The blue butterfly is a constant in my Oot work: it’s symbol for Zelda and Link’s bond. I headcanon that Zelda dies young, and Link watches over their descendants faithfully, but he’s also tortured knowing that more evil might come again.
That being said, I must ask that no one tags my work under another artists au. Please. It’s very violating to the central themes in my work, and very hurtful as an artist that has their own story to tell.
Summary: The Pogues feel betrayed by the readers sudden relapse into drugs, but they re unable to be angry at her for too long as something terrible leaves her needing their support more than ever.
How are you all? I hope you had a great Christmas and new year. Sorry if you’ve sent in a request I am prob not gonna get around to writing it for a long time if I haven’t started writing it already (there’s a few half done drafts). I’m only gonna do requests that resonate with me and aren’t too similar to ones I’ve already done. Reminder that I’m here if any of you need someone to speak to! Love y’all <3
Chapter Thirteen
In a swift manoeuvre, Barry's silver barrel had been flung upwards in order to strike JJ in the face, crashing into his nose with a bone breaking smack. JJ's hands instantly flew up to cradle the mess with a pained gasp. An instant stream of blood flew from the breaks in his flesh and dripped down onto his lips, flying into his mouth and momentarily choking his throat; adding to the sudden reverberating dizziness in his skull.
As Barry had made that move, your shaking fingers had made their way around the handle of Rafe's pistol and slid into place on the trigger, pulling it with no hesitation.
Rafe shouted and jumped, seeing the half second of yellow fire spit out from the end of the barrel. He braced for unspeakable pain to hit him at any moment; the searing tear of muscle and sinew, a hellish hole blasted into his skin. His sudden movement had caused Kie to panic and press down on her trigger, sending a small metal pellet into the back of his shaved head before the sound of your shot had even stopped resounding through the air.
Rafe had felt a short, dull throb accompanied by a mechanic click... and nothing else.
He lifted his hand to feel for blood that wasn't there, and then it only took him a second to realise that the woman behind him bore no real threat, and your bullet had missed. He growled, grabbing the airsoft pistol from Kie's hands and throwing her onto the ground. Within another second, Barry had flown past JJ and the blonde had swiftly gone to grab him, but his bloodied hands had not fallen from his face fast enough, missing the sweaty catch of the dealers vest by an inch. Then you fired another shot.
JJ froze. His eyes darted between everyone in an infinitesimally fast movement.
Barry was tackling the boxes of paraphernalia from John B, uncaring and unaffected by the distraction of gunfire - after all there was only one person that he cared about getting shot. Pope was pacing towards the Range Rover with his faux prepared-to-fire stance, intent on quickly getting to you and Kie despite the way his nerves were on full alert with the danger all around him. Kie was hurriedly picking herself up off the ground, her eyes trained onto you - lying on your side, panting with a shaking gun held between your closely bound hands. Rafe was gripping his shoulder and dark blood was seeping out between his fingers.
He let out a loud, pained shout before starting to back away, although JJ saw a vivid moment of violent contemplation on his face. JJ swiftly started to shift towards you, carefully lifting his arms straight and squaring his shoulders in preparation to deliver another shot to the Kook prince. Before he could do that though, Barry ran into his field of vision, the boxes tucked under his armpit and with John B in pursuit.
JJ redirected his aim to the new bullseye. His eyes squinted as he focused.
"John B!" He shouted, and the brunette turned with a startled halt.
JJ pulled the trigger.
Rafe pulled open the drivers door and Barry fell to the ground.
The boxes tumbled from his grip and landed beside him. The Scrabble box opened and spilled; bleeding green wads onto the reddened grass, flecked with polka dots by the new hole in the back of Barry's thigh. JJ didn't move his aim, slowly moving his legs and refusing to take his eyes off the target.
"You don't wanna kill him, man!" John B shouted, stood in a motionless panic with his eyes darting between JJ, yourself and the dealer.
Kie and Pope had gotten to you and helped you to stand up, immediately cutting at the masking tape around your arms and then attempting to check your injuries, which was difficult with the way you'd brushed them off; vision still trained on the action scene and gun at the ready.
Barry had picked up the boxes and started trying to run again, this time with a serious limp, not even attempting to collect the cash that had been dropped. There was blood cascading in heavy streams down his leg, soaking all material and making his sock squelch with every struggled step.
His head was precisely in JJ's sight. The vision of his skull caved in around a tiny entry wound and blasted apart by the exit was easy to picture. There was already such a deadness to his hungry eyes that JJ didn't imagine any change to them - only the stillness of which they would forever stare, and how the rest of his features would become as rotten and lifeless to match.
"Are you okay? What happened to your head? What did they do?" Kie's worried voice broke through the ringing in yours and JJ's minds but the words translated into nothing, even as her fingers delicately reached the mess of blood dried into your hair.
"It's like harpooning a shark." JJ thought.
Another shot pierced the thick air.
A bullet had whizzed a foot past JJ, wedging itself into the ancient trunk of a fallen tree, and from the furious scowl set across your face he wasn't sure if you'd missed him on purpose or not.
He noted that Pope or Kie must've cut the grey tape that had been holding your wrists together as it clung to your separated arms like dilapidated wings of ashen bandages. Your shoulders were squared and your footing stood even, so in spite of your ragged breathing, JJ was inclined to believe that you'd shot the bullet exactly where you wanted it to go. He'd been the one to teach you how to shoot after all.
Then you shouted; and your voice was raw and torn, sounding painful to force out.
"Stop!"
Stop?
His eyes darted back to Barry. He was pulling at the passenger door of Rafe's car as it had started, shouting at the brat to 'let him in'. The greasy mop of black hair was still a tauntingly easy shot and JJ lifted the gun again in a reconsideration of that decision.
There came another ragged shout and JJ looked back to you, realising that Kie was shouting as well as you. Maybe it had been the car headlights flicking on or the sudden drop of survival adrenaline, but JJ hadn't realised how disheveled you appeared to be until then. A streak of blood drying down the side of your face which was partially bruised, fading finger marks wrapped around your neck like a burning scarf, and maddened eyes that were somehow both dampened and blazing.
"Put the gun down!" Kie had cried whilst you'd repeated "Stop!"
The certainty of your command felt like the final warning from a tired but vicious warden. He momentarily hesitated, then let his arms drop, watching half dismayed as the car sharply reversed out of the elm tree's shadow and disappeared down the empty winding road.
Blood was still flowing uncontrollably over his lips, cascading off of his chin in a macabre waterfall. He wiped away some with the back of his hand, ignoring the fervent pain, before dropping his gun and finally running straight to you.
By that point, Pope had rushed inside to look for a first aid kit whilst Kie was attempting to get a better look at the gash on your head. John B was stood a foot behind her, asking if you were okay and anxiously trying to offer assistance. As JJ had gotten closer he'd realised that there was a tiny scratch on your cheek accompanied by the pink indent of Rafe's pistol. It wasn't deep enough to drip, but petite bubbles of blood had formed along the minuscule line.
There was no forgiveness in your glare, but he opened his arms and went to desperately embrace you anyway, hoping that despite your rightful anger you were as relieved as him.
Before he was even within five feet of that potential embrace though, you shouted again - this time pacing towards him with wobbly steps and a determined scream.
"You can't ever just not be an asshole, can you? You can't ever just listen to me! You said you weren't going to do this! What the hell is wrong with you?"
Upon reaching him you threw Rafe's pistol to the ground and pounded your fists into his chest with unthinking, guttural anger, your voice losing itself by the second. "We both could've died - all of us! Because of your stupid pride!"
JJ let you hit him, instantly recognising the drugged slur of your voice and wasted wobble of your steps, even the weakness of your limbs being used to hit him. He was angry - but far angrier at himself.
"I'm sorry, baby. I really am-"
"No you're not. You're a fucking liar!" You seethed, continuing to smash your fists hollowly against his chest. "What did you actually expect to achieve with this? Revenge? That's for me to have! Not you! You had to be the saviour! Who was this for? Yourself - Or to prove something to them?"
"Please, baby. I'm sorry." JJ was pleading, his voice shaking with every weak, reverberating hit to his lungs. "I love you and I did this for you. I had a plan. I just didn't think-"
"You never think! You just do stupid bullshit like this and completely forget about the consequences! You're a selfish fucking asshole and I hate you! I fucking hate you so much!"
JJ grimaced and finally lifted his hands to defend his chest - resembling a bare knuckled sparring partner from a far off perspective.
"You don't mean that, Y/N. Look at the cash we got - it's all for you. To get you help. To get revenge. Guys like that have to be taught lessons. Everything turned out all right-"
"All right?" You screamed.
You slammed your fists against his palms one last furious time before continuing to half shout with an accusatory point of your finger "Rafe kidnapped me! He held a gun up to my face! Do you actually think he's learnt his lesson? He's a psycho! And so is Barry!"
Each gravelly word you lashed landed like the spiked shell of a conker seed into JJ's already fragile wounds. He still tried to defend himself with a desperate plea of denial, his eyes flicking guiltily from the ground and back to yours.
"I could've killed them both."
You scoffed dryly, eyes widening with more offence.
"No - I could've killed them both. You had no control of the situation whatsoever!"
"Well what did you want me to do, Y/N? I couldn't let them walk around thinking that they're allowed to do that shit to people. Not just to you - to other girls too. I mean - have you even thought of that? Instead of just pretending that nothing happened-"
You suddenly leant in close and met his gaze with a venomous glare unlike any he'd ever seen on you before. Your voice was beyond ragged by now, damaged by the murderous clamp that Rafe had put around it, and your words came out as a harsh, gritty hiss.
"I hate you. You are so goddamn selfish. I never want to see you again."
JJ shook his head, a quiet smile of mocking disbelief crawling onto his blood caked lips. Surely you would just sober up and realise what he had tried to do for you. Surely you would count out the stolen money and forgive him. There had to be enough there for at least a semi decent rehab.
"You're high. You don't know what you're saying."
"Oh you're gonna pull that like it's some trump card?” You scoffed bitterly “You're right - I'm high as a kite - but I know exactly what I'm saying."
Everything you'd indulged in was still racing around your system - and maybe you could now spend the rest of your night enjoying that feeling. Alone or with your remaining friends you didn't care, as long as it was nowhere near JJ. He had done his last ounce of damage to you, and now it was your turn to inflict it onto him.
His lips pulled back into a frown at your fearless admittance, and he tried to speak again but you raised your voice.
"I fucking hate you, JJ Maybank. You hear that? Hate you! Stay the hell away from me!"
You turned around and started to walk away but JJ put his hand on your shoulder and gently twisted your body back to face him, not needing to apply much force.
"Look I fucked up, I know I really fucked up, I'm sorry, Y/N. You're okay though, right? I mean obviously not, but they didn't hurt you too bad, did they?" He stammered.
Was he blind? Or deaf for that matter? Had he not heard what you said or seen the injuries on your body? Had he not watched you be thrown from a car and then have a pistol pressed into your cheek? Maybe the regular beatings from Luke Maybank had rendered him stupidly unafraid. Had he forgotten the true terror of being close to death? Was he numb to it?
You thought of how close Rafe had been to raping you in that front seat. How his eyes had gleamed with a life you'd never before seen in him when his hands around your neck had brought you to the brink of unconsciousness.
That would drive JJ crazy.
You went to open your mouth, to spill every disgusting detail that you could remember and reiterate just how much you hated JJ for it, but then something much easier came to mind. Something that wouldn't make you have to recollect the event so soon. Something that wouldn't make your voice shake.
The words came out easier than they should have.
"I got pills off your dad last night. I'm gonna go back to his now and get some more."
You watched the venomous hooks sink in before shoving his hand from your shoulder and turning around again.
All of the tightly strung lines in his face relaxed, flattening out in a bland expression of pure, heart stopping shock. The rose tinted glasses had finally fallen off. It was something that he would only take as a viciously hurtful lie if not for Luke's earlier sinister statement - because there was no way that you would ever do something so cruel to him.
No response came from behind you, so in a call of victory you added "So from this point on leave me the fuck alone!"
You headed towards your backpack which must've been thrown out of the Range Rover at some point in the struggle, but Pope picked it up and handed it to you in a worried rush. Kie and John B also rushed to your side, and when John B tried to check on you you shoved him away, almost falling over as you did but being caught by Kie.
"I know you were in on this bullshit. Fuck you too." You hissed at him, and Kie sent him an agreeing glare.
He didn't argue, knowing better than to at your level of intoxication and also feeling far too guilty. He stepped back and looked at JJ, who's shock had slowly drifted into an anguished glower before he started to pace towards you again.
"Why would you do that? How could you?" He'd demanded in a broken shout which you'd ignored.
You were picking up the bundles of notes on the ground and loading them into your backpack one by one, counting the dollar marks on each band and wondering what price your dignity was worth. The beat of your heart was still marching strong in your head, reminding you of the acidic taste on your tongue and pain in your skull which had seemed years old at that point.
"I did all this for you! And you go to my dad. Wow. That's fucking- that's fucking telling." JJ continued, his distraught tone dripping with damp thorns. "I thought you were my girl but I guess not. Guess you're just completely fucked in the head - huh? You like being treated like shit? ‘Like being around scumbags or something? That's what got you into this mess after all."
John B and Pope were both trying to shut him up as he spoke but he didn't listen, continuing on his defensive monologue until you turned to face him again, feeling your body fill with the burning white ash as it had in the car but in an unfamiliarly tameable way. There was no point trying to properly clarify the betrayal that you felt, not when your limbs still felt as if they were only loosely being controlled by invisible strings, or your brain like the inside of a snow globe.
"You did this to me. I would never have even gone to Barry's that night if it wasn't for you." You hissed.
JJ visibly winced, sucking in a short breath through pursed lips before speaking in a hardly contained tone.
"Don't- Don't say that sort of shit. You can't blame that on me. You’re the junkie. Getting pills off my dad-" he cracked and lost the weak control, his voice shaking as it got louder again. "Jesus- fuck! How could you do that to me?"
"Should I fuck him?" You questioned numbly, wanting to feel some justice at the desperate anguish on JJ's face.
None came to you though.
He leaned in close in a sudden move that had John B placing his hands with precautionary grip on the blonde's shoulders - as if he would hit you. You highly doubted that, but part of you wished he would. It might make things simpler after all. Kie put her hands on your shoulders too, speaking to you quickly and softly.
"Come on, let's go." She forced a half smile - one that you trusted and understood beyond its top layer.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? You don't even know what you're saying right now. If you could hear yourself you would be sick. You’re a bitch. You’re fucked up in the head!" JJ raged.
There was no point in giving him any more time.
You nodded at Kie, bending back down to put the final wads into your bag whilst Kie shouted at JJ and John B.
"No, you should be sick. Both of you! You're complete and utter idiots!"
The blonde ignored her, muttering in another pocket of disbelief "My dad? Of all people - my fucking dad. Gotta be kidding. That's just-"
He had no word for it.
You flung your backpack over your shoulder, surprised by the new weight of it, and started to stumble over to Pope - not entirely sure why but knowing that he was your next saving post. He would get you home without complications, and it was very unlikely that he'd been at all in on JJ's plan. His arms were open in an embrace that you fell into, suddenly feeling safe and able to cry - although you still tried not to. He patiently lead you to the Twinkie whilst Kie grabbed the keys from John B, receiving no protest.
As soon as you'd gotten into the van JJ leapt to life again, pacing past Kie despite her shouts and giving you one last seething command.
"If I find out he's touched you, you're both dead. You got that?"
"Get away from her JJ! Leave us alone!" Kie screamed and shoved him, hardly able to stop herself from throwing a punch.
He didn't move any further, watching her climb into the back beside you, his eyes burning and his chest panting. His fists were clenched so painfully tight that there would certainly be red, crescent shaped scratches in his palms, but that was nothing.
Why hadn't he killed Barry?
This has all been for nothing.
Eeeee let me know what you guys think of this chapter! It’s another action heavy one which I’m not super confident writing but I actually really like this one. I hope u all do too. If ur enjoying this fic don’t hesitate to check out the trailer I made here I spent way too long on it for no real reason lol. any interaction means the world to me. Stay safe and have a good one <3 the traction on this fic seems to have rly slowed down so I’m not sure when the next part of this is gonna be uploaded tbh bc I’m prioritising the requests I get (i knowww I take forever I’m so sorry Ive been feeling so blehh since my new meds) I love y’all xxxx
This illus is for chapter 10. I was going to add more blood but I got tired. Long-term Investing is a sequel fic to Kizuki Eye, which was an EnDouma fic exploring them losing literally everything that ever mattered to them as characters.
Read below cut for more information.
In the new fic, they're without purpose after the demon war ended. Douma wants to die but Enmu is desperate to keep him. In poor summary, Douma wants to have a baby about it because he needs something that also needs him and doesn't majorly conflict with his delusions the way Enmu does, and Enmu enables him if it means the obligation of a child will keep Douma alive. (I promise it makes more sense in context).
Some of you on my blog may be familiar with Tomi, who was the design I made for their child. Long-term Investing explains the how and why of Tomi, who is not very well and neither are its parents.
Those of you who were hoping for "aww the cute baby"... There will be some of that, but mostly it's "ohh, you should not have had the cute baby." A lot of the fic also explores what it's like for two demons to try and live undercover in the world constraints posed by the end of demonkind.
Tomi should debut on chapter 16 if all goes according to my fic outline. I would also like to caution against taking previous Tomi posts from my blog as canon to this story, as many elements have changed for the sake of a cohesive narrative. Also, if you've ever been pregnant or have any kind of pregnancy trauma/are sensitive to children in peril, I wouldn't recommend you read this. Being a demon baby is not easy, to make a long story short. Making a demon baby is also not easy. If pregnancy as a concept also makes you uncomfortable, I further wouldn't recommend you read this.
✦ warnings: emotional trauma, anxiety, ptsd, mentions of sedation
✦ word count: ~2k
✦ notes: this chapter is told entirely from your perspective, delving into mc’s raw experience with trauma, anxiety, and ptsd. it explores themes of deep emotional distress and the difficult, yet tender, process of finding comfort. please be mindful of any content warnings, and take care of yourself while reading
one , two , three , four
masterlist
“Her soul’s storm unleashed, a broken sob in the dim-lit air. In his steadfast embrace, she found solace, knowing he would be there.”
Hours later, or perhaps only moments—time was a broken thing, splintered into meaningless fragmaents—you stirred. It wasn’t a sudden awakening, but a slow, molasses-thick return to a hazy awareness. The darkness hadn’t vanished; it merely receded, pulling back from the immediate edges of your mind like a receding tide, leaving behind a damp, chilling residue. The pounding in your chest has softened to a dull throb, a bruised ache that was manageable, a vast improvement from the searing pain that had consumed you.
You were warm, impossibly warm, cocooned in soft, unfamiliar silk that smelled faintly of a clean, subtle cologne you now instinctively associated with safety. Your head rested on a pillow that was soft, almost cloud-like, a stark contrast to the cold, hard floor you remembered. The relentless drumming of the rain outside had mellowed to a steady, rhythmic hush against the windows, a quiet lullaby instead of a frantic assault.
Your eyes, still heavy with the sedative, fluttered open. The room was dim, the heavy curtains still drawn against the full light of day, but enough soft, filtered glow permeated to reveal deep, rich colors around you—dark wood, muted fabrics. This wasn't your small, sparse apartment. This was vast, luxurious, and undeniably his.
Then you saw him. Sylus. Still there. He was seated in a large, leather armchair positioned near the bed, his head tilted back, eyes closed, in what seemed like a light, watchful doze. His presence was a solid, unwavering anchor in the vast, swirling uncertainty of your mind. A quiet, almost irrational wave of relief washed over you, mixing with a familiar surge of self-consciousness. To be seen like this, so broken, so utterly reliant. The humiliation tried to creep in, but the lingering effects of the sedative kept its teeth dull, its claws retracted.
You shifted slightly, testing your limbs. They felt heavy, as if made of lead, but the tremors were gone. Reaching out, your hand found the space on the bed beside you, cool and undisturbed. You remembered holding his hand, the last thread of consciousness before sleep had claimed you. Had he stayed like that? All this time? The thought was both comforting and unsettling. You wanted to speak, to confirm he was real, but your throat felt thick, your voice trapped somewhere deep inside your chest. You simply watched him, this silent guardian in the dim light, and the quiet comfort he offered became the only truth in your still-fuzzy world.
The urge to move, to confirm that your body still obeyed, grew. You pushed gently against the soft mattress, your muscles protesting with a dull ache but no longer the searing pain. Slowly, carefully, you tried to sit up. It was a laborious effort; your limbs felt weighted, heavy with residual sedative, and your head swam with a dizzying lightness. The world tilted slightly, and for a terrifying second, the edges of the room blurred. You gasped, a small, choked sound, and instinctively swayed, your hand reaching out to steady yourself on the soft sheets. The movement, however subtle, broke the quiet spell.
At your faint gasp, Sylus stirred. His head, which had been resting against the back of the armchair, lifted with a precise, immediate awareness that belied his earlier slumber. His eyes, sharp even in the dim light, found you instantly, wide and alert. He moved without hesitation, pushing himself up from the chair with a fluid grace that made him seem less a man and more a shadow detaching from the darkness. In moments, he was by the bed, his strong hand gently settling on your arm, preventing your sway from becoming a fall.
"Hey, easy, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and steady, a grounding force amidst the lingering haze in your head. His thumb brushed a soft circle on your skin, a familiar, comforting gesture. "Take it slow. You're still coming down from the sedative."
The soft murmur of his voice, the warmth of his hand on your arm, began to slowly pull you fully from the sedative's grip. You looked at him, truly seeing the faint lines of exhaustion etched around his eyes, the slight rumple of his clothes. He had been there. All night. Watching over you. A wave of guilt, sharp and sudden, cut through the remaining fuzziness.
"I'm sorry," you managed to whisper, your voice still rough, barely audible. Your gaze flickered from his face to the armchair, then back to him, filled with a profound regret. "I... I woke you. You were here the whole time." The words felt inadequate, clumsy, a poor apology for the burden you knew you had placed on him. You felt the blush creep up your neck, hot against your still-pale skin, the humiliation returning with sharper teeth now that the sedative's dulling effect was fading.
He didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of his lips, a gentle softening of his usually stern features. He moved his hand from your arm, only to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a lingering, unseen tear track near your temple. His touch was warm, steady, and utterly dismissive of your apology.
"No trouble at all, sweetie," he murmured, his voice a low, reassuring rumble that seemed to smooth away the edges of your burgeoning shame. His eyes, deep and unwavering, met yours, holding your gaze with a quiet intensity that left no room for argument. "I told you I'd stay. And a little rest in a chair isn't 'waking' me." He paused, his thumb still gently stroking your cheek. "You needed me. That's all that matters." His words were calm, absolute, leaving no room for your self-recrimination. He simply was there, and it was, to him, the most natural thing in the world.
His words, firm yet infinitely gentle, were a balm to your raw nerves. They cut through the lingering fuzziness of the sedative and the sharp sting of your guilt, leaving behind a surprising sense of quiet. You wanted to argue, to insist you were a burden, but the energy simply wasn't there. And more importantly, the conviction in his eyes, the steady warmth of his hand on your cheek, made it impossible to refute. He truly believed it. You simply needed him, and that was enough.
A heavy sigh escaped you, not of despair this time, but of profound, bone-deep weariness. Your muscles, which had tensed in your aborted attempt to sit up, now relaxed, sinking back into the soft luxury of the bed. The warmth radiating from his hand spread, lulling you. The distant roar of the storm, which had previously echoed the chaos in your mind, now sounded like a far-off, rhythmic whisper. Your eyelids felt impossibly heavy once more, fluttering briefly before succumbing to the overwhelming urge for rest. The humiliation receded, replaced by a profound, if fragile, sense of safety. You leaned into his touch, your cheek resting against his palm as the world gently dissolved into soft, hazy tranquility. You weren't fully asleep, not like before, but the fear had finally loosened its grip, allowing for a peace that felt like the deepest slumber. You simply rested, truly rested, perhaps for the first time in what felt like an eternity.
You lay there, caught between waking and the deep, drug-induced calm, your cheek still cradled in his palm. The desire to truly sleep, to fully escape, was immense, but something held you back. Perhaps it was the lingering haze, or perhaps it was the quiet weight of his presence. Slowly, carefully, you let your eyes flutter open again, just slits, looking up at him through the soft, filtered light of the room.
He was still watching you, his gaze intense, almost palpable. But as your eyes, still slightly dilated from the sedative, focused on his, you saw something you hadn't expected. Beyond the unwavering concern, beyond the steadfast protectiveness you'd come to rely on, there was something else in the depths of his eyes. A flicker. Not of doubt, not exactly. More like a profound hesitation, a vulnerability you rarely witnessed. It was a fleeting shadow, quickly veiled, but it was there: a hint of something deeper, something burdened, perhaps even a reflection of a pain he kept locked away, mirroring your own. For a split second, you felt a curious pull, a sense of shared understanding that transcended your present weakness. Then, as quickly as it appeared, the moment passed, and the comforting weight of the sedative gently pulled you back towards the soft edges of conscious thought.
His gaze softened imperceptibly, as if he sensed your subtle shift in awareness. He opened his mouth, and for a moment, you thought he might finally ask it – the question that hung unspoken between you, the one that burned in his eyes even as he tried to hide it. What happened? The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, almost visible in the subtle tension around his jaw. You braced yourself, even in your hazy state, for the difficult questions, the inevitable rehashing of the terror.
But then, the tension eased. His gaze, still gentle, dropped from your eyes to your cheek, his thumb continuing its soft, rhythmic stroke. The question, if it was ever truly formed, remained unvoiced. Instead, his voice was a low, steady rumble, a promise whispered against the quiet hum of the room. "I'm here," he murmured, his thumb now brushing along your hairline. "I'm not going anywhere. Just rest." The words were a lifeline, anchoring you. He offered no demands, only his unwavering presence, a solid, unbreakable comfort that allowed you to finally, truly surrender to the peace he offered.
Hearing those words, "I'm not going anywhere," something profound shifted within you. It was a simple phrase, yet in your fractured state, it felt like the most monumental promise ever uttered. Your eyes, already glistening, filled with hot, unshed tears, and your lips began to quiver uncontrollably. A broken sob, raw and untamed, tore its way from your throat, startling in the quiet room.
His hand slid from your cheek, down to cup your jaw, his thumb still gently stroking. You looked at him through the shimmering veil of tears, a moment of deep uncertainty gripping you. But when you met his gaze, you saw it—the profound worry that clouded the depths of his eyes, an open concern that mirrored your own pain, stripping away your last defenses. Without thought, you pushed yourself further up, propelled by a desperate need for contact, for solid ground. Your heavy limbs responded, clumsy but determined, and you shifted, turning your body towards him, until you were half-sitting, half-clinging, nestled awkwardly in his lap. Your face buried itself in the crook of his neck, and another shuddering sob escaped you, louder this time, as the dam finally broke.
His arms came around you, not with force, but with an immediate, gentle embrace that felt like the world solidifying around you. He pulled you closer, nestling you securely against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into your chilled skin. One hand, large and firm, moved to your hair, his fingers slowly, rhythmically combing through the tangled strands at the back of your head. The gentle pull was surprisingly soothing, a tangible focus in the storm of your grief. His other hand settled on your lower back, beginning to rub slow, comforting circles, a steady, grounding pressure that communicated everything his voice couldn't yet.
"That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, rough whisper against your ear, barely audible over your own ragged sobs. He made no demands, no inquiries, simply letting you release the torrent of pain. "Let it out. I've got you." Each word was a soft caress, raw with genuine empathy, holding no judgment, only boundless patience. "You're safe here. So safe." He continued his rhythmic strokes, his presence an unbreakable shield against the terrors that had consumed you. Your cries, broken and uninhibited, were the only sounds in the dim room, and he met each one with a quiet strength that promised he wouldn't flinch, wouldn't leave. He was simply there, a solid anchor, allowing you to finally shatter without fearing you would truly break.
✨ author’s note
this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but you get a whole lot more soft sylus. i hope you like it regardless
