#by a sleep we hope to end the heartache

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “And by a Sleep, We Hope to End the Heartache”

*** Sorry I’m late with the Sunday re-run this week! I’ve had the cover art made and this story picked out, but just haven’t been able to get it posted past couple of weeks. Anyway, this story was originally written for the second edition of the @csstorybook​ on Tumblr – go check that out if you haven’t, it’s amazing!!  My episode for that project was 5x04 “Broken Kingdom” and I wanted to imagine how Killian might have tried to help comfort a sleepless Emma as she fought the darkness within.  Hope you enjoy!  I’d love – as always – to hear what you think!

This can also be found as a chapter in my one-shots collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” on AO3 or on ff.net...

             “Lass…Emma… Love, please, you have to stop…” his quiet voice, vibrating with emotion despite its soothing timbre, still somehow managed to slice through the paranoia, the swirling images, and yammering voices roiling inside her skull.  It was the one thing, other than her son’s hopeful, trusting face, which had managed to do so since she had risen from the ominous hatch in the Camelot forest, alone, confused, and the newest Dark One.  Her stride faltered at his plea, her step finally pausing before the window of the castle suite they had been given by Arthur for their accommodation.

             Looking over her shoulder to find his fraught gaze, Emma turned slightly toward the pirate, a glance half exasperation and half desperate need on her conflicted face.  “What do you want from me, Killian?” she whispered tiredly, her shoulders slumping with a weary defeat he had rarely seen from her.  He had no way of knowing that Emma desired nothing so much as to cross the large open chamber and collapse into his arms, as she had a week ago when they’d first found her in the stone circle about to crush Merida’s heart.  His embrace tight around her, his heart beating frantically just under her palm, those few moments had been the only time the riot inside her head had seemed to cease – when she could think clearly, as only herself.  She needed that relief again, and yet she feared letting down her guard, even for a moment’s comfort.  She was barely keeping all the violent, persuasive urges twining through her consciousness at bay, barely keeping all the raw power tingling under her skin from breaking free.  She could not allow herself the peace of Killian’s embrace; rest might let the horrors loose upon them all. 

             Her pirate watched her knowingly, his eyes gentle, yet seeing and understanding too much as his discerning gaze studied her from across the room.  Those blue pools of his stare took in the way she vibrated slightly, no matter how she tried to hold still.  He saw the tangled, disheveled fall of her hair – usually more a silky sheet of gold – the strange, rough grey duster she wore, still trailing dirt and dried leaves from the forest floor behind her.  This was his Swan before him yet, but she was in distress and guarded once more, in a way she had finally begun to put in her past – and he experienced a disorienting, long rush of despair at how to help her.  He only knew for certain that he must find a way.

             “Come here, Lass,” he finally murmured, half a directive and half an appeal, as he held out his hand to her from where he sat at the edge of the room’s large canopy bed. 

             “Why?” she fired back nervously.  “I’m the Dark One now.  I don’t sleep, remember?”

             The unhinged tone in her voice, as well as the unvarnished bitterness, worried him more than he cared to admit.  Killian hesitated, biting his lip and considering his next words carefully.  His pause only seemed to agitate her further.  Why indeed?  And yet, he could not help but want her near, wish to gather her to his side, run the curve of his hook down her spine, and attempt to soothe her, bring her some measure of comfort, however ineffectual it might prove in the end.

             Heaving a deep sigh, Killian forced his voice to remain slow and even, despite his frustration and his utter anger at the situation his Love had been cast into.  Crooking his fingers in invitation, beckoning her forward while keeping his hand extended to her palm up, he raised an eyebrow slightly in challenge.  “Nor am I trying to force you to, Emma. I have not forgotten what you are battling, but can I not try to aid you in the fight?  Can I not hold the woman I love for a few moments?”

             Her lower lip trembled in response, before she pressed her mouth tightly closed, considering his offer, the longing clear on her face, until she let her swirling green eyes meet his at last.  “Y-you still…you still see me?” she finally whispered, her voice desperately fearful, quivering at the end with hope.

             There was no need for flowery words, only to hold her gaze, give a decided, affirmative nod and answer, “Aye.”

             At that single word, Emma took one hesitant, faltering step toward him, then another, until he could clasp her hand in his questing fingers and pull her against him, sitting at the edge of the rich, overlarge bed.  Mumbling quiet nonsense, Killian tucked Emma under his chin, cradling the back of her head in his palm and rocking them gently from side to side.  “Shh, Love, shh… it’s going to be alright,” he crooned, injecting steadfast certainty he wished he truly felt into his tone.

             Emma’s voice was broken and child-like as she spoke, her words muffled slightly by the leather of his sleeve.  “How can it be?” she asked plaintively.  There was something achingly human about her now, when before she had seemed so steely and impervious – untouchable as she stood at the window like a sentry, proud and strong, but cold and hard as well, looking out over the courtyard into the dark night.  The power within her was a distancing shield, a barrier higher and more impenetrable than her emotional walls had ever been.  Pulling back again briefly to look into the limitless eyes of this man who had pulled her back from the brink, her face was flushed and wet with silently shed tears, as real and vulnerable as he had ever seen her.  “I’m hanging by a thread, Killian.  There’s so much pressing inside, trying to escape, and the voices, the Dark Ones before me, they’re constantly whispering, watching, tempting me and trying to take over.  If I let my guard slip, if they get loose…  I’m terrified of what might happen, what I might do… who I might hurt…” The last words dropped to the barest whisper, her eyes falling to their intertwined fingers anxiously, unable to see the disgust and disapproval that must surely be on the face that had always before been nothing short of adoring.

             However, what she found when she looked up was far from devastating – so tender it made her very pulse still, bringing her up short and blinking in disbelief.  “That will never happen, Emma.  I know it with every fiber of my being, as surely as I know the way around my ship and as clearly as the navigator’s course is marked by the stars in the sky. You are stronger than that demon, Love.  Though I hate that you must fight so bitterly, I have no doubt that you will win.”

             “Thank you for believing in me, Killian,” she bit her lip, the lower one caught by her teeth, and she continued to play with their fingers, again avoiding his eyes to stare at their joined hands.  “But I can’t help worrying.  You can’t know that for sure!  When you found me yesterday evening, trying to take the dagger from Regina’s hiding place, I nearly took your head off!  It was your quick reflexes that saved you, not any restraint of mine.  I wasn’t in my right mind at all.  Wh- what if you had been killed?  What if you had been Henry?  Or my mom with my little brother?”

             Killian sighed, giving a moment for Emma to feel her words had sunk in, gathering her closer still against his chest and pressing his lips to the soft hair at the crown of her head, humming gently against her skin, hoping to quiet her anxious quaking in his arms.  When he did speak at last, his voice was low, a mere warm undertone at her ear.  “Swan, you have already fought back since then.  Think of our ride this afternoon, and that moment of perfection in the Middlemist field.  The Crocodile’s vile echo, any of the others, they were not present then, were they?  Those insidious voices vanished, aye?  Do not grant them a way back in.”

             Emma nodded weakly, burying her adorably perfect little nose into his thickly furred chest, as if it were the softest pillow she had ever rested against.  Killian had never seen her so fragile – his angel of boots and leather and steely resolve – and though his heart swelled that she would finally turn to him in her need, he hated the burden she bore.  It was too much, too much to ask of a woman who had been so strong and carried such hurt all her life.  A little sigh escaped her rosebud lips, the breathe tickling his collarbone, and Killian felt a rush of tension and wild energy drain from her, her shoulders slumping and her slight form leaning against him more heavily for support.

             “So, do you think you can allow yourself a bit of peace?” he asked, smoothing mussed strands of her hair back over her shoulder affectionately, just as he had done almost since their first meeting.

             Emma only muttered unintelligibly against him at first, before she finally put enough distance between them for him to make out her husky voice.  “I’ll lie down with you and try to rest a bit.  You still need to sleep, Pirate.  But I won’t…it won’t work…I’ve figured that out by now.  It’s just the way it is…”

             “Fair enough then, Swan.  I will make do with what I can get,” he assured her, offering a crooked half-smile and scooting back toward the pillows piled at the head of the bed while still keeping her in his embrace.

             She made no effort to distance herself, moving with him and placing her hand over his heart near her flushed cheek as he settled comfortably on the mattress, looking up at the high, stone ceiling above them.  His one hand began to trace idle patterns on her shoulder and arm as they cuddled together, neither drifting into sleep yet, but perhaps finding a bit of respite all the same.

Eventually, when Killian did find his eyes fluttering closed, he began to speak, softly and almost without thought.  He would not leave her alone in her struggle, and so he began to fill the void with words to keep himself awake and with her.  To his own astonishment, what came to his lips were tales he had long forgotten until that moment, memories from when he was but a lad long ago, which no other person had heard – not even Milah or Bae – until that moment.  And he was grateful then for Emma’s warmth and full attention as he spoke, emotions that had needed vent for centuries were now finally loosed – all the pain and rejection of being left alone and afraid in the dark, a child who had started out on an adventure with his papa and instead been thrown rudderless into the heaving waves of a cruel and treacherous adult world. 

His voice dwelt haltingly on his one light – both his anchor and his compass – his Liam.  Once begun, the story of their stolen boyhood streamed from him, the bits and pieces of the beloved older brother who had been his companion and the only family left to him, in a harsh, dark world of slavery and bleak deprivation.  Liam, who had told him stories when he couldn’t sleep for the suffocating pitch blackness of the hold where they were sometimes locked at night merely for the sake of the other crew’s entertainment or for some imagined mistake; the growing young man who had given half his rations to his gangly younger brother whose belly never felt properly full; who had found a way to splint Killian’s ankle when the sadistic bosun on their master’s ship  had yanked and twisted it to keep Killian from scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest where he could hide from the hulking man’s mistreatment; the protective father figure who had curled around his sibling offering body heat when they both shivered in their bunk, one threadbare blanket between them on winter nights at sea, and his hero who had given Killian the one gleam of hope he had possessed in those endless suffering years. It had all been pent inside him for so long that once he began to speak of Liam, Killian couldn’t bring himself to stop until it was all voiced.  Liam Jones had been taken from the world much too soon, and Killian had not allowed himself to grieve – taken to piracy and retribution, plunging headlong down the ages -  until that moment in Arthur’s kingdom with his silently listening True Love.

His deluge of words did not seem to faze Emma; in fact, she appeared to welcome his outpouring, tracing gentle fingertips over the contours of his face and into his hair, the strokes as soothing as his touch had been to her a short time ago.  Killian didn’t know how long he talked and Emma listened attentively, but his eyelids at last drooped closed in the still watches of the night, his voice slowing and tripping sluggishly, exhaustion and flagging adrenaline towing him under until he could not fight sleep any longer.  He thought he saw Emma’s hand wave over him, but then he was lost in slumber. 

 ~~~88~~~

When he woke with the next day’s dawn, the spot where she had rested beside him was still warm, but Emma was no longer there.

 ~~~88~~~

              They set up a reassuring pattern after that.  Night after night, for as long as they were guests in the castle of Camelot, Killian could at least coax Emma to lie down in the circle of his arms and rest her weary body, if not her mind, in actual sleep.  It was better than nothing, and the pirate strove with all he had to stay awake with her, to keep vigil at her side through the lonely grey hours, when she was most vulnerable and her strength might flag.  Exhausted though they both were, it could have been so much worse, and Killian was grateful for what she did allow him to do.  The first time he had fallen into slumber and woken with her gone, his heart had been in his throat, fearful for where she might have gone and what horror could have gripped her and spurred her from their resting place.  However, when he found her where they all convened for breakfast, a tiny, almost light, smile curved her lips upward at the corners when she spied him.  Something in her face let him know that she appreciated what he had shared, that he had allowed her to comfort him, and that somehow in granting her that caring gesture, he had made her feel more human and given her back a bit of herself.

             Those sleepless nights in the broken kingdom of legend’s Once and Future King, when Emma curled into his side and he finally felt the shaking ease from the taut muscles she had held under rigid control all that day, more terrified with each passing one that she might slip and do some terrible magic she couldn’t take back, and he sensed more than heard her say that the hissing demons in her mind had ceased their torment for a while – those nights were when their fragile love, born in Storybrooke over moonlit walks, pizza with Netflix, and interrupted coffee dates, took root and grew into something dauntless, lasting, and True.  From those nights he held her until his body gave up and forced him to sleep, or they both stayed awake and saw the morning paint the sky together, from then on Captain Hook and his Swan Savior were joined in a bond which could not be severed by distance or foe, the Darkness, or even Fate.

             Once they left the land of Avalon, there was further pain and trial.  The fatal cut from Excalibur would have been Killian’s death; he had been resigned to it, had lived much longer than he’d ever been meant to and begged Emma to let him go.  But the threat of losing her pirate – her reason to finally open her heart again and let herself fully live – caused Emma to make a tragic mistake.  The temptation that had finally broken her resistance and blackened her soul after all her desperate struggle and restraint, was made in bending the laws of nature to keep him alive.  His angel fell to the need to save him, to not lose one more person who loved her and allowed her to love – to feel – in return.  And when she crumbled, it drug him into the pit along with her.  Harsh words and rage, bitten into blades that wounded and scarred, passed between the True Loves who then shared the worst Darkness the realms had ever known.

             Yet, after the torture, the fire, and one more crippling separation, they found the way back to each other.  Exhausted, battered, but hand-in-hand, after traveling to the very Underworld itself and defying the lord of that domain, in the end even death could not part the Savior and her captain forever.  When they finally stole a moment upon their return – tripping tangled together up the front steps of the house that Killian and Henry had chosen by the dim light of the stars on a chilly May night in Storybrooke, Emma was so sleepy she was nearly punch drunk in her sailor’s grasp as he barely managed to catch her before she fell onto the wooden porch.  Both of them were chuckling lightly, blearily only half awake, but so glad to be alone together and safe, at least for a moment, that anything else could wait.  It had been a long time coming, and the austere hall and front room were somewhat haunted yet by their distorted alters’ presences and the barbs they had thrown, but they bypassed that silent space – it would keep for the morrow – to finally enter the bedroom they had always meant to share.

             The peace which washed over Emma in that moment they fell together, sinking into the thick, cushy comforter, navy blue dotted by tiny white anchors she had chosen with him in mind, and the joy she felt at the sleep-muted delight on his face on first glimpse of them, was the most comfort she had felt since he stole her away on horseback that afternoon in Camelot.  It seemed lifetimes ago now, though she could still feel the pink petals of the Middlemist flower he had handed her in that green haven and the sun slanting down on their faces as they had kissed.

             She realized then that though there was healing still to be done, they had once more reached the place of hope they had found amidst the dazzling field of blooms and golden light.  There was the promise of forever in that hazy remembered moment, with the white dress and cape, the wind in her hair, the kiss that had swept her up in delight. Though the sky had been their only witness, Emma had felt her heart blend irrevocably with his in that moment, and there in their home by the sea, weeks or months later, so jarring and confused she hardly knew which, as he pulled the sheet and blankets up to her chin before huddling beneath them with her and hoping to banish the world outside, it felt as if they were finally going to enjoy the vow that had been made between them in that fairy tale scene rose-tinted in her mind’s eye. With Killian at her back, arms wrapped around her so that hand and hook could rest upon her skin, and his nose nuzzled warmly at the nape of her neck, at long last Emma finally slept.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615​ @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @laschatzi​ @jrob64​ @apiratewhopines​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @sotangledupinit​ @anmylica​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @gingerchangeling​ @gingerpolyglot​ @optomisticgirl​ @tiganasummertree​ @spartanguard​ @therooksshiningknight​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @elizabeethan​ @donteattheappleshook​ @drowned-dreamer​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @cosette141​ @xarandomdreamx​

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[corroded-hellfire]

Summary: Sam has noticed how much you look at Eric, and encourages you to go for what you want because no one knows how much time there is left.

Note: I hope you enjoy this story about my dear sweet wet boy 🥰

Warnings: movie canon violence

Words: 3.6k

What meds do you need?

With a shaky hand, Sam reaches out and takes her notebook and marker from Eric. She hastily scribbles down a few words, her eyes blinking every few seconds as if she’s fighting off sleep.

Her thin arm drops off the side of the bench, weakly offering the notebook back to Eric. You watch his doe eyes scan over the words before he tears the paper out of the book.

Eric nods as he folds up the sheet and slips it into his pocket. He gives you a terse smile that you don’t have the energy to return. Your eyes follow him as he steps through the rubble and debris towards the front door of the church. 

The moment he’s out of sight, you push yourself off the dirty floor, grab Sam’s Bai, and take a seat next to her head on the bench. The struggle to lift her head is apparent so you quickly slide closer so her head can rest on your lap. She gives you a look of thanks before she sips from the bottle.

Once she finishes, Sam gestures to the notebook on the top of her “I heart NY” tote. Luckily, you can reach it without jostling her head too much. 

The marker scratches against the paper as she writes. It takes her a minute longer than it did for her to write out the medication she needs, so you’re curious about what it says as she hands it to you over her head. 

I see how you keep looking at him. You going to say anything or what?

Heat floods your face, and you swear everyone else in the church is able to read the note over your shoulder. Doing your best to shake it off, you write back a quick message before handing the notebook back to Sam.

Not allowed to speak at all.

She reads what you wrote and drops the notebook onto her chest, letting her eyes roll up so she can give you the most unamused glare you’ve ever seen. 

As if Frodo is also unimpressed with your answer, he crawls out from beneath the bench, stretches his front legs out with his tail in the air, then heads towards the door. 

Funny. Pretty sure your eyes have left him all of twice since we left the apartment. 

It had been pure luck seeing Sam and Eric come into the apartment building last night. The distinctly human footsteps walked past the door of your apartment on the fourth floor and your curiosity got the better of you. You’d been held up in your home since the start of whatever kind of invasion this is and the need to see another live human being was too strong to deny. Though this was just last night it feels like another lifetime ago.

This is possibly the end of the world, and you want me to what? Tell Eric I think he’s cute?

You can’t help but see the twisted humor in the fact that you and Sam are sitting in a dilapidated old church, in the middle of what seems to be an alien invasion, and the two of you are writing notes back and forth to one another like high school girls gossiping. 

I’m saying to go for what you want. We could be dead in a minute for all we know. Don’t waste your time.

It’s hard to argue that point with someone you know has limited time left. It’s even harder to argue because you know she’s right. But even though you’re in survival mode now, you’re still you and don’t find things like this easy. Call it insecurity or trauma from high school when the guy you had a massive crush on found out about it and laughed in your face. Things like that don’t just go away—even in the apocalypse.

We’re focusing on staying alive right now, Sam. 

You’re deflecting.

It’s just the truth.

It’s still deflecting. 

What do you want me to say, huh? I’m already scared for my life, I don’t need heartache on top of everything else right now.

Why do you think it would be heartache?

Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.

Guys like him? Girls like you?

Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now. 

Are you shitting me? This isn’t high school. Either tell Eric how you feel or agonize over what could have been. 

Again, trying to survive right now.

So afterwards. On the boat out of here.

Maybe.

If I had the strength to wring your neck, I would. Cancer has fucked up my life but one thing it did do is show me how useless shame is. There’s no time for being embarrassed, it’s just a waste. 

Why do you care so much?

What? You’re not getting my loving and nurturing vibe?

Ha. But really.

You’re both good people who deserve to be happy. If you can find that in each other then I think you should at least try. 

Fine. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.

Swear on Frodo.

That’s not fair.

Do it.

Fine, I swear on Frodo.

Sam seems content after that and closes her notebook and rests it on her abdomen. 

It seems somewhat like emotional blackmail when the woman dying of cancer makes you swear on her sweet, adorable service cat. 

The arguing (if you could call it that) has drained some of Sam’s energy and you see her eyes start to flutter closed. But a spark lights in her eyes, and she opens the notebook once more. At first you think she has something else to say to you about the whole crushing on Eric thing, but this sentence is for her.

My dad played beautiful piano.

A bittersweet smile rests on your lips. 

Sam tries to put the notebook back down on her bag, but a wince tells you that the effort is hurting her. Gently, you take the notebook from her and set it down. She nods her head in thanks. 

For the better part of an hour, Sam dozes on and off. It doesn’t seem like a particularly restful sleep she’s getting, but you hope it’s doing something to help her. 

When Eric comes back, Frodo leading him in, he looks exhausted. Not that any of you were in top form these days, but Eric looks even more haggard than when he left. Still cute, though. Unfairly cute.

As he walks towards you and Sam on the bench, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box no bigger than a Polaroid picture. With a slight wince, Eric kneels next to Sam and begins getting the patch out and free from its adhesive. 

Sam tilts herself to the side and you help her turn enough that she can show Eric where to place it. 

Once it’s firmly on her skin and Sam is comfortably on her back again, it only takes a few minutes before the relief is visible. Her body has relaxed, her breathing down to a steady pace, and she looks the most at peace you've ever seen her. It feels like your heart has been run through with a sword when you think about all this poor woman must have gone through. 

“My dad played beautiful piano.”

Eric held Sam’s notebook in his hand, smiling at the few words. You just hope that’s the only page he stays on. He turns his head and meets Sam’s eyes.

“I loved it when he would bring me to watch him play,” Sam says, voice ragged and weak. “Then we’d get pizza at Patsy’s.”

That explains the odd insistence for pizza when the world is ending. 

“What happened to him?” you ask softly.

There are a few moments where Sam doesn’t speak, and you begin to think she’s not going to answer you. 

“He died,” she says. The pain in her watery eyes is palpable. You would want to wrap her up in a hug if she weren’t in so much pain. “Like I am now.”

The sad truth said out loud at last. You haven’t heard either of them say it up to this point. 

“Not before we get pizza,” Eric tells her. 

A small smile ticks up the corners of Sam’s mouth. 

“Not before we get pizza,” she agrees. 

The ship is leaving the port. It’s not too far out so it would be possible for you all to still secure passage on it. But then the dread in your stomach grows as you watch creature after creature step onto the sandy shore. They take great care to stay far enough away from the water, though. 

You, Sam, Eric, and Frodo trudge through the wreckage of cars and building debris scattered along the road. 

The four of you drop behind the carcass of an old van, all of you pressing your backs up against the tarnished metal. 

A shuddering breath comes from next to you and your head whips towards Eric, who is between you and Sam. His eyes tear up and he grits his teeth, trying to ward off the anxiety that’s creeping up.

Sam immediately presses a hand to Eric’s chest and in the lowest whisper possible says, “Breathe.”

You take one of Eric’s hands in your own and give it an encouraging squeeze. Hoping he’ll follow your lead, you take a large breath in, then let it out. It helps a bit, but the anxiety is so strong. How could it not be in the situation you’re all prisoners to?

Your eyes move from Eric to Sam as you watch her nuzzle her face against Frodo and press kisses to his black and white fur. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s saying goodbye to him. Then she hands Frodo to Eric, and it hits you. She was saying goodbye to Frodo. Instinct tells you to fight her on this, but how can you? One, you can’t speak. And two, who are you to tell her not to do this? If it were you, you’d rather go out trying to save the lives of your companions rather than let a vicious disease let you waste and wither away, slowly and painfully as the world ends around you. Sam is thinking that her life is almost up, and she’d rather buy yours and Eric’s lives with the short time she has left.

Sam pushes herself into a crouch as Eric clings to Frodo, holding him close to his chest. You let go of Eric’s hand so he can hold onto the cat better—Lord knows he’s already run away enough times. 

“Run,” Sam whispers. 

Before she takes off, you look her in the eye and nod your head once. Between that and the tears building in your eyes, you hope she sees your acknowledgment of what she’s doing and all the gratitude you can convey to her. 

Sam nods in return, telling you she knows. Then, she’s gone. You see her crouch down behind cars as she makes her way through the lot. She picks up a crowbar and smashes it through a still-intact window of a car.

The smashing glass catches the attention of the creatures, and you know the time to move is now. Looking at one another, both you and Eric take a deep breath before getting up from behind the car. 

Monsters rush past you, leaving you almost no room to dodge them as they race in the direction of the noise Sam is making. It seems like a miracle once the two of you see the dock ahead, no creatures between you and there.

Your sprint turns into a run, Eric keeping pace right beside you as he holds Frodo securely against him. A few steps onto the pier, Eric’s foot kicks a large metal can that skids a few feet away. It clangs as it tumbles, and the monsters hear it. 

There’s no need for you to look back; you know they’re coming. All energy reserves go into your legs as you run faster. The rail around the dock is broken in one place, giving you and Eric the perfect opportunity to jump into the water. 

But they’re getting closer.

You can hear the monsters gaining on you, and a quick glance shows one leaping in the air, aiming to land right on top of you, Eric, and Frodo. But you jump. The flash of yellow beside you brings immense relief as you hit the water—both of you jumped in time. 

As you surface, you look back and see a gang of creatures waiting at the exact spot you and Eric leapt from. Two heads pop up next to you, one human and one cat, both safe. If this were any other circumstance, you would probably chuckle at how Frodo looks all wet. 

Eric gazes back at the land with you and you both see Sam, standing between two dedicated cars.

Shouts come from the ship behind you, encouraging you to swim over to them. Without saying a word to each other though, both you and Eric take the time to look back at Sam. To watch her, this brave woman in every sense of the word. There could never be a way for either of you to thank her enough, but you hope she feels some semblance of it. 

Wide brown eyes meet yours as you turn towards Eric. The two of you bob in the water for a few moments, looking at each other as you attempt to catch your breaths. Now it’s time to get to the boat. It’s time to get to safety.

Once the three of you have made it to the boat, you’re helped on board and assured that you’re safe now. Blankets are brought to wrap around you, Eric, and one for Frodo as well. 

It seems impossible to attempt relaxation after the last few days’ events, but there’s nothing else to do as the ship sails slowly along. Where it’s headed, you don’t know. You don’t particularly care at the moment, either. 

You, Eric, and Frodo make yourself comfortable in a small alcove on deck. It feels like you fall in a heap together, collective exhaustion kicking in. You weren’t even aware of how tired you were until this moment. The adrenaline finally starts to wear off and you lay your head down on Eric’s shoulder. You don’t intend to, but you quickly fall asleep against him.

When you wake, your head is still on Eric. Slowly, you sit up straight and smile when you see Frodo sleeping on Eric’s chest, all curled up in his blanket. Eric’s gaze catches yours and the moment you look into the beautiful brown eyes that make your knees weak, you remember what you promised Sam. On the boat. I’ll say something to him there.

After everything you’ve been through, you now understand clearer than ever what Sam meant about there being no time for embarrassment. No one knows if the next moment is their last, and do you really want to regret keeping your feelings inside? No. Plus, there was absolutely no way you could break your word to Sam after what she just did for you. 

“Eric,” you start, unsure of how to phrase what you want to say. He looks at you, waiting for you to continue. Gathering your nerve, you do. “I want…I have to tell you something.”

“Sure. Anything.”

Another deep breath. Sam’s voice whispers in your head, you can do this.

“I don’t, um, know where we’re going. Or what’s going to happen next. I can’t even begin to think about that, really. B-But I do know that I would like to stay with you for as long as you’ll let me. I like being with you.”

A shy smile grows on Eric’s face, and he nods his head. 

“I like being with you, too,” he says. “I’d love to stick with you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But can I ask you…is it because you think I’m cute?” Eric is trying his hardest not to smirk, but the look of surprise on your face threatens to overtake him.

“I-I…”

“Or well,” Eric says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and holds it between the two of you, “at least that’s what you told Sam.”

Your eyes dart down to the paper, and you recognize your and Sam’s handwriting. A gasp startles out of you as you realize it’s the note you and she passed back and forth in the church.

Eric is full on grinning when you look at his face again. His shoulders shake as he chuckles, and his laugh is infectious. You start giggling yourself and bring your hands up to cover your eyes.

“Oh my God, she ripped it out of the notebook and shoved it in her pocket? She thought I was gonna wimp out!”

Neither of you can stop laughing now. After being so scared and quiet for so long, it just feels so good. 

Eric pulls out another piece of paper and hands it to you.

“She also wrote us this sweet note.”

The letter from Sam makes you smile, cry, and oddly, feel some form of peace. She’s home. 

“Aw, Frodo,” you say as you fold the note back up. “You would be the handsomest boy even if you did get fat. But no, we’re not going to feed you too much.”

Eric chuckles and holds his arm open for you. You gladly accept the invite and curl up against his side. The scent of the salt water, wet cat, and the mustiness from the blankets do nothing to cover the scent that is pure Eric. You rest your forehead against his neck as he wraps his arm snugly around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You know,” he says softly as he lays his head against yours, “I came very close to getting you and I killed multiple times.”

“What?” You frown as you reach your hand out to stroke the top of Frodo’s head. “How?”

“Well, when I first saw you, when you stepped out of your apartment, I didn’t say anything. Not only because I couldn’t, but I was speechless. You’re so pretty and I froze. Sam had to push me three or four times to get me to walk again. And then there were so many times I’d just look at you and almost blurt out how beautiful you are. Because your beauty is something that’s impossible to keep quiet about. Then I got to know how kind you are. So compassionate, brave, selfless. Your beauty runs farther than skin deep and it made me even more of a bumbling idiot.”

You can’t help but giggle as you bury your head farther into the juncture where his neck and shoulder meet. 

“But I do have a bone to pick with you,” Eric says.

Reluctantly, you pick your head up to look him in the eye.

“Why?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

He picks the note between you and Sam back up and begins to read a part aloud.

“Why do you think it would be heartache?

Because guys like him aren’t interested in girls like me.

Guys like him? Girls like you?

Yeah. Handsome, smart, kind. And me, not those things. I don’t need to feel like the rejected high school girl again right now.”

He lowers the note and shakes his head.

“Now, I don’t know what kind of absolute prats you went to high school with, but anyone who rejected you is, quite literally, insane. And I don’t like this talk about ‘girls like you.’ You make it seem like such a bad thing to be you. But you’re possibly one of the best people I’ve ever met. And I know that after only knowing you for about two days. And it didn’t take me more than four seconds to see how stunning you are. Frodo and I want you to see yourself the way we do. Right, boy?”

Both of you look down at the snoozing cat and you scratch between his ears with a chuckle.

“I’ll work on it,” you say earnestly. 

Frodo tilts his head and you let your hand drop. You lift your head and Eric is so close. It would barely take any movement for his lips to be on yours. So, you make that move. The hand that was petting Frodo comes up to cup Eric’s jaw as you lean in and press your lips against his.

Eric’s body immediately sinks against yours, holding you tighter as he kisses you back with urgency. It’s as if he remembers the two of you have more time now and he can savor this moment as he slows the kiss down, enjoying exploring your mouth at a lazy speed. There’s no rush anymore. You’re safe and both here together. 

When you part, he rests his forehead against yours and you’re pretty sure there are identical grins on both of your faces. 

“I can’t wait to hear your laugh over and over again,” you tell him.

“I can’t wait to hear you say my name,” he replies.

“Eric.” It’s the first time you’ve been able to say it above the lowest of whispers. “Eric, Eric, Eric.”

His grin grows even larger, and he presses a quick kiss to your lips.

“God, I love the sound of that.”

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫�� 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

[hiitsm]

Beneath the Surface: The Third Piece

Beneath the Surface is for 18+ only.

Angst & if you squint your eyes: Smut, is included in this Third Piece.

Note: a little bit earlier as expected. Work is heavy and I feel like tomorrow I'll be sleeping a lot 😅

-

Other parts of: Beneath the Surface: The Broken Heart Pieces

-

You find yourself in the bustling back of the restaurant, surrounded by the clatter of dishes and the rush of water as you diligently tackle the never-ending pile of plates. Despite the chaos, there's a sense of familiarity and comfort in the routine of it all. This small breakfast and lunch spot has been your second home for over three years now, a cozy haven where you've honed your skills as a waitress.

But lately, things have felt different.

Ever since that fateful day when you discovered the letter on your kitchen counter, everything has been tinged with a sense of unease. The possibility of encountering her hangs over you like a heavy cloud, casting a shadow over your once-beloved job.

You've made the difficult decision to retreat to the kitchen, away from the front-of-house hustle and bustle, in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the pain of potential encounters. It's a bittersweet compromise, trading the joy of serving customers for the safety of anonymity.

As you scrub at a stubborn stain on a plate, your thoughts drift to Alexia. You wonder if she'll ever walk through those doors again, if she'll ever reach out to you. A part of you longs for the chance to talk, to seek closure, to understand why she left without a word.

But another part of you recoils at the thought, wary of reopening old wounds and risking further heartache.

You've confided in a sympathetic colleague, asking them to alert you if Alexia ever stops by. It's a small comfort, a glimmer of hope in an otherwise tumultuous sea of emotions.

Yet, deep down, you know that even if she does come, you may not have the courage to face her. The pain is still too raw, the wounds too fresh.

In the midst of your internal turmoil, a sudden clatter shatters the silence, drawing your attention to the floor where a plate lies shattered, broken into jagged pieces.

You can't help but see a reflection of your own broken heart in those shards, scattered and fragmented, waiting to be carefully pieced back together.

As you crouch down to begin the painstaking task of gathering the shattered fragments, you're acutely aware of the parallel between the broken plate and the broken pieces of your heart.

There are still too many pieces scattered on the floor.

There are still too many pieces that you need to pick back up again.

There are still too many unresolved emotions that need to be addressed before you can muster the courage to speak to her again.

To see her again.

As you gaze at the shattered pieces on the floor, a wave of emotion washes over you, threatening to overwhelm your fragile composure.

The memories and pain of your broken heart bubble to the surface once more, tugging at the frayed edges of your resolve.

But you're determined not to let them consume you again, not now.

With a deep breath, you push aside the tumultuous thoughts and focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic clinking of dishes and the steady flow of water provide a comforting backdrop, offering a brief respite from the storm raging within.

As you stand there, lost in your thoughts, you're suddenly startled by a familiar voice breaking through the silence. It's Elena, your kind colleague, gently nudging you out of your reverie.

"Come on, rush hour is over now. We have 5 minutes for a quick cigarette," Elena says, her tone laced with concern.

Though you don't smoke, you find yourself following Elena outside, grateful for the distraction from your swirling emotions. As she lights up her cigarette and takes a drag, you let the cool air wash over you, trying to calm the storm raging within.

After a while, Elena speaks up again, her voice gentle yet hesitant. "She stopped by this morning," she confesses, her words hanging heavy in the air.

Your eyes widen at the unexpected revelation, your heart skipping a beat at the mention of her.

"Lo siento, it was very busy so I couldn’t come to you right away," Elena apologizes, her hand finding its way to your shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

You offer her a small, appreciative smile, though there's a tremor of emotion in your voice as you respond. "It's okay," you murmur softly, trying to mask the turmoil brewing within.

Elena continues, her hand finding its way to your shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "She asked for you, and when I told her that you weren't here, she panicked and asked if you still work here."

"What did you say?" you ask quietly, your fingers fidgeting nervously.

"That you are working in the back now," Elena replies, her words causing a swirl of conflicting emotions to rise within you. "She looked relieved by the mention of you still working here."

Her words hit you like a wave, stirring up a maelstrom of conflicting emotions within you. Memories of Alexia flood your mind, her unwavering support and encouragement echoing in your ears.

You remember how she always admired your passion for your job, how she found joy in witnessing your dedication and determination. It was her unwavering belief in you that fueled your own confidence and drive.

"She didn’t leave right away. I think that she hoped to still get to see you, but after two hours she had to leave room for the people who had a reservation," Elena reveals softly, her words carrying a weight of understanding.

You absorb her words with a mixture of surprise and longing, the image of Alexia lingering in your mind like a ghost.

Two hours.

Two hours she spent waiting, perhaps hoping for a chance encounter, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the chaos of this busy restaurant.

You can't help but feel a pang of regret at the thought of her lingering presence, her silent plea for reconciliation hanging heavy in the air.

Despite the ache in your chest, you can't deny the flicker of hope that ignites within you at the realization that she still yearns for you, even in the wake of your fractured relationship.

But along with hope comes a wave of uncertainty, a gnawing fear that lingers at the edges of your consciousness.

Will you ever find the courage to face her again, to bridge the chasm that separates you?

As you stand there, grappling with the whirlwind of emotions swirling within, you can't help but wonder what lies ahead.

Will you continue to retreat into the safety of solitude, shielding yourself from the pain of potential encounters?

Or will you muster the strength to confront the ghosts of your past, to seek the closure and healing you so desperately crave?

You don’t have a moment to process all your thoughts and emotions as your 5-minute break comes to an end, and you re-enter the bustling restaurant. With a grateful smile, you thank Elena for her support and the valuable information she shared, before diving back into the rhythm of your work.

A little while later, you find yourself trudging back towards your apartment, the chilly winter rain adding to the somber mood that has enveloped you lately. All you long for is the comforting warmth of a long, hot shower and the soothing routine of cooking a home-cooked meal to momentarily escape the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

Finally reaching your apartment door, you step inside and flick on the lights, only to be met with silence and darkness. With a heavy sigh, you realize that your lights have once again decided to call it quits, adding another item to your ever-growing to-do list.

Undeterred by the lack of illumination, you navigate your way through the dimly lit apartment, shedding your coat and shoes with a sense of resignation. All you want now is a hot shower and a comforting meal to soothe your troubled mind.

However, fate seems to have other plans for you tonight. As you try to switch on the electric plate to cook some rice, you're met with yet another setback. No electricity. With a frustrated groan, you realize that your plans for a home-cooked meal may have to be postponed.

Deciding to prioritize a hot shower to wash away the stresses of the day, you make your way to the bathroom, shedding your clothes as you go. But to your dismay, the water remains stubbornly cold, refusing to provide the warmth and comfort you so desperately crave.

Despite the lack of electricity and hot water, you push through, forcing yourself to endure the chilly shower in an attempt to at least feel somewhat refreshed.

Afterward, feeling slightly defeated, you seek out your neighbor for any insight or assistance, but his response offers little comfort, leaving you feeling even more disheartened.

Returning to your apartment, you settle for a meager meal of crackers, the taste of frustration lingering on your tongue. But amidst the frustration and disappointment, a faint chuckle escapes your lips as you recall a similar situation from the past.

-

Alexia stormed into your apartment, looking utterly drenched from head to toe. The sight of her, soaked to the bone, took you by surprise. You had been cooking, the sound of the heavy rain outside barely registering as you assumed she was safely in her car.

"Did you walk all the way from the training ground?" you ask, bewildered by her appearance. Despite her obvious discomfort, Alexia bursts into laughter at your incredulous expression.

"Why would I walk for 30 minutes when I have a sponsored car, bebé?" she replies with a mischievous grin, shrugging off her oversized coat and kicking off her waterlogged shoes. Despite being drenched, there's an undeniable allure to her appearance, and you can't help but admire her.

As she stood before you, her clothes clinging to her frame in a way that you couldn't help but find appealing, a playful glint danced in her eyes.

"It's just that you don’t have any parking space here, so to me, it felt like a 30-minute trek if I'm being honest," she explained, her words accompanied by an exaggerated sigh as she dramatically approached you.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her theatrics, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite your attempt to maintain a stern facade. "Don't be dramatic," you chided gently, pointing an accusing finger in her direction with the cooking spatula still in hand. "Put on a raincoat next time, or maybe bring an umbrella."

"Bring an umbrella, bebé? I thought you would've come to my car with an umbrella to pick me up and keep me dry," Alexia retorted, her grin growing even wider as she teased you.

With a mock-serious expression, you countered, "Do you want to sleep on the balcony?" but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips.

"You wouldn't dare do that to me. How else would you get any sleep?" Alexia shot back, her playful banter bringing a lightness to the air between you.

"Alright, let's drop this and finally give me a hello kiss," you playfully insisted, a warm smile gracing your lips as you met Alexia's eyes.

Without hesitation, Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, drawing you close as your arms found their way around her neck. With a gentle touch, your lips met in a soft, tender kiss, the world around you fading away in that moment of sweet connection.

As she pulled away, a mischievous grin spread across her face. "Hello, bebé," she greeted you cheekily.

You playfully pushed her away, a chuckle escaping your lips. "You should have a shower while I finish up dinner," you suggested, gesturing towards the bathroom.

A hint of disappointment flashed across Alexia's features as she pouted, "Are you not joining me?"

With a gentle smile, you planted a quick apology kiss on her cheek before gently pushing her towards the bathroom. "And let this dinner burn down the apartment? I don't think so, amor," you quipped, the warmth of your love filling the room as you continued to banter back and forth.

She finally gives in and heads off to have her shower while you busy yourself with finishing up dinner. The sound of running water from the shower fills the apartment, its rhythmic patter bringing a sense of calm to the air. You move about the kitchen, chopping vegetables and stirring pots, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the looming darkness.

But then, without warning, the electricity cuts out, plunging the apartment into darkness. All of your lights flicker off, leaving you standing in the dim glow of the candles you had just lit. You let out a frustrated sigh, hoping it's just a temporary glitch that will be resolved soon.

Quickly, you make your way around the apartment, lighting up candles in every room. Their soft, flickering light casts dancing shadows on the walls, creating a cozy ambiance that contrasts sharply with the earlier chaos.

As you finish lighting the last candle, you're startled by a sudden squeak and a squeal coming from the bathroom. Your heart skips a beat as you hurry towards the source of the noise, your mind racing with worry.

"¿Bebita, estás bien?" you inquire as you step into the bathroom with a rather big flashlight, which you put on the bathroom sink, concern etched across your features. "You're not playing a prank on me, are you?" you add, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Your girlfriend turns to look at you, her expression more annoyed than amused, in the midst of washing her hair.

Despite her irritated figure, you can't help but be distracted by the sight of her naked body, water droplets cascading down her gorgeous form.

Your eyes linger on her breasts, noticing the way her nipples stand erect against the chill of the water. You're tempted to reach out and play with them, but before you can, she grabs both of your wrists.

"No, bebita, my face is up here," she says, pulling your hands towards her cheeks and planting a playful smack on them. Despite her irritation, there's a hint of amusement in her eyes at your flustered reaction.

"Did you turn off the boiler to make my shower ice-cold? And where is the light?" she asks, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

"No, amor, I would never," you protest, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I know how much you love your hot showers."

"Then why is the water still freezing?" she questions, her grip on your wrist tightening slightly as she pointed with her head towards the tap.

"I think there might be an electricity and hot water failure in my apartment," you admit apologetically, your cheeks tinged with a hint of embarrassment.

"Well, that's just perfect," she grumbles, pouting slightly before her expression brightens with mischief.

"Looks like we'll have to find another way to warm up."

You watch in surprise as she tugs you into the cold shower with her, your clothes clinging to your skin as icy water cascades over you both.

"Alexia!" you exclaim, a mixture of shock and laughter in your voice as you brace yourself against the ice-cold water.

-

As the days passed, the recurring electricity and hot water failures in your apartment weighed heavily on your mind. Each morning, you woke up feeling drained and disheartened, the constant discomfort of cold showers and cold meals taking its toll on your well-being. Despite your best efforts to adapt to the situation, you couldn't shake the lingering sense of frustration and longing for something better.

Night after night, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find solace in sleep. You were feeling cold and the memories of your breakup with her still haunted your thoughts, replaying over and over like a broken record. With your friends away on holiday, you found yourself feeling more isolated than ever, longing for the comfort and support they usually provided.

In the midst of your turmoil, you couldn't help but think of Alexia's mother, Eli. She had always been a source of warmth and understanding, besides Alexia, her keen intuition often sensing when something was amiss. You remembered the countless times she had offered you a sympathetic ear and a comforting embrace, her unwavering support helping you navigate the challenges life threw your way.

This is why you found yourself trudging down the familiar path towards Eli's house, a small duffle bag slung over your shoulder. It was already 10 pm, and exhaustion weighed heavy on your shoulders, your weary steps echoing in the quiet night. You hoped fervently that Eli wasn't hosting one of her infamous family dinners tonight, where Alexia and Alba would undoubtedly be in attendance.

You were still in the midst of your self-imposed phase of avoiding Alexia, determined to keep your distance for a little while longer. The thought of facing her, of confronting the tangled web of emotions that still lingered between you, filled you with a sense of apprehension and unease.

As you finally reached Eli's doorstep, you paused for a moment to gather your thoughts, taking a deep breath in and then exhaling slowly. With a flicker of nervous anticipation, you reached out and rang the doorbell, the sound echoing through the quiet night air.

You hear the soft patter of footsteps approaching, and moments later, the front door swings open, revealing Eli standing there in her comfortable sweats. A bright smile lights up her face as she takes in your presence.

"Oh, hi, dear! I've missed you! Come in!" Her initial excitement quickly gives way to concern as she notices your tired demeanor. "Did you walk all the way? You could've called me," she frets, her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive.

Her genuine concern washes over you like a soothing balm, easing the tension that had been building within you. With a grateful nod, you step into the warmth of her familiar home, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you. "Do you want some tea?" she offers, her voice filled with warmth and kindness.

You return her warm smile with one of your own, appreciating her thoughtfulness. "Yes, please," you reply softly, the weariness evident in your voice.

As you peel off your coat and shoes, you're grateful for Eli's unspoken understanding, knowing that she'll be there to lend a listening ear when you're ready to talk. For now, the simple act of being in her presence brings you a sense of solace and reassurance.

"Lo siento for coming here so late and unannounced," you confess softly, your voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. You sink into the plush cushions of the couch, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over you. "My apartment has been experiencing this electricity and hot water failure for a couple of days now, and I've reached my breaking point. I didn't know where else to go."

Eli's gentle smile reassures you as she enters the room, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of tea. "It's really no problem, dear. I'm glad you came to me," she says warmly, setting the tray down on the coffee table before taking a seat beside you.

"I know Alexia is away at that event, so it's good that you came here. You can sleep in the spare room and have a nice shower if you want."

Her words offer a lifeline of comfort in the midst of your turmoil, but beneath the surface, questions gnaw at your mind. You force yourself to push them aside, not wanting to burden Eli with your inner struggles. Instead, you focus on the warmth of her presence and the soothing aroma of the tea.

As you glance around the room, your gaze lands on the framed photos of you and Alexia displayed prominently on the walls. Despite the bittersweet memories they evoke, you can't help but feel a pang of confusion at the sight. Eli has always supported your relationship with Alexia, but seeing the photos still hanging up feels like a contradiction in the wake of your breakup.

Eli noticed your gaze drifting towards the framed photos adorning the walls of her cozy living room. "Oh, I need new ones, those are so old," she remarked casually, her tone tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

Her words caught you off guard, stirring a whirlwind of conflicting emotions within you. It was a simple comment, but it left you feeling unsettled and confused.

Did Alexia not talk to her mother about the breakup?

Why were the photos still displayed so prominently, as if frozen in time?

The pain of the breakup resurfaced with renewed intensity, threatening to overwhelm you. You blinked back tears, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of Eli's well-meaning words.

Despite the flood of emotions threatening to consume you, you forced a tight smile and nodded in response. "Yeah, maybe it's time for some new memories," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eli's gentle gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing her features as she reached out to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay, dear?" she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

You nodded again, though the gesture felt hollow, your heart heavy with the weight of unresolved emotions. "I'll be fine," you assured her, your voice trembling slightly.

"It must've been tough," Eli continued, her tone gentle yet resolute. "Alexia told me the two of you had a bit of a break. But not in a negative way, in a positive way. Sometimes we all need a small little break, right? To find each other again."

Her words echoed in your mind, stirring up a whirlwind of doubt and uncertainty.

Had Alexia truly confided in her mother about the break, painting it in such a positive light?

Or was this just another layer of deception, another mask hiding the truth?

The question hung heavy in the air as you mustered the courage to voice your own concerns.

"Do you think she will talk to me any time soon?" you asked, the words tumbling out with a boldness that surprised even you.

Eli's response was measured, her expression thoughtful as she considered your question. "Qué quieres decir?" she replied, her voice tinged with confusion.

"Alexia told me that the two of you are doing more than fine and that therapy helped a while ago. You both had just been a bit busy, which is why I didn't get to see the two of you much."

The revelation hit you like a blow to the chest, leaving you reeling with a mixture of anger, betrayal, and a glimmer of hope.

How could Alexia lie to her own mother about what had transpired between you?

Did she truly believe that everything would magically fall back into place, that lying about therapy would somehow mend the chasm that had formed between you?

Your eyes welled up with tears, a tumultuous mix of emotions threatening to spill over. In that moment, you couldn't distinguish between the tangled mess of feelings swirling within you—sadness, anger, confusion, hope—all blending together into a single overwhelming wave of emotion.

Eli, ever perceptive, noticed your distress, her expression softening with empathy and concern. "Lo siento, no quise ponerte triste," she said gently, her voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

Without hesitation, she pulled you into her comforting embrace, enveloping you in warmth and safety. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions that had been swirling inside you came pouring out, released in a torrent of tears and sobs.

As you calm down from the overwhelming flood of emotions, your head still resting on the comforting crook of Eli’s neck, you muster up the energy to speak. You feel a deep-seated need to unburden yourself, to share the weight of your feelings with someone you trust implicitly.

The urge to confide in Eli grows stronger with each passing moment.

After all, doesn't she deserve to know the truth?

What if she holds the key to helping her own daughter navigate through the complexities of her emotions?

Perhaps Eli possesses insights and wisdom that you couldn't offer Alexia, despite your best intentions.

Regrets and what-ifs swirl in your mind, each thought a testament to the depth of your emotions and the complexity of your situation. You can't help but wonder if things might have turned out differently if you had only reached out to Eli sooner, if you had allowed her to be a part of your journey from the start.

Before you could second-guess yourself, the words spilled out in a quiet whisper and between sobs.

"She needed space.’’

''I didn't know.''

''I don't understand.''

‘’She left me.’’

‘’She left me and told me through a letter’’.

‘’She left me with a letter."

The admission hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your emotions, yet strangely liberating at the same time.

With each word spoken, it felt as though you were delicately piecing together one of the many shattered fragments of your broken heart.

Holding that small piece closely, you made a silent vow to yourself to safeguard it, ensuring it wouldn't slip from your grasp again.

It was a tender moment of reclaiming your truth, a step towards healing and self-discovery in the midst of emotional turmoil.

-

Note: as we dive deeper into the story, I'm considering switching up the perspective for the next piece. Should I continue with Reader's perspective, or would you be interested in exploring The Fourth Piece from Alexia's perspective?

Your opinion is valued and appreciated, so feel free to share your thoughts openly but remember to always express yourself kindly and respectfully.

[kairiscorner]

So I was watching the live adaptation of the addams family (released in 1991)

AND MHIEEEE,,,,,,,,

There’s this one scene where Gomez is looking down at Morticia

And his dialogue…..

“Look at her. I would die for her. I would kill for her.”

AND I CANNOT, FOR THE LIFE OF ME, STOP THINKING ABT MIGUEL IN THIS SCENE

Like babes have we ever considered gothic!miggy b4 bc

Bc….

ATE NALOLOKA NA PO AKO SAYO /hinimatay ngl i can't see current miggy as a goth, but younger miggy? oh hell yeah, he'd probably try out a goth aesthetic huhu MMMMMMM I WANNA WRITE THIS NGL ACK

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

i mean it when i say... i'd kill for you, i'd die for you. – miguel o'hara x reader

there are times when he has to ask himself, really get himself thinking–"why am i still spider man? for what am i saving all these people who i've never even met before, taking hits from overzealous, insane villains so nobody else gets hurt even though they don't even thank me in the end... living despite the pain of living, loving despite the risk of having my heart broken–that i would be the reason of a loved one's heartache and suffering?"

there are hardly any times when questions of severe existentialism are ever answered early by the vast universe; the answers are hidden, muddled by the cosmos that keep expanding, never to be known by any living mortal–at least, not directly. miguel's dilemma is such, for truly, what is his life when put into the perspective of the grander scheme of things? what is the meaning behind the life he lives when he cannot even get a moment of rest until he's in the grave? what does he come home for, only to leave that home all over again and come back who knows when?

as he swings home, making minimal noise and conspicuous movements towards the window of your bedroom with miguel–he stares for a moment into the room. he's greeted to the very familiar sight of you sleeping soundly by your side, hopefully not suffering any internal turmoil that would discomfort you in your slumber. as you lay there, with your eyes shut and mouth slightly parted–gently snoring and mumbling in your sleep–with the moonlight illuminating your gentle figure, fragile frame... miguel has the answer to a his pondering answered in that one scene of his evening–of his life.

he mustered the courage to enter the room, quietly crawling in like a thief in the night. he shut the window closed after entering and dissipated his suit–leaving him in a pair of dark color briefs. he got under the covers, hoping not to wake you from your seemingly peaceful sleep, and once he snuggled up next to you... he found himself holding his breath in, as if anticipating that at any moment, the multiverse would part you from him and keep him as he always was before you came: miserable, lonely, and empty–without meaning.

your sleeping face was turned to his side, your eyelashes and lips looking so ravishing to miguel to pepper with kisses–your nose looking so... biteable. he smiled to himself slightly and gently pushed back a small lock of your hair behind your ear, shifting his face to move closer to you, to gaze into your lovely face and just soak in all of you.

"look at you... oh, the things i'd do for you; i can't even begin... to tell you..." he muttered, having a one-way conversation with your sleeping figure. he brushed the back of his finger against your cheek slowly, savoring the feeling of your warm skin. "i do all these things, all these things nobody thanks me for, to keep you safe–to see you in this very bed, to hold you another night, see you another day and hear your voice speak my name and tell me you love me..." he murmured, moving his face closer to yours–your lips almost touching, his nose poking yours.

he exhaled and smiled gently up at you. "i mean it when i say i'd die for you... i'd kill for you. nobody else matters to me, not anymore, when all i have left is you." he whispered as he leaned his forehead against yours, giving your nose a small kiss, taking your hand in his and gently squeezing it. whether you heard him or not didn't matter, miguel had finally gotten his answer from the universe somehow–and miguel would repeat to you that answer from the universe again and again and again.

you're the only one he has now, the only one who's never left him and has defied what the multiverse has in store for him–you're all that he loved, loves, and will ever love–until the end of time and space itself, you are all that he wants and needs.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @binibinileonara @luvstarrstruck @melovetitties @arachnoia @fictarian @yuridopted0 @ophanimgold @meeom @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @popeheywardssecretgf @smokeywhalee

[vampire-matcha]

Part 3 of Cheating!Soap I hope yall are ready to hurt

Hurt/barely comfort if you squint. Soap and reader are both a little (a lot) pathetic.

Johnny didn't move a muscle on the couch. He sat until he was sure you had cried yourself to sleep. He listened as your weeping got more and more subdued, as your heartache wore you down until he could no longer hear your gasps for air. He figures you must have wept yourself to exhaustion. That is, until he hears the bedroom door creak open. He listens to your bare feet pad down the hardwood hallway until the sound is muted by the living room carpet.

Johnny lifts his head from his hands to see you standing there at the other end of the couch. He's never seen you look so weak. So defeated. He did that to you. Your head hangs low and your shoulders are slumped forward; your eyes are dull and your hands hang limp at your sides.

He drops his head again, unable to face what his actions have done to you. You, his angel, his perfect wife. Always patient, always brave, always waiting for him to come home safe. He can't look at you now. He feels the seat beside him sink with your weight. The silence drags on for far too long. When you finally speak, your voice is proven, as if he had personally smashed your throat beneath his foot. He might as well have.

"If this is you..." You pause, searching for the right words. You start again. "If this is you trying to... to figure something out..." You trail off. Your mind isn't all there right now, it melted out through your tear ducts. "If this is you... experimenting..." You take a shaky breath. "Then we can work on this."

He slowly turns his head toward you, eyebrows pinched in confusion. You should be asking for a divorce. You should be telling him to get his filthy ass out. And yet, here you are extending an olive branch. It shouldn't be you. He's the guilty party. He should be groveling at your feet for forgiveness, and you should be denying him.

Your ring still gleams on your finger.

Johnny shakes his head. You've got it all wrong. You're giving him too much compassion. Giving him the benefit of the doubt. It's all wrong. But he can't get the right words out either. All he manages is a shake of his head.

"That's not..." he chokes out. His chest feels like it's encased in iron. Your face crumples again. That awful, anguished look that he had never seen before this night. You make a small, pathetic noise in the back of your throat, trying desperately to hold onto your threadbare composure.

"Then why, Johnny?" You croak out, sounding like you have his fist wrapped around your neck. That would hurt less than this. You gasp for air. "Why did you do this to us?" Us! His poor darling, still thinking of you two as a unit. Can't you see he's ruined it? Why aren't you screaming at him?

"I was scared," he answers. You look at him with great worry in your eyes, now.

"Did he... did he force you?" Oh, there you are again, caring too much for this wretched man before you, giving him compassion he does not deserve. He's quick to deny it. He won't give himself such an easy out. He deserves the shame of the truth.

"No- no! He didn't- we-" he's scrambling for an explanation that won't shatter you completely. You're already fragile and broken. The details will only grind you to bits, won't they? But your looking at him like that, like you won't stop until you know why.

"We were pinned. Communications were dark. There was no way out, and were were in that house for so damn long, I... I didn't think I was coming home." He wants you to snap at him. He wants you to scream at him. That's what you did before you thought you would die? Your last act was to betray your wife? But that's not at all what you do. You're quiet again. Subdued, drowning again in that pretty head of yours.

"Do you love him?" You whisper, the sound made of glass. You barely contain a sob as you stare down at your toes. The answer comes easily to him.

"No." You squeeze your eyes tight, like you don't believe him.

"If it's just sex, I- then I c-can live with it but-" your breath is escaping you as you chase after it to keep it in your lungs. You're losing the race. "But please tell me you don't love him!" And you break again. You wrap your arms around yourself and dig your nails into your arms. You're hurting yourself when you should be hurting him. Tearing him up, throwing him out like the garbage he is. He can't stand the sight of it. He moves.

"I don't! I don't love him!" He rushes out as his hands snap to yours to prevent you from raking harsh lines into yourself. He finally touches you, finally, and it's like cool water on a summer's day. You fall into him, and he wraps you up.

"I can't take it if you love him!" you wail, eyes and nose and mouth all wet. "Please!" He holds you tighter, pulls you onto his lap, tucks your head under his chin, cradles you like an infant.

"I promise," he says right into your ear. He needs to make sure you hear it. "It's you. It's only you. I love you. I love you. I love you." He utters it like a prayer. Breathes it out like a confessional. Utters it only for your holy ears to hear. You cling to him like a raft in a storm. Your nails dig into his chest. Finally, he can pay for his sins. Penance through pain. He hopes you break the skin. A blood sacrifice to the goddess in his arms.

"Please don't leave me," you mumble. It's a pitiful plea. He hates himself for knocking you down so low. Why are you begging him? Don't you know it should be him instead? He holds you impossibly closer, almost afraid to crush you.

"Never. Never." You draw back suddenly, both hands holding his face. There's a firey desperation in your eyes. He feels the metal of your ring pressing into his cheekbone.

"Swear to me." Your wild eyes dart back and forth between his.

"I swear-"

"Whatever you do out there- whatever you have to do to make it through- to make it home-" your words come out rushed between panicked breaths. You grimace and shake your head, unable to finish the thought. "Whatever you do, you come home to me. Me. Your wife."

"My wife," he repeats and nods.

"Swear it!"

"I swear!" And then you kiss him. It's wet and clumsy and shaky. Your lips taste like stomach acid but he can't find it in himself to care. He'll do anything you want if only to lessen your pain.

"We made a vow, John MacTavish," you whisper, lips trembling against his. Your fingernails dig into his shaved scalp. Good. "You are mine."

"I'm yours. I'm yours." You press your forehead against his.

"Now take your wife to bed."

---

Part 4

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

When What We Had Was Everything Pt. 2

This is a three part fic series and will complete three of my @jacklesversebingo card spaces. This first part will fill the "You won't take care of yourself, so I will." square. Pt. 2 will fill the But We Lost It square. Pt. 3 will fill the They're Out of Time square. ❤️

Summary: When Y/N really needs him, Jensen steps up, leaving all their past in the past. Can Y/N possibly do the same?

Pairing: Jensen x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Nothing major. Funeral. Brief mentions of grief and loss. Some light making out.

Word Count: 3, 935

A/N: This second part was a long time coming. I'm so sorry. I've just struggled with the muses on this one. I hope I can get part 3 (final part) out to you much sooner. I've given the reader's father the name, "Steven" just because it felt unnatural to not name him, and calling him something like, YFN felt strange given the setting.

Enjoy!

Jensen Ackles Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

Everything with Jensen had been like a whirlwind. Surreal and beautiful, and seemingly built to crumble. 

She’d met him randomly in a parking garage when she was visiting friends in L.A. She’d accidentally locked herself out of her car, and he’d used his Dean Winchester skills to break into it for her.

Their attraction had been immediate and raging. They’d gone for drinks one night, gone to dinner the next, and then gone to bed before dessert. Sleeping with guys on a second date wasn’t usual for Y/N. In fact, before that, she’d never slept with anyone she wasn’t already in a relationship with. 

But Jensen had barely kissed her, simply moving his hard, gentle hands slowly down her hips and pulling her flush against him, before every rational thought she had immediately flew out of her head. He’d charmed her completely and she fell hard and fast.

It was unlike anything Y/N had ever experienced before. So, deep down, she’d had a very hard time trusting it. It scared her. He scared her. 

She loved him almost immediately and that didn’t feel real. Love at first sight was stupid and impossible. She loved him so easily that subconsciously she was always sure he was hiding things from her. It wasn't  possible that this good, beautiful, generous, talented guy was so completely into her; things like that didn't happen to boring girls in small towns. So she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop with him.

Josie said she sabotaged herself, but Y/N preferred to think of it as protecting herself. If she let herself think about a life with him, a life of passion, love, contentment, quiet luxury and maybe even a family, her heart would shatter when he finally woke up and walked away.

So she'd fought hard to keep her emotional distance from him. She was desperate to keep control of the situation.

That night, after seeing Jensen for the first time in almost six months, Y/N spent the night tossing and turning, running everything over in her mind. By the time the sun rose and she gave up on trying for more sleep, she came to the realization that trying to protect herself had failed miserably. Her heart had shattered anyway when things ended and he walked away. 

It was shattered still.

Having gotten even less sleep than the night before, Y/N rolled out of bed with a groan, and tried to put all of those memories and heartaches aside. There was a lot to do, and the day was going to be hard enough.

Putting feelings aside became impossible, however as she walked into the kitchen and saw Jensen sitting alone at the table, staring into a cup of coffee.

He looked up as she walked in, the surprise in his expression receding into a smile as he nodded towards the coffee pot on the counter. 

“I just made some. Hope you don't mind.”

Y/N smiled awkwardly and walked over to pour herself a cup. “No, of course not. Thank you. Today demands a lot of coffee and it demands it immediately.”

She blew on the steaming liquid as she sat down at the table, and then took a sip. She swallowed it quickly, however, burning her mouth and throat a little, as Jensen reached out to cover her empty hand with his. 

“How did you sleep?”

Y/N shook her head and pulled her hand away under the pretense of tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Not great, you know, but…” She ended with a shrug and Jensen nodded. 

“Yeah.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then smiled ruefully. “I feel like…I’m the oldest, so I'm supposed to know what to do for everything. I mean, I was fifteen when mom died, but Jo and David were just kids. They don't remember any of the details of what happened at her funeral.”

Jensen frowned. “Y/N, what do you mean, THEY were kids. You were a kid too.”

Y/N shrugged. “Sure, I guess. But they were barely double digits. I'm the one who should remember best, the way things went on the day. So, I keep thinking I should warn them about what to expect. But the truth is most of that day is a blur.”

Jensen leaned towards her across the table, catching  her gaze. “David and Josie are both grown adults, I'm sure they'll be okay. As okay as can be expected, anyway.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, I suppose, just…old habits, I guess.” She hummed softly. “You know one of the only things I remember really clearly about the day of mom's funeral?”

Jensen gave a gentle shake of his head. “What?”

“I remember being in the bathroom at the church, in one of the stalls, and I overheard two of my aunties talking. They didn't know I was in there, but I heard my Auntie Sheila crying and talking to my Auntie Debbie, saying, ‘How on earth is he supposed to take care of those kids all by himself?’ They both agreed that for a man who worked as much as he did, and traveled so much for his job, it was going to be impossible.”

Y/N chewed on her lip and stared down at her coffee. “I remember that conversation terrifying me. I had visions of being sent away to some boarding school or shuttled off to some relative in the countryside.”

She smiled sheepishly. “My Dad would never have done that, I realize now. And I probably just read too much C.S. Lewis as a kid. But it scared me enough that I determined then and there that Dad wouldn't raise us by himself. I was raised already, so I could step in and help raise Joey and Davie.”

Jensen shook his head. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart.”

Y/N waved dismissively. “No, it was fine. My Dad changed a lot of his work around so he could be here to take care of us. He was still our parent, and would sometimes have to remind me of that. He'd get after me to get a social life.”

She chuckled. “I think that was one of the reasons he adored you so much. You were the first guy I ever dated that I wasn't also mothering in some way. He used to tell me I needed to find a guy that wanted a partner, not a mother.”

Y/N stopped short as she realized what she was saying. Jensen was just so easy to talk to, she'd let her words fly away from her. She forgot that “past them” wasn't something they were supposed to be talking about.

She took another scalding sip of coffee and stood up. 

“Anyway, sorry for yammering. I should go get ready. And you might wanna steal a shower before the whole house is awake and all the hot water runs out.” She said with an attempt at a laugh.

Jensen looked like he was going to say something, so she quickly set her half full mug in the sink and took off as fast as her feet could carry her.

***

Jensen shifted slightly on the hard wooden pew, and breathed in the church smells around him, lemon furniture wax, old paper, and dust. It was a beautiful space with large stained glass windows and a lot of stone work and moldings.

He didn't know many of the people there. Y/N and her siblings were somewhere in the back rooms, likely going over where they'd be sitting and what was going to happen during the service.

He'd received a few odd looks from people who seemed to recognize him and then quickly dismiss the possibility that it was him. Thankfully no one had approached him.

As he sat waiting for the service to begin something caught his eye and he turned to see Y/N, half hidden behind a side door, and frantically waving him over.

Puzzled, he stood and scooched past the people at the end of the pew, walking quickly over to Y/N. Her eyes were frantic and panicked as she shut the door behind them. 

“I can't do it.” She said without preamble. “He says he can't, but I can't either! I can't! I don't know what to say!”

Jensen was desperately trying to decipher her words, but was hopelessly confused as she continued.

“I should have known he wouldn't. He said he wanted to; he literally told me I had to let him do it. I mean, he's kind of a writer, so of course I let him, but I should have known it would be too much. I mean, when he couldn't get it together enough to pick up Aunt Sheila at the airport yesterday, what fucking chance was there that he was gonna be able to write and deliver a eulogy!”

Jensen was starting to piece things together, and he felt his heart clench over Y/N's obvious fear and panic. He took her cheeks in his hands and tried to calm her.

“It's okay, baby. It's okay.” The endearment slipped out easily, just as it had when he'd first seen her the day before. “You're talking about David? He was supposed to deliver the eulogy.”

Y/N closed her eyes and nodded; the way she leaned into him a little made him wanna scoop her up and take her away from everything. But obviously, he couldn't do that, so he just confirmed his assumption.

“And now, he can't do it?”

She nodded again. “Can't do it, didn't write it.” She croaked out. “I have a packed church full of people, waiting to honor my father and I have absolutely nothing to say about him.”

Jensen took hold of her hands and squeezed them. “Of course you have things to say, sweetheart. Just say what comes into your heart.”

Y/N laughed without humor. “You should know better than anyone that I don't know how to do that.”

He felt his heart squeeze at the reminder of what happened the last time they'd had a discussion about what was in her heart. He saw the trepidation come back into her expression, just like earlier that morning, when the subject of their past popped up.

He shook his head, dislodging memories of hurt and disappointment. “You don't have to delve too deep. Just give a sweet anecdote or two, and talk about how much he was loved.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up. “You do it.”

Jensen shook his head. “What? No, I can't.”

But Y/N was nodding. “Sure you can. You speak on a stage for a living. You're good at telling sweet little anecdotes. Please, please, Jensen. I know it's too much. I know. But I l…I-” 

She cut herself off and let her forehead drop to his chest. “Please.” She whispered.

Jensen knew he was setting himself up for more pain later, but he couldn't stop himself from gathering her close and squeezing her tight against him. Her soft, warm, body felt so right and natural fitted along his that he let himself ignore the warning bells going off in his mind.

“Okay, baby.” He said softly, whispering against her sweet smelling hair before kissing the crown of her head. “Okay, I'll do it. You should come up and stand with me though so it looks less weird that some random stranger is speaking.”

Y/N nodded. “Thank you.”

Jensen didn't return to his spot in the crowd. Instead he sat beside Y/N in the front of church, holding her hand tightly since she refused to let go.

Soon enough, the minister announced there would be a slight change in the service and a “friend of the family” was going to speak instead of David. 

David slouched in the pew beside Y/N and as they passed him to walk up on the dais, Jensen clamped a consoling hand on the young guy's shoulder. He knew the kid would be feeling like shit and there was no reason for it. Grief stole a lot of things from you sometimes, even your words. 

They walked behind the lectern and Jensen cleared his throat as he spoke into the slightly echoey microphone. Y/N clung to his right hand and pressed tight to his side as he spoke.

“Good afternoon everyone. On behalf of the family, I'd like to say how gratifying it is to see so many people here to mourn with us, but more importantly, celebrate with us as we honor Steven's life.”

He cleared his throat again and smiled. “Steven was a big guy who left a very big impression on the people he met. He was warm and welcoming in a way that you don't always see much these days.”

Jensen paused and then smiled. “Not long after I met him for the first time, I happened to mention that I was a big Stevie Ray Vaughan fan - just as part of an idle conversation, you know. But the next time I saw him, he had this vintage Austin Chronicle magazine with him on the cover, and he just gave it to me. It wasn't my birthday, or Christmas.”

Jensen shrugged. “He said he just happened to come across it in an old bookstore and thought of me.” He shook his head remembering how touched he'd been. “It was just the way he was.”

He let that sentiment dangle in the air for a moment before continuing. “Steven loved his family and friends without conditions and without limits. He had such strength of spirit, the kind of soul deep goodness that drew in all of us who are here today. He was a very easy guy to love and someone we always wanted on our side. Which he always was.”

Jensen cleared his throat. “So, once again, we want to thank you all for being here with us. And the family, and Steven's children especially, want to tell you how much it means to them. Thank you.” He finished.

He walked off the dais with Y/N following close and he could almost feel the way her muscles relaxed as they sat down. 

“Thank you.” She whispered quietly and Jensen squeezed her hand, ignoring his instinct to bring it to his lips.

***

Y/N breathed in the fresh, cool evening air, and sat down on the wide porch swing that looked out across her childhood backyard. Memories tumbled over themselves in her mind, all happy, but bearing the sharp taste of bittersweet nostalgia. 

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting a semblance of peace settle over her, as the stressful, painful day subsided somewhat now that the vast majority of guests had returned home. 

The back door opened and she looked over her shoulder and smiled.

Not all guests, she thought, as Jensen smiled back and quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned against it and thumbed towards the kitchen on the other side. 

“You know, you got enough casseroles in there to wait out the apocalypse.”

Y/N laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, we'll have to split them between the three of us.” She shook her head. “I think most people have forgotten that none of us actually live here anymore.”

A thought occurred to her and her brow wrinkled. “Come to think of it, at some point, Josie, Davie and I are all gonna have to get together and figure out everything we need to sell this place.” 

She looked around her and felt a painful tug on her heart at the idea of leaving her home for real, for good. 

“God, I don't even know how to start with something like that.” Her mind began to swirl with worries and questions she needed to answer. But they stopped when Jensen took two steps over to the porch swing and picked up her hand. He gave it a squeeze as he sat beside her.

“But it's not something you have to worry about today, right? Or next week? Or even next month?”

Y/N started to argue but then realized he was right. That was tomorrow's worry.

Jensen nodded, happy as she relaxed against the back of the swing. He settled himself beside her and began to rock the swing slowly, pushing them back and forth with his feet planted on the old wooden porch.

Y/N felt the final knots in her stomach begin to ease as she listened to the fireflies start to buzz through the trees. She couldn't stop her head from dropping onto Jensen's shoulder, or the extended sigh that escaped her slightly parted lips.

Quiet reigned for a few minutes and Y/N allowed herself to bask in the peace for a while. Finally she broke the silence though, as she shifted slightly so she could look at Jensen.

“You know, I can't possibly repay you for everything you've done the last couple days.”

Jensen shook his head. “Well, it's a good thing repayment isn't necessary.”

Y/N smiled shyly. “Seriously, though, I wouldn't have made it through this without you.”

Jensen scoffed lightly and waved a dismissive hand. “Course you would’ve.”

She hummed softly. “Hmm, maybe, but certainly not in one piece.”

Jensen's smile turned rueful. “Well, you're very welcome, sweetheart.”

It was quiet for a moment more, but the air was more charged this time, something warm and inviting springing to life between them. 

Jensen cleared his throat and sat up a little, breaking their intense stare. “I think it's time I, I head out.”

Y/N felt her heart plummet. “I thought your flight was tomorrow.”

Jensen nodded. “Yeah, it is. But it's a pretty early one, and you know, it's an international flight; gotta get there so far ahead of time. So, I'm just gonna drive into Kingston tonight, get a room, and head out to the airport first thing.”

Y/N nodded calmly, but her heart was pumping loudly. “Or…or you can save yourself the hotel expense and just stay here one more night. I mean, you can head out from here early enough to make your flight. It just…you know, just makes more sense.”

Jensen shook his head. “No, that’s…” He cleared his throat and pulled away completely. “I don’t wanna put you all out for another night.”

He stood up to go, and Y/N panicked, jumping up after him and grabbing his hand. “You won’t be. I don’t…Jensen, I don’t want you to go.”

She watched the muscle jump in his jaw and felt her belly clench. She took a step closer so that she pressed against him and raised her hand to run gently over his close-cropped, silky beard. “Please don’t go.”

She raised up on tiptoe to press her mouth against his ever so briefly, but his lips were so soft and warm that she had to go back again, pressing tighter against the velvety pillows, and flicking her tongue out to taste them. 

Jensen groaned slightly and brought his hands up to cup her jaw, tilting his head to the right and deepening the kiss.

Y/N wanted to cry with joy as she wrapped her arms around his neck, breathing deeply through her nose and inhaling the intoxicating scent of Jensen’s cologne and the scent that seemed to linger in his skin all the time, something uniquely him, and devastatingly carnal.

Far too quickly Jensen let out a soft growl and pulled away abruptly. “Y/N.” He said breathlessly. “This isn’t a good idea. I can’t do this.”

Y/N shook her head and tried to pull him back, fists bunched in his black dress shirt. “No, Jensen, you don’t understand. I’m so sorry for the way things ended. I never should have let you leave. I should have let you in more. I shouldn’t have let what we had fade away like it did.”

Jensen was shaking his head. “Y/N, you don’t owe me any apologies. Really-”

“Yes, I do!” Y/N interrupted. “I should have trusted you more, trusted what we had. I…”

Jensen leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Y/N, you’re only feeling this way because of what’s happened the last couple of days. I came to help out and you’re grateful. Your gratitude and your grief are clouding your judgement.”

“No.” Y/N said adamantly. “That’s not what’s happening. I’ve felt this way for a long time, I just haven’t had the courage to tell you.”

She saw Jensen waver for a moment and Y/N pressed her advantage, pulling his lips down to hers once again and pushing her fingers into his soft hair, easing it back at his temples. Jensen lost the battle again, this time with a much deeper groan of capitulation. He walked her backwards to press her against one of the wide pillars holding up the porch roof.

He panted faintly as his lips scorched a trail down the side of her neck. He unzipped her black dress on the side just far enough to slip his callused fingers inside, grazing the soft, delicate skin on the side of her breast. Y/N bit into her lip to keep from crying out and buried her face in his chest.

But once again Jensen pulled back, gentler this time, less abrupt. His fingers slid from her skin to zip her dress back up and he placed a final kiss to her temple before he stepped away, lifting a hand as Y/N tried to close the distance between them again.

“Y/N listen to me. You have no idea how much I want to believe you, that these feelings are just coming out of this complicated moment. But, not even six months ago, when I asked you to come live with me, the mere idea of going to the next level of our relationship made you break up with me.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

But Jensen just kept talking. “Then you lost your dad and you reached out because a part of you knew I’d be here, that you could count on me. And I’m really glad you did, and I’m very glad I could help even a little.” He smiled gently. “But I’m not going to take advantage of your vulnerability and gratitude like this.”

Y/N opened her mouth to contradict him, but he just shook his head. “You can’t possibly know your feelings right now, sweetheart. They’re gonna be all jumbled up with everything else, including the goddamn raging fire that crops up between us every time we get close.”

His green eyes burned with heat and made Y/N ache with a passion she knew wasn’t going to be resolved. He was determined, and she knew that look of stubbornness all too well.

“I gotta go.” He said quietly and turned to go back in the house, but then turned back as he reached for the porch door. “Three months. Give yourself three months. To get a little distance, put things into perspective a bit. If in three months you still feel the same…well? You have my number. I’ll watch for you.”

He took three big strides back to where she stood and wrapped her up in his arms once again. He held her briefly, but very tightly before he kissed the top of her head.

“Take care, sweetheart.” He said quietly before walking briskly back through the doors.

Y/N’s eyes swam with tears, but her voice was resolute. “See you in three months.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya

@arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

@whimsyfinny @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl

@hobby27 @waywardcheshire @livya99 @k-slla @leigh70

@eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

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@fanfic-n-tabulous @traiitorjoe @lastcallatrockysbar @b3autyfuld1sast3r

[morgsdrew]

last night, we planned a ball / you never showed up at all / i feel a brand new heartache coming on.

(brand new heartache by the everly brothers) — notes: baby talk + i took advantage of conner mun’s hiatus to make angst soooo not my fault /j

Morgan sat on the wooden porch of the Kent farmhouse, watching some people walk by, listening to the animals in the barn, or the chirping from the birds that flew by. She held her phone tightly as her leg bounced in anticipation.

She subconsciously traced shapes on her belly as if it was a way for her to calm her nerves as she stared straight ahead— hoping to see Conner’s truck come to view down the gravel driveway.

She had been in Smallville for weeks now. And it had been the most peace she’d been at ever since she was thirteen. Until today though.

It was 1:15 pm. The second trimester ultrasound appointment is at 2 pm. But she had been waiting outside since after lunch. She was never patient. But for him she was willing to be. ( Or is this just the fear of losing someone again? )

Swiping her phone open, checking at the messages. Or the lack thereof. Last message was her reminding him of her second ultrasound appointment— and her first appointment in Kansas— but it was left on delivered.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she grumbled. She looked away from her phone for a moment then looked back, like that would somehow, magically make Conner text her back.

She heard the door open behind her, Morgan wrapped Conner’s flannel— one she definitely didn’t steal this time— around her more as she glanced through her shoulder to see Martha peeking out.

“You should get inside, honey, it’s getting chilly out there,” she said softly.

Morgan didn’t reply immediately. She had a feeling— or at least Chat has a feeling— that Martha knew where Conner was. But of course, she didn’t ask. She didn’t push. It was up to them to tell her anyway. She was just thankful for how nice Martha and Jonathan were to her.

“It’s okay, I’ll wait a little longer here,” Morgan whispered.

You’re being stupid Mags— no, she is learning to wait. This is good— he is gonna stand her up— did he not do that before?-- Oh like when he didn’t attend her ballet reci— GUYS! Let’s not—

“At least put on another jacket,” Conner’s mother said, handing Morgan her own thick jacket. Morgan took it without a protest and slipped it on. “He’ll come, dear.”

She noticed the hesitation in Martha’s voice.

When Martha returned back inside, Morgan whispered, “I hope he does.”

By 1:45 pm, Morgan stood up, feeling stupid. She couldn’t wait any longer.

When will she learn that believing promises would just leave her heartbroken? She went back inside and asked Martha for directions to the clinic, rejecting the old woman’s offer to drive her there.

You need to learn how to accept help— I did. But it ended up with me being stood up, Morgan shot back to the taunting voices in her head. Morgan was never the type to hope, really. But she thought… with how good Conner was to her, he’d be different. “You knew better,” she chided herself.

Morgan told herself that she was disappointed and angry because Smallville is new to her and she doesn’t— she wasn’t so sure where to go and she relied too much on Conner to guide her. Not because Conner had left her alone to deal with this despite saying he’d be there.

***

It's not that Morgan hates hospitals. But ever since she woke up from her deep sleep in a white, sterile, and somber room with the strong smell of alcohol, she had been uneasy in spaces like these. And last time she was in a clinic, she at least had Jacyn with her. Jacyn will never stood you up— omg move on– just saying— and Conner would nev— okay, GUYS quiet!--

Now she’s alone as she laid there, shivering at the cool gel on her belly under the bright fluorescent lights. The voices quiet down when the technician showed her child through the screen. He was already bigger than she last saw him.

Her heart swelled. Morgan thinks he’s beautiful and she loves him already.

“—its a boy! Congratulations!” Morgan heard the doctor say when she tuned back in. Tears pricked her eyes, not sure if it was because this was feeling more real and real or because she couldn’t help but think how alone— with no hand to hold onto this time— she was in this moment despite how beautiful it was.

And she already knew the gender long ago— Our fault— our bad— whoopsie!— woaaaaah look!— and she was looking forward to seeing his reaction instead. She tried blinked the tears away before they could fall, she had gone through so much and this isn’t something she should cry about. But a stray tear managed to escape— tears of joy, she decided to call it instead.

It was over quickly, Morgan found herself standing by the exit of the clinic, staring at the sonogram in her hands with trembling hands, in a call with her Harley and Ivy who was back in Gotham.

She doesn’t need anyone and she was stupid for being terrified of going on her own when she knew she was capable of handling this. She had always handled things on her own. And maybe she shouldn’t be angry with him. This isn’t his responsibility to prioritise.

He still should've said a heads up— maybe he’s out being a SUPER— girl wha—

Morgan just hoped Conner had a good explanation as she stepped out of the clinic, heart heavy.

tag list: @vicenovirtues @thelivingbed @raphyo @loudmakercollective @conner-kent-central

[strongheartneteyam]

Realize where you belong.

Pairing: neteyam sully x female!dreamwalker!reader/female!human!reader

Chapter 5

CW: dubious consent, mentions of NON CON, neteyam yearning for reader, angst all over, you can see the sexual tension with your naked eyes, possessive neteyam, feelings of general and sexual confusion, mentions of sexual fluids, talks of being sexually aroused, sexual content, tsaheylu is mentioned, reader is still scared of Neteyam but she longs for him too, fear kink (if you squint), mentions of blood, size kink (if you really squint), primal [hunter/prey] kink (if you squint HARD), crying, strong language, the word "harassment" is mentioned, MAY BE TRIGGERING to some people, mentions of exophilia, indecisive reader, heartbroken Neteyam, heartbroken reader. Please, tell me if I missed anything important!

I slept a lot during the day yesterday and was up until late with my bf having dinner, watching YouTube etc and, when he went to sleep, I was restless, still didn't feel like sleeping so, I decided to edit and finish this chapter that was being kept in my Docs for way too long, it was getting dusty 😂 So, I might have stayed up until morning in the zone editing and finishing this 👀 I'm REALLY sleepy and exhausted rn, so, if some parts of this chapter don't really make sense, try to have empathy for my poor tired being and forgive me <3 I'm aware that I'm a hot mess who has insomnia and needs to get a grip and not put her art above healthy sleeping habits but what can I do? I'm one of those chaotic artists who have a hectic, unstable life and feel the most alive when they're immersed in their craft, running away from their problems, pouring their whole soul into their works 🤷🏻‍♀️

Not proofread. Me. too. tired. 💤  I'll do it ASAP! hope you guys like this. 🤍😘 comments will ALWAYS be incredibly appreciated.

Chapter 4

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

From lashes to ashes and from lust to dust

In your sweetest torment I am lost

And we sense the danger but don't want to give up

It's heartache every moment, from the start 'til the end

It's heartache every moment with you

Heartache Every Moment (HIM)

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You stared at Neteyam, at his big face, covered with stripes and fascinating bioluminescent freckles, leaving unique patterns all over his blue skin.

Even though he was kneeling down, doing everything he could to seem smaller and not so scary, to make you feel less intimidated by his size, his face was still way above your eyes, you still felt your neck hurt a little when you had to look up - straining your muscles, already sore from working too much - to gaze at his eyes.

"Oh, paskalin" (honey) "I could make you feel so good, you don't even know..." he was now even closer to you - you didn't even think it was possible but there he was, his massive frame making you feel smaller than ever. Fear of him snapping at you, in case you did something that didn't please, and hurting you was taking over your mind. You didn't know that Omatikaya boy, how could you trust him? "Give me a chance, be my mate and lemme show you how much pleasure I can give you, how I can make you feel safe and fulfilled in my arms after we make love. Like no fucking human male could ever do. Not like I would." Neteyam's fangs got prominent at that moment, and you could tell he was restraining himself from hissing at the thought of a human man having you in his arms. God, that had a name...

"Obsession." you thought

Despite those horrible feelings you were experiencing, his foreign accent still sounded weird but strangely fascinating to your ears, simultaneously. You hated yourself for feeling drawn to Neteyam, even though he was clearly stepping over your limits. You didn't know if maybe it was a na'vi courtship behavior for the male to get this close to the female, even if she hadn't shown any signs of wanting him to. But Neteyam wasn't exactly courting you, you thought. It was more like... straight up harassment, at least in human culture.

Your breath became heavier inside your oxygen mask when you thought about him using his fangs to draw blood from your skin in case you were able to be fast enough to go past where he was kneeling down next to you, and, tried to run away. With his incredibly slender, toned legs he could easily catch up with you in a millisecond and grab you, being free to do whatever he wanted to your small, defenseless human body. That thought made you feel like someone was knotting your intestines tight.

"Eywa... You're just so fucking pretty, even in this demon form, that I... I wanna do to you, right now, all I've been dreaming about, since I first saw you and you made my blood run hotter through my veins, such a fire you ignited inside me, syulang..." (flower)

Neteyam's breath was so heavy once out of his nostrils, clouding your mask, like he's controlling his urges, trying to hold back from touching you. You felt your knees weaken, fear and tension being the reasons why.

"Y-you don't want me, Neteyam. Not really. You just think you do. You're only intrigued by me because I look different from the girls you're used to. The na'vi girls." You didn't know how but you dug deep inside your chest and found the courage there to say that, looking into the alien's eyes.

Neteyam chuckled faintly, air coming out of his nose, in disbelief

"How can you say such thing, hì’i?"

"Hì..hì?" You tried to pronounce what you had just heard, in vain. You had no idea what that na'vi word meant. It's not like you knew that much of the na'vi language, anyway. You only knew the basic stuff that you had to study and learn to be able pass one of the tests that would determine if you were ready to get an Avatar body from the lab

"Hì'i." He corrected you, smiling wide and laughing quite a bit. "You're so silly and cute. Hì'i means "small in size" in my people's language. You are small, in this current physical form. But, let's talk about what's most important: what makes you think I don't really want you?"

"Because I am a demon to you, as you said. I am a human girl, not a na'vi girl." you said, rage slipping through your eyes. Why the hell was that crazy na'vi guy calling you a "demon", saying that he wants you sexually and calling you pet names, all at once?

"But you have an Avatar body. Nothing is preventing you from having your consciousness transferred for good to that body. If my father did it, so can you." The alien said, full of confidence. You wondered if he was going insane.

"And what makes you think I wanna do it?"

“My tawtute," (human) "I can smell you. I know you want me too. You're wet for me. Don't forget my senses are way sharper than what you're used to" Neteyam smiles calmly while enjoying the way your scent hit his nostrils. You felt your face flood with color, so much blood going directly to that part of your body as you felt incredibly embarassed when you heard those words. You had just realized your panties were soaked. "And, I'm sorry, but I have to tell you… Your juices smell so fucking delicious. You're driving me insane right now, yawne. I think that, at the end of the day, becoming my mate and making tsaheylu with me wouldn't be such a horrible experience for you."

Your thoughts cursed at you like crazy: "Damn it!! I must be kidding my own self!! Having a slight crush on him is one thing, getting fucking wet for him is something totally different! Do I have a fear kink, a rape kink or am I just into freaking exophilia?! For real, girl... There's gotta be something extremely wrong with you for you to be this turned on by the thought of this alien guy taking you by force."

"You're crazy! I'm not gonna be your mate! Just fucking let me go!" You wondered if you had just lost your mind to say and do that to Neteyam, being currently in your human body (if you were Dreamwalking it would obviously be safer) but you couldn't take all that was happening at that moment anymore. Your heart was beating too fast, like you were about to have a cardiac arrest. It was too much. You were overwhelmed.

You caught Neteyam off guard, the words you shouted stinged him so hard it left his very heart wounded, the muscles throbbing in pain. You noticed he seemed hurt, the sides of his mouth curled down faintly and his cat like ears were pointing towards the ground.

You felt bad for hurting his feelings. Even though he was disrespecting you, there was still enough empathy inside you to make you feel bad for making him suffer. You did not enjoy hurting people.

You inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm your nerves and, finally, you said:

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, even though you honestly deserve it. There's no excuse for what you're doing. You can't force me to be your mate. I'm not even na'vi! And don't start with that "You have an Avatar body" thing, please!" You breathe in deeply and let the air out slowly "I'm not your dad and I don't intend to follow his steps. I know very well I could die if I tried to go past Eywa's eye. Even if I wanted to get my consciousness transferred forever to my Avatar form, it's too damn risky. Plus, what makes you think I'd ever do it for you? I barely know you." You sighed, exhausted from it all. "Let me go back to my room. Please…?"

Neteyam looked tired and he was starting to feel defeated, like a soldier fighting in the front lines of a war who was losing his stamina after shooting way too many enemies in a very short period of time.

"I just wish you could…" it's like the words felt too rough against his throat, like it was too hard to talk at that moment "... could see that I won't hurt you." He sighed again "I know it feels weird and I'm big and scary, like you say…" His heart hurt at the reminder of your tough words "But I promise you - and I take promises very seriously. My parents taught me to do so, ever since I was old enough to understand their words - I would never lay a finger you." The expression on his face looked utterly serious, like he truly meant it. "Ever."

"You're hurting me with your actions, your words... the way you talk about me, about my body. I don't know about your culture, but it's pretty disrespectful in mine. I feel violated. I do think most of what the human race considers right or wrong is just bullshit, dumb society rules made up by even dumber people. But I have to agree with them on this one." You said

"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, hì’i tawtute." (small human) Neteyam looked down at the floor and there was shame all over his face

"Opening my window for you was a mistake."

Neteyam looked at you with eyes filled with sadness

He got back on his feet and stepped away from you, staying now arguably a good amount of steps away from where you were standing.

"Please, don't say that…" Neteyam pleaded with tears in his eyes

"I'm sorry. I have to go."

༊⁀➷

Once you got back to your room, took your oxygen mask out of your face on autopilot and closed the window, you stared for a while at Neteyam's oddly tall figure, still standing in front of your room.

You looked at him and your heart broke. He looked so hurt. His big yellow irises shone insanely in the dark of the eclipse. But his eyes were tainted with tears. His dark braids fell onto his shoulders perfectly. He was incredibly beautiful. But why could you only let your guard down when he was away from you? When you were behind a glass and he was standing on the other side? It broke your heart to do that. But you also knew he was being too much. Too eager. Stepping over your limits and making you uncomfortable. But what if that was just his na'vi nature? You had heard before that the na'vi were humanoid but still animalistic. Maybe it was just… his primal instincts to find a mate. You wondered if maybe you were being too harsh on him. But you still felt like you could not and should not trust him. Even though you wanted to. 

You watched him walk away, his shoulders pointing downwards, his posture showing he knew he had lost that battle.

You wondered if he would come back or if he would give up on you. You felt so idiotic. Why did you want him to come back? He was not treating you the way he should be, with respect for your boundaries.

You felt so confused. There was a lump in your throat. You felt like you were about to cry too.

Your hands were cold and you were feeling anxious and your chest was filled with angst. You wanted to scream Neteyam's name and ask him to come back.  But you did not. You knew you shouldn't. It could awake someone. It could be dangerous. You should not trust Neteyam, you kept repeating in your mind.

Your feet started to move, almost as if they did it on their own, because it felt like your mind was somewhere else, like your brain was occupied with something else other than sending a message to your feet and tell them to take you back to your bed. You were lost in your thoughts. Dazed as hell. 

Once you laid on your bed and covered your body with the warm sheets, you felt a sinking feeling of sadness and guilt bruising your chest. Hot, painful tears streamed down your face and the lump in your throat intensified. Why were you crying? And why were you thinking about Neteyam Suli while you cried?

You wondered if he could imagine that you were now crying, just like he was when he left.

༊⁀➷

Taglist:

@kitsunefirewail @tumblingdevils @a-blog-name-2003 @xylobee @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @henhouse-horrors @lala-1516 @xylianasblog @samistars @crazy4books1 @explosiongamora @lik0 @your-girl-mj @darktyrantwinner @sereisstuff @yeosxxx @die4niyahhh @iman-lu @manumanulau @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @hana-yuri @thehoneymushroomhealer @melllinaa @annaibansworld @siriuslysmoking @avatar4eva @ellabellabus07 @badbishsblog @neteyamsmate4life

[tavolgisvist]

Follow Me

Well, I don't even know maybe I'd better go to sleep…

You lift up my spirits You shine on my soul Whenever I'm empty You make me feel whole

(Follow Me, 2005, Chaos And Creation In The Backyard)

Opposites attract. I could calm him down, and he could fire me up. We could see things in each other that the other needed to be complete.

(Paul McCartney, The Lyrics, 2021)

You give me direction You show me the way You give me a reason To face every day <…> I can rely on you To guide me through Any situation You hold up a sign that reads, follow me

(Follow Me, 2005, Chaos And Creation In The Backyard)

There was a guy up on the platform with curly, blondish hair, wearing a chequered shirt-looking pretty good and quite fashionable - singing a song that I loved: the Del-Vikings ‘Come Go With Me’.

(PM, Anthology, 2001)

You hold up a sign that reads, follow me, follow me Down the track of loneliness Down the path of love Through the woods of heartache to the end On the shores of sorrow Where the waves of hope crash in The perfect place for me to find a friend

(Follow Me, 2005, Chaos And Creation In The Backyard)

I thought I saw your shadow in an old doorway But when I looked again I thought I made a big mistake, It was someone else, who looked a little like you, But now I know, ah ha ha, ain't no one like you. I'll tell you why I know, babe, Hey, 'cause I'm looking for you, looking for you, Yeah, I'm looking for you, That's all I do, that's all <…> Hey nah nah nah, let me tell you, baby, The earth ain't flat, I finally made the decision, and that is that. And now I know, there's only one place to be, You know where that place is, Yeah, for you to be with me.

(Looking For You, 1997, Flaming Pie)

At the end of the end It's the start of a journey To a much better place And this wasn't bad So a much better place Would have to be special No need to be sad

(The End Of The End, 2007, Memory Almost Full)

Q: There is a very beautiful song on your last record called ‘The End of The End’, where you talk about your own ending, and it goes: ‘It’s a start of a journey to a much better place’. You mean better than England? Paul: [laughs] It’s basically a start of a journey to France. Or Spain through France. Yeah, that’s what it is… It’s a much better place, Paris.

[drkmgs]

Muse

Jenna Ortega x Fem! Reader

Warning: angst, break-up, exes working with each other

Story type: One shot

According to the poll, I made 50.5% of 311 voters want this one. I don't know. Should I have posted a little summary? hehe. The end was so hard to write. I hope it came out fine...

You released a heavy sigh as you looked around your blackroom. She was everywhere. There is it again, the certain squeeze in your chest. You swallowed the clump in your throat.

She was your muse.

Sadly, that has changed now.

At first, she was a stranger, then an acquaintance, turned into a friend, that developed to lovers, and now back to a stranger again. Stranger is a strong word because you don't work with strangers. What do you call two exes that sometimes work together?

You should have listened to your friends – never mingle with someone who is famous.

It will only destroy you, and it did.

Well, not you completely, but mostly your heart and it shows – in your writings, pictures, songs you listen to, and hell even in your outfits. She drastically changed you. No, scratch that. It wasn't her who changed you. It was the pain, anger, and heartache. Where do these feelings come from? Is it from the unanswered questions, like why did she leave me? Probably.

How do people cope with heartbreaks without knowing the reason as to why the person you love the most left you? This breakup did something to you. It brought a lot of people back into your life and opened up opportunities. Next month, you'll be showing chasing some of your work at the Met Gala. The main reason why you're in the middle of developing some of your films.

After your break up with Jenna, you threw yourself onto work. Most of the pieces you have sold, were painful and hurtful, but these ones that you're developing are quite the opposite. These pictures were taken before the pain, where everything was happy and in love. You weren't even halfway developing all the roll films you have, and yet your blackroom is already filled with her.

Smiling, dancing, singing, baking, walking, and even sleeping. She was certainly your muse. There is one picture that stands out, and it is your favorite. She was in a grass field with daisies. Her smiling face wasn't towards the camera but to you. It shows how happy she was with you in that moment. You wonder what changed? What changed that made her run away from you?

Your thoughts were interrupted when your phone vibrated beside you. You immediately answered and squeezed it between your ear and shoulder, both of your hands were busy hanging the developed film.

"Y/N Callaway speaking." You hear hectic shoutings in the background and commands from the person who rang you.

"Darling, Callaway! It's Gladys! I know you're busy with your work for the Met Gala, but is there a chance that you could do me a favor?" You can hear that she's biting her nails as her voice wasn't as confident as it always has been.

"Depends on what favor, Glads." You have known this woman since you started your photography career, and she has been setting you up with clients, but now that you have bigger projects, she would only set you up if it was necessary.

"I need you for a shoot. In like 30 min. The one I hired got into an accident and we need a photographer asap." You look at your watch. The pieces you want to use for the Met were already drying, but new ones wouldn't hurt.

"Okay. Send me the address." You ended the call, stood up from the stool, got your leather jacket from the hook, and stepped out of your blackroom. When you got there, everyone was already waiting, and Gladys was frantically pacing back and fort.

"Oh may god! Darling! You're an angel sent from above!" She greeted you as she spotted you when she faced towards you. "I tried to come as fast as I could." You gently placed your equipment on the ground and greeted her back.

"That's okay! I'm so glad you are here! So, our model just got her make-up done, and she already has her outfit on. We need a picture of her walking here, somewhere she's sitting and then one with a car. The car is that one. You can meet our model, she is in that van." She pointed at the blacked parked mini van, not far where you were standing. You nodded at her, and she walked away to do some phone calls.

You knocked on the van door and stepped back a bit, gaze on the ground. "Oh-Hi, Y/N." A familiar voice rang through your ear, which made you snap your head up. "Enrique. Nice to see you again." You gave him a genuine smile. Your gaze shifted to the woman behind him. You saw her shock face, but it immediately changed into a stoic expression.

"Miss Ortega. Congratulations to Wednesday. It turned out great." After the break up, you started calling her by her last name. You thought, a professional approach would be better than people asking how you two got into the first-name basis. The relationship you two had was only known by close friends and family, obviously Enrique counted as a close friend.

"You watched Wednesday?" There was a hint of curiosity in her voice, but her face stayed uninterested. "Yeah, I watched it with my daughter." You smiled lightly. "Sorry, did you say daughter?" Her uninterested face turned into a furrowed eyebrows.

"Goddaughter." You don't know why you had the urge to correct yourself, but when she unforrowed her eyebrows, it made you exhale. You were used to people knowing that Penelope – your Goddaughter – you referring to her as your daughter.

Aside from diving into work while healing yourself, you spent mostly your time at your best friends's house, and when they announced they're adopting, you were over the moon. They didn't just help you get back on your feet but also gave you a different reason to be happy, and that's being a Godparent to Penelope.

There is a hint of confusion and anger within you as to why she reacted like that? She left you. You mean nothing to her. So, why did she look so relieved when you corrected yourself? You shook your head to get out of that state of mind.

"I think we should get this shooting started." You didn't wait for her to reply. You just walked away and got your equipment ready. While you're busy with your stuff, there's a pair of eyes watching you. Never taking them away from you.

"Take a picture. It will last longer." Enrique chimed behind the woman. "I don't understand you. You keep saying you don't love her anymore and that you moved on, but here you are having heart eyes." Enrique made a hand gesture indicating the situation he just saw.

"I don't have heart eyes." She scoffed and rollled her eyes and went back, scrolling through her phone. "Girl. Don't. I know what I saw, and I believe in what I saw. You are still in love with her." Enrique sassied. "Okay, so what if I still love her?! It doesn't matter! Let's say she still loves me. Why? Why would she be? All I did was leave and break her heart." From a far, it looks like Jenna is about to have a mental breakdown.

Sure, she has seen you a couple of times after the breakup, but right now, something is different. The shine in your eyes talking about your goddaughter–is the way you looked at her in the past. Full of adoration and love. Jenna wanted to get lost in those eyes, but it changed as soon as you laid your eyes on hers.

From where you were standing, you could see how frustrated she was and her eyes. You know it's screaming sadness and regrets, but also pain and anger. Anger not towards you, but to herself. She tried so hard to stop the tears. Seeing her like that, something heavy pulls down on your chest. Enrique tried to consult her, but she refused and excused herself.

You watch her walk away the set and turn to look at Enrique. He shrugged and signed you to follow her. You excused yourself from the other staff saying you are going to the powder room, but you actually followed Jenna. Around the corner, you see her, phasing back and forth, shaking her hands–trying to calm down.

You couldn't keep watching, so as soon as Jenna turned around, you engulfed her into a hug. She didn't push you away. She inhaled and relaxed into you, grabbing onto your jacket. "I'm sorry." She mumbled through her sobbing. You didn't say anything. You just stood there patting her back. When she calmed down, she stepped back and wiped her tears. You were about to leave when she stopped you.

"I mean it. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for not telling you about how I feel and what was bothering me. Please forgive." Jenna's voice cracked at the end. You shook your head. "I don't know what to say to you, Jenna. I thought when this moment came, I was ready to face any of your reasons, but I am not. What you did is still so fresh in my memory as if it happened yesterday, but I know I still have the heart to forgive you." You say trying to get out of her grip. "Then let me make it up to you. I promise I'll be better. I'll fix everything." She desperately says. "Jenna. Don't make promises you can't fulfill, and if you break a glass and try to fix it, it will never be the same before you broke it." After hearing that, Jenna finally loosened her grip on you.

"I'll head back to the set. I'll tell them you'll need a minute." You excused yourself. This time around, Jenna watched you leave, and she'll never know when you'll be back in her arms.

[hellfirexwhore]

Come Back To Me - E.M.

BestFriend!Eddie Munson x reader

This is the first thing I have posted on here and the first fic I have written in a very long time, I hope you enjoy! 

I do not give permission for my work to be copied / posted as original work on any platform.

After an argument with your best friend Eddie, you're left wondering what it is that you did to set him off. You feel it might be something deeper than just not liking a guy that asked you out, but is Eddie going to have the nerve to say it?

Hurt/Comfort, Use of Y/N, Friends to lovers, Verbal fight

Wordcount: 2.8k

Memories of the night before cloud your mind as you wipe down the counters in your apartment, attempting to distract yourself with tasks and chores. You've already swept the floors, finished the laundry, and cleaned out the fridge, yet your mind is still lingering on the stupid fight you and your best friend Eddie had. The feeling of heartache won't go away, the anxiety growing more present as the hours pass. 

You and Eddie had never fought like that before. The look in his eyes as his voice raised was something you never wanted to see from the person who usually brings you the most comfort. You said some things you shouldn't have out of hurt and anger, he said some things he shouldn't have, and it all ended with him leaving your place in a huff, cutting the conversation off himself with no resolution. Being the stubborn man he is, you're unsure if he would even reach out and apologize. You knew you owed him an apology as well but the way the fight blew up is still something so confusing to you, and you don't even know if you should be the one to ask for forgiveness first. 

"So, I have some exciting news!" You say, passing a soda to Eddie before plopping down next to him on your couch, folding your legs underneath your body. He raises his eyebrows as if to ask you to go on, and gushing, you do. "You know that guy who's always flirting with me at work? Matt? Well I was cashing out his tab yesterday and he finally asked me out! Can you believe it?"

The messy-headed boy blinks a few times, processing what you've told him and tries to remember exactly who this Matt guy is. All of the sudden, it clicks. He furrows his brow as he pictures the douche constantly looking down your shirt and winking at you from across the bar. Eddie knows you don't notice his gross antics, conveniently for Matt, only noticing the sweet words and generous tips. 

"You mean the guy who brings a different girl to your bar every other weekend and stares at your tits the whole time?" Eddie huffs, eyes widening trying to get his point across. You look at him, puzzled. 

"What do you mean? He does not stare at my tits, and he's dating around, who cares? He's in his 20s, I'm in my 20s, it's what we do." You respond, disappointed that he's being so negative immediately. He's not even pretending to be excited for you like you have to pretend to be every time he says he has a date or one of your coworkers slips him her number. 

"Y/N, come on. He's a total tool." He sets his soda on the coffee table and crosses his arms, obviously annoyed. You didn't expect this reaction from him. 

"You can at least pretend to be happy for me, you know." You mutter, focusing your attention on your hands, not looking at his irritated face. He scoffs, shaking his head at you, still looking at your face though you refuse to look at his. 

"Happy that he finally got what he wanted and he's going to just get into your panties and then never speak to you again? Yeah, I'm elated." 

"Really Eddie? You think I'm just going to sleep with him? He asked me to get coffee, like a real date. I was excited about it." 

"You can be excited about it, but I know what's going to happen and I guess I just didn't think you were this naïve." 

That's where it exploded. The hurt look on your face must have gone unnoticed because he didn't let up. Over the next 15 minutes at least, words were thrown like stones, voices were raised, and by the time Eddie was called a dick and you were called a crybaby, the argument was too far gone. You didn't even fully process what had happened until your front door was slammed with Eddie on the other side of it, storming toward his van. 

Now here you are, alone and sad in your kitchen clutching a rag. You can't wrack your brain enough to find a reason why he would be so upset that you have a date with a guy he doesn't even know. You're not stoked about the dates he's been on or the girls he's been with, but you push that to the side for the sake of the friendship. Now that it's your turn, you expected some sort of positivity, fake or not. 

You've been harboring feelings for your best friend for as long as you can remember, but all of those feelings were pushed to the side years ago when you realized he would never feel the same way. If he did, he would have said something by now, so why hold on to something that won't happen? 

Hours passed and it felt like an eternity since you'd last seen your favorite person. The attempt to distract yourself has been a total failure all day, but at least your home was cleaned top to bottom. Nothing can get the words he said to your out of your mind and you were certain you would be thinking about it until you saw him again. 

Before you knew it, it was 10pm. You headed into your bathroom to attempt to make yourself more comfortable and get ready to cozy up for the night. Without thinking, you threw on one of Eddie's old Sabbath shirts he left at your place, a pair of black cotton shorts, and some comfortable socks that bunch around your ankles. After pulling your hair up messily into a clip, you hear a timid knock on your door. You can practically feel your stomach drop to the floor as you pad across your apartment to the front door. You peek out of the peep hole and to your surprise, an anxious looking Eddie is standing there. He's playing with his rings, twisting them on his fingers. 

You slowly unlock the door, taking a deep breath before you open it completely, taking a good look at your best friend standing there in an old Hellfire tee shirt and a pair of red and black pajama pants. 

"Hi." He says quietly, carefully stepping across the threshold when you open the door further to let him in. You close the door behind him and turn to see he's looking at your face, waiting to see if you're still mad at him. 

"I didn't think I'd hear from you today." You respond, walking to the couch to sit down, leaving room for him beside you. He sighs and takes the empty seat, still fidgeting with his rings, a nervous tick he's had for years. 

"I was going to go to bed but I've been thinking about this all day and I couldn't go to sleep again knowing you're upset with me." He's looking at you through the thick curtain his bangs create across his forehead, looking vulnerable and sad. You can't help but get lost in his baby cow eyes, but you're still unsure of what you're going to say to him. 

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to say, Eddie. I've been thinking about it all day too, sick to my stomach about it." It's true. You had been close to dry heaving since you woke up this morning, a knot in your stomach refusing to leave, solid as a rock, sitting as a burden. 

You don't like conflict, especially with the person you trust and love the most, yet here you are having to face the conflict itself as it sits in front of you looking like a scared puppy. Either tackle it now or it'll be left unresolved and make you sick for days to come, hell, even weeks. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten upset with you, I should have told you how I felt without getting mad." Eddie wants to grab your soft hands and hold them in his calloused ones. He wants to grab your face and drill his point into your pretty head of how sorry he is for getting so upset. You didn't deserve it. He knew that. He knew it was his stupid feelings getting in the way and he knew that if he let you go out with this Matt guy, he would end up with you crying on his couch, and that's something he can't stomach again. 

Eddie has seen you date other guys before, none of them ending particularly well, and he picks up the pieces of your broken heart each time, never one single complaint leaving his lips. A much as he loves you coming to him for comfort because he wants to give it, it shatters his heart to see you hurt. That's what's so fucked up about this. Instead of cleaning up someone else's mess, he needs to clean up his own because for once, he's the reason for your sadness.

"We both said things we didn't mean, Eds. I just don't understand where it all came from." It's your turn to fidget with your fingers, looking down at your hands and focusing on the chipped, dark green polish. You made a mental note to repair your manicure, but that can wait for a time you're not on the verge of tears. 

"Look, I'm happy someone asked you on a date and I would have been more supportive if it was anyone but him." Eddie replies softly. He seems genuine and solid in his opinion of the guy who made a move on you. You feel there's something deeper going on here, an alternative reason as to why he rubbed Eddie the wrong way, but maybe it was simply just Eddie trying to protect you. 

"What do you have against Matt? You've never even spoken to him. I don't understand." You say, looking up at the fuzzy-haired metalhead. Eddie shakes his head before he continues.

"He keeps an eye on you so I keep an eye on him. I know how he treats his dates. I see the way he looks at you and it's gross, Y/N. I got angry with you and I shouldn't have. If you saw the way he is when you're not looking, you would never have agreed to go out with him. You're not naïve, I'm sorry I said that." You don't notice the way Matt ogles you, even when he has a girl with him, but Eddie does. You don't notice the way he doesn't even pretend to care about whatever his date is saying to him, but Eddie does. You don't notice how he makes comments about your body under his breath, but of course, Eddie does.

"I didn't know.." You shake your head, grossed out by the way you were so blind to the way a guy who's been flirting with you for months, making you feel good about yourself, is actually a shitty guy and it wasn't just Eddie being ironically judgmental. 

"I know, sweetheart. I just get protective over you. You, Wayne, and Dustin are the most important people in my life and I just couldn't let you get treated badly by some asshole. That's no excuse though, and I really am sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Ed. I know you're just looking out for me." You place your hands on his, keeping his fingers in one place since he can't stop absentmindedly picking at them. He looks at your hands and sighs, running a thumb over the silky skin of the top of your hand. 

"No, don't apologize. I was a total douche last night and I don't feel good about it. I promise the next time you get a date, as long as he's not a predatory asshole, I'll pretend to be happy and give you the support you need." He doesn't even realize what he had said, but even if he did, it's too late to turn back now. He had been planning to say something for a while since pretending his feelings for you don't exist hasn't helped him one bit over the years. Everyone sees it but you, and he can't understand how but he kicks himself for feeling the way he does. 

"Pretend? Eddie, why would you need to pretend?" Confusion washes over you, and a little bit of hurt. If Eddie was your friend, your best friend at that, why would he need to pretend to be happy for you? Is he worried that someone else would take away from your time together? You've made it clear that you wouldn't let someone steal you away. He should know that by now.

"Look, I've been talking to Dustin and he told me to stop being a pansy, so here I am, not being a pansy." Eddie takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before he opens them and catches yours in his gaze. He adores the confused look on your face, but can't keep this in anymore. "I don't want you to go on dates with other guys, Y/N." 

"I need you to think about what you're saying to me right now and how you're saying it." This isn't happening. You must be misunderstanding because there is no way Eddie is implying what you think he is.

"I know exactly what I'm saying and the way you invaded my mind today just solidified it. I need to get this off of my chest. I don't want you to date other guys because... I want you to just date me." He's speaking slowly, not because he's trying to dumb it down for you, but because he wants to be very clear in what his words mean. He wants you to know just how much he means this.

"Wh- huh?" Your mind is racing. The knot in your stomach is unraveling, but it's jumping around like a child on a trampoline. 

"I know, okay I'm not trying to make it weird. I know you're my best friend and I shouldn't be saying this to you and if you want, I can just leave, we can go back to normal, and pretend this conversation never happened. I'll get over you, it will just take some time, I'm sorry." He shakes his head, looking back down at your joined hands, pulling his away. You stop him before he can fully break the contact of your skin that's now suddenly burning at the touch. 

"Don't." You say abruptly. 

"What?" Eddie quickly looks back up at you and sees the soft look in your eyes. He searches them for any trace of doubt. 

"Don't get over me." You've never imagined yourself being so bold. You've never even imagined having this conversation with Eddie. 

"What are you saying?" What he's really asking is if you're messing with him. He's asking if you're confused, or misunderstanding, or playing some cruel joke on him. 

"I'm saying I want you. Jesus H Christ, I've wanted you for years but I never said anything because I didn't want to freak you out and ruin what we have." You've never seen Eddie's eyes light up so quickly. He looks like he's just been gifted Ozzy Osbourne in a box on his birthday. 

"What?! We could have been making out this whole time?!" He grasps your hands even tighter as you burst into laughter. Your giggles are music to Eddie's ears and he's just beaming.

"Eddie oh my god." You lean forward, the laughter subsiding. You place your forehead against his and you can feel his breath fan your face. You're still in shock. 

"I can't even tell you how fast my heart is beating right now. I think I might pass out." He breathes out. He laughs softly, closing his eyes and savoring the moment. 

"We can't both have heart attacks right now!" You say, smiling bigger than you have in a long time. You both just sit there for a few minutes, really taking in everything that's happening. This doesn't feel real, everything you've wanted for so long coming to be something that actually exists. Eddie wonders how he got this far without passing out or hyperventilating but for now, you're just relishing in each other. 

"So.. About the whole making out thing.." Eddie murmurs, his hands traveling to your hips and giving them a squeeze. 

"Shut up and kiss me, nerd." 

So he does. 

[neurospiczzzziee]

I had to draw my head cannon again of Fizz serenading Blitzø with ABBA music after the whole full moon fiasco. These besties need to have a heart to heart sleep over. The emotion I wanted to capture is Blitzø sad, but Fizz is so ridiculous that it causes him to start laughing. He's sad and heartbroken, but also so happy to have his best friend back with him to cheer him up. For once in his life he doesn't feel so alone.

Chiquitita Lyrics

Chiquitita, tell me what's wrong

You're enchained by your own sorrow

In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow

How I hate to see you like this

There is no way you can deny it

I can see that you're oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, tell me the truth

I'm a shoulder you can cry on

Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on

You were always sure of yourself

Now I see you've broken a feather

I hope we can patch it up together

Chiquitita, you and I know

How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving

You'll be dancing once again and the pain will end

You will have no time for grieving

Chiquitita, you and I cry

But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you

Let me hear you sing once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

Try once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

So the walls came tumbling down

And your love's a blown out candle

All is gone and it seems too hard to handle

Chiquitita, tell me the truth

There is no way you can deny it

I see that you're oh so sad, so quiet

Chiquitita, you and I know

How the heartaches come and they go and the scars they're leaving

You'll be dancing once again and the pain will end

You will have no time for grieving

Chiquitita, you and I cry

But the sun is still in the sky and shining above you

Let me hear you sing once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

Try once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

Try once more like you did before

Sing a new song, Chiquitita

[fal0n]

Aaagh first shift at my new job in like 3 hours but I'm really nervous so I taught myself Alight Motion for kitties!! I hope y'all aren't getting sick of them they're just really fun to write 😭

Flowers and their meanings (according to Floriography by Jessica Roux) under the cut

Callamoon/Anya (a bouquet for bitter ends):

-Petunias: anger and resentment

-Datura: deceitful charm

-Tansy: hostility

-Thistle: misanthropy

-Wormwood: bitterness

Swanbite/Swansea:

-Carnation: mothers love, heartache

-Cypress: Death, mourning

-Rue: regret

-Hemlock: Death

Hibiscuspaw/Daisuke:

-Combine: Foolishness

-Crocus: Cheerfulness, youthful

-Lily of the Valley: Return to happiness

-Begonia: Warning

Curlstar/Curly (A bouquet for regret and sorrow)

-Asphodel: Regret that will follow you to the grave

-Azalea: Fragility in difficult times

-Snowdrop: Consolation and hope for better days ahead

-Rue: regret

-Willow: mourning

Jimbitch for fun bc I did actually want to include him but there was only 4 "spots"

Datura: Deceitful charm

Hellebore: we shall overcome scandal and slander

Begonia: to repay a favor, warning

Poppy: enteral sleep

Oleander: caution

[fictionallystable]

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games)

Relationship: Phillip Graves (Call of Duty)/Reader

Characters: Reader, Phillip Graves (Call of Duty), Original Male Character(s)

Additional Tags: Author Has Played Call of Duty, Childhood Friends, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, slight age gap, Civilian!Reader, Pre-Canon, Jealousy, Angst, Kissing, Time Skips, Slight OOC Graves, Brother's Best Friend.

Words: 1,348 | Chapters: 1/5

Summary:

Your older brother is best friends with Phillip Graves, and you always tagged along on their adventures. As a teen, you hid a fervent crush on Phillip, but it ends in painful heartbreak for you after one tumultuous summer. Many years later, you and Phillip are shocked to re-encounter one another, this time with your hearts fluttering again. But the heartache and broken trust of the past cloud your vision of the man standing in front of you.

A/N: this is a long time coming collab between me and @orphancains, and we finally posted the first chapter. stay tuned for later chapters. can't promise we'll be posting all the chapter each week but we'll try to get it out soon as possible. that being said, enjoy. the fic can also be found on AO3

tags will be updated!!

Chapter 1: The Pool

You ignored the bead sweat trickling down your temple from sitting under the Texas summer sun. There were only a few weeks left of summer break before 7th grade, and you were trying to enjoy it at the park, despite the sun beating down on you. Even your older brother Matty and Phil had wanted to enjoy the day even if they’d both already graduated high school. The two played some light basketball while you sat nearby sketching. After playing for a while, the two of them strode over to you, checking in on you as you quietly concentrated in your sketchbook. 

“I don’t know,” you said to them both as you stared down at your sketch, “I don’t know if it’s worth submitting.”

Phil tsked and took a seat beside you on the grass. He patted your shoulder and furrowed his brow. “Come on. You’re probably one of the best artists I know out of everyone in this city. You’re twelve but you’re better than some of the people in school I know who always brag about their art. Don’t sell yourself short.”

Matty sighed behind both of you. “It’s that our dad has been hounding her about focusing more on math next year. He wants her to be studying with a tutor for her pre-algebra class for this summer instead of this.” Your brother glanced away. “Or make friends…” he muttered quietly, but just enough for Phil to still hear.

Phil rolled his eyes. He was grateful to your dad for letting him linger in his home to hang out with Matty. The Graves family household, a few miles away from yours, was a little bigger, sure. But it was empty. With his parents always gone, his dad was either sending him texts from airports to check in on him every few days and his mom would mainly call him to say she couldn’t attend his football games and track meets because of another work conference. Matty and your parents were kind enough to feed him and sometimes let him sleep over. But he couldn’t help but want to sometimes roll his eyes at how much pressure he put on you and your brother.

“How is submitting a piece of art to a newspaper going to hurt her in pre-alegbra?” Phil looked at your brother unamused. “I don’t wanna be a dick, Matty, but your dad’s a—”

“I know, Phil,” your brother huffed. “You’ve told me before”

“It’s actually an art magazine. It’s MUSE magazine,” you cut in, wanting to stop talking about your dad. “They even said they’ll give us a scholarship, too, if we win. I mean, that’s gotta make dad happy, right?”

He wiped the sweat from his forehead, as he listened to you. He thought about it and shot you a grin hoping it would cheer you up. He couldn’t help but want to see you happy, wanting to see you get the praise and love for your art that you truly deserved. “See?” He glanced quickly at Matty before turning back to you to say, “Yeah, exactly! That’s even more of a reason to submit— even if my advice alone should be enough.” At that, your brother snorted.

At this you turned to look at him, your lips pouting slightly. You still felt unsure about your idea, and he noticed.

“Listen, as soon as you hear back from that magazine, I wanna be the first to hear about it, you understand?” 

You nodded and gave him a small smile. “I will, but what if I lo—”

“Not, gonna happen. I know it won’t,” he stated firmly, as his warm eyes beamed down at you.

Your smile grew more as you leaned your shoulder against his arm. “Thanks, Phil.”

‘ Holyshit… ’ , you thought to yourself as you ran toward the Graves’ home one afternoon. Your parents always reprimanded you for swearing but who cares right now . You clutched tightly onto the new copy of MUSE magazine as your feet hit the pavement. ‘ I actually won !’ You hadn’t bothered to tell Matty or your parents. You wanted to tell Phil first, but he hadn’t come over to visit Matty today—usually Fridays were when they played video games together. You thought it was weird initially but thought nothing of it.

You knocked on the heavy, wooden door, pressed the doorbell multiple times, but he never came to the door. You were confused. ‘ Maybe he’s out back ? ’ , you thought as you trudged over to his backyard’s fence. You were surprised to see it was left slightly ajar, when usually you and Matty always had to wait for Phil to unlock it if you decided to visit his home. Slowly, you nudged the gated fence door open, expecting to see nothing more than the Graves family’s pool, some towering, old trees, and maybe some overgrown grass. But instead your jaw dropped.

By the shining blue pool, Phil had another girl’s hands entangled in his light brown hair. At first you were confused, but you felt your chest tightened when you realized his lips were moving against hers and that his own hands rested on her hips. He was shirtless, his body still drenched in the cool pool water and she wore a light pink bikini. Her own dark red hair was also wet clung to the skin on her pale shoulders. That’s when it hit you: Phil had a girlfriend you didn’t know about, and you’d just walked in on them making out.

You felt your heart stop when from over the girl’s shoulder, you saw Graves’ dark eyes flicker and briefly meet your own. You let out a small gasp, your eyes shifting away quickly. You quickly turned away and your hands clenched tightly around the magazine in your hand, not caring anymore if your artwork featured in it was crushed now. You felt your stomach jolt as you ran back home, fearing you were going to vomit midday in the middle of the street. The red hair. Phil shirtless. The pool. His hands on her hips. The shadows in his eyes. Was that a smirk you saw? Or had you imagined it? It all kept flashing in your head as you jogged back home. You felt like your own brain was torturing you with the images now. 

Back home, as you strode toward your room, your throat tightened. Your lips quivered and you felt the few tears still clinging to your eyes begin to slip through. Matty walked out of his room, about to ask you where you were, when he saw the distress etched on your face. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

You clenched your teeth as you felt the tears begin to flow freely now down your cheeks. You stepped into your room, but turned around to face him. “Nothing’s wrong!” you growled out, before shutting the door loudly in his face and twisting its lock. 

As night fell, you clung tightly to your pillow, your tears staining it as you cried. Your brother continued knocking on the door from time to time, calling your name out in frustration. But no matter what, he couldn’t coax you out of your room. You also didn’t know why you wouldn’t let Matty in. You didn’t even know why your heart broke so much when you saw Phil and that other girl. But from then on, your view of Phil had changed. You didn’t want to face him anymore, to be his brother’s stupid kid sister always lingering around because she had no friends of her own. You were a burden on him. He probably just wanted to hang out with Matty, not you. You wondered, how many times did he want to talk to him about girls or sex, or anything else, and he couldn’t because you were there? 

As you drifted off to sleep, eyes puffy from salty tears, you forgot about the crumpled magazine laying on the ground. Your thoughts only revolved around one idea: You were going to do Phil a favor and avoid him at all costs.