#Bittersweet Ending

[suunani]

remembrance ( johnny suh )

▍ it’s been weeks since johnny last saw you, and he can’t wait to see you again.

content : 2.1k words, male reader, established relationship, lot of memories (written in italics), angst, hurt / comfort, soft & domestic moments, requested here!

johnny adjusted the bouquet of white tulips in his hands, his fingers curling slightly around the stems as he walked, his pace slow but steady.

the cold air nipped at his cheeks, but he barely noticed. he was focused on the flowers, their delicate petals soft beneath his touch. he wanted them to be perfect. it was the least he could do, even if it didn’t feel like enough.

the past month had been a blur — rehearsals, travel, late-night recordings, a schedule that seemed to have no end. johnny hated it. he hated how time slipped away from him, how the days seemed to vanish before he could catch his breath.

he hadn’t seen you in weeks. the guilt gnawed at him, gnawing at his insides like a constant reminder that he hadn’t been there for you the way he wanted to. the last time he had held you, kissed you, told you he loved you, it felt like a lifetime ago. too long.

johnny glanced at the tulips in his hands again. you had always loved white tulips — peace and remembrance, you’d said.

he didn’t know why he remembered that now, but the thought of it made him pause for a moment. he could almost hear your voice, your gentle laugh when you’d first told him, the way you’d talked about flowers like they had their own language.

you had always had a way with words.

“if you could have any superpower, what would it be?”

johnny chuckled, rolling over to face you on the couch. the two of you were curled up in a blanket, just passing the time in a comfortable silence.

you’d tilted your head, an eyebrow arched as you glanced at him. “come on, don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

“of course i’ve thought about it,” he replied, laughing. “but if i’m being honest, i don’t know what i’d pick. maybe… invisibility? i could sneak up on you and surprise you when you least expect it.”

you smiled and shook your head, clearly not impressed. “that’s just sneaky.”

“exactly,” johnny grinned. “and you know how much i love surprising you.”

you chuckled, rolling your eyes. “i’m still not sure how i feel about being sneaked up on all the time.”

“well, too bad,” johnny teased, leaning closer. “now that i’ve got invisibility, you’re stuck with me.”

you didn’t resist, instead reaching over to tug him closer with a quiet laugh.

“what about you?” johnny asked after a beat, gently squeezing your hand. “what would you pick?”

you didn’t hesitate.

“i’d want to time travel,” you said, eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and something deeper. “imagine all the places i could go, the things i could see. i could relive moments i’ve missed, change little mistakes. i could even meet people from the past and see how they lived.”

johnny smiled softly at your enthusiasm. “what would you do with all that power?”

you paused for a moment, looking almost wistful.

“i don’t know. maybe i’d go back to my favorite days. or forward… to see the future.” your voice softened. “maybe i’d even go back to when you and i first met. i’d want to remember it all over again.”

johnny’s breath caught in his throat as he walked, the weight of your words settling on him. the memory of that conversation, of your excitement about the idea of time travel, was more vivid than he’d expected.

he couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing.

what if he could really go back? what if he could relive those early days, hold onto every moment and never let go? but time didn’t work that way.

time kept moving, never stopping for anyone. it moved without care, without mercy.

his hand tightened around the tulips.

the ache in his chest grew. he wished he could just freeze everything, stay in those moments where you laughed with him, where things were simple, where you were right next to him.

“babe, i swear to god, if you fall—”

“i won’t fall,” johnny called down, balancing precariously on a barstool as he attempted to hang the fairy lights you had insisted would make the apartment feel cozier.

from your spot on the floor, arms crossed, you gave him a deeply skeptical look. “i don’t trust you.”

johnny scoffed, reaching up to secure another hook on the wall. “wow. where’s the faith?”

“you lost it when you fell off the couch last week trying to change a lightbulb.”

“that was different.”

“how?”

“…it just was.”

you raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “huh. just finish hanging them up before i have to call 911.”

johnny smirked, eyes still on his task. “relax baby. i got this.”

and then, right on cue, the stool wobbled.

before he could react, gravity took over. his arms flailed, the fairy lights tangling in his hands as he went down with a loud thud.

silence. then—

“…baby, i think i saw my life flash before my eyes.”

you stood over him, biting your lip, trying (and failing) to suppress your laughter. johnny groaned dramatically, sprawled out on the floor with the lights draped over him like some kind of tangled christmas decoration.

“don’t laugh. this is a serious injury.”

“you landed on a pillow.”

“it hurts.”

you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. instead, you sank down beside him, resting your head on his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, his breathing slowing as the initial shock faded.

“you’re an idiot,” you murmured fondly.

johnny grinned, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer. “mhh, but you love me anyway.”

you sighed, your voice softer now. “yeah… i do.”

johnny’s throat tightened as he walked, the memory wrapping around him like a familiar embrace.

it had been one of those ordinary moments, one of those insignificant nights that didn’t feel all that important at the time. but now, it was everything.

it was funny, how memories worked.

the big milestones, the grand gestures. those faded first. but the little things? the teasing, the stolen glances, the way you fit so perfectly against him when you curled into his side. those were the ones that stayed.

the ones that haunted him.

he let out a shaky breath, forcing himself to keep moving.

it had started as a joke, just a silly moment.

you’d stolen one of johnny’s rings, slipping it onto your own finger with a dramatic flourish, holding out your hand like a queen expecting her crown.

“i think this suits me, don’t you?” you’d teased, tilting your head as you admired the way the bright metal caught the light.

johnny had rolled his eyes, laughter bubbling up from deep within him. “i think you just want to marry me.”

you smiled. “maybe i do.”

the playful banter had made him laugh then, but later, when the apartment had quieted and the lights had dimmed, he found himself lying awake beside you, staring at your hand.

the ring still sat on your finger, loose but not falling off, the sight of it stirring something deep in his chest.

he had thought about it before, in passing. marriage. forever. but something about that night made the idea feel real, tangible.

he could see it so clearly — standing in front of you, his heart pounding as he slipped a real ring onto your finger. he could hear your breath hitch, picture the way your eyes would widen before softening into that smile that always undid him.

it was terrifying.

it was exhilarating.

it was just another dream that would never come true.

a dream that had once felt so close, so real, like something he could reach out and grasp if only he tried hard enough.

but now, it was just a cruel mirage, something that taunted him in his sleep and left him gasping for air when he woke up alone.

johnny looked up, and his heart clenched.

he was here.

the cemetery stretched before him, vast and still, the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful but suffocating. the kind of silence that pressed down on his chest, making it harder to breathe with each step forward.

his legs felt like lead as he took those final, dreaded steps toward your grave. he didn’t need to look for it — his body already knew the way. muscle memory had betrayed him, guiding him here like a path he had walked a thousand times before.

he hated this.

he hated how familiar this walk had become, how routine it was now to bring you flowers instead of taking you out to dinner. hated how, instead of texting you to say i’m on my way, he was standing here, staring down at your name etched into cold, unfeeling stone.

it wasn’t fair. none of this was fair.

his fingers trembled slightly as he knelt down, carefully placing the white tulips at the base of the headstone. he smoothed his palm over the petals, as if trying to fix something, as if trying to make them perfect — because that was the least he could do for you now.

then, slowly, his hand reached for the stone. his fingertips traced over the carved letters of your name, and the moment they made contact, a fresh wave of grief crashed over him. his vision blurred, but he refused to close his eyes. if he did, he’d see you too clearly.

and right now, he wasn’t sure he could handle that.

“hello, my love,” he whispered, his voice barely more than breath. “i couldn’t come earlier. i’m truly sorry.”

the wind rustled the trees above him, a soft, almost gentle sound — the only response to his words.

a quiet, bitter laugh escaped him as he shook his head. “i brought you flowers again.”

a single tear slipped down his cheek before he could stop it, landing on the cold stone below. he wiped at his face with the back of his hand, but it didn’t matter.

there would always be more tears.

“i know you’d tell me not to cry,” he murmured. his voice cracked, uneven. “that it’s okay. that you’d wait for me, no matter how long it took.”

his hands curled into fists on his lap. he let out a shaky breath, his chest tight, his throat burning.

“but it’s not fair,” he whispered. “it’s not okay. i was supposed to have more time with you.”

more mornings waking up next to you, sunlight spilling through the curtains as you sleepily reached for him. more lazy afternoons spent curled up on the couch, talking about nothing and everything all at once. more laughter, more kisses, more nights tangled up in each other under the covers.

more everything.

but instead, all he had were memories that felt more like ghosts, lingering in the corners of his mind, haunting him in ways he never thought possible.

he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. “i still don’t know how to do this without you.”

johnny sat there for a long time, his fingers resting against the stone, his heart heavy in his chest. the world kept moving around him, but he stayed still, unwilling to leave just yet.

eventually, he sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. the clouds had shifted, revealing a sliver of blue. it was a small thing, barely noticeable. but it was something.

maybe you were up there somewhere, watching him, waiting for him. maybe you were still with him, in ways he couldn’t understand.

he wanted to believe that.

he needed to believe that.

johnny pressed a soft kiss to his fingers before touching them to your name.

“i love you,” he whispered. “i’ll see you soon, okay?”

he stood slowly, his legs unsteady beneath him, his body reluctant to leave but his heart knowing he had to.

with one last glance, he turned and walked away.

it was a long walk back home, but it would be the only place he’d ever feel your presence again.

[melanchol1cs]

WHAT GOOD IS SORRY?

ex husband!leon x f!reader

word count: 3.3k summary: why does one wound those they love so deeply? masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. mentions of divorce, cheating/infidelity, awkward leon stuff, guilt, yearning, leon and reader have a child together — and i named her denise for whatever reason, getting stood up by a date, drunk texting, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bittersweet ending(?) i guess.

a/n: old wip,, this was supposed to be super gut wrenching and angsty but for some reason, my brain didn’t want to cooperate and decided that this would be the ending. also, i’ve been contemplating whether to address this or not and even tho its not a big issue, PLEASE interact with my posts. it’s the only way i’m able to know that you guys actually like the stuff i write, and ever since i’ve started writing on here 7 months ago, i’ve been noticing a decrease in interactions. im honestly losing motivation to write because i truly don’t know if people actually read my shit and like it. anyway, enjoy my mediocre writing ^___^

leon regrets everything he’s done up to this point. running into ada on a mission, going to the bar with her afterwards, and the kiss. the stupid kiss that eventually led up to this.

the divorce.

it all felt wrong, so wrong. yet here he was, driving his car to your doorstep, his stomach in knots despite having done this several times before.

for the sake of your daughter, the two of you had decided that shared custody would be the best option.

he stands at the door, hesitating before knocking, his knuckles hovering anxiously. clearing his throat, he gently raps his knuckles against the door, hoping for an answer. he's already second-guessing himself, wondering if he should have texted or called first.

your door eventually opens, and he's met with a familiar face. you.

you greet him with a civil smile, pressing a kiss into your daughter’s hair before ushering her inside.

he fidgets, adjusting the brim of his leather jacket nervously as he takes in the sight of you.

you reach to shut the door, catching a glimpse of him awkwardly hovering over you porch.

“you okay?”

he tries to find his voice. "yeah, i just, uh... i was just thinking..”

he looks down at his feet, kicking the ground with the side of his scuffed boot, as if trying to buy some time or maybe just willing the floor to swallow him up. when he speaks, his voice is low and sheepish. “when i was— last night, i thought… uh, do- do you remember when.. shit. are you free this weekend?”

”what?” you muse at his question. “leon, i really don’t wanna have this conversation with you again,”

he winces at the rebuff, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as a defensive measure.

leon’s adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, his ears burning at your words. he looks anywhere but at you, his eyes darting over the porch railing, the foliage, the sky — anywhere but your eyes. oh, those eyes he adored so much.

"no, wait, hear me out,”

"listen..." he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever fallout this might bring, knowing he's already on shaky ground. “i just wanna talk.. to you.”

he shifts his weight, glancing up at the roof of the house as if the heavens themselves could offer a solution. when he does meet your gaze again, his eyes are pleading, his jaw clenched with a mix of anxiety and something akin to desperation.

“i’m sorry, leon. i’m busy,”

he scoffs and his face scrunches up, a pained grimace contorting his features as he cuts you off. “c’mon, please?” he's standing too close now, invading the personal space he once knew so well. “i.. i know it isn’t what we do anymore but—“

“no, seriously. i literally can’t. i have something up.”

“oh.” he deflates slightly at your dismissal, shoulders slumping in defeat. a soft, regretful sigh escapes his parted lips, and his eyes drop, gaze wandering aimlessly. "can- can you can you cancel? is it really important? what about on sunday-? i’m sure we can..“

“leon.” it's not a question this time, you stare at him with the tiniest hint of pity. “i have a date.”

ouch. he freezes, his chest constricting as if he's been punched. a date? the words echo in his mind, each syllable like a dagger to his pride, his ego, his everything. a muscle in his jaw twitches, his hands clenching and unclenching in his pockets. leon swallows hard, his throat suddenly parched.

"oh," he repeats, the sound barely above a whisper. he takes a shaky breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him.

he rubs a hand over the back of his neck, jaw working in agitation as he grapples with the blow of your words. a snarky retort rises in his throat, a cutting remark to deflect the sting, but it withers on his tongue, a futile attempt at salvaging pride he knows is misplaced.

leon swallows hard, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice, laced with a wry bitterness. “yeah, no worries.. guess that's that," a bitter, hollow chuckle escapes him as he shifts his weight. his tone is flippant, trying to mask the sting of rejection, but the defeat is palpable as he turns to leave. he starts down the porch steps, his boots thudding against the wooden slats.

you finally close the door on him, standing by the door, hand on the knob, unease prickling along you skin like a thousand tiny needles, each one stinging with the weight of guilt. you sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she tries to process her feelings. guilt, regret, a twinge longing — it's all so confusing, so messy.

the weight of his pleading eyes, the desperation in his tone — he had no right acting like a dejected puppy after he cheated on you.

you shake your head, face between your hands. he made his choices, just as you had, and now it was time to move on. you squared your shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped away from the door, determined to let go of the ghost of what was and focus on the life you were building. for you, and your daughter.

but it’s not really easy.

not when you’re sitting alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date that never bothered to show.

your phone buzzes and you hold your breath. hoping for some sort of confirmation, but it's quickly snuffed out.

‘hey, sorry i couldn’t make it. something important came up’ the simple text reads. the same stupid excuse. every. single. time. your heart sinks, a dull ache forming in the pit of your stomach.

a bitter, derisive chuckle escapes your lips. serves you right. you knew he was trouble from the start. yet, your heart aches, a dull throb of pain and disappointment. you feel so foolish, sitting there, waiting for someone who never shows. though, it isn't really new.

now you lay in your bed, having already kicked off your heels and changed out of the uncomfortably tight dress you wore.

you pull the blankets up to your chin, suddenly feeling cold. you toss and turn, brooding and wallowing in misery, and it seemed like you’ve been doing it for hours till you’re startled out of your fitful doze by the buzz of your phone.

it's a text from leon, of course it is. it’s another one of his ‘where are u? i miss u’ ‘can’t stop thinking about you. please let me c u’ meltdowns.

he's drunk again, you can tell by the sloppy caps and the desperate pleas. every time he has a rough night, he always thinks coming over will magically fix everything. and you always refuse, knowing he’s only drunk and alone. but tonight, you feel particularly lonely.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and before you know it, you're typing. ‘come over.’ you hesitate, then send the message.

by then, he’s already halfway out the door, stumbling out and nearly falling as he trips over his own feet in his haste. he takes the stairs two at a time, a goofy, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. when he reaches your door, he pounds on it with a fist. his breath comes out in short puffs as he waits, anticipation making his heart race.

click.

the door creaks open a fraction and his eyes lock onto you, looking all soft and domestic in a robe. leon's breath catches in his throat as his eyes drink you in.

he tumbles in, arms outstretched as if he's about to catch something. he's immediately in your space, arms around you in a tight, needy embrace. his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, breathless with relief and something else, something suspiciously like love.

“leon—“ he smashes his mouth against yours, tongue pushing past your lips, the taste of beer and regret in his breath. his hands roam, sliding up your back, gripping your hair, fingers splayed wide as if to assure himself you're real. a low, desperate sound escapes him, half-groan, half-moan as his body presses against yours. he's desperate, sloppy, but undeniably passionate. when he finally breaks for air, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes glassy with drink and longing.

“missed you s’ much, baby,” he presses a kiss to your neck, tongue tracing the pulse point with a reverence that borders worship.

“let me make it up to you, please,” he looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, an expression so pathetic it’s comical. yet, the desperation behind them makes it anything but.

his hands skim down your sides to your hips, fingers digging in as if to keep you anchored to him. his face buried in the crook of your neck as his hands knead the meat of your ass, claws digging in through the fabric of your robe. his breath hitches as he nuzzles into you, inhaling deeply as if committing you to memory.

he trails a string of open-mouthed kisses down your neck, pausing to nibble on your collarbone before continuing his journey south. his hands never stop moving, roaming over your body with an insatiable hunger.

you let out a soft whimper, arching into his touch. "bedroom," you breathe out, and he happily obliges.

once inside, he kicks the door shut behind him and spins you around, backing you up against the bed. he begins to undo your robe with shaking fingers, your heavy breathing and the rustling of silk the only sounds in the charged silence between you. when the robe falls open, he pushes it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet.

the thin, sheer fabric of your nightgown offers little resistance as he practically rips it off you. a shaky breath escapes his parted lips as he reaches for you again, fingers grazing your skin as if he's not quite trusting his own touch.

he guides you to the bed, pushing you to sit on the edge. he immediately drops to his knees before you, face between your legs.

“these ‘re pretty,” he slurs out, before he fucking tears your underwear off.

“leon!”

he chuckles at your reaction, a low, rumbling sound in the back of his throat. “sorry,” he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise in its wake. “gonna buy you new ones,”

his stubble scrapes against your sensitive skin as he slowly trails open-mouthed kisses up your thigh, savoring every inch of you that you’re willing to give him.

he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking with a single-minded devotion that makes your toes curl and eyes roll back in your head. his scruffy cheeks hollow as he sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of your inner thigh.

god, it’s been so long. the feelings practically foreign.

his tongue begins to lash at your slit, long and flat, with a dexterity that belies his level of inebriation.

“you still mine?” he huffs. “‘course you are, ‘m the only one that can get ya this wet,”

slurp, smack, suck, repeat.

his tongue is relentless, probing your entrance, swirling around your clit with increasing fervor. he's sloppy, uncoordinated, but it only serves to heighten the intensity of it all. every time he pulls back, you can hear his heavy breathing, feel the vibrations of his moans against your most intimate flesh. your fingers thread into his hair, tugging him closer as your back arches off the bed. a keening whimper escapes you, the sound muffled by your clenched teeth as you struggle to maintain some semblance of control.

“fuck, leon—” your words trail off into incoherent mumbles as he drives you closer to the edge, tongue darting in and out with a pace that’ll make a grown woman go crazy. “d-denise, were gonna wake her up,”

a low growl rumbles in his chest as he responds to your whine. there's a hint of accusation in his gaze, but it quickly morphs into a look of raw, desperate need. “don’t matter,” he's relentless, persistent, refusing to back down even as you tremble and writhe beneath him.

he grunts, his attention snapping back to you, blue eyes squinting as he looks up from between your thighs. his tongue is a damn metronome, lapping and smacking with a relentless rhythm that has you chasing the edge of oblivion.

it's like every drunken fantasy he's ever had is being poured out onto you. messy, uncoordinated, desperate. and you’re eating it up. “gonna make you forget all about that stupid date," he mutters through slurred words. "’m the only man who can make you feel this good,"

he's not wrong. the way he's attacking you with his tongue, it's like he's trying to prove a fucking point.

"leon, please," you gasp out, and he takes it as an invitation to continue. your entire body is wound up tight, a taut string ready to snap. he slips a finger in, then two, curling them just right so that they’re pressing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your legs wrap around his head, fingers threading into his hair as you pull him in as close as humanly possible. his name is a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of pleasure. "leon, leon, leon,". denise could come in right now and catch you like this — legs splayed, back arched, eyes squeezed shut in bliss. he's that good. or maybe that bad. you dont know. and you don’t care to find out.

"yeah, just like that," he praises, voice a low, gravelly growl. "love my fingers in this greedy little cunt, don't you?"

your thighs clench around his head, heels digging into his back as you ride out the pleasure. "gonna cum, leon, please—“ yours words trail off into a wail, a keen of pure, unadulterated euphoria.

your back arches, toes curl, and your fingers dig into his hair, holding him to you as the wave crashes over you. he tugs you down to the edge of the bed, practically burying his face in your groin. he laps at your slit, in and out, in and out, until the last bit of resistance melts away.

he lifts his face from between your legs, eyes hazy and unfocused as he fumbles to unbuckle his pants. once he has it off, he's back, pushing your legs apart as he kneels between them. the thick of his length throbs against your lower belly, and you can feel his racing heartbeat through every inch of him that's in contact with you.

he notches the head of his cock at your entrance, pressing in just enough to make you feel the pressure, gathering your juices before giving a long, slow stroke up and down, coating himself in you. he's throbbing, pulsing with need, and you can practically taste the desperation in your mouth.

he presses in, just the tip at first, then a bit more. slow, shallow strokes, in and out. his hips rock against yours, the motion slow and languid. one of his hands cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your closed eyelids to check if he was dreaming. the other hand palms the small of your back, fingers digging in as if to anchor himself. your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind his back as he slowly sinks into you.

he's quiet for a moment, just holding you, his heart racing in his chest as if he's trying to communicate something without using words. his hips move, the action slow and lazy, as if he's trying to spoon you into submission.

he pulls out, just to the tip, before pushing back in. the motion is slow, sensual, a deliberate teasing that has you whining and writhing beneath him.

sweat beads on his brow, tracing down the lines of his face, but he doesn't slow. if anything, he's driven by a desperate need to make up for lost time, to prove himself worthy of you. your back arches, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets as he pistons in and out, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. he's not gentle, not soft, but rough and demanding, just like he always used to be when he was trying to stake his claim.

he nips at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before he sooths it with his tongue. “fuck, feels so good,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by the slap of skin against skin. “can't believe i ever let you go.”

"leon," you whimper, the name a plea, a prayer. his lips find yours in a sloppy, frantic kiss. he's drinking you in, devouring your mouth, your moans, your gasps, trying to consume every ounce of you.

he's sweating, hair a mess, face scrunched up in concentration, but those blue eyes remain locked on yours.

you're lost in the sensation, every nerve ending on high alert, screaming for friction, for relief, for release. "leon, leon, gonna cum," you pant, your voice raw, your throat dry. "please, i—" but your pleas are swallowed by his next thrust, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls.

he leans forward, his forehead pressing against yours, noses nearly touching. his hot breath mingles with yours, the scent of his beer-soaked breath and the musk of his arousal mingling together in the most intoxicating way. "love you," he suddenly whispers, the words a quiet, a desperate confession that hangs in the air between you.

“love you, love you, fuck—“

the way your walls squeeze him when you cum drags his own orgasm from him. for a long moment, he stays frozen, buried to the hilt, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to catch his breath.

the heat of your body seeps into his skin, chasing away the chill of the night air. he collapses against you, a boneless heap of satisfied male. his cock throbs, pulses, and drips onto the bed between your legs as he tries to catch his breath. the room is silent, save for your joint heavy breathing, and the occasional groan as his softening length slips out of you. eventually, he rolls off, lying on his back beside you, one big hand coming to rest on your stomach, thumb stroking in a slow, idle pattern. his eyes are hazy, unfocused, but they find yours and hold. a small, sheepish smile tugs at his lips.

"sorry," he slurs out, the word garbled and slightly off-kilter. "i shoulda been better, should’ve tried harder, i... i‘m gonna make things right, i swear,"

he peppers your neck with soft kisses, his stubble rasping against your tender flesh. he's warm, solid, and comforting. gentle and tender, a stark contrast to the desperation that drove him mere moments ago.

he's not reaching for grand gestures or flowery declarations. he's asking for something simple, intimate, and achingly human. a chance to hold you, to sleep beside you, to maybe, begin to rebuild something from the rubble of what once was.

and for a moment, you let yourself believe that he’ll be different this time. that he's not just trying to relive past glories, but genuinely wants to make amends, to start anew.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[justaz]

battle of camlann but merlin wasn’t ancient as shit. he blasts the warriors around arthur away and arthur turns to see a glowering, golden-eyed merlin. he tightens his grip on his sword but isn’t able to raise it. the inconceivable notion that merlin has betrayed him runs through his mind but he cant quite grasp it. his father is screaming in his head to kill the wretched sorcerer but all arthur can see is his friend wearing a face that looks too much like morgana’s. merlin glances up at arthur and the expression of rage fizzles into one tinged with fear and concern - all too confusing for him to unpack in the midst of battle. merlin is slow to approach his side and even then he keeps his distance. before either of them can say anything, mordred appears, sword in hand, glaring at arthur.

merlin tries to draw the former knights attention away from arthur, tries to goad him into fighting merlin instead, but mordred is deadset on fighting arthur. he calls morgana over instead and says emrys’s fight is with her while his is with arthur. with the extra seconds of back and forth, arthur isn’t as shocked when he raises his sword against mordred’s. morgana and merlin blast each other great distances until they’re far away from modred vs arthur and land on the front line between the two armies. both armies back off and watch the light show as morgana and emrys battle until morgana’s army uses the distraction to close in on camelot’s army.

three battles occurring at once until morgana gets a lucky hit in and merlin goes flying. he lands next to a gwaine who is currently bleeding out. he smiles when he sees who’s next to him “merlin!” which sounds so much like his greeting every time they ran into each other before gwaine became a knight. he reaches out and heals gwaine’s wound and leon just looks up at him for a moment before going “you’re always full of surprises, aren’t you merlin?” merlin grins and goes “i got one more” he stands up on surprisingly steady legs and calls on kilgharrah. in for a penny, out for a pound. arthur is already fuming at him, might as well rip the bandaid off right?

kilgharrah attacks morgana’s army while merlin orders aithusa to stand down. camelot’s army is able to march through the charred army and bring down those who remain, mordred is loosing but persevering through rage and spite alone, morgana is screaming (like she always is nowadays). merlin and morgana battle once more until mordred and morgana’s armies have fallen. merlin makes a tactical retreat to arthur who is still staring at him wearily (and definitely irate). he requests permission to kill morgana which is baffling but she is his sister and he’s always cared for her even after her betrayal so he supposes it makes sense. once he gives it, their fight doesn’t last longer than a minute. emrys was always stronger than her, he was just buying time.

camelot emerges victorious though they don’t seem all that excited about it. the other warriors cheer and clap each other on the back, but arthur is just watching merlin. the knights watch them uneasily. merlin returns arthur’s gaze. “is that the fucking dragon i killed?” merlin looks up at kilgharrah who is needlessly burning the remains of morgana’s army. merlin turns back to him “yes.”

[aventurineswife]

So idk how to make a request. So I hope this is ok??

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZNeT75Hpt/

Hear me out a fic about this Aventurine with mermaid reader , and he captures her. I’ll leave the rest to you, so you have your freedom when writing 🫶

Don’t fell pressured :)

Beneath the Waves, Beyond the Game

Summary: Aventurine, a flamboyant and cunning pirate, thrives on risk and games of chance, but his life takes an unexpected turn when he captures you—a mysterious, defiant being of the sea—after your haunting song lures his ship to wreckage. What begins as a clash of wills slowly evolves into a fragile bond, as shared vulnerabilities and unspoken understanding unravel the masks you both wear. Amid storms, trust, and bittersweet goodbyes, the game between the gambler and the mermaid changes them both in ways neither anticipated.

Tags: Pirate!Aventurine x Mermaid!Reader, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn Romance, Captivity & Freedom, Pirate/Mermaid Dynamic, Forbidden Connection, Emotional Vulnerability, Found Family Themes, Bittersweet Ending.

Warnings: Themes of Captivity and Loss of Autonomy, Emotional Manipulation (Light), Storm/Peril Scenes, Brief Mentions of Betrayal and Guilt, Melancholy/Bittersweet Tones.

A/N: Y'ALL ARE FAST AFF!! 😭😭

[Part 2]

Aventurine had always thrived on risk, gambling with lives, fortunes, and fate itself. The sea, for all its temperamental fury, had always been his ally—a rolling canvas of danger and opportunity. Yet nothing in his decades of games and gambles had prepared him for you.

You were sprawled across the floor of his private quarters, your tail shimmering with iridescent hues as seawater pooled beneath you. The moment he'd heard your song—a haunting melody that echoed through the mists and lured his ship to the wreckage of a treasure-laden galleon—he knew he couldn’t let you slip back into the ocean’s embrace.

You glared at him now, your once-melodic voice reduced to silence, replaced by a defiant scowl. Aventurine lounged in his throne-like chair, one leg crossed over the other, his flamboyant coat draped behind him like a cape.

"Do you make it a habit to lure ships to their doom, or am I just special?" he drawled, adjusting his jeweled eyepatch with deliberate flair.

You said nothing, your shimmering tail flicking once against the wooden floor, splashing droplets onto his polished boots.

He chuckled, leaning forward, the feather in his hat catching the low lamplight. "Silent treatment, is it? Fair enough. I've always enjoyed a challenge."

You clenched your fists, your lips pressed into a thin line. Your freedom was gone, and this man—this gaudy, insufferable pirate—seemed to delight in your captivity.

Weeks passed aboard the ship, and the game between you and Aventurine began in earnest.

He spoke to you daily, spinning tales of his exploits, offering you trinkets from his plunder, and even playing games of chance where the stakes were your freedom. You refused every gamble, your pride unyielding even as your curiosity grew.

In turn, you sang only when you thought he couldn’t hear—a mournful tune carried by the waves. But Aventurine always listened, his sharp mind piecing together fragments of your story.

"You sing of loss," he said one night, his voice unusually soft. He stood at the door to your makeshift prison, his silhouette framed by moonlight. "Of betrayal. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you?"

You flinched at his words but said nothing.

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You think I don’t know what it’s like to be trapped, to have your fate decided by others?" He tilted his head, his eyes glinting like twin flames. "But I broke free. And so will you—if you’re clever enough to play the game."

For the first time, you spoke. "You don’t understand the sea’s bindings, pirate. My freedom isn’t yours to give."

The slow burn of trust began with small acts. Aventurine loosened your chains, allowing you to roam the deck under guard. You, in turn, offered him warnings of treacherous waters ahead, saving his ship from disaster more than once.

"You’re not like the stories," you admitted one evening, your voice hesitant.

"Flattered," he replied, grinning. "But you’d be wise to keep your guard up. I play to win, and I always do."

"Always?" you challenged, meeting his gaze.

His grin faltered for the briefest moment, but he recovered quickly. "Luck’s been kind to me so far."

Yet you saw through his bravado. Behind the jewels and theatrics was a man haunted by choices, a survivor who carried his guilt like a hidden scar.

The breaking point came during a storm. The ship was battered by relentless waves, its crew scrambling to secure the sails. Aventurine himself took the wheel, his usual calm replaced by a rare intensity.

When a rogue wave threatened to sweep you overboard, he abandoned his post to pull you to safety, his hand gripping yours with a desperation that surprised you both.

"Don’t you dare die on me." he hissed, his voice cracking.

For the first time, you saw him without his mask—a man terrified of loss.

The aftermath of the storm left the ship battered but intact. Aventurine found you sitting on the edge of the deck, your tail dangling in the water.

"You saved me..." you said softly.

He shrugged, his usual grin forced. "Couldn’t let you take all my secrets to the deep, now could I?"

But you weren’t fooled. Slowly, you reached for his hand, your touch tentative but firm. "Thank you."

He stared at your joined hands, his guarded expression faltering. "You’re not supposed to thank me," he muttered. "I’m the villain here, remember?"

"Villains don’t bleed for their captives," you countered, your voice steady.

The ending was bittersweet.

Aventurine kept his promise, releasing you near a hidden cove where the sea glittered like liquid sapphire.

As you slipped into the water, you turned back one last time. "You’ll always be playing, won’t you?"

He smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "What can I say? The game’s the only thing keeping me afloat."

"Then I hope you win, pirate." you said softly, your voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding.

And with that, you disappeared beneath the waves, leaving Aventurine standing alone on the shore, the ocean stretching endlessly before him.

[steviewashere]

Birthday Blues

Rating: Teen and Up Pairing: Steve Harrington & Steve Harrington's Parents, Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson CW: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Emotional Abuse, Brief Mention of Child Abuse, Brief Mention of Financial Abuse, Brief Mention of Secondary Original Character Death Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington Has a Stepdad, Steve Harrington Has a Good Mom, Steve Harrington's Father Being an Asshole, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Emotional Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Mom is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington's Birthday, Steve Harrington is Loved, Cuddling & Snuggling, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Hopeful Ending, Bittersweet Ending

Based on my own experience with my stepdad and uh...yeah, that's it, basically. Be kind, I guess? 🤷‍♂️

Also on Ao3 because this shit is long.

🫂————————🫂 He thought his twentieth birthday would come with more fanfare. Maybe not the whole calvary. But something simple. A cake, maybe. A card, possibly. Even just a simple “Happy Birthday.” That would’ve sufficed.

And the problem isn’t with his friends. No. They’ve sent him messages over the walkie since the clock hit midnight on June 29th. Made plans for the next few days. Promised birthday gifts tonight. He wondered if everything was supposed to be a surprise: the gifts and cake and plans. But Robin had already reached out, promised him that she already spoke with everybody, made sure to tell them how he doesn’t like surprises; not after Vecna, not after his ankle had been grabbed.

The issue is with his mom’s boyfriend. His ‘stepdad.’

Nobody really knows much about him. Not really. Nothing above: “He’s an asshole. I don't like him.” Which is…a way to make an impression. But he doesn’t really enjoy talking about him.

The boyfriend came into the picture when Steve was seven. When he was naive and confused about the world around him. When he was used to it just being him and his mom for a while. His birth dad had passed on really young—nothing that could’ve been prevented, but it wasn’t any sort of accident, and Steve doesn’t like talking about it; so he just doesn’t. But the boyfriend came along after so much nothing. After a life half-lived.

He was kind, at first. Interested. Capable. Made Steve’s mom happy. Took her out for dates—which left Steve with a babysitter; then on his lonesome when he turned thirteen—he bought her things, promised the moon, was at her beck and call. He even cared about Steve. Introduced him to the world of Spiderman comic books and baseball games and driving with the windows down. Had been there for home baseball games, Steve’s first piano recital, and for the first handful of birthday parties. He helped, when there was nothing. He helped, even when they had everything.

Then came the alcohol.

Steve remembers it clear as day. The vacation they all took together. They’d taken a plane from Indianapolis to Seattle. And it was sort of cool, Steve figured. The hotel with the indoor pool and the double-wide beds and the really nice view over the tops of tall apartment buildings. It was the first of many trips; one of the last Steve went on. What came with the nice hotel, though, was a bar and grill down at the lobby.

And sure, it was a time for celebration. Of sorts. They were heading out for Disneyland, Steve had been wide awake since the night before, his mom had bought them matching shirts so that nobody got lost. It was ideal, fun, what say you. But then the boyfriend came upstairs, a cup of something sticky in his hand, and a glaze to his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“We’re celebrating,” he had slurred, “it’s alright, just for the night. Let’s have some fun.”

It didn’t stop there, though. Steve hadn’t known why at first. But then came the arguments over the next couple months after that decision. When the recycling bin was full of more beer bottles than empty containers of yogurt. When Richard was slurring his words earlier and earlier in the evening. When he’d sleep a good amount of the day, try and right himself from work, barely talk to anybody when he came back, and already had a bottle in hand by the time conversations started. The arguments were unrelenting, though. He could hear them through the floor of his bedroom: “Laura!”, “Richard.”. A few tense moments would pass after Laura, Steve’s mom, would say that name. Steve would leave his bed, in all the right spaces to make sure it didn’t creak, and settle himself by his bedroom door—where he could open it a crack just to hear, just to know, in case something happened and he had to go down there. Then, she’d speak again. Quiet and wet and calm, “I wish you would stop. If not for me, do it for Steven.”

Steve would hold his breath. Waiting. His mom never called him that, not unless he was in trouble, not unless she was serious. And his stomach turned at the thought of it. She’d call him Stevie otherwise, all soft and sweet and soaking—akin to the sugary butter at the bottom of a freshly made cinnamon roll. He liked that. He loved her. He loved Richard, despite all of this.

Until, finally, Richard spoke. “Is that supposed to make me care?” He questioned with ire. “He isn’t mine,” he eventually spat. And then he stormed to their bedroom—downstairs on the first floor, just off of the living room—slammed the door.

His mom wept that night, Steve could relay if asked. And he had been too tied up in his own awful sadness to go downstairs and comfort her. It wasn’t the last time. Wasn’t the last slammed door, or argument, or soft cry; for either of them. At least Mom loves me, he had thought, at least she’s mine.

With the alcohol and that understanding of absent love and those arguments, Steve would instigate them, too. He’d pick fights if only to get Richard to leave the house quicker. He’d scream and spit and stomp his feet, if only to get time alone. He’d even get fussy with his mom. Because if he could be an ass, get them both to be angry at him, maybe Richard would stay off of her for a little while. Maybe he wouldn’t drink so early. Maybe he’d have to have a conversation about “Steve’s antics.” It only made him more distant. It only made him angrier.

And with all of that in mind, he stopped the birthday celebrations. He stopped caring. He stopped saying “I love you,” when Steve went to bed. He stopped being a dad.

Because Steve wasn’t his. And he wanted to make sure the whole world knew it.

In comes his twentieth birthday, though. And he thought, maybe, that Richard would care. That he’d do something similar to when Steve was a kid. Make pancakes and wake him up with a soft knock to his door and sing the birthday song. He supposed, though, that that was all so foolish. That he wasn’t a little kid, so why would Richard do any of that? Maybe to prove himself, that’s something. Maybe care at all.

His mom had said something at midnight. Then again at nine in the morning. Then again over scrambled eggs and bacon. Made plans. Ushered a card full of cash and the Duran Duran album he didn’t have yet, Notorious, on cassette into his hands. He thanked her, kissed the top of her head, and put his things away upstairs. Richard still had said nothing. In fact, he was snoring through the wall. And the evidence of his latest binge had been scattered across the kitchen countertops before making it to the recycling bin; Steve should know, he had to put them in there and his hands came away smelling of cheap beer—it’s not even the good stuff, how can he drink this shit, he asked himself.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore. Sure, his chest caved in something funny. And his throat sort of went dry. He went to his car, though. And he drove off to where Robin had told him to go. To Eddie’s new double-wide trailer, a damn replica of his old one on the outside. Where everybody was already parked and waiting. Hanging out outside, sodas and…beer in hand.

He took a steadying breath and forced his way over to them. Let them shout ‘Happy Birthday’ at him. And then he took a seat by Eddie. He was in a pair of loose black basketball shorts, a white t-shirt, and barefoot. His hair was piled up. And he was drinking. 

“Hey baby,” Eddie greeted. He leaned over the side of the sofa they were on, dug around in what Steve assumed was a cooler, and held out a weeping beer can. “Technically, it’s not legal, but I’m not going to tell anybody.”

Steve eyed it for a few long seconds. Enough that Eddie’s hand wavered, the beer threatening to fall to the floor. He looked back up. “No—uh—no, I don’t want that. Can…I’m going to sound like a dick, but can I make a request?”

Eddie put the beer away with a sidelong glance. He furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s your birthday, Stevie. Of course you can make a request.”

“Can we put the beer away? I don’t…It’s making me uncomfortable.”

Another odd glance to Steve, Eddie gave. His mouth pinched. He swished his near empty can in his hand. How many has he had, Steve wondered briefly, some weird pulse of panic in his belly. “Sure,” Eddie agreed slowly. “You going cold turkey or something? Could’a sworn you had one the other day when I saw you?”

He watches Eddie stand up briefly, pour out his beer over the side of the porch, and then place it in a clear garbage bag that’s been tied to the railing. There’s already three or four beer cans in there—Steve knows that’s what they are, they all say Miller and the cans the kids have are bright red or green. He looks back to Eddie’s face when he settles down again, an arm thrown over the back of the couch, hair falling loosely from his bun, sweat on his brow, sweat or beer on his upper lip.

“I just don’t want people drinking today, please.” And he feels kind of silly. Having to explain himself.

But Eddie’s hand curls down from the back of the couch, dangling loose at the back of Steve’s neck. Fingers trailing over the top notches of his spine. “You got it, sugar. I’ll have Robs put it away inside, okay?” Steve nods loosely, lets Eddie holler out, and relaxes into his side.

The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly. There were gifts: hairspray from Dustin, some artwork from Will, a new basketball from Lucas, matching shirts from Robin, a book he’d asked for from Eddie, and cards from the others who couldn’t find something in time or afford anything. He’s thankful for it all because it’s more than he expected. And there’s cake, his favorite, German chocolate with Ferrero Rocher candies on the borders; “Nance and I made it,” Robin explained and he gave her a knowing look.

It was all so normal. So good. So sweet.

Just like it had been last year. Even the year before that. And the years prior, when it was his mom and Tommy and Carol and Nancy. And the years before that, when it was Richard and his mom.

He really wants to cry about it.

When the party dwindles down, it’s just him and Eddie. Eddie’s putting out the last of the recycling and cleaning up some dishes, to which he adamantly refused to let Steve help with. And so Steve takes advantage, using the new phone.

He dials his house number and waits as it rings for his mom to pick up.

“Harrington household, Laura speaking,” she greets, her voice…nasally. Unusually so.

“Hey Mom,” he greets back, “it’s…Well, you know it’s Steve. Just called to…wanted to check-in. How’s everything going?”

She shuffles on the other end. Clears her throat. Sniffs. “He’s not going to say it, Stevie, I’m sorry,” she says, voice unreasonably apologetic. “I tried to get him to at least call this number you gave me, you know for your Eddie friend. And he…he just scoffed at me. Said some things, you know how he is.”

“Oh,” he mutters. His voice must do something weird, because Eddie’s slowing his wash on the dishes, leaning further into the counter edge to look at Steve. “Are you okay?”

“It’s the usual, Stevie. It’s just—“ She sighs, a great heaving thing. “—Just the usual. He’s already out to the store. Took the last bit of my cash for it; he spent all his own. Left me here with microwaved leftovers. Might turn in early.”

“I can give back the bit of cash you gave—“

“No,” she rushes. “No, Stevie. That’s your money. If it came back to me, he’d probably take it anyway. Don’t worry about it, alright? Just…If your friend can let you, I think you should stay the night there. Richard’s…he’s got the whiskey out from the den. Just stay with Eddie for now. I’ll take you out tomorrow for cake, okay? We’ll make a little date out of it. Just us. Like it was…Like it was before.”

He stands still for a moment. The phone cradled in his hands by his ear. Her words ringing out so loud, yet so soft. He really wants to cry about it.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters in his silence, “I’m sorry he ruined this for you.” She shuffles again. Probably got one arm wrapped around her waist, stepping to the side in her slippers. Like she always does when she has to call her sister about…him. She sighs again. “I’d leave him if I could. God, Steve. I would create whole galaxies for just us to live in if I could. I wish I knew how to fix this. I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“It’s alright, Mama,” he whispers, utterly broken. “’T’s alright. We’ll do cake tomorrow, yeah? I’ll pay for us to get milkshakes for old times sake, right? Like…” He swallows. Murmurs, “Like before.”

Just off to the side, Eddie’s inched closer. The dishes completely abandoned now. Steve doesn’t want to look at him, thinks he’ll break down if he does. But his body heat is welcoming, wrapping around him like a warm hug.

“Like before,” she echoes. Sniffs. “Just heard the car outside. I’ll…Call me in the morning, okay? I’ll let you know how tonight went. I love you, Stevie. I love you, don’t forget that.”

He takes a breath, it stutters like the skip over a scratch on a record. “I love you, too,” he breathes out. “Be safe,” he murmurs, “you have the address if you need to get away. Or…call me if you need me to get you.”

“I’ll be okay,” she mutters, a wisp of a smile to her voice. “Now, you go have fun. Tell Eddie I said hi. And that…Tell him I say thank you for keeping you.”

They share their goodbyes almost hastily. Right as her words fall through the receiver, the front door seems to open, and the phone is hung up before he can chance anything else. The dial tone is blearing in his ears. He keeps the phone cradled close, like maybe she’ll reach a hand out through the speaker and caress his face. Kind of wants her to.

And he doesn’t have the chance to stop himself from crying. Trembling where he stands. Tears streaking hot and fast down his cheeks, over his jaw. He doesn’t make a noise, but it’s a near damn thing.

“Baby?” Eddie calls softly. He takes a hesitant step forward. And he’s closer than Steve thought. Right at his left side. His hands reach out and take the phone from Steve, hanging it back up. He wraps his palms over Steve’s biceps, barely turning him. “Sweetheart?” He calls out again, softer this time. Bending down just a little to make them stare at each other. He moves up to Steve’s face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs working over the tears. “’S everything alright?”

He sobs something little at that. Closing his eyes so he can’t see Eddie. “He’s so selfish,” he manages to cry out, “Why doesn’t he care?”

“Who, sweetheart? Who’s ass do I need to…” Steve finally stares back. And whatever it is that’s there, Eddie seems to understand. “Oh,” he coos, “oh baby.” In a flurry of movement, Steve is pulled in tight and close. Haphazardly dragged back to the sofa and plopped down almost unceremoniously, if Eddie weren’t holding him so carefully. There’s a palm at the center of his back and one on his head. Both of them firm and welcomed and warm.

“He—Just—He just doesn’t,” Steve hiccups between breaths, “Never—Never cared.”

Eddie shushes him gently. Leans back against the armrest behind him, and pulls Steve on top. His face is tucked into Eddie’s left shoulder, where it’s awkwardly stuffed between the armrest and the backing, and he just cries.

There haven’t been a lot of moments where Steve’s cried over this. Maybe once or twice when he was in high school, but that’s about it. Otherwise, he was getting it out through anger or ignoring it altogether or trying to talk it out with his mom. So many conversations and so many arguments and so much just shoved inside his chest. He thinks if he weren’t getting it out right now, soaking the fabric of Eddie’s white shirt, he’d probably burst at the seams, maybe teeter, fall right off the deep end into something murky and thick. He’d probably die from it. Have a heart attack, maybe, like his dad did.

When there’s nothing more to cry out, he just breathes hot and heavy and choking over Eddie’s shoulder. “I’ve got you, baby,” Eddie murmurs, fingers petting through Steve’s hair, “we’ve got nowhere to be right now, okay? You can fall apart here, I’ll still catch you.”

He sniffs. “I just…I just want him to love me,” Steve admits quietly, “To think of me as his kid and to want to do better and to just be somebody I wanna be around.” His arms wrap snuggly around Eddie’s waist, pushing himself further into the hold of their bodies.

“Can I ask something?” Eddie asks gently.

“You just did,” Steve murmurs, voice crackling with the joke. It’s almost hollow coming out of his mouth.

But Eddie snorts anyway. “Okay…Fine. Two questions. Does this have anything to do with the whole beer thing earlier?”

Steve stiffens, brain fighting to find an excuse, but he figures it’s best to just be honest. Even as shameful as it seems to be some days. “Yeah,” he sighs, giving in. Swallows harshly, his jugular moving over Eddie’s shoulder, the sharp outline of the joint against his neck. “Yeah, it does. He drinks like everyday. Sometimes he…some days he doesn’t, claims he’s stopping for good, says he won’t pick it back up. But then he’s doing it the next day and I—“ He shrugs where he can move. “I just don’t get it, I guess. And I…I try so hard to not think of him badly, y’know? He’s probably got shit he’s working through. But it’s almost everyday, Eddie. He’s almost always drunk. Always arguing with my mom. I can hear him through the floor of my room,” he admits. “I want to feel bad, but the way he treats me—the way he treats my mom—“

“How does he treat you? Just focus on you right now, Steve.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and breathes a harsh sigh through his nose. He can’t bring himself to pull his head up, to look Eddie in the eyes. “I want to feel bad,” he repeats slowly. “But he’s so awful. He’s not a good person when he’s drunk, Eddie. He just riles me up, argues with me, tears me back down. That sort of shit.” Steve shifts, rolling his head over onto Eddie’s chest. The depth of his breath under Steve’s ear.

“He told me to go fuck myself the other night,” Steve murmurs, “I don’t know why, but that like…It solidified in me the fact that he doesn’t love me. I don’t know why I expected him to tell me happy birthday today. Why he’d choose this year out of ‘em all to finally be the person I expected him to be. Just my stupid brain, I guess.”

Eddie’s arms tighten around him. Hands petting over where they rest. “It’s okay to be disappointed, Steve,” he carefully states. “You wanted the best for him and he let you down, tore you apart in the process. You needed him to be your dad and he’s made no effort, it’s not…You’re not stupid for wanting that love.”

“He used to be so nice, Eds. I used to love him. I want to love him, but he makes it so hard. God, that makes me sound like such a terrible person, to admit something like that out loud.”

“No, Stevie,” Eddie immediately says. “You’re not a bad person for wanting to love somebody. And you’re not a bad person for refusing yourself to love them. He’s hurt you, Steve. And you’re allowed to feel how you need to.

“And…” Eddie’s hands clasp over the middle of Steve’s back. Heavy and sure. “From experience,” he musters, “with my dad, sometimes you just gotta let go of that love. Sometimes you just gotta tell yourself that it’s not possible. Because…honestly, in some ways, it is impossible. My dad had every opportunity, and yet he chose alcohol and drugs and crime over me.

“I miss who he was…Before my mom died. I miss his laugh and his hugs and our inside jokes. Miss the way he used to play guitar and the late night drives we’d go on. I miss when he taught me good things, like catching lightning bugs in our palms and how to make a good smash burger and how to tell entertaining stories.

“I don’t miss him now, though,” Eddie confesses quietly. The words almost lost in Steve’s hair. “He hurt me in irreparable ways. Mentally and…and physically. But what got me through the worst of it, before I came here, was knowing there were other people out there who’d love me. Who love me and continue despite who I am or what I’ve experienced. Like Wayne. And my grandma, at the time. My friends; Corroded Coffin especially.

“I could spend a million lifetimes unloved by my dad, but at least it’s the real love I was surrounded by. Sometimes people are so damaged that they like it, they like the cracks they can trace and the anger in their blood, they almost enjoy it—they usually don’t get better. My dad was that way. Even when he quit the couple times he did, he always found his way back to that alcohol, those drugs.” Eddie’s fingers absentmindedly trace over the notches of Steve’s spine. His breath a little heavier, a bit raspier. And Steve is absorbing the words. “Sometimes people want to get better and they don’t know how. And that’s when help is needed, outsourced hands, intervention, that kinda shit.”

“We’ve tried,” Steve breathes heavily. “My mom and I have tried so damn hard, Eddie.”

“What’s he usually say in response to that help?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve takes a deep breath. Sighs, “That he doesn’t want it.” He slowly brings his left hand to Eddie’s chest, tracing figure eights over his shirt. “I wish he’d want it. I—He was my dad for a little while. Now I just live with a stranger.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Eddie murmurs, “for what it’s worth. I’m sorry you’re going through this. That you’re still going through this.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not, Stevie. Things don’t have to be this way.”

“It has to be fine,” Steve mutters, “there’s no other way right now. I can’t leave my mom. And my mom can’t leave him. And he won’t stop.”

Eddie takes a careful breath. “You can leave, though. Steve, you’re an adult, you can go,” he softly states.

“I’m not leaving my mom,” Steve snaps lightly. He sniffs, the last of those tears and snot receding. “Sorry,” he breathes. “I just can’t do that to her, Eds. She wouldn’t do it to me. I’m not gonna do it to her.”

“Okay,” Eddie murmurs, “then, look at me, sweetheart.” Slowly, careful of the slight tension in his neck, Steve raises his head and stares down at Eddie. There are tear tracks on Eddie’s cheeks. A sheen to his eyes. And Steve begins to reach up, but Eddie holds him down tightly. “You, Steve Harrington, are loved by people who want to do right by you. You, Steve, will have love in so many corners of your life. The love that Dick has isn’t for you and it definitely isn’t for your mom.

“I love you, you hear me? And Wayne does. Hopper does. There, that’s two dads. Your mom loves you, too. She loves you with her whole soul. And you’ve got your friends, Robin and Dustin especially. And you’ll have more, Stevie,” Eddie explains gently, his fingers going back to trace along the edges of Steve’s spine. “I can’t fix things, I’m sorry. And I’m not sure how things turn around. But they will some day. I know it because I lived it. We can’t figure it out right now, but we’ll find our way some time down the line. Focus on the people you’ve got right now, though, Stevie. Not him. He ain’t worth a rat’s ass.”

Steve snorts wetly. His lips tremble and his eyes ache something fierce. He’ll cry forever at this rate, but at least Eddie’s hands move to his cheek, at least he wipes the tears away. “I love you, too,” he breathes. “And I’m sorry that you have to know all this shit. That you had to go through that.”

“I’ll figure out a way to know how to get you through it, too,” Eddie murmurs, smiling softly, his eyes moments away from leaking. “But you’re loved. He ain’t worth it. Don’t go searching for something you ain’t gonna find.”

He drops his head back down and burrows under Eddie’s chin. At least he found this. “When I’m ready to go, will you have space for me?”

“Always and forever,” Eddie rushes to answer. “Remember, baby? You fall and I catch you. You come knocking on my door, I’m gonna answer it. And if you climb in bed with me, I’ll hold you close and never let go.”

Steve nods gently, pushing himself in further. He sighs. “Thank you,” he mutters. Eddie squeezes him in. “My mom said hi and thank you, by the way. Remind me to call her in the morning? I wanna make sure I get her before he wakes up.”

“You got it, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, “now let’s get ourselves to bed before we fall asleep on this couch. Gotta be comfortable, don’t we?”

He huffs. “But you’re comfy.”

Eddie snorts. “I love you and I don’t want you to be sore. Come to bed with me?”

Steve wriggles. “Okay,” he relents. “Because I love you and I also don’t want you to be sore.”

And, he supposes, because he's loved.

🫂————————🫂 Sorry if this sucked, I wrote this with a raging migraine and have no grasp on how shit it is. Whoops.

[nanamineedstherapy]

His Chrysanthemums

Widower!Toji x GN!Reader

Summary: Grief lingers like a shadow, following even the strongest hearts. Toji’s world was shattered, and though time moved forward, he remained anchored to the memory of what he’d lost. A new presence offers a chance to heal, but unseen and unheard, someone fights to return to him, defying the laws of life & death. This ones for all those who wanted the mysterious hunk to be Toji, hope you guys are satisfied with this in the meantime I finish that story and cook up something for him. First time writing Toji in lead hehe.

Chrysanthemums, often referred to as "mums," with their vibrant blooms, carry a heavy weight of sorrow, frequently symbolizing grief and mourning in many cultures. Associated with death, they serve as poignant reminders of lost loved ones, evoking a deep sense of nostalgia and regret for moments that can never be reclaimed. Their presence speaks to the transience of life, a bittersweet acknowledgement of beauty that fades too quickly, leaving behind aching memories of separation and unrequited love. As the petals fall, they whisper of heartache and longing, setting the stage for a story steeped in loss and the haunting echoes of what once was. Song Rec. WC: 2,061

The cold wind sliced through the night like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and dying flowers. Toji Zenin roamed the streets like a ghost of the man he used to be. His broad shoulders, once a symbol of his unyielding strength, now sagged under the weight of an emptiness that seemed infinite. His hands, scarred and calloused from a lifetime of battles, trembled as they clutched a bouquet of pale chrysanthemums.

The flowers weren’t for you.

The streets were quieter now, the hum of life dulled as the world prepared for sleep. Toji’s boots crunched against the gravel, his gait slow and deliberate. He hadn’t planned this walk. His feet simply carried him forward, driven by an unspoken need to escape the walls that seemed to close in tighter with every passing night.

The first year after you died was chaos—a storm of anger, grief, and regret that left him reeling. He’d lost himself in whiskey and violence, trying to drown the sound of your laughter that echoed endlessly in his mind. The second year was no easier. He numbed himself with work, burying every ounce of himself into missions, pushing his body to the brink just to feel something—anything—besides the ache of your absence.

But grief has a way of changing shape, of dulling its sharp edges into something heavier, more insidious. By the third year, Toji found himself hollow. The pain no longer roared; it whispered, constant and cruel. That was when he met her.

She wasn’t like you. She wasn’t trying to be.

Her kindness was quiet, unassuming. She didn’t pry or push. She simply sat beside him when he needed silence and spoke when the silence grew too loud. For the first time in years, Toji felt the faint stirrings of something he couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t joy—he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel that again—but it was a spark, a flicker of warmth in the cold expanse of his heart.

She didn’t try to fix him. She didn’t pretend she could. And for that, he was grateful.

Still, guilt clawed at him every time he caught himself smiling at something she said or leaning into her gentle touch. The weight of your memory was ever-present, a specter that loomed over every quiet moment, every tentative step forward.

Tonight, as he walked with the bouquet in hand, his chest felt tighter with every breath. The chrysanthemums, pale and fragile, seemed to mock him with their delicate beauty. He’d bought them without thinking, a reflex from a life he no longer lived.

He wasn’t sure when he decided he would confess his feelings to her. The thought had come unbidden, growing stronger with each passing day. It felt wrong, like a betrayal of everything you had shared, but it also felt necessary.

Yet, as he approached the park where they often met, the memories surged like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. He saw flashes of you—your laughter, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you smiled, the warmth of your hand in his. He clenched his jaw, trying to shake the images loose, but they only grew stronger.

The park was nearly empty, the streetlamps casting pools of golden light on the cobblestone path. Toji hesitated at the entrance, his heart pounding in his chest. The bouquet felt heavy in his hands, as if it carried the weight of every unspoken word, every unfinished moment.

He hadn’t even seen her yet, but already he felt like he was making a mistake.

His mind raced with doubts. Would she even want this? Would she understand the shadows that clung to him, the parts of himself he could never share? Would she see him for what he truly was—a man broken beyond repair, trying desperately to piece himself back together?

He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he stepped forward. The sound of his boots echoed in the stillness, each step heavier than the last.

What Toji didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that someone was watching him.

---

The afterlife was a void—silent, endless, and suffocating. It wasn’t the peace you’d been promised, nor the oblivion you might have welcomed. Instead, it was a cruel limbo where every moment stretched into eternity, and all you could feel was the unbearable ache of his absence.

The gods had taken you too soon, tearing you away from Toji with no warning, no time to say goodbye. You had begged for another chance, pleaded for mercy, but the heavens were indifferent to your suffering. Fate is immutable, they told you. The dead cannot return.

But you weren’t one to accept fate.

Your love for him was a force stronger than death itself. It fueled you, driving you to claw your way through the afterlife. You bartered with ancient spirits, battled celestial beings, and endured trials that shredded your soul piece by piece. You became a warrior in death, a ghost consumed by purpose. Every moment, every sacrifice, was for him.

The gods warned you. He has moved on. You will not find what you seek.

You didn’t care to listen.

Your resolve burned brighter than the stars, a flame that refused to be extinguished. You tore through the veil between life and death with sheer determination, leaving behind fragments of yourself in the process. When you finally returned, the world felt alien, like stepping into a life that no longer belonged to you.

What Toji didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that you were watching him now.

Your spectral form lingered in the shadows as he walked through the park, his steps deliberate. You had dreamed of this moment for three long years, imagined his face lighting up with joy when he saw you again. But as you followed him, the truth began to sink in.

The chrysanthemums in his hands were not for you. The softness in his eyes was not for you.

You watched as he approached a woman sitting on a bench, her smile warm and inviting. Your heart clenched as he handed her the flowers, his voice low and hesitant as he spoke words you couldn’t hear.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You had imagined this moment a thousand times. You had dreamed of the look on his face when he saw you again, the way he would pull you into his arms and swear never to let you go. But this? This wasn’t the reunion you had fought for.

You stepped closer, your ghostly form trembling with the effort. The world around you felt heavy, the air thick with the weight of your grief. You reached out, your fingers brushing against his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t see you.

He couldn’t.

You stumbled back, the realization crashing over you like a tidal wave. You had fought gods and torn apart the fabric of your soul to return to him, only to find that you were nothing more than a shadow—a forgotten memory lingering in a world that no longer needed you.

You ran.

The forest loomed ahead, dark and endless, but you didn’t care. Your sobs echoed through the trees, raw and heart-wrenching, a symphony of pain that seemed to reverberate through the very earth.

You found yourself in the graveyard.

The air was cold, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. You stood before your own tombstone, the sight of it stealing the breath you no longer had.

Beloved Wife. Forever Missed.

The words carved into the stone felt like a mockery.

You weren’t missed.

You were forgotten.

You collapsed to your knees, clutching at the earth above your grave. The soil was damp, a cruel reminder of the finality you had fought so hard to defy. Your sobs tore through the quiet night, raw and unrestrained. You had given up everything to return to him, only to find that the world had moved on without you.

You clutched at your chest as if you could rip the anguish out of yourself.

“Why?!” You wailed, your voice breaking. “Why did I come back? Why did I fight for this?!”

The heavens remained silent.

---

You didn’t notice Toji at first, too consumed by the overwhelming weight of your despair. The forest around your grave blurred into an endless haze of muted greens and grays, your wails swallowed by the indifferent silence of the world.

Then you heard it—the crunch of gravel beneath heavy boots.

You looked up, your ghostly form trembling. Toji stood there, his figure clear against the hazy backdrop. He held chrysanthemums in his hands, the same ones you’d seen him give to her.

Why were they here?!

Your heartbeat—or what remained of it—sank in your chest.

He approached slowly, his movements cautious, as though stepping into sacred ground. His face was a canvas—grief, regret, and something you couldn’t quite place.

He sat by your grave, his head bowed. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, the silence between you both as suffocating as the chasm that separated you.

When he finally did, his voice was barely a whisper. “I tried,” he said, the words cracking under their own weight. “I tried to move on. But it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

You felt your chest tighten, the ache in your soul almost unbearable.

“She’s with someone else,” he continued, his tone laced with bitter amusement. “Gojo, of all people. Should’ve seen that coming.”

Relief flooded through you, unbidden and unwelcome, a bitter reminder of your own selfishness. You hated yourself for it, for the small part of you that found comfort in knowing he hadn’t truly moved on.

He didn’t deserve this; your baby didn’t deserve this. Wasn’t his family’s torment enough misery to last a lifetime? He deserved peace, love, and happiness—things you could no longer provide. The weight of your absence pressed heavily on your heart, a constant ache that reminded you of all the moments you would never share again.

You wished for him to find solace, yet the thought of him moving forward without you felt like a betrayal. It was a cruel twist of fate that left you longing for his happiness while knowing you could never be a part of it.

“I keep seeing your face,” he said, breaking you out of your own spiral, his voice trembling. “Hearing your voice. Every time I try to forget, it’s like you’re right there, haunting me.”

Your heart shattered all over again. You wanted to scream, to cry out, I am here! I fought for you! I came back for you!

But no sound escaped your lips.

Toji placed the flowers on your grave, his hand lingering on the cold stone. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For not being enough when you were here. For even thinking I could replace you now that you’re gone.”

You reached out, your ghostly hand trembling as it hovered inches from his cheek. Then, with every ounce of will you had left, you brushed your fingers against his hand.

He froze.

For a moment, it felt as though he could feel you, as though the distance between you had finally closed. His breath hitched, his head snapping up to look around.

“Who’s there?” He whispered, his eyes scanning the empty clearing.

You stayed silent, your ghostly form sagging in defeat as he stood. He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Guess I’m losing my mind now, too.”

He walked away, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his grief. You stayed behind.

You collapsed onto your grave, your wails swallowed by the indifferent silence of the world. Your screams echoed through the cemetery, unheard by the living but reverberating through the void.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stayed. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve—”

The words died in your throat. You realized, with a painful clarity, that it didn’t matter anymore. You were gone. And he was alive.

All you could do now was let him go.

As dawn broke over the cemetery, you faded back into the ether, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of chrysanthemums.

A/N: Thank you for reading this story—I poured my soul into writing it, and I hope it broke your heart just a little (or a lot). Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Your takes mean the world to me.

All Works Masterlist

[coffeebanana]

It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet…  Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should. No.  His eyes flicked downwards. No, no, no, no— All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.

Some nightmares refuse to fade.

***

[Read the full fic below the cut or on Ao3!! CW: panic attacks, dissociation, depression]

It felt eerily familiar, kneeling ghost-like beneath a vermillion sky. Doom crept though Antichat's chest, as thick as the acrid smoke scorching his lungs. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. There was a weight in his arms—an inexplicable solace. And yet…  Suddenly it didn’t weigh as much as it should. No.  His eyes flicked downwards. No, no, no, no— All he held was a pile of ashes, moulded into the shape of a girl.

Please, no.

Chat squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head to rid himself of a sudden, blinding panic pounding through his skull. But it was too late. Ladybug’s slate-stained image was seared into his mind, her face frozen in pain, devoid of everything that had once painted comfort across his soul. 

Her mask was half-torn, such that Marinette's bare cheek was cradled closest to his chest. Like maybe he'd tried in vain to protect her from the blast.

From his own destruction.

A choked sound ripped itself from his throat, a painful lump following in its wake. He had no way to fix this, nothing to do but pull her in closer. To tighten his arms around her precious, fragile remains.

Another mistake. 

She crumbled in his grip; ashes floated up like a mosaic, blinding his vision. Frantically, he pawed at the air—trying to gather her fragments, to force her back together. If he caught enough, perhaps he could papier-mâché her likeness. He could use his tears as glue.

But there was no time for that before a fiery breeze tore through the street. Marinette’s remains were swept away, and only Chat’s strangled cries could follow. 

The further away they fled, the more he came undone. There was nothing left to tie his mind together, to keep his pain from exploding like a supernova.

Nothing to keep the world from collapsing in on him.

“What did you expect?” Nightormentor’s voice sliced through the smoke. “You’ve always been poison to the ones you loved most.”

NO!

With a frigid gasp—one that curdled his tar-slicked insides—Adrien awoke. Once again, there was a darling weight in his arms. Only this Marinette was warm and solid. Her limbs were tangled in the blankets she'd pulled to her side of his bed, and one of her hands curled slightly into his T-shirt as her breath tickled the fabric.

She was alive.

Adrien just wasn't sure his heart still knew how to beat.

He was too hot and too cold all at once, both drenched in sweat and trembling. His chest felt like someone had trampled it, and every attempt to breathe sliced further into the wound. 

When he closed his eyes, the world was still on fire.

Stomach lurching, he carefully rolled Marinette’s weight off his chest. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t listen to the even sounds of her breath without hearing echoes of his own sobs slip between them. 

The room spun around him as he stumbled to the bathroom; the world still appeared as though through smoke—muted and unreliable, the air too thick to breathe. He collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet, his empty stomach convulsing, only to realize the sickness inside him wasn’t the kind he could expel.

He remained there, braced against the toilet seat, until his limbs eased their shaking enough for him to crawl away. Even so, he barely made it to the wall beside the sink before one of his arms gave out, and his cheek slammed a little too hard into the handle of one of the cupboards he twisted into a seated position. Hissing in pain, he let his face press against the wood there, shuddering at the way the cold surface shocked some life inside of him.

Time ceased to make sense after that. One moment, his chest was burning, pain reverberating through his back as he struggled to fill his lungs. The next, it seemed he’d become a giant cloud. A numb expanse of icy droplets, ready to fall at a moment’s notice.

Light gradually awakened the room, a subtle warmth flickering near the edge of his awareness. He only fully realized the day had come when, somewhere beyond the door he’d left ajar, the bed creaked.

“Adrien?” Marinette called. Her voice was gentle, but pierced through him all the same. “Everything okay?”

No.

Panic set in anew as footsteps approached. He swore he could somehow taste the blood pounding in his ears, and he clamped his mouth shut to keep from crying out. To keep from breathing, even.

He didn’t want to be found. Maybe, if he held his breath until his lungs screamed again, he’d remain concealed in his lifeless fog.

But ironically, it was harder to keep from breathing when that was his actual goal. He sucked in sharp breaths, timed to his heartbeats, and hid his face in his hands.

“Oh, Chaton...” Marinette’s slippers scraped across the bathroom tiles, coming to a stop within his sight. Too close. “Did it happen again?”

He managed a nod, bottom lip quivering as he bit back a sob.

A long exhale piqued his attention; it started as a noise from above and ended as a warm breath against his cheek. Kneeling at his side, Marinette rubbed her hands against her thighs.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Adrien shifted his jaw from side to side, guilt hooking its talons into his gut. “I didn’t want to bother you.”

It wasn’t a lie; he felt plenty bad about inadvertently dragging her here every night. She deserved the comfort of her own bed, regardless of whether he could actually get any sleep without her. So the least he could do was actually let her get enough rest.

But it wasn’t the truth, either.

And as she took his hand, carefully smoothing his fingers over hers, he had a feeling she knew it.

“Adrien…” She tugged his arm upwards, pressing a kiss to his fingertips. “You’re not going to hurt me.”

Biting his lip to keep from disagreeing, Adrien squeezed his eyes shut. With one less sense at his disposal, he was all too aware of the way she lifted his hand further, unfolding his fingers to press against her cheek.

“See?” she whispered, breath tickling the inside of his wrist. Her head twisted to the side, lips planting a kiss on the heel of his palm. “Everything’s fine.”

He swore he could feel the remnants of destruction prickling against her cheek. It took everything he had not to jerk his hand away.

Nothing was fine.

No matter how he’d come into this world, and no matter how much he despised the fact, Adrien would always be—in some way or another—his father’s son. Sometimes he swore he saw a glimpse of the man when he turned too fast in the mirror. Other times, a flash of fury would seize him; with a sickening sense of satisfaction, he’d know what it might felt like to be a villain.

Even worse, he was his mother’s son. His very existence had killed her.

He’d killed both his parents, in the end. 

So no matter how much Marinette tried to console him, Adrien knew the voice of his nightmares had a point. He was a danger to her, to himself, to the world.

It might not even end up being his choice. All it would take was someone finding out what he was, and stealing the two rings he still couldn’t stand the sight of.

He was, at most, a liability. And Marinette deserved more than that.

She never agreed with him on that point.

“Look at me,” she said now. An edge crept into her voice, one that shocked him into listening.

His heart jumped at the blue of her eyes—filled with all the warmth that the fiery world of his nightmares had failed to hold. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. 

“No, no, no. I don’t want you to be sorry. I just…” Tears filled her eyes. “I love you, okay?”

Adrien couldn’t say it back. He couldn’t find enough truth to shove into the sentiment—not when that was all buried beneath his own misery. It was like he’d returned to his nightmare, with smoke charring his throat and one all-consuming fear.

Just the tiniest wrong movement could ruin everything.

But if he didn’t give some kind of response, Marinette would only worry. So he tugged on her hand—maybe a little too hard considering her yelp of surprise—and guided her to sit between his legs. She moved readily into place, and Adrien forced himself to ignore the fear spiking through his veins, hugging her back to his chest.

Once settled, she twisted around and tried to crane her neck upwards, reaching a hand half-blindly up to his cheek. Heart squeezing in his chest, he tightened his grip around and pressed a kiss to her head. 

She remained tense for a moment too long, but finally sighed and melted back against his chest. Her hand trailed lazily back down to her side, and her breath spilled into a hum of contentment. With her gaze fixed firmly ahead, Adrien could finally breathe again.

He didn’t want her to see the few tears he’d finally let slip down his cheeks—even if she’d no doubt hear his sniffles or feel the way the cries rumbled in his chest. And he didn't want her to examine him to deeply, to discover what he already knew.

One day, he would surely disappoint her.

[deadlyangelofpurity]

Roku did what he had to do...

For anyone confused, to summarize Roku has dream of future events, kills Sozin begrudgingly, takes the throne. Knows he made the right call but it sucks.

[saafhiree]

Just Kill Me in Your Heart

In the icy stillness of a winter night, two hearts stand on the brink of unraveling. As the silence between them deepens, one question lingers—was love ever truly enough to hold them together?

𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫—𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏.𝟑𝟐𝟎 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐭𝐰 : 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞

It was a cold winter, the kind that gnawed at your skin and lingered in your breath. The frost clung to the air, every inhale stung like a needle in your chest. The wind howled softly, bringing with it an icy edge that crawled up your spine, uninvited and unrelenting.

Under the soft glow of a street lamp, a shadow–long and lonely–was cast over two figures, a tall boy and a girl. The silence stretched between them felt colder still, for the spaces deepening with each passing moment, a stark contradiction to the fact that they were walking side by side this very second. The unspoken truths hovered around them like a mist, thick and suffocating.

Tonight, it might be just twice as cold, twice as bitter.

Tsukishima Kei, with his long strides trying to match your pace, at a loss for words. His headphones rested idly around his neck. Hands buried deep in the warmth of the pocket of his jacket, pondering as to should he strike a conversation with his lover, you, who was unusually quiet tonight. He stole glances every now and then, hoping to catch a glimpse of the thoughts you wouldn't share through unreadable expression. But each time, his confidence faltered before he finally looked away, eyes fixed on the snow crunching softly beneath his feet.

While you, the figure running through Tsukishima's mind, walked just beside him, your steps steady but distant. You held your gaze up, admiring the faint silvery glow of the moon, casting a mystifying light over the barren trees and the snow-dusted ground. How you wished you were just as calm as the moon, but the storm inside you was raging relentlessly. A testament to the pain subdued over years of your relationship.

"Kei," you breathed out slowly. A puff of white cloud followed suit. And through your peripheral vision, you saw your boyfriend lifted his head to the sound of your trembling voice.

"Why did you agree in the first place, when I asked you out?" There. The biggest enigma you couldn't solve, no matter how hard you pondered. Then, maybe, his answer was the only key to your confusion.

"I don't know." But it betrayed your wait.

"I thought I'd feel satisfied for once." You chuckled bitterly. "But maybe it's me whose hopes are too high." A faintest flicker of guilt crossed his nonchalant eyes.

"That's the problem, Kei. You never know." Your steps halted. "And you never bothered to know." And Tsukishima's too.

"I bet you also never know how much effort I put into holding on to the last straw. How much I've tried to keep us afloat."

Your words stabbed deep into his heart. You had nothing to lose, so you bravely stared into his uncertain eyes, fighting against the fear rising slowly in your chest–and perhaps in his too.

"But one thing you can be sure of, (y/n). I chose you, and that fact is enough for everything." That was a pathetic excuse, it was known to both of you. You felt the ironicity, he was only willing to "try" when you were ready to let go.

And that wasn't even close to the effort you had put over years of this relationship.

"Choice, was never enough to begin with," your voice cracked, like the brittle branches weighed down by the snow. And this time, his gaze faltered, slipping to the ground as if the truth you hurled at him was too heavy to bear. "I tried, Kei. I really did. Maybe you'll say you did too, but love isn't something you could just choose."

He flinched, just barely. Maybe your words cut deeper than either of you anticipated.

“Love isn't a decision you can just make and leave to rot. It needs work, real and relentless work which comes from both of us."

You took a shaky breath, fighting to steady yourself. For a brief moment, you thought you saw something–guilt, regret, or even shame–in his averted gaze.

While Tsukishima stood in silence, throwing back to old days when you two first met.

Just how did you two meet?

Maybe it was his curiosity for the brave retort to his sarcasm, sharp gaze that never backed down. Maybe through your love of many things they shared. A cute apatosaurus keychain dangling in your bag. A guileless girl, having her first crush.

It surely did sparked something.

He yearned for your company—perhaps those conversations had stirred a faint longing in his quiet mind. How your cheerful laughter echoed, lingered in his lonely room; your warm greetings set a mood through the customized notifications in his phone, the gentle sweetness of those strawberry shortcakes you baked, and how his exhaustion ceased the moment he saw you welcomed him after practice.

So he embraced the commitment, thinking it might bring light to his dull, monotonous days.

But his heart was never truly ready to love. Such a profound and meaningful emotion felt foreign to his routine. For him, love was a weight too heavy to bear, a burden that pressed too hard against the boundaries of his solitude.

And just now, as he heard your slightly breaking voice–demanding an end to this relationship, only he realized how much you give, but never take. His mistook the familiarity for something as big as love. And his light–you, finally exerted your shine.

“I love the memories we shared,” his words came out unexpectedly low.

“To me, you are my light,”

“And you said, to turn to you anytime,”

"I have you, don't I?" Those words came out barely audible from his lips.

A single tear cascaded down your cheek.

“If that's what you really feel, then why am I the only one trying?” The whisper etched with the biting breeze.

His mind replayed the scenes he had ignored for too long. The soft vibration of his phone silenced by indifference, the untouched bento left to cool in his locker, the fleeting glance you gave him in the hallway–filled with the hope he refused to meet.

Your vision blurred, each blink releasing another drop, tracing a hot, stinging path down your trembling chin.

“And if that light is what you've been holding on, to keep us in this situation, even though it's falling apart,"

"Then, just kill the light. Just kill me in your heart."

The moon peered down on you, pitying you.

“You have me, Kei. That is true,” your voice breaking at last. “But I never have you.”

Your words settled over him like the cold of the snow. But he said nothing, he couldn't. Because he realized he couldn't hold on to something as radiant as you.

And maybe that was what hurt the most.

“We should end this,” you said firmly, after what seemed like unbearable silence. The words tasted bitter at the tip of your tongue, but it carried the end you two needed.

He didn't stop you.

You took a step back, then another. The distance between you grew quickly, but he didn't do a thing. He didn't know how, and you had nothing to hold on to anymore.

As you turned away, you dared a single last glance over your shoulder. Tsukishima Kei, still standing beneath the light of the street lamp. His headphones still rested idly around his neck. Hands still buried deep in the warmth of the pocket of his jacket. His expression was a mix of guilt and uncertainty.

And though, you couldn't see the flicker of emotion in his eyes anymore, you knew it was there.

Because this time, you were the one walking away.

And after some time passed, Tsukishima's eyes held upwards. An empty street with snow blanketed in a muted hush. But it was not only the street that was empty. It was also his heart. And the vastness of the night only amplified the weight of what was gone. What never could return.

[nburkhardt]

“I’m sorry, but I don’t like you like that”

He doesn’t know what hurts more, this or the memories of ‘our love is bullshit, you’re bullshit’ in his ears as he ignores the burn of his eyes. Ignores the stares and the silence.

He faintly wonders if maybe this is a curse, if he’s destined to be alone and that everyone he’ll ever love just can’t love him back.

Maybe it really is him?

Before anything else is said, he leaves. He doesn’t hear the shouts, doesn’t hear the apologies or the waits. Can’t handle being there anymore.

His eyes are burning, his heart is gone and he’s done.

Hawkins is a curse, all it holds for him is hurt and pain. He needs to leave, needs to be away. Wants to leave, wants to be away.

He feels the hand of someone on his arm and he doesn’t remember stopping, blinks hard to see past the tears. It takes only a few minutes to find Robin standing there, also with tears in her eyes. Her mouth is moving but his ears aren’t working, still buzzing with “I don’t like you like that” and a faint “you’re bullshit” ringing along side it.

Shaking his head, shutting his eyes tight. He leans his head against her shoulder and shakes, cries and feels her pull him close. Holds him tight and he curls his arms around her, trying to stop the tears and sobs.

“Oh, Stevie, I’m so fucking sorry. I’m here, I know it hurts.”

He clutches her tight and he sobs. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. He could’ve sworn- he really thought- really thought this was it. This was it, he thought he had a chance. Really.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“It’ll be okay, I swear. You’ll find someone, someone who loves you just as much as you love them. And I love you so much, Stevie. You are everything to me and you deserve it”

He shakes his head, it’s not true. He did find someone and they tore his heart out and called it bullshit and stomped all over it. He found another and they picked his broken heart up and decided to toy with it before ripping it to shreds with a simple “I don’t like you like that” and it’s so, it’s so juvenile.

“Yeah, yeah it is. And you know what? Fuck him, fuck him and everything about it. You can do so much better, I swear. Okay? Do you hear me, Steve? Do you?”

That’s when it slams into him, he was speaking out loud in between sobs and Robin was speaking to him. He nods and thinks hard at what she said, “I can’t Robs, I can’t do this anymore” he whispers and maybe even whimpers a bit, “I- It hurts so fucking much, I can’t be here anymore”

She pulls away and cups his face, his vision is still blurry but he can see that her face is red with tears too, “then we leave, we’ll leave. Okay? We can go anywhere. We can- we can just say fuck Hawkins and find something new- something bright and colorful. Find somewhere, where you can shine”

He can’t help but choke on a laugh and a sob, tries to shake his head. Stopped only because Robin holds him still, “We- I can’t do that to you-“

“You aren’t, Steve. I’m doing this for you.” She smiles and pulls his head closer to place a kiss to his forehead, “All this town has given you is pain and heartbreak, I’m calling it. We’re leaving”

“Isn’t that just- just running away?”

She shakes her head and pulls him close into a hug, “Even if it is, you deserve to run. We’ll pack up all of our things, either say goodbye or don’t, but we’re leaving. I can’t stand around and watch you break again. I can’t let you stick around longing and hoping that maybe fucking Eddie Munson decides to change his mind. I will not let him break you again”

There’s nothing he can say to that, he just hides his face in her shoulder. Holding onto her to keep himself from falling even more apart, listening to her hum and sway him to help him calm down. To stop from breaking even further, she whispers and promises him that she’s here. She’s not going anywhere.

And he believes her. She is his soulmate but he’s still hurting. He doesn’t know when it will stop, if they leave tomorrow it’ll still be broken. He’ll still faintly hear the “I don’t like you like that” mixed in with “you’re bullshit” in the back of his head. Doesn’t know if when he’ll not hear those phrases, doesn’t know if he’ll ever get their faces out of his head when they said it out either.

It hurts and his heart is in shreds. Being held together by his soulmate and maybe with her it’ll be protected.

~~~~

I’m sorry 🥲

[st4rvfx]

Sunrise

Chloe price x reader

﹒⪩⪨﹒| you and chloe always watched the sunrise together at the light house. until one day you have to watch it alone.

﹒⪩⪨﹒| takes place in the ending where you sacrifice Chloe | romantic | Mentions of death | mentions of vomit/throwing up | Smoking | reader is going through it | bittersweet ending | Reader never moves on |

“The sunrise looks super pretty today” You comment while staring at the slightly pink but mostly blue sky. Chloe nodded as she let out a long breathe.

“I have to go soon. I have important shit to deal with. We can meet back here for the sunset if you want to.” She asked while giving you the damn soft smile. You give her a smile back, the last smile you would ever share with her.

you nodded as she stood up from the bench, punching your shoulder softly before making her way down the hill. You smile as you watch the rest of the sunrise. You suddenly felt weird, like something wrong was going to happen but you brushed it off.

if only. If only you knew what she was dealing with. You went home and spent the rest of the day waiting for her text. nothing. Weird? not even something to say she won’t be able to make it. You told yourself maybe she was just super duper busy and had more things to do she didn't mention.

you hated being left in the dark so you go to her house. Nothing. not until david came home. He looked like he knew something he wish he didn’t. He sat everyone down before explaining what had happened. different emotions splattered his face as he stuttered over the words and took long pauses before finally getting the words out.

as the three words you were always afraid of hearing slipped from your mouth, you felt your whole world come crashing down in a matter of seconds. Chloe was dead.

just hearing that made you want to throw up. You knew Chloe did some dangerous things. You always scolded her and she would just brush it off saying she would deal with it. Her way of dealing with things always got her in more trouble.

You didn’t know how to properly respond to it. You told your parents you wouldn’t be home and asked joyce if you could stay the night. She could see how hurt you looked, The way your eyes seemed dim so she allowed it.

You didn’t know how to go about this, Walking up the steps without her boots following after you. Opening her bedroom door to be hit with the smell of the blunt she had smoked before leaving. Her desk messy and covered in different papers.

you laid in her bed, the same bed you guys shared endless conversations talking about leaving and random topics, shared each other’s deepest darkest secrets, took 3 hour long naps in. Now you were all alone.

it hit you like a ton of bricks as you realized how many things would change. No more waking up early and sneaking off to chloe’s house in the middle of the night, Hearing her complain about david’s antics that day before she would listen to you rant about your day, no more watching the sunrises and the sunsets together it was all gone.

As you sat on the cold feeling bench, all alone as you stared at the sky you could feel the tears heating up in your eyes. Was she really gone? surely this was a bad dream. Maybe you would wake up and she would be next to you on the comfort of the bench.

You hadn't come to terms with the whole idea of Chloe being dead, it didn't seem right in a way. Yes, she was reckless but the thought of her being dead was just something that made your mind spin and your throat get dry.

The days leading up to her funeral were absolute pure hell. You spent most of your days looking at the photos of you two that you had saved on your phone. You tried to smoke but the feeling was weird without her. You forced yourself to go dress shopping with Joyce to bond some more. Yesterday you slept all day in her bed, clinging at the sheets that started to smell more like you then her.

her bed. cold and empty. Her body wasn't there to keep it warm, and you were left with a broken heart as the tears pooled down your face when you laid in her bed.

You looked down at your watch as you took in a deep breath, nearly it was time. You stood up from the bench before jumping at the sight of Max standing there.

"Sorry! You looked so peaceful, and I didn't wanna disturb you" she said while you gave her a sad smile. You knew a good thing or two about Max due to Chloe talking about her a couple of times. She always sounded so excited to talk about when Max when would come back.

"It's okay, I was just about to leave. I'm assuming you're also going...to the funeral" You say while looking down at your shoes. Max nodded before taking in a deep breath. "I feel bad for not being here all this time." Max said as she turned to look at the sky.

"Chloe used to think you left her and would never come back for her. but I always told her to have some hope and one day you would show up" You said.

if only Chloe could find out Max was here all this time. The two of you stood in silence as you started at the sky. "We should go soon" Max spoke up as she placed a gentle hand onto your shoulder. You looked at her with a gentle nod as the two of you made your way down from the lighthouse.

You offered to drive Max since you had recently gotten Chloe's truck. She always said that if one day something happened to her, she wanted you to get the truck. It was weird to sit in the seat the both of you guys once ate food, talked and napped in.

It stilled had the smell of her cheap cigarettes, The sound of her laughing and overall, everything about her. touching the wheel was weird. you broke down into tears when you first sat in the truck the day you got it and took a nap in it just like the two of you used to do.

You told max small things about Chloe as you drove the both of you to the cemetery. The way you spoke about Chloe made Max realize that even when she was gone, Chloe had someone with her. as you neared the cemetery, you could see people slowly walk up the hill.

You felt hot, you wanted to pull off and leave but you knew Chloe would want you to be there. You parked her truck as turned it off before sitting there and collecting yourself. Max gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze as she opened the truck door and climbed out.

You took in a deep breathe before opening the door and stepping out. Slamming the door as you took tiny steps. You couldn't bring yourself to even think about the fact you were about to bury your girlfriend.

It didn't seem real. It couldn't be real. Max took your hand and gently guided you. Each crunch of gravel brought you back to reality. This was really happening, you were about to your final goodbyes to a box.

You had zoned out that you didn't even realize how close you were until you saw Joyce and David. You looked over before your bottom lip started to shake and quiver. That casket held your girlfriend. You wanted to cry but barely any tears came out.

Joyce instantly noticed you as she frowned and opened her arms wide for you. You gently let go of Maxs hand before crashing into Joyce as the Tears finally fell overboard. You sobbed in her arms, you couldn't hear anything, not a single peep from anyone. you wanted this to be over.

You sat on the ground next to her gravestone. Everyone else left to go to Joyce's for a repast. "I'm so mad at you" you said, Voice raspy from the crying. "I told you shouldn't be doing all this dumb shit" You added while leaning your head on the stone. It was silent again as the only sound being the birds chirping and the crunch of grass from squirrels hopping across the land.

You used to watch and feed squirrels with Chloe whenever you brought trail mix with you. "David never told me how you died...but i found out eventually. Fucking Prescott I don't think I'll ever forgive him for what he did." You said while balling your hands into fists as you shook your head.

"And then Rachel...oh god. You never found out but...I'm sure wherever you are...the two of you are together." You said with a small smile before it dropped as you brought your knees to your chest and rested your head on top of them.

A blue butterfly fluttered down, landing right on the tip of your shoe. You payed no attention to the insect as you checked your watch. You should head over to Joyce's...but you also didn't wanna leave. your eyes looked at the sunset, the bright orange and pinks clashing together. "We never watched the sunsets together...only the sunrises..." You smiled as you unballed your hands, placing them on the ground as you slightly rock your knees side to side, The butterfly flying off your shoe and instead landing on the gravestone.

"Hey Chloe...I'll always come down here...and we can watch the sunrise together still. Just like old times" you said while looking at the gravestone before placing a hand on it, patting it and putting your hand back down. You sighed before standing up.

You looked at her one last time before blowing a kiss towards the grave before making your way down to where you left the truck.

You made sure that every day you went down to her grave. sometimes you would get caught up with work or even finding it hard to get out of bed in the morning, but you always made an effort to see her in the morning.

You would sit down and tell her your plans, then would light a blunt or cigarette depending on how you felt that morning before sitting in silence as you watched the sun come up.

Once you were done, you stand up, blow her a kiss goodbye and make your way back to the truck. You never changed anything about it. You slowly came to terms with her being gone. You made new friends, helped Joyce out at the diner and grew closer to max. But you never started to date anyone again.

You barely thought about dating anyone else as you couldn't see yourself with anyone but Chloe, nobody could give you what she gave you.

you always looked for Chloe in the sunrises, knowing she made them pretty just for you.

[gelatina-destroyer]

Simon and Betty's Song | Cake and Fiona

"You were a wonderful experience"

"You were...everything"

[augmentedpolls]

No nuance / it depends option y’all gotta pick

[charmingradiobelle]

A Promise in the Dead of Night

“I’m scared…”

Her voice is but a whisper, that Alastor barely registers her words at first. When he does, he feels himself tightening his arms around her, his mind already preparing to shield her from danger that he’s not made aware of.

Something’s been off about Charlie’s behavior and he hasn’t been able to determine the reason. From the moment she stepped in his room, he’s known she hasn’t been in her usual perky mood. It’s not unlike her to pay him a visit in the dead of night. Hell, it’s practically become routine for them. If he doesn’t end up falling asleep with her in her own bed, he can expect to find her hours later in his room, quietly requesting that she stay. And he never refuses. How could he possibly turn down such a request from the radiant, smiling princess of Hell?

But tonight, that gorgeous smile of hers that normally greets him when she enters a room was absent from her face. Her piercing eyes that could read all the secrets of his soul were puffy from tears she must have dried before coming to see him. She hasn’t uttered a word until now. She simply opened the door and walked over to join him on the sofa he sits on and crawled her way into his arms. He hasn’t questioned her, but he finds it odd that she had been so quiet. Not even a laugh, or even a breath. Has she been holding her breath the whole time?

Alastor brings his hand up to the back of her head that lays against his chest, raking his long claws through the soft strands of her golden hair. “Of what, dear?” He asks, his voice only slightly louder than hers.

She doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least. Instead she just further nuzzles her head against him, burying her face into the fabric of his coat like she’s trying to hide from something. Alastor swears he hears a faint whimper escape her—a sound that not only catches him off-guard, but fills him with rage. Several thoughts run through his mind like a herd of deer. What could have happened to her that would send her into such a fragile state? Who hurt her…?

Before jumping to conclusions, he decides to continue with his gentle approach. He shifts slightly, taking her chin between his fingers to lift her head away from his chest, her gaze instinctively meeting his. He’s met with the most heartbreaking look of vulnerability she’s ever displayed. He doesn’t like it one bit.

“What’s troubling you, my darling?” He questions her again, his thumb tenderly caressing the soft, milky skin of her face.

Charlie sniffles and briefly shifts her gaze downward as she struggles to answer in a way that makes sense. “I.. I don’t know.” She sighs shakily. She knows it’s a pathetic response, but she doesn’t know how to explain the hell-storm wreaking havoc in her mind.

Alastor stays quiet, only giving her a look that urges her to go on. And when she looks at him again, she does, however reluctantly.

“Oh Al.. I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and no matter what I do, it won’t leave me alone.” Charlie lets out a small hiccup of a breath, leaning her head forward slightly, longing to lay on his chest again. “I keep having these horrible dreams. They play out differently, but they all end the same way…something bad happens, or someone attacks us, and one way or another, you get taken away from me. I don’t know what happens to you after. I always wake up before I can find out, but I’m afraid that it means you were…”

She pauses, not wanting to actually finish the thought aloud. She knows she doesn’t need to, anyway. Alastor can easily fill in the blank.

His signature smile, sealed by his lips at the moment, tightens at the corners. Charlie doesn’t see it, but his blinking eyes go wide for just a moment. It may be just a coincidence, it had to be. But what are the odds that they were both struggling with bad dreams about losing the other to some unknown force of darkness? Alastor hasn’t let it affect him like Charlie clearly has, because to him it shouldn’t have meant anything.

But to know that his princess was facing the exact same troubling phenomenon…that was a cause for alarm.

He doesn’t tell her of this. No, he refuses to worry her any more than she already has been. It’s his job to ease her worries, not increase them. It’s a burden he’ll bear for them both. What’s one more, anyway?

He pulls her in close to him as she snuggles into his arms. “Oh Charlie, you must not fret over something like night terrors.” He assures in a calming tone, trailing his hand up and down the length of her back. “They’re just dreams, after all. They cannot hurt us.”

“That’s the thing. What if they’re not just dreams?” Charlie argues, her body growing slightly tense at this thought she only just now realizes she has. “What if..it’s a warning?”

Alastor doesn’t even want to entertain the idea. He doesn’t want to imagine that that’s the reason behind their shared unconscious terrors. No, he won’t give into the fear. It will only consume them, and then they will be doomed to face it.

“You shouldn’t think like that, dear.” He says, leaning his head down, resting his chin atop of her head. “It will do you no good. You mustn’t let your fear control you.”

Charlie closes her eyes, her voice reverting back to its pitiful hushed tone. “I can’t stop it.”

There’s a brief moment of stillness between them. Neither dares to move from the warmth of the other’s touch. The air grows quiet, with only the cackling flames of the fireplace providing any source of sound. That is, until Alastor slowly lifts his head and pulls her back to face her again. The look in his eyes takes her aback. His grin is as wide as always, but there’s a subtle glimmer of sadness in his gaze that she’s never quite seen before. She’s not sure if she should feel touched that he’s grown so comfortable to express such vulnerability in front of her, or horrified of the meaning behind it…

“Then tell me what I can do to make it go away.” He raises his finger up to brush her bangs away from her forehead, before resting his hand against the side of her face, cupping her face in his palm. “Whatever it is, it will be done. Just name it.”

Charlie frowns softly, staring at him quietly for the longest minute. She’s not sure there’s anything he can do to make this all disappear. Alastor may be a powerful overlord, wielding immense power that has left even her impressed. But sadly, he can’t just snap his fingers and rid her of her fears like he wishes. Miracles like that weren’t possible down here in Hell.

There’s one thing he can do, though. As simple as it may be, it’s what she needs him to do.

Charlie leans her face into his palm, bringing her own hand up to hold his wrist as she looks deep into his eyes. “Just..promise me that no matter what happens, if anything happens, that nothing will tear us apart from each other.” She says, her voice trembling more and more with each word. “Whether these are just stupid dreams or not, I cannot lose you, Alastor. So please.. promise me now.”

Alastor gives her an incredulous look, raising his brow a little, just before he leans in, inching his face closer to hers.

“Charlie..my princess,” He speaks firmly, his voice lacking any static or filter that it normally carries, “I swear on my damned life, I will never let anything take you away from me. Not Heaven. Not Hell. Nothing is ever going to keep us apart. Do you understand?”

She nods slowly, and as she blinks the tears she’s been fighting back threaten to burst like a broken dam. Alastor kisses her, the tender touch of his lips bringing her a warm sense of comfort. He then pulls her back into his reassuring embrace, and at last the woman crumbles down. She cries into his shoulder, clinging onto him like she may lose him for good if she even thinks of letting go. He doesn’t say anything, knowing he’s said all he can to bring her solace and all he can do now is simply be here with her.

But they both know his words held nothing but truth to them. Charlie’s been the one good thing to ever happen to him in a long, long time. And he would sooner die again than ever let something rip that away from his grasp. He will hold onto her and use everything in his power to fight for her, and he will do it all with a smile on his face.

It’s alright, my love. Is his immediate thought when he hears that dreadful sound of her sobbing. He hugs her as close as he possibly can, letting his eyes fall shut as his face presses onto the mess of hair on her head. The shadow that resembles his shape looms over the pair, hovering its claws protectively over the woman in Alastor’s arms.

Anyone who tries to take you from me will be faced with a fate worse than death…

[aventurineswife]

"I loved you like the sun, yet you loved me like the eclipse," he whispered, his voice as soft and fleeting as a memory. Sunday stood before you, his eyes dimmed, the navy blue pupils lost in a sea of unshed tears. His halo flickered faintly, its once vibrant glow now a trembling reminder of his fractured divinity.

You couldn't look at him—not fully. To meet his gaze was to confront the truth you had both tried to outrun. So, instead, you focused on his trembling hands, gloved in black, clenched tightly at his sides. You remembered those hands as a refuge, their warmth steady even when his words faltered. Now, they were trembling barriers, guarding the chasm that had grown between you.

"I gave you my light, my constancy, my everything," he continued, his voice breaking as he took a tentative step closer. "And yet...you only came to me in the moments when your world was in shadow."

His wings fluttered, the feathers catching faint light as though they, too, were straining to hold him upright. You wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words tangled in your throat like a knot you couldn’t untie.

"I never asked for more," he said, his tone sharpening with an edge of bitterness. "I knew what I was to you—a fleeting comfort, an illusion of peace. But even illusions have limits."

You flinched at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than you’d thought possible. He wasn’t wrong. He had always been there, unyielding, while you drifted in and out, carried by tides of your own fear and longing. You had loved him, hadn’t you? Or was it simply the light he offered, the way it burned away the shadows you couldn’t face alone?

Sunday turned away, his shoulders taut with restrained emotion. His scarf fluttered, the golden underside catching the light like a thread of hope unraveling. "I loved you like the sun," he murmured again, the words more to himself now, "steady, unyielding, radiant. But you—"

He faltered, his voice cracking as the weight of his emotions bore down. When he spoke again, it was quieter, a whisper trembling with sorrow. "You loved me like the eclipse—beautiful, fleeting, only when it was convenient to forget the rest of the world."

His words crushed you, their truth unbearable. You had basked in his warmth, his constancy, without realizing how deeply you had wounded him by taking it for granted. And now, faced with the fragility of what you had shared, you could see the fractures you’d ignored all along.

"I didn’t mean to—" you began, but your voice broke under the weight of your guilt.

He turned to face you again, his eyes glistening, filled with a sadness so profound it stole the air from your lungs. "I know," he said softly, a faint, weary smile gracing his lips. "You never meant to. But intention doesn’t erase the pain, does it?"

For a moment, silence stretched between you, vast and aching. The tension in his wings softened, and his halo steadied, though its glow was dim. He reached out, his hand hovering just inches from yours. It trembled, caught between yearning and restraint, before finally retreating.

"I need to let go," he whispered. "For both of us. Maybe, one day, we’ll find the balance we never could before. But not like this. Not now."

And with that, he turned away, his steps light but unyielding. You watched as he disappeared into the distance, his presence fading like the final rays of a setting sun. All that remained was the echo of his voice and the crushing realization that you had loved him too late.

Inspired by me generating random quotes in my head while I brush my teeth in the morning 😇🫶

Expect more angst in the future lol

[steviewashere]

In the Fire of the Sun

Rating: General CW: A dementia fic, that's as much of a warning as I'll offer Tags: Established Relationship, Married Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Future Fic, Wedding Anniversary, Steve Harrington Has Dementia, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Falling in Love Over and Over Again, Yearning, Pining, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Inspired by The Notebook (2004)

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is a fire that never goes out." (in the most metaphorical sense possible)

💕—————💕

Eddie shuffles through the carpeted hallway of this center once more. He comes in right as it opens for visiting hours. Eight in the morning, sharp. Every single day. And has been doing so for the last few years.

Why?

Simple. Steve’s there.

Has been, actually, for the same amount of time Eddie’s been visiting. They’re both in their late seventies now. Time has treated them nearly equal. Aching limbs. Wrinkled and spotted skin. Grey hair. Crows feet. Though, time gave Steve one extra thing that Eddie will fight God about.

Dementia.

It’s ravaging him little by little. And Eddie bears witness. Began with the minor forgetting, always soothed by words and gentle touches, the praise. And then it was bigger things. Confusion and getting lost and mood swings that were almost unmanageable. It all felt so rapid, even if it was slow. But Eddie was there. For every moment of it. And still is there, just…Not in the same house anymore.

He hates coming through the center, though. It’s so clinical and sterile and depressing. Well, technically it isn’t. The rooms are done all nice, filled with furniture and soft blankets and beautiful fake plants that Steve can water if he feels the need to. But it’s not their house, which was painted by the people they love, filled with knick knacks of their lives, photos of their child and their grandchildren and all their friends. Though, Eddie supposes he shouldn’t complain, if Steve is mostly comfortable here. There’s a few things for Steve to interact with, hobby wise. A piano, some knitting circles, board games, but mostly music. It’s nearly poetic, to Eddie, that music is what dementia patients seems to cling onto the longest. It’s especially poetic considering Steve fell in love with a musician.

Sometimes, while Eddie is here, he’ll play music for everybody. The nurses and doctors and patients alike. Still able to share his gift, even in the face of something so…not dark, exactly, but challenging. Because any moment with Steve is pleasant—even if he doesn’t remember most of the time.

Eddie gets his visitor badge. A little sticker for his shirt. He’s taken up to Steve’s room and waits in the doorway for permission to go in. It could be a bad day, but based on the soft smile received from the nurse, it’s one of the better days. Meaning, Steve’s less irritable, still long term forgetful, but lovely.

Steve looks over to him. The hazel eyes that Eddie fell in love with nearly sixty years ago, soft and glistening. His forehead prominently wrinkled. Hair thin, but mostly there, a light silvery grey. He’s got better hair than Eddie—that can be admitted, his hair is just like Wayne’s now, gone with the wind. At least time hasn’t taken Steve’s beauty.

“Hello,” Steve greets, polite and sweet. His voice is slightly garbled, deep and velvety.

“Hello,” Eddie parrots. He holds out his right palm for Steve to take. Smiles softly when he does so. “I’m Edward,” he introduces, “though you can call me Eddie.” He taps his sticker. Loves the way Steve’s eyes still track his every movement, even with something so simple and mundane. The nurse hangs by Steve’s shoulder, nodding at Eddie when they lock eyes. Eddie smiles bigger at Steve, letting their hands drop. His palm tingles from Steve’s ever glowing warmth. “You must be the Steven Harrington I’m always hearing about,” he says.

Steve visibly grimaces, which is a good sign. A great thing. He groans. “That tastes awful in my mouth,” he states. “Though I can’t—How come that tastes bad?” He looks over to his nurse, but doesn’t get an answer.

“Oh,” Eddie mutters. “I’ve heard some people call you Steve, does that sound okay? Shorten your name like mine?”

He nods. Relaxing. “That sounds great.” Steve smiles. And Eddie is like a sunflower in the face of the sun. Yearning to reach out, to touch, to feel and hold. But he knows that he can’t, or at least shouldn’t. “So…Eddie, you’re a visitor?” His finger taps on Eddie’s chest, on the white word: VISITOR. Eddie blossoms. “You came to visit me, I’m assuming. What are we going to do today?”

Eddie bites back his grin. Steve’s finger is still on his chest. He wonders if Steve even remembers putting it there, part of him hopes that he’s doing it on purpose. He hums, thinking. Though he’s got planned, “We’re going to take a walk outside, if that’s okay. I brought some music for us to listen to while we look around. It’s a pretty day outside, a little chilly, but the sun is bright out there. What do you think?”

“I like that,” Steve enthusiastically says. Which makes the good day even better. “Though I don’t know who you are, you have really good ideas. You seem like a really nice guy.”

“Y’know, I’ve heard that before. From somebody you might know,” Eddie says, offering out his hooked arm. Almost dances in place when Steve wraps their arms together. “He’s a good guy, too. Really good looking. Very kind. Think you’d like him.”

“You should bring him with next time,” Steve says. They make their way down to the front doors of the center. Arm in arm.

“Maybe I will,” Eddie says, even though the guy is already there. “I will if it’s a good day.”

The day really is beautiful. Leaves littering the ground, browns and dark greens, many of them bright yellow. A good color. Everything is just…good. There’s a little concrete path on the side of the center. Nestled really nice to a small creek. It’s quiet.

Steve is a comfortable weight at his side. They step in tandem. Feet matching each other. Eddie makes them stop at the end of the path, walking out to a grassy clearing, standing out watching the subtle ripples in the creek.

“It’s pretty,” Steve murmurs. “Reminds me of fish. For some odd reason.”

“Mm,” Eddie hums. “Makes me think of fish, too, funny enough. The guy I told you about?” Steve nods beside him. The slow up and down bobbing of his heavy head. He’s still got glasses after all these years, they’re kind of crooked. Eddie itches to fix them. But Steve stares ahead of himself, at the water, a little crinkle between his eyebrows. An instinct in Eddie says, Soothe. But knows he shouldn’t. Knows he can’t kiss that away, not anymore. He takes a deep breath to reground himself. “Well,” he begins. “That guy is my husband. Or…No, he still is. He really likes to go on adventures. Loves doing things in silence. And when my dad—“ He means uncle, but that doesn’t matter. “—when my dad was still alive, we’d go out and fish. My husband and I, we’re too old to fish comfortably now, but he was always better than me. Earned him my dad’s respect, tell you that.”

“Your husband sounds fun,” Steve says, smiling with it. “Y’know, I have this friend—“ Eddie perks up at this. Usually, there’s nobody that Steve talks about. But if he’s willing. “—She has a wife. I don’t remember much about her, but I’ve heard she’s sweet.”

Robin, Eddie knows. Of course. He can’t wait to go home and call Robin to tell her all about this. “I’ll have to meet them some time.” He moves his palm from where it hangs loose at their hooked arms, brings it up slowly, and settles it on Steve’s bicep, squeezing. Steve doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Do you want to listen to some music?”

“Sure,” Steve mutters. “I just hope you have good taste.”

Oh I have the worst, Eddie thinks, you’ve told me that before. He walks them over to a nearby bench, still staring out at the water. It’s glistening ripples, the few birds that swoop down to rest, some stray leaves. Pulls out his phone, looks at their playlists he’s left the same over the years. Finds Steve’s. And clicks shuffle. “I think you’ll like this one, actually,” he says.

The first song to play is Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are”, their wedding song. 

Beside him, Steve hums, settling back into the bench. His eyes are closed peacefully. A small smile to his lips. Face soft in the glow of the sun. Eddie is a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower. He aches so bad to trace his fingertip down the bridge of Steve’s nose, on the curve of his lower lip, to kiss him and dance with him and hold him like there’s no tomorrow. Like there’s no tomorrow where he comes back, a stranger.

“I’ve heard this before,” Steve whispers. His eyebrows furrow. He’s still smiling, but he’s focusing somewhere on something. And Eddie wants to comb his fingers through Steve’s brain, pet over the diseased areas, pat the memories, nestle the good that Steve remembers. “I see a face in my head,” he says. Asks, “Can I tell you what I see?”

“Sure,” Eddie whispers as soft as possible. “Tell me all about this face.”

Again, Steve settles. Shimmying further into the bench, taking Eddie with him. They lean back. Like sitting on their couch, watching reruns, eating Chinese takeout, gossiping about their neighbors, gazing at their daughter painting messy pictures of their love—pink and yellow splatters on the coffee table. (Eddie thinks about how those dried paint stains never left. How he never cleaned them. How Steve never complained. He’ll go home tonight and look at them. He will weep.) 

“It’s a man,” Steve starts. “He’s white. Clean shaven. Got this bulbous nose and pretty pink lips. Kind of pouting,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself. Eddie snorts beside him. His eyes burn a little. “Dark, dark brown hair. Wavy around his face, kind of frizzy. But it looks like it’s been styled back into a bun, his bangs curled inwards.” Steve takes a deep breath, sighing dreamily. “His eyes…Wow, Eddie. These eyes are probably my favorite thing I’ve ever seen. So deep, big, almost like a deer. They’re shiny with tears. But he smiles at me, I’m warm.”

Eddie squeezes at Steve’s bicep again. He takes a stuttering breath. “The way you describe him…He sounds like a—“

“A painting,” Steve finishes. “He says something to me. Calls me Stevie. Calls me baby. That…I like that.” His eyes flutter open. And he swings his head to the right, looking directly into Eddie’s. “I like that, but there’s also a number there.”

“What’s that?” Eddie kindly asks.

“Fifty. I don’t really know why—Hey, wait a minute,” Steve rushes. He sits forward slightly. His eyes widen. The arm still wrapped with Eddie’s squeezes in a vice grip. “Your eyes…I’ve seen your eyes before.”

Eddie perks up. It’s happening again. Doesn’t occur all that often, especially in the last few months. But sometimes, sometimes his belly flips and his chest flutters and he’s taken back to the clearing that Steve confessed his love in—twenty years old, his eyes alight with passion, hair flopping all over the place. Him beautiful and peaceful. And, yeah, that’s what Eddie sees in front of him now.

“I’ve seen them before,” Steve whispers. He raises a hesitant palm to the side of Eddie’s face. Landing gently. Cupping, warmth radiating from him. He’s still a furnace. He’s the same. The Steve that Eddie fell in love with, he’s here and still inside there, he’s in the palm and in Eddie’s chest. He’s here. Steve inhales sharply. Clarity in his eyes. How he tells a story with just his pupils, the quick darting, the tears that pool in his waterline—Eddie will never know. “Eds?” Steve calls out.

A part of Eddie crumbles to his feet. He hasn’t heard that nickname in so goddamn long. He bites back the sob that wants to tear through him. Instead, places his free palm over the back of Steve’s. Thumb tickling his knuckles. “Hi, Stevie. Hi, baby,” he murmurs back. “How are you, love bug?”

“Eds,” Steve breathes. “I—What are—You look different.” He chuckles, it’s congested, it’s wet. “Is it our anniversary? Please, is it—“ Eddie nods in the hold. Steve sighs, crying slightly with it. There’s so much ache here, it hurts in the sweetest way possible to even have his simple touch. “God,” Steve softly sobs. “I’m sorry that I forgot. Please don’t be mad at me. I promise I tried to remember.”

Eddie squeezes where he’s still touching Steve. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he breathes truthfully. His chest seizes, that sob yearning, creeping. “Just sitting here with you for our anniversary is enough.” I’ll always be here to help you remember, he doesn’t say.

The way Steve relaxes, the relief rushing through him is enough for Eddie. Every single day with Steve is enough. Even in the moments where he’s completely lost in the world, somewhere dark and cold and lonely. Even when he gets angry and lashes out, slamming his palms on Eddie’s chest. Even if every time it makes Eddie physically pulse and hurt. He hurts. He’s a sunflower, a sunflower, a sunflower.

“Okay,” Steve rasps. “Okay, Eds. Okay.” He leans into the warmth of their bodies, sides a single line. Connected. Stitched together by everything, the matter of the universe. “Happy anniversary,” he whispers.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Eddie murmurs.

They’ve got maybe five minutes before Steve is gone again. Back to Steven. To the stranger in his room. A guy who sees brown eyes in his sleep and is unsure who they belong to. They’ve got five minutes, but Eddie will treat them like lifetimes.

He’ll come back tomorrow. And they will remember. And he will ache. But he will love.

“I love you,” he says.

And with the last thirty seconds they have together, Steve sighs, all the emotions under the sun (and Eddie is the sunflower soaking up all that is Steve), “I love you, too.”

💕—————💕