atomicwriter

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they had it planned since the very beginning

my teeth in your heart → xiao

00. An Amputated Soul

DESCRIPTION: in liyue, wuwang hill is spoken of as the place where the dead dwell, and there’s a fable that’s oft–repeated among the youth of qingce village. xiao knows this tale, he witnessed it firsthand, and it is as familiar to him as the wind that he coils between his fingers. he does not speak of it much, for who is he to tell it to? all he knows is that the memory is prevalent as the disembodied whispers of karmic debt that call his name.

DISCLAIMER: gender neutral reader. brief mentions of nudity and death. multi-chapter fic.

WORD COUNT: 3k.

It’s a strange sensation.

There’s no pain, just an all-consuming numbness that spreads throughout your entire body. Your fingers flex, although you’re barely able to make sense of their movements. You can only recognize the metronome of your heartbeat as you float wistfully, the blood in your veins roaring so loud that all other sounds fall deaf to your ears. This serenity, a moment free from shouldering the hardships of the world, seems all too foreign for you, although you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why.

Here, you drift in the endless cosmos, wet and thick. You’re untethered, a lone particle with no sense of gravity in the middle of space. Reality seems discombobulated, and life consists of fractured memories that you’re unable to put together, as if you are missing the puzzle pieces necessary to do so. There’s a heavy pounding in your temples, and the tresses of your hair float around your head like wisps of smoke caught in the moonlight.

It’s when you open your eyes that you realize you can’t breathe. You suddenly become aware that you’re submerged underwater, and the previous tranquility is replaced by a fervent hysteria. Curled up in a fetal position, your bones knock together at the joints, trying for a foothold over the slick crossings of the river floor. Withal, your limbs are constricted by the water reeds, rendering you practically immobile, and your feet sink into the slick, black earthsoup. The surface seems far away from your stricken fingers as you desperately flail them in an attempt to stay afloat.

You can feel your heart pulse sporadically in your teeth, and your spine convulses as you choke on the air that you can’t breathe. In a brief moment of clarity, you retract your arms, beginning to uproot the reeds that confine your body to the riverbed. Determination numbs the burning sensation that coruscates throughout your chest, snuffing out the white-hot sensation that begins to gnaw at your lungs. This newfound electricity swallows you whole, surging through your veins like an incinerator that’s sweltering hot and nuclear-powered. Mud billows up in waves from the floor.

You can taste the acrid tang of death as you bite down on your tongue, and you know it’s coming when your periphery turns white. An abrupt coolness rushes in, igniting a formication along your skin. In mere moments, you realize, you will float like the water reeds, nothing more than flesh and bones ready to decay in the currents. It’s unnerving to realize, it’s unnerving to even think about, and you want to push against the exhaustion that barrels onto your body; to strain for the moonlight that dims above. But your limbs grow heavy, your fingers turn bloated and blue, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning…

A rough hand clamps down on your shoulders and you’re jerked out of the water before the darkness completely takes over your vision.

You break the surface, coughing and spluttering. Your chest heaves violently, sucking in desperate lungfuls of air that you had previously been so cruelly deprived of. The disturbed water sloshes around as you’re pulled onto the surface of a raft, and you collapse to your knees. Spindly fingers anchor themselves against the dried bamboo stakes, unable to let go until you’re steady once again. Your breath releases in sharp heaves, but it’s there, and that’s all that matters.

When the chill finally seeps into your skin, you see everything in pieces: the shadow of a silhouette in the fading moonlight, dark eyes fraught with concern, and frantic hands thrusting a sheet around your trembling body. Panting hard, you find a certain sense of relief when you cut your eyes to the person who stands by your shivering form. The landscape is blurry before you, and a restless energy hums beneath your skin.

“Are you alright?” the man asks you.

You don’t answer him at first. Instead, you swivel your head around as you take in your surroundings. You’re encircled by calm waters, serene despite their previous menace. Ripples lull the boat, and you follow their path to a shore that doesn’t lie too far from where you are now. You can barely make out the bamboo stalks that extend towards the night sky, framed by the gray cliffs that confine the surrounding land within an alcove of shadows.

“Where are we?” you ask him.

“This is Bishui River.”

The name rings with an unknown sense of familiarity, and you repeat it under your breath.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” the man crouches down beside you, “but, what happened to you?”

You wish you could answer him, and when you look down, you notice your hands are shaking. From the frustration of being unable to recall anything or your apparent weakness, you don’t know. It’s like there’s a roadblock in your mind, a screen that reaches from ground to sky that disconnects you from the world around you. Faint sounds plug your ears, memories float across your eyes, and you’re unaware of what you have forgotten. Your past is something hidden, but in this moment you cannot fathom what it might be.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You ball your hands into fists, knuckles blanching and fingernails digging deep into your palms as you turn to glower at the waters below. A sharp pain lances through your skin, but you don’t release them. All you can do is tell him your name.

“I see,” he hums, and you look towards him, whose cloak reveals a subtle beard of black hair and callous hands - working hands. There are wicker baskets that lie adjacent to his feet, filled with scavenged fish and herbs, carrots and sunsettias. “I stopped using my real name a long time ago. You can just call me Jiangxue.”

Your eyes narrow, but you don’t lose focus. Your nature is to piece this puzzle together: a fisherman out in the dead of night, an unknown land that is strangely familiar, and you, a person composed of seafoam who was pulled to the surface with nothing but a name. You admit that that’s what bewilders you most, but you suck in a breath and push the thought away.

“There’s a village near here. I can take you there if you’d like,” Jiangxue speaks when your silence persists. His eyes glance towards your figure before quickly looking away. A cough catches somewhere between his lungs and his throat. “It consists of amiable folk. You should be able to persuade them into getting you some clothing.”

You look down at his words, and your throat drops to your stomach when you find your bare skin on display. A hypodermic heat rushes to your face, and you wrap the thin sheet tighter around your naked body.

“I … uh … sorry,” you manage to sputter out, bowing your chin down to your chest as if the simple action alone could erase all traces of embarrassment. “I hadn’t realized.”

“It’s no matter,” he affirms, paddling towards the land.

It begins to rain once the raft reaches the shore, and an argentine fluorescence seeps from the sky. The drops plummet from the sky, rapid and ruthless. As you step onto the bank, you find that the mossy ground is damp and sodden, a deep green pigmentation that indicates the fallen rain as a usual occurrence. Jagged stones press uncomfortably into your heels, and you can feel the way the air stills around you.

You don’t understand why these plains seem so disorienting, why the soft susurration of the leaves feel so heavy in your ears. This stupor comes alongside that previous sense of familiarity - an ambient nostalgia for a native land that you yearn to experience once again. There’s an entwining reassurance, distant childhood memories, and the comforts of home. Perhaps one day you will find out why.

When you see the man step off of his raft in an attempt to follow you, you stop him with the shake of your head.

“I’m fine from here on out,” you say before you can even make sense of the words. “I know my way there.”

Skeptical of your proclamation, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dawn will be here soon, you should return to fishing before the world wakes up.”

“You misunderstand,” he says, walking towards you nonetheless. “I do not fish for a living. Neither the process nor the result means much of anything to me.”

“Oh,” you frown. “Is it just a way to pass time, then?”

“Precisely that.” And then he smiles, reaching out his hand and placing it on yours. When he retracts, you find a sunsettia placed into the cocoon of your palm, accompanied by a glowing ornament composed of Varunada Lazurite. There’s a delicate swirl–like design imprinted in the middle of the gem, and your breath catches in your throat when you realize what it is: a Hydro Vision. It must have resurfaced alongside you.

You wish to thank him, but you can not find the voice to do so.

“Safe travels,” Jiangxue says. He turns away, only walking a few steps before he pauses entirely. He opens his mouth, and a look crosses his face then as if he doesn’t know what to say.

“Yes?” you ask of him. “What is it?”

He still doesn’t speak, and you watch as he unclips the cloak from around his waist, slipping it off his arms and rolling it within itself. He hands you the bundle of cloth.

“O-Oh,” you stutter, waving your hands in front of you. “I couldn’t possibly. You have given me far too much.”

“You are cold,” is all he says. “Take it.”

“Really, I don’t-”

“I implore you. Please take it.”

There’s something in his voice then, a plea that is all too unfitting for the composed man before you. Unable to fight against his wishes, you timidly reach forward and remove the article from his grasp.

“There should be no monsters to block your path,” Jiangxue says. “He has made sure of it.”

There is nothing to stop the bewilderment that illustrates your face.

“He?” you question, but the fisherman’s back is turned to you. Befuddled, you do not say anything more, and the quietude encroaches in.

Somewhere in the near distance, a bird squalls — the only sound to penetrate the silence. Jiangxue moves back onto his raft, situating a paddle between the calloused texture of his hands. You don’t wait to watch him leave, instead bowing your head in a display of gratitude before pivoting on your heel and weaving through the clotted bamboo.

When you are certain that you are adequately hidden, the soaked-through sheet that had previously found home on your shoulders falls to the floor. You cinch the cloak that Jiangxue gifted you around your body, and the linen cocoons your body heat comfortably. Pocketing your Vision and the sunsettia, you pluck the sheet from off the ground, and begin to walk forward once more.

It’s not a long trek, that much you can recall, but when you reach the edge of the village, you find that the world has flung itself over and a new sun breaks the horizon. It’s a nectarine-sweet sky, mingling above the mountain that cradles the abundant crop lands within its embrace. You cross the bridge over the terraced fields of crops and wildflowers, inching closer to the livening village. It remains peaceful and quiet all the same, even as its occupants begin to stir.

This isn’t a place that receives many guests, that much you can affirm, despite the boundless beauty the land withholds. The rising sun embraces your skin, silky and warm, and even the rough texture of the stairs beneath your feet seems to hold a fount of comfort within themselves. You can hear the hummingbirds philandering with the flowers, their birdsong coming in lulls and bursts. The aromatic hints of Jueyun Chili and Violetgrass invade upon the atmosphere, inspiring a warmth to pool within your stomach.

It’s when you near the top of the stone path that you can make sense of a hunched figure beneath the strung lanterns, still lit despite the day’s arrival. She paces from side to side, graceful in her steps regardless of the aged lines that sculpt her face, on display due to her gray hair tucked in a low bun. As if sensing your presence, she stops, the green of her dress swiveling with her movements as she pivots on her heel to face you.

“My dear,” she calls, as if she has known you all this time. “Welcome to Qingce Village. Why don’t you take a walk with me?”

The elderly lady nods her head towards the courtyard, and there you can see a conglomeration of buildings that frame the square, constructed of wood and bamboo stalks. Fruit stands are tucked into corners, and a little ways down, a water mill sits adjacent to a bridge, converging with the path that leads further up the mountain. From nearby, the sound of a waterfall marginally emerges above the noises of early morning, and a rush of wistfulness overwhelms your entire being.

“Have you been aware that I would come?” you ask as you step beside her. She leads you towards the bridge.

A small smile sets apart her lips. “You must know we have quite the accumulation of spies here.”

A look of confoundment overtakes your features, and before you can request her to explain any further, a muffled chorus of giggles is heard from behind you. When you turn around, three pairs of eyes stare curiously at your form, and petite hands latch onto the edges of the cart that the children hide behind.

“I was not aware that I’d been under surveillance.”

“Outsiders are rather rare here,” the elderly woman muses, turning her head to where you gaze. “Of course, they still have a lot to learn.”

A sense of amusement flutters within your chest.

“Might I inquire as to why you have come?” she asks you.

The question momentarily startles you, although you reason that it is not unexpected. Attempting to grasp at your thoughts, you press your teeth down onto your lip, and all answers that are brought to mind prove insufficient to her question.

She must notice your inner turmoil, because she provides a reassuring expression before speaking: “It is fine if you do not wish to indulge me. We all have things we wish to keep to ourselves.”

“It’s not that. It’s just … how do I put this?” you reply, taking a grounding breath before voicing further. “There are many memories before this morning that have escaped me, including the answer to your inquiry. Although, I do suppose I hoped that I might be able to acquire some assistance here.”

She seems to contemplate your words, and stops walking just before your feet make contact with the bridge. A middle-aged woman appears in your periphery then, raising her hand in greeting to the lady beside you, the other arm slung over a wicker basket that rests on her hip. She must be preparing for a day's worth of field work, you presume.

“I see. Let us go somewhere more private. We will converse there,” she says. “And perhaps we might find you some more suitable clothes.”

She leads you to a building that rests on a wedge below the peak of the mountain. It’s certainly the largest structure of the village, composed of wooden posts and joists to encircle the open space. A shallow pond borders the front entrance, lotus heads and lily pads peaking above its glassy surface. The inside is completely exposed to the external environment, and from here, you can make out the entirety of the village. Nonetheless, being under a roof grants you a gratifying sense of privacy.

With a fragile hand on the small of your back, the lady leads you to a painted screen wall that rests off–center of the building, framed by wooden beams. It’s a picture of the mountain, you promptly recognize, with streaks of orange and blue that appear to glow in the morning light. She gently encourages you behind it, and you don’t realize that there is a set of garments in her other hand before she’s pushing them into your own.

“There is no one around to see,” she says, as if sensing your hesitation, and leaves you to your own.

Once the woman rounds the corner, you make haste in removing the cloak, slipping on the pants that tighten at your waist. The silk laced fabric flares out to brush at your ankles, and the cerulean trimmed edges barely graze upon the ground. The main portion is a dark umber, much like the short sleeved shirt given to you, with stitched decals of ochre and blue. It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to bind the fastenings down your chest.

There is no mirror nearby, but you are gently pleased by the choice in fabrics. You run your fingers over the material, feeling the ridges, the needlework, and the cotton–like texture. You know you’re in no position to experience such a luxury at the given moment, but you also have no entitlement to brush off such a thing. Your body hums with gratitude, and you step out from behind the wall.

The elderly lady seems to be equally as pleased, as she sends you a tight–lipped smile. From where her hands are clasped behind your back, she motions towards the chairs that circle the center of the building, fringing on the carmine painted engraving of a flower–like design. You take a seat.

“Might I ask your name?” You are the first to speak.

“You may call me Granny Ruoxin,” she muses. “I do apologize if it isn’t too lively around here, but life is pleasant here, and I hope you find a sense of enjoyment within the village.”

You learn forward, eager. “You mean it? I can stay?”

She nods, and it’s like the Universe has bursted into light. “There is plenty of room. You may stay until you are certain of where your journey will take you.”

A glint from the sun sparks your gaze, and you watch as Granny Ruoxin moves to sit beside you. Her movements are leisurely, hands crossed–hatched with scars reaching down to clasp yours in her own, and you dare to wonder of all the ways in which your life is about to unfold.

hello! i hope you enjoyed this. it’s my first time posting something genshin related on tumblr, so feedback is greatly appreciated. <3

additionally, i am considering making a tag list for this story, so if you are interested please message me!!

also! you can read it here on a03!

you’re SO sweet ohmygosh!! 🥺 thank you sm!! <33

okay i just want to let you know that your account is absolutely STUNNING!! like i’m in genuine awe omg

❝dear atomicwriter,

aaaaAAAAA!! thank you so much for all the kind words!! you have no idea how much this means to me especially coming from you👉🏻👈🏻 your aesthetic and writing style is such a pleasure to the eyes!!✨

sealed with a kiss,

nikki.❞

all the bright places → p.p

SUMMARY: in which you have a dilemma, and suddenly come face to face with the city’s superhero on the ledge of the bell tower at school.

WARNINGS: passing out, suicide attempt, female reader, unedited.

You’d think you had gotten used to it by now–the blanking out, the waking up. Even as it happened, whenever you reopened your eyes, you felt a little bit more numb every time. Yet, as it continued on, you soon realized that this was the worst one by far. You can’t really tell what was different this time around, only that when you woke, you didn’t actually feel awake. It felt as if you were almost stuck in a dream– or maybe a weird stage that had you caught in between being awake and asleep. It was as if you were empty, like someone had sucked all the blood out of your measly veins. You were alive, yes, but empty.

Closing your eyes, you feel the rusted ironwork curve beneath your fingertips. You don’t exactly remember how you got up here, though you don’t find it surprising, as your arrival here had followed your anemic episode. But here you are, standing six stories above ground, a thin barrier only between you and that narrow ledge. You’re practically a part of the sky, and as you listen to the bustle from the pavement below, you can practically feel the world tip. Everything spins, and you almost feel the wind float you away, drifting you off until there’s nothing.

Another gale rocks you, and it’s when you open your eyes that you realize you’re on the other side of the iron workings of the rail, standing shoeless on the concrete sill in your sheer mustard tights. The laces of your boots are clenched tightly between your quivering fingers, swaying slightly against the gusting breeze.

It’s probably over the whirlwind and oncoming drizzling of rain that you don’t hear the door open to the bell tower of the high school. He’s halfway, running silently, almost to the end and up in the sky when he notices you’re there. You stand a few feet away on the opposite side, hair waving in the breeze and skirt blown up like a parachute. Suddenly, the mask in his clutches is forgotten, and he takes a careful step towards you.

You’re one of the last people he’d suspect to see up here, six stories up on a bell tower and inches away from a ghastly death. You’re popular– a cheerleader even, someone expected to go out with Flash Thompson or sit at lunch with Lizzie Allen. And behind those clunky glasses that you insisted to wear all the time, though he knew they were utterly useless, you were pretty, like a china doll almost. And yet despite these attributes, you still somehow made time for the boy that was unknowingly behind you, staring you down as if he could freeze time itself.

“The worst thing you could do is look down.” The whisper that disposes from his lips is so silent that he’s almost certain you didn’t hear it, but it carries in the wind, and your fingers tighten immediately around the fencing. You didn’t have to turn around to confirm who it was speaking to you.

“It’s starting to rain,” he says, as if you don’t already know this. And yet, as his words are processed in your mind, you abruptly become aware of the water seeping into your cardigan, pooling around your bare meshed feet. You’re shivering, or shaking, the boy behind you can’t tell which one, and so he slowly inches himself towards you more, hoping his movements don’t frighten you and cause you to fall.

“Peter…” his name falls off your tongue, and he suddenly realizes his mistake. His mask remains in his hand, and he pulls it halfway over his forehead, mirroring that of a beanie. It’d be useless now in your presence.

When you don’t say anything else, he goes on inching forward, calling your name out in a hopeless reply.

From down below, someone yells, “Y/N? Is that Y/N up there?”

“Oh God,” you whisper, so low he barely hears it. You turn towards him, eyes widening and almost losing your balance when you realize who had been behind you the entirety of those few minutes. “OhGodohGodohGodohGodohGod.”

The wind blows your hair and skirt, and it feels like the slightest movement could have you fly away.

There is a general buzzing from the ground, and you don’t know if it’s from your current position or the fact that the superhero clad in red stood a mere few feet away from you. But it wasn’t that fact that had your heart in a race with the buzzing in your ears, but rather who had been behind the mask the whole time.

You attempt to straighten yourself, but your rain soiled feet betray your movements and suddenly you’re slipping, grasping back at the railing. Peter moves quickly, and his webbing encompasses your hand, trapping you to the safety of the rusting iron. You glare at the leather boots that fell from your grasp, landing on the other side of the fence with a couple of thumps.

“Here’s what I think you should do—”

“Peter.” It’s a whisper, and he can’t help but stare at you in desperation to get you out of your current situation. “Your mask.”

He stares at you in bafflement for a moment, one eyebrow arched before he scrambles, pulling the material to completely cover his face. All traces of Peter Parker suddenly disappeared.

“Y/N, listen to me; here’s what I want you to do.” The boy takes a slight step forward, as if he is the one on the ledge and not you before him. His hands are held out in front of him, a silent plead for you to stand still. Peter doesn’t know why, but at this very instant, he doesn’t trust his own instincts. If every New Yorker had traded spots with you now, he probably wouldn’t feel the utter fear that engulfed his entire being. But when it comes to you, his best friend, all meticulously calculated plans that could be formulated in just a few moments fly out the window. He simply has no confidence in what he’s supposed to do.

“I want you to turn around completely– yes I know, one of your hands is stuck.” His throat feels clammy, and he doesn’t know if he should continue on with his plan or spring over the railing in an attempt to save your anxiety ridden state. He watches, completely still, as you slowly turn around, your body shaking with even the slightest movement. “And then grab onto the rail– just grab onto it. Once you’ve got it, lean against it and then lift your right foot up and over. Got that?”

You nod, and Peter suddenly realizes how pale you’ve gone, stricken with panic.

“Okay,” he breathes, “Whatever you do, don’t step the wrong way. I’ll count you off. On three.”

You grip the curved iron and kind of prop yourself against it.

“One. Two. Three.”

You lift your leg up and over the railing so you’re sitting on it. You stare down at the ground, and you’re frozen once again.

Peter says, “Good. Great job. Now, just stop looking down.”

You slowly look at him and then reach for the floor of the bell tower with your right foot, and once you’ve found it, he speaks again, “Now get that left leg back however you can. Don’t let go of the wall.”

By now you’re shaking so hard you’re sure he can hear your teeth chatter. Cautiously, you lift your leg over the railing, stopping in a panic as your tights snag onto one of the sharp grooves. Peter takes a brisk step towards you, watching your moment of alarm. Jerking your leg forward, your tights tear free, giving yourself enough momentum to rip the webbings’ hold of your hand. You hurl across the puddled concrete and into open arms.

For a minute you can almost feel it, with his hands gripping your shoulders and your fingers latched tightly around his biceps. The sense of peace as your mind goes quiet, like you’re already dead. You are weightless and free. Nothing and no one to fear, not even yourself.

And despite the tight crinkle around your closed eyelids, the image is so clear and vivid. You can almost see the ground itself, six stories below, slick and damp, your body lying there.

“You alright?” Peters voice is quiet, soothing enough to have you open your eyes. He stares at you in silence, his mask once again pulled up and curling around his ears. There’s still a buzzing down below, and from the volume you’re almost certain it’s because of the boy before you.

You take a breath, it’s shaky, but it’s enough for him. He tightens his arms around you, bringing you into his chest as your fingers tug on the material of his suit. You want to cry, scream until you’ve gutted your throat raw and bang your fists on the ground until they’re cracked and bleeding. But you remain calm, unwavering of any emotion, and it frightens Peter down to the core.

“Thank you, Peter Parker.” It’s a whisper, but still there.  You reach up and kiss him on the cheek, and he catches the scent of your shampoo, and it smells of flowers.

He curls his fingers into your back. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

“Okay.”

Hi! I absolutely loved ‘I would’ve stayed for you’! The way the mystery was kept a secret was so intriguing I was almost tempted to skip ahead and read OMGG. I could picture each scene really nicely and it flowed at a nice and steady pace. I really enjoyed it and loved the idea for the story! The anxiety and mystery could be felt though it the words and story and I really engaged within it! You should be really proud of yourself!!! ❤️

thank you so much!! it means A LOT to me that you enjoyed it 💓💓

I would've stayed for you is such an amazing take on soulmates. I love your style of writing. Where did you get the insperation for each of the tattoos?

thank you!! i wanted to go for something that depends off of one another. if you think about it, the sun helps plants to grow, and throughout the oneshot, tom helps the reader to realize things that they hadn’t before. that’s just my take on it. really, it’s open for interpretation :))

i would’ve stayed for you → t.h

SUMMARY: au! where everyone is born with a small tattoo, and whenever you fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears on your body. tom, who drifted apart from you once his acting career took off, falters during an interview, and its announced that he’s attained someone else’s tattoo. it’s not until tom spontaneously shows up at your doorstep and apologizes profusely that you realized it’s your tattoo that had inked itself onto his skin.

WARNINGS: language. fluff. you strip your shirt off lol. angst (?)

The morning was going by slow, exhaustingly slow. You could say that much. The coffee machine was broken at your workplace and the lack of noise in the office was driving you insane, encouraging the bags under your sleep deprived eyes to induce them to close even just for a few moments. You couldn’t recall the last time you had a decent amount of sleep. Now, your nights were filled with paperwork and news articles that you worked your ass off to write, only to be rejected each time you attempted to present a new idea to your boss. At least there was the ac that froze up the entire office building, your khaki sweater doing nothing to appeal the freezing temperature.

A pair of hands suddenly slapped down onto your desk, making you jump from your chair and bite down on your tongue to hold a spew of words you’d rather not have your boss overhear. A giggle was what brought you to look up at the face of the person that nearly scared you half to death, and a bubble of annoyance manifested on your features as your assistant smiled giddily down at you.

“Yes?”

She leaned down over your desk, whispering excitedly in your ear, “There’s an interview right now.”

Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t get it,” you said flatly.

She sighs loudly, dramatically emphasizing her point of you having no clue what the hell she was talking about.

“Tom Holland,” she drew out, “is doing an interview next door. Like, at this very second.”

The name made you freeze, and you leaned down to pick up the pen that had rolled off your desk to try and dampen the nervousness that itched at your palms.

You nearly choked out the next words, exerting a cough that resembled your discomfort. “This is important, why?”

She gave you a wicked smile, one that was as if she was about to tell you a secret nobody around the globe could know. As if she had done something so unbelievably, she’d want the entire globe to know. “Rumor has it he earned a new tattoo.”

With her words, you subconsciously rubbed the bandaid on your left bicep, covering the markings that ultimately decided your fate. You felt it was stupid, the whole someone falls in love with you and attains your tattoo forever thing. At least, that was your point of view about it. It was just that you found it unfair that something so minuscule could determine what relationships changed for the better or for the worst. And for forever? Wouldn’t it just be better if they’d disappear after your feelings dissipated for that person? You, however, couldn’t fathom the thought of having someone else’s ink punctuated into your skin, and it’s obvious due to the small alignment of swirls that were detailed on the right side of your ribcage. 

“Imagine it though!” She gushed. “Having Tom Holland with your tattoo!”

“I don’t have time for this right now-“

“Whoever it is sure is lucky-“

“Amya-“

“I mean, I couldn’t tell you what I’d do to get Tom Holland to have my tattoo.”

“Shouldn’t you be at the fax machine?”

Your drone of words immediately silenced her, and with a nod she left you back in your cubicle, tapping your pen against the polished wood of your desk in contemplation.

For the next few hours, the interview was all the buzz, and you avoided anyone who even thought about mentioning the topic. However, you didn’t know how long you could forestall it, as in 24 hours the interview would be released world wide, and the thought of what was once your childhood best friend falling in love with someone else really took a stab to your gut.

And yet the weight didn’t fall onto you completely until the work day was completed, your computer was shut down, and the rough draft of environmental damage was shoved into the pocket of your backpack. Outside was a madhouse, you realized. Cameras surrounded the building, numerous flashes going off all at once it made your vision blur. You attempted to push through though, muttering excuses left and right to those that trampled into you. Your gaze remained to the ground, not wanting to get involved until you heard someone shout your name through the crowd. Looking up, you saw him, standing by an open door of a yellow taxi cab, eyes pleading in a way that made you not want to look away. In three years, it was the first time you had seen him standing there face to face, just a mere ten feet away. He looked at you as if he wanted to yell your name again, scream obscene apologies at you for the months that he had distanced himself. You didn’t want to look away, you couldn’t, but with hesitance, you did, and the anxious cries of the paparazzi followed you as you rounded the corner of the street.

The next couple of days mirrored the last. Amya, your assistant, had demanded you watch the interview with her the second it had released. You declined, of course, muttering an excuse that it was your lunch break and that was not your ideal way of spending it. The interview, as you imagined, was everywhere. On television, in the trending section of YouTube, and even in the newspaper. Does Tom Holland have a girlfriend? Tom Holland secret lover? Who does the tattoo belong to? You personally thought it was absolutely ridiculous, there were more important events occurring around the world, and sooner or later this whole thing would blow off and it’d just be another celebrity occurrence that everyone would keep on referring to. As of the moment, it was seriously getting in the way of your article, and the enlightenment of exposing your research and opinions were quickly depleting. So you went back to your apartment early, dejected and exhausted, drowning in the hollowness of your present annoyance. There you attempted to type, pulling at your hair and groaning in anguish at the empty word document that seemed to stare menacingly at you. All inspiration was gone, and you sighed defeatedly, your moment of torment cut short by a rhythm of knocks on your front door.

You called for them to wait, brushing back your hair and fanning your flushed face. When you opened it, you stared right into the eyes of the person you had least expected to see. He stood there, unsure, lips upturned slightly in a smile that radiated vulnerability. Your jaw went slack, and all thoughts of your article drained to the back of your mind.

“Shit, uh, come in.”

Tom stepped over the threshold timidly, hands crossed behind his back.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

“No,” his voice cracked softly and he cleared his throat, eyes trailing around your apartment. He was either extremely fascinated with the bowl of fruit that sat atop your table, or he just wouldn’t look at you.

You leaned on your kitchen counter top. “So why are you here?”

For a split second you saw confusion flash on his face, and he cleared his throat once more. “Wha-What do you mean?”

You laughed, softly, cocking your head in interest. “Exactly what I just said. What are you doing here? Out of all places, out of all times.”

“I-I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“Have you seen the interview yet?”

You sighed, almost wanting to laugh at the thought. “No.”

Tom let out a breath, his poster slacking as he seems to turn away from you. Almost in a whisper, you spoke, trailing your finger through the tiles on your kitchen island. “I don’t have to catch up with someone’s life when they won’t even bother to ask me how my day went.”

Tom’s head snaps up, stepping towards the island counter and resting his hands along the edge. You watched as his fingers tightly gripped the ridge.

“I’m sorry.”

“Tom-”

“I never meant to lose contact with you.”

“Then why did you?”

His posture softens, and you can’t help but lean forward, crossing your arms over themselves.

“I-I don’t know.” 

“There has to be a reason,” you pushed.

“I couldn’t bare the thought of you being mad at me, I guess.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he quickly cut you off with another plea.

“I think I just thought that if I ignored the issue, it would go away.”

“It clearly didn’t,” you spoke flatly.

“I know but-”

“It clearly made it worse.”

“Yes, I know but-!”

“But what?”

Tom captured his bottom lip between his teeth. “I never wanted to lose you.”

“Tom-”

“You never called me once, when I left. You realize that, right?”

You froze. He was right.

“You know, I thought you just needed some time to cool off,” he continued, “I told myself I would give you a few weeks, a month at most, and then I would call you. Because I get it, I understand that leaving suddenly and then blowing our friendship off with a letter was a bad move, and I knew I could do better than that. But when I did, when I finally mustered up the confidence to call you, you had my number blocked and anything else that I could’ve contacted you on.”

You’re quiet for a few moments, sinking in the words. “I guess I just didn’t know how to react.”

“Neither of us did.”

He smiled at you, a toothless, sincere smile, and for a moment, you almost wanted to smile back.

“You could’ve talked to me, you know. I would’ve understood. I knew how important it was to you.”

“I was scared,” he admitted, “I didn’t know how you would take it. If you’d ask me to stay, or if you just wouldn’t care and let me go.”

“You know I wouldn’t do either of those things. I wouldn’t hold you back. I would’ve supported you, Tom, and I still do.”

He doesn’t reply, just runs a hand through his hair, his eyes crinkling at the corners just a bit.

“I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here to bitch and moan about missing me though,” you said.

“Who says I didn’t?” He countered, leaning forward to match a teasing posture.

“The interview.”

“Right.” His shoulders sink a little. “So you haven’t seen it?”

You shook your head.

“I-I don’t really know how to put this then.”

You leaned forward, encouraging him. He took a breath, as if preparing himself, and he spits out the words in a frenzy.

“Thetattooisyours.”

Your eyebrows crinkled, processing his words. It was like he packed them into a small ball and hurled them across the counter at you.

“What?”

Tom sighed. “You heard about the rumor? About me having another persons tattoo?”

You nodded.

“The tattoo. It’s yours.”

Your chest suddenly felt tight, and there’s a lump that managed to form itself in your throat, making you practically choke out your next words. You know you’re at a crossroads. On one hand, Tom left you. You’re still bitter and hurt and reeling at those few years without him. And yet, you can’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you. He’s here now, and he’s pouring his heart out to you.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“I just need you to understand that this doesn’t have to change anything.” He paused. “Actually, it can, as I would like more than anything to have you back as my best friend.”

You nodded once again, trailing along the side of the counter until you were about three feet away from him.

“I want to see it.”

Tom bobbed his head, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt just by an inch, the trails of black ink becoming visible. You reached up and traced the delicate swirls that formed the shape of a small leaf, feeling him shiver under your caress.

“When?” You asked.

“When I left.” He replied.

You moved back a step, suddenly aware of your proximity. Reaching down to the bottom of your blouse, you begin to unbutton it, working your way up.

“I want to show you something.”

You could nearly hear Tom swallow as you exposed the skin of your chest, moving the fabric of your blouse back to expose the twists and lines that vaguely reflected the outline of the sun.

“That’s-That’s mine.”

He reached forward, unsure, gently running his thumb across the crests of the middle and to the lines that drove outwards.

“It appeared when you left,” you breathed. “I think you leaving was some kind of revelation for the both of us.”

You observed him. His reaction, the uneven tremble of his breaths, the way his pupils dilated when he looked at you. And unexpectedly, on an impulse, you cupped his chin, carefully bringing him down to you, melding your lips together.

Kissing him was like anything you could’ve ever expected and more. It was slow at first, tentative, unaccustomed to each other. Suddenly, your confidence grew, and your back was pressed against the counter. It felt so right, and you grinned against his mouth as his hands slid to your shoulders, warily peeling the shirt down your arms. 

Abruptly, he stopped, fingers brushing against the band aid.

“You hide it?” He asked softly. “Why?”

“I don’t exactly like the idea of a tattoo determining one’s relationship with others.” You confided. “I just feel like everything would be so much easier with out it.”

Tom gazed at you with hooded eyes, intertwining his fingers with your own as he rested his forehead against yours. You smiled shyly at him, closing your eyes as you whispered.

“But with you, I don’t want to be strangers anymore.” You paused, taking a breath. “In fact, I think I’d rather ditch the best friends thing.”

He smiled slyly at you, and all fearful thoughts of rejection were whisked away as he glided his lips over yours.

Without warning, you rolled your hips, and Tom faltered, his head falling into the crevice of your neck.

“For the record,” he shuddered, “if you had asked, I would’ve stayed for you.

hey ! wanted to drop in to say how much i love your writing! and to ask, did you used to have a fic called “it should’ve been me” or something of the sort? it’s about IW and the reader takes on the power of the infinity stone and dies but they beat thanos. I’ve been trying to locate it (forgot to save it ugh) and i forgot who the author was

hey!! thank you sooo much! 💓 i did have a fic called “it should’ve been me” but the plot was quite different than what you’re describing. it’s after the events of peter dying and the reader mourning over the loss. however i’ve unpublished it due to rewriting and editing some of my works. sorry!

I just read Don't You Lose and I legit cried :')

happy to be of service :))

I JUST READ DON'T YOU LOSE AND I WANTED TO TELL YOU YOU'RE AMAZING AND IT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL I'M IN TEARS YET

THANK YOU AHH 💞

your writing is amazing!!! why aren’t you a bigger account, you deserve it! im jealous

my gooooosh that simply brightened my day! i think i just need to work on staying active haha 💓

besoothing burdens → p.p

SUMMARY: peter announces that he has to fly half way across the world out of the request of Tony Stark, and he comforts you in reassurance that he’ll be alright.

WARNINGS: short & sweet. i accidentally deleted the first post, go me.

It was a whisper, like a gentle breeze of calm wind. An elixir of soft sentiments that lingered with the warmth of his presence. The words, melded with this breath, met with your bare back, a shiver crawling up your spine that left a trail of goosebumps to arise in his wake.

“Y/N.” You felt the callous pads of his fingers gently tracing the soft skin on the nape of your neck, brushing your hair aside. His hands threaded between the wispy tendrils, crowned around your head as if they were to form a halo. Lips found their way to your chin, a fragile stamp that had you clenching your teeth to abstain from gasping aloud.

Peter hummed against your skin, knowing that you were awake. Nonetheless, his kiss remained, peppering down your neck and coalescing with your skin. His touch left you breathless, tinting your cheeks with a glowing affection.

“Y/N.” Bliss rolled from between his lips, husk and raw. Sweet, loving, and whispered it came. Like honey resonating from his tongue and sifting through every fiber of your body. It came again, pouring from the delicate kisses that were being lovingly pressed up the small of your back to the corners of your shoulder blades.

You turned your head, your temple resting on the pillow and hooking onto the warmth of the eyes peering from over your shoulder. His hair was fluffy, curly strands of nutmeg underscoring the ivory of his face. A somnolent smile pulled up the corners of your lips at the sight of him, your lashes drifting close when he assailed another kiss at the corner by your ear. He trailed off with dulcet sigh, intruding the silence.

“Y/N.” You snapped your irises open, solidifying the honey and swiveling your body at the urgency laced between his vowels. You lay back, ogling the boy hovering over your flushed body. His mouth went to open, ready to vocalize, yet you brought your hand up, gingerly placing your palm on his cheek, promptly barring him silent.

“It’s five a.m., do you realize that?”

Peter shook his head bashfully, captivating his bottom lip between his teeth, instinctively leaning into the amenity of your tender touch. You pushed yourself up from the linen to reach him, intertwining your other hand through the flat coils of his ruffled hair.

“No, I…” The boy paused, unsure of how to put his epiphany into the form of words. “I just had to see you.”

You beamed with vehemence, shifting and bringing his body down to lay beside yours. You leant your head amidst his chest, sighing affectionately when you felt his fingers brush against the underside of your jaw. The serenity of your euphoria filtered the room with a haze of golden warmth.

“Y/N?”

You hummed a response, enduring in the ardor of his being.

“I-I need to tell you something.”

“Mhm?”

You could feel him hesitating, his tongue rolling slack as he held the words before they fell prostrate onto you. As encouragement, you traced your hand over the ivory skin of his arm, pleasuring in the ripple as he shivered.

“I-I’m leaving.”

You sat up briskly, your eyes wide and doe-like as you peered down at him, lips parted with unfounded words. The slight furrow of your brows spurred him on, and he too straightened up. “What?”

“W-Well for Mr. Stark, I-I need to go.” You watched intently as he took in his bottom lip, the intensity in his eyes sparring with your own. “I have a chance, finally! It’s in Germany and-“

“Germany?” Your heart dropped, emitting a gasp as Peter persisted his ramble. You didn’t know what to say when his words had found their demise in the silence of your bedroom. Tears that had contrived in your worried eyes soon slipped down, and you had to take the wobbling of your bottom lip between your teeth. Peter noticed almost instantly, taking your hands in his and ever so gently brushing the pad of his thumb back and forth to ease their trembles.

“What are you thinking, Peter? To put yourself that head on in danger? You don’t even have a proper suit a-and you’re just going to run blindly into s-something because Mr. Stark wants you to?”

“Y/N,” he murmured, wiping your tears with his free hand. His palm cradled around the curve of your jaw, delicately placing a strand of hair behind your ear that had become captive in the stickiness of your cheeks. “Let me do this, okay? I... I have to do this. Nothing bad will happen to me. Mr. Stark won’t allow that.”

“Y-You don’t know that!” You spoke. It came as a whisper, yet frightened and laced with worry. “While you’re out there, you can’t guarantee your safety. Neither can Mr. Stark!”

His response was immediate, pulling you back down into his chest, muffling your despairs as you latched onto his torso. All you could let him do was guide his hand up the small of your back, massaging the skin in a voiceless endeavor of comforting your worries.

“You’ll come back to me in one piece, right?” Your words were whispered and innocent as your forefinger traced invisible patterns in the divot of his collarbone.

Peter was quiet for a moment, before besoothing your burdens. He reveled down at you, wrapping his arms around you so tightly that there was no room for anything else. No pain, no anguish, just love. And you marveled at the fact.

✿ Send this to 10 other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile! ✿

you’re too sweet my gosh!

my ao3

━━━ ADEPTUS XIAO

my teeth in your heart

in liyue, there’s a fable that’s oft–repeated among the youth of qingce village. xiao knows this tale, he witnessed it firsthand, but who is he to tell it to? all he knows is that the memory is prevalent as the disembodied whispers of karmic debt that call his name.

00. an amputated soul

01. and here, i find you (coming soon!)

━━━ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

with a silver tongue (coming soon!)

you’ve grown weary of the sea–salt tinge and flavors from the ships on the shore, and all you want to do is return to life on land. kazuha promises that there is more from the world, and you can’t decide if it’s the way his voice sounds or the words he speaks that pulls you in most. (nsfw)

━━━ PETER PARKER (no longer writing)

don’t you lose

you ultimately decide that peter’s life is worth saving over yours, and it takes a sacrifice that may destroy everything you ever knew and loved.

besoothing burdens

peter announces that he has to fly half way across the world out of the request of tony stark, and he comforts you in reassurance that he’ll be alright.

all the bright places

in which you have a dilemma, and suddenly come face to face with the city’s superhero on the ledge of the bell tower at school.

━━━ TOM HOLLAND (no longer writing)

sunshine smile

a certain feeling may be screwing up your friendship with a certain someone, but in one night, you realize that could all turn around.

i would’ve stayed for you

alternate universe in which everyone is born with a small tattoo, and when you fall in love with someone, their tattoo appears on your body.

omg i just read every single one of your works and i’m in love. keep up the amazing work darling!!!!

oh my goodness thank you!!

found my new favorite writer! keep it up x

holy shit that means a lot! thanks! xox

sunshine smile → t.h

SUMMARY: in which you can’t fall asleep. bestfriends!au

WARNINGS: anxiety & fluff. written in third person rather than second.

She stared at the peeling paint of the ceiling in the darkness of her bedroom, the whirring of the fan quietly humming in her ears, creating a soft white noise. She’s burrowed down under a comforter and a blanket of silver light.

Besides from that, it was absolutely silent, causing a small bit of panic to arise from the young girl . Her doe-like irises widened, and flickered neurotically as she waited for the night to come to an end.

It was 1:42 am, the time in the morning where her mind began to run feral and out of control. One minute it's firm in her grasp, and the next it's sprinting away at a pace that made its meaning indecipherable and incoherent.

There it was, climbing her bookshelf. There it was, swinging from the drapes.

Sighing, she buried her face into her pillow, her felt sheets a tangle between her legs. A street lamp from outside slightly illuminated her room, casting long shadows behind her furniture and across her sanctuary. The bathroom light flickered.

Other than that, her room was pitch black, blanketed by the moons light, a soft tear in the black silk of the sky. The night grew older and the air grew colder. Still, she waited, yearning for that dark silence inside the bud of life, everything unknown.

"Tom?" she whispered, breaking the dead buzzing that hung about in the room.

There's a rustling noise, followed by a soft groan from the boy that slept on the floor. Y/N frowned, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. There were no more sounds, and it was several minutes before the girl decided to speak once again.

"Tom?" she inquired a bit more loudly. He shot up, pupils wide as the sleeping bag falls from his chest. She could hear his heavy breathing, suddenly feeling guilty for waking him up.

"Y/N?" he shifted towards her, head perked at the girl who sunk down into the mattress of her bedding. Her fingers were intertwined together as they laid upon her chest, moving slightly with each breath that seemed so hard to take. "What's wrong? Are you alright?"

The girl squinted her eyelids together, teeth still pressed down onto her lip. She laid still, waiting for the boy to lie back down again and fall asleep. But she knew that wouldn't happen. Hearing Tom stand up and the pitter-patter of his feet on the floorboards, sounding like the festering thunder in the annual spring showers.

Y/N felt the bed divot beside her, the boy sighing quietly as he rested his head on a soft cream pillow, the crescent of honey locks that graced his head spreading about, framing his face. The girl turned her head towards him, the moons light highlighting his cheekbones. He looked as if he were glowing.

"I know you're looking at me," the boy whispered after a while, eyes lids still fluttering slightly as they stared upwards.

She immediately felt a warmth spread across her face, grateful for the minimal light that hid her crimson flesh. Turning her head away, she let a small smirk crawl onto Tom’s face. He shifted his whole figure, lying upon his side, hipbones digging into the mattress of the bed. The moon dipped tresses sat amidst his forehead, sticking up every which way. From the corner of her eyes, Y/N still found herself absolutely entranced.

Being best friends with him had its perks, Sunday sleep overs, exclusive backstage action, and early morning cafe visits were the norm. But when she found herself growing feelings for him, she knew she had completely and utterly doomed herself.

"Why aren't you asleep?"

Y/N's heart palpitated as she noticed Tom reach towards her hand, interlacing their fingers.

"Can't." she mumbled, lips forming the vowels so quietly the boy beside her almost didn't hear it.

With a surge of sudden boldness, he grasped the girl's arm, pulling her close to him. Her head rested on his chest, both shocked by his action.

"Just close your eyes," Tom reassured, the calming words muffled by Y/N's hair. She nodded slightly, swallowing away the pit that started to form in her throat, constricting her from movement of any sort. It wasn't like Tom to be so intimate with her.

Yet she wasn’t complaining.

Unconsciously, she slipped her arm over his chest, the rise and fall of her own falling in sync with him. The only thing between them were a knot of cotton sheets and a barrier of friendship that had yet to be broken.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THIS DORK

when people tell me they're about to go see infinity war

don’t you lose → p.p

SUMMARY: you ultimately decide that peter’s life is worth saving over yours, and it takes a sacrifice that may destroy everything you ever knew and loved.

WARNINGS: death, angst. so. much. goddamn. angst. also this is my first post. lets see how this goes...

Everything had fallen into place so quickly, you hadn’t had the time to think about what you were even doing.

In fact, it was unusual. The sensation of it all. The careless throw as your body slammed down on the cemented sidewalk. The sounds of snapping bones followed by a blistering silence was all that you could make of upon the impact. In no way had you expected the feeling to encompass your entire body. Not the pain, but the burning numbness that paralyzed your limbs and made your sight turn foggy.

It all seem so stupid now. You knew the plan was in no other way but suicidal. You knew that pushing the boy to the side to take what was supposed to be his blow would end up with you injured in one way or another. And now, the twisted, jagged pieces of what used to be your combat staff protruded from your abdomen, peaking through the hindsight of your fading vision. You could feel the building pressure on your lungs, the bubbling air in your chest and dribbling blood from the corner of your lips with nowhere to go. The sharp taste of copper was prominent, layering your tongue and the back of your throat. It didn’t even have to take a genius to realize what the pouring liquid was from your lower torso.

You used to think, that in this moment, you’d feel a swell of pride overtake the agonizing pain. You used to think that you wouldn’t have minded when or how you died, as long as what you were doing benefited those in the future. But there was none of that. No triumph and no victorious battle cries. If you were completely honest, there was just one person that consumed your thoughts at this very moment, which you figured was rewarded by your ongoing selfishness. It was mostly just blind panic, coated with the stubbornness that you had carried your whole life through, sweetened by your act to keep the one you loved hanging on just a little bit longer. Despite the silence, the nauseating ringing that echoed in your head, you could still hear his gutting screams as you managed to push him to the side. You had stolen what was his, redirecting the blow from him onto yourself. It’s not like you minded, anyways, you were just focused on protecting him.

It wasn’t until you heard a shout of relief that you finally managed to realize you earned a sliver of your hearing back. You let yourself calm, watching as his face materialized above you, hoping you weren’t imagining the boys features as he kneeled next to your quivering body.

This lead you to smile. It had worked. He was alive.

A strange feeling of peace washed over you, grinning stained teeth as you breathed out his name.

“Peter...”

The blood that gurgled up from your throat made his name seem more of a choked sob than a relieved sigh. He leaned in closer, hands fluttering over your body as if he didn’t know where to place them. Lazily, you reached up your palm, letting him tightly grasp it and interlace your trembling fingers. You watched as his eyes took in your sight, pretending not to notice as they widened in pure horror.

“I used to hope I’d look decent for the last time you’d see me.”

It was a nonchalant joke, one that sparked a pain up your spine and threw you into a merciless coughing fit. Peter didn’t laugh. Instead, his lips twitched down as he watched a single tear of blood slip down your chin. The panic was highlighted in his eyes as he brought his face closer to your own.

“W-What are you talking about?” You could hear the sob that threatened to emit from his throat, noticing the extravagant amount of effort it took to keep his voice barely steady. “D-Don’t talk like that. You l-look great!”

He pretended to brush the situation aside, but you could see the real message behind his words, convincing himself that there was a chance you’d be able to survive this. Even you could tell that that was unlikely.

Peter was quick to accept the other palm that you had then extended in his direction, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you into his lap, sliding his other arm underneath to support your shoulders. Even that slight movement made you shudder, wrenching out a groan.

Peter began to apologize profusely, and yet you were able to silence him with the slightest upturn of your lips. You suddenly felt warmer, the churning in your stomach slowly dissipated, and your vision swam with the boys eyes that stared above you. This new angle somehow made it just a bit easier to catch your breath.

“I’m not sorry,” you heaved, finding it difficult to catch enough air to complete even the simplest of sentences. “Y-You’re safe, t-that’s all that-t matters.”

“Shh,” he coaxed, fingers tightening around your wrist even more so. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be okay. We’ll make it make to the Tower, and you’ll get better.”

You locked eyes onto his own, the fierceness behind those bloodshot irises almost made you want to believe in what he was saying.

Almost.

You sighed, shuddering breaths wracking your chest. “You k-know that is never going-g to h-happen...”

There just wasn’t enough time.

The panic that settled upon his face clutched at your heart. You did your best at a subtle smile, but the red bubbles that seeped through your teeth seemed to have the opposite effect of your attempt to coax him.

“Stop it,” he seethed, growing frustrated at the obvious fact that there was nothing he could do to help you. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Peter closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to your temple and letting out a shuddering breath that grazed warmth against your neck. He hiccuped, a feeble act to suppress his sobs. “It was supposed to be me.”

He could feel the quake in your fingers as you released his hand, bringing yours to rest upon the line of his jaw. Peter tilted his face, nose lightly brushing up against your own.

You felt the first tear on your cheek, the rest that had precariously settled upon his eyelids letting loose. His bottom lip quivered against your skin, no longer being able to suppress the sobs that wracked his chest.

“I’m still here,” you managed to splutter out, your poorly oxygenated lungs struggling to keep up with the simple words. It was hard, wanting to stare into his eyes until your vision faded completely. And yet his were scrunched closed, nuzzled into the hair that splayed across his lap.

“This is my fault,” he choked. “I should have been more careful.”

Peter sucked in hard, the sharp breath slicing through his body. You let your hand rest from his cheek, watching as it left red smudges in its wake. You almost wanted to laugh, but it was hard to find the energy to do so.

“I was there,” you sighed. When did your head become to feel so lightheaded? “I chose...”

You found breathing to quickly become a problem once again, the angle only letting you hold on for so much longer. It was almost as if you could feel the cavity in you chest slowly collapsing.

“I chose you.” The last word was a struggle to finish off, sending your body into a fit of wet coughs.

Peters grip tightened around you, cradling you in his chest. His arms had you wrapped up on his battered body, face nuzzled to the hollow of your neck. You could feel him trembling, the wetness of his tears that buried themselves in your hair. But you hadn’t minded, all you felt was his heartbeat on your own, and the unusually slow pace of the beating underneath your rib cage.

“I love you.” It was a soft whisper that emitted from your lips. Nonetheless, it was steady.

“I love you, too.”

You felt the ghost of his lips flutter by your ear as his words caressed your skin. There was a pull of a smile on his face, and you would have masked his own if you could have found the energy.

“Don’t you lose.”

The words came to him like a deadweight, the final realization that you weren’t going to make it past the next minute. But you didn’t want to focus on that, you only wanted to focus on him. The slightest smell of his cologne that filled your nose, bringing you to know how dearly you would miss that scent. You focused on his hands that held you close, his breath brushing your cheek, and the lips that kissed your skin. You sank into the embrace, feeling your body mold to his, your breathing gradually become slower and slower.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You felt him shift, locking onto his eyes once more before he dipped his head, melding his lips to your own.

You focused on his heartbeat, on the life that he gave you in your final moments. The steady beat guided you away from him, and you let out a sob as you buried your face into his chest.

Peter stiffened, you could feel it, the atmosphere becoming unusually silent. All you heard was him, and that was alright with you. You could hear his heart, his breaths, his wrenching sobs he fought so hard to hang on to. But even then you could feel yourself slipping away, sinking further into his arms, into his warmth.

“I won’t...” You reminisced his voice, closing your eyes. The weight of keeping them open had become unbearable. “I won’t lose.”

The ghost of a smile played on your lips, the ceasing of your breaths was enough to let Peter emit a bloodcurdling cry.

“I’ll win this,” you heard him croak, just before the blackness took you over completely. Just before you felt the warmth he gave you disappear. “Only because of you.”