#Fire Doesn't Grow on Trees

[david-watts]

I swear to god the weather is evil atm

[sleepymarimo]

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣!

summary: the first time you make their heart skip a beat, w/ monster trio + law! pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader, law x gn!reader cw: none! an: ahhhh idk how to feel about this one but i hope you enjoy :') 👐

luffy

there are a lot of things that get luffy's heart racing.

a good meal. a cool looking fish. a killer party. all of it makes this captain happy, because he revels in the adventure. he lives for the moment. he feels deeply and strongly, a trait that acts as a double edged sword.

like now, as a torrent of anger and worry swirl in his chest and weigh him down. he's running through some dense woods, bursting through trees and falling down hills, a look of determination on his face.

an enemy had managed to sneak up on the crew.

what's worse? they ran off. with you.

luffy doesn't think twice. he pushes through anything in his way for the sake of finding you before things got too rough. as he runs, he finds the enemy's actions cowardly. someone using you to draw him out makes him irritate. he doesn't care if he's falling into some trap; he'd deal with whatever was put in front of him so long as he could rescue you.

he's worried for your well being, of course he is. even though he can't see you, he can feel you. his observation haki lets him know how frightened you are, a fact that makes him all the more angry.

then finally, in the distance, he catches sight of you.

you're in a clearing, the enemy looming over you. they're raising a weapon in your direction, much too close.

luffy feels his blood boil. he grabs ahold of some trees, running backwards and preparing to launch himself in your direction as fast as he can. his rubber arms grow taut as he stretches, his mind set on rescuing you.

an annoyed huff leaves him when he hears the enemy taunting you, threatening your life and mocking your ambitions. it has luffy's anger rising, because there was no way he'd let your dreams get made fun of. by anyone.

his thoughts become hazy, his strong feelings taking hold of his actions.

then, luffy hears it. it's like a melody, absolute music to his ears.

your laugh.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his head clears.

he can feel a big smile curling at his lips. his grin is all teeth, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and mischief. it's like a fire has been lit in his soul, like he's a toy that's just been wound up to the max.

even in your current predicament, even when you're utterly terrified, you have faith in yourself. in him.

if you can laugh, then so can he.

finally, he yells out his signature move, launching himself at the enemy and landing a punch so hard that it makes the air itself tremble.

"luffy!" you call with some tears prickling in your eyes, your limbs still shaky from the adrenaline. your smile falters at the edges, relief flooding your body. "you made it!"

your captain comes to life upon seeing your smile up close, his heart beating like a drum. his rubber arms wrap around you and he squeezes you to his chest, his laughter ringing in your ears.

"of course i did!" he grins, grabbing you by the hand and urging you to run with him to the ship. his grip on you is tight and secure. glancing back at you, he can't help but feel grateful to have you with him on this journey.

he snickers, letting emotion run through him without restriction. "you made my heart feel funny!"

zoro

after another victory, the straw hat pirates found themselves reveling in drinks, food and company.

for a while, the swordsman finds himself amidst the other heavy drinkers. he grins and knocks back bottle after bottle, content with listening to the animated conversations around him and observing the party.

eventually though, he craves some solitude. and so, he heads off towards a less occupied area where he can drink in peace.

he basks in isolation, until you manage to find your way to him. a big grin is on your face and he can't help but reciprocate with a small smirk when he notices your inebriated state. unceremoniously, you plop down next to him at a respectable distance.

“hey zo', gimme some!” you nod towards the large bottle he holds, completely immersed in the light, upbeat atmosphere. one of your hands even reaches out, making a sort of grabbing motion.

he possessively tightens his grip on the bottle, his expression hardening slightly as his brows furrowed. "hah? this is mine, go grab your own bottle."

"i don't wanna full drink, jus' need a little more and i'll be good." you answer, well aware of your limits. your tone becomes pleading as you look up at him with puppy dog eyes. "one sip. please?"

with a groan, he relents. he grumbles something about you being lucky that he's in such a good mood, before extending the bottle in your direction.

yet, it appears that you have some more tricks up your sleeve.

instead of grabbing the bottle, you simply tilt your head back and let your mouth hang open. you make an 'ah' sound, waiting for him to bestow you with the gift of alcohol.

he's a little taken aback at first. seriously? you wanted him to pour it for you? ugh, fine...

he rolls his eye and uses his free hand to firmly hold your jaw steady and open, bringing the bottle up and pouring the sake into your mouth.

your hand rests on his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his knuckles.

it's all fine at first, until his eyes lock with yours. in that moment, he seems to acknowledge the intimacy of the act, something primal stirring in his gut as he looked down at you. his cheeks redden.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his muscles tense and he goes almost still. he gets so distracted that his hand moves upwards, effectively drowning your face with sake. your head snaps back into its natural position and you start to cough, the alcohol burning your nostrils.

you give the swordsman an incredulous look, wiping the excess sake from your face. “what the hell was that for?”

“you’re the one that moved!” he sharply replies, even though he knows damn well that you were sitting good and still for him.

focusing inward, he seems pleased to feel that his heart is once again thumping steadily. unwavering. what an odd feeling it was, to have his strong heart skip a beat.

i'll deal with that later. he thinks, not at all wanting to open that can of worms.

so, he takes another swig from the bottle and uses one of his large hands to pat you on the back as you continued to cough up sake.

“oi, don’t waste good booze.”

sanji

the cook wasn't used to being spoiled. he's always been a giver, someone who provides and never takes.

he basked in the smiles that formed on the faces of his crew mates, his family, whenever he made them a good meal or protected them. he never asks for anything in return. however, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be shown appreciation every now and then.

currently, he's on night watch.

a thick blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks and painting them a reddish color. a cigarette hangs from his lips, his breaths coming out as white puffs against the dark sky.

out of the corner of his eye, he can see light pouring out from the kitchen window. how long has that been on? his brows furrow in suspicion as he makes his way over, half-expecting to see luffy attempting to crack open the pantry.

yet when he opens the door, his posture immediately relaxes and he practically melts as he sees you. you're in your pajamas, hunched over the stove with a focused expression. he takes note of the cookbook laid out on the counter, guiding you as you prepared a dish.

he calls your name, his limbs turning to mush as he approached you. "what are you doing here so late? if you're hungry, i'll make you some-"

his nose twitches as he catches the scent of what you're making.

he knows it well because it happens to be one of his favorite dishes. coincidentally, it was one of your least favorites, the scent of it rather unbearable to you.

"you're... you're making..." his cigarette threatens to tumble out of his lips as he gives you a bewildered expression.

he can see your nose briefly scrunch up before you give him a smile, one of your hands holding a wooden spoon and mixing up ingredients on a pan. "yeah. i hope i'm making it right. i mean, it won't be as good as yours anyway, but still."

"mon amour, you shouldn't. i know how much you can't stand the smell of it." he tries to usher you away, placing a hand on yours and insisting that he didn't want you to be queasy. "why're you making this, mon amour? did someone ask you to?"

you shrug and keep a firm hold on the wooden spoon, replying like the answer was obvious. "because i thought it'd make you happy."

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his cigarette does fall to the floor. the hand that's over yours tightens, perhaps his way of grounding himself. he's speechless for a moment, something shaking him down to his very center.

he could almost cry.

"sanji?" you ask, a little concerned for the chef as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

the blond snaps out of it, giving you a smile that's so warm it makes you wonder if the sun had just come up. there's none of that surface level attraction or lust in his gaze, only an authentic appreciation.

thank you. he thinks, feeling light. thank you for caring.

his eyes close as he once again takes in the scent of the dish you're preparing. "it smells great, mon amour. better than anything i've ever made, i’m sure of it."

"i doubt that." you laugh, downplaying his compliment. with a nod, you resume cooking. "it'll be finished by the time you're done with your watch. i can handle it."

sanji thanks you once more, his heart feeling full. returning to his post, he allows you to do something kind for him. he allows himself to take, without worrying about having to repay you.

he quells any lingering thoughts of insecurity and self-doubt, focusing instead on the meal that's sure to be waiting for him in the morning.

law

it was a couple weeks ago that law made the decision to educate the crew a bit more on medical practices.

the surgeon knew that he couldn’t always be around to provide assistance to the crew, so it was only logical that he trained everyone in basic first aid, including you. day after day, he trained everyone, one at a time.

was it a lot? yes. however, law liked to be prepared and felt comfort in being thorough with his teachings, regardless of how tedious it was.

so, finally it was your day to be trained under his watchful eye.

you could tell how passionate he was about his work, how knowledgeable. if you had any questions or wanted to know more about a topic, he took the time to explain it to you properly.

he was quite patient, something you were thankful for since you knew he could sometimes grow frustrated.

when it's all said and done, he quizzes you. he sits atop the exam table, his expression apathetic.

"i'm a patient suffering from shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness." he flatly says, watching your every move. "what comes to mind? what do you check first?"

you bite at your lip, your head scrambling to come up with any ideas of what your 'patient' could be suffering from. "arrhythmia?" you answer, uncertain. he gives you a pressing look, urging you to continue. "and i... check your heartbeat?"

"good." with a nod of his head, he gestures towards the stethoscope. "go ahead, then. check it and let's see if you get the reading right."

pushing past your initial hesitance, you grab the stethoscope and put it on, gently holding the bell in your hand. placing it on his clothed chest, your expression turns frustrated as you struggle to hear a beat.

he rolls his eyes and calls your name lightly. "you can't place it over fabric. it needs to go directly on the skin."

oh yeah, you needed to place it directly on his chest.

you click your tongue, embarrassed by your slight error. "yeah, yeah, i got it."

with that, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt.

however, instead of holding up his shirt and and placing the stethoscope directly over his heart, your hand slides upward from his abdomen and all the way to his chest.

your fingers inadvertently graze along his skin, tracing a warm path from his navel to his heart.

you're too focused on your task to notice his widening eyes and how his breath hitches.

a content smile forms on your face when you catch the sound of his heartbeat.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

you look up at him, slightly concerned. “i think there's something weird-"

"you're hearing things." he's quick to say, placing a hand over yours and promptly removing it from his person. standing from the exam table, he adjusts his shirt and takes a step back to put some much needed distance between the two of you. "good job today, you did well."

he turns in the opposite direction, not wanting to let his cracked composure show. steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and shakes off any residual feelings of unease.

it was just a fluke. he's quick to think, wanting to be rational.

in the end, he looks over his shoulder and gives you a nod before heading to his study.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

You land hard, elbows hitting the ground with a jolt of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that someone is screaming—Blue is screaming. The heat in your veins fizzles, your heart jolting. Ghost has already sped off toward camp, pulling a knife from his ankle, and you scramble to your feet to follow.

Your movements are clumsy, your mind replaying the last few seconds, searching for any signs of trouble you might have missed. The air is clear, the trees are quiet, the ground is still. Yet, as you weave through the tall grasses that swipe at your ankles, you finally hear it—muffled voices, unmistakably human. They grow sharper with each step you take. 

Ghost reaches camp first, stopping in a lethal stance. You roll in just behind him, eyes snapping to where Blue stands behind the fence, alive and aiming one of her dad’s rifles at four strangers. Still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the rifle through a gap in the fortification. Two of the strangers are mounted on a brown horse, while the other two flank their sides, backs swollen with rucksacks and chests thick with gear. There is no doubt they have weapons.

"D-don't come any closer or I'll blow your heads off! I mean it!"

“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of them says calmly. A man.

“I don’t care why you’re here! You need to leave before my dad…” Her eyes flicker to you. “Dad!”

When their heads turn in your direction, you waste no time arching the knife over your head. You’re not much without your bow, but this is all you have.

In a split second, your eyes land on the burliest of the group, a man with a boonie hat and a dense, brown beard. He was the one speaking. The leader, maybe. You aim the knife for his head, but before you can throw it, Ghost grabs your wrist, wrenching you to his chest without warning, the knife falling to the ground.

"Wait," he says in your ear, his breath steady against your skin. There’s a detectable lilt of surprise in his voice. You try to squirm free, but he holds tight. "Stay here."

He lets go. Confusion reels through you. Everything in you screams to pick up the knife, but you hesitate as Ghost signals for Blue to lower the gun.

He calmly walks over to the intruders, heading to the man you were aiming for. The air feels thick as you watch with parted lips, stance still readied and breath racing. Ghost stops in front of him, and the two stare at each other strangely before the man smiles.

A strong hand reaches for Ghost’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.”

The clanking of metal against ceramic plates and the low murmurs of a fire fill the cabin.

Your spine presses into the wall.

There isn’t a free chair at the table, but you’re not sure you’d sit in one even if there was. Blue stands beside you, hands laced in front of her. She’s silent. You are, too. The cabin feels cramped with seven people in it. It makes your skin itch. 

You can inspect them more thoroughly now that you’re not thinking about who to kill first. 

There are two men—the older one you believe Ghost called Price, and a younger one you think he called Kyle. He’s fine-looking, you figure, underneath the overgrowth of facial hair and grime smudged on his dark skin. He had a tan cap on earlier but now a head of short, black hair is free for him to slick fingers through every now and then. Then there is a woman, some years older than you. She’s beautiful in a raw, Grecian sort of way, with long black hair and a violet undertone to her skin. Lastly, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. It doesn't take much to discern he is related to Kyle in some way.

They all look starving, though not as much as you once were. Nevertheless, Ghost is feeding them more than scraps. Canned beans, rice, and rabbit. They shovel it into their mouths. The men have muscles on them, so they can’t have been struggling much. Based on all the supplies they carry and the horse tied to a tree outside, you’ve figured they’ve been traveling for some time. A flurry of questions runs through your brain, but your lips remain in a tight line.

Ghost hasn’t said much yet. He hasn't even explained who they are. Your slitted eyes flicker to him. While the strangers fill up the table, he hovers beside it. His body speaks more than his expression. His shoulders are not tense and lethal as they'd been when you first sat at that table scarfing down food. But they're not relaxed, either; his arms crossed, still exposed from the black tee he'd put on for training, giving way to the slight flexes in his corded muscles that signal even he is thrown off by their presence. 

But he trusts them enough to let them in here. With the way they carry themselves, and the fact that Ghost hasn't killed them, they must've been in the military together. He doesn't seem like the type to have had normal friends. 

Kyle speaks first.

He thrums the pads of his fingertips against the wood and clears his throat, breaking your thoughts. "We were hoping you'd still be here, but it was a shot in the dark."

"I’ve never left," Ghost says, plainly.

Kyle sips from his mug and wipes his mouth, then his eyes shift toward you. You meet his gaze with a hardened look. 

"We're sorry for scaring you."

It takes a moment to realize his words aren't for you. Blue glances to her toes. "I wasn't scared." 

His lips lift. "Of course not. It's us who should've been scared of crossing paths with Simon Riley's kid. You did the right thing, you know. Protecting yourself."

"I didn't realize you knew my dad." She nibbles her lip and looks up. "My name is Blue, by the way. And this is..." Her eyes flick to you. "My friend, Twix."

Your tongue pokes your cheek as you look over the new faces. What are you supposed to say? 

"Hi," is all you settle on.

Ghost clears his throat. "Kid, why don't you clean some more water for them."

Blue nods dutifully, lingering only a second before pouring more river water into the pot over the fire.

"Thank you for your kindness. We haven't had a warm meal like this in days," the woman says kindly.

"It's a strong setup you've made for yourself," Price speaks, one hand stroking his beard while he pushes the cleared plate away with the other. He leans back, boonie hat still cradling his head and casting a shadow over his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of warm brown irises that might've comforted you in any other circumstance.

"It's lasted me this long." Ghost shifts his weight slightly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Near the base by the border, further north."

"Last I heard you were in Manchester."

"Once the radios went out, we picked up my wife," he touches the woman's shoulder, "Nereida, and Kyle's nephew here, Ari, from Newcastle. Made camp with a few others. Served us well for the past five years."

Ghost slowly nods and then drawls, "And Soap?”

Price leans his forearms on the table. "Not quite sure. The base was falling apart, but he stayed back, saying he'd meet up with us once he could. That was five years ago."

You're not sure who Soap is, someone else they worked with, maybe. There is a brief pause before Ghost asks, "Why did you leave?"

"More and more of 'em, Simon," Price replies with a slight shake of his head, emitting a low breath. "Made it difficult to even get food."

"Too many of them, not enough of us," Nereida murmurs distantly. Her hand slips under the table, out of view. You imagine it resting on Price's thigh as she leans into him with a weighted sigh. "They always seem to be moving. Not with a destination in mind, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they ruined our setup. We decided to leave before that could happen."

Kyles adds, "It wasn't an easy decision, but living in anticipation of the worst isn't really living at all."

Your brows lower. “Where exactly could you be headed that wouldn't mean living in anticipation of the worst?” you can't stop yourself from asking, the question burning in your mind. 

Price leans back, those warm brown eyes finding yours. A short heartbeat passes before he answers simply, "Switzerland."

The absurdity of that single word response forces a disbelieving, chuffed breath through your nose. Of all the things this stranger could have said, that would have to be the least expected. You anticipate an equally surprised reaction from Ghost, but he seems unnervingly unfazed. Blue, however, swivels her head from where she sits cross-legged in front of the fire.

"What the fuck is Switzerland?"

"It's another country," the boy—Ari—answers.

Blue glances between him and her dad. "Like... not in England?"

Ari snorts softly. "No, not in England. It's across the channel."

"The channel?" Blue frowns. "That's... far, isn't it?"

"Very far," Nereida confirms with a nod.

The subject is brusquely dropped when Ghost reaches for their cleared plates. "You must want to bathe while you're here. There's a river nearby."

Price clears his throat. "These two can go first." He gestures to the woman and child.

Soon enough, you become irritatingly aware of what's happening; you're being shooed away, along with the kids and Nereida, so the three of them can speak privately. There isn't much room to object as you shuffle out of the cabin, carrying a handful of rags for them to wash with along with the homemade soap that you once used to wash away the grime and earth that caked up from traveling. 

The sun beats hard, the river warmer now that spring has aged. Dried sweat clings to your spine from this morning, but bathing yourself is the last thing on your mind now, not when you're still reeling in the presence of people you don't know. You swing a glance at the cabin behind your shoulder, something in your gut twisting. Ghost doesn't want you there to hear whatever they're talking about. 

"This is a good spot," Blue says, stopping in front of a shallow part of the bank where the water is warmest. She hands Ari some soap and teeters on her toes. You realize why she keeps staring at him like that; he's probably the only other kid she's met in years. She is even more shy than when she first met you. "Twix and I will look away, don't worry."

You and Blue sit perched on a rock as they wash themselves. 

"This is weird," she admits quietly to you.

"Very," you mumble.

When they're done, you offer Nereida the only clean clothes you have at the moment: one of the oversized shirts Ghost gave you and some jeans. An annoyingly strange thought brandishes your brain... you don't like the way the black fabric sits on her bare chest, nipples poking through, and the hem hanging down to her knees as it does on you. You should've just given her the dirty blouse to wear.

She sits at the edge of the river, wringing her soaked hair with a rag. From the corner of your eye, you catch Blue helping Ari rinse his dirty clothes in the water. You want to keep an eye on him; your knife is still nestled around your ankle in case they try anything, though a woman and preteen don't heighten your paranoia as much. 

"How long have you two been together?"

Her soft voice makes you blink. "What?"

"You and Simon."

You're confused until you recall the revelation from earlier—the man you've known the past few months as Ghost, the one whose hard form laid beneath you just hours ago, is actually Simon. Simon Riley. You're tempted to say the name; try it out. But it is hard to reconcile with. It might taste strange on your tongue. The name fits a version of him that doesn't exist in this world now, you suppose. British. Simple. Like John or Kyle. The name of a lieutenant. The bits of his face you've witnessed crosses your mind; his nose, lips, and chin seem like Simon. The damn mask is Ghost, though.

"Jesus... I am not—" You shake your head, the sun even hotter on your neck. "I'm not with him like that. We're just allies." You glance back at the cabin in the distance and you fight a scowl. "If that."

She runs her fingers through ravenous tendrils. "Oh. I apologize for assuming."

You offer a small smile. "It's fine."

"How long have you been staying here then?"

"Um, a few months now. I used to stay with my sister and a friend, but they died."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You shrug. "Everyone has lost important people."

"Doesn't make it easier," she says. "Ari's mom and younger sister used to be with us," she adds quietly with a solemn downward cast of her eyes, as if a memory has taken her for a moment. "They passed two years ago during a really rough winter along with this other couple we knew. Then it was just the four of us."

You inhale through your nose and release, frowning. "No child should have to experience that."

"No," she agrees, nodding. "They shouldn't. Which is why we're looking for a better life for him."

"And you think you'll find it in... Switzerland."

Nereida offers a half-smile, as if reading your thoughts. "We'd heard of a commune there, up in the mountains."

"A commune? Like what, a town?" 

"Sort of. Just... more people, living together. Protected. Greys make awful climbers, and the mountains there are much higher than anything in the UK."

This catches your attention, and the divot between your brows deepens. "How do you know it exists?"

"Well, we can't know for certain. John heard about it at the beginning of the spread, but it was too difficult to make arrangements at the time, especially when he had to help out at the medical site and then come find me. Things were a mess, I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah, I do." You reel in her words, thinking. "That was... years ago, though. Aren't you taking a huge risk going there now? What if nothing is there?"

"Staying in England would be a risk, too," she counters. "There is nothing here except death and hardship. You can't hide from it forever."

You look down at the water. Cicadas fill your ears, the buzzing drowning out your voice. "No, you can't."

You go on a hunt that afternoon, itching for some space to breathe. Deer tracks are harder to spot without the snow, but you find the unmistakeable marks of antlers against a tree and follow them. You glance around the forest. It feels endless and like a cage at the same time. Which way did they come from? If they made it to camp by morning, that means they spent the night here somewhere. You don't like the idea that others could be so close by, like that car.

The sun has turned orange by the time a healthy doe skirts in your peripherals. You stalk it behind an oak. An arrow flies from your bow, but you miss; the deer flees. You return in the dark empty-handed. No doubt, the visitors are fatigued, with Ghost already setting blankets across the cabin's floor for them to sleep on. You offer Ari the couch, figuring an exhausted kid needs it more than you do. He knocks out the moment he lays down.

"Here. For the night." Ghost offers you a heavy blanket and nods to the only bare spot of floor left after they've all settled down. 

You avoid his eyes and accept it. The moment he's disappeared to his room, you slip outside under the starlit night, finding the flattest patch of ground to lay the blanket down, which happens to be only a few paces away from a sleeping horse. It's not the couch, but it'll do for a night or two, and you refuse to sleep in the shed again. 

You're in the midst of standing back up after straightening out your makeshift bed when you bump into something solid. A hand grips your bicep and whirls you around, a pair of darkened eyes glowering down at you.

"What are you doing?" you breathe up at him. "I don't like when you grab me like that."

"What are you doing?" he retorts, voice low and hard.

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Out here?"

You look away and shimmy out of his hold. "Does it matter where I sleep?"

"It's not safe out here."

"You had no problem sending me out here before."

"You have since earned your keep," he mutters, as if annoyed you're even mentioning the past. 

"My spot is taken for the night by your lovely friends, so for however long you plan to let them stay, I will sleep out here."

"There is a spot on the floor for you inside."

"I'm not sleeping in there." With them. 

The whites of his eyes flash as he darts his gaze over your face. His tone softens perceptibly. A mere breath. "They won't hurt you, Twix."

You roll your eyes away from him. "I would just rather sleep out here by myself, okay? I prefer solitude at my most vulnerable. And it's not like my experiences with militant men have been pleasant so far." You keep your tone neutral, but a chill touches your spine at the memory.

Ghost emits a low huff. He suddenly rips the blanket from the ground and turns his back to you. "What are you doing?" you gape at him.

"You'll take my bed," he throws over his shoulder.

[wileys-russo]

summer christmas II a.russo

third little christmas fic installment! summer christmas II a.russo

"less, you're being a little bit dramatic." you chuckled, laid on the bed watching your girlfriend rifle through her suitcase grumbling and mumbling under her breath. "i am not! this is just wrong, its all wrong." the english woman shook her head with a huff as you merely smiled in amusement.

"baby you're just hot and bothered, you'll adjust in a few days! you've barely been here twenty four hours." you assured, pulling yourself to sit against your headboard and crossing your legs underneath you.

"exactly, and in that twenty four hours i've slept for about two of them!" the normally soft spoken blonde snapped, yanking a red bikini out of her bag and tossing it into the ever growing piles of clothes on the floor beside her.

"that's just the jetlag babe. it was the same when you came here last time, unfortunately the flight and the time differences don't change lessi, i tried speaking to someone about it but apparently mere mortals can't change geographical lines and locations." you teased gently with a grin, perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing together in a scowl sent your way shortly after.

"it wasn't anywhere near this hot when we were here in august, i'm going to melt!" the girl groaned, kicking her case closed and flopping down backwards on the end of the bed, face buried in her hands.

"thats because again its summer right now less. i also spoke with mother nature but she won't drop the temperature, turns out she's nearly as stubborn as you." you sighed sarcastically, laying down so your head was near hers as she rolled onto her side.

"you are not cute." the blonde warned as you winked, poking her nose as she smacked your hands away and rolled onto her back again.

"this is like opposite day on repeat! its supposed to be freezing cold and you wear hundreds of layers and drink hot chocolate and get cosy and have a fire and chop down a tree an-" your british girlfriend rattled off her regular traditions, ticking them off with her fingers.

"we can still do that stuff! well maybe not all of it, but we can watch christmas movies and go look at lights and have iced chocolates! we can take my nieces to the carols in the park, we can also go to the beach everyday and out on my brothers boat and we can stay out later because the sun doesn't set till after nine, and my mum got us all matching pyjamas! they're just...summer ones." you tried to assure, moving onto your stomach and looking down at her with a few encouraging nods.

"but its not the same! i've never had a hot christmas, all of its just wrong." alessia moaned, arms covering her face as you deflated a little and wriggled back to sit up, fiddling with your fingers in your lap for a second as doubts began to swirl around in your head at her words.

the two of you played at arsenal together and quickly clicked when alessia transferred, having met at a few social events the last couple of years you'd been in england and gotten close with some of your english teammates who'd gone above and beyond to make you feel welcome.

it helped having steph and caitlin around, and then now kyra, plus the rest of your matildas teammates scattered throughout london whom you regularly made efforts to catch up.

you and alessia had only been seeing one another for about a year and a half now but if you asked anyone who'd spent time with you during that period they'd tease you acted as if it had been much much longer.

last year you'd spent your first christmas in england with the russo family, finally having a reason not to go home which as much as it broke your mums heart she was overjoyed you'd met someone, bonus being it someone as kind and thoughtful as alessia was.

but this year you'd promised to come home for christmas, not having much of a chance to see your family all season between the olympics, international games, league games and champions leagues matches that had kept you more than busy the last twelve months.

you'd not expected your girlfriend to come with you, the two of you more than accustomed now to having to spend time apart playing for different countries. but when alessia teasingly floated the idea over dinner, feigning offence you hadn't asked her, it had all blossomed from there and now here she was.

you were much more used to the long haul flight home than the blonde was though, having done it dozens of times over the years for international commitments among the league games in england.

you'd come home pretty much the very day your break started, just under a week earlier than alessia to allow her to spend a little bit of the december break with her own family before she flew herself to australia.

but ever since you'd picked her up from the airport yesterday you could tell she was rather miserable.

there'd been turbulence and two screaming babies on the flight despite the fact the striker had flown business, which meant she'd not slept anywhere near as much as planned, and adjusting to the time difference hadn't been kind.

so slowly those doubts that you'd made a wrong choice asking her here grew louder and louder, until you just had to say something or else it felt as it you might burst.

"do you wish you'd stayed in england?" you asked quietly, attempts to mask the insecurity in your voice null and void as your girlfriend shot up, guilt written clear all over her face which sank as it caught the obvious nerves in your features that she regretted her choice to come home with you for the holidays during break.

"what? baby no of course not. i'm so excited to finally meet your whole family and spend time with them and with you, i'm so sorry for being so negative. i'm just tired and grumpy but that is not at all fair to take out on you." the blondes hands moved to settle either side of your face, bright blue eyes scanning yours as you gave a small nod, clearly not believing her.

"oh my love, really i am excited! we're going to do all that stuff you just said and i want to learn about your traditions and what you like doing for christmas. a summer christmas is just new for me thats all! but new things aren't bad things." alessia pushed, thumbs stroking your jawline and feeling the obvious tension in your body drop just a little at her words.

"less are you sure? it wouldn't be easy but we can find a flight back for you before christmas eve." you questioned, the taller girl nodding enthusiastically and leaning in to press her lips sweetly against yours a few times.

"more than sure, there's no need for that at all. this is no different to when you stayed in england with me and had a winter christmas last year, and you were nothing but cheerful and sweet and lovely the entire time." the blonde promised with another nod, stealing a few more kisses as the corners of your mouth upturned a little.

"mm theres that smile, welcome back." the striker grinned happily, a laugh finally leaving you as she practically tackled you back to the bed, moving on top of you as her hair fell around the pair of you like a curtain.

"i wasn't the one with the smiling problem russo." you poked her as she winced sheepishly. "i know. but from now on, i will embrace these new experiences with open arms!" the english woman announced, laying down on top of you and kissing all over your face.

"i'm happy to hear that." "yeah? i'm happy to say it." "good, because its thirty two degrees outside right now and the air cons only in the living room." you scrunched your nose up as the blonde faltered, taking a deep breath and exhaling.

"thats fine! i'm fine. lets just go to the beach!"

~

it turns out you and your girlfriend clearly had different expectations of what open arms and a beach day meant, as alessia lay on the beach recharging herself in the sun and you'd spent the entire time begging she get in the water with you.

"lessi come on! what happened to being open to new experiences?" you groaned, stealing her sunglasses and slipping them over your nose as she squinted up at you, sheltering her eyes with her hand.

"give!" the blonde demanded, making grabby hands as you shook your head and shuffled back on your knees. "swim!" you countered, smacking her thigh gently as she sighed heavily.

"swimming in december feels illegal." "not going in the water when you're at the beach is illegal." "babe the waves are huge, i'll get...what did you call it again?" "mm, dumped? we're not going surfing alessia!" you laughed, pushing her hand away where she reached for her sunglasses back again.

"but tanning feels so nice!" the blonde whined, arms covering her face. "you'll have plenty of time to get sunburnt like a little lobster baby, i promise." you cooed sarcastically, your girlfriend shoving you and finally sitting up on her towel.

"that was one time." "lessi its every time, you refuse to wear sunscreen!" "sun cream, and because it feels...sticky." "well does crying about how much it hurts to shower and peeling off your burnt skin feel better?" you countered quickly, the striker opening and closing her mouth.

"come on!" you hopped up to your feet, holding out your hand toward her and wiggling your fingers impatiently. "you know your persistence is incredibly irritating." alessia gave in, grabbing your hand as you pulled her up to stand.

"and here you used to find it endearing." you teased, the blondes hand smacking against your ass as you blushed and pushed her. "theres families here!" you warned as the girl smiled, simply shrugging and interlocking her fingers with yours as you tossed her sunglasses onto her towel and lead her down to the waters edge.

"how do you get in without being smashed by the waves?" her grip on you tightened as another set came rolling in. "timing. you see how the waves all crash here? thats the breaking point, once the last wave crashed you move past that, and then you just duck dive under the big ones until you get out the back!" you explained, the english woman staring on clueless as you laughed.

"come on, on three we run into the water. one, two..." again her grip on your hand tightened but she nodded none the less. "go!" you raced off but felt her hand slip out of yours, glancing back as alessia shook her head and remained rooted in position.

"how is it thirty five degrees and the water is freezing cold?" the striker scoffed having stepped one foot in and recoiled immediately as you grinned at her from the shallows.

"i swear babe if you say something about mother nature when i get out there i'll drown you!" the blonde warned seriously as you held up your hands, glancing over your shoulder.

"okay now, go baby!" you encouraged, waving for her to run to you, a moments hesitation passing before she gingerly waded in, wincing every few steps until finally she'd made it past the break point, the water barely up to her hips.

"jesus christ i'm going to get hypothermia!" the older girl wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver making you roll your eyes. "but i'm the dramatic one?" you questioned in disbelief. "no not dramatic baby, sensitive." the girl patted your cheek condescendingly with a pout as you narrowed your eyes at her.

"dickhead." you poked her with a shake of your head. "do you want to know a secret to adjusting to the water faster?" you asked as your girlfriend nodded eagerly.

"well its quite simple, you just get your head wet!" you grinned and before the taller girl could blink you'd barreled into her, sending her toppling over into the water as she surfaced with a gasp.

"oh you're dead." you squealed as you were tugged down into the water with her, plunged in head first before you popped back up with a cough, having swallowed a lungful of water in the purpose.

"hey you said snowball fights was a big thing in england?" you questioned, the two of you moving into water a little deeper as alessia nodded. "well we can do that too." you promised as the girl looked at you clearly confused.

"how? theres no snow." "no, but there is sand!" you grinned, smacking a handful of wet sand from the ocean floor into her hair as she gasped.

"are you fucking kidding-" "wave! duck!" you interrupted, grabbing her by the arm and pulling the pair of you under, tugging her out to swim even deeper past where the waves started and you could relax a little more.

"it was a joke!" you laughed as your girlfriend launched at you once you did, latching onto you and forcing your head back underwater with a grunt, the two of you wrestling in the water before you yelled for a truce.

"maybe this isn't so bad." the blonde admitted, swimming up behind you, arms circling your waist and her chin making a home on your shoulder as the pair of you stared back toward the beach, the water now calm and bright turquoise, sparkling where it was hit with the sun.

"thank you for agreeing to come." you turned your head, capturing her lips in hers with a soft smile. "thank you for asking me to come." alessia squeezed you appreciatively before you both turned back to your people watching.

"are they playing...cricket?" your girlfriend asked in bewilderment watching a young family race back and forth across the sand. "yeah! beach cricket, an aussie classic. but not surpassed by backyard cricket, which you'll get to experience on christmas day." you explained as the blonde hummed curiously.

"really?" "yeah! we have a tournament every year with the whole family even my nan and pop, between lunch and presents." "so we do christmas lunch, not dinner, right?"

you nodded, answering a few more questions about what the next few days had lined up for the pair of you, stopping your explanation of why santa was left a beer and not milk when familiar lips started to trail across your neck.

"you're going to get us in trouble if you leave a mark russo." you chuckled in warning, relaxing in her hold as the striker merely hummed, your eyes closing as your face was bathed in sunshine and soft kisses were peppered down your jaw.

"well your mums already made it very clear that i have permission." you groaned at that, pushing her away and pulling a face. "well you've ruined the mood with that haven't you." you huffed, starting to wander back in until fingers hooked into the sides of your bikini bottoms and tugged you backwards.

"i'm sorry! i've just never met a woman who took such healthy interest in her daughters sex life." alessia teased, your response swallowed with her mouth pressing to yours with a cheeky grin.

"its not funny! its humiliating she has no boundaries and we're stuck with her for the next week." you groaned, head resting against her shoulder as the girls thumbs traced circles against your hips, the two of you staying in your childhood home where everyone would be gathering for the holidays.

"baby its not that bad. she's just very...progressive! and supportive." "you know i think if you were a boy she'd have left condoms on the side table and the book of karma sutra on the bed."

~

"santa came get up get up get up!" you groggily lifted your head feeling three little bodies jump up and down on top of you, alessia stirring next to you with a tired exhale.

"are you awake yet? wake up!" one of your nieces shouted in your ear as you tiredly lifted a hand and made a thumbs up, the three young girls belonging to your older brother taking that as a yes and jumping down, racing off to wake up the rest of the family.

you exhaled tiredly, dragging your hands down your face and jolting as your door swung open again. "hope no ones naked! merry christmas girls, up we get!" your mum sung out, flinging open your blinds as you groaned.

"jesus christ mum come on!" your cheeks flushed red at her brash words feeling alessias body vibrate with a small chuckle beside you as the woman shrugged, flicking on your light and striding on out again.

"i think i'm adopted." you grumbled, rolling over and burying your face in your girlfriends shoulder. "well thats quite the wake up." the brit rasped out with another chuckle, hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

"merry christmas less." you pulled back and rested your head on your pillow again, bright blue eyes and a tired smile staring back at you. "merry christmas love." she repeated, pecking your lips quickly given neither of you had brushed your teeth yet.

"get up!" you both winced as a hand smacked against the wood of your door, your brother flipping you off in the doorway as you rolled your eyes and forced yourself up into a sitting position, alessia rubbing her eyes and exhaling, face still puffy with sleep.

"how is it already hot?" the english woman groaned in disbelief, the two of you sleeping under a thin sheet and even then barely able to touch one another bar a bit of hand holding when you were dozing off due to the thick humidity of your childhood bedroom.

"welcome to your first summer christmas." you laughed, running a hand through her hair as she hummed, the two of you gradually getting out of bed and already hearing the commotion of your family downstairs.

"mum no photos! its seven in the fucking morning." you groaned, wincing at the obvious click of her phone camera shoved in your face as you and alessia stumbled into the kitchen.

"oi you watch your fucking mouth!" your dad chimed in with a point making your girlfriend laugh and your eyes roll as the pair of you followed everyone into the living room.

"look look! this ones for me!" your eldest niece gasped, all three of them already riffling through the mountain of presents as you sent her an encouraging smile and collapsed onto the corner of the sofa.

alessia took a seat beside you as you slung one of your legs over hers, the pair of you exhaling in relief at the air con blasting right above you and wishing a merry christmas the rest of your family who were lounging around the room, your dad taking charge to handing out presents.

"oh thank you!" your girlfriend smiled appreciatively as he handed the pair of you one each, labeled from santa which you knew meant they were from your mum which was what you whispered in the blondes ear who chuckled and squeezed your knee.

though as you began to unwrap yours you realized very quickly you may have been a little too quick with your excitement, catching the word 'dental dams' on the side of the box and stuffing it down the side of the sofa before anyone else could see.

"oh my god mum!" "what? santa just wants you to be safe darling!"

[writers-potion]

Let's Scare Your Readers!

Combine the techniques below with the techniques for building suspense to give your readers a palm-sweating sensation!

Darkness

If absolute darkness doesn't make sense in your story, aim for semi-darkness: dusk, a single lantern/candle, heavily curtained windows, a thick canopy of trees, etc. Flickering lights that create confusing shadows can also be effective.

Let the darkness pool gradually around your MC. Show the night or fog rolling in, the camp-fire subsiding, or the candles burn down one by one.

Examples:

The candle sputtered. The light wavered.

The lamp cast its smoky light on the brick walls.

The night was silent, but for the dry rustling of leaves as the wind whispered through the trees.

Sound

Of all the senses, the sense of hearing serves best to create excitement and fear.

the clacking of the villain's boots on the floor tiles, the ticking of the wall clock, a dog barking outside, the roaring of a distant motor, a door slamming somewhere in the house, water dripping from the ceiling, the chair squeaking, the whine of the dentist's drill, the scraping of the knife on a whetstone, a faraway siren wailing the heroine's own heartbeat thudding in her ears.

When the surroundings are dark, your MC will grow to be more aware of the surrounding noise, even if it's not relevant to the plot.

Chill

Make it uncomfortably cold for the MC, and your readers will shiver with them.

powercut cutting off the heating, nightfall naturally bringing in lower temperatures.

winter, evening, a cool breeze that chills everything, survivors running our of fuel, the ceiling fan is over-active, stone builindg/caves/sbuterranean chambers tend to be cold.

Describe how the cold pinpricks the MC's skin, stunting their thinking and making them shiver.

The opposite can also be effective: turn up the temperature using a stove, an overheated motor, or the sweltering sun to make the MC sweat.

Isolation

This is a common technique: let the MC face the monster alone with no external help. It's also easier to limit the resources and escape routes available for the MC.

an abandoned factory, remote mountaintop, the depth of an unexplored cave.

It can also be more everyday locations: a construction site, the sewer, a malfunctioning bathroom.

Meet the Monster

When describing the threat, spread out your descriptions so that (1) the scene has constant action (2) you have material to build up later.

Good details to show:

hands, fingers, nails, talons, claws

the sound of the voice, growl, roar

the smile, teeth

the texture of skin, fur, scales.

Get Visceral

Never tell your readers that the MC is scared. Describe the fright using these physical effects:

the skin crawling, breath stalling, scalp pricking, clenching of the chest, stomach curling, heart thudding, sweat tricking down, clogged throat, pulse in the ears, cold sweat, chills up/down the spine, stomach knotting, breathless, etc.

The Gory Bits

Instead of describing everything, limit yourself to particular details, keeping overall description short. Non-stop gore doesn't shock - its bores.

Create a contrast: the child's mutilated corpse still clutches the doll. The brains from the baby's plt skull spill across the fluffy pink blanket.

Use similes, comparing gruesome buts to something from ordinary life. The intestines look like spaghetti in tomato sauce. The blood spilling from the mouth looks like lipstick.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* . ───

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[shitpostingkats]

We're only halfway through junior year and already there are SO many quotes from this season that have rewritten my brain chemistry.

"In the marketplace of ideas, certainty and confidence will always find eager buyers. But that doesn't mean that they are always true."

"Agreements exist wordlessly, and they exist without acknowledgement or even consciousness on the part of those who have engaged in them. But agreements are at their most potent when they are conscious."

"The winds are cold and we are made to warm each other. And the night is long and that is why we keep the fire lit."

"There is no agreement we are more likely to break than one we have made with ourselves."

"The difference between an oath and rage is about. That thin."

"Your vision of thriving is like a garden that grows explosively in all directions and is flowering and da da da da. But there's thriving like a tall and ancient tree. There's thriving like grass."

"I just felt really weird about. Being mad. I didn't want to do it unless it felt, like, really necessary or justified."

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[floralscented]

LIVEWIRE — jj maybank x reader.

livewire (n) — an energetic or unpredictable person; a force of nature. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤthat boy is a livewire; he'll ruin you, or die trying.

. . . or, jj's crashout — featuring you.

includes, SEXUAL CONTENT! MDNI. kinda pwp. crashout!jj. best friend!fem!reader. forced proximity. high stakes. dirty talk. jj is vocal. p in v. unprotected sex ( do not do this they r just so ridiculous & horny ). ( semi ) public. he has absolutely no pullout game but he's forgiven for it </3

NOTES. if the door logic doesn't make any sense realistically ... that's not my business. i'm not writing for realism i'm writing for the JJ GIRLS who want 2 fuck CRASHOUT JJ. also my apology for the quote in the tagline ik its too soon still but i joke 2 cope.

Red and blue littered the autumnal afternoon sky, sirens overshadowing the lyrical chirps of the birds, the scattered winds blowing red and orange leaves down the Kildare streets. 

JJ Maybank is a fucking force to be reckoned with. In his wake, town hall’s alarms reared their deafening screeches, the aforementioned chilly winds blowing in handfuls of leaves to scatter the podiums and the foldout chairs. There’s a lone chair on its side in the middle of the well-kept grassy front courtyard. There’s glass burrowing itself in the dirt, reflecting the golden sun’s light at every which way when you turn your head. 

The other pogues are screaming at him to go, to run, and he’s shocked for a moment. Stood like a deer in headlights at the actions that he took. Who knew how much one boy was capable? All of the destruction that two hands could elicit? 

Oh, and what an empowering thought it is, too: realizing what you are capable of doing when you are pushed to the brink. 

There’s that look in his eyes, before he turns on his heels and takes off into the wood, disappearing like a speck in the small bit of forestry separating town hall from the rest of the downtown area. 

You know what that look means. This is merely the first in his rampage. Fire burns blue in the thin line of his irises, everything else overtaken by adrenaline and fucking rage. 

“Someone has to—” Kie starts, and you realize that you’ve been staring straight ahead at the trees he vanished into, eyes locked on the exact path he took. “Someone has to go, go make sure he’s okay—” 

Sarah’s eyes lock on yours. John B grimaces for a second, like he’s considering it, before he looks at you, too. Kie’s words, albeit vague, had never sounded so directed before. Pope—

Pope is getting tossed against the hood of a cop car, and suddenly, the pogues aren’t looking at you anymore. Their gazes break and shatter away from you like the shards of the window surrounding your feet. 

Your heart is racing. You. Chase him down. And what did they expect you to do? To tell him that this wasn’t him, and to stop while he’s ahead, and to hold his hand and guide him back to safety away from the cops’ sirens and cars that had already broken away from the crowd to hunt for him? 

No. This was JJ, and he wouldn’t stop while he was ahead, and he was going to take the cops on his tail like a challenge to keep going until he cracked — or they did. 

You were the only one that ever understood him, really. That was why their eyes immediately shifted to you when the topic came up that someone had to find him, because even while they wanted to help, they would only drive him further away. Not you. Never you. 

You’re turning on your heel and sprinting before anyone can realize what you’re doing. Not the screaming kooks, demanding lawyers and justice to the unlistening winds. Not the pogues, banging on the remaining cop cars to free him, free Pope, stop this fucking madness— 

It’s like a thin line is painted on the ground between you and JJ. An invisible rope, loose but growing more taut the closer you follow on his tail. 

You follow it. Follow that red string into the trees, letting it tug you along until you break out of the shadowy wood and onto main street. 

A car alarm blares. Glass shards on the trunk of it, surrounding the asphalt around it. You slow to a stop to avoid catching any of those sharp, loose pieces in your shoes. Even now that the imaginary red line has faded, you can see traces of where he went in the path of destruction he made. 

A shop’s window busted a few feet away from the car. A street pole sparking and buzzing lowly, electricity humming through the air like a siren’s song, tempting anyone it came across to touch it. Touch the livewire. 

Just a few feet away, there he is. JJ has an outdoor seating chair in his two hands, and he’s seconds from tossing it through the glass window of the cafe it was in front of. 

“JJ!” You shout, your voice faint beneath the sound of the car alarm, the sparking of the electrical fire, the hum of electricity buzzing all around you. 

His head swivels to look back at you, and he looks fucking vicious. He looks like no matter what you say, he’s not going to stop. Not here. The electricity coming from the dented-in box on the street pole is feeding directly into his veins. 

“Not supposed t’be here,” he calls back, and now that fury is directed at you. As if he ever could have stopped you from following the breadcrumbs he only ever left for you. “Can’t fuckin’ stop me.” 

You crunch glass beneath your feet as you run toward him. It’s too late to do anything about the cafe window; its pieces spill onto the glossy wood floor, some splayed onto the sidewalk. 

“Who said I’d try and stop you?” You ask him once you’re close enough. His hand runs through his mussed blonde hair, tugging the strands straight up. 

His eyes flit to you, eyebrows raised behind the loose strands falling back down over them. “M’not letting you get into this shit, too,” he says just as sternly. “It’s my fuckin’ life I’m ruining.” 

“Why?” you ask him, and it is a genuine question, even though you don’t think he’s going to answer. So you start to spit out your own theories. “Because of your dad? Because of what Luke did?” 

His eyes drop to the ground, squinting like he’s looking for something through the shards surrounding his feet. The bat. The end of it sticks out in front of your shoes. 

You bend down to grab it, holding the hitting end out toward him. His eyes are so dark when they glance at it, and then back up to you. His eyes were always oceanic, but now they seemed to be drowned out by the stormy black clouds that were his pupils. 

JJ’s eyes linger on yours. He’s never really made an effort to read you before, more of a take it on the chin sort of guy when it came to how people were, and what they meant to him. But he studied you now, and it was almost unnerving, trying to guess what exactly he saw reflected back to him. 

His fingers close around the hitting end of the bat in a tight grip, using it to pull you closer to him. He’s holding it out to the side, just so that it can’t go taut and rigid between the two of you, allowing you to be tugged closer than you would have been able to be. 

His breaths come in furious pants, audible once you were close to him. He was a livewire. He was sparking, burning everything he touched, trying to take it all to the ground. 

Destruction was always so pretty when it was at his hands. He did everything with purpose, whether it was for the good of who he cared about, or for his own grievances. 

And this sort of destruction, the kind you saw his eyes fall into once you were close enough to share breaths? It was golden and fiery, and full of promise that would break the thin line between your friendship and something else. 

You knew it in the same way that you knew how to follow that red, invisible line to him. Red because it was a bad idea, a waving red flag, telling you to stop, stop, stop. But it connected the both of you, regardless of its color; so how were you expected to?

“Feelin’ hungry?” JJ asks, voice low and almost sinful with the way that it rasped. 

You don’t mean to balk, but you do. It wasn’t a question you expected him to ask, but the double meaning in it, the innuendo laced words, had you stifling on your own words. “For what?” 

The bat slips from his grip, and it falls to hang loosely at your side. “We broke it, we buy it,” he says with a nod toward the shattered gap in the cafe’s window. “Or… not buy it.” His eyebrows bounce when he looks at you, and he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Did you think I was talkin’ about something else?” 

Your face flushes. Then, you drop the bat to shove at his chest with both hands. “Shut up.” 

“What, you feelin’ all hot and bothered, sweetheart?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tryna get some fugitive dick before it’s tossed in the slammer?” 

Your face is hot, the trail of heat from your reddened cheeks traveling like a river stream to your lower stomach. “Shut up, JJ,” you seethe, though it has none of the fire you wish it did. You didn’t know why; you had so much of it running through your blood then that it should have made you sound more fiery than you did. 

“Uh huh,” JJ cackles, his hand lifting to the back of your shoulder, pushing you toward the broken window. Once you’re a few steps ahead of him, his hand claps on your ass. “Andele, andele! Cops on the horizon.” 

It takes every bit of your willpower to not whirl around and smack him back. You don’t, because unfortunately for you, the sting only adds to your stomach becoming molten liquid, and for the other, more pressing matter, of the cops’ lights glowing red and blue at the very end of the street. 

You duck into the hole in the glass, feet crunching down on pieces of glass and debris. He follows immediately after, though when he slips into the building, it’s more stumbling than anything graceful. 

“Head t’the back,” he huffs, nodding toward the push-to-open door behind the front counter. “M’not gettin’ fucking caught before I fuck up that goddamn realtor’s house.” 

Arguing with him is a bit useless. JJ’s never been one to listen to anyone when his mind is set on something. You knew this from the moment that you took off in his direction to find him. Still, you almost open your mouth to make the effort to stop him, so at least you could say you did try. 

He cuts in front of you, stepping around the chair he tossed through the window, hopping over the countertop. He stops when he’s leaned against the door, holding it propped for you. 

“I’d say ladies first, but someone’s takin’ their sweet ass time,” he prods, nodding in gesture to the kitchen. 

You scoff, shaking your head, as you circle around the counter, shoving your shoulder into him when you duck underneath his arm. “Some of us aren’t so akin with vandalism.” 

“Some of us,” JJ mocks, his fingers digging into your ribcage as he falls into step behind you, “need t’lighten the hell up.” 

“I’m sorry, but are the cops not literally outside? End of the road?” It’s useless to humor him and his pestering, but it makes your heart beat a little bit faster, so who are you to make it easier for him and just go along with his ploys? 

He tsks. “Semantics.” His head spins around as he takes in the room surrounding them; typical bakery style kitchen, mixers and cutting boards and ovens, sinks lined up on the back wall. There’s tall fridges and deep freezes on one side of the wall, and parallel to it was— “Aha, there we go.” 

JJ cuts in front of you again, doing a little hop and a skip as he bumps his hip into this new door, tugging the handle down as he opens it. “Pantry, or whatever,” he scoffs, his face twisting up, “doesn’t matter to me what the hell it is. Gonna have to camp out in here, you and I.” 

Of course you were. You’d signed up for this, getting involved in this round of his criminalistic habits, but that didn’t mean you didn’t have the right to be annoyed. Weren’t you lot chased by the police enough as is? 

Still, you step into the pantry, the smell of chocolate chips and something else sugary hitting your nostrils the moment you’re inside. Boxes of ingredients line the shelves, including the ziploc bag of chocolate chips. 

JJ’s snatching it up before you can even process it, diving his hand into it and popping the handful between his plush lips. “Told you. Break it, we bought it.” 

Your eyes roll. Vandalism and theft. Probably a hefty sentence, nothing that either of you could afford with Poguelandia on the brink of destruction and your debts already piled high. 

He zips the bag back up and tosses it back on the shelf. “Walkin’ around like you got a stick up your ass, sweetheart,” JJ muses, his fingers closing around your elbow. “Told y’to relax, didn’t I?”

“No,” you say slowly in response. “You told me to lighten the hell up.” 

One side of his mouth quirks in a half smile, dimple gracing his cheek in the process. “Semantics,” he repeats, and he uses the grip he has on your arm to tug you back into his chest. “I could help you lighten the hell up.” 

“I sincerely doubt it, JJ,” you huff, your expression as unimpressed as one’s could be. “You’re the entire reason—” 

His mouth crashes against yours before you can finish that sentence. His mouth is as soft as it looks, the inner shell of his lips chapped. He tastes like weed, like the taste of it is so familiar in his mouth that it embedded itself into his taste. 

You almost don’t kiss back. It’s one of those things that feels like a bad idea because it is. That pointless rule about no kissing on other pogues went out the window the moment Kie and Pope got their hands on each other, but it still felt wrong, to break one of the rules that cemented the glue that held this group together. 

You kiss him back anyways. The moment that you start to respond to his advances, his tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, pushing his way in. He starts walking the both of you backwards, deeper into the pantry, until your back hits the wall. 

JJ’s hands drop to your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly to wrap your legs around his waist. Your fingers curl into his shirt, tugging him further in until his chest presses against yours. 

His hands let go of you, the press of his body against yours on the wall and your legs tight around his waist keep you held up. His fingers close around the hem of your dress’s skirt, tugging it up. 

Your eyes pop open, falling down to your exposed panties pressed against his denim jeans. When you glance back up at him, lips still lightly pressed to his, they’re blue again, and glimmery. 

“Tell me to stop if you want me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, stealing another kiss in the process. “Just… tryna get your mind off of—” 

“The manhunt?” You finish for him, and he laughs breathlessly against your mouth. 

“Mm, m’not doing a great job at distracting you, then,” he teases, one of his hands letting go of your dress, the other fisting the fabric as he holds it up. The free hand’s fingers slide down, down, down, until their tips are pressed on the edge of your panties. So close he could probably feel the slickness leaking through the fabric. 

“This all for me, baby?” he asks with that infuriating amusement curled around his words. “Or is it the danger of all this, too? Like bein’ an outlaw with little ol’ me?”

You aren’t even going to dignify him with an answer. Your bottom lip wedges itself between your teeth, your hands curling into fists against the fabric of his shirt. 

His middle finger starts to rub slow, lazy circles over your swollen clit through the damp fabric of your panties, his lips parted like he’s going to say something stupid about the whine that falls from your mouth—

When the sirens get so loud that it echoes around the small pantry. They don’t dissipate, either, which means…

“The door,” you choke out, nodding behind JJ to the pantry door. He’d shut it behind the both of you, but there’s a lock by the top of it, one of those chain link ones. “The lock—” You try to clarify, your brain a bit muddled. 

JJ’s head turns to glance behind him, and you watch his eyes dance up to the chain, too. He lets out a heavy sigh. “Such a damn worrier.” 

“I’m not—” 

Always useless arguing with him. He cuts you off by gripping at your thighs again with his lithe fingers, lifting you off of the wall and tugging you into his chest. 

You grab fistfuls of his shirt so you don’t fall backwards at the sudden movement, your lips curled into a scowl. 

He doesn’t seem to notice. He holds you in his arms as he walks to the door, pressing your back against this one so he can remove one hand from your leg, and lifts it to chain the lock. 

“Better?” he teases, and you’re about to scowl at him again when you watch the smile drop from his lips. 

Just as suddenly as he’d yanked you from the wall, he’s dropping to the ground, your body falling right along with him, knees crashing into the hardwood floors as you land into straddling him. Your mouth opens to gasp, or swear, or gasp and swear, when his fingers close over your lips. 

The cops. You hear them, then, the muffled voices and muddled words. Through the crack beneath the door behind JJ’s planted ass, you see their flashlights, too. 

His eyes meet yours, and he nods once, his expression grim. You blink, and his eyes are again filled with that glimmering mischief that never, in his life, has meant something good. 

And it was truly delinquent of him this time, as his hands drop to the button and fly of his jeans. Your mouth opens and closes in protest, because there’s no way he’s thinking that you two are going to fuck on some cafe’s pantry’s floor with cops right there—

“Oh, get that look offa your face,” he whispers, nosing your chin up and stealing a kiss when you’ve met his eyes again. “As long as you be quiet, what’s the big deal?” 

“You have nothing but awful ideas in that head of yours,” you snap in a low whisper, through your gritted teeth. “I’m not having sex with you right now—” 

JJ’s eyebrows raise. His eyes fall down to your slickened thighs, to the panties beneath the dress pooling his waist that he knows are wet with your arousal. 

“Fuck you.” It’s so pathetic to say, such a weak argument, but it’s the only thing that you can even think right now. Your heart is pounding in your chest with adrenaline and need and the fact that you can feel his hard dick straining in his jeans against your pussy.

JJ tips his head in a nod, his lips still quirked. “Aye aye, captain.” 

He undoes the restraints on his jeans, and his fingers disappear into the flyguard. Your eyes bounce between his face and his hands, his expression contorted in pure concentration that would be adorable if it wasn’t so seriously not. His tongue’s poking between his teeth, panting like an excited puppy, and you just want to—

“Hop on, baby,” he says triumphantly, and those stupid lips curl into an even more stupid grin. His hands pat his thighs to draw your attention downward. 

Fuck.

Your eyes must darken at the sight of him, hard and leaking precum, because he starts cackling like there aren’t police on the other side of the door, trying to cuff him and throw him in the backseat of a police car. “C’mon. Don’t be stingy now, baby, I see how bad you want it.” 

There are rare moments that JJ is right. Broken clocks right twice a day, or something like that. When he’s right, he’s always dead on, and it’s infuriating. 

You glance up at the little window in the door, and for then, at least, it’s clear. No shining flashlights beaming into the pantry you’re both camping in… 

You make bad decisions far less than JJ does. Still, like broken clocks, you both align sometimes. 

Lifting your hips off of his lap, his hands grasp at the backs of your thighs, guiding you onto his waiting cock, slapping it lightly against your pussy a couple of times before he lines himself up and drags the swollen head of it down your folds beneath your panties. He doesn’t give any warning before he pushes himself into you, a hard thrust that brings him all the way to the hilt at once.

Your lips fall open in a sharp gasp, and just barely does his hand make it over your mouth before the moan falls out of your mouth. One hand over your mouth, the other on your ass, guiding you into moving.

“As much as I love that mouth of yours,” JJ groans into your ear, low and rough like the words are being pried out of his lungs and torn through his ribs, “gonna have to keep it down this time.” 

He’s such a fucking hypocrite, though — the moment you adjust to the size of him filling you completely, stretching your inner walls to accommodate to him, and you start to move on your own? His head tips back against the door, guttural moans underneath his breath. 

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” he manages, and you slam down on him again, his hand dragging your hips forward to grind your aching pussy against his pelvis in slow circles. “Oh, fuck, baby—” 

“Shut up,” you muffle through his hand, even though it’s getting to you too, his palm stifling every gasp and breathy whimper before it leaves your parted lips. 

His hand clasps tighter around your mouth, his heavy, half-lidded eyes boring into yours. “You’re not the one in control here, baby.” 

It’s easy to forget, with him stretching you out and being relatively gentle right now, that he’s higher than he’s ever been. Adrenaline turns people into carcasses of themselves; wearing them down to the bone, using every scrap of energy available. 

His blown pupils are glimmering with it. He’s daring you with nothing but a look to see what happens when you keep running your mouth. His hand relents its hold on your mouth, and the other stills your hips as you stay suspended halfway down his cock.

The whine you let out is something you’ll deny later. The gravelly laugh he lets out is something that indicates he won’t let you. 

JJ smears his hand across your mouth, taking the saliva from the corner of your lips and spreading it across them, your cheek, before his two fingers slide into your mouth. “Not so bossy now, are you, baby?” he asks under his breath, as he thrusts his fingers in and out, as he slams his hips up in that same relentless pace as them. “Not so bossy when I’m fucking that mouth and that pretty little pussy.” 

His words burn from your lower stomach to up your spine, electric everywhere they reach. You can do nothing but take it, your hands on his shoulders for some sense of stability. 

Each thrust has the tip of his cock against your cervix, has his fingers clawing along your tongue as he presses them down on it just enough to pry your jaw open. 

“Lemme see that smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs, those two fingers spreading out into a V, forcing the corners of your lips up and into a wide grin. You sneer, and all that does is make him pound into you harder. “Don’t act so fuckin’ fussy, you’re gettin’ what you wanted, aren’t ya?” 

His fingers press on your tongue again, and your lips close around them again. It’s a good distraction from the way you want to scream. Not like you’d ever put that thought in his head with his ego. 

JJ slows his pace, but each thrust is just as hard, so deep in you that you can feel each of them, each minute detail; the thick head of his cock against your cervix, every inch that stretches you further with each of those thrusts, the obscene sound in the silent room of skin slapping against skin. 

“Baby, m’not gonna last much longer,” JJ pants into your ear, his voice still as rough but with an air of desperation. “Not like this, not with how fuckin’ good you’re bein’ for me, nice and quiet while I fuck your juicy pussy— fuck, baby.” 

He drags his fingers over your lips again, this time down, down the valley between your breasts, your stomach, your navel, until they’re planted right in the hot wetness of your folds. They find your clit and begin to rub the swollen nub, slow and gentle and completely at odds with the brutal fucking. 

You’re good, though, even without his hand covering your mouth. Even with—

A flashlight beams through the glass window above the both of you. Your eyes glance up to see it, and JJ’s staring at the spotlight of gold in the center of the room, just inches from his extended legs.

It flicks left, right, and you see the glimmer in the eyes of the officer right there, face pressed to the glass, hear the doorknob jangle against the chained lock—

JJ doesn’t stop. His pace becomes quicker, more erratic, more desperate. Your jaw trembles with the effort to keep your parted lips from making any sound at all, the precipice so close that you’re terrified of whatever noise is going to come out of your mouth when you cum. 

The beam from the light swings away, disappearing as the officer walks away, muffled words through the walls separating you and JJ from them. 

It’s just in time, too, because you cum with a soft and breathless gasp, your walls pulsing around his cock, your head falling forward to bury into his collar. His moans begin to shudder in your ear, and you know that he, too, is cumming. Feel it seconds later, when your head starts to clear from the haze of ecstasy, as the warmth of his cum fills you, his cock twitching inside of you. 

JJ lifts his fingers from between your legs and pops them into his mouth, the sound of him sucking the essence of you off of them making your legs tremble around him. “Like fuckin’ sin,” he whispers reverently. 

He’s so pretty like this. All spent and molten, softening cock inside of you like an extension of you now. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, thumb brushing stray hairs off of your face in the process. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, just as reverently as before, voicing the same thoughts you’d been having about him. 

“You’re so stupid,” you say in response, not capable of telling him how much you love him, feeling it to be the wrong time, too cheesy, another thing he’ll tease you about later. 

It’s there, though, on the tip of your tongue. I love you. And you do, so much that it aches. This man that’d been your best friend since you could remember anything. This man who sacrificed everything constantly for everyone. 

He wouldn’t have to sacrifice anything anymore, you wanna say. He could rest now, you wanted to say, too. 

But it feels wrong. And there’s always another time to tell him when it doesn’t just seem like bliss-driven thoughts. There’s always another day.

notes, thoguht my grief was over but the ending made me cry for some reason that's how u know this death hit deep bc why am i crying over like four lines in a Smut pls

[chaotic-minds-think-alike]

Finally finishing all these guys we’ve got charts and headcanons! (Long post)

(Height)

(Wingspan)

(Body length & basic shapes I used) (it might be odd but ignore any detail on the back, the shapes are for general body shape)

Headcanons:

Seawings: - Colors range from red and purple to yellow - Aquatic is based off areas of bioluminescence rather than singular scales (because no one wants to draw all of those) - Although they average small compared to the other tribes, gigantism is more common - Wing bioluminescence gene is always present but for some doesn't show, thus aquatic doesn't utilize the wings

Rainwings: - Can change the texture of their scales alongside color - Weakest bite due to their fangs, probably why they're vegetarian - Mimic interesting behaviors - Have forked tongues

Mudwings: - Colors range from olive green to purple-ish red - Very resilient - Able to breathe fire regardless of body temperature, the heat of the flame depends on body temp - Their horns constantly grow and sometimes have to be cut due to dangerous growing patterns - Love gnawing on things, tough foods like jerky is popular - The horn covers of fallen siblings are harvested and turned into instruments to remember them by

Leafwings: - Colors range from gold to teal (and pink to olive green during cold seasons) - Can appear to have false eyes - Bug-like just like the other Pantalan residents (because they're just some weird outlier like what is going on here) - Leafspeak doesn't actually allow them to hear voices from plants but rather increase the sensitivity of their antennae which pick up on the changes in plants - In colder seasons, regions that have deciduous trees influence leafwings in that their scales change into warm tones similar to fallen leaves for camouflage but this also negatively impacts one's leafspeak ability; this doesn't apply to evergreen leafwings however

Hivewings: - Colors range from hot pink to olive green - Can appear to have false eyes - Have elbowed antennae just like their "cousins", Hymenoptera (wasps, bees, ants) - Tend to disregard personal space/get close out of habit, being close means better temp regulation and better communication - All hivewings have stingers, wrist stingers, and a venomous bite but it largely depends on preference of which they choose and like muscles, they can be exercised to become deadly weapons - They're not capable of "emitting a horrible stench"

Icewings: - Colors range from white to pale indigo - Melanism is still very rare but more likely in icewings - Can be iridescent in any color, especially visible in lighter scaled individuals - The scales on their face is very fine and is flushed with blood which darkens the area and allows them to see in the snow by absorbing light, otherwise the glare from the sun reflecting off would be a hinderance - Their wings are thin and thus have visible veins most of the time - Idk how to describe their scales other than its kinda like basalt formations - From the side they appear large but are actually thin and flexible - They can freeze to death if they've gone without cold for a long time and then reintroduced too quickly - In hybridization, they have dominant genes, partially because the animus gene - The extra mane of horns can appear randomly on the body in singular spikes, they also make a clink sound when they collide as if they're made of ice, making a pretty scary rattle when disturbed

Nightwings: - Colors range from orange to purple - Albinism is still very rare but more likely in nightwings - Dwarfism is more common - Teardrop scales are always present, highlighted when the dragon has powers regardless of type - Pitbull ready to bite kids - They CAN hang upside down as the books suggest but not for long - By taking dust baths, they dull their scales to reflect less light and blend in better in the dark - Have white fire but cant breathe for long due to how hot it is (this is mainly to add onto the mysterious factor of em and I always liked the idea) - Due to eye sensitivity, they hate sudden bright lights and will close their eyes as they breathe fire

Silkwings: - Can have black or dark accents but never as a whole body color unless they've hybridized - Wing shapes vary widely - Can appear to have false eyes - Flamesilk is rarer than one might think - Very flexible and have strong tails used as a sort of 5th limb in climbing - Albino or melanistic dragons still keep their iridescence - Silk is emitted through a spinneret on the chin rather than the wrists - Prefer to travel in pairs (instinct)

Sandwings: - Colors range from red to olive green - Dark patters often mimic a snake's - Horse-like in complexion - Alongside their snake-like appearance, they have pit organs - Tend to move like birds - Poor eyesight but good hearing - Their horns angle upwards sort of like a bull

Skywings: - Colors range from red to yellow (and green because skywings are meant to be your typical fire breathing dragon which is most often depicted to be red but can also be green) - Tend to move like birds - Weaker than they appear - Green skywings are incapable of being or having flamescales - Their horns constantly grow and have to be filed down - A flamescale cant melt rock or metal by touch alone, only via fire is it possible - It's not that they don't want flamescales that they kill them, it's more of a mercy killing because of how lonely their life can be

[tojiluv]

Hello new follower here hope you’re having a great day/evening/night💜 could I request any inuyasha characters reaction to accidentally touching their s/o’s cold feet/hands while they’re sleeping at night ? You can ignore this if it makes you feel uncomfortable.

COLD NIGHT — inuyasha characters reaction ft. inuyasha, sesshomaru, koga [headcanon]

context: amidst the camp set up for the night, you spread your blanket on the ground while your partner opts to lie beside you. despite the warmth emanating from the large fire, your body retains a chill, though it doesn't trouble you greatly. however, someone else appears more affected, expressing their discomfort unlike you.

warnings: fluff. slight ooc? lowercase intended. gn! reader

notes: ty for the request anon! if you can't tell, i prefer sesshomaru more lol. also why doesn't Inuyasha and koga have good alias names ugh

INUYASHA ─ ❝ HALF—DOG ❞

➜ inuyasha would sit up against the rough bark of a nearby tree, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready for any potential intruders. you settle down beside him, seeking warmth and solace in his presence. your hand reaches out to him, seeking comfort and reassurance that he's beside you.

➜ as your hand makes contact with his, his serene expression swiftly transforms into one of alarm, his eyes snapping open wide. he jerks his hand away from yours, swiftly moving it towards the fire to regain warmth.

➜ “the hell is wrong with your hands!? they’re colder than the damn snow right now!”

➜ you scoff at his words, turning away from him in response. inuyasha grumbled at your reaction before firmly gripping your shoulders and pulling you closer to him, snuggling you into his warm embrace.

➜ “since you wanna be stubborn and not get near the fire, i guess i’ll just stay next to you for the night.”

LORD SESSHOMARU ─ ❝ BEAST KING ❞

➜ unlike inuyasha’s outburst, sesshomaru is more the silent-but-glaring type of partner in this situation. 

➜ when your hand accidentally brushes against his face while adjusting a few strands of his hair, his golden eyes widen briefly at the contact before narrowing into a silent, intense glare.

➜ you pull your hand back quickly, shooting him an apologetic smile as he continues to glare, the sensation of your cold hands disrupting his slumber. it was rare for sesshomaru to join you and the group, let alone to sleep as well, but now, you've ruined it with your never-ending coldness.

➜ you turn around on the blanket, keeping your hands to yourself as you quietly sigh, feeling regretful for ruining the moment.

➜ after a few seconds, you feel something heavy and warm drape across your freezing body. it takes a moment to realize it's sesshomaru's mokomoko, which he has placed on you, providing the extra warmth you need that the fire couldn’t.

➜ even though you knew sesshomaru wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, you appreciated how he expressed his love more through actions than words.

KOGA ─ ❝ WOLF CUB ❞

➜ as the leader of the wolf-demon tribe, koga had numerous responsibilities to ensure the survival of his pack, with one of his main priorities being the protection of you, a human. despite being vastly different from your wolf-demon boyfriend, koga fell in love with you at first sight and would do anything to ensure your safety.

➜ as night fell, you settled around the campfire with the tribe, aiming to get some rest. however, the cool breeze that kept blowing made it difficult, causing your hands to grow numb from the biting cold.

➜ you shivered from the intense cold, despite being wrapped in a blanket. koga could feel your shaking body against his own, which startled him awake. quickly, he turned to face you with a scowl as he realized what was going on.

➜ “why the hell didn’t ya say anything? you’re freezing! here, take my hands.”

➜ you hesitated at first before settling your numbed hands against his warmed, rough ones. his touch sent a comforting warmth through your chilled fingers, and you graced him with a grateful smile for his kindness.

➜ koga would then move your sleeping bag closer to the fire and wrap his arms around your body, pulling you so close to his chest that you could hardly breathe, enveloping you in his warmth. he cared deeply for your comfort and always made sure you were satisfied.

© 𝐭𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐯 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

[iniquitousyearning]

quiet reckoning. chapter one

summary: mattheo comes to visit. it’s strange, being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes.

warnings: just a ton of fucking angst. complicated, self destructive mattheo who’s finally coming to terms with how he pushed you away when you were younger simply because he couldn’t stand being second to tom in your eyes. the acceptance doesn’t make it hurt any less. get the tissues. cry with me please.

masterlist & other chapters.

Life these days holds a strange, silent kind of peace, interrupted only by the faint sound of water rushing over stone—the creek that runs quick along the forest edge. In your early summer afternoons, the trees form a leafy wall of emerald and ochre, and they sway with the breeze that brushes the hair back from your cheeks.

You sit cross-legged in the dirt, hands buried in soil as you pull vegetables out of your garden in prep for the approaching cold months. You love how earth has its own signature scent: damp, fertile, alive. Somehow it makes you think of Tom—his manor, with its towering windows overlooking manicured grounds, its own gardens sprawling wide. His manor with its grand, sweeping staircases, polished black floors.

Everything was pristine, almost oppressively so. Even the walls seemed haughty, disdainful of the cobwebs that clung to the corners.

Tom had never let you stay long enough to tend to those.

But his gardens—those had their own softness, a quiet beauty that only fully revealed itself after dusk when the moonlight cast everything in silver. I loved you there, you reminisce, and the ache has a name in memory—longing. I wish I could have loved you there longer.

And now you're here, a few years after Tom told you never to come back to him—here where the ache feels smaller, further away. Here where there’s no temptation, where the air smells of earth and moss and freedom, and the silence holds its own kind of comfort. Mattheo visits sometimes, wandering into the quiet when your absence grows too thick, when too many of his owls have gone unanswered.

"He'll visit soon." He always tells you. You start to hate how much he lies to you.

"Don't pretend," you said once, and his mouth stretched into a thin, humourless smile.

"Alright," he replied. "I won't."

So now, when he comes to visit, he doesn't say it—he just sits next to you. He doesn't talk much. Neither do you. Life here is quiet—few neighbours, even fewer visitors. A woman brings you pastries from time to time and the town grocer knows your name, but most days you pass unbothered. You tend the garden when the days are warm, work on the cottage when it's cold.

When it's raining you read books and pretend they're not the same kind Tom used to keep.

On a day in early October, Mattheo sits next to you on the porch and you hate that you notice how he doesn't look at you the same way Tom did. It's something lighter, something less cloying. Sometimes you think of how unfair it is that he can taunt you silently like this—how he can remind you of the chocolate streaks in Tom's inky hair, the depth in his dark eyes. How he can remind you that he holds all the same features as his brother, just without the weight.

As the sun sinks slowly through the trees, casting pink and orange across the sky, you turn your face to the creek, watching the water ripple over stones and rocks, and you think of how young you loved them—the way your love grew different when you weren't looking.

Mattheo was chaos, always had been. I could have helped him find himself. But that thought feels hollow, and it's always followed by another. If he would have let me.

"It's strange to think that this is your life." Mattheo speaks after a while of not. He lights a cigarette, and you reach for it when he passes it to you. "You could have done anything."

You inhale the smoke and close your eyes—thinking of how cigarettes taste like fire and ash and the last time Tom had taken your hand.

"Maybe this is all I ever wanted to be." You reply, spinning the cigarette between your fingers. "At peace."

He glances at you in the fading light—the way the sunset casts shadows in the hollows of your cheeks, makes the gold of your earrings look darker against your hair.

He frowns. "You don't look at peace."

No, you think, taking another drag. I never really have.

You pass the cigarette back to him, watching the smoke drift in the breeze. He doesn't say anything else, so you don't either.

Instead, you watch the dark start to close in, the sky turn into an endless stretch of indigo, stars winking to life somewhere above the trees. The fireflies come out eventually, when the night is quiet and heavy and the world turns a little sleepy. They flutter around in the trees and grass like faeries—like stars that've made their home on the ground—and Mattheo watches them with a furrow in his brow.

You wonder what he's thinking, then think better of it at the bitter twist of his mouth. He always thought they'd burn.

"Why do you still come here?" You question. He turns to you, and when his eyes meet yours that's when you realize you'd verbalized the thought. "To sit with me."

Mattheo shakes his head. "I'll need another smoke to answer that."

So he pulls out another cigarette and lights it. The first inhale is long, and the exhale makes you blink. You look away and pretend like his response doesn't make your stomach twist.

The stream moves a little darker in the moonlight and the pine trees shiver with a gentle breeze that smells like soil. You feel the comfort in it—in knowing that all of this has been here longer than you ever have, and that it'll be here long after you're gone.

Perhaps that's precisely what you chased. A home in something steady.

"I come to remind myself you're okay." He says after a long silence, staring at his hands. "Sometimes it feels like you're dead."

You blink again. He's more perceptive than you remember.

"I'm still here," you remind him, but he laughs without humour in it.

"Sure, you're there," he replies, before another pause. "But you're not really living."

He says the words casually, like they're a fact. You think they're meant to hurt. He's right—it's a thought that comes quietly, the way most unwanted thoughts do. You over look at the river, the fireflies, the dirt under your fingernails—you try to feel the chill in the October breeze, the soft moss under your feet. You try to be alive.

"Why do you think that?" You ask even when you know the answer.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and then exhales—casting his hair grey when the smoke drifts over his face.

He looks older here, when the night stretches over him. It reminds you how much has changed.

"Sometimes I think you're here to punish yourself." He says, passing you the cigarette again. "You say you come here for peace, but this isn't peace like a person should have. It's just an absence. Silence, and isolation, and nothing else." You glance down at his hand resting on his knee beside you, shadows deepening in the lines of his palm. He watches you. "I wish you'd stop hating yourself for what he's become."

A lump forms in your throat—you remember Tom as a boy, the way he'd hold magic in his palms and make lights dance just to make you laugh. You remember the way he once looked at you, quietly and gently in a way that made you feel safe within crumbling walls offering cold stone decorum. You remember one of the last times at Hogwarts, once things took a turn, when he held more than just magic in his palms—when the lights danced only to burn you instead of make you laugh.

You wonder what it says about you, that you loved him in both.

"I don't hate myself, Matt." You mutter, more conviction than truth. "If I'm punishing myself at all, it's for giving him something to hurt."

He doesn't say anything for a while, so you think briefly that his silence is agreement. You and him both know that there is a lot to hurt about, when it comes to Tom.

"You didn't give him anything." He rebuttals with certainty. "He was who he was before you even knew his name."

It's easy to forget that sometimes, the way he had been all sharp edges even when you'd first met. The way he'd pulled you and his brother through crumbling, damp, narrow hallways with something far too assured for a six year old. Something that made you want to follow him forever—something that whispered; I'll never let anything hurt you.

You exhale a plume of smoke. The fireflies look like falling stars when you close your eyes.

"Sometimes, I think I made him human." You say, and immediately wish you didn't. It's a weird thought, but one that comes unbidden. "Others, I think I made him evil."

It tastes like acid the moment you say it aloud. I made him evil. You think back to all those nights in the quiet, the way you taught him how to confide in you, the way he looked at you as if you held some answer he couldn't find on his own. You remember the secrets he shared, the way he softened when no one else could see. You remember how long it took him to get there.

But you remember the darker moments, too—moments when you didn't pull away, even when you should have. Moments you whispered reassurances instead of warnings, when you offered comfort instead of caution. Maybe, in those silences, you fed a need that shouldn't have been nourished, let him believe his ambitions weren't dangerous, only misunderstood.

You wonder if, in being the one person who never condemned him, you gave him permission to be what he became.

"And me?" Mattheo turns to you. You glance at him, the hard line of his mouth and his eyes that look more black than brown in the night— "did you make me evil too?"

You're both quiet for a moment, the only sound is the stream, the only motion is the flutter of the fireflies.

"I don't believe I made you anything." You say finally, letting him take the cigarette back from you. "I suppose you only became who you wanted to be."

You think, quietly, that it's a kinder fate than the rest.

He huffs a laugh. "So you think I wanted to be an asshole."

He's joking, you think. Or he's bitter again, resentful. You're sure he wanted to be whatever Tom would accept him as—though you'd never say those words out loud.

"I think you wanted to be loved." Is what you settle on, and the words tear your throat apart as you speak them. "Just like I did."

He hums, noncommittally, and lights a third cigarette.

You wonder why you still know that he's bitter even when he's not saying the words—why you still know that he only hums that way when something hurts, or when it's a truth he can't bring himself to admit.

"You found it now, haven't you?" You fill his silence with another sentence you wish you didn't say. "You're engaged."

You watch the embers from the cigarette tip light up the hollows of his cheeks, the way it burns his eyes gold as he takes a drag on it.

"Yeah," he nods into the night. "I'm engaged."

Something selfish in you aches at that.

"Then why do you come here and look at me like you're lonely?" You try to ask it casually, but you don't think you manage it. You see him tense when he realizes how well you still read him. "What is it you're missing, Matt?"

"I don't know." He looks at you in the dark, his expression lost in the shadows of his hair. "Sometimes I think it's you."

It's an answer like a knife, because you've known all along that he feels the same way you do—that the loneliness stays and the regret never really dissipates—that the 'what-ifs' linger long after they shouldn't.

"I'm not your girl." You remind him.

It sounds empty when you say it, but he made it clear when you were younger that he wanted it this way.

"You never were."

He looks away after that, to the stream, and you wonder if it has ever felt hollow like this.

All the lights seem very small suddenly, the moon, the stars—you're not sure where his vulnerability is coming from, all these years in passing. You assume it’s the old saying—absence makes the heart grow fonder.

"But you wanted me to be." It's more of a question.

"For a time, when we were kids." He gives you honesty that surprises you. "Sometimes I think I still do."

Why?—you want to ask, suddenly, desperately—and wonder at the cruelty of the thought. Asking that would be the worst kind of question. Why do you want me?

You think you know all the answers already. They sit bitter at the back of your throat.

"So that's why you come here." You say instead, shivering with the wind that brushes over you. "To remind yourself of all the reasons you still feel empty."

There's a dark sort of humour to the sound he lets out, one that makes your chest ache. He turns to you again, and his hands shake when he lifts the cigarette.

"It's not you that makes me feel empty, princess." He whispers. "It's the absence of you."

You look at him, then—really look. There's something strange about being twenty five and still seeing your childhood in his eyes. Despite the nickname, he’s not joking. It’s the kind of confession that tastes like a fist, like a punch that breaks bones.

I know, you think. I wish it could have been different for us.

"You need to stop coming here." There's no spine in those words. They're putty between you. "Just like Tom told me to stop, I'm now telling you."

He's quiet, watching you as the embers of the cigarette flicker over his fingers.

"I'll stop," he pauses, and you see the pain in his throat as he swallows. "When he finally comes to you."

That, you think, will probably never happen.

"So you'll come here forever." You say, and his mouth twists in a silent, bitter smile.

"I guess I will."

You don't have a response to that. It's not a choice he makes so much as it is his reality, and you, of all people, could never fault him for that.

So instead of words, you lean to rest your head on his shoulder, same way you did when you were kids. You sit together, watching the moon and stars and the stream and the trees and everything else around you that reminds you you're alive, even if you don't feel it. You think of his fiancé, you know she'd never understand. This is childhood love in its most vulnerable form—and you thank him for it, silently, for reminding you that you're not alone. Even if you're sure you are.

He leans his head sideways, on top of yours—a gesture almost automatic.

"I still think of you in the summer." He mutters into your hair. You close your eyes and remember the sun, the way it once felt like it touched your bones. "The summer when we were nine. Swimming in the river at night. Those stupid bugs that I thought were made of fire." He pauses for a minute, looking around, and you think he's done talking, until he isn't. "I suppose I do understand why you chose this life."

You remember that summer, too. Small children swimming in a river that was all silver shadows under the moonlight, chasing fireflies like stars. No parents to call you home, no rules except the ones of your own.

Somehow, that's not your favourite memory of him.

"And I think of you in the fall." You say, listening to your own voice sounding distant. "The year just before Hogwarts. When the leaves turned red and orange and gold. When you raked them into a pile for us to jump in."

He hums. "I tried to kiss you that fall."

"And Tom fought you for it."

"And he won." Mattheo's voice sounds distant too, almost lost. "He always won."

It's strange, thinking of autumn when you think of Mattheo, but it fits—he's just as fleeting. Beautiful, easy to fall into, but always gone too soon, leaving a chill in his place.

"Sometimes I think it's because he knew he could." You build off his thoughts. "And sometimes I think it's because he just wanted to prove it."

He shrugs. "Either way, I still lost."

It's such a mournful way to reminisce, you think, for the children you used to be.

"And what now?" You ask.

He exhales slowly, and the smoke looks like a mist in front of you. "I suppose now we both lose."

And that, is the most honest thing he's said all night.

You turn your face into his shoulder, the way you had when you were younger. You close your eyes, and for a moment you imagine being a child again—back in the days when love was simple and nights were endless. Back to a time when you didn't know things you should and all you had were each other's shoulders to lean on in an orphanage dirtier than the forest before you.

"We lose together, then." You offer, a half-whisper.

"Yeah," he answers, just as quiet, just as lost. "We lose together."

There's a bitter kind of contentment in that, you think. You're sure that's a terrible thing.

You take a few moments to brace yourself for the shift in conversation, and then—

"How is he?"

"He's fine." Mattheo understands what you aren't asking. "The leader he always wanted to be."

You close your eyes again and hear the stream running steady, moving around rocks that have been shaped by years of its presence. You ignore the ache in your chest.

"He's happy?"

You don't have to open your eyes to know that Mattheo smiles bitterly. "He's as happy as someone like Tom could be."

There are several beats of silence, the kind that holds too many unsaid things. You feel it in Mattheos exhale that there's something he isn't saying. You don't press him on it. You sit together like this for a while under the sky—watching the way the dark clouds move, the stars shift.

You think about childhoods that never last. About fireflies and streams and boys you loved.

"Tell me something true." You murmur as the midnight grog sets in. "Tell me something that'll warm me through winter."

Mattheo pauses, silent, and for a moment you think he's not going to answer.

"I've loved you most of my life." He mutters finally, into the top of your head. The words feel like a breath of summer, in a quiet, dark night. "That's the kind of truth that could melt an iceberg."

It's the sort of declaration you could only share in the cover of the night, in the silence of a forest. Not the sort of admission that would ever survive daylight. I've loved you most of mine, too.

"And a lie?" You reply.

His fingertips run through his hair, almost idly. You suppose he's looking back into memories of fleeting autumn's and summer sun, the time he tried to kiss you and the day he pushed you away. He doesn't answer the question for a while. You wonder if he doesn't have an answer, or if he just doesn't want to say it.

And then, finally, quietly— "I'm happy for him."

You close your eyes again. That, you think, is the cold truth of winter.

You turn your face again into his shoulder for a second time tonight, but you keep your eyes open. You can feel the weight of your childhood on your shoulders, the trees and the creek behind you, and the silence that follows his lie.

Suddenly, you're furious—a fire tearing through regret. You wish Mattheo hadn't chosen booze, fights, and empty escapes. You wish he'd let you love him properly before pushing you away. You wish he hadn't always resented Tom—hadn't always felt second best in a way no amount of reassurance could fix. Yet somehow, you just can't fault him for any of it.

He's always known you loved Tom first; he's carried that like a wound.

"Ask me to lie to you." You say as you swallow your anger.

There's an exhale. You're sure Mattheo's watching the trees, the wind as it runs quietly past.

"Lie to me."

You tilt your head up to the sky. You try to remember that fall, you try to feel what it was like to be a child again, and to believe in a future that wasn't shaped by the past. You think of his fiancé.

"I'm happy for you." You whisper.

From the corner of your eye, you know he smiles bitterly again, but he responds with nothing more than his unsteady breathing. You're both silent like this for the rest of his stay, together under the moon that's watched you both change.

"I'll be back in a month," he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear as time stretches thin.

He has to go before the sun rises, before dawn coaxes him into staying. You consider, if only for the flicker of a second, letting him.

"I'll see you then." You lean back and look up into his eyes, searching into the gold buried deep. If you look too long, you think you may see his broken heart. You make yourself smile anyway. "Write to me."

"Even if you don't write back." He replies with a nod.

The cold air makes your eyes water. For a moment he's still, like he may pull you into him and drown you in all the things he feels. Instead, he puts a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with one of his hands. The lighter casts an orange glow over his face that makes him look pale and tired again, like the boy you'd met in an orphanage that was so much dirtier than the forest before you.

"Good night." He murmurs, and you feel his thumb brush your cheek before he apparates back to the life you left behind.

And now, alone under the black sky, you take a deep breath. Then, you exhale, go back into your cabin and you try not to think about all the things you've lost.

You try not to think of the boy you've loved for far too large a part of your life and how it changed the boy who's loved you for far too large a part of his. You try instead to focus on what you have—walls and peace and solitude, something certain that won't disappear when it rains.

[valsverse]

⠀⠀(୨୧) BROUGHT THE HEAT BACK

. .⠀FEATURING⠀⟡⠀ percy jackson, leo valdez, jason grace, luke castellan (respectively) x gn!reader

﹙🏹﹚ in which ：they get jealous. (and it looks good on them) ── masterlist

percy jackson ; percy’s eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something someone else said—a sound that usually belongs to him.

he leans back against the tree, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep in a rhythm too slow, too measured for the thoughts running through his head. across the campfire, you're caught in conversation with someone who seems a little too interested in every word you say, leaning in just a bit too close. the guy’s smile, belonging to a new camper he doesn't quite recognize, is bright, easy, but percy sees the intent in his eyes. it’s the way the his gaze lingers on you a moment too long, the way he leans in as if he’s trying to get just a little closer, as if he thinks he has a shot. percy pushes off the tree, his movements smooth and unhurried, but there’s a coiled tension in the set of his shoulders. he walks over to the group, slipping into the conversation with that casual air that comes so naturally to him, but there’s something different about the set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “what’s so funny?” percy’s voice rings out, deceptively light but edged with a bite that makes the newcomer falter. the camper catches the tone and falters for just a second before recovering with a grin. “just telling them about the time i—” percy doesn’t wait for him to finish. he reaches for your hand, pulling you away before another word can leave the guy's mouth. as you move away from the fire’s warmth, the tension in his body begins to ease, though he remains silent until the murmurs of the campfire fade into the background. “everything okay?” you ask, even though the answer is already etched in the harsh set of his jaw and the tight grip of his hand in yours. percy shrugs, his attempt at nonchalance as he tries to mask his irritation. “yeah, i just—” he stops, running a hand through his tousled hair, the frustration evident in the way he looks back toward the campfire, his gaze a storm of irritation. “i don’t like it when people think they can just—” he trails off, the words left hanging, but you know exactly what he means.

a smile tugs at your lips.“percy jackson, are you jealous?”

he scoffs, rolling his eyes with an air of exaggerated nonchalance, but the embarrassed blush creeping up his neck betrays him. “of him? please.” still, you notice the way his grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly. leo valdez ; you realize he's the jealous type barely three days in. it’s subtle, the way he inches closer as you text a friend, not out of curiosity but a need for attention. “who’s got you so wrapped up?” he asks, draped lazily beside you, lips pulling into a soft pout.

“an old friend. we’re catching up—it’s been a while.” your eyes stay glued to your screen, your smile growing at the messages. his gaze lingers on you, a moment of quiet before he lets out a dramatic sigh and collapses onto the bed, voice heavy with faux despair.

“you’re abandoning me,” he laments, eyes fluttering shut like the thought alone is unbearable. “guess i’ll just have to die.”

“leo, stop,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but unable to fully hide the smirk creeping onto your lips.

“i'm not gonna make it.” he declares, sitting upright with wide eyes, his hand clutching at his chest as if wounded. "any final words for your dying lover?”

you laugh, finally setting your phone aside and leaning in. you cradle his face, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “you’re impossible.”

jason grace ; you’re sprawled on jason’s bed, explaining your favorite character from a new show you’ve been devouring, your eyes bright with excitement. jason, on the other hand, is brooding in the far corner of the bed like a wet dog.

jason slumps on the far edge of the mattress, a moping shadow cast over his features as he listens to your praise. “so,” he interjects, the pout on his lips deepening as you lose yourself in the narrative, “you’re not still caught up on that guy, right?”

his gaze remains fixed on you, sighing in exasperation when you take a second to respond. “seriously, i can’t believe this,” he adds, the words coming out as a half-whine, half-plea.

you glance over at him, observing the childish distance he’s placed between you two, the slight frown tugging at his mouth. “jason, are you really jealous of a character who doesn't even exist?”

after he doesn't respond and attempts to escape your gaze in obvious embarrassment, you laugh and reach out, fingers tracing the line of his jaw with gentle affection, a contrast to his earlier mood. “c'mon, you know you’re my favorite,” you coo at him, your voice a soothing counterpoint to his frown.

jason’s pout gradually fades, replaced by a smile as he leans into your shoulder, his embrace warming. “yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, his voice muffled but sincere. “guess i need to hear that more often.” luke castellan ; luke’s been staring at you for a while now, stretched out on the bed with narrowed eyes, assessing you like you’ve committed some unforgivable crime. “you remember you’ve got a boyfriend, don't you?” his words are lazy, almost drawled out, but there’s a bite underneath that’s hard to miss.

you don’t even bother to look up, your mind drifting somewhere far from the edge in his voice. “what are you talking about?” your voice is absent, your attention elsewhere, which only fans the flames of his irritation.

he lets out an agitated sigh, one of those exaggerated, weight-of-the-world exhalations, and points an accusing finger at the source of his distress. “i don't know. just seems like you forgot.” the accusation lingers in the air like a challenge.

you follow the line of his gaze, your eyes settling on the supposed rival—curled up in utter contentment on your lap, blissfully unaware of the brewing conflict. you snort, the sound half amusement, half disbelief. “luke, he’s literally just a cat.”

“tip his stupid ass over."

you laugh as you shake your head. “are you seriously jealous of your own cat?” the question is more teasing than incredulous, though you can’t help but be a little entertained by his sulkiness.

i’s not really jealousy—more like the gnawing need for attention he’ll never fully admit. with a quick, decisive movement, he scoops up the cat, who wakes with a startled jolt, all sleepy confusion and disgruntled meows. luke unceremoniously deposits him on the couch, far from his coveted spot.

you gasp, half in mock outrage and half in genuine concern. “you woke him up!” but luke’s already sliding into the now-empty space, settling in peacefully. his head finds its way onto your lap, and he looks up at you with an eyebrow raised.

“what?” he says, voice dripping with mock innocence. “i’m the boyfriend here, remember?”

(luke is a certified cat owner idc.)

©valsverse— do not steal, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is prohibited.

[little-cereal-draws]

whatever you do, don't think of Odysseus and Polites growing up together

don't think of them going on "quests" through the palace garden, waving sticks at imaginary monsters and saving the day

don't think of them watching the older boys spar and trying to mimic it, not sure of the proper form and ending up in a giggly heap every time

don't think of them getting a bit older and finally competing against each other with an intent to win, racing and wrestling their way through the countryside

don't think of Polites always letting Odysseus win because he likes seeing Odysseus’ triumphant smile

don't think of Odysseus assuring Polites that he's ok while he cries over his wound from the boar, wiping away his tears

don't think of them getting taller and finally being able to reach all the branches of the trees

don't think of Polites reassuring Odysseus when he worries that girls won’t like him because his princely status outweighs the fact that he's awkward and gangly

don’t think of Odysseus being jealous of Polites’ growth spurt and Polites teasing him about it

don't think of them going on short trips to neighboring kingdoms as they fill out, making allies and attending feasts

don't think of Odysseus gushing about how pretty and perfect Penelope is while Polites smiles knowingly

don't think of Polites helping Odysseus gather the courage to ask for her hand

don’t think of the wedding festivities lasting a whole week and Polites drunkenly crying about how happy he is for them

don’t think of Odysseus letting Polites hold baby Telemachus, hovering with the anxiety of a new parent, and watching as his friend gently brushes the soft baby curls out of his son's eyes

don't think Polites assuring Odysseus that the war is estimated to last only a few months, he'll be back home before he knows it

don't think of circumstance slowly pulling them apart as Odysseus spends more time with the kings, going on raids and ambushes, and Polites tries to avoid the battlefield as much as he can

don't think of Odysseus freezing after Polites flinches when he claps him on the shoulder after a raid, hands still wet with blood

don't think of Odysseus growing restless and pacing in Polites' tent, mourning the years he's lost with his family and venting his frustrations with the war

don't think of the Trojans breaching the Greek wall and Odysseus scrambling to find the glint of glasses in the chaos

don't think of him finally finding Polites with a spear in one hand, the other hand pressed over a wound in his side, apologizing as he stabs at his attacker

don't think of Polites sobbing as Odysseus stabs the Trojan from behind, splattering both of them with blood when he pulls the body off of his sword

don't think of them fighting back-to-back, Odysseus aiming to kill, Polites just trying to get them to stay back, as the camp burns around them

don't think of Odysseus trying to get Polites out of joining the ambush on Troy but the other kings aren't having it

don't think of Odysseus watching Polites wipe the blood and tears off his glasses as he says he's fine to go, he appreciates Odysseus trying his best

don't think of the fire and screaming in Troy

don't think of Odysseus collapsing into Polites as soon as the fighting is over and sobbing too hard to explain why he's so upset

don't think of Odysseus closing himself off as they prepare to go home, jealous and angry over how his friend remains as optimistic as ever while he's haunted

don't think of the sea breeze and the promise of home starting to ease things back to normal

until it doesn't

[sunkeji]

Floyd headcanons

When he's bored, his first victim to find is you. It doesn't matter who you're with; he's bored, so he wants to play with Shrimpy. He's going to roam around the whole school like a vengeful entity until he finds you.

If he finds your clique talking on the field after PE, he's coming over to kidnap you. Floyd's got you by the legs as he's shaking your body left and right while laughing like a maniac; you have one hand holding onto Ace's forearm as tight as you can and the other grabbing onto Deuce's pants. Floyd's happily watching Ace hold as tight as he can onto the tree trunk while hoping he won't get dragged along with you. 

Ace would be like that tik-tok audio that goes, "Damn it, bitch, I said let go!" While trying to shake your grip on him,

Deuce is at Ace's side, hands digging through the dirt, hoping to find some sort of anything to anchor him down, while Grim is cowering behind Deuce and staring at Floyd with big eyes.

After a few weeks or months, depending on your personality, you and Floyd inevitably grow closer, and the concept of personal space gets thrown into the dumpster and lit on fire.

Bro will get up and personal with you. At first, it starts casual-ish—an arm over your shoulder or around your hip. Sooner or later, things escalate to the point where he wants to lie down on your lap or get handsy with you.

You are currently revising a chapter you're having trouble with for a class. Floyd is leaning back against the backrest beside you. His gaze shifts towards you, and he ponders a bit before leaning forward and resting his chin on your shoulder.

Your eyes glance at him for a second before focusing back on your textbook. He raises his brow at you, but then his eyes fall to your neck. Out of sheer curiosity, or god knows what, his tongue darts out and licks a small stripe at the side of your neck.

Your eyes widen in shock, and your hand goes to cover the area he just licked. You turn your head slowly towards him and glare at him. All he does is give you a cheeky grin and say, "Yes, shrimpy?" With a big smile on his face.

Tagging: @strxxberries

[chancloud8]

To The Rescue

Pairing: Changbin x Reader Word Count: 1,3k Tags: Fluff, Cuddling, Established Relationship. Summary: Early mornings are for rescuing your boyfriend and his roommates from a tiny uninvited visitor. *************************************************************

The sky is still pitch black when you jog down the stairs of your dorm. Most of the students on campus are still asleep and you don't blame them. If it wasn't for you boyfriend calling you up in a blind panic, you would still be under your pile of blankets as well.

Your boots make the leaves under your feet crunch and you smile, breathing in the crisp morning air. You love this time of year, when the trees change color and the air gets colder. If only Autumn wasn't so dark and rainy, you'd love it even more.

When you arrive at the dorm your boyfriend shares with three of his friends, you only have to knock once before the door is wrenched open.

'Thank god,' Felix pants and he grabs your arm to pull you inside.

You chuckle and follow him into the living area where the other two are gathered as well, standing on the sofa and screeching like the house is on fire.

'Y/N! It's over there!' Jisung screams, waving his arm in the direction of the curtains.

'Shouldn't we call animal control? I'm not sure if it's safe for Y/N to touch it,' Changbin says from behind Jising, his hands clutching his friend's hoodie like it will protect him.

'Don't be so dramatic, babe,' you grin at your boyfriend. 'Why don't you come give me a kiss?'

Changbin's eyes grow wide. 'While the beast is still out there?'

'Yeah,' you nod. 'You love me, right? Am I not worthy enough for you to overcome you fear of a itty bitty-'

You get interrupted by Jisung screaming loudly again. 'IT MOVED!!'

'Oh my god,' Felix mutters beside you, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 'Y/N can you just please help me catch this stupid mouse so I can go back to sleep.'

You nod and inch closer to the curtains where the boys say they last saw the animal. You move slowly and careful, keeping your eyes trained on the dark brown fabric to watch out for any movement.

'Go for the tail if you can,' you say to Felix. 'It's easier to grab them there, but make sure to move it to your hands soon after so you won't hurt it.'

Felix shivers, but nods and inches towards the other side of the curtains.

'Babe, I'm really not sure you should touch it,' Changbin whines. 'What if it bites you?'

You ignore him and slowly get down to your knees so you'll have better access to the small animal if it decides to run your way.

Felix pokes the curtains at his side and almost immediately you hear the sound of running paws. Without thinking you stretch out your hands and latch onto the tiny body as it races out from under the curtains.

Jisnung screams again, Changbin yells your name and Felix cheers.

The mouse wriggles in your hands nervously, its tiny wet nose budging against your skin as it tries to escape.

'Ssshh, it's okay. I got you,' you whisper, hoping that like any other animal, it might calm it down a bit.

'DID IT BITE?' Changbin yells, still standing on the couch behind Jisung.

You shake your head and get up from the floor. The mouse trembles in your hands, but it doesn't try to hurt you.

'Binnie, darling, why don't you come off of the couch,' you try to convince your boyfriend again, smiling sweetly at him. 'The mouse won't hurt you, it's more scared of you than you of him.'

Changbin and Jisung both glare at you and stay right where they are. You roll your eyes at them. You're so going to tell this story to the rest of your friends over breakfast.

Felix opens the door to their tiny garden so you can set the mouse free. He grabs his phone and opens his camera to film your hand.

'Let's see what monster had the guys so afraid,' he chuckles.

You laugh too and slowly open your hands. The mouse's nose appears first and when it lifts its little head and looks at you and Felix with its tiny black eyes, you can't help but coo at it.

'It's so cute,' you giggle. 'I don't know what they were so afraid of.'

Felix still looks a bit wary, but you can see in his eyes that he thinks the tiny animal is not as scary up close as he might have thought.

'Babe, come inside, it's freezing,' Changbin yells from inside.

You take one last look at the mouse before kneeling on the grass to set it down.

'Be free, my friend. And don't come back,' you whisper as the mouse quickly runs into the bushes.

Felix laughs and helps you up. 'I swear you could make any animal your friend.'

Hell yes you could.

'I think I already proved that when I befriended you guys,' you tease as you step back into the living room.

Changbin and Jisung immediately tackle you in a hug.

'Thank you, thank you, thank you!' Changbin whispers against your neck.

'You're my hero,' Jisung cheers, hugging your back.

You laugh and curl your arms around Changbin's waist. Enjoying the warmth that is radiating from his body.

'You're welcome boys.' 

Jisung lets go of you in favor of collapsing on the couch, but Changbin keeps you close to his body. His hands move to you back to hold you even tighter and you snuggle your face in his soft hoodie. 

'Hey,' you whisper into the fabric. 

'Hey,' he whispers back, pressing a kiss on top of your hair. 'I missed you.' 

You giggle and tighten your arms around his waist. 'You just saw me like six hours ago.' 

'Well, you could have just stayed with me,' Changbin replies. 'It would have saved you the trouble of running through the cold at five am.' 

He has a good point, but you aren’t going to admit that. You spend a lot of time at his dorm already, practically living here anyways. 

'Where's Seungmin?' You ask, changing the subject as you slowly pull back from your boyfriend's chest. 'I expected him to be hiding out on the couch with you and sungie. Did he sleep through it?' 

Changbin laughs and pulls you with him to his room, the one he shares with Seungmin. 'No, I think he stayed with the others. He and Minho were studying together last night.' 

'So we have your room to ourselves?' you wiggle your eyebrows. 'Such luxury.' 

The both of you climb into Changbin's bed and he drapes the covers over both of you before pulling you against his body. You cuddle against his chest and intertwine your legs with his while he wraps his strong arms around you. 

'I definitely wish I could sleep like this every night,' you whisper happily, once again snuggling into the soft fabric of Changbin's sweater. 

'You could, you know,' Changbin says. 'The guys don't mind having you here. They love you.' 

'Hmm, they just love me for my ability to catch whatever animal crawls into your dorm,' you joke. 

'That's not true, they love you for way more than that.' You don't even have to look at your boyfriend to know that he's pouting. 'And so do I.' 

'I know, babe,' you reassure him, lifting your head so you can kiss his chin. 'And I love them.' 

'What about me?' 

'Hmm,' you hum, pretending to think hard and Changbin lets out a fake enraged breath before he tickles your sides. You squeal loudly and bat his hand away. 

'I love you the most, silly,' you giggle, pushing yourself up on your elbow so you can drape yourself over his chest and look at him. 

'More than chocolate?' Changbin grins, his eyes twinkling. 'Puppy's? Draco Malfoy?' 

You reach up to touch his cheek. 'I love you more than anything, Binnie.' *********************************************** a/n: soft binnie my beloved <3 I saw a post the other day that the world needs more Bin fluff fics and I agreed, so here we are hehe xxx

[mari-lair]

Let's talk about Nene and how she find power in other people.

Nene gets overwhelmed easily and is very insecure, not just about her body but about her power, and smarts too.

When she thought Hanako may like her she wasn't sure about her judgement, but when Aoi who never even met hanako said 'oh yeah, he likes you~' she became far more confident.

Aoi must have been her reassurance for most of Nene's school life, so much so that when Aoi tells her "he might confess to you in the confession tree <3" Nene acts like that's the truth and spend the rest of the chapter giggily waiting for it.

She is right that Hanako have a crush on her, but when he start hiding behind excuses, she believes it right away. She never consider that his excuses and his feelings can both be true, she trust what he says more than her own judgement

When she started getting involved with the supernatural she start getting more and more doubts about herself. Her issues growing from the simple 'do they find me cute? can i get a boyfriend?' to questions about what is right and how much power she have.

She have a crisis when she learns Hanako used to be a living student, with a real life, who killed a real person. She become so helpless by this realization that she can't look at him in the eye.

Reality is so overwhelming, that she keep running away from Hanako.

There is no "Hanako is my friend anyways! His life doesn't matter what matter is the now!! Let's gooo!!" self talk in the garden. She want to hide. To give up.

Kou is the one that come to her side and reassure Nene that her feelings are valid, that not knowing what to is alright. That there is nothing wrong with being overwhelmed and doing all you can do, even when 'all you can do' isn't much.

They find strenght in each other.

Throught the entire manga Kou is there to cheer Nene up or to back up her plans. They are in this together.

Break the fake world? Rescue Hanako? Go to the Red House cause a kid is crying?? That's a Nene and Kou plan. That's their team effort. They got each other's back! They can do it!

Even when the idea isn't that good, Kou constantly cheer her, rewarding Nene for trying instead of giving up.

Most of the time Hanako is with Kou cheering her up, albeit not as upfront, being his indirect and 'haha just kidding i would die if i was vulnerable!' self.

Regardless, Nene got support through every step of this new and scary supernatural world!

Or at least... most of the time. Let's go over the instances where times were tough and Nene didn't have Kou and Hanako by her side. The times when she become her most vulnerable and insecure. She ceases to be "Your overwhelming grass type and beloved heroine Yashiro Nene!" and becomes Nene, the insecure high school girl.

When she learned about her death she was lost and confused, she didn't try to imply she could conquer death, she couldn't do anythnig, so she asked for guidance.

When she was given no real answer, just cryptic orders to stay in her caje forever cause hanako will 'solve everything', Nene was even more lost. And she was alone. No one to talk to in her time of need, no one to cheer her up.

We have no panels of her trying to break her window of wiggle between her caje bars because she isn't determined, she was devastated. So she cried and cried and tried to comfort herself

ONLY AFTER who knows how many doodles and time to process her feelings does her hopelessness turn into anger for Hanako and determination to change her situation.

She only fully enter "I will fight this! I can do it!! I won't do what Hanako want!!" mode after Mei visits her with a friendly dispossition and comforts her, giving her sweets to soothe her heart and give her energy.

Nene say her tears are false here, a mere ploy to make Mei lower her guard!! But it is rotted in real sadness.

The fire she gained after doodling her friends in the real world only spread into an inferno of determination when she is told she is deeply loved, that Hanako would sacrifice everything for her sake. That love is why this was made in the first place.

This world want to protect her, not kill her. Her hapiness is cheerished. And she isn't happy. She haven't loss the real world yet, she can still change things.

She was already determined to change things, but she doubles down on it, she gain more confidence and becomes bolder. She will kick and scream and try her best to win! Is amazing. She is sweating but she know what she is doing is right so she will do it!!

Throught the manga, as the time passes she start to stand up for herself more, she tries harder, she takes any opportunity she can to do something and believe in herself. She stop seeking superficial attention to feel worth.

Take her play of Oz for exemple, she want to be dorothy, the big role that is worthy of a beautiful dress and all the spotlight! Despite all her development and traumas she still cares that she was given a unimpressed role, that she 'isn't worthy' of the main role

But instead of being unable to focus on anything else except how bad her role is and how uncute it makes her, as the Nene from the start of the manga would, she get the strenght to move pass it and have fun, keeping her head high because she won't be alone.

Hanako will be there for her.

Hanako is one of her biggest strenghts, and when he is gone she is hit hard.

Her first instinct is to seek someone to talk too.

And when she can't, she falls. There is nothing she can do, her friends are already dead, and just like her own death, she doesn't know how to solve it.

Even when she feels better, going out to the arcade instead of being trapped alone in her room, the moment she remembers that she can't talk to her friends, that they are gone, she relapses again, sapped of all of her strenght.

She is 15, she can't handle this.

Her major sorces of comfort is still her close friends, which is normal, but she does gain strenght from other people.

Enters Teru and Akane.

Akane is one of the characters that push her to act when things are at their most hopeless, but unlike Kou and Aoi he isn't her cheerleader, he never coddles her. If she ask for reassurance that she is beautiful, or useful, or doing the right thing, he will either not give her that or straight up say "I dissagree".

Akane is not a source of hope for Nene, his belief in her is not nearly as strong as Kous or Hanako or Aoi's belief in her. Just as Nene's believe in herself isn't very strong in hopeless situations.

He never sugarcoats tragedy, in fact he consistently drag her back to how bleak things are. Ignore the arcade, don't distract yourself: Face reality.

He is open about his misery.

It mostly feel like he is processing his own feelings when he rants to Nene, but the end message is clear "I hate this, i want to try to change it. You want to, don't you?" which is exactly how Nene feels.

They are hopeless but they're not alone in this hopelessness. Despite Nene never working up with Akane during the rescue arc. This served as a reality check, which serves to process her feelings better.

Reality does sucks, there is no clear solution, she is unhappy, she does want to change things, she hates crying and being helpless while her friends are dead/suffering. So she eat a sugary sweet to comfort herself and she chin up.

Akane never says "you can do it, you are stronger than you think!" he sucks at comforting, I love him but oh god he sucks. But the message he gives her is till important "You have to do it." "You have to try anyways or you'll stay helpless."

Teru is the savior, Nene already idolized him from the start, but he is the one that showed them a way to rescue Aoi too. He is amazing. He can do the impossible!

Now let's jump to the new timeline.

Kou, her buddy, her biggest cheerleader, doesn't know her. It hit hards and she was so so happy to have him back!!

But just as quickly as she gets to see her buddy, Kou is gone, this is just a shell trying to lure her to death, the real one is dead at the bottom of a wheel.

She doesn't have the time to process that, because Hanako, her big source of comfort, doesn't exist. Amane, who she had watched be brutally slashed by Teru, have been possessed and wants to kill her and all her friends instead of protecting her.

Teru, this invincible guy (Nene wasn't present when No.6 took Teru down, so for her he is unbeatable) that made saving Aoi possible, is the first one down.

Everyone is doing what they can, so Nene does too, she want to help her friends, she can't let them be in danger! While Aoi takes charge, she doesn't allow herself to be too shocked and focus on destroying the tentacle attacking Akane.

But she is still terrified.

The last thing she want to do is to be alone. But she have too. Once more, Akane doesn't sugarcoat the situation, he says "This reality, it sucks, and if you want to change it, you have to act! Go!"

But this time he is left behind too. Nene is completely and utterly alone.

She has the weight of the world on her shoulders as she run through the city for who knows how long, but she is terrified and she doesn't have Akane to be terrified with her, just the weight of his words and the faint hope that they'll meet her in the big clock to keep her going.

She is doing something so so big, she need to talk to someone first, she need strenght. She need people.

So she seek them. And no one answers.

She crumbles, she becomes small. There is no heroine to be seem, just a teen girl in shambles after losing every. single. person that used to give her strenght.

That's why Tsuchigomori was needed.

Let her cry. Let her process the situation with a comforting sweet to gather the strenght to do what she must.