s with an order, an impulse to his nerves that doesn’t, that can’t have, come from his own brain and free will that the knife in his sweaty palm turns. Your breathing picks up more. The blade presses against the side of your throat and he—

Joshua!

The shriek pierces the silence of the night.

It rains. Crimson splatters on the ground.

But all he hears is your voice.

Did you recognize him and called his name in shock? Betrayal? Understanding?

Were you calling him for help?

Did you want his name to be your last word?

The knife clatters on the ground with echoes of his name, of your voice. Nothing else is real.

His hand clutches your throat and presses against it with force. He’s trying to pull the split tissue together but it won’t listen and the blood keeps pouring.

The warmth encompassing his hands must be your hands grabbing his. Slipping your fingers between his.

You’re just standing in the shower. It’s hot water rolling down your bodies. You’ll laugh. You’ll scold him for simply holding you instead of washing up.

What’s the point if his hands are forever dyed red.

No shower will ever be enough.

And your life keeps trickling down his fingers and pooling under his feet.

He collapses with you.

His head falls, forehead resting against yours.

(Look at him.)

He holds you like you’re dancing. Your silly wish to look at him after he twirls you. To lean back into his arms and look up at him.

So look at him. 

There’s nothing interesting to see at the back of your skull.

He sobs, but he only hears your voice. Only feels the claws of guilt and pain tearing at his throat from the inside.

Did you know? Could you tell he held you? Did you know you’re not alone? That you don’t have to be scared? 

Look at him. 

Tell him.

The world did not end with a bang. Nor with a whimper. The world did not end at all that night.

But there, in a dark alley where blood pools on the cobblestone, a life and a soul were crushed to save it. 

[poisonhyuck]

sweet - n.jm

bf!jaemin taking the day off work to take care of sick!reader

"morning sleepyhead, I made you breakfast.." jaemin whispered, not wanting to startle you as he set the plate full of toast, bacon and eggs on your beside table.

"good morning nana." you spoke, sounding half asleep before stretching your arms.

"thank you for the food, what time you leaving for work at?" you sat up straight, pulling the plate into your lap and beginning to eat.

"30 minutes, but I'm gonna call in sick." he shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"what? why? your boss is gonna kill you! all your members will be disappointed."

you couldn't believe it. as much as jaemin loved you, he also loved work very much and rarely took days off.

"because I can't leave you alone when you're clearly as sick as a dog, and we're not even doing anything that important, we're just going over the same dance we did last week."

"jaem, I'm not that sick you can't be missing work just because of me." you claimed, but the painful cough and stuffy nose said otherwise.

"I'm not leaving you today and that's final. now eat up or you won't get better." his eyes were glued to you the entire time as you ate the meal he prepared for you.

he was very serious when it came to your health and wellbeing. always encouraging you to eat healthy, go to the gym with him and scolding you for staying up too late on your phone.

once you finished, he took the plate of food off of you and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

sometimes, you wonder how did you deserve someone as sweet and caring as na jaemin?

I mean, looks AND personality, what else could you ask for?

jaemin came back into the room and got under the duvet before cuddling up to you.

"don't.. you'll get sick too." you mumbled, even though jaemins touch felt better than any medicine in the whole world.

"and? its not about me right now, i just want yoh to be healthy and happy" he responded, fingers running through your hair slowly.

you sighed in defeat as you relaxed in your boyfriends embrace, his comforting scent filling your nostrils and the heat radiating off his body almost putting you to sleep again.

"I have so much errands to run today.. I cant afford to be sick" you sighed, snuggling closer to him.

"I'll do them. seriously, don't worry." jaemin whispered

"no its not fair on you. there's too much to do"

"it can't be that bad." he responded confidently

"putting away the washing, going grocery shopping, ironing the clothes, making dinner, oh and it's also my turn to feed the cats." you felt overwhelmed about the whole day even though its barely started.

"I'll do it. don't worry." jaemin planted a soft kiss on your forehead, then your nose, then your lips.

your frown immediately turned into a smile.

"you're too sweet. It's rare to find men like you in this generation.."

"practicing for when we get married." he joked, but it still managed to get a reaction out of you.

you then spent the whole day in bed watching netflix whilst your boyfriend done all the work for you.

tissues scattered all over the place, painkillers on the bedside table, the blankets pulled up to your chin and a wet towel on your forehead.

no matter what, jaemin always manages to make you feel so loved and cared for.

[u6is]

"and i will still see it until i die, you're the loss of my life"

part 3

—kylian mbappé x reader: fluff / angst

You sighed heavily, your eyes scanning the mountain of paperwork piled on your desk. Your hotel was a hive of activity, but you felt utterly alone in your little corner. The neon lights above cast a harsh glow over your face, highlighting the dark circles under your eyes. You had been working late again, trying to bury yourself in work to escape the constant barrage of Ben's calls.

"I’ll wait for you. Can we still talk about this?"

Your phone buzzes constantly with calls and messages from him.

Ben returned to Germany, settling back into the house you both share. Meanwhile, you're stuck in Madrid for another month, buried under the demands of your job.

But Ben wasn't making it easy. Each ring of your phone was a painful reminder of the life you had shared together, of the promises that had been broken and the future that was now a fading dream. You picked it up again, his name lighting up the screen, and for a brief moment, you contemplated answering. Yet, you knew what he would say. The same pleading, the same apologies, the same desperate attempts to convince you that you could still make it to the altar.

The room was suffocating, the lingering heat of a Madrid summer night pressing against the thick walls of the historic building. You pushed the scattered papers aside and stepped onto the small balcony, where the street below was still alive with the hum of late-night revelers and distant music. The city’s nocturnal symphony was a welcome distraction, muffling the silence that had settled so heavily in your heart. You leaned over the cool wrought-iron railing, the warm night breeze brushing against your skin, and wondered why you had ever believed a wedding was the right path for you.

When Kylian saw you that night, you were all he could think about. After years spent trying to bury the memories of you, it felt like he was right back where he started.

He was consumed with the urge to reach out, searching desperately for a way to connect. But when every attempt failed, all he could do was stare at his phone, his fingers hesitating over the screen. Yet, no matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t bring himself to make the call.

On the football pitch, his mind wanders during practice, replaying moments of your shared past. The coach’s whistle pierces through his thoughts, a sharp reminder of his responsibilities. With a sigh, he refocuses, pushing his body to its limits, sweat soaking his shirt as he sprints across the field. Yet, no matter how fast he runs or how intense the training gets, the image of your smile remains, etched in the corner of his vision.

One call, just one, could it really stir anything?

He thought quietly to himself.

When the coach finally calls for a break, Kylian retreats to the locker room, his heart pounding from more than just exertion.

The locker room is alive with the sounds of water bottles being opened and the murmur of teammates sharing their frustrations and jokes. The scent of sweat and freshly cut grass lingers in the air, a reminder of the hours of practice that have kept his thoughts at bay.

He pulls out his phone, the digital screen a stark contrast to the dusty football boots and worn-out pads surrounding him. The weight of his decision presses down on him as he stares at your name saved in his contacts. His thumb hovers over the button, the urge to hear your voice warring with the fear of disrupting your life.

Your morning slips away in a blur of clients and endless consultations. For a brief moment, you pause, taking a deep breath to clear your mind.

As the meeting came to an end, your client expressed his thanks, mentioning he'd reach out again soon. On your way back to the hotel, you glanced at your phone and found a series of missed calls and messages from Ben, along with one call from an unknown number.

After several rings, you didn’t answer. The silence hit Kylian hard, and he couldn’t help but feel like a fool. Of course, you wouldn’t pick up. You’d probably erased his number by now, not wanting anything to do with him.

He made his way back to training, still stung by the rejection, trying to push you out of his mind. But the pain fueled his determination. He trained relentlessly, pushing himself harder than ever as if he had nothing left to lose.

After the training, Kylian steps into the cool evening, the crisp air feels refreshing on his damp skin. He starts his car, the engine purring to life as he sits for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. The headlights cast a warm glow onto the quiet street outside the training complex, and he can't help but feel a sense of melancholy wash over him. He puts the car in gear and starts the journey home, his eyes scanning the sidewalks out of habit more than hope.

As he turns a corner, he sees a flash of something that makes his heart skip a beat. A familiar silhouette, the unmistakable tilt of your head as you laugh at something said across the dinner table. His foot slams on the brake, bringing the car to a jolting stop. You're there, in the glow of a restaurant's outdoor lights, a soft smile playing on your lips as you lift a fork to your mouth. Time seems to slow as he watches you, the world around him fading into a blur.

Kylian sits frozen, the engine idling, his thoughts racing.

Is it really you?

He tells himself it's just his imagination playing tricks, but the longer he looks, the more convinced he becomes.

You're dressed in a way that reminds him of a date you had years ago—elegant yet casual, your hair falling in loose waves around your face. The sight of you is like a sucker punch to the gut, a rush of memories and emotions he wasn't ready to face.

Taking a deep breath, he steadies himself before deciding to approach. He reaches for his jacket in the backseat, not wanting to draw attention from the people nearby. Parking the car, he walks toward the restaurant, each step feeling heavier than the last. The sounds of conversation and the clinking of silverware spill out onto the street, blending with the distant hum of city traffic.

As he draws closer, you glance up, and your eyes meet. For a split second, everything around them seems to fade, leaving just the two of them in the quiet.

You look surprised, but not in a negative way. A flicker of recognition crosses your face, and your smile softens as you tilt your head, a silent question in your eyes. Kylian’s heart races, the years of distance between you both suddenly feeling like nothing. Though he's dressed casually in his jacket and hoodie, people still recognize him. After all, he is Kylian Mbappé, the world’s best football player.

The murmur of the restaurant's patrons grows louder as they recognize him. His jacket, emblazoned with the logo of his football team, has caught their attention. The whispers start, a low buzz that quickly escalates into a crescendo of excitement. He's not just any guest; he's the star player, the one who's made headlines and stolen the hearts of fans across the city. He tries to shrink into the shadows, to become invisible, but it's too late. The spotlight has found him.

You, however, remain unfazed by the sudden attention. You stand up from your chair, graceful as always, and gesture towards a more secluded spot in the corner. Kylian's feet move on autopilot, carrying him away from the curious stares and pointing fingers.

In the corner, away from the crowd, his gaze never strays from yours. The intimacy between you both is unmistakable, standing in sharp contrast to the bustling public space around you.

"Kylian, what are you doing here?" you finally ask, your voice a soft melody that resonates through the cacophony of the restaurant.

He clears his throat, his eyes darting around the room before settling on yours again.

"I could ask you the same thing," he says with a nervous laugh.

"It's just... I saw you from the street, and I had to make sure it was really you." His hand reaches out, almost touching your arm before retreating, as if he's unsure of his own actions.

"No, actually, I saw you first at the bar," he said, his eyes locking with yours, a quiet longing in his gaze. "I just chose not to approach." He held your stare, as if words alone couldn’t express the weight of what lingered between you, his gaze soft yet filled with unspoken years.

You study him, your gaze softening.

"It's been a long time," you reply, the warmth in your voice tempering the coolness of the evening air. The silence that follows is filled with the clinking of glasses and distant laughter, a stark contrast to the tumult in his mind.

Kylian nods, his throat constricting with the weight of words left unsaid.

"I tried calling," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable. "But you didn’t answer, so..."

So it was him, the mysterious number from this morning.

You had ignored it, thinking it was just Ben trying to get under your skin with another unfamiliar number.

"I didn’t recognize the number," you explain softly, your voice laced with a quiet apology. "I’ve been caught up with work... you know how it gets."

Kylian nods again, his gaze steady yet searching, as though trying to unravel the emotions hidden deep within you. "Yeah," he whispers, his hand brushing the back of his neck, nerves clear in his every movement.

"I understand. I just... I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had to see you." His words hang in the air, heavy with longing, making the space between you both feel somehow smaller, more charged.

You swallow hard, your eyes flickering over his face, memorizing every line and curve as if it's the first time you've seen him in years.

"It's good to see you, Ky," you murmur, the formality of your words betrayed by the gentle smile playing on your lips.

He takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. "Is it?" he asks, hope threaded through his voice. "I mean, really good?"

You nod, the corners of your eyes crinkling slightly. "Yeah," you say, your voice stronger this time. "It's really good."

Kylian's shoulders relax, the tension draining from his body. "Can we talk?"

You understood that distraction was your only refuge, a way to silence the heartache that consumed you.

Your fiancé—now ex-fiancé—had betrayed you for someone he barely knew, a fleeting encounter in a bar. Kylian, once your world, now seemed like a lifeline. You needed this. You needed him.

You glance back at the restaurant, your dinner growing cold on the plate. A moment of hesitation lingers, but the yearning in his gaze is impossible to resist. With a slight nod, you surrender to the unspoken plea in his eyes.

The two of you walk down the sidewalk, the cobblestones cool and slightly damp underfoot. The streetlamps cast a warm, flickering light, casting shadows that dance along the ancient brick walls of the buildings. Kylian's hand brushes yours, and you feel a spark, a ghost of the electricity that used to sizzle between you.

You find yourself in a small, secluded park, surrounded by the whispers of the night. The rustle of leaves and the occasional laugh from a group passing by the street create a serene backdrop for your conversation. You sit on a bench, the metal cold and slightly damp from the evening dew, and face each other.

"So, what have you been up to?" Kylian asks, his eyes searching yours for any sign of the love that once burned between you.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "Work, mostly. I got promoted, and it's been... intense. How about you?"

Kylian's gaze drifts to the ground, his thumb tracing a pattern on the bench's armrest. "Football," he says simply. "It's been my life, as you know."

You nod, a hint of sadness in your eyes. "I've seen the headlines," you reply. "You've become quite the legend around here."

He shrugs, a bit embarrassed by the praise.

Kylian found himself reflecting,

All this time, an unseen thread had been weaving us together.

A single golden strand had always connected him to you.

The conversation flows easily, despite the years that have passed. You speak of friends you’ve kept in touch with, the places you’ve traveled, and the quiet moments that have made up the fabric of your life since he’s been gone. Kylian listens intently, nodding along, his eyes never leaving yours. He tells you about the games he’s played, the goals he’s scored, and the teammates that have become like family.

As the night stretches on, the atmosphere grows heavier with an unspoken tension. But you push it aside, deciding to end the evening before the familiar scent of Kylian's cologne overwhelms you once more.

"It's getting late," you finally murmur, reluctance coating your voice like dew on the leaves above you. Kylian nods, his eyes never leaving yours, as if he's afraid that if he looks away, you might vanish like a mirage.

He stands up, brushing off the dampness that's seeped into his pants from the bench. "Yeah, we should get going." His voice is thick with something unsaid, a hint of sadness that you both feel acute as the chill in the air.

You follow suit, the cool metal of the bench leaving a pattern on the back of your legs. "It was good seeing you, Ky."

He nods, his eyes searching yours. "It was more than good," he says earnestly. "I've missed you."

The confession hangs in the air, stark and raw. You bite your lower lip, unsure of how to respond. "I've missed you too," you finally admit. The words are out before you can stop them, and they feel like a declaration of war against the walls you've built around your heart.

Kylian's eyes light up, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. He takes a step closer, his hand reaching for yours. "Can I see you again?" he asks, his voice a soft plea.

You hesitate, feeling the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing in the quiet embrace of the night.

"I'll think about it, Ky," you murmur, your voice a soft whisper that's barely audible over the distant sounds of the city. The words feel like a promise and a barricade all at once, a bridge built over the chasm that has grown between you.

—

I'll think about it, Ky.

But then, a single call from him the next morning, here you are, standing by his side, hands brushing against the array of bread. He asked you for suggestions on the best snack the city has to offer, and somehow, here you both are, wrapped in the comfort of your favourite pastry shop.

As you walk beside him on the sidewalk toward his car, a smile tugs at your lips, watching him juggle bags of pastries in both hands. He says it's for the staff at training, but you can't help but think it’s a little gesture wrapped in sweetness. Before he heads off, Kylian turns to you with that familiar spark in his eyes and asks,

"When are you finished with work? I was thinking… maybe dinner at my place?"

You pause, feeling the gravity of the moment. The last time you were in his home was when your world was simpler, wrapped in the warmth of love and hope. Now, you're not sure what to expect. "What time works for you?" you reply, feeling cautiously optimistic.

"How about 7?" he suggests, the hope in his voice palpable. "I'll cook, I promise it won’t just be pastries," he jokes, flashing that grin—the one that used to melt you every time. You smile, nodding, knowing that’s the kind of smile he loves to see.

Everything was just as you remembered about Kylian. Nothing had changed. The glamorous house. The same him.

As you stepped inside, he greeted you at the door. "You live here alone?" you asked, taking in the surroundings.

"Non, je vis avec mon père." (No, I live with my dad.)

"But, he's in Paris handling some work matters," he replied, surprised that his voice didn’t waver. You were here, in his home, in Madrid. He still couldn't believe it.

You follow the scent of garlic and herbs into the kitchen, he's now busy at the stove, a look of intense concentration on his face. He glances over his shoulder, catching you watching him, and a flush spreads across his cheeks. "It's not much, but it's all I know how to make," he says with a self-deprecating smile.

You lean against the counter, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising ease, his muscles flexing under the fabric of his t-shirt as he stirs the pot.

The meal is simple but delicious—pasta with a homemade tomato sauce that tastes of summer days spent together, and a side salad that's somehow both light and filling. You sit at the dinner table, and find yourself lost in the easy rhythm of your conversation, the same banter that once filled the quiet moments of your youth.

As you share the wine, the space between you fills with unspoken emotions. His eyes stay on you as you recount a story about Ben, the way he betrayed you for someone he barely knew, a fleeting moment in a bar. It all makes sense now, why you were at that bar the night Kylian first saw you.

You were supposed to marry another, a thought that quietly shatters his heart.

But he can't shake the thought—how could anyone ever treat you like you weren't enough? What an absolute fool.

But then it hits him: he chose his career over you. The memory still haunts him, the way he said he couldn’t risk it all for you. What a fool he was, no better than that guy, Ben.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, the words barely audible. His sudden apology catches you completely off guard.

He exhales deeply, his eyes fixed on the table. "You deserve better than someone like us," he says, his voice heavy with emotion. "Not Ben, and definitely, not me." The words spill out like a confession, a release of the guilt he's carried for so many years.

"Do you remember when I told you I couldn't see a future with you?" you asked, a small, sad laugh escaping your lips.

"I walked away, thinking that was the answer..." You looked at him, your eyes gentle, as though the words you’d kept locked away for so long were finally finding their way out.

"After you, I needed something to hold onto, something that felt real. And Ben... he gave me that illusion. He made me forget, even if just for a while, the truth of who he was." A soft smile flickered across your face.

"I never realized how desperate I must have looked, walking away from you, carrying a heart full of love meant for you. I was scared that my love, overflowing for you, had no place to go."

Your breath hitched as the weight of it all settled in.

The kitchen was suddenly too quiet, the clink of silverware against plates the only sound echoing through the space. Kylian took a sip of his wine, the taste suddenly bitter in his mouth. He knew he had to say something, to explain, to apologize, but the words were trapped behind the wall of regret he had built.

Of course, Kylian remembered. How could he not?

The words, "I don't even know who you are anymore," still echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than he let on.

That night, he was too lost—lost in the haze of substances that dulled his pain but fractured his clarity. He didn’t even recognize himself anymore, let alone expect you to.

But the worst part? He was so consumed by the fear of losing you that he couldn’t see what he was doing to you. His desperation bled into his words, into his actions, into the broken version of himself he kept trying to piece together. He didn’t realize that while he was trying to hold on, he was pushing you away. He didn’t see how much he frightened you—not just with his words, but with the person he had become.

You reached across the table, your hand covering his. "Ky," you said softly, "it's not your fault. We were young and scared."

Kylian's gaze snapped to yours, the pain in his eyes making your heart ache. Without a word, he stood up, coming around the table to you. He pulled you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you like a blanket. For a moment, the world outside his arms ceased to exist, and all that remained was the steady beat of his heart against yours.

You leaned into him, letting his familiar scent wash over you. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, the same way he used to when you were upset. It was as though time had folded in on itself, bringing you back to a simpler time when his touch could banish all your fears.

"Je suis désolé", (I'm sorry) he whispered again, his voice muffled against your hair.

"Please," his voice broke through the silence, soft yet desperate, as he gently cupped your face in his hands. His eyes, so full of longing, seemed to plead with you, not just with words, but with every part of him. There was a vulnerability there, raw and unguarded as if he were begging for a chance to undo the hurt.

"Have we broken too much to ever fix it?" he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause, suspended in the quiet plea of his heart.

"I’m not here in Madrid to fix things," you said softly, the weight of your words hanging between you.

"I’m here for work, and I’ll only be here for a month, Kylian."

The truth felt heavy, but it was necessary, honest, and simple, as it should have been all along.

"Telling you this is enough."

You met his gaze, steady and sincere, your heart laid bare.

He pleaded with a quiet urgency, his words trembling as they left his lips.

For the remaining days of your time in Madrid, he wanted nothing more than to be with you.

He wasn’t asking for forever, just a little more time, a chance to feel your love once more. He insisted, as if he could convince you that these fleeting moments were worth everything.

Once your work here was finished, he said, it would be over.

He would move on, slip back into the rhythm of his life, never to bother you again.

But until then, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you slip away, not when the very idea of life without you seemed unbearable.

All he wanted, in those last few days, was to be with you, to make up for the lost time, to make your presence the one thing he could hold onto before it all ended.

—

Just until I leave.

The days that followed were a blur of stolen moments.

Quiet dinners in his house, long car rides through the moonlit streets of Madrid, and whispered confessions that felt like secrets shared by the wind. Kylian was a different man than the one you remembered—more mature, more vulnerable, but with the same fiery passion that had once set your heart ablaze.

The city lights twinkling in the distance, and you realise how much you had missed this version of him. The way his eyes lit up with excitement as he talked about his latest match, the gentle way his fingers brushed against yours when he pointed out a new landmark, the sound of his laughter echoing through the night air.

You felt alive again, like the person you were before the weight of the world had settled on your shoulders. With Kylian, you could be free, even if it was just for a little while.

Just until I leave.

The weeks passed by in a blur of happiness and heartache. Each day felt like a gift, but with the looming shadow of your departure date, it was bittersweet. Kylian never pushed for more, never talked about the future—he just lived in the present, cherishing every second with you.

One night, the laughter echoed through Kylian's bedroom as you both lay on his bed, surrounded by the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of rain that had come in through the open balcony door. The air between you charged with the electricity of shared humor and the gentle reminder of what once was.

Kylian rolled over to his side, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he delivered another punchline. The way his body moved, the playful smile that danced on his lips—it was all so achingly familiar. You found yourself smiling, the sound of your laughter mixing with his, creating a symphony of joy that seemed to fill the room.

That smile hit him like a rush, his heartbeat quickening with every curve of your lips. He thought to himself,

If you keep smiling like that, love, I might need a second to breathe.

Yet, he couldn’t stop smiling back, captivated by the warmth of yours.

The jokes were simple, the kind that you had shared a million times before, but in this moment, they felt like the most profound words ever spoken.

As the laughter died down, Kylian reached over to play with a loose strand of your hair. His touch was feather-light, a silent question in the air. You didn’t pull away, instead allowing his fingertips to graze your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. It was as if every sensation was heightened in his presence, every moment magnified a hundredfold.

“I can’t promise I’ll be okay without you,” Kylian said, his voice thick with emotion. Your heart gave a painful tug, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. You felt a lump form in your throat, the weight of his confession heavy in the air.

Before you could respond, his hand reached up to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb gently brushing away a tear that had escaped unnoticed.

He kissed you. It was a kiss that held the weight of years of longing, regret, and unspoken words. A kiss that seemed to span the chasm of time that had grown between you, bridging the gap with a fierce, all-consuming heat. His lips were soft, yet demanding, moving over yours with a passion that left you breathless.

As his kiss lingered, the mattress shifted beneath you as he positioned himself, the gentle weight of his body pressing you into the bed. You could feel the heat of his skin, the rapid pulse at his throat, and the soft sigh that escaped his lips as he found the perfect spot to rest his head against yours. His hands, now familiar with your contours, moved with a gentle confidence that was both comforting and exhilarating.

His touch lingered, tender and longing, as if trying to stitch the wounds neither of you dared to name. Your bodies moved together, a silent plea for connection until exhaustion finally claimed him.

The world outside the bedroom walls faded away, leaving only the two of you tangled in a dance of love and comfort.

As you lie beside him, his breathing steady and his face serene in sleep, you can’t help but stare.

In the quietest moments, when the world pauses, and your breath stills, you feel it:

A weight that lingers not in flesh, but in the heart’s deepest chambers, Kylian.

Ben offered you a gift wrapped in sincerity, a sanctuary built on steady hands and whispers, but now you understand. It was something real.

Not perfect, not consuming, but real.

And for a while, you held onto it, a lifeboat in the storm of your undoing.

But Kylian?

He was the storm, the sun, and the shadow all at once. His presence was a symphony of fleeting grace.

His absence? A silence that never stopped ringing.

The loss of him is etched in your bones, a memory that floods your soul when least expected. He wasn’t just a lover; he was the dream that woke you, the scar you’ll carry until the end of your days.

And as you close your eyes, decades from now, your breath frail, your body surrendering to the stars,

It won’t be Ben’s steady hand you’ll see.

It won’t be the promise of what was safe or whole.

It will be Kylian— The loss of your life.

The one you couldn’t hold, but couldn’t let go.

The remaining days in Madrid were a whirlwind of emotions—each moment with Kylian feeling like a precious jewel that you didn’t want to let slip through your fingers. Yet, the clock ticked on, reminding you of the inevitable. You tried to ignore it, to lose yourself in the comfort of his embrace and the sweetness of his kisses, but the reality remained, steadfast and unyielding.

—

The final day of your stay in Madrid arrived, and with it, the weight of goodbye loomed like an unspoken specter.

Just before leaving, Kylian placed something in your pocket. You felt the soft pressure of it—a faded, worn piece of paper, its edges frayed like an old keepsake. The warmth of your pocket seemed to merge with its delicate surface, as if it carried a small piece of him inside.

You glanced up, confusion flickering in your eyes, but he met you with a bittersweet smile.

"A reminder," he murmured, his voice low, "for when you're on the plane."

As the plane soared into the sky, the hum of the engines became a dull background to the ache in your chest. You settled into your seat, your hand instinctively reaching into your pocket.

There, nestled between the fabric, was a portrait of you—a moment he captured long ago in the Maldives, where the sun kissed your skin, and his voice, trembling with sincerity, first whispered "I love you."

You turned the picture, your heart catching in your chest. In his graceful handwriting, the words he left behind carried a melancholy truth,

"Tu portes mon cœur." (You carry my heart)

A quiet sob caught in your throat. In that single phrase, the weight of a love you could no longer hold wrapped around your chest.

He had given you his heart, and now you were left to carry it alone.

And now, you find yourself lost once more, cradling all the love you still hold for Kylian. It overflows, boundless and aching, yet you have no place to lay it down, no arms to catch its weight. You wonder, in the silence of your heart, where this love belongs now—it has nowhere left to go.

fleabag reference!

note: i apologize if it felt rushed. I’ve been focused on my upcoming exams, and I just wanted to finish this. i decided to remove the smut because it wasn’t necessary for the story... i feel like i didn’t give them the ending they truly deserved, but i promise i'll do better with the next fic 🫶🏼🫀

[tmos-time]

Do you have any Erisol fanfic recommendations?

i can scrounge up a few!

come as you are by theressomanyusernames - humanstuck + college au, slowburn (46k, 2018, T)

theres a couple other erisol fanfics by this same author that i enjoy going back to as well, but this is the one that i can look at and go, "oh, yeah, no yeah, this writer had influences in how my headcanons evolved" lmfao. if your local legal drinking age is also +18, you can kind of let your eyes glaze over the underage drinking tag LOL

drafts by roundandtalented - humanstuck, established relationship (1.3k, 2015, G)

this one is just really a cute concept as a whole; i like going back to this to just get stupidly feet kick-y about the text drafts shown lmao. sollux isn't as entirely emotionally constipated as i like to read him being, but i can deal with it for a sappy fic like this <3

(don't) come home by halsey - humanstuck + college au (1k, 2020, T)

i keep coming back to this one because i happen to scroll past and go "oh yeah that one, that's fun and quick to read, ill look at it again" and then lowkey wish it was part of a multi-chapter fic lol

needed by roundandtalented - post-game + post-sprite, pale romance (2.6k, 2015, G)

one of the more prominent erisol fics that i think of when i think about pale depictions of them! simply fun when eridan is depicted as very caring lol

inconsequential august by avisceration - humanstuck (6.5k, 2013, T)

okay. if you've been reading up to this point going "well goddamn it cooper, i wanted awesome mature compelling fics that read like homestuck proper" idk man go read a urgaylol erisol fic. i skip sex scenes in erisol fics in particular so i dont know what you expect from me lmao. anyways. if you feel compelled to read something where eridan and sollux are repressed crass teen assholes who mention something sexful for the bit every other minute, i sometimes go back to this one to chuckle about the "grade-A dicks" joke

dreaming in binary by blacksparrow - no sgrub session au, helmsman sollux (51k, 2013, T)

its been about three years since ive read this one tbh! its probably for the better, its absolutely one of those fics i could binge in one day and get the bingereader's fatigue after, considering how good i remember it being. one thing i remember is REALLY being compelled by sollux's internalized ableism he expresses in particular in this fic. ill have to read it in full again sometime! i know a couple other people have been recommending it lately too lol

besides those, suppose i could also suggest looking through my own erisol fics of various qualities from the past four years if you havent looked already, i don't necessarily have any in particular i'd point out over the rest these days lmao

[survivalxofxthexfittest]

He laughed softly at the tease as he sat up and leaned back against the headboard, giving Devan the space they seemed to need. A low hum in agreement and raise of his brow was the only response when he mentioned his leaving. Which they had in fact done. Devestatingly so. Without notice. They'd just ripped themselves from John-Paul's life with seeming ease. Not even so much as a goodbye or a note ala Roman Drake. The time period following immediately after wasn't one JP cared to reminisce about too often. If at all - Mal being the only other sould who knew how hard Devan leaving had been for him. And it certainly wasn't something he'd expected to be talking about so soon after their unexpected reunion.

Yet here they were.

He dropped his gaze momentarily as Devan spoke, the difficulty of their words filling the space between them. His fingers fidgeted with each other anxiously, his mind already preparing itself for another round of rejection. This time however, where would Devan go? JP would be forced to see what he'd lost every single day and he had no idea how he could possibly handle that.

But when his eyes found Devan again, John-Paul caught the apprenhension in their face. He shifted to face him fully, watching in silence as they seeming searched for the right words. His hand instinctively found its way to theirs and squeezed it gently in assurance. A soft huff escaped him with a shake of his head and a slight purse of his lips, dismissing his confession JP hadn't been the reason he was there.

The thought that Devan had come to the Wexley for him never crossed his mind. It wasn't even remotely a possibility. Not unless Devan developed some sort of psychic powers since they'd last seen each other. JP hadn't so much as mentioned where he lived before, let alone shown him. Although surprising, he'd assumed they'd been looking for the same as any of the others when they stumbled upon the Wexely - shelter and safety.

As Devan started to backtrack, JP scooted closer, unable to fight the tug of a smile or the soft huff of a chuckle when he admited being fucked up over him. That was a first, but so was how fucked up he was over Dev. Of course he's never spent more than a few nights, maybe a week tops, with someone. John-Paul was never looking for anyone to become a permanent fixture in his life - no matter how lonely he felt at times. He wasn't ever keen on letting anyone in far enough to really know him, firmly believing that once they did, they would leave just like his mother. So he never gave anyone the chance to feel anything other than lust for him. That was until Devan. And they still ended up leaving which made him realize it hadn't mattered if people saw him or not, and that he'd wasted a lot of opportunities being so afraid.

"Guess I should cancel the caterer then huh?" he joked if for nothing else then to break the growing tension. He held onto Devan, his fingers dancing through his hair as they came to rest at the nape of his neck. His eyes locked onto theirs affectionately.

"Dev, I hate to break it to you but that means we are something," he told him honestly. "And what that might mean scares the shit out of me, so I'm in no rush to find out," he admitted openly with a soft, nervous laugh. "But whatever we're meant to be, I'm here for it. I'm not going anywhere," he continued in promise with a small shrug, his grip gently tightening in added confirmation before pressing a kiss to their lips.

His focus broke when Devan finally broke the silence, shaking his head gently. John-Paul's embarrassment over this still being such a big deal flared up. He shouldn't have said anything. He shouldn't have said anything. He fucked up. Already. He knew it. How could he have thought someone as open as Devan would be okay hiding? He continued to silently chastise himself for the assumed failure, slowly blocking out everything around him.

But then Dev was making his presence known and John-Paul's worry began to slowly dissipate. His hands easily found themselves resting at their hip and sliding along their arm to hold onto their wrist. "Don't. It's not the same with them," he said of his siblings, shaking off their perceived ignorance of his 'love' life. "I know they wouldn't care. It's just never come up, so I never said anything," he explained it away. "It's everyone else that worries me. Not to mention there's alot of baggage behind why I've kept it to myself."

John-Paul's brow furrowed in worry when they admitted it was going to be a problem, he really didn't want that, but his expression turned to one of confusion as he went on. The knit in his brow softened as they continued, realizing they weren't leaving. That they were choosing to stay. Each kiss sent a chill up his spine. Each compliment stole his breath away. Self doubt clenched at his chest. He feared he wouldn't be able to live up to the image Devan had of him - his talent to screw up even the surest of shots undeniable.

It was Devan's value of him that nearly sent him over the edge. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the tears now threatening to dampen his eyes. He didn't know how to handle all the praise. All of Devan's wanting of him. That they were on his side. Other than his siblings, who he still sometimes believed felt more obligation by blood to be there, no one willingly made his protection a priority. And not his physical protection, he could handle himself without a doubt, it was his emotional insecurities that need the helping hand. But it was overwhelming to actually find it (in the apocalypse no less) and his words refused to form. He leaned them up just enough to press a kiss to their lips after the promise to defend his honor.

"I don't think you'll need to do that. At least not yet," he finally managed to choke out, swallowing back the lump forming in his throat with a small, nervous, short chuckle - joking in the face of seriousness his usual coping mechanism to break the weight of his anxiety. "Just give me a little more time, okay?" he asked genuinely, a thumb caressing their cheek. "That's all I need. And I promise it won't be long. It's hard to hide how much I like you," he admitted with gentle teasing in his voice before pressing another kiss to his lips.

[spikrock]

thinking soooo fucking hard about how dirty "and another thing..." does random

the book acts like "angsty goth teenager" is her entire character. at page 16 it quite literally lists off the things random would understandably be angry about, but despite this the book acts like shes crazy or immature for being upset with trillian

the way arthur berates her at the end of the sixth book?? the way he tells her she needs to just move on??? that trillian 'just left random with her dad for a week'?? the book is going against itself when it says this. it made that up and it drives me up the WALL!!!!!!!! trillian didnt JUST leave random for a week shes been doing it since random was born!!!!!!! what!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

picking up the sixth book i was so excited to have a whole book with random in it but she ended up being my least favorite part because it was so painful to see how everyone, including the book itself, treated her

(also, i am not saying that i think random shouldnt have faced any consequences or that i cant handle a few teenager jokes. if you havent read the book in a while and you dont remember there being THAT many then you are so incredibly mistaken because theres some teenager joke almost every time they talk about her. stop undermining her with the same jokes about her rolling her eyes or being moody)

[averageludwig]

Goodnight kiss ✧

[joifee]

"Have you heard?"

do you know they are changing cake vaults? iskall and etho are such a fun duo

[genericpuff]

lord give me the wisdom to not actually attempt watching all this

[alpacacare-archive]

its DESTINY

[aimasup]

throws up my hands in mock resignation but also a hint of frustration Okay Valentino is a cool villain I guess

He's like. Genuinely unsettling. Wish the show struck a better balance with his character sometimes (like sometimes when he's onscreen I have to skip over because I feel queasy and sometimes he's so unsubtle he feels more like a prop than a guy who's going to be a Huge Deal in s2)

[spaciebabie]

yall who are not simps have GOT ta stop commenting on clearly simpy posts and acting like the people who are having fun are weirdos. i swear ta god its annoying and rude and im tired of going inta my notes and seeing those comments on my posts and on my mutuals posts. have some respect.