#their relationship feels so bittersweet to me

[thinkinginpen]

Stop Me Now Part 2

a/n: I had to write part two. I loved the first one so much pairing: dbf!logan x reader w/c: 4.1k warnings: age gap, arguing, angst, being kicked out summary: Your dad found out and it didn't end well. But you had a boyfriend now... you couldn't go back to Logan...

It had been three months. Three months since you last saw Logan. Three months since you walked out the door, leaving behind a trail of heartache and memories.

The absence of the one you loved left an emptiness in your heart like a cold, lonely vacuum. Three months passed like a slow, endless dream, and the memories you had with Logan still lingered like sweet, bittersweet ghosts in your mind.

That feeling of love was evident in every detail. The way he protected you, showing his deep care and concern, and the way he was so passionate and engaged in arguments, even when you disagreed. It was more than just lust or casual interest, it was a deeper connection born from a genuine love.

Despite what Logan had said, the love you shared still felt real and true. Perhaps your father wouldn't have approved, and maybe it seemed wrong on the surface. But none of that changed the authenticity of the love and connection you had with Logan.

At the sound of your dad's knock, your thoughts were suddenly interrupted, and your heart leaped in your chest. "Logan's here," your dad said softly through the door.

You froze for a moment, unsure of what to say or do. The thought of seeing him again after these three months filled you with...

Anger.

You felt a wave of anger and frustration wash over you as you heard your dad's casual announcement. Why was Logan here now, after all these months of silence? Did he think he could just show up unannounced, as if nothing had happened between you?

As you took a deep breath to calm yourself, your mind was racing with conflicting emotions. Part of you wanted to see him, to hear his voice and feel his presence once again. But another part of you was still hurt and angry about the way things had ended.

"What does he want?" you asked your dad, trying to keep your tone even.

Your dad hesitated for a moment, sensing your confusion and frustration. "He is over for dinner honey," he responded. "What else? He missed his best friend's, AKA my, soup."

Logan was here for dinner? He was going to be sitting right across from you, just like old times? Of course, your dad never knew what happened between Logan and you so this didn't seem weird to him. To him nothing had changed. Logan was still supposedly "Uncle Wolvie" as far as he knew.

You felt a pang of guilt as you thought about your dad's ignorance. He had no idea how complex your relationship with Logan had been. And now, he was hosting him for a cozy dinner, completely oblivious to the truth.

"I don't know if I can do this," you muttered under your breath. Spending an evening with Logan, pretending everything was normal, was the last thing you wanted to do right now.

As you made your way into the dining room, you saw Logan sitting there, smiling at you, but you could see the thoughts running through his mind. He was thinking the same thing you were… This was going to be a long dinner.

Your dad, oblivious to the tension in the air, was happily setting the table and chatting away. "Ah, there she is," he exclaimed, as you entered the room. "Sit down honey, dinner's almost ready."

You forced a smile in response to your dad's cheerful greeting, trying to act like everything was fine. But as you took your seat across from Logan, you could feel the weight of the unspoken tension heavy in the room.

Logan's eyes met yours for a moment before he quickly looked away. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by your dad's cheerful chattering and the clinking of plates and silverware.

Your dad served the meal, and everyone dug in, but the conversation felt forced and stilted. You couldn't bring yourself to look at Logan, and he seemed equally uncomfortable, occasionally sneaking glances at you but mostly focusing on his plate.

As the meal progressed, your dad tried his best to keep the conversation light and cheerful, blissfully unaware of the awkwardness between you and Logan. The atmosphere at the table remained tense and strained, the elephant in the room impossible to ignore.

Logan looked up from his plate and tried to muster a smile. "Not much," he replied, avoiding your gaze. "Just keeping busy, you know."

Your dad nodded, taking another bite of his dinner. "You know, I was just thinking the other day," he continued, oblivious to the tension in the room. "It's been a while since you've come over for dinner."

Logan shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, I've been busy," he said. "But it's good to be here now."

"How about you," Logan nodded to you. "What's new, kid?"

"Not much," you replied, avoiding his gaze. The way he said "kid" felt like a dagger in your heart. It stung to hear him call you that, as if things were still the same between you.

"No exciting adventures?" Logan pressed on, trying to make conversation. But you could hear the strain in his voice, the effort it took him to keep his tone light and casual.

"Actually, I have been dating this one guy lately," you lied, forcing a casual tone. "He's been keeping things pretty interesting."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you saw Logan's expression change. A flicker of surprise and hurt passed over his face, and you took a twisted sense of satisfaction in knowing that you had gotten under his skin.

He tried to maintain his composure, but you could see the tension building in his shoulders. "Oh yeah?" he said, feigning indifference. "What's his name?"

You couldn't help but relish the chance to twist the knife further. "His name is Nate," you said, unable to keep the hint of mockery out of your voice. "He's very generous and sweet."

Logan's jaw clenched as he processed your words. The mention of another man, especially one who was supposedly generous and sweet, seemed to bother him. But he tried to hide his emotions, keeping his tone neutral.

"I see," he said, his voice betraying a hint of jealousy. "Sounds like quite the catch."

You couldn't help but smile at his obvious discomfort. Seeing him struggle with his emotions was a small victory, even if it was all based on a lie.

Your dad cleared the dishes and excused himself to do the dishes in the kitchen, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence between you was deafening as you both sat there, each waiting for the other to speak first.

"I should have seen it fuckin coming."

Logan's sudden remark cut through the silence, his frustration and irritation seeping through his words. He had finally broken the stalemate, and his tone was a mix of anger and resignation.

"Please tell me some of it was fuckin real."

Logan's voice was rough with emotion, desperation laced with hurt. Your heart ached at the pain in his words, but you refused to show weakness. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, searching for answers.

"You told me to leave!" You responded angrily.

"You knew I wanted you," he shot back, his voice filled with raw emotion. "You knew how I felt about you. But you still walked out that damned door, and you never looked back."

"I didn't want to," he hissed. "You think I wanted to push you away? I was trying to protect you!"

"Protect me?" You could feel your anger rising, the pain of his words cutting through you. "Don't bullshit me! You were just scared."

"Damn right I was scared," he admitted, his voice suddenly softer. "Every day we were together was a knife in my gut. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't stay away from you. And if your dad finally found out… I knew I had to end it."

Your heart ached at his confession, but your anger and hurt still raged inside you. "And you expect me to believe that you actually cared? That it wasn't just some fling to you?"

"You know it wasn't," he replied, his voice low and fierce. "How can you even say that? I loved you, damn it. I still love you."

Your dad froze as he walked back into the dining room, realizing that he had walked in on a very charged conversation. The atmosphere in the room was thick with tension, and your dad's face was a mixture of shock and concern.

"Logan…" He said slowly, "Logan that is my daughter…"

Logan went pale, the weight of your dad's words hitting him like a ton of bricks. The guilt and embarrassment on his face were obvious, and he fidgeted in his seat, unable to look your dad in the eye.

"How long has this been going on?" your dad asked, his voice betraying a mix of anger and disappointment.

Logan interrupted you, his voice loud and furious. "It's not fucking over!"

Your dad's gaze flicked back and forth between you and Logan, his expression a mix of surprise and anger. The tension in the room was unbearable, and you knew that everything was about to blow up.

"You told me to leave! I fucking left!"

"Not out of choice!" Logan's voice was rising in volume, his frustration and anger reaching a boiling point.

"You walked out without a fight!" he yelled, his emotions getting the better of him. "You gave up on us… on me!"

Your dad held up his hand, trying to calm things down. "Whoa, whoa, let's all take a deep breath-"

"Don't you tell me to take a damn breath!" Logan snapped, his eyes still fixated on you. "You have no idea what you put me through!"

Your dad stepped closer, his voice firm. "Logan, you need to calm down. This is still my house, and I won't have you yelling at my daughter, or at me. Now take a breath and talk to me like a grown-ass man."

"What are you gonna do about it?" Logan shot back, his voice hard and challenging. "Kick my ass? Go ahead and try it."

Your dad clenched his fists, clearly struggling to control his own temper. He was seething with anger, his eyes fixed on Logan. "Logan, you better shut that damn mouth-"

But Logan was beyond rationality. "Or what?" he taunted, his voice full of bravado. "You'll do what? You gonna hit me? Go ahead. I dare you."

"Don't talk to my dad like that Logan! You caused this!"

"I caused this?" Logan exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and hurt. "You think this is all my fault? You're not innocent in this either!"

"I never said I was," you snapped. "But I'm not the one who started this whole mess in the first place."

"You wanted it just as much as I did!" Logan countered heatedly. "Don't sit there and act like you were some innocent victim! I didn't rape you!"

Your dad flinched at Logan's words, clearly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going. "Watch your language," he warned, his voice firm.

But Logan was too far gone to listen. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said mockingly. "Should I censor myself for your precious ears? You have no idea what we've been through!"

"Logan stop!"

He ignored you, his anger and hurt fueling his words. "No, I won't stop!" he shouted. "You don't get to act like I'm the bad guy here! You were just as responsible as I was, if not more! I didn't force you into anything! I remember everything! Every sound you made! Every laugh! Every smile!"

Your heart ached as he revealed the depth of his feelings, but you tried to push past the pain. "That doesn't change the fact that you ended it!" you retorted, your voice breaking.

"I had to!" he exclaimed, his voice ragged. "Don't you think I wanted you? I'm hundreds of years older than you! Your dad would have killed me if he found out!"

"I know now Logan. Get out."

Your dad's voice was firm, his tone leaving no room for argument. Logan's eyes flicked between the two of you, his anger and frustration warring with his conflicted feelings. He knew he was outnumbered and out of options. With a clenched jaw, he pushed back from the table and stood up.

For a moment, the room was eerily silent. All you could hear was the sound of your dad's heavy breathing. You could feel his disappointment and anger practically radiating off of him.

Finally, your dad spoke, his voice low and controlled. "We need to talk."

Your heart sank at his words. You knew this conversation was not going to be easy. "Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.

Your dad led you to the couch and sat down heavily. He took a deep breath before speaking. "What the hell are the two of you thinking?" he started, his voice carefully measured.

"I can't even begin to wrap my head around this," he continued, shaking his head in disbelief. "How long has this been going on?"

You couldn't meet his gaze as you answered. "A few months," you mumbled, feeling shame burn in your gut. "But we stopped."

Your dad's eyes widened in shock, his anger and disappointment clear. "A few months?" he repeated, his voice tight. "And you didn't think to tell me? How could you keep something like this a secret?"

You fidgeted under his scrutiny, feeling like a child being scolded. "I… I don't know," you mumbled, your voice small. "I was scared. I knew you would be mad."

"Damn right I'm mad!" your dad exclaimed, his voice rising. "I have every right to be. You've been lying to me, hiding something huge, and with a man old enough to be your father!"

"It's not just that," he continued, his anger still palpable. "Logan. Of all people, Logan. He's like a brother to me, and he was my closest friend… And you two…. How could you?"

You flinched under the weight of his disappointment. You knew you had messed up, and there was no way to make it right. "We… We can't help who we fall in love with," you mumbled, the words feeling hollow.

Your dad let out a humorless bark of laughter. "Love? This isn't love," he spat, his voice filled with anger and disbelief. "This is a mess. A huge, messy, wrong-on-so-many-levels mess. And you two dragged me right into it. It's lust."

Your eyes stung with tears as his words sunk in. "It's not just that," you protested, your voice shaky. "We care about each other-"

"Care about each other?" Your dad's voice was dripping with disbelief. "You don't know the meaning of care. Not at your age. This is just lust, plain and simple. Logan knows better. He should have had the sense to pull away before it went too far."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew he was right that Logan should have known better, but you couldn't help how you felt. "I can't just stop feeling the way I do," you muttered, your voice cracking. "I love him."

"You don't even know what love is," your dad retorted, his voice hard. "You're just caught up in the excitement of sneaking around, of doing something forbidden. It's all a game to you, a thrill. How did it start?"

You winced at his words, knowing deep down that he was partially right. You didn't know what love was. Not really. "It just… happened," you mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "When he was over… and you left for work… and you told him to take care of me… We…"

"You what?" your dad pressed fiercely, his voice filled with disbelief. "When I left you alone with Logan?"

"You what?" your dad pressed fiercely, his voice filled with disbelief. "When I left you alone with Logan?"

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "We… we ended up on the couch," you admitted, the words coming out in a rush. "And one thing led to another… and we just… kept meeting up… when we could."

Your dad let out a weary sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "So you've been sneaking around right under my nose," he said, his voice weary now. "While I trusted you. While I trusted him."

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, feeling the shame and guilt well up inside you. "I know I messed up, but I can't help how I feel. I love him. I have for a long time-"

Your dad's eyes narrowed at your words. "You have a boyfriend dammit!"

"I know!" you exclaimed, tears welling up in your eyes. "But it doesn't change how I feel about Logan. It doesn't change the fact that I love him!"

"You don't even know what love is," your dad repeated, his voice firm. "You're just a kid. You're hormonal. You're impressionable. You're not thinking straight."

"I am!" you protested, tears streaming down your face now. "I do know what love is. I know what I feel for Logan. You can't tell me that my feelings aren't real just because I'm young-"

"I can and I will," your dad shot back. "You don't know the first thing about love. You're just infatuated. It's a crush. It will pass. And when it does, you'll realize how foolish this all was. But in the meantime get out!"

Your heart felt like it had shattered into a million pieces. "What?" you whimpered, your voice trembling. "You're kicking me out?"

"Damn right I am!" your dad retorted, his voice hard. "You broke my trust. You went behind my back. You thought you could deceive me and sneak around without any consequences. Well, now you're going to face the music. Pack a bag."

Fresh tears streamed down your face as you realized he was serious. You stumbled to your feet and rushed to your room, grabbing a bag and throwing clothes into it, your mind racing. This couldn't be happening.

Your mind was a whirlwind of confused and conflicting emotions as you packed. Anguish, guilt, hurt, anger, and fear all vied for dominance. You could hear your dad’s voice drifting in from the living room, a mixture of anger and disappointment. As you shoved the last of your belongings into your bag, you tried to collect yourself, wiping your tears on your sleeve.

With a final glance around your room, you took a deep breath and walked back into the living room, your heart in your throat. Your dad looked up as you entered. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was set and his eyes were like steel.

"Are you packed?" he asked gruffly, his voice betraying none of the emotion that must have been swirling within him too.

You nodded, unable to speak for fear of bursting into tears again. Your dad’s eyes flicked over your bag, then back to your face. The silence stretched between you, heavy and uncomfortable.

Finally, your dad let out a heavy sigh. "Well, get going then," he said, his voice as neutral as he could manage.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, causing fresh tears to spill down your cheeks. "But… But where am I supposed to go?" you managed to croak out, your voice betraying your fear and confusion.

Your dad's expression softened just a fraction. "That's not my problem," he said, his voice still tense. "You made your bed, now you have to lie in it. I can't have you under my roof when you've been deceiving me like this."

It felt like being stabbed in the heart. You had hoped that, despite his anger and disappointment, he would still have some compassion for you. But his words left no room for doubt. You were being pushed out. "You don’t care what happens to me?" you whispered, your voice small and hurt.

Your dad's face tightened, the lines in his forehead deepening. "Don't put words in my mouth," he snapped. "Of course I care about what happens to you. I’m your dad. But I can't condone what you've done. You've betrayed my trust and disobeyed my rules. You need to learn that actions have consequences."

You nodded, understanding the message. Your tears continued to fall silently as the full weight of your actions crashed down on you. You had crossed a line, and now you were being sent away because of it.

"Go stay with Logan," your dad said, his voice flat. "You like him so much, maybe he can take care of you for a while. See how long your little fantasy world lasts out in the real world."

Shock and disbelief flashed through you at his words. "What?" you exclaimed, your voice rising. "You're sending me to him? After everything that's happened? You can't be serious!"

"No, I'm not joking," your dad said sternly. "You want Logan so badly? Go to him. Let him deal with you for a while. See how he likes having to be responsible for a spoiled, disobedient teenager who has no concept of the real world."

Your heart felt like it was being torn in half. You had never thought it would come to this. "I… I can't stay with him," you protested, your voice thick with tears. "I don't think he even wants me there! And I have a boyfriend!"

Your dad's eyes darkened at the mention of your boyfriend. "You should have thought about that before you started sneaking around behind my back," he snapped. "And Logan can deal with it. He's a big boy. Maybe it's time for him to put his money where his mouth is."

You felt numb as the truth of his words hit you. There was no point trying to argue. You knew your dad had made up his mind. "Fine," you mumbled, your voice hollow. "I'll go."

With that you walked out. It was late and cold. You pulled out your phone and did something you thought you never would again.

"Can you come get me?"

There was a long pause as you waited anxiously, the cold night air stinging your skin. You shivered and hugged your bag closer to your chest, feeling completely alone. Then, finally, your phone buzzed with a reply.

Lo: "Where are you?"

The short message was all that was sent, but it was enough.

You sent him your location and then waited, teeth chattering as the cold seeped into your bones. It felt like an eternity until a familiar car pulled up next to you, the interior warm and inviting.

You opened the door and quickly slid into the passenger seat, the heat of the car like a balm to your freezing body. You avoided looking at the man at the wheel, but you could feel the tension thick in the air.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the car pulled away from the curb. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, your chest aching with a strange mixture of guilt, shame, and a small flicker of… something else.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the car pulled into a quiet, residential street, coming to a stop in front of a small house. The engine fell silent, but neither of you made a move to get out. You glanced at him, the light of the street lamp casting a dim glow over his features.

He was staring straight ahead, his hands clenching the steering wheel. His jaw was set and his expression solemn. The line of his shoulders was tense, his body taut like a coil ready to spring. It was clear that he had a lot he wanted to say, but was holding himself back.

The silence between you was thick and charged. He finally turned his gaze from the front windshield to look at you, his eyes dark and intense. "We need to talk," he said, his voice soft but firm.

A mixture of fear and anticipation fluttered in your stomach, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. "Okay," you managed to whisper, your voice barely audible over the rapid pounding of your heart.

He pushed open the driver's side door, gesturing for you to follow. You got out of the car, the cold air hitting you like a slap in the face. You shivered and wrapped your arms around yourself as you followed him up the path to his front door.

He unlocked the door, holding it open for you. You stepped into the warm, cozy interior, feeling a mixture of relief and trepidation. The house was small, but comfortable, and you could see glimpses of his life in every corner. Photos on the walls, books on the shelves, a jacket slung over the back of a chair.

He closed the door behind you and then leaned against it, his body blocking the only exit. He didn't say anything, just watched you, his eyes roaming over your face and body as if trying to figure you out.

"Sit."

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Part 1 Part 2

🏷️: @fablehaven-rulez

[hiraethwrote]

contents : gn!reader but written with f!reader in mind, reader is smaller than satoru, mentions and depictions of blood and injuries, hurt/angst to comfort, though the comfort is bittersweet ig, established relationship, fear of losing loved one, ig hinting at spoilers, really rushed so probably bad wc 1.5k an : so this is the canon ending now right? right? (also no tags bc might be spoilery for 271, so just to be sure) comments and reblogs is much appreciated

no words were spoken. you only held one arm around satoru's torso, the other on his chest while you helped guide him into the bathroom. exhaustion was tainting his entire body — you could feel it, how his weight rested against you, strong arm thrown over your shoulders in support.

you sat him down on the edge of the bathtub. his arms hung limp at his side, back curved forward and head angled towards the floor.

there was a lump of nerves forming in your throat. you swallowed it before delicately putting your hands on each side of his face to make him look at you. there was an uneasiness in you that would not be settled until you had his beautiful eyes on you, telling you he would be okay.

blood stains and scars decorating his face, but same cerulean eyes staring back at you. a shaky breath traveled past your lips when you were met with the familiar adoration that was default when he had his attention directed at you. even now — absolutely drained, barely able to keep his balance on the porcelain edge — there was the purest form of love in his eyes. as long as he was able to look at you, there would never be any doubts.

you flashed him a weak and quivering smile, grasping onto every ounce of strength you had to not break down. the love of your life was sitting in front of you barely able to keep his eyes open, beaten and battered after the battle.

up until now, he had stubbornly stayed brave through it all, not once letting his optimism waver for the sake for everyone around him, seeing as everyone was counting on him. and for all these months, he had acted exactly how everyone expected the strongest to act. but you were witnessing how the life threatening events were finally catching up with him.

his head fell forward again once your hands disappeared from his face to grab the hem of his shirt. you felt sick, the fabric turned stale with blood. you didn’t know how much of it was his own or not.

but there was no time to grieve his pain, he needed you right now. carefully you started to tug at his shirt, trying to pull it over his head — it proved difficult, firstly because you had to peel it off his skin, and secondly he didn’t exactly make it easy. “baby, you have to let me help you,” it came out as a plea.

there was a shift in his body, almost able to hear how his muscles creaked when he began to raise his arms. quickly taking advantage of the opportunity, you fisted the gross material and pulled, eventually throwing it aside.

you couldn’t help how you let out a quiet whimper when your eyes landed on his bare chest — cuts, bruises, blood. your boyfriend forever marked from the trauma he had been through, now always serving as a reminder.

pull yourself together, you thought to yourself. there wasn’t room for you to break down right now. you could do that later.

“okay, come on.” you stepped over the edge, gently sliding your arms under his to help him get in the tub. with some struggle and grunts, you eventually had him between your legs. “it’s okay, just relax. i got you,” you whispered into his ear, causing his head to fall back against your shoulder. his eyes were closed, breathing slow and deep.

you were a little lost on what to do next, his stature so massive compared to yours. any movement you did to help him became awkward, finding it hard to manoeuvre your own limbs around him — but you tried your best, grabbing the shower head and turning the water on.

“sorry, sorry, sorry,” you mumble against his temple, his body flinching when the cold water made contact with his skin. it didn’t take too long before you felt his body relax again when the temperature turned bearable.

first you let the water slide down his chest, tenderly rubbing your hands along his skin to get the worst of the stains off of him.

“oh, my satoru, i’m so sorry. i love you.” you continued to whisper affirmations, not even sure he was present enough to actually hear what you were saying.

you filled your cupped hand with water, lifting it to his head, carefully pouring it over his head and brushing his hair out of his face.

then, barely audible, he breathed your name. just your name.

instinctively you squeezed your cheek against him, arms clinging on around him. you own clothes were now soaked, having the water just run over the two of you, but you didn’t care. right now you were solely focused of the sensation of feeling him against you, in your arms, still alive despite it all.

“will you be able to stand?” after half an hour of tenderly scrubbing his body clean and washing his hair, it seemed the warmth of the water had caused some power return to his body. it wasn’t much, but enough for him to get on his feet and step out of the tub with a little help from you.

you had him grab the sink so you would be able to take off your wet clothes. you threw them in the tub, a task for later, leaving you standing in your underwear. that was the least of you worries at the moment, grabbing a towel off the rack before standing in front of him again.

”lean forward, please.” he did as he was told, throwing the towel over his head and you started to dry his hair.

it gave your mind time to run wild, thinking of how close you were to losing him tonight. never be able to trace lines long his skin, never kiss his lips again, waking up in your shared bed alone.

you had subconsciously started to sniffle, fighting the tears. you didn’t want to cry. you wanted to be strong, like he had been for so long. for one evening, you wanted to be the person he had been for everyone else — for you.

his strong hand circled your wrist, abruptly stopping your movements. a grunt escaped him as the towel fell from his head to rest around his neck.

once again his gaze connected with yours, simply taking your breath away. “i’m still here.” his voice was low, raspy, unlike his own.

you blinked away the tears that were so close to spilling over into waterfalls down your cheeks, feeling your chin tremble making it all so much harder.

you nodded, attention flittering between his eyes. he was right, he was after all still here, against all odds. safe. sound. alive.

despite still standing, there was a limited reservoir of energy left in him, evident by how he was fighting to keep his eyes open. “let’s get you to bed.”

again he threw his arm over your shoulders for support before you walked for the bedroom. you took your time, short and staggered steps through the halls that were so eerily quiet. reaching the bedroom, you helped him lay down on the mattress, a long, content exhale of relief leaving him as he finally let his muscles relax completely, melting into the bed.

you didn’t hesitate to climb up next to him, placing your head on his naked chest and draping your arm across his stomach out of habit. you head rose and sank with the slow expansions of his breathing — then you felt it.

his heart — hearing the thumps, feeling the beating against your ear. you couldn’t stifle the tears anymore, running across your nose and landing on his chest. for the entire evening you had seen him move, grunting and growling, occasionally muttering words you couldn’t make out.

but feeling his heart was different, the proof you needed to ground yourself in the reality that he was actually still breathing. you would still be able to feel his embrace when reunited at the end of the day, hear his laugh at the dead of night when you should be sleeping, love him for as long as he was still breathing.

his arms tightened around you, securing you close to him as the sobs started to spill past your lips. “not going anywhere, love,” he mumbled, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

of course he still found it in himself to serve a harmless joke, causing you to huff a sorry excuse for a chuckle between your sobs. “you’re such an idiot.”

his chest vibrated softly under you, hearing a low rumble that was supposed to be a chuckle in return. “sorry.” the audible smirk in his voice actually brought you comfort.

“i love you,” he whispered after a while.

focusing on steadying your voice before opening your mouth to talk. “i love you too.”

“we’ll be okay.”

“i know.”

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[archivequinn]

Closure — Eddie Munson.

warnings: angst, depression, grief, mention of the death of a family member (his mother), nightmares, pain, sad themes, broken heart, smoking, illness, mention of his father's terror at home, grave, longing and tiredness, crying. (Please let me know if I forgot something)

Eddie adjusts leather jacket, takes a drag on cigarette, exhales slowly. The house stands like a skeletal remains of memories past, its once-white walls now faded to a dull grey from years of neglect. The windows are boarded up, the shutters hanging crookedly like broken wings. A thick layer of dust coats every surface, making it hard to distinguish between old furniture and mere shadows.

A sheet drapes over the worn-out couches and chairs like a shroud, as if trying to smother the last remnants of life within those walls. Cobwebs cling to chandeliers and lampshades like macabre decorations. In the corners, shadows writhe and twist like restless spirits trapped between worlds.

The air inside is heavy with stagnation and decay - stale air that's been locked away for decades, now reeking of rot and mildew. The floorboards creak underfoot with each tentative step, their groans echoing through the empty halls like ghostly whispers.

''It's a haunting sight, really…'' takes another drag. ''A testament to love lost, dreams faded, and lives that once echoed through these rooms but now lie silent as the grave."

He pauses, takes a deep breath, and exhales slowly. He pushes the creaking door of the house and goes in. "Oh man… looks around the room with a mix of nostalgia and pain This place… it's like stepping back into my childhood hell. The memories come flooding back, but they're all bittersweet.

As I walk through the front door, I'm hit with the same stale air that's been trapped inside for years. It smells like decay and forgotten dreams. The once-vibrant colors on the walls have faded to dull hues, just like my mom's smile after she passed away.

I wander into the living room, where we used to spend hours together as a family. My eyes land on the old piano Mom taught me how to play on. It looks dusty and worn out now, just like our relationship with Dad did in those final years. I can almost hear Mom's gentle voice guiding my fingers as I played, but it's drowned out by the echoes of Dad's yelling and belittling.

I move into the kitchen, where we used to have family dinners that always ended in arguments. The same old table is still there, covered in a thick layer of dust. I remember how Dad would sit at the head of the table, his eyes cold and unforgiving, while Mom tried to keep us all together with her warmth and love.

Upstairs, our bedrooms are just as they were when I left this place behind. My childhood bed looks like it hasn't been slept in since then - unmade and dusty. It's hard to believe so much time has passed since those sleepless nights filled with fear and anxiety because of Dad's nightmares.

As I walk through these rooms again after all these years, I'm hit with a mix of emotions - sadness, anger, and nostalgia. It's like reliving the same pain all over again. But maybe this time, I can face it head-on and find some closure."

He pauses, eyes widening in surprise "Whoa… he gets down on his hands and knees to grab the box What's this doing here? I haven't seen this thing since… rummages through the contents of the box.

It's a bunch of old stuff from when I was a kid. There are some drawings I made, some notes from school, and… pulls out a small guitar pick with my name engraved on it. Oh man, Mom gave me this. She said it would bring me good luck with music.

And there's also a letter addressed to me. It's from Mom. He unfolds the letter and begins to read.

''Dear Eddie,

I know things have been tough lately with your dad being so mean all the time. But please remember that you're loved no matter what. You're an amazing kid with a heart full of music and kindness. Don't let anyone ever make you feel like you're not good enough.

I'm so proud of the person you're becoming, even if it's hard to see right now. Keep playing your guitar and singing from your heart. You have a gift that can bring joy to others.

With all my love, Mom''

His hands tremble, feeling a lump form in his throat "Man… clears his throat I had forgotten about this letter. It's like she knew exactly what I needed to hear back then.

As I sit here surrounded by these old memories, I feel a mix of emotions - sadness because things didn't work out between Mom and me before she passed away, but also gratitude for the time we had together and the lessons she taught me.

This box is like a time capsule from my childhood, reminding me of the good times and the struggles I faced. It's a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there is always hope and love to be found." smokes his cigarette in silence for a moment before speaking again.

He finds a photo in the box. This photo is like a punch to the gut. I remember this day so clearly. Mom was already sick by then, but she still had that spark in her eyes when we took this picture.

She's sitting on the hospital bed, and I'm hugging her tightly around the waist. Her arms are wrapped around me too, holding me close like she never wanted to let go. We're both smiling for the camera, trying to be brave even though we knew things weren't good.

Mom looks tired and weak in this photo - her skin is pale, and there are dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep or medication or whatever it was they were giving her at the time. But despite all that, she's still got that momma bear strength in her arms, holding me close like she's trying to protect me from the world.

I remember how scared I was that day. I didn't understand what was happening to her, and I knew it wasn't good. But Mom always tried to reassure me, telling me everything would be okay even when it didn't feel like it would be.

This photo is a reminder of the last time we were together before… pauses Before she left us. It's hard to believe so much time has passed since then.

Looking at this photo now, all these years later… sighs It feels like a punch in the gut all over again. The pain and sadness come flooding back, but also the memories of our time together as a family are more vivid than ever.

I get up from the bed and make my way downstairs, my heart pounding in my chest. The stairs creak beneath my feet as I descend into the darkness of our old living room.

When I reach the piano, I hesitate for a moment before lifting the dusty lid. The keys are yellowed and worn out, but they still have that familiar feel to them. plays a few tentative notes

The sound is rough and rusty at first, but as I play on, it starts to come alive again. It's like no time has passed at all - like Mom is sitting right there beside me, her fingers dancing over the keys in perfect harmony.

I play some of our old songs together - Chopin's Nocturne and Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. They're still as beautiful and haunting as I remember them to be. closes his eyes, letting the music wash over him

As I play, all the emotions come flooding back - the joy we shared when Mom was well, the fear and anxiety during her illness, and finally, that devastating loss when she passed away without ever coming home.

But amidst all that pain… opens his eyes There's also this sense of peace. Like Mom is here with me now through this music we created together. It feels like a way for her to stay close even though she's no longer physically here.

So yeah… smiles softly Playing my childhood piano again after all these years… it's like a homecoming, man. It's like I'm finally coming full circle and finding closure."

written with inspiration and assistance from ai

[brainrot-goes-brrrrrr]

I love waxwitch. We've barely had a crumb of Melioe and Icarus interactions, and yet I've absorbed them into my soul.

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

YOU ARE SO WRONG YOU STUPID TWINK. GET FORESHADOWED IDIOT.

[myreia]

— v. raison d'être

It was never going to last. They knew it from the beginning, all of them. Their time in the First was temporary, fleeting. For some, that would have been enough to give pause, to keep distance. For them, it made these moments all the more precious—even when it was difficult, even when it was unfair. Ryne knows they are both proud of her. That will never change, even when they live in separate worlds. It is a bittersweet thing to say goodbye, to close one chapter and begin the next. But change is necessary, a fundamental aspect of life. There is no sense in clinging to the past when the future—with all its countless possibilities—lies ahead. There is no looking back. Only forwards.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hold on i need to get a thought and emotions out. so with Welcome Home, there seems to be a before and an after. obviously, we're in the after. the website is the after. and if it turns out that the story we see, the one where shit hits the fan and the show is practically erased, then... that already happened. whatever horrors we see, we'll know that there is no saving them. there is no happy ending - it happened, and it's tragic. the show is doomed to end and be scrubbed away. if any of the characters are revealed to be dead/gone by the website, then when/if we see them at an earlier point, we'll Know

and there's a special kind of dread and horror in that for us, the audience.

[she-will-destroy-u]

i'm speaking to a wall actually on this blog BUT one of my favourite underrated snow & emma scenes is when emma breaks down crying and snow instantly says "i have no idea how to comfort my own daughter, it's the first thing a mother learns and i don't know how" honestly this quote has been stuck with me ever since i watched ouat and ppl have the audacity to say snow was the worst mother ever imaginable

[akimojo]

everytime i replay 13 i'm like. man. i love snerah so much, they're so perfect for each other like seriously. and then i replay 13-2 and noerah grips me so much it makes me insane thinking about how much better noel and serah are together. and then i replay 13 and i can't believe i would betray snerah like that, it's clearly superior and snow and serah are so lovely together. and then i replay 13-2 and idk what the hell i was thinking, noel and serah clearly fit each other so much more, like they're meant to be. AND THEN I REPLAY 13 AND

[apollo-just-ice]

The funniest and saddest thing perhaps is how captivated I have been by Skaði/Njörðr lately…

Yeah. Njörðr from Feh and his… presumably existing wife that isn’t even in Feh in any shape way or form atm.

I mean I’ve taken what can be learnt from Norse mythology and have made her into my own character, basically, but still…

I am working on a fic rn but man. Who is gonna get this except me? It’s crazy. But I am having fun with it soooooo. Hopefully that’ll be enough <3

[entering--hyperspace]

Sjiwjwiwqnjawn it feels silly to start writing about an 8 year old oc again, in a way. But it also feels like i missed out on a lot bc i was younger at the time...its hard to describe. Idk, my brain wasnt fully developed i couldn't cook oc lore as hard as I can now, i didnt have the skill i wanted to show my ideas like I do (kinda) now. Idk i feel like im in a weird place where it feels too late to really make my mark and share stuff about him while knowing ive been yapping a lot about him as i go through the story and flesh out parts of him i either forgot or felt too cringe to actually.

[blushing-titan]

I've just read the Akatsuki Hiden novel and uhhh...does anybody find it kind of weird that Nagato cared about both Yahiko and Konan so much and straight up shipped them to the point of wishing they had kids one day, just to later make Yahiko's body into his main path and sort of become him? 😭

[altruistic-meme]

oh you KNOW i gotta ask 10

and also 11 cause maybe talking about it would help

you are one cruel, cruel fiend, milo. why would you do this to me.

10. 🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?

alexa play "oh my dear lord" by the unlikely candidates

okay. okay. so in the interest of trying to limit what we consider ACTIVELY working on, i'm going to exclude fics that i'm not really sure if i'll ever finish and fics that i haven't actually STARTED writing, but i'm still going to include fics i know i'm going to return to even if i haven't touched them in a while. so let's check the WIP list...

3 for All for the Game (why is there) joy in this poison, Figurative Ghosts, go low

2 for Young Royals Dare(d) To Do It, Not Supposed to Know*

1 for Captive Prince laurent stabs damen

9 for Bungo Stray Dogs blackhole time fuckery, will you be mine? (no sir), The Port Mafia Boss's Most Loyal Dog, me-ow, dazai's job, abo au, outsider POV of corruption, who tf is slug????, not really a college au,

so that is... 15 TOTAL, most of which are currently bsd fics bc i have been bouncing between all of the WIPs there with incredible frequency cus my brain refuses to just STAY PUT ON ONE.

*techinically i haven't actually written anything for NSTK, but because it is one half of the Parallels AU and i have written for Dare(d), which is its partner fic, i'm still counting that as having worked on it. especially since they're 2 POVs of the same story, which means some of the events in Dare(d) will be shown in NSTK as well, so the same dialogue will be used in both for scenes they share.

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

oh this is about to be so long im so sorry

i think there's something im struggling with with all of my bsd WIPs right now, which is probably part of why there are just so many that i'm actively working on bc if i get stuck on one i can just move to something else for a while ;;;;

largely, i feel like im struggling a lot with figuring out Dazai and Chuuya's characters which obviously affects all of the WIPs since they're all skk-centric!! but they're both such complex characters with a super complex relationship with each other and i really love that about them and i want to be able to get that across, even in the shorter fics!! (this was also a struggle with the torturing kunikida fic, though since it was from Kunikida's POV it was a little easier bc i could show the contrast to what he expected of skk vs. what he saw that day to help get that across)

but just. characterization is ALWAYS an issue for me, especially when i first start writing characters. and i know that it'll be fine bc it always is, i think my anxiety about it causes me to put in the effort to really make the characters work and people usually really seem to enjoy them?? it is one of the things about my writing that people mention most often (and i will never tire of that, see: lots of anxiety about it) so i know i should calm down about it but HHHHHH

on the brightside(?) i do have a WIP that's still very much in the planning stages that will allow me to look at and play with a lot of the more toxic/codependent/generally unhealthy aspects of the two of them + their relationship while also giving me some more wiggle room in their characterization, which i think will be a fun way to help curb some of that anxiety when i actually start writing it.

and outside of that, looking at a specific WIP for an issue im facing currently: Loyal Dog is giving me SO MUCH TROUBLE bc i know what needs to happen and i know overall how the story is going to go and what the main points in it are. but actually figuring out how to write what i need to get down is. a struggle.

like it's just. i know the main plot and the main points and some of what needs to be done to get there. but the finer details are tripping me up. this time i think the outsider POV is working against me here, but also having it from an outsider POV is necessary to the story as i want it told!! idk. it's a LOT stupid little details that i need to plan and decide on while trying to make it plausible that's stressing me out more and hhhhhhhhhh

[ writer WIP asks to help me procrastinate writing ]

[yioh]

these make me think about kaeya and diluc honestly it’s so heartbreaking 🥲🥲

[dahkis]

the vibe of each of the flora's themes

adele, adele's oath: a sacred, but mythical feeling befitting the virtuous knights from the old stories that used to be told to children. the choir is singing the knights' praise, perhaps symbolizing their initial glory days, serving the god-king during his heyday before ultimately betraying him and breaking their oath to protect him. however, it continues to have a non dominating presence in the background, symbolizing the present. although the knights of the einherjar was replaced with the militaristic high flora army, the flickering flame of a noble knight has not died yet. it was alive in adele, who remained loyal to her oath to the god-king to the very end.

khali, oblivion: the drums and choir ramping up throughout the song symbolizes her bubbling feeling of deep anger boiling over. she has a strong yearning for vengeance against ypsilon for the undeserved death of her family.

illium, death of asylum: the choir is singing to the metaphorical revival of the god of the verdent flora; illium's fusion with the elder crystal symbolizes him inheriting their will and carrying on the burning passion of the verdent flora race through the pride of their invention of mechanical wings. there's a sense of determination, but a quiet anger festering among them as well.

ark, recollecting memories: i miss my wife tails, i miss her a lot

[rivilu]

While we all know about Hawke's character-assasination in inquisition, I personally remain.. preplexed? a morbid kind of impressed? with how that game also managed to butcher my Warden with only about 5 lines of dialogue referring to him and a letter.