#how to cut firewood

[sh1-n0bu]

i have noticed a small pattern of elves being on my latest fictional character obsessions and HEAR ME OUT!!

elf who has lived for hundreds upon thousands of years, who had experienced many of the things the world has to offer. sadness of bidding hundreds of farewells to the beauty of life and alliance of different races

elf who even after all his years of living still yet to find a love for himself. regal and seemingly detached to the concepts of relationships elves may be, even they get lonely. some nights feeling a little bit too long, a little bit too cold as they add another layer of blanket over themselves or reaching over to hug one of his puffy pillows like how he would hug his future lover. the coldness of being immortal seeping into his bones and making him shiver despite elves being above the concept of getting sick or feeling the cold temperatures

elf who runs into you by some chance meeting. maybe you were walking in the territory of elves without knowing it, maybe he purposely goes to human residences and towns, seeking adventure, excitement and change of pace. who immediately is enamored by you just by your smile that you flash his way, a kind one, a gentle one, to a nearby passenger. who falls in love with the callouses of your hand, the freckles, the small scars, the little bits of imperfection that marked you as clearly human, very much mortal, very much brittle but still with your own strength that he hasn’t felt before

elf bf who starts to court you the moment he realizes that you weren’t seeing anyone, bringing small gifts, exchanging knowledge, singing you soft ancient lullabies that no other mortal has ever heard before. maybe he finds himself writing a poem about you one day, describing your looks, your feelings, your everyday actions that you may see as mundane but ones he sees as just as courageous and beautiful in their own ways

elf bf who has never seen human flesh or bare skin before, finding the rippling biceps and toned legs of yours to be… curious. a tentative finger touching the muscles here and there, stopping you mid work as he inquires about them in a soft tone. elves of course were magical beings, blessed with magic and eternity and had no need to develop visible physical muscles till the point they become buff or beefy to some extent all due to their magic and ancient powers. the tips of his pointy ear twitching softly, eyes wide in wonder as you explain that contrary to his kin, your own develop muscles if they are put to work in physically demanding job for enough time

elf bf who over time, finds himself obsessively scribbling down any sort of new information about human anatomy on a journal, always asking you new things as he finds himself able to learn more despite having been alive for hundreds upon thousands of years. tracing the old faded scars on your body with the tip of his finger, counting the freckles, kissing the stretch marks as they were all you. regardless of how you see it, to him it was all you, together and healthy. you were alive even if you may have battle scars and he always makes sure to thank the stars as it was thanks to the tribulations you have conquered that you two were here now. staring eye to eye, touching your foreheads together as you whisper about mundane things

elf bf who one day sees you cut down a tree, cut a log off or prepare firewood and finds that he was imagining the bulge of your muscles against himself. big arms caging him in a bear hug, legs to support him and strong back that he could sink his nails into as he moans under you— hold. since when has his thoughts of you turned… impure? since when has he become turned on? sitting there on one of the logs with a painful strain against his pants as he swallowed the saliva that gathered in his jaw down, tearing his gaze away. no no, he really shouldn’t think of you as such, you were still in courting phase after all and elves were a race that took their romances and courting extremely important

yet regardless of his kin’s customs and traditions, your pretty elf bf couldn’t help but continue to stare. his gaze constantly seeking your figure out, seeing you just go through the motions of every life peacefully while he gets pathetically turned on by your actions as if he was still but a fledgling who learned of a kiss. chopping down trees for firewood, maybe you would work in front of a fire or heat for too long and get sweaty, removing one of the overtunics. maybe you’re just simply dragging a bucket full of water from the well, cranking the pulley as the muscles on your arms and back strained

elf bf who finds himself extremely aroused as his mind wanders to the gutters as he just shamelessly stares at your working form. oh, to feel those calloused hands touch his colder skin, palms smoothening over his creamy skin, and down his chest, his stomach and over his bulge. maybe you would tease the poor thing, tease him of how quick he is to get aroused, the pre of his half-hard cock weeping through his underwear and pants like he was some sore pathetic loser. a little virgin. bully him about being unable to use his cock, make him whine at your mean words as his hips weakly buckle under your exploratory hands

elf bf who couldn’t help but imagine the usual sweetness of your attitude gone, replaced by one that was just a tad bit meaner as you pushes his face down into the pillows of your bed, force his hands to stretch open his puckering hole for you to fuck senselessly. imagining you whispering all sorts of filth into his twitching ears, promising to breed him full, to use him to your heart’s content all night long as he whines and squeals like a little lamb caught in the nest of a hungry wolf. who couldn’t swallow down the quiet whimper coming from his throat as he imagined your hand grasping at his long locks, fisting it tightly as you yank him back, forcing him to arch his back and push the tip of your cock to bruise his guts even more

elf bf who waves off your worry when you had managed to hear the embarrassing noise that slipped past his lips, saying that he was having a bit of a sore throat. gods, he would love to actually whimper from having a sore throat of getting his mouth plowed all day by your fat cock head forcing his jaws wiiideee open

elf bf who couldn’t help but get a little needy in his kisses since then. hands that touched your muscles with curiosity now running over your skin as if trying to feebly seduce you. dropping things to the ground a bit too many times, following you close behind even as you told him that some of the work you needed to do required space and for him to be away for his own safety. who straddles your lap all snug, pushing his chest flush against your own as your simply daily evening kisses after dinner becomes a bit too heated. he definitely had little to no experience with the way his tongue kept licking at your lips meagerly, long fingers curling over your shoulders tightly while his bucking hips on your lap as he starts to get hard again

elf bf who has finally had enough of just his meager imaginations, tugging on the strings of your white tunic with shaky hands as he rambles about touching you, you touching him, feeling him, using him — anything dammit! use those hands of yours on him!

elf bf who soon realizes that he had perhaps bitten off more than he could chew when your hands grip at his hips, dragging his clothed cock against your thigh that had him whining like a cat in heat. meagerly, he tries to replicate what you just made him do, dragging his hips back and forth on your thigh but he all but just looks like an inexperienced bunny. which he probably was judging by the things he spoke to you about himself

elf bf who finds so much pleasure in simply grinding against your thigh for now, the precum of his now hard cock weeping through his pants, staining it into a darker color. all cute and red in the face that spread to his pointy ears, cute high pitched whines falling from his chewed up pink lips. a cute, surprised “a-aahn♡︎??” echoing in the room as you pull his eager body against your own. your chest to his back, hands loosely draped over the hip bone of his

elf bf who lets out the most embarrassing high pitched squeals when your hands travel up his body under his clothes, traveling more and more until teasing at his nipples. rolling your fingertips against the soft areola, squeezing and fondling his pecks as if they were breasts. who jolts in place when you pinch at the hardened buds, tugging at them to test the waters as he arches his back off of your chest, a filthy mewl falling as if he was being fucked stupid already

elf bf who blubbers out uncharacteristic words of “s-shensiitiivgh♡︎ n-no, don’t pinch the-eeengk♡︎♡︎!“ his pleads of your rough hands not torturing his sensitive nipples being replaced with an open mouthed wail when you place a kiss to the pointy tip of his ear. his ears were so sensitive! you knew that and now you were just being downright mean to him as you whisper filth into his ears of acting like a cooped up virgin for merely getting his chest played with. he wasn’t! he was way older than you! slurring out “how c-could you be sooh m-meanngk…♡︎?” as you lick a slow stripe up the pointy helix

elf bf who bucks his hips on your thigh, trying to bounce, trying to move away but ending up whining as his clothed cock grazes against your hardened muscles again. his cute nipples being tortured and groped by your hands, the delicate helix of his ears being assaulted by your wet kisses and licks. any time your hot breath spoke into his ears of how he was such a precious little thing, just like a bunny in heat, he would try to wiggle away. shaking his head with a weak sniffle, his mind churning into a mush as all he could do was to pathetically fuck his cock into your thigh, letting out a soft mewl everytime you buck your leg up to meet his shy excuse of thrusts, jumping in place

elf bf whose minds and body starts to feel weird. the room feeling stifling and your touch making his own skin heat up too much. who tries to tell you that he was feeling ‘odd’ and concerned, yet only to harshly thrust his hips back into your own arousal. eyes widening, a shudder running down his spine at the feeling. still clothed and hidden like his own but good grief, it just felt… so huge since he was sure your human dick couldn’t possibly be much bigger than his own. but no, it got him gulping down the saliva in his mouth

elf bf who bounces himself experimentally onto your own hardened, covered dick, feeling his balls brush against where he guesses is the tip of your strap. his earlier cute whines growing in volume as your torture of his sensitive spots grow worse, groping, squeezing, calling him too eager to get fucked, making him dumb and airheaded. the constant tugs to his chest, the words you spat into his mind so lovingly and the small actions of your hips thrusting up to meet his own weaker excuse of grinding

elf bf who’s voice grow more and more breathier, who finally loses it as he throws himself back against your chest, his head on your shoulder as he let out a wail of “h-hoowt!! t-too ahgg♡︎ haah anhg t-too hoounwt...♥︎!” as he cums into his pants, dirtying the material as a single glob or two of his sweet transparent arousal oozes out through the linen. the dark patch growing into a considerable size, his body racked with twitches and jolts as he cums untouched on your lap. precious little thing getting drunk on the feeling of sex and physical pleasure so much till the point he disregards all of his traditions, bending himself over onto the bed, his hand reaching back to tug you forward by the belt with a desperate whine and a cute blown wide pupils and twitching ears♡︎

⇨ meludir, lindir, legolas, maglor, mairon + whoever you like

[thatdisasterauthor]

New disaster education graphic! Had to split it in half so tumblr wouldn't TOTALLY eat the quality. I'm going to put the full, unsplit version beneath a cut so if you want to share this graphic you can grab the whole one or the two halves, whichever works for you. As always, my disaster graphics can be shared anywhere on the internet that isn't making a profit, as long as my credit remains intact at the bottom! If you would like to license a physical or paid use of them, reach out to me on my website.

I've seen a lot of graphics about defensible space over the years, but I've never really seen one that does a good job of also explaining WHY the recommendations are what they are, so I've been wanting to make a graphic that dug into the why.

Alt text is also below the cut!

Alt text: Two halves of a single infographic. The background is dark gray. The top text reads "Why Does Defensible Space Matter?" in large yellow text. Below that is the text "When it comes to protecting your home from a wildfire, having defensible space around your home is one of the best things you can do. But why?" in black. Below that is the text "Wildfires move in three main ways:" in white.

Next there are three rectangles in a lighter gray, stacked one on top of the other. Each has a diagram of a small house on the edge of a forest. There are decorations on the porch, firewood on the porch, leaf litter on the roof, overgrown grass, trees growing right up next to the house, bushes, and the forest is crowded and overgrown.

In the top box, there is a fire moving along the ground, and the box is labeled as "Along the ground." In the second box the fire is moving through the tops of the trees, and the box is labeled, "through the crowns of trees." The third box shows a distance fire with lots of little embers being blown through the air, labeled as "Through the air via embers."

After that is the text, "The goal of defensible space is to make changes that impede each of these types of movement" in white.

Below that are the same three boxes as above, but each one shows changes you can make to impede one of these types of movement. The changes are listed under the box in a numbered list, with the numbers also in the diagram where those changes are reflected in the art.

The first box is labeled as "Impede ground movement" and has the following items listed:

Create a five foot zone around your home with no burnables using gravel, pavers, or other hardscaping.

Keep grass trimmed and well maintained in a thirty foot radius around your home.

Keep ground plants other than grass to a minimum and well spaced out.

Trim low hanging branches to prevent a ground fire from accessing higher portions of the tree.

The second box is labeled as "Impede Crown Movement" and has the following items listed:

Remove trees hanging over the roof and close to the home.

Thin trees within One-Hundred Feet of the home to reduce movement of flames between them.

The third box is labeled as "Remove Anything that can trap embers" and has the following items listed:

Clean debris such as leaves from off the roof of and around your home.

Do not store firewood or lumber near your home.

Keep combustible decorations That can trap embers close to your home to a minimum.

After that is a larger version of the house, but redecorated in a more fire safe manner. The door has been painted purple, there are plants visible inside through the window, and the outdoor decorations are made of non-combustible materials. After the house is the text "There are still plenty of ways to make your home your own while being fire safe!" in white.

Below that in a rectangle is the text "For more information on defensible space and how to create it around your home, visit: https://www.fire.ca.gov/dspace for a more in depth breakdown of how to protect each zone around your home."

The last text on the poster reads "If you are in the U.S.A. and experiencing disaster related anxiety, call the Disaster Distress Hotline at 1-800-985-5990 for support and resources. Poster created by Katy L. Wood ● www.Katy-L-Wood.com"

[theodorenmyth]

hey!

could i please request a fic where theodore's sibling is dating mattheo and they want it to be a secret, but then everyone ends up finding out and they think theo's going to be angry/overprotective but he's really chill? and the pair are confused and a little offended by how unbothered he is?

i love reading your comedy fics because they always make me laugh!!

Secret Relationship

pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle secretly date behind your brother aka Theodore’s back, fearing his reaction. But when everyone finds out, Theodore is shockingly chill — leaving your chaotic friend group furious and dramatically disappointed by the lack of sibling rage.

A/N ; it's been so long since I uploaded 😭😭😭😭😭 I missed u all sm, AND ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WROTE A MATTHEO FIC HELLO?! I've been on a Theodore streak I swear 😭 pls enjoy this comedic mess

Warnings ; none, just pure chaos

Word count ; 4.1k+

The night air curled around you in thin, biting tendrils, the wind sweeping through the Astronomy Tower and chilling your fingers where they gripped the stone ledge. The tower loomed above the castle, far removed from the warm flicker of torches and the comfortable murmur of the common rooms. Up here, the world felt suspended—like time had stopped and the stars were the only witnesses to your terrible, beautiful secret.

You were absolutely not supposed to be here.

"You’re shivering."

The voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence. You didn’t even need to look—you’d recognize that voice in your sleep. Mattheo Riddle stepped forward from the shadows with that familiar slouch, half-hooded eyes glinting with mischief and something gentler he’d never admit to. His black coat hung loosely from his shoulders, already halfway off as he reached out and draped it over yours.

The weight of it was immediate—warm, worn, and unmistakably his. It smelled like firewood, mint, and danger. A combination you had no business enjoying as much as you did.

"I'm not cold," you muttered, hugging the coat tighter around yourself despite the denial.

Mattheo arched a brow, unimpressed. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are," he insisted, stepping closer, his grin growing with every step. "You always do that thing with your nose when you lie."

You blinked. “What thing?”

"That—" He pointed at you with a smirk as your nose instinctively scrunched. "Exactly that."

Your scowl deepened. “You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve been told.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He was fully in front of you now, close enough to steal your breath if you let him. His fingers grazed your waist like a question, an invitation. One you never could refuse.

"You could’ve stayed in bed like a reasonable person," he teased, voice dipped in velvet. "Instead, you came all the way up here just to see me."

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered.

But he knew better.

And so did you.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing yours, barely touching—just enough to set your nerves alight. "Say it."

"Say what?" you breathed, feigning innocence.

"That you missed me."

"I didn’t."

"Liar," he whispered against your mouth, and then he kissed you.

The world fell away.

His mouth on yours was rough and unrelenting, like he had waited too long and thought too much and wanted to erase the time you’d spent apart. You kissed him back with equal fervor, clutching his collar as if to tether yourself to the moment. The cold didn’t matter. The risk didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands roamed your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you, like he wanted to touch everything at once.

He was infuriating and impulsive and impossible—but gods, he was yours.

Eventually, you pulled away, lips tingling and lungs begging for breath. He rested his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm, possessive.

"This is reckless," you whispered, eyes half-lidded and drunk on him.

Mattheo didn’t even blink. "Reckless is snogging your best mate’s sibling in the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning while the entire school sleeps."

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder. "Don’t remind me."

"Just saying. We’ve already passed the point of no return, haven’t we?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you watched the stars—millions of them, quiet and distant and probably laughing at the mess you’d made of yourself. You should’ve stopped this weeks ago. You’d tried to stop. But Mattheo always had this way of pulling you back in, like gravity.

"This is insane," you murmured.

"Mm," he agreed. "And I love it."

You tilted your head to look at him. "You would."

Mattheo smiled, that crooked, charming sort of smile that spelled nothing but trouble. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contradicted everything he usually projected.

"I like you like this," he said suddenly.

"Like what?"

"Defiant. Warm. Close." His voice dropped. "Mine."

Your breath hitched.

You hated how easily he could unravel you.

“You know my brother would murder you,” you said, only half-joking.

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well. That’s why he doesn’t know.”

“And if he finds out?”

His eyes darkened—not in fear, but in resolve. "Then we deal with it. Together."

Something in your chest tightened painfully. Mattheo Riddle was not known for making promises, but when he did, they meant something.

You tried to play it off, to lighten the moment. "Very noble of you. Might even make you look brave."

"I'm always brave," he deadpanned.

You laughed despite yourself and leaned up to kiss him again—softer this time, slower. Like a lullaby in the middle of a war.

Another set of footsteps—distant but undeniable—snapped you both out of it. Mattheo jerked away instantly, eyes sharp, scanning the stairwell below.

Your stomach dropped as you ducked behind one of the stone columns, barely breathing.

Please not a professor. Please not a prefect. Please not—

Silence.

The footsteps faded.

Mattheo let out a slow exhale. "That was way too close."

You nodded, pressing a hand over your pounding heart. “We need to stop doing this in public places.”

"Then invite me to your dorm."

"Absolutely not."

"The library?"

"Too exposed."

"Empty classroom?"

"Too cliché."

"Room of Requirement?"

You paused. "...Too convenient."

He gave a low laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Mattheo leaned forward and kissed your cheek, just above your jaw. “Tomorrow night?”

You hesitated. You should say no. You meant to say no.

“…Fine. But somewhere safer.”

"Deal."

He squeezed your hand once before retreating back down the stairs with the grace of someone who’d done this a dozen times and would do it a dozen more.

You stayed a moment longer, the weight of his coat still wrapped around your shoulders and the ghost of his lips still on your mouth. The stars blinked silently overhead, their light cool and unjudging. You exhaled and turned to go, already thinking about tomorrow—and all the chaos it might bring.

You were in too deep.

And you didn’t care.

Rain was pouring against the windows like the sky itself was throwing a tantrum, Hogwarts cloaked in that damp, miserable grey that made everyone collectively more dramatic than usual. You trudged into the Great Hall, dragging your feet like a ghost of your former, snogged-out self. You spotted your friends instantly—because they were loud, nosy, and sitting in their usual spot, plotting world domination over croissants and coffee.

You slid into your seat next to Blaise with the elegance of a sleep-deprived troll and immediately reached for a slice of toast, praying today would be normal. No scandal. No drama. No accidental references to someone’s pine-scented hair or stupid smirking face or warm hands on your—

Mattheo Riddle plopped himself directly beside you.

Your toast froze mid-air.

“Oh, excellent,” he said, sounding obscenely cheerful for someone who hadn’t brushed his curls. “You got the good jam.”

He reached across your plate like a heathen and scooped up a glob of raspberry jam with his butter knife, smearing it messily on your toast like he was helping.

“I was going to eat that,” you deadpanned.

“And now you are, but with flavor,” he replied, looking far too pleased with himself.

Across the table, Lorenzo choked on his tea. Draco froze mid-butter-spread. Blaise leaned back slowly with a suspicious grin. Pansy squinted like she was trying to read the entire history of your existence from the look on your face. Astoria didn’t even look up—she just let out the most disappointed sigh in the history of human breathing.

You, a rational and responsible person, did the obvious thing.

You pretended absolutely nothing was happening.

Mattheo, who was clearly born to make everything worse, leaned in. “Are you going to eat that, or are you going to keep staring at me like you’re in love?”

You dropped your toast. Draco visibly gasped. Blaise bit his knuckle.

“Okay,” Lorenzo said slowly, dramatically. “I think we all need to pause and—what the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing,” you and Mattheo said in perfect harmony.

A collective suspicious silence fell over the group.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’re sitting suspiciously close to each other.”

“Coincidence,” you said.

“He stole your toast.”

“Generous community breakfasting,” Mattheo supplied.

“You’re blushing,” Draco noted, pointing a butter knife at your face.

“It’s warm in here,” you snapped. “There’s body heat. Circulation. Weather.”

“You’re playing footsie,” Blaise added smugly.

“We are absolutely not playing footsie,” Mattheo said, jerking his leg away from yours so fast he kneed the underside of the table and nearly knocked over the entire jug of pumpkin juice.

“Okay,” Lorenzo muttered. “If this isn’t a secret relationship, then I am the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, here to reclaim his house from the deranged couple defiling it.”

You tried to glare. Really, you did. But Mattheo had crumbs on his lip, and his eyes were doing that annoyingly attractive sparkle thing, and your face betrayed you by melting.

“OH MY GOD,” Pansy screamed. “YOU’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE.”

“I am in denial,” you barked. “Which is very different.”

Blaise laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “So, just to confirm—are you or are you not snogging this absolute chaos goblin in secret?”

“We’re not snogging,” Mattheo said quickly. “Why would we snog? Snogging is for people with… lips.”

“You have lips,” Draco said flatly.

“Debatable,” Mattheo replied, before turning to you with pleading eyes. “Help me.”

“Everyone is being very dramatic,” you announced. “Mattheo and I are friends. Acquaintances. Mortal enemies with occasional group project chemistry.”

“You left the Potions lab last Thursday with your tie undone and a hickey on your neck,” Astoria said without looking up.

“It was a mosquito! ” Mattheo cried. “They were everywhere.”

“In the Potions lab?” Blaise asked, blinking.

“...Yes,” you said weakly. “It was.. uhm.. infested.”

Pansy slammed her hands on the table. “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”

“Five minutes,” you blurted. “No time at all. We’re still in the test trial phase.”

“Two months,” Mattheo mumbled at the same time.

You turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “What happened to denying everything?”

“I panicked!” he whispered. “You’re really bad at lying and it’s contagious!”

“Oh my god, it’s been TWO MONTHS?” Draco’s voice cracked like a choirboy’s. “And you didn’t tell us? We could’ve made popcorn!”

“I’m going to cry,” Pansy announced. “I feel betrayed. Emotionally compromised. Romantically offended.”

“You literally told me yesterday to snog someone or die lonely,” you muttered.

“I didn’t mean him! ”

Mattheo raised a hand. “Okay, now that’s just rude.”

“I SWEAR,” Pansy continued, “if Theodore finds out and kills you, I am not attending your funeral unless there’s drama and vengeance.”

You blinked. “Okay, but—what if he just doesn’t… find out?”

The table went still.

Pansy looked like she was about to burst into flames. “Okay. Someone get Theodore. He deserves to know that his sibling is dating—dating—Mattheo ‘bite me’ Riddle.”

You stiffened.

The entire table stilled.

Then, as if summoned by the devil himself, all heads turned in slow-motion toward the far end of the Slytherin table… where Theodore Nott sat, expression calm, buttering a scone with the serenity of a man who was either extremely zen or planning to murder someone using only a teaspoon.

You froze.

Mattheo froze.

Even Draco looked nervous.

“He doesn’t know,” you whispered.

“He definitely knows,” Astoria said calmly. “He’s buttering that scone with deadly precision. No one but assassins butter that neatly.”

Blaise leaned in, stage-whispering like a six-year-old gossip. “He’s holding the knife like he’s considering options.”

Pansy was practically vibrating. “I live for this. Theodore is going to explode. It’s going to be glorious. I want screaming. Threats. At least one table flip. I want to feel alive again!”

“Do not summon violence into this sacred breakfast,” you hissed.

Draco smirked. “Better tell Mattheo to run now while he still has all his limbs.”

Pansy stood up and immediately rolled up her sleeves. “I AM READY FOR THE DRAMA. BRING IT. DUEL AT DAWN. I’LL BE YOUR SECOND.”

Astoria grabbed her by the back of the cloak and yanked her down like she was restraining a feral cat. “Sit. Down. You’re not sword-fighting Theodore in the middle of breakfast.”

“Why not?” Pansy whined. “We live in a magical castle. This is the perfect place for sword-fighting!”

You and Mattheo exchanged a horrified glance.

“I think we just declared war,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Well. At least we’re dying pretty.”

If Mattheo Riddle had a Galleon for every time he thought, “this is how I die,” he could’ve funded a whole underground resistance, a few cursed artifacts, and still had enough left to buy you a shiny ring and a nice flat in Hogsmeade.

This time, though?

There would be no ring.

No flat.

No wedding.

Just his body launched into orbit by Theodore Nott’s inevitable, unstoppable rage.

You were standing in the corridor just outside the Great Hall, trying to decide whether to walk into your own execution or drag your boyfriend back to the dungeons by his ear.

Mattheo Riddle had been pacing like a man possessed for the past fifteen minutes.

“Okay, okay, okay—maybe I should bow?” he muttered to himself. “No. Too much. Theodore might think I’m mocking him. Should I curtsy? Would that be better? Classier?”

“Mattheo,” you said, voice deadpan, “if you curtsy to my brother, I will physically throw you out of a window.”

“I just—he’s going to murder me,” Mattheo wailed, throwing his hands in the air like some kind of tragic widow. “He’s going to skin me and use my corpse as a decorative throw for the Slytherin common room. I’ll be throw fashion, darling.”

You stared. “You’ve lost your mind.”

He spun dramatically and grabbed both your hands. “You don’t get it. That man terrifies me. He’s tall. He’s quiet. He wears all black. He looks like he reads tragic poetry for fun. He has ‘I’ll bury you behind the greenhouse’ energy.”

You tried not to laugh. “He’s just my brother.”

“No. He’s a whole experience. A terrifying one. Like one of those silent movies where the guy never speaks but everyone dies anyway.”

“Mattheo—”

“What if he pulls a wand on me and casts some obscure ancient curse from the Nott family grimoire and my skin turns inside out?”

“Then I’ll get you some exfoliating cream and a hug.”

Mattheo gave you an utterly wounded look. “That’s all the sympathy I get in my darkest hour?”

“Your darkest hour hasn’t even started.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the hallway.

Mattheo froze, grabbing the wall like a man in mourning. “Oh Merlin. It’s him. It’s Theodore. I’m not ready. You said I had five more minutes!”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t emotionally prepared then and I’m *less* emotionally prepared now!”

You didn't have time to argue. Theodore turned the corner, walking toward you with his usual unbothered, slow-as-hell stride, like he had all the time in the world to arrive at your crime scene.

Mattheo made a strangled noise like a dying bird and—without shame—threw himself behind you.

“Don’t let him hurt me!” he whisper-yelled into your shoulder. “If I die, tell your mother I looked amazing at my funeral.”

Theodore raised a single eyebrow. “Are you hiding behind my sibling?”

Mattheo popped his head out. “Not hiding—strategically retreating. It’s different.”

“Yes,” you muttered, “the strategy is cowardice.”

He clung to your robes like a damsel. “This is not cowardice. This is self-preservation, thank you very much.”

Theodore stared at him blankly. “You’re pathetic.”

Mattheo inhaled deeply and then stepped out with the air of a man marching to the gallows. “Okay. Okay. Theodore. I—I want to say something.”

Theodore tilted his head, mildly curious.

“I want to apologize for—uh—for all the... snogging. And emotional bonding. And, uh, the fact that I may or may not have licked and attacked your sibling’s neck in a highly inappropriate location on the Astronomy Tower—NOT THE POINT—what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and please don’t hex my kneecaps or transfigure my ears into cauliflowers or whatever it is you Notts do when people betray your bloodline.”

Theodore blinked.

Mattheo cleared his throat. “I just—really, really like your sibling, alright? Like, a lot. Like, ‘I’d write you letters in blood if I wasn’t squeamish’ a lot. And I know I’m kind of a mess and also a little deranged but I swear on Salazar’s bald head that I’m serious about this and if you want to punch me, just go for the left side, that’s my less photogenic side anyway—”

“I already knew,” Theodore interrupted.

Mattheo stopped mid-rant, finger in the air like he had more dramatic declarations to unleash. “Wait. What?”

“I’ve known for weeks.”

There was a beat of complete, shell-shocked silence.

Mattheo’s hand slowly lowered. “You… what?”

“I saw you sneaking out of the Astronomy Tower the first time,” Theodore said casually. “The scarf was a dead giveaway. And the second time. And the third. And the time you came back to the dorms with glitter in your hair and that weird grin like you'd just invented a new sin.”

Mattheo blinked rapidly. “So you knew... this whole time?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

“You didn’t curse me? Or duel me? Or send a howler to my mother?!”

Theodore shrugged. “I was enjoying watching you panic.”

You smacked your forehead.

Mattheo gasped and dramatically grabbed your sleeve. “He played me like a fiddle. A fiddle made of pure emotional torment.”

Theodore looked at you, dead serious. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll feed him to the Giant Squid.”

Mattheo nodded solemnly. “Honestly? That’s fair. Bit overkill, but poetic.”

“You two are insufferable,” you muttered.

Mattheo flopped against your back again, sighing dramatically. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He peeked at Theodore again. “So we’re good?”

Theodore gave him a long look. “Don’t push it.”

Mattheo immediately retreated behind you again. “He said don’t push it. I’m not pushing it. I’m hiding behind it.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“I’m a terrified man!”

Pansy, who had just turned the corner behind you with Draco and Astoria in tow, screeched like someone had been stabbed—an unholy, earsplitting shriek that ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor like a cursed howler let loose during a funeral.

“HE FUCKING KNEW?!” she howled, her eyes wide with the sheer betrayal of it all, like Theodore had personally wronged her ancestral bloodline.

The entire hallway fell into a stunned silence for half a second before chaos exploded like a badly brewed potion. A nearby portrait of a sleepy wizard jolted awake and threw his goblet at the ground, muttering something about “witches these days.” You and Mattheo both flinched so violently you almost knocked heads—and Mattheo, being the brave soul that he was, dove behind you like a coward, clutching the back of your robes with the death grip of a man facing an angry hippogriff.

“HOLY SHIT, Pansy!” Lorenzo barked, careening in behind her like a gale-force wind in Gucci boots, nearly tripping over his own feet and the bag of crisps he had clearly brought specifically for this moment. “You trying to rupture the space-time continuum with your lungs? I think my left eardrum just committed suicide!”

“You—you KNEW?!” Blaise turned to Theodore with all the grace and fury of someone who just found out his favorite soap opera had been canceled mid-cliffhanger. “And you didn’t do anything?! Not even a single ominous shoulder squeeze? A disapproving nod? A slow, terrifying walk behind them in the corridors with your eyes narrowed like a cryptid in the fog?!”

“I was counting on some emotionally stunted vengeance,” Lorenzo chimed in, now holding his crisps like a judgmental gavel. “You let us down, Nott.”

“EXACTLY!” Pansy shrieked, spinning around with the energy of a banshee leading a revolution. “Where’s the drama?! Where’s the furious wand duel at midnight in the courtyard? WHERE'S THE TWO-PAGE SPEECH ABOUT BETRAYAL AND SIBLING HONOUR AND A TRAGIC LOVE DOOMED FROM THE START?!”

Draco looked like he was genuinely grieving. He placed one hand on his heart, the other dramatically outstretched as if speaking to the heavens. “This is worse than my father’s fourth engagement party. At least that had fireworks and an enchanted swan that exploded.”

Theodore, for his part, looked like he’d just woken up from a nap and couldn’t be arsed. Standing with his hands in his pockets and his expression set to “Could Not Care Less If I Tried,” he said, “I already told them. I’ve known for weeks.”

“WEEKS?!” Blaise yelped, clutching Lorenzo’s shoulder like he needed emotional support.

“And you didn’t even glare once?!” Draco gasped, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “You didn’t pull out your wand and threaten to CRUCIO his bloodline?!”

“I expected some level of ominous sibling rage,” Lorenzo muttered. “Instead I got... emotional neutrality. Honestly, it’s offensive.”

“I’m just—confused,” Blaise said, flinging his arms out. “Do you even care? You’re acting like Mattheo hasn’t spent the past month playing tonsil hockey with your sibling in every broom cupboard in the castle.”

“I expected fireworks,” Pansy seethed. “Screaming. Maybe a duel that would’ve made the school nurse cry. At least a threatened expulsion! And instead—” she gestured wildly at Theodore “—we got this! Calm! Rational! Emotionally intelligent?! I’m DISGUSTED.”

Astoria, who had been quietly standing by, now had both hands around Pansy’s waist, physically holding her back like she was restraining a chihuahua on steroids. “Pans, don’t lunge. You promised no tackling.”

“I DIDN’T PROMISE NOTHING,” Pansy roared.

Theodore blinked slowly, looking almost bored. “If Mattheo breaks their heart, I’ll throw him off the Astronomy Tower myself. Until then, I’ve got exams.”

Mattheo, still half-hiding behind you like a traumatized Victorian child, made a strangled sound. “He’s gonna what—?”

“I—I tried to apologize,” Mattheo spluttered, peeking out from behind your shoulder with the world’s most wounded expression. “I was halfway through my bloody sentence and he just cut me off! I had a whole speech! With metaphors!”

“You didn’t even get to the metaphor about comparing Theodore’s glare to a dementor with a caffeine addiction,” you whispered.

“RIGHT?” Mattheo pointed at you with a pout. “That was my best one!”

“You were sobbing into a chocolate frog outside the potions lab,” Blaise said, deadpan.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Lorenzo added with a snort. “You kept whispering, ‘he’s going to turn me into a ferret’.”

“You weren’t even dating me when you did that,” you muttered.

Mattheo groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I was emotionally preparing! For war!”

“And there was no war!” Draco cried. “Just—just peace! Like we’re living in some healthy, emotionally mature AU!”

“This is worse than my cousin’s vow renewal,” Pansy snapped, now pacing in a circle. “At least that ended with a hexed priest and someone’s wig catching fire.”

Lorenzo clapped Blaise on the back. “Well, guess I lost the bet.”

“What bet?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“I had twenty galleons on Theodore turning Mattheo into a cactus and leaving him outside Hagrid’s hut.”

“Honestly, I would’ve preferred that,” Mattheo muttered.

“Same,” Draco said, disgusted.

“You’re all insane,” Theodore said.

“And you’re boring,” Blaise fired back. “Where’s the trauma?! Where’s the iconic sibling rage? You had the perfect opportunity to deliver a one-liner and threaten him with a slow, painful doom! Instead you let him live?!”

Pansy turned on Theodore with wide, devastated eyes. “You’re not mad at all? Like not even a little? There’s no secret plotting? No passive aggressive breakfast commentary?!”

Theodore just shrugged. “I like my sibling. I don’t hate Riddle. I’m not wasting spell energy unless he does something dumb.”

“I am something dumb!” Mattheo squeaked from behind you.

“WE KNOW!” Pansy and Draco yelled in unison.

Astoria buried her face in her hands. “I’m too sober for this.”

Draco sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. “Fine. New plan. Someone date someone they shouldn’t so we can salvage this absolute travesty.”

“I VOLUNTEER!” Lorenzo said immediately.

“NO YOU DON’T!” Blaise and Draco snapped.

You turned to Mattheo with a dazed smile as the rest of your friends devolved into chaos, arguing over who should pretend to get engaged for maximum scandal.

“Well,” you muttered. “That went well.”

Mattheo blinked at you, still clutching your robes. “I feel like I survived an execution by emotional chaos.”

You patted his cheek. “You did great, sweetheart.”

“I hate all of them,” he whispered.

From behind you, Pansy screamed, “SOMEONE THROW SOMETHING DRAMATIC OR I’M GOING TO COMBUST.”

A shoe flew past your head.

“Okay,” Mattheo muttered. “Maybe I don’t hate them. I just… fear them.”

You nodded. “Reasonable.”

And somewhere, Theodore was already walking away from the scene like a man who had never emotionally invested in anything except his morning tea and the hope that someone, someday, would shut Pansy up for more than two minutes.

[pandapetals]

hi sweetheart! I was wondering if I could request a Jackson!Joel x reader oneshot where like reader is having like an endometriosis flare up but she hasn’t told Joel yet and when they’re trying to have sex it’s just too painful for her so she has no choice but to tell him it hurts and what’s going on??

srry if that’s weird it’s a little personal/specific to me but yeah I love your writing (feel free to say no though)💓💓

Quiet Hurt

Pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader

Content warnings: soft joel, discomfort, and later comfort, fluff, established relationship, kissing, no y/n used

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Thank you for the request. No, it’s not weird at all. I hope I did your request justice!

The ache had been simmering under your skin all day, sharp, twisting jabs low in your belly that came and went. You’d gritted your teeth through patrol, through splitting firewood, through conversations you barely remembered having. There was always something else to do — someone needing a hand, supplies to sort, a fence to mend. Distractions, if nothing else. And you clung to them, pretending you didn’t notice the way your steps grew shorter, your breath catching now and then when a fierce stab of pain found its mark.

By the time you made it back home, the light was starting to slip behind the mountains, the last of it spilling into the house in streaks of burnt orange. Joel was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration as he tended to something on the stove. The scent of garlic and onions hung in the air.

You tried to slip past him unnoticed, but his eyes flicked up the second you crossed the threshold. Just a small glance, like he’d been keeping tabs on the clock and you without making a show of it.

“You’re late,” he murmured, turning back to the pan, but you caught the way his gaze lingered for a second too long, the slight downturn of his mouth.

“Lost track of time,” you said, aiming for a casual tone. 

Joel didn’t press, but as you passed, his hand brushed your lower back. A simple touch, maybe to guide you out of his way or maybe to check, to feel the tension he already suspected was there. His thumb made the smallest, absent circle against your spine before he let go.

You should’ve known better than to think you could fool him.

Joel wasn’t the type to miss much. Not when it came to you. He’d always been like that — catching the little things, the tells you tried to bury. The way your jaw clenched when you thought no one was looking, the slight hitch in your step you prayed would go unnoticed.

Still, you kept your chin up and crossed the kitchen like nothing was wrong.

The heat from the stove clung to the air. The scent of seared meat and spices should’ve made your stomach rumble, but the gnawing ache low in your gut left no room for hunger. You moved beside him anyway, wordlessly picking up a knife to slice what little produce they’d salvaged that week.

You could feel his eyes flick to you now and then — the quiet, assessing kind of glance. He didn’t say a word about the way your shoulders stayed too tight, or how you winced when you bent to grab a dish from the lower shelf. He just let you have your silence.

It was easier this way, pretending you were fine. You’d always hated the way weakness felt in your mouth, like a word you didn’t know how to say. Joel had been through enough, carried enough. He didn’t need to be looking after you, too.

Don’t be a burden.

The words were old and familiar, stitched into your bones by years of surviving in a world that didn’t make space for softness. Joel might’ve made room for you in his life, in his bed, in the quiet spaces between patrols, but you still struggled to believe you belonged there.

You swallowed the pain, set your jaw, and focused on the steady rhythm of the knife against the cutting board. If you just kept moving, kept working, you could outpace it. Or at least pretend you could.

After dinner, you kept up the act.

You cleared the plates while Joel wiped down the counter, the two of you moving around each other in that easy, familiar way. The house was quiet except for the scrape of cutlery and the soft crackle of the fire in the living room. You told yourself the worst of it was passing — that if you just stayed upright a little longer, kept busy a little longer, it’d dull to something manageable.

But every time you twisted at the waist or reached too far, the sharp, gnawing ache in your lower belly reminded you otherwise.

You caught Joel watching you a couple of times, his brow furrowed like he was trying to work out a problem without all the pieces. He didn’t say anything, though. Just handed you a dish towel and let the quiet settle between you.

When the last of the dishes were done and the kitchen lights dimmed, you mumbled something about getting cleaned up and headed upstairs, your legs feeling heavier with each step.

The bathroom was small and a little drafty; the old pipes groaned when you turned on the water. You stripped out of your clothes with stiff fingers, wincing when you bent to untie your boots. 

You splashed water on your face, let the shower run until the room filled with steam, and stepped under the stream, hoping maybe the heat would do what it always promised and ease the worst of it.

It helped—a little.

When you finally padded into the bedroom, you pulled on your softest sleep shirt and a pair of worn cotton shorts, the fabric loose enough not to press against the tender ache in your belly. Joel was already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shirt, his silhouette broad and familiar in the low light.

You paused in the doorway, watching him for a beat.

God, you didn’t deserve him.

The thought came uninvited, sharp in your chest.

Not when you came with this mess of a body, with pain you didn’t always have a name for, with nights like this where everything felt too fragile. You knew he wouldn’t say it, but you wondered if he ever got tired of it — of you.

Joel looked up, catching you hovering there.

“C’mere,” he said, voice soft.

You hesitated, then crossed the room, slipping under the blankets beside him. His hand found your thigh under the covers, fingers rough and warm against your skin. It should’ve felt good. It did, but the pain was still there, a low, steady throb that made your stomach tighten.

Joel leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then to the corner of your mouth. His touch was unhurried, patient in that way he got sometimes, like he had all the time in the world to savor you. His hand skimmed up beneath your shirt, thumb tracing slow circles along your side, and it sent a shiver throughout your body.

God, you wanted him. Wanted to lose yourself in him and the weight of his body. The scrape of his stubble and how he said your name when you came apart. But the ache in your belly hadn’t let up, and you could already feel your body tensing against itself.

You swallowed hard, forced a small smile, and let your hand trail over his chest.

Maybe it would be fine. Maybe if you just—

The next brush of his hand made you flinch.

It was small, barely a twitch, but Joel felt it. You knew he did by the way he stilled, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brow drawn.

“Hey,” he murmured. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth to deflect, but the words caught in your throat, a lump of frustration and shame you couldn’t swallow down this time. So you did what you always did — pretended.

You grabbed his hand, guiding it back to your thigh like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just flinched beneath his touch. You leaned in, kissed him harder than you meant to, rough and insistent, hoping the pressure of it would drown out everything else. 

For a second, Joel kissed you back, but there was hesitation there, something cautious in the way his lips moved against yours.

You felt it — that subtle pulling away, the slight stiffening of his shoulders beneath your palms.

Don’t stop. Don’t ask.

You shifted your weight, hoping to find a position that didn’t feel like a blade twisting in your gut. But the movement sent a sharp, white-hot stab of pain through your lower pelvic area, and you couldn’t help it — a soft, involuntary gasp punched out of you as your body tensed.

Joel’s hand on your leg stilled. His brow furrowed. “Sweetheart,” his voice low as worry bleed into it. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, tried to look away, but his hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.

“I’m fine,” you started, the lie brittle in your throat.

His gaze softened in that way it did sometimes when he saw right through you, past every wall you thought you’d managed to keep standing.

“Don’t,” he murmured. 

The ache in your belly pulsed, and something inside you cracked under the weight of it. The pain, the exhaustion, the constant pretending. You felt your face crumple before you could stop it, eyes stinging hot.

“I—” your voice broke, and you hated the way it sounded, thin and raw. “It’s my flare up… it’s—” you gestured weakly toward your lower abdomen. “Been hurting. All day.”

Joel’s hand slid down, resting over your belly like he could draw the pain out through his palm.

“How bad?” His voice was low as his jaw ticked, tension gathering there like a storm cloud.

You hesitated, ashamed of the truth. “Bad.”

His brow furrowed deeper, and the guilt hit him fast and sharp. His grip tightened for a second before he eased it, careful not to hurt you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, and it wasn’t anger or disappointment — just this quiet, aching thing that made your throat close up. “You been carryin’ this around all damn day?”

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “Didn’t wanna… ruin anything. Didn’t wanna be a burden.”

“Jesus, baby…” Joel let out a rough exhale, leaning his forehead against yours. His hand stroked your hair, thumb smoothing down your temple. “You ain’t a burden. Not ever. You hear me?”

You nodded, blinking fast against the heat in your eyes.

“I should’ve seen it,” he muttered, his voice thick with something heavier than guilt — a kind of helpless fury at himself. “Should’ve known somethin’ was wrong. You’re too good at hidin’ when you’re hurt.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “Didn’t mean to be.”

“I know, darlin’.” He kissed your temple, then the corner of your mouth, soft and careful this time. “Alright. Let’s get you comfortable. I’ll get somethin’ warm for your stomach. We ain’t doin’ nothin’ ‘til you’re feelin’ better, you understand?”

His tone left no room for argument, all gruff tenderness and protective grit, and some part of you, knotted up so long it had forgotten how to loosen, finally let go.

You leaned into him, letting your head drop to his shoulder.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Okay.”

Joel pressed another kiss to your hair before easing you back against the pillows.

“Hang on, baby,” he murmured, his hand giving your thigh a gentle squeeze before he stood. “Gonna fix you up.”

You let your eyes close for a second, the ache in your belly a steady, dull throb now that you weren’t trying to push past it. The familiar sound of Joel’s footsteps moving through the house was a small comfort in itself.

He was gone maybe a minute, though it felt longer in the way pain stretches time. When he came back, his arms were full — a small basin of steaming water, one of the soft old rags from the linen drawer, and the battered canteen he kept by the bed.

“Didn’t know if you wanted tea,” he muttered, almost sheepish, holding up the canteen. “It’s warm water. Figured it’s better than nothin’.”

Your throat tightened. God, this man.

“That’s perfect,” you managed.

He set the basin down on the nightstand, dipping the cloth into the hot water. Steam curled up between his fingers, and he shook it out, testing the heat against his wrist like he was handling something precious.

“Lift your shirt for me, sweetheart,” Joel said, voice soft, coaxing.

You did, the cool air brushing your skin as you bared your stomach. Joel’s brow furrowed when he saw the tension there, the way your muscles stayed tight, trying to guard against the pain. He laid the warm cloth over your lower belly, his hand lingering to press it into place.

“Better?”

The heat sank into your skin, dulling the sharpest edges of the ache. You let out a slow, shaky breath. “Yeah… yeah, it helps.”

Joel settled beside you, one arm sliding under your shoulders to pull you against his chest. He kept his hand on the cloth, his thumb absently stroking your side in slow, steady passes.

“Should’ve told me sooner,” he murmured, guilt still thick in his voice. “Ain’t gotta carry this on your own.”

You buried your face against his throat, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, gruff but gentle. “You don’t ever owe me sorry for hurtin’. Not a damn thing to be sorry for.”

His hand moved to brush the hair from your face, thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. He kissed your temple, like he was reminding you of something you kept forgetting.

You sighed, the warmth from the cloth and the steady, quiet presence of him easing something loose inside you.

“Love you,” you murmured, so soft you weren’t sure if he caught it.

Joel’s hand squeezed your side as he pressed a kiss to your temple.

[lieslab]

Can we always be this close?

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: A camping trip with your best friend turns into an accidental sleepy love confession.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

_ _ _

“Kim fucking Seungmin!” 

Every time the words rolled off your lips, it was always met with a snicker, or a chuckle. A round of jubilant laughter cut through the air. Something about screwing around with you and making you angry, he found it amusing. 

Maybe it was the way you stood and pouted with your arms crossed over your chest. A whiny huff and your refusal of eye contact. You spun around and refused to acknowledge him. 

The huffs, puffs, and grumbles. The scowls and glares. You did it because you knew he found it all amusing. You wanted him to find it amusing. You wanted to be seen around Seungmin. To be seen and heard. To be loved is to be known. 

An unexpected friendship found you in the middle of nowhere. You drifted in and out of new phases of your life alone. At least, you did until you found Seungmin. Since then, your friendship rolled into something so much more, in your eyes. 

You’d never admit you wanted to kiss his stupid grinning face. A flaming passion struck his heart every time he looked into the crowds of his supporters. A silent love and never-ending admiration, even if he didn’t always admit it out loud. 

You wanted him to look at you like that. Like you mattered much more to him. Not a friend, but something that stirred a fire in the depth of his stomach. You didn’t want smoke, you desired sparks. Something seen and felt. 

“This is my campfire. How does it look, Stay? Are you proud of me? I did exactly what Minho hyung told me to do and I can’t believe it worked. I should have more faith in him. Look at it.” 

In your distant folding chair, you watched him lean the camera closer to the heightening orange flames. In the night’s darkness, out in the middle of nowhere, the fire became the main source of light. The two of you had been on your camping trip for a few hours now. 

“Should I drop stay into the fire?” He tipped the tripod closer, almost letting the device fall in. At the last moment, he pulled it out with a grin. “Just kidding. I’ll let you live another day, for now.” 

The two of you showed up to the campsite hours ago, wanting to be situated before the sun went down. The company rented the place out, wanting Seungmin content. He promised to give it to them, he just didn’t inform them you’d be with him.

Any footage they ended up with, you’d have to be cut out to avoid being seen. It was supposed to be Seungmin’s solo camping trip, but he didn’t want to be alone. Every time he needed to film, you disappeared from the frame and stayed quiet, letting him film whatever he needed. 

“Do you want to see where I’m sleeping? Come check it out. I hope you’re proud of me, Stay. I worked real hard to put up the tent. It was difficult, but I managed.” He walked to the tent, unzipping it and turning on a lantern. 

A large outstretched air mattress sat big enough for two. You were both planning to bring an air mattress, but at the last moment, Seungmin decided it’d be easier to have one. Less space to take up. Less time spent filling both mattresses and more time enjoying the outdoors. 

The more he droned on about the sleeping experience, your eyes drooped. Tucked beneath your hoodie, the hood covered your eyes. This late, the temperature dipped and left the outdoors far cooler than you imagined. 

Thankfully, your hoodie and the fire helped. Your hands twisted around the longer sleeves and you tucked the fabric around your hands. Your head drifted back against the seat and let his faint words soak your soul. 

The scent of pine-soaked firewood tickled your nose. Flames cracked and whipped with the breeze. Your eyes drooped lower and lower. Today had been a long day. From setting up the tent, collecting fire, and roasting dinner over the fire, the manual labor involved was much more than you were used to. 

When Seungmin finished, he turned off the camera and spun around to face you. “Hey, I’m finished and we can…” He trailed off at your hidden body. “Um… Hello?” 

You didn’t respond. Too exhausted and tired, you were nearly asleep. He called your name and when you didn’t respond, he walked over to your slumped body. The back of your head rested along the back of the chair. Your head tipped to the blackened sky. The sharp angle would cause your neck to ache in the morning. 

He reached out, gently poking what he imagined to be your cheek. Beneath the hood, your head shifted and you whined. He poked your face with a single finger again. “What are you doing?” 

“Sleeping.” 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause ‘m sleepy.” Your words came out mumbled. Half-asleep, you weren’t fully in control of your words. 

“Get up. You wanted to play cards with that boring deck of cards you brought.” 

“I’m tired.” 

“And I’m not.” 

You whined and shifted, trying to get away. “Too late. Play tomorrow. Good night.” 

“You are such a loser.” 

“And you’re a jackass.” 

He reached up and pulled back your hood, so he could see your face. “Big baby.”  He pushed back a piece of messy hair. “Wake up and look at me.” 

“No.”

He grabbed your chin and tipped your head down. “I invited you on this trip out of the kindness of my heart and now you’re being a royal brat. A total pain in my ass. You’re so ungrateful for the things I do for you, sometimes.” His voice came out playful. 

One of his fingers flicked the tip of your nose. You swatted away the pesky hand with a sleepy huff. Groggy eyes opened and the two of you made eye contact. Orange illumination highlighted his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Shadows soaked the eye bags and cupid’s bow. 

“Asshole,” you whispered. 

“Get up, I mean it.” You whined, but he continued. Grabbing your wrists, forcing you to stand, and tugging your stumbling frame to the tent. “You’re going to stay out here all night and get eaten by a wild animal.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I would dare you, but I kind of enjoy the company your dumbass provides me.” 

“You like me?” Your eyes drooped again. “That’s nice. I like you, too. I think I might love you, but I don’t know yet.” 

He stopped in his tracks. Your arm slung around his shoulders and your weight propped against his body. You were trying to keep your balance, but it was a struggle. His head slowly turned to face you. “You might love me?” 

“I don’t know. I just like your face. You’re funny and talented and hot and-” 

“Are you tired, delirious, or drunk?” 

“Yep. Drunk on loooove.” You fluttered your eyelashes a few times and shifted. Your body tipped forward, but before you could fall, he steaded you. 

He sighed, shook his head, and helped you walk further into the tent. The fire continued to crackle and pop behind you. With the tug of the zipper, he lowered both of you to the ground. “You’ve gotta work with me here. If you want to get some sleep, you have to crawl into the tent. The bed is right there.” 

You groaned and let out another few complaints, but you shifted away from his body. On your hands and knees, you climbed over the burlap opening and into the eight person tent. It was way bigger than the two of you needed, but you both liked it that way. You could keep all the essentials tucked away from the weather and you still had plenty of room. 

You were nearly to your bed until a foot grabbed your ankle. You hit the ground with a faint “hmph.” 

“Easy. Calm down. I just need to take off your hiking boots before you trail dirt everywhere. I forgot you had them on.” 

You huffed and let your face lay in the bottom of the tent. You no longer cared about anything other than sleep. His fingers worked quickly, trying to unlace your shoes before you could fall back asleep. 

He pulled and tugged at tight knots. It took longer than expected, but soon he finished slipping your foot out of the dirt-caked shoe. He repeated the process with the other. When he finished, a hand stretched out to your lower back. 

“Hey, come on.” He patted your back a few times. “You can get up and get on the air mattress now. You won’t get it covered in dirt.” 

You hummed, but didn’t move. Face down, you stayed in your spot. When you didn’t move, he reached down and tugged your ankle. “Hello?” 

You didn’t respond. His shoulders slumped and a sigh escaped his mouth. His fingers tugged at his own hiking boots. He placed them beside yours and crawled into the tent to assist you. His hands gripped your hips and he tried to get you up. It didn’t work the way he wanted it to. He wanted to pick you up and take you to the bed, but he couldn’t lift your dead-weighted body. 

“Get up,” he tried again. “Come on. Up.” You didn’t respond. “If you get up, I’ll cuddle you.” 

That was more than enough. You jerked upright and army crawled faster than a marine. One arm in front of the other, you snaked yourself all the way over at the opposite end of the tent. With a grunt, you managed to squirm yourself into the bed. Once complete, you patted the bed. “Come on.” 

His eyes widened and he blinked. It took him a moment to register your actions before he finally crawled over. “Sounds like someone was desperate for my attention. Can’t say I’m surprised. I’m just that great, right?” 

He expected you to get annoyed by his cockiness, but instead, you hummed in agreement. He slipped into the bed with a racing heart. You weren’t the only one that caught feelings. Seungmin realized he had feelings for you a few weeks ago. 

It was when you were in the process of pissing him off. He pushed your buttons too badly and for revenge, you were mocking him in a high-pitched voice. Exaggerated gestures and movements that put a scowl on his face. 

On the outside, he looked annoyed. On the inside, he realized he liked you more than he planned. His heart swelled at your mockery. Mocking, or not, you paid attention to his mannerisms. The way you walked around, pretending to be in your own little world before saying something sarcastic that he’d spew; an annoyance wrapped as endearment. 

Every moment after that, it was different. He asked to hang out more. His heart beat so quickly every time the two of you were next to each other, he grew afraid you’d hear it and tease him. If you could feel his racing heart, you didn’t show it. 

He slipped onto the mattress beside you. You shifted, pulling closer, until you could spoon him. All up in his personal space, you sighed and tucked your head into his chest. Flushed cheeks. A rocketing heart. The need for something more. 

“I love you,” you mumbled. “So much. Don’t ever change.” 

His cheeks darkened again. “You’re an idiot. All over me like some needy kitten wanting attention.” 

“Kittens can be interested in a dog’s scent.” 

“What are you saying?” 

“I bought the same cologne you have because I miss you when you’re on tour,” you mumbled. “I spray it on my pajamas sometimes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Shut up and let me love you.” 

“I think I’m going to have to take you to the doctor in the morning.”

Your head buried further in his chest. With a sigh, your sleepiness dissolved into unconsciousness. Warm and engulfed in the scent of campfire smoke, you let yourself fall asleep. Tucked beneath your best friend. The guy you had a crush on for months. 

A smile quipped up on Seungmin’s face. “I can’t believe you love me. You’re such an idiot, but…” He glanced down at your curled posture. Your fingers sat curled into the fabric of his t-shirt. 

“I didn’t think I wanted love,” he whispered, “but maybe tomorrow I won’t call you my best friend. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll call you mine.”

You might not remember the soft kiss pressed against the top of your temple that night, but he would. 

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg

Masterlist

Taglist and inbox rules

Ko-fi

[reasonsforhope]

The World's Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think

You might be surprised to discover... that many of the world’s woodlands are in a surprisingly good condition. The destruction of tropical forests gets so much (justified) attention that we’re at risk of missing how much progress we’re making in cooler climates.

That’s a mistake. The slow recovery of temperate and polar forests won’t be enough to offset global warming, without radical reductions in carbon emissions. Even so, it’s evidence that we’re capable of reversing the damage from the oldest form of human-induced climate change — and can do the same again.

Take England. Forest coverage now is greater than at any time since the Black Death nearly 700 years ago, with some 1.33 million hectares of the country covered in woodlands. The UK as a whole has nearly three times as much forest as it did at the start of the 20th century.

That’s not by a long way the most impressive performance. China’s forests have increased by about 607,000 square kilometers since 1992, a region the size of Ukraine. The European Union has added an area equivalent to Cambodia to its woodlands, while the US and India have together planted forests that would cover Bangladesh in an unbroken canopy of leaves.

Logging in the tropics means that the world as a whole is still losing trees. Brazil alone removed enough woodland since 1992 to counteract all the growth in China, the EU and US put together. Even so, the planet’s forests as a whole may no longer be contributing to the warming of the planet. On net, they probably sucked about 200 million metric tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere each year between 2011 and 2020, according to a 2021 study. The CO2 taken up by trees narrowly exceeded the amount released by deforestation. That’s a drop in the ocean next to the 53.8 billion tons of greenhouse gases emitted in 2022 — but it’s a sign that not every climate indicator is pointing toward doom...

More than a quarter of Japan is covered with planted forests that in many cases are so old they’re barely recognized as such. Forest cover reached its lowest extent during World War II, when trees were felled by the million to provide fuel for a resource-poor nation’s war machine. Akita prefecture in the north of Honshu island was so denuded in the early 19th century that it needed to import firewood. These days, its lush woodlands are a major draw for tourists.

It’s a similar picture in Scandinavia and Central Europe, where the spread of forests onto unproductive agricultural land, combined with the decline of wood-based industries and better management of remaining stands, has resulted in extensive regrowth since the mid-20th century. Forests cover about 15% of Denmark, compared to 2% to 3% at the start of the 19th century.

Even tropical deforestation has slowed drastically since the 1990s, possibly because the rise of plantation timber is cutting the need to clear primary forests. Still, political incentives to turn a blind eye to logging, combined with historically high prices for products grown and mined on cleared tropical woodlands such as soybeans, palm oil and nickel, mean that recent gains are fragile.

There’s no cause for complacency in any of this. The carbon benefits from forests aren’t sufficient to offset more than a sliver of our greenhouse pollution. The idea that they’ll be sufficient to cancel out gross emissions and get the world to net zero by the middle of this century depends on extraordinarily optimistic assumptions on both sides of the equation.

Still, we should celebrate our success in slowing a pattern of human deforestation that’s been going on for nearly 100,000 years. Nothing about the damage we do to our planet is inevitable. With effort, it may even be reversible.

-via Bloomburg, January 28, 2024

[marvelstoriesepic]

The Splinter and the Spark

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky x Neighbor!Reader

Summary: Your cabin’s heating breaks in times when you need it, so you try yourself at chopping firewood. But the last person you want help from is your smug, axe-swinging neighbor.

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: enemies to lovers; mild injury; slow burn tension; Bucky being smug; Bucky being worried

Author’s Note: Gosh, this grew way too long for this challenge again. But I just didn’t want to cut anything. I love them so much. Thank you for sending me this amazing request, my lovely!! I hope you’ll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

It started with the axe.

Not a chainsaw - no, that would have been too simple, too civilized, too modern. It was the thud of an axe that first made you hate him.

Every morning at 6:17 sharp, right when the sky was still learning how to be blue, you’d hear it. The clean, smug crack of metal meeting wood. Again and again. Like a heartbeat that belonged to a different kind of human - one with too much muscle and not enough consideration.

That first time, you’d stormed outside barefoot in your robe, clutching a coffee as if it might serve as a weapon. You asked him if he could wait until at least 8 am and he’d only given you a slow, lazy grin that stretched too wide on a face carved too perfectly and said, “Didn’t know we were keepin’ princess hours around here.” You had half a mind to actually throw your coffee at him.

The next time, he only grinned at you, blue eyes glinting under the brim of his flannel-lined cap. “Mornin’, princess,” he had greeted you with a voice that suggested he knew exactly that you’d come out. “Don’t call me that,” you’d snapped. “Would sweetheart be better?” he only teased back with a spark in his eyes.

You’d gone back inside fuming.

And that was just the beginning.

Since then, Bucky Barnes - your lumberjack neighbor with the smug jaw and unfairly sculptured arms - had accidentally parked his truck partially on your side of the gravel driveway twice. He’d borrowed your Amazon package - “didn’t even look at the name, swear it” - so you were forced to walk over to him and ask for it back, which he finally agreed to only after a discussion lasting over thirty minutes.

You had tried to out-snark him. Out-quiet him. You even filed a passive-aggressive noise complaint with the HOA, only to find out he was on the damn committee.

You hate him. You hate how his flannel sleeves always roll up just enough to show his thick forearms. You hate that his hair always looks a little too perfect for someone who supposedly lives without WiFi. And you especially hate that he looks amused every time you get mad.

Today, you need firewood, yourself.

The heating in your old, overpriced cabin went out last night - again - and the guy who promised to come fix it flaked for the third time in a row.

Your backup electric heater fried with a dramatic sizzle that nearly took your cat down with it, and now you’re left with a fireplace, a stack of unsplit logs, and more pride than sense.

You tie your hair back.

You’ve got gloves. Thin ones - meant for gardening. But that’s close enough, you guess. It has to be.

You’ve got a borrowed axe from Mrs. Caldwell down the lane. Pink-handled. Surprisingly heavy.

And you’ve got determination. Stubbornness. An undying loathing for asking Bucky Barnes for help.

You’d rather die barefoot in the freezing cold than ask him for help. He’s already smug enough, with those thick hands and smirking lips and Jesus Christ, the way he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand when he is sweating as if it’s performance art.

The air is harsh on your cheeks as you step outside. The wind snatches at your coat. There are logs stocked beside the chopping block. You plant your boots.

You drag the axe overhead, trying to remember what your uncle taught you once at a campground years ago.

You let the axe down. And you miss. The log shudders under the dull weight of your poor aim, laughing at you, maybe. You feel the reverberation up your arms.

Gritting your teeth, you reset, and swing again. Nothing. Just a dull smack, as if hitting a pillow made of shame.

“You tryna kill the wood or yourself?”

You freeze. You curse internally.

But you don’t turn around right away. You can hear the grin in his voice and you want just one second to school your face into something that won’t betray your flustered rage.

“I don’t recall inviting commentary,” you state annoyed. Only briefly granting him a glare.

He’s already at the fence line, one hand braced on the top rail, other gripping a thermos. He’s chewing on something. A toothpick? A matchstick? His own smugness?

“Y’gonna hurt someone with that form, princess,” he assesses easily.

“Mind your own business, Barnes,” you hiss unkindly.

He grins. Pushes off the fence with the easy grace of someone who knows they’re built like mythology.

“Hard not to when you’re over here looking like an axe-wielding toddler.”

You roll your eyes. Hard. But a fire burns low inside your body. It’s as if you’re trying to summon the strength of the gods for this conversation.

“Don’t you have logs to scream at or whatever it is you do every morning? Why are you even looking over here?” you bite out through clenched teeth.

There is steam curling from the lid of his thermos and he’s got the audacity to sip it slow as if this is all very amusing to him “You’re louder than I am today,” he remarks smoothly, still grinning with sparkling eyes. “A real accomplishment, considering how much you complain ‘bout me.”

You huff out a breath. It clouds around you. You grip the axe tighter.

“I didn’t choose to do this, Barnes. But I can.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he eases, sauntering through the open gate now, because he has no respect for boundaries. “I just don’t believe the logs will survive your technique.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you turn back, lift the axe in indignation, and swing again.

Thunk.

“Y’know,” he drawls, getting closer, boots crunching across the frosted ground, “if you wanted me to come over, all you had to do was ask real nice.”

“I’d rather freeze.”

“Kinky.”

You spin, axe hanging at your side, panting more from rage than effort.

“Go away, Bucky.”

But he doesn’t. He only moves closer, ignoring you. As always. He smells of cedarwood and coffee and damn it, effortless masculinity. His beard is a little too neat, the plaid stretched a little too tight across those shoulders, and he’s looking at you with those annoying, laughing eyes.

He’s enjoying this.

You lift the axe again, jaw set, and swing.

This time, it lands. The log splits just a little at the top, not much, but enough to make you stand a little straighter.

Bucky whistles now. “Look at that. She’s got claws.”

“I told you I don’t need help.���

“I heard you,” he drones out, stepping closer again, and now his hand is on the handle of the axe with yours. The heat of his skin sears through your glove. “But I’ve also seen what you’re doing to these poor logs. You don’t have to be a martyr.”

You want to yank your hand back, yell, bite, something. But you just look up, ready to glare.

Suddenly, a sharp sting shoots through your palm. You flinch. Just subtly.

But he sees it.

“What is it?” he asks, voice shifting a little softer, quieter. Concern elbowing amusement out of the way.

“Nothing,” you lie, too fast.

He catches your wrist. Gently. His fingers are rough and warm and careful and it makes your stomach twist. “You okay?” he asks without sarcasm this time.

You want to say yes.

But your pride is bleeding out of your palm with the little splinter lodged deep beneath your skin, and somehow your hand is already in his.

“Lemme see.” He peels off your glove, gentle but fast, as if he’s done this a hundred times.

You try to pull away, but he holds on.

“Hold still.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles. His face is different now - focused, brows knit together, all the flirt and teasing gone. And for the first time, you feel the quiet in him. As if under all that swagger and plaid, there’s a silence he doesn’t let out often. It makes your chest churn uncomfortably.

“I’ve got tweezers in the shed,” he says, voice low and grim. “Stay here.”

“I can-”

“Don’t argue.” His eyes meet yours. “You’ll dig it in deeper.”

You nod. Small and jerky.

He’s back in seconds, unsurprisingly quick, and he orders you to sit on a log before he kneels at your side. You expect him to be rough, maybe uncareful, but he’s not. He works delicately and precisely, eyes flicking up to yours every so often to check if it hurts, and when he finally pulls the splinter free, you don’t even feel it.

His fingers don’t let go. Not right away. Not even when the splinter’s gone completely and your hand is wrapped in the warmth of him. You feel the heat of his touch and you hate that it calms something in you. That it quiets the buzzing in your chest.

He’s still crouched in front of you, thick brows pulled together as though your skin is glass and he’s afraid to leave a mark. His eyes are focused entirely on your hand, sweeping over the lines of your palm. And it does things to his face. Softens it. Opens it. As if someone peeled away the cocky grin and the smart mouth and what’s left underneath is quieter, deeper.

You’ve never seen him like this.

And the worst part is, you don’t know if you want it to stop.

“You should disinfect this,” he notes, voice low, nearly hoarse.

“It was just a splinter.”

His gaze drifts up to yours. Locks in. But he doesn’t look at you like a man who enjoys the game. Not like the neighbor who calls you princess and sweetheart with a grin in his voice and a challenge in his eyes. This look he’s giving you right now scrapes across your bones. “Doesn’t take much. Even a splinter can fester. Get infected. They carry bacteria. Especially out here, with all the dirt and bark and- can get infected faster than you think. Fever. Swelling. Might need stitches if it goes bad. You don’t want to mess around with that.”

His voice is anything but teasing now. There is no glint in his eyes. Just steel. Seriousness. Something else that looks like concern.

It’s as if someone rearranged the pieces of his face and gave him a conscience.

You blink at him. He’s still holding your hand. Still cupping it as if it’s something valuable. As if you’re something worth careful handling. Just enough softness to keep you wondering.

You’ve fought with this man. Argued over property lines, over noise, over the fact that he whistles while he works like some Disney lumberjack. You’ve accused him of waking the dead with his morning routines. You’ve shoved snow back into his yard with passive-aggressive vengeance. He once left a Get Better Soon balloon on your porch after you sneezed twice on the way to your car.

And yet now. Now, his thumb brushes your wrist as if he forgot he was touching you. As if maybe he wants to keep forgetting.

“You’re starting to sound as if you care,” you murmur, maybe a little amused, but confused nevertheless.

Something flashes across his eyes. Behind them. He looks away for a second. One breath. Two.

“Next time,” he starts, quiet but sharper. Firm. “Come to me before you try to do something like this on your own.”

Your pride bristles, instinctive and stubborn. You straighten your spine, try to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let you go just yet.

“If I remember correctly, and I do, I didn’t come to you at all, Barnes. It was you who walked into my-”

“I mean it, Y/n. You can always come to me. Promise me, you will,” he insists intensely, lowly.

There’s something in his voice that sits heavy in your chest. You feel it. All of it.

“Fine,” you relent finally, reluctantly.

Only then does he release you.

With the clear of his throat, he steps back. The loss is sudden. Cold. You almost feel foolish for missing it.

“I’ll disinfect it,” you say at last, trying not to sound too much as if you’re surrendering.

Bucky nods once. “Good. But go do it inside. Warm up.”

Your mouth opens immediately. “I’m not fragile, Barnes. A splinter doesn’t knock me out of the game.” You say it with a small teasing tone, but Bucky doesn’t seem to pick it up. Or he ignores it.

He only crosses his arms. Tight. His flannel strains across his chest. “Didn’t say it did. But that doesn’t mean you should be swingin’ an axe anytime soon. I’ll do it.”

He says it with a kind of dominance that makes you scoff. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Don’t need you to ask.”

There is no grin. No smirk. Just the stubborn set of his jaw and the firm intensity in his eyes. It unnerves you. Not because it’s sharp - but because it’s gentle. Because he’s not teasing you. Because he’s worried, and you don’t know what to do with that version of Bucky Barnes.

So, with a sigh and slightly trembling hands, you turn and head inside. But the warmth in your cabin is nothing compared to the heat still lingering in your chest. You rinse your hand under water that runs slow and cold, and dab antiseptic. But your thoughts stay outside. Stay with those blue eyes watching for signs of weakness as though he’s reading a weather report.

He’s never been like that before. Never so serious. Never so close.

And when you step back outside, your breath catches.

Bucky is already splitting your wood.

His form is fluid, practiced. Each swing of the axe is poetry. Violence tamed. He doesn’t grunt or growl - he just moves with expertise. One hand on the handle, the other steadying the log, shoulders flexing beneath that worn flannel with every arc. The axe comes down like thunder. Wood cracks, clean and quick, falling in neat halves at his boots.

He’s got his sleeves rolled up past his elbows again, breath misting in the air. The sound of the logs cracking echoes through the trees like a song with no chorus.

You lean against the railing of your porch and watch him work.

And you hate that he’s mesmerizing.

He doesn’t look up. Just sets another log in place.

“Sit down,” he says, calm as a lake.

You stare. “What?”

“Or go back inside. Warmer there. I’ll finish up.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Are you seriously ordering me around?”

“Nope,” he deadpans, finally glancing at you. “I’m instructing you. There’s a difference.”

You’re still staring.

He gives you a look. Not mean. Not commanding. Just firm.

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know.”

You flinch as if the words are sharp. As if they know something about you they shouldn’t.

You want to argue. To say watch me. To toss something sarcastic just to get back the balance.

But you don’t.

You sit. On the porch steps, cold wood stinging the backs of your thighs but you stay and watch him work.

His swings are controlled. His jaw is clenched. No more cocky remarks. No smile. Just focus. He splits like a man trying to prove a point - to you, or to himself, you don’t know.

“You can stop now,” you voice after a moment.

But he doesn’t.

“Bucky.”

Still nothing.

He sets another log. Lifts. Crack.

You cross your arms. Raise your voice.

“Barnes. That’s enough for now.”

Finally, he pauses. Looks over to you. His cheeks are flushed from the cold. He’s starting to sweat slowly. And still, he doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t tease.

“This won’t last long,” he says gruffly, nodding to the pile of wood at his feet. “You’ll be left freezin’ in less than a month.”

“That’s alright,” you try to argue. “I’ve got this guy coming by-”

But he interrupts you with the almost too-loud crack of another log splitting to pieces, his arms winding up to thunder down another time. He’s not even listening to you anymore. Just keeps going.

He looks so determined, it might even be endearing.

But you don’t say anything. You wouldn’t be able to bring out another word. Because this man surely is an enigma.

You didn’t know a man could be this quiet and still make so much noise inside your body.

You’re not sure how long you stay there, watching. But when he’s done, he gathers the logs in his arms as if they weigh nothing at all. Walks them to the side of your house, where the covered racks wait. He stacks them neatly. Tucks a tarp over them.

And then he turns to you.

His breath is ragged slightly, his eyes are unreadable, but there is something softened in them. Like thaw.

“You’re all set.”

You swallow, mouth dry, hands restless in your lap.

“Thank you,” you say. It feels like swallowing rocks.

He nods. Doesn’t say you’re welcome. Doesn’t wink.

He just turns and walks back to where the axe is resting. He picks it up. Fingers sliding over the pink handle. His expression is unreadable.

“Is this yours?” he asks, voice low, thick with something you never heard in his voice before.

You shake your head slowly. “Mrs. Caldwell’s. She loaned it to me.”

He nods. Slow. Thoughtful. As if he is filing that away in the same place he stores the weather, the weight of wood, the sound your boots make when you’re frustrated and trying not to show it.

“I’ll bring it back to her,” he voices. Deep and sure.

You’re thrown for a second.

There’s nothing performative about it. No smirk. No spark. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it - he just studies the axe again as if it’s dangerous.

You stare at him, hands curled into the sleeves of your coat. Trying to decide if the stuttering in your chest is from the cold or something far less logical.

Is he just trying to be polite? Returning something for you? Or is this about control? About making sure you won’t be getting your hands on that thing again?

You search his face for a clue, but he’s turned now, adjusting his grip on the handle as if he’s already taken care of this for you.

“You don’t have to,” you still try.

He moves around to you again, his gaze falling onto yours. “Nah, I’ve got it,” he insists, but his gaze is not as nonchalant as his voice is.

“Uhm, okay,” you start, a little unsure. “Thanks.”

Another one of his nods and it starts to make you uneasy. He keeps standing there for a moment too long, looking at you as though he might say something more.

But he doesn’t.

He just turns. Walks back across the yard, his boots crunching slightly on the ground, the axe hanging over his shoulder like some kind of burden he’s used to carrying.

You watch him disappear, into the warm glow of sunrise burning between the pines.

And you wonder.

You wonder what it means when the person you thought was your enemy touches you as though you’re important to him.

You wonder why it felt safer than anything else ever has.

[purerae]

— DUPLEXITY;;

fem!reader x coworker!yanderes

— who knew attempting to bond with your co workers would lead to a fucked up love triangle?

prologue; quit your job! If dying was an option right now, Y/N would take it with a gleeful smile.

Sprinting through the woods, her ears ringing, she slams her grimy, broken hand against her head over and over. Her knees, bruised to a swollen pulp of purple, threaten to buckle beneath her. A deep, unprotected gash dressed painfully across her back, its edges rotting, every movement tearing at the poorly dressed wound.

Ignoring the piercing whine in her ears, her heart froze at the sound of shuffling drawing closer. Her legs wobbled, threatening to give out, but the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins kept her moving forward. An ear striking screech bursts from the girl’s throat, desperate to catch the attention of any passing drivers or hikers.

How could she be so foolish? It’s four in the morning, and she’s in the middle of nowhere, with two freaks relentlessly chasing her.

Her scream was a terrible mistake. It brought her no closer to freedom instead only closer to her pursuers. Their shouts echo behind her, filled with words she can’t—and doesn’t want to comprehend.

Pleas, threats, and bursts of anger escape from their mouths but the only thing that Y/N had her mind on was getting her brother and leaving this shithole. Y/N ran and ran, but to her dismay and an almost comical cruel sense of bad luck , Her vision was slammed with a wall ruined with graffiti that was now taunting her from her inescapable future. Her breathing slows as she stumbled back, desperately praying for anything that could save her. Surely they weren't close, she put in all this effort, they cannot be close! With trembling caution, she moved backward, her steps deliberate and silent. She avoided every brittle branch and insect littering the forest floor, straining to make as little noise as possible. Her back pressed into something soft yet unyielding, carrying the earthy scent of firewood mixed with the sharp tang of blood that she’ll always loathe.  Y/N’s breath hitched, frozen in her chest as the sound of heavy breathing enveloped her ears from just behind.

‘Fuck.'

“You can’t run from us. It’s two against one, cutie.”

Even with her back turned, she could picture his smug, shit-eating smirk. A chill ran down her spine as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, trapping her. God, she wished she had a bat so she could beat him till he was a lifeless piece of flesh that she could point and laugh at. Too bad that would never be possible, even if she had a weapon to begin with. Deep down, Y/N knew there was no escaping this. But with every ounce of strength her battered body could summon, she let out the loudest scream she could muster; a semblance of hope in her body that somebody could save her. It tore through the cold night air before everything turned black. The last thing she heard was another man's footsteps approaching them, and two voices she made an oath to never hear, conversing. All she wanted was a fucking pay raise.

-

-

- Y/N buttoned her blouse with a giddy smile, rushing around her room in search of the shoes she’d bought just for this day. "I can't believe I got the job! I'm so excited, this still feels so surreal."  she exclaimed, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she grabbed her phone, waiting for her friend’s response. "Girl, I'm happy for you!” her friend shouted over the line, her voice barely cutting through the loud music and chatter in the background. “Just work hard, and you’ll be promoted to detective in no time! My little Sherlock Holmes~” Y/N scoffs out a laugh before she shakes her head at the chaos on the other end. Normally, she’d lecture her friend about hosting a party at seven in the morning, but today, she was too nervous and way too excited about her first day to care. "Ahaha, Yeah  I don't know about that... I'm still in shock that I got the job to be the assistant, let alone be the main thing. I just hope the person in charge of me is nice." The E/C-eyed girl replied looking at the ceiling , nervously biting her nails whilst walking back and forth in her room.

"Don't stress about it! I'm sure they'll be nice, babes. And you should ju-" Y/N’s friend was abruptly cut off by a guy shouting in the background, his voice carrying over the music: “Ayra! Get back to the party already!” "Hold on a sec Noel! Im talking to Y/N" she yells back with an obvious scowl on her face… Well, Y/N was almost positive that she displayed one based on the tone of her voice. "It's fine! You go do your shit, I gotta’ finish getting ready." "Okay Okay, message me after your shift ends. I wanna know everything~!" The bubbly girl says as she mimics a kiss sound. Despite Ayra not being able to see Y/N, she smiles with a soft gaze at the phone before hanging up. Staring into the mirror, she carefully assessed her outfit. A sleek black blouse layered over a white undershirt paired perfectly with a matching black pencil skirt. Light makeup enhanced her features, and her neatly styled hair framed her face just right. She smoothed her clothes with her hands, beaming widely as she twirled in front of the mirror. Y/N gathered all her essentials, carefully packing them into her bag before stepping out of her apartment. She locked the door with a quick twist of the key, then paused to double-check it twice…just to be sure; it was a habit she had done ever since she lived in her parents home. 

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the ground floor. Knowing the ride would take a while, she lived on the second-highest floor, after all, she pulled out her phone to check the time. It was 7:15 a.m. Perfect. With the bus journey to the department taking only 30 minutes, she was right on schedule (which was always a struggle for her.) A grin spread across her face as she opened her email app and tapped on the message from the 'Warrens Department.' Her heart fluttered nervously as she re-read the letter, scanning each line to ensure she hadn’t missed anything important. As she scrolled to the bottom, her brows furrowed. There, tucked away, was a link she hadn’t noticed before.

'Shit I must've missed this' She thought with worry before quickly clicking the link, silently thanking her instincts for prompting her to double-check the message. The link was a profile of the detective that she would be working with. Looking at the picture, she notices that he was a very conventionally attractive male. The formally dressed girl squints her eyes before assessing the man that her eyes laid upon.

Xavier Allette, it read. Twenty-five years old, with five years of experience as a detective.

‘Holy shit, he became a detective at 20? I was still in university then.’ Y/N’s thoughts wandered briefly as she reminisced about her own journey, a flicker of envy stirring as she compared herself to her boss.

Letting out a breath of relief that she didn't know she had; The assistant was expecting an old cruel man as her boss, but to her luck, it was someone of a similar age to her. And, as a bonus, he wasn’t bad to look at either.

Y/N knew better than to judge someone based on their appearance, but as her cheeks warmed, she couldn’t help but blush at the handsome face staring back at her from the screen. A straight pale face, with a clean-shaven look. His hair was a wavy deep black, tussled formally. Eyes sharp and matched with his extremely dark hair. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the absence of a glint or any sign of life in his pupils. ‘I’m overthinking it,’ she told herself. ‘He’s just posing for the picture’. It had to be her psychology degree kicking in, making her analyze every feature of his face like a subject in a case study. Xavier’s nose was strikingly defined, and his lips were full, holding a slightly warm tint that gave his serious expression a subtle softness. Though he was wearing a suit, anyone could tell the detective worked out as his jaw was sharp and his shoulders were broad. It was clear that he took good care of himself.

The only other information displayed on his profile was a list of the cases he had worked on and details about his educational background. 'Maketa Academy?!' That was the most prestigious high school that Y/N had ever heard of. You could either get in with a scholarship or a lot of money. Unfortunately for her, she had been neither crazy smart nor crazy rich, so attending a place like that had never been an option. Y/N couldn’t tell whether Xavier had gotten in through wealth or intellect, but either way, it was impressive. Her train of thought abruptly halted as the elevator chimed, signaling her arrival on the first floor.

Turning off her phone, She exits the building before walking a short distance to the bus so she could arrive at the destination where she was going to be working.

'Please be nice to me, Warrens Department.'

-

-

-

Y/N rushed out of the bus, the clock read 8:00 am. The bus kept on delaying because of the traffic that the driver faced. The 15 minutes that she was hoping she had left to spare, disappeared all because of not getting a driver's licence! Cursing at herself, she ran to the building that was two minutes away. She could get there in ten seconds, her stubbornness is saving her life today.

The girl stared in awe at the building for a second. It was massive and incredibly modern. A large sign labelled Warrens Department was placed right in the middle of the building. Shaking her head, she scans the key card that came into the mail a week ago and fixes any loose hairs before walking into the building.

8:01 am, Already a minute late, though not much of a difference, she didn't want to disappoint her boss on the first day. Power walking to the reception she sighs shyly before speaking up. "Hi!" Her voice cracks.

'Oh my god, first I'm late, now my voice cracks, I should just quit my job and leave this e-' "Hello! Who’re  you? I've never seen you before?" The ginger girl behind the desk questioned loudly. Her light southern accent peeked through. The red-haired was incredibly short, her face caked with pink-themed makeup matching her formal pink outfit. Y/N thought the receptionist was cute and seemed nice too! If she wasn't too busy stressing about being late, she'd love to be her friend. "I'm the detective's new assistant— Xaviers Allette's assistant." Y/N rambles, hands shaking with nerves.

"Y/N L/N?" The receptionist questioned with eyebrows raised, Y/N nods quickly and shows her key card to the lady. "I'm Abigail!" her smile drops, "Also, you should probably head over to his office quickly, Mr Allette hates tardiness.. a lot." It was now Y/N's turn for her face to drop, she mumbles a quick thank you before running off.She stops in her tracks as she realised her stupid mistake. "Hey Abigail, what's his room number?" Y/N spoke rushing back to the desk. Reaching halfway, the red-haired girl puts her hand out, ordering her to stop running back. "It's on the second floor, room 11, hurry!" She yells, shaking her hand. The late assistant puts a thumbs up as a way of saying thank you before completely ignoring the elevator and rushing up the stairs. Turning left she finds the room that is the lead detective. On the door, a silver plate is shown with  'Room 11' and 'Xavier Allette' engraved onto them in a fancy font.. It was clear that his room was the biggest on the floor.

Wiping the sweat off her hands and re-checking herself on the reflection of the plate, she checks the time. 

8:05 am.

Y/N knocks on her boss's door. The door opens automatically, she notices the man that was just on her screen almost an hour ago, sitting down with his eyes furrowed and lips pulled into a frown.  His eyes were fixated on his computer screen, fist propped against his chin. The assistant looks around while patiently waiting for him to say something.

20 seconds passed and all that she could hear were the sounds of him typing. the h/c hair-coloured girl clears her throat.

"Good morning, sir. My name is Y/N L/N, and Im p-"

"You're late." A deep, harsh voice cuts her off. 

A/N : New story :p !! i really like the plot for this one and will have a masterlist out for it soon!

[merlinmylove]

Dragonlord reveal: The Darkest Hour rewrite

Bamf Merlin

The Prince Regent faces the Cailleach. “I am willing to pay whatever price is necessary” Arthur spoke, his voice steady with determination.

Merlin pushes him out of the way. “No. You will not”

“Merlin, stand down! This is not your time to play hero” Arthur pleads, trying to keep his wayward manservant at bay, desperate to keep the situation under his control.

But Merlin ignores him. He keeps his eyes focused on the Cailleach as he walks closer to the stone alter in front of the torn veil. “We know what price must be paid for the veil to close. A blood sacrifice”

“Indeed” The old crone smiled a wicked smile, “The witch killed her own sister upon the blessed alter, and tore open the veil between the worlds. A similar sacrifice must be paid to close it”

“Then I give my life to repair the damage my sister caused” Arthur tried yet again to step forwards, but once more Merlin interrupted him.

“A blood sacrifice, yes. You did not specify that a life must be taken. And I willingly give my blood”

“Merlin!” Arthur groaned indignantly as his servant ignored him.

The Cailleach moved closer to the pair, taking them in. Her eyes looked calculating as she observed their odd behaviour.

“And what would the blood of a servant be compared to the life of a prince?” she mocked. She knew of course that he was Emrys, she knew what powers he possessed. Perhaps she wondered how he would challenge her.

Merlin steadies himself, shoulders tighting and back straight, “I am the last dragonlord”

The Cailleach smiled.

“I am the son of Lord Balinor Ambrosius, third of his name, Duke of Elmet and descendant of the Fisher King.” Pausing for just a moment to gather his courage, he continued;

“I am the last of my kind, the last man in a lineage that predates the Roman Invasion. You ask what my blood is worth…Dragonsblood flows through my veins: the ancient creatures of the Old Religion, venerated and revered all over the world. My blood is that of dragons.”

Merlin could not keep his eyes off the torn veil in front of him. He could feel Arthur looking at him, probably distraught and angry, but he knew had to keep going. But then, In his peripheral vision, he could see Lancelot nearing the veil — no!

Merlin could not stand by and watch as another friend looses his life when he knew he could prevent their death. He is Emrys, magic incarnate, and the Cailleach knew it.

The magic inside him flared up. It’s not the first time he’s used his powers to speak change into existence. If he says his blood is worth the same as a life given willingly, then it is.

“A single drop of my blood is worth more than the life of a High Priestess.”

A moment to silence passed before the Cailleach nodded her head in acceptance.

«How brave, young dragon. So you do challenge me after all. Very well. But are you sure you’re willing to part with such a precious thing? You might save your Prince’s life tonight, but tomorrow when you return to Camelot he will demand that you burn at the stake for your powers”

Arthur’s breath hitched and he tried to lift a hand and reach Merlin. He ignored his hand as he raised his voice again.

“Then so be it”

Merlin kneeled down to get the dagger he always kept in his boot. Handy for all sorts of occasions; cutting herbs, whittling firewood, stopping assassins, and apparently, sacrificing his own blood.

Holding his hand up and over the alter he spoke “I willingly give my own blood to heal the veil that Morgana tore open. May the spirits find their rest and return to their rightful home”

The blade cut into his palm and he squeezed hard. A single drop of red fell down onto the alter already tainted with Morgauses’ blood.

A warm and soothing wind rushed through the Isle of the Blessed as the torn veil stitched itself back together. The silence that followed was deafening as the haunted screams of the spirits disappeared and the wind stopped howling.

A few moments passed before the Cailleach spoke. “It is done. The veil is closed, and the spirits will no longer torment the living. Your sacrifice was accepted by the gods and goddesses.”

Her eyes leered form under her hood

“But will it be accepted by your Prince? He is, after all, the son of the man who eradicated your entire family”

She disappeared into thin air before he could reply. Not that he knew what he would’ve said. Neither does he know what Arthur will say once he turns around.

But he knows what he will see.

The face of a man who’s been lied to for years. The betrayal and fear will be clear as day, and there is nothing he can do about it now. He made his choice, and now he must stand by it.

Merlin knows he ought to be executed or exiled simply for existing. All the knights surrounding him has sworn an oath to uphold the laws of their kingdom — and the law says he must die. They’re all expert killers, carrying swords and dressed in battlearmour. If they were not his friends, he would be petrified.

Merlin can only hope Arthur is kind enough to allow him a moment to say goodbye to Gaius and Gwen before he’s banished.

And perhaps Arthur had been right all those times he’s called him a coward. Because when he turns he does so without looking at Arthur or the knights, instead keeping his eyes on the stone floor at all times.

“We must hurry back. Camelot will be happy to see their Regent alive and well”

- - - - - - -

Read it on AO3 here

[hoe4hotchner]

Retirement | [A.H]

Pairing: Retired!Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Nothing but cuteness

A/N: Don't worry, Hotch is not an old man he's like late 50's early 60's in this based on Jack being in college ;)

The porch was bathed in the golden light from the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the wooden planks. The gentle creak of the rocking chair kept rhythm with the distant hum of cicadas, a sound that had become so familiar it felt like part of the air itself.

A soft breeze carried the scent of summer—freshly cut grass, the lingering sweetness of honeysuckle climbing the trellis, and the faint, smoky remnants of the firewood stacked near the house.

You leaned against Hotch’s chest, his arms loosely draped around your waist, fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare legs. The warmth of him seeped into you. You let out a content sigh, snuggling further into his chest.

It had been six months since he left the BAU. Six months of long walks through the countryside, of mornings spent in bed with no reason to rush, of rediscovering a man who had spent years sacrificing himself for the safety of others.

At first, the transition had been difficult. Aaron had been hesitant, unsure of who he was outside of the job, as though his identity had been stitched together by the cases, the late nights, the endless chase of justice.

He had been restless, waking up at odd hours as though his body still expected the call of duty. Some nights, you had found him on the porch, staring into the darkness, lost in thought. And other's you had found him sitting in the kitchen, his phone open on either JJ or Emily's contact in his phone, debating whether he should check in and see how everything was going without him.

But in this almost sanctuary you had built together, he had begun to unravel—layer by layer, breath by breath. The sharp edges of stress had softened, the lines around his mouth no longer weighed down by exhaustion. He still carried the past with him, no doubt he'd always have it with him, but it no longer defined him.

Your legs stretched over his lap, the warmth of his hands resting against your skin. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knee, and you smiled, closing your eyes as the wind tousled your hair.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, edged with that lingering gravel that had always made your stomach flip.

You hummed in response. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You tilted your head back, meeting his eyes. The sunlight hit them just right, turning the brown into something lighter, warmer. “How much I love you.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing as he squeezed your thigh. “You always get sentimental when we sit out here.”

“Can you blame me?” you teased, running your fingers through the graying strands at his temple. “Look at this. It’s peaceful. I never thought we’d have something like this.”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Neither did I.”

There was something about the way he said it, the weight behind the words, that made your chest tighten. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Are you happy, Aaron?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze soft but intent. “More than I ever thought possible.”

You kissed his shoulder, letting the moment stretch, settling into the quiet contentment that came so easily now.

You tilted your head slightly against him, voice soft as you asked, "How's Jack?"

Aaron exhaled, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips as he continued tracing patterns against your skin. "I talked to him yesterday," he said, his voice warm with pride. "He sounds happy. Settling into college well, making friends. He even mentioned joining an intramural soccer team."

Your smile widened at that. "That’s wonderful. He always did love playing." You recalled the games Aaron had invited you to when Jack was only a young boy

Hotch nodded, the tension he once carried about Jack leaving for college no longer evident in his expression. "He said his classes are challenging but interesting. And he likes his professors."

You ran your fingers gently along his arm, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "He’s thriving, then. Just like you wanted."

Aaron let out a quiet chuckle. "Just like we wanted. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I think Haley would be proud."

You squeezed his hand, understanding the weight of his words. "She would be. You’ve raised a good man, Aaron."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, silent gratitude passing between you. You let the moment settle between you, filled with warmth and love.

A rustling sound caught your attention, and when you glanced to the side, a small smile pulled at your lips. “Aaron,” you whispered, nudging him lightly. “Look.”

He followed your gaze, and there, across the wooden railing of the porch, a handful of ladybugs had gathered, their tiny, spotted bodies crawling along the grain of the wood. One took flight, landing on your outstretched hand.

Hotch chuckled. “Looks like you’re a favorite today.”

You watched the little insect as it wandered across your palm. “You know, my grandmother used to say ladybugs were good luck.”

“Did she?” He tilted his head, watching as another landed near his wrist. “Mmhm.” You met his eyes, a teasing glint in yours. “I think it’s a sign.” He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“That this—” you gestured around you, at the house, the land, the life you had built together— “was always meant to be.”

His expression softened. He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers. “I don’t need a sign to know that.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds, the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze, and the steady rise and fall of Aaron’s breath. He had a way of making the world feel smaller, simpler—of making you feel like the only thing that mattered.

“Jack texted earlier by the way,” he murmured after a moment, remembering something he had forgotten to tell you when you asked about him. “Said he wants to come up next weekend.”

Your heart warmed at the mention of a visit. “That sounds perfect. Maybe we can take him fishing.”

Hotch’s lips quirked. “You still think you can out-fish me?”

You grinned. “Oh, I don’t think—I know.”

He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through his chest. “We’ll see about that.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you leaned back against him, letting the moment settle deep into your bones.

The world felt softer here, free of the chaos and darkness that had once consumed so much of your lives.

[daryldeerdixon]

Get off my back - Daryl Dixon

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Summary: A great fascination for the youngest Dixon took over you ever since the Quarry. Daryl notices and in fear of reciprocating your feelings, he continuously pushes you away. After Andrea shoots him, you don’t leave his side with the excuse of keeping an eye on him.

Warnings: Implied age gap (reader early 20s, Daryl late 30s) Fem!reader, Usual TWD gore, mentions of injuries, angst, yelling, mean!Daryl, failed-ish attempts of comfort, slightly medically skilled!reader, cigarettes, Daryl being a little too abrasive.

Era(s): Quarry, Greene farm.

Word count: 1.7k

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Your eyes were trained on him the second you got to the group. As days went by, he seemed to have cast a spell on you, hypnotised you with something only he had. You saw beyond his mean persona, his rugged ways only making his vulnerability shine through. How you treated him didn't go unnoticed, not by him, certainly not by the rest. Always ensuring he had everything he could use before leaving for a hunt, sparing him extra food because 'He needed the extra energy', even small insignificant details like leaving his folded clothes at his tent door were starting to get to him. He felt like you could read him better than he could himself, which made him want to hate you.

Daryl kept everyone at a distance, but you were kept even farther. It bothered you and occupied your thoughts like a plague, you were practically living with the sole purpose of showing him he was worth everything you'd ever do and more. He had pulled something within you, although it was beyond your comprehension, you let your instincts and desire take you over. You were anything but pushy, you didn't try to force yourself onto his life, content with giving and not receiving even a glance your way in return. The archer hated that he couldn't bring himself to hate you.

In a fucked up world where the dead roamed, injuring oneself with the simple task of carrying firewood seemed flat-out stupid. Angry mumbles escaped the man as the log fell with a thud. "Goddamnit." Your eyes lifted from your task of shaping branches as stakes, at the sound of Daryl's grumbles. Blood dripped down to the ground as the blue-eyed man fixated on his newly obtained cut.

"Sit." You pointed to the nearest makeshift seat, marching your way inside your tent to look for your precarious medical supplies. "Wha' " He growled, squinted eyes now settled in your back, as he obeyed your command.

"You heard me." You replied in a quiet mumble, carrying alcohol, iodine, and bandages in one hand. You accommodated yourself on the ground at his feet, hands grasping his injured one in one swift but gentle motion. "Won't need stitches." You assured. Worried demeanor showed through your actions and on this occasion, he couldn't look away.

His stare changed from your face to your working consistently, as you finished wrapping the bandage expertly he looked at you through his eyebrows. "Ya' a doctor 'fore all this?"

A nostalgic smile crept up your face, usually content eyes now clouding with sadness. At your change of aura, he wished he could take back the question, even if he didn't understand what was wrong in his doing. "Sorry." He spoke barely above a whisper, raspy voice making him nearly unintelligible

"Third year of med-school. 'bout to start my fourth." He nodded, now wrapping his mind around your medical knowledge, you did look too young to be a doctor.

After that evening he stayed even further from you, which you didn't think possible. Still, you abstained from offering to look after his wound, knowing he was capable of doing that himself, and knew it would bother him to have the obligation of holding a conversation with you every day. The archer hated that you knew all that, proving his point of you being able to read him like your favourite goddamn romantic novel. If his mind stayed too much upon it, he would drive himself insane.

The next few weeks were hectic, in a matter of days you were already starting to get settled in a new location, a family farm that was lending you the place till the shot kid, Carl, healed and the lost kid, Sophia, whom Daryl frantically looked for, resurfaced from god knows where.

You paced around camp, Daryl had left earlier that morning and while that wasn't odd, the unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach was. "He's fine." Carol smiled at you, laying a comforting hand on your shoulder. Your brows furrowed, answering your own silent question as to how she knew what was on your mind. Being sly was never your strength.

"I know." You smiled, rubbing her back up and down in a reciprocation of her action. You admired how she stood strongly, after the death of her asshole husband and the disappearance of her daughter, she had survivor written all over her face. The calm atmosphere faded at the series of unfortunate events that continued to unfold before you. A shot, screaming and a bloody, limp archer being carried inside the house.

As Hershel worked on the wound at his torso, which you were relieved to know was not a walker bite, you got your hands on the bullet graze at the side of his head. The youngest Dixon would be fine, back on his feet in a few days time, that didn't wash away your anger at the blonde now standing behind you. "Oh my god, he's going to be fine, right?" Andrea questioned for the billionth time.

Your eyes travelled back to her. "You won't be if you don't shut your mouth." Attention back on your stitching, you mumbled an unintelligible cuss, anger practically bubbling out of you.

That night you slept curled up in a chair next to his sleeping form. He had woken up multiple times, only having the strength to look around the room and then doze off once again. You kept constantly waking up to check for a fever, maybe a broken stitch, anything putting his life at stake, your mind could not rest easy. Andrea had apologised to him and even to you, but you brushed her off, too angry to hold a conversation on the topic still.

The idea of not having the archer around made your heart sink. His rough hands that you ached to hold, blue eyes that got smaller the brighter his surroundings got, the unsympathetic yet very empathic personality that made him so fucking special, and his fear of being loved which pulled you close to him. Losing Daryl Dixon would've made you wish you stayed at the CDC. That would've been the day when you wouldn't be grateful at Doctor Jenner for giving you a shot at life.

"You need to stay in bed!" Exasperated, you grabbed both of the brunette's shoulders, pushing him down on the bed. The morning of the second day after his accident, Daryl wanted to get back on his normal doings. He glared at you sideways, the corner of his mouth lifting up before he spat out the words.

"Get off my back, bitch. Don’ need ya’ pesterin’ me like you’re ma’ goddamn babysitter.” He pushed you off him with a strength he couldn't seem to control under his rage spell.  The volume of his voice grew louder by the second. “Always ´round ‘ere. Big brown eyes starin’ like I’m bein’ exhibited. I ain’t your pet. Sure as hell ain't your boyfriend.” Now on his feet, he held the bedsheets to his torso as he looked over the room for his clothes.

You stared at him, not a sign of emotion on your features, though you wished you could yell back, maybe even shed a tear or two, but you knew it would be uncalled for. Same way everything you had been doing was.

You extended your hand holding a pile of folded clothes, his folded clothes. The brunette snatched them from your grip without care, launching them onto the mattress behind him.

His body caged yours, one of his hands gripped your forearm as you were backed up into a wall. Your free hand went to rest against his bare chest, no pressure inflicted nonetheless. “Dar..” You whispered, chin pointing towards the ceiling to look into his eyes. 

“Don’ call me that like I’m your friend. Ya’ could be gone tomorrow ‘n I wouldn’t give a goddamn shit.” His grip tightened as his face inched closer to your own, so much his breath fanned over the tip of your nose. "Yer so desperate t'be loved it shows how ya never have been before, but I don't do charity, so go bother somebody else and leave me the hell alone!."

He stood like that for half a minute, keeping you in place with his hand clutching your skin tight, though his grip fell the second he noticed a hint of pain in your eyes, though you weren't sure if it was for his grip or his words, implying you weren't worthy of anything. Making you feel small. He pushed himself off you, taking a good few steps back. "Get the hell outta 'ere." He yelled, pointing with his uninjured side to the, hopefully empty, hall behind the bedroom door.

You had vanished. Completely erased yourself from existence for the rest of the day. You grabbed the pack of cigarettes you had kept after your last run, a lighter, and climbed up the tree furthest away from everyone. You sat on the wide branch with your knees to your chest, the stilled bike belonging to the man you had pestered all this time staring right back at you, yelling the same words he had hours ago. He was right, couldn´t argue against anything he said, as much as it hurt, it was the truth.

You were down to the last two tobacco sticks, an unlit one being hugged by your reddened lips from all the nervous biting. "Hard as shit lookin' for ya in this state." His grumble woke you up from your daydreaming, eyes landing right on his as you brought the fire to your cigarette. "Wha's doctor doin' with a smoke? Don' tha' kill you?" He tried to joke around after being met with radio silence on your part. Attempting to rip something out of you.

A small smile formed on your lips, shrugging. "Gonna die sooner or later." You weren´t big on it, but ever since you were sixteen cigarettes were a habit of you that was embarrassingly hard to let go of. His head was at level with your legs, you weren´t too far up and he didn't lack height. Hence why he easily reached for the last cigarette and the red lighter beside you, lighting it up swiftly.

" 'm sorry." He whispered. The view you had was one you wanted carved onto your skin. The sun setting behind the archer, his dirty blond hair being lit up by the orange beaming from the large figure. Cigarette between his lips, as well as your own, and a shy hand, going to rest on your calf in an awkward comfort-inducing mannerism he wasn´t too experienced with.

" 's fine." You smiled, hand enveloping his. "i'll get off your back."

"Don'. I like ya' pesterin' me."

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i kinda hate it but i got it done lol

Anyway, my requests are open! please leave me anything you'd want to read and with no promised deadline I'll get it done :)

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Characters Headcanons

The Crew's Love Language ft. You

Captain Curly

Words of Affirmation

The captain is well-known for having his vocabulary overflowing with encouraging and uplifting words, a stellar reputation for giving good pep talks

Deep inside, he always loved hearing words of praise from the people he cared about the most. He always valued the affirmations from them, a foolproof method to make him smile and feel loved

For him, words are like fire, and people can either use them to warm someone up or burn a whole damn city

He never raises his voice at you when it comes to negative emotions, never when he's angry, frustrated, or panicked

He, however, is so enthusiastic when congratulating you or when he's excited about the topic you're both talking about

Your heart (and belly) can't help but feel very warm with the way he uses his words with his deep tone. If a kid asked you how a space superhero would sound, you'd bring Curly forward

With his effort to stay optimistic, you always make sure to tell him an encouraging word or sweet strands of praise whenever you see him and after he does something

"Captain, remember to stay hydrated, you're doing great, sir."

"You always know how to put the crew at ease, Cap. Appreciate it"

"You're so reliable, gosh, thank you!"

Every praise and affirmation you throw his way makes him blush and stutter, a polar opposite to his status

You make it a duty to compliment him sincerely. The hunk of a man ends up having a red face every time he receives your sweet words to the point that the crew teases him for it

"Cap, what's red and stutters?"

"I swear, Jimm--"

"Oh, oh! I know!"

"Come on, Daisuke, not you to--"

"You, after talkin' to Y/N."

The captain, co-pilot, and intern stared at Swansea’s retreating back after he butted into a conversation that the mechanic would find ridiculous even being a part of

You also made sure to never—I MEAN NEVER—use words against him, especially with secrets or information that he exclusively told you about (probably the reason why you and Jimmy ended the Captain's birthday party with knives at each other's throats)

Mechanic Swansea

Acts of Service

The old man was raised in a household where serving your family is the ultimate display of love

His father scoffed after reaching the last part of young Swansea's greeting in the Christmas card he gave him:

"I love you? Boy, you can't even make a decent cut on that firewood from a while ago"

"I love you's" are just empty words for him. When you really want to reach into his head and hammer some sense on how you feel about him, you gotta show it

However, unlike his father, he doesn't need a grand display of actions to know and notice. He actually prefers the little things you do:

Remembering his coffee preference and making it every morning

Giving him a massage in the area his hands seem to knead frequently

Putting his socks on before work

Giving him a pedicure (after leveraging that he'd eat you in bed for the whole night)

He also holds himself up to the same standard, always doing chores around the house whenever you're busy:

No stocks of pads and tampons? He'll make sure he gets the right brand you always get

Your favorite furniture that you inherited needs varnishin'? He's on it.

Your daughter's birthday is coming up, but you're too ill to make the cake? He ain't a baker, but he'd be damned if he won't at least try

"Daddd, is this... is this meat... on my birthday cake?"

"S'called 'cake of love' for a reason, darlin'. You don't question its ingredients. It's made of love"

What makes your heart flutter is not having to tell him all the things that need to be done. He knows what's lacking and what you need

When there are times you have to vocalize your concerns, he'll simply nod, and after a moment, it's done

Co-pilot Jimmy

Physical Touch

*Sighs* Need I say more?

Jimmy is the type who’s not comfortable with PDA, but he can't seem to keep his hands off of you when he feels threatened, (especially when Curly is having a casual conversation with you)

You can't blame the guy; he doesn't even understand how you fell for him somehow, but he's not complaining, and he most definitely will not let you go (possessive boi is a touchy boi)

His touches are not always sensual, and it actually surprises you how gentle he is when holding you

Whenever you're busy, he'd pass by to squeeze your waist or brush a touch on your lower back

When you're both around each other but are doing different tasks, he'd make sure to have a part of you touching him:

A hand on the thigh

A leg over your thighs

His head on your chest or shoulder or thighs (the boy's got magnets on your thighs, what can I say?)

And his personal favorite: having you sit between his legs with your back pressed against his chest.

One time, a frustrated Curly called you. It's been a week since Jimmy left for his job-training, and you weren't aware that someone was also getting through a torturous week like you and Jimmy

The captain was at the other end of his friend's damp mood

"I don't know what you do to him, Y/N. He's a completely different person when he's with you"

"Hmm, how bout massaging his hand, cap. It improves his mood, and it always works"

"..."

"Hello? Curly?"

"...Y/N, are you trying to get me killed? It works because you're the one doing it!"

Intern Daisuke

Quality Time and Giving Gifts

The boy loves spending time with you. He doesn't need to plan for what to do during those times you'd be together because he always finds ways to make you enjoy it so much that you have to keep a wristwatch to check how much time has passed

He's known to be a yapper but not the type of yapper that tires you

The man has a lot of questions for you to the point that you're concerned that he knows more information about yourself than you

Pointing out things he notices you do, like looking slightly at the right when you're lying or knowing how many moles are in your face and neck

It doesn't creep you out though, you picked up that he's very observant when he's interested and that flatters you that he take mental notes of these small things just by being around him

Whenever he knows that you won't be seeing him for a while, he makes sure that you know what he'll be doing and where he'll go

Basically the main reason when the crew - especially Swansea - would look for him, they'll go straight to you

"Hey kid, where's that boy again?"

"Toilet, Swansea. He said it's a raging diarr--"

"Yeah yeah, toilet's fine. geez."

Daisuke also buys you trinkets he finds that remind him of you—from crocheted baby mushrooms to obscure plastic eyeball keychains

"I understood the frog keychain last week, but... a turd plushie?"

"Cause I feel shitty when we're apart"

"Valid"

His gifts are very specific and you even cried one time in a store trying to outgift him, spoiler, you can't. He never makes you feel bad about it, he always claimed that he takes pride at being the Leslie Knope of the real world (iykyk)

Nurse Anya

Quality Time

She strongly believes that spending time with someone is the core of a relationship

She definitely isn’t the person to be clingy - nope, she's a queen with self-worth. If you don't want to spend time with her, don't expect her to chase you

The more you spend time with her, though, the more she opens up. For her, trust is something earned over time, and you made the effort to build that trust brick by brick

After falling for her harder, your trips to the medbay became more frequent with "accidental injuries"

"Hey, miss Anya."

"Hey y/n, kindly be careful. Don’t want you to have your 4th visit this week."

"Heh, what can I say? I hate breaking the streak. Gotta keep you on your toes."

"Y/N, it’s still Wednesday."

"Good time to give you your once-a-week training, right?"

Once she’s comfortable with you, her affection shows in the little things:

Putting your vitamins and supplements on accessible places because she knows you forget taking them

Giving you random psychology tests after finding out that you loved them

Or being comfortable enough to nap on your shoulders (you earned that trust on the hundred and tenth day)

You don't even have to talk while being together; as long as both of you are around each other, her shoulders relax, and her face is at peace

[zevrra]

caught in the rain—

synopsis: you and sebastian seek shelter inside an abandoned home where every feeling is laid to bare.

tags: sfw, pure fluff, fem!reader, hogwarts legacy, sebastian sallow(18+), about 3k words

“As if this day couldn’t get any worse,” You mutter. Mostly to yourself but you wouldn’t at all be surprised if Sebastian had heard too. You both had been sent out together to gather some information about some dark magic being practiced on the Poidsear Coast.

Everything had been going smoothly, from taking witness statements to tracking down the dark wizard’s hideout to the coast, even the two of you getting along.

That is until an unexpected heavy downpour comes. Cold rain falls heavy like a thick blanket on the two of you, forcing you to take shelter. Every piece of clothing you wore was soaked—down to your very bones. Thankfully, Sebastian and yourself had managed to find an abandoned home. Boarded up with a more than obvious appearance of not having been taken care of in a very long time.

While you say things could not be worse you really didn’t mean it. Being rained on and forced to wear your freezing clothes wasn’t truly the worst thing in the world. Neither was being stuck in that house with your academic rival. And crush.

“Well. Try not to make it sound so horrible now,” Sebastian sarcastically says. Teasing you as he shrugs off his heavy coat in some hope to warm himself. Rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt as he does anything but look at you. “We could be in some troll’s den. That would be worse.” He chuckles as he checks out the house, hoping to find anything to maybe start a fire with. Swatting away at cobwebs with an annoyed look.

You sigh. Too cold to even defend yourself at the moment. Moving to stand next to a window. Watching as lightning flashes across the sky and the harsh sound of thunder that follows.

“We’ll be here all night if this storm doesn’t stop soon.” You say, irritated. Not that sleeping in some random home, far from the safety of Hogwarts, with no other change of clothes, no warmth, and no bed, didn’t sound fantastic and all but it would also reset all of your progress from today. Tracking down the dark wizard hiding out on this coast had been an assignment given to the two of you and not completing it would leave you both looking rather poorly in your professor's eyes.

“You worry too much,” Sebastian says, cutting into your thoughts, making you look away from the window and towards where his voice had carried from.

You watch as he moves towards the other end of the dark home, Lumos, lighting the tip of his wand as he examines the place. Stairs lead to a second story or perhaps an attic in the farthest corner from the door. Off next to the stairs is a large stone fireplace just waiting to be lit.

“See, always so dramatic.”

You roll your eyes at Sebastian as you follow him into the home. Shoulders tense as you wait for anything to jump out at you. No damn spider was sneaking up on you, not today. In a smaller room straight across from the stairs sits untouched furniture from who knows how long ago. With chairs perfect for disassembling and using as firewood.

Well, at least you’d be semi-warm and somewhat dry for the rest of the time being.

After some rearranging and the use of Incendio, the two of you make quick work of starting a fire and laying out your cloaks before the hearth to dry. Now you are left in just your blouse and skirt, shoes and socks forgotten until they also get the chance to dry as the storm continues to rage outside.

Sebastian stood beside the fireplace, hands held out to try and warm his fingers up. The dull sound of the rain is really the only noise the two of you make. You were friends, classmates, but above all rivals. You could have a civil conversation but seeing as the two of you were there on an assignment, things were tense as both of you wanted to outdo the other.

You shiver, curling up on yourself by pulling your knees to your chest. The fire was working well but the wet clothes still sticking to your body kept you from truly getting to warm up.

“I’m going to go look for a blanket.” Sebastian says, suddenly breaking the silence between the two of you.

You nod in response as he leaves to rummage around the forgotten home. His search for a blanket takes him up the stairs and you watch him go. An eerie feeling creeps up your spine as soon as you‘re left alone. The strange feeling of being watched itches just behind your senses of being cold. It makes you look over your shoulder a few times. That is until Sebastian finally returns.

A thick quilt is draped across your shoulders that startles you ever so slightly. In all honesty, you had thought Sebastian went to retrieve the blanket for himself. Now with the heavy cloth wrapping around your own body you realize that he had been watching you beforehand. He had retrieved the blanket solely for you. The thought makes you flush.

He moves to sit beside you now. Hands returning to hover out in front of the flickering flames. “There’s also a bed upstairs. If you’re tired.” Sebastian once again cuts through the silence to speak.

You laugh at his words. Shaking your head as you tighten the blanket around you. “Tempting but no thank you.” You reply, turning your gaze to the fireplace.

“Why not?” Sebastian asks. From his tone he seems genuinely confused.

His confusion makes you chuckle again. As if he really didn’t know. “Oh alright, Sebastian. Let me just go take a small nap while you run off, find and finish our assignment, and then take all of the credit.” You tease. A smile stretches across your lips as if you’ve caught him in the act.

You imagine he’ll make some funny quip about how you were right and that he was just thinking of a way to get ahead in your studies but instead he says nothing.

The silence has you lifting your head to glance over at the other. His brow is furrowed and there’s a deep frown on his face. Clearly you’ve said something wrong.

“Do you truly think I’m so shallow?” Seb whispers. His voice drips with displeasure.

The disdain in his tone was not something you were used to. Sure, Sebastian had had his moments for being a little irritated with you. From cave crawling and accidentally setting off a trap to the two of you butting-heads for top grades but never had he sounded so…upset and hurt before.

Now it was your turn to truly be confused. You did not think of him as shallow or selfish but you also wouldn’t put it past your rival to take the upper hand on you.

“I don’t find you shallow.” You awkwardly reply. Suddenly you’re thankful for the sound of rain and thunder. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” You add quickly afterwards.

“We may be rivals academically but I’m not your enemy. I’m not evil. I still care for you.” Sebastian says with a sigh. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face. Searching for something you’re not sure of at the moment.

“I apologize,” You mutter. Now would be the perfect time to suddenly disappear. “I simply just thought because of school you would take the opportunity…” You ramble. Wondering why you were even telling Sebastian any of this.

This time, it’s his turn to laugh. It’s a very dry and curt laugh. No humor lingers behind it like it normally would. “I would never sabotage you.”

“No?” You reply short and simple. Wondering why now he would have a soft spot for you. Seeing as he had never before when it involved your academic standpoint.

“What do I have to gain besides you hating me?” Sebastian asks, again genuinely curious. His now warmed hands rub against his cold shoulders and biceps. Hoping to chase away the chill. “I would never want you to hate me.” He adds in a hushed voice.

Listening to Sebastian be so open was definitely something entirely new to you. He was the type to be open about pretty much everything except his feelings. His true, genuine, feelings. And now that he was wearing his heart on his sleeve, you couldn’t help but want him to keep talking. “Not that I would ever hate you but would that really be the end of the world?”

Sebastian turns to look at you then. His brown eyes meet your own as the light from the fireplace softly caresses his features. Turns his freckled face into something far more gentle than you’re used to. Yet you weren’t entirely sure if that was because of the dim lighting or the fact that he was looking upon you with such tenderness that it made him look more attractive suddenly.

“To me, yes, it would be.” He admits openly. As if this is something Sebastian said on a daily basis. As if he constantly told you how important you truly were to him.

Upon realizing his confession, Sebastian’s eyes widened. He coughs in an attempt to move the conversation along, or even just to simply cover up the fact that he just told you how horrible the world would be without you. His face flushes a dark red that even in the dim light you can see.

“Only because, well, you know! I wouldn’t have anyone else to compete with!” He stammers, trying to save face.

It’s a little too late for that now though. You knew he meant something a little more meaningful.

You smile as he avoids your line of sight. “Sebastian…” You whisper. His name rolling off your tongue has him freezing in place. Unsure if he should flee and never speak about this ever again or just stay still long enough he can pretend he’s dead. “Be honest.”

Sebastian continues to ignore your gaze for the most part. Fiddling with some interesting looking piece of dust on the rundown wooden floor.

“I don’t know what you mean. I am honest! All the time!” Embarrassingly he answers. “You’re just too dense to see it!” The insult is a hollow insult at best. Just another tactic to avoid the situation he’s started.

You hum in response. Scooting closer to the other to try and get a good look at his blushing face. “How so?”

“N-nothing! No, I don’t know!” Sebastian deflects. Attempting to turn and hide his face from your gaze.

You had never seen him so defensive before. Wanting to close off from you entirely but that was something you would not allow. He started this and he needed to finish it or else you might go mad.

“What do you mean?” You ask. Not that you couldn’t read his body language at the moment but you still wanted him to tell you. To be loud and clear with his feelings so that you too could be honest about your own.

“Ugh!“ He groans in frustration. His hands come up to hide his face from your gaze. Covering over mainly his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at you looking at him. “I’ve been in love with you since the first day we met! You’ve never noticed it before so why are you suddenly so keen!?”

The inside of your stomach does a flip. The first day you two met was almost three years ago. Had you really never noticed any of his advances? You think back on all the times when he’d let you copy his notes when you were busy with Mr. Fig for the day. Of all the times he called you annoying but would do anything you asked of him. The countless hours you two would spend in the undercroft, practicing your spells and studying together.

All this time…and he only ever stayed by your side.

You reach to grab gently ahold of his wrists. Somewhat prying his hands away from his face so you could get another good look at him. He’s a mess. Red as a tomato. Blushing like he had been sick with a fever. Hair tousled and curled far more than usual from previously having been rained on.

Sebastian Sallow, your friend and rival, sat before you entirely and wholeheartedly shy. Something you would never have imagined to happen before this day.

He’s still under your touch. Still attempts at avoiding your eyes even now. Doesn’t stop you from reading over his features. From every freckle highlighted by his blush to the pretty length of his eyelashes. He was so handsome. Far more than you had ever realized before.

“Sebastian,” You whisper in a soft tone. As his name is called, his head shifts ever so slightly as he finally meets your gaze once more. A rush of emotion swirls up inside of you. Your chest tightens with sudden adoration for the man sitting before you.

He doesn’t say anything in response though. Just slowly takes control over his own hands, placing one against your cheek. His fingers run gently across your skin. Pushing back damp hair as he finally wants to look at your face.

“You’re an idiot. A fool,” Sebastian mumbles after a few painstakingly long heartbeats. “How did you not know?” He asks as his thumb caresses the high of your cheekbone. A lighthearted tone to his voice. As if it were obvious.

His words make you laugh ever so slightly. Of course you hadn’t realized it. Too blinded by your competitive drive to know that all along he was only competing in hopes to make you like him. Which was silly in itself. Seeing as you had always liked him too.

“Forgive me for not seeing it before,” You reply with a smile. Reaching to touch the back of his hand lovingly. “I would like to know everything now.” You add as you turn your head to kiss the inside of his palm.

His breath hitches as he watches you kiss his hand. A slight tremble in his shoulders tells you he’s holding back on moving things further. Even as his thumb brushes against your lips, while his brown eyes stare at every curve his thumb traces. Wanting to commit all of you to every bit of his memory.

“You…you’re over dramatic, always worrying about me. Sometimes you’re too loud. You manage to best me at everything.” Sebastian rambles on with a soft laugh. “And I love every bit of it. Your drive, your excitement, the way you laugh. Everything about you…”

Sebastian softens as he continues to stare at you. His eyes flick up from your lips to your eyes before glancing back down at the lips he tenderly touches. “And I’ve wanted to kiss you for far too long…”

The words he speaks makes your heart beat far too fast. With how hard your heart beats and how tight your chest is, you could almost swear your heart might have burst out from beneath your ribcage right then and there.

Your own face softens. Pressing your lips gently into the pad of his thumb. “What are you waiting for?” You ask with a smile. And immediately Sebastian mirrors your smile. Now, nothing was going to hold him back.

For a moment, as he leans forward to capture your lips, you thank the sudden rainstorm. For without it, you would never have ended up here, held so lovingly in Sebastian’s arms.

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: Crocodile is there for you when you find yourself shivering from the cold. Pairing: Crocodile x reader CW: None really, fluff • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The ship you were traveling on was only supposed to dock at the remote island for a day, but it quickly became unexpectedly grueling. The punishing chill of the night seemed to have a life of its own, creeping through every crevice and vessel and wrapping itself around anyone unfortunate enough to linger too long in the open air. The frost-touched winds gnawed through even the thickest layers of clothing, making the warmth a luxury.

You had severely underestimated just how cold it would be. Bundled in countless layers of clothes, you thought you were prepared. But as the night fell, the temperature plummeted rapidly. The layers only did so much, and soon you found yourself drawn to the small fireplace. It wasn’t much- just a flickering fire burning on the little firewood you had left- but it became a source of comfort as you crouched close, your hands trembling as they reached out toward the flames.

The firelight painted the room in soft hues of orange and yellow and the soft hum of the ship was almost swallowed by the silence of the night. The sight of the moon and stars seeped in through the floor-to-ceiling window to your right, the cold only emphasizing their beauty. 

Across the room, Crocodile was the definition of unbothered. He was reclined in a chair, a heavy book balanced on his hook and his cigar resting between two fingers of the other hand, the jewels of his rings glinting with every catch of the light. He seemed completely and utterly detached from the freezing world that had seeped its way through the ship.

You were vaguely aware of his presence, though you were more preoccupied with not freezing to death. You rubbed your hands together briskly, trying to coax more feeling into your fingertips. Still, you couldn’t shake the deep chill that settled in your limbs. 

It wasn’t long before his voice cut through the quiet, low and velvety. 

“Come here.”

You hesitated, glancing toward him. He didn’t look up from his book, but his words left no room for argument. Taking a reluctant step away from the fire, you already felt the cold begin to reclaim you, sapping away the warmth you had so painstakingly gathered. You approached Crocodile, taking in how he looked so relaxed and composed, heavily juxtaposing your current state. 

“You need something?” you asked, your voice taking on a slight tremor. 

Heavy-lidded dark eyes met yours, narrowing as they took in your shaking form. His eyes bore into you for a beat too long, before he spoke up. “You’re shivering,” he observed, his tone matter-of-fact.

“It’s nothing, you replied, attempting to mask your discomfort. “I’m fine. What did you call me over for?” the words tumbled out of your mouth a little too quickly, as if it was evident that you were eager to finish this interaction and get back to the warmth of the fire. 

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” he responded. He leaned back slightly, setting his book face down on a nearby counter, his sharp features catching in the light as his eyes raked over you again, assessing. “You’re shaking like a small dog.”

“I’m not-” you started, but his raised brow silenced you mid-sentence, his skepticism cutting through your weak protest.

He exhaled, a plume of smoke curling from the cigar. “Don’t tell me you’re not cold.” he started, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re freezing. Come here.”

Crocodile didn’t wait for a response, instead, his hooked hand reached out, curling around your waist and tugging you forward. You stumbled slightly and you found yourself between his knees, his imposing presence making you feel smaller, though you couldn’t deny just how much you wanted to lean into the warmth that radiated from him. 

“I’m fine,” you tried to argue, but even to your own ears, the words rang hollow. 

He huffed a sound of exasperation and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Enough.” and with that, he pulled you forward once again, this time, settling you into his lap. The heat of his body was instant and welcoming, a feeling that you found yourself relaxing and leaning into. 

“I’m not about to let you drop dead of hypothermia in front of me.” The chair creaked as he shifted, dragging you both closer to the fire. He reached over and picked up his book again as you settled into his lap, clearly unbothered by the change in his plans for the evening. 

“You could’ve just said you were cold,” he muttered, his tone almost scolding but with a soft edge. He placed the cigar in his mouth, using his now free hand to rub circles in your arm, coaxing warmth back into your chilled skin. 

You nestled into him, the combined heat of his body and the fire pulling you into a state of comfort you hadn’t anticipated. “I didn’t think it would get this cold,” you admitted quietly, your voice muffled against his coat. 

You felt his low knuckle rumble through his chest, pulling a smile from you. “Next time don’t think. Just come to me.”

And with that, he turned his attention back to his book, cradling you in his embrace as the nights chill melted away in his arms. 

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her Die |8|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Eight: Mind Over Matter

warnings: mental health struggles (anxiety, depression, medication references), parental abandonment/rejection, references to death, more of shauna and reader's unhealthy codependency, suicidal ideation undertones, and cult-like/supernatural elements.

note(s): i still can't believe i've been confusing h and s for each other, smh.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The fever comes on suddenly, like most things in the wilderness. One moment you're helping to stack firewood outside the cabin, the next your vision blurs and the world tilts sideways. You don't remember hitting the ground, just the confused chorus of voices above you and the sensation of being carried.

"She's burning up," someone says. Shauna, you think. Her voice always carries that edge of controlled panic when it comes to you.

Cool hands press against your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. The world fades in and out, dreamlike and disjointed.

"Could be anything out here," Misty's clinical tone cuts through the fog. "Infection, some kind of parasite, plant toxin..."

"Just help her," Shauna snaps, and you feel her fingers tighten around yours.

You try to respond, to reassure her that you're fine, but your tongue feels swollen, your thoughts scattered like leaves in a windstorm. The ceiling of the cabin swims above you, wooden beams blending and separating in nauseating patterns.

"We need to keep her temperature down," Tai's voice, practical and measured.

Someone drapes something cool and damp across your forehead. You close your eyes against the spinning room and slip into darkness.

"I can't do this anymore."

Your mother's voice filters through the thin wall of your bedroom. You're thirteen, curled up on your bed with headphones on, but not playing any music. You've learned it's easier to hear them this way – they think you can't, so they speak freely.

"She's just going through a phase." Your father sounds tired, defeated before the argument's even begun.

"A phase? She's been like this for years. The anxiety, the mood swings, the constant need for reassurance. I can't breathe in my own house without worrying about how she'll interpret it."

You pull your knees tighter to your chest, trying to make yourself smaller, less substantial. Less of a burden.

"The medication should start working soon—"

"It's been three months. Three different prescriptions. Nothing changes."

There's a long silence, and you hold your breath, straining to hear.

"What exactly are you saying?" Your father's voice has gone quiet, dangerous.

"I'm saying I need a break. I'm saying she's your problem now."

The words land like physical blows. Your problem. Your problem. Your problem.

"She's not a problem. She's our daughter."

"Then why does it feel like I'm drowning every time I look at her?"

You wake with a gasp, sweat-soaked and disoriented. Shauna's face swims into view above you, her eyes wide with concern.

"Hey, hey," she soothes, brushing damp hair from your forehead. "You're okay. You're with me."

"My mom," you mumble, the words feeling strange and disconnected from your mouth.

Shauna's brow furrows. "What about her?"

But you're already slipping away again, the cabin dissolving around you like sugar in rain.

The fever dreams come in waves, memories and nightmares blending together until you can't tell what's real and what isn't. Sometimes you surface long enough to register snippets of reality – Misty changing the cloth on your forehead, Tai arguing with someone in the corner, Van bringing in fresh water.

Shauna remains a constant, her presence anchoring you when you drift too far. You catch glimpses of her – sleeping awkwardly in a chair beside your makeshift bed, her hand never leaving yours; arguing fiercely with someone while gesturing toward you; her pregnant belly a curved shield between you and the rest of the world.

In your more lucid moments, you notice the strain on her face, the dark circles under her eyes. You try to tell her to rest, that you'll be fine, but the words come out jumbled and strange.

"I'm not going anywhere," she always answers, as if she can understand you perfectly.

The fever spikes on the third night, and the hallucinations intensify.

You're standing in the clearing outside the cabin, snow falling gently around you. Jackie stands a few feet away, her blonde hair untouched by the frost that covers her eyelashes and lips.

"Why won't you join me?" she asks, her breath not fogging in the cold air. "Don't you love me anymore?"

"I can't," you try to explain, but your voice sounds wrong, distant.

"Everyone leaves eventually," Jackie says with a sad smile. "Even Shauna will. She'll choose the baby over you. You know that, right?"

You shake your head, tears freezing on your cheeks. "She wouldn't."

"Just like your mom chose herself over you?" Jackie's eyes are sympathetic but unrelenting. "It's what people do. They leave."

"Not her," you insist, but uncertainty creeps in like frost, numbing your certainty.

"Look," Jackie points behind you.

You turn to see Shauna walking away, her back to you, getting smaller with each step.

"Shauna!" you call, but no sound comes out. "Shauna, wait!"

You try to run after her, but your feet are rooted to the ground. One by one, the others appear, walking past you to follow Shauna – Tai, Van, Akilah, Misty, Travis, Javi, Nat. None of them look at you. None of them stop.

"Everyone leaves," Jackie repeats, suddenly beside you. Her cold hand slips into yours. "But I'll stay. I'll always stay."

"—not letting you near her!" Shauna's voice cuts through the nightmare, sharp and defensive.

"She's getting worse," another voice argues – Lottie. "I can help."

"Like you helped Jackie?" Shauna's tone is venomous. "No fucking way."

"That was different. The wilderness wanted Jackie."

"And what does it want from her? Another sacrifice?"

You force your eyes open, the effort monumental. The cabin comes into blurry focus – Shauna standing at the foot of your bed, her body positioned protectively between you and Lottie, who hovers near the door with what looks like a bundle of herbs in her hands.

"I've seen this in my dreams," Lottie says, her voice taking on that distant quality that makes everyone uneasy. "The sickness is more than physical. It's in her mind, in her heart."

"Get out," Shauna hisses.

"Ask her about the pills that never worked," Lottie continues, undeterred. "Ask her about her mother walking away. Ask her why she sees Jackie everywhere."

The room goes silent. You feel a chill that has nothing to do with your fever.

"What did you say?" Shauna's voice has dropped dangerously low.

Lottie's eyes drift to you, and you realize with a start that she knows you're awake. "The wilderness shows me things. Her past. Her fears." She takes a step forward. "She's afraid you'll leave too. Just like everyone else."

Shauna moves so quickly you barely register it – one moment she's at the foot of the bed, the next she's got Lottie pinned against the wall, forearm pressed to her throat.

"Get. Out." Each word is punctuated with barely controlled rage. "If you come near her again, I swear to god, Lottie—"

"What's going on?" Tai appears in the doorway, taking in the scene with a quick, assessing gaze.

"Get her out of here," Shauna demands, not releasing Lottie.

Tai steps forward, placing a calm hand on Shauna's shoulder. "Let her go. She's not worth it."

For a moment, you think Shauna might refuse. Then, slowly, she lowers her arm. Lottie doesn't cower or retreat; she simply looks at Shauna with something like pity.

"She needs more than you can give her," Lottie says quietly. "The wilderness knows what she needs."

"Lottie, enough," Tai interrupts, stepping between them. "Leave. Now."

With one last meaningful look at you, Lottie places the bundle of herbs on a nearby table and exits. The tension in the room lingers like smoke.

Tai turns to Shauna, voice low. "You need to get some sleep. You're not helping her by running yourself into the ground."

"I'm fine," Shauna insists, but even from your fevered state, you can see she's swaying slightly on her feet.

"Shauna," Tai's voice gentles. "The baby. Think about the baby."

Something in Shauna seems to crumple at that. She glances back at you, conflict written across her features.

"I'll stay with her," Tai promises. "If anything changes, I'll get you immediately."

After a long moment, Shauna nods. She moves to your side, leaning down to press her lips to your forehead. "I'll be right in the next room," she whispers, as if she knows you're listening. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

You want to reach for her, to tell her you heard everything, but your body feels impossibly heavy. You manage only to brush your fingers against hers before she pulls away.

As Shauna leaves reluctantly, Tai settles into the chair beside you. You let your eyes close again, exhaustion pulling you under.

"These should help with the mood swings and anxiety," Dr. Winters says, scribbling on a prescription pad. "But I want to see you back in three weeks to assess how they're working."

You stare at the white paper she hands you, not really seeing it. This is the third medication she's prescribed in as many months. The first made you feel like a zombie, moving through the world wrapped in cotton. The second gave you headaches so intense you couldn't get out of bed.

"What if these don't work either?" you ask, hating how small your voice sounds.

Dr. Winters offers a professional smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Let's stay positive. Finding the right medication can take time."

Time. Everyone keeps telling you to give it time. But how much time do you have before your mother decides you're too much work, too much trouble? Before the strain you're putting on your parents' marriage snaps it completely?

"I think we're also going to increase your therapy sessions to twice a week," Dr. Winters continues, already making notes in your file. "How does that sound?"

Like another burden. Another expense. Another reason for your mother to look at you with that mixture of disappointment and resentment.

"Fine," you say, because what else can you say?

Dr. Winters pats your knee in what's meant to be a comforting gesture. "You're doing great. These things don't fix themselves overnight."

But some things never fix themselves at all.

The fourth day of fever brings a kind of clarity, albeit a distorted one. You drift in and out of consciousness, but the hallucinations take on a different quality – less nightmarish, more contemplative. You see your mother walking away, but this time, you don't try to follow. You see Jackie standing at the edge of the forest, but you don't reach for her.

Instead, you watch as Shauna moves around the cabin, tending to you with a singular focus that borders on obsession. Even in your fever-addled state, you can see how the others look at her – with concern, with wariness.

"You need to eat something," Nat says during one of her visits, placing a hand on Shauna's shoulder.

"Later," Shauna dismisses, not looking up from where she's wringing out a cloth in a basin of water.

"The baby—"

"Is fine." Shauna's tone makes it clear the subject is closed.

Nat exchanges a glance with Tai, who shrugs helplessly from her position near the window.

"This isn't healthy, Shauna," Nat tries again. "For either of you."

Shauna finally looks up, her eyes hard. "None of this is healthy, Nat. None of it. But it's what we have."

There's something in her voice – a razor's edge of desperation – that makes Nat back down. She sighs, placing a small bundle wrapped in leaves next to the bed.

"Travis caught a rabbit. Make sure she gets some broth at least."

After Nat leaves, Shauna sits beside you, her hand finding yours as it always does. You manage to squeeze her fingers weakly, and her entire face transforms with relief.

"Hey," she says softly, leaning closer. "You with me?"

"Always," you rasp, your throat raw from disuse.

A small, genuine smile breaks across her face. "There you are." She brings your hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "You had me worried."

"Heard Lottie," you manage, each word an effort. "What she said."

Shauna's expression darkens. "Lottie doesn't know shit."

"She knew about my mom. The medication."

Shauna goes still, her eyes searching yours. "Was she right? About your mom leaving?"

You nod weakly, not trusting your voice.

Something fierce and protective crosses Shauna's face. She leans forward, her forehead resting against yours despite the sweat and fever. "I won't leave," she whispers fiercely. "Not ever. Do you understand me? Not ever."

The conviction in her voice pierces through the fever fog, anchoring you to this moment, to her. You believe her, not because it's rational or because promises mean anything in this place of death and survival, but because Shauna has remade herself around your existence just as you have remade yourself around hers.

"The baby," you whisper, echoing everyone else's concern.

"Is part of us," Shauna replies without hesitation. "Not separate. Part of us."

The certainty in her voice should be comforting, but something in you recognizes the dangerous edge to it. This isn't healthy – this fusion of identities, this consuming need. But in the wilderness, health is a luxury none of you can afford.

"Rest," Shauna urges, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "I'll be right here."

As you drift off again, you think about Lottie's words – that the wilderness knows what you need. Perhaps it does. Perhaps this fever is a kind of burning away, stripping you down to what matters.

Or perhaps it's just another way the wilderness is trying to claim you, the way it claimed Jackie.

[shipmanl0ver]

“Now That You’re Gone”

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Yeah yeah my heart hurts anyways i love this song go listen to it

Pairing: Shauna Shipman x Reader

Warnings: Death (R!), and probably others I’m forgetting

————-

The cold doesn't bother her like it used to. Not anymore.

Shauna sits by the dying fire, the embers casting flickering shadows on the snow. It's quiet. Too quiet. Even nature seems to mourn.

Never thought it would be like this

What will you do

Now that you're gone?

She hears the lyrics in her head—the ones you used to hum when you thought no one was listening. You had a soft voice, always just under your breath, like a secret you didn't think the world deserved to hear.

You were her secret too.

You never said it out loud—not really. But your fingers lingered on hers longer than necessary. Your smiles held things unsaid. And in the dark of the wilderness, when the others were asleep, you'd lie side by side, backs to the cold, bodies pressed together under layers of stolen warmth and stolen moments.

She remembers your last night vividly. She didn't even know it was going to be your last.

You and Jackie had argued, again. You'd always tried to keep the peace, but that night, Jackie's words cut deeper than usual. She accused you of taking sides. Of betraying her. Of wanting more from Shauna than you dared admit.

You didn't deny it. Not this time.

You walked out into the snow, lips trembling, eyes shining, but not from the cold.

"I need to be alone," you'd said to Shauna, voice small.

She let you go.

She let you walk out into the freezing night.

And in the morning, all they found was a shape in the snow.

Curled up. Silent. Frozen.

Dead.

You.

Never known such unhappiness

Never thought it would be like this

What will I do, now that you're gone?

"Shauna?" Natalie's voice pulls her back to the present. She doesn't turn.

"Yeah?" she answers hollowly.

"We're low on firewood."

Of course they are. They always are. Everything is always running out—food, heat, time, sanity.

You.

She finally rises, brushing the frost from her jacket. Every movement feels heavier than it should. Her legs carry her toward the woods, toward the place where she last saw you disappear between the trees.

The spot is still there. Untouched, like time itself held its breath.

She kneels, fingers trembling as she touches the frozen earth. There's nothing left—not physically. But she swears she can still feel you here. Your presence, your warmth, your absence like a wound that never scabbed over.

"I should've gone after you," she whispers, her breath misting the air.

The forest doesn't answer.

The others talk about how you saved them. About how if Jackie had been the one out there that night, she wouldn't have made it. She was too proud. Too angry.

But you were strong. You gave up the shelter for someone else. That's what they say.

Shauna knows better.

You didn't want to be saved.

Not when she let you walk away.

Not when she chose silence.

The regret eats her from the inside out. She'd give anything to go back, to say the words she was too scared to say.

"I loved you," she says now, too late. "I love you."

And who's gonna rescue you

When you're lost at sea?

And who's gonna love you

If it isn't me?

The wilderness changed her, all of them—but not the way you did.

With you, it wasn't about survival. It was about softness in a world that had gone sharp. You made her laugh when it felt like the world was crumbling. You held her like she was more than someone else's shadow. More than someone else's mistake.

You saw her.

And now you're gone.

Shauna presses her forehead to the icy bark of a tree and lets herself break—just a little. She cries in silence, because there's no one left to hear her. No one who'd understand.

The fire in her chest isn't enough to melt the ice around her heart.

She dreams of you sometimes—half-formed, like smoke. In those dreams, you're always walking ahead, just out of reach. You never turn around.

She wonders if you're punishing her.

Or if you're just… gone.

When she returns to the cabin, she doesn't speak. She adds wood to the fire and stares into the flames, hoping to find something there. A sign. A ghost. Anything.

Jackie watches her warily from the corner. They don't talk much anymore.

Maybe they both know why.

Shauna touches the locket around her neck—yours, now hers. She never told anyone she took it. Never told anyone what's inside: a photo of you, grinning, squinting at the sun.

Before.

Before hunger.

Before winter.

Before regret.

Now, you're lost in the wilderness

You never dreamed it would end like this

What will they say, now that you're gone?

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