#laying on the floor in a puddle of my own tears this is everything to me

[hestiashand]

WAHHHHHHHHHHH everybody come cry with me over this commission i got from FEENIE ON TWITTER of my OCs pablo and mawiyah T.T I’M NEVER GONNA GET OVER THIS EVERRRRRR

[ ID: a full body digital drawing of two OCs pablo and mawiyah. they are sitting back to back and mawiyah offers an orange slice to pablo. pablo is a pale chinese-polish person with a scar and a cataract in their right eye, lots of freckles and eye bags. they have pink blue and purple hair with their roots growing in. they are wearing a white patterned cardigan and blue plaid pants. mawiyah is a dark skin indian hijabi with several facial scars and heterochromia with a blue left eye. she wears an orange hijab and longesleeve shirt with a white tshirt overtop and an orange long skirt. she has a tote bag on the ground next to her. above their head reads “And here is all the love i wanted to give you…” END ID. ]

[cry4mina]

Are You Really Okay? - Take Me Back To Eden - Part 6.5

(Mina x gn!reader)

Take Me Back To Eden Series Page

Word Count: 7k

Angst/Fluff/I don’t know what to call this

Summary: This takes place at the end of place after reader passes out in Part 6! Please read that for context! This is also in FIRST PERSON (gasp!) from Mina’s perspective! See what Mina sees at the end of *THE* scene and some of the consequences of Nayeon’s actions.

TW: Guns, violence, abuse, sex/mentions of sex, medical stuff and lemme know if I miss anything! (I so did)

A/N: We are experimenting a little bit on this one with first person pov! Thank you to @2wiceasnice9 for making these gifs for this! I appreciate it very much 🖤

Thank you guys for reading as always! Ask/Dms always open! 🖤 Love yall, have a great day!

—

“Nayeon, you can’t do this!” Oh my god, she’s really going to shoot me. Y/n is on the floor bleeding out right in front of both of us and she’s going to fucking shoot me?!

Panic ices my veins as Nayeon opens her mouth to reply. Tears are filling my eyes and I can’t seem to blink them away fast enough. I hear Nayeon hit the floor, shouting out and the gun skidding out of sight.

Nayeon’s rage is heard but no longer seen, the sounds of struggling bouncing off the walls from behind the desk. Hearing Y/n’s grunts of pain make me nauseous and panicky. A hefty sinking feeling that weighs me down, physically trying to slow me while I come up with a plan to stop everything around me.

If I want to put a stop to this, I need that gun.

Now.

Seeing a glint from the metal on the edge of the room against a baseboard, I race over to pick it up.

In my race to turn around I see Y/n getting the shit beat out of them on the ground. Nayeon gets up, scanning the floor to try and find the gun that was already in my hands.

I don’t want to do this! God, I really don’t want to fucking do this! Deep breath in, exhale slowly, finger around the trigger and…

The shot louder than any sound I’ve ever heard, reverberating the ache in my heart harder as the scene before me unfolds in slow motion and deafening silence. Nayeon mouth opens and face turns red, reflecting anguish when her knees hit the floor. She coddles her abdomen, mask contorting from hatred, to pain in the blink of an eye.

I drop the gun and immediately run over to Y/n. She’s bleeding all over the floor, I cup the back of her head to try and halt the loss of her life force but I’m so worried it’s already been too much spilled, the puddle of blood growing larger with passing seconds.

Y/n is so disoriented, I can barely catch her attention. Pulling her head into my lap, trying to talk to her to keep her here but she keeps looking at me with fluttering eyes. I can’t even hear my own voice, crying out for her without even an echo in my head.

I can’t hold myself together anymore, my tears start to fall endlessly down my cheeks. I can’t lose her. Even in such a short time, I’ve grown to truly care for this human that lays in my lap, bruised and bloodied.

The look of hope beaming through her eyes in an attempt to focus on me. My heart cracks just a little more. Someone had to have heard the gunshots. Someone had to call for help, right?

“Y/n! Y/n! Look at me, it’s going to be okay! We are going to get you ou-”

A heavy jolt of pressure slams into my chest.

Air ripped from my lungs at a pace that’s indescribable.

Unable to even hear my heart beating in this deafening silence, my eyes water and my breathing tries to regulate but hyperventilating was the only response my body had.

I look up and see Nayeon with her hand over her wound, slouched in the corner of the room with the gun pointed right at me.

At…me?

Y/N’s body starts to vibrate in my arms, I look down for a split second to see them screaming in agony. The thick crimson liquid drips down my torso rapidly when it registers what’s happened. That’s where the burn starts. A stinging, fiery, gut wrenching blaze of panic that drench the tension in something that can only be explained as pure terror. Nausea and sweat are immediate following the outpour of blood.

My breathing picks up rapidly, my body finally catching up with my brain and trying to save itself. I keep my hand on the back of Y/n’s head, and bring my other up to cover my own wound. Watching as Nayeon keeps her eyes on the scene unfolding, a grimace on her face when Y/n passes out in my arms.

“Mina, you should be happy!” mockingly loud, spat at me through the ringing of my ears.

“At least she won’t have to watch you suffer!” Nayeon brings the gun back up, pointing it right in my line of sight before her head swings to her right and she locks eyes with something behind me.

Nayeon’s eyes widened at the door that’s violently flying open. My hearing fades slowly back in. Turning my head towards whatever Nayeon was looking at, Jihyo storms in and is yelling and aggressively flailing her arms.

Jihyo?

What is she doing here?!

Confusion sets in, the blood spills from my chest, and it’s getting harder to breathe.

Jihyo continues to point when she looks over and sees the state of Y/N and I. Her eyes widened with pure terror and rage, storming over to Nayeon and attempting to grab the gun from her. Nayeon points the gun at Jihyo and kicks her legs out weakly, trying to keep Jihyo away from her.

“I don’t want to shoot you, Hyo! Baby, please!” Faintly heard through the ringing of my eardrums trying to reset.

“LOOK AT WHAT YOU'VE DONE, NAYEON! The police are already on their way, I told them everything about your plan!” Jihyo snatches the gun from her. She’s absolutely bawling her eyes out in disgust at how far Nayeon was willing to go.

My vision starts to blur leaving light trails behind every thing that moves. Nayeon stands and lunges at Jihyo, throwing punches and kicking her, trying to reach for the gun again.

“Why would you FUCKING tell them?! I thought you were loyal! I thought you loved me!” Nayeon screeches in a fit of rage, mustering every ounce of energy she can to wrestle Jihyo to the ground.

My body starts swaying back and forth. I'm losing the will to stay awake. I look down at Y/n, passed out in my arms. Her breathing is shallow.

I have to keep my eyes open for her.

I start coughing harshly, tasting the blood that is spewing out of my mouth, coating my tongue in an iron laced flavor. The taste of defeat is present in the moment, if I’m coughing blood…that mean that the bullet is probably in my lung…I’m going to drown if I don’t pass out from the blood loss first.

I’m trying my best to keep pressure on my chest and on the back of Y/n’s head but my strength is wavering far too much to be successful in both.

A warm hand on my back that has a sense of urgency startles me. Attempting to focus, I look up to see Momo bawling her eyes out next to me. Her hand flies over mine to put more pressure on my bullet wound.

Momo is trying to understand everything happening around us, eyes frantically trying to absorb everything one by one. The bullet hole in my chest, Jihyo and Nayeon fighting it out on the floor, Y/n’s bloodied state, and then right back to her hands, that are now covered in my blood.

“How did you know we were here?” I choke out between shallow, hoarse breaths.

“Jihyo called me on her way here. I was on the phone with her when I heard the first shot.”

My head feels too heavy to hold up. I slouch a little, swaying and trying to keep my eyes open and the pressure tight when a loud smack startles me and Momo both.

Both of us looked up immediately to see Jihyo shaking her hand in pain, knuckles bloodied, and Nayeon trying to stand back up but struggling to stand on her own two feet.

Nayeon tackles Jihyo to the floor again, large hands around her neck, tensely squeezing our leader's throat. Jihyo is trying everything in her power to pry Nayeon’s fingers off her throat, gasping and tugging at her digits, trying to hit Nayeon but nothing would remove her.

“I’m sorry, baby, but I couldn’t end up with you. You just aren’t Y/n.” Nayeon hisses above Jihyo before lifting her head by her neck and slamming it into the ground.

Momo stands up to try and come to Jihyo’s defense, ready to defend her and help her get Nayeon subdued until the police arrived.

A bang shatters every reality between what should have happened and what did happen.

Colors wash out of my sight when I see how Momo freezes in front of me, unmoving in a statuesque fashion, breath being held in a death grip.

I call out to her, barely hearing my own voice when her body shudders, turning away and bringing her attention back to me and y/n. I can see and hear her sobs in whispers and grey wash.

Looking over to where the struggle happened, Jihyo is still laying flat on her back sobbing with Nayeon on top of her, too still for comfort.

“Momo…what happened?” I squeak out.

Her eyes are lifeless. Someone who has just witnessed something horrific squatted before me, hands shaking, struggling to apply pressure to my chest and unable to look me in the eyes.

“Why did you do this?…why?” Jihyo cries out through sniffles and rage filled tears.

The clunking sound of someone rolling into the floor catches me off guard, watching Jihyo stand. She’s drenched in blood and making her way over to me.

“Momo…” I croaked with the last bit of my energy, when my vision started to fade to black.

“Stop…Y/n’s blee-…”

The last thing I felt was my back hitting the floor and coldness.

—

Everything is hazy and unfamiliar for a moment, lucidity is not something my brain feels like it’s familiar with. I can’t tell if my eyes are closed but I feel cold. Prickling in my skin does nothing but annoy as a rush of chemicals tells my body it’s okay to be okay.

It’s going to be okay, right?

The burning sensation I can’t quite pinpoint eases rapidly after the sharp stick in the divot of my arm. The voices I hear are unfamiliar, except one. The tone brings comfort, but I couldn’t tell you who it was or what they are to me. All I know is this clouded darkness behind my eyes.

I fall into what feels like sleep. Calm, quiet, almost nurturing in the way of comfort. It envelops me completely. What a joy to feel something other than fear and pain.

Just calm.

I hope she’s okay.

A loud slam of something metal around me brings me into a state of conscience that I have never felt, shifting me into something recognizable and familiar. The darkness in my eye lids slowly fades into warm lighting, laughter and playfulness is heard through out the room I find myself in.

I’m at Jihyo’s house?

How did I get here?

“Oh my GOD! Baby, what are you doing here?!” Nayeon screams and runs out the front door.

Baby?…What is happening?

Y/n and Nayeon walk in, hand in hand. Smiling at each other and everyone is running over to meet the girl that Nayeon has been gushing about. I feel a pang of jealousy in my stomach. Y/n would never do this to me, after what Nayeon did.

Trying to stand to confront them both, I can’t force my body to move.

Wait…

This is the party where we met for the first time.

One of my favorite memories.

She’s sitting there quietly and I just can’t help but watch her take everything in. Her energy is so warm. So peaceful.

I mirror her, silently taking her in, watching her body language, watching how she is with the other members. Politely listening to others speak about their individual interests. I see her eyes shift to me.

“Mina, I know we actually have some hobbies in common! You like legos and video games too, right? Minecraft is what Nayeon told me.” quizzically from across the way.

I can’t believe this is who Nayeon was with. This is not what I pictured at all. Usually she dates obsessive fangirls that she can use and throw away when she’s done, but this person she has just introduced us all to…was nothing like that. She was kind, considerate, very good looking, and someone who brought life into a conversation.

The first of a few conversations, usually that she started. I was always too nervous to speak to her without her prompting it, though I desperately wanted to. I was and am so fascinated and intrigued by the fluttering in my stomach with every word spoken in that angelic voice.

Faces start distorting when I come to the conclusion that this must be a dream.

I must be dreaming.

The walls drop and everything snaps to darkness. My legs whisking me forward trying to find some sense of direction when I blink, I’m in a hallway? Where am I? And then I see her.

Walking down the same hallway laced in gray paint, the embodiment of sunshine, the light in this monotone building. Y/n walks right past me and offers up a small smile. A soft “Hey Mina. It’s so good to see you.” And a somber wave in my direction, the gentle tears streaming down her cheeks, I remember this…

The corridor zips out from underneath me, shrinking in the distant void to a mere sparkle. I’m alone in the darkness again. Why did I just hop from a memory to another memory…?

The sound of yelling brings be to another familiar place. Half warm, half ice. The energy here was a weird sense of home, comfortably uncomfortable.

I’m at Y/n and Nayeon’s apartment…the girls are in the living room but Nayeon and Y/n are nowhere to be seen. The music is just loud enough to muffle the shouting in the other room but I’m close enough to the door to hear it.

“Fine! Do whatever you want, Nayeon!”

“What do you mean? You’re supposed to come with us!”

“I don’t want to be around you, so you go! Do whatever you want, you’re going to anyway!”

The door opens, Nayeon steps out and I see Y/n hunched over in a chair with her head in her hands, body shivering, obviously holding back sobs. Nayeon closes the door quickly to avoid the detection of the fight.

Making eye contact with me as she spins around, I smile at her and pretend I didn’t see. Y/n needs her right now, and she’s just going to leave with us? What kind of a partner are you?

The sound of her cracking open a beer can throws me forward, through a sliding glass door.

I’m on a balcony? I can hear the girls inside laughing and having a good time. A sniffle rings out against the laughter in a contrast that makes my stomach sink.

Looking to my left, I see Y/n sitting with her back against the wall, curled into herself, elbows resting on her knees and hands covering her obviously crying face.

My heart breaks in that moment, in a way it didn’t the first time. In a way I didn’t know was possible. Just as I did in the memory, I sit next to her in silence. The memory wouldn’t allow me to change it’s already pathed out course, this moment I would never change.

She looks up at me when our shoulders touch, eyes red and swollen.

“Oh! Mina…Hey!. Sorry, I’m okay. Just…uh…having a bad day.” through the tears that descend down her soft cheeks.

“Are you really okay?” I wish I could say more. I know she’s not okay. I’ve known for a while but it’s not my place to tell this person I barely knew to leave her partner. It seems like Nayeon has manipulated Y/n into thinking that what was happening between them was healthy.

Super sweet love bombing.

Calm conversations with carefully chosen words to belittle, betray, and knock down.

Nayeon’s perfectly crafted nightmare of subtle abuse was so laced in other tastes that it was almost impossible to spot from any perspective, you had to be paying attention very very closely to see it. It makes sense why she lost her mind when she did. The plan falls apart when the object of your manipulation realizes they have free will, or you get too sloppy and they flat out leave.

She stops moving, frozen in the question. The pain behind her eyes sears my heart in ways unexplainable. How I wish I could take that pain away from her.

Y/n leans her head on my shoulder, tears stop falling momentarily. Her body relaxes in a way I was unfamiliar with before…was she always this comfortable around me?

A knock on the slider blends with the sound of something being thrown across the room that materialized right in front of me.

Suddenly, I’m in Japan for our group interview, walking in on Jihyo and Nayeon having a very heated conversation.

“What am I supposed to do? If the public finds out…the company will have a fit!” Nayeon is in tears, fists bawled and red in the face. Jihyo is holding her, rubbing her back in a soothing manner. Her hand glides up Nayeon’s spine in a very…intimate…way.

“Don’t worry, honey.” swiping a tear gently off Nayeon’s cheek, the loving look in her eyes was something I’d never seen them share. I had never seen Jihyo react this way to anyone’s tears like that, not even Sana.

“We can figure it out, okay? We can make a plan for when Y/n and you talk and keep our story strai- Hey, Mina!” Jihyo jumps back from Nayeon, seemingly nervous about what I’ve seen.

“…is everything okay?”

“Yes, Nayeon and Y/n got into a fight…they’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Jihyo assured me, though at the time, I didn’t know what I was hearing in that conversation. Nayeon’s glare at me was enough to speak volumes.

She must’ve always known my fascination with Y/n.

“Alright girls, I’ve got a plane to catch back home…are you going to be okay, hon- I mean unnie?”

A freudian slip.

“Honey.” said out loud, just like when I heard it for the first time and again, without my own free will.

Nayeon scowls at me, Jihyo is shocked I said anything and I’m not so confused about what was happening here anymore. At the time I had not realized how close they were, or what was transpiring between them. I can still hardly believe it, even with proof.

The sound of footsteps towards me sends me to memory, turning into my own steps while I pace on the phone with Momo, talking about how Nayeon and Y/n have broken up and what Nayeon did to her.

The upset that all the information she is telling me over the speaker floods me with upset. A rage unseen by most, even hearing it a second time causes me to seethe. An innocent person, broken by the hands of someone unworthy.

Little did I know how broken she would actually get. I thought maybe I could help put the pieces back together, I never imagined it would turn into what it did…

“Hey, Momo, will you send me Y/n’s number? I’d like to check on her.” I still feel the nervousness behind the question along with the cheerfulness of seeing her again.

Even if this broken record moment in my brain is just a figment, it’s making me feel the same way, almost layered in a sense. The before feeling, and the after feeling.

If you really think about it, memories are just mental photobooks. Bottles of feelings and images contained for when you hear a sound, smell something familiar, or are around a specific person that makes your heart scream in agony at the sheer amount of love that seeps into every orifice you have when in their presence.

I am simply living in them.

“Sure, I’m sure she would love to hear from you, Mina.” replied when the phone in my hand vibrates. The text Momo sent has a contact labeled “Y/nnie” I can’t help but chuckle at the cute nickname again. I watch myself, from my own eyes, save it and not change the name.

I hesitate to call, the worry of if she would agree to hang out with me sits on my stomach again. I can do this, I know I can…Okay okay, here we go.

Reliving the excited feeling of calling her for the first time was less excruciating this time, the phone ringing until I heard her yell through the speaker.

“Can you stop calling me? I obviously don’t want to talk to you.” the tone heavy with annoyance, I remember thinking this was a bad time to call.

“..Y/n?” the hesitation when she realizes that I wasn’t the person she assumed I was adorable. Small notes of confusion in her silence was something I wish I could have witnessed sooner.

“Oh…uhm, sorry…I thought this was Jihyo. I don’t have this number saved in my phone…”

“That’s alright” I giggled, feeling a little awkward just as I remember.

“It’s Mina.”

“Mina?”the shock in her voice was noticeable, voice pitched up, and I could visualize her brows furrowing.

“Momo told me what happened and I asked for your number… I hope that’s okay.” the sounds of the call change drastically, going from crystal clear to a little hazy and to the sound of squeaky brakes.

“Yes, that’s totally fine…uhm, sorry, I’m…a little all over the place right now.”

“I know we don’t really know each other too well but…uhm, I know we have some common interests and that you could probably use a friend right now…so I figured I would call and see if you wanted to get a coffee or something…or maybe just sit on the couch and play videogames or…  something.” I really should’ve thought about what I was going to say before I called her.

“That sounds…really nice. I’d love to. Would you…want to text me your schedule for the next week or two and we can plan it from there?” My heart flutters again when I hear the sound of her smile beaming through the phone.

“Sounds good, I’ll text you.” hanging up before I got too giggly on the phone. I wasn’t trying to be weird about it to her…I just wanted to get to know her and be around her warmth again.

The sound of my phone locking sends me to her front door, 2 coffees in hand. A deep breath before the door opens. I was so nervous to see her and a little worried about the anxiety that she had been feeling.

The crack of the door ushers me inside and I offer her the coffee she didn’t ask for. We curl up on separate couches and play video games together and just talk.

We have intellectual conversations about almost every topic we stumble upon, I see her back unclenching as the day goes on and I know that we both need to eat.

Heading to the Japanese cafe that was so close by we could walk, our hands brush against each other. To feel that all over again ethereal. Bursts of adrenaline, the flashes of cold, the fluttering of the butterflies, the way it ignited something in me. I was meant to hold that hand.

“These shops seem cool, maybe we should come back another day and explore them.” My ears are burning at the question and the overwhelming tension I feel inside myself about her. I do hope we can go back to those shops someday.

We ordered sake and I asked her if I could order food for her. Paying attention to what she said when we spoke earlier when I was describing the food my mother makes, it seemed like it would be a fun idea.

I ordered the food in Japanese so the meal would be a surprise when it arrived at the table. The way she looked at me when I did was absolutely adorable, seemingly nervous now- scratching the sides of her fingers.

Reaching my hand out, I lay it on hers. Her shoulders relax and her jaw unclenches, our eyes are locked and I’m swooning. Even in a nervous state, this celestial being in front of me was devastating to my heart.

The way the emotions flickered in her eyes and on her face were telling of the last person who held this hand and the damage she left behind.

I touched her without permission, my hand retracted rapidly as I apologized. The food arrives in the middle of her trying to tell me why she reacted the way she did, cutting off the conversation all together.

She notices the similarities in our plates, asking me if we got the same thing. I tell her I remembered the little details from what she used to eat when she came to the studio, so I took off what she didn’t like and had them rearrange things.

She tells me the entire story of what happened with Nayeon over the food that night. I still can’t fathom the type of human that could hurt someone so tender.

The clinking of the plates after we finish our meal puts me in the cafe, paying for the bill. I thanked the lady at the podium and turn to walk out the front door when I see them.

Nayeon is outside with Jihyo, trying to throw herself at Y/n, what the hell is she doing here? I get so angry thinking about the pain that she’s gone through and with a little liquid courage from the sake, I take my stance next to Y/n and grab her hand.

“Are you ready to go, my love?” I make sure to raise my voice a little so that Nayeon and Jihyo can hear what I’ve said. I refuse to let her try to bully Y/n into submission. There will be no opportunities for that, at least not with me around.

“You can’t be serious right now, Y/n! After last night, are you on a date with Mina? A member of my group? Do you not have your own friends to filter through? Did I not satiate you enough? …Maybe we should’ve gone one more round.”

Nayeon is absolutely floored, so mad that she’s here with me. Seeing it all play back in my mind's eye, I should’ve noticed the signs. I should’ve seen what was going to happen. Maybe I could’ve protected her.

Wait…did she say a date?

I mean…I guess this is a date…I never thought about it like that. I wonder how Y/n felt when Nayeon said that…I know now how she feels about us, but I can’t help but wonder what was going through her head while we were here.

Jihyo is silently crying and getting back into the car but I don’t think anyone else notices. While I view her as a huge part of the problem, I can’t help but feel bad for her. Look at her standing there so uncomfortable she can barely even function.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her from now since you can’t satiate her, apparently.” I wink at Nayeon and lead Y/n away from this mess.

A sneeze places me on Y/n’s couch with her wrapped around me, cuddling into me with her hand on my torso. My heart is full like this. I hope to experience more of moments like these with her.

My body jolts from her pushing down on me, gasping for air in a way that’s rushed and eager. She’s immediately up crying and pacing back and forth in the living room. A panic attack happening before my eyes, I spring into action and comfort her the best I can.

Y/n parts from me, stripping her hoodie off so she’s just in a sports bra. I’m attempting to be respectful about not staring at her half naked but having the hardest time with it. I just want to give her everything she deserves.

I catch her by her wrist as she paces, pulling her into my arms and telling her she’s safe. Y/n pulls back, looking me in the eyes from mere inches away. I can feel her breath against me, I just want to lean in and press my lips on hers when she scoots in a little closer to me.

I take this as permission, meeting her in the middle and the lightning that shoots through me is so powerful that all my nerves burn with the essence that is Y/n. Trying to keep things calm but she starts to lean in harder so I take control.

I push her onto the couch and once my hands hit the couch, the glass shatters and we are surrounded by police and clothed again. The police are questioning my poor Y/n. I wish she could catch a break.

The click of the officers pen and I’m taping up the window for her, turning around to see her completely lost in thoughts with glass in her foot.

The snap of the first aid kit brings us back to her bed, where she’s telling me she feels safe and my heart is racing to tell her all the feelings that have built up.

Next thing I know, I’m between her legs tasting the slick off her folds. She’s moaning underneath me and the sound is godly. I just want to devour her but this isn’t the moment. That will come soon enough. Right now, this is about her.

What she wants.

What she needs.

Cumming into my mouth, the sounds are that of angels singing to me and only me in that moment. I wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze a little just to hear her moan for me again.

Leaning down to kiss her again, when our lips part I’m on the phone with the police.

“Hello, we’ve called to update you on the case that you filed last night. We’ve arrested Park Jihyo. She admitted guilt when confronted about the vandalizing of house.”

“What?” I still can’t believe she would have taken the fall for Nayeon like that.

When I hit end on the phone call, I spin around to Y/n telling me to lay in her lap and I happily do so. There’s so much comfort in her touch, I can’t explain the calm. It’s calmer than the void at the beginning of this weird live action trip down memory lane. I sink into a deep sleep while she plays with my hair.

When my eyes open, I’m on the phone with Momo. At this point, I’m just letting this memory train whisk me away. I’m not going to question why this is happening.

She’s wondering where I am, I remember the banquet and then I’m throwing my shoes on by the front door when Y/n asks me on a date…an official date. I’m consumed with joy. Finally, Ill get to show her what love actually looks like.

When the door shuts behind me, I’m suddenly at Momo’s house getting ready with her and Dahyun.

“Soooo…you and y/n, hm?” Momo pokes at me to get more information.

“Well…I think so. These past 2 days have been…kind of magic? Even with all the crazy stuff that’s been happening with Nayeon.” I want to shout how excited I am from the rooftops but my body won’t allow me to.

“I really hope yo- wait, what did you say?” The confusion on Momo’s face is laced in concern as she stares at me, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

I tell her everything. The confrontation at the restaurant, the way Nayeon called Y/n that morning, the rock through the window, and lastly Jihyo taking the fall.

Momo and Dahyun both are stunned by this new information, jaws on the floor. I just nod my head at them, trying to not think about the negatives of this because I have a date with Y/n and the closeness we have has made me so smitten.

“Wait…you were with Y/n this morning? I thought you had plans yesterday…?” Dahyun is confused about the story she has just overheard.

“Uhm…yes. She didn’t want to be alone last night so I stayed with her.” I admit quietly, hoping for no further questions. Not that I don’t want to talk about it, but it feels so fresh.

“…did you sleep on the couch? Or?” Dahyun is smiling so big at me that I can’t help but laugh.

Momo doesn’t even try to stop her from asking questions because she’s curious as well, it’s not like Y/n gave her any information while she was on the phone with her.

“I did not sleep on the couch.”

They both gasp at this. They aren’t stupid. They know what happened.

“Wait did you guys have se-”

“I’m going to go call Y/n and see if she’s on her way.” I step out of the room and dial the phone, stepping outside to get some privacy.

When the door clicks behind me, I’m blasted into the memory of her crying in my arms because Nayeon showed up to her apartment and bombarded her, yet again.

I tell her to stay with me tonight after she expresses she doesn’t want to see Nayeon again. Y/n announces she doesn’t want to impose and I just kiss her to shut her up.

I pull on her blazer to keep her close and feel her hands travel up to my neck. I’m going to take her here.

Right here.

I untuck her shirt, run my fingers along the edge of her waistline when the door flings open.

“Hey, Mina did you talk wi- OH?!” Of course, it’s Momo interrupting the moment. How embarrassing.

“Sorry to interrupt! Should I go back inside or?” Dahyun sneaks out behind Momo through the door and shuts it.

The sound of the lock latching sends me to the table we are all sat at, eating dinner and making light conversation. I’m focused on Y/n, who is toying around with her food and not really present in the moment.

Leaning over to her, I make sure to look Y/n in her eyes when I ask her if she’s okay the first time. A small nod of the head, I lean back into my chair, and continue eating my dinner. I know she’s lying, it’s written in the way her eyes are tracing every detail of the table and avoiding mine.

Maybe she just doesn’t know how apparent it is. I take another few bites, leaning in one more time.

“Are you su-”

“I get that we aren’t together but can you stop doing whatever this-” moving her hands around in a dramatic fashion. “- is, in front of me? Kind of rude, don't you think?”

You are kidding me. I can’t believe she just said that in front of everyone. We are not supposed to be the focus tonight.

“Nayeon, not now.” Momo chiming in like she already knew what any sane person would be thinking watching this all play out. More annoyed than I will allow myself to display, especially after knowing what was going to happen after this.

Especially now, knowing exactly what Nayeon was capable of.

“You think she can do for you what I did? You think she can be who you need her to be for you?! WE are supposed to be here together, not you and Mina! Mina, of all people!” body language threatening and almost violent in nature.

Me? Of all people? What the *fuck* does that mean?!

Everyone around us is completely in shock, with the exception of those who knew what Nayeon was, who Nayeon could be. I see some avoidance from a few of the members, not wanting to encourage her or draw attention to the situation.

Reliving this makes me just as enraged as it did the first time.

“I bet she doesn’t fuck like I do or do you need another reminder of how I fuck you?”

Oh, good god. I still can’t believe she said that out loud for everyone at this table and around us to hear. This is not the fucking place for this.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to work on thi-”

“ENOUGH!”

Boom.

I take another bite of my meal, before setting my utensils down. Looking over at my stunning date, making sure to make eye contact. The fury behind my eyes is enough to prompt her to do what I so desperately wanted to.

“Nayeon, why don’t you tell everyone where Jihyo is?” the malice inflected in the statement sends chills down my spine. This assertive dominant part of her that I was meeting in full form for the first time…I was happy she was spending the night at mine.

I feel the way the warmth fills me, starting between my legs and creeping up as she puts this vicious bitch in her place.

“Y/n…I- I don’t know what you mean. H- How should I know?” That’s right. Panic.

“Oh, sure you do!...Weren’t you with her last night?” Everyone is staring at her now, confused and concerned.

“Wait-” Tzuyu starts and then everything is silent. I look around, waiting for the room to change to the memory I know is next.

Everyone around me is frozen in place, unwavering in complete and total stillness. I stand and fix my dress, this is the first time that I have control over my body since this montage of memories started.

Walking towards the room.

The room.

The room where everything happens.

The room where Y/n gets hurt.

The room where I get shot.

The room where Jihyo ends Nayeon’s life…

I step in with no hesitation, before I realize that the entirety of the room is pitch black and there is no floor.

I fall.

Dropping through a tunnel of nothingness, just trying to catch anything that will keep me from descending into this pit of darkness. The void calls and I’ve returned against my will again.

A halt jerks me out of the dissociated state that I found myself in. How long did I fall for? How long have I been in this state?

A small pinhole of light shines through the ether, steadily growing and getting brighter.

Is it getting closer?

“Mina?” An echoed whisper reverberates every bone in my body. Shaking me violently, the void cracks, shining the beams of another realm through the shattering façade around me

“Mina…darling, you have to wake up.”

Y/n?

Dull beeps pipe through the whispers and into my brain. My throat feels hot, why doesn’t my throat feel hot?

“Mina, please…”

The light is blinding now as a vision of my parents shine through, my eyes flutter open and try to focus on their faces when the smell of hospital breaks all my senses.

The tube down my throat keeps me from speaking, my parents are crying in happiness that I’m awake but the tears I cry are of fear.

My eyes search helplessly, unable to communicate what I’m looking for.

Who I am looking for.

My father notices my panic, trying to calm me when the pain starts. The same burn in my chest from earlier. I try to look down at my chest at my wound when the nurse comes in and greets me.

“Mina! Welcome back! Your family missed you!” cheered through a beaming smile.

I start weakly mimicking writing with my hand, looking around the room for someone to understand what I’m asking for.

My father grabs the whiteboard at the end of the bed with my medical information on it, wiping it clean and holding it next to me. He uncaps the marker with his teeth and spits it out onto the floor, wrapping my hand around it so that I can write.

“Mina, we are going to pull the tube from you now to make sure that lung is functioning the way that it’s supposed to, okay?” the nurse chimes in as I’m writing.

The doctor comes in, trying to usher my father to the side so he can do what he needs to. I grip my dad’s forearm to signal him to stay in place.

“Please, she’s been asleep for so long, can you just give us a moment?”

I write the last few letters quickly before the doctors get to work, I watch my parents brows furrow at what I’ve written. My father takes the whiteboard out of the room, my mother staying with me for the remainder of the removal of the tube.

Gasping for air, my body is trying to recalibrate to the new surroundings. To reality.

“Where…” my voice is gravely and horse, barely coming out in a whisper.

“Is…” I swallow, trying to build up my strength to say the last word I needed to.

“Y/n?”

Thanks for reading! 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[scaly-freaks]

Wrote this on a whim. I don't know what it is exactly, but it IS Feyd-Rautha so be aware there is violence and bodily harm.

The Fremen language rolls down the back of the throat like honeydew on silk. It is a vat of unspoken secrets, a hiss in the dark, a revelation. When they cry out for their false messiah, the lie turns holy.

Spoken on the Planet of Giedi Prime, the honey turns to amber, and she is a fly trapped at its centre, forced to experience her own disintegration.

Last night, Feyd gave her a music box.

She lay curled up in a puddle of her own piss, and thought how wasteful. A stillsuit would have made much better use of it. But when the liquid crept across the floor and touched the burns on her face, her flesh cooled. She might have imagined that part. After all, when she awoke this morning, the burns were as red and as mangled as they were when Feyd-Rautha first struck them into her flesh in front of his entire family.

He left the music box beside her head.

Inside, were her mother's teeth.

He did not kill her mother. Her mother died ten years ago. But he killed her father, who carried her mother's teeth in a pouch around his neck. They were his lucky charm, he used to say, his deliverance. She'd wonder if he ever kissed them, just to remind himself what it felt like to kiss his wife all those years ago, to run his tongue over her pearly teeth and feel her laughter bubble against his lips.

Teeth are an intimate gift.

"Wakey-wakey, Fremen mouse." His voice is guttural, a corpse dragged across gravel, each word slick behind blackened teeth.

She saw him bite a chunk out of one of the Baron's hairless boys and the wound was edged with the same ebony that drips from his saliva. There was no blood. Just black, greased like tar and infected. In her worst moments, when the hallucinations have her gripped by the throat, she sees a black hole grow in his mouth, beckoning.

When her answer to his whistle is not forthcoming, his boot presses into her soft, unblemished cheek. The pressure of it forces the burns on the other to scream in protest against the dungeon floor. It looks smooth and polished, but as with everything on Giedi Prime, the potential for pain is woven in like veins through marble. The texture of it is like a hundred thousand tiny shards of glass, and her ruined skin feels the scrape of each one.

"You did not like my gift?"

"I adored your gift."

"Why have you not opened it?"

"I did not think my hands were worthy."

He pushes his boot down harder and a prolonged keen of pain is finally yanked from her bruised ribs. Rabban is easier to fool. Feyd sniffs out insult like a shark to blood. Her injuries are proof.

"You still have fight in you."

"If I lost it, I would no longer have the pleasure of your visits, my lord."

He digs his heel into the underside of her cheekbone and the agony threatens to blind her. Drool slips from her open mouth and blends in with the piss just inches away. She pictures tearing off her flesh and flames swallowing her in one fell swoop, burning too hot and too quick to cause pain. She would chew off her own tongue to end it if she could, but who would care for her mother's teeth?

"Then I will visit you again, sayyadina." The honey of the Fremen language turns to mockery and acid on Feyd-Rautha's tongue, an acerbic jumble of syllables that burn just as horribly when they fall onto her ears. "You will crumble like sand between my fingers. And you will become as they are, just another pet."

They.

The Harpies, cannibalistic and violent, eyes blank, mouths leering.

One of them draws forward, prepared with a knife, as she has done every night Feyd has come to visit. It feels like the worst of the punishment. She tenses, shivering like a leaf, and cannot form the words to beg him for this one thing and prove him right -

That she is breakable.

Please don't cut my hair. My father loved my hair.

The harpy gathers it into her pale fist and lifts the blade high. Just before it falls, Feyd's hand rises, a single finger held out in command. His pet cocks her head, a mewl caught in the back of her throat. They are soft with him, curious as pups. She wonders who they were when their lives had meaning and their names tasted sweet on their parents' tongues.

He signals for the harpy to drop her hair and the woman accedes without question. He reaches down to lift the lid of the music box, the teeth inside gleaming like pearls in the pallid light, and then steps over his captive's body to leave.

A soft, whirling rush follows as the harpies scurry in his wake.

Her minds falls silent again.

[8-rae-rae-8]

could i request cg!mactavish comforting a reg!simon on his period? craving some fluff for these two plus trans simon lives in my head rent free 🫡

you didn't specify so you're getting 2009 ghost and soap

(soap isn't referred to as johnny in 09 so,, beware)

CW Periods, minor dysphoria

1.1k words

Read on AO3

He's icky. The cramps started late in the middle of the night. Simon thought it would be okay to sleep. A mistake on his part, a big mistake.

Simon's seen blood before, cleaned it off of weapons and patched up too many wounds to count, but pulling himself from blood-soaked sheets always had the same, deep-seated sickness coursing through his veins. There's no possible way to miss the way blood drips down his leg, soaking through his shorts.

Another thing he ruined by his own negligence. He didn't think ahead, all he had been concerned about was being comfy in bed once his pain medication kicked in. He should have thought ahead. Now, it was either the walk of shame, or trying to clean up his mess here. Shame was already in the front of his mind, mocking and mean. He thought he'd get used to feeling like he wasn't a real man, but it burns deep. There's not even water to put out the fire. He has to simply shake it off and hope the fire doesn't scar him again.

Icky. The sheets would have to be tossed, along with the stained shorts, does he even have any pads in his room? He seemed to remember running out of the ones in his bathroom weeks ago. All of it felt too heavy on his mind, painful and too much.

He doesn't make it to the door before he's curling up on the floor. The smallest whimpers rumbling in his chest the longer he's sat there. It hurts. It hurts and he's so icky. Simon doesn't hear his own cries when they bounce off the walls, only the ringing in his ears and the sounds of gasping breaths.

Any surrounding sound falls on deaf ears. The knocking, or the buzzing of his phone; he doesn't hear it. Much to focused on the pain, the fear, the blood cooling on the tile. Everything blurs together, feelings blending until it's all just miserable. His legs pulled up to his chest, head tucked between his knees in such a way that burns his back—he doesn't move from that position. Too much.

Even as gentle hands settle on his shoulders, he doesn't move. Just the slightest shake of his shoulders.

"Riley..?" His mind screams that it's warm and safe. "Si, can ye look at me?" A warm hand settles on the back of his neck, smoothing out the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck. The voice soft, with that gravelly twinge that was perfectly unique to Mactavish. To the man he knew as comfort and protection.

It feels like such a big task, just something as simple as looking up at him. But he can feel the eyes watching him. So gentle, never with the overwhelming expectations when he's like this. Small, scared and hurting. He struggles far more than he should, but eventually his tear-stained face meets John's. Breaths coming in quick and strained.

"My love…" Mactavish hums, moving the hand on his neck to gently cup Simon's tear-dampened cheek. "We gotta clean ye up, huh?" He says it like it's the easiest thing in the world, like he's happy to do the rotten work.

Simon sniffles. He can't find it in himself to do anything but agree. Getting out of what felt like a puddle of blood underneath him would have to at least help a little.

All of the work he had to do was quickly diminished to a whole ton of absolutely nothing. Strong arms picking him up without missing a beat, no hesitation to get blood on his clothes. Ratty and old or clean, Simon saw the same thing, clothes he was ruining by just being offered help.

"Lay on me, aye? Gonna get ye in the shower and I'll get you fresh, warm clothes."

Simon didn't quite expect that Tav would be the one holding him up gently to wash away the blood. There wasn't any hesitation, just a gentle 'can I?' before washing off the delicate spots. He even took care of Simon's sweaty hair. Taking the time to dry him off and blow-dry his hair too.

Saying he was just small after would be an understatement.

'Teeny tiny Simon Riley.' He heard once or twice.

Simon certainly feels it now. Any sudden cramp, or heavy pain making him whimper and look up at John as if it would suddenly make it any better; depending on his caregiver for anything he could possibly do.

And Mactavish tries to fix it. He takes the work load off his little's shoulders and focuses on making him feel at least a little better. It's not like he doesn't see the way Simon shies away from looking at himself, the way his hand sleepily traces the scars on his chest. Whatever John can do, he'll do it for his boy.

"Almost done." He smiles at Simon while he unfolds the pad for him and gets quite literally everything else done for him. Redressing, then the sheets, then making sure Simon takes his medicine… For the longest time, Simon didn't understand that when Mactavish meant he'd help with everything, he would genuinely help with everything.

Simon nearly falls asleep on his shoulder when he's lifted back up. Steady, gentle steps to not upset his already hurting tummy. The second he goes to chew his lip, a pacifier is placed at his lips. Everything he needed was there for him before he could even ask. He loses track of how long they've walked, and before he knows it, the room smells different—warmer—and they're slowing to a stop. For a moment, Simon thinks he'll be laid down and left alone.

"All clean, dove, all done." John coos as he sits down, his little one in his lap. Again, Simon's head rests on his shoulder, soft eyes blinking with the effort to stay fully aware. Despite how small he is, despite everything feeling so big around him.

"'ubba…" He mumbles behind the pacifier shield. The aches dull just enough for him to wiggle into a much more comfortable position. His eyes briefly scan the room, different, but not unwelcome. John's room, safe and sound. Away from the icky mess.

"Bubba's here." Tav says it like a promise; he won't let go, he won't leave. He's here, holding his love so very gently. Simon takes it for what he understands it to be—he's not leaving this time.

After all the tears and unrelenting pain, he can't help but close his eyes. Sleep doesn't come, he doesn't expect it to, but he can simply rest. That's what he needs. Focusing on his bubba's gentle hums and just breathing.

[bluiex]

So I remember seeing someone talking about soulmate AU where Grian and Scar break up after Grian cheats with BigB and Scar stopped turning a blind eye to it, and Scar turned to alcohol to try and distract himself from feeling Grian and BigB fucking every night, but I don't remember seeing any follow up for it so I am here to offer my version of followup (forgive me if someone already sent one)

So my thoughts are that Mumbo decides to intervene and comes around, gets Scar off the metaphorical floor and tosses all the alcohol out of the house. When Scar is sober they go hang out and just spend time together, doing things they find fun and just talking about everything (which is when Mumbo discovers Grian and Scar's breakup was even worse than he thought, not having been around when the affair happened), which inevitably ends up with the two of them hooking up (a mix of feelings/attraction + a slight desire to give Grian a taste of his own medicine). It starts a FwB relationship between them, where they just hang out and have fun and sometimes jump in the sack together when they're feeling lonely and want company.

After a few months as they grow closer, Scar wakes up one day and realizes Grian's not the first person he thinks of in the morning. He hasn't even thought about Grian in over a week, more like two. Instead it's Mumbo who he wakes up thinking about, it's Mumbo who gets his heart beating wildly, and it's Mumbo he dreams about at night. It hits him that he might be in love with Mumbo. Scar, being Scar, falls over himself and rushes to Mumbo's house at ugly o'clock in the morning when half the world is still asleep, but when a half-asleep Mumbo opens the door he still lets him in happily, and barely gets out a greeting before Scar tells him "I think I'm in love with you." Mumbo is awake immediately. They have a long talk about their feelings and decide yeah, let's give this a shot, and they start an official relationship full of really sweet words and touches that don't lead to sex all the time- just a very emotionally close relationship, the kind Scar once (thought he) had with Grian. Only this time, loving Mumbo doesn't hurt the way loving Grian did.

When he has Mumbo, the feeling of BigB's hands on Grian's hips fade into background noise, because he's holding onto Mumbo, they're in each other's arms and they're so in love and safe it's like nothing can ever hurt them again.

On the flipside, now Grian isn't feeling the effects of Scar drowning himself in alcohol and he's no longer feeling the casual flings he and Mumbo used to have (and he had no idea it was Mumbo at all, the man having become distant and "busy" over the last few months), but now he's feeling the casual intimacy, the light touches and the gentle kisses and the arms wrapping around him just to hold him, and he's in a relationship that is based on thrill and sex and danger... feeling the phantom touches of the kind of gentle love Scar always held for him, from someone else- someone who touches Scar so much more gently and lovingly than he ever did, sweeter than he ever touches BigB... he starts to have regrets.

People like Grian only want what they can't have, after all.

*lays down in a puddle of my own tears* this is simply better than I could ever imagine. A good ending on Scar's end, he's okay and moved on.. meanwhile Grian is regretting it, like you said Grian is the type of perosn to want what they can't have. ough okay

i'd like to imagine, after a couple of months of this, Grian feeling all the love and stuff.. he decides to come around. go see Scar. to his surprise it isn't Scar who opens the door. Nope! It is Mumbo, looking disheveled like he'd just woken up (nah him an Scar were making out before dinner)

Mumbo gives him such a shocked look before it delved into anger, but that was quickly pushed away to a neutral expression before asking what he's doing here- things get a bit heated, Mumbo sternly talking down to Grian for what he did, "No you are not allowed to see Scar. He's just finally started healing after you fucked up and broke his trust an heart."

[dutchsonjaa]

He never got to enjoy his afternoon tea.

Philza’s POV on the ending of the Dream SMP. 1448 words AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43111627 Huge thanks to my friends @energy-emi1y and  @Bokuaka_Official on AO3!

He’d just put the kettle on the fire, preparing it for a nice cup of afternoon tea after an hard day of working outside in the cold, the snow that he dragged in through his boots now laying in half-molten puddles on their hard wooden floor. The lullaby he’d been murmuring as he picked through his stockpile of teabags, neatly stored in an hand-carved basket, searching for something he’d have an taste for halted abruptly in his throat as his gaze found the missile. Gazing through the open window, Philza felt his shoulders sag as he watched the projectile ascend high into the sky until it was finally lost beyond the low-hanging clouds of an cold afternoon. Hands trembling with dread, the man put the casket down before he could lose his grip on it. He’d always known that the long-lasting skirmish between Tommy and the pretend-God would eventually end the world. He never could’ve known it literally would.

             The shrill whistle of the kettle filled the room, signaling to Philza that his tea was ready. The noise startled some of the crows, perched on the shelves around the room. Phil let out a small crow in an half-hearted attempt to calm them as he allowed his mind to wander. The tea would never be cool enough in time to drink anyway. It just didn’t matter anymore. Just the other day had he met the golden-haired boy, finding him at his son’s memorial, startling the lad as the Angel of Death had descended the sky with the intent to pay his own respects to the shrine. If Tommy rapidly swept the tears away that shone in the young man’s eyes, Philza had chosen not to comment on that. He’d had let plenty of tears fall when he’d visited this site himself. There had been something fierce in Tommy’s gaze that day; a feral determination that made his sapphire-blue eyes burn like an cold, undying fire as he spoke of his plan. With their goodbyes said, did Philza had watch him go, the lad now armed with the armor and the blessing he presented him. Only after Tommy had turned his back, did Philza whisper an prayer to his late wife to keep the golden-haired man safe.

The murder of crows, the ever-so loyal flock Philza’d affectionately been calling ‘Chat’, were truly panicking now, sensing the impending doom. Their terrified caws seemed to even drown out the still sound of the whistle of the kettle, left behind to burn out on the stove. Philza let out a weary sign; he knew time was running short. The explosion would soon be upon them, destroying everything in its wake. Blowing a short, shrill whistle to his birds, he quickly gained their attention. Black beady eyes fixed on the man as they awaited his command, bristling their wings as they anticipated his words. “Go find Wilbur”, the Angel of Death breathed, his voice sounding stronger than he felt. The sound of flapping wings filled the room as the birds took wing for the open sky as they found their way through the unlocked window. There’d be no more time for goodbyes or I love you’s. It pained Philza deeply to know that he should’ve said it more when there was still time. His son had inherited his mother’s brain though, he’d have to understand. Philza hoped he would understand. The man watched the second-to-last crow reach for the open sky, finding their way to wherever Philza’s son resided. The Angel of Death’s fallen descendant would at last be getting his feathers.

             Only one crow remained, as Philza knew he would. Dave, the smallest of the flock, that Philza himself hand-fed and nursed back to health after finding the bird, still just a chick back then, freezing and alone in the winter’s cold. The bird had never really adhered to his commands, nor would he now. Little crow-feet landed on Philza’s shoulder as he tenderly nibbled at his ear. With the bird now happily perched on his shoulder, did Philza found his way to the bed chambers where he knew he’d find his friend resting. Technoblade was right where he’d expected him to be. His pupil, his ally, his best friend, would truly sleep through everything. Even the end of the world, Philza thought, though he suppressed the bleak thought almost immediately. The Piglin-Hybrid lay in a deep slumber, his chest gently rising and falling, blissfully unaware of the situation going outside his personal dream world. He looked so peaceful, Philza realized, giving him a feeling of tranquility as he eyed his friend snore softly in his sleep. They still had one Totem of Undying left; the last one remaining after the failed attempts of trying to resurrect Philza’s son, so many moons ago.

             Philza briefly considered shoving the figure into the Hybrid’s hands; saving his friends life. Yet when he watched the man he’d almost consider a second son rest so peacefully, his gaze untroubled, he recognized he couldn’t, even though the thought made his heart break even more. Technoblade would never truly forgive the Angel, nor would he let himself forget, if he were to survive. Instead, the Piglin-Hybrid would waste the rest of his days trying to find a way to resurrect his winged friend; just as he had already done for their fallen friend and member of the Syndicate, Ranboo. No, as much as the thought brought him sorrow, he knew it’d be a kinder fate to let his Technoblade rest alongside him. They’d both reconcile with their Enderman friend soon enough. Philza had to bite his cheek from screaming out in agony, the tear in his heart growing with the weight of his decision as he picked up the blanket from the ground which his friend had thrown off him in his sleep. With trembling hands, he gently tucked in his friend, suppressing the urge to give the other man a peck on the cheek like he used to do with Wil, back when his son still needed him. Delicately stroking a few pink strands of hair away from his friend’s face, he smiled down affectionately at his friend. A single tear ran down his cheek.

It’d be almost time soon. Philza strode towards the stairs, sparing the resting figure of his dearest friend one last glance as he desperately tried to ignore the lump in his throat. Finding his way through their cabin, Philza passed by the portraits of his son and his son’s best friend. He kept walking. The whistling of the kettle had ceased; apparently having given up on gaining his attention. His coat he left hanging on the coatrack as he kicked open the front door, welcoming the icy wind from outside enveloping him. The outside world was eerily quiet; all animals had fled in their attempt to survive. Some would make it to safety. The fresh layer of snow cracked underneath his boots as Philza’s scanned the horizon for the missile, finding it on it already to be on its descent soon enough. His final flight would have to be a short one.           Spreading out his wings, ignoring the freezing cold ruffling his plumage, threatening to freeze his smaller feathers, rendering them useless, did Philza take off, scattering the powdery snow surrounding him around with a powerful beat of his wings. He knew that if he turned his gaze towards the air next to him, he’d find Dave, joining him in his final ascend to the horizon. Instead, Philza kept his eyes locked on the clouds, blocking off the sun from view. Though struggling as the air grew thinner around him and his still-healing wings aching, was Philza determined to make it. He let out a yowl as he finally broke through the clouds, enjoying himself despite everything. Dave followed shortly after, cawing happily as the bird flew in circles around him. It was pleasant up here, above the clouds. The sun felt warm upon his face and Philza allowed himself to enjoy this brief moment of peace. Somewhere in the distance, somewhere far down below him on the earth, did he hear the dull sound of an explosion. The Angel of Death exhaled before folding his wings behind him, letting himself fall. Philza did not know if the fall would kill him or the blast of the explosion. The fear still lay deep in his chest as he crashed through the clouds, Dave not far behind as the bird followed him in their final dive. As the ground rushed towards him, the man closed his eyes. He knew his late wife would catch him. Philza never got to enjoy his afternoon tea.

[poppyseedoncaffeine]

CH. 5

A/N: Kill code has a no swearing function and you cant tell me i'm wrong.

3.

        Teleportation felt weird, his head hurt... it made his body all tingly! It felt funky. Eclipse's thoughts came to a stop, where had he heard that word before? Funny, little, T R A T I O R, brother, kind, S T U P I D, adorable, perfe- F L A W E D, WEAK. Eclipse shook his head, those words weren't fun. Funky was fun, "fuky!" it was fun to say too!

        KC looked at Eclipse, "where did you learn that?" Eclipse lifts his head off of his caretakers chest plate confusion written across his face, where had he learned it? The word, brother, popped into his head, "Buder!" he said confidently, yes he learned it from his brother! he was met with a sharp flick on the nose "don't say that" Eclipse clasped his nose in retaliation. Now KC wouldn't be able to flick his nose, "Fuky!" he was met with a sharp glare, "sorry" Eclipse was about to lay his head back down before he was abruptly set onto the floor.

        No fair! He didn't wanna walk! KC gripped his little hand tightly, dragging him down the Pizza plex hall. So many colors! those yellow bots looked neat! The bot in question turned to look at the duo, Eclipse waved, the bot went back to work. Eclipse was much too busy looking around, to think about where they were going, he never paid attention to the rest of the plex before. Something grabbed his free hand and forced him to face them, "HERE HAVE A MAP" Eclipse screamed.

        Eclipse held his new map tightly in his hand, dried tear marks prominent on his face. He tripped up the escalator, why wasn't it moving? His stomach felt icky, why did it feel icky? Something built up in his throat, it didn't feel good, he wanted it out! He stopped moving, only bending away from his gown to spit up onto the already gross carpet.  KC's grip tightened as he dragged Eclipse along making the child step in a puddle of his own sick.

        Eclipse whined, he wanted to go back to the lab! he was tired, and his tummy felt gross, his head felt gross, his foot felt gross, he felt gross! a door opened and he was suddenly assaulted by very loud music. Eclipse covered his eyes, whatever room they went to was too bright, too loud, and... too... well everything. the death grip on Eclipse's wrist readjusted so the child faced KC "I am going to collect you after this illness leaves your body, I have no time to worry about something so small" Eclipse was pushed towards the slide... wait slide? No... Eclipse turned to look at KC who was already taking his leave.

        "wai! don' foget me!" Eclipse stumbled towards the door as it slammed shut. 

        Eclipse whimpered, he pulled at the door, he pushed, it wouldn't budge. Fresh tears careened down his face as he felt pressure build up in his throat again. He wanted Harvest, he wanted the gross bowls of food, not this place! Everyone here hated him, and he hated them! Eclipse curled tightly into a ball, thumb making its way into his mouth as he nursed his heavy head on his knees. There was a thump behind him, Eclipse curled into himself, he wanted to go home.

        "HELLO! My, My, what are you doing here all by yourself? Its much more fun down in the daycare!" Eclipse whimpered as he was hoisted up into the bots arms, "Oh my goodness you're burning up friend!" Sun brought Eclipse close to his body as they carefully made their way down to the ground level, "I'm sure some medicine and a nice nap will make you feel all better!" Eclipse tried pulling away from the stupid bot, but alas tiny exhausted toddler arms could not defeat a robot designed for taking care of children. His stomach rolled at the motion, his head spinning as Sun walked.

        Eclipse gagged, the horrible feeling of bile going up his throat, "oh buddy hold on! can you hold it till we get to a bin little one?" Sun picked up the pace, at this point running to the security desks. The two hardly made it to the bin Eclipse scrunched his nose, it smelled gross. Sun gently rubbed the child's back. Much to Eclipse's dismay, he found the motion comforting and literally leaned into the enemy's hands. Sun whispered assurances in his ear as Eclipse sat poised over the bin.

        Once a few minutes went by with no more vomiting Sun carefully collected Eclipse in his arms once more, making a mental note to empty the bin. "whats your name? I don't have you logged in on my data base" Eclipse swallowed, he could tell Sun his name, it could certainly get him kicked out, no normal parent named their kid Eclipse. On the other hand he felt safe in his what could have been brother's arms. His brain couldn't think of a solid lie, so as softly as he could he whispered "Eclipse" and Sun dam near dropped him.

[nossumusmanus]

My partner asked how I think Quintus would be as a father in our AU, and now I'm metaphorically laying face-down on the floor in a puddle of my own tears.

Like I told him, he'd probably be rough around the edges at first, very distant and aloof. But he'd quickly find that the twins have endeared themselves to him, and he'll come to adore them.

He'll very quietly fawn over them, do things like sit with them while they play and maybe even on occasion join in with them. He'll look after them as much as he's able to, and protect them just as much. He'd be a little self-conscious about his age, from the perspective of being so much older and thus not being sure how much time he has left in life to be with them --

but he'll find them to be something worth continuing to live for, for however many years he does have left. And he'll probably do everything in his power to teach them about Garlemald, from its history, to its culture and customs, about House Cinna's heritage...

But most importantly, he'll tell them all about those who sacrificed themselves for Garlemald, all of the loved ones that their people have lost. He'll teach them what the red link in the center of the Garlean chain represents, why it's so important -- not to feed them propaganda or try to indoctrinate them into the beliefs that he grew up with, but for much the same reason that Emet-Selch asks us to remember the Amaurotines at the end of Shadowbringers.

To keep them all alive through memory, so that they will never truly disappear.

[taschamonnii]

Imagine This  - Ceilings

Me X Fan-Fiction

Big Sad Mood

Summary: How it feels to only know fictional love

TW: Big Sad, Depression, lonelyness

Here is the title song: Ceilings Lizzy McAlpine

AN: I just discovered this song via TikTok and well it has altered my brain chemistry and taken over my mind so I had to write out the feelings. This hurted my feelings! What a way to start a Monday with a sad song and big sad lonely feelings the week of fucking valentines. Like fuck man!

I break my own heart all the time

Word Count: 1,003

Imagine This:

I stayed up late again just for you.

It kills me but I do it every single night. 

You’re worth it but only in the moment. You’re toxic as you flow through my veins and consume my mind. I don’t want to face the truth. I’m so hooked on you I can’t breathe and there is nothing that compares. You’re a drug of the most dangerous kind free and easy to access. You alter my reality and take me away from here. 

Ceilings, plaster

Can't you just make it move faster?

Lovely to be sitting here with you

You're kinda cute but it's raining harder

My shoes are now full of water

Lovely to be rained on with you

It's kinda cute but it's so short

Then you're drivin' me home

And I don't wanna leave

But I have to go

You kiss me in your car

And it feels like the start of a movie I've seen before

Before

You are so cute and it’s so easy to get lost in you. I can’t stop it from happening over and over. I let you tackle me each time I see your notifications on my phone.Each word pulls me in and I get lost in time and space. I don’t want it to end but it’s so short and I have to go. My alarm pulls me away from you and the day drags on until I can see you again. You consume my thoughts, there's no room for anyone else. 

I return to you and it's

Bedsheets, no clothes

Touch me like nobody else does

Lovely to just lay here with you

You're kinda cute and I would say all of this

But I don't wanna ruin the moment

Lovely to sit between comfort and chaos

But it's over

Then you're drivin' me home

And it kinda comes out as I get up to go

You kiss me in your car

And it feels like the start of a movie I've seen before

But it's not real

And you don't exist

And I can't recall the last time I was kissed

It hits me in the car

And it feels like the end of a movie I've seen before

Before

It’s not real… You don’t EXIST. You DON’T EXIST. YOU DON’T EXIST.

I collapse in a puddle of tears on the floor. You have my heart and there's nothing I can do. I have never been in love in reality but with you I have fallen thousands of times. I’m lonely and you’re always there at my fingertips. I fall in again and again knowing how it ends. Me alone in my room, feelings of despair and dread because I will never experience the things you offer. I read page after page story after story. I let them consume and change me. Now I know that no one will ever compare and why bother trying when I have you? You heal me but you cut me deeper. 

Another year and here I am again single by choice haven given up on the whole thing. Pink and Red have taken over every store. I feel the void in my heart harder and it makes me miss something I’ve never had. The void is filled for a little bit by their story of their love. 

And It’s so cute when they kiss and I lose myself in the words. They are so soft and I don’t know what it feels like to be touched so tenderly. They are happy in a way I have never known. Sweeter than any candy they rot my teeth. They are everything but it’s too short it's over. I don’t want to leave but I have to go. The ending hits me. I’ve seen this movie a million times before. I am left alone in my room. Another cut gets added to my shredded heart. Tears run down my face left with a lonely ache deep in my soul. Time ticks on and I have to face the truth. Reality bites and I hate that I exist here. I feel lost as I move through the motions of each day surviving one day after another with no point and no purpose. I ache for a home that doesn’t exist for a person who isn’t real. 

It’s not real and you don’t exist and I can’t recall the last time I was kissed and it hits me in the car. The tears fall and I know I’m losing it but I don’t care because you are all I want. The rain hits the windshield harder and I can feel my tears soaking my shirt. 

The last time I tried I knew it was going to be the last. She didn’t feel like you, she didn’t compare and I felt nothing and I feel even worse knowing she had feelings for me that I couldn’t reciprocate. She kissed me as I walked her to her car but I thought of your lips. She held me but it wasn’t soft and I let things escalate. I felt numb even as my body reacted to her touch. I had to fake it so it would end. I wanted to cry and she wanted more. I hate myself because my heart is not mine and I have given her hope. We talk and I become distant and shut down because nothing feels right, nothing feels like you. AND it’s all your fault that I can’t connect. I feel nothing for real people and you are to blame. 

I try to stop but a notification pulls me back to you and I get lost again without a second thought. I fall into the familiar scene where the character I know and love comes to life and I disappear completely. For a moment I don’t exist but you do and I try everything I can to stay there but it’s so short and it’s over it’s not real and you don’t exist but I do. 

AN: Sometimes I am good at being alone. I take myself on dates and take care of myself and it is more than enough and then sometimes I am so lonely and sad and desperate for what my favorite fictional characters have. I have never been in love. Valentine's day has always sucked even with a partner because my heart belongs to so many fictional characters that there is no room for real people. I hope that if this time of year is hard for you too that you find comfort in the knowledge that you are not alone. I am chronically single and determined to stay that way and even though I am okay with that and have come to terms with it I still struggle knowing I won’t ever have any of the love that I read and write for fictional people who don’t exist. 

[welcometothewhitelotus]

I nod a little and promise myself I won’t make any noises.

Rhaenyra doesn’t deserve that.

I set my dress aside and let my hair down before crawling into the bed.

In her room, Rhaenyra relaxes in the bath tub with her eyes closed, enjoying a bit of decompression after what felt like a terribly long day.

She runs a hand over her hair to slick it back a bit better, her hand pausing halfway as a moan that sounds awfully like Daemon’s comes from the other side of the wall.

Slowly, she sits up a bit more, staring at the inside of the tub so she can focus better. And after just a few moments, she hears it again. Followed by… a moan from you that was obviously unexpected from all parties involved here.

“Oh my gods,” she whispers, placing a hand on her stomach as it starts to churn roughly.

Six months. All it took for Daemon to move on was six months and now he’s buried inside of you, her sister and best friend, releasing moans she once thought were only for her ears.

And making you feel the way he used to make her feel.

Daemon lets out a curse as he comes and she puts a hand over her mouth, tears quickly coming to the surface of her eyes.

She leans over and pulls the trash tin over, emptying the contents of her stomach while bent over the side of the tub. Normally she would care quite a lot that her hair was dripping water all over the floor as she did this- but maybe this means she’ll get out of the tub, slip on the pool of water, hit her head, and die.

She would love nothing more in this moment.

Rhaenyra stays in the tub, gripping the edges so tight her knuckles pale in comparison to the rest of her skin, even as your side of the wall goes quiet.

You two were fucking. And now you get to be held in his arms, pressed against his toned chest and snuggled until you fall asleep.

Her face crumples and she lets out a quiet, whimper of a sob, pulling her knees into her chest.

If she had known that staying in King’s Landing would be such punishment, she would have run away a long time ago.

The door opens and Laenor stumbles his way inside, giving her a drunken grin as he shuts the door behind him. “Hello, my love,” he teases.

If only he knew that the nickname he just threw at her was the same one Daemon gave her long ago. She lets out a louder sob, the sound immediately coaxing a serious expression onto Laenor’s face.

“… Rhaenyra?” He asks softly, moving over.

“D-Don’t- don’t step there,” she quickly points a shaky finger toward the puddle of water from her hair. “You’ll slip.”

“I’ve not a care in the world about slipping,” he murmurs and crouches down next to her, brows furrowed. “What’s the matter? Hm?” He lays a hand gently on top of one of her own. “The water is cold, Nyra…”

“I want it to f-freeze me,” she murmurs through gritted teeth, “I’m no longer a dragon of fire,” she shakes her head slowly, “everything feels s-so ice cold.”

Laenor gulps, studying her in confusion. “You still have that fire, Rhaenyra- you always have. You possess it more than anyone I’ve ever met. Listen to me,” he gives her hand a squeeze to rein her focus in, “you cannot let these fools cage you with a temper you’re unfamiliar with. You’re not Rhaenyra Targaryen, who possesses the blood of an ice dragon. No, darling,” he breathes a laugh, “you were born from fire. You mustn’t let anyone forget that. Not even yourself.”

Rhaenyra stares at the wall as he gives her his little pep talk, nodding a little in agreement. Yes, she still has that fire. In fact, she probably mistook the white hot fury in her blood for something cold, rather than the raw power it actually was.

After he gets no response, Laenor carefully checks in. “Nyra?”

“One of these days, Laenor…” she slowly shifts her gaze to him without turning her head. “Every last person who ever intended to make me miserable will suffer a death so unimaginable they’ll have difficulty even writing it in the historical texts.”

Laenor gulps. “I believe you with every ounce of my soul,” he says quietly, gently helping her out of the tub. “For now, my dear, I think what you need is some sleep…”

He manages to get Rhaenyra dried off and into bed, watching over her until she finally falls asleep.

And, once he’s gotten ready for bed himself, he settles in with a silent prayer for whomever is the target of Rhaenyra’s anger this evening.

Because when that sleeping dragon uncoils in the morning, he has a feeling it’ll be a lot less pretty than what he just witnessed. And the look in her eyes tonight? That was nightmare fuel.

King Viserys made a grave mistake, separating her from Daemon. And Laenor knows that the woman next to him has just barely begun to show people how greatly it affected her.

[bookish-whore]

Overprotective

Azriel x Reader

Based on this request <3

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: light angst, postpartum feelings, sprinkled with fluff

A/N: I love domestic dad Azriel, this is my first time writing for Az but I definitely have more ideas for him. As always requests are open hope y'all enjoy this!

--------------------------------------------------

You didn’t know you could love someone so much.

Growing up you never thought that you would have children, you didn’t think you had the temperament thanks in part to your own fractured relationship with your mother. You had never thought that you would meet someone that you would love enough to even think about procreating with. Until you met him. Azriel came into your life and completely turned your world upside down; with him, you wanted a simple life, you wanted a future and everything that entailed.

Initially, you had thought it was some kind of flu or some kind of hormonal thing related to your cycle that kept you up at all hours of the night. That made you vomit at the mere smell of food, that made you so irritable that you were either a being of pure rage, or a puddle of tears. Azriel, always wanting you to be in control suggested that you should see Madja, that maybe she could give you something that would help or could tell you what was wrong with you. Even though he had sensed the subtle change in scent a few days ago and knew that you were expecting.

It was a complete shock to you; you had grown up knowing that it was notoriously difficult for fae to conceive. Even though you were only half high fae you figured that it would be a long time before you had children, before you even had a discussion about when to have children. but that didn’t stop you from smiling, looking at your stomach in anticipation, thinking that Az would make the best dad, and being completely ecstatic.

You returned from your appointment nervous to tell Az, what if he wasn’t as happy as you were, what if he didn’t want this. You were so enthralled with your own thoughts you didn’t even notice he was already in your shared bedroom pacing in front of the window waiting for you to return.

You see, while you were at your appointment, he had flown all over Velaris trying to decide what to get you, the mother of his child, his mate, this amazing woman who was going to give him this priceless gift, this once in a lifetime opportunity. He had decided on a beautiful handstitched blanket, on one side it was a deep black with swirls of purple and blue sprinkled with stars. He knew you loved the night sky, oftentimes he would fly you both far outside the city to a field of flowers, or up to a hill to just lay on your backs and watch the stars appear. The other side of the blanket was a deep cobalt blue, the same color as his siphons. He had gotten home before you and hidden the gift away in a pocket of his shadows and paced the room waiting for you to return.

You entered the bedroom and he softly spoke your name, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Azriel I-” you began “I don’t know how to tell you this” It was like you couldn’t speak; the words just becoming stuck in your throat “I’m-” you looked at the floor, unable to meet his intense gaze.

“Sweetheart, I know” he spoke, crossing the room to take your hands in his. “You’re pregnant”

“And how do you feel about it” you hesitantly ask.

He doesn’t immediately answer, a swirl of shadows appearing and revealing a box with a bow. You take it from them and gently open the box. At the sight what is inside, you break down into tears. Az pulls you into his chest resting his chin on your head, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“I can’t wait to do this with you” he said “I couldn’t be happier, and I flew everywhere in Velaris looking for something that could express what I feel, and I saw this and just thought of us taking our child to gaze at the stars with us, showing them the things we love. Giving them a future”

“It’s perfect Az” I whisper against his chest

----- 8 Months Later -----

He was in awe. It had been 26 hours; and he knew you were strong, but this was something else and he was so proud of you. He held a cloth to your forehead whispering words of encouragement as you continued to push.

“I can’t Az-” you cried “I- I’m so tired” you took a shaky breath “I can’t do this” you lean your head back to look at him.

“I know baby, I know” he says pressing a soft kiss to your forehead “but five more minutes okay? Five more minutes for a lifetime of happiness”

At his encouragement, you take a deep breath and continue to push.

“Almost there y/n, just one more big push alright” Madja says.

You brace your hands on the back of your knees and put all of your strength into this one final push. Azriel offering support with one hand on your back and the other bracing your knee as he watches his child come into the world.

A piercing cry sounds in the room.

“it’s a boy!” Madja said wrapping your son in a blanket and placing the small bundle on your chest.

You look down at him, at your son, and up to Azriel who has tears in his eyes. You didn’t know you could love anything as much as you love these two.

“We can’t name him Seraphina, can we?” I laugh. We were both convinced he would be a girl and hadn’t even thought of boy names.

“I suppose we’ll have to think of something else” Azriel said pressing a kiss to your forehead and to the forehead of your son.

“How about Jace?” I ask

----- Present -----

It had been a week and you had not spent a moment away from Jace since Madja placed him into your arms. The only other person allowed to touch him being Az.

A few hours after the birth, the others had come to get a glimpse of the new addition. Which was understandable, Jace was the only other child born into the IC after Nyx. However, at the sight of Azriel handing Jace to Rhys you burst into tears and demanded the baby be returned to you. The others didn’t protest remembering how long it took Feyre to trust anyone with Nyx and gave their congratulations and promptly left you two alone to bond with your son.

Azriel had labelled that interaction as normal, that you were a brand-new mom, and your hormones were all over the place, and you were just being protective but day after day you just became more isolated. You started skipping meals, you would hold Jace constantly or demand that Azriel hold him not wanting to leave him alone or set him down. You wouldn’t accept visitors and you wouldn’t sleep for more than 20 minutes without waking up in a panicked state and immediately looking for the baby needing visual confirmation that he was alright. Azriel was beyond worried at this point and knew he needed to do something to soothe your anxieties.

Deciding that today was the day Azriel brought you a tray of toast and eggs with a glass of orange juice setting the tray on your bed in front of you. He gently took the baby from your arms, holding him against his bare chest because he read somewhere that skin to skin contact was a great way for dads to bond and he sat in the chair in the corner gently patting Jace’s back as he was lulled back to sleep. He noticed how you only drank the juice and took small bites from the toast before pushing the tray of food away, looking down at your hands and not saying anything.

“Honey, you need to eat” he softly said

“I’m not that hungry right now” you reply

“You should sleep then” he could compromise he thought

“I’m not tired” you say, not even believing the words as they come out of your mouth. The dark circles under your eyes evidence enough that you are lying.

“It’s been a week y/n, and you are exhausted. You haven’t been sleeping, you’re hardly eating, and I am worried about you.” Az pleaded “I know your scared, but nothing is going to happen to Jace he is completely safe. You are a wonderful mother already, and I know that you love him so much, but you need to take care of yourself sweetheart.”

“I am his mother, the only thing I need is to take care of him, I know him, and I know what he needs” you say, your voice wavering as you continue “and what if- if- I miss something or he does something, or something happens to him and I’m not here. I won’t risk it Az. I just won’t. He needs me.” You wipe the tears that had begun to fall “Az, it’s time for his feeding” you say and Azriel gently gets up placing Jace back in your arms. He has an idea.

Azriel winnowed to the river house and decided to ask Feyre to try and coax you into giving the baby to someone. If anyone other than himself could help you it had to be her, she knew what you were experiencing. He was hoping that by seeing how the others would care for your child that you’ll overcome this fear that something will happen to the baby if he isn’t in your arms. After all the fiercest warriors in all Prythian were all their family. He would almost feel sorry for the person who decided to lay a hand on one of the babes.

The High Lady immediately agrees when Azriel burst into tears and begged on the floor for someone to help you because he didn’t know what to do. He returned home later that day, finally convincing you to bathe by holding Jace in the room with you while you took what he can only describe as the fastest bath in the history of the universe. Quickly drying yourself, brushing your hair and throwing it into a simple braid before taking Jace back into your arms. Hopefully tomorrow would be a breakthrough for you Azriel thought settling into bed for the night watching you feed and rock your son to sleep.

The next day Feyre and Rhys were going to come over to stage an intervention. Azriel felt conflicted about just springing this on you but decided that if it helped you, it would all be worth it, you couldn’t continue like this, it wasn’t healthy.

Rhys and Feyre arrive precisely at the time they had set yesterday and had brought your favorite blueberry scones from your favorite bakery in Velaris. Azriel welcomed them into the sitting room where you sat with a sleeping Jace in your arms.

“Y/N look who came to pay us a visit” Azriel says.

“Hey guys, what are you doing here?” you question looking between the three of them.

“Well…” Feyre began “we were just in the neighborhood and thought we would see how you’re adjusting to parenthood. I know the first weeks with Nyx were amazing but isolating. We wanted to make sure you know we are here to support you and offer to take the baby for you, you know if you two need a night to yourselves.” Rhys smiled and continued where Feyre had left off “and… we want to get to know our nephew because I’ll be damned if Cassian is his favorite uncle” I couldn’t help but laugh. I stood handing Jace to Azriel and faced the high lord and lady who took up seats opposite Azriel and I.

“Can I get you two anything? Coffee or Tea for the scones” you ask

“That would be lovely, let me help you” Feyre says as she follows me into the kitchen.

I make my way to the sink, filling the kettle and placing it on the stove. I then move to lean against the counter now facing Feyre. “So, Azriel put you up to this right?” I ask

“He did, but to be fair he is worried about you”

“I can’t imagine why; I am just trying to take care of Jace. I just need to make sure he’s okay.”

“I’m going to tell you something y/n” Feyre starts “You remember how difficult the birth was, with Nyx…”

I nodded as the high lady continues “well after, once everyone had left and I was finally alone with my son. I was terrified. I had never known as much fear as I did through the birth and I could feel Rhys’ panic through the bond when Nyx wasn’t breathing, I felt his anguish when I could feel myself slipping away. So, when it was over after Nesta saved us. I was just waiting for something awful to happen. I was completely convinced that this wasn’t real, and it would all be taken from me.”

“How did you move past it?” I asked

“Well, it was you actually and Azriel, and Cassian, and Nesta, and Mor, and Amren” I waited for her to continue “being able to see Nyx with his family and knowing that all of you would sacrifice everything for him in a heartbeat made me see he was safe, and he was so loved, and I once I knew that it was like I could finally breathe.” She let out a small chuckle “To be fair it did take a while, but you helped me. So please, let us help you.”

The kettle began whistling and Feyre and I moved in tandem adding cups and spoons, sugar, and cream onto the tray to take to the sitting room. Azriel and Rhys went quiet as we entered.

I walked directly to Azriel and took Jace from his arms, walking over to Rhys “Would you like to hold him?” I asked, Azriel’s eyes widened at my offer “I would love too” the high lord replied smiling as I settled his nephew into his arms.

After Rhys held Jace for a while Feyre delicately demanded time with the baby, which I obliged watching carefully as Rhys transferred Jace into his aunt’s awaiting arms. Satisfied that he was alright I began clearing away the remnants of teatime walking into the kitchen. Azriel followed suit giving Rhys and Feyre time to enjoy their nephew without the watchful eyes of his parents.

“I’m proud of you” Azriel said gently coming up behind me lacing his arms around my torso and pressing a chaste kiss to my shoulder.

I turned around to face him wrapping my arms around his neck “thank you” I said to him pressing a soft kiss against his lips.

“For what sweetheart?” he says.

“For knowing when to ask for help, for giving me exactly what I need, for knowing me better than I sometimes know myself. For being such a good dad to Jace.” I say tears welling up in my eyes “I didn’t realize I could love you more than I already did but you staged this whole thing to make sure I was okay to make sure we were okay” I press another kiss to his lips. "so just, thank you"

“So, we are definitely going to take them up on their offer to keep Jace for the night, right?” Az teases wanting to lighten the mood.

“Baby steps shadowsinger, I think the two of them holding him unsupervised is all I can handle today” I reply

“Whatever you want darling” he says as we return to the sitting room.

I look around the sitting room at the three of them all doting on my son, and like Feyre said I feel this weight finally lifting. Like I can finally breathe. Gods damn her for being right I think to myself

Maybe I’ll invite Cassian and Nesta over tomorrow.

[ja3hwa]

Fault | Seonghwa [Pt.1]

「Synopsis」 : An argument can lead to a lot when not resolved.

「Word count」 :  552

-> Genre: Angst, Big Sad Hours

Paring: Mafia!Seonghwa x Reader

[Warnings] : Blood, Arguing, Violence, Big sad times, Seonghwa messed up. Name calling. Character Death. Read at your own risk.

{Note} : Thank you to my anonymous reader for this request ♡ I've been in the mood for writing some Mafia stuff so this was up my alley ahah.

[REBLOG AND COMMENT FEEDBACK]

One argument. That’s all it took. He was ruthless and cruel but he was soft and gentle to you. But when these worlds started to mix so did his personality. He didn’t mean to scream, nor throw the wine glass he held firmly in his hand across the room. But he was stressed and you were also stressed. It was a blow-up that led to him saying unspeakable things towards you. It replays in his head, over and over.

‘You are just another whore. Stop acting like your special.’

He didn’t mean it and wanted to take it back as soon as it come out of his mouth. But his stubbornness got a hold of him. Regret. Was the only thing that infects his mind. You ran so quickly, throwing your ring to the ground. You cried, heartbroken that your silly fears he always reassured you were suddenly true. He couldn’t find you. After you disappeared from his sight of the kitchen, he wandered towards your shared bedroom to apologise. But when he entered he noticed the room was trashed and the large floor to ceiling window was opened. You were gone. But this didn’t look like a runaway. You were taken.

His heart stopped as his feet started running. Into the dead of night, running towards nothing and everything at the same time. He couldn’t lose you. Not when he just said all those cruel things. Not when he loved you so much it hurt. Not when you were carrying his child. He needed you, you were his everything and he just threw you away like you were nothing in the heat of the moment. The warehouse that sat near the last pinged address of your phone was filled with gunfire and screaming.

He sent in all his good men, and himself into the line of fire just to save you but when he finally found you laying on the cold concrete floor in a small makeshift cell that was once a walk-in freeze, His heart stopped. You were cold, like ice.  You had no pulse and your body was littered with deep blue, and black marks. Deep gashes from knives and other sharp objects your torture could get a hold of, ran deep on your now paled skin. You were in a puddle of your own blood. Shock and blood loss had killed you.

He fell to his knees, letting out a roaring scream. He crawled over to your body, bringing you close to him, not carrying if blood paints his suit or body. He held you tight, his hand coming down to your stomach. He cried, tears running down his face like a waterfall. He cant remember the last time he cried, maybe when he was little?

“I’m sorry…I’m so so sorry. It should have been me. Not you, I…I’m sorry.” He whimpered, stroking a bit of your hair out of your face. Your lips were blue and eyes puffy. You were crying before your last breath. Guilt shivered through his body. He would never forgive himself. He lost two of the most important people in his life and it was all his fault. He regrets everything. And he would never be able to take it back.

“S-..Seong…”

Or so he thought…

Part two

-

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION

Taglist : @yunhofingers @softforqiankun @violetwinters @kpopmademygradesgodown @lmhmh01 @strangertides @purrhwa @1stray-kids-cb @joti17 @jess-1404 @pinki-minki @whatudowhennooneseesyou @glossyeon @yesv01 @minkiflwr @seonghwarizon @rielleluvs @hwalysm

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[basiccortez]

GVF head cannon: #1

Trigger warning: this piece contains content about miscarriage. please read at your own discretion.

request: @cozyskiszka 'i've been binge reading your baby series and I have a little itty bitty request.. could you do a little spin on it and write about the boys’ partners having miscarriages?? Like how and why it went down and how they’d react?? Idk some angst to fluff type stuff'

note: I apologize for this taking me a minute, but I was trying to get it just right. I didn't go that deep in Danny's because I already explored the topic in 'Make You Feel My Love'. But I hope you like it and thanks for requesting!

REQUESTS AND ASKS ARE OPEN:)

Josh:

Your mornings with Josh were the same as they were every morning. You woke up before him, since he has been coming home late from the studio, busy working on the new album. You made him breakfast and pack him a lunch to take to the studio. But things had changed slightly, when you found out you were expecting. Josh was scared, he even admitted it to you, but he promised you not to miss a moment. And he truly meant it, and was trying his hardest to fight the urge to break down the bathroom door as he heard you sobbing from the other side.

“Y/N, just let me in, please,” Josh basically begged.

“No,” Y/N cried back.

Josh was almost shaking with anger, and let out a broken sigh, “I swear to fucking god, I’ll break this door down. Let me in!”

“Go away!” Y/N yelled out. Josh shook his head. It had been like this since he got home from the studio. He walked into the house whistling and calling out your name. He froze in his spot when he saw the puddle of blood on the kitchen floor, and followed the blood splatters up the stairs and to the bathroom. Josh had barely knocked on the door when you had told him to go away. He was concerned, his mind running miles in a minute. His conscious assuming the worst even when didn’t want to.

“Fine, you leave me no choice,” Josh said, and used all his strength the bust the wooden frame of the door.

“What the fuck!” Y/N screamed, as she was scrubbing at the white tile floor, “Get out! Josh, get the fuck out!”

“Y/N. . .” Josh said, his brown eyes locked on the blood she was cleaning up, “Y/N,” He kneeled down next to her, and she pushed him away, still cleaning the floor.

“It needs to be cleaned, it’ll leave stain,”

“I don’t fuck care, stop!” Josh said sternly, and grabbed the sponge from her. Y/N looked at him with wide eyes. Y/N just sucked in a breath, and bit her lip trying to keep tears from falling. Josh sat the sponge down, and pulled Y/N into his arms, “It’s okay,”

“It’s not okay!” Y/N cried, “Why is there so much blood?”

“I don’t know,” Josh said, his own voice cracking, “Are you okay? Do you need to go see a doctor? What can I do, please Y/N, tell me what I can do.”

“I want to go lay down,” Y/N said softly. Josh nodded, and stood up. He leant down, and picked her up in his arms bridal style. Josh sat her down and pulled the covers back on the bed, before placing her under the sheets, “Lay next to me?” Josh nodded and walked to the other side of the bed, and crawled in behind her and pulled her body into his. She was shaking and cold, probably from loosing blood. Josh’s frame was warm and comforting against hers.

“Don’t hate me,” Y/N said barely above a whisper.

“Oh, baby, no,” Josh said, his heart breaking, “I could never hate you.”

“I just know how excited you were and I-I-“ Another sob leaving her lips.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Josh said, kissing her neck softly, “It’s just not our time, it’s okay.”

Josh spent the night wiping away Y/N’s tears and telling her everything he loved about her. She fell into a fitful sleep, and Josh realized that she was probably in pain. He never left her side, getting up any time she did. He gave her privacy when she asked for it, but stayed right out side the door the whole time. He didn’t want her to have to go through this alone.

Jake:

Jake couldn’t hide his excitement. It was your 2nd ultrasound, the one where you guys finally get to hear your baby’s heartbeat. Jake was trying his best not to crush your hand with his strong grip as he waited for the doctor to come in. Jake sat in a chair next to you, at eye level with your bare belly. His eyes were wide as he was telling the baby a story from his childhood antics with Sam and Josh.

“And then, your Uncle Josh came running up to us with a lighter and hairspray, and set the whole stack of tree limbs and old homework assignments on fire!” Jake said with soft excitement. Y/N laughed and ran a hand through his hair, “Sammy was jealous and decided to take a shot of vodka, and spit it out of his mouth to make the fire even bigger!!”

“Trying to give our unborn child all the bad ideas,” Y/N giggled and Jake looked up at her with nothing but love in his eyes.

“They’ve got Sam, Danny and Josh as uncles, I’m not even telling them the worst ideas that we’ve had,” Jake said as there was a knock on the door and a young nurse came in, “Where’s doctor Carpenter?”

“She’ll be in soon, I’m just doing the initial,” The nurse said, “How are you feeling today?”

“Nervous,” Y/N said, shuffling lightly on the exam table, “I’m more tired than usual, my back hurts like crazy, my boobs are sore.”

“All normal symptoms for this stage in your pregnancy,” The nurse explained and squirted some gel on to Y/N’s stomach. She grabbed the transducer and moved it around Y/N’s stomach and applying light pressure.

“Mackenzi and Danny got us a gift,” Jake said, sandwiching one of Y/N’s small hands in between his two large hands, “She said that Sam actually picked it out, but wasn’t sure if we were gonna like it, so he made Danny buy it and Danny said if he’s going to buy it-“

“How far along did you say you were?” The nurse asked.

“12 weeks,” Y/N said confused, “But shouldn’t you know that?”

“Y-Yes, it’s just that-“

“That what?” Jake asked, “What’s wrong?”

The nurse took a deep breath, “I’m not seeing. . . anything,”

“What?” Y/N breathed out, “There’s no. . . no baby?”

“I don’t know, I-I’m not really authorized to give a-“

“How about you go find someone who is?” Jake said sternly. The nurse gulped and nodded, walking out the door and calling for a doctor. Jake shook his head and scoffed, “What a fucking joke, can you- hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

“There’s no baby?” Y/N cried, tears running down her red cheeks.

“We don’t know that, the nurse even said she’s not authorized to read it.” Jake said trying to calm her down. Y/N closed her eyes, nodding softly, not really believing a word he said. Jake wasn’t sure if he believed what he said either. They sat in silence, waiting for a doctor to come in. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Neither one of them said anything, or looked at each other. Jake never let go of her hand, as their doctor opened the door, giving them a sad smile.

“I’m sorry for the wait. . . let’s see what’s going on,” Doctor Carpenter said and quickly went over to the ultrasound machine. She did the same thing the nurse did, moving the transducer around Y/N’s belly. All eyes were on the screen as Doctor Carpenter searched for something. She took different pictures, freezing the frame before moving around to get another look. Doctor Carpenter sighed, and placed the instrument down before looking over at Y/N. Y/N closed her eyes and shook her head, a sob left her pink lips and Jake held her in his arms tightly, rubbing her back.

“I am so sorry, Y/N and Jake, I am afraid there isn’t a viable fetus present,” Doctor Carpenter spoke.

“No!” Y/N cried and Jake felt her body go limp, physically having to hold her up from falling over. Her hands were gripping on to Jake’s shirt with all her might, feeling as though she would float away if she let go.

“I am so sorry,” Doctor Carpenter said, standing up and placing a comforting hand on Y/N’s back, “Take the time that you need.” She said softly, before exiting the room. Jake let tears escape from his eyes and pulled Y/N back from his chest. She placed her cold hands on Jake’s face, wiping the tears away from his face. The two stood in the room in silence, holding each other and wiping away the other’s tears.

Sam:

Sam wasn’t sure what to think. He felt kind of frozen, he was uneasy, not sure where and what to do to help her. They had spent the day at the studio, and everything seemed fine. Sam was laughing, writing, recording, carrying on with the day, not even noticing the building turmoil in her body. She always hid her struggles well, that’s something Sam had learned to hate. He hated that she was a closed book, with a tough case that Sam was trying to constantly break and open up.

“So, when the baby get’s here, can I be the designated fun uncle,” Josh said sitting down next to her. Y/N froze, her eyes seeming far away. Sam looked over at her and furrowed his eyebrows at her unusual body language. Usually she was all smiles and giggles talking about their future baby, but now, she couldn’t have seen farther from that.

“Y-yeah, I guess,” Y/N said softly, “I need to get up and walk. My back is hurting,” She got up from the couch and walked out the room. Sam watched her walk away and looked down at his hands.

“She okay?” Josh asked his baby brother.

“I don’t know,” Sam said, “I’ll be back.” Josh nodded to his brother and Sam followed the same path you went. Sam walked down the hall, looking around to see where she could have gone. He checked each of the passing studios, and calling into the bathroom, before finding you in a recording booth, poking at piano keys. He walked in slowly, and noticed the sad look on your face. Sam listened to the song you were playing, ‘Rockabye Baby’ in the minor key. Sam placed his hand softly on Y/N’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked her softly. Y/N closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.

“I lost the baby,” She said barely above a whisper. Sam’s eyes went from her body to looking at the wall.

“When?” Sam moved and sat by her side on the piano bench.

“I thought something was off,” Y/N said softly, “I went to the doctors this morning and she said ‘there’s nothing there’. There was. . . and then there wasn’t. Explain that to me, Sam. Explain how there was a baby, and then there wasn’t.”

“I can’t, Y/N, I wish I could,” Sam said, “Why didn’t you tell me? I can’t even think of you going through this by yourself.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. You were so excited, the boys are, I-I mean Josh just said he wants to be the fun uncle.” Y/N said trying to stop her voice from cracking.

Sam shook his head, stopping her rambling, “Are you okay? Are you um. . . bleeding?” Y/N closed and shook her head, “In pain?” She nodded, “How can I help?”

“It’s not physical, Sam. It’s all,” She pointed to her head, “In here,”

Sam sighed and nodded. He gently grabbed her head and kissed her forehead. He leaned his forehead against her’s. Y/N closed her eyes and revealed in the feeling of Sam being so close and touching her. Sam knew how much Y/N loved skin to skin contact and an idea popped into his mind.

“Stay here,” Sam said, and got up off the bench. He walked down back to the recording studio the rest of the guys were in. Josh looked at him with a concerned look, “We’re going home. I’m going to leave it up to Y/N to explain when she’s ready.”

“Okay, do you two need anything?” Josh asked.

“Not right now, but eventually, maybe,” Sam sighed, running his hands through his hair, “It’s all up to her.” Josh nodded and hugged his brother goodbye. Sam walked back to Y/N, “Let’s go home,”

Y/N smiled at Sam, and grabbed his hand, following him out to his car. They sat in silence as they drove home. When they got there, Sam led Y/N upstairs and opened the door to their bedroom. Y/N watched as Sam kicked off his shoes, and took his shirt off. She smiled, knowing exactly what he was doing. He walked over to her, and grabbed the bottom of her shirt.

“Are you okay with this?” Sam asked and Y/N nodded. Sam smiled, and took her shirt off. He then kneeled down and looked up at Y/N for acceptance to take off her jeans. Y/N ran her hand over Sam’s cheek, her silent ‘yes’ to go ahead. Sam stripped Y/N down until she was naked, and then he followed suit. He grabbed her hand gently, and pulled back the covers of the bed, and brought her down on the soft bed with him. His warm skin warmed hers and she sighed in content.

“Thank you, Sam,” Y/N said against his chest, feeling her anxiety and blues being washed away.

“Anytime, princess,” Sam said, kissing her forehead, and pulling her closer to him, if that was even possible.

Danny:

It had been days since Y/N had moved from their shared bed. Danny stood in the doorway, eyeing the Y/N shaped lump in the bed. The covers were pulled up to above her head, the only tell giving away that she was still there was her hair splattered around on her pillow. They had recently decided to step away from actively trying and going through IVF. Sex and trying to get pregnant became too much like a chore for them. Stupid fights and arguments would break out, and Danny and Y/N had never felt so far apart from each other. They needed a break, and that’s what they did. After about a month of not trying, their relationship was slowly mending, and Danny had proposed a weekend getaway at his family’s cabin. Y/N had decided to go completely off the grid, turning their phones off, so they could reconnect. It was much needed and the two of them had never felt closer.

Y/N had thought that the weekend away was what did it, what had gotten her pregnant. Her period was late, and she was never late. She hadn’t even told Danny, not wanting to jinx herself. But when that dreadful day came, and she woke up seeing her blood soaked underwear, she broke down and cried. Danny had shot out of bed and ran to the bathroom, but she pushed him out, throwing hairbrushes and tampons at him, until he shut the door and left. She hadn’t said a word to him in almost 4 days, the longest she had ever gone without speaking to him since middle school.

“Baby, I’m going to the studio,” Danny said to her. He wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep, “Y/N?”

“If you want to leave me, I understand,” She said, her voice gravely and barely above a whisper.

“What?” Danny asked in disbelief, pushing off the door frame, “What did you say?”

“You want a baby, Danny,” Y/N answered, “That’s what you told me from day one, that night you snuck out of your parents house and road your bike to mine, and we slept in the treehouse. I asked you about your future, you said you want babies and a wife, and a 1963 fender jaguar. And clearly, I can’t give you the baby thing, so I understand i-if you want a divorce,”

Danny had walked over to her side of the bed, kneeling down in front of her. She looked like a ghost, with deep bags under her eyes. Even though she was laying in bed, it looked like she had only slept a couple hours. He could see her eyes were bloodshot and her hair was in tangles. He reached his hand out and ran it gently over her cheek, Y/N nestled into the warmth of his hand, the first real touch they have shared in days.

“What on earth are you talking about? I was like. . . eight when I said all that. Things change, baby. I also said I wanted a blue striped lion and the bat mobile,” Danny said and Y/N chuckled softly, “I may not be able to understand everything that’s going on, I try and listen when Doctor Collins is speaking but, I am rockstar not a doctor. And I hate to say it, but Im a male too, so there are somethings I can’t physically or emotionally feel that you are going through. . . but I’m not gonna leave you because of something that’s out of your control.”

Y/N closed her eyes and grabbed Danny’s hand, intertwining their fingers. She brought his hand up and kissed the back of it, “Don’t leave me, please,”

“You’re going have to pry my cold dead hands away from you to get me to leave,” Danny said, “I got what I really wanted. I got you as my best friend, as my wife, as my forever. Everything else. . . is just an add-on.” Danny leaned in and kissed her chapped lips, “It’ll all work out, okay. But please, don’t shut me out anymore. I know you already feel alone, but I don’t want you to isolate yourself anymore. Let me help you, tell me how I can help.”

Y/N sighed and looked into his honey brown eyes, “Can you make me a pb and j?”

“I’ll go make you a hundred pb and js,” Danny smiled and Y/N giggled, “There it is, that’s my favorite sound in the world.”

“I thought Josh’s voice was?”

“Okay, your life is my second favorite sound,”

[cherryjuicegf]

death of a poet

for @whataboutthebard september 16 whump prompt: major character death || geraskier, T, 1.8k, angst, implied/referenced suicide (kind of)

ao3

The greatest act of love, they say, is to die for it.

Jaskier laughed, always laughed at this concept. There’s no doubt, of course, one’s whole life lost as a declaration of love, the highest sacrifice. But not the only one. And it amazed him, how people never seemed to acknowledge anything else, how fairytales of noble knights ended with them throwing their lives away, and for what? For love. Always for love. There was no doubt, and if there was, who was he to utter it?

Still. He wondered, the roots of the poet he was meant to be growing inside him, blooming since childhood. And he wondered, why, why die for love, why not live for it? Why waste this blooming of hearts in the eternal darkness, in grief and the wailing complaint of what could have been? Why, when there is so much beauty in the love of living things? He wondered, always wondered. And his mother smiled, with this faint bitterness of unexpected knowledge, and whispered, you can live for love if you want, sweet child, but one day you’ll understand.

Yet he didn’t understand. And he hated it, hated that he didn’t. Hated that he couldn’t find anything to try and understand in the first place. One day he would understand, yet people smiled at him, flowers bloomed in spring, birds sang on the branches, the wine tasted so sweet and the strings of the lute sounded so magical in the evening hush. And he wondered, always wondered, when would the day come, and what greater love there is, that you’re willing to die for it, even if you don’t lay eyes upon it ever again?

The fire in the hearth suddenly goes out.

A tragic fate, the mage had laughed. True love’s kiss. No one could ever love a monster.

I love him. He’s not a monster.

He’s not?

Geralt’s eyes are glowing in a light Jaskier hasn’t seen before, in a light he never wishes to see again. They’re glowing, and something unworldly glows with them, laughs with the evil memory of fairy tales, and evil sorceresses and true love’s kisses. As the blade glistens dangerously close to his eyes, as he walks backward in trembling steps, he thinks they’re so far away from what would make a beautiful fairytale to tell children before sleep. There will be no happy ending here. Somehow he knows.

There’s a tickle on his fingertips, burning.

The sword whips beside his ear and he stumbles back once more, panting, breath coming out strained. He raises his head, looks at Geralt. Or what he remembers was Geralt. Because now what he sees seems foreign, cold, and the amber in his eyes doesn’t warm him like the sun anymore, instead burns, like a fire which he willingly, inevitably steps into. There’s a lump caught in his throat, a sob screaming to get out. And, as though on instinct, with the strongest pang of guilt numbing his bones, he has to remind himself. He’s not a monster, he’s not a monster. He’s not Geralt. Geralt is not a monster.

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, he meets Geralt’s, no, the man’s eyes and, like the fool, like the poet he is, he hopes. “Geralt,” he says and his voice shakes weakly with the terrifying hint of denial, “Geralt, it’s me, please.” The air is ripped by the blade once again, he steps back, eyes still locked with amber. A whimper. “Come back to me, love, please. I love you, come back.”

For a moment, for the barest of seconds, the sun entering from the narrow, stained window reflects on Geralt’s eyes and something familiar glints behind them, a distant scream of a heart wailing to get out. But it’s only for a moment. Because Geralt growls and lowers his sword again with maniacal force and Jaskier screams, ducks and falls on his knees in an ironic parody of a plea for mercy. There’s a feeling of wetness on his bicep and he hisses as crimson blood stains the white sleeve. Not his fault, Jaskier reminds himself, not his fault.

It’s not his fault, yet he wants to cry as he stares into his eyes, cold like the blade that threatens to tear him to pieces, cold like the countless winter nights he’s spent without him, cold like his hand as he grasps it desperately, pushes him back in a failed attempt to trap him, in a foolish, hopeless hope of making him throw the sword away.

A true love’s kiss, he thinks, and almost laughs, because it sounds more like a death wish. And he’s starting to think it will be.

And then he sees Geralt raising his hand and before he has time to think about it, he’s being swept back with the most violent wind, and falls head first on the wall behind him. And slumps to fall on his knees. But there’s a sudden sting on his abdomen and he opens his eyes just in time to see the silver blade pointed on tender skin and jolts back with a gasp, stuck on the wall. “Fuck, Geralt,” he pants and looks at him and, for some reason, he expects his stare to be requited. It is. But it’s empty. It’s empty, and the sword on his stomach tickles painfully and the room is whirling. He blinks hard, gasps again. He can’t hold on, he knows.

And as he gazes at Geralt, he remembers. Warmth. Faint smiles, fingers down his back. Lips tasting of sweet wine, and flowers on his hair, and sleepy eyes staring at him before dropping, and love, and safety, and home . And finally, finally he understands.

He hates that he understands. But then again, the blade is cold like a hug full of regrets and Geralt’s eyes are empty and, oh, what he wouldn’t give to see those eyes, familiar and warm and looking at him again, even if it’s for the last time. He hasn’t much left to give, truth be told. Only his hope, and his life, and he feels them both competing for which is going to reach the end of the line.

“Geralt,” he whispers, again, and that spare root of hope he had starts to rot. “Geralt, please, don’t...” Are those tears? His eyes are burning. “Wake up, love, it’s me.”

What hope? He knows there is not. He knows, because it’s empty, forever empty, and the blade stings deeper and he pleads, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, as if it means anything anymore, as if it’s Geralt.

He understands. And knows, if he’s to die, he has to die the way he lived, by love, as a poet. For love, then. As a poet, and for love.

So he straightens himself, eyes steady on Geralt. And takes a step forward against the blade.

It’s numbing, the pain. Another step. He gasps, chokes on his own blood. Another step, and Geralt stares, empty, blade steady in place as though on purpose, but there’s a familiar glint somewhere in there now, a familiar fear. Jaskier is close. His feet are giving in, his breath is shortening, and it’s a pity really, such a torturous death.. He’s close. So close that he can rest on Geralt’s shoulder, and he feels the blade ripping his flesh, his insides, his everything. He coughs up blood, chokes, eyes rolling to the back of his head. And he feels the blade dripping behind him. And he feels Geralt’s breath on his skin. So he cups his face in a shaking hand, and leans in.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips, tender in all its agony. It’s nothing. The world is blurring. It’s love.

It’s nothing.

The sword slips away as he falls, leaving behind nothing but a puddle of unending blood and slowly consuming darkness and he thinks, it’s supposed to be bright, it’s supposed to hurt less now.

He thinks, he’s supposed to spare himself from Geralt’s anguished look when he comes to, and realizes.

Instead.

“Jaskier!”

He doesn’t feel the pain. Only his body, lifted from the floor, and the scorching blood and the arms, those arms that hold him so tight he wants to scream all the apologies, all the regrets of the world. He doesn’t need to. They all echo in Geralt’s eyes.

It’s sweet, the pain. It’s melodic, the plea. Jaskier, please, stay with me, you fool, you’re alright, stay with me.

He wants to laugh. He’s long gone.

The greatest act, to die for love. A fitting ending, for a poet. He wishes someone will write it, this story, their story, and maybe give it a happier ending. Maybe they will go to the coast. Maybe they’ll end up closing their eyes together, holding each other tight, and maybe there’s no blood, only bitter tears of happiness.

It’s a fairytale. It can’t be tragic.

I love you, you’ll be alright, please, please don’t leave me alone.

A forehead pressed against his and he stares at Geralt and, oh, how he misses him already, and how bright he looks in his sorrow, how beautiful behind the veil that slowly falls between them. Jaskier parts his lips, chokes. “Geralt,” he croaks and it sounds like a sob uttered by every single wilting flower in the world. “Geralt, look at me.” He raises a trembling hand on his face, his fingertips leaving smudges of blood over the falling tears.

Geralt doesn’t look. Only stares at the wound, and back at Jaskier, unfocused, horrified, numb, as though it won’t happen if he doesn’t acknowledge.

It’s darker now, and there’s a last grip holding him back, and Jaskier knows it’s the warmth of Geralt’s hug, always is. “If I die for you, will you live for me, love?” he whispers and finally, finally Geralt turns at him, eyes wide, and Jaskier smiles, something close to a wince, as though it’ll hurt less like that, letting go.

Geralt shakes his head. “If I refuse will you stay alive?”

A huff. Painful. “No. No, I don’t think so.” It’s silent like the breeze now, his voice. Jaskier wipes the rivers of tears on Geralt’s cheek and smiles again, and this time it’s genuine, probably because it’s the last one. “It’s alright, hush. You’re not alone.” Shaking, he removes silver strands away from Geralt’s eyes, and slumps, leans on his shoulder as though finally resting. “Hush now, my love. Let me look into your eyes one last time.”

He does. He looks. It’s the same eyes, same as always, warm and loving, like a tender caress.

To die for love. How tragic. But what is a poet’s love, if not the most heart-wrenching tragedy?

The bloodied hand gently falls on the floor.

There’s a streak of red light coming through the stained window, and rests on blue eyes, mistaking them for the peaceful sea after a storm in their stillness.

They stare, forever open, and somehow forever warm.

They stare, and Geralt finally stares back. And slowly, agonizingly, like a sob echoing in eternity between the pages of every promised fairytale, he screams.

[quickienewyork]

She Brought the Storm

She came in from the storm on a mission that couldn’t be stopped. The day had been long, the snow incessant, and we had been teasing her with text messages all day long. To be fair, we had been teasing her with pics of us sucking each other off on her couch. It wasn’t our fault that we had the day off and she didn’t.

The fire was hot and the radiators were hotter, which meant that within seconds of her walking through the door her ice and snow covered clothes were leaving a puddle in the hallway. We were dressed properly in bathrobes and fuzzy slippers, but since it was rude not to join in we dropped them to the floor as we scooped her naked body up into our arms and carried her to the bed.

He started to make a joke about the cold and I started to ask how her day was, but before either of us could get out a word she had one cock in each hand and it was clear that talking wasn’t really all that important anyway. I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her closer and the growl that left her lips was enough to know it was the right thing to do.

We surrounded and engulfed her like there was six of us, covering her with our warm bodies as we crushed her between us on the bed, and our mouths found every cold spot within seconds. He kissed her neck where her scarf had come undone, and I found a spot on her thigh that must have pressed against the cold buckle of her bag. By the time I found a very warm spot between her legs, she had him in her mouth and the snow was as forgotten as everything else.

When I moved up to fuck her she arched her head back asking for three things at once. My hand was on her throat in an instant while his moved to her hair even as he thrust into her open mouth even harder. I fucked her cunt as he fucked her throat, and she gasped and cried as we held her tightly between us, using her for her sake as much as our own. Her only moments of speech were to beg for more, to ask for it rougher, and to cry out in a fury that came from every place at the same time.

A while later she lay on her stomach as we took turns fucking her while she bit the pillow. Her sobs had vanished and were replaced by demands, and we filled every one of them without pause. But it wasn’t until I held her against me, my hand back on her throat as he thrust into her cunt that she finally let go.

My lips against her ear, his fingers digging into her thighs, and mine against her clit was enough to push her over the edge as she repeated the words I said over and over again. She bit her arm, her face red from everything, and she screamed as her back arched and her legs trembled. Clenching around him, she held him there, his cock filling her perfectly as she came and came, her hot tears streaming down her face as her familiar smile broke out across her face.

“Welcome home,” I finally whispered as we cuddled up next to her. “I’m sorry you had to go out in that.”

“I’m never leaving the house again,” she said, kissing us both before pulling the blanket up over her head. “Especially if someone brings me wine. And maybe bacon too. And if we do move, it’s only to the fire and even then I’m not putting on clothes just more blankets.”

“You brought the storm with you,” he whispered as he got up to open a bottle. I looked at her but she shrugged with as much confusion as me as we stared at his beautiful ass walking out the door, knowing he’d back in minutes. We smiled and lay back on the bed, and I had to close my eyes to convince myself it was still snowing.

-gny

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[harry-writings]

We’ll Be Alright

The one where Harry and Y/n have a hard time coping without one another, and Harry finally understands what it means to be a husband

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

How to support me <333

-

Y/n knows she’s hit rock bottom when she pours her fifth glass of whiskey at three in the morning, lighting up her seventh cigarette on her bedroom balcony, as if furthering herself away from her right state of mind will somehow bring her closer to all the answers she had been looking for.

She doesn’t even smoke.

The last time she came this close to a cigarette was five months before she found out she was pregnant with Topher. It was the third time Harry didn’t show up to marriage counseling, and Y/n was so upset and so angry and so hurt that she couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying until it was in her hands.

This time, though, the shaking and the crying don’t stop.

She’s sitting on one of the balcony chairs, her elbows propped up on her knees, one hand resting at the roots of her hair and the other holding her glass in her palm and her cigarette between her fingers. Her leg is bouncing and her eyes are wet, zoning herself out from the rest of the world, trying to get as far away from herself as possible.

She hasn’t seen Harry in thirteen days.

Not only has she not seen Harry, but she also hasn’t talked to Harry or had any ties left to Harry for nearly two weeks now and Y/n can barely hold herself together anymore. She’s surprised she’s even gotten this far without him.

They aren’t divorced — the papers were left on the courtroom table practically untouched, and though she hates to admit it to herself, Y/n was the first to leave them behind — but they might as well have been.

He wasn’t even the one to pick up Topher today. And she didn’t realize how much she’d miss their traditions — even the ones they’ve made while being separated — until she saw Mitch standing at the other side of her door and watched as he buckled her son into the same carseat Harry once had in his car.

It was at that moment that she knew that even though they weren’t divorced, they really were over, and it was enough to push her over the edge.

Now she’s so drunk she can barely remember where she is. The skyline and the buildings look familiar, but everything is so out of touch she can’t find the same peace and comfort in it as she once used to.

Everything has faded to nothing.

And whether it’s from the alcohol, or the revisitation of bad habits, or if it’s from grieving the loss of somebody still alive, but everything to her feels numb. All that’s left is pain and sadness and the fear of living the rest of her life exactly like this — lost, hopeless, and alone.

She thinks back to the day she slept with Harry — as she does, she throws the last bit of whiskey down her throat and swallows it down without a flinch — and how that day was forever going to be the last day she had ever held him, had ever kissed him, had ever told him that she loved him.  

If she had known — really, really known — it was going to be her last chance to do any of those things, she wouldn’t have pushed him away. She would have done all the things Harry wanted — would have spent the rest of their day in bed, drinking wine, celebrating all that once was and what always could be.

Because that’s what she wanted, too. That’s what she’s wanted since the beginning of this mess they’ve made of themselves, she just didn’t ever want to admit it.

This feeling that burns in her stomach at the thought of not being with Harry makes her want to scream. She can’t escape it, even as the alcohol seeps into her bloodstream and takes away every other feeling in her body.

She sobs, her chin tucking into her chest and her palms pressing to her forehead, agonizing and inhumane cries falling past her lips.

Her Harry is no longer hers.

She squeezes her eyes shut, a puddle of tears falling down her cheeks as she does so, her hand dropping the whiskey glass, her cigarette left sparked on the balcony floor as her fingers twist and pull at her hair. She hunches over her knees, trying so desperately to put herself back together again.

But it’s impossible. She knows it’s impossible because it’s him that makes her whole — him that holds her and keeps her together, even when everything else around her is falling apart.

She’d do anything to feel his arms around her now.

And it’s all she can think about — how lonely and cold and frigid it feels without the feel of his touch, and how loud the silence is without the sound of his voice in her ear, telling her how in love with her he is, giggling at her blush.

And she’s had so much to drink she can trick her mind into believing that he’s here, if she thinks about it hard enough. She mistakes the wind for the feel of him walking past her, smells his cologne in the liquor, but it’s still too quiet for her to really, truly believe it.

And she just wants to believe it. For once, she wants to pretend that he’s here with her, loving her, wanting her the way he always used to. Even if it’s the wrong thing to do.

Her hand shakingly reaches for her phone.

“‘Ello, this is Harry! I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your call, but I promise to return to you whenever I’m next available. Thank you, talk soon! Bye.”

And oh, how good it feels to hear his voice again.

It brings her back to all the times she’d call Harry while he was away on tour and how every phone call lasted at least two hours. Whether it was to check up on him, or to wish him goodnight, or to have phone sex, he never failed to make every second they were spending apart feel so worth it.

She calls him six more times just to hear his voicemail.

By the seventh and last phone call, Y/n is so low she’s tempted to just finish it off — down the pack of cigarettes and the bottle of whiskey that have kept her more company than her husband. Maybe filling her void with vices will be enough to last her until the blackout, where she will finally be free.

But what will she have left if she does?

The loneliness and the sadness and the hopelessness will all still be there. She will still wake up to a cold bed, in an empty home, with nobody to share her life with. She will still have this sick and twisted feeling that happiness doesn’t exist outside of her Harry — that happiness doesn’t exist within these walls, miles away from him, with only herself to hold.

She can’t keep waking up without him anymore. She can hardly keep living.

So, she does the first and only thing that comes to her mind.

She calls Mitch.

The clock nearly at four in the morning doesn’t seem to strike her as her drunken fingers struggle to tap on his contact name, knowing that this is the only way.

“Mitch.” Y/n hiccups when he answers her call, watching as everything around her starts to spin out of her control, instinctively reaching her hand beside her to hold onto Harry’s — the way she always did whenever she got too drunk. Her heart hurts even worse than before when she’s met with nothing but the ache of what once was. “Come get me, please.”

Something in the air shifts around Mitch.

He has known Y/n for years now, yet he can barely recognize that it’s her voice on the phone. He has to look down at the name on his phone twice before pressing the speaker to his ear, his heart nearly still as he wonders the reason behind such a disturbing and unexpected request.

“Y/n… is everything alright?” He asks tentatively, carefully, because she’s never awake this late at night and has never sounded so hurt. “What’s happened, love?”

She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, sniffling, almost angrily.

“My husband’s been ignoring me for the past two weeks and I’m not —” She stops, sucking in a broken breath, not even believing the words she just spoke because she never believed he’d leave her all alone for so long. “I’m not taking it so well, obviously.”

Mitch sighs.

He should have known, from the second he saw the look on her face earlier that evening, that her night was going to end like this. The love she and Harry share is a kind he’s never seen before — something so far from ordinary, something he couldn’t even understand despite the love for his own girlfriend, who lays beside him so peacefully now.

Their love is more than love. It’s deeper, more soulful, as if they have found each other in every past life and every after life. They truly are, in the most unexplainable of ways, made for one another eternally. Forever, they are theirs.

It’s both a blessing and a curse — their preexisting connection— because they are everything together, but absolutely nothing apart.

“Y/n, love... he’s not ignoring you. He wouldn’t dream of it.”

Oh, how she wishes it was true.

“He didn’t even want to see me tonight. He sees me two days out of the week and he didn’t even want that. There was a time he’d do anything just to look at me for even a second.”

He wishes he knew what to say.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see her — all he does is cry and whine and sulk about how he hasn’t — he just believes leaving Y/n alone is truly what’s best for her right now.

She has barely had any time away from him. Surely, she did have the weekdays to herself and Topher, but she still had to see him every weekend — still had to face him at her doorway; still had to be around him, even on her worst days; still had to be reminded of everything that had gone wrong.

Being around him confuses her. He knows that now, and so does Mitch. But Mitch always knew. Y/n has always been too in deep with Harry. One proper look at him would be enough to send her to her knees.

He’s her greatest weakness.

She needs to be alone.

Or, so he once thought.

“Have you been drinking?”

Y/n laughs in an almost sarcastic way, the side of her wrist pulling at the corner of her eye as she wipes away at her tears.

“Drinking, frying my brain with nicotine, crying my fucking eyes out.” Her lips tremble as she stuffles away a cry. “All of the above.”

Mitch frowns.

This behavior isn’t unusual for her — it hasn’t been since her marriage with Harry started to turmoil — but it never gets easier to witness.

It’s when she’s in the depths of her own hell that she depends on the intoxication to get her by, as if it numbed her from all the pain she’d be living with without it. And as hard as it is for him to admit it, she only ever feels this way whenever it comes to Harry.

This side of her never existed until she met him.

“You want to see him, don’t you?”

To see him. To touch him. To talk to him. To hold him. She wants it all, everywhere, for the rest of the night — for the rest of her life if he were to let her.

But she can’t get ahead of herself. She won’t be able to survive it if she does.

“Even if it’s just for a second.”

His heart falls.

“Will it get you to put down the drugs and alcohol?”

Her eyes linger at the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, and though it still calls for her just as strongly, she knows it’s not what she truly wants.

“Yeah.”

She can hear him smile softly through the phone.

“Then hang tight, love. I’m on my way.”

-

Harry hasn’t been able to sleep all night.

And if he wanted to get technical, he supposes he hasn’t been able to sleep since he and Y/n nearly signed their marriage away, but tonight is far, far worse than anything else he’s ever felt.

His body senses his good days. The sun somehow brighter, the rain lighter, the clouds thinner — he sees it all so differently on the days he goes to see Y/n. He’s used to the routine, he looks forward to it all week, even if it is just to see her for a couple minutes at her doorway.

So to say his body feels the loss of her is an understatement.

He caught himself reaching his hand over to her side of the bed one too many times, only to shiver and whine when met with the emptiness of it. His fingers would squeeze at her pillowcase, hugging it closer to him, fantasizing about her smell and her feel as he tried to drift into his dreamland — that only, of course, consisted of her.

But it was helpless.

He moves to the living room couch, where he finds himself flipping through the photo album of their wedding day — the same one he claimed he had thrown out when Y/n asked if she could keep it, moments before she was about to move out after he had brought the divorce papers home.

Of course he hadn’t thrown it out, but he could never tell Y/n about the lies he only told to make himself feel better about his decision.

He was angry and he was hurt, both of which consumed him in the scariest and most dangerous of ways, leading him to sink his teeth in a lie and spitting it in her face just to make her feel all those things, too. Though he’s sure she already did.

But as he flips through the pages now, reliving that day torturously in his head, remembering how beautiful she looked and how in love he was, he can’t help but feel like these moments weren’t his to take.

He had kept their home — had kept the furniture they bought together when they first moved in, kept all the movies and cd’s they’d play together each night, kept all the pictures she had chosen for the walls and tables he hadn’t had a clue on how to decorate.

He stayed so perfectly in their past while she was forced to move on, away from him, when she wasn’t even the one who wanted to leave.

He had truly taken everything from her — her love, her trust, her marriage, her home — and he didn’t even have the decency to give her the one and only thing she had asked for before she left.

That day was hers, it always has been and it always will be. She never once gave up on it the way he once had, always holding it so close to her, always cherishing its moments.

This simply doesn’t belong to him.

He presses his forehead down to a picture of Y/n wildly smiling at the camera, her hair styled up, makeup slightly smudged, as if holding her to him. And he rubs his thumb along the laminate, right against her cheek, in the same way she always liked.

“I’m so sorry.” He sobs out before he can try to reason that it’s not her, that she can’t hear him, that she can’t feel the way he’s holding and touching her right now, that he looks like a lovesick idiot for thinking this is anything close to the real thing.

None of that matters to him right now, though, as he holds the picture to him and realizes this is the closest he has been to her in so long. And she needs to know.

She just needs to know.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

-

Harry must have cried himself to sleep because the next thing he knows, his front door slams open against the foyer wall, julting him off of the photo album and leaving him with dry and confused eyes.

Without much of a second thought, he throws the photo album off his lap and stands frantically from the couch, his head twisting around in an attempt to follow the footsteps scurrying towards the living room.

He knows it’s her just from that sound alone.

“Y/n?” He calls out in question, still delusional from his sleeping state, wondering if he had even woken up at all.

But it’s when he sees her stumbling toward him with soaken and beaten eyes that he knows this isn’t just a dream — that she really is here, back in their home, with him at last. And he would be happy, would be so goddamn happy to have her in front of him again, if she didn’t look so broken.

He can’t stand the sight of her like this.

“Y/n?” He asks again, devastated.

But she doesn’t answer him. Rather, she does the one and only thing her mind can make sense of now that he’s in front of her again.

Her trembling hands cradle the back of his neck before pulling her to him, their lips meeting for a sloppy, drunken, frenzied kiss — one that nearly has Harry falling to his knees before her.

She pushes him onto the couch, barely giving him any time to compose himself before she sits herself down on his lap and kisses him again, hard — harder than before and harder than she ever has, she thinks.

Teeth clattering, tongues battling, mouths opening, lips smothering. It’s desperate and messy and sloppy, but she doesn’t want it any other way.

She knows this feeling. She wants this feeling. It’s what she keeps going back to because it’s safe and warm and familiar. She could be in the middle of nowhere, lost with no direction or any sense of belonging, yet the feel of his lips on hers would somehow make her feel at home, just the way she is.

She moans against him, her hands splayed on the back of his head and neck as if to keep him there — on her, with her.

His hands, however, don’t know where to go. They switch between her arms and her thighs, setting boundaries for himself because he’d give into her in a heartbeat if he were to touch her just right. And he’s already doing so much he shouldn’t, he’d ruin himself if he were to go any further.

So as a subtle way to slow it down, he drags his lips down to her chin before leaving open-mouthed kisses along the shape of her neck — devouring her taste, savoring the sweetness.

He’s missed this. He’s missed her, so much so he can’t even remember the reason he let it all go. Right now, in this moment, nothing seems worth it enough to ever give this up.

He can hardly think straight.

“Y/n, please don’t do this to me…” Harry whines against her collarbone, her touch and smell and feel overwhelming him beyond all forms of comprehension. “This isn’t you. We’ve been here before and —”

“And I want to make it right this time.”

He nearly cries.

He bites down gently on the base of her throat, nibbling at it, a strangled whine falling from his lips as his hands slither to her back, pushing his body up against hers as if to bring her closer. And he growls silently to himself as she starts grinding herself against him.

“Y/n —”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Baby…” He tries again, to which she giggles and smiles as she nibbles on the lobe of his ear. He gets lost in it for a moment — to hear her laugh, to feel her hands rub along his chest and up his neck, to have her so close, like nothing ever happened — but he snaps himself out of it just as quickly as he fell into it. “You’re drunk.”

He tries to reason, to make her see that he does want this, more than anything else in the world, but he can’t. Because if it were to happen again, he wants it to be real. He wants her to mean it, to need it, to be all in it with him the way he’s all in it with her.

He wants her to stay.

“I’m only drunk because I miss you so much.” She confesses breathlessly to him, to which he groans and throws his head back, as if he were in pain. “So give me what I want and nothing else will matter.”

His hands find purchase to her hips, his fingers squeezing at the flesh of them as he tries to steady the movement of her groin against his, desperate to hold himself together. But she makes it so hard when she knows exactly where and how to touch him — when she knows that he can never resist her all over him, begging for more.

His eyes are pinched forward and closed, his head still hanging off the edge of the couch, words seeming to fail him as she moans against his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the flesh of it as she works herself harder against him.

“Fuck, you know I want to.” He croaks out, his hands giving into their urge to wander every dip and curve and inch of her, even the places he shouldn’t. “You know I do.”

Good, she thinks. I want you to want it. I need you to want it. I want you to want it so bad you give it to me all night, all morning, all day. I need you to want me.

She lifts her head up from his shoulder so that she can look at him with a winning smirk, both of her hands fisting at the collar of his t-shirt to steady herself upon his lap, her movements now smooth and effortless, giving him everything he needs to give in.

He lets out a proper moan at this, allowing himself a moment of weakness to feed his undying greed.

His mouth hangs open and practically drools as he touches her in ways he’s been aching to, rubbing himself against her, allowing her lips to wander anywhere and everywhere they craved.

It all feels so good and all so right, he wishes it was enough to make things work, but he knows in his heart that it isn’t.

Not now, at least.

“But I can't — I can’t take advantage of you. I — oh, fuck!” He yelps from below her when her arm sneaks between them so her fingers can scratch at the skin of his upper inner thigh, mercilessly giving him everything that has ever made him feel good.  

And it’s all too much.

One more right touch in the right place and he’s done for, as pathetic and weak as that makes him. But it’s only for her. Only for her does he find himself shuddering and moaning and creeping on the edge for, one push away from falling off, waiting to be caught by her.

After all this time, after all they had been through — all the fighting, all the tears, all the downs and lows they’ve lost themselves in — she still consumes him whole. She still is and forever will be the only person he’ll ever love like this.

There is nothing and nobody else. There is only her.

Which is why he can’t let himself do it. He can’t let her do it.

So right before he reaches the end, his hands frantically grab onto hers and pin them down against each side of his legs, her forehead meeting his shoulder, her body collapsing onto his.

“No!” He bites through clenched teeth and shut eyes, his hands squeezing hers as his body ricochets back to reality, yet still holding her close. “No, no, fuck. No.”

And whatever remained of Y/n’s heart burns to a crisp at that one godforsaken word.

Harry never denies her.

Even at their lowest and darkest moments, her simple touch made him powerless. He succumbed to her even when he told himself he wouldn’t, gave into her touch like a drug he couldn’t get off of no matter how hard he tried, drowned in her love even when he swore he no longer craved it.

It’s the very reason Y/n found herself pregnant in the midst of their downfall. Harry never stopped wanting her.

She should have known that everything was different now, but she never expected it to be like this.

“Oh.” Y/n’s lips tremble, her eyes wide with woe, glossy with burning tears as she looks at him through slow blinks. “I get it, I —”

“Y/n…”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

She’s nearly sobbing now, her breaths heavy and frantic as she pushes herself away from him, practically falling off of his lap. And if his head wasn’t so clouded from what had just happened between them, he wouldn’t have let her go.

She’s a mess, a kind he’s never seen in her before and it breaks him in two when he sees her face soaked in tears, her hands trembling as they push her hair back, her eyes looking at everything but him.

He is just so sick of her looking away from him, and so tired of watching her cry.

He never wanted this.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Harry speaks softly, his hand reaching out to grab ahold of hers before she has the chance to walk out on him again. And the shock of his touch is enough to bring her right back to him. “Baby, this is your home more than it is mine. Your son is here, I am here, don’t ever think you have to be sorry for wanting to come home.”

She’s silent for a moment, trying to make sense of his words and what they mean. But it’s so hard to focus on anything other than how good it feels to be holding his hand, and how that’s all it took to get the room to stop spinning around her.

She trusts him.

Whatever he wants out of this and whatever he’s thinking, she trusts. Her body wouldn’t be so reliant on him if she didn’t. And it’s been years since she’s felt this feeling she feels so fiercely now, but she could never mistake it. It was once the most familiar feeling in the world to her.

He rubs at her knuckles, patiently waiting for her to respond. But she doesn’t, her gaze just drunkenly fixated at their intertwined fingers, a hint of longing in her eye.

Even when he’s right here, holding her, convincing her to stay… she still feels as though he isn’t all hers. She wants more of him, as if she hasn’t seen and touched and loved every inch of his body and claimed every last beat of his heart.

She is the only one and yet she feels as though she’ll never be enough for him, after all this time, after all these years spent together. It makes him feel like the worst person in the world.

He lifts her hand up to his lips, as delicate and gentle as possible, just the way she likes.

“And as for kissing me.” He adds, eyes looking up fondly at her as he kisses at her knuckles one by one. “You’re my wife, it’s what I want. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes we once did.”

He settles her fingers against his mouth for a moment longer before pulling her closer to where he sits, looking insistently in her hopeful eyes.

“If we sleep together… it’ll only drive us more apart, just like it did the last time. And I swear to god —” he hangs his head off the edge of the couch again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to fathom the idea of it. “If I have to go another day without seeing you, I’m going to fucking lose it. I’m fucking miserable.”

She knows it’s true. Whether she wanted to hear it or not, sleeping together without speaking to one another would only bring them back to the same dark, numbing cycle they’ve been through for far too long now.

But she wants to milk it — wants him to do whatever he can to get her to stay because she needs to know he really wants it, needs to know he really wants her, before it’s too late.

And when Harry lifts his head back up to look at her, his heart nearly explodes from within him.

“Come here.” He tugs softly on her hand, a small smile playing on his lips when he sees Y/n pouting down at him with furrowed brows — the same face she used to make whenever she wanted to be angry with him, but couldn’t. It brings him back to all their happiest times. “Come here!”

He pulls her down to him until she lands on his lap, both of them laughing as she nearly trips over her own two feet.

The moment stills when their eyes meet, however, the giggling dying down and their smiles falling as they captivate each other with just a single look.

His fingers move her hair out of her face, his palm resting on the side of her cheek, his thumb rubbing along the skin of her blush as he admires just how beautiful she’s gotten since the last time he had seen her.

And she does the same to him — her fingers pulling at his hair, dancing along his scalp, humming in admiration as her eyes wander every dip and curve of his face. He is just so perfect, it endlessly mesmerizes her.

“I’ve missed you.” She confesses softly, her gaze trained on his lips, her tongue poking out to lick her own.

“I’ve missed you so much more, my love.”

And they meet for a kiss — a real kiss this time. Not the hungry, desperate, fevered kisses they’ve been sharing since their separation. It’s slow, their lips just settling against each other’s, refusing to move, only leaning in deeper when desired.

It’s how he kissed her on their wedding day.

She remembers how different it was, now, as she feels it again — full of vows and promises, hopes and dreams, a hint of sorrow for all the times he had let her down, and how he’d never wish to do it again.

Quite truthfully, she never wants it to end. She could stay pressed against his lips like this all night and never once get tired of it — would probably beg for more if it ever came down to it. But she doesn’t have to anymore, she knows that now.

They both pull away together, dopey and loopy smiles painted on their faces. And it doesn’t get better than this.

“Can I show you something?” He whispers to her, his thumb pets at her temple, circles and circles. “And know that when I give it to you, it’s me trying to make this right again? No matter how much it hurts?”

His breath falters when her lips press gently against his wrist, humming a small “mhm” against the skin of it.

She always did that whenever she could. Whether he be holding her cheek, or rubbing at her head, or running his fingers through her hair, her lips would seek just the smallest bit more of him. And it always warmed him to feel it. It reminded him that yes, she did in fact love him and want him and need him with the same burning he has for her.

It always felt too good to be true.

And to know that she’s feeling it all over again makes every worry in the world collapse around him, leaving him with nothing but the life he had always desired with her, and the hope that it only gets better from here.

He smiles in endearment, his own lips seeking the sole of her cheek before he turns his body to the fallen photo album, his fingers shaking as he reaches for it.

She gasps before he even has the chance to sit up fully.

“Is that —” she stops before she finishes, her hand flying over her suddenly trembling lips because it is.

He looks at her with eyes full of regret as he holds the photo album out for her to take, but she’s in too much shock. All she can process is that it’s here, still alive in the home they once shared, not shredded and burned and broken like she always thought it was.

And it just doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that over a year ago, he told her a lie that ripped her apart from the inside out every day since he’d spoken it. It doesn’t matter that all she had left of their wedding were the moments captured in her memory, to which she went back to every night before bed.

It just doesn’t matter because she’s just so happy to see it again — so, so, so fucking happy that she can’t help but sob into her palm, admiring it, somehow at peace with the idea of reuniting with it with her husband right beside her, shedding the same tears as she is.

All she has ever wanted is happening all at once, and she couldn’t ask for more.

“Can we look through it?” She sniffles, her fingers graciously running along the cover of it.

He pulls her in closer, his head nodding, a breathy laugh of euphoria falling from his lips.

As if she even had to ask.

-

It was the next morning that Harry decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Upon waking up to an empty bed, there wasn’t this overwhelming sense of sadness rippling through him, or loneliness drowning him to his duvets, refusing to set him free. It felt… right, and warm, and safe, and like it had always meant to be this way.

He was weightless as he carried his naked body over to his dresser, where he slipped on a new pair of briefs and one of his plain white t-shirts. He even found himself humming a tune he only ever sang to on good mornings.

And it was when he made his way downstairs that he started to hear his company.

He found Y/n in his day old t-shirt, holding Topher at her hip, flipping pancakes at the stovetop, humming and bouncing to the beat of a song they played during their wedding ceremony.

Her hair was unbrushed, her nail polish chipped, one of her socks pulled too high and the other too low, in her most hungover state. And the world stopped turning then, it seemed. Because it was the most simple and most casual sight to see, yet something he was once so blinded to.

He finally felt at home.

And it was as if nothing else had ever really, truly mattered. His world simply revolved around the two littles ones in his kitchen, getting their hands messy with pancake batter, giggling with every other step they took.

And he knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

Which is exactly how he ended up here — seven hours later, standing on one knee in front of his wife, whose hand fits so perfectly in his.

She sits cross-legged upon the kitchen chair, her plate half empty and on her second glass of her mocktail. And if he had more preparation, he would have taken her out instead of settling for her favorite home cooked meal. But something about doing this here, in the home they once shared together, at their happiest hour, feels much more real to him.

“H? What are you doing?” Y/n asks with wide eyes, looking down at their intertwined hands, squeezing onto his tighter.

“I know we’re already married, but I needed to do this anyway.”

He sucks in a breath as the pad of his thumb passes through her knuckles, slightly flicking her engagement ring in the process.

“When I left earlier, it wasn’t for work. I mean, it was for work but not — but not in the way you may think.”

Y/n tilts her head down at him, her eyebrows furrowed. Her heart races with all the endless possibilities, the pit in her stomach falling with it. And she really does try to not seem worried, but she can’t help but let it crash over her.

She had just gotten her husband back. Finally, she’s his and he’s hers and that’s all she ever wanted. That’s all she ever needed, so how is she expected to say goodbye so soon?

How would she ever survive it?

“I terminated the contract.”

Her heart stops beating.

Her body sits frozen still as Harry bites at his bottom lip, where he hides a smile.

This truly is it — the beginning of their forever, the start to the life they always wanted to share alone, with no distractions, no obligations, no anything besides each other and their child — and he doesn’t want it any other way.

“I’m done with having a career that takes me away from you. And I’m so sick and tired of pretending like this is the life I wanted to have with you. It wasn’t, baby. It isn’t.”

But she just can’t believe what she’s hearing.

The words had translated yet somehow, she can’t make sense of them. She can’t make sense of anything as her mind twists and turns around what they could mean and what it could mean for them as a couple.

“You — you terminated the contract? I don’t — I don’t understand. I —”

"If it were ever to come down to you or my music, I’d choose you in a heartbeat.” The fingers of his free hand twist at her wedding band, hypnotizing her. “I did it all for you — the writing, the touring, the traveling. My future with you was all I ever cared about and yet, I had somehow convinced myself that my music meant more to me, when it never really did.”

Her breaths get deeper and deeper, completely and utterly overwhelmed. And if it weren’t for the tears of happiness leaking from her eyes, Harry wouldn’t know what she’s truly feeling inside.

But he knows. Oh, how he knows.

“I choose you, Y/n. And I choose Topher and I choose our Alaskan home everyday for the rest of our lives. That’s what I choose. That’s what I will always choose.”

It’s those words that make her really start to lose it.

How long she had been waiting for this moment, she can’t even remember anymore. So much time has passed and yet everyday, she dreamed and hoped and prayed and died to hear him say that to her.

She had been waiting for so long, she once believed them to be impossible.

But here he is on one knee again, sacrificing his entire life and heart and soul just to make their marriage right. He wants to leave the music behind rather than leaving her to be all alone. He wants to move away from the life he had built for himself and rather spend the rest of it with her.

He wants her, for the first time in what feels like centuries, he finally wants her.

“But — but you — how? How did you — what did you do?”

“Don’t worry about the how, okay? What matters is that I made it work and I have more than enough to last our family a lifetime. I promise you that.”

One of her hands reaches forward to cup at his cheek, pulling herself closer to him because she needs to feel him, all of him — needs to feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath.

She needs it all, all around her, until she drowns in it.

“Don’t care about the money, just — just want to make sure you’re okay.”

His wife is reaching for him, pulling him in, wanting and loving him despite everything he put her through… how could he not be okay?

He’s on top of the world right now.

“Baby, I’m so much more than okay. I have you, don’t I?” She nods her head as she wipes her tears away, sniffling with trembling lips and shaking hands. “Then that’s all I need.”

She sobs against him, her face tucked in his shoulder as he holds her hands between them, kissing at her head.

And sometime in the near future — when Harry and Y/n have found everything they had lost, have grown to be better together than ever spent apart, and have become the best parents they could ever be to their son — he’ll rent out a small venue in the outskirts of town and renew his wedding vows to his wife, whom he plans to never be parted from, even in death.

“So, Y/n, baby love.” They both giggle at the pet name, her head lifting from his shoulder and meeting his eye halfway. “Will you please do the honors of being my lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of our disgustingly perfect child, in our home in Alaska? Forever?”

She nods her head, her thoughts clouded by euphoria, her hand still in her husband’s.

As if he even had to ask.