#the grief. the grief. the grief. the grief. to the rhythm of the beat of your heart

[thesporkidentity]

visual component for today's poem, so it'll be a screenshot rather than trying to reproduce it

[itsabouttimex2]

Can we get an eclipse King's continuation does y/n wake up?

Eclipse Kings

Part Two: Barbed Dusk

(Part One: Mountain Monkeys) (Part Two: You Are Here) (Part Three: Wild Dawn)

(Extra One)

(You are a ragged little thing, unfit for luxury or lavishness. “Thankfully”, Macaque sees to curating your hygiene.)

They are covered in scars.

The Six-Eared Macaque; golden eyes dimmed in frustration and impatience, is now bereft of his crown. It had borne him a striking silhouette, each wicked spike on the circlet fashioned from gold.

You could not have known it yourself, and the shadowy king would never admit it to one whom he deigned a necessary pest as most, but… he had commissioned it only a week after losing his beloved Xiaotian.

With tear-stained cheeks and gouges torn into his fur from constant scraping, the simian had wobbled down from the mountain and into the nearest smithy, then threw down a glittering heap of golden coins. His only request had been; spoken brokenly, for “something that would hurt”.

The blacksmith had been hesitant at first. The request was unusual—not for the opulence offered, for he had forged again and again petty trinkets to sooth a lord’s ego. No, it was the pain. The simian’s trembling voice and sunken eyes spoke of a sorrow too vast to comprehend, but the blacksmith had seen enough grief bite down any questions. Instead, he had worked through the night, the rhythm of hammer on gold ringing out in the silence, a somber requiem for the monkey’s fresh loss.

So the blacksmith had fashioned him a twisted crown from that heap of treasure, taking what little was left as payment after beating the metal into a branching circlet that splintered out into harsh thorns, then plated it with rhodium to darken and reinforce the malleable gold underneath.

“It’ll hurt,” the man had reminded him, touching the crown only with his thickest gloves.

The look in Macaque’s eyes had told him enough- “I want it to,” spoken through his hollow eyes and gaunt frame and torn fur, but left unsaid on trembling lips.

And Macaque had taken it with his bare hands, punishing his treacherous fingers for “allowing” his son to slip through them.

He had not allowed his agony to end there.

The sharp tips bit into his scalp, drawing thin rivulets of crimson that trailed through inky fur, leaving raw furrows through its heartless embrace. He hadn’t winced or cried or paused, instead pressing it down further and further, lips curling into a grimace that might have once been a smile, his heart brittle and sharp like fractured glass.

It would hurt, but never as much as losing his son.

An unassailable grief, incapable of transmutation into vengeance or betterment.

Until you.

Until you had wandered into their stately pagoda, wandering through the lavish halls and snatching their food, leaving the trail of an all too familiar scent in your wake.

Until you had ran from them in fright as so many had years ago, twisting through woods just as jagged and thorned as the crown that Macaque had finally pried from his forehead, smashed and discarded at the empty grave they had fashioned for their found son.

You had led them back to him.

That thought alone keeps Macaque’s hands gentle as he lathers a thick sponge with fragrant soap, wetting it and rolling the squashy corpse* against your forearms.

His mate, holding his own sponge, tends to your legs with a manic smile- it hasn’t dropped even after a full night of sloppy celebration and utter destruction. Every last little memorial and shrine they had created now lay in pieces around the pagoda, only sparing what little the prince himself would have use for- the clothes and toys they had left on these altars as gifts that would have been now resided in the boy’s room-

“It’s Y/N’s room, too,” the little one had insisted, forcing them to make arrangements appropriate for both a demon toddler and a mortal… whatever age you were. Folding screens and an extra mat.. but nothing else. Not from malice, though- they simply hadn’t quite learned what else to put in “your” room.

There was no need to separate what was his from what was yours- you simply didn’t have anything at all. Every little luxury you had accumulated in that muddy rattrap was all for your brother.

The boy’s bed, piled high with plush animals and soft quilts, had been eagerly pushed closer to yours, left with “only” a few pillows and a single blanket as he excitedly prepared to sleep in warmth and safety for the first time in years.

(Only was not a word you knew. There was no “only” in the life of one who owned nothing.)

“You had enough of a nap on the way here,” Sun Wukong sighs. “So stay awake a little longer. We can’t let you go to bed filthy or injured.”

You want to protest. To scream and cry and plead for them to take their hands off of you, to let you return to that familiar; if squalid, hovel, to let you- and your brother- go back to the only home either of you had ever known.

But words die on your chapped lips, too exhausted to be parted for begging.

You just lay there in the tub, head held aloft by one of Wukong’s muscled hands, completely incapable of moving or protesting. You just… sit there, and accept the reluctant doting.

MK (“Qi Xiaotian”), the kings and all their soldiers and maids say. You don’t think there’ll ever be a moment that you’re used to that. ) sits next to the tub with worry in his little black eyes, trying his hardest to focus on the book he was gifted by his fathers- hand-drawn pictures of him decorate each page, detailing his growth from baby to toddler. Supposedly it would “stir his memory”, but the effort seemed futile- he had simply been too young to remember anything before you.

Neither of you were truly “home” in this pagoda, no matter how they tried to push you into believing that.

MK would adjust, definitely. He would come to enjoy plush toys and doting maids and loving fathers, ample food and warm water. He could grow to love silk pillowcases and wool blankets. He could grow to love warm halls and loving fathers.

He hadn’t lived like you had. No, MK had spent his time safely inside that wretched dump, playing with whatever toys you could scrounge for him, chasing little bugs and cooing at the occasional rabbit or squirrel that came in for shelter.

This was going to be harder for you.

The warmth of the water feels unfamiliar, outright alien in its softness . You are too used to icy streams that prick at your skin, the dry rasp of dirt and grime. Here, the milky water cradles you like a cloud.

Help.

You are being helped .

And you know what that means. Help comes at a cost. A leering smile from a vendor who would try and tail you through the woods. A begrudging shove of stale bread into your hands after a trade. Mumbled curses about a “pest” under the breath of a housewife giving you a chunk of too-ripe fruit.

What price will this cost?

The thought churns uneasily in your gut as Sun Wukong tilts your head upward, his golden eyes studying your face. They gleam like the sun, but there is no warmth for you.

(Not yet.)

They’re calculating, cataloging each bruise, each scrape. Every pale white line scarred deep and unremovable. The truth of agony is plain on your skin, a map of suffering written in purples, blues, and scabbed reds.

It does not miss him that his son is, in turn, totally unblemished.

Admiration without love. Gratitude without familiarity. Respect without want.

You have done him a greater favor than any other being could provide- you are owed praise and repayment, that much the vaunted kings know.

You are deliverance from grief and agony and a haunting eternity of wondering “what could I have done to save him?”.

But you are not his child.

The golden king’s hands are steady as he finishes rinsing the soap from your hair, the last traces of filth swirling down into the bathwater, which drains into a little bamboo pipe leading outside.

One of them, you don’t care to see which, wraps a towel around you. It smells faintly of mint and ginseng- things the rich put in their soaps and lotions.

The silence stretches, broken only by the soft lapping of water and the occasional creak of the tub as one of them shifts. You think you should feel safer in this moment, surrounded by warmth and covered neck to ankle, but the unease still roils in your stomach, a highly coiled spring just waiting to snap.

The unease is not lost on MK, who cuts through it like hot butter.

Y/N!” He cheerily calls, catching your attention. You turn your head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. He’s holding the book up for you to see, a wide, gap-toothed grin plastered across his face. “Look! This is me! When I was a baby!”

The drawing he points to looks almost too real, imperceptible from reality aside from the lightly yellowed edges. An infant demon with wide, curious eyes, bundled in blankets, his tail peeking from the swaddle You glance at the page, then back to MK, who looks at you expectantly.

You don’t know what he wants you to say.

You don’t even want to speak.

But you manage a “It’s cute,” voice cracking from disuse. It’s the first thing you’ve said since they brought you here, and it feels strange. “ Very cute, kiddo.”

The silence grows tenser for your words, winding further through the room and forcing it into unease. And, like before, MK keeps going in spite of it.

“You’re gonna get sick if you don’t wear something warm,” MK fussed, tugging on the towel with one little paw. “You need to put some clothes on! And you need something to drink!”

“Your Baba can get them something to wear,” Wukong coos, tapping one clawed finger against his son’s rosy snout. “The maids sewed up some nice clothes for the two of you.”

“Moonlight, if you’ll get the paste, I’ll run and grab what they made.”

Macaque nods and releases you to sit alone on the floor, turning to scrounge through his lavish cabinets, each one stocked with a costly product that you couldn’t put a name to, paired to a price that would make your eyes water if you heard it spoke aloud.

You sit motionless on the tiles, towel wrapped tightly around your bruised shoulders. The plush fabric is too heavy, too soft. It’s not comforting—it’s suffocating. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run , but… to where? To what ? There’s no dirty stream to lose your scent in, no puddle of mud to smear yourself with for camouflage. There is no place left but here .

As you think on escapes, Macaque’s shadow coils- like a wispy vein of smoke- along the floor, and for a moment, you swear it’s alive, flickering toward you like a snake.

But you blink and then it is still, unshifting and steady.

You don’t imagine things often. You can’t bring yourself to think that this was one of those rare circumstances.

…he’s even more dangerous than you had believed, and with that dawning revelation a little spark of hope is squashed in your chest.

The sable king turns to you with two glads jars, both smelling of fresh herbs even through their seals. One he sets on the wooden rim of the bathtub, and the other he brings to you- the contents glow from within, faintly white and luminescent, as though moonlight itself had been processed and bottled.

“This is going to sting,” the king warns, dipping his claws into the glittering paste to scrape out a generous, gelatinous lump. “But it’ll keep you from getting infections.”

Everything hurts, and you are tired. So, so very tired that your eyes smear the colors of the world all around, incapable of perceiving fine details. All the embroidery of Macaque’s kingly robe, purple and black and silver, blend into a dark blob as he approaches, as he kneels, peels away the top of the robe, and begins to smear the paste across your upper body.

The searing sting is immediate , sharp enough to make you gasp, breath catching in your throat. It feels like fire crawling across your skin, burning out the grime and decay that had wormed under your flesh. It hurts, worse than icy waters soaking your feet in winter, worse than all the hounds that bit at your heels as you leapt fences, worse than all the beatings you had taken when your thieving was thwarted.

Throughout all your life, only one thing has brought worse pains- hunger. But even that feels like a distant memory now, boiled away by the sensation of prickling, running through your skin in a steady march.

Macaque pulls away with a little huff, shrugging his shoulders as you twitch and writhe in place.

“Be grateful. That stuff costs an eye and a half.”

It’s strikingly casual for a demon of his status, speaking almost like a…

Maybe he had spoken like this to MK once.

Maybe he was settling back into it, with his son back, and simply didn’t think to harshen his tone with you, given his preoccupation with unscrewing the second jar.

“This is something we’ve been trying to spread in that mortal village of yours- a paste blend to scrub teeth with. Mint, ginseng, and some rock salt…”

“…why, um. Why is it… why just for mortals and not demons, too?”

“Yaoguai grow their teeth back once they’re damaged- doesn’t matter if they rot out or get snapped. A new one grows in after the old. Mortals need to take care of what they’ve got. So one of our, ugh “Sworn Brothers”- with a real soft spot for squishy little mortals - worked to make this stuff with another of our “brothers”. He even gave us a crate for our own citizens.”

“…he seems nice,” you remark, thinking on the existence such a benevolent immortal. “I hear most demons just eat mortals.”

“Most yaoguai do,” he snaps, eye twitching at the term you used. “And those yaoguai have tried to break into our village before, and my mate has always protected all of you, even before I came in and married him. Now we protect all of you from yaoguai together.”

(…if he weren’t twice your size and equipped with claws and fanged canines, you might’ve seen fit to call him something mean.)

“Now, open your mouth.”

“…excuse me?”

“It’s an herbal paste. For your mouth. You wet it with clean water and scrub it over your teeth- it scrapes out filth, and there’s not much else you brought with you into our pagoda.”

“Hmm, almost like I didn’t bring shit because-“

Snapping through the air like a whip, he interjects with a snarled- “Language .”

Macaque’s eyes are narrow, golden irises flickering with a dangerous edge that makes your stomach churn. He leans closer, looming over you, and you’re suddenly reminded - and quite vividly- of the disparity in your sizes, in your positions. His shadow shifts, darker, heavier, wrapping around your silhouette in a way that feels utterly suffocating .

Your mouth clamps shut instinctively, a primal reaction to the unspoken threat. A dozen instincts claw at you: run, fight, scream—but there’s nowhere to run, no fight you can win, nothing. So, you simply sit there, jaw tight, avoiding his gaze, your whole body trembling like a leaf in a storm.

The shadow king exhales sharply through his nose and leans back, his oppressive presence retreating as he composes himself. When he speaks again, his tone is quieter, though still sharp enough to make you flinch.

“You’ve had it rough,” he says, somewhat reluctantly. “I get it. But you’re under our roof now. Which means you obey our rules. Watch your tongue, brat.”

Submission is a bitter taste you’ve rarely sampled- rare is it that you lie down and grudgingly accept a losing lot. But there is no choice now- he is stronger, faster, smarter. You have lost without even making a move.

“You haven’t been here a day, and you’re already biting a hand that hasn’t had time to feed you.”

“I didn’t ask to be here”, is what you want to say, to scream about the unfairness of being ripped away from a home that you were at least familiar with… but you’ve been cowed, and thus, simply open your mouth.

Reluctantly, you open your mouth.

“Good,” he says, his tone softer now, though still carrying that edge of command. He dips a soft-bristled tool you hadn’t noticed before into the herbal paste and scrapes up a small amount, before lightly dipping it into a small jar of water, then maneuvers that unfamiliar tool into your mouth with some small measure of gentleness.

The first bristles touch your teeth, and the sensation is strange. Foreign. Not painful, exactly, but intrusive. You flinch, more out of instinct than anything else, and Macaque pauses, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“It won’t hurt. Or taste bad. Azure made sure none of this would be unpleasant for a mortal.”

You try to nod, though it’s awkward with the tool in your mouth. Macaque takes it as a cue to continue, brushing your teeth with a deliberate circular rhythm. long. But, true to his word, the paste doesn’t sting or leave an acrid aftertaste- instead, it’s cool and herbal, with a faint sweetness from the mint. The bristles tickle more than anything, and after a moment, your teeth start to feel… bare.

Stripped of grit and mud. Of moldy leftovers and bits of sand.

The grime that’s been built up after years of poor living is stripped like bark is peeled from a tree, in that all that is left under the coating is a smooth, soft white. The sensation is uncomfortable in its newness, leaving your mouth feeling raw and exposed. Your tongue darts along the surface of your teeth, licking again and again at the lack of filth.

“There,” Macaque huffs, pulling back as he dips the brush into a bowl of water to rinse it clean. “Clean enough that you don’t have an excuse for getting sick.”

You swallow thickly, avoiding his gaze. You don’t feel like thanking him. Not after everything.

Instead, you glance toward MK, who’s still engrossed in his book. He’s watching you through the corner of his eye, waiting for some kind of signal. You don’t know what he expects from you—a smile? A reassurance?

It seems like you’re as much a stranger to him as he is to you, despite your efforts to keep him safe all these years.

A demon prince hailing from the kings of Flower Fruit Mountain, heir to the throne.

To you, he had only ever been a sweet little brother.

Did you realty know him at all?

The thought alone is too much.

The warmth of the bath, the suffocatingly tight towel, the newness of your teeth, the watchful eyes of a being so much stronger than you. It’s all too much. You sit down and draw your knees up to your chest, clutching the towel tightly, a silent plea for space that you will not receive.

The tension in the air again grows palpable, but before it can thicken further, the golden king reappears, his arrival announced by the clink of glittering beads against tile. Sun Wukong strides in with a bundle of neatly folded clothes in hand, his gaze flicking between you and Macaque.

“I can take over from here, moonlight.”

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: your mother had warned you. Don't let them know, she'd said, her nails digging angry crescents into the flesh of your upper arms, eyes wild and imploring, don't let them know you can see. you'd listened, all these years, you'd lived your life by that rule. until you couldn't.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.1

Like most things, it started with a look.

A boy. A girl. A crowded place; a friend talking—their voice muted as if heard through a motel wall. Time slows. People filter in and out of the space between, chatting, laughing, in frame just long enough to emphasize the weight behind something that, in any other context, would be utterly unimportant.

Simon had urged you outside at lunch, pulled you away from your table, tone frayed in desperation as he interrogated you about things you're certain you'd made seem the expression of a morbidly quirky imagination.

"Well," He said, like jabbing the eraser-end of a pencil into your sternum, "Can you?"

You hesitated, gaze lifting away from his to skirt the middle-distance behind him.

And then—

It happened molasses-slow. Your eyes caught his; lingered a beat too long to be played off as anything other than what it was. Acknowledgment.

Those sweet-sultry cow eyes widened a fraction.

Oh no.

Then time rushed back in and snapped into the correct rhythm. You didn't have a chance to process what had just happened because Simon sighed with the weight of the world, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and pulling. Quickly, you arranged your expression into something slightly put-off.

"Si, what are you talking about?"

Simon groaned and took a few steps back then forward again. He reminded you of a caged animal being forced to perform. Lately, his mannerisms had been erratic, a little unhinged. You'd caught him talking to himself a couple of times, in classrooms or the cafeteria. The last couple of days he'd been glued to his phone, taking spontaneous calls that he'd never received before. Initially, you'd assumed he was in touch with Maddie; the only one she'd trusted enough to keep in the loop. However, the more you'd observed, the more you'd doubted the assumption.

You'd watched him unravel from a distance, of course. Nicole had turned inward, Simon was bursting at the seams, and you, as the casual friend with a life separate to theirs, stayed away out of a sense of insecurity.

You and Maddie hadn't been as close as she and Simon and Nicole. You shared interests in the macabre and spooky, but that's where it ended. Event Buddies who became familiar through exposure, lacking that profound connection that would give you a reason to call about something other than the next horror film release date.

You didn't feel right about asking to share their grief. It felt intrusive.

Simon paced the length of the bus shelter once more before stopping in front of you. He was clearly nervous, frustrated, avoiding your gaze for a second while he collected his thoughts.

Finally, he took a deep breath, glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot, and said, low and secret, "You talked about the ghosts here—" You folded your arms and tilted your head in what you hoped came across as confused. "—Last year," Simon grabbed your arm and pulled you in closer when a group of younger girls walked by, "Last year, you told us about the crush you had on your mom's dead boyfriend, remember? The guy who died during the '83 homecoming game?"

"They never dated." You corrected, fighting the urge to chew your lip. A giveaway that you were about to choose your words very carefully. "But, look, Simon, I talked about that stuff because I thought it was fun. Not because I can commune with the dead."

"But your mom—"

"Is a fraud and you know it." Then you frowned, genuinely intrigued, "What's going on?"

Simon shot you a dazed look, "Huh?"

"Why are you suddenly into this Sixth Sense shit? You've never believed in it before. A stance you've made very clear you take." Every time you joked about reaching out to the Other Side, Simon would scoff and roast you endlessly. Something that you found endearing. Like a prickly inside joke. It was your thing.

Suddenly, Simon got that look on his face, the one he got in class when your teachers outlined your homework. As if he were listening to someone. Except there was no one else close enough to hear.

The silence stretched into a thin static between you until, at last, Simon said, "Never mind." He sounded equal parts defeated and aggravated.

Taking a cautious step forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about Maddie, Si, I—" Have no idea how to put into words how fucked up it all is, "—I wish there was something, anything, I could do to help."

Simon pressed his lips together and nodded. From the corner of your eye, you saw a figure approaching the bus shelter. Tall, broad, donning the unmistakable colors of the Split River Bandits, née Devils. You had to get out of there before you irrevocably fucked up and found yourself at the center of what your mother warned you would be a swarm.

"Look," You dropped your hand to Simon's, squeezing supportively. You might not have been able to tell the whole truth but you could try to offer some comfort. Whether or not he believed you was up to him. "Maddie's okay, Simon. Wherever she is. Whatever happened to her..." You paused, considering your next words, "She can't be so far gone that we won't get her back."

You said it with all the conviction you had in you, believed it to your core.

You'd seen the beatnik with her lollipops, the shy boy with the glasses; you'd seen the young man in the outdated suit, and the modest, Sally Olsson lookalike, and the girl with the daydream eyes. You'd seen the myspace emo punk, the lanky autoshop geek, the dark-skinned disco queen; the marching band, and the theater kid...and him. The charming, high-on-life football star currently stood outside the bus shelter, his hands cupped around his eyes as he peeked through the glass against the glare of the sun.

You hadn't seen Maddie. Not a glimmer or a shadow or the impression that she'd been and gone. Nothing. And you'd done your due diligence as soon as you'd heard about the blood in the boiler room. You'd scoured the town after dark, before school, whenever you could get away without raising suspicion. Her old haunts and favorite places had been empty.

Minus a couple of exceptions, but they hadn't been Maddie, so you didn't see the harm in continuing to keep the truth from Simon.

"Yeah." Simon said. He didn't sound convinced. "Thanks. For that."

You deflated, released his hand with an affirming squeeze, and made your excuse, "I gotta get ready for next period."

He didn't meet your eyes, simply pulled his phone out and put it to his ear. "See you later." The smile he gave you was tight, quick, insincere.

Taking that as your cue to leave, you turned and exited the bus shelter, tall dark 'n' handsome keeping pace as you made your way back into the school, his gaze a warm weight on the side of your face.

All you had to do was pretend he wasn't there. You'd done it countless times in the past, were well-versed in how to cover your mistakes.

You stopped briefly, reached out to open the door, and in that second, you felt a tingle up your spine and the closeness of a body behind you. His voice, a gentle rumble, spoke directly into your ear, the parody of soft breath tickling the hairs on your neck.

"I know you can see me."

You forced yourself not to react, perhaps stood a second too long before yanking the door open and marching inside, but you kept your eyes forward, and relaxed your jaw and shoulders. To the students milling about the hall, you were the picture of normal.

"Do what you want but I'm not going anywhere until you admit it." He said lightly, a step behind you as you maneuvered toward your locker.

Once again, you had to stop, twisting in the combination to open your lock. You fumbled, missing a number, had to start again. He leaned his shoulder against the locker beside yours, watched you through his lashes, a smirk pulling one side of his mouth upward.

You'd always been attracted to him. Had to suppress the urge to stare at him when he appeared in the same classroom or hallway you happened to be in. Having him interact with you, intentionally, made your heart quicken and the ability to think critically dissolve.

Oh God, not again...

Your brain fired a thousand synapses in every direction as you willed yourself to hurry before you accidentally did something stupid; steadied your hand to input the combination correctly. You tugged the lock. It stayed stubbornly latched. And then he leaned in, too close, the tip of his nose practically grazing your temple.

"You missed the 3."

The air was syrupy thick, fuzzy. In an effort to concentrate, you closed your eyes, repeating a mantra your mother had taught you to center yourself.

You sensed his body shift, tilted further toward you like a bracket, then the sensation of blunt nails traveling up up up your back, catching in the material of your shirt as if the touch were real. Goosebumps erupted over your arms, your breath hitched, and you found your head slanting in his direction.

Fuck. You needed to—BANG—Jesus Christ!

Your eyes snapped open at the abrupt noise, your friend cackling wickedly as she took in your shock.

"Hey, silly." Mathilda Grace—of The Split River Graces, not that she'd ever say it like that—grinned proudly at the reaction she'd gotten out of you. "You ready to fail this test with me?"

You could still feel him hovering, but it seemed he'd put an appropriate amount of distance between you. Shaking your head to clear the last of the muzziness from a moment ago, you plastered on your most natural smile and responded, "Let's go disappoint our parents."

You managed to undo the lock and grab the right textbooks, transferring what you didn't need from your bag into your locker while Mathilda regaled you with what you'd missed after Simon had dragged you outside.

"What did he want, anyway?" Mathilda asked, more concerned than curious.

"To talk about Maddie." You replied as close to the truth as you dared. It had the added benefit of making Mathilda feel awkward enough to change the subject immediately.

"K, c'mon, bell's about to go and I need to grab my book, too."

Shutting and locking your locker, you chanced a sideways glance and were relieved to find that it was just you and Mathilda and the regular stream of other alive-and-well students making their way to their next class.

Still, as you and Mathilda walked toward Ms. Fields' class, you felt the tingle of his gaze on the back of your neck.

The next couple of days would be white-knuckle hard, but you'd dealt with it before and could do it again. Had to do it again.

What you didn't anticipate—and probably should've, given what you knew about him—was Wally Clark's steadfast determination and his refusal to let sleeping dogs lie for a second time.

💀___________________________

PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[m0llygunn]

i wish i had met you earlier (eddie munson x reader)

cw: depressing pillow talk and comfort idk, reader was sad and lonely an: a nod to the only boy ive ever loved who coincidentally became the only man ive ever loved. we grew up together and i still wish i had met him earlier. wc: 1k

“I wish I had met you earlier,” you whisper.

“Earlier?” he smiles, nose scrunching at the silliness, not knowing the depth of your sentiment. 

“Yeah,” you smile back. It’s hard not to do— to smile, when his eyes are so soft, and his lips are that plump, just kissed colour, and your body still hums from the evening behind you. His lashes flutter the slightest bit, blinking away your flattery with a bashful roll of his eyes. 

“You’d be sick of me already if we met earlier,” he lightly huffs, cheek squishing further into the softness of your shared pillow, crooking his smile. 

If the lights were on, you’re sure you’d see a flush suffuse across his face. It would highlight the curvature of his cheeks that accompany his boyish simper, and it would emphasize the winsome rounded tip of his nose. When he blushes like that, your heart always adds an extra beat into its rhythm, one that lives for him. You can picture it so clearly, your heart flutters all the same— that’s not the point of this though. 

“I wouldn't be sick of you,” you promise.

“No?”

“I'll never get sick of you.” 

Tactile as always, he draws his affection over your features, trusting his touch to communicate what he feels. His fingertips dance over your cheek bone, daring to grace close enough to your eye to feel the very tips of each silken lash, flittering with every reflexive blink. He feels the fan, every feathery gust of air, and it affects him in magnitudinous ways— feeling any part of you is like that, a full-hearted reminder that you are here. You are here and you are his. 

His palm settles to your cheek, fingers curving just below your ear, cradling the edge of your face. His own version of a promise, he shares his warmth and oath-taken heart through his touch.

“When would you have wanted to meet?” he asks curiously, blinking his own thick lashes at you as his gaze meets yours. 

“Just before high school.”

He smiles widely, “you answered that quickly,” he says, thumb tracing once over the hill of your cheek and back down.

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” you smile back. You lean into his touch and he draws his thumb across again. You close your eyes for a moment and he does it another time. 

“Why?” 

The softness inside you hardens momentarily at the question. Swallowing thickly, you also know the answer, but it doesn’t come out as quickly. It gets stuck to the roof of your mouth, stuck to the tip of your tongue. His eyes encourage your honesty, and on the sole notion of knowing him and knowing his heart, you trust him with this part of you.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so lonely.”

His thumb glides across your cheek and you watch as his eyes give way to his realization that it wasn’t a light hearted question for you. It wasn’t just pillow talk like it was supposed to be.

“Maybe if I met you then, I wouldn’t have been so sad,” you continue, trying to smile.

“You were sad?” His brows turn up, worry lines settling in. It’s a sorrowful look he gives you, not pity, but a softness, a grief, a regret. 

For a split moment, you think that maybe you should lie— make it all go away. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t, not with him. Not when his hand is so graciously connected to you, and the warmth of his bare chest radiates into yours, and your shared pillow smells like your shared shampoo, and the sheets smell like the laundry soap you picked out together, with hints of your lotion and his body wash scattered throughout like every kiss you’ve ever shared here. Maybe you should lie, but you couldn’t— especially not when you love him and he loves you. 

“I was so sad, Eddie.” 

You muster a smile, but it betrays you, trembling just under your lower lip. The corners of your mouth remain pointed high, but it’s not a smile, not with the way your lips purse tightly, holding back what your eyes cannot. Your lash line fills, but less than a few side fallen tears survive the heavy blinks that draw them back inwards.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, thumb tracing under your eye this time. He pulls you forward with the lightest touch, a gentle encouragement, and a purposeful reminder that he’s here. He's here and he’s yours. 

One day you’d like to explain it all, but it’s a hard feeling to understand. You’re not sure if it’s wholly a feeling to begin with— it’s more like a ghost. A haunting of all the feelings that used to exist. It washes over you in fast moving gray clouds, settling into your chest like heavy smoke in your lungs, lingering only long enough to remind you of how it was. Just enough to make you sputter, but not enough to hold the bleak weight of it all once again.

Breath coming out heaving and choked, Eddie’s palm glides to the back of your neck. His thumb presses soothingly into the tensed and taut muscles, and as soft as air he breathes a whispered apology against your lips— a simple ‘sorry,’ but it translates to so much more when he holds you like he does. 

Sorry for bringing it up. 

Sorry for the ghosts in your lungs. 

Sorry for the years of you that died all alone with nobody to mourn them. 

Sorry that no matter how many flowers you bring to their grave, they still come back, just like this, to haunt you.

Sorry— breathed against your lips and into your lungs, filling you with the gift of a life with him in it. 

“It’s not your fault,” you answer.

“I know,” he replies.

“I’m still glad I met you when I did,” you say. 

He looks into your eyes, steady gaze sincere with a tender adornment. Entirely loving, but his usually gladness is hindered by the gravity of the moment. He moves in closer to you again, lips just barely brushing yours as he speaks. 

“I wish I had met you earlier,” he whispers.

———

ty! <3

[lostinlads]

Doctor's Orders

Synopsis:After a checkup with your favorite doctor regarding your heart and aether core, you invite him out clubbing with you and some friends.

Tags: zayne x femme!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, doctor!zayne, tara being the girlboss best friend she is, xavier mention, mc has trouble with her grief, zayne joking around a little!, mentions of alcohol, caleb and your grandmother mentioned

Words: 1.9k

an: howdyyy! so this first chapter is pretty short i know, but im just mainly setting it up for chapter two because things are going to go pretty fast within the next few chapters so i needed a grounding point! but!!! i hope you enjoy! this fic follows the story of the game a little closer than the others so caleb and your grandmother are going to be mentioned a bit in here! enjoyyyyy!

ao3 | Chapter List | kofi

You hiss between your teeth as the cold stethoscope touches your bare skin, eyes screwing shut. Zayne's large hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

"I know," His voice so soft you almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry it is so cold." You peek an eye open, his hazel ones already staring into yours as you relax. 

He listened to your beating heart, counting the seconds with your irregular rhythm. You watch as his cool eyes trail down from your eyes down to your chest, you know he's looking at where his ears are listening but your cheeks flush anyway at the thought of the possibility of his eyes drinking in your exposed flesh. 

After countless appointments with him you couldn't help but feel the giddy, almost childlike feeling when he is this close to you. Within arm's reach, eyes stone as he works. The immature crush you have on your doctor was already bad in your eyes, but the fact he was also your childhood friend only made the situation worse for you. Heart speeding, hands clammy, shallow breaths with every brush of his icy hands. You couldn't help but imagine them running over your body, down your shoulder, around your waist.

"Your heart is beating faster," Zayne snaps you from your daydream. "Are you nervous?" You meet his eyes again, a crease forming between his brows.

"Sorry, just thinking about work!" The lie slips from your lips before you could think of anything else to say. A small quirk to the corner of his mouth, such a small movement you would have missed it if you weren't paying attention.

"You're a horrible liar, you know that?" Amusement flooding his tone, lifting the weight of the room. The small chuckle that leaves your lips bubbling out as he pulls the stethoscope from his ears. 

"I'm not that bad," You try to reason. "And besides, it has been pretty stressful today. Tara and I have to be out early in the morning for a meeting, then back to fighting wanderers." You mope, hands coming up to button your shirt. Zayne's eyes watching your hands eagerly as they move to cover your cleavage.

"You have been taking your medications, correct? You have been having a rough time these past few months and you shouldn't stress your heart any more than you already have." Leaning back onto the chair, you nod. That wasn't exactly a lie either, you really have been taking them - most days at least. Some days a thick, blinding fog takes over your mind and you end up forgetting almost every basic task that should come easy to you. You don't tell Zayne this though, knowing he would say it's a trauma response to the tragedy you have faced, and that maybe you should see a therapist. He's said it before, many times in fact. Sick of hearing him try to push you from your work, the only thing taking your mind off of Caleb and your grandmother, you shut up, put on a happy face and convince everyone around you that you're better - happy even. 

"I have. And staying away from stressors if I can and eating healthy." You don't mention the sleep, that lie wouldn't be able to be spoken. You know he can see the dark circles under your makeup, tracking the yawns falling from your lips. Every time you close your eyes you could hear the explosion, watch as the house engulfs in flames before your eyes as you stand there so helplessly. The nightmares drink you in, never letting you rest. Waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing as you gasp for air. 

"Mm," He hums, satisfied. You played your cards right today, going through the rehearsed moments you have been reminding yourself on the ride here. "Finally, you have taken it upon yourself to listen to your doctor." He turns his back to you, placing his glasses down on his desk as he fills out your file. "I have to say I'm proud."

"It's hard not to listen when my doctor reminds me every time we hang out that I should be taking my meds, and that I should eat healthier, and everything else - even when he's taking me for ice cream." You tease back, a smirk plastered on your face as you cross your arms over your chest. 

"He sounds like a very concerned friend, maybe you should listen to him more often," A smile can be heard in his words regardless of if you can see his face or not. 

"Sounds like he's paranoid to me," You jab back, biting your lip as you try to fight back a laugh. He turns around, a brow quirked in the air. That breaks you, a laugh slipping past your lips as your shoulders shake.

"Sounds like someone likes to misbehave, no wonder he is paranoid as you say," Zayne walks over to you, placing a hand to your back to signal the dreaded appointment is over - finally. You could feel his cool touch through your shirt, spreading over your skin as goosebumps rise on your arms, breath hitching just slightly. He walks you to the door, opening it for you as you slip through to the waiting room, him following close behind. Tara comes into view, face buried in her phone as she types away. 

"I'm finished!" You chirp, her head snapping up as a show stopping Tara smile spreads on her features. 

"Oh my God, good because Xavier just texted that he's coming too. I'm trying to convince Simone, but she said she might have to cat sit that day, ugh!" She groans, throwing her head back dramatically.

"Where are you going?" Zayne asks from beside you, eyes flicking between you and Tara. 

"Oh, we are planning on going out to Solstice on Saturday," A nightclub your friends at work have agreed to go, celebrating a job well done with all of the stressful shifts this month. You agree that it's what you need, loud music, flowing drinks, and friends that you can dance the night away with. Ease the tensions in your bones and maybe, just maybe, help lull you to sleep long enough you don't feel like a corpse in the morning. Tara perks up, almost jumping out of her seat to stand.

"Zayne! You should come with us!" A twitch of panic in your stomach as you slowly turn to Zayne, watching his face as he stands still for a pause. You can almost see the cogs in his brilliant brain move as he calculates why the hell your friend he hardly knows is inviting him out with your work friends.

"I'm not sure-" He starts but your mouth babbles out words before you could stop it.

"I mean I know you have been stressed and swamped with work, maybe going out for a drink or two would help..." You almost sound desperate as you try to convince him to come out, embarrassing yourself. "If you aren't working, I mean..." Words mumbling out as your cheeks burn so hot it hurts.

"I mean you two are friends and have hung out so it wouldn't be weird or anything, and we already had Nero decline to come. We reserved a booth for eight people so it would be a waste to let it go," She swoops in and saves you effortlessly, looking back down at her phone as it dings. 

You watch Zayne as he turns to you, eyes fluttering over your flushed face as you nibble on your lip. He's thinking, as always. You silently plead with him, eyes widening and brows pulling together softly. It's been a long time since you two have hung out, far too long for your liking. Shifts never meeting up to have a day off together, and you missed him. Regardless of your stupid little crush, you longed for his company. So different from everyone else you hung out with, Zayne was slow, calming, you always felt relaxed and at ease with him. Anxiety washing away from your chest as you two go out to eat, or go to the library, something so mundane, so normal but also something you needed. 

"Just one drink," You whisper just quiet enough for only him to hear. "If you're off you deserve to treat yourself Doctor Zayne." His eyes soften, to anyone else they wouldn't have noticed but you do. A glimpse of him when he's alone with you shows for a fleeting moment before he returns back to his professional facade. 

"I'll give it some thought," He announces loud, Tara pipping her head back up with a smile. 

"Yes!" She shouts in the quiet waiting room, fist punching in the air above her head. "If not it's totally fine though we won't hold a grudge or anything." She quips, picking up her bag from the chair and tosses it on her shoulder. You walk towards her, her hands fisting in her pockets to pull out her car keys.

"Thank you, Doctor Zayne," You shoot him a sweet smile, cheeks still so rosy. He nods towards you, a ghost of a smile blessing his oh so beautiful lips. Zayne watches the pair of you leave, hands shoved deep in his coat.

Tara and you make your way to her car, her babbling about this weekend in detail about who all is coming and what time to meet. She makes up for your loss of words, filling in every space you can't bear to say right now. You're grateful for that, she knows all too well how hard life has been to you, staying up late on the phone as you can't fall asleep, helping you do some reckless activities just to get out of bed, and when you can't be bothered to leave your room - coming over with takeout as you two watch shitty reality tv in your bedroom. She was someone you held so dearly to your heart and knew what you wanted without you saying so. 

"Do you think Zayne is going to say yes? I mean I hardly see him leave his office unless he's with you." She questions. You shrug, it's hard to say since clubbing was far from the short list of activates you and Zayne stick to. And thinking back now, you don't ever remember seeing Zayne drink - who knew if he even does?

"I don't know, maybe he will. I mean he's been working double shifts almost every day this week so he might be too exhausted to even come out." You hope she doesn't note the twinge of disappointment in your tone, but you know she does.

"I hope he does, it would be fun to see him let loose for once!" She giggles, pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex. 

You shoot her a goodbye, hugging her quick before leaving the car and walking towards the door as the warm summer rays wash over your skin. You drink in the subtle moment, enjoying the last few days of warmer weather before the chill starts. Not that you minded, but the cold air nipping at your skin only reminded you of icy hands that you craved on your body. you shake your head, making your way inside the elevator as your phone pings, confusing you because Tara wouldn't be able to get to her home so fast. You pull it out of your pocket, maybe it's Xavier questioning what to wear or maybe he wants to grab hotpot with you later. You swipe the screen open, tapping to your text messages and the name that appears surprises you.

Zayne: I'll be there.

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Prologue: [BrainBox]

Summary: Managing the Hard Deck isn’t always easy, especially when a certain Naval Aviator is always just one step away.

Warnings: Illusion of family loss. Jake Seresin X F!reader. Witness Protection Reader. Situationship. 18+ Content.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author Note: I’m getting back into writing after a few weeks hiatus, any feedback, comments and concepts will be greatly appreciated.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The human brain can be seen in scientific communities as the most mysterious organ in the human body. The human mind can generate up to seventy thousand thoughts a day, which means there are around two thousand nine hundred thoughts created every hour. 

“Mommy!”

The human brain can store around about two point five terabytes of information at any one time. That capacity of storage is equivalent to about three million hours of television reruns or one million high-quality photos. Take your pick. 

“Come on—wake up! WAKE UP PATRICK!” 

The human brain can generate an electric current of about twenty-three watts. That’s enough to light up a round bulb. And although the human brain only accounts for two percent of your total body weight, it consumes more than twenty percent of the human body's total energy. 

“Please don’t leave me, not now—oh god please don’t leave me.” 

The length of all blood vessels in the brain, if combined, would reach a maximum length of about one hundred and sixty thousand kilometres. That’s enough distance to wrap about the earth’s circumference four times over. 

“Mommy I’m scared!” 

Each nerve neuron in the human brain has up to ten thousand connections with other neurons, not only that, but there are upwards of one hundred billion neurons in the brain. Which means there are more than one thousand trillion neuron connections formed in the human brain. 

“We just have to keep running baby.”

The amygdala, a part of the brain responsible for coordinating emotions, has an information processing speed of upwards of twenty ms. This speed is even faster than the speed at which humans can perceive something. 

All of these facts lean towards the idea of the human brain being some sort of supercomputer that we have been given. Programmed into our very existence by evolutionary biology. 

“No baby girl you stay with Mommy, it’s okay—don’t you close your eyes again okay?”

And yet? Despite all the wonders and capabilities that the human brain can accomplish—Your brain keeps you stuck in a time loop of unimaginable grief and despair. 

“Brewer?” The world around you had seemingly stopped for a few moments. The regular Friday night hustle of the Hard Deck had all but dissipated into silence when the overwhelming haunting noises of your own personal hell had become too loud to drown out. “Hello? Earth to Brewer?” 

“What?” You frowned as you shook yourself back into existence. What you found, or more accurately, who you found standing before you across the bar made your heart skip a panicked beat. “Jesus Seresin, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed as you felt your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The same heart that had loved and lost so much. The very heart that right now was plagued with the dilemma of falling for the sandy blonde who stood before you with eyes that could rival the Emerald City itself. 

“How?” Jake questioned as a confused frown took over his face soon after the words left his mouth. “I’ve been standing here for like two minutes just watching you zone out like some space cadet.” The chuckle that escaped Jake's slightly parted mouth soothed your beating heart into a steady rhythm. 

Oh. How long had you been zoned out for?

“What can I get ya?” You decided to let it go as you shot Jake a short but harmless smile. There was no need to ask or spend too much time focusing on how long you’d been stuck standing still cleaning the same spot on the bar over and over while your thoughts consumed you. Besides, you didn't really want to know how long Jake had been standing there looking at you like a moth drawn to a flame. 

“The usual, times four thanks barkeep—“ Jake replied as he reached into his back pocket, finishing out his wallet. A simple brown leather moment that always made you feel like your past was trailing right behind you. “Plus a lemonade with lime for the underage Back Seater.” There it was, that signature Seresin smirk accompanied with that wink. Insufferable. Cocksure. Endearing. 

“Four Budweisers and a lemonade coming right up.” You smiled once again as you threw your bar towel over your shoulder and got to work. Jake took the time to perch himself on one of the empty bar stools that littered the outskirt of the bar. Patrons buzzed around the Hard Deck like there wasn’t a care in the world to be had on a Friday night. “And lay off Bob, he gets your drunken ass home more often than not so you should be more thankful for his intolerance to alcoholic beverages.” 

Jake beamed at your lighthearted remark, they came few and far between. Whenever he was graced with the pure nature of your smile or your dry sense of humour, Jake reveled in it. So much so the crush he harboured had become common knowledge to half of Miramar. Yourself included. He wasn't a shy man, far from it. Jake knew what he wanted and, usually, he got it. 

But you? You had been playing hard to get and hard to crack ever since you showed up to the Hard Deck around six months prior. From the first moment Jake saw you he’d been caught hook, line, and sinker. Six months of chasing the same girl round in circles. 

“What had you lost, Brewer? Daydreaming on the clock isn’t usually your thing?” Jake asked as he got comfortable, leaning forward on his elbow as he watched you grab four Budweisers from the cooler fridge beneath the bar. He didn't miss the look on your face, the one that would occasionally replace the mild-maned stare you'd give off to slightly agitating customers. It was a look Jake couldn't really read–one that he wasn't sure if he would ever get to the bottom of, but he let it go, didn't press.  

“Just got caught up thinking about how I'm gonna spend my Sunday off.” Of all the lies you could’ve made up that seemed to be the most believable. 

“What are we doing on Sunday, Brewer?” Jake teased as you placed the still-capped amber bottles on the bar before him. The smirk he wore said it all, he was waiting for you to bite. And bite you did. 

“God, you've got tickets to your own show don't you, Seresin?” You shook your head with a laugh as you popped the caps on the beers you'd collected. “I– am planning a reset, just have a lot of housework to get done, laundry, meal prepping, self-care.” You teased the meaning behind self-care as you reached for the soda gun. “Which reminds me I need new batteries.” 

Jake caught the look in your eyes as you filled the glass to the brim with ice with your free hand and let the liquid drain from the gun. “Kinky girl, you sure we aren't hanging out on Sunday?” The smile, that damn infection smile that could light up the darkest of rooms made your head spin. But you couldn't go there. Harmless flirting was one thing, but crossing that line could cost Jake everything. 

He wasn't even aware of how close he was tempting death. How close he was standing to fire. How close he was standing to a woman who had lost everything in the name of being a good person. 

Unlike Jake, you had already lost everything. 

“In your dreams, Bagman.” You chuckled lightly, Jake's order was all but done. “Cash, Card or on Bradshaw's Tab?” The question remained unanswered for a few moments as Jake just sat there taking in the sight of the bartender who had him wrapped around her finger with ease. A spot he wouldn't mind staying forever if you'd let him. But for now? He knew he had to play the long game: Catch me if you can! you had forced him to play. 

“You tempt me, but card it is.” Jake confirmed as he fished his card from his wallet. “Someone has to keep Rooster from going into financial ruin.” It only took a few seconds for you to place all of Jake's drinks, the four beers and one lemonade with lime, onto a carry tray. “I think Payback’s been piggybacking on his bar tab too.” Jake smirked as he gave you an all-knowing look. You had been caught red-handed, but it was all circumstantial evidence at best. 

“Never took you as a softy.” Bradley Bradshaw still owed you an apology for his drunk and disorderly behaviour a few weeks ago. Behaviour that saw him hurling abuse your way when you cut him off. The guy was going through a breakup of sorts, of course you felt bad. But until he said he was sorry? His tab was racking up a pretty penny of top-shelf liquors and extra beer orders from the boys. “But fine, tap your card whenever you’re ready.” 

“This place is starting to charge a premium price for cheap booze ever since they hired a new manager.” Jake let out a sigh laced in banter as he paid for his order, the tip he left never went unnoticed either. Jake was good like that, he always tipped with a smile and a few extra bucks to make his almost cheesy pickup lines and banter worth your while. “And there's a lot of things you don't know about me Brewer.” With one final wink and signature smile, he was off. 

“Funny.” You mumbled to yourself as you watched Jake walk away back towards the same booth the boys all lingered around whenever they weren't hogging the pool table. The same booth you frequented the most. The same booth you gave a little more attention to–because Jake Seresin, despite all your might, had a hold on you that you couldn't seem to get out of. 

“I guess I could say the same damn thing.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff @buckysteveloki-me @athenabarnes @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock @mamachasesmayhem @jaxfart @lauenderhaze @sugarcoated-lame @maisie-rebloging-blog @captainmoonknight @seitmai @shanimallina87

[reidsworld]

Beautiful Tragedy | Part 2

Summary: Following your husband’s death, you are reunited with Logan after years apart.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: None

Word Count: 0.9k

Mars speaks… short but sweet. or is it?

Part 1 | Masterlist

Years had passed since Logan last saw you. The world had changed, and so had your lives, but the memory of you never left him. The way your smile could light up even his darkest moments, and how your laughter was the sweetest melody—these memories had kept him going. The knowledge that you were married to someone else had been a bitter pill to swallow, but he had respected your choices, even as it broke his heart.

When news of your husband's death reached Logan, it stirred something deep within him. Without a second thought, he decided to seek you out. He had promised you once that he would be waiting, and now it was time to fulfill that promise.

The funeral was a somber affair, attended by a select few from high society. Logan kept his distance, observing from the periphery, his heart aching at the sight of you in mourning. Despite the sadness surrounding you, he could see the subtle signs of relief. You had been trapped in that marriage, and though the circumstances were tragic, he was glad you were finally free.

Finding you afterward took time, but Logan’s determination did not waver. He knew he needed to be patient, not wanting to intrude on your grief. When he finally located you, it was a quiet evening in a small, elegant garden, the setting sun casting a golden hue over the manicured lawns where you sat alone on a bench.

You were lost in thought, barely noticing his approach until you lifted your gaze. Logan stood at a distance, framed by the soft glow of the twilight. He had not changed much—still rugged, with that same unmistakable intensity in his eyes. But his gaze was softer now, filled with the kind of tenderness that spoke of years spent waiting.

"I told you I would be waiting for you," Logan’s voice was low and resonant, carrying the weight of unspoken promises and enduring affection.

Your heart skipped a beat, and tears of relief and joy filled your eyes. You rose from the bench, each step toward him a release from years of repression. When you finally reached him, you stood close, your breaths mingling with the chill of the evening air.

"I know, but I wasn’t sure if you would come," you whispered, your voice catching as you struggled to hold back your emotions.

Logan reached out, gently cupping your face with his hands. His touch was warm and familiar, grounding you in this moment of reunion. "Of course I came. I have never stopped thinking about you."

The dam of your emotions broke, and you allowed yourself to lean into his touch, a soft sob escaping as you did.

“I learned to love him," you admitted.

He embraced you, holding you tightly as if to make up for all the lost years. The weight of the past melted away as you clung to him, finding solace in his strong arms. "I know. You did what you had to do.”

Pulling back slightly, you searched his face, needing to see the certainty in his eyes. His love was evident, unwavering, and it reassured you in a way nothing else could. "But I never truly loved him, not as I love you."

Logan’s gaze softened further, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I know."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you rested your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart a comforting rhythm. You had spent years hiding your true feelings, but now, with Logan, you felt safe to be entirely yourself.

The days that followed were a serene blur of shared moments and unspoken understanding. Logan remained by your side, helping you settle into a charming house on the outskirts of London, far from the bustling city. The residence was modest but filled with warmth, surrounded by trees and quietude.

Mornings were spent together on the porch, savouring the rising sun with cups of tea. Conversations flowed easily, though often the silence was just as comforting. Logan’s presence was a balm, his protective nature ever evident as he ensured your well-being. With him, you felt shielded from the world’s harsher edges.

Weeks turned into months, and you found joy in the simple routines you shared. Laughter and smiles became frequent companions, and a lightness replaced the shadows of your past. For the first time in many years, happiness felt within reach.

One evening, as you lay beside Logan in the gentle glow of your bedroom, you whispered, "I never thought I’d get another chance at this."

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and smiled. "Neither did I. But I won’t let you go again."

Leaning in, you kissed him slowly, conveying everything words couldn’t capture. When you finally drew back, you rested your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

"I love you, Logan," you murmured, a profound peace settling over you.

"I love you too, darlin’," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "More than you can ever know."

In that tranquil moment, with the world outside fading into the background, you knew you had found your place. Logan was your past, your present, and your future. Together, you were ready to embrace whatever life had in store.

And in the back of Logan’s mind, he knew he would outlive you and your time together would eventually come to an end. But he also knew that he would never stop loving you, and when his time came, you would be waiting for him.

Mars speaks… (again) thank you for reading, any and all feedback is always appreciated🫶

Tags… @shinyshayminflower @ferakillia @aheadfullofsteverogers @yoursrosie @annagraceevanss

[nyrvietmblr]

Help || Alexia Putellas

Warnings: angstyyyyyyyy

The weight of the world seemed to press down on you as you sat curled up on the couch, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. It had been one of those days where everything felt insurmountable, a day where the pressures and struggles of life had finally broken through the fragile walls you had built around yourself. The mounting stress, personal battles, and a deep sense of overwhelming despair left you feeling like you were sinking into a chasm from which you couldn’t escape.

Alexia had been busy with her own commitments, but when she finally came home, she sensed something was off. The apartment was eerily quiet, and as she called your name, her concern grew with the lack of response. She followed the sound of your muffled cries to the living room and found you, a vision of vulnerability as you sat there, your face buried in your hands.

Without a word, Alexia approached and sat down beside you on the couch. Her presence was a calming force, but she didn’t push you to speak. Instead, she simply pulled you into her arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

As you were enveloped in her embrace, the floodgates opened fully. Your cries were loud and raw, each sound a desperate plea for release from the pain that had consumed you. Alexia held you close, her fingers gently stroking your hair as she let you cry it all out. The comforting rhythm of her breathing and the steady beat of her heart provided a steady anchor amidst the storm of your emotions.

Slowly, your cries began to subside into softer sobs, your body still trembling as you clung to Alexia for support. Her arms remained around you, her touch a steady presence in the midst of your turmoil. The intensity of your grief softened into quiet, shuddering breaths, and eventually, you were left with nothing but silent tears that streamed down your cheeks.

Alexia didn’t rush you or try to force you to talk. She simply held you, her own heart breaking at the sight of your distress. Her commitment to you was unwavering, and in that moment, her silence spoke of a love so profound it transcended words. The jagged breaths you took gradually evened out, and the tears began to slow as the safe cocoon of her arms offered you solace.

As the last vestiges of your anguish faded into quiet, you found yourself still nestled in her embrace, feeling a faint glimmer of relief. The world outside seemed a little less harsh, and the burdens you carried felt a little lighter with Alexia by your side. Her warmth and presence reminded you that, even in the darkest times, you weren’t alone.

When you finally pulled back slightly, your face still wet with tears, Alexia looked at you with a gentle, understanding gaze. “You don’t have to face everything on your own,” she said softly, her voice filled with compassion. “I’m here, always. And we’ll get through this together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude for her unwavering support. In the quiet aftermath of your tears, you found comfort in the knowledge that no matter how heavy the burdens you carried, Alexia’s love would always be a sanctuary, a place where you could find peace and strength in each other’s arms.

[alygator77]

∅ - smut ♡ - fluff ๑ - angst

GOJO SATORU

≫ series

⚜ motherhood and matrimony [masterlist] ♡ ∅ ๑

satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

⚜ beat of my heart [masterlist] ๑ ∅ ♡

being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realizes it’s too late?

≫ longer fics

⚜ moment of weakness/passion [part 1] [part 2] ∅ ♡ ๑

after a rough night at the bar, you are drunk out of your mind and decided to ask your best friend satoru to come pick you up to take you home. but during the car ride the alcohol starts giving you courage, making you feel rather bold as you make a move on your best friend. did this ruin your friendship? was this a mistake, or does he reciprocate your feelings?

≫ one shots

⚜masked affairs—sold to desire ∅♡

it's a lavish charity masquerade, and you find yourself under satoru gojo’s spell once again. tonight, he’s playing a dangerous game—a discreet, remote-controlled toy designed to tease and torment you—hula beads. as the night unfolds, you walk the fine line between obedience and defiance, but testing him could be your undoing—satoru is unforgiving, and he holds the key to your pleasure.

⚜ echos of time, a love unspoken ∅ ๑

overwhelmed with grief and regret, you are desperate to reconnect with your closest friend and secret love, satoru gojo. when you discover an ancient relic that allows you to travel back in time, you are given the opportunity to finally share your true feelings

⚜ cursed in color—satoru's new look ♡

satoru gojo faces a challenge no amount of cursed energy can prepare him for—his daughter’s makeover. with pigtails, polish, and plenty of giggles, satoru finds himself utterly powerless to resist her antics.

≫ drabbles

⚜ long distance satoru ♡ ∅

[kingofbodyrolls]

I will come to you (m) | ksj

When the first flakes of white snow fell, the world shifted, draped in a quiet, uncanny veil. Then came the air raids—a brutal, unrelenting scream that tore through the silence, and Seokjin feared he had lost you forever. He wandered through the wasteland, searching, aching, haunted by the memory of your touch—warm, tender, as if sunlight itself had lingered upon his skin, even as darkness closed in. And now, as he feels your heart beat against his, he wonders, barely daring to breathe: can this be real?

→ Pairing: seokjin x reader (genderless) → AUs: apocalyptic!au, survival!au → Trope: established relationship → Genres: angst (heavy) + fluff (heavy) + poetic → Rating: mature (though this mentions an apocalypse and there’s no sexually explicit stuff, please tread carefully.) → Word count: 1.6k → Warnings (general) + triggers: mention of nuclear war (bombings), fire, lost love reunited, FLUFF with a happy ending → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: so… I listened to Jin’s album—I don’t know how many times (I’ve lost count), and I kept replaying ‘I will come to you’ and so this one was born while I cried my eyes out. It’s a very poetic piece, inspired by Jin’s new Album ‘HAPPY’ but mostly the tracks ‘Running Wild’ and ‘I will come to you’ and you know what? It fits perfectly into my End of The World series 🤧 I remember once, there was an anon who asked if I would make a story in this universe for each member, and I’m still not sure. This one kinda just happened. I do really hope you’ll love it. I promise; it might sound really sad, and it is, but it’s just as much a hug and a promise of forever 🫂 I love you 💜

[series materlist]: End of the World* *this story is a stand alone one-shot (and can be read just as is), but it is a part of my End of the World series, so if you haven’t read it you can give it a read 💜

The day the white snow fell, the world transformed. A pristine veil descended, cloaking not just the streets but hearts and hopes, painting everything in hues of ash, bone-white, and the ghostly luminescence of distant fire. The afterglow of atomic storms lingered on the horizon, a reminder of ruin.  

When the air raids screamed—a piercing, merciless wail—it felt as though the earth itself recoiled. The sound rippled through him, sharp as shards of glass, setting his skin alight with dread, each nerve taut as a bowstring. And then he turned to you.  

For the briefest heartbeat, he saw it—fear etched in your gaze, crystalline, like a reflection caught in a frozen pond.  

And then the world ruptured. Explosions clawed at the heavens. Buildings fractured, shards spinning like deadly constellations. Falling.  

His reality tilted, a kaleidoscope of chaos. Heart pounding a desperate rhythm, he stumbled through the wreckage, blinded by dust and despair, grasping for some sign—anything—of you.  

But you were gone. Where were you?  

He had scoured the ruins, stumbling through the shattered remnants of a world undone, as shadows of planes etched cold, cruel arcs across the ashen sky—each one a harbinger of annihilation. Above him, the heavens carried a promise of total destruction; below, the earth whispered only despair.  

Tears carved rivers down his soot-streaked face, his bones heavy with dread, each step forward an act of defiance against the weight of grief that clung to him like iron chains. He didn’t know how to exist in a world where your smile, radiant as sunlight breaking through a storm, no longer graced his days. Your laughter, a melody that once brightened even the darkest hours, was now an aching echo. Your warmth, the heart of every moment, felt as distant as the stars.  

And yet, something within him—a fragile ember of you—urged him onward. His heart, though fractured, whispered to push through the bitter snow, to carry the memory of you as a flame against the encroaching dark. He vowed to keep it alive: the memory of your boundless kindness, your tireless hands shaping a future together in the lab, side by side, crafting medicines to heal a broken world.  

But now, that world was gone. You were gone.  

And he stood on the edge of the abyss, a lone figure amid endless ruin, asking a question with no answer: What should he do now?  

The weight of it all threatened to crush him, a pain so vast and unrelenting it seemed unbearable. The burden of your absence was a mountain, a storm raging in his chest. Yet still, he carried it, each faltering step a testament to the life you had shared, the dreams you had dared to dream.  

Even as the universe itself seemed to collapse around him, he clung to the one thing that remained: you, alive in his heart, guiding him through the endless night.  

When he looks back, he marvels at how much time has slipped through his fingers, yet you remain vivid—a ghost etched in his heart, haunting every corner of his barren world. Your image lingers, unyielding, like the golden trace of sunlight that kisses the horizon even as night falls.  

The world may be gray, its hues leached by sorrow, but you remain—an unbroken thread of warmth, a tender caress on his cheek, softer than the whisper of the wind. Each night, he seeks you in his dreams, wandering through shadowy corridors of memory, chasing the echo of your laughter, the light in your eyes.  

He swears to you: when the warm breeze stirs again, carrying the scent of renewal, he will come to you. No matter how long the journey, no matter how heavy the ache in his soul, he will find his way back to you.  

Until then, as sleep takes him, he surrenders to your memory—an embrace of all that was beautiful, a sanctuary where he can still feel your presence. There, you are whole, alive, and radiant.  

Without you, the world is stripped bare. Color fades to ash, the air turns cold, and life feels like an endless winter. You were the fire in his soul, the summer in his heart. Without you, everything is still, silent, and gray.  

And when he finds himself wandering a dark and desolate road, he sees it—a glimmer of light, distant but steadfast. It pulls him forward, a quiet beacon in the endless night, and he thinks of you. Of his promise. 

He will come to you.

With trembling resolve, he steps toward the light, each stride shedding the shadows that cling to him like ghosts of the past. His hand reaches out, and in the glow, he feels it—the warmth of your presence, as if the very air hums with your essence. Your fingers graze his, soft as whispers, anchoring him to this moment.  

And then you hold him, drawing him into an embrace that feels like coming home. The world could end again, collapsing into chaos, but none of it matters. Not the ruin, not the loss, not the pain. Not while he is here, held in your arms, the fragile promise of forever whispering between you.  

Please give me forever, he thinks, the words a prayer that rises from the depths of his soul.  

His cheek presses against your shoulder, and he feels the wetness there—tears he hadn’t realized were his own. Sobs shake his body, raw and unyielding, as the weight of your reunion crashes over him like a tidal wave.  

“Is this real?” he whispers, his voice breaking, fragile as the first crack of dawn.  

Your touch is warm. Real. Tangible in a way he almost forgot could exist. And for the first time in what feels like an eternity, the darkness doesn’t seem so vast.  

The pulse beneath his hand—steady, alive—grounds him as his palm rests against your chest. He feels your heart beating, each rhythm a melody of life, a reassurance so fragile it terrifies him. He doesn’t dare wake, doesn’t dare let the delicate warmth of this moment dissolve like mist at dawn.  

“I missed you,” you breathe, your voice low, soft, trembling with the weight of emotion. Your arms encircle him, holding him as though tomorrow may never come, as though this embrace is the only thing keeping the universe intact.  

Tears spill down his cheeks, unchecked, uncontainable. He sobs, raw and unguarded, the pain and joy of reunion too much to hold inside.  

“Seokjin, stop crying,” you murmur, your fingers tender as they wipe the tears from his face.  

“But I don’t want you to leave,” he chokes out, his voice cracking, each word heavy with fear.  

You cup his cheek, your touch gentle, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, and your voice carries a quiet strength, a promise woven into the very fabric of his soul.  

Still, his eyes search yours, confusion and disbelief flickering like shadows. He’s afraid to believe, afraid to hope.  

“I’m here,” you whisper, leaning close. The brush of your lips against his cheek is featherlight, a kiss that feels more real than anything he’s known in so long.  

He blinks, his breath catching as if the world itself has paused, waiting for him to believe in the impossible.  

“You’re here?” he whispers, his voice trembling with disbelief, as if the words might vanish the moment they leave his lips. His gaze searches yours, desperate, yearning, still caught between the shadow of doubt and the light of hope.  

You smile softly, a sound like a distant melody escaping as you chuckle, your fingers reaching out to pinch the cheek you had just kissed.  

“Ouch!” he exclaims, rubbing the spot, his lips curling into a faint, startled smile. But he felt that.  

Felt it. You’re real? You’re alive?  

Before the thoughts can fully settle, he pulls you into his arms with a fierceness born of desperation and relief. He holds you as though you’re the last thing tethering him to this world, so tightly it feels as though you might break—and yet, neither of you lets go.  

Finally. After all the ruin, all the searching, he has found you. His heart pounds against yours, a frantic rhythm that echoes the mantra he’s carried in his soul all this time: If you need me, I’ll come to you.  

And now, here you are.  

He closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours, and breathes in your presence, the scent of you, the reality of you. You are here, in his arms, alive and whole. And he vows, silently, fervently—never again will he let you go.

Together, you’ll run wild—you’ll face this apocalyptic world, a fractured place of ash and ruin, armed with nothing but your unyielding love. That love is your fire, your lifeline, a force wild and untamed, propelling you forward when the weight of despair threatens to pull you under. Side by side, you’ll find a way to mend the shattered pieces—not just for yourselves, but for a world that still aches for healing.  

His hand cradles your cheek, his touch a silent vow, and he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips—tender, lingering, a spark of life in a barren landscape. Then his lips find your forehead, and this kiss is different: it carries a promise etched into the very fabric of his being.  

Forever.  

He whispers it softly, though the words hold the weight of eternity. His promise is clear, unbreakable: he will always come to you.  

If you need him, no force—neither time nor distance, neither chaos nor destruction—will keep him from finding you.  

And at this moment, nothing else exists. The world may crumble, the sky may fall, but as long as you have each other, as long as his arms can hold you and your heartbeat echoes his, you are infinite.  

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle

→ Author’s endnote: what do you think?? And what do you think of Jin’s new album? What’s your favorite track? Please let me know what you think of the story that honestly was a mixture of a poem and a story, there wasn’t really any character growth or world building in it, but I hope it was good anyway 🥹🫶

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

Forever

@loose1cannon Thank you so much for your request! I was so hyped with the Ace one, but I need to apologise because my angsty wired brain might have made a poo-poo. I'm so sorry if it's too sad! 😫 I promise that the other part of your request will be happy, okay?? I hope you still enjoy it! ❤️

Source for pic

Forever

Word Count: 1270

Tags: fem!reader; angst, so much angst; NSFW; feelings; hurt; sorrow; grief; spoilers for what happens at Marineford; slightly NSFW

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: It has been a year since Marineford and you still can't cope with the loss.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil (guys if you only want to be tagged for specific characters, please send me a message! I don't want to bother you with excessive tagging!!🙏)

|Masterlist|

Rain poured down from the skies mirroring your inner turmoil exactly. The steady downpour cast a sort of halo over your figure. It felt like a shroud. The site was eerily quiet aside from the sounds of the heavy drops crashing against the stone graves. 

And for the thrumming of your heart. 

An unsteady rhythm beating out of sync, skipping a beat now and then, as if it were missing something to make it whole. And it was.

Ace.

One year had passed since he left you, or since you lost him. Honestly, it felt like the world itself had lost him, since he belonged to everyone. He was life itself. And without him, there was only demise. 

“Did you miss me, baby?” His tongue swiped against yours in desperation while his scalding hands roamed your clothed body. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. All day, every day.”

Ace was always so eager for you that his touch singed your clothes, leaving small burn marks on the hem of your shirts or on your jeans. It used to piss you off. You’d scold him saying you didn’t have berries lying around just to buy new clothes and that he should be more careful. He laughed it off, or kissed it off, murmuring that he could buy or steal all the clothes you wanted, or better yet, you could just walk naked.

A sob clawed its way up your throat and scratched it, yearning to get out, needing to be free, but you clamped it down and pushed it back into your insides to fester and rot like all the other feelings of grief, sorrow and despair. 

No more crying. No more sadness. Ace wouldn’t want that. Ace loved your laugh.

“Laugh for me, Sunbeam!” You were both lying on his bed, sheets tangled on naked limbs and sweaty bodies, heaving from exhaustion and pleasure. 

“No. I’m mad at you.” But you weren’t, you were just downcast.

“It’s just a month. I’ll be back before you know it.”

No, no. You can’t go there, this one is too painful. If only you insisted, if only you had pushed further. He wouldn’t have gone after Blackbeard and he would still be here with you. 

Your knees hit the muddied floor with a soft thud as your hands clutched your chest. Slim fingers crumpled the drenched fabric as your breath left your lips in shallow, ragged heaves. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, Ace! Not like this!”

Your arms circled your torso in the only hug you allowed yourself these days: your own. It was nowhere near enough, but then again, there would never be another hug like Ace’s. 

It was crushing, bone-breaking, suffocating. It was home. 

“Ace!”

“I’m back, baby. Missed me, Sunbeam?” With a little jump you were straddling his lap, legs wrapped securely around his waist as his hands rested on your ass. Your mouth devoured him while your fingers tangled in his unkempt greasy hair. “I guess that’s a yes.” 

That smirk. Those freckles. The mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Gone. All gone. Buried in front of you, six feet under and beneath layers of cold, unforgiving dirt. 

Alongside your heart.

You tried to stifle your moans against the pillow, but he would have none of that. Stopping that sinful lapping of his tongue and removing his fingers from inside you, he lifted himself onto his knees and threw the pillow to the other side of the cabin. “I want to hear you scream my name.”

“Ace!” You whisper with a groan of frustration. You were just about to unravel when he left you feeling empty.

“Yes, sweetheart, just like that.” He aligned his leaking tip with your wet entrance and teased, pulling a little mewl from your lips. “But way louder.”

And you did what he told you to.

Was that the last time?

There’s no stopping the tears. You tried, you really did. But they were relentless. You have a million memories from the past and a million and one memories of Ace. You can’t afford to lose any of them.

"God, Ace, why?” The clenching in your chest expands and swells, taking up all the space inside. Filling you like a balloon and you feel ready to pop. How are you supposed to survive without him? One year was already hell, how can you survive another one?

And another one…

And another one…

“Smile, Sunbeam!”

“You’re shining, love!”

“Ah, that laugh right there, I could die a happy man.”

“You make me feel worthy.”

“I can’t live without you, baby.”

“Don’t ever leave me. I wouldn’t make it.”

You didn’t leave him. You kept your promise. He was the one who left. And now how are you supposed to move on with your life as if what made you live wasn’t ripped apart from you? How is a sunbeam supposed to shine when there is no reflective surface?

How can you be light, when all you feel is darkness?

“Ace… This was never supposed to be easy, but I didn’t expect it to break me…"

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you.”

“You’re my life.”

“My happy, little Sunbeam.”

“My love.”

Getting up on wobbly legs you took another two steps forward. Your tears mixed with the rain, salt and water. Pain and grief. Hurt and sorrow. Reaching with trembling, frail fingers, you grabbed the remnants of Ace’s hat. It was torn and tattered, the beads were barely hanging on, but it was still there.

A desperate wail left your lips as you fell back down, your legs no longer supporting the weight of your misery. This time, you let the sobs climb all the way out. And you cried as you had never cried before. Sobs, hiccups and ragged breaths mingled with the sound of approaching thunder.

But none of that compared to the tempest inside. It roared, raged and crashed, drowning you in its violence, dragging you to the pits of sorrow and darkness and you had no idea how to climb out of there anymore. Not without him. 

But then there was a sudden calmness. A break amidst the most violent of storms and then the echo of a whisper, soft and unmistakable. 

“You’ll be okay, Sunbeam.”

Ace’s voice. A gentle murmur in your soul. Perhaps a conjured thought your troubled mind had made up, but you’d take it.

You clutched his worn-out hat against your chest, wishing there was still a lingering scent of him anywhere, but he had disappeared so long ago. The rain slowed down and was now just a gentle pitter-patter against the leaves and the graves. 

A sunbeam peeked from behind a dark cloud and landed on your lap, near Ace’s hat and for the first time in a year you felt a sliver of hope on the horizon. You didn’t have Ace anymore, but your love for him would never fade or wane.

Your memories together would still be a part of you.

You would carry him inside you and remember him in those missing, uneven beats of your heart. 

Maybe… just maybe, that would be enough to carry you through. 

“I’ll be okay, love.” You forced a laugh. A bright smile like the ones he used to love. “For you, Ace. I’ll fight for you.”

The sunbeam on your lap flickered, faded behind a cloud and reappeared on Ace’s grave. Hope filled you and took back some of the space that grief and sorrow had claimed as territory. You’d learn to shine again, someday…

For him. 

For Ace.

For your love.

[aventurineswife]

Stages of Shadows:

Chapter 3 - Shattered Reflection

Sunday’s eyes were locked onto the massive screen in the waiting room, his heart pounding in an unsettling rhythm as he watched Robin and [Name] onstage, their voices intertwining in a hauntingly beautiful duet. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe that this performance, this brutal contest, was only a temporary trial-that Robin would be safe, that this would all be over soon, and they would find a way to escape together. He clung to this fragile hope, barely breathing, as he watched her every movement, her every glance.

But then, he saw it. The sudden red splatter on [Name]’s face, the way Robin’s form fell, the crimson pooling around her like some twisted blossom. Sunday’s breath caught, and his chest tightened as if someone had plunged a knife between his ribs.

“No…” The word barely escaped his lips, a fractured whisper. He staggered back, unable to tear his eyes from the screen, from the image of his sister lying there, her soft smile frozen in time. She was gone, taken from him in an instant, her final moments stripped of dignity, her warmth extinguished before his very eyes.

In that moment, something inside him shattered.

Sunday stumbled, his vision blurring as grief and fury twisted inside him, coiling like a snake around his heart. His carefully constructed composure, the dignified mask he wore for the world, cracked and fell away. He tried to breathe, but each inhale only made the void within him deepen, as if he were sinking into an endless abyss.

He sank to his knees, his hands trembling as he clutched at his chest, his heart pounding in frantic, uneven beats. The weight of everything-his guilt, his helplessness, his deep-seated conviction that he had failed her—pressed down on him until he could barely breathe.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real.

But it was. She was gone, and he hadn’t been there to protect her.

All his ideals, his belief that he could create a world free from pain, felt like a cruel joke. He had clung to the notion of Sweetdream Paradise—a place where no one had to suffer, where people could find solace without facing the horrors of reality. And yet, here he was, drowning in the very pain he had spent his life trying to escape, with no dream to shield him.

Sunday’s hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as anger ignited within him, dark and consuming. And it wasn’t just the competition he despised; it was [Name].

His body trembled with fury, his eyes narrowed in hatred. He knew it—[Name] was not to be trusted. He would never forgive them for failing her, for shattering his fragile hope.

The door to the waiting room creaked open, but Sunday didn’t look up. Footsteps approached, cautious and hesitant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care who it was. The world had collapsed around him, and all that remained was his rage and his grief, tangled in a brutal, inescapable storm.

It was [Name]. They tried to call out his name, “Sunday… I-” but before they could even finish, he had them pushed against the wall, his grip firm around their neck. In his eyes, they saw the hurt, the hatred, and, especially…

betrayal.

Sunday’s eyes bore into [Name]’s with an intensity that felt scorching, as if his gaze alone could reduce them to ashes. His fingers tightened around their throat, his usual calm and composed demeanour twisted into something unrecognizable. Beneath the grief, beneath the pain, there was a raw, seething rage that trembled just beneath the surface, threatening to consume them both.

“How could you?” His voice was low, dangerously steady, each word laced with venom. “You were supposed to keep her safe!” His grip tightened, his breaths coming shallow and fast. “But now she’s gone—gone because of you.”

[Name]’s hands instinctively went to his wrist, but they could feel his fingers pressing harder with every second, his rage manifesting in every fiber of his being. They struggled to form a response, but the words caught in their throat, trapped beneath the weight of his fury.

“She trusted you,” Sunday spat, his tone barely a whisper but heavy with the devastation of his broken trust. “Robin believed in you. And you let her down. You let me down.” His voice wavered, and for a brief second, the mask of anger slipped, revealing a flash of raw pain, an agony that cut deeper than any blade.

In that moment, he didn’t look like the dignified leader he was known to be. Instead, he was a grieving brother, a broken man who had lost the last piece of his family. His hand shook as he maintained his hold on them, torn between the urge to lash out and the crushing sorrow that threatened to drown him.

“Why…?” The question hung in the air, heavy and accusing, as if he were demanding an answer not only for Robin’s death but for every shattered piece of his world.

[Name] could only stare back at him, their own eyes clouded with remorse, guilt, and a silent apology. They opened their mouth to respond, to explain, to plead for understanding—but no words came. Only silence, as thick and oppressive as the grief that hung between them, as Sunday continued to wrestle with the pain of his sister’s loss and the hollow betrayal that now burned where his trust once lay.

Sunday’s head fell onto [Name]’s shoulder, the weight of his sorrow pressed heavily against them. Tears streamed down his cheeks, each sob a release of the pent-up pain and fear he had held at bay for so long. His grip on [Name]’s neck loosened, as if the emotional turmoil had drained him of all strength. The realization that his only family, the sister he believed lost forever, had returned to him only to be taken away in such a brutal manner felt like a dagger to his heart.

“Why? Why does this keep happening?” he choked out between sobs, his voice thick with anguish. Memories of laughter, shared secrets, and dreams of a better life flooded his mind, mingling with the harsh reality of the moment. He felt the world closing in, suffocating him with grief.

Trying to offer comfort, [Name] reached out, their hand hovering hesitantly over his back, attempting to reassure him. “Sunday, I—”

But before they could finish, Sunday suddenly lashed out, slapping their hand away with a surprising force. “Don’t!” he shouted, his voice breaking with both fury and despair. “You don’t understand! You’re just like them!” His eyes, usually so calm and composed, were now wild and unrecognizable, reflecting the chaos within.

[Name] recoiled slightly, their heart racing as they tried to process his outburst. They had seen Sunday as a pillar of strength, but now he was crumbling, lost in a sea of emotions. “I’m trying to help you…!” they pleaded, desperation edging their voice.

“You don’t know what I’ve lost, what I have to protect! This… this competition, it’s a nightmare! And you’re part of it!” he screamed, pulling away and standing abruptly, his face a mask of rage and sorrow.

In that moment, the distance between them felt insurmountable. Sunday’s pain was palpable, a chasm that seemed to widen with each breath he took. He was torn between the instinct to shut everyone out and the desperate need for connection—yet all he could feel was the suffocating weight of loss.

As Sunday turned away, his heart ached for Robin. The turmoil within him raged like a storm, leaving only a fractured sense of self and a lingering question: could he truly protect those he loved in a world so cruel?

As Sunday stormed out of the waiting room, seeking solace in the fresh air, the tension in the space lingered like a heavy fog. Unbeknownst to him and [Name], a pair of keen eyes observed from just behind the door. Aventurine, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity, had been silently watching the emotional exchange unfold. He had listened to every word, each one resonating deeply within him. He felt a pull to intervene, to protect [Name] in their time of despair, but something held him back—a sense of hesitation, perhaps, or an understanding.

“Hey,” Aventurine said softly, breaking the silence as he stepped inside. His lilting voice carried a gentle tone, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had just unfolded. “Are you okay?”

[Name] looked up, startled at his sudden presence. They took a moment to collect themselves, wiping their eyes and trying to steady their breathing. “I… I don’t know. I just… I thought I could’ve helped him, but now…” Their voice trailed off, the pain of witnessing Sunday’s breakdown still fresh.

Aventurine took a step closer, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You saw how much he cares for Robin. That kind of love can be overwhelming, especially in a place like this.” He paused, glancing back towards the door where Sunday had exited. “He’s been carrying that weight for so long—it’s more than anyone should have to bear.”

[Name] nodded slowly, feeling the truth of Aventurine’s words. “I just wanted to be there for him, but I think I made it worse. He… he pushed me away.”

“Sometimes, people push away those they need the most,” Aventurine replied, his tone contemplative. “It’s easier to shut others out than to face the fear of losing them. Sunday’s fighting his own demons, and he might not know how to accept help right now.”

Aventurine’s gaze softened as he studied [Name]. “You have to understand, this isn’t just about the competition for him. It’s about family, loss, and the crushing reality of a world that doesn’t care. You can’t take his rejection personally.”

As Aventurine decided to leave, to give [Name] the space they need, the lingering silence in the room hung heavily in the air. But before he could take another step, [Name] called out to him, their voice steady despite the emotions swirling within. “Wait… thank you.” they said, their eyes searching his.

Aventurine paused, turning back to face [Name]. The sincerity in their voice warmed his heart, igniting a flicker of hope amidst the darkness that surrounded them. “You don’t have to thank me. I just—”

But before he could finish, [Name] stepped closer, wrapping their arms around him in a sudden embrace. The warmth of their body against his sent a rush of emotions flooding through him, a mix of comfort and something deeper—a yearning he had tried to suppress. He hesitated for a moment, taken aback by the unexpected closeness, but then instinctively wrapped his arms around [Name], holding them gently yet protectively.

In that instant, time seemed to stand still for Aventurine. The world outside faded away, and all that mattered was the two of them, entwined in a moment of solace amidst chaos. As he gazed at [Name]’s figure nestled against him, the soft rhythm of their heartbeat synchronized with his own, one thought repeated insistently in his mind, a mantra echoing in the recesses of his heart:

“My God, My Universe.”

It was a realization that transcended mere infatuation; in that embrace, Aventurine felt a connection that defied the odds—a sense that [Name] was not just a companion in this brutal competition but a guiding force in his life. The idea that Gaiathra Triclops or alias Mother Fenge, the deity he revered, manifested in the form of [Name] felt almost plausible. They represented everything he admired: strength, kindness...

Aventurine tightened his grip slightly, reluctant to let go of this moment, knowing that it was fleeting yet profound. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if confessing a secret. “We can get through this together.”

The warmth of the embrace lingered, a fragile thread of hope weaving between them, binding their fates together as they navigated the treacherous landscape of the Stages of Shadows.

[Navigation]

[sinkovia]

The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. 

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary. 

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father. 

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.

[yuutaok]

Yuuta Okkotsu x Reader

I’ll always take care of you

You always make sure to leave your door open just a crack and a light on for when Yuuta arrives back home.

₊˚⊹✿ SFW, Comfort and fluff

₊˚⊹✿ Word Count: 616

₊˚⊹✿ Author’s note: Some brief respite and comfort :’) @yutaleks I wrote this thinking of u, my liege in yuuta nation…. I am so sad

The comfort of the covers dulls your senses, the heaviness of sleep drawing you further into the soft mattress. The room is shrouded in darkness, with only a hint of moonlight seeping through the curtains. You drift in and out of slumber until a soft creak from your bedroom door gently tugs you back from the brink of sleep, awakening you in the present moment.

A familiar silhouette stands in the doorway, and even in the dim light, you can recognize Yuuta. Oh, your lovely, darling, Yuuta. His black hair is tousled, and his usually bright blue eyes are shadowed with even somehow heavier eye bags. His usually broad and strong shoulders are slumped, and his stride is hesitant. You can feel his worry before he even speaks. Instinctively, you sit up, your heart aching at the sight of him so troubled.

“Yuuta?” Your voice is soft, a whisper in the silence of the night. He looks up, eyes meeting yours, and the vulnerability in his gaze tugs at every crack and fissure of your heart.

He steps forward, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. You open your arms, an unspoken invitation, and he doesn’t hesitate. Yuuta crosses the room in a few quick strides, and then he’s in your arms, sinking into your embrace like a man starved for solace.

You pull him close, feeling the tension in his body begin to dissolve. Your fingers find their way into the midnight of his hair, brushing through the soft strands in a soothing rhythm. He sighs, a long exhale that seems to release some of the weight he’s been carrying.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, your voice a balm against his worries. “I’m here.”

Yuuta presses closer, burying his tired face in the crook of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the slight tremble in his frame as he lets go of the last remnants of his unease. Your other hand rubs gentle circles on his back, as if every touch could melt and wash away his grief.

For a long moment, the world outside ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of shared warmth and unspoken understanding. The rhythm of your breaths syncs, you heart his heart beat and you are so happy to be his home.

Yuuta finally pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. His expression is softer now, the lines of worry smoothed away by your touch. His blue eyes are clear, though still shadowed by the telltale signs of exhaustion. He reaches up, tracing a finger along your jawline, a tender gesture that makes your heart swell. You love him so very much.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his voice raw with emotion. “I needed this.”

You lean forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Always,” you reply, your lips brushing against his skin. “I’m always here for you.”

He smiles, a small but genuine curve of his lips, and it feels like the room gets a little brighter. You guide him down beside you, tucking him under the covers and wrapping him in the warmth of your embrace. His head rests on your chest, and you continue to run your fingers through his hair, each stroke a promise of your devotion.

As sleep begins to claim you both once more, you feel Yuuta relax completely, his breathing steady and calm. In the quiet of the night, with your lover held close, you find a sense of peace that makes everything else fade away. The worries of the world can wait until morning; for now, all that matters is this moment.

[ltash]

The Enigma

You met Ghost at the base for the first time and ended unconscious in his arms.

"My team is back from the mission. They couldn't find Hassan there, but we lost many soldiers," Capt Price said with grief in his voice.

Movements fueled by a sense of urgency and adrenaline. As you made your way through the corridors of the base towards the tarmac.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the scene unfold before your eyes. The familiar sights and sounds of the military base were now juxtaposed with the grim reality of war - ambulances lined up, their doors flung open to receive the wounded and the fallen; the whirring blades of the helicopter casting a haunting shadow over the tarmac as it touched down, carrying with it the weight of tragedy.

Injured soldiers were carried off the helicopter on stretchers, their faces contorted in pain, their uniforms stained with blood. Beside them, solemn-faced medics worked tirelessly to tend to their wounds, their movements swift and efficient in the face of adversity.

Another helicopter landed, and the remaining soldiers started to come out. You looked at them as the soldiers came out one by one. You stood directly in front of it.

It was the team Captain Price had mentioned earlier.

As all the soldiers came out, you heard a thick British voice saying, "Keep up, Soap."

Your heart skipped a beat as you listened to the exchange, your gaze fixated on the two figures emerging from the helicopter.

The first, with his distinctive mohawk and rugged good looks, exuded an air of confidence and strength that drew your attention. He had a smile on his face all the while he was talking to him.

But it was the second figure, his broad back turned towards you, that sent a jolt coursing through your veins. Though his uniform was disheveled and his appearance obscured, there was something about the way he carried himself, a subtle grace in his movements.

He then turned around, his eyes meeting yours.

As your eyes locked, time seemed to stand still for you. You felt as though you were being drawn into the depths of his gaze, lost in the intensity of his stare. The way he was looking at you sent shivers down your spine.

He was quite tall, probably more than 6'2", with a broad and muscular physique. He had long and strong legs. It looked like he had surely worked hard for it.

He was wearing a skull-shaped mask above the black balaclava. Despite the mask obscuring his features, you could sense the power and strength emanating from him, a primal magnetism that both intrigued and unnerved you.

His royal blue uniform with his tactical gear had a shine to it in the moonlight. You had never seen that uniform on any soldier before in your life. It made him look really attractive and the skull mask made him look otherworldly at the same time.

His presence was overwhelming, his aura suffusing the air around you with an electric charge that set your nerves on edge. You could feel your heart racing in your chest, the rhythm of its beat echoing the rapid pace of your thoughts.

The soldier with the mohawk had his mouth agape when he saw you. "Such a bonnie lass," the soldier with the mohawk added.

For a moment, you remained locked in silent communion with him, each of you searching the depths of the other's soul for answers that remained just out of reach. As the weight of your gaze lingered between you, you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Then he started approaching you, his steps audible from afar. The sound of his heavy boots hitting the tarmac was in rhythm with your heartbeat.

As he drew closer, his tall and broad physique overshadowed you. You were really small and petite in front of him. The man in front of you intimidated the fuck out of you.

His gaze shifts from your eyes to the black tank top who failed to hide the curve of your boobs to the small of your waist. His stance was very very intimidating yet sexy in a way you were pulled towards him like a moth to a flame.

Your eyes darted towards his pants who failed to hide the bulge of the package he was holding inside. He was surely BDE. You felt wet down there just on the thought.

You thought how'd it feel like if he holds your tiny waist in his large hands and jolt your existance, take your breath away as he fucks you hard in bed. How will you yelp and writh beneath him as you moan his name when he fucks you to the verge of esctacy. How his name will sound from your lips as he is deep inside of you.

What could be his name? You thought.

You were never in a relationship before and it scared you to even think about being in bed with him.

"Rookie!" His booming voice echoed, the thick British accent hitting your ears. "What are you doing here at this hour?" he asked, his voice commanding.

You were gobsmacked at that moment. You couldn't even comprehend what was going on. He thought you were a new recruit there, but you still had no answer. Your throat felt really dry with pins and needles. All the strength in your knees faded away the more his gaze bore holes into your existence.

"I asked you a question," his voice raspy and monotone this time. He took a step closer and stood very close to you.

You still couldn't muster any courage to speak.

"Go back to your barrack right now," he barked an order, his voice loud this time.

You flinched and took a step back. A small whimper escaped your lips. Your breaths were shaky with fear.

The soldier with the mohawk tried to step in.

"Easy there LT. She is scared."

He glared back at him.

The mysterious figure who had commanded your attention stood by your side, their concern evident in their expressions as they watched over you with silent vigilance.

Just then, you saw some paramedics pushing a stretcher with a dead body on it. The white cloth was covered in blood. An arm was dangling from the cloth.

You had a panic attack right there. Anxiety took its toll over you. You were never habitual of these kind of scenes. You started to shiver both with anxiety and under the gaze of that intimidating soldier who looms over you.

Suddenly your head started to spin. Everything going blurry around you. The two figures in front of you going blurry. Their voices muffled.

You fell into the abyss of darkness directly into his arms.

As your world spun out of control, you felt yourself being enveloped in a pair of strong arms, their embrace offering a fleeting sense of solace amidst the chaos that threatened to consume you.

"Hey!" You heard him say before he takes your chin in his gloved hand and pats your cheek trying to wake you up.

You clung to him, your deep blue eyes looking into his brown ones. Despite his imposing demeanor, you sensed a flicker of compassion in his eyes, a silent understanding of the pain and turmoil you were experiencing.

The mysterious soldier remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he kept a protective watch over you.

You leaned into his embrace, drawing comfort from his presence before closing your eyes.

As Ghost carried your unconscious form in his arms, he couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness wash over him.

You were so delicate, so vulnerable in that moment.

He looked down to see your features. Your gorgeous face when you were unconscious, your pink plump lips slightly agape, your deep breaths, your small neck, long hairs and your petite figure in his strong arms.

You were the most beautiful woman he ever laid his eyes on.

Captain Price saw them entering the building with your unconscious figure in Ghost's arms.

He approached them, concern etched into his features. "What happened to her?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

"I don't know," Ghost replied quietly, his gaze never leaving your face. "Maybe she saw something at the base. There were a lot of casualties."

"Take her to her room," Captain Price said.

Following Captain Price's lead, Ghost carried you to your room, his steps careful and deliberate. As he laid you gently on the bed, he couldn't help but be struck by your beauty. You looked so peaceful, so ethereal in the soft glow of the room. Your vulnerability in that moment stirred something deep within him.

"Who is she, Sir?" Soap asked, his voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Ghost stepped back, his gaze lingering on your sleeping form for a moment longer. You looked so peaceful, so fragile.

"She's General Marshall's daughter," Captain Price explained, his voice tinged with concern. "She's been through a lot these past few days. We need to keep a close eye on her."

Ghost nodded in understanding.

Captain Price motioned for them to follow him to the meeting room, leaving Ghost alone with you.

As he tucked you in and smoothed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, Ghost felt a swell of protectiveness rise within him. You may have been the daughter of a general, but in that moment, you were just a vulnerable young woman in need of comfort and care.

Ghost cast one last glance at you, a silent promise echoing in his heart.

[marvelmaniac715]

An angsty take on the Master's drums - what if, when they were children, Koschei would lie down with his head on Theta's chest, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of their heart beats? The drums, the turning point for their relationship becoming strained, are a mockery of that once comforting sound because they'll never be that close ever again, and it drives the Master mad with grief and pain.