#and the bomb that made the temporary one cracked through a few

[theskeletonatthewritersblock]

When Catha nearly dies after an attempt on their life, they wake to the loss of sight in their left eye, and the ability to see into the oceans of Tathos, of the Seraphina galaxy, which is contained in a reality separate from their own.

Vicen falls at the hands of a rival Sea Master, but when he rises it is with sights on a city known as Palmoa, located on a world not light years away, but time lines.

Together Catha and Vicen, bound by a tether stronger then the laws of reality, must aid in their separate struggles to seek revenge on their killers, and stop a gate from opening that may see the ultimate destruction of both of their worlds.

[its-all-stardust]

Heyy

I’ve always have had a weak spot for sensory deprived matt (like when he looses his hearing). The angst and neediness that may come from it. So maybe for an idea what about a matt x reader…Let’s say the weeks or days that it takes for him to recover and how that affects him and the relationship as he’s not used being the one in need of help and is momentarily no longer Daredevil, as well as all of the complications not hearing may entail.

(Also unrelated but if you could add a cat as a pet just like a little detail it would be fantastic jsjs )

Thanks !

Ask and ye may receive! Sorry this took a month to get out, but I'm bad at prioritizing my hobbies and even worse at editing my fics once I finish writing them (this took like a week and a half to edit because my brain is dumb lasjdfljs)

I really hope you enjoy this fic (and yes I included a cat!!)

And as for the other requests I got, don't worry, they're still handing around. I started writing the next chapter of Sugar and want to finish that up before jumping to the next request!

Masterlist

Matt Murdock/GN!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Matt refused to let go of you in those first few days. The world didn’t feel right, he said. You made it better, letting him know he was still alive—that you were still alive. He would press his ear to your chest, begging for the sound of your heartbeat.

Matt thought he died after the homemade bomb went off next to his head. Maybe he had finally died in an explosion, no underwater cavern-turned-sewer saving him. Maybe the shrapnel got him. A piece of metal penetrating his suit and making it to his heart or brain.

But no. He was still alive. Everything was just…gone. Or rather, it felt like it was.

He’d experienced it before, the loss of his hearing. This time was different, though. Age or one too many hits to the head, neither of you had figured it out. All you knew was that it had been days, and nothing was as it should have been for Matt.

His hearing wasn’t gone completely, as what happened before, but it was so dulled, to him, it was like he was practically deaf. Touch and smell were still sensitive, but their intensity felt lessened in the face of losing yet another of his senses.

It left the world around him feeling empty.

“I have to go to work, Matty,” you said gently, stroking a hand through his hair.

Matt sighed and held you tighter. He hadn’t even heard your alarm go off. No matter how deeply he slept before, he could always hear the tinny tune of a violin playing through cracking speakers. Now, there was nothing unless he was already on the verge of waking up.

“Can’t you stay?” Matt asked, refusing to remove his weight from your body, still pinning you to the bed.

“It’s been a week,” you explained, regret filling your voice. “I have to go back.”

You stayed with him because he needed you. The bomb—and the fight leading up to the explosion—did enough damage to his body that you wouldn’t have left him alone in the first place. Adding his dulled hearing meant you definitely weren’t going to leave him.

But it had been a week, and Matt’s external injuries were healing well. However, there didn’t seem to be any sign that his hearing would return. As far as you could figure since Matt barely had a basis for comparison—he has had heightened sense for the majority of his life and barely remembers what it was like not being able to hear a heartbeat from across the room—his hearing was like that of a non-enhanced person.

At this point, it could very well be Matt’s new normal.

Both of you agreed that he shouldn’t go to the hospital. Very few things could make Daredevil seek professional treatment, and considering he was still breathing, he wasn’t going anywhere. And if he did go, there would be the trouble of trying to convince a doctor that Matt has hearing loss when he can still hear you speaking at a normal volume across the open spaces of your apartment.

He was also holding out hope that his hearing would return to normal. Temporary hearing loss from loud sounds is well documented. In another week, Matt may very well be back in the suit, counting the number of goons in a warehouse through the walls.

But nothing was certain.

You tried shifting out from under Matt, but he squeezed you and whispered, “Please.”

“You’re not helpless, Matt.” You loved your boyfriend but couldn’t stand letting him mope around the apartment with you for another day, praying something would change. He needed to try. Maybe if you weren’t around, he finally would.

Matt didn’t move for a moment, still lying on top of you. Then, he silently lifted himself off you and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow on his side of the bed.

“Matt?” you called, seeing the tension in his shoulders. You hated seeing him like this.

“Go,” he said, voice flat, almost lifeless. You touched his shoulder, but he flinched at the contact.

You sighed, giving him one last look before climbing out of bed to start getting ready for work.

“I’ll let Foggy and Karen know you know you’re still not feeling well,” you told him just before you left. You had walked back into the bedroom and stood at his side, giving him another chance to speak to you.

Still, he said nothing. In fact, you were sure he was pretending to be asleep.

Regardless, you leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

With that, you left Matt. Alone.

When he was younger, Matt was used to being alone. As he got older, though, it became a thing of the past. Even if one of his friends wasn’t nearby, there would inevitably be some noise that rose above the din, breaking through the unintelligible cacophony of voices and sounds to remind him that there were always people around.

Now, without you in the apartment for the first time since the explosion, it was as if he was the only person left in the world. 

He was almost afraid to leave the bed. What if he tried stepping out of the room and fell into the void? What if this was a special Hell just for him? The fear was irrational, he knew, but he came close to death so many times now a part of him would always wonder if he truly was still alive.

But then he heard something he couldn’t ignore: the very distinct yowl of a very persistent cat. It was the sound she usually made when begging for food.

You must have forgotten to feed her before you left.

Whatever he thought of himself, of you, then, didn’t matter. Beans, the short-haired calico you and Matt adopted a couple of years ago, let out a particularly annoyed screech from the bedroom doorway, and Matt knew she’d be in his face in a moment if he didn’t follow her wishes.

After filling her bowl, he lay on the couch, not having the energy to go back to the bedroom. A few minutes later, after the crunching of the kibble stopped, Matt’s breath got knocked out of him when Beans launched herself onto his stomach.

Afraid of knocking her off, he held still while Beans walked across his body. She took a place on his pillow, wrapped herself around his head, and started purring.

At least the cat wanted to stay with him.

When you came home, you didn’t know what you’d find. Matt hadn’t answered your call at lunch, though you weren’t surprised, not after what you said and how he reacted.

You certainly didn’t expect to see him sitting on the floor, back against the couch, playing with Beans. He held a plastic stick in his hand, making her chase the bundle of feathers attached to it with an elastic string. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked carefully, stopping next to Matt and interrupting playtime. “You didn’t answer the phone earlier.”

Matt let the toy drop, Beans mauling it immediately. “Fine.”

You waited for more. He knew you were waiting. After a moment of nothing but the sound of Beans dragging the toy out of Matt’s hand and across the floor, you gave up and went to the bedroom to change.

During dinner, the air between you and Matt remained tense.

“I’m pretty sure Foggy and Karen are going to break down the door tomorrow if they don’t hear from you,” you said, trying to prompt Matt into some sort of conversation. This past week, he hadn’t wanted you more than an arm’s length away, needing to feel you, hear your voice. Now, he was doing his best not to acknowledge your existence.

“They won’t need to. I’m going back into the office.” There wasn’t any feeling to his words.

“You are?” you asked, surprised. When you last tried having that talk the other day, he shut you down, saying he couldn’t.

“I’m not helpless,” Matt sneered, throwing your words from this morning back at you and making you flinch. He didn’t notice, though, unable to perceive other people as well as he once did.

You said nothing more, and Matt got up from the table, done with dinner and the conversation.

That night, in bed, he stayed on his side.

“Matt,” you called softly. You reached out to touch his back. “What I said this morning—”

“Forget it,” he said, cutting you off. He didn’t want your apology. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

Maybe you should have tried harder to talk to him, to apologize for hurting him, but you didn’t. Instead, you rolled over so the two of you would be back to back and fell asleep.

Try as he might, Matt couldn’t focus. More than once, Karen or Foggy caught him losing himself in the middle distance. Like the past week, Matt was prone to sitting in silence, unmoving, unthinking, waiting for his hearing to return. While a fine thing to do at home, it caused concern and frustration at the office when his partners were trying to get him up to speed on their cases.

Though not usually one to coddle, Foggy asked if Matt was even ready to return to work.

“Maybe you should go home for the day, and we’ll pick this back up tomorrow,” Foggy said after the fourth attempt to regain Matt’s attention.

Matt gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have t—” Karen started.

“I can do this,” Matt insisted, not letting her finish.

Nothing more was said on the topic, and Matt was able to keep from falling into the void. He didn’t let himself stop, moving from one task to another almost manically. He didn’t even realize the end of the day arrived until Karen touched his shoulder, urging him to go home.

And then Matt was lost again.

It took him longer than usual to get home that day. Not because he lost his way but because he knew when he finally made it home, the whole day would repeat again.

He’d get up, go to work, come home, and still not be able to hear as he should.

Most importantly, he’d have to forgo being Daredevil.

To Matt, this didn’t feel like a natural end to the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, making it hard to reconcile that that part of his life was over. There was still so much he had to do, so much he would be capable of doing. If he had the full scope of his abilities.

He wasn’t ready for it to end.

“Hey,” you said when Matt finally walked through the door. You’d been waiting for him, had even left work early on the chance he did too so you could be with him. You didn’t call when he didn’t arrive at his usual time. You weren’t sure he would have answered if you had.

Since then, you’ve been nervously awating his return. With how he took your comment the previous day and his brushing off your attempt to apologize, you weren’t sure what he’d be like today.

“How was work?” you asked when he didn’t respond, trying to sound like it was any other day and that his frigidness didn’t bother you.

“Fine,” Matt sighed, giving no sign of elaborating.

“You wanna help with dinner?” you asked tentatively, unable to parse out his mood and not wanting to answer any potential resentment with a negative response.

Matt nodded, subdued, and moved toward the kitchen, not bothering to change.

You wished you knew how to help him.

As it neared two in the morning, something rustled in the other room. 

Living in New York City, having a cat, and being with Matt made you immune to certain sounds at all hours of the night, but this past week, you seem to have gotten used to certain sounds not coming from inside your apartment.

You knew immediately what it was before you even opened your eyes. You thought nothing of it at first and were tempted to nuzzle deeper into your pillow. It took a moment for recent memory to come back to you, reminding you that you shouldn’t be hearing the sounds of Matt’s suit being dragged out of its hiding place.

“What are you doing?” you asked after stepping out of the bedroom and spying Matt in the dim light from the windows pulling his suit from his father’s old trunk. He jumped, dropping his suit and turning to face you. You’d never been able to sneak up on Matt before.

“I need to go,” Matt said, voice stern.

“And what do you think will happen?” You stepped over to him and crossed your arms.

“I’ll be fine.” He’s told you that multiple times, and you didn’t believe him for a second.

“You didn’t even notice I was behind you. Apparently, you didn’t even hear me get out of bed, and that mattress creaks like nobody’s business.”

Matt clenched his jaw, his fists twitching at his side. “I can do this. I know I can. Maybe if I just—”

“Just what?” you interrupted. “If you just got your head knocked around a couple more times, your hearing would come back?” When he didn’t respond, you assumed that was precisely what he intended to do.

Your heart started to race. You worried about Matt as it was when he was in perfect health. You didn’t want to think about what would happen to him if he went out as a regular man.

“Matt, I can’t let you do that,” you said gently.

“You can,” he argued, fist clenched in the top half of his suit that he still held out in front of him.

Stepping forward, you placed your hands on his, subtly trying to loosen his grip.

“It’s too dangerous.” You shook your head. “Maybe in the future, once you’ve had more time to adapt. But right now? It’s just not a good idea.”

Matt was frozen in place. You waited, the seconds ticking by, wanting to see what he would do.

Then the suit slipped from Matt’s fingers, falling in a heap back into the trunk.

If Matt had been cold to you before, the following few days were worse.

He’d managed to wake before you and practically run from the apartment as soon as he realized you were awake. Matt has never done anything to hurt you. Sure, there were small things here and there, as with most couples, but never something like this. Never something so intentional.

Was he trying to hurt you, or was he just trying to protect himself? Did he think he wouldn’t be reminded of everything that’s changed if he stayed away from you?

Either way, you knew you needed to talk, yet some part of you wanted to wait for Matt to come to you. But Matt was as stubborn as you were, and you didn’t want to lose him more than you already had.

“Are you going to talk to me today?” you asked over dinner, letting some of the hurt you’d been feeling slip through.

For the most part, Matt had avoided saying more than a few words to you. At night, you both were careful to stay on your own sides of the bed.

It was like living with a roommate who didn’t particularly care for you.

“There’s not much to say,” Matt said, focusing intently on his food. “Work wasn’t anything special today.”

He had actually made dinner that night, volunteered for it, in fact. You had hoped that meant he would be more willing to talk to you, sort out whatever it was he felt you were the cause of. 

Apparently, you were wrong.

“Do you blame me for what happened to you?” If he wouldn’t bring it up, that meant you had to.

Matt shook his head. “You weren’t even there.”

“So you’re upset because I stopped you from going out the other night,” you concluded.

“No,” Matt said immediately, but the words lacked any sort of feeling.

“Then what? What is it? Because you’re not acting like the Matt I know.”

He was still. Then, quietly, “Because I’m not.”

He’s not that man anymore, and Matt thought, not for the first time, that you didn’t deserve to be with something as disappointing as him.

You had been talking to Karen and Foggy. Matt didn’t need his enhanced hearing to figure that out. He didn’t know what the three of you talked about, but he knew he was the general topic.

His friends tried harder to get him to go out, make plans, but he always declined, coming up with one excuse or another.

It went on like that for another week. Matt tried to make more of an effort with you and Foggy and Karen, but he still wasn’t his usual self. He wasn’t who he was before and didn’t know if he would ever be again.

He didn’t know what to do at all. He was just going through the motions, and because of that, he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when you finally said something.

Matt had been sitting at the kitchen table, the paperwork he wasn’t reading as carefully as he should have been spread across it. Truthfully, Beans was making more use of it as a bed than Matt was after he shooed her off his laptop.

When you walked up to him, Beans immediately awoke, releasing a chirp and standing. She hopped from the table to wind herself between your legs. She had always favored you but had been sticking closer to Matt the past couple of weeks as if sensing his distress.

“Do you want me to leave?” you asked without preamble, and Matt froze. Before, he would have sensed the stuttering of your heart, the nervous shaking in your hands. He would have had a warning before you worked up the courage to say something that would be difficult.

This time, though, he was blind-sided.

“What?” was the only thing he could make come out of his mouth.

Matt didn’t want you to leave. Yes, he was a disappointment to you and knew you needed better. But he loved you, and he was still as selfish as ever.

But…if you no longer loved him, if you wanted to leave…

“No, of course not,” he finally said. He licked his lips, a nervous habit. “But…”

“But what?” you asked sharply.

Were your arms crossed? Or your hands on your hips? Were you running a hand over your face in anger? Frustration? Was your chest tight with fear of what he would say? Matt can still figure out some movements, can still feel the shift in the air, but some things, especially when he’s stressed, are lost to him.

“But I won’t stop you...if you want to leave,” he finished quietly.

You didn’t move; didn’t make a sound. Matt strained his ears, focused entirely on you, trying to pick on anything.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you spit. You stepped toward Matt, and Beans skittered away, her claws scratching on the floor.

“I’m not going to make you stay with me. Now now that I…that I’m like this.”

Will you yell? You never have before, but he’s different now. Maybe you are, too.

“Matt.” His name is an exasperated sigh on your lips. Then your hands are on his face, gently cradling it like he was a precious thing. “You’re not a different person, even though you’re acting like it. And I’m not dating you because of what you could hear.”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m not what I once was. I’m not—” He choked on the words. “I’m not Daredevil.”

It was the first time he said it out loud.

“Just because you’re not Daredevil doesn’t mean you can’t help people. You were a lawyer long before you put on that suit. That doesn’t stop just because you put it away.”

That was true. Matt had been Daredevil for so long that sometimes it was hard for him to think beyond it.

Your hands dropped from his face, and Matt threw a hand out, not wanting you to leave him. His hand landed on your waist and twisted into your shirt to keep you close. He had lied when he said he wouldn’t stop you.

“I’ll tell you now, though,” you started. You didn’t move away, but neither did you touch him. “You can’t keep acting like you have been. You can’t keep shutting me out. Can’t keep shutting Karen and Foggy out. You need to start living again.”

Matt went quiet.

“So, what are you going to do?” you asked after a moment.

“You’re not going to leave?” Matt asked, his voice soft and quiet, almost like he didn’t want you to hear.

You sighed, and Matt’s heart seized until he heard the light, teasing tone of your voice.

“Depends on what your answer is.”

Matt pulled you into him so he could wrap his arms around you. You didn’t object and let him hold you.

You were right.

Matt was pushing everyone and everything away again. He had done it before, and it didn’t work out. His friends wouldn’t let him. He should have known better than to think they would let him slip away.

“I’m sorry I…” He wasn’t sure how to put it. “I’m sorry I stopped trying.” Then he corrected himself. “I’m sorry I gave up.”

Your arms settled around his shoulders. “That I wasn’t there for you enough.”

Matt started to shake his head. He had been acting like the world had ended. Like a child withdrawing from the world when it got too scary. Your words were the push he needed.

“I could have done something better,” you said, already knowing he would try to shoulder all the blame. “You’re allowed to tell me I need to do better. Just like I’m allowed to do the same. You don’t have to do it, but I still get to say it.”

Matt gave a small smile, the tugging on his lips an unfamiliar feeling.

This felt…normal.

“We’ll both do better. Deal?” he asked, a lightness returning to him, missing since the night of the explosion.

“Deal,” you answered and kissed him.

[nagdabbit]

Come through callin’ (1/3) Chapter 2, Chapter 3

words: 10.5k

rating: teen+ (temporary character death [because it’s a time loop], referenced & on-screen suicide [because time loop])

jon moxley/eddie kingston, jon moxley/renee

(time loop au, pre-exploding barbed wire death match) He ached. There was a gaping crater in his chest, empty and cold, that kept getting patched over with each small bit of refuge he was able to find. Never repaired, never truly fixed, no matter how much care anyone chose to give him. Like a bomb had gone off inside his ribcage, leaving nothing but rubble and dust. A pit so wide and jagged and perilous that nothing could hope to survive there.

Each time he shattered, it got harder and harder to glue the pieces back together. Shards no longer fit together, cracks widened to the point that they'd never truly close.

(reposted from ao3)

.

Days stretched on and on, too many of them to count. It felt like years he'd been stuck. Like a lifetime gone and wasted. He'd stopped even getting out of bed months ago. Days? Just woke up, laid there and let the world go on around him until he fell asleep and it started all over again.

Renee had said, once, that he was good at suffering. And that was just about the truest thing anyone had ever said about him, honestly. He could withstand tortures. Hell could rain down on him, and he'd still be standing by the end of it. He could endure. It took a lot to truly beat him down, but even he had his breaking point, and he had passed it ages ago.

It felt like years since he'd rolled out of bed for anything. He stopped even thinking, really. Locked himself down tight, made himself smaller and smaller inside his own head until he wasn't even in control, not in a way that mattered. It was like watching everything from behind a grimy, scratched up TV screen. Like watching some sad, boring movie.

Kept him out of trouble, though. Passed the time, not that time even really worked right anymore. He couldn't slice himself open if he couldn't even find the strength to get out of bed. He’d done that a couple times. Helluva is a lot more than a couple, actually. He’d lost his mind there for a bit. He’d have taken death without a protest if it was all just finally fucking over.

That felt like years ago, though. Since then, it had been nothing but a slow, steady slide into giving up entirely. He’d lost count of the number of days he’d spent holed up in bed. He hadn’t really even counted them to begin with. Would've been pretty fucking pointless to even try. He’d awoken on the whatever-thousandth cycle and simply—couldn’t. Couldn’t muster up the strength to rise and try and fight his way out of the fucking nightmare one more goddamn time.

So he hadn’t.

Ordinarily, if he ever managed to actually get to sleep, he usually woke early, whether he liked it or not. He was usually up and about, putzing around the house long before the sun was up. Now it was five in the fucking morning, on the dot, every fucking Sunday after fucking Sunday. Renee always smiled at him when she woke, two hours later, surprised to find him still laid out at her side. When he didn't move or smile back, she'd get a little crease between her eyebrows. Concern, worry, sadness, fear. Never judgment, though, never that. She'd touch his cheek. Brush gentle fingers through his last scraps of hair. Ask him quiet, simple questions. Sometimes he'd answer. He hadn't the last fifty-few cycles, hadn’t even managed a shake of his head.

She would wait with him as long as she could, usually another hour or so, before hunger and work or those sharp, persistent baby kicks would pull her out of bed. She wouldn't leave him for long, though, not unless he asked her to. It was the only thing he'd said to her in weeks—when he could muster up the strength to, anyway. She’d return to him with snacks, a new book, a dog to watch over him. Sometimes she'd just snuggle in against his back and hold him tight.

And then he'd fall asleep, usually before the sun was even all that high in the sky. And then he would wake up, and she'd be fast asleep next to him, arm thrown up over her head, and the whole thing would begin all over again.

He'd been awake for a little while, maybe twenty minutes, but Renee was still asleep. He had another couple two hours before she would begin to stir.

He could convince her, if he wanted, when he wanted. It wasn't hard. She trusted him, after all. She knew what he sounded like when he wanted to play a joke, and when he was dead serious. But it got old when it didn't even fucking matter. When it didn't take. He kept waking up same fucking day after same fucking day, with not a damn thing to show for it.

He sighed and carefully rolled out of bed. He'd perfected it, getting out of bed without waking her or startling a dog into barking. He had a lifetime worth of practice, after all.

In the bathroom mirror, he looked like shit. Not physically, but he could see the weight of exhaustion in his own face. He hadn't felt rested in longer than he could even remember. Felt like he’d stayed up all night. Had tried that a few times, made it straight on through to morning. Then he’d stupidly tripped over something, knocked himself out, he gave up trying. Once, he’d stayed up and carried on with the life he was supposed to be living. They made it all the way onto the plane, flying off to blow himself up, right on schedule. Must have fallen asleep, reset the whole damnable experiment one more godforsaken time. 

He sighed, pushed away from the sink and followed the familiar path out of their bedroom and down the stairs.

He fed the dogs, even though it wouldn't matter. Let them outside before the sun baked down on 'em. Set out a mug and a sachet of tea that would never get brewed. He left a note, short and sweet. A simple Hiking to keep Renee from getting worried when she woke. Just because she wouldn't remember didn't mean he had to be a dick about it all.

He grabbed a knife. His phone. His keys.

Sky was still dark when he walked outside, would be for a while still. Always fucking was, everything fucking morning. He could make it pretty far up the canyon trail before the heat became completely unbearable, if he hurried.

For a while there, during his darker days, he'd hike into the canyon as far as he could. Get as high into the rocks as he could manage, until all his muscles were screaming at him to stop and he couldn't get any higher. The sun would be pretty well above the horizon, bright and hot.

He'd find a spot, somewhere to sit and watch. Call up somebody, anybody. His mom, a couple times. His dad. His sister. He wondered if Omega had anything to do with it. Called him up, just to see if he'd answer, let him snark and spit and grandstand as Jon silently bled out. They were supposed to blow each other up soon, but he never made it that far. He didn't come away from that cycle thinking the guy had any hand in his hell. If Kenny had had anything to do with it, he'd have made sure Jon knew. 

But he didn't want to give the crazy fucker that much credit, anyway.

He called people he hadn't heard from in years, just to hear them talk like it was old times. Old friends, enemies. Called up Gage, once. He'd known somethin' was wrong immediately, got Jon to say what was happening, what he'd done. Stayed on the line, just quiet and calm and steady. Wasn't anything he could do that far away, anyway, but he'd stayed. Didn't let Jon sit there alone. That was the last time he'd offed himself. Felt like years since then. Probably fuckin’ was. Could it even really be years if every day was the same fucking day?

Renee had cried when he finally got brave enough to tell her, a couple cycles later. He had, too, if he was being honest. One of the worst fuckin’ things he’d ever had to do. He’d never told her about that before, never had the fucking balls. She'd accidentally—he'd timed it wrong, once. Dropped himself off their balcony with a rope around his neck, thinking she'd been asleep. She hadn't been.

He hadn't told her about that time. Hadn’t been able to. He’d woken up next to her, her scream still echoing in his ears, and just gathered her close, buried his nose in her hair and didn’t let go until he'd cried himself back to sleep, what felt like only minutes later.

There was a number he'd avoided, though, in all his cycles. Maybe just to be petty. Maybe just because he didn't think Eddie would answer.

And in all fairness to him, he didn't. Not the first time, anyway. Usually, if no one answered, Jon gave up and watched the sun bake down on the desert all alone. He decided to call a second time, for some reason, his own blood slicking up the screen. He fumbled more than a little as he turned the phone on speaker and set it down, so he didn't have to worry about dropping it.

"Thought I told you t'forget this number." It was raspier than usual. Like he'd just woken up, maybe, and Jon felt a little bad about waking him.

"Couldn't if I tried," he mumbled, looking down at Vegas, glittering in the morning light far below. 

Eddie scoffed at him. "What d'you want?"

"Just t'talk, that's all." He could feel blood pooling beneath him, hot and thick. He must have cut deeper than usual. "Miss you, ya know?"

"Yeah? And whose fault is that?"

"I wanted you t'come with me," he muttered, thinking back to years before, when they were both younger and dumber.

They'd had some kind of something, almost a relationship, for a long time. Deeper than friendship, a little too sexual to be brotherhood. He'd been in love with Eddie, completely fucking stupid for the man. Hell, he'd been stupid enough to believe it was returned. But when the call came in, Eddie had said congrats and pushed him out the door, no matter what Jon had tried to say. 

He didn't know if Eddie counted as an ex, exactly, but that was a good enough title, he supposed. "Didn't ever wanna go to Florida without you."

"And I was just s'posed to read your mind? Pfft, I ain't fuckin' magic, Mox." 

"I asked, you said no." 

"Ya didn't ask shit, Mox," Eddie grumbled under his breath, and that fucking hurt. That the man didn't even care enough to remember . "The fuck are you, anyway? Sounds fuckin' windy." 

"Jus' a little breezy. Went for a hike."

"You drunk?" A scoff, an unamused laugh, "Bit fuckin' early for that."

"Not drunk, I'm dying." He hadn't said that before, exactly. Not out loud, anyway—save for owning up to Gage's gentle, persistent questions. It wasn't ever about that, he just didn't want to be alone. 

There was a moment of silence, a long beat where Jon couldn't even hear him breathing. "What?"

"Cut my wrists, before I called. Pretty deep this time," he sighed, staring right into the sun. Going blind wouldn't matter in a couple minutes. "Doesn't matter."

"Doesn't— what?! Mox, where are you?"

"It's fine, I'll still wake up tomorrow. Today. Whatever," he huffed a laugh, a sad, thick sound. "S'some Groundhog Day shit, but sadder."

"Mox," he sounded kinda shaky, kinda weak. "Jon, where are you?"

"Too far away," he said, dismissively. "Just wanted to hear your voice this time. That's all."

"This time?! What are you talkin' about?" He was fumbling with something, getting someone's attention, maybe.

"I killed myself hundreds’a times by now," Jon muttered, eyes going unfocused. He laid back on the rock, stared up at the sky. He'd watched it so many times that he had it memorized, but it was still fuckin' beautiful. A wide ocean of blue, big puffs of clouds, still tinged kind of pink and gold from the warm morning light. "Won't be the last."

He could hear Eddie panicking, breaths coming fast. Jon knew that sound. That was fear and panic. That was walls closing in and several hundred baseball bats to the chest.

Fuck. He did that.

"Fuck, sorry. I—sorry." He could barely even lift a hand to wipe at sweat and fuck else dripping down his cheeks, let alone do a damn thing to fix what he'd just broken. "Shit, Eddie. Please, just—trust me. Please. It'll be okay."

"F-fuckin' trust you?! " There was a hiccup, what could have been a scoff or a sob. "You tryin' t'hurt me? That what this is?"

"Never wanted t'do that," he promised, trying to think of something to say to make it better, only to come up blank. "M'sorry. Never usually goes like this."

Eddie really did scoff then, and Jon could picture him rolling his eyes. Could picture those angry baby blues, turned glassy and red, thick lashes clumped together. "Oh, yeah, right. Groundhog Day. What'd you say last time you ruined my fuckin' day?"

"Nothing. Never called you before. Wondered if it'd change things," he muttered, letting his head loll back against the rough, rocky earth. It was too hard to keep his eyes open anymore. 

"What if it does? What then? You ain't gonna wake up if you're fuckin' dead, you fuckin' dumbass." He sounded far away, weak and desperate. There was that hitch in his breath, and it made Jon ache. "Fuck—Jon, you can't do this t'me. You can't." 

"M'sorry. I won't do it again."

“You won’t—are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie's voice shook, and it fucking broke Jon's heart. "You fuckin' asshole. You can't fuckin' d-do this t'me you dumb sonuva bitch."

"Sorry, Eddie. M'sorry."

"This—f'this is real, and you wake up tomorrow, you fuckin' call me," Eddie said, breath still loud and pained and far too fucking quick. "Apologize to me for this, you fucking asshole."

"You gonna listen?" he asked. Any second, he'd be waking up back in bed. The room would be dark and the dog would be snoring and Renee would be tucked against his side, an arm thrown over her head. "F'I try and explain."

"Does it fuckin’ matter?" 

He huffed out a laugh, much of one as he had the strength for. “Pro’lly not.”

"And if-if this doesn't—Mox— Jon—if this don't work," he ground out, trying his damnedest to hold on to whatever semblance of composure he'd clawed back for himself. "F'you kill yourself, all for n-nothing, you better sit your dumb ass down at the gates'a fuckin' hell and wait for me to get down there and kill you again my goddamn self."

He mustered up the strength for half a laugh, small and weak and fading. “Anything you fuckin’ want," he promised.

“Couldn’a fuckin’ started with that?” 

"Next time," Jon muttered. "I love you. Still do. Never fuckin’ stopped. You gotta know that."

"You goddamn son of a bitch," Eddie wheezed out, voice breaking all over again.

Guilt was already heavy in his chest when he woke. He'd drifted off on the sound of Eddie sobbing, muffled, like he was trying to hide it. And there it was again. Shades drawn, dog snoring, Renee fast asleep, arm thrown over her head.

He could still feel the sun on his face, hot and blinding. Could still hear Eddie's heaving breaths in his ear.

He didn't lounge around getting restless, not when he had his marching orders. Not that it even really mattered, Eddie wouldn't even remember, but he'd fucking promised . 

As far as motivations went, it wasn't nothing.

He made it much further up the trail than he had the day before, the earlier start giving him time to think—not that he actually used it. He'd set himself on autopilot, silently watched through a grimy screen while he followed the familiar motions of his hike.

He settled himself onto a new perch, higher than he usually reached on his excursions. Hesitated for as long as he could.

Eddie answered on the third ring, and Jon had a bright pang of hope that he wasn't alone. But he'd waited until the sun was a fair bit higher in the sky before calling. Let Eddie wake up a little bit more before ruining his day again. Gave himself a little time he didn't use to psych himself up.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Been sitting on that line awhile?" he asked, crossing his legs on the warm rock. 

"What?"

"Nothin' important, you just said that yesterday."

A scoff, he could practically hear the eye roll. "Bullshit. You ain't called in years, Moxley."

“Sure would be easier if that were true. You told me to call again and apologize," he muttered, watching the sky light up. “So this is me apologizing. So, m’sorry.”

Eddie snorted, rifling through cupboards on the other end of the line. “‘Kay, I’ll bite. What’re you sorry for?”

"Know Groundhog Day?"

Another scoff. "'Course I do. Everybody does. Kinda fuckin' question even is that?"

"M'livin' in one of those," he muttered. "Time loop. Been stuck here for a long fuckin’ while."

There was a moment of silence. Then a long sigh. Jon remembered that one. He only sighed like that when somebody was bein' too stupid for words. "Fuck did you take, Mox?"

"Didn't take anything. And I'm not drunk, either. Promise."

"I don't believe you."

"You said you might not. Shoulda expected it, honestly. This shit is pretty unbelievable."

"Oh yeah? What else did I say?" He scoffed, slammed something closed, clanged around on the countertop, made angry noises. But he didn't hang up. "What else d'you gotta apologize for?"

"I slit my wrists yesterday," he said, wincing as Eddie fumbled something on the other end of the line. "Before I called. For some reason, I decided to tell you about it, and did it in a real shitty way. Sent you into a panic attack. I'm sorry for that. Kinda forget sometimes that you're all livin' the same fuckin' day over and over, too. M'just the one who has t'remember it all. That ain't your fault."

It was silent on the other end. For a long time. Just Eddie's quick breaths and the hot, dry wind scraping against his cheeks. "What are you doin', Jon?" he asked, weakly.

"Watchin' the sunrise. Don't have a knife this time," he muttered. "Promise. Just—keepin' my word. I threw a lot of shit at you, and you didn't deserve it. Got plenty more'a these days comin' to fuck up in, figured I'd at least get one of 'em right." But then he thought about what he’d already said, and winced. He no longer remembered how to talk to people , kept sticking his entire foot in his mouth. Though, Eddie was good at that, at wrangling the dumbass out of him. “Not that right, I guess. Kinda just threw everything at you all over again.”

"This is insane."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"How long?" 

"Dunno. Stopped counting what feels like years ago." He sighed, and laid back, feet dangling from his perch. He'd jumped more than a few times. The pain, while it lasted, was something else . But he'd done it often enough to lose his fear of it, the pain. Might've traumatized himself into a greater fear of heights than he'd had before, but that was the cost of experimentation, he supposed. "Probably been at least a couple years’ worth. I'd bet a whole lot longer. About day, oh, 500 or so, it got really dark. There are months worth of days I just don't even remember."

"How many times?" It was a little strained and tight. Barely controlled.

"More than I cared to count. Least a hundred," he muttered. "Probably a lot more."

"Christ." It was under his breath, a weak exhale. "But you haven't? 'Til yesterday, you haven't since those—those dark days?"

"No, I—the guilt gets to you, after awhile." He closed his eyes against the prickling, stinging burn the memory always brought on. "I, uh, called Gage. That final time 'fore this, before yesterday. He knew somethin' was up, almost immediately. He stayed on the line, talkin' t'me through it all. Just—just sat on the phone with me so I wouldn't feel quite so alone. Shoulda never put him through that, even if he wouldn't remember."

"Goddamn right you shouldn't, jesus." 

"Told Renee everything, once a couple cycles passed and I built up the courage," he sighed, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight.

"She believe you?"

"Every single time.” And it was true, without fail. Would never just humor him, knew him far too well for that. “Sure as shit don't fuckin' deserve her, lemme fuckin' tell you."

"What have you tried?"

"Everything I can think of," Jon sighed. "Not that that's a lot. I thought it might be Omega, for a bit there. But he's too keyed up to plan somethin' like this, even if he wasn't a fuckin' idiot."

"And everything just—resets? Every single day?"

"Yeah. Soon as I die or go to sleep." He laughed to himself, a little. "Never thought I'd fuckin' miss taking naps , but here I am. F'I just stop getting tired, I might actually make it to Dynamite this week."

Eddie made a little sound, like a helpless little laugh. "Jesus christ, Mox."

"Don't think he's listenin' right now." There was a little annoying chime in his ear, a buzz against his cheek, signaling a dying battery. He rolled his eyes at his own stupid self. Countless fucking days, one after another, and he still couldn't remember to charge the fucking thing. 

"How are you so calm?"

"I got nothing else left," he said, simply. 

"That's—what can you do?"

"Just try again tomorrow."

"Yeah, and how's that plan goin' for ya?"

"I'm sure it'll work one of these days," he joked, weakly. The phone made another sad, plaintive buzz against his cheek, and he sighed. "I gotta go. You take care'a yourself."

"You're not—"

"No, no. Not this time," Jon promised. "Phones the one dying, today. Don't always remember to plug it in on the drive out of the city."

"Call me tomorrow," Eddie said, firmly. "Today, whateva. Call me."

"I will. I'll charge my phone and everything."

He got a huff of a laugh, weak and sad—and more than a little surprised—but it was there. "Please. You're scaring me, Jon."

"I know. Sorry. Gotta remember how to actually talk to people again."

"Just—when you call, tell me… fuck, I dunno." He sighed, loudly. There was a rustle or movement, and Jon pictured him scrubbing a hand over his face. "I dunno what t'tell me. How to get me to believe you. This is all too fuckin' crazy."

“I’ll figure it out,” he promised, and got another of those scoffing sort of laughs for his trouble. "I'll talk t'you soon." 

"You better."

He would. Didn't know how long it would take, but he fucking well had to, now.

Renee was awake when he got home, once he'd climbed himself back down the trail. 

Shouldn't have been noteworthy, but he so rarely actually returned from his trips. Didn't usually let himself enjoy a quiet Sunday at home. He'd holed himself up in bed for so long that he'd damn near forgotten all her rhythms and routines. 

She had her back to him while she prepped some kind of something on the counter. Chopping vegetables it sounded like. There was music playing somewhere, sounded kinda like Bowie. Labyrinth, that was right. She always put on the Labyrinth soundtrack on her Sunday afternoon.

She greeted him with a casual, familiar, "Hey, babe. Hungry?"

He was, probably. But food had kind of just begun to taste like ash in his mouth. He could ignore his hunger pretty easy. He'd grown pretty goddamn good at it, in fact. He could suffer, after all.

He sighed and stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around to press his hands to her round belly. He hadn't been thinking about it, not really, not until he actually said it out loud: they were trapped with him, too.

Renee was stuck in the same exact moment, living the same day over and over and over. Only she got to forget. She got to live. She didn't have to remember. But she was still stuck . Life wasn't moving on for her, the way it should have. It was a Sunday, one they had been living for a long, long while. And not one single cycle was getting them any closer to Monday.

June was an eternity away. 

They were having a baby. Jon couldn't wait to meet the damn thing, but every single day that passed just pushed June further and further away. Every single day that kept him from meeting his little girl was another knife to his chest. It was unreachable. It was hell. 

"M'havin' trouble with something," he muttered, sighing again. He pressed a kiss into her hair. She smelled like strawberries and roses. Sweet and powdery, rich with the scent of her. "Need some advice."

"Oh, that sounds fun." She chuckled and leaned back against his chest, all comfort and warmth, "Alright, hit me with it."

He loved her. Fucking hell, did he. Of all the endless hell he'd been subjected to, it never ceased to fucking amaze that she could get his guard down so fast. Calm him, make him smile even when he felt like he couldn't. Even those days he couldn't muster up a smile for her, couldn't propel himself out of bed, couldn't do much more than lay there and let the cycle continue to drag him along for the ride, she was what made it all bearable. What made it all feel survivable. Pulled him, just a little bit, out of that hole in his head that he'd tucked himself into.

But it grew harder each day to actually let her.

He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head, and moved away, slinking around to slump down into one of the stools lining the breakfast bar. "I'm having myself a bit of a Groundhog Day," he sighed. He wanted to bang his head on the counter a few times, but he'd sat facing her for a reason: so he couldn't fucking hide. "Time loop thing. Stuck living this today over and over again."

She snorted a laugh and gave him one of those expectant sort of smiles, waiting for a punchline. He always had one. She'd always liked that about him, for some reason.

When nothing came, though, her smile dimmed. It slowly slipped off her face as she studied him, like each new thing she noticed in his own expression was what was killing hers. That little furrow in her brow, one he loved just as much as he hated, was back. "You're serious."

He nodded. "Yeah. Fuckin' hate it."

She laughed a little in disbelief, a sad fucking sound. It wasn't pity, not really. Just sadness. Like his despair was just that obvious and visible. It probably was. "How long have you been stuck?"

"Years."

"Are you—babe, this isn't possible," she said, carefully setting down her knife. "Are you sure?"

He got it, he did. She usually asked a question like that. Can you trust yourself? She suggested some illnesses he'd spent multiple cycles researching as best he could. She hinted at injuries, the kinda things that could sneak up on a wrestler like him. Poison, gas leaks, parasites. Things that could cause hallucinations. Delusions. She had all kinds of ideas, and each one would've been more fucking plausible than 'I'm stuck in a time loop.' 

But that was the problem. It didn’t make sense. It wasn't plausible. It wasn’t a logical fucking problem, it didn’t follow rules—if there even were any rules governing his personal hell. 

He nodded. "M'sure. There's only so many times you can hallucinate a suicide before one of 'em sticks. Before it's not a hallucination anymore."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her whole body giving a sudden, violent flinch. God, and he fucking hated himself for it, too. He'd done nothing but accidentally hurt the only ones getting him through the whole terrible mess. Nothing but bad timing and careless words.

"I killed myself yesterday," he muttered, looking away. He had to keep going, keep pushing through the explanation, but he couldn't even muster up the balls to look her in the eye as he said it. "Been a long time since I did that. Just fuckin'... Lost it. Went for a hike, found a nice rock to watch the sunrise. Slit my wrists and—called Eddie. Uh, Eddie Kingston."

"Jon…" She sounded so heartbroken. She'd abandoned her work and reached across the counter to grip at his hand.

"Yeah, I know. I, uh, he made me promise to call him and apologize. So that's where I was this morning," he said, glancing down. Her hand always looked delicate against his own, even when he knew she wasn't. She was gentle, not weak.

"How'd that go?"

"Surprisingly well. Told me to call him tomorrow. Today. Whatever." He shrugged, trying his damnedest not to break down again. It wasn't working, never really did, but he needed to get through as much as he could.

She laughed, sadly. It wasn't a nice sound, it was hopeless and helpless and wet. She wasn't the one who was supposed to be heartbroken. Not ever, not if he had any say.

"Why him?" she asked, softly, squeezing his hand tight for a moment. "Why Eddie?"

He shrugged a little, watching her thumb gently soothe over his scarred knuckles. "He's not the only one. Just—I missed him, I guess, and finally gave into it. Called a lot of other people, before, I just never…" He sighed and scrubbed his free hand over his face, trying to sort through the fractured moments in his head. "I did that too many times to count. Wandered out, cut my wrists, called somebody up. I think just to… Just so I didn't have to be alone, maybe. So if it was the last time, if it was the one that stuck, I wouldn't have to go out listening to silence."

Renee's grip tightened to the point of pain, her hand trembling. He knew that part of her, the determined part. The part that was made of steel and fire. She was hanging on with everything she had, just to be some kind of steady. Hanging on tight enough to keep him standing.

He wished he could do the same. Wished to fucking hell he could get free, get back to his feet, get some bit of himself back. Wished he could piece himself back together and return every ounce of strength she'd given him.

"I didn't usually tell any of 'em, though. 'Cept Gage, called him up once and he just fuckin' knew immediately that something was up. That was the last time, 'fore yesterday." He shrugged again, uselessly. Everything felt useless, anymore. "Talked me through it. Guilt was too much to do that again, after."

"So why did you tell Eddie?"

"He's kinda like you. Knows how to wrangle the truth outta me," he admitted. 

At least she managed a half a laugh at that, her grip relaxing just a little. "Yeah, I know. You got a type."

He snorted, "Yeah. Stubborn has always been a real turn on."

"Yeah, you've said you like a pretty smile, too," she teased.

"I like 'em crazy."

"And loud."

"Bull-headed."

"Determined," she corrected, airily. 

Wasn't that the fucking truth? The ones he'd always loved the most, the ones he'd never let go of, not truly, they both had that in common. Strong wills and steel spines, big smiles and bright eyes.

He had a fucking type alright. 

"I dunno what to do," he said, before he could chicken out. "I've exhausted all your ideas, through all of this. Figured if anyone was smart enough to solve this shit, it'd be you. But it never worked. No fuckin' logic to any of this. You're too fuckin' smart for a stupid fuckin' problem like this."

Renee sniffled a little, trying to compose herself. She'd always do that, too. Try and put on a brave face, especially when he couldn't even imagine doing so himself. "Well," she began, voice shaking just a little, "let's see what I haven't come up with yet."

He managed a smile for her, finally meeting her eyes again. "I don't think it's gonna be that easy," he murmured, with a shake of his head.

"I think we're well past easy, babe." She wasn't crying, but she wanted to. Tears were threatening to spill down her cheek, and she still had a smile for him. 

He turned his hand in hers, grasping at her in return. Clung to her, trying to hold onto all that strength in her. "I'm scared," he said, before he could talk himself out of his honesty. "And I dunno how to keep holding onto any scrap of hope that I'll ever make it outta this." 

"You gotta meet our daughter," he said, firmly. Her chin wobbled, just a little, but she held on. She held on for him, so he didn't have to. Even for just a few moments. And fuck, it was enough to shatter him open. "She's so close, Jon. She's almost here, you gotta meet her."

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, a few drops of moisture slipping down his cheeks. "I can't fucking wait," he whispered, wiping at his face with his free hand. “She’s keepin’ me going.”

"She's gonna be amazing." He could hear the smile in her voice, but he could hear the sadness, too. The helplessness. "Can't wait to take her to preschool, one day. Can you imagine? Your kid?"

She'd be a little firecracker. He'd raise her right, teach her how to throw a punch and talk her way out of trouble. A little bit of a laugh, almost a sob, bubbled up out of him. "They won't know what hit 'em."

"She's gonna give 'em hell, babe." Renee squeezed his hand tight, "You have to teach her how to drive, one day. Scare her first date. See her off to college. Walk her down the aisle."

He nodded, eyes stinging. His breath hitched, stuttered in his lungs. It had been building for so long, waiting for him to let his guard down. 

"Cant wait 'til we get to be grandparents. Can you imagine it? We're gonna get old and wrinkly," she chuckled, voice going thick and shaky. "You gotta get old with me, babe. You're going to. So hold on to that."

He hiccuped out a sob, broken and crusty and unused for so long that it hurt when the sound left his lips. He'd been holding on for so goddamn long that the bits of him that shattered apart just cut up everything else along the way. 

Renee was on him before he even knew she'd moved, arms going tight around his neck. One delicate hand splayed over his shoulder blade, running a soothing up and down motion over his heaving back, while the other gently—always so fucking gently—cupped his head. 

He collapsed into her, breaths nothing but stutters and broken glass. 

She tucked his face down against her shoulder without a care about him making a mess. Whispered promises and assurances against his temple. She smelled like strawberries and roses. 

He knew that scent like he knew his own name. It was ingrained in him. A piece of him. Like the fluffy, golden clouds outside, the ones he'd looked at so many thousands of times he could draw them from memory. He'd never tire of it.

No matter how damnably long his hell lasted, he'd always have strawberries and roses.

Eventually, once his tank had run dry, he carefully released his grip on her. Smoothing down her ratty shirt where he'd gripped it. 

Her hands were on his face, so gentle that it nearly shattered him all over again. She didn't say anything, didn't really have to. Just kept looking up at him with that concerned expression, thumbs gently smoothing away the errant tears still wetting his cheeks.

He wanted to sleep, but he wasn't ready to let go of her yet. It always felt like she was slipping through his fingers, those cycles when he told her everything. As sleep started to take him, it always felt like trying to grip a fistful of sand. 

"I'm not ready to start this cycle over, yet," he muttered, then offered her as much of a shit eating grin as he could muster. It wasn't much, what with his cheeks wet and his nose running, but she returned it just the same. "What d'you say you teach me how to cook?"

She snorted and sputtered out a disbelieving laugh, and it patched up a crack or two running through Jon's chest. "An eternity wouldn't be enough time for that," she joked.

"Yeah, but I'm kinda starin' down the barrel of one of those," he countered, and his chest ached for a long moment. "May as well give it a go, right?"

She could see his attempt at deflection for what it was, but she was a saint. She wiped off as much of her concerned expression as she could, blinked away as many tears as she was able, and gave Jon a playful sigh. "Fine, come make lunch with me."

He didn't burn anything, if only by the grace of Renee refusing to let him anywhere near the actual stove. But it was good, and it settled another little piece of the shattered bones in his chest. Something about getting to be a trouble making menace to someone who inexplicably found that part of him charming was enough to ease a little of his troubles. Not much, maybe not even enough, but it was a start.

When he woke in the morning, he watched her sleep for as long as he could stand. Until he grew restless, something he hadn't even remembered he could feel, and rolled himself out of bed. 

Down the stairs, to his truck, out to the desert where it was supposed to be quiet and still. Maybe that was why he'd found so much solace there, through his endless cycles: with everything around him at a forced standstill, he needed something meant to be that way. Something meant to be still and peaceful. The quiet was better than the forced silence.

He settled in and pressed his phone to his ear, just as he'd promised.

"Thought I told you to forget this number."

"Can't."

Eddie snorted, continued to rummage around his cupboards. "I got shit t'do, what d'you want?"

He rolled his eyes. "Honestly, I was hoping you remembered our talk yesterday and I wouldn't have to explain it all again. No such luck."

"Fuck off, we didn't talk yesterday. The fuck're you on about?"

"Yeah, you didn't believe me yesterday, either. It's some stupid Groundhog Day shit," he sighed. "You made me promise to call again. Dunno why."

There was a pause, and a sigh, and an unimpressed, "You gotta be kidding me."

"Nah, too fuckin' tired . Never liked tryin'a pull one over on you, anyway," he sighed. "Can we just, like, call a truce? Just today, just until my phone dies. I miss you, I'd like a moment to just—have you back in my corner. Even if it's just an hour."

"Yeah? What about what I want?" Eddie sounded unhappy, impatient. Aloof . That kinda tone he used when he wanted to sound indifferent. Didn't want to let on how much of a shit he was actually giving. "Ever think about that?"

"Yeah, that's fair. I'll hang up if you want me to," he said, carefully, cold fear gripping his lungs. He would, if Eddie told him to. He would. And it would probably fucking break him. God , already off to a bang fucking start.

"This is insane."

He huffed a laugh. "Tell me about it."

"Why are you doin' this, Jon?"

"Just needed to hear your voice," he murmured, realizing it was true . Now that he had some bit of Eddie back, temporary as it was, he found he needed their calls. If ever Eddie didn't tell Jon to call again, he would. It was a fucking addiction. He always had been. Far too fucking easy to fall in love with, just like Renee. "It's been fuckin' years of this. More than you realize. Definitely more'n I even realize. You're one of my three constants, now." 

"What about the other two?"

"Renee, obviously—"

"Obviously."

"And this endless fuckin' slog of Sundays," he finished, sighing. "It's a fuckin' nightmare, waking up every goddamn morning with not enough time to get a damn thing done, and too much fuckin' time to look forward to."

"This is fuckin' heavy."

He shrugged, even though he knew Eddie couldn't see it. "I'm sorry. But at least you don't have to remember this tomorrow."

"Like I could forget this shit," Eddie scoffed.

"Wish it was that easy." He did, wished someone, anyone would just hang onto an ounce of their conversations so he didn't have to rehash everything every day. "I've been stuck here, in this shit, for far too fucking long. Alone, so goddamn alone."

"What have you tried?"

"Everything I could think of. Do you know how many fuckin' time loop movies I've watched?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood, just a little. 

Eddie chuckled, which was a start. "What, didn't learn astro-whatever and blow up a fuckin' cave?"

"Eh, once or twice," he joked, relaxing against the rock wall at his back. "Surprisingly easy to get ahold of explosives, turns out. They can't put you on a watch list if you're in a time loop."

"I wanna believe you," Eddie murmured. "I do. But you gotta know how fuckin' insane you sound, Mox."

"Oh, believe me , I fuckin' know." He snorted and shook his head, thinking back. He'd tried some shit , threw anything and everything he could get his grubby mits on at the wall, in the hopes something would fuckin' stick. "Renee has some good ideas. Or, they would be, I guess. If this made sense. She's too smart to fix a stupid fuckin' problem like this. Feel like I'm gonna stumble head first into a fix, and have no fuckin' idea what I even did."

"Yeah, that sounds like somethin' you'd do." Eddie sighed, and there was a rustle of fabric and the creak of wood, like he'd just sat down. Like Mox had his undivided attention. Like he wanted to help . "What's your girl been tellin' you?"

"Everything she can think of, really. All of it would make fuckin' sense if this whole time loop shit weren't actually happening." Chapped his fucking ass, actually. That he couldn't just get a brain scan and script and fix the whole damn thing in one go. "D'you wanna guess how many times I accidentally got my ass institutionalized 'cause of how goddamn batshit this all sounds?"

"My instinct is to say none, but you don't sound like you're lying t'me."

He felt himself deflate, felt his own shoulders slump. "I'm not. I promise, I'm not."

"How the fuck am I s'posed to know that, b?"

"You're doin' the same thing Renee does; you're tryin' to see all this shit through logic . You want it to make sense, and it fucking doesn't." He leaned his head back against the rocks, let his eyes fall closed. Let himself breathe, memorize all that dry sage and cedar. The scent of sunlight and heat. "I won't ask you to believe me. That's too much, m'getting that. But please, please, just for today—trust me. Trust that I'm experiencing something fuckin' wild, even if you don't understand it."

Eddie was silent for a long moment, just sitting with him, just breathing. It wasn't half as strained as Jon had expected. "You never used to talk this much," he said, so quiet Jon had to strain to hear it. "Not even t'me."

"Didn't used to need to." He winced, shook his head, felt a pang of guilt in his gut. "I think I took for granted how well you knew me. Understood me. Didn't have to talk, 'cause you could always read my mind."

"At the start, maybe."

"No, no. At the end, too," Jon promised. "You always got me. And I thought I got you, too. But sometimes I didn't—I didn't always pay attention. You were hurting, but you talked. About everything, all the time. 'Cept when you were hurting. And I just took your word that you were okay, even when all the signs said I shouldn't."

He heard a little intake of breath, like Eddie wanted to say something, but he stayed quiet. And that hurt, too.

"I gotta figure out how to apologize for that, too. When this is over, and you'll remember it. You deserve that much." He smiled to himself, bitter and rueful. "Seems like cheating to do it when it won't even matter."

"It matters," Eddie whispered. "It still fuckin' matters."

"Maybe. I also don't wanna start a conversation we can't even finish," Jon reasoned. "But you gotta know I never wanted to leave you behind. But I did, and I'm still so fucking sorry for that, too. I shoulda pushed harder. Should have picked up the fuckin' slack and just talked to you."

Eddie made a small, wounded kind of sound. A little hitch of breath. When he spoke again, his voice was thick and carefully controlled. Hanging on by a thread. "I, ah, gotta go, b. Got places t'be."

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the sting. "Yeah, okay. Stay outta trouble."

Eddie huffed out half a laugh, that familiar rasp Jon loved so goddamn much. "Call me tonight. Or before you reset, or whatever."

"It resets when I sleep. Or—yeah."

"Or what?"

"I told you, it's been years of this," Jon said, quietly. "You really think anyone could survive years of the same fucking day, over and fucking over, without throwin' themselves off a building once or twice?"

Eddie made another wounded sort of sound, caught off guard, and Jon felt like shit all over again. "Mox, fuck…"

"Sorry. I was gonna be—I dunno. Gentle this time. I keep fucking up with you. Keep just pushing on ahead without a fuckin' care," he muttered, and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'll do better tomorrow."

"Yeah, you fuckin' better, christ. You're gonna give me a goddamn heart attack at the rate you're going." Eddie sighed out deeply and cursed under his breath. "Call me tonight. Before you sleep. I'll stay on the line." 

"Why?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then said, simply, "I wanna believe you."

"If m'right, then it won't matter. You won't remember tomorrow."

"Just—call me later, asshole. I don't hear from you by midnight, m'callin' you my own damn self," Eddie snapped, and Jon could picture his face. The scowl, the pursed lips, the tilt of his head so he was always looking up through his lashes. Kinda scary, kinda sexy, mostly cute.

He chuckled, "Yeah, alright. I'll call. Promise."

It was a struggle and a half not to just dial Eddie's number right back. Eddie would answer, call him a dumbass—maybe he'd even say it kinda fondly—and then probably hang up on him. He could be patient, though. Maybe.

He kinda wondered what Eddie's plan was, actually. If he even had one. Didn't really matter if he did or not.

He didn't think he had it in him to just go through the motions of waiting around to find out. Having something to look forward to—something he would actually get—made him kinda jittery. Didn't think he could sit still.

He'd gone home and kissed Renee goodbye, told her not to worry, that he'd be back in time for their flight. He hated himself for the lie, but she was good at reading him. She'd known something was bothering him, he'd seen the concern in her expression, but she trusted him enough to know what he needed to do. She was kinda fucking great like that.

Then he'd driven as far as he could, 'til it got harder to keep his eyes open. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd made it to, but he'd seen a sign for BLM land a few hours before and pulled off the highway.

If he hadn't been having such a miserable fucking time of it, he might've enjoyed it more. It was beautiful. Scrubbier than he was used to, no dedicated hikes, no milling people clogging up the trails. Just a single lane track winding out into the desert and miles and miles of open sky. If he could even remember where in the fuck he even was, he might've liked to return when the sun was higher. When he had time to actually fucking enjoy it.

He pulled off the narrow road and into one of the scenic pullouts, even though it was a bit late for anyone to really be out there. No one woulda been bothered if he'd parked himself in the middle of the road. He decided to be nice, anyway.

It was cool out, all that sunshine warmth sapped away as the night fell. None of that pesky humidity to hang onto the sticky heat, leave it weighing down on him. Might've been most of a reason he liked Vegas as much as he did. No real weather to speak of, just dry heat, but no fucking weather. 

He kinda missed snow, though. Just a little bit.

"Finally."

Jon rolled his eyes and hopped up to sit on the tailgate of his truck, phone pressed to his ear. "Calm down, I said I would."

"Spoutin' shit about time loops doesn't really scream reliability, ya know," Eddie grumbled. 

Jon could hear the click of a lighter, that telltale first drag off a cigarette. He must've been outside too. Wondered, absently, if Eddie could see the same stars as him.

"So what now? What d'you usually do?"

"Fall asleep somewhere, usually. Couple'a car accidents from tryin' to stay up all night, couple times I just tripped over my own feet and ate it." He winced, "More than a couple nights, I downed a handful of pills. Weighed myself down in the pool. Hanged myself once. Never again doin' that one again."

"Hurt that bad?" He had that tight, strangled tone again. He couldn't hide it, no matter how calm and casual he wanted to sound. 

"No, wasn't that. I tried to wait for Renee to go to bed. Wasn't quiet enough. She, uh, saw. Had to watch." He grimaced, bile pushing at his throat. He still felt that one, heard it in his ears whenever he felt his lowest and wanted to feel even worse. "Never gonna forget that scream."

"Christ, I don't—how are you this calm?"

"The fuck else am I s'posed to be? Got nothin' left." He shook his head and laid back against the truck bed. Stars were bright and glittery, way out in the dry, lonesome desert. Nothing and no one for miles. Just him and Eddie and the starlight. "You dunno how long it's been. Far as the seven stages of grief goes, I've entered and remained pretty well entrenched in stage four."

They stayed quiet for a long while, just breathing in each other's ear. It was nice. So goddamn familiar that it made Jon ache. There was so much distance between them now. His shoulder was cold without Eddie there at his side, had been for years. A whole entire lifetime.

"Think you're in hell, or somethin'? Purgatory?" Eddie asked, after a while. His voice was soft and low. He must've been outside, too. There was the occasional sound of cars, the static of a gentle breeze across the receiver. "Think you're bein' punished for somethin'?"

"For a while I did. But I couldn't think of anything I'd done to warrant this ." He shook his head, night air cool against his skin. 

"Not for offin' yourself?" More of that cold, fake indifference.

"This started long before that idea ever crossed my mind." And it was true. He hoped Eddie knew that.

"I dunno that I really believe all this, but I know you must be goin' through some shit, if you're willing to spend so much time talkin' to me like this," Eddie muttered, taking a long drag off his cigarette. "Talkin' t'somebody you hate."

The breath stuttered in Jon's lungs. "You think I hate you?"

"Don't you?" he asked, with a derisive snort. "After everything?"

"And you call me a dumbass." It was Jon's turn to scoff, "Of course I don't. Couldn't fuckin' possibly. Not ever, not for anything."

"That's what makes you a fuckin' dumbass."

"Eddie, you gotta know I still love you. After everything I put myself through just to get you to fuckin' look at me again, you gotta," Jon said, eyes getting fuzzy. "Think Renee'd be jealous if she knew just how much."

"You can't just say that, Mox! Not now, not after everything," Eddie hissed. 

"S'not gonna matter in the morning. You won't remember."

"And that still ain't fuckin' fair to just throw at me outta the fuckin' blue like this. Tomorrow doesn't matter when you're making me fuckin' sit with this right here and now," he snapped, and he was right, and it sucked, and Jon just didn't know what to do about it. "And what if I do? What if, by the grace a'fuckin god, I remember?" 

"Honestly, I'd probably start cryin' on the spot," he admitted, and got a tiny, helpless laugh out of Eddie for his trouble. "You have no idea how alone I've been through all'a this. Renee doesn't take long to convince, but it doesn't stick. You can't know what that's like. Gettin' kicked in the fuckin' face like that, every single morning. To have to start over. To know someone cares enough to listen and believe and want to help, and know that no matter fuckin' what, she won't even be able to."

"What kinda dumb shit you gotten up to?" Eddie asked, moving on from Jon's confession. He had that same, strangled tone. Pained, and trying so hard to hide it beneath some kinda half-assed bravado. He couldn't think about it, and Jon didn't blame him, honestly. It was too heavy to carry with everything else Jon had thrown at him. "No consequences for you, right? You pull a Gage and rob a bank? Kill somebody? High speed chase?"

"Nah, nothin' like that. Wasn't ever my style, you know that."

"Desperation makes people do stupid shit."

"Maybe. The only stupid shit I did was t'me, though." 

Eddie was quiet, another of those long pauses. "Call me," he said, eventually. "Tomorrow morning, call me."

"Okay. I will.”

He hesitated again. "You still want me to stay on the line?"

It hit Jon like a dropkick to his lungs, punching all the breath out of him. He nodded, words sticking in his throat, but Eddie must've heard. Probably just read his mind, like usual, he had always been good at that. There was the rustle of clothing as Eddie moved.

"Gimme a sec, gotta lock up, b," he murmured.

"I'll be here," he managed to croak out, vision going blurry. He let his eyes fall closed, dampening the sting. Let himself drift and get lost in the quiet, muffled sounds of Eddie going through the motions of getting ready for bed. 

It was soothing and familiar. It settled something in his gut. 

He usually fell asleep long before Renee went to bed, or didn't even bother trying to go to bed at all. He thought the normalcy of it all would end up hurting him far worse than he already was.

Maybe he was wrong about that.

He fell asleep to the sound of Eddie brushing his teeth. Woke at five, on the dot, Renee next to him, an arm thrown up over her head.

He didn't feel quite so weighed down as usual, though.

As the days went on, Eddie always took awhile to convince, no matter what Jon tried. That remained the same through every single cycle. He always made Jon promise to call again the next day. Every time. Even when it went south, even when there was nothing but curses and insults from the man. When Jon said the wrong thing, poked the wrong bruise, and they just sat yelling insults at each other.

Even the days that Jon didn't even make it to the whole stuck in a time loop thing. It was strange. Like maybe Eddie missed him, too. Or, maybe he could just tell how tough a time Jon was having, how much he needed a distraction. How much he needed help. He'd always been good at that, hearing whatever Jon tried to hide. Saw through bullshit better than anyone he'd ever met.

But sometimes Jon wanted to scream . He knew it wasn't Eddie's fault, he really did. But fuck, it was frustrating as hell. Every single morning, a fresh fucking break, just as painful as a broken fucking bone.

"Thought I— "

"Told me to forget your number, yeah, yeah, I heard that enough," Jon snapped. "I need your help."

A scoff, he could practically hear Eddie roll his eyes. "Oh, my help, huh?"

"If I needed you t'believe something, no questions asked, what would I need to fuckin' say?" he ground out, pacing. The sun was high, beating down on him. There weren't many people out on the trails anymore, not many people to give him weird looks. "'Cause I'm damn fuckin' tired of jumpin' through hoops with you."

Another scoff. "I dunno what the fuck you're on, Mox."

"I'm on a fuckin' hike and I'm fuckin' mad," he growled, kicking at the rocks littering the trail. 

"Sounds like a you problem."

"Yeah, it is, and I need some fucking help."

"What is this?"

"Desperation."

Eddie was quiet for a long moment. His breaths were barely audible, no kitchen cupboards slamming or utensils clattering together. Just silence.

"Okay, I'll bite. Why?" he asked, tone far more determined than he'd heard in a long while. "What d'you need me to believe?"

"Will you listen before you run your mouth?" Jon asked, because he just wanted help. Usually, it didn't actually matter all that much, whether or not he waited long enough for Jon to ground out some kind of explanation. He'd argue about anything under the sun with Eddie, if he could just fucking escape, but this was a fuck and a half of a cycle already. He just wanted it over.

Eddie must have heard the desperation and fear in Jon's voice, because he didn't snarl back at him. Didn't snap or scoff or any of his usual tricks. "I'll listen," Eddie promised, tone serious as he'd ever heard.

"I'm stuck. Some of that time loop bullshit that's only supposed to happen in fuckin' movies. And I can't figure out how to fuckin' get out of it, I've been trying for so goddamn long." He squeezed his eyes shut tight against the sudden, salty sting. God fucking damn it , he was so tired. "I've lived this day for years , Eddie. For a fuckin' lifetime by now. Can't stop it, can't escape it."

"Then what the fuck are you callin' me for?" he demanded in that tone that said he though Jon was a fucking moron . "The fuck d'you think m'gonna do about it?"

"I dunno. But you keep tellin' me to call you again." He let himself sink down onto a rock, fight gone. All of it, just gone right out of him. "Took a long time to build up the courage to even call you, outta everyone. Now that I have, you just—even when you don't believe me, you tell me to call you tomorrow. Today. Whatever it is."

"And you have?"

"Every single time."

"How many times?"

"Stopped counting. Counting almost makes it worse, when it doesn't even matter."

"How many times have I believed you?"

"Fewer than I think you want me to realize. None at all, I'd bet, probably. You always knew when to lie t'me, make me feel better." He shrugged a little, swiping uselessly at his cheek. "Time hasn't changed that."

Eddie hummed, thoughtfully. "Don't call me tomorrow."

Jon's chest ached. He couldn't stop the catch in his breath, knew Eddie heard it loud and clear. "Okay."

"Maybe try callin' an actual fuckin' scientist, or some shit. Somebody who'd know what t'fuckin' do about this. Get you unstuck, " Eddie said, so fucking gentle that it hurt. He didn't have to be, he must've known Jon would listen no matter what, but he still kept his voice soft and calm. "If that don't work, call a fuckin' psychic or a medium or a witch, or some of that spooky shit. You love a fuckin' library, go read about fuckin' physics or whatever. Do literally anything other than ask me what you should do, 'cause I ain't any smarter than you are."

"If that doesn't work?"

"Fuck, I dunno. See if someone smarter has a better idea," he grumbled, quietly. "See how much Tony'll shell out to fix you. See how many CIA watch lists you can get put on by callin’ people you shouldn’t. Break into Area 51 or some shit. I dunno, just try something fuckin' useful for once. Try literally anythin' else."

Jon wanted to say it, but his throat was tight and his chin was trembling. Because he'd spent years stuck, and the dread he felt was paralyzing and so goddamn terrifying . Because if he said it, if he gave a voice to it, it would be real .

Eddie must have known, heard it in his silence. Usually did, in all fairness. He was real perceptive like that. "If none of that works, then you can call me back," he said, soft and as gentle as Jon had ever heard. "Nothin' I can do but keep you company, but—least you won't be completely alone."

"Okay."

"I don't wanna say that I understand what's happening, 'cause jesus fuckin' christ, I really don't," he murmured, "but I get feelin' like you're dealin' with more than you can carry. I get feelin' so alone that you start to lose your mind. I get that. So I know what I'm asking of you."

Jon nodded, "Yeah, okay."

"I'll still be here."

"I know. Thanks." He smiled ruefully to himself, and it felt weak and shaky. "I'll talk t'you later, I guess."

"Yeah, b. You take care'a yourself." 

"You, too." He gnawed on his lip a little, trying to think of something else to say to keep the call from ending. Keep Eddie from leaving. There was nothing, though. "Bye, Eddie."

"Bye, Jon."

The silence was deafening.

He never thought of silence as having a physical sensation, but it felt like his ears closing up. Like taking off on a flight, the air pressure leaving him dizzy and his world muffled. It felt almost claustrophobic, like his world getting a little bit smaller, everything tightening in around him. Pushing at him from all sides. It was crushing.

[sweetrebelpersona]

Tuesday 5th March 2024

Work:

Expanded the Music Industry practice assignment on Word

Rehearsed for the concert on piano (I think?)

Edited the PowerPoint presentation on hyperpop music

Play/Self-Care:

Dropped off a few more books at Boots Library

Ate an Easter egg sundae at Creams

It's been a day being stuck at home following my temporary suspension from uni and I still managed to kick some ass with my studies. I had to cut down my time of when I should be going to sleep and to me, it made a change from me being a night owl to an early bird. But I have to face some more challenges along the way such as the impending meeting I have to sit through at some point later this week, or next week.

When I go to a meeting about my latest behaviour, I don't know what the consequences will be to take disciplinary action after a foul-mouthed voicemail tirade, but I can say that I am disappointed with the way I behaved and the year before that where I crushed the electric guitar (just the wah-wah pedal and small dents on the guitar, but you get the point) due to the fact that I'm turning into a volatile rockstar who has a greater potential of throwing paddies every chance it gets. So I think I'll have to accept the punishment if I do get disciplined again; it's something I will have to learn after my suspension ends.

If you're planning on going to university with some anger issues, you will know that you're not cracking on with your sleep schedule, the time you need to study, the amount of rest you have to take and taking the time to look after yourself, despite doing hard work and having exceptional grades, attendance, punctuality and professionalism. Unfortunately, some students had the insolence to get themselves suspended or expelled for something which would breach the student code policy unless one of them grows up to be a chav and damage the school's reputation.

Maybe next time, I want to do what I'm told to do and not experience a sudden outburst which will be like a bomb that's going to go off at any second. What more fun is it to vandalise the uni student policy and get disciplined for it? That is not cool and it's something I need to move past with before I get a chance to repeat it. Meanwhile, here's a piece of witty banter I want to share with you merry bloggers tonight.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Take Me Away

Relationship: Wanda Maximoff x Reader Warnings: slight angst, eventual fluff Summary: Royalty!AU - You and your lady-in-waiting Wanda have been in a secret, forbidden relationship but everything gets tested when your father, the King, announces you are to be wed to a prince from a neighboring country. A/N: i’ve been loving royalty!au stuff lately and wanted to take my own stab at it. it’s not the most complicated, spectacular piece but i enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

Wanda always arrived to your chambers right at the crack of dawn. Ever the punctual one, your lady-in-waiting never wasted a second once that bright light of a new day came through the windows. Sometimes she was even tasked with waking you up, ranting and raving about how your gown was going to take forever to lace up or that your hair wasn’t going to be dry enough to meet your family for breakfast.

Her frantic attitude always made you laugh. You thought her worrying heart was so silly and to show for it, you’d sometimes make it a point to shut her up with a kiss. One thing would lead to another until you two were lost among the silk sheets.

That all, though, had come to a stop today. Wanda was late this morning and you sadly knew why. Her heart must’ve been breaking, taking all her energy to pick up the pieces one by one this morning. You didn’t blame her, really, you felt the same break within you.

It had all fallen out last night. Your father, the usually benevolent King, had held a feast for your court and the royal family of a neighboring country. This wasn’t unusual for him as he very much loved to entertain. Everything had been going smooth. You were lost in the dancing and laughing with the patron, eagerly showing off the brand new dress your tailor had delivered that morning. You even got to sneak some cheeky glances at Wanda who stood off with the other servants, ready when needed.

Everything came to a screeching halt the second dinner had concluded. In between the refills of wine and arrival of dessert, your father had a surprise announcement to. It was as if a million bombs were going off. He revealed you were set to be married to the bordering country’s Prince. No one had told you, not even a hint from your mother, just this public declaration. You looked towards the king and his son — your soon-to-be-husband — and they were just beaming with joy. All plans and politics were falling into place for them while your world was crumbling.

You had excused yourself to the bathroom where you vomited profusely. Wanda, though, didn’t arrive to help. In fact, she didn’t arrive to your room for the rest of the night, sending one of the temporary servants instead.

You fell asleep feeling the loneliest you had felt in a long time. And those feelings certainly weren’t subsiding as you sat at your vanity the next morning, still waiting for Wanda.

You had been sitting alone for so long you thought she had abandoned her duties — or maybe she had just straight up retired last night and you were waiting on nothing — but then there was the unmistakable sound of your heavy door creaking open followed the gentle clicking of it closing. You peered into your looking glass, shifting it so slightly to show you the presence behind you.

"Wanda," you sighed, her naming falling from your lips as if it was the sweetest honey.

"Your Highness." While unsurprising, her cold and stoic response cut you. Your body tensed. Last time she had called you that was upon your very first meeting. Before she was the lover you kept in the shadows. Before there was ever a chance of losing her. The royal title felt like a death sentence now.

After a deep breath, you slowly placed the looking glass back on the table. You felt Wanda approach you from behind with caution. You didn’t know whether to turn around or ask her to begin her morning duties. If you were to be really honest with yourself, you just wanted to grab her and hold one another.

But Wanda seemed to have decided for the both of you. Hesitantly, she reached for the brush on the vanity and gently began on your hair. You wanted to cry.

"Wanda, please," you mumbled. "Talk to me."

"Talk to you?" She repeated, her fingers now running through your hair giving slight pulls as she fixed the curls. The actions reminded you of when she would… "And what would you like me to say?"

"Something, anything!" You were nearly crying, your words coming out in weak begs. "I didn’t know anything about it, you have to trust me on that. I—I don’t want… I could never—,"

"Never, what?" Wanda cut you off, the brushing motions in your hair suddenly halted. "You couldn’t possibly think we could ever be together fully. I’ll admit, I indulged in this fantasies but I’ve stopped. We weren’t meant to be and you sure weren’t meant to be a single princess forever." She cleared her throat. "This was bound to happen, I fear."

"No, no," you fought back, shaking your head insistently. Wanda placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to calm you down, but you only jumped at the touch, feeling that burning connection between you two. You couldn’t believe how much hold she had over you. How much you had over one another.

"Your Highness, I’m afraid—,"

"We can run away." The words slipped out of you so fast you never had a chance to bite your tongue. It felt like the world stopped, like you had created your own bomb to set off. Wanda’s grip on your shoulder got tighter. You straightened your posture, meaning business now despite the tears still flowing. You placed your hand atop of hers and continued, "I really think we could do it, dear. I can access the family funds, we could pack a few things, then be off in the night. Wouldn’t that just be nice? We could go wherever, start whatever life we want. You’re not wrong to say this was bound to happen but that doesn’t mean we can’t escape it."

"My Lady… There must be some consideration for the prince, the kingdoms, your subjects—,"

"They’re better to have no ruler than one who lives in constant agony."

The declaration was bold but it was the farthest from a lie. You decided to finally turn and face Wanda, your hand now holding hers with the greatest, most loving strength. The first thing you noticed were her eyes. They were so red and heavy, no doubt from hours of crying. Her hair was a mess as well, complimented by the worn down servants gown she wore. She hadn’t put any effort in today, probably dragging herself about as you predicted.

Slowly, you pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. Wanda let out a breathy gasp. When you met her eyes again, it appeared the deal had been sealed. But you needed her to say it.

"We can really do this, can’t we?" She asked shyly.

You nodded, a little grin playing at your lips. "I think we could go anywhere," you confirmed. "Maybe we can start a farm, raise some chickens or cows. Or — Oh! We could start a nice garden. I loved the one here but father wouldn’t let me learn how to care for it."

Wanda sighed as she watched you get lost in a new fantasy, one way beyond just being together but having a life. "Speaking of your father, he will send people after us, won’t he? The palace guards will die trying to find us if they have to."

You simply shrugged. Sure, she wasn’t wrong, but this was a big place and who knew what bigger places were out there. "Let them," you finally said. "We’ll be so far long gone before they realize it they won’t know what hit them."

Silence fell between you two.

"You’re going to give up all this for a chance for us to be together?" Wanda finally asked, motioning towards the gloriousness of the castle chamber. She was a very thorough one, extremely detailed-oriented, which made her the best partner-in-crime you had decided before ever engaging romantically. Eventually, it was one of the things that made you fall head over heals. She noticed everything, always the sweet and cool observer. You didn’t blame her for using the skill now.

"Wanda, dear," you sighed as your hand crept its way to her neck. "I’d give it all up a million times over to be with you."

Your sweet lover looked like she was now going to cry so you took the leap to lean up, catching her lips with yours. After a stunned moment, she returned the kiss, your lips moving in a familiar sync. It was electrifying knowing you hadn’t lost her. Knowing she was most likely going to be it for you, forever. Completely devoted to one another, comfortably and freely.

Wanda’s hand begin caressing your cheek when she pulled away slightly. Your foreheads were touching now but it still wasn’t close enough for you.

"Let’s do it," she whispered. "Take me away."

Words seemed so hard, something only the presence of Wanda could do to you. Unable to figure what was right to say now, of all times, you nodded and wrapped one arm around her waist. You pulled her into you, hugging her with all your might. She didn’t hesitate to return the embrace, soaking each other in.

"Of course, dear," you eventually said. Such small words they held the mysterious beginning and marked the glorious end.

[nebulousfishgills]

Tap Like Nobody's Watching

Request by @caitlinsnow-yayyy : so, really novel idea here: I have a headcanon that, if Sylvie got to experience Midgard, she'd take an interest in old school movies... and also tap dancing. Maybe something involving Sylvie and tap dancing, if you don't mind me asking? Ty! <3 (btw not a dancer, just lover of Golden Age Hollywood lol)

It's been, what, two weeks since Sylvie came into our lives (not even) and I'm already in love with her. So yes, life update: I write for Sylvie now. And, lemme just say, this prompt is ridiculously adorable. Thanks for the request! 💚

Also, thank you guys so much for 300 followers! It really means a tremendous amount to me!

Warnings: Egregious amounts of fluff.

ฯฯฯ

The temporary home wasn't exactly the prettiest thing in the world. Far from it, actually. But with you and Sylvie constantly needing to be on the move, it worked out well. You never stayed in it for very long, maybe a day or so each time you went back. It was just a place to store your provisions and served as a nice place to rest. That's all it really needed to be.

Being rogue Variants on the run was a hard life to live. Nobody could refute that. The TVA was always hot on your tail whenever you decided to pop up on the Sacred Timeline. The mere idea made you wrinkle your nose in disgust. One single timeline. One set path. No room for error.

You were just a regular person who chose to skip work one day because you had a sore throat. Next thing you knew, people in full body armor had landed in your kitchen through golden portals, startling you into dropping your freshly made bowl of soup. A family recipe that worked magic for sickness, really.

You were processed and about to be sent to trial for crimes you didn't even know you committed. Then the alarms blared, a portal opened, the Minute-Men that kept you restrained were pruned, and there stood a woman before you offering her hand and asking you to come with. To avoid whatever horrible fate was waiting for you.

The woman, Sylvie, then filled you in on what the whole situation with the TVA was. They were most likely going to brainwash you and make you one of their analysts, or prune you if you proved to be problematic. She then filled you in on her own plan to bomb their Sacred Timeline and give free will back to the universe.

So, you helped her. The next time Sylvie raided the Alabama Roxxcart for supplies (the TVA can't detect you during an apocalyptic event, you see), she brought some fresh clothes and all the food you could possibly need. It was kind of adorably domestic, especially after your relationship grew.

"I'm going to the store. Do you need anything, darling?"

"I need more socks. Oh, and can you get some more (favorite snack) while you're there? I ran out last night."

"Sure thing."

The mattress springboard had a depression in the middle of it. The small, boxy TV had colored lines that would flash on and off at random times while the TV was on. One of the windows in the shack had a massive crack in it that let in a draft. The wood planks that made up the floor occasionally came up and splintered. Yet, despite all that, you had never been happier. It was way better than working a boring job, falling for a boring person, and living a boring, unfulfilled life. You had Sylvie and you had fun.

During one of Sylvie's outings in particular, she showed up with a few shopping bags of supplies like snacks and water. Though, she also had a bag that looked a bit different than the others.

"What's that?" You queried, Sylvie dumping out the other bags on the bed.

"I went to a Blockbuster video store while I was out. VHS tapes are hard to come by in 2050." Sylvie held up one of the thin boxes, showcasing a picture with a woman wearing a flamboyant dress titled Hello, Dolly! "Old classics, you know?"

"Ah, so you're into classics?"

"Classics with a good dance routine mixed in." Sylvie handed you the VHS box and tapped her feet on the dirty floor as a sort of demonstration.

"And you tap dance?"

"I have several talents, darling."

You looked at the tape and then back up at Sylvie with a raised eyebrow and a thin smile.

"Can you show me a little tap dance?" You asked. Sylvie flushed a little pink.

"I haven't danced a full routine in a very long time, let alone in front of another person." She said.

"Aww, c'mon, Syl. I won't laugh at you, I promise."

Sylvie waited a moment before letting out a long exhale. She reached underneath the bed and pulled out an old CD player with a few CDs. She shuffled through the stack before finding one she liked. Sylvie popped the disc into the player and hit the play button. A jazzy tune emitted from the player, a little warbled with the age of the device, but you could still hear it fine. It sounded like something from the 1920s, a decade Sylvie said she was fascinated with.

She started tapping her feet against the ground in sync with the music, touching her toes and heels to the floor. She wasn't wearing tap shoes, so the sound was muffled. Though, you didn't really care because Sylvie seemed to be having fun with it. She wore a genuine smile as she moved her feet and arms along with the beat. She shot you a mischievous grin before pulling you off of the chair you were sitting on.

"But I can't tap!" You protested.

"You don't need to know how. Just have fun!" Sylvie replied, guiding you through a 20s swing dance for two people. Nervously, you tried to replicate her steps, a little off balance admittedly. You stepped on her toes a few times, but Sylvie didn't really seem to care. "You're getting it!"

The sight was probably an awkward one, the two of you trying to dance together in a small shack. Yet, you slowly found yourself having more fun. Sure, you weren't perfect, but that didn't matter. The song drew to a close, Sylvie kissing the tip of your nose as you squished together. Breathing heavily, you began to laugh.

"I haven't had that much fun in... gosh, I don't know how long." You said.

"Being on the run from all seeing Time Police doesn't leave much room for fun. But I'm glad we could find the time." Sylvie replied, joining in on your laughter. She brushed a sweaty lock of your hair out of your face with a smile. "Now, c'mon. There's a Renaissance Faire I wanna check out."

ฯฯฯ

Hope you enjoyed this, Caitlinsnow!

As always, requests are open, so send them in!

[neonacity]

HYACINTHE | CHAPTER 3: JAEMIN X READER

SUMMARY:

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones. Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul’s top organized crime family normal.

There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word. So why, then, does he always find himself at the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here. tw: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader

TW: illegal activities, gunshot wound, mentions of blood

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

FIC TRAILER

MASTERLIST

"Another bank was looted last night around 11PM, this time in the Geumchon district. This is the second bank that was broken into in the past week and the fourth that is rumored to be the doing of one of Seoul's organized criminal…."

I sighed and put down the pen that I have been using to scribble on a piece of napkin. A frown creased my forehead before I grabbed the offending piece of flimsy paper and crumpled it with my hand. Jeno, who was silently watching the news, looked up and shot me a curious look. He was leaning over the counter lazily, his cup of half finished hot cocoa beside him. 

"You okay?"

I winced. "Yeah... Actually. Actually, no. I am not okay," I said finally as I threw the used napkin to the closest thrash. I have been scribbling all the things I have to pay for the coming month there and couldn't bear to take another look at it. Jeno grabbed his drink and silently took a sip of it, obviously waiting for me to elaborate.

After my initial 'unplanned' meeting with Jaemin's friends, it has become more or less of their routine to drop by the cafe to hangout. Jaemin was initially against it at first, always scowling whenever he would see one of them already in the shop, though it seems like he has gotten used to it lately—or rather, he didn't have any other choice but to simply accept it. They would often sometimes come in groups—Jisung and Chenle are big fans of the pastries—but other times it's just one of them who would drop by to visit like Jeno now. My favorite is when all of them drops by to visit, not only because I've started getting closer to them too, but because customers would automatically flock into the shop whenever the "handsome gang" is there. Honestly, I couldn't blame them.

"I'm a little bit short on money this month. I was supposed to get my monthly allowance from my scholarship but something happened so it will be delayed. I have lab things to buy and well—everything sucks." 

Jeno nodded slowly, though I have a feeling he doesn't really understand my plight with money. Spending time with the seven of them has given me a better understanding of each boys' personalities. Jeno, for example, is definitely the calmer one of the bunch. While the others would cause chaos every now and then—Jaemin included, he would be on the side watching them usually with that adorable eye smile of his. He is different from Mark who would mostly jump in to join the fun before calming everyone once things get overboard, though both seem to share the same responsibility over the group. He also seems to be the closest to Jaemin, so by extension, I am also most comfortable around him. 

"How much money do you need?" 

I gave him a look as I reached out for a paper cup to make myself my own hot cocoa. 

"I heard the same question from your best friend before. Are you also going to offer to be my sugar daddy?" 

Jeno choked on his drink and hid his laughter behind his raised cup. 

"Do you want Jaemin to kill me?" 

That made me inappropriately blush.

"Sometimes I just want to bust out a bank like that group everyone is talking about." 

Jeno didn't say anything and continued watching me from the brim of his drink. 

"You think you can do it?" 

"Do what?" I asked as I poured hot cocoa on my cup. I said that off-handedly, I almost forgot my words the moment they left my lips. 

"Rob a bank. You know, do something illegal." 

I leaned back against the counter and craned my head a little sideways as I thought the question over. I didn't actually think of that before so I had to listen to my moral compass a little bit before answering. 

"It depends on the reason." 

Jeno looked surprised by my reply. He was probably expecting a goody two shoes answer from me, which I don’t blame him for, to be honest. Even I am mildly shocked by what I said. 

"The reason?" 

"Yes. I mean, if the only reason I would steal is because I don't have money to support my studies, then no, I wouldn't do it. I have other options. I can work extra jobs or I can just drop out from uni. But if I didn't really have any other choice, if I had to do it for someone really close to me, for example, then I would do it." 

"That is very…"

"Cliche, right? I know. But that's how it works, at least for me," I said with a laugh. "I do know what's good and bad, but I'm willing to jump the gun if I have to." 

I didn't know if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard Jeno murmur something under his breath as I turned to get back to work. 

"I bet Jaemin wouldn't like that." 

-----

PRESENT DAY, a little over one month after the happenings in the first chapter. 

They disappeared like bubbles. No, he disappeared in thin air, like smoke that was blown over by a strong gust of wind. After that night when Jaemin bust through my cafe door, hiding god knows what and asking for temporary shelter, he hasn't shown himself again, apparently leaving while I slipped into a light sleep. Even his friends stopped visiting the cafe which, for a few days, made me genuinely feel scared. Are they okay? What happened to him? Who was he running away from?

That worry slowly and gradually morphed into anger as the days lengthened. I know it was my way of coping with my emotions, but I couldn't help myself. I tried calling him, but the line was cut. It even came to the point that I had to call each of his friends, but it seems like the numbers they gave me were all temporary ones, too. I felt frustrated. I felt...abandoned. 

Was it really easy for him to just cut off all contact with me? 

Was it foolish of me to think that there is...something deeper here than just friendship?

It was the start of winter when the loud ringing of my phone woke me up from my nap. Eyes still heavy with sleep, my first instinct was to look at the clock by my table which registered 1:19AM. I frowned. I was in the middle of finishing a paper before I decided to take a nap but who could be calling me at such an ungodly hour? 

I blearily reached out for my phone and barely looked at the unregistered number before hitting the answer button. 

"Hello?" 

"Noona?"

I froze. Just like that, I felt the sleepiness slowly melt away from my consciousness. I know that voice. 

"Jisung?" 

"Noona, we need your help." 

I sat up on my seat after registering the panic in his voice. I heard another tone suddenly hiss at him from the background before a rustling sound overtook the speakers. It sounded like someone grabbed the phone from his grasp before he could even react.

"Jisung. What's happening—"

"Hello?" The new voice that spoke on the other line made my heart stop. I stared at my wall, wide-eyed.

"Jaemin." 

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to—"

"Jaemin, we don’t really have any other choice but her, give me the phone," another one jumped in. It was Mark. 

"No. Hyung—"

"We're losing him," my lips parted in shock at what I heard. His voice sounded clearer now and I could very much pick up the iciness on it. Mark has always been so friendly and warm that it threw me off guard. 

"Give me the phone." 

The authority he held made me assume that Jaemin did as he was told. Next thing I know, he was calling out my name from the speaker.

"Mark, yes, I'm listening." 

"Hey. I'm really sorry about this, but we need your help. We really have no other choice, Haechan is in such a bad state—"

That made me stand up and push away from my desk.

"What the hell is going on? What do you mean about Haechan?"

"I'll explain later. We're on our way to you now."

"Wait, what? You don't know my address."

"We'll be there in seven minutes."

That was all he said before he cut off the call, leaving me standing shell-shocked in the middle of my room.

---

They banged on my door not even five minutes after. I had barely pulled on a cardigan when loud knocks rang through my small one bedroom unit causing me to quickly run and grab my knob open. 

I stood frozen at the sight of the seven boys crowding my doorway. Everyone was covered in some sort of soot, leaving them almost unrecognizable in their black outfits. Mark and Jeno were in the middle of the group, carrying a half-conscious Haechan between them. Jisung, Chenle, and Renjun brought the rear, their eyes moving wildly as if checking for eavesdroppers. Jaemin stood closest to me, his jaw tense and his eyes apologetic. My gaze snapped back to the center of the group when Mark called out my name. 

That's when I saw it for the first time. I didn't notice it at first because of its dark color, but Jeno was holding a towel against Haechan's stomach. Except it isn't black, it was a deep dark red.

Blood. 

"Oh my god." 

"Please help us." 

Maybe it was the shock, but I quickly stepped aside to let everyone in. I had barely slammed the door shut when I heard a crashing sound from my small dining area. Jeno pushed everything on top of my table to the ground as Mark and Jaemin gently guided Haechan on it. 

"What—what is going on—"

"He's been shot. Thrice. We're not sure but I think two of the bullets are still there," Renjun answered me as he grabbed the soaked towel from Mark's hand and replaced it with a new one. Jisung and Chenle worked on closing all the shutters of my windows while Jaemin tore off a lamp from my living room to move it close to Haechan. He closed all other lights other than the ones on the dining area and the small lamp.

It was then when my training finally kicked in. I ran towards the table to peer at the wound, my shaking hands gently moving the new towel that is quickly getting soaked by blood again. Haechan gave a soft grunt of pain before slipping to unconsciousness again. 

"I think there are still foreign objects there. It's what causing the severe bleeding."

"Can you take it out?"

My eyes shot to Jeno. The harsh lights from the lamp threw strong shadows on his stressed features. 

"I'm not a licensed doctor."

"We don't need a licensed doctor right now, we need someone who can patch the hole in his stomach. Please." 

I gritted my teeth. I have a ton of questions running through my head right now, but he's right. We need to act fast or else we will lose him. I rolled up my sleeves then and called out to whoever can act fast to my orders. 

"Somebody get the black box under my bed. I have all my surgery practice tools there. I need hot water and lots of towels. Everyone move. Now."

As soon as I said my orders, each of the boys were moving in a flurry to get everything that I asked for. I was adjusting the small lamp directly over the wound to peer at it better when I felt a gentle hand circle around my arm. I looked up to see Jaemin staring at me. 

"Thank you." 

I didn't say anything at first. I don't know if it was the shadows playing over his features, but he looked different from the Jaemin I knew in that brief moment.

"Don't thank me yet. Say that once we're sure he survives."

---

I was stirred from my sleep by the light snoring of someone to my right. Turning my head, I was greeted by the sight of Jisung who was currently sprawled on my sofa, his legs so long that they were dangling on one end. Chenle was on the floor below him, his face covered by one of the pillows he probably fished from one of my love seats cradling Renjun's curled up form. Mark and Jeno were both sitting upright, the former close to Haechan and the other by the door like a sentinel. They seemed to be in deep sleep too, they're heads hanging low. Jaemin was on the floor next to my seat, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

I blinked slowly as my gaze moved from boy to boy. It took me a painful two hours to do the impromptu surgery, first working on taking the bullets out before sewing everything back together. Haechan was lucky enough that the bullets didn't hit any vital organs or important vessels, and that the extreme bleeding was only caused by the wrong muscle being hit by the impact. He slipped from being conscious to unconscious throughout, and everyone had to work together to help me while I did my thing. 

I couldn’t really blame any of them from crashing the moment we made sure that Haechan’s safe—for now. 

After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I tried to silently move from where I was curled on, careful not to stir anyone. I still have a ton of questions, but those can be taken care of later. I padded as carefully as I could towards the table where Haechan was still resting and peered at the IV that I had hooked on his arm to make sure everything was moving well. 

They even have spare blood bags with them for emergency transfusions. 

...As if this kind of thing normally happens.

"He's going to be okay, right?" 

I hastily turned to see Jaemin staring at me. His voice was low and was only loud enough for me to hear. 

I stared at him for a bit before looking away. 

"Yes. He'll survive."

"Thank you so much." 

I didn't answer. He also didn't say anything else, though I could still feel his gaze heavily on me. I braced myself before speaking again.

"We need to talk." 

I didn't wait for him to reply. I simply walked towards my room, leaving my door open for him to follow. I only turned back to look at him when I finally heard it close softly behind him.

"Who are you?" I asked, before he could even say anything else. I watched as his jaw tightened and released, his eyes full of indecisiveness. I didn't waver. Not this time. 

"You said…"

"That I will never ask questions? I did. But I can't do it anymore, Jaemin. You disappeared for a month without even saying goodbye then showed up on my door with your friends, one of them with a hole in their stomach. You have blood bags—freaking blood bags. What the hell is going on?" 

I tried my hardest to control my voice, not wanting any part of this conversation to be heard outside. My legs felt weak at the moment but I tried my best to continue standing so I could hold his gaze. 

The look in Jaemin's eyes, however, almost made me want to give up. I knew from the pain and hesitation there that I wouldn't like whatever it is he is about to say.

"I'm a criminal."

My stomach dropped. 

I was expecting it, but hearing it straight from him didn't soften the impact and the shock. 

"A…" 

"We steal. We do illegal things. There is absolutely no good way for me to describe this, but yes, I am a runaway who was stupid enough to bring you into this mess," Jaemin said through gritted teeth as he tore his eyes away from me. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to take a deep breath to steady himself.

"I was stupid and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone back and tried to befriend you after that order of coffee. I'm sorry I ran to you that night a month ago. I seriously thought I was going to die and I wanted you to be the one that I see for the last time. I'm sorry for today, or that I couldn't answer any of your questions back then. It was selfish of me to keep you in my life without giving you anything back," he stopped and forced himself to look at me again. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest when our gazes met. 

"I'm sorry." 

I didn't… couldn't say anything. One part of me had already expected this because it is the only reason that makes sense. Those vague answers, his detachment from normal society, the money, every clue seems to point to one direction, but that didn't spare me from my moral dilemma now. Because while I knew, I didn't exactly consider how it relates to me.

I was afraid to.

Because the truth is, I like Na Jaemin to the extent that I'm afraid of what I can do for him.

"Do you kill…" I asked in a whisper, my voice shaky. A frown passed his already stressed features before he answered.

"No. None of us do," he answered, and I knew then that he was telling the truth. Regardless of what he is or what he didn't tell me, I trust him to not lie to me.

"Am I—am I in danger?" I asked next. He firmly shook his head.

"No. I made sure of that. No one would dare—" he stopped, as if gauging what words he can use to not scare me even more. "You have always been under protection." 

That’s when it clicked. The cafe visits from his friends. The random strangers who seem to spring out from nowhere every time I was out and about and needed sudden help. 

My legs finally gave way and I collapsed on my bed behind me. My mind was trying its best to wrap around the situation, leaving my thoughts in a jumble. There are a million things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get a single one out at the moment. 

Jaemin seemed to know what I was feeling at the very least because he simply stood there, silently watching me. I'm not sure how long the two of us stayed in that bubble of silence, but it was also him who brought me back to reality when I felt warmth cover my hands.

I looked up to see him kneeling in front of me, both his hands gently enveloping my clasped ones. The look in his eyes made my heart lurch, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything still. 

"I'm sorry if I was selfish… I promise, after this, you won't have to worry about anything else."

No. 

"When I met you, I saw something that's so different from the life that I have. Believe me, I tried my best to leave you alone, but I wanted more of it—more of —you, so I kept coming back." 

Are you going to leave me again?

"But you'll be safe now. I promise. You can go back to how it used to be before I… almost ruined it." 

Please don't leave me. 

Jaemin gave my hands one last squeeze and I felt him move to straighten himself. Before he let them go, however, another gentle warmth pressed against my forehead as he grazed it with his lips. 

"Thank you."

My tears dropped the same time the doors closed behind him. 

---

Chapter 4

[thebookreader12345]

Relationship Rescue

Pairing: Adam Ruzek x reader

Summary: Y/N and Adam’s relationship has been a bit rocky the past few days, and when Y/N gets trapped, and Adam is her only life-line, they’re forced to talk about the issues that have split them up

Requested: No

Warnings: slight swearing, mentions of death and bombings

Word Count: 1,362 Words

“Still not talking to Adam?” Kim asked me as I made my way up the stairs and into the bullpen.

“What gave it away?” I question and set my things down on my desk.

“You’ve both been skirting around each other all week. Why don’t you just talk to him and fix whatever’s wrong?” Kim suggested.

“There’s nothing to fix. We just fell apart,” I lie.

“Y/N,” Kim started.

“Kim, just drop it. Please,” I beg. Kim sighed, but nodded and took a seat at her desk, which was right in front of mine. Just as she did, Jay ran up the stairs.

“Guys, we’ve got a bombing downtown. Voight wants everyone to roll on it,” Jay informed us.

“We’re right behind you,” I say and grab my things. Kim followed me down to the parking lot, and we climbed into my car before speeding off to the scene. When we arrived, I saw that the rest of the team was already there, including Adam. We gathered in a circle, and I took up a position between Hailey and Kevin, strapping on my vest as Voight began to talk.

“Okay. We’ve got the area taped off and have a perimeter set up. A witness said she saw a boy, 19, maybe 20, with blonde hair drop off a backpack a minute or two before the bomb went off. He was wearing blue jeans and a black t-shirt. I want you all to spread out, case the area, see if we can find this prick. Lets go,” Voight ordered.

“I’m going to go this way,” I tell Kim and nod towards the building that had been hit by a bomb.

“Be careful,” Kim exclaimed as I walked off. My eyes scanned the area as I approached the building, but at the moment, I didn’t see anyone. However, that all changed when a man fitting our description peaked out from the building that was hit. He seemed to be taking in the area, almost like he was admiring how much damage he had caused. Yeah, this was definitely our guy.

“Hey! Chicago PD! Stay right where you are!” I shout at the kid. As soon as the boy saw me, he turned around and took off further into the building. “Son of a bitch,” I mumble and chase after him. I vaulted over the wall of debris at the entrance of the property and continued my chase, following the boy as he turned down new corners. After about a minute, we came to an area that had been hit pretty hard by the bomb. The ceiling was cracking, and rubble was lying everywhere, but I ignored it and continued running. That’s when the boy ran through a doorway and slammed the door behind him. At the same time, I heard a boom echo from outside, causing the whole room to shake. A loud crack hit my ears, and I looked up just as the ceiling began to break away and fall down on top of me. I dropped to the floor, crawled under a desk, placed my head between my knees, and covered my head with my arms as the rocks rained down on top of me.

............................................

My whole body ached, and I could already tell that multiple bruises would be forming on my skin later. I was trapped in a pocket under a huge pile of cement, and while the desk had protected me a bit and allowed me some room, there was no way out. I rubbed the dust from my eyes and glanced around, hoping to spot something that could help me, and that’s when my eyes landed on my radio. I reached out and snatched it off the ground, holding it up to my lips.

“This is 5021 Victor. Can anyone hear me?” I ask into the device. When no one responded, I groaned and smacked the side of it. “Come on. Come on!” After smacking the radio, I held it up to my lips again. “This is 5021 Victor. Does anyone copy?” The radio emitted a static noise, but immediately after, someone began to talk.

“Y/N? Is that you? What’s going on?” Adam questioned.

“Adam, thank god! I was chasing the kid when the second bomb went off, and now I’m trapped. I can’t get out,” I explain.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Adam quizzed.

“No. I don’t think so,” I reply.

“Okay. Good. The fire department is arriving now. Tell me where you are,” Adam instructed.

“Uh, I’m not quite sure. I ran into the building and chased the kid towards the back. I’m in some sort of office room. There’s desks in here,” I recall. For the next few minutes, there was nothing but silence between us, and it got a bit awkward.

“Y/N? You still there?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” I reply. “I’m still here.”

“You doing okay?” Adam questioned.

“Things could be better. I feel like I’m going to run out of oxygen soon, even though I know I’m fine, but I’m still kind of freaking out,” I confess.

“Hey. Everything’s going to be fine. Just think about happier memories. Think about us,” Adam suggested.

“Thinking about you doesn’t make me feel calm! We haven’t talked in days,” I exclaim.

“And how is that my fault?” Adam argued.

“How is it not your fault?!” I counter. “You’ve been ignoring me all week, and whenever I tried to talk to you, you’d brush me off. You’ve been distant, Adam. And if you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine. But you could at least give me a heads up and say to my face that you want to break up.”

“That’s not why I’ve been ignoring you,” Adam admitted. “I’m just going through some stuff right now. After my CI got killed last week, I’ve been thinking a lot about everything: You, my job, life.”

“Then why didn’t you just tell me that? I would’ve given you space if you needed it,” I say.

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to burden you with my problems,” Adam stated. Another minute or two passed without either of us saying a word, and just before I could say something, Adam beat me to it. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I murmur and clutch the radio tightly in my hands. Just then, a few of the rocks in front of me started moving, and I pulled my knees closer to my chest. Seconds later, one of the rocks was removed from the pile, allowing some light to flow into my cramped space.

“Hey, Y/N,” Kelly Severide announced and looked through the hole. “You doing okay in there?”

“Yeah. Just get me out of here,” I tell him. 

Kelly chuckled, but nodded. “Will do. Give us a minute.” Slowly, the rocks piled in front of me began to disappear, creating a bigger and bigger hole. Soon, the hole was large enough for me to crawl out of, and when a hand reached down to help me out, I grasped it and let the person pull me out of the rock rile. Right as I was free from my temporary prison, I was pulled into a hug. The feeling of being against the person’s chest was very comforting and familiar, and I knew right away that it was Adam.

“I’m so sorry,” Adam mumbled and placed a kiss on top of my head.

“For what?” I quiz.

“For being distant. I should’ve just talked to you. And if you don’t mind, after we get you checked out at Med, and finish up with work, I’d like to head home with you. We could watch some stupid movies, or just relax,” Adam suggested.

I smiled and looked up at him. “Relaxing sounds great. I just want to get home, take a quick shower, and head to bed.”

“That plan sounds amazing. Come on. Lets get out of here,” Adam spoke and laced his fingers with mine. And with that, the two of us left the building with our relationship in tact, and all it took was for me to be in need of a rescue to save it.

__________________________

Tag List:

@prettypyschoinpink @securityfriendly-jay @scarletsoldierrr @lorenakaspersen @virtualreader @carnationworld @caitsymichelle13 @anotherfan07​

[katiea03]

❣︎Moving In With The Haikyuu Guys❣︎

❣︎Warnings❣︎: None other then a tiny bit of spice 🤏🏽

❣︎Genre❣︎: Fluff

❣︎Featuring❣︎: Tanaka,Nishinoya,Akaashi,Kenma, and Ushijima

❣︎A/N❣︎: I really like this idea a lottttttt. I decoded to add a random drabble for when you guys are moved in too. It’d be pretty cool if you gusy sent request so send awayyyyyy. Anywhoo Enjoy :)

Tanaka:

Moving in with this man will be just as chaotic as him.

You guys had spent a long time looking at apartments because you guys wanted to be sure it was perfect.

So when you guys finally get the keys, Tanaka will be carrying you bridal style through the door and speeds around the place.

“RYU PUT ME DOWN!”

“Can’t babe, we gotta practice for later!”

He continues to speed around the apartment finally stopping in the kitchen.

He places you on the counter and looks at you with the widest smile

“This is it baby, just you and me.”

He gives you the sweetest kiss before throwing off his shirt off

“Let’s do this!”

If it was up to him, he wouldn’t of had you lift anything but you insisted on helping

But that doesn’t mean he’s gonna let you lift anything too heavy.

By the end of the day, you guys have successfully moved in all the boxes and the very few pieces of furniture you guys did own.

But you guys forgot to buy food… so ordering in it is.

I could easily imagine the two of you pigging out on Chinese food on the floor as you imagine how you two are gonna decorate the place.

You both were exhausted so after sharing a quick shower, you both passed out on the mattress the two of you had set up on the floor.

Tanaka held you extra tight that night, knowing every night would be as amazing as this one.

Random Scenario

You were enjoying a little alone time just scrolling through your phone while you waited for Tanaka to come home from the corner store. All you wanted was a bag of chips, so you were starting to get concerned seeing as he still wasn’t back yet. You knew something was wrong. You hear the door slam and you sit up.“What did you do Ryu?”

He comes from the hallway with a cage.

“Okay babe hear me out!”

“What is that?!” You stand up and walk up to him

“It’s a hamster.” You stare down at the cage with the tiny dwarf hamster as its little beady eyes blinked up at you. Shit its cute.

“I got the cage and food and everything she needs.”

Your lips turned into a pout “It’s a she?”

“Yup!” Dammit! You’re supposed to be mad.

“How much did all this cost?” You almost don’t wanna know.

“Don’t worry about it.” Tanaka places the cage on the counter and reaches into a plastic bag.

“Oh- and I got your chips.”

You were probably gonna strangle him… but he’ll live.

Nishinoya:

Moving in with Noya… is an experience and a half

And probably the most unorganized if we’re being honest.

This man didn’t label any of his boxes and kinda just threw everything together.

He also has a lot of stuff.

He’s traveled a lot so he has a bunch of knick knacks.

You guys walk into your small but homey apartment and he sighs

He looks back and forth between the kitchen and living area.

“Man the sex is gonna be GREAT!” You smack his chest hard.

“We have neighbors!”

“Oh yea!”

Will your neighbors hate you guys, probably.

Noya has music blasting as you move in all your stuff and it isn’t until after dark you guys get everything.

You close and lock the front door and wipe your forehead.

Noya walks into the middle of the living room and starts taking off his shirt

“Yu what are you doing?”

He continues to remove his clothes until he is stripped down to his boxers

“We have to set some rules in this house! Rule number one, no clothes allowed!”

He goes to remove the last piece of clothing but you run and stop him.

“STOP We don't have curtains!”

Does the night end with you guys “breaking in” the new apartment

Yes, yes it does 😉

Random Scenario

Living with Nishinoya taught you a lot. And you guys definitely learned a lot about each other. One thing is that he loves spa days. You guys have made it a tradition to have a relaxing day together full of face masks and long soaks in the tub every Sunday. He loves it when you tie his hair up with a scrunchie as you paint his face with clay masks. He surprised you one Sunday with matching bathrobes with your initials on it. You excitedly changed into it and followed the same ritual as always. You guys had gotten new bath bombs and best believe the man was excited. He always lets you get in first and he slides in behind you. You place the bath bomb in and lean against him as you close your eyes. He rubs his hands up and down your body as he lays soft kisses on your shoulders.

“You know I love you right.” He softly kisses the nape of your neck.

“Mmhmm I know. I love you too” You turn and caress his cheek.

“I could fall asleep like this.”

“Me too.” You get comfortable laying against his chest and try your best not to drift off in his arms.

Akaashi:

Akaashi would be the most organized when it comes to moving. Everything is placed away neatly in boxes and of course labeled (With his label maker of course).

He would never use garbage bags to pack stuff

He would have everything separated based on category.

For sure the thing that would take the longest would be his books.

This man has a mini library I swear

So best believe it would probably take a day to organize his books the way he likes.

“Oh my god why are these books so heavy.”

“Cause they are all hardcover”

He takes the boxes from you and you quickly realize that a lot of his stuff is his books

Of course you guys are lacking furniture for a while but that’s partially because you guys have a hard time deciding what pieces you should get.

Akaashi needed an office for sure with his job.

You would surprise him with a really nice bookcase, cause there is no way his old one would work here.

Random Scenario

Akaashi is a really hard worker, and though he is not exactly where he wants to be in his career, he still gives it his all. It is a pretty demanding job, so there have been many sleepless nights for him. He usually falls asleep a lot at his desk. Tonight was another one of those nights. You wake up in the middle of the night to see his side of the bed untouched. You sleepily climb out of bed and walk straight to his office. You slowly creek open the door.

“Keiji, are you awake?” You get no response. You walk further into the room to see him slumped over his desk with his glasses hanging off his face. You push the strands of hair away from his face and gently shake him awake. His eyes flutter open and he quickly shoots up in his chair.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep here.” He rubs the sleep from his eyes and sits up cracking his back.

“It’s okay, just come to bed. Your work will be here in the morning,” You take his hand and walk back to the room with him. He quickly slides back into bed and forces himself to keep his eyes open until you’re in bed with him. As soon as you are under the covers he knocks out. You softly brush your hand over his face before falling back asleep yourself.

Kenma:

Kenma isn’t exactly the easiest person to move in with. Not because of anything bad, but because this man just hates the essence of moving.

Packing up all your stuff to move it and to take it all out again

It really sucks

And it honestly kind of stresses him out.

Especially with his gaming setup. He was sure to pack all his equipment as best he could.

And during the moving process he didn’t have the time to stream so that kinda bothered him too.

But because of all the stress, he is that much more grateful when you guys have finished moving in.

With your help, he managed to put a temporary set up with his chair so he could finally stream again.

When it comes to decorating, he doesn’t really care. If you like it, he likes it.

Probably would ban Kuroo from coming over.

“Kozu, Kuroo is asking to hang out.”

“Tell him no”. He continues to focus on his game.

“Why not? You haven’t seen him in a while.”

“And I would like to keep it that way.”

You wrap your arms over his shoulder and kiss his cheek.

“Well I already invited him for dinner.”

You knew he secretly wanted to see him, he just had a weird way of showing it

And in the end, you three had a great night together.

Random Scenario

You are about to throw the switch at the television as Kenma won another round of Super Smash Bros. He sits back on the couch with a smug grin on his face and you kick him lightly.

“Again! I’m gonna beat you at least once!” You sit at the end of the couch leaning forward as you start the round for the twentieth time tonight.

“ You know, it gets kinda boring winning all the time.” He yawns.

“Oh shut up, I’m gonna win this time!”

“If you say so.”

You are practically slamming your hands against the buttons and it is doing nothing in your favor.

Kenma laughs out loud as your health bar goes down quickly. You quickly retaliate with the same kick over and over, blocking him into a corner. You scream as you get a lead on him and slowly take down his health.

“Stop using the same moves.” Kenma sits forward a bit annoyed as it is actually working.

“Don’t be salty now”

It becomes an intense match but you ultimately lose. You throw yourself over Kenma’s lap as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“It’s not fair!” You whine out as he lays his hands comfortably on your waist.

“You tried your best” He teased as you leaned in to give him a quick kiss. You lean back with a pout and get off his lap.

“What?” He stands up and reaches for you but you go running down the hall.

“You want a kiss, you’re gonna have to catch me!” Kenma questions whether or not he should take part in your juvenile game but it doesn’t take much convincing as runs after you.

Ushijima:

Moving in with Ushy Gushyyyyyyyyy😩 (I’m sorrry)

Moving in with Ushijima is surprisingly pretty easy

But the one condition was that you had to get house plants

And a lot of them!

But that’s okay, cause they are all your plant babies

(He names them all)

You guys also needed a balcony, it didn’t have to be a big one, but enough to have some plants outside as well as at least 2 chairs.

The apartment was perfect for you both. Plenty of space for both you and him along with all your babies.

Moving all your stuff was really easy and Ushijima didn’t let you lift a finger.

“Toshi can I please do something! There are so many boxes.”

“I told you sweetheart I got it.”

You crossed your arms as you pouted.

But you gotta say, for doing all the moving by himself, he got it done really quick.

And it was a nice view if you know what I mean 😏

Man rolled up his sleeves and mmmmhmmm

Anywhoooooo

The plants were last and you both took your time placing them around the house.

Did you have any furniture

No

But you have plants so you’ll be fine

Random Scenario

Your mornings started way earlier ever since you moved in. Him being an early riser stuck with you too. You climb out of bed wearing a big T-shirt of his and find Ushijima sitting shirtless with two cups of hot tea on the balcony. You open the sliding door and he turns around.

“Good morning darling.” You lean over and kiss his forehead.

“Morning Toshi.” You sit in your respective seat and he passes you the hot mug,

The sun is slowly rising as you both peacefully sip your tea. You lay your legs over his lap and his calloused hands run up and down your bare legs.

“Have you already watered the plants?”

“Yea, right before you got up.”

You mumble a response and continue looking out towards the sunrise. You listened as he softly went over his plans for the day; he was going to be super busy with practice. But that didn’t matter. In this moment it was just you and him and all your plant babies.

[agustdomain]

October Ink | #3

Fall isn’t all fun and games. With your chemistry class weighing down on you, Chan knows just the right remedies to lift your spirits.

“So Coraline and pumpkin spice lattes. That’s our Saturday date?” Chan asked, ignoring his friends chattering in the background. It was funny how you could hear Felix’s screeches and Jisung’s swearing through two devices. 

Changing into more comfortable clothes, you confirmed his words. “Yup. It’s tradition. I usually do it myself, just to get into fall spirit. But now that you’re around,” You teased, smiling when he laughed in response.

“Yeah, I guess I can be pencilled in,” You could hear the humor in his voice, easing the nerves rattling your breathing since you’d checked your phone around twenty minutes ago. With that thought, you crawled onto your bed and opened your laptop.

“Okay. I’m logging in,” You let your voice drag out as you typed in your password, neck aching with the strain of holding up your phone. “Ugh, hold on. I’m going to put you on speaker.”

“Okay, baby,” You smiled at Chan’s stuffy voice, familiar with the way he sounded with a full mouth (trail mix was your guess). Jisung was always yelling at him to stop doing it through his headset, but you found it kinda cute. “Just breathe, okay?”

You clenched and unclenched your fist as the screen loaded, letting you into your school website. Specifically, for your grades. On your way home from work, you’d gotten an email letting you know your professor had posted your grades for your chem midterm. If it was any other class, you wouldn’t have been struck with a wave of nausea like you did when you saw it. 

This chemistry class, in short, had been kicking your ass since day one. 

The only person who knew the extent of your stress was your boyfriend, Chan. Loving, supportive, always cheering you on. He had his own worries, so you tried your best not to dump your concerns all over him. However, he knew how freaked out you were over this. Your skin flushed at the memory of a few nights ago, calling him and crying about your fear of failing. 

No matter what you did or how hard you tried, you just couldn’t do well in this class. He constantly reassured you, tried to give you pep talks, but at this point there was nothing you could do but hope for the best. 

As you hovered over the class name, the sound of Chan talking to his friends on his game faded away. If you bombed this test, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to recover. Gnawing at your lip, you clicked the class, your breath hitching at the little notification on the grades tab. 

“You alright, baby?” Chan whispered. His voice released the breath you were holding, eased the tension in your shoulders. As long as you’ve known him, he tended to everyone. Everyday, you worked to make sure he was seen and loved. 

“I’m- I’m about to see.”

“Whatever happens, I’m here.”

“Thank you.” You clicked on the tab, waited for it to load. It loaded too quickly, so you purposefully scrolled down as slow as possible. Chris wasn’t talking to his friends anymore, but you could hear his fingers tapping away at his PC. 

When your eyes found the number, you wondered if your heart actually cracked. Pushing your laptop away, you fell back on your bed, covering your eyes with your hands. You breathed out, tried to tell yourself not to cry but only made the urge worse. Like a sudden storm that you should’ve known was coming, the tears fell. 

“Y/N? Baby, you there?” His voice was coated in concern, as if he sensed the shift in your silence. Swallowing thickly, you raised your tone, tried to come off nonchalant.

“I’m here. I’m fine... Don’t worry.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you squeezed your eyes shut as you prayed that you fooled him. 

“Hey guys, I gotta go,” You heaved a sigh, hearing him say his goodbyes to his friends somehow making things worse. You were such a failure. “No, no everything’s fine. I’ll just catch up with you guys later.” 

He waited, and even without saying anything, you knew he meant it. There was a purpose to his silence, patient like he was reaching through the phone and holding you. 

You couldn’t take it, not right now. 

“I gotta go,” You whispered, eyes trailing to your laptop as you reached over and shut it. 

“Y/N…”

“I just need some time, baby. Just play with your friends okay? I’ll call you back in a while.”

“Okay,” You moved to hang up, distracted, but he called your name again.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

                                                              ~

A few hours later, you were feeling a little better. You had The Office and Chan’s sweater to thank for that. Cozying up on the couch, you forced yourself not to think as you let the episodes start and end, not touching the remote and turning off your mind. If you didn’t, you were sure you’d cry again. 

You didn’t feel good about being so short with Chan, but the two of you learned healthy communication over time. He was aware of how you got sometimes, and gave you space when he knew you needed it. You still felt guilty, because you knew he was worried. 

The doorbell rang. With a sigh, you got off the couch and dragged your feet to the door. Furrowing your eyebrows, you stared out the peephole, wondering why no one was there. 

Nervous, you unlocked the door and opened it a crack, peeking out. Eyes trailing down, your heart warmed at the latte on your welcome mat, a sticky note pasted on the lid. Looking out into the hall, searching for Chan, you picked up the drink and read the note.

I’m here when you’re ready. Pumpkin spice doesn’t need to wait until Saturday. Love, C.

Sipping at the drink, the sweetness filled your tongue, the tension in your body faded away- just like it did when Chan was near. 

He knew how to make you feel better even when he wasn’t here. 

Running your fingers over his handwriting, you closed the front door, a smile poking at your lips. 

                                                             ~

The next morning, you woke up to your phone going off. Blinking away your drowsiness, you tapped at your phone, seeing a new text from Chan. 

New surprise at your door. Hint: it’s not me. 

Suddenly awake, you threw your blanket off of you as you raced to the door, throwing it open. The smile bloomed on your face as you crouched down, picked up the pumpkin spice latte and stuffed black cat. 

You sipped at your drink, double checked to see if Chan wasn’t hiding around the corner. The note said, I figured you’d want your own Charlie. Three days until Coraline! <3

Snapping a picture of the cat snuggled up against the drink, you sent it to Chan. 

You’re the best, you know that?

Second best. 

No.

Yes.

I love you…

I love you too, Y/N.

                                                             ~

When you woke up the next day to the doorbell ringing, you were prepared. Jumping out of bed, you slid on your slippers and raced to the door. Throwing it open, your heart jumped, Chan nowhere in sight. Was he really that fast? Scooping up his gifts for the day (your favorite candies and another latte), you ran down the hallway, ignoring the elevator as you headed for the stairs. 

Just as you started heading down, you heard the door on the first floor slam closed. He was close!

You ran, pretty sure you looked terrifying as the smile on your lips grow bigger. Bursting out of the door, you headed to the front of the complex, looking both ways before racing down the sidewalk toward where he usually parked. 

When you made it around the corner, your heart jumped in your chest, ever excited whenever you spotted its owner. 

Chan hadn’t noticed you yet, and you sighed when his long strides relaxed into his normal pace, his hands in his pockets. His hair was messy like he just rolled out of bed himself, sporting his favorite red hoodie and sweatpants. 

Running up behind him, you yelled his name as your arms went around him. He jumped, reeling to look at you with wide and scared eyes. It only took a split second before a laugh broke out of his lips, his arms going around you. Looking at you with raised eyebrows, he said, “You ruined my surprise.”

“I was ready for you today.”

He hummed, trying to bite back a smile. “Were you now?”

“Mhm.” He pressed a kiss onto your lips, distracting you as his hands reached and snatched the drink out of your hands. “Chan!”

“Well, since you ruined my surprise, I might as well take this,” He twisted his body as you tried grabbing it back from him, crying out as he guzzled the latte. He stopped, exaggerating a sound of praise before handing it over.

Cradling the drink, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Latte thief.”

“Surprise ruiner.”

Dropping the act, you intertwined your fingers with his, swinging them between you two. His face softened, and it made you shy because… well, everyone said it. You could feel his love for you whenever he looked at you like that. The dimples helped.

“Thank you, Chan. I… I know I’ve been really down and not really as enthusiastic as I’ve always been.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. You can’t be happy all the time. None of us can. I just wanted to make sure you had something to lift your spirits, even when you need your space.”

“I loved it. These lattes? I need to learn to make them because wow. And Charlie? You almost made me cry.”

“Lattes huh?” You saw the idea forming in his face, knowing that he was concocting some plan to probably learn how to make them himself. Patting his chest, you leaned forward and pecked his cheek. 

“You are an angel.”

“Just like you, love. And I hope you know that this class? The one that’s making my girl so unhappy? It’s temporary. You are going to go on and do incredible things. You just don’t know it yet.”

Even with the doubt and disappointment squeezing your heart, the conviction in his voice broke apart those vines, planted a precious seed called hope. One that you knew he’d help in guarding.

“Well,” You looked off to the side, acting casual, “I’m kinda free today. I decided to call in to work. I feel like I deserved a day off. If someone isn’t busy… maybe we can watch Coraline?”

Chan tilted his head, humming as he feigned consideration. A big smile broke out as he wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and then setting you down. “Sounds perfect.”

“Like you?”

“Ohhhh,” He pointed at you as you both started heading back to the complex, “That was smooth.”

Throwing his arm across your shoulder, pulling you close, there was no negative thought that could creep into the oasis that you and him had worked so hard to build. 

Chemistry? You’re important, necessary for your major. But with Chan by your side, you’re not so scary anymore.

[sodone-withlife]

it's a sad song

heavily inspired by Hadestown, will feature lyrics from How Long? and Epic III. thanks to @yourlocalheartbreaker for indulging me and my rants about how much i love this musical

the musical's interpretation of Hades and Persephone's story is perfect for Hotch and Haley, so here is the self-indulgent cliche songfic. as usual, i did little to no proofreading so apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors. it's also more choppy than i'd like, but i really wanted to get it out so i can force myself to work on another angsty Hotch fic

warnings: canonical character death, non-canon character death, suicide

word count: 4k words

(And what has become of the heart of that man, now that the man is king? What has become of the heart of that man, now that he has everything?)

In the grand scheme of things, Hotch was lucky. He was further away from the bomb when it went off and only needed a day and a half in the hospital before he was back at the field office, taking the reins in handling the press and brass that was ready to tear Gideon apart.

The inquisition that followed in Virginia was vicious and by the end, Gideon was on indefinite medical leave and the unit was under the brass’s close scrutiny as Hotch took charge of the unit. As much as the word “temporary” was being parroted around in regards to the new chain of command, it was tacit knowledge that it was a permanent arrangement. A fiasco on the scale of Boston was enough to get an agent fired, and it was only Gideon’s seniority and excellent record that kept him with the bureau.

For Hotch, Boston and the months following only reinforced three lessons that were already hardwired into his brain:

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

(Give them a piece and they'll take it all Show them a crack and they'll tear down the wall)

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

(Lend them an ear and the Kingdom will fall The Kingdom will fall for a song)

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

He was the new face of the BAU within the bureau, and even his prosecutorial and investigative record could not help protect the team from scrutiny.

So he straightened his spine and hardened his already severely sharp features, throwing himself into work and restoring the unit’s reputation.

Then Hotch came home one day to Haley’s brilliant smile and delighted excitement, and for a moment, he was reminded of the first time he talked to her nearly twenty years ago, when he told her he was quitting his smoking habit.

He had frozen when she first approached him in his dark corner a few weeks after school had resumed in the fall. She had smiled amusedly, his social ineptitude clear as day as he struggled to find words to greet her, to apologize for seeming like a creep over the summer when he first saw her outside on the sports field coaching younger students through vocal warmups before they started rehearsing the musical that was being put on that year, only to completely blank she plopped herself down next to him with her own school bag and lunch.

By the end of that day, he had convinced himself it was only going to be a one-off thing, that she wasn’t going to come back. If he had been honest with himself, part of him, the part that knew so intimately that his mother’s skin only remained free from bruises after his innocent baby brother was born was because his damned father finally had a son he could look at without being reminded of his self-hatred, wished it was.

But then she came back the next day, the day after that, and the day after that, apparently content to sit beside him in silence only broken by periodic comments about the going-ons in her life and the musical. And she continued going to sit next to him, even as he watched as others tried to warn her away, tried to physically guide her away from the bleachers.

What was stranger, he thought, was that she stayed even in spite of his silence, and in spite of his vices—he could tell she didn’t like his habit, but she didn’t comment. She just kept him company.

It was a few weeks into this arrangement, when he saw his still mostly full pack, that he realized that he hadn’t itched for a smoke during lunch for weeks, not while she was there and talking to him in ways he’d never been talked to before.

Sometime later, as the number of cigarettes in the pack remained unchanging, as the pack itself went untouched in his schoolbag, he finally threw it away.

That was the first time Hotch talked to her, to tell her that he’s giving up the habit. That small, but no less proud or bright, smile that spread across her face, he decided, was something he wanted to see again.

Slowly, he started talking more, and on good days, the two made conversation on topics ranging from classes to their favorite books all the way to whatever shenanigans Sean or Jessica was getting into. On other days, on bad days, the silence was never awkward, and she simply kept him company as he struggled to control the storm in his mind.

Those were the days his fingers itched for a cigarette, and those were the days she introduced to him a new book that he would finish within the day. The next day at school, they would once again be stuck in an in-depth conversation about the characters’ flaws and the absurdities of the antagonists, and the itch would be gone.

And it went on like this, even after he threw all caution and his doubts to the wind and asked her out on the first day of their senior year, even as they faced the townspeople’s questions about why such a good girl like Haley Brooks was dating someone of the likes of Aaron Hotchner, who, despite being so coldly brilliant, was just that.

Cold.

Dangerously unfeeling.

Barely human.

But she had seen behind the facade and she knew that he loved with the fierce burning of a thousand suns. She knew how terrified he was of losing everything, that he would be left alone and floundering in a world that was not kind to the lost.

So she stayed, through college, as she went into teaching and him into law, as the final straw came and went and he registered for the Academy and started training, breaking records along the way before finally being assigned to Seattle and quickly climbed his way up the ranks until he caught David Rossi’s keen eye and transferred back to Virginia for the BAU.

Every night, Hotch came home to his wife, the light of his life, and was reminded of why he was working himself to the bone. That day, when he came home a month after Boston for Haley to press a simple rectangular box into his hands, the stakes were raised once again, and he knew he had to fight twice as hard.

Not only for his team, the people he protected so fiercely under that steel mask, but for his son.

Early mornings and late nights became the norm as he threw himself into more and more work, and slowly, the unit began to recover as Spencer Reid and Jennifer Jareau joined the expanding unit, as Gideon returned as a senior agent, and as Elle Greenaway was pulled from Seattle just like he was all those years ago.

Then Jack was born, and he used his accrued vacation time to finally take a month off. Never had he been more terrified than in the moment he first held his son in the delivery room, acutely aware of his tiny size and sheer vulnerability to the dangers of the world.

That night, sleeping in the hospital bed with an exhausted Haley and their child in his arms, he swore to do whatever he could to make the world safer for his family.

His world.

So he tried. He tried and he tried, forcing himself to leave when cases that required their presence in the field came in, forcing himself to take on the heaviest burdens of the job so his team might be protected and his family would be safe.

Maybe a part of him was trying to get him to stop in his tracks and look up, to take a moment so he could clearly see that he was being consumed by the chase.

Maybe if he was strong enough, he could have lifted the weight of his world just enough to change the direction he was going.

But he was scared.

Scared that the moment he looked up, the moment he let go, he would lose everything he was defending.

And so he did not stop—not as Elle was shot in one place she had a right to feel safe in, not as Elle resigned and prevented him from making a terrible choice, not at Reid was suffering in a hell that could only be created by the lure of potent drugs, not as the unit was once again put under scrutiny because of her and Gideon’s actions.

Not even as he was forgetting important appointments, as he was struggling to be present for the important events and early milestones in his son’s life.

Not until he was suspended for two weeks because of the vow he made to himself the moment he stepped into the leadership position to protect the team to the best of his ability.

He stopped, looked up, and put in for a transfer.

But it was too late.

(It's true the earth must die But then the earth comes back to life And the sun just goes on rising)

(I’ve had enough)

The divorce did nothing to lessen the weight on his shoulders or the utter terror he felt at the prospect of stopping.

As more and more cases started piling on his desk, he kept his back bent and head down for hours as he pushed himself to the brink with a mental image of the smile that had not dimmed for twenty years and of the only proof of his humanity at the forefront of his mind.

Every day, he bent lower and lower, but he never let himself crumble, forcing himself to remain Atlas as Kate fell and Morgan nearly followed in New York, Reid and Prentiss in Colorado—

—as JJ and Will brought their first child into the world and he promised to protect her as best as he could so she would not make the same mistakes he did—

—as he wrangled politicians and major corporations in the aftermath of him fulfilling the promise he made to Megan Kane—

—as he called in favor after favor to get to the Vatican so Prentiss could get justice for her friends—

—as he compartmentalized as best he could when he found out about the anthrax attack at a public park he knew Haley and Jack frequented whenever they visit her parents’ house and when Reid got infected—

Then the Reaper returned after ten years of silence and ten years of being a silent spectator in Hotch’s nightmares to become an active participant in his night terrors for months.

But the night Hotch returned to his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, those dreams that left him nearly paralyzed with fear every night became his reality.

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out from nine stab wounds and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he only felt fear—fear for the team, fear for Haley, fear for his son.

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it, that his hubris finally caught up to him.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Hotch was staring at the dried streak of red on the photo of his whole world and wondering if he had made his way into hell without realizing it.

When Haley and Jack visited him in the hospital, he could barely look at their faces, not wanting the scared and confused expressions they wore to be the last memory he might have of the two people whose lives he sought to protect in throwing himself into work but ended up putting in danger.

Then they were walking away, and he felt his walls slowly building themselves back up to a height and with fortifications that he had not needed since he last wore them in his youth to protect himself against the people in his hometown who had treated him with suspicion and derision.

The months following the day his world was ripped from his weakened grip was its own brand of hell, and more than once he wished he had been less of a coward and let himself look up from his chase.

Soon he was stepping down and ignoring all reason as he threw himself back into work yet again, wearing a facade that his teenage self would have been proud of while desperately trying to fulfill the promise he made Haley, that he would spend the rest of his life making everything up to her.

But of course, life has a funny way of reminding people of the promises they made and the important lessons they have learned at the worst times.

Suddenly, the sound of three gunshots was ripping through his head.

Suddenly, he was forcing himself to look away from Haley’s body, strewn on the floor like a doll with its strings cut, forcing himself to keep it together so he could clear the room.

Suddenly, he was straddling George Foyet and unleashing upon him years of pent-up hurt and anger that he had never allowed himself to feel in favor of remaining strong for the people he loved so fiercely.

Do not break and do not allow yourself to bleed where others can see, for there are always sharks waiting to tear you apart.

Nothing is certain. Even the strongest, the smartest, the most experienced, can fail. Do not fall victim to your own hubris, for it will be your undoing.

Death awaits everyone. It takes without mercy or regard for the lives left behind.

That day, Hotch was reminded of all three statements that he swore to live by after Boston.

Foyet was witness to his unraveling and poked and prodded at him, so much so that he uncovered the rage he inherited from his father and had vowed long ago to never express.

His hubris, his confidence in assumptions that had been made so many times in the past, his confidence that denying the deal that had been offered to him just over a year ago was the right thing to do, cut the threads of over ten people far too early.

Haley was lost to him.

Forever.

But in the years afterward, as Hotch found himself stuck in his head and mentally removed from the team’s present more and more often, he wondered if that was actually the moment that he lost her.

Perhaps the time he had to fly out to Mexico on his birthday weekend was the start and the stress of his suspension the catalyst.

Was he simply too destructive and too desperate to have a happy ending? Was anyone closely associating with him doomed to fall along with him?

Why else was his mother spared from bruising when she was able to focus on raising Sean, a son whose looks did not remind his father of the sheer hatred he felt for himself?

Why else had his brother, who he was estranged from, done so well in life and remained so carefree?

For what other reason could Haley have been murdered than the fact that she was collateral damage in a psychopathic narcissist’s dream to cause him as much pain as possible?

For a short time, Haley’s murder had given Hotch a chance to look up, to free himself from all the responsibilities he had taken on, but it ultimately only served to increase his fear and paranoia. The team had seen the tail end of his unraveling in that house, and he knew it had shaken them to the core, so the walls remained up. Strangers in the street were unsubs, and he was never far away from a weapon if he could help it, always fearing that he would be too late to be of any help.

Four years to the day he locked himself away, he was seeing Haley smiling radiantly at him and wearing the same dress she was wearing when he proposed as she waved him over to sit next to her in an empty movie theater and he was struggling to articulate her beauty.

The large screen in front of them was playing scenes from his life in the years since she was stolen from this life. While her eyes were glued to the projection of his memories, he was left unable to tear his eyes away from her, the woman who had been such an integral part of his life, whose death he would probably never forgive himself for, whose presence in his world he had so desperately missed.

Then he was looking down from the screen when their moment was interrupted by the man who had become a permanent fixture in his night terrors and surprising himself with just how prepared he was to kill again to protect Haley like he had failed to do years ago. It was only Haley’s repeated assurances that finally got him to look back up at the screen, and in the next moment, he was once again experiencing his nightmares in real-time.

His voice cracked as he tried calling out for help, becoming more and more desperate as it became clear no one was coming, and then—

You’re not meant to.

They were suddenly standing face to face in that dark corner of the school where they first met. Hotch froze, rooted to the spot by the uncharacteristically cold expression on Haley’s face.

Where is he?

It wasn’t right, the hard tone, the way she was looking at him as if he were a stranger—

I don’t see Aaron Hotchner in front of me. Where is he?

Then her face softened, and she walked over to sit against the wall, uncaring of the dirt that was gathering on her dress. She stared at him pointedly until he made his way over to her and joined her on the ground. It was with great surprise that he felt her lean onto him, a long-forgotten and now unfamiliar warmth settling over him.

I want to tell you a story.

She told him the story behind an old song, the story about the queen who brought spring and summer with her every time she walked the earth and the king who ruled the shades and the underworld. And though the king loved his queen so desperately, every time she walked the earth while he remained in the underworld, he doubted that she would come back to him, for what could he offer her except his darkness?

So he worked and he threw himself into building a kingdom of metal and glaring bright lights that might compensate for his darkness, but he could not bring himself to look up for fear that he would lose everything the moment he stopped. In his fear, he kept his head low and his back bending, he locked his love away so it wouldn’t be a distraction.

(But what he didn’t know is that what he is defending was already gone.)

When Hotch found himself on the edge of a roof being held against Peter Lewis, who had a gun at his temple, facing the team’s desperate and fearful faces, he could only think about that story Haley had told him and the questions she had sent towards him right before he woke up in the hospital four years prior.

(Where is the treasure inside of your chest? Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth? Where is the man with his arms outstretched to the woman he loves with nothing to lose?)

That was the first time he could remember crying in front of Jack—when the two were clinging to each other in the hospital bed after yet another close call—and he resolved it wouldn’t be the last. It hurt to tear down the walls he had so meticulously built around himself over the course of nearly five decades, but to see the smile that his son inherited from Haley…

He could only lament that he hadn’t started earlier.

Slowly, he rebuilt his world, and it was filled with a warmth that hadn’t been since those golden years between first meeting Haley and becoming a prosecutor.

But then Peter Lewis came and turned his mind against him, forcing him to watch his nightmares come to life. And when he found himself at MPD’s gunpoint with Jack watching, his world cracked.

And in that interrogation room, watching the recording of Lewis’s testimony against him, his world cracked again.

And seeing his son’s withdrawn affect, trying to get him to understand that he wasn’t leaving, that he wouldn’t ever abandon him of his own free will—

Then they were called to Arizona and he found his name carved into a victim’s forehead, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the attacks would become more and more personal.

Favors were called in, calls were made, and all the while Hotch tried to keep Jack as ignorant as possible to the way his world was going up in flames around him. For a moment, it felt like the immediate aftermath of Boston, with all of the non-stop workdays and the scrutiny of the brass falling onto him and the struggle to balance his work and Jack—

And then one day, Jack disappeared in the middle of the school day.

A day later, Rossi and Luke were holding him back, trying to keep him away from the security checkpoint at the entrance of the Academy office buildings that had been taped off as a crime scene. His eyes caught a sudden movement, and all the fight left him when he saw the white sheet being unfolded and lowered over the small body that was on the gurney.

Maybe he was supposed to be more grief-stricken than he felt.

Maybe that’s why the team tip-toed around him in the months afterward—they were waiting for the sand to run out, for the inevitable breakdown that was expected from a man such as him.

And the sand did run out, only it wasn’t where any of them expected.

The cold metal digging into his temple provided him an odd moment of clarity as he thought about the questions he had asked himself—because that wasn’t Haley, she never looked at him with such cruelty, not even when he probably deserved it, it was always that voice in the back of his head, the voice that led him down the road to hell.

That treasure that he kept in his chest—it was buried in the ground with Haley and Jack.

His pleasure, his youth, it was left behind in his past with that first strike he felt from his father.

A smile spread across his face for the first time in months and he closed his eyes, a strange peacefulness settling deep in his bones. He flung himself backward, letting himself become dead weight as he suddenly heard shouts of horror through the sound of the wind rushing around him and Peter Lewis as they fell.

Didn’t you tell me to find the man who was reaching out with nothing to lose?

I found him.

I hope you and Jack waited for me, Haley.

[bbrandy2002]

My Love

 Chapter 13

Pairing: Liam x MC

Warnings: Violence, Language

Well, this is the final chapter before the epilogue. For a story I started last August and put away thinking no one would ever want to read, I was proven wrong. I cant imagine I will write another story that I love as much as this one. It turned into something I never planned and if you could see the original outline, it is nothing like this. But I appreciate you all so very much for sticking with it and willing to accept an out of the box plot line. I love each one of you who messaged, reblogged, liked, or commented...like seriously, it was my motivation to keep going and to do better.

A/N: Thank you to @mskaneko for the moodboard above. I saved it just for this chapter because it captures the heart of the main characters and this series so well.

And @burnsoslow I swear to God, you are the bestest friend I could ever have asked for. I'm sure you have just as much of yourself in this as I do. You've not only edited the hell out of this series, but literally dropped what you were doing to do so. There are portions you've written or just made better. I CANNOT THANK YOU ENOUGH...EVER for brainstorming, your ideas, talking me out of my stupid ideas and cheering me on. I hope you always know how much I appreciate and value your friendship and help.

With her heart and mind racing in unison, Riley’s hand rapidly shifted the gears of Maxwell’s black Aston Martin Vulcan.  Her knuckles whitened from their tight grip on the steering wheel as she pressed down harder on the gas pedal of the luxury sports car. The V12 engine roared with fervor when they sped up down a straight stretch of dark highway; the momentum caused both she and Maxwell to jerk back harshly into their plush leather seats. Her passenger’s disapproving glare and heavy groan had no effect on her. The only thing on her mind was the impending death that awaited her in the Cordonian harbor ahead. 

Riley had no recollection of her first death, nor the physical pain her body experienced from the cyanide she had unwittingly ingested before bed weeks ago. The effects of the poison ravaged every cell in her body and hastily shut off her respiration. Those two tiny pills that Amanda had offered her that day to relieve a headache had consumed and destroyed the organs in her body in less than six minutes. If the message Olivia had revealed to her in a dream less than an hour ago was any indication, this second death would be twice as horrifying. 

Recalling the heavenly conversation in her head with the apparently deceased Duchess of Lythikos, Riley saw an opportunity. If she were to believe Olivia’s prognostication and warnings and followed through with her former rival’s directions, was it possible her story could end differently? She had nothing left to lose and everything to gain by finding out. Her fear of dying for the second time, however, was staggering. 

A devilish smirk curled Olivia’s bright red lips as she arched a sly brow. “It's time, Riley. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do exactly as I tell you.”

Would this plan even work? 

Shaking her head to dismiss the terror that threatened to overcome her, Riley flashed a glance over at Maxwell’s lap. His nimble fingers cautiously attached lead wires from an old cell phone into a c4 pipe bomb they had swiped from the armory. There were only two people she knew who had ever handled explosive devices: one she trusted — Olivia -- and the other she was astonished hadn’t already blown them up. “Maxwell, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Swiftly peeling off a strip of duct tape and biting it in half, he puckered his forehead in deep concentration and wound the strip carefully around the explosive contraption. Pausing a moment to inspect his work, his eyes shot back to her with a flash of uncertainty. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” 

Shaking her head to dismiss the terror that threatened to overcome her, Riley flashed a glance over at Maxwell’s lap. His nimble fingers cautiously attached lead wires from an old cell phone into a c4 pipe bomb they had swiped from the armory. There were only two people she knew who had ever handled explosive devices: one she trusted — Olivia -- and the other she was astonished hadn’t already blown them up. “Maxwell, are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Driving through the entrance that led to the marina, Riley dimmed the car’s lights and pulled into the empty spot furthest away from the vast cluster of docked boats and yachts. Shutting off the engine, she bit the corner of her lower lip and stared blankly at the moonlight’s yellowish glow treading along the ripples of seawater in the distance. As much as she wanted to be brave and strong, believing it was the only way she could get through this, she wasn’t ready. How long would she struggle and claw her way for a single breath as the ache and emptiness in her lungs became something she could no longer fight for?

God, help me, she thought as she closed her eyes and the first stream of tears rolled down her cheeks.

Maxwell placed a comforting hand on her cold and trembling forearm. “Riley. You don’t have to do this. We can turn around right now and --”

“No!” She swiped roughly at the tears that flowed steadily. “I knew what I was getting myself into when I came back, Maxwell. This was always meant to be temporary, and I agreed to it knowing full well the repercussions of that decision. Olivia warned me: This is the only way to ensure Amalas doesn’t hurt Liam or Ellie after I’m … gone.” 

Riley’s head fell back against the headrest, her chest rising and falling in rapid succession. She rolled her head sluggishly to the right to catch Maxwell’s worried eyes still fixated on her. She drew a shaky breath. “Promise me something, Max.” Her raspy voice was barely above a whisper, and he nodded back with his full attention. “Make sure when Liam gets here … well, just … just don’t let him get himself killed trying to save me. Can you promise me that?”

Maxwell ordinarily lived for intense moments of danger, but even this was beyond his level of comfort. 

He turned away from her. Nothing made sense to him at that moment as he shook his head and gazed silently out his window, not knowing what to say to her. His best friend was minutes away from another death, and he was nowhere near ready to face her absence in his life again, especially one based on a dream. And somehow he could sense his friend knew more than she was telling him.

This was insane.

“Maxwell?” Riley pleaded. “Please.”

He spun his head back around to face her again, wanting nothing more than for her to change her mind and return to the palace. Unable to avoid her plea, he huffed with a half-hearted smile, “You already know I will. That’s not even something you have to ask.” 

Riley breathed a heavy sigh of relief before reaching behind her seat for the leather satchel she brought. “Then let’s do this.”

Maxwell set the timer for 15 minutes, which would allow her enough time to walk to the small yacht where Amalas awaited Riley’s arrival and for the boat to pull away from the marina. The last thing they wanted was for someone innocent to be harmed when the pipe bomb detonated. Whatever plan Olivia had shared with Riley was clearly upsetting to the woman he thought of as a sister and yet, he trusted it. As Maxwell gently lowered the explosive into the bag she held open for him, he caught a tiny glimpse of hope behind the dread in her eyes that suggested this was bigger than he realized.

As Riley shrugged off her sweater and placed it inside the bag to conceal its contents, Maxwell noted the time on his watch. The minutes were passing by faster than she realized when she opened her door and gave her passenger a knowing look. 

“You know what to do, right?”

Maxwell nodded. “Wait for Liam and Drake to get here. Search the port side of the boat after it explodes for you. Aaaand …” He smacked his forehead several times to remember the last point.

Riley’s brows bumped together in a scowl. “And don’t let anything happen to Liam!”

He threw his hands up. “Okay, okay, I got it!” Pausing for a moment, he watched Riley step out of the car and adjust the satchel on her shoulder. “Riley, wait!” he called before hurling himself across the console to look out the driver's side door. 

She leaned down into the car. “What is it, Max?”

“Will I ever see you again?” His voice cracked.

Straining to hold back her own tears, Riley closed her eyes and took his sadness to heart. She wanted to give him the truthful answer: She didn’t know what the outcome would be, only that Olivia was working on it. There were a million things that could go wrong, and she had no control over the situation. She opened her eyes back up, barely able to make out Maxwell’s downcast face in the darkness, and smiled softly back at him. “I hope so.”

After closing the car door, she sucked in a deep breath and exhaled steadily to calm her nerves before making her way to the docks. As she made long strides towards the marina, she pulled out her phone and glared at the text message Amalas had sent to her with the location of her boat. She shut her phone off again, not wanting to trigger the explosive before it was ready. 

Through trepidation, her heart pounded.

Through adrenaline, her body shook.

As waves crashed and sprayed along the shore, her senses heightened. She shivered from the cold sea air that swept over her bare arms causing her teeth to chatter. Tiny droplets of rain washed away the sheen of sweat that clung to her blanched face from her hairline down. No matter the outcome -- whether Olivia could find some way for her to stay or not -- she was going down on her terms. If the only thing that happened in the next few minutes was guaranteed protection for Liam and Ellie, Riley won.

“It’s about time you got here.”

Recognizing that voice from their many encounters in ballrooms and a Texas bar, Riley tossed a glance over her shoulder. The thin silhouette of power and intelligence stood with a hand on her jutted hip and a power suit that matched her over-inflated ego. Riley curled her lips while the weight of anticipation for revenge built in her chest. 

Standing on the deck at the stern of her small yacht, Amalas cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t have all night, Amanda. Are you just going to stand there?”

Riley turned on her heels, clutching her stomach protectively, and stepped up the wooden planks that led to the deck of the yacht … and her destiny.

Amalas gestured for Riley to have a seat while she poured a glass of champagne for herself. 

Riley  the bag from her shoulder and placed it at her feet.  Before taking a seat on the cushioned vinyl sectional that lined the railing of the boat, she swiped away the tiny drops of drizzle that had sprayed in under the canopied roof. She crossed her legs and tried to get comfortable. “So … you needed to see me?”

Amalas laughed wryly and placed the champagne back in the ice bucket. She took a sip and twisted around to face her adversary. “I did need to see you.” She lifted the glass to her lips and spoke coolly. “Queen Riley.”

Internally, Riley laughed at being called out. At this moment, it didn’t matter what Amalas knew, nor did it matter that Amalas thought she had the upper hand in the situation. You’ll be overcooked fish food in about five minutes, bitch. Riley shrugged her shoulders with a cocky grin. “I suppose my little secret is out of the bag. I assume you have a mole in my palace.”

Amalas chuckled sardonically as she casually took a seat on the opposite end of Riley. “Of course I have a mole in your palace. I had to see that my dear cousin was fulfilling her obligations. Imagine my surprise, though, to find out what that cocksucker, Neville, did to her … such a shame. But, I will say, it certainly helped that you and your king weren’t exactly discreet in your ... activities. And someone may or may not have overheard a discussion or two between your little squadron of BFFs.”

Riley felt the boat shudder under her feet as it pulled away slowly from the marina. She took in a deep breath and placed a hand over her tummy.  Shit … this is it. Hold on, little one; we’ll be together soon. Everything was occurring quickly and exactly as Olivia had told her it would. Liam will be here soon.

She tilted her head to face Amalas, whose eyes swept over Riley’s shoulder. Before Riley could follow her gaze, a strap of leather wound tightly around her neck from behind, cutting off her airway. She instinctively tried to fight her way out of it but knew it was useless. Her bulging eyes watched Amalas smirk, swirl her champagne, and down the rest of her bubbly drink. 

“I always win, Riley. Even if I have to kill you over and over again.” 

The guard who was strangling Riley understood this statement as his order: “When you’re finished and the Queen of Cordonia is dead, toss her overboard.”  The guard nodded as he continued to tighten the strap, and the Queen of Monterriso walked away, feeling confident of her victory.

____________________

Maxwell shuffled along the wet pavement, his watery eyes never once looking away from the yacht Riley boarded as it left the marina. He had never wanted to break down more than he did at that moment. Knowing that she was scared, that she was alone, and that she had just sailed off to her death -- it was too much for him. 

And he had a front-row seat for all of it.

Frustrated that he was losing sight of the boat in the darkness, he cursed under his breath and considered hijacking a vessel to go after Riley himself. That was, until the screeching of tires in the distance pulled him away from his thoughts. He turned to see a truck speeding toward him. Maxwell knew exactly who it was and flailed his arms to catch their attention.

Liam jumped out before Drake had a chance to stop the vehicle completely. Barrelling towards Maxwell, his white button-up still stained with Neville’s blood, Liam was noticeably in full panic mode. 

Skidding to a halt, Liam grabbed both of Maxwell’s arms and jerked him closer in desperation. “Where is she, Maxwell?”

He nodded to the open waters. “She left several minutes ago with Queen Amalas.”

Liam glanced out with his fist balled in his hair. “Fuck! Why the hell did you let her go?”

“I tried to stop her, Liam -- I swear it -- but she wouldn’t listen to me!”

Drake tugged on Liam’s elbow and pulled him away. “Come on. You can stand here and argue with Maxwell all night … or we can get a boat and go after her.”

Liam’s eyes darted around the marina until he set his sights on a cabin cruiser several rows over. He jerked away from Drake and hammered his feet in its direction. Hoisting himself up and over the railing, his friends following behind him, he banged frantically on the cabin door with both fists. Drake and Maxwell searched the aft deck for something to shatter the glass of the door with until the distinct click of a lock and a middle-aged man in nothing but his boxer shorts appeared in the doorway. The man appraised Liam and scowled. “Who the fuck do you think you are, banging on my door in the middle of the night?”

Liam pushed his way past the man, and Drake grabbed the occupant by his arm before he could go after him. “That’s the King of Cordonia. You can either get your ass off this boat now -- or I can put you off. Your choice.”

Maxwell unraveled the ropes from the cleats on the dock that secured the boat and made his way to the helm. Drake started the engine and maneuvered them away from the marina. Liam turned to Maxwell when he heard him approaching. “Which way do we need to go?”

The youngest Beaumont wasn’t entirely sure. Under the blanket of darkness, his sense of direction was skewed. Maxwell pointed in the path he last recalled, knowing that the explosive would ignite any second. “Head northwest … but there’s something you really need to know.” 

Before Liam could respond, his breath hitched, and a sense of emptiness and a hollowness in his chest suddenly overcame him. It was like one of the greatest parts of himself had suddenly slipped away.

Again.

Liam didn’t need to ask himself what it was; he already knew. It was that same feeling he’d had in a chilly hospital room almost four months prior. And as much as he wanted to shake that feeling, to simply deny it was there ... the heart didn’t lie. 

His love was gone.

She had returned, just as she wrote she would in the letter to him. Just as she told him from the very beginning would happen. Except this time, she was taking a tiny part of himself with her, one he hadn’t known they’d created until Drake showed him the final message Liam would ever receive from his beloved wife.

As a lone tear slipped down his cheek, he wept to himself, “Don’t be scared, love. I’m coming to get you. Both of you.”

_______

Riley’s arms fell listlessly to her sides. Her lungs now completely empty of oxygen and her heart no longer beating, the guard unraveled the strap from her neck, leaving behind a deep red ring on her pale skin. 

Adhering to the orders issued to him, the guard lifted her lifeless form with ease. Her brown eyes were void of expression as they stared blankly into nothingness. Her head bounced loosely in his arms with each step closer to the railing.  Without hesitation or compassion, he tossed her like a rag doll into the tranquil waters of the Mediterranean Sea. 

The body clung to the surface, bobbing along with the gentle waves.  

Riley’s soul departed from the shell she had inhabited: the body of her killer. For the first time in over a month, she felt like herself again. Her skin bronzed and her hair darkened. The flatness of hips and chest she had grown accustomed to grew curvier once again. An aura of radiance and warmth surrounded her. 

Approaching the heavens from where she came, Riley smiled down at the tiny infant curled into her arms. If she didn’t know better, she would swear it was Ellie. ”Hello, you.”

“I see you finally made it.”

Riley chuckled. “Good to see you too, Olivia.”

Olivia crossed her arms and eyed the baby curiously. “I see you couldn’t keep Liam off you this time, either.”

A giggle escaped Riley’s lips as she looked down at the bundle again and caressed the soft downy curls that covered their tiny head. 

She glanced back up to her friend. “I miss Liam and Ellie already. I love them so much, Olivia.”

The duchess placed a hand at the top of Riley’s back and guided her forward. “I know you do. The kind of love you shared together never goes away … I don’t entirely understand it, but I knew it was you in that ballroom by the way he looked at you. By the way you looked at him. It was slightly nauseating.”

“Just slightly?”

“Fine, it was thoroughly disgusting. Satisfied?”

Riley rolled her eyes in amusement and chuckled. “Even in death, you’re still the same Olivia Nevrakis we all know and love.”

Olivia waved her hand dismissively with a groan. “Well, this place is entirely too … cheerful and pleasant for my taste. I’ll have to oversee some changes to all this daily merriment.”

“Good luck with that,” Riley snickered. She stopped walking and turned to Olivia with a knowing look. “Soooo ... what happens now? Were you able to ... you know?”

Olivia looked to the lighted pathway. Riley followed her gaze with apprehension, her eyes demanding an answer to the question. 

“It’s time to go, Riley.”

“Where?”

______________

Drake held tightly to the steering wheel as the boat hit a melee of turbulent swells. The explosion in the distance made it easier to track the location of Amalas’ boat, but the choppy waters were difficult to drive on.

Liam stood heartbroken but silent, wearily watching out the glass panel in the boat's front. The debris that burned and spread across the sea lit up the black sky. And directly before that rubble, according to Maxwell, he would find the body of a woman who meant nothing to him. She was just a temporary placeholder for the woman he loved with all of his heart and soul. 

In his mind, he knew Riley and their baby had returned to join his mother. That finding the body that belonged to Amanda Talbert would be just that: Amanda. 

Riley Brooks rested under an apple tree at the edge of the garden maze where he had laid her to rest months ago. She would forever belong to the ages.

She had returned to save him from his anguish. His despair and loneliness. 

But mostly from himself.

And she left tonight, having saved him and their daughter from an evil plot. 

What was it about his wife that she could defy life and death to save him? It didn’t surprise Liam; Riley had rescued him the first night they met. Now she had given her last breath to do so again.

The heat from the mangled, burning boat and its debris was intense. Drake steered as close to the rubble as was safe to do so and dropped the anchor. 

Liam took a deep breath, feeling the weight of sorrow pressing against his chest and the hands of his friends’ comforting grasps on his shoulders. 

The three men exited the cabin together and stepped onto the aft deck. Each man scanned the waters that were lit brightly by the soft glow of a thousand twinkling stars, a silvery moon, and the orange flickers of nearby flames. Even with Maxwell describing the area Riley told him they would find her, it was proving to be an impossible task. 

But not one of them was willing to give up. 

This woman wasn’t even Riley, but it didn’t matter. For Maxwell, Drake, and especially Liam, she was proof that what took place the last few weeks was real. That what they felt in their hearts was true.

“Liam!” Drake tapped his best friend's arm and pointed to remnants of boat pieces. ”I see her. Right there.”

Liam squinted, not really seeing what Drake was pointing to at first, until she finally came into view. He stood there, frozen, not wanting to see her like that, not ready to accept what was obvious now: Riley had left him again.

“I … I can get her, Liam,” Maxwell offered through a sniffle and a wispy cry. “I’ll be gentle.”

Liam smiled softly back at him and shook his head. “I know you would, Maxwell. I appreciate that.” He reached down and removed his shoes, tossing them to the side. “But this is something I feel I should do.”

Liam climbed over the railing and stepped off into the water under the watchful eye of his friends on board, who were ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. 

Swimming through the serene waters that had a tinge of warmth from the surrounding fires, Liam made his way through the littered sea. All around him, black plumes of smoke billowed from pieces of fiberglass and plaster. The air was thick with the pungent odor of sulfurous diesel fuel.

 He didn’t understand why these actions meant so much to him. Yes, this woman was proof of the spiritual connection he had shared with his late wife, but she was also the one who took her from him. Why did he feel so drawn to her at this moment? Why did he feel he had to be the one to rescue her from a watery grave? He could very well leave her there, knowing it was what she rightfully deserved for what she had done to Riley. 

For what she had done to him. 

Liam recognized her clothing as she lay still, face down, on the surface of the water. Wrapping one arm around her, he attempted to swim back but found it difficult to do with one arm. Drake, noticing this, tossed out a rope and held onto the other end. Liam wound his wrist around it and began the slow journey of being pulled back to the boat.

_________

“Where am I going, Olivia?” Riley asked with a toothy grin. “Am I staying here or were you able to help me?”

Olivia smoothed down her red sequin gown with a mischievous gleam in her bright green eyes. “Never underestimate a Nevrakis, Riley. I told you I would find a way for you to stay and ... I did.”

Shocked to hear those words, that she would return to her family and friends, Riley let out an elated sob. “Are … are you serious? I’m going back? I’m really going back?”

Olivia nodded. Her thin red lips twisted into a satisfied smile.”Yes. You’re going back.”

“And my baby too?”

“Package deal, Riley. And before you ask … this isn’t temporary. When you return, it’s a done deal. It’s final. The big guy doesn’t want to see you back here for a very long time.”

Riley laughed through her tears of joy. “I sure hope I don’t let him down, then.”

“Heh. Me too.” Olivia turned to face her, her features more solemn now. She motioned behind Riley. “Now ... Your Majesty, I believe it’s time for you to go.  Liam’s waiting for you.”

Riley gave Olivia a small smile. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank you for what you’ve done.”

“Don’t even bother trying.” The duchess shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just sorry I’ll miss you two trying to explain all of this to people. I may have to sneak out of this joint and see what you come up with.”

Riley laughed before her expression grew more thoughtful. “Goodbye, Olivia.”

She smiled back affectionately. “Goodbye, Riley.”

____________

Drake and Maxwell reached over the rails and looped their arms around Liam, pulling him up to the deck. 

Exhausted and gasping for a refreshing breath that didn’t include saltwater and ash, Liam collapsed to the floor. Amanda was still wrapped protectively in one arm, her face nestled against the crook of his neck.

Winded, Drake and Maxwell hunched over with their hands resting on their knees.

As the crackles and snaps of fires echoed softly in the background, a brilliant light glowed from the sky and illuminated Amanda with a golden haze.

With eyes wide and mouth agape, Maxwell fell to his knees, speechless. Drake took a half-step forward, his eyes full of astonishment and wonder.

Liam could feel the warmth against his skin and naturally angled his head toward it. As the light faded away, his blue eyes met her brown ones. It was the same two pairs of eyes that had locked on each other in a New York bar two years ago. They shared a silent gaze charged with emotion and passion. It both electrified him and made his heart flutter. Liam studied her eyes, her radiant smile, her face that was as beautiful as a sunrise.

She looked like his Riley. She felt like his Riley. 

With his eyes brimming with tears and love, he swallowed over the lump in his throat and closed his eyes. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” 

A sweet smile emerged on her lips, and she brushed her thumb over his damp cheek. “No, my love. You’re not dreaming.” Her voice spoke softly and tenderly. “Open your eyes, Liam.”

[chilling-seavey]

Passchendaele WW2 Extension - Nurses of The Blitz

Frankie,

Dad honestly won’t stop writing to me about you. I swear he talks more about you than he does about life at home so I promised him I’d write you myself to get him off my back. You are closer to home than I am but I know you have been travelling a lot from city to city to clean up after the bombings. I am almost frightened to ask how the casualties are looking. We’re going to be heading out to combat any day now and I’m surprisingly not very nervous. There’s something about being in the planes that makes me feel peaceful almost but, yes, I am being careful. I can already hear you asking! I refuse to show up in a front-line hospital without giving you prior warning. I promise!! Ha-ha.

Miss you loads.

Your loving brother,

Richie

T/W Descriptions of war related injury, hospitals, and medical procedures but nothing too crazy because I myself would otherwise faint mid-sentence 

October 13, 1940

“Over here!”

Frances wiped her clammy palms on her apron as she waved over another stretcher carried by a few policemen. The hospital was smaller than the other’s she had seen but the nurses had gotten used to good setups to make the most efficient paths for their work. Frances had seen plenty since her training the year prior and throughout the beginning of the Blitz and not much phased her anymore – at least not until she started treating frontline soldiers later in the war.

The policemen laid the young man on the bed at her side before rushing back off to try and pull more civilians from the rubble.

“My, my.” Frances said gently as she unbuttoned the young man’s blood-soaked shirt and pushed it open to see the damage. He stared up at her with fearful eyes as she inspected his injury. “Now you know what I’ve said about dancing after a few glasses of wine, you always end up hurt.”

The man cracked a small smile at her playful banter as she turned to the cart beside her to gather a few supplies.

“Nothing a few stitches can’t fix.” she said.

“Stitches? Oh, miss, I don’t do well with stitches.”

“Well we’re lucky that I do.” Frances smiled, unreeling her string and cut it with a pair of pocket scissors. “Why don’t you tell me about your family while I wash you down a little?”

The man exhaled deeply as he turned to look up at the ceiling of the hospital, his hands wrapping around the side of the thin bed while she took a gentle cloth to the wound on his hip. He winced at her touch but spoke shakily, “Well I was just having supper with my Ma and my little brother.”

“I have a little brother too.” Frances said, threading the string through the eye of her needle. “How old is yours?”

“Fifteen.”

“A trying age, is it not? Do you quarrel?”

“Quite a bit.” the young man chuckled.

“Mhm.” Frances encouraged him on as she worked carefully, her steady hand putting him back together with near ease. It was a routine she had done too much since the Battle of Britain began.

“I don’t…know where he is now.” the man said shakily. “He…when the house collapsed he…we were seperated.”

“Our constables are definitely doing their best and I’m sure he will turn up. Might have just run off.”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t seen my brother in over a year. Little lad is in the Royal Air Force.” Frances said with a calm smile.

“Oh…good for him.”

“Truly. He’s very proud of it.”

“I would be too.”

“Are you not of age to be in the military? Pardon my prying, I know it is not my place.”

“No, no. My father has passed so I must stay home to take care of my family.”

“Honourable in itself.” Frances complimented. She sat back from him and admired her handiwork for a beat before leaning up to press a gentle hand to his pale face, “You look a little green. Let me bring you some water. Stay put.”

She hurried down the thin aisles of the temporary hospital, all too many beds set up in the centre of the room in case of a bombing, the walls wouldn’t completely collapse on patients. At the end of the hall was the small kitchen and she grabbed a disposable cup and filled it with water before heading back down towards her patient.

“Miss Besson! Letter for you, dear!” called the matron.

“Thank you! I’ll retrieve it when I am finished!” Frances replied over her shoulder. She returned quickly to her patient and helped him sit up slightly to sip the lukewarm water. “There you are.”

She cleaned up the stitches a bit and made sure there was no other injury on him as he rested for a moment. Moments later, a young shout came from the entrance doors and they turned to see a young boy rushing in. He made a beeline right for Frances and the man on the bed and he threw his arms around him. France stepped back as the brothers were reunited, smiling softly to herself.

“Frances, you’ve been on your feet most of the day.” the matron said as she came up behind her, holding out the envelope that was addressed to her in her own brother’s shaky penmanship, “Please take your letter and retire to the break room now.”

She took one more look to her patient as she took her letter and the young man looked up at her, his brother under his arm.

“I would like it very much if we could speak again.” he said shyly.

Frances was all to used to being hit on by the men – again, something that only escalated once she was to follow the troops along the frontlines – and she only set a gentle hand on his, “I am afraid I am a touch too old for you, dear.”

“I’m twenty!” he argued quickly.

“You are younger than my brother, kind sir. Find yourself a nice young girl who doesn’t have blood all over herself.” France teased gently before taking her letter towards the break room, leaving her patient with the matron.

She untied her apron and set the blood-stained white material on the table before sitting down with a tired sigh. The letter in her hand kept a calm smile on her face as she slid her pinky under the flap and pulled open the parchment.

Taglist: @randomlimelightxxx​ @hopinglimelight​ @jonahlovescoffee​ @hiya-its-amber​ @chanelwonders​

[chipper9906]

Boom

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 15X18 (Season 15 Episode 18 ‘Despair’)

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 1,947

Status: One Shot - Complete

Warnings: Heavy Angst

Summary/Preview:

He has to stop him. He has to. Sam was right, there was always another way. They’d find another way. It didn’t matter he knew full well they had a minute at most before that door came down. It didn’t matter that he knew, deep down, that Cas’ plan was the only one they got.

He couldn’t lose him.

Not again. Not now.

‘Why does this sound like a goodbye?’

Cas almost looked like he was going to laugh. Perhaps because this should have been blatantly obvious from the start. Perhaps because Dean shouldn’t have even had to ask.

‘Because it is.’

* * *

A short fic based on 15x18, detailing Dean's thoughts during the scene. Basically, I needed to write out my angst.

* * *

He can still hear it.

It’s been echoing in his head, bouncing around endlessly for… for… how long has it been now? A few seconds? Minutes? Days? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

Boom.

He didn’t think that was what the sound of Death approaching would be like. He had been expecting… a gunshot, perhaps. The bullet cracking, whistling as it flies towards him. Claws or teeth on flesh, maybe? His skin tearing apart, crimson blood spilling from his body with every fading heartbeat, until there’s nothing.

Instead, it was this.

Boom.

Infected, dying hands pounding on the door. The only thing separating him and Cas from the end. It was almost like she was knocking for permission, asking to come in. Funny, in a way. As if Death had to be permitted to reap them. If Billy was going to go down, she was going to take them with her. She was savoring it.

Boom.

Something else, something new after that. A crackling sound, fizzing with power, or more accurately, power fading. Cas had tried to buy them more time. Of course he would. But they both knew it was only a temporary solution. A very temporary solution. That door was going to come down. It was going to shatter into pieces, and then there would be Death; in all her glory, ready to do what she’s always wanted, this whole time. Chuck didn’t matter to her anymore. It was all about them.

Boom.

It was his fault. His fault. It had been there again, that anger. It’s almost like back then, he knows. Right there, with Cas, Jack and Sam. He knew he should have stayed with them. They all should have stayed together. But no, he couldn’t let this go. Chuck should have been dead now, but he wasn’t. Someone needed to die, one of these cosmic assholes needed to die, and Billy had served herself right up on a silver platter, scythe and all.

Now look where it had got them. Yes, them. Because Cas said he’d go with him. Because that’s Cas. He had done it before, hadn’t he? Years ago now, when they had been facing yet another being of infinite power. It wasn’t as if it had been a moment of confusion, a moment where Cas had forgotten. Cas knew that this was a suicide mission. That when that bomb in his chest went off, it would take him and Amara with it, and anyone else nearby. And yet…

‘I could go with you…’

He had shut him down, then. Because it wasn’t a moment of anger. He was… he had accepted that it was going to go like this. He was the one to take on the Mark, to be the one responsible for Amara’s escape. It was his punishment. He always knew he’d go out saving the world, and this was it. But he was not going to take anyone else down with him. His family would live. They would live, and they would move on, because that’s what they deserved. But Sam wouldn’t move on alone, he knew that. Sam wouldn’t handle losing both of them.

So, he had stopped him.

Boom.

But… but he hadn’t questioned why. Why did Cas want to go with him? He hadn’t really taken the time after. Mom… Mom was back, and Sammy was in danger, another mess to sort out. Then when he had him back, when Mom was in his life one more and Cas had thrown himself at him, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders as he exclaimed his name in disbelief, no relief he was alive, it didn’t seem to matter anymore. They were alright.

Now? Now he knows.

Boom.

It was unfair, really. Five minutes. At least, he thinks it was only that long. Five minutes they had been in that room, at Death's door. Well, Death at their door. It had all happened so fast.

He had a plan. Castiel had a plan, and for that small, sweet moment, he thought they’d make it. They’d get out of another mess he had thrown them into. But then something strange happened.

Castiel was smiling.

Small, at first, yet bigger than most smiles he’s seen from Cas. Lips curling at the corners, crow eyes crinkling away, and a glossy sheen to his eyes that Dean never wants to see. Had he seen Cas cry before? He isn’t sure. Not even when Jack died, he thinks. Perhaps because Cas refused to believe it. Perhaps because, deep down, Cas knew Jack would be back. He had smiled, then.

Dean would rather that smile than this.

Boom.

It had taken him a while to realize what Cas was saying. A deal, another deal, That’s them, isn’t it? That’s the Winchester trope. But this was nothing like any crossroad deal. This was… this was sadistic. It wasn’t as if the Empty had been the one to bring Jack back to life. That had been them. It had simply… let them go. Like Jack was its property. And now, it had claimed Cas. But it would only take Cas once he was happy.

You could probably understand why it hadn’t clicked in his head yet. What did the deal have to do with what was happening right now? What could possibly make Cas happy enough for the Empty to come and claim the deal? And how would losing Cas stop Death? It made no sense.

That’s all he knew. The logistics of it. If Cas is happy, the deal is done. If Cas is happy, Dean loses him. And here’s Cas, smiling up at him with tears spilling from his glassy eyes and no, no, no, don’t smile! He can’t smile, not with this. Not when he knows what it’s leading to.

Boom.

He doesn’t want to hear it. None of it. He doesn’t want to hear Cas telling him the things others have tried to. He doesn’t want to hear him telling him what he can’t accept about himself. Because it’s not true, and watching Cas practically singing his praises with tears streaming down his face and smiling up at him like Dean is the only thing that matters only reinforces the realization of what Cas is trying to do.

‘I cared about you, I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack. But I cared about the whole world… because of you.’

He has to stop him. He has to. Sam was right, there was always another way. They’d find another way. It didn’t matter he knew full well they had a minute at most before that door came down. It didn’t matter that he knew, deep down, that Cas’ plan was the only one they got.

He couldn’t lose him.

Not again. Not now.

‘Why does this sound like a goodbye?’

Cas almost looked like he was going to laugh. Perhaps because this should have been blatantly obvious from the start. Perhaps because Dean shouldn’t have even had to ask.

‘Because it is.’

Boom.

‘I love you.’

And there it was. Those three words. And somehow his smile brightened even more for a moment, even when the tears kept coming; almost like it was a great relief to say it. Dean didn’t need to say anything in response, and he thinks Cas knew that, too. He wasn’t waiting with bated breath for Dean’s answer, there was no hope brewing behind his eyes. There was just happiness.

That’s what it couldn’t be. That was the one thing Cas couldn’t feel. But he was.

‘Don’t do this, Cas.’

Don’t tell me that. Take it back. Go back to before, before you were happy. It was selfish of him to say, but he didn’t want Cas to be happy. Not if it ended like this. Not if his happiness took him away.

Boom.

He nearly didn’t hear that one. Or at least, didn’t register it. Because something was moving behind him, something whispering out into the room, almost in excitement. The Empty had been waiting for this. The inky blackness of it seemed to grow from the wall, opening wider and wider until he was staring into the abyss.

He was too late. He couldn’t stop it.

Boom.

The warding had failed. One more hit, and the door had come swinging open. One pissed off entity behind him, the other in front of him, but all he could do was look at Cas. Look at that damn smile still plastered onto his face, the acceptance that Dean had felt back then, when he thought it was his time.

Now he understands.

‘I could go with you…’

Cas’s hand is on his shoulder, warm blood seeping through his shirt. Same shoulder, every time. Always the left, always the left. It was what Cas did, the only way he knew to comfort Dean. A hand on the shoulder, the reassurance that everything would be okay. They’d find a way out.

It wasn’t like that this time.

‘Goodbye, Dean.’

One last reminder that the man in front of him wasn’t a man. A last display of strength as Dean is flung to the ground, colliding with the wall as he collapsed into a heap. One last look, one last teary smile at him, and all Dean can do is stare agape up at him, watch what he can’t stop.

It had taken Billy, first. An arm like appendage shooting out like a bullet, enveloping her in that inky blackness and sucking her away. And then… then it was on Cas. It had crawled up his body, savoring every inch of skin it claimed, and the last image of Cas that Dean would ever see was that smile of acceptance before that too was gone. Nothing more now than a shadow, an outline of his best friend for just that millisecond, torturing Dean with his figure and then…

Gone. Gone as quickly as it had come, shrinking away with one last whisper.

Quiet. Silence. He interrupted the silence with his own ragged breaths, head whipping from the spot on the wall it had erupted to the spot Castiel had stood in, some delirious part of his mind expecting Cas to still be standing there, smiling.

Nothing. It was empty.

The call didn’t make him jump. He hadn’t felt it at first, hadn’t even heard the irritating buzzing sound in his pocket. At least, not until it had rung again. His body had been moving on autopilot, pulling out the phone and staring blankly down at the glare of the screen.

Calling

Sam

He needs to answer that. Something could have gone wrong. Jack, maybe? Charlie? Donna? Bobby? The others?

It continues to vibrate in his numbed hands. He hadn’t realized he had dropped the phone until he heard the vibrations become more intense, the phone sliding across the concrete floor. He didn’t have the strength to pick it back up. He didn’t have the strength to tell them.

His head dropped into his hands, fingers scratching across his scalp, passing through the short strands of hair, tugging painfully at their roots. He needed something, anything, a different pain to the one that was clawing up his chest.

He couldn’t fall into it. He couldn’t let himself feel it. Because he knows he’ll never come out of it.

The dam breaks. One quiet sniffle, the squeeze of his throat, the burning in his eyes. The phone keeps buzzing, a shocking loudness in the quiet of the room, only broken by his quiet sobs.

But it’s not what he hears. It’s not what echoes in his head.

Boom.

‘I love you.’

Boom.

‘I love you.’

Boom.

‘ I love you.'

[nomazee]

Designated Driver (2)

☆ akaashi keiji x reader; bokuto koutarou x reader 

word count: 1700+

content: themes of unrequited love, personal development, angst/fluff

cross-posted on my ao3

PART ONE

(here’s the second part!!! sorry for taking so long with it, the week’s been a bit hectic for me. 

i think this is up there on my list of favorite things i’ve written (which is....unsurprisingly, very short). i really hope you guys like this final part, and feel free to tell me about anything you liked/didn’t like! 

ALSO!! reminder that requests are open!! please read my request rules before sending one in <3 

happy reading!!)

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽ 

You told Akaashi that night over the phone that you would talk to him tomorrow. That was a blatant lie. 

The day after the party was one of those days where you didn’t share any lectures with him, so you didn’t naturally bump into him at any point throughout the day. On top of that, you were a little bit frazzled with reviewing the coursework of your weakest class to allot any time to text Akaashi and the male himself hadn’t done so, either. 

You let it be. All things happened for a reason. And having a break from him for a little bit would be beneficial to you, you figured. 

On the other hand, you and Bokuto grew closer and closer by the day. Neither of you were great with tutoring, but studying separate subjects in each other’s presence was good enough for both of you. Any free time that you were willing to lend him was spent either going out to newly discovered diners or cooking (very chaotically) at the chosen person’s apartment of the night. (Though, on top of this, Bokuto made sure to let you have time for yourself, careful not to overcrowd your schedule of just him all the time.)

It was a bit new, adjusting to this temporary lack of Akaashi Keiji in your life. But Bokuto was a really good friend. You were surprised (and a little disappointed in yourself, to be honest) that you didn’t allow yourself to get as close to him before this whole thing happened. You two were still friends before--you, Bokuto and Akaashi could be considered a sort of “friend group” but you were significantly more comfortable with the latter than the former. You had times where you hung out with both of them and times where you only hung out with Akaashi, but until now you’d never individually spent time with Bokuto. 

Neither of you had addressed it out loud, but you knew Bokuto was really doing his best to try and take your mind off of what had happened at the party. Occupying you with things distinctly unrelated to Akaashi, trying to fill up time spent alone with his presence--all of that was his attempt (successful attempt, at that) to make your mood better. 

And to make you stop relying on Akaashi so much. 

You hated to admit it--who liked admitting their own falsehoods?--but you really were reliant on Akaashi for a good majority of your happiness. You always seeked his validation and used the time he spent around you to assure yourself that, ‘yes, I am a likeable person, and him being my friend proves it!’ 

You cringed a bit just looking back on your old mindset, though the flinch of your inner thoughts was easily subdued by the mental comparison you made between how you lived with Akaashi constantly present in your life and how you lived now, with a different person and a different mentality. 

Bokuto was sure to not turn into a sheer replacement for the hole Akaashi left in your head. The time he allotted for you to spend by yourself was entirely intentional--something that was, yet again, an unspoken intention but one that you were both entirely aware of. Emotionally intelligent as he is, Bokuto ensured that you didn’t build up yet another reliance on an individual person. Every time you spent a night by yourself, he’d make sure to send you a text, like, “take some time and just relax tonight! use the bath bombs you got for your birthday! :)” or “i’ve watched that movie before! i think you’ll really like it” before telling you to turn off your phone and enjoy yourself. 

It was very different, now that you thought about it. The time you used to spend alone, without Akaashi, was always a bit empty for you, no matter how many new dishes you tried out or what series you decided to marathon. Now it was much more fulfilling--you knew how to divide your time fairly between social events (read: cooking spaghetti with Bo) and individual relaxation. 

Reminiscing on your mindset made you feel a mix of emotions. It was a bit sad how tightly you latched onto someone you weren’t even in a relationship with. You were relieved you could move past that phase, though. Here you were, developing a sense of individuality in only a few weeks of time. It was a drastic change, but one that you were proud of. (Bokuto was proud, too, though he never outright said it and preferred to show it in the small gifts he gave you from time to time.) 

You did occasionally wonder if you should text Akaashi, but left that up for the black-haired male to decide for himself. You were content either way, no matter how much your old conscious resurfaced and nagged you to text him back. 

It was a bit of a shock to hear a knock on your door on a late Saturday afternoon. You and Bokuto promised to meet up somewhere, so he wouldn’t have shown up at your apartment like this. 

Your expression turned curious from your place in the kitchen, where you’d been sipping on water and scrolling through your phone while waiting to leave. You placed the glass down and walked over to your door, opening it. 

You were right in thinking it wasn’t Bokuto. But you really weren’t expecting Akaashi to be here, either. 

Surprise was evident in your expression. Akaashi met your eyes before looking at your doorframe and shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. You took the initiative to start talking. 

“Hey, Akaashi. I wasn’t expecting you to come over. What’s going on?” He looked at you properly now, lips fluttering open and closed in an attempt to grasp cohesive words together. 

“Can I come in?” Was what made it out, and you obliged to his request. He seemed a little jumpy in your presence, only making you more concerned as time passed. 

“Did you… need something?” His hands clasped together and he began picking at his cuticles habitually. You couldn’t help the downturn of your lips at the action. 

“No, I’m fine. I just wanted to talk with you. And see if maybe you wanted to hang out today?” 

Oh, you thought. That was nice of him. Though he could’ve texted you first before showing up at your house spontaneously. (You tried not to read too much into that fact.) 

You gave him a gentle simper, happy that he was finally beginning to try and reconcile with you after everything. Better late than never, right? 

“I’m glad you’re talking with me again, Akaashi.” His expression softened at your words, mirroring your own smile. “I can’t do it today, though, but I should be free next week if that’s okay?” 

The expression of elation on his face faltered the slightest bit at hearing you were occupied today. “Yeah, that’s fine. You’re going somewhere right now?” 

You checked the time on your phone--five minutes until you should leave. You nodded at him, “Yeah, I’m going to that new diner downtown with Bokuto. We heard good things about it, so… we figured we should try it out.” 

Akaashi’s expression--you could only describe it as owlish. His eyes widened and he blinked at you questioningly. “Oh. I didn’t know you were both so close.” 

A fond countenance appeared on your features at the mention of your bond with the male. “Yeah, after everything… happened,” you couldn’t help but flinch after bringing it up, assuming the wound may still be fresh on his part, “we just started hanging out a bit more. He’s really nice.” 

You said that last part as an afterthought, really, but Akaashi noticed how it came so naturally to you to describe his friend in that way. He felt like he was overthinking, but it seemed like you were doing just fine without him. Like you didn't miss him at all. 

“Are you guys dating?” Internally, he chastised himself for being so straightforward. A beat of silence passed, and he was preparing himself to apologize when you spoke up. 

“No, we’re not.” And that was it. A simple answer, no elaboration, nothing to further clarify--vague enough to let Akaashi continue his overthinking. 

His eyes flitted up to yours. Your ears were tinted with a soft pink. An ache persisted in the back of Akaashi’s throat at the implications of your expression. Fuck. 

You checked your phone again. It was time to leave. You relayed this information to Akaashi and let him walk you down to the parking lot so he could leave at the same time. 

Making your final steps to your car, you turned around to face him and say goodbye when you were pulled into a tightened, warm embrace. 

A sound of surprise left your throat, and Akaashi pushed his forehead into the crook of his shoulder, like he was searching for comfort in the cotton of your cardigan and the floral smell of your skin. He felt like he was choking in your body wash, but thought that wouldn’t be a bad way to die. 

Instinctively, your hand reached up to the crowd of his head and tangled itself in the depths of his hair (unruly, you noted, like he hadn’t bothered to really keep up with his multi-step haircare process that you always teased him for). 

“I’m sorry, [Name].” His words, genuine and painful to release on his part, buzzed through the skin covering your trapezius and you suppressed a shudder at the feeling. “I’m so sorry.” 

The crack of his voice made a similar attack to your heart. “Akaashi… it’s okay.” 

Both of your words were simple, but they were heavy. The head on your shoulder turned to stone and you felt the need to rid yourself of the weight before you succumbed to your old routine. You released the arms you wrapped around him in return, and gave a gentle push against his shoulder. 

Glassy blue eyes stared back into yours. You nearly drowned in them, but stopped yourself before you could. You thought that wouldn’t be a good way to die. 

“I’ll see you.” With the lack of response on his part, you gave him a gentle smile--as reassuring as you could get it--and made your way into your car. 

Akaashi watched you give him a parting wave from behind the tinted windows of your car. He struggled to reciprocate, but did so nonetheless. 

You seemed happy enough. It hurt that he wasn’t there to see it. But he figured it would be a good way to live, for both of you. 

[excaliefur]

Maybe it is meant to be

Woah ok, first time writing in a l o n g time.

Don’t judge too hard I have no clue what this is. 

Also side note: Story is changing a lot I changed a lot of elements after I finished writing this so just take whatever written here as a temporary thing.

TW: Suicide thoughts, brief mention of death and death from suicide. mention of alcoholism. if there are anymore ask me to tag. 

Word: 2405

Not edited, just reread a couple times.

Cold. Cold and bitter, that was the best way he could have described it. The wind howled in his ear and slapped his face and exposed skin. It hurt,  hurt like mad, the wind felt like thousands of sharp steely knives stabbing him at 100 miles per hour. He didn’t care. Stab away, he thought. He watched the cars and trucks honking and yelling and crying at each other below him. His legs dangling carelessly off the edge. All that noise for something so menial, they’d all reach home eventually, and it didn’t matter if one car was driving too slow,  it’d pick up speed eventually. The traffic noise grew quieter as he stared up at the stars. Glittering brightly, the stars were always a constant in his life. No matter what happened, no matter how many times he had to move or change lives entirely or if he was deep in the city or far away from civilization on a farm. The stars always watched over him. 

His father left each day, nobody knew which one would be his last. His mother grew pale every time she heard of an accident on the news, he would watch as she grabbed a bottle to calm herself. He stayed up all night, listening to her soft crying as she waited with bated breath, praying that the noises she heard were his father returning home. The door opened and light spread in the living room. The door always opened. He could hear his mother run out and give a tight hug to his father. He could hear the sobbing from both ends. One day his luck will run out though, and the door won’t open again. 

Opening his eyes, he looked at his grimy hands. The nails were long and sharp, and his hands were covered in small cuts and bruises. Manual labor takes a toll on the body, especially since he was too young when he started out. Wiping his hand on his tight jeans, he let out a short laugh. What did he do to deserve this life? He had nothing but an alcoholic mother, a father who was a ticking time bomb, and the stars. He knew he was lucky to have parents at all. School was nothing but a drag, his classmates ignored him, his teachers ignored him, they all knew he wouldn’t graduate and gave up on him before he could prove himself. The loneliness was killing him. His voice scratchy from barely being used, his hair messy and long, it took too much effort and money to cut it. 

He shivered, the thin jacket he was wearing did nothing to block the wind. Sitting up, he held his legs close to him, trying to maintain a little heat. Why was he even trying? What was the purpose? He didn’t know and he didn’t care anymore. Everyone gave up on him, why didn’t he give up on himself yet? The 15 year old boy shook his head, it was too cold. The noise from the cars grew even quieter as he stared at the flashing lights and sirens. Maybe he should do it, it would end his suffering quicker, and nobody would miss him, god knows if his parents even realise he’s alive. The concrete below him looked so inviting. If he could just, push himself-

“Hey” came a voice from behind. The boy shook, not having realised a girl standing behind him, at the door of the roof. The voice was soft and caring, so different from the voice he was used to hearing. The lack of roughness and quietness calmed him. He sucked in some air before replying. “H-hey” he said, his voice nothing more than a whisper. He coughed quietly. His voice had become deeper and he didn’t even realise it. 

“Mind if I join you?” That caught him off guard. Why was she here? He stared blankly at her as she slowly stepped forward. She could see the reluctance on his face. He began to shift backwards as she got closer and she stopped. Putting her hand up she spoke “Woah, ok, I’ll stay here.” He shifted again, but just to position himself in a way to see her clearly. She had brown curls dangling down her face. She sat down slowly, she was clearly trying not to make him uncomfortable, and spoke again “Can I ask what you’re doing up here on a night like this?”

“Came to see the stars” He replied. It wasn’t a lie technically. He just needed to get out of his apartment. She nodded, and looked up. He could hear her breath hitch for a second. “Woah” she whispered, staring at the millions of tiny white lights blinking in and out of vision. “It’s- beautiful” he could hardly hear her speak. The wind still howled in their ears. “Yeah”

“Hey, look, those ones there,” She said, pointing. “They form Orion’s belt. That one’s Alnitak, next to it is Alnilam and the one on that side is Mintaka,” He scanned the sky searching for them. “They form that line, you see?” she informed, pointing at 3 bright stars, brighter than the other ones. He nodded, he could see them now. “I’ve always loved astronomy, never could see stars as clearly as I can right now though” she murmured.

They sat there, staring at the sky, in silence until she broke it again. “Can I ask why you’re up here this late?” it was another murmur, he strained his ears to hear it. He stiffened up. “Like I said, the stars” His voice cracked and his mouth went dry, she wasn’t believing it. “Is it, because of, you know the, the thing” She stuttered, clearly she was uncomfortable. He sighed. “Yeah” He whispered, pulling his knees to his chest and staring at the ground. He could feel tears threatening to fall, praying that she wouldn’t notice. Why did he even care about what she thought of him? They literally just met. 

She interrupted his stream of thoughts as she put her hand on his shoulder. The soft touch made him melt. He’d never felt like this before. “It’s not worth it, trust me please.” she whispered. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of her face. Fixed in a small frown, her hazelnut eyes stared deep into his. He felt a surge of sudden anger, who knows where it came from, certainly not him. He jerked her hand off “How would you know” he spat. Honestly, he didn’t mean it, it just came out. 

She sighed, putting her arm down and kneeling beside him. “I’ve been there, I understand.” His anger came back but more violently this time. He stood up and walked around her, to the other side of the roof. “You don’t understand my situation, you don’t understand anything about me” She stood too, a small fire in her eyes that he hadn’t seen yet. 

“I understand more than you know, and if I truly don’t get you then help me understand. I just want to help” He scoffed. How could she understand this? Who the hell was she even. “I’m serious. I don’t want to watch another life waste away for a fixable problem.” Another? She couldn’t have been more than 15 though. “Have you-” He was cut off. “My brother”. Her voice was sharp, startling him. He softly mouthed a small “oh” She sighed again, turning and walking to sit beside a vent. He stood for a second, before choosing to sit next to her. 

“I’m sorry” he whispered. This was his first conversation with someone his age for a long time and he went and messed it up again. “It’s fine, It was a long time ago and I’ve come to terms with it. I just, don’t want to see anyone go through it again. It hurts people more than you know” She said. He nodded. They sat in silence again, for a few seconds. Till he broke the silence for the first time. 

“Right, we’ve been talking for a long time and I don’t even know your name, what is it?” The bluntness kind of shocked her. He felt like a kid again and blushed, hoping she didn't notice. “Well, I suppose I could ask you the same question.” oh so she was avoiding it, who was this girl? He shook his head tiredly, he couldn’t give her his name, not when he bore a big title with it. Even without the words she seemed to understand as she nodded. 

“Well I can’t just call you roofboy.” she said, he laughed softly “And I can’t just call you stargirl.” he replied. “Touché’. They sat silently with bated breaths, until she giggled softly. He smiled and put his head down, afraid of being seen. Her giggle grew into a laugh which fueled his laugh which fueled her laugh until they were both red and holding their stomachs from pain. It was nice, nice to have laughed so freely and truly, after so long. 

“Well then roofboy, how about we get a name for you?” she said, in a lighthearted tone. He laughed and stood, holding his hand out for her to stand. As she grabbed it and stood he replied, matching her singsong tone “Ok then stargirl, do you have an idea?” She gazed up again, he could almost hear her thinking. 

“I do actually” she replied, softer and more serious this time. “How about, Sirius,” she asked. Sirius, Sirius. That, sounded really nice. It just, fit. He didn’t know how to explain it, it just felt right. Taking his silence as displeasure she stammered “I mean if you don’t like it we can think of another one-” He placed his hand on her shoulder. His eyes locked in with her, and for the first time he could see the fire in her eyes, her willingness to never give up. “I love it”

She sighed, and her shoulders dropped as her mouth curved into a slight smile. “That's good.” For the first time, the boy, Sirius, truly smiled at her. 

“Wait wait wait, we’re not done just yet. I need to think of a name for you first.” He reminded her playfully. She laughed and beckoned for him to continue. His smile dropped into a small frown as he thought. 

His thoughts drifted, from the stars and the moon to the sun and all above. All of it just reminded him of greek mythology. Oh how he loved greek mythology. He spent hours of his youth poring over books and stories and tales in the library. That's it, greek mythology. “How about, Artemis?” he suggested. Her eyes lit up and he could see a small blush on her face which she tried to hide. 

“That's perfect. Thank you” she replied after a moment. Sirius smirked. “No need to thank me, m’lady” he said, exaggerating an accent and bowing before her. “Oh shut up Sirius” She laughed at him, and smacked him slightly. He stood before her again, they were both around the same height, not much of a surprise as Sirius wasn’t a very tall boy. He rubbed his neck awkwardly, as she blushed again. 

“Hey Artemis, It’s nice to meet you.” He said. “It’s nice to meet you too, Sirius” she replied. The honking of the cars below and the bitter wind long forgotten, as they smiled at each other. 

Artemis jumped. “Oh no, what time is it? I’ve probably got to go home soon before my mother notices I’m gone” Sirius frowned. He glanced at the tiny watch he hand strapped around his right hand and raised his eyebrow. “It’s almost midnight woah” he said. 

Artemis gasped “Oh no, she surely noticed by now, I need to go.” Her voice was strong, but Sirius could hear the worry creeping in. She raced towards the door and opened it, the fluorescent lights blinding them momentarily. “Wait before you go- will I see you again?” He asked, speaking without thinking. What kind of question was that? So stupid and cringey he hated it. “If fate allows for it I’ll be here again soon.” she responded. That was an oddly poetic response. He hadn’t expected that. 

She turned to walk down the steps but just before she closed the door she stopped. Opening it up again she asked “Can I ask you something really quick?”

That caught Sirius off guard. “Uh sure, go ahead” he said, not really sure of what was happening. “Why Artemis?” she murmured. “Why did you pick artemis for me?” she clarified.

“Uh, it just, fits, it fits for you.” He replied. What was he supposed to say? That’s just it, it just seemed perfect for her. She nodded, lost in thought. “Yeah, yeah I understand. Thanks.” She said as she began to close the door again. That question actually made him think. Why did she choose Sirius for him? She didn’t seem much like a Harry Potter fan. “Wait- why did you think of Sirius for me?” She paused. Walking back out onto the roof she stared straight up, searching for something. Probably a star. When she found it she beckoned him over. 

Following her outstretched arm, he caught sight of a star, it was tiny, one of the smallest one he could see, but it was incredibly bright. “That star there is called Sirius. I thought it fit for you, because no matter how small or insignificant it seems, it's the brightest star we can see. Nothing will ever compare to it.” she murmured to him. Woah. Ok. This girl is definitely a poet. He stared at it, Sirius huh. Brightest huh. She turned around and walked out. Just before she left she turned to him and smiled. “Until next time. See you soon” and she shut the door. 

Staring at the spot she was standing in he muttered a few words he hadn’t said in a long time. “Goodnight, goodnight, Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow.” 

He sighed. Staring back up to the sky. Who was this girl that made him feel like this. Taking one final look at it all, the roof, the traffic below and the stars above, he smiled to himself again, and turned back to his house, back to his prison. However this time it felt a little more free.

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Welp that was something