#but I do know what it's like to want deep connections with people and despair of getting them | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 2 months ago

Text

l’amour de ma vie — geto suguru.

"Suguru." you said softly, not meeting his eyes. "We’re not the same people we were ten years ago. You know that." He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And yet, I still find myself here. With you."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Not Safe For Work (NSFW), R-18, Angst, Toxic Love, Romance, Break-Up, Situationship, Toxic Friends with Benefit, Falling In Love, Falling Out of Love, Lack of Communication, Dysfunctional Relationship, Hurt/No Comfort, Depression, Emotional Distress, Emotional Manipulation, Disassociation, Anticipatory Grief, Smut, P to V Sex, Bathtub Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Smoking, Depiction of Dysfunctional Relationship, Depiction of Unhealthy Behaviours, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Cigarettes and Smoking, Depiction of Disassociation, Mention of Physical and Or Bodily Harm, Mention of Murder, Mention of Blood, Mention of Character Death, Mention of Future Events;

WORDS: 9.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: if i should be honest, i think this little thing surpasses pretending as always and the other woman in terms of the sad meter. i really enjoyed writing this because it was just raw and emotionally revealing. if anything, this is my current favorite. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did and still do!!! i love you all <3

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EVER SINCE YOU MET HIM, HE FELT LIKE HOME. You and Geto Suguru had always been inseparable, two halves of the same whole from the very first day at Jujutsu High.

While the world often paired him with Gojo Satoru — the two of them known for their strength and partnership — there was something between you and Suguru that ran deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. You were his mirror in ways Satoru could never be. You understood him not just through the bond of shared power but in the quiet moments, in the spaces between battle and duty.

Where Satoru reveled in his god-like strength, you and Suguru shared the burden of understanding the world’s cruelty, the cost of being sorcerers. There was an unspoken connection between you two, built on a mutual respect for the world’s darker truths and the weight that came with protecting it. You saw him, truly saw him, in ways no one else could — not even Satoru.

It happened slowly, you're falling in love. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping romance but rather a quiet thing that grew over time, unnoticed at first. The little moments where you stayed back after training, talking under the stars, your conversations deep and philosophical, both of you sharing dreams, fears, and the weight of what it meant to bear the responsibility of a jujutsu sorcerer.

It was in the way he’d find you after a tough mission, silently standing by your side until you were ready to speak. The way his eyes softened just for you, in a way they never did for anyone else.

There was no sudden realization, no epiphany — just the slow warmth of knowing that his presence had become as necessary to you as breathing. You would exchange a glance across the room, and in that look, you would know what the other was thinking. It was as if your souls were entwined, slowly knitting together over time.

Suguru had always been cautious, thoughtful, but with you, his walls seemed to fall away bit by bit. He didn’t have to hide the weight of his worries, the questions that plagued him late into the night. And in return, you shared your own vulnerability, your own doubts, the moments of quiet despair that came with your duties.

Your hands would brush against each other during missions, the brief touch sending sparks through your veins, but neither of you spoke of it at first. It was too fragile, too precious to put into words. But those touches lingered, the brief glances became longer, and soon, the silences between you were filled with the unspoken understanding of what you both felt.

You fell in love in those small, stolen moments — not all at once, but in the way his gaze lingered a little longer on you during training, the way he would seek you out even when there was no reason to. You noticed how his voice softened when he spoke your name, how his laughter felt more genuine when it was with you.

It was gradual, this love. It wasn’t fireworks or grand confessions. It was a quiet, persistent thing, growing slowly but steadily, as natural as the rising sun. And before either of you truly realized it, you had become his other half — not just in battle, but in everything.

And Suguru, who had always carried the weight of the world so heavily on his shoulders, found solace in you, found love in a way that didn’t need words or declarations. You were his mirror, his equal, the one who truly understood the depths of who he was.

And he, in turn, became yours.

The change was subtle, barely noticeable at first. It was in the way Suguru’s shoulders relaxed when you were around, the way his eyes would light up just a little more when you spoke. Your friendship, already so deep, had slipped effortlessly into something more intimate without either of you acknowledging it out loud. It was as if neither of you wanted to disturb the delicate balance, afraid to name the thing that had grown between you for fear it might shatter.

You began to spend more time together outside of missions and training. You’d sit side by side in the library, poring over old texts or discussing jujutsu theory long into the night. On rare afternoons off, you’d find a quiet corner of the campus to sit and talk about everything and nothing — your pasts, your dreams for the future, your shared frustrations with the world you were tasked with protecting. In those moments, the world seemed smaller, more manageable, as if it was just the two of you in it.

There were no grand gestures between you and Suguru, but the small things added up — the way he would bring you tea without asking, knowing exactly how you liked it; the way you’d patch up his wounds after a particularly difficult mission, your fingers lingering on his skin a little longer than necessary. He’d watch you as you worked, his gaze soft, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

And you? You found yourself looking forward to the moments when it was just the two of you, when the weight of your roles as jujutsu sorcerers could fall away and you could just be. You knew you were falling for him, slowly but irrevocably, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t need to. What you shared with Suguru was natural, inevitable, like the slow blooming of a flower.

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after a particularly grueling mission, that something shifted. You had been injured — not seriously, but enough to warrant Suguru’s concern. He had stayed by your side, helping you back to your room after Gojo had left to handle the debriefing. You could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw was clenched, his usual calm exterior cracking just slightly.

“Suguru, I’m fine. Really.” you said softly, trying to reassure him as you sat on the edge of your bed. “It’s just a scratch.”

But he wasn’t listening, his eyes dark with worry as he knelt in front of you, his hands hovering over the bandage on your arm. “You shouldn’t have taken that hit!” he muttered, his voice low, almost angry. “I should have—”

You reached out, gently cupping his face in your hand, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Hey.” you said softly, your voice drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “It’s not your fault. We’re a team, remember? We look out for each other.”

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and something shifted between you. The air grew heavier, charged with an emotion neither of you had spoken aloud but both of you had felt for a long time. Suguru’s hand moved to cover yours where it rested on his cheek, his touch warm and firm, grounding.

“I don’t want to lose you, you know that....” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “I can’t—” He stopped, his breath hitching slightly as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, the intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. “You mean too much to me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at him, your own feelings rising to the surface, too powerful to ignore any longer. “Suguru…” you began, your voice soft, but he didn’t let you finish.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I’ve been falling for you, doll.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the confession was something too fragile to say aloud. “Slowly, but completely.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, the truth of your own feelings spilling over. “Me too.” you whispered back, your hand still cradling his face, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ve been falling for you too.”

There was a brief moment where the world seemed to pause, where everything else fell away — the missions, the responsibilities, the looming sense of duty that always seemed to hang over you. In that moment, it was just you and Suguru, the quiet intimacy of your confessions binding you together in a way that was both new and familiar.

Then, as if some unseen barrier between you had finally crumbled, Suguru closed the small distance between you and kissed you, softly at first, his lips tentative, as if testing the waters. But the moment your lips met his, a flood of emotion rushed through you, and you kissed him back, your hand tightening slightly on his cheek as your other hand found its way to his shoulder, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and sweet, neither of you in a rush, savoring the moment as the truth of your feelings settled between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, Suguru rested his forehead against yours once more, his lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

“Maybe we were always meant to find each other like this,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t known he was capable of.

You smiled, your heart full as you whispered, “Maybe we were.”

From that moment on, things between you and Suguru were different — but in the best possible way. The love that had been quietly growing between you had finally been given a voice, and while nothing about your relationship was rushed or flashy, it was solid, rooted in years of friendship and understanding.

You were two peas in a pod, and now, you were more than that. You were his mirror, his equal, his partner in every sense of the word. And together, you faced the world — not just as sorcerers, but as something more.

THINGS QUICKLY CHANGED. With all the highs came the lows, and you could trace the exact moment you began to lose Suguru. It was the day Riko Amanai died. Everything shifted after that. Geto Suguru had always carried a weight on his shoulders — the responsibility of being a jujutsu sorcerer, the burden of protecting the weak from curses that never seemed to end.

But after Riko’s death, that weight seemed to grow unbearable. You saw it in the way his eyes grew darker, the way his silences stretched longer, how the light that had once shone in him began to dim.

Where once his passion burned brightly, there was now only a smoldering ember, flickering weakly in the face of despair. The laughter you used to share felt distant, a memory that seemed almost foreign in contrast to the ever-present heaviness that hung over him.

He had always been quiet, thoughtful in his approach to life, but now that stillness took on a different shade — it wasn’t contemplation or a moment of rest, it was something far more unsettling. It was the beginning of withdrawal, of detachment from the very things that used to anchor him.

He no longer met your gaze in the same way; when he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing through you, as if he was trying to find something beyond the present — something that would ease the ache in his soul.

Conversations that had once flowed freely between you both became strained, stilted, weighed down by unspoken pain. He started questioning everything. Not openly at first, but in quiet, haunting ways — in the pauses between words, in the way he’d linger before answering, as though the truth was too bitter to speak out loud.

You knew Suguru was strong, resilient, but Riko’s death had shaken him in a way that left him fractured. It wasn’t just about losing someone; it was about what she represented — the possibility of something better, something worth fighting for. When that was ripped away, so too was Suguru’s belief in the world he had dedicated his life to.

And as that belief crumbled, you could see him beginning to unravel, piece by piece, day by day. His sense of purpose, once steadfast and clear, became clouded by doubts and questions, and you feared that he might never find his way back.

There were moments when you caught glimpses of the Suguru you used to know — fleeting sparks of the person who still believed, still fought. But they were just that: moments. Each one shorter than the last, like the dying flickers of a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.

It was in those moments that you knew you were losing him, and no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, he was slipping through your fingers. And you were helpless to stop it.

At first, you tried to reach him. You stayed by his side, offering your hand, your presence, anything you could to help him through the storm of grief and guilt. But Suguru had already begun to slip away, and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t pull him back.

The moments of warmth between you grew fewer and far between. Where there had once been easy conversation and soft smiles, now there was a distance — a hollow space between you that seemed impossible to bridge. Suguru, once so attentive, now drifted away even when you were right next to him. You’d talk, but he’d be somewhere else, his thoughts consumed by something darker, something you couldn’t touch.

It drained you, the slow unraveling of your relationship. The pain of watching the person you loved most in the world grow cold, distant, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on. But you stayed. You stayed because you meant it when you told him he was the love of your life. You stayed because you couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him in his darkest hour, even if he no longer wanted you there.

And he didn’t. You could see it in the way his gaze no longer softened when it landed on you, in the way he brushed off your concern with short, clipped words. He no longer sought your comfort. When he was hurting, he turned inward, shutting you out completely. And yet, you stayed, clinging to the hope that somewhere deep down, the Suguru you had fallen in love with was still there, buried beneath the grief and the anger.

But it wasn’t just grief. You could feel the bitterness growing in him, a festering resentment toward the world that had demanded so much from him, toward the system that had failed Riko, that had failed all of you. He stopped talking about your future together, stopped talking about anything that wasn’t steeped in cynicism and frustration. He was changing, and you could feel it, a slow and terrible shift that left you standing on the outside, helpless to stop it.

The breaking point came in quiet moments, little by little, until you couldn’t deny it anymore. You weren’t the love of his life. You weren’t his anchor, his equal, his partner. Not anymore. Suguru’s love had been replaced with something else — an obsession, a mission that consumed him, left no room for you or the bond you had shared. He became fixated on a world where the weak didn’t have to suffer, where sorcerers like him weren’t forced to bear the weight of protecting humanity. His ideals twisted, hardened into something cold and unrecognizable.

And you watched, heartbroken, as the man you loved disappeared into that darkness.

Even when he pushed you away, you stayed. You stayed because you loved him. You stayed because you believed, deep down, that there was still some part of him that loved you too. But with every passing day, it became harder to hold onto that belief. The way he looked at you had changed. There was no warmth, no affection, only a distant coldness that chilled you to your core.

You would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling while Suguru sat in silence, lost in his own thoughts, the space between you stretching wider and wider until it felt like you were in different worlds entirely. You could feel the end coming, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.

Because he was the love of your life.

But you could no longer say the same for him.

Somehow, the only way you could still feel his presence was in those moments of intimacy. When everything else seemed fractured, when his eyes were distant and his heart seemed closed off, it was in those fleeting, intense connections that you could still sense a glimmer of the man you had once known.

The nights were the hardest. You would lay beside him, and though the silence between you was heavy, it was in the quiet moments leading up to those encounters that you found a semblance of the closeness you had lost. When Suguru touched you, it was almost like a desperate attempt to reclaim a part of himself that was missing — a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

When he made love to you, it was a paradox. It was as if he was trying to find solace in you, to fill the void within himself, even if the effort often left you both raw and aching. His movements were urgent, almost frantic, as if he was trying to escape from the pain that had consumed him. His touch, though sometimes rough, was filled with a fervor that betrayed the depth of his emotions, a desperate reach for something he had lost.

You would lay beneath him, feeling every inch of him as he moved, every thrust a mix of pleasure and pain. Even as tears streamed down your face, even as your body shook with a mix of conflicting emotions, there was a strange sense of connection. It was in these moments of vulnerability and rawness that you felt his pleasure, his need, and somehow, you still felt loved — even if it was through the prism of his own desperation.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with yours, and the room was filled with the sound of your shared intensity. It was as if the pleasure was a balm for both of you, a way to soothe the fractures that had formed in your relationship. His hands gripped you tightly, his body moving with a fervor that spoke of a deep-seated longing to feel something, anything, that resembled the love you had once shared.

In those moments, when the world outside ceased to exist and all that mattered was the connection between your bodies, you felt a bittersweet semblance of closeness. Even as his pleasure mingled with your own tears, there was an undeniable intensity to it, a shared experience that temporarily bridged the emotional chasm between you.

But even as you felt him inside you, lost in the throes of passion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was also a form of self-medication for him — a way to numb the pain, to forget the pieces of himself that were missing. It was as if he was trying to patch up the voids within him, using you as a vessel for his own fleeting moments of relief.

And so you continued, both of you lost in it, in a dance of pleasure and sorrow that seemed to provide a temporary escape from the reality of what had become of your relationship. The intimacy, though deeply painful at times, was also a reminder of what once was, of the bond you had shared — a bond that was still there, hidden beneath layers of grief and change.

As he finally reached the peak of his pleasure, his body tensing above you, you could feel the release echo through both of you. And though the moment was fleeting, it was a reminder of the connection that still lingered, however strained and fractured it had become. You lay there, both of you panting and spent, the silence of the room wrapping around you once more, the echoes of your shared experience lingering in the stillness.

In those moments, you clung to the hope that despite the overwhelming changes, there was still a part of Suguru that needed you, that loved you in the only way he knew how to express now. It was a painful paradox, but it was all you had left — the bittersweet solace of feeling loved through the remnants of a passion that once defined your relationship.

Suguru’s pace never faltered, his body pressed relentlessly against yours, each thrust deeper than the last. His eyes were half-lidded with a raw, burning need, his hands never loosening their grip on your trembling body.

Even as your voice broke into breathless cries, your hands clutched desperately at him, grounding yourself in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through you. He was utterly lost in you, consumed by the devotion he had promised — his worship of you unending, fervent, and wild.

Your body ached with the pleasure of it, shaking beneath him as he continued even after you had come. He was relentless, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine, each movement feeding the fire that burned between you. You felt overwhelmed, consumed, your body unable to keep up with the intensity of his desire, but you didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Suguru….” you whimpered again, your voice cracking, barely able to speak as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. “Please…”

But whether you were begging for more or for a moment’s reprieve, even you didn’t know. He responded with a low, guttural moan, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips.

His eyes, dark and wild, locked onto yours as he murmured in a voice thick with lust, “I need you… I need you more than anything. You’re everything.”

Your heart pounded, his words igniting something deep within you as your body gave in completely, surrendering to him as if you were both caught in the grip of something sacred and sinful all at once. He pushed deeper, each thrust taking you to the edge of what your body could handle, the pleasure blending with a delicious ache that left you trembling against him.

The thunder outside roared, masking your moans as his worship grew more fervent, his devotion unrelenting. Your body shook beneath him, every nerve alight as he claimed you over and over. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours as he took you higher, his pace unbroken, his rhythm fierce and untamed.

Lightning flashed again, casting the room in harsh light, illuminating the way his muscles strained as he drove into you, his face twisted in both agony and ecstasy. His voice, hoarse and filled with desperate reverence, reached you between the booming thunder. “You’re mine… only mine.”

The words broke something in you, your body shaking as the pleasure surged through you once again, your cries swallowed by the storm. You clung to him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body collapsing into his as the intensity of it all took you to the brink of delirium.

Suguru wasn’t far behind. His movements grew frantic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as long as he could. But in the end, he couldn’t resist any longer. With a low, primal groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his release washing over him as he collapsed into you, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in a haze of exhaustion and bliss, the sound of the storm outside slowly fading into the background. His breath was heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “Take it. Like the good girl you are. Take it.”

YOU WEREN’T GOOD AT BEING ALONE. Not even after ten years had passed. Somehow, the only way you could still feel his presence was in those moments of intimacy. When everything else seemed fractured, when his eyes were distant and his heart seemed closed off, it was in those fleeting, intense connections that you could still sense a glimmer of the man you had once known.

Even after he left and defected, becoming Jujutsu society’s enemy — and in a way, your own enemy — Suguru still sought you out. It didn't matter that years had passed, or that he had crossed lines no one could return from. Ten years later, you still let him in. You still let him ruin you.

You told yourself you wanted to care. To be angry, to be disgusted, to shut the door on him the moment you saw his familiar silhouette lurking in the shadows. But the truth was, it was hard to care.

Even with the blood on his hands — the blood of innocent people, of those you once fought beside — you let him ruin you. Because you loved him. You always had, and some part of you suspected you always would, even if he didn’t love you anymore.

And maybe that was the most painful part — knowing that his love had withered into something twisted, something tainted by his bitterness toward the world. But you? You held on to what once was, clutching it desperately, as if it could somehow bring back the man he used to be. The Suguru who laughed with you, who shared quiet nights under the stars, who believed in protecting the world no matter the cost.

Now, all you could do was lie back in the tub, bright bubbly water enveloping your body, offering a moment of warmth in a life that felt increasingly cold. You have been there for a long while now. But you didn’t have the energy to leave. You’ve been on a mission for a whole three days, and you had nothing left in you. Nothing but bitterness and perhaps, the energy for a smoke.

All that was left in you was the will to smoke the cigarette between your fingers. You watched it burn lazily in your grasp, a thin stream of smoke curling up. It was addicting, to watch it dancing above the tip like fleeting memories. Fleeting, unattainable memories that you couldn’t quite grasp with everything in you anymore.

Your vinyl played those rough melodies, the loud boom of it filling the cramped, claustrophobic bathroom with anything but peace. Somehow the chaos was all that kept the thoughts in your head out. It was all that let you breathe. It was almost peaceful — almost enough to pretend things were normal. Chaos, you think, was the only thing that made your life have harmony. Even if it kills you softly.

You can only ever look up at him, leaning against the doorframe. Your deep, dead eyes looked at him as though there was still light in them. As though there wasn’t any resentment, any grief. As though there was nothing but emptiness. Perhaps all that will ever be left behind in them were those tired tenderness.

That brutal acceptance of what he was, what you had become to each other. You took a deep hit of the cigarette, taking in the smoke as though it was the oxygen you needed. His gaze never left yours as the smoke snarled through your face.

Suguru could only ever return the gesture, though you could see the deep set of fatigue etched in the lines of his face. His once-bright purple eyes, the ones that used to light up with hope and purpose, now seemed dull, as though the weight of his choices had drained the life from them. He, just as much as you, had become soulless. Lifeless. Walking corpses. Nothing more, nothing less.

His purple haze lazily traveled over your body, taking in the curves, the skin glistening under the dim light. But there was no lust, no hunger. At least, not that you know of. These days, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you suppose, his eyes tell more than his mind does. As empty as they were.

All you can see in him was acceptance, even if it was just a flash of a moment. That same old tired familiarity. He had seen you like this countless times before — vulnerable, exposed, both physically and emotionally. And yet, somehow, this moment felt different. More final, more resigned. More exhausted. More empty. Each and every time, you think it gets worse. But you suppose that’s just what it is.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. What was there left to say? You had given him your love, your body, your trust, and in return, he had broken you. Over and over again. But still, you let him. Because no matter how far he had fallen, no matter how many lives he had taken, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn him away.

You watched him as he stood there, wondering if he ever thought about what you could have been — if, in another life, things might have turned out differently. But you didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. You don’t wanna think about it anymore. Instead, you took another heavy drag from your cigarette, the smoke filling your lungs as the silence between you stretched on. Only the loud chaos of the vinyl remained, and maybe, the tap water’s flow on the sink.

You wondered if he was going to stay the night, maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. Either way, you would still love him, even as he ruined you again. Because that’s what you did. That’s what you always did. And some part of you suspected that deep down, you didn’t really want it to stop.

You exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it twisted into the air before dissolving into the dimness of the room. His eyes lingered on the ash filled with water before returning to your face. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but the silence between you stretched on, thick and heavy.

"Suguru." you finally broke the stillness, your voice quiet but steady. He blinked, as if hearing his name after so long startled him. "What are you looking for? After all this time, why come back?"

His gaze faltered. You could see it in his eyes — the hesitation, the wariness. He didn’t want to answer, not fully, not truthfully. "I don’t know, if I’m being honest." he murmured after a pause, his voice hoarse. "Maybe I’m just… tired."

You offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "We’re both tired, Suguru. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here. Why do you always come back."

He pushed himself off the doorframe, moving closer to you, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible over the horrendous music. His large fingers brushed the edge of the tub, his eyes tracing the ashy bubbles floating on the surface.

"Do you ever think about what we could’ve been?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You took another drag from the cigarette, the embers glowing brighter in the dim light. "I used to." you admitted, staring down at the water. "But thinking about it didn’t change anything. What we are now… it’s not what we could’ve been."

His expression tightened, a shadow of regret crossing his features, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt beside the tub, his fingers trailing through the warm water. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt intimate — too intimate for what you had become.

"Suguru." you said softly, not meeting his eyes. "We’re not the same people we were ten years ago. You know that."

He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And yet, I still find myself here. With you."

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The lines of exhaustion, the hollowness in his once-bright eyes, the weariness that clung to him like a second skin. He was a stranger now, and yet… he was still Suguru. The man you had loved, the man you still loved. Even after everything. And you hated it. You hated everything about it. You hated him. And yet….and yet, you loved him all the same.

"I don’t know how to stop coming back to you." he admitted, his voice raw. "I don’t even know if I want to."

You sighed, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Maybe you’re not supposed to," you said softly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the water. "But that doesn’t mean this is healthy. For either of us."

He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was soft, familiar, and you closed your eyes against the warmth of his palm, against the flood of memories his touch brought with it. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that things were different, that you hadn’t ended up here, in this cycle of love and destruction.

But when you opened your eyes, reality came crashing back.

"Suguru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken words. "You ruin me. Every time. And I let you."

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "I know," he said, his voice breaking. "I know. And I’m sorry."

You laughed softly, bitterly, shaking your head. "Sorry doesn’t fix anything. It never has."

He lowered his head, the exhaustion in his posture more evident than ever. "I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t think I can."

You took a final drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling it slowly. "Then maybe," you said quietly, "you should stop trying."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a sadness that ran deeper than words. "And if I don’t know how to let go?"

You reached out, your fingers brushing his, before pulling away. "Then we’ll keep doing this. Over and over again. Until there’s nothing left of either of us."

Suguru stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his guilt, his regret, in the silence that followed. You wanted to believe he would leave this time — that he’d walk away and never come back. But you both knew the truth.

He wouldn’t.

And neither would you.

The splashes of the bathwater almost seemed to compete with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding, creating a symphony of intimate noise that filled the cramped space. The small bathroom was alive with the sensory chaos of your passion. The ashy, bitter, bubbly water in the tub surged over the edges with each of your movements, cascading down the sides and creating a pool of frothy suds around the base.

Geto Suguru, relaxed and reclining against the porcelain tub, looked every bit the picture of serene indulgence. His chest rose and fell heavily with each breath, a reflection of the deep, contented sighs escaping his lips. His usual composed demeanor was softened by the way he surrendered to the moment, his purple eyes half-lidded as he took in the sensation of your body pressed intimately against his.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together created a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock in a silent room. The sound of the water mixing with the echoes of your shared breaths and whispered moans painted a vivid picture of the intense connection between you. Each splash and ripple seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, adding a physical dimension to the emotions that were already swirling around the small space.

In this confined setting, every movement was magnified, every touch felt more pronounced, making the experience all the more enveloping and consuming. The heat of the water and the warmth of Suguru's body combined to create an almost intoxicating environment, where the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the sensory overload of the moment you were sharing.

Your fingers clutched the rim of the tub for support, knuckles turning white as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your hips with a slow, deliberate pace. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with lust and something darker — something that lingered between desire and destruction.

Geto Suguru’s gaze was heavy-lidded with passion, with pleasure. His tired eyes never leave your face with every moment. His lips parted slightly, releasing a low groan as your movements quickened, water splashing violently around you. It was intense, almost punishing, the way you moved together — like you were trying to drown out everything else, the pain, the guilt, the past. In these moments, nothing else existed.

He let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper into you, sending another wave of water crashing against the sides of the tub. The wet sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with the music still softly playing in the background. It was a strange contrast — the gentle melody against the raw, primal intimacy unfolding between you.

"Fuck…" Suguru muttered, his voice rough, barely audible above the splashing water. His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your neck, hot breath ghosting over your skin. "I can’t… stop."

You gasped in response, your body arching against him as he pressed deeper, harder, his movements becoming more desperate. There was no tenderness, no softness — just need. Need for you, for the release, for the fleeting escape from the weight of everything that had come between you.

But even in the heat of the moment, you felt the familiar ache creeping back in, the realization that this wouldn’t change anything. You were caught in the same cycle, both of you — tangled in a web of love, regret, and ruin. And even as you lost yourself in him, in the way he filled you completely, you knew that this would never be enough to heal the wounds you both carried.

Your breath hitched as he buried himself deeper, your thighs trembling with the intensity of it all. His name left your lips in a soft, broken whisper, and for a moment, it felt like you were both on the edge of something — not just release, but something far more terrifying. The edge of losing yourselves to each other completely.

But as your climax built, the water splashing and your moans blending with the music, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not at that moment. You leaned down, your lips brushing his as your body shuddered around him, and in that fleeting second, it was just the two of you — all the pain, the guilt, the love, suspended in the air between the breaths you shared.

Then, with a final, desperate thrust, everything shattered.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure finally subsided, the water still sloshing gently around you both. The heat of the moment lingered in the air, but as the fog of lust cleared, reality settled back in — heavy and suffocating. You stayed there for a moment, leaning against Suguru’s chest, your breath still ragged, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.

But as his hand slid up your back, a soft caress, something inside you broke. This couldn’t continue. Not anymore.

You slowly lifted yourself off of him, your body protesting the movement as the water rippled in your wake. You stood up, the warm water dripping off your skin, but you felt cold inside. Turning your back to him, you grabbed the towel from the rack, wrapping it around your body, trying to create some distance — any distance — between you and what had just happened.

"Suguru." you said, your voice quiet but firm. You still hadn’t turned to face him. "This can’t happen again."

He didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. You could almost hear his thoughts, the confusion, the quiet disbelief. He probably thought you didn’t mean it. That you were just saying it because the guilt always hit harder after intimacy.

You turned to face him then, your eyes meeting his. His expression was calm, though there was a flicker of something — maybe sadness, maybe frustration — in his eyes. "You have to stop coming here," you continued, your voice shaking slightly. "This is… it’s destroying both of us. And I can’t do this anymore. I won’t."

He shifted in the tub, his elbows resting on the sides as he sat up, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand where this was coming from. "You don’t mean that," he murmured, his voice low and even. "You always say you’re done, but you never are."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I know. I’ve said it before. But I mean it this time, Suguru." You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "This… whatever we’ve become, it’s not love anymore. It’s pain. And I can’t keep letting you back into my life just so we can tear each other apart."

He ran a hand through his wet hair, his jaw clenched as he listened, his gaze never leaving yours. "You still love me," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s the problem," you replied, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I do still love you. I think I always will. But that’s not enough anymore."

You stepped closer to him, kneeling by the edge of the tub, your hands gripping the porcelain, your face inches from his. "Every time you come back, I let you in because I hope… I hope something will change. Maybe, this time, you’ll stay. Or that you’ll choose me over whatever it is you’re chasing. But you never do. And I can’t keep living with that."

Suguru’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, the weight of your words sinking in. But then, just as quickly, his usual calm mask slipped back into place. "You think I don’t want to stay?" he asked, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place — regret, maybe, or guilt. "You think I don’t miss what we had?"

"Then why don’t you?" you shot back, the frustration and heartache boiling to the surface. "Why do you always leave, Suguru? Why do you keep coming back, only to walk away again?"

He didn’t have an answer, and in that silence, the truth was louder than anything he could have said.

"I can’t keep doing this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I need you to go. And this time, I need you to never come back."

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw the same brokenness in him that you felt in yourself. But instead of pleading or apologizing, he stood up, the water dripping off him as he stepped out of the tub. He grabbed his clothes, moving quietly, his expression unreadable.

"Suguru," you called after him, your voice wavering. "Please. Don’t make this harder."

He paused at the door, his back to you, his head tilted slightly as if considering your words. Then, without turning around, he muttered softly, "You always knew this would end like this."

And with that, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the quiet room.

You stood there for a long time, the sound of the bathwater still rippling behind you, the music still playing softly. But the space felt emptier now, colder. You sank to the floor, pulling the towel tighter around yourself, feeling the weight of his absence settle in your chest.

This time, you told yourself, it was really over. But as you sat there in the silence, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had truly meant it. Or if some part of you was still waiting for him to come back.

YET WORDS ARE EASIER THAN ACTION. And you know, you were born to be a liar. Both of you were. And in the quiet aftermath of Geto Suguru's departure, you knew deep down that the promises made were nothing more than echoes of empty words. The truth was, you weren’t ready to let go, and neither was he. The cycle, though painful, was one you both knew too well — and you were trapped in it, unable to break free.

As the door closed behind him, you sat alone in the bath, the water now cold and stagnant, reflecting the dim light of the room. You stared at your own reflection, the tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes mingling with the water’s surface. The silence felt heavy, oppressive, a reminder of the lies you had told each other and yourself.

Hours later, long after the bubbles had dissipated and the water had turned colder than ever before, you heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open. He was back — just like always. The moment you heard it, a part of you felt a twisted sort of relief mixed with the sting of knowing you’d once again fall into the same pattern.

Suguru walked in, his face a mask of the same weariness you’d seen before. He didn’t say a word, but the silence between you was charged with the understanding of what was to come. It was a dance you both knew well, and despite the hurt, there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of it.

You stood up from the tub, wrapping yourself in a towel, and looked at him, your expression a mix of resignation and reluctant desire. "You came back." you said, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

Suguru nodded, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "You knew I would."

You swallowed hard, fighting back the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "I did. I guess I always do."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours for something — maybe forgiveness, or understanding, or just the old connection that seemed to bind you both together, no matter how hard you tried to sever it. "I’m sorry," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "For everything."

You shook your head, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Sorry doesn’t change anything. It never has."

He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek, his touch as familiar as it was painful. "Then why do we keep doing this?"

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you reached out and touched his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips. "Because we’re both liars," you said quietly, your voice breaking. "And we both know it. We lie to ourselves and each other about what this is, about what we want. And then we repeat it. Over and over."

He nodded, a resigned look in his eyes. "Maybe we’re just afraid of being alone. Or afraid of facing what we’ve become."

You turned away from him, walking slowly back to the edge of the tub. The cold, wet surface felt distant now, a reminder of how you’d tried to distance yourself from this pain, only to find yourself pulled back in.

Suguru followed, his presence heavy and unsettling. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

You sighed, looking at him over your shoulder. "We do what we always do. We pretend. We tell ourselves that this time will be different. Maybe, somehow, it will all work out."

He came up behind you, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar embrace, his warmth mingling with the coolness of the room. "And then what?"

You leaned into him, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence despite the turmoil it brought. "And then we repeat. We rinse and repeat. Until we can’t anymore."

The space between you was filled with the heavy weight of your shared history, the cycles of love and pain that had come to define your relationship. As his lips brushed against your neck, the old familiar spark of desire reignited, even though you knew it was just another fleeting escape from the reality that awaited you both.

For now, you let him hold you, let the old patterns resume. You knew you’d fall back into the same routine — the lies, the hurt, the fleeting moments of connection. And as he began to kiss you softly, you resigned yourself to the truth you both avoided: that the cycle was far from over, and you were both too entangled to break free.

And so, you parroted the same lies, whispered the same promises, and let yourself be swept up once more in the inevitable repetition.

THAT DECEMBER RAIN WAS A PARADOX TO THINK ABOUT. You began to think that maybe, just as much, the rain was just like your love for Geto Suguru. And maybe, that’s the only way to describe everything about these past twelve years of being a prisoner to love. An inescapable, rough paradox.

When Suguru made love to you, it was a rough paradox. His touch was both urgent and tender, driven by a desperate need to escape the pain that had consumed him, yet somehow still managing to convey a deep-seated longing for connection. His movements were frantic, as if he was trying to fill a void within himself that could never truly be filled. It was as though every thrust, every caress was a plea for solace, for something that would make him whole again.

As he pressed into you, you could feel the raw intensity of his emotions, a tumultuous mix of pleasure and anguish. His touch was sometimes rough, but there was a fervor behind it that betrayed the depth of his feelings. It was a paradoxical experience — he sought to find relief in you, yet his desperation often left you both feeling more exposed, more raw than ever before.

You lay beneath him, feeling every inch of him as he moved, every thrust an amalgamation of pleasure and pain. The contrast between the physical sensations and the emotional turbulence was almost overwhelming. As his body pressed against yours, you could feel the heat of his desire, his need to escape from the emotional abyss he had fallen into. Each movement was a reminder of the complexity of your relationship — the way it was interwoven with both intense pleasure and deep-seated hurt.

Tears streamed down your face, not just from the physical sensations, but from the emotional weight that seemed to press down on you both. Your body shook with the conflicting emotions that came with these moments of vulnerability. The pleasure was undeniable, but it was mingled with an aching sadness, a realization of the cyclical nature of your interactions.

Yet, despite the tears and the pain, there was a strange, bittersweet sense of connection. In these moments, you felt his pleasure, his need, and somehow, you still felt loved. It was a love expressed through the prism of his own desperation — a love that was as flawed and tangled as the relationship itself.

His breaths were ragged, his movements increasingly frantic, as if he was trying to drown out the pain that clung to him, that clung to both of you. His hands gripped your hips with a fierce urgency, his gaze locked onto yours as if trying to find something in your eyes that could make everything right again.

Despite the intensity and the pain, there was an intimacy in these moments that was deeply profound. You could feel the depth of his need, the rawness of his emotions, and the connection that persisted even through the chaos. It was an unspoken understanding, a shared experience that bound you together in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

As he reached his climax, his body trembling above yours, the release was a mixture of relief and sorrow. You could sense the fleeting solace he found in these moments, the temporary escape from the anguish that had become a part of him. And as he collapsed against you, both of you panting and spent, the room fell into a heavy silence.

In the aftermath, you both lay there, the air between you thick with unspoken words and the weight of the cycle you were trapped in. The connection was palpable, but so was the realization that, despite everything, you were both still searching for something — something that might never be found. And as you lay there together, the intimacy of the moment was tinged with a poignant sense of resignation, the awareness that, even in your deepest connection, you were both still haunted by the same demons.

In these moments, you were reminded of the paradox of your relationship — the way it was both a source of comfort and a reflection of the pain you both carried. And as you lay there, holding each other, you knew that despite the rawness and the tears, you would continue to navigate this cycle, searching for solace in each other, even as you remained trapped in the same, unending pattern.

You both lay naked together, the warmth of your bed now replaced by the chill of the room. The silence was heavy, filled with the echoes of your shared vulnerability and the weight of what was to come. Suguru’s body was pressed close to yours, his breath warm against your skin, but the intimacy of the moment was overshadowed by the gravity of his next words.

“Satoru and the Jujutsu society…..” Suguru said quietly, his voice carrying a determined edge. “I’m declaring war on them tomorrow.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your heart raced. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and resolve. “You know I can’t let that happen,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’d have to kill you before I let you get to Satoru. You know that.”

Suguru’s lips curved into a sad, knowing smile. “Maybe it’s better that way, don’t you think?” he said softly, his eyes reflecting a mix of resignation and acceptance. “Maybe it’s better that you and I can’t be on the same side in this.”

The finality of his words was crushing, and tears began to stream down your face. You felt an unbearable ache in your chest, the raw pain of knowing that the love you had shared was leading to this inevitable end.

“Why did you have to make a home in my heart like this?” you asked through your sobs, your voice cracking with the depth of your sorrow. “Why did you have to become such a part of me?”

Suguru laughed bitterly, a sound that cut through the room like a knife. “I should ask you the same thing, hm?” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “Why did you let me in? Why did you give me a place in your heart when you knew how this would end?”

The room fell into a profound silence, the only sound the soft, stifled cries that escaped you both. The weight of your shared pain and the knowledge of the impending separation hung heavily in the air. The love that had once brought you together was now the source of your deepest anguish.

Suguru’s voice broke the silence, soft and filled with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the current turmoil. “I love you, with everything in me.” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you the most in the world. And if there is a next life, I hope….our rebirthed souls would be happy together.”

You looked at him, your heart shattering at his words. The intensity of his love was clear, even in the midst of the devastation he was about to bring. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to find some last shred of comfort before the end, but the reality of his decision was unchangeable.

Suguru rose from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He dressed quietly, his back turned to you as he prepared to leave. The finality of his actions was palpable, and you could feel the end drawing near, a dark and inevitable conclusion to everything you had shared.

As he opened the door to leave, you felt an overwhelming sense of finality. This was it. This was the end. There was no going back, no more second chances. The love you had for each other had brought you to this point, and now it was tearing you apart.

Suguru looked back at you one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. Then, he stepped out, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

You sat there, alone in the silence, the tears flowing freely now. The emptiness of the room felt like a reflection of the void left in your heart. The weight of his departure, the knowledge of the impending conflict, and the finality of his words all combined to leave you in a state of profound sorrow.

As you wept, you felt the crushing realization that this was truly the end of everything you had known. The love, the pain, the shared moments — all of it was over. And as you cried out the last remnants of your heartache, you knew that you would carry the weight of this loss with you forever.

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ohnoitstbskyen · 4 months ago

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I know you made shorts for Sora, Riku, and Kairi, but do you have any other thoughts about Kingdom Hearts?

Ik this is kinda vauge and you get these kind of asks all the goddamn time, but I hyperfixated on those games for most of elementary and middle school and its always cool to see your favorite Youtuber talk about stuff you really like. Not to guilt trip you into answering this one or anything, just. . . I'm very tired and it would be very cool lol.

Again, saving my character design thoughts for some more shorts, but I adore Kingdom Hearts. Like, the first game really ISN'T much more than a cross-promotional branding exercise for Disney and Square, same as any of a dozen other similar crossover centric franchises; it's a Saturday morning cartoon show that wants to get you invested (or keep you invested) in a bunch of fancy IPs to buy toys of, but it's a really good one of those.

And it's a game that understands that the central thing that's going to hook people IN to that kind of thing is characters that are willing to believe in what they've got going on with one thousand percent sincerity. Which I think is the thing they nailed more than anything. Sora cares SO MUCH, and he wants to find his friend and his love interest (Kairi and Riku, respectively) SO BADLY, you can't help but root for the poor kid and want to believe in it.

Then, with the first game successfully managing to hook a solid fanbase, the creative team went "hey what if we had even MORE extremely earnest cool anime people getting deep in their feelings?" and now we're off to the races with Organizations and Oblivion Castles and fractions of 358 days.

And the thing that makes all the hyper-convoluted wheels-within-wheels plot machination nonsense WORK is that down, deep down, right at the core of what the franchise is always trying to say, is that love will save us. Yeah yeah hearts and darkness and unversed and nobodies and keyblades and blah blah blah (to be clear: I adore all that nonsense), but all of it is top-to-bottom in service of that singular central thematic clarion call.

Love will save us.

What holds Ventus together after Xehanort tears his heart apart? The love of Sora. What keeps Roxas the nobody from fading into Sora? The love of Xion and Axel, and Hayner, Pence and Olette. What brings Xion back? The love of Axel and Roxas. Hearts ring together and resonate and bind themselves to each other and there is no darkness so deep, no tragedy so absolute, no villain so foul that the cry of a loving heart cannot defeat it.

Roxas is a nobody doomed to darkness? Fuck you, Kingdom Hearts is love, no he isn't. Xion is a mere replica puppet, a failed experiment that nobody will remember? >>EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER<< get seasalt icecream'd on top of a clock tower at sunset, IDIOT.

Over and over again characters sink into despair and loneliness, they fear that their connections are fake or fading, they fear being forgotten or left behind (Riku in the first game, the breaking of Ventus, Aqua and Terra, Roxas thinking nobody would miss him, Aqua in the Realm of Darkness), and over and over again they are proven beautifully wrong. There is always a hand reaching out, there is always someone who will miss you. Love will save us.

And this absolutely gets hokey, of course it does, it's a saturday morning children's cartoon. It's a bit simplistic, maybe a bit naïve, but honestly in a world where you can't walk two steps without bleak-minded doomer cynicism forcing the assumption that nothing truly good is possible and that the worst will always happen, Kingdom Hearts is a story so absolutely drenched in hope, sincerely held, that it feels like a fucking balm.

Also, LITERALLY where the fuck else are you going to get Woody from Toy Story reading an edgy anime villain for absolute filth? Nowhere, that's where. ONLY Kingdom Hearts.

youtube

None of this is to suggest I don't have criticisms of the franchise or that it's faultless. I could talk for several hours unbroken about all my gripes and problems, chief among which is LET KAIRI DO THINGS OH MY FUCKING GOD the franchise is low key misogynistic towards its female characters sometimes but I am talking about the things I love here let me just be happy for a second.

#tb answers #kingdom hearts #kh1 #kh2 #kh3 #sora kingdom hearts #riku kingdom hearts

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shisasan · 4 months ago

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Picking a single favourite quote might be an impossible task so which quote (or quotes) do you seem to come back to more often than others?

Picking a single favorite quote might truly be an impossible task because there are so many brilliant writers out there whose words have deeply influenced my life. These extraordinary souls have breathed new life into me when I was ready to give up on everything. Without any particular order, these quotes are not intended to enlighten or educate anyone but offer a brief insight into the words I turn to for comfort, inspiration, or understanding when I'm not at my highest self.

I'll begin with my most dearest Hermann Hesse, whom I like to call my Alpha and Omega. He transformed my life from a young age, opening mysterious portals to other worlds and making me feel deeply understood, embraced, with a true sense of belonging. His writing not only awakened my mind to new realms of thought and emotion but also offered immense solace and companionship through his exploration of the human spirit:

"A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal, and sterile life."

"I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions."

"We have to stumble through so much dirt and humbug before we reach home. And we have no one to guide us. Our only guide is our homesickness."

Rainer Maria Rilke, a beautiful and tender infinite soul, whose writings deeply resonate with the complexities of the human condition and the relentless quest for understanding:

"I am dark, I am forest."

"I grow strong in the beauty you behold. And with the silence of stars, I enfold your cities made by time."

"Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

Novalis, who occupies a cherished place in my heart for his poetic and deeply insightful exploration of life and love.

"We are eternal because we love each other."

"I often feel, and ever more deeply I realize, that fate and character are the same conception."

"Sometimes with the most intense pain a paralysis of sensibility occurs. The soul disintegrates—hence the deadly frost—the free power of the mind—the shattering, ceaseless wit of this kind of despair. There is no inclination for anything anymore—the person is alone, like a baleful power—as he has no connection with the rest of the world he consumes himself gradually—and in accordance with his own principle he is—misanthropic and misotheos."

Egon Schiele, whose intense and raw portrayal of human emotion and beauty has deeply moved me, revealing the unfiltered essence of the human experience.

"I must see new things and investigate them. I want to taste dark water and see crackling trees and wild winds. I want to gaze with astonishment at moldy garden fences, I want to experience them all, to hear young birch plantations and trembling leaves, to see light and sun, enjoy wet, green-blue valleys in the evening, sense goldfish glinting, see white clouds building up in the sky, to speak to flowers. I want to look intently at grasses and pink people, old venerable churches, to know what little cathedrals say, to run without stopping along curving meadowy slopes across vast plains, kiss the earth and smell soft warm marshland flowers. And then I shall shape things so beautifully: fields of colour…"

Anaïs Nin, a force of nature and embodiment of feminine strength, whose deep exploration of inner life and boundless creativity has left an indelible impression on me. Her work continues to inspire and challenge me to embrace the fullness of my inner world:

"She was colour, brilliance, strangeness."

"I have the power to multiply myself. I am not one woman."

"Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous."

"I can only connect deeply, or not at all."

Carl Gustav Jung, one of the most brilliant psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotherapists, and empiricists in history. Jung's exploration of the collective unconscious and shadow self has offered me invaluable tools for self-awareness and personal development. His legacy continues to inspire and guide those seeking to understand the depths of the mind and the path to self-discovery.

"A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions has never overcome them. As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves."

"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious."

"The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are."

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, the maddening genius with profound understanding of human nature and morality:

"If you want to overcome the whole world, overcome yourself."

"People speak sometimes about the 'bestial' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel."

"People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones."

"I exist. In thousands of agonies—I exist."

"If there is no God, everything is permitted."

Virginia Woolf, a literary giant whose deep introspection and exploration of the human condition have left an indelible mark:

"No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself."

"What is the meaning of life? That was all—a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one."

"I want to raise up the magic world all around me and live strongly and quietly there."

"Reality? Reality has never been enough for me."

Mikhail Bulgakov, a masterful writer and playwright, another troubled soul who faced censorship and persecution in his lifetime, with immense talent and a deep soul, fascinated me with his imaginary worlds that blend reality with fantastical elements, feeling both familiar and boundlessly expansive:

"But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light?"

"Kindness. The only possible method when dealing with a living creature. You'll get nowhere with an animal if you use terror, no matter what its level of development may be. That I have maintained, do maintain and always will maintain. People who think you can use terror are quite wrong. No, no, terror is useless, whatever its colour – white, red or even brown! Terror completely paralyses the nervous system."

"Everything passes away - suffering, pain, blood, hunger, pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the Earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?"

"There are no evil people in the world, only unhappiness disguised as evil."

And then there is indispensable Franz Kafka. Although I have shifted away from his writing in recent years and no longer resonate with it as much, he was a dear friend and frequent company during my darkest, loneliest, and most challenging times. His work, full of raw honesty and insight, offered a kind of companionship that felt both intimate and enduring:

"The way he can risk everything and risks nothing, because there is nothing but truth in him already, a truth that even in the face of the contradictory impressions of the moment will justify itself as such when the crucial time arrives. The calm self-possession. The slow pace that neglects nothing. The immediate readiness, when it is needed, not sooner, for long in advance he sees everything that is coming."

"I, for the most part silent, had nothing to say; among such people the war doesn’t call forth in me the slightest opinion worth expressing."

"You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet." Of course, there are many more authors who deserve to be on this list, but I chose these because they have touched my life in ways that are both unique and deeply personal. I hope that at least some of you will read to the end and find a bit of inspiration and insight in these quotes, just as they have given me. If you’ve made it this far, thank you. 🌹

#ask #this is undoubtedly my longest post ever #lol kudos if you made it through #Hermann Hesse #Rainer Maria Rilke #Novalis #Egon Schiele #Anais Nin #Carl Jung #Fyodor Dostoyevsky #Virginia Woolf #Mikhail Bulgakov #Franz Kafka #books #inspiration #reading #personal #quote #quotes

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squiddy-god · 9 days ago

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Lmao last time I asked for Avenpaz but this is x reader so what about Aventurine x reader? Hehe thank you :3 (Desperate for some Aventurine stuff 🥰)

Yes you may, i'm going to do general hcs for this because thats what im feeling right now teehee- on a side note, aventurine but its the scene with hua cheng and xie lian with the dice rolling- there was just,,,so much tension in that scene please

♡requests open♡

Cw : gn!reader, mentions of trauma and spoilers for his story and a bit of penacony, fluff. Both established and un established relationship hcs, a little bit of angst

Ok so pre relationship i think that aventurine is actually quick to catch feelings but slow to realize them

Like off the bat he can tell how he feels in about someone, like or dislike, trust or not trust

What is slow to build is how deep that runs, both his romantic feelings and his trust are gained slowly but eventually snowball and that is when he finally either realizes or admits it.

Something i never got in general is when people talk about like how {character} wouldn't trust you until xxx into relationship etc

But the thing is like, are y'all dating people you dont trust? Because especially as someone who is depressed/traumatized, I fully would have to trust someone to get into a relationship, and that trust does not reset to 0 because we got together like??- i promise i will tie this in trust me

The other slight problem with aventurine pre relationship is that after he realizes/admits his feelings to himself he is taking that to his grave. He will casually flirt or maybe drop little hints, but he is content to never speak these feelings out loud to you,

Half of this is a fear of forming intimate connections that he knows he's ultimately powerless to protect, he fears rejection and loss when it truly matters and this prevents him from ever really bringing himself to pursue you. The other half is a subconscious self sabotaging hatred. Despite his fronting he is an insecure and traumatized man who's become jaded by the cosmos. While he at this point would trust you implicitly he cant help the feeling that you won't, dont, and couldn't possibly like him and return his feelings.

Reasonably he knows that he is an attractive man, a man with both wealth,power, and status, and yet he feels that you won't possibly want him. His self loathing even in his subconscious holds him back, giving a false sense of apathy towards your relationship status that outweighs the jealousy he feels. In truth the jealousy only serves to prove his point on how you don't return his feelings

There are scenarios that I think he would confess first if you don't beat him to the punch.

The first is said jokingly, and yet there is not that sharp witted teasing edge or bite to his words, unexpectedly raw and genuine when he poses a simple “what if” question

The second involves many different factors, maybe you catch him on a good day, maybe he sees the way you seem to look at him and in your eyes is the reflection of his own affections. Maybe you catch him on a bad day, and in his pit of despair he decides that it is at least worth the risk to gamble.

These are the moments he confesses to you, bated breath waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to lash out with laughter or anger but he is delighted when you return his feelings

Ok ok enough angst-

This man is a shameless flirt, he is romantic long before you every begin a relationship- you just take it as a joke, a bit that's silly between close friends

After you manage to pry that confession out of him or you make the first move, he is shockingly quick to put a label on it, you are his romantic partner! His love, hes your lucky charm

Ok ok like i said before i really don't thing that aventurine is the type to be in an actual relationship with someone he A)doesn’t trust, or B) doesn’t love

So by the time you get in a relationship there is already a strong foundation of real trust, but he has already realized he is hopelessly in love.

I will die on the hill that aventurine is a stage 100 clinger

This is a clingy man to his core, he is sending you 50 messages a day

Good morning, good night, have you eaten? I love you, miss you, literally anything because he truly dose miss you

Have you eaten? Yes? Good have a little treat +500 credits

No? Wait there he's taking you to lunch- or +5000 credits

I know everyone says it but he really does spoil you. Now the way he sees it genuinely isn't as like a bribe but both something that genuinely makes him happy and also he likes to make your life easier

Seeing you happy, being able to spoil you with gifts and treats and money brings him genuine joy, and knowing that he is able to provide some relief from the harsh reality of life makes his a very merry man

As I said, clingy- he loves your time, being able to spend time with you and relax in your presence is truly heaven.

Most of his missions aren't dangerous, just business so he enjoys taking you with him so that he can spend more time with you

He is touch starved for positive physical contact and affection

Sit in his lap, let him sit in yours- honestly he isn't very picky as long as he gets to touch you

If you thought his playful bestie flirting was bad you are gonna die, because he gets so much worse, now that he knows exactly what to say so that he can fluster you he grows ever bolder in his pursuit

No matter what he says his actions always follow his words, he shows he loves you with the way he sees you and treats you, in the way he seems to crave you like a thirsty man craves water or how a plant craves the warm sun, to breathe you in like air and love you tenderly

Even if he is clumsy at love and intimacy he still puts in a profound sense of effort.

The definition of if he wanted to he would. And he definitely wants to

#hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #star rail aventurine #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine x reader

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etherfabric · 5 months ago

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What benefit is hidden in your aura? + Affirmations

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

You are the ultimate authority over your life. I merely provide my perspective. Sometimes the Universe lines you up with something that doesn't resonate with your truth, so you have contrast to find out what does. Never give away your power.

Pile 1

Justice, Knight of Pentacles rx

Your aura reflects your miniscule attunement to injustices. People in your vicinity are taking their sweet time to hold up their end of a bargain they had no problem agreeing to as along as it was your turn to show up. But now that the foundations are being shaken up by influences outside of your control, suddenly it's everyone for themselves. Let your frustration and impatience truthfully shine through. There is no shame in knowing what you deserve, and reacting accordingly when being left in the rain. Those who truly care will feel the discomfort in just the right places to motivate them to be better. And those who shame you for standing up for yourself are just as pathetic as it feels when they do it. You can't save everyone, especially not while being bled dry.

Spend your time waiting for them to process all this on things that bring you joy and nourishment. Joy is easy, joy is pulling you towards things you could do for hours, that make you forget to eat, sleep, drink (but please do eat, sleep, drink). If your mood is too dark to access joy, aim for comfort and relief. If there is anger taking up space, seek catharsis by writing insults in your journal, or throwing hands with your mattress. If you need a good cry, watch that movie you know will break you. Trust your inner compass to guide you to where your next quest is hidden.

Your affirmation is:

I slow down and listen to the guidance that's available to me.

Pile 2

2 of Cups rx, 7 of Wands

Your aura is dulled by your aversion to conflict, even and especially within yourself. As soon as you feel two opposing forces, you shut down and fall into a pit of despair. I know this can sound so hurtful and dismissive, but please see the reality of hope when I say your emotions do not reflect the totality of what is true. I don't want you to stop feeling these things, I want you to stop acting like they are the only things that are true. Those vulnerable aspects of you never asked to carry the weight of being a solo performer. They need their supporting actors - all your other parts, that yes, seem antagonistic at first glance. But avoiding communication, be it inside or outside of yourself, won't lead to anything that will feel as good as you deserve.

You are scared of the fire within you. You are scared once you let it burn, everything you love and need will turn to ashes forever. You have no faith in the transformational power of emotional alchemy. This keeps you stuck in loneliness, because conflict is just a part of human connection that you need to befriend if you ever want to feel truly close to someone - yourself included.

The ashes give rise to the phoenix. The strike of a meteor brings new resources to a formerly closed off sphere and changes the whole game. You are cutting yourself off of a immensely valuable resource. I am not asking you to go on a killing spree - I am asking you to bravely admit to your humanness. With yourself, and in front of others.

Your affirmation is:

When I cultivate a spiritual connection I can trust the Universe no matter what.

Pile 3

The Lovers, Death rx

I see an open invitation being ignored in your aura. Someone is trustworthy and flexible, but you stick to rigid beliefs around the situation and assume the worst. They have hit you where it truly hurts, and you are so ashamed of having tender sports, you rather tell yourself being stuck with a villian instead of facing the truth: You are dealing with pain inside of your soul after this interaction. As long as you deny this, you can't receive the blessing of being truly seen and cared for. You ignore your hopeful and optimistic parts out of fear they will set you up for failure if you take them into account.

You are taking normal human imperfections as indicators for fundamental untrostworthyness. You do this to them and yourself alike. You refuse to see how the current situation is different from the past experiences that were actually hopeless. There is a happy end waiting for you. A realistic one, not a perfect one.

I understand this is concerning trauma you had no other means to deal with in the past but denying it and acting like an unscathed person. Habits born out of survival are tough to shake. But this one begs you to loosen your grip just this once. You won't suddenly turn into a helpless punching bag without any of your skills just because you dare let someone see your wound. And this person isn't just anyone. You having gotten scared, and hiding out of reflex, can totally be a topic of gentle discussion once the time is right to talk again. I'm sure they will understand.

Your affirmation is:

When I live and act from a place of spiritual alignment, I can trust that everything is working out for me, even if I don't know when or how it will happen.

Pile 4

3 of Cups rx, 3 of Wands

You had to experience your own limits, and your aura reflects your disappointment in yourself. You are being way too harsh. What you deem lost is merely dormant for now. Zoom out of the current moment and realize that you are way more than your worst days. Training this kind of perspective willl form beneficial associations everytime you dare to try it. Don't expect ecstacy as a result, more a timid sibling of hope saying you might not be utter trash after all. This is more than enough for now. Build on it step by step.

Really, cut yourself some slack. Have grace. Have compassion. You were completely overwhelmed by the circumstances, and now see yourself falling back on habits you thought you had gotten rid of once and for all. You think you have let people down irreversibly, but this is just not the case. If you can, communicate you having a hard time right now, that you can see the non-optimal influence you had on the situation, and then take the time of isolation you so desperately crave.

There will come brighter, more joyful days. The kinder you are to yourself right now, the quicker you will feel up for it again. Relief and comfort are your number one priority right now. This too shall pass. You will return to your healthier set of skills once you yourself are healthier. You got there once, you will get there again.

Your affirmation is:

Feeling good will bring me far more than whatever I thought I needed.

#tarot reading #pick a card

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superblysubpar · 1 year ago

Text

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost?

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer.

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that.

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers.

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll?

Of course not.

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps.

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though.

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right.

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely.

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over.

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself.

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up.

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen.

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are.

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed.

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist.

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you.

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.”

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.”

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope.

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers.

“Okay,” he quietly agrees.

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly.

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out.

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response.

It’ll all be fine.

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in.

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics.

You’re fine.

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it.

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed.

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment.

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off.

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut.

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race.

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride.

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips.

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated.

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture.

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote.

“Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan.

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you.

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him.

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.”

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into.

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside.

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room.

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction.

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom.

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection.

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no.

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution.

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption.

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat.

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words.

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match.

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath.

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips.

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore.

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine.

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further.

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do.

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one.

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie.

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence.

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you.

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him.

Strike two.

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him.

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you.

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry.

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s easier!”

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly.

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels.

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence.

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict.

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch.

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care.

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you.

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder.

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot.

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops.

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you.

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there.

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed.

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying.

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time.

Strike three.

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief.

Denial.

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on.

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly.

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths.

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter.

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps.

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell.

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it.

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat.

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly.

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you.

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you.

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met.

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread.

You hate that you don’t hate him.

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out?

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head.

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension.

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms.

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you.

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?”

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk.

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.”

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake.

“Oh yeah?”

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily.

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking.

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…”

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help.

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!”

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings.

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it.

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on.

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…”

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone.

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you.

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you.

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up.

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter.

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation.

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space.

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika.

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders.

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table.

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly.

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name.

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe -

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine.

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky.

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page.

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean.

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you.

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe.

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it.

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other.

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body.

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!”

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it?

“I can’t believe you two.”

This is the moment.

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door.

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face.

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis.

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you.

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap.

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers.

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd.

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it.

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry.

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him.

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable.

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray.

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future.

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from.

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out.

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens.

“You’re lower actually.”

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them.

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.”

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will.

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no.

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him.

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it.

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day.

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat.

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!”

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.”

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell.

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin.

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out.

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away.

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done.

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign.

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve.

Easier than breathing.

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do.

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy.

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down.

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you.

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds.

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

“Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt.

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.”

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in.

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back.

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been.

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world.

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips.

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath.

“You liked it.”

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower.

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love.

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

#we'll call it love #modern!steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington series #steve harrinton fic #stranger things fanfic

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notyourhetloki · 4 months ago

Note

If your requests are open, can I ask for an NSFW angst with a fluffy ending featuring a mean Dom! (who gets soft in the end) Daemon x poc (or ambiguous appearance) fem reader? They are married/in a romantic relationship, and she is usually radiant and open about her feelings (she has a sunshine personality), but since she was attacked (not SA), she has become emotionally withdrawn and very closed off. She can't talk about what happened or express her feelings about it (and can't cry, so everything she feels keeps accumulating). Daemon tries to talk to her, but without success (she avoids the topic or just says she's fine). So, he decides to get something out of her the way he knows how (despite everything that happened, they still connect/understand each other through sex, and it's the moment he gets a glimpse of the 'old reader,' although she withdraws again when it's over). So, he pushes her to the limit, body and mind (like, really crosses the line, but it's consensual). When he brings her to climax, all the pent-up emotions come out, and she finally cries (copiously) in his arms, and he comforts her. With lots of angst (break my heart 🙏🏾), rough sex (the rougher, the better), degradation and praise, orgasm delay and denial, choking, marking, hair-pulling, and aftercare with a conversation. Please?"

body and soul (Daemon x F!Reader)

Reader: she/her (Fem!Reader)

/NSFW Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader/

A/N: Hi, anon! I just wanted to say I LOVED your request, but I'm sure I didn't do it justice… I'm not very good at writing angst (so it doesn't have much of it) and it might be a little rushed… I'm so sorry about that, but I hope you like it nonetheless! Also, I made the reader's appearance super ambiguous, I didn't mention hair texture or anything… so yeah… xoxo

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), mentions of violence, rough sex, piv sex (unprotected), a bit of angst (fluffy ending).

Word Count: 2.1k

—

You hadn't been the same since the incident. It bothered you, to know that such a quick moment in your life could bear so many consequences. In a matter of seconds you had a knife on your neck, a man you didn't know throwing accusations at you, threatening you.

Deamon saved you that day, negotiating with the man so he could finally release you. It worked, but Daemon was not kind nor merciful towards him.

It had been a few days since the attack. You looked everywhere around you, paranoid that something was out to get you again. You heard people whispering in the court and wondered if they were plotting against you.

Tears never dared to fall from your eyes, and you couldn't scream... you felt trapped. Your usually happy and bubbly self hid away, your sunshine personality faded in a well of despair.

Every attempt from your husband Daemon to talk to you failed, you said you were fine and the conversation ended there. You could tell he was frustrated, but couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

When the night came, you quickly retreated to your chambers. You put on your nightgown and prepared to lay in bed, but Daemon had other plans.

He pulled you towards him, your back touching his chest, smelling your hair and kissing your neck. "How was your day?" He asked.

"Fine." You lied, not able to open up. Fear took hold of you, turned you frail, fragile.

"Of course." Said Daemon with a scoff. "You know lying to me is pointless, right?" The last sentence a mere whisper in your ear.

You thought you had been hiding well enough, but apparently not. Your husband knew you better than anyone, you both had a connection so deep you practically could read each other's minds... you didn't know why you thought lying would work.

"You're not going to fend for yourself?" He continued, kissing your shoulder and humming to himself. "Interesting..."

You wanted to cry, to scream, to finally be able to talk to your husband... but everything felt stuck in your throat. You were paralyzed in fear.

"I'm going to make you speak the truth." A shiver ran down your spine as you knew what was coming. "You will have no other choice but to scream it."

Suddenly Daemon pushed you onto the bed, stealing all air from your lungs. You turned around to lay on your back, watching your husband undress himself.

"Daemon, please..." You pleaded, but to no avail. He just looked at you with dark eyes, giving you a warning. "It will be much worse if you don't behave."

You knew better, so you did your best. He climbed on top of you, ripping your nightgown open as you gasped in surprise. Daemon touched and grabbed your body, kissing and biting while marking your delicate skin.

He kissed you possessively, wild and frantic like an animal. You moaned against his lips and he soon reached for your sex, his digits working in circles for your pleasure.

"Aah, Daemon!" You couldn't help but moan loudly, practically singing his name when you felt that well-known sensation between your legs.

"That's my girl." He watched as you squirmed beneath him, eyes closed in ecstasy while rolling your hips to seek more friction. "Look at you... so eager for me, are you not ashamed of yourself?"

You couldn't stop your movements, just opened your eyes and admired your husband's handsome face and body. When you thought to be close, your hips quickened the pace and Daemon noticed it.

"Wanting to come already?" He teased, and you hummed in response. Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he suddenly stopped his fingers and released you from the friction. "You'll have to earn it."

You whined, protesting his decision. But as soon as you did so, he grabbed your throat and squeezed hard, making you light-headed.

"What was that?" Daemon demanded while you tried to breathe, not daring to make any other sounds. "That's what I thought."

He released you and you choked for air, but soon gasped again when you felt his hands manhandling you into another position. You suddenly found yourself on all fours, feeling his presence right behind you. He rubbed his member against your entrance, coating himself in your slick.

"Hmm, you're ready for me, aren't you?" His voice a deep purr that resonated through your body, making you tremble. "Naughty girl."

Daemon pushed his cock inside you, your walls stretching deliciously as he made his way in. It drove you crazy to have him inside when you were so close to an orgasm, and he wasn't even moving yet.

"Aah... hmm, Daemon..." You whined in anticipation, thrusting your hips once more. He grabbed your waist and squeezed enough to leave bruises, warning you to stop.

"You whore, can't even wait for me to start." He was smiling at himself, enjoying the view. Then, he leisurely started to move his hips, in and out. The pace so achingly slow you pleaded for him to fasten it up. "Oh, you want it faster?" He mocked. "As you wish."

Daemon quickly started to fuck you... hard. His bruising grip on your waist never ceased, his rough thrusts hurt you but in a good way... the pain mixed with pleasure was enough to send you spiraling.

Every thrust hit a special spot inside you, making you cry his name out loud. "Please! Ah, Daemon!"

"Please what?" He demanded, not slowing his rhythm down. The sounds you both made were so obscene that only served to excite you even more, especially when he hit your ass with a loud slap.

You couldn't say it, you needed release but all words seemed to evade you, fear still holding you back from expressing your feelings.

Daemon grew impatient, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back enough so he could growl in your ear. "Did I stutter?"

The sharp pain in your scalp grounded you, leaving you present in the moment. You concentrated on the sensations of his skin on yours, his cock inside you... but all you could do was repeat yourself. "Please, please..."

Daemon suddenly stopped everything he was doing, releasing his grip and retreating himself from you, leaving you alone on the bed. You whined and complained at the loss, calling for him to come back but to no avail.

He then stood beside the bed, signaling for you to go to him. You kneeled on the mattress facing him, eyes watery and hair disheveled. You looked like a mess.

Grabbing your face harshly, Daemon bent down to your level, intimidating you. "What do you want?" He demanded.

Silence. Tears were forming in your eyes but you couldn't shed them, paralyzed by so many emotions. Everything was adding up, and you felt extremely overwhelmed.

A hard slap across your face woke you up slightly, a stinging sensation spreading across your cheek. Daemon was still at eye level, and he observed your shocked expression with great interest.

"Don't make me repeat myself, (y/n)." He looked... menacing. He dominated you with his stance alone, causing you to sweat from nervousness.

"I-I..." You swallowed dry, gathering the words you so needed to say. "I need you..."

He grabbed you by the hair again, holding you in place. "Be more specific."

You just needed some kind of release, that was all you wanted. To be free from all that turmoil in your head... to be rescued. "Help me, Daemon..."

His expression went from menacing to understanding as everything finally clicked for him, reading your pleading eyes like nobody else could. Something in him shifted suddenly and he went back into action.

"Lay on your back." He ordered, you obeyed quickly. Daemon crawled on top of you, biting on your thighs, waist, belly... making his way up.

When he finally reached your lips he ravished you, tasting your tongue on his as he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head. "Keep them there." He said.

He positioned himself at your entrance again, ready to enter. "You want me inside your cunt again?" Daemon teased you, and you couldn't help but say yes.

Fucking you slowly at first, he concentrated on circling your clit with his thumb and finding a good rhythm for you. You moaned and moaned, your noises were music to his ears and led him to the right amount of pressure he needed to use.

Soon Daemon found a good rhythm, hitting that sweet spot of yours again. He was watching your expressions attentively, interpreting your face for any sign of discomfort.

Moaning and rolling your hips in tandem with his, you opened your eyes and held eye contact with your husband as he pleasured your most sensitive spot. "I'm right here..." He assured.

His words relaxed you, and you felt somewhat safe for the first time since the incident. You still held your hands above your head, grabbing the sheets as you felt heat growing in your core... you were close.

"D-Daemon..." You pleaded for him, and this time he did not stop. He fucked you good while rubbing your clit, still maintaining eye contact.

"You may come now..." He whispered, voice low and steady. "Come for me, (y/n)."

Soon you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, the build-up finally turning into a climax. Your sex ached deliciously while you moaned and whined your high away... but Daemon did not stop.

He continued to abuse your clit and hit your spot deep within. It was too much, overstimulating you to the max. "Daemon, I can't! I-I..."

"Be a good girl, (y/n)..." He ordered, hungry eyes examining your begging face. "Give it to me."

A second wave of pleasure washed over you, stronger and greater. Tears pooled in your eyes as you felt your whole body shake in ecstasy, energy running through your skin. You were finally able to scream.

Daemon pulled his cock from inside you and spilled his seed on your belly and chest, groaning while giving it a few good strokes before collapsing by your side.

Energy was still flowing through your body, tingling your skin as you eventually felt tears running down your cheeks. You began to cry, then started to sob... you just couldn't stop.

Daemon immediately noticed and pulled you into his arms, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead. "Shh... I'm here."

Tears just rolled down your face continuously, finally able to let go of all accumulated emotions. You sobbed as you repeated yourself. "I-I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

"What happened?" His voice soft with affection, but worried nonetheless. "What's wrong, (y/n)?"

Suddenly all your feelings came crashing down on you, and you managed to blurt out words you've been keeping all that time.

"I just don't feel safe anymore! A man tried to kill me and everyone keeps acting like that was normal and they expect me to act normal as well, but I don't feel normal! I feel like everyone's against me..." More tears fell down your eyes as you tried explaining yourself. "I can't take it anymore..."

Daemon lifted your chin up so he could look into your eyes, the understanding expression on his face calmed you down slightly. "I am not against you." He assured, caressing your face. "And I don't expect you to act normal about what happened, I would just like for you to talk to me."

He was right, your husband had the right to know about your problems, but... it just felt difficult to express yourself at that time.

"I thought you wouldn't understand..." You said, and he immediately turned his head sideways in curiosity.

"When was the last time we misunderstood each other?" He defended, lifting your chin so you would look at him. "I know you... body and soul. Do you really think I would ever cast you aside?"

His words made your heart warm, your breathing started to ease and the tears subsided, leaving your face all blushed from the crying.

"Why would I bother you with my paranoias and stupid complaints?" You objected, still holding on to your fears.

"Because you're my wife." Daemon simply added, a clean response that you were not expecting. "All your problems are my problems as well."

Daemon smiled at you, smoothing your skin with his hands. You couldn't help but smile too, finally closing the gap with a chaste kiss. The two of you stayed there, embraced each other while Daemon continued to praise and reassure you, he would be there for you... no matter what.

—

#daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #house of the dragon #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #headcanon #self insert #y/n #f!reader #fem!reader #request #notyourhetloki

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iminlovewithwomen · 2 years ago

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Love Muffin

Warnings: fluff, confessions, thats basically it

Summary: A tainted muffin causes your friendship between Henry to falter, but could something else grow?

guys this is a long one + it's been sitting in my drafts for like 3 months

♡♡♡♡♡♡

You were standing in the middle of Junk n' Stuff, crawling your fingers into the mouth of your bestfriend, Henry. Let me explain.

A few hours earlier, Ray met a woman named Gwen who he claims "immediately fell in love with her". Which was weird, because Ray hasn't ever had a girlfriend who he ever fell in love with.

The thing is they are already getting married on the same day they met.

But you and the gang, consisting of Henry, Charlotte, Jasper, and Schwoz, couldn't figure out how he "fell in love" with her so quickly.

She had to have done something to him.

So, Schwoz hooked up a machine to his head to see how they met. As you saw on the machine, Gwen gave him a muffin for him to eat and kissed him.

Charlotte, being the intelligent queen she is, figured out that she gave him a tainted muffin which made him fall in love with her.

Jasper came down a few minutes later listening to music, when he was supposed to be upstairs with Henry and Gwen in Junk 'N Stuff.

Henry and Gwen.

She must have been giving him muffins too.

You, Charlotte, and Jasper all ran up to the store to stop her from giving the muffins to him.

And that brings us to the present.

"Henry, stop!" "You can't eat that muffin!" We all cried out.

"Why can't I eat the muffin?!"

"Let him eat the muffin!"

Apparently, Gwen and I were pulling on his arms too hard, causing him to fall back and soon enough a vase bonked him on the head.

"Henry!" We all screamed, worried about our bestfriend.

"Y/N, you know mouth to mouth resuscitation! Help him!"

"Wait, what?!" You quickly got pushed down to his level to give him mouth to mouth.

"I need to kiss him!" Gwen tried to pull you away.

"Get away from me! I'm his bestfriend!"

The thing is, you didn't want to do it because you have a crush on Henry. You had a MAJOR crush on him, and you have since you both got this job.

Obviously you know that you'll never date him, but sometimes he gives you mixed signals. Like winking at you, complimenting you often, etc. It's the little things that keep you going.

As you looked at his face, you inhaled a deep breath and connected your lips together. You gave him mouth to mouth and pulled your faces away from eachother.

He woke up and you sighed in relief. Thank god that worked, you wouldn't know what to do if he hadn't woken up.

"Hey, Hen." You waved at him. "You doing okay?"

"I-I...I think I'm in love with you."

"What's up?" You pushed your neck out farther and raised your eyebrows in confusion.

Oh, God.

How could you have been so stupid?

The muffin.

Gwen kissed Ray after he ate the muffin, and it made him fall in love with her.

Henry is in love with you.

You stood up and put your hands on your head in despair, what are you going to do?

Henry followed you everywhere you went in the room, and even tried to hug you. You tried to push him off but his hugs felt nice. You felt comfortable in his arms. But you quickly realized this is just the muffin talking, he doesn't actually love you.

You frowned at the thought. God, why does love have to be so complicated?

Ray walked in the store, a dopey smile on his face.

"I was just dreaming about the first time we met." You rolled your eyes at him.

"Could you please make all of these people leave so we can be alone?" She gave him doe eyes, making him cave in and push us out of the store. Unfortunately, Henry was still all over me. Which, honestly, I couldn't complain about. I've never gotten this much affection from Henry.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

You walked up to Henry's front porch, trying to open the door when Henry pushed you against the door while hugging you.

"Jesus, Henry! Get off of me for a second." You untie your sweatshirt from around your waist and throw it to him so he can smell it. He has a smile on his face while watching your actions. It's like everything you do is angelic to him.

You open the door to be greeted by Henry's living room, the scent of vanilla filling your nose.

You sit on the couch, Henry following right after you like a lost puppy. He stands there, giving you a tiny signal saying that he wants to lie next to you.

You sighed and lifted your arm up, Henry gasping on how you let him cuddle up next to you.

As Charlotte walked into the room after a tiny conversation with Schwoz on how he can't come in, she asks, "What is going on here?"

"Just tryna give the boy what he wants." You replied, trying to hide the fact you wanted him to sit near you.

"Tell me why Gwen would use tainted muffins to make Ray fall in love with her."

"Cuz, think about it, if Captain Man and Kid Danger are so in love that they can't fight crime, they can't stop Gwen from doing whatever evil things she wants to do!"

"Well, thank goodness Girl Danger is here to help. And I'm not eating any muffins anytime soon, or any from Gwen..." You trail off, feeling the sensation of Henry's hands on your shoulders.

"Oh that feels...really good." You throw your head back in pleasure while Charlotte gives you "the look".

You clear your throat and say, "I'm gonna head to the bathroom, be right back." Obviously, Henry follows after you. "Alone." His smile drops but after a few seconds, he still follows.

You're right next to the door when he pins you against the wall. "Henry, what are you doing?!" You gasp.

"Oh c'mon, Y/N/N, I know you like me." Henry replies. Your jaw drops and you pretend like you've never ever had a crush on him. "What?" You scoff. "I do not have a crush on you."

"Y/N, Charlotte told me a few months ago. I'm surprised I never saw the signs."

You look down to the floor, scared for him to reject you. He uses his hand to lift up your head by your jaw and kisses you.

You pull away from his sweet, sweet lips. You pushed him away from your body which felt amazing next to his.

"Henry, this is just the muffin talking, you don't actually like me."

"I know it may seem like this is the muffin saying stuff, but it's true. I do like you."

"Let me think about it, Hen." You stuttered. "Now can I go to the bathroom?"

"Yes, oh, yes, sorry." He exclaims. You walk in and see him still following you.

"Henry!"

"Sorry!"

♡♡♡♡♡♡

*Time skip*

A little recap. Piper came downstairs, in need of her "Girly Curly" that apparently you broke.

She grabbed a pair of scissors and snipped off a little bit of your hair. You felt hurt by her actions, which Henry could see by the look on your face.

"Don't touch my Y/N." He said in a stern voice, but Piper didn't listen. She started to fight you, but as you were fighting her, you caught a glimpse of Henry on the floor. He was spazzing, jerking, everything a person with a seizure would do.

We all came to the conclusion that when Piper hurt you, it made Henry angry, which drove out his feelings of love.

You and the gang were currently in the Man Cave, planning to get Henry to fight Ray. You realized at Henry's house, if we could get Ray angry, it would drive out his feelings of love too.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

When we saw Ray, Henry went on this rant about how Gwen was going to see this man more attractive than Ray named Rob Banks. Eventually, Ray got angry enough to throw Henry across the room. Me, Jasper, and Charlotte rushed over to ask if he was okay. Clearly he wasn't, but we wanted to be supportive friends.

Ray's feelings were soon gone after he started spazzing in the middle of the room. We talked with Ray to see if he was okay, and he was, so we came up with a plan to catch Gwen.

Long story short, he pulled off Gwen's ponytail and she blackmailed us into letting her get away.

"So, we all learned a lesson here, didn't we?" Schwoz said. We all looked at him in confusion as to what he was saying.

"Anger is stronger than love." Jasper claimed out of the blue, and we all nodded and agreed with him.

#henry danger #henry hart #ray manchester #captain man #jasper dunlop #charlotte page #henry hart x reader #jace norman #riele downs #cooper barnes

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dekusleftsock · 1 year ago

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Sigh… the newest chapter.

Very beautiful, very wonderful. It’s gorgeous looking, so much time and meaning put behind every single panel.

These two panels have been the most interesting to me though.

The first, where the last tear falls away, and the second, where the first leaves flow freely through the spread.

And don’t you worry, I saw that parallel immediately.

“And save people by winning.”

Still, I can’t help but feel as though these panels are still SO DIFFERENT from then!

First of all, the light in Izuku’s eye, the one that really makes the admiration and love pop in this image—it’s missing. Completely.

And, in the second one, where the tears have fallen and the leaves have come, that one is still shaded in darkness. Izuku still has no light.

So yes, has Izuku calmed down? Absolutely, but it still has this underlying melancholic atmosphere. Everyone else has a sense of success, everyone else is THANKFUL that Katsuki has saved allmight from the brink of death, he has won by saving someone—but don’t we all remember Bakugou Katsuki Rising?

You know, the chapters where everyone thought Izuku was just SO heroic and SO amazing, except for Katsuki who knew that something was very very wrong.

And this time it isn’t Izuku almost dying for everyone’s safety, it’s Katsuki—can Izuku’s heart really handle that right now? Right after he just got up?

Can Izuku control himself under all this weight?

(Ofc I gotta throw in the girls, they’re the representatives of love for this series for christs sake)

Izuku is selfish, we all know this now, so where will this selfishness take him?

Because I know for damn sure that, if I have Izuku’s character right, if I have Hori’s themes down…

Idk I just wanna see him lose control. Right in front of Katsuki. Because my god this boy can mask his queerness when he wants to.

Because what happened to THIS?

Where’s that melodramatic passion?

Why is he not allowed to see it Izuku?

So I can see two ways this can go:

Izuku, at some point while Katsuki is awake and alive, loses his shit at Katsuki getting hurt or a comment that targets Katsuki. The way he WANTS to lose his shit.

Izuku attempts to sacrifice himself much like Himiko did for Ochako, solidifying their parallels even more. (Himiko is not dead and I don’t mean that in the “oh I’m delulu!” way. Y’all it just doesn’t make sense you guys realize that right. The same way it didn’t make sense to kill Katsuki. LIKE COME ON)

Personally, while I COULD see Izuku doing that, because he would do anything for Katsuki, I don’t think he’s gonna have the option to. Not only that, but I think that the first option is far more interesting for ALLLLLL the reasons above.

Izuku is known for being sacrificial, it would be far more interesting to have Katsuki have to assure him and calm him down in some way (it’s also the queer connection. I find this extremely important. We need a scene for bkdk like we had for the spirited away scene for tgck). Not only that but Izuku very much needs to have that moment where the story creates that wall that directly tells him he needs to change. It needs to challenge him, emotionally. And not in the panic, big fight way, but in the “Katsuki has to see the things Izuku still performs for him” way.

Katsuki needs to see how Izuku feels, because Izuku isn’t good at telling him that.

AND HE STILL HASNT

HOW LONG WILL YOU DRAG THIS SLOW BURN HORI IM SO.

Anyway, my main point is that Izuku WONT be able to control himself anymore. Just one more thing, one more comment said in just the right way, and it’s over.

That confrontation is the one that I’m waiting for. Because Izuku still isn’t happy, this chapter isn’t happy—it’s laced with insecurity, despair, heartache, and a deep sense of loss.

And it’s hopeful! Very very hopeful, because that’s what mha IS, but you can’t read this chapter and tell me that Izuku right now is happy, in love, over the fact that it’s Katsuki who has to save allmight.

#bkdk #midoriya izuku #mha deku #bkdk brainrot #bakudeku #bakugou katsuki #bnha deku #mha analysis #deku midoriya

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vickyvicarious · 6 months ago

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I do love that only a few days later, Jonathan is making preparations to try again. He's in deep despair but he refuses to fully give up. He's also showing that he hasn't lost faith in the people who, so far as he knows, have already turned him in to Dracula once. At least, he still wants to try and ask for their help again in the future.

Jonathan also is thinking more logically again here. He's drawing connections, not just frozen in despair. When he realizes what is missing from his bag, he stops and thinks about it, reasons out what Dracula might be doing. Then he goes to check on other things that will be useful outside the castle; sure enough, they're gone too.

But his last line implies a strong suspicion, if not quite a certainty, that Dracula is up to more. He isn't just making it hard for Jonathan to get far if he were to escape. No, this is "some new scheme of villainy…" likely something multilayered, just as his other cruelties have been. Jonathan isn't sure what other purpose there could be, yet, but he's thinking on it now.

#dracula daily #jonathan harker

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tnsophiaonly · 1 year ago

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"Depths of Despair, will soon come rooting out."

A warning that shan't be ignored. For it's far too dangerous.

Deja vu

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

—n—i—a—t—r—e—c—n—U—

Primogems is the most voted!

Ability: Charming Fate★

With this current ability, you are able to charm people rather easily. And if you're talking with your awakened acolytes, you'll charm them in no time! But be wary, because the more you talk to people with visions or delusions or any element, the more you lose yourself. You'll lose your mind in hysteria. It'll give you a new life!

It felt so unreal. So painfully true.

You see yourself, mourning a beloved.

They died from war. Correction. He died from war.

Was it your father? No. It can't be. You don't live in Teyvat. You never did. You have no memories of this world. You didn't belong here. You were never here. Never ever.

But who was he? It was child you. Child you was hoping he was still alive and when we found out they're not we were mourning. The place looks a lot like Inazuma.

For some odd reason, the nameless man who the child you is mourning, feels like they were important to you. You felt your heart tighten at the sight. It just felt like it just had happened in your life.

But that's not true. You were never in Teyvat. You never had a life here. You were never meant to be here. You don't belong here.

A thunder strikes you down.

—d—e—t—n—a—w—n—W—

You gaped for a breath of air. Electrifying yet fresh air fills your lungs. And you exhale. You recognize where you are currently. I'm at the Kujou Encampment. The headquarters of the Shogun's Army under the control of Tenryou Commision.

Despite winning against the argument whether you stay to get patched up or you just patch yourself, you still ended up getting patched up by her.

Why did it feel like this was an order? It must have been just you. Cause no way Kujou Sara would do this without it being an order. I think.

Well either way, you were still patched. So you were thankful. Right now, you're thinking what to give back to her, just so that you can ease that one feeling deep inside you of her using that one tiny thing against you. Maybe you could activate her C6?

You look around, you find no one around, you open the screen menu, open the wish menu and see all of the banners are there! It's just like Silly Wisher... you look at your primogems amount and wow that made your jaw drop.

2,684,290 primogems... And it's continuously going up! You convert 300,000 primogems to an interwined fate. And went to a banner that has Kujou Sara in it and pulled 10x.

It turns purple and ah, you hear something outside. You look outside and oh that's so pretty. It was your wishes in the sky!

It's like shooting stars! No it is shooting stars! You see the purple star falling down and the screen appears and it gives you a Kujou Sara constellation. (PS. I still don't have her C6...) A commotion happens because of what you just did..

And for some reason they all thanked (S/M) for it. Oh, she happened to be praying for Kujou Sara's sixth constellation. It was a coincidence.

Well, that's great? No no no it's bad. It's giving more proof that she's an oracle. It should be you, who acts as the oracle. You don't even feel any connection to the oracle! No nothing! You don't even know who she is! She is no oracle, she's a fraud.

You sighed and went back to sleep in the comfortable futon prepared for you.

—n—i—a—t—r—e—c—n—U—

You woke up in cold sweat, another nightmare... It's making me lose my mind.

The way it started off as dark, dull, saturated then with no warning it explodes with solid and flashing colors, hurting your eyes, your brain! It was hypnotizing. It was driving you insane.

You held out a hand and oh. It was, fake.

You walked around, it was heavenly. The more you walk, the more you notice that it drips like water.

How ethereal... How mesmerizing.. don't you just want to stay here forever? In heaven.

The more you stay the more people that'll love you. Stay. Stay for the sake of your beloved followers. Stay like a good creator.

For them.

—s—e—i—r—o—m—e—M—

#genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau x reader #sagau cult au #sagau creator #genshin impact sagau #yandere genshin x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #reader #female reader #sagau impostor au #yandere genshin impact #genshin

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gminervous · 3 months ago

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A day in the life with BPD..

I wake up and my mind is already racing, jumping from one thought to another before I even have a chance to fully open my eyes. It’s like someone’s turned the volume all the way up, and I’m stuck in the middle of a chaotic storm. The mirror reflects a face I recognize, but the person behind it feels like a stranger. Some days I can’t quite figure out who I am or what I’m feeling. Today is one of those days.

As I start my day, I’m hyper-aware of the people around me. There’s a deep craving for connection, a need to feel close to someone, anyone, who can anchor me in the midst of this internal storm. But that desire for closeness is tangled up with fear—fear that if I get too close, they’ll see the mess inside me and pull away. It’s a constant push and pull, wanting to be loved and fearing that love will disappear the moment I let my guard down.

I try to navigate these relationships, but it feels like walking through a minefield. One minute, I’m overflowing with affection, desperate to be near the people I care about. The next, I’m consumed by doubt, questioning whether they really care about me at all. Did they mean that compliment? Or were they just being polite? I replay conversations in my head, dissecting every word, looking for signs that I’m about to be abandoned. It’s exhausting, this constant questioning, but I can’t seem to stop.

Then there’s the anger. It’s like a storm that brews inside me, often triggered by something small—a comment that didn’t sit right, a slight that might not have even been intentional. But once it’s there, it’s hard to control. The anger spills over, and I lash out, sometimes without even realizing what I’m doing until it’s too late. And then comes the guilt. It hits me like a ton of bricks, leaving me feeling ashamed and hollow. I can see the hurt in their eyes, and it crushes me, because deep down, I didn’t mean to cause it. But the damage is done, and I’m left picking up the pieces.

Throughout the day, my emotions continue to swing wildly. Joy can turn into despair in a heartbeat. A small success might make me feel on top of the world, but a minor setback can send me spiraling into a pit of self-doubt and hopelessness. There’s no middle ground, no safe space where I can just be. It’s always extremes, always a battle between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all.

By the time evening rolls around, I’m completely drained. My body is tired, but my mind refuses to rest. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to quiet the thoughts that won’t stop swirling. The day’s events replay in my head, every mistake amplified, every moment of doubt echoing in the silence. I long for peace, for a moment where my mind can just be still, but it rarely comes. When sleep finally takes over, it’s restless, filled with dreams that mirror the chaos of my waking life.

I know that tomorrow will be much the same. The cycle will start again—waking up to a mind already in overdrive, navigating the complexities of emotions that never seem to settle, and trying to hold on to a sense of self that feels elusive at best. Some days I manage better than others. But every day is a fight to keep going, to find a way to live with this constant turmoil that BPD brings. It’s not an easy life, but it’s the only one I know, and somehow, I keep pushing forward.

#actually bpd #bpd feels #bpd thoughts #bpd problems #bpd #bpd vent #bpd safe #borderline problems #borderline blog #borderline personality traits #borderline personality disorder #actually borderline #borderline personality problems

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idcbabyialreadylostmymind · 2 years ago

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Blood of my Blood pt.1

Pairing- Sully family x sully!reader

Summary- There is so much you would do for your family even at a young age but there is one thing you just couldn't do so you do the only thing you find reasonable you run.

A/N- so this is lowkey just a prologue but i hope you guys like it 🤭

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

Your mother, Neytiri sat you down and Jake, your father, held a contemplating expression on his face. ''Hi mama, dad.'' You said as your missing tooth smiled up at them. ''Y/N we have something to tell you.'' Jake began and you peered at him with big eyes looking up at him with childlike gleam in them. ''We have made an agreement with the Kekunan clan, you know the tribe we visited last week and you and Neteyam played tag with the chief's son Entu.'' Jake said and you shook your head. ''Yeah he kept hitting me and he played with and injured animal it was really mean.'' You say and Neytiri looks upset and she sees your thoughts of the boy.

''What about it dad?'' You say looking at him again as he takes a deep breath in. ''You and Entu are betrothed when you become one of the people you shall be his mate.'' Neytiri finished and all the joy you felt seeped from your body and into the earth. ''W-what do you mean mom?'' you knew what she meant, but you prayed to Eywa that it wasn't what you thought. ''You and Entu with be mates in a few years it is done daughter be happy.'' she smiled and you did the same getting up and running to Neteyam.

You lived normally existing as if the news your parents just delivered to you didn;t fill you with despair. Though, it was only one day you could see that Entu would be cruel, cruel to you, cruel to the clan. You couldn't subject yourself to this, you would do anything for your family even at your young age but this is one thing that you couldn't and wouldn't do.

It was late you fought the sleep that simmered in your mind and waited till you heard your dads loud snoring. Slowly crouching out of your cot grabbing a bag you packed a few days ago its intended use was for a get together at another clan but it would do for getting away. You opened a window flap and stepped onto the grassy earth that surrounded your home. You walk to the Hallelujah mountains, you knew it was too early for your Iknimaya but you had to get away somehow.

You stepped into the pit, all of them were awake skin glowing and bright eyes peered into your soul. They moved as if upset by your presence, they would attack you if they wanted you to be their rider but none attacked. But one didn't move.

He was small, wings looked weak, but his beak was strong enough to crush a grown Na'vi skull as he hissed at you getting in attack mode. 'Better than nothing." You whisper before you hiss back at him loudly as he stood up on his short legs. Getting your rope you wrap it around his beck jumping at him onto his back.

He threw himself on his back making you gasp. Grabbing your queue quickly connecting it with his, completing tsaheylu he flew off the rock and then your eyes widened as you though, ''Slow, slow.'' He balanced in the wind as he went forward at a slow pace.

Your back straightened as you reached behind you grabbing the bag that managed to stay in you. Opening it you grab a leaf scroll, unrolling it having the directions to a clan. ''Mangkwan Clan known for letting people in hm.'' You whisper and the Khal, that's what you named him, chirped. ''You how where it's at.'' He chirped twice in response and you just trusted him as he turned left and farther from your old home.

It was a week's journey, you felt yourself going hungry but you held hope when Khal stopped his flapping wings in front of a hometree very familiar to yours but with key differences. A blow of a horn took you from your amazement as many surrounded you so worried, some excited, two of three hissed at you. But then a man and a woman stepped between the swarm of Na'vi they must be the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik as everyone bowed their heads in respect.

The woman had goddess braids that stopped at her hips with intricate gems and jewels in it, her long skirt went up at the sides and shined with the amount of jewls that went through it, and a tattoo that started at her wrist and wrapped all the way up to her neck. Her wide eyes peered at you, studying your face and body language.

The man stood more protective than curious like the woman. He has a huge scar on his left upper arm, he has huge ear gauges, he had a head dress that shined like a million diamonds, truly the brightest thing you've ever seen that sat in his long dreads.

They stopped in front of you and you quickly bowed your head and the woman smiled before touching your bicep with her tattooed hand, making you flinch at the touch. ''Child please tell me why you've come, one of you put this young ladies ikran with the other.'' She spoke to the guards around you as she wrapped her larger arms around your smaller filling your body with warmth. ''May I please stay here I can pull my weight, I can hunt, paint, sing, weave anything but can I please-''

''Shush child, tell me your name and why you seek to live here. Is something wrong?" Her eyes looked bug full of wonder and concern for the young girl in front of her.

"My name is Y/N te Suli Neytiri'ite." You whisper looking down the woman's back straightened as she looks at the man who walked behind you, his eyebrows furrowed even more. "Y/N why have you come here?" The woman crouched to your height. "Um," you debated telling her the truth would she send you back.

"Um, well back home I'm betrothed to someone, someone I can't just can't be mates with. He is cruel, and my parents just don't see it." You look at the ground in shame.

The two adults looked at each other and tye man had a much softer look on his face now as the woman looked uo waiting for his final answer on the whole thing. He tilted his head down and she smiled. "Well you shall stay here with us." She said and you looked at the two and smiled. "My name is Peyral and his name is Kamun."

-6 years later-

Jake held a picture in his hand and then the sound of a leaf crunching pulled him from his thoughts quickly flipping the picture over not to show the image. "Ma Jake." Neytiri spoke and he rubbed his eyes. "Hey baby." He said and Neytiri looked puzzled. "What is wrong?" She asked and he only shaked his head opening a drawer to put the picture up but ahe snatched it just in time. Her face softened as she smiled, caressing the picture, it was of you jumping at your parents after your first time swimming and Neytiri finally figured out how a polaroid works.

She gulped and placed the picture in the drawer and grabbed his hand dragging him into the meeting with Mo'at.

"Ah JakeSully, Daughter.* She said bowing her head formally greeting them.

"Mother." Neytiri responded as she and Jake bowed their heads.

Sitting down around an unlit fire pit. "What have we come to talk about?" Jake asked and Mo'at lifted her head. "Yes, well some clans are threatening to battle over a few things." She said to the two and Neytiri's eyes widened as she now sat up straight as did Jake. "What should we do?" Neytiri asked Jake who ran over ideas in his brain. "You meet with them, you talk and you compromise." Mo'at blurted out and they looked over at her.

"Meet, Talk and compromise." Jake repeated and Mo'at shook her head up and down slowly. "Yes and I suggest you go to the Mangkwan Clan last." She said, looking off to the side. The two of them look at her curiously. "There may be something there for you, all of you." She said before blinking multiple times as Neytiri helped her up.

Neytiri and Jake stepped out of the tent and Neytiri went in her way as Jake did. But what Mo'at said simmered in his thoughts. What did she mean there's something there for him? For all of his family? He had no idea.

But he would soon find out.

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@ssc7514 @23victoria @wtf-why-do-i-gotta-do-this @chaoticmagazineboard @spicycloudsalad @ilovejakesullysdick @ihonestlydontknowwhattonamethis @neteyamforlife @phoenixgurl030 @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @kikookii @elegantkidfansoul @kurtsworld096

A/N- if you asked to be tagged and arent in gere it is bc i couldn't find your blog sorry in advance.

#avatar 2 #avatar 2022 #avatar #avatar 2009 #avatar way of water #avatar x reader fluff #avatar x reader #avatar x y/n #avatar x you #avatar shit #sully family x reader #sully family #sully reader #avatar x sully!reader #sully!reader #daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #jake sully x daughter!reader #avatar angst

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jrob64 · 1 month ago

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Exacting His Revenge - Chapter 2

Welcome to chapter 2 of @kmomof4's birthday story. There will be one more chapter after this, and because the birthday girl has requested smut for that chapter, the story is now rated M. I haven't begun writing the final chapter yet, but hopefully you won't have to wait too long.

Thanks so much to @hookedmom, my wonderful beta and friend.

Story Summary: When Hook sees an opportunity to finally get his revenge on Rumplestiltskin, he seizes it, putting him in the company of Emma Swan. A season 2 canon divergent story.

Rating: M

Words (Ch. 2): 6076

Posted on Tumblr - Chap. 1 and also on ffn & Ao3

Story under the cut

Hook had been to many ports in his hundreds of years, but none as crazy and disconcerting as New York City. The people at the harbor seemed especially interested in his ship and he almost decided against leaving it there, but knew time was of the essence.

The city itself was loud, dirty and obnoxiously colorful. Bright lights flashed everywhere around him and huge signs displayed pictures of everything from barely clad women to bottles of whiskey.

People walking past barely paid attention to him, even though he saw no one else dressed, even remotely, like him. However, their attire was vastly diverse and he supposed he really didn’t stand out any more than anyone else.

At first, he was overwhelmed with the tall buildings and massive size of the city and nearly despaired at finding Emma. Taking deep breaths of the stale, putrid air failed to calm him, so he sought a place where he wasn’t surrounded by buildings that seemed to stretch as high as the beanstalk he and Emma climbed.

When he finally found a large plot of grass and trees, he wandered through it until he spotted a bench in a somewhat quiet area. Sitting down, he closed his eyes and pictured Emma. Ever since he first laid eyes on her from his position underneath a pile of bodies, he felt a connection with her that he really couldn’t explain. It was as if he could tell when she was near, simply by thinking about her. She was like a magnet, drawing him to her.

The longer he sat there, the clearer his mind became. When he was compelled to start walking again, he seemed to have some indication of which way to go. Before long, he was standing outside what appeared to be a residential building. He went into the lobby, but found it empty. Looking around, he discovered a small bench along the wall beside the door and settled down on it to wait.

Numerous people came and went while he waited, none of them paying any attention to the leather clad pirate. He was beginning to think his intuition was wrong, when he heard a familiar voice and saw Emma and Rumplestiltskin entering the lobby.

“...still can’t believe you screamed about wanting to be the first one off the plane until you got yourself placed on the ‘no fly’ list, Gold. How are we supposed to get back to Storybrooke now?”

“I can get us back with a mere flick of…”

“We’re in the fucking land without magic!” Emma hissed.

“We’ll worry about the problem of getting back later. Right now, I need to find my son.”

They were so caught up in their conversation, neither of them noticed Hook. As they searched for something on the wall, he bided his time. He hadn’t prepared his hook with the poison yet and he didn’t want to do it while they were standing right in front of him.

“I bet this is it,” Emma said. “It’s the only one without a name. I know from experience that when a person doesn’t want to be found, they won’t put their name beside their apartment number.”

She pushed the button beside the number and waited. There was no response. She was getting ready to press it again when a heavyset woman with her hands full of shopping bags entered the lobby. Rudely pushing past Emma and Gold, she dropped the bags that were in her right hand, dug in the pocket of her gaudily flowered dress and withdrew a key. After unlocking the metal gate, she collected her bags and passed through.

Quickly, Emma stopped the gate from closing and gestured for Gold to go through ahead of her. Hook watched their slow progress up the stairs, waited until they disappeared, then pulled the bottle of poison out of his pocket. Before he had a chance to uncork it, a man entered the lobby. Something about him seemed familiar to Hook and he studied the man as he unlocked the gate, entered, then hurried up the steps.

Hook was so busy trying to place the man, he forgot to get his hook ready to attack Rumplestiltskin. He was further distracted by feet pounding down the stairs. The man who had just gone upstairs plunged back down them, burst through the gate and took off out the door.

“Go get him, Miss Swan!” Hook heard Rumplestiltskin shouting. “I can’t run, so you have to catch him. Get him to come back here and talk to me!”

As Emma flew past Hook, red scarf trailing behind her, he realized why the man she was chasing looked familiar. It was Baelfire!

Thinking quickly, Hook dashed across the lobby and caught the gate with his hook before it slammed shut. He knew he didn’t have much time if Rumplestiltskin was on his way downstairs, but after listening carefully for several seconds, he was able to determine the crocodile wasn’t following Emma.

As he uncorked the poison, he grinned at the irony. The day Rumplestiltskin found his son again was the day he was finally going to die. After dousing his hook with the deadly poison, he stuffed the empty bottle back into his pocket. Then he began creeping up the stairs, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of the vile imp.

When he reached the second floor, he moved down the hallway, listening at each door along the way. Behind some, he heard music or conversation, while others were completely silent. He knew the man he sought could be in any of those apartments, but Hook had a feeling he wasn’t.

Continuing on to the next floor, he immediately noticed an open door at the far end of the hallway. Sucking in a breath, he started in that direction, pondering if he could possibly be lucky enough for that to be the right place.

Once he reached the doorway, he peeked around the open door and saw Rumplestiltskin leaning out the window, looking down at the street below. Hook swiftly covered the space between them, grabbing the other man’s arm and spinning him around.

“Tick tock, Crocodile,” he growled, then sunk the tip of his hook into Rumplestiltskin’s chest.

Gold let out a choked cry, dropping his cane to clutch at the metal appendage. “You…you cannot kill the Dark One,” he gasped.

“Ah, but dreamshade straight to the heart can,” Hook leered. As Gold’s eyes widened and filled with fear, Hook continued, “Now, as you die, you can think about how very close you came to seeing your son again. The one you abandoned because you chose power instead. And you can think of Belle, back in Storybrooke, waiting for you to come home. I told you all demons could be killed and it looks like I did indeed find a way.”

Yanking the hook out of his victim, Hook gave him a slight push and watched with satisfaction as he slumped to the floor. “Milah’s death is finally avenged. I’m sated, replete. My life’s purpose is met,” he said savagely, his face mere inches from Rumplestiltskin’s.

Then he straightened up, turned, and triumphantly walked out the door.

*********

It took Hook longer than expected to make it back to his ship. When he finally did, he was appalled to find that he owed docking fees and they wouldn’t take doubloons as payment. By the time he worked out a deal with the harbormaster to send the money once he got home (which he had no intention of doing) the sun was beginning to set.

He readied the ship to sail, trying to keep his mind off of the fact that he may never see the lovely and fiery Emma Swan again. Just as he was set to instruct the dock workers to untie the ropes, he glanced across the bow of the ship and his mouth dropped open in shock.

He could see Emma and Baelfire were approaching the Jolly Roger. They were half carrying, half dragging Rumplestiltskin between them. As they started up the gangplank, Hook moved to block the opening in the ship’s railing. “Where do you think you’re going?” he boomed.

Emma and Bae looked up at him in surprise. “Hook? You’re here?” she asked.

“Where did you expect me to be? This is my ship after all. How did you know it was going to be here?”

“We took a chance,” Baelfire answered. “My father said it was you who stabbed him. We figured you sailed to New York and hoped you hadn’t left yet.”

“When we saw the ship, we thought you may have gotten lost on your way back here or something,” Emma said. “Neal said he could sail the ship back to Storybrooke, but now that you’re here, you can do it.”

Hook widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “The bloody crocodile isn’t coming aboard my ship.”

“Hook, please,” Emma begged. “He says he has a cure for dreamshade in his shop…”

“Why would I want him to be cured?” Hook interrupted. “I intended to kill him. I’m not going to do anything that will help him survive.”

“You owe me, Hook,” Baelfire snarled. “You already took my mother from me and now you’re trying to take my father, too.”

“And my son’s grandfather,” Emma added.

“Your son’s…How?” Hook asked, but as soon as he did, the pieces clicked into place. “Wait, you mean the two of you…?” He gestured between Baelfire and Emma.

“Can we discuss this aboard the ship?” Emma asked, hoisting Gold’s limp form up a little higher. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

Hook remained slackjawed for another few moments, before his countenance darkened once again. “I told you I’m refusing his admittance onto my ship.”

Emma gave Baelfire a meaningful look, then disentangled herself from Gold, leaving his son to keep him upright. She hurried up the ramp to stand in front of Hook.

“Look, I know you hate the guy and I don’t blame you, but Henry has the right to know Gold is his grandfather. Plus, Neal is Henry’s father and he deserves a chance to meet him.”

“Neal?” Hook questioned.

“That’s how I knew him, not as Baelfire. He took a more modern name in the land without magic.”

“How did the two of you…”

“I’ll explain everything to you later, but first we need to get back to Storybrooke. Personally, I don’t care if Gold lives or dies, but since it turns out he’s Henry’s grandfather, I’ve got to do all I can to try to help him survive.”

Hook’s jaw ticked furiously, but before he could protest again, Emma stepped closer. Looking deeply into his eyes, she pleaded, “Please, Hook. Do it for me?”

Hook narrowed his eyes and stared at her for several long moments. “What’s in it for me?” he finally asked.

Emma sighed heavily. “Can’t you just do it out of the goodness of your heart?”

“I’m a pirate, Love. I have no goodness in my heart.”

“I don’t believe that, Hook. You helped me and Mary Margaret get back to Storybrooke and you can’t convince me it was only because you wanted to get your revenge.”

“Emma! Hurry up!” Baelfire called.

She turned to look at him, then turned back to Hook. “If you get us back to Storybrooke, I’ll…I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re a hero.”

Hook blinked in disbelief. “A hero?”

“Yeah. Like I said, you brought the rightful queen back to her people.”

“I also shot the town librarian.”

“True, but if Gold dies, they’ll be able to overlook that. Everyone in town hates him.”

“I’m bringing him aboard, Hook!” Bae yelled, his voice strained from holding his father up.

“Please, Hook,” Emma begged again.

He reached out and captured a lock of her hair between his thumb and fingers. “I’ll allow him aboard on one condition.” Emma raised a brow, silently encouraging him to continue. “You join me for dinner on the Jolly Roger once we’re back.”

“Seriously?”

“You’re asking me to bring my worst enemy onto my beloved ship and sail him to Storybrooke in an effort to save his life - the life I’ve been trying to take for hundreds of years. One dinner with me isn’t too much to ask, is it?”

Emma glanced between him and the men on the dock. Then she seemed to deflate a bit. “Fine. I’ll have dinner with you.”

Hook watched her walk back down the gangplank and help Baelfire maneuver Rumplestiltskin up to the ship, swallowing down his malice with every step they took. When they got the injured man aboard and began making their way to the hatch which led down to the living quarters, Hook quickly stepped in front of them.

“I may have been forced to allow him on my ship, but he will not be given the luxury of being in my quarters, or even those of my crew,” he growled menacingly.

“Where are we supposed to put him then?” Emma asked, breathing hard from the exertion of hauling the man around.

Hook walked over to the starboard side of the ship. “There,” he said, pointing to a specific place on the wooden deck.

Giving him a quizzical look, Emma helped Neal lower Gold down to the designated area. While they helped the man get as comfortable as possible, Hook went about sailing the ship out of port.

Once they were out on the open sea, Emma climbed the steps to where Hook was standing behind the wheel. “Is there any way you can make this ship go faster? If we don’t get back to Storybrooke very soon, it’s going to be too late.”

“Our speed is dependent on the wind. I can’t control that.”

Emma looked thoughtful. “I wonder if I could.”

Hook narrowed his eyes. “Are you thinking of using your magic?”

“You have magic, Ems?” Baelfire asked incredulously, taking them both by surprise. Neither had heard him approaching.

Emma sighed and turned toward him. “Yeah, it seems the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming somehow has the ability of performing magic.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“When the evil queen’s mother tried to pull my heart out of my chest to crush it, she couldn’t. Apparently it was because I have magic inside me.”

Neal laughed humorlessly. “You expect me to believe that?”

Hook moved to stand beside Emma. “It’s true. I saw it myself.”

The other man crossed his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t mean Emma has magic. Maybe it just means pulling a person’s heart out isn’t possible.”

“It bloody well is possible,” Hook growled. “I watched your father do it to…” He stopped short, suddenly realizing what he was about to say.

“To who, Hook?” Baelfire challenged.

Hook set his jaw, determined to set the record straight at last. “To your mother. That’s how she died. Your father” he spat, pointing to the man writhing in pain on the lower deck, “reached into her chest, pulled out her heart and crushed it right in front of me. She died in that very spot. That’s why I had you lay him there, to remind him of the horribly despicable act he committed.”

“You’re lying,” Baelfire said through clenched teeth. “He told me pirates killed her.”

“That’s the thing about the Dark One,” Hook shot back. “Dark One lies. Dark One tricks. The truth is, Milah and I loved each other and she was miserable with him, so she ran off with me. He couldn’t stand the fact that she left him, so he killed her.”

Baelfire’s face lost all color. “Is that true?”

Hook’s eyes softened, seeing the boy he once took care of within the man. “Aye, and I’ve been seeking my revenge ever since. I tried to tell you when you were a lad…”

“But you can’t deny that you took her away from me,” Baelfire accused.

Hook dropped his head and swallowed. “Not a day went by that she didn’t miss you and talk about you. We always planned to go back to get you when you were a bit older and better able to live aboard the ship, but she..she was killed before we could do it.”

The two men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Emma looked between them, then cleared her throat. “Do you, uh…do you want me to try using magic…”

“No!” Neal shouted, making her jump. “Look, I don’t know if you have magic or not, but even if you do, I don’t want you to use it.”

Emma gaped at him. “But your father may die!”

“Let him die. He’s destroyed countless lives and killed so many people. Now it’s his turn. You reap what you sow,” Bae said bitterly, then he turned and walked to the port side of the ship, completely ignoring his father’s weak pleas.

Emma turned to look at Hook. “I, um…I understand now.”

“Understand what, Love?”

“Why you sought revenge against Gold for so long. Is that what Cora intended to do to me? Tear out my heart and crush it?”

“If I remember correctly,” Hook said, sauntering toward her, “she meant to rip out your mother’s heart to present it to Regina. You simply got in her way.”

Emma mulled that over for a few moments. Finally, she looked up at him, sincere sympathy shining in her eyes. “I’m sorry about Milah, Hook. That must have been very painful to watch.”

He sighed. “Aye, it was. Even the pain from him cutting off my hand didn’t hurt as badly as seeing the light go out of her eyes as life left her body.”

Her head snapped up. “He…he cut off your hand after he killed her?”

Hook nodded grimly, subconsciously rubbing his hand over the curve of his hook.

“That explains why you call him ‘crocodile’.”

His brow raised in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like in the book Peter Pan, when Pan cuts off Captain Hook’s hand and feeds it to the crocodile.”

“That book is a work of fiction. Pan is a demon, but he had nothing to do with me losing my hand. However, I am intrigued that my fame is so widespread that I’ve been written as a character in a novel.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “So why do you call Gold the crocodile, then?”

“When he’s in his true form as the Dark One, his skin is scaly and greenish-gray, like the cold-blooded reptile he is.”

She hummed in understanding, then turned her eyes to the deck. Neal was leaning on the ship’s railing, his back turned toward his father. His jaw was clenched tightly and that, combined with the way he agitatedly rubbed his hands together, clearly conveyed his anger.

On the other side of the ship, Gold lay on his side, one hand clutching the wound in his chest, while the other stretched toward Baelfire futilely. Emma could see his lips moving, mouthing the words, “Please, Bae” over and over.

With a quick glance at Hook, Emma went down the steps and over to Neal. Hook didn’t follow, but couldn’t help himself from listening to the conversation. Years of being on the sea allowed him the knowledge that sound carried on the water and most private conversations were anything but private.

“Don’t you think you should go over and talk to him?” Emma asked. “If you don’t and he dies, you’ll probably regret it for the rest of your life.”

Baelfire shrugged indifferently. “I haven’t talked to him for years and I don’t regret it. I could have lived the rest of my life without seeing him again and I wouldn’t regret it.”

“You can’t know that for sure…”

He whirled around, his face contorted in anger. “He fucking killed my mother, Emma! Then he lied about what happened to her and went on living his pathetic life as the fucking Dark One! He chose being the Dark One over being a father to me! I owe him nothing!”

Hook felt a twinge of jealousy as Emma laid her hand on Bae’s shoulder. “This is your last chance, Neal. Ask him why he made those decisions. The man is dying. He may be ready to confess and cleanse his conscience.”

“He wouldn’t be able to cleanse his conscience if he had an eternity,” Baelfire spat.

“Then at least tell him how you feel. Make him understand how much he hurt you. I…I did that with my mom and it helped me deal with my feelings of abandonment.”

Bae glanced over to where his father lay in agony. Hook could tell he was contemplating what Emma said. Finally, he blew out a long breath, gave her a grim smile and patted her hand where it still rested on his shoulder. Then he slowly crossed the deck and lowered himself to sit beside Rumplestiltskin.

After following his movements, Hook looked back at Emma. She was standing with her arms crossed, watching the scene unfolding on the other side of the ship. She must have felt his gaze on her, because her eyes shifted to him for a brief moment, before flicking back. Hook reluctantly turned his attention to the two men.

Father and son sat without speaking for several tense moments. When Baelfire finally broke the silence, it was through gritted teeth. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to do something you rarely do and tell the truth. Agreed?”

“Bae…”

“Agreed?” Baelfire asked again, barely containing his rage.

Rumplestiltskin sighed. “Yes, son.”

“How did my mother die? Did you kill her?”

“You have to understand…”

“Did. You. Kill. Her?” Baelfire bit out.

Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes. “Yes.”

Baelfire clenched his hands into fists. “By tearing out her heart and crushing it?”

“Yes, but she…”

“Save it! Nothing she did was bad enough for her to deserve that kind of death.” Bae pushed himself to his feet and paced back and forth beside his prone father. “Did you kill her before or after you refused to follow me through the portal?”

“After. I was…” He sucked in a sharp breath and clutched at his chest, a wave of pain obviously passing through him. Hook couldn’t help but feel a macabre sense of satisfaction over being the one responsible for the crocodile’s suffering. “I was trying to obtain a magic bean…in an effort to find you. I knew she had one.”

“You planned to find me?”

“Yes. I…I’ve been trying to find you ever since you left.”

“Since I left?” Bae exploded. “You mean since you let me go!”

Rumplestiltskin stretched out a bloodied hand. “Please, son. All I wanted all these years was to be reunited with you. You have to believe me.”

Bae suddenly slammed a fist down on the railing. “How can I believe you? You’re the Dark One! All you do is lie! If you truly wanted to be with me, why didn’t you come through the portal with me in the first place?”

“I was afraid…”

“Afraid of what? Losing your power? Not having magic? What could make you so fearful that you couldn’t even stay with your only son?”

“Bae, I…I wanted to give you everything…”

“I didn’t need everything! I just needed you, Papa!”

“Please…forgive me,” Rumplestiltskin managed to say between labored breaths.

Baelfire studied him for several seconds. “I…I don’t think I can. My whole life has been tainted because of your terrible choices.”

“Bae…please…”

Squatting down beside him, Baelfire looked into his father’s pain-filled eyes. “Let me ask you something. If you could do it all over again, would you still have become the Dark One, or would you have stayed with me, even if it meant being known as the town coward?”

Rumplestiltskin opened his mouth to answer, but seemed to reconsider. When he finally spoke, he said, “I wanted to protect you…and I couldn’t do that…unless people feared me…”

Bae stood up. “That’s all the answer I need. You’ll always choose power over me or anyone else. Now, you’re going to die alone, just like you left me.” With those words, he walked away from his father.

Hook watched Baelfire move to the bow of the ship, then shifted his eyes to the pathetic, sniveling form of the Dark One. He expected to feel nothing but glee over the heartbreak and demise of his nemesis, but to his surprise, he felt a tiny pang of sympathy for him. Hook himself knew what it was like to have Baelfire turn his back on him and walk away.

“Do you think I should talk to him?” Emma asked quietly.

“Baelfire or the crocodile?”

“Bael, um, Neal. Maybe I should try to convince him to give his father another chance. He is dying, after all. It’s the last chance he has to forgive him.”

Hook speared her with an intense look. “He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.”

“I know he’s the Dark One and has done some horrible things, but…”

“That’s correct, and you just heard him tell Bae that, given the chance, he wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Still…”

“Look, Swan, if you feel sorry for the bloody crocodile, perhaps you should be the one to comfort him in his dying moments. Bae made his choice, and the underworld will freeze over before I give him any sympathy.”

“I understand, but it just seems really sad for him to die all alone on the deck…”

“In the same spot where my Milah died?” Hook growled. “I consider it poetic justice.”

Emma looked back at Gold and chewed her bottom lip. Then, after a quick glance at Hook, she made her way down the steps. Hook watched her go, jaw ticking in agitation.

She knelt down beside the dying man and murmured something Hook couldn’t quite hear. At the groaning acknowledgement of the man, Emma continued in a louder voice. “If we don’t make it back to Storybrooke in time, do you, um, is there anything you want me to tell Belle?”

“Tell her…I wish…I could have…seen her…one last time.”

“Anything else?”

“Thank her…for loving…a beast…like me.”

Emma nodded. Hook could see Rumplestiltskin’s chest rising and falling more shallowly with each breath and knew the end was very near.

“You…and Bae…” Rumplestiltskin gasped. “Do the…two of you…”

Emma’s eyes widened. “If you’re asking if I love him, the answer is no.” Hearing those words, Hook couldn’t help breathing a small sigh of relief.

“But Henry…”

“Today was the first time Neal heard about Henry. He didn’t know I was pregnant when he, um, the last time I saw him.”

The two fell silent and Hook wondered if the crocodile had spoken his final words. Just as he was convinced he had, he heard the man mutter, “Tell…Bae…I’m sorry.”

Before Emma could respond, Rumplestiltskin emitted a rattling breath and went completely still. Emma put two fingers on his throat to feel for a pulse. After a few moments, she announced, “He’s gone.”

At her words, Bae turned and made his way back to his father’s side.

“He told me to tell you he was sorry,” Emma said. “Those were his last words.”

Baelfire shrugged his shoulders. “It’s too little, too late. He had the opportunity to tell me himself, but he didn’t.”

As the two of them stood looking down at him, a swirl of black smoke began rising from his body, causing both of them to jump back.

“What the hell is that?” Emma asked.

“It appears to be the darkness leaving its host,” Hook explained, ambling over to stand beside her.

Her eyes widened. “It…it’s not going to attach itself to one of us, is it?”

They warily watched the haze floating in the air, ducking when it got close to them. After hovering for a while, it drifted away and dissipated.

“Where did it go?” Emma asked. “Is it going in search of the next Dark One?”

“There won’t be another Dark One,” Hook said.

“How could you possibly know that?” Baelfire snapped.

Hook looked at him pointedly. “How is the power passed on?”

“By killing the Dark One with the dagger,” Emma answered.

“Aye, and since the crocodile wasn’t killed with the dagger, the darkness has no one to whom it can attach itself.”

“So it’s just…gone?” Emma inquired skeptically.

“It would appear to be.”

Bae’s eyes shifted from where the darkness disappeared, down to his father’s lifeless form. Squatting down, he brushed some strands of hair away from his forehead. Emma hesitantly reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Neal.”

“He wasn’t always a bad father, you know. When I was a little boy, he was the best Papa. But then, the darkness and his thirst for power took over and he…” He hung his head and rubbed his eyes with one hand while the other remained on his father’s forehead. Suddenly, he shouted, “Damn you, Papa! Why wasn’t I enough for you? Why did you have to become the fucking Dark One? Why?”

As sobs wracked his body, Hook and Emma exchanged helpless looks, unsure of what to say or do.

“Bae,” Hook began.

Baelfire jumped to his feet, face contorted in pain and anger. Jabbing a finger into Hook’s chest, he screamed, “NO! Do not say anything! You took both of my parents from me and I hate you!”

“Calm down, Neal,” Emma said.

Neal turned and unleashed his wrath at her. “Are you taking his side? He’s nothing but a selfish, filthy pirate, Ems!”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side, but just a few minutes ago, you made it sound like you couldn’t care less that your father died.”

“That doesn’t take away from the fact that he killed him!” he raged, poking Hook again.

Hook didn’t respond. He understood that Bae had anger he needed to work out. If Hook was the recipient of that anger, he would accept it, as long as he didn’t direct it toward Emma.

“Look,” Emma said forcefully, “we’re gonna have to be on this ship together for quite a while yet, so just try to stay away from each other, alright?”

“Aye, Love,” Hook said. “I think we can do that.”

Baelfire took a step away from Hook and eyed him critically. “Where do you get off calling her ‘love’? Is there something going on between you two?”

“No!” Emma replied quickly. At the same time, Hook poked his tongue into his cheek, before answering, “Perhaps.”

Bae looked from one to the other, eyes squinted and mouth set in a hard line. “Stay away from her, Hook.” Grabbing Emma’s arm, he said, “Come on, Ems. Let’s go below deck.” Before she could respond, he started toward the hatch, yanking forcefully on her arm.

She planted her feet and tried unsuccessfully to pull out of his grip. “I don’t want to, Neal. I’m going to stay up here.”

“With him? You can’t do that. He’s…”

Emma jerked her arm free and glared at him. “Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, Neal! I’m no longer a teenage girl that you can manipulate. I may have helped you with your father, but don’t get the idea that I have feelings for you any more or that we have any chance of getting back together. I’m older and much, much wiser now.”

Hook watched Baelfire’s expression change from anger to confusion. “But you said we have a son…”

“We do, but that doesn’t mean that we’re going to be a family! You set me up for your stupid crime then abandoned me, so I had him while I was in jail and had to give him up for adoption. He managed to find me last year and talked me into going to Storybrooke, the cursed town created by Regina, who is the Evil Queen and his adoptive mother.”

Hook’s brows raised. That bit of information was news to him.

“You let the Evil Queen adopt my son?” Bae shouted.

Emma’s expression became furious. “Let her? I didn’t let her do anything! I didn’t know who was adopting my baby! I had no idea a fairytale world even existed where I’m the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming…”

“For real?” Bae interrupted. “They really are your parents?”

“Yeah, which makes them Henry’s grandparents along with Rumplestiltskin, and his step-great grandmother, the Evil Queen, is also his adoptive mother. If you tell me you’re actually the big, bad wolf - which would be very easy for me to believe, by the way - his family tree will be complete.”

Hook couldn’t help but smirk at her statement, but sobered the next moment when he realized that Milah was also the boy’s grandmother.

“I already told you why I had to leave you, Ems,” Neal said, his tone almost pleading.

“Oh, that’s right. Pinocchio told you he knew who you were, so rather than face your father, you decided to let me take the fall. It seems being a coward is a hereditary thing.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t know what it was like having the Dark One as my father. I was forced to make that choice…”

Emma took an aggressive step forward, her finger pointed in Baelfire’s face. “You told me you loved me! We could have had a good life together with our son!”

“We still can, now that the curse is broken and my father is gone.”

Emma turned her back, folding her arms over her chest. “It’s too late, Neal. I don’t love you any more. Maybe it would be better if Hook turned the ship around and took you back to New York.”

“I want to meet my son and bury my father. Besides, I would never let you sail back to Storybrooke all by yourself with that pirate.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I just flew to New York with the Dark One. I think I could handle Hook.”

Hook pressed his lips together to keep from smiling at her words. She had proven more than once that his assessment of her being a tough lass was accurate.

“Emma…” Bae began.

She whirled around to face him again. “Look, Neal. Just because we’re on this ship together until we get to Storybrooke doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other. I’ve said all I want to say. Now, I’m gonna go over there,” she said, pointing to the other side of the ship, “and you can go…wherever you want to go, as long as it’s nowhere near me.” With that, she stomped away.

Hook turned and climbed the steps up to the helm. Standing behind the ship’s wheel, he watched Bae find a piece of canvas to lay over his father’s body. Then he sat down on the deck beside it and unabashedly stared at Emma, who was standing with her back to him, gazing out at the waves.

Hook’s eyes were also drawn to the blonde spitfire, her hair whipping in the wind. He could tell she was still angry by the way she stood stiff and straight. Knowing she couldn’t see him, he continued to observe her openly.

The first time he laid eyes on her, he was struck by her beauty. As he spent more time around her, he admired her fire and determination. Most people who held a knife to his throat would have found themselves on the pointy end of his sword. Then she chained him up in the lair of a giant. Yet he felt himself inexplicably drawn to her.

“I can’t take a chance that I’m wrong about you.”

He had plenty of time to think about that statement after she left him there. It gave him a strange feeling of hope that perhaps she thought of him as more than just a thieving, murderous pirate. Perhaps it was possible for her to see the good and honorable man still underneath all of his leather and bravado.

As the Jolly Roger sailed silently toward Storybrooke, Hook contemplated what he would do now that his quest for revenge was finally over. He had no family and no home, other than his ship. He had already sailed to numerous realms and seen almost everything the world had to offer. Nothing held any appeal for him.

Except Emma Swan.

That’s the moment he made the decision to stay in Storybrooke and try to win her heart.

*********

Thanks for reading!

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#exacting his revenge #jrob64 #csff #birthday fic for krystal #ouat season 2 canon divergent #chapter update #chapter2 #captain swan fanfiction #ouat fanfiction

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