STILL WITH HEARTS BEATING

alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, insecurity issues, fear of vulnerability, hurt/comfort, selfship coded a/n: a vent drabble, so everything is super self indulgent + based on me lol

“tell me atlas. what is heavier: the world or its people’s hearts?” — darshana suresh

although he prefers to keep his nose buried in a book, alhaitham is still as perceptive as ever, taking note of all the minuscule changes in your demeanor, even whilst you don a mask to stifle your woes.

he sees it first in the wistful sighs scattered amongst your too calm breaths, in your crafted smile, too practiced to be natural, and the strained words that fall too heavily out your lips, each in a race to prove that everything is normal and fine—that any anomalous behavior might only be the ramifications of an exhausting day.

your name rolls so naturally off his tongue, as he reaches out to you, catching your wrist before you can disappear into the bedroom and sleep away your swallowed emotions.

“are you alright?”

he asks out of courtesy, but to him, the signs are clear as day: the sharp inhale and slow exhale as you rally to fabricate another facade, chin tilted just a smidge too high as you turn to face him, dull eyes glistening with the remnants of unshed tears, forced to retreat by the winged flutter of your lashes.

to him, the signs are clear as day that you are not, that you are only putting on a brave face, something which he finds odd within the threshold of your shared home.

“just tired is all,” you reply, speaking in half truths. after all, it's exhausting trying to keep up appearances when all you wish to do, is to curl into yourself and rot into your bed.

you flash him a quick smile, small and devoid of warmth; a lame imposter to the very one he’s grown so terribly fond of.

he repeats your name, this time softer, brows knitted with equal parts skepticism and concern at your empty words. filled with even emptier spirit, he notes.

nonchalant, rehearsed, refined—and yet, he can hear the melancholia that spills into your tone. see the downward twitch of your lead-laden lips and the watery shift of your eyes as you avert your gaze in self-consciousness.

“you don’t have to hide from me,” he murmurs, and you want to believe him, want to believe that you’re brave enough to lay down your defenses, that you can trust him to hold your porcelain heart in his hands without threat of endangerment.

you open your mouth to speak, but not a sound comes out as the words turn to bile in your throat. to swallow the bitter liquid, or to spit your heart out and lay it bare for him to see. for alhaitham, who is more than just an akademiya giant, but a cornerstone of sumeru itself: brilliant and brave, kind in spite of his unconventional displays. the sun who shines by the heat of his own radiance.

his moon, he calls you. and yet the moon does not glow; the moon whose only light is a reflection of the sun.

you purse your lips, internally willing yourself to believe that these tears will not spill. it'd be egregious—like coughing up blood when you too have a reputation to uphold, a certain presence to be perceived. for even the moon, who shines by grace of borrowed light, is steadfast in its quiet elegance.

“it’s fine,” you insist, “really.” it’s heavy under the weight of your pride, but at least your heart is safe here in your chest, isolated and tucked away.

you push until he relents, relaxing his grip around your wrist. good, you think, he's given up. but then why does it so painfully squeeze your heart in a way you cannot convey—like a hair-lined fracture upon your brittle bones.

but alhaitham is no fool; he intends to prove he’d catch you before you can shatter, freeing your wrist, only so that he might pull you into his arms instead. there is no shortage to the vast infinity of words he can say, but matters of the heart have never been his forte… and so he hopes that his actions might speak more profoundly than his words.

the sudden impact blows your eyes wide with surprise, tears already threatening to spill from the solace of just his embrace. there are no sounds other than his steady heart and even breaths, no scent besides the faded woody fragrance of his cologne. it's safe here, cocooned in his arms, and you think that for a moment, perhaps everything is and will be fine.

you relax against him, basking in his warmth, as you rest into the crook of his neck, absentmindedly staring at the patterns on the floor.

“you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he whispers, “but please don’t hide from me.”

your hands, pressed flush against his chest, curl into themselves, relieved that he cannot see the tears welling in your eyes. he does, however, feel that first crystalline droplet that slides freely down your cheeks, melting into the fabric of his clothes as more follow. alhaitham runs his fingers through your hair, while his other hand hugs you by the small of your back, holding you ever closer. the occasional sob racks your body, silent and reluctant, but it’s a start.

a heart is a complex web of earnest emotions, floridly woven into secrets he cannot fault you for keeping locked away in a vault. perhaps one day, you’d rely on him, let him in to share the burden. and if he should be so lucky, perhaps you'd deem him worthy to be your home, so that you might rest with him, without armor. as for now, he’ll gladly cushion your fall, give you a soft place to land.

in the night’s dark embrace, the moon’s milky light paints patterns through the stained glass window of your bedroom, and behind you, your lover’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, holding you close beneath the blankets.

“… alhaitham?” your voice is delicate, spun from silk amidst the quiet of the night.

“hmm?” he peaks an eye open at the unfamiliar use of his full name.

“if I ask you something, do you promise to answer honestly?”

“I don’t see any reason not to.” The low vibrations of his tone tickles your skin as he replies with a kiss to your shoulder.

“am I…,” you hesitate, voice wavering as you contemplate whether words whispered into the wind might write itself into stone. “am i… enough for you?”

the seconds seem to stand still, as if all the world and even the sky itself, were holding its breath in bated anticipation.

finally, a creak cuts through the silence as the bed shifts alongside alhaitham, who now hovers over you, his body and arms trapping you in between. the intensity of his gaze prompts you to look away, but he reaches for your chin, holding you gently so that you have nowhere to look, save for his technicolored eyes.

enough for him? is that what you were upset about? what a shame, he thinks.

“If you could only see what I see,” he murmurs, with a kiss to your forehead. his moon, his stars, his entire night sky, who guides him in the dark.

“intelligent, intuitive, independent,” he murmurs, kissing along your jaw, and down your neck in between each word. “outspoken and fiercely strong. beautiful, capable of anything…”

alhaitham glances up, only satisfied once the insecurity is dispelled from your features, replaced by an absolute reassurance.

"… which I knew from the moment you made me fall completely in love with you."

he peppers your face with little kisses, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh, almost embarrassed. “haitham…”

alhaitham pauses at your first genuine smile of the night. “I mean every word. you’re more than enough, just as you are. and no one can should be able to take that away from you, so…”

he rolls back into bed, pulling you with him as he goes, so that you might drift to sleep with your head rested atop his chest, listening to the steady tune of his heart, as it sings to you in your dreams.

a/n2: this was actually vry therapeutic but i did not intend for it to get this long, and so i m a bit embarrassed (don’t perceive) however if u have made it this far, as always, thank u for reading ♡

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Appreciation Recs

why? because i said so. the fact that he's the least appreciated is a fucking crime and we need to fix that😐

Miss Sunshine - @sofasoap - the fluff- THE FLUFF😭😭😭😭 this legit had me giggling and kicking my feet in the middle of the night, i swear❤️

White Flag - @writeforfandoms - i want to be saved by this man so fucking bad🥴 okay, stressful situation aside, this was so cute❤️

Gaz + comfort sex - @sprout-fics - right in the fucking feels😭😭😭 this makes me just so so so weeaakkk. please just say you wanted me dead because that's what i am rn😭🔥

State Of My Head - @writeforfandoms - THIS. FIC. IS. EVERYTHING TO ME❤️ from the moment kitty met Gaz and he was just so gentle and respectful when handling her AND HE SMELLED GOOD, he's just had me in a chokehold😭 *distant choking sobbing noises*

Wrong Room - @mangowafflesss - there's just something about college!Gaz that makes me so weak, okay?🥴 and you did it beautifully with this one. i love this fic so much😭😭😭

Gaz prompt - @mangowafflesss - he's such a bumbling little cutie, i love him so much. thank you for this🔥❤️

Where The Petals Fall - @deadbranch - i swear you are just amazing, alright? this fic is absolutely top tier and it had me in tears🔥🔥🔥

Gaz has baby-fever - @konigsblog - fucking. hell🥵 just kill me. kill me right now. that's what you want, isn't it? ISN'T IT??😭

Breeding Kink with Gaz - @konigsblog - same with this one! you are an absolute menace for this one🥵

Cult of Vagabonds - @halcyone-of-the-sea - listen, i know i added your fic to the July picklejar rec list, but can you blame me for adding you to this one? can you? no, i didn't think so❤️

shameless self-advertisement by @groguspicklejar

(because obviously i couldn't find enough Gaz fics out there and people can't seem to find the reblog button🙄 so i find other ways to show my work🙃)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick really soft hc that nobody asked for

Kyle picks you up from work

Kyle Garrick on boys night

Two Peas In A Pod

fanarts

Kyle checking you out - @temeyes - if Gaz looked at me like this, i-i would do anything he asks of me🥴

gaz. need i say more? -@skyspats - nope. nothing else needs to be said🌹

Rizz Master Gaz - @ramvur - HE HAS TOO MUCH POWER!!! but he uses it accordingly👌🏼✨💯

Charming Gaz - @munyon - you know what the first thing i said upon seeing this? it was "oh fuck🥵" because yes, that's what i would like this man to do to me. thanks.

Garden Knome 141 - @grimmzee - quick question: was Gaz hanging upside down a callback to the helicopter scene? because it feels oddly reminiscent😉 in a cute way, of course✨

Little British Guy - @tanukigobrrr - you have no idea how much i love this, it's so so cute🌻🌻🌻

Amsterdam Outfit - @minkei - THE AMSTERDAM FIT WAS SO ICONIC, I'M SO GLAD YOU RECREATED IT😭✨🔥

Gaz Sketch - @chocolatestrawberry-poptart - the little heart on his hat is everything❤️❤️❤️

Gaz Angst - @reds-skull - GAZ ANGST IS TOP TIER AND YOU'RE RIGHT, THERE SHOULD BE MORE!!! this is so amazing and it deserves an award for putting tears in my eyes👌🏼✨💯

Gazzz - @loneghostwolf - i guess this doesn't technically classify as fanart but i wanted to save it here so i can revisit it because he just looks so good😭❤️

Boop! - @temeyes - SO. FUCKING. CUTE✨💯 Soap is a fucking menace, btw, but I'm not gonna lie and say i wouldn't have done the same, okay? okay bye❤️

969 notes View Post

hinakamiya

6 months ago

Motion Sickness

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason makes you cry after a fight

warnings: angst with comfort

“Jason—”

He waves you off immediately, “No, I’m not your problem, okay?”

Your arms drop, “You’re not a problem at all, that’s not what I’m saying—”

“Then what are you saying?” he challenges.

You almost bite your tongue but then decide against it, “I’m saying you’re being an asshole right now just because I tried to help.”

He’s angry and you’re someplace in between desperate and tired, but you push on, hoping you’ll be able to solve this without an extended argument. To little avail though, apparently.

A tense exhale from him, “I don’t need your help, I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”

“It’s not about needing it—”

“No, it’s about wanting it. I don’t want your fucking help,” he snaps. “I’m grown, I can handle my problems myself.”

You drop your hands to your sides, “Then what am I doing here, Jason?”

“I don’t know!” You can literally see the regret sweep over his face but he lets the moment consume him and the words linger anyways.

You know he doesn’t always think before he talks, especially when he’s mad. You’ve seen it plenty when he’s fighting with his family. This is the first time it’s shown up with you though, and while you know it’s not coming from a place of genuinity—it still really fucking stung.

Far from being in your control, tears slip out, more at his tone than his words, and you remove your gaze in favor of the linoleum tiles. He says nothing as you start to cry, which only makes the heat of the moment worsen.

“Okay,” You take a deep breath, pursing your lips. “You need to go away.”

There’s a long, hard moment of silence, but ultimately he doesn’t fight you on it, only exhales harshly and slams the door on his way out.

The resulting reverberation of the apartment has your shoulders shaking, tears falling onto your shirt.

You and Jason don’t fight often but when you do it’s usually about insecurities and fears coming forward. He’d been having a bad night to start with and all you wanted to do was make him feel better but he wasn’t willing to talk to you or let you do anything for him. He gets selfishly selfless like that, but you know why.

You know him, in and out. You could’ve anticipated this—you should’ve. You should’ve approached the topic more sensitively. And it’s not his fault, his life has taught him that it’s safer to believe that other people don’t have his best interest. You know that.

Yeah, you know him in and out, but he knows you in and out, too. He knows you’ve shown him nothing but kindness and generosity since the day you met and you’ve reinforced a thousand times how safe you are for him. But if he still can’t trust you to care about him, then what are you doing here?

You let yourself fall back onto the arm of the couch, huffing in defeat.

It’s nearing two in the morning when Dick awakens, the bandages across his abdomen digging into his skin uncomfortably. He sits up, bedsheet pooling around his waist. The ache of the bruising pushes him towards his old bedroom door before he’s even fully coherent, narrowly missing shouldering the door frame as he passes through.

He’s still half asleep as he thumps down the staircase, cold hands stuffed in the pocket of his sweatshirt. He’s so out of it in his blind search for painkillers, that he nearly misses the large shadowed figure huddled up on the couch.

Dick stills, blinking warily.

“What’re you doing here?”

His younger brother says nothing, only continues to stew in the shadows, staring at the rug.

As his eyes adjust, Dick takes in his appearance: messy hair, tired eyes, only clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

He rubs his eyes, approaching with measured steps, “What happened?”

Jason remains silent for a long minute before grunting out, “Got in a fight.”

Dick nods slowly, shuffling forward a little more to sit on the far end of the couch.

“What’d you do?”

Jason doesn’t have it in him to comment on how his brother immediately knew he was the issue. It just makes the entire thing hurt even worse. Instead, he tells the truth.

“Be myself.”

Dick says nothing,

When the silence persists, Jason elaborates, even though it’s the last thing he wants to admit to.

“I made her cry,” he says, voice below even a whisper. He hates it and he hates himself for leaving you when he knew he’d hurt you.

Dick nods, not saying anything. He’s definitely been there before, though he’s not nearly as volatile as Jason can be, so he can imagine how this likely played out. In any case, Jason has never responded well to being pushed to talk about his feelings so Dick lets him get there in his own time.

He’s half expecting to end up with no results at all, but Jason pipes up after a minute, voice broken.

“I don’t know what she wants me to do,” he rasps.

Dick takes a deep breath, adjusting his posture. “When girls are mad you give them space but when they’re sad you definitely don’t. Is she sad or mad?”

Jason exhales desperately.

“Both, I think.”

Dick nods, understanding.

“Then go home.”

Jason shakes his head, defeated. “She told me to leave. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“What did you say?”

He huffs, not wanting to bring the memory back up. “I basically told her to fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Dick drawls. “I wouldn’t let that simmer.”

Jason’s head snaps over to him. “She’ll break up with me?”

“No, I don’t—” Dick pauses, thinking over his words. “It’ll be fine. Just go home.”

Despite taking the long route on the way to the manor, Jason sped back home on his bike, now unwilling to leave you alone for another second longer than he had to.

He creeps through the front door of your apartment, proud and only a little hurt that you’d remembered to lock it.

The apartment’s mostly quiet, nothing but a lamp lighting up the front half. He can hear the shower running from where he stands, the waterfall noise awfully muffled from behind the closed bathroom door.

He bolts the door behind him, pushing forward towards the hallway. He approaches the bathroom door, noticing how there’s no light flooding out from underneath.

“Baby?” Jason calls it out quietly, like he’s scared to commit to alerting you of his presence.

He hears no response, but he knows you heard him. He knows you heard him in the same way that he knows you’re sitting on the shower floor, curled in on yourself under the sensory relief that the pouring water brings. He doesn’t know how, he just does.

So he leans against the door, listening closely, and calls out again, “Can I come in?”

There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before you respond, just barely audible over the cascade of water.

“Not right now.”

Your volume has him wincing, saddened and embarrassed that he’s the one that made you feel like this.

He reluctantly walks back to the bedroom with heavy shoulders, thudding his weight down on the mattress. He sits half folded over himself for the next ten minutes, thinking only of you, sitting alone in the shower with your thoughts.

He perks up considerably when he hears the water shut off, and after several long minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, towel wrapped around your middle.

He stands up when you enter the bedroom, hands stiff and awkward at his sides. You barely look at him, having trouble willing yourself to do more than glance.

Your eyes fall downward, your lips pursing. You instinctually move to clutching the towel tighter around you, more than anything because you don’t know what to do with your hands.

It makes his heart break to see you so out of comfort around him—because of him—so he gives you the benefit of privacy, turning around so you can get dressed. It kills him to do it, makes him feel like he’s just some stranger in your life rather than him. But he supposes that he deserves to feel like that right now.

Whether or not you wanted him to turn around goes unsaid, he can only hear the quiet shuffling of you putting clothes on.

He waits until the movement stops, after he hears the squeak of the bed springs and the faint sound of the sheets being pulled up.

He turns around again with a silent sigh, taking in the sight of you laying in bed, back turned to him.

He approaches slowly, stopping just before his knees hit the mattress. He notices quickly that the t-shirt you’d chosen was one of your own. He frowns.

“Sweetheart. Can I touch you?” His voice is soft and low, like he’s trying to coax you back out to him.

It takes a long few moments, but you nod.

He sits down on the bed, still hesitant to go through with it.

“Will you turn over?”

An even longer pause and you’re flipping over to face him. You don’t make eye contact, only look blankly past him. Your blinks are heavy, and even in the dark, he can see that your eyes are still bloodshot.

He brushes your hair back, his fingers feather-light against you, like he’s scared to touch you too harshly. Like he’s touching porcelain.

He lets you hold the silence for a while, reasoning with himself that you’ll talk when you’re ready.

You let it go on longer than he’d hoped, past the point of him knowing what to do with it. He’d hoped you’d yell at him. He can take that, he knows he can. He can see plainly that you’re thinking deeply and wants more than anything for you to say it, scream it if you have to.

He knows he deserves it and he frankly would take anything over the silence. But then again, he doesn’t deserve the reprieve, does he? No, but he’s not strong enough to deny himself the chance to hear your voice.

“Say it,” he urges. “Please.”

Your fingers tap against the bed sheets for a moment before you sit up, almost defeated.

You face him, taking a breath and relenting. “I don’t like that you said that to me.”

He nods, brow deep. “Me neither.”

Your shoulders sag at that, and you feel stuck in the moment. You feel guilty too but you don’t know if you should. He didn’t mean it, you know that, and they weren’t his words, really. But the snap of his voice when he’d said it and the look on his face—it made you feel terrible. It still does.

You look awkwardly to the left, feeling heavily spectated by him and so hyper-conscious of all of your movements. The downturn of your lips gives way to burning in your eyes and before you can do anything about it, tears are spilling out.

Jason sees it immediately, his head lulling helplessly.

“Oh, baby. Please don’t cry, please.”

But that only makes it worse, the tears falling faster and heavier at his soft tone.

He forgoes asking permission and pulls you directly into his chest, a firm hand on the back of your head. It’s what you needed though, to be close to him right now.

“I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, baby—” he murmurs against your hair, pressing a rough kiss as he holds you tighter.

You shake your head, sniffling. “It’s okay, Jay.”

“No, it’s not.”

That sentiment lingers for several minutes, as he holds you cheek to chest and rubs soothing patterns into your hair.

It’s not long before you’re able to fully relax against him, his touch feeling nothing short of therapeutic. Your breathing eventually levels out back to baseline and your thoughts start to find peace amongst themselves.

When you’re ready, you sit back from him, letting him see your face again.

He visibly winces as he scans over the tears on your cheeks, how they’re starting to stain.

You’re still upset, a little, but not nearly as much as you’re sure your face is conveying.

“It’s okay,” you tell him, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.

He shakes his head, “If I ever say something like that to you again, hit me. I’m serious.”

You drop your hand onto your lap, tilting your head at him with a serious look. “I’m not going to hit you—”

“Then break up with me. Don’t ever let somebody talk to you like that, especially not me.”

His voice is hard and you can tell the impact of his words have every bit of weight intended.

Your mouth closes and you waver unsure of where to go with that. Your gaze falls down to where your hands lie discarded on your lap and there’s a palpable shift to the air in the room.

“Hey.” He pushes your chin up to make you look at him, “Listen to me. You’re the love of my life. You hear me? I’m supposed to take care of you, make you happy. I don’t…I can’t talk to you like that. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Your eyes flicker back and forth across each others and you can see the genuine sincerity etched plainly across his face.

He processes the comprehension across your own before his jaw tenses for a moment and he adds, “Nobody’s gonna talk to you like that, much less me. Yes?”

You start to nod slowly and he mirrors you until he’s convinced of your belief in the statement.

He rubs calm circles into your thighs as you both sit with the conversation, the light sounds of each others breaths the only sound heard. This silence isn’t the same as it was before though, it’s safer, more comfortable. It’s familiar, if not weighted.

“I love you,” you tell him quietly.

His eyebrows furrow like his heart was just shattered.

“I love you too, baby. So much.”