#if everyone does not stop making noise right now I will kill

[sapphiccup]

Burning Blue...

Word count: 12k plus

Pairing: Abby x reader

Cw: Slow burn <3 series…. //light panic attacks descriptions, awkward conversation, highly suggestive, combat sparing, PTSD, use of cannabis, Abby's a perv, warning there will be nsfw in later chapters, flames, Malnourished Abby for the first few chapters, trust issues, anxiety, gay awakening for Abby? Did I say angst? yep, gay stuff. MDNI AND CIS MEN -> DNI!

Summary: This rose has thorns, yet she still grew from the cracks of the earth, only you take the step to water her roots, and pluck her weeds. Pricked again and again, and.. again. Until she finally lets you in on one condition: keep an eye on him.

Dc!:@/mmadeinheavenn

Song: Burning blue by Mariah the Scientist🧪💎

Chapter 1…ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

Nursing you Back to life

Over time there was one thing Abby took notice of when it came to you. Other than you nagging her to go out and mingle with people. Especially teaming up with Lev to encourage this... But this one thing overpowered those situations. You had a scent about you that she doesn’t come across often, this scent of yours twirled its way up her nostrils, it’ll cling onto her clothes, and best of all it lingered. It was as if you owned perfume. Real perfume, like it was the old times, but it wasn’t perfume. Spinning her head in all the right ways. It stirred up emotions that she thought she killed off for everyone; from how warm it would make her feel a sense of safety to be around you. No matter what time it was or where you guys were, the scent you carried helped so much. This constant call she would dial in her mind, finally being answered silently. Sometimes she thought she was weird for thinking a scent could hold so much power over a human being. Before she would have said that this is a myth, but.. It’s not. Dreams of her dad, flashes, noises, even scents now.. she gets it; she understands it.  Certain scents remind her of what she did, and it twists and squoze her stomach in ways that tell her  ‘remember when you did this’ . To a point where she could kneel and hold herself until the thoughts stopped berating her. Until you. Until you show up, it’s a breath. A long breath that she does not have to hold. A simple deep in and out. It danced slowly with her, just as with you and her relationship. Slow and steady. You never grabbed her hand and pulled her in the deep end like a whirlpool, in fact you were teaching  her how to swim again. And right now, she’s in deep waters. The kind of waters that you don’t try to swim towards. The deep dark abyssal zone. Her demons wrapped around her as if their arms were the heaviest of chains made of osmium. Her heart ached deep, like the water passing through her, barely able to take those freeing breaths. It was simply lonely.. No spark, no fire, no wood, nothing. The numb of it all consumed her. Reciting to her that ‘ this IS what you deserve.’  What hurt the most for her is that she never questioned it, only accepted it as it was.

Like what’s the point?  As she took another drag from her joint. We don’t question the deep, we only let ourselves drown in it until it suffocates us enough to swim back up only to breathe a moment of air. The cycle of once was tainted by experience, tainted by the memories that you tunnel vision on. And Abby was painted in blue, injected her blood stream with every drag of her strain that she picked up from some passing travelers. Traded for a necklace that they apparently needed to make up for something … ridiculous. Not that Abby remembers she just didn’t care enough to know the whole story as that man rambled on and on of his issue to her. She figured it would distract her. It’ll help her in this time of need however. Weed only expands the current emotion of a living being.  Her hypothesis of a distraction quickly underestimated that strength of this particular strain. Her heart rate, pedaled, her mind– scattered, her strength, brittled. Gathering locks of her hair from her scalp, as little as it may be now, enough for her to pull. Eyes shut, scared to open to go back to the shadows of her stained in red decisions. The heart she carried heavy— - with drums playing for the world and her trying to shut it up.  To break those sticks and burn them with any light she had, yet she not understands her light has been put out by many things, and many phases of she. 

One leg close to her chest, the other laid flat on the hard cold gray maple. Abby sat in a corner of her home that the village had given to her, enough space for Lev and herself. She sat there telling herself she does not deserve the luxury of a home. However, Lev being there reminds her she needs to provide for him, his home taken from him from the same place she used to think was home. Though, he isn’t here today, staying over at a friends house tonight. 

Abby is overjoyed that he made a friend. At least he has something after you took away his only family from him, a  thought chimed in her mind, and then another, Yeah- Abby at least they have friends, not like how you scattered us towards the beyond for your selfish obsession of a choice to kill Joe Miller., Another jab at herself imagining that her friend is spitting at her. How dare you have a family after mine was destroyed by your fire of a forest, pulling me along with your shit. You’re a fucking monster Abby, a monster!, a cannon in Mel’s voice  directly hitting her in the gut. Another long drag from the joint, wrapping her lips around the brown rolled leaf, deeply inhaling its addictive concoction.  – Hoping, wishing, praying,  that these thoughts will stop, but they just keep going. Festering her like an open wound with hundreds of maggots chewing the flesh, and decaying the veins of her despair.  Abby, I loved you. wh-  , Owen's voice was the last straw. Her jaw twitched with swift irritation passing by.

 Her joint now forgotten– - as she cried out a scream so loud her body rattled, gripping on to her locks harder with both hands on either side of her head. An extermination to the noise in her mind. Screaming until she unraveled, screaming until she felt a tiny bit of warmth, then hot… Really hot..? Extremely hot! Her nose scrunched by the scent of smoke, too much smoke.

“ABBY!?” a shout was near, but not near enough. Boom, her door went, BOOM– BOOM- again and again, and crashed, the door swung open, hinges bent, weeping from the force. 

Your eyes round, in shock that the house you’d visit from time to time was now  surrounded by the colors of yellow and red flames. 

Abby’s head whipped towards you, her face panicked, eyebrows finding purchase of higher than usual, her eyes shot out, her fist clenched. Though, when she realized it was you, she settled. Like a broken down shed  with a rusty roof, settling after a storm. When you entered her house, Hareton Salvanini- Quarto de Hotel immediately started playing, heavens gates were opened, with each step you took, a note played, in sync. Of course, her record player burned from the expansion of these conjured flames. Coughing, and nearly blind by smoke, yet you manage to walk through it all.

You found Abby in a corner, she cradled herself as if she was a child, a child with torment welled up inside…The curtains, aflame, a joint laid at the hem of the curtain, you beelined for it and stomped it out. Didn’t do much but, taking it and stuffing it into your pocket  does much more grace for Abby than she’d think later. The council would have a field day with this news, so why not help her a bit, or a lot – as you drag her by the under of her arms out the damn house. Abby's face was in a daze as if she was here but not here, in the space between hell and heaven, yet not earth. Her jaw slightly slacked, taking the tiniest bits of breath, eyelids half opened, she was gone. 

-

Abby was greeted by bright lights, birds chirped their automatic song, other birds chiming in. 

She laid on an unfamiliar bed, her ears were red like roses, her stomach fell inside of her, sunken, like an anchor, setting down in her vast deep memories recalling what happened, your face, your welled up tears, and then darkness. Ashamed of herself not from the lack of her being alive, no— from you seeing her in that state of wreckage. 

“Of course you’d see me like this..” she said groggily, sucking her teeth, scrubbing down  her face, heaving a long sigh already exhausted from another lie she will probably have to come up with to tell you again. Her hand rested on her face, not parting from her own warmth. Yet, you disregarded that comment she made. Forget any protest she has, you're just happy she’s alive and maybe … Maybe she’s okay. But, that image..  That image of her and her expression of pure fear back at her amber lit home.. in your mind. it doesn’t disappear – no – it stays, and places itself in a mural for your museum of a brain. 

“Abby..  ” 

“I know.-I .. I know there’s something you’re not— telling me,”You contended, your throat feels close to dry as you try to speak. She laid there, eyes baggy, lips red, her nose puffy, she carried tired and sad like a basket full of whatever could fit. More like an overstuffed duffle bag with a beaten up strap barely hanging on. Your body leaned in towards her, and there it was, that scent that Abby could never forget even if she wanted to. 

“Never mind me..” she said groggily, as she slowly rose up from the bed, and you abruptly stopped her. Guiding her to lay back down again, and of course Abby tried to force herself up, but your touch melts her to just give in and lay back down.

“Never mind you? Um— Abby.. do you not realize what situation just transpired? I’m minding the hell out of you.” A stifled laugh trespasses her nostrils, shaking her head at your statement. She knows you mean it, especially from the way you furrowed your brow just now. You never heard her laugh before, you didn’t think she could, and that’s when it hit you. Whatever mask Abby has been wearing around you.. It’s finally cracking, you sat there in a chair watching it pick itself apart. 

“Wow.. I really hit the deep end,” she began, as her trembling hand traveled up to her forehead, it was wet, some sweat and the other substance was– water..? Her sight cuts to the corner of her eye, seeing a nightstand with a metal kidney bowl sitting on top of it, there's a wet towel in it… her sight cuts back to you, and she’s shocked. Why would you take care of me? 

How could you not though? You were worried therefore you acted, did whatever you could, and figured.. You should help in any way you can. Not only to wipe the sweat from her forehead ( and did not want to wipe her whole body down because… that would just be too odd.. And you really don’t want to ruin her safety with you) but you have been wiping her face down for hours to prevent any hot flashes. 

Abby’s teeth dragged across her quivered lip. “I fucked up again..” 

You wondered, what did she mean by that.. However you choose not to interrupt. “I shouldn’t be surprised but I did.. I fucked up, and you– you  saw me. You— shouldn’t have seen me like that. That’s not how I–”

“Fuck..” She grunted out, her eyebrows drawing together mulling over what she thought happened, not yet really understanding how she ended up here, but she just doesn’t care, she’s being seen in a vulnerable state of being. That information, enough, makes her want to grind her teeth in annoyance. Her arm found purchase over her eyes.  “Before I even came here I promised myself that I would get my act together.. I promised. I- I-.. I thought. I thought I could do this. —--I’m like sisyphus.” she lets out, voice breaking her words ever so often.

You let out a little jortle, not meaning to. Which definitely caught Abby’s attention. Removing her arm back to her side, deadpan mounted her face. “I’m sorry.. It’s just.. Only you would make that reference.”  you said, slightly teasing her from past jokes she’s made before,  waving yourself off, silently telling her don’t mind you. Yeah, she’s definitely minding it. 

“Corny?” she asks you with a playful smirk. 

“A bit.. “ you answered honestly, rocking your body side to side, crinkling your nose. She rolled her eyes, giving you a light tap from the back of her hand “You’re such a prick..” 

“I’m sorry? Am I the one spiraling while also making references about greeks?” 

“Yeah whatever.---Got you to laugh.”

“And that you did” 

“Where are we?” She inquired, It’s not the medical center, with the lack of a doctor coming in letting her know what’s what. “ A friends house. One of the twins from the village; it was the best decision because I figured you wouldn’t want everyone in your business.” Even though Abby has become a little out of place, hearing that from you grounded her.

-

Laughs and slight hiccups soon faded and turned for the serious after Abby recovered. You may have been able to conceal some things, but that house can never be tucked under a blanket.  A council meeting was needed to be held. They never had such a big hiccup in the Village for an extensive amount of time . Plus, with Abby being new and all, this was bound to be had… rules needed to be established. Though, this rule frustrated the both of you. 

The ceiling was far above 16 feet, the sun beaming its way through through the multiple windows, groups of people gathered in certain areas murmuring amongst each other. This place you both were in resembled what they would call a courtroom though it was a simple middle school gym now transformed into the main area for parliament. A jury was set, of course the real deciders  are the several councilmen that sat before the both of you. You both stood with hands behind  your back, posture straightened out, head held high, ready to hear whatever will come next. 

A suggestion was thrown at the pair of you, hitting you both right in the back of your heads. The suggestion was so ridiculous there was now way in hell that it would just be agreed upon. No absolutely not– this will not bode well especially with the way you’re about to spill buckets of sweat from such a suggestion. Rubbing your hands together, feeling the increased heart beats rattling against your chest as you tried making sense of all of these decisions, and protocols. It felt like a losing game to even try to protest further. Yet, you still opened your mouth to nip this issue in the bud. However, Abby beat you to the punch.

“What do you mean.. I’m moving in with her?” Abby questioned, her tone sewn with shakey waver, gesturing towards you with a single hand, heightening your psyche alerting your ears to burn, and your eyes to steal a glance of her. Of course, you are happy, but also scared, but also what the hell is wrong with her being upset about it? You being upset about it is one thing, but wow. You’ve been the main one she’s regularly spoken to. At least have some kind of filter.. Or at least not sound so repugnant over the decision.

“According to your recent fiasco of a situation, while also housing a child–”

“He wasn’t present for that situation!” she parried back loudly, thunderous voice echoed in the room, which only made the jur murmured more. She already knows where this discussion will lead to. Her heart sank lower than it already has. The feelings churned in her stomach, as her throat bobbed from the next anticipated words that will come out of this councilman.

“Regardless– you have a child, and since you burnt down your home. You will be living with one of our residents, a trusted resident at that. You will be sepreat-” 

“No fucking way!”

“Abby, be reasonable here, the best we can do is to seperat-’

“That’s not fucking happening.” she crossed her arms, stood her ground, like they were going to blow her away with their words. Was she trying to look intimidating? If she was… it’s not working, from the way her foot is slightly shaking. Anyone could tell she stuffed all her nerves into that one area. 

“Chief please, I can’t babysit this grown woman..” You tried making an excuse, even if it was harsh, maybe that comment will set the reality that this rehabilitation at your abode is unnecessary. Maybe just maybe it will set in. 

“Yes you can, and you will. By the order of the council, you will be taking care of Abby Anderson, until she is confirmed healthy, and until we rebuild the house, which should take,. 4-6 months”

“Half a year, are you serious?!” You shouted, 

“We are working to expand this Village. However we need to clear the infected, and make sure we aren’t trespassing or any one else is trespassing. Lots of things need to be prepared before we just go willy-nilly on what to do. So yes, 4-6 months.. probably…. Okay. Meeting adjourned” 

The councilman was just about to slam their gavel on the block, until “ Wait!--”

“Lev and Abby, cannot be separated,” you stated, taking a step forward.

“They’re family, they came here together, they’ll be here together. I.. I have an entire lower basement where it can basically be a second home. There’s a room, a living room, a mini kitchen with no stove! And it’s plenty of room for Lev to not only have their own space, but no fire hazards near them.” You elaborated your argument, even pulled out as much information they could swim around in their minds IF it’s a good idea.

“You know the rules..”

“Screw the rules, this is a child we’re talking about!” You dared, taking another step forward, hands out to the crowd. 

“We don’t separate families in this village. We never have. And won’t start now.” 

The councilmen shared glances with each other, and took a final nod. “ Fine, prove to us that she can recover, and you’re able to take care of Lev.”

With two slams of their gavel, the meeting was finally over. 

-

On the way back to your house, the air was muggy, and hot, however opening your door was like a breeze of fresh cool air, yet at the same time it was thick, hard to slice through between you and Abby.

As she entered your abode, she was welcomed with bursts of your pheromones; your scent that gave a high for her nerves. All 500 nerves– in her nose, were all alerted that you’ve been in every inch of this house. Like a hungry hound dog, she wanted to keep inhaling you in until she f- She shook her head at the thought. Why would I think of doing.. –I never had this feeling  with– nor these thoughts..Oh god..

Pinching the bridge of her nose, swallowing those thoughts down with a heavy gulp. Regaining her focus once more, trying to keep it together is more like it. 

She saunters her way inside the house, following you, however it felt like she was walking through mud with how suddenly aware she was of herself and.. you..--- her eyes followed down the ivories of your spine, crossing steadily down to your hips.. Traveling further below to your arse.Those jeans on you look especially good today, the way they hugged you like a nice sized glove . She blinked twice, telling herself in her head to–

 Abs, get it together, the last thing you need in your life right now is to discover how perverted you could be. And to a friend? I should just crawl myself into a hole. 

“Sit.” you commanded, gesturing towards the kitchen. it was as if your personality switched. Abby’s eyebrows favored to be knit together for this click of a button you just pulled. For a while now, she noted you to be kind, and warm, but as soon as she was ordered to even be in your space, you’ve been acting.. abnormal. 

Abby sighed deeply as she obliged to your stern command, taking a seat at your kitchen's barstool. 

You took a long pause before speaking, and Abby took in your surprisingly expansive kitchen. It was a black themed rustic kitchen, you had a new range hood, You took a glass from your matte black cabinets shutting it so hard, that she winced from the noise. Oh yeah she’s suuuuper pissed.

 An island of a counter where she sat, and tapped her finger along the hardwood. It was as if your home was furnished like one of the old worlds catalogues that you almost could find in some places. Obviously not a lot of people were picking those up; more than likely you’d see more people scavenge for food or books. 

Speaking about books, Abby could have sworn she saw you have a bookshelf full of something… familiar but not quite.. normal for books that she would usually see. This whole situation was not normal. You apparently were not normal. In fact you were probably better in status for the village.. To which Abby had no knowledge of because the both of you don’t talk about this kind of stuff—– hell if she knew from the mountains and back you could be some kind of.. Whatever you were. It was weird, this is weird, you having all of this was weird.  As she stared behind you, as you curved your lip, thinking the best way to say.. With whatever you were pondering on, but forget that , you had had a fucking knife set, like a good one for cooking. ( She hoped). The kitchen was just… beyond the expectations Abby had before,  It was better than hers, before– burning it down, of course   

The longer you took to speak the more Abby became more in her head about: this house, this kitchen, your attitude…. Right..your attitude, this new too good for Abby to be in your space attitude?

Abby immediately gave fuel to her furnace of a mind.  Ah, she doesn’t want me to ruin her little set up she has. Wow.. I mean you burn one house and– well. Fuck I didn’t make them do this?

Tons of gasoline had just spilled all over the furnace. 

ARE they really that uppity that– I can’t even not be expected to damage their goods.. I mean.. It’s  not…. Tha—at great– oh who am I kidding I would have killed for this back when… well.. Yeah I probably would have.. 

And just like that a switch went off for Abby as well, that furnace was ready to explode, thinking she was being perceived in a bad light, and the thoughts that climbed on her as if she was the tiniest mountain, and laid putrid virus bringing fungus.  She felt disgusted with herself, with you, and this over the top house… 

She hated this, and you know what? Seeing how you’re taking so long to just fucking say shes a fuck up, is pissing her off even more so why doesn’t she just rip the bandaid off instead?

“You mad at me or something?”  She confronted, her face twisted with frustration, laced with abashment.

You popped your head back up to look straight at her, taking a step back. You could feel how angry she was steadily becoming.. You thought maybe she just–  needs some time to understand that some things are different for you at your house. On top of that… You actually were mad at her, you just didn’t know how to say it. Without.. Telling her too much. 

“Abby.. I- .. “  You balled your fist for only just a second, then wiping your hands on your pants, soothing yourself, before you popped your bubbles of words.

“I gotta take a shower. Please, –” A second mester of a pause, before sighing out a breath.

“Don’t touch anything, Kay?” your voice swaddled her brain, there you go, back to the person she knows, the person Abby grew fond of, but at this point, she barely knew you anyway. Why trust this is how you are now? When you’ll be different later, or the next second, who knows. 

“Hey, I didn’t ask for this shit either- -okay?” she grumbled, only to receive a petty response, you sucking your teeth as you walked away from her, retreating to your bathroom on quick feet.

 Great, I just can’t stop.. Messing up. I made her run away.. To the bathroom, now she’s gonna treat me even more differently, like I’m the psycho in her house, trespassing her shit! FUCK!

Meanwhile, you're in the bathroom clutching at your chest, sliding down the wooden door. Your heart raced so fast it mirrored a woodpecker, poking at your rib cage. 

Abby.. is in my fucking house, holy shit… holy fuck?! Why the fuck would they set me up like this?! I can’t have her in my house.. I already was trying my best to be normal around her. Now… she’s in my kitchen. Sitting on my barstool.. 

Damn did I even clean today?

You were too busy gay panicking in the 4 walls of a room to even think why you were mad in the first place. It was too much. You’ve slowly been building a friendship with her as stated before. Did you expect these feelings to expand, of course not. Abby was new, and different, and a little scary, but you liked that! Everyone in your Village was okay, but not okay. And Abby —definitely peeked your interest to more than JUST an okay. At first, it was bumpy, awkward; You would often see Abby take a few steps back away from you, or even the conversations would be surface level, and at that point– in your mind at the time you cleared out the blossoming friendship. You hate vague conversations, or more like people pleaser convo’s. Saying all the things that anyone else would say or like to hear; tip-toeing around invisible non-existent mines. All for you to just sigh then give out a soft “yeah, that is cool”. You were already used to that here in the village. It was dragged out and tired. You had enough, and confessed to her  “I cannot keep having these conversations with you anymore. I understand that you’re new, but.. Me personally. I cannot fathom myself speaking to another person who just wants clean responses.”

“Clean responses?” she parroted, a question that knitted her brows together

“Yes! Clean responses. I can’t see myself, being friends with someone who is too afraid to speak to me like a real person. I mean c’mon Abby, I only know your name. I don’t know you other than that..”

“Yeah, you know what..? This is bullshit.”

“I agree, so let’s just sto-”

“I used to be a part of the fireflies…”  and after that she would bread crumb information about her, and it was enough. You understood that Abby was truly different, an entire backstory she can’t even speak casually about. And you were willing to wait, as long as she just continue being herself.

-

You came back from upstairs, quick on your feet, the thumps going on in your house could only be your footsteps. When Abby swerved her attention towards you, her cheeks became appled, delicious red apples took form in her cheeks. You were in a tank top, your tits bounced with every step, and shorts, nicely fitted, and could make many take a large gulp as Abby just did, her eyes scattered around your physique, not knowing where to exactly land. Your nipples appeared bitten by the cold or.. Silken with arousal… Who knows. But, what Abby knows, is that you just got out of the shower. Your split ends sticking to parts of your face, the glow of your skin marveling in her eyes. Once again blinking twice to cut the entrancing spell of a hold you just had her under. Her heart raced, and her mind jumbled with thoughts on why she’s becoming flustered from just seeing you in your relaxed state. She has seen Mel, and many of past friends that came and went in the same attire. Why are you different?    

 A quick adventure to get, a piece of paper, and a pencil. You took notice of Abby’s curled hand, assuming she is still upset, even after taking a break between each other. Which prompts you to remember all over again why you were pissed at Abby in the first place.

 A groan milked out of your throat, pouring over to Abby, she took heed to your noise. Her shoulders tensed, and wrinkles molded on her forehead by her bushy brows.

You slam down a piece of paper and pencil.

“What is this?“  Abby wondered, darting her eyes straight to the piece of paper.

“Write a bucket list” 

“Huh?” 

“Write. A. Bucket. List” , your voice was molten with frustration, your voice also hinted rigged from the shake of your hands. Your eyes glossy from fighting back tears out of the heavy amounts of whiplashes of emotions you’ve been put through for the past week. 

“You know, you try to hide it even though I can see through all of this shit. You think you can just up and leave off of the face of the earth? Lev needs you, and I-” 

“--I don’t think you want to be in that kind of situation again..” you said, tugging on a loose string from your shorts, tending to it, like it’s something interesting. But in reality you can’t seem to look Abby directly in her eyes at the moment. 

She nods slowly with a soured lip, letting that comment marinate in her mind. Abby didn’t intend to take her life that day, nor did she even notice that her fate almost ended as swift as stepping on a cigarette. Her attention dragged from the piece of paper, to the counter, then finally to you. She could tell you were truly upset with her. Not because of the thought of her taking her life.. But, not caring about it to a point that she put herself in danger. The danger scared you, and it most definitely scared Abby, she doesn’t want to die. Maybe wallow in sadness with guilt, but dying? That’s her worst nightmare (literally). 

“Write a damn bucket list before you croak”  Abby ruminated on this proposal… it was the weirdest suggestion she’d ever seen but.. what is even normal nowadays? In actuality maybe this could help actually see her life is more precious and want to keep going without being lost on what to do next. It’ll keep her busy, keep her sane, she’d hope.

- 

You both decided to sit down and really speak about the issue at hand. Abby felt it was important to discuss these things with you. Regardless, it was heavy. She obviously didn’t tell you everything, but she did let you know: She’s going through a lot. She said her past was  very unsettling, hoping you can understand that these parts of her are..not too much for you. She was vague about some things, yet you understood. You understood that if she was not ready to talk, then she’s not ready. Her forcing herself wouldn’t be the right thing to do. And you forcing her would be down right throat ripping. So, you kept your head high, nodded and told her. 

“I’m ready whenever you are ready. And when you are, don’t hold back. I can take it.”

The way Abby’s eyes glinted in the light, you could tell she wanted to burst into tears right then and there. Those words, little as they are to some, but big as planets for her.  Yet, she held it in by biting her lip – 

hard.

Moments past as you both tried to get a feel for each other with conversations about the counsel meeting, and talking a little shit about how the jury wouldn’t stop gossiping  than judging a verdict. It felt freeing having to just treat each other as friends again, the fear of taking several steps back only faded away with each smile shared, and poke at how you got so serious to save her and Lev’d family. Though, even Abby can’t deny that, it was sweet on how you stepped in for them.

“Also… since your house has been.. Deleted–”

She scoffed through her nose  at that line,  shaking her head. “uh-huh”

“You should sleep in my bed from now on.”

As soon as you said that, her hypothetical tail wagged so hard, her eyes went round, her cheeks bloomed roses, and yours bloomed various flowers right back. “I- i WAIT! I meant um. I meant uhh- I m-meant y-you can sleep there.. By yourself! I mean yeah..” 

“Oh..” her words trail off, as her eyes shot down to the floor, like a nervous tick she rubbed the back of her neck, swiping off any lingering thought. She sounded as if disappointed. You may have caught it but swung that inkling of a maybe back to the trash. In denial that it was just something else. No way Abby would be thinking about cuddling you in bed right? … right?

“Actually– I’m okay with sleeping on the couch.” Her fingers intertwined with each other, not knowing what to do with her hands.

“Oh come on, Abby” You whined, rolling your eyes. Here she goes again trying not to be in the way, and you only trying to make sure your guest is comfortable. Besides, one day she’s going to have to switch with you, giving the 4-6 month repairs which is highly unlikely. The council is definitely going to just move her into another house, most likely the cleared space ones, after  the infected are carved out of those zones. Not only that but, your proposition to the council was genuine, you do have a lower space below your house for Lev, just lev.. For the rest of your house… It's mostly occupied. You didn’t think you’d ever have to invest in 2 guest bedrooms, 1 yes but 2? This is going to be interesting. 

“No– noo… You come on.”  Abby replied, with a playful push to your side, and you pushing right back, snickering out loud. 

“I’m in your.. Fancy ass house, because I fucked around and obviously found out. You already didn’t want to house me while.. Y'know, babysitting me until I’m good.. Up here” She points at her head. “I’m not going to take your bed too.. So— don’t even worry about it”

“Ab-” You tried to explain that’s not exactly what you meant, you wanted to tell her: The council could have taken you more seriously if I reminded them that you are a grown capable person, and it came out that way so they’d see that it’s not fair to you or to me, to be pushed together like this. 

“Nope. Mm-mm” she shook her head pointing a finger that hovered your warm supple lips “We’re not arguing over this. Take your bed, keep it, I’m taking the couch. ‘Kay?” Her voice was so stern.. And sooooo hot, god, how you wished she’d get in real close to your ears and talk to you like that all day. Voice so addicting you could swear that angels played the harp everytime she shared a word. 

“Ahem, Well okay. Fine. I will cease my.. Insistence about you sleeping in my bed.”

“Good” Her smirk, showed some teeth, and damn you were getting hotter by the second, and not from just the hot weather. “O-Okay, I’m gonna… yeah I’m gonna go to bed now. Covers, pillows, anything you need.. Is in the closet in the hallway, right around the corner straight down away from the kitchen”

“Got it. Sweet dreams” 

Fuck you wanted to melt like frosty the snowman. 

“Mhm!” your response was high pitched and you quickly scurried away, up to your room, which in fact didn’t help Abby. Your butt looked so good in those shorts, your ass quaked from how fast you walked away. She  shook her head again, blinking twice. Maybe I'm just hot.. It has been a very hot day today…

-

A bird tapped on your window, waking you up, with tired sleepy eyes you stretched within your bed already knowing who sent this. You squinted at the bird's leg from afar, a small rolled up piece of paper attached to it. You took a deep breath, and sighed, getting out of your comfy covers, sauntering towards your window to open it. Sadly there was no cool breeze that smacked you in the face for tonight, just a bunch of hot air blown into your eyes, nearly drying them out. You carefully tweeted to the bird to come closer to you, the bird listened to your call, pidgeting its way to you,”Such a good bird, come on.”  you cooed, until it stood in your hands. Taking the wrapped piece of papers showing a yellow circle, your eyes bulged at the color.  “Okay fly on home,” There was no time to alert back with your usual signature, only time to act immediately. Lots of mucking about around your house, stirring  Abby while sleeping, it was like 4AM, and a loud shut from the door startled Abby, but I guess this is just another thing she has to get used to.  You would never do this for anything else but that letter was plastered on your forehead, before caring about anyone's comfort.

Where were you going though at such a random time of the day? When will you be back? Did you think Abby just wouldn’t notice you leaving the house? Is everything okay? Or are you trying to be petty?

These questions infected her brain, over and over again.

I wonder what her room looks like..

This thought came out of nowhere, like a driveby just to directly shoot into her cerebrum. Her eyes lingered on the staircase,only cascaded by moonlight, hitting each step like it was calling her to make a choice. It was crazy, why would she even think this is something  she should explore, this ridiculous thought. However, this thought was like a song you couldn’t get out of your head no matter how many times you tried to divert from it. Abby's pink muscle gliding over her quivered bottom lip. It’s a stupid idea..  She couldn’t keep herself laid down on her back anymore, she needed to sit up. Laying down only gave her pins and needles with these stained thoughts.

Once I cross this line I can’t go back..

She slouched, forearms on her knees, still not removing her eyes off of your staircase, her mind replayed you walking upstairs before going to bed. Her breath became unsteady, the house was filled with your scent which made things even worse for her. She wishes she could hate your scent, but it’s got her wrapped around a golden finger. Her mind is full of you, her nose is familiar with you, every part of her is being attacked by you. And you weren’t even there.  Her foot tapped against your beige carpet, she interlocked her fingers, fiddling her thumbs together. 

Her jaw twitched, the more she ruminated on these thoughts. Just take a quick peek. No harm in just a quick one. No- no.. I should not invade her space, I've done enough of that.

What if she has secrets too..?

What IF she has secrets too.. ?

What if….?

The resolve was just as easy as a slice of iron with a plastic knife, In other news, Abby obviously picked being nosey over being respectful. She had to know if she was in danger of someone that was more than what she assumed. I mean that’s what she kept telling herself with each heavy step up those stairs that she kept having eye sex with. 

Sneaking off with light steps, upwards the stairs she went. Opening doors, upon doors, in search of your room, and boom. She finds it. “Let’s see who you really are…” she lets out to herself, as she slides a finger across your furniture, until it hits a dresser. “ People always hide stuff in there dressers, especially how Manny used t-” 

Tight lipped she became, sighing deeply through her nose before opening your drawers, digging deep within your clothes. First drawer, nothing but shirts, the next pants, then.. Granted how organized you were she’d expect “Yup panties… really.. Cute ones? Huh.. oh. Some lacey ones wow! Someone’s getting freaky.” 

She digs through it, feeling a paper like substance, she nods with a smile. “ found it.” 

She tried telling herself that if there is nothing to prove that you are dangerous then.. She just wanted something to tease you with, or proof that you weren’t as perfect as she thought. To prove you're not really someone that she can trust. She holds the thin piece objects in between her fingers, lifts it up with a tight hold, and… to her surprise.. a photo of you.. in 

Poses and lingerie and some nud- 

She stuffs them back into the drawer. Pink cheeks, and jaw dropped to hell. All she found out is that: “I need to mind my business sometimes…” She comments aloud to herself.Placing everything back with her good memory, cursed or a blessing ? She has no idea which one is the answer, as she slowly pushes your drawers back into their rightful places. Careening out of your room, and stalking down the stairs. But before laying back down on the couch to drift off to sleep once again.. Mostly too forget about what just transpired. Her eyes shifted to the paper and pencil you’ve left on the counter. Guilt mounted her face, for two reasons, and for those very reasons she had to remove it. 

-

Heavy footing came entering the door, it was you lumbering about, tired from the business you had to handle, more like demands that needed to be made. “Sorry about that, I know I woke you up.. “ you had started off but no response, now you know full and damn well you shut that door hard after coming to your senses, you expected her to react with worry or irritation but no response was not on your bingo card. 

“Abby?” you called out to her but was interrupted by a loud snore, your attention whipped to her, sleeping with her tummy out, hand pressed against it, hiding her belly button. Sleep on her face, looks good. You’ve never seen her relaxed before, and it’s– peaceful.  You noticed there's no blanket on her, so, you grab one, and lay it upon her. And as soon as you turn around, so does she, knowing  from the noise she made, shifting herself around to face her back towards you.  Ignorance befallen you, not knowing Abby.. hasn’t been able to relax in quite some time, not even guessing twice that she was awake the whole time. Her heart never ceased racing, not from hiding from you catching her awake. No.. The fact she can’t rid her thoughts of you in those poses, in that attire, the face you had.. One of desire. 

-

Birds chirped, dogs barked, and of course someone is mowing their lawn in the beaming hot sun. Abby stirred, and rolled her shoulder around, tightening the cover over her body. There was a groan that couldn’t bear to be stuck in her throat, growling out a moan. A line of yellowed light streaked over her face, she subconsciously rubbed her forehead, and eyes, as if she could remove it off of her. 

“Fine, fine, forget it— -I’m getting up.”  She mumbled to herself, toned hushed for only her to hear, grabbing an edge of the couch  to help her rise up. She sat there, on your couch, manspreading, slouched, head hung downwards. Abby did not feel like getting up at all. The last thing she felt like doing was roaming around in an unfamiliar setting, only getting 3 hours of sleep. Partly from her secret mission, seeing you in such a risque … set, and the other, trauma. Though she craves it, she cannot risk having another smoke session with herself after last time. Pretty sure, you’d get on her ass for doing it again, and in your home no less.

With no noise in the house currently, it is safe to assume that you’re sleeping peacefully in your snuggled up bedroom, from Abby’s recollection, you had these gray sheets, fluffy pillows, some regular knitted blankets, and some silk pillowcases. Not to mention  a double black door that she could only guess is your extra closet full of who knows what. She’s not going to try and find out again, well.. Not the way she would have.. At first. 

“I don’t even think I ever dressed up for Owen like tha– I gotta stop thinking about that shit.” 

Her ears perked up as soon as she heard a yawn, and there you were. Right across from her, hair a mess, a piece of your tank top strap fallen over your shoulder, tits.. very.. cleavagy.. Fuck, you were just sitting there as if you weren’t in company. She even spotted a mole on your right tit-

“Stop thinking about what?” you asked with a dragged out yawn, as Abby stared up at you, your nipple still protruding through that thin fabric,”Stop.. Stop thinking about  my— my joints. M-my blunts.” She creates a half truth and half lie on the spot. Your nose scrunched at the mention of her brown leafed escape. “Yea—h not gonna happen Abby. You are officially taking a break from that.”  

“You’re right, don’t want me burning down your house too right?”

“N-no? That’s not what I mea-” You staggered to hold on to any sentence that would come out, only rushed and clumsy, you stood up as if you could physically stop her mind from going to a place you don’t mean to create in her world.

“No I get it, I fucked up. So.. y’know, don’t worry about it”

“Abby…” you said softly, like she’ll runaway if you make any sudden movements, so instead you moved slow and precise, taking a seat on the armrest of the couch, crossing your leg over the other. Near her but not suffocating her. Okay, you might be trying to come off as gentle but for Abby… in here scattered mind of multiple projections about you, definitely mostly from those pictures that she had no business gawking at. To her, you might as well shoot her with multiple memories of how you are just dripping with natural charm. Seeing you like this, straight out of bed should not make someone yearn this bad. You were like Eve's apple, close to touch, but never to be, and if  you were allowed to taste or even hold it, it still would be a sin. Fucking hell give her a break, Abby’s face was getting so hot  that even the A.C in your house couldn’t convince you she wasn’t blushing over you. But nope,  you think she’s embarrassed about some stupid ass joint that started a fire in her home. Or even embarrassed for craving one again after the fact. 

“Mm.. What?” She asks, trying her best to take interest in the floor, fake stretching her arms to block her sight from you.

“Weed– can enhance your initial emotion.” 

“Excuse me but.. Huh?”  Her eyes ticked up back to your face, it was glowing, regardless of your dark circles under your eyes from whatever you were doing last night, it still couldn’t falter any beauty you had in your face. Distraction had to be your middle name.  Please.. If there is a god.. Help me focus on this conversation.

“When you smoke, people say, get in the right headspace before doing so. You–”

Okay.. that– ok God, has a funny way for answering that..  She gripped on her pants leg, giving you slow nods that she’s ready to hear for you to finish, but is she really ready?

“I wasn’t in the right headspace..” Abby finished the sentence before those words dribbled down your tongue. No– She’s not ready, not ready to hear it from you.

She takes a minute to process these pieces you gave her to put together.

“Get dressed, we’re gonna do something.”  You said with a clap of your hand a lazy grin, you don’t want Abby to think about that, but she has every right to know about what weed can do and can’t do. You don’t care if she does smoke, but not for the reason she’s puffing out though.

Abby quirked an eyebrow at the sudden task. What you have in mind could be the pick me up that Abby should need. It’s the very thing that helped you be able to maneuver around with the requirements of your skills, has asked of you.  Of course, if she chooses to back out of this, then so be it, there’s nothing you can do until you can spot something that she enjoys.  And maybe something you both can enjoy together, to remove all of this tension, unwanted tension that started in the first place. You wouldn’t have guessed that the ice would have to be broken once more, though it’s too late now. 

Abby was just about to turn her heel and move on, but before she got dressed, she stood up from the couch, walking back to you. “This is going to bother me if I don’t fix this now.” 

“Hm?”

She fixed the hanging strap of your tank top, back over to your shoulder, and only a bit of her finger tips grazed it, your brain permanently taking a note that her hands are calloused, rough, her momentarily touch  felt good for only a second before withering away. Your heart ached from how quick a single touch can leave you. You tell yourself just suppress it.. Push that feeling all the way down.

-

You both changed, walking outside with a brisk air from the summer's morning, nipping at your skin, the weather was truly weird in this area of the world, at one time its hot as hell itself, then cool the next. luckily you wore a pair of sweats, a long sleeved shirt, and a pair of some old yet good sneakers, while Abby wore something you whipped up together ( more like she insisted on wearing vs what you picked out)  A muscle tee, Shorts, with black leggings, she chose to keep wearing the same shoes she had on before, a good pair that hasn’t failed her since moving into the village.  She followed your lead toward another garage? House like place… Abby figured this was like an unused building for someone to move in  or, maybe a public building for the community. Apparently not.. This was another building that you owned. Abby couldn’t take it anymore, the festering question on why and how the hell did you even acquire a majority of these items, titles, and more?

“What the hell do you even do?” She let out, stepping in front of you cutting off your path towards the buildings, the crunch of pebbled rocks under her feet. There was clearly a pathway connected to your house to the next building. Doubt mounted your face, you took another step towards her expecting she’d move out the way. Abby didn’t move. She wouldn’t not until she gets some answers, and she better get them today.

“Now what is it?” you inquired, shrugging your shoulders, and a hand rest on your hip. Your keys jingled in your free hand.

“This.. life of yours, this comfort, the big house?! You know, how? Why, for what? Do you do hardcore missions or..?”

She was exaggerating her movements, gesturing back to the house, and to the glassed building, It was kind of funny. Seeing her move around like she was playing charades. When she mentioned the hardcore missions, it perked your eyebrows. That was fast of her to catch on. Maybe too fast… You pondered if she possibly went into your room and saw that  piece of paper, but according to you checking twice, it seemed like everything in there was never tampered.

“Ah–, “

“What gave it away?”

“Everything.” She replied with a hand on her hip.

“Well, I do not do hardcore missions… anymore. I’ll just cut right to the chase, and I can’t answer all of your questions right now but I will tell you this. I  can make poisons, and I put up a pretty good fight.”

“Poisons..” She parroted letting that statement simmer in her mind. You nodded, folding your arms as you went on to explain further.

“The problem is that I try to intertwine both skills together, and that gets me in trouble.”

Her brow twitched at the mention of you possibly being danger, Abby couldn’t even imagine you hurting a fly. Emotionally? Hell yes, but physically? Come on now.  “Trouble like how? You purposefully put yourself in danger or just happen to be in places at the wrong time?”

“Eh, no–” you answer with puckered lips, you place a hand on your chest, opening your mouth to speak again.

“Me being able to make and decipher poisons is reliable, and if people were to find out that I’m the village's master key— then I would be kidnapped… or killed for this knowledge.” And it’s not like no one can acquire this knowledge, but it's the fact that you would even try to dabble in something so dangerous. It’s too risky for a lot of people to try. So they don’t, and probably don’t want anyone walking around with such dangerous information, especially in today's world.

“Oh” Abby faced dropped just like the oh that slipped from her lips. “Oh indeed” you said with a nod, moving around her, continuing your walk towards the building. Abby, faced the back of your head, watching you unlock the door as you continued speaking.

“For my efforts, knowledge, and more I have been gifted many things as thanks for keeping the village safe as long as I have”

“How lon-”

“17” you interrupted, admitting you’ve been at this poison game since 17. That’s kinda rough finding out you had to grow so fast, it kind of reminds her of Lev. They’re so many things she wishes she could protect him from, to even have a bit of innocence within him. That’s exactly why she let him hang out with his friend.

“I’m 24 nearing 25 now”

“Oh, that's so young..” 

“You figured me older?”

“I… Yeah at least 29.. Not from the looks, but the amount of time it should have taken to make your house..Well– houses–”  They mirror grand, as if you took time and major effort just so it can look normal. There’s no physical evidence of worry or doubt that the house wouldn’t last, in fact the house appears to have a promise that it will continue standing.

“I mean you’re like a year older than me..”

“Mhm,” 

The conversation fell silent, as you both entered this gym, Abby was amazed that you had all of this to yourself. Then again.. Is she sure that this is only from being able to make poisons, and identify them. She knows this is a fucked up thought, however thinking back to those photos.. Were you doing more than you led on?

“What else you got in that pretty little head of yours?” Abby meant this as a tease but, when it came out, her ears were hot, and yours mimicked the fire. 

“Uh.. Pretty.. Thanks. Um.. wow.. Okay..”

“Where do you wanna start?” you asked, passing her a water bottle, Abby catching it with ease.

“All of it..” 

You both talked as you stretched together before exercising: about how long you’ve studied poisons, herbs, different things and such picked up along the journey it took to get to this village. Abby shares that she knows how to craft some things for infected, or even supplies in case of high risk emergencies. You take notice how her shoulders dropped talking about infected versus people, this is another skill that you have picked up along the way. Of course, in this day in age, you must understand body language, charisma, and a personal skill that you can gradually upgrade. Your eyes were gravitating to her scars on her arm,  you hadn’t noticed that there’s so many on her back, her shoulders, usually in the place of this situation you’d trace those scars. You would have been nursing her until her skin came back to its original form, even if it was only a bit. 

As you both prepared yourselves for more stretches, you found it a bit funny that some of the flexible stretches were hard for Abby, given her physique she should have no problem. That hinted for you to understand that your previous theory of her being more on the muscle mass side, to be more true as she struggled to put a leg over her head, but as with you, you’ve done it without much effort. Abby was amazed, and a little nauseous that you could bend in ways that she didn’t even know humans could. Until, you had  put both of your legs behind your head, you hadn’t notice but she could see you fully display yourself to her… Your pretty pussy formed perfectly under those sweats.. She took a big gulp that you mistaken for her to be quite shocked that you chose this position. 

“Cat got your tongue?” 

“ H-huh, uh.. You know lets, stop stretching and um, actually get started with whatever.. Yeah?”

Her cheeks were flushed, and her wording tripped and fell , You nodded in agreement. 

“You said you put up a good fight.. Prove it” Abby challenged, this was something she knew that would force her out of her thoughts, and if you both exercise with each other instead of individually, Abby wouldn’t struggle completing her reps with you in the same room. Getting out of your complex position, you stood up, stretching your limbs, cracking your arms. “Lets begin” you told her, and she gave you a quick nod.

Both of you circled each other, mirroring two hawks circling one another, sizing each other up. Anything that was friendly has left the door, your eyes became focused with each breath you took, as the same with Abby. For as long as you knew Abby was like this hermit that would only come out if Lev begged her, or she felt she needed to get some air from her old house, the assessment was easy for you to see how to make this match quick and easy. The hard part was a single question: is Abby easy to take down? 

You sent a playful smirk, try getting into her head maybe? 

Only to receive a click from her mouth, giving you a wink, so nope… getting into her head was definitely not ideal.. Not from the way your ears became inflamed with something fierce, and you can’t blame the heat outside for this. No.. she’ll find out everything if she’s going to be this close to you. 

As light as as you were on your feet,  Abby didn’t anticipate how fast you could be, let alone being able to get behind her blind spot, but of course Abby is sharp when it come to these things, being apart of the fireflies, and WLF, she’s had plenty of time to understand how to block this attack  yet-

You manage to lock your arm under her armpit, a strong grip? A strong grip indeed, you may not look it but you’ve done your own studying beyond poisons. You understand that you must over power her.. Use her weight against her, throw her off her game quick and fast.  A gasp leaves from Abby’s supple lips, not only from shock but the flash back with that girl, that scrawny girl that followed her all the way to the driest of places. Abby was going through currents of multiple waves back and forth of her mind as you proceeded, swiping your foot on the blue mat connecting the back of her leg, her balance no longer strong and still, launching her on her back. A  thud echoed, and silence soon followed.  A beat passed, and grumbles came from under you, A scowled face Abby was met with your eyes, colder than you're used to.. “Lucky”  she spat out like venom, under her breath, “Lucky or am I just that good?”  you replied leaning closer to her, smug face and all.

Abby forced a laugh out, pushing your face out of hers, but snatching it back  when she felt your lips on her fingers.. “ Just. Luck-key.” Abby was pissed. Her ass being handed to her so many times, her veins on her arms pulsed, as she gripped hard, nails digging into her skin, her fist ached to punch something. I want my control back. 

Not only did she want that but she is tired of you coming up in her thoughts so much, and that person, the reminder of her mistakes, all of it came back to her. It was too much for her to handle right now. It’s either she keeps fighting to regain her control or her downfall. She knew her body isn’t the same as it once was, she knew she used to be a full blown tank with how her assets of a body plowed through people bigger than you. This was just embarrassing, and losing a simple sparring with some girl she only met a few months ago, Absolutely not. Especially not the person who finds it embarrassing that they have to take care of a grown woman, is what Abby tells herself, only to get even more enraged.

“Again.” She ordered.

“Abby.. we’re just sparring no hard feelings..”

“Yeah sure whatever, Again”

You saw her as something else right then and there, determination, and sizzling rage. Maybe the adrenaline will help her? Or… will it only make her lose again. You didn’t wanna see how she’d react if she’d lose however, her little pout right now is just too adorable. And to be able to know that Abby, this lone wolf, is just a competitive pouty faced girl— kinda worth it.  “Alright, you asked for th-”

She rolled her neck cracking it, with a satisfying pop, that sent shivers down your back.”Just fucking, square up..” She snapped, her tone low and rumbled, you bit your lip at the shift in her voice. It was kinda scary.. Yet, you stood your ground, centering yourself, waiting for her to make the first move. Her chest rose and fell with every fired breath she took.

Round after round you kept mopping the floor with her, beads of sweat drenched the both of you. Of course, you didn’t actually want to go this far, but Abby could tell that you were going easy on her, which would lead her to being a little more hot headed, until you gave in and fully gave her your strength. For Abby, she was mind boggled that she kept losing, she had no idea how out of shape she’s become, and it irk the hell out of her.  It was hard for her to see you as you… You slowly turned into the images she long thought she had buried, yet they're all coming back up like guizers. That fucking brunette.. 

“Should have got rid of you… that day” She stated under her breath, it threw you off, you could barely hear her, but you could tell something was off about Abby. Something strange.  She beelined towards you faster, coming at you like a full force one manned army, throwing wild punches, punches that you found easy to catch now harder, uncontrolled, unpredictable. Blocking her was impossible. You had to stop this, wrapping around her lifting one of your legs to add some needed weight, falling with a loud bang to the floor. Her landing on top of you, was too fucking close for you to hide rapid heart beats. Both of you groaning from the impact, though Abby refuses to lose, she holds onto you like a damn rattlesnake, squeezing you hard within her arms and legs. With barely any strength left you put your all in into one swift move by picking her up slightly gaining your fierce return to be back on top. Rising up, putting more weight onto Abby,that she has no choice but to react instinctively to leg go of you-- for only a second to free yourself from her ached grip. Only her arms break from the hold, her legs still tight on you like a trapped iron cage.  She’s isolating you from getting any leverage from this round. The hell even happened before? Was she trying to tire you out? To wait to pull this move out on you? 

Fuck it at this point. Abby’s mumbling to herself, you’re exhausted, this fight has been long overdue to just end. You catch a moment of vulnerability, a flash in her eyes that said  ‘I want to stop’ and you knew from just arguing with her from earlier, the insistent ‘ i’m fines’ from the hospital.Your mind focused on that inkling of passage of who Abby really is, a person who doesn’t give up, and does not want people to worry about her, regardless if she's truly suffering. You had to make her stop. Knowing she smokes only gives you another advantage. You put all your strength into separating her legs from you, while pinning both of her hands above her head. Using your free arm to press into a muscle that can’t handle pressure against it, a groan escaped Abby’s lips, she tried to hang on regardless of how painful it was, so you pressed deeper. You didn’t want to do this, but something is not right, and it had to stop now. Her pained leg lost it’s grip and you acted fast as a animal in the savanna. Your eyes were so focus and zoned in on a quick maneuver. This wasn’t to win anymore. You place your knee on her stomach until she fully stops floundering around.  Tapping your leg 3 times, you remove yourself off of her, getting up and looking down at her. 

Her chest rising and falling. Face red and frustrated.  

“Next time creed, you just might get me.” 

You offer a hand but she smacks it away “I can at least help myself.” 

-

Abby swishes her hand in the tub, checking the temperature before getting in. Her muscles are sore, so sore that she’s amazed you have her aching like this. Usually a workout like that wouldn’t affect her like that. She turns on her heal to face the mirror, observing her physique. It’s been a while since she’s checked herself out, and boy… is she upset. Like yes she knows she looks somewhat good, but.. She grew accustomed to the body she had before. It was like a natural shield for her, a confident boost for not only around people, but around the infected. She’s done some kind of soul searching, understanding that she built that body out of rage, out of… obsession. But, now she’s pissed that she got her ass handed by you. And you’re nowhere near how her previous body was built, nor like those really built seraphites. You knocked her ass down, with strength and logic. She could tell you have a good eye for seeing through people, even through fighting. That’s dangerous. Really dangerous.. So dangerous that it has the corners of her mouth turned up.

You made her excited, and that is something she hasn’t felt in a while… In fact she wants to spar again, just to see if she can pick up a few things from you. Maybe even bulk up again, because if she gets her ass handed to you once more.. She just might pull her hair out. The competitive side of her eating at her like a steady starving hawk. Those memories though— she doesn’t want to think about it. She hated that she got so mixed up with what was real and what wasn’t.  Luckily it wasn’t too bad of an episode today.. She doesn’t even feel like screaming into the water like how she usually would. 

Whirling herself back around to face the tub, she takes a step in, warm and pinched slightly at her skin, then fully emerging herself in the waters, “Oh hell yes… Who cares if she’s bougie, this is nice..” Her voice echoing in the large bathroom. 

A knock at the door, signals her senses  “You forgot your towel..” you said in a meeked tone, “oh yeah? Hand it to me.” 

You slowly opened the door, as it creaked as loud as your heart was beating against your cage. Trying your best not to fully come in, trying– to hand her the towel, yet… it’s barely reaching her.

“Um.. You can come in, you know?” Abby reassured, and your cheeks got hotter by the second, but you sucked it up and pushed through, regardless of how anxious you were about Abby being able to hear how hard your heart rattled. Abby faced forward to another wall, not even tempting to stare at you, of course not after that spar session. Honestly, the more she got to know you the more her heart also began starting its own rapture; thunderous weather could have confused anyone if they laid their head on Abby’s chest.  You dragged your feet over to her, trying your best to still not look, covering your eyes with your hand, however you heard a snicker. “Are you that scared of seeing me naked?” she asks,with a chuckle.

“Scared? No- no?”

“ You’re totally scared! Look at how nervous your hand is, it’s quaking”

“Shut u—p” you stretched out with a groan, laced with a high pitched whine. “Well you’re going to have to open those peepers,  I still can’t grab the towel without exposing myself”

“F-fine!” You slowly moved your hand out the way, and there it was.. Her back, even though she hasn’t gotten her full strength back, her back was toned, and scared. Old scars, you wanted to trace them just like before in your gym, gliding your touch ever so carefully, and ask her what stories do those scars hold. “Here..” 

“Thanks! Now get out you perv”

“I!? WHA? YOU! You told me that I could come-”

“I’m just fucking with out haha!” 

“

“Look at you ‘splode with sooo much passion. So embarrassed, so flustered, ha!” 

“You’re an ass hole.. “

“Yeah, and you handed me mine earlier, gotta get my lick back somehow” 

You rolled your eyes, softly laughing to yourself with her childish play thrown at you like a curve ball. You’d walk out, shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against the wooden door. “We’re gonna go grocery shopping after you’re done.”

“Alright, Give me a second” she said and you could hear the water splashing, moving with her. All you could do was imagine her bare back again, the droplets that designed it so meticulously, and not taking the shine away from her cute freckles. You’d pinch your thigh to regain some kind of composure. 

“N-no t-take your time” 

You tell her squeaked voice, as you shakily hold up a piece of paper that Abby wrote for you. Now this piece of paper was supposed to only be about her taking life into her own hands and controlling what she can. It is, but then again there’s this section she wrote for you: ‘Lev is not coming back until Sunday morning, I will explain to them what happened, do not interfere. If Lev and I will be a part of this household with you, then there’s something I need you to do… Keep an eye on him. He thinks this Village will allow him to just be able to go off on missions, sometimes he’s snuck off out of the Village to do his own thing. I could never catch him on my own. And I don’t know exactly where or what he does with his “personal” missions. Promise me by wrapping your pinky around mine, when you finish reading this.. And also,  Thanks, for.. Not ratting me out to the Council.’ If you thought Abby was going to be a handful, well you got another thing coming…. You took a deep sigh, pinching the wrinkle in between your brows. “And now,, I have an emotional, hormone raging, and I can do it myself, teen..  In my house. Great.” you let out under your breath like a secret only for you to hear. Until suddenly a creak from the door opens, and you fall right into Abby while she’s only in her towel.

Prologue||continue?->

Tags: @saturnhas82moons ((let me know if you want to be tagged for the next chapter dear readers ❣️//ageless blogs will not be tagged. if you do not have your age in your profile, please include it in your comment.))

A/n: Hello! I hope you enjoyed the story! 💋

[plaguedocboi]

Literally nothing will make me more evil than just being sort of overwhelmed by Noises

[thinkinonsense]

Sit Still｡𖦹°‧

—gif credit: not mine!! i can't remember where i found it but if i can find it again or the owner comments, ill add their username <3

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: cockwarming (sorta?), innocence kink, p in v, logan attempts to teach reader how to ride.

a/n: apologies for this being so short but chapter two of bewitched should be out friday or saturday! also i'll be responding to some requests soon too in case i spam lmao

"a-are you sure 'bout this, lo?"

your timid voice echos around the bedroom, capturing logan's attention again. he's been dreaming for months of this sight in front of him; you sitting pretty in his lap, only wearing a pink lacy bra and a pair of matching panties.

"you want me to make you feel good, right sweetheart?"

a small sigh escapes you as you attempt to grind onto him again. logan places his large hands on your waist to stop you from wiggling around. he knows you can't help it, you're still new to this after all.

it started a month ago when you and logan were left alone together in the mansion. everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away. you were recovering from a cold and logan simply didn't want to chaperone. instead, he offered to stay back with you.

late one evening, he came in to check on you and ask if there was anything you needed. that's when you asked him the question that nearly killed him, 'will you take my virginity?' you didn't see a problem with it. the two of you weren't strangers, you trusted logan, and he obviously has experience since he's much older than you.

ever since that night, you two have been going at it like rabbits. tonight, logan promised to help you get used to being on top. more importantly, training you to take him from this angle.

"c'mon, baby..." he coos with one hand on your hip and the other holding a cigar to his lips. "do it just like i told ya'."

swiftly, logan removes the rest of the material between the two of you before resting back against the mattress. anxiously, you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down until you're sat fully on his lap again.

"nice 'n slow for me, sweetheart. that's it, stay still..." logan hums, lost in your tight, wet heat. he can hear every little noise coming from your lips. "atta girl."

it's a struggle to take all of him at once. you can feel him deep in your gut, nudging that sweet spot inside of you. logan can tell that your nerves are still tangled in knots, practically strangling his cock.

"lo, i c-can't do it." you huff, upset at yourself. "too full to move."

"poor fuckin' baby." logan teases with faux sympathy. "how 'bout we try something else for now?"

too caught up with the soft grind of his hips, you nod your head mindlessly to his proposal. logan brings his thumb to his lips, replacing the cigar which is now back on the nightstand. he sits up, making you whimper as he does so. you lean forward to capture his lips with your own, whispering how badly you needed him to just fuck you himself. instead, logan's got something else in mind.

"ah!" you gasp as he starts to rub your button with the wet pad of thumb. "f-fuck, right there..."

the soft rocking of your hips makes your toes curl and fingers pull at his little kitten tuffs. logan's mouth moves south to your chest. one nipple in his mouth then the other until both are swollen and kiss bitten. vibrations pour from his mouth as he groans at the tight squeezing of your cunt around his girth.

"ah-ah." he tsks, hand coming up to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together gently. "what did i say 'bout staying still?"

"s-sorry, lo.." you whimper voice muffled by your squished pouty lips.

despite having incredible stamina, logan was ready to release just from looking at your pretty face. he never been this close to cumming so soon but feeling you tense around him and wiggle in his lap made his head spin. all of this movement from only his thumb drawing circles.

"christ..." he grunts in your ear, moving faster now and with more pressure. "you're tryin' a kill me, sweetheart."

all logan gets in response is incoherent babbles of 'don't stop' and 'please, please, please'. he knows you are close when you claw at his back and start to bounce on him little by little, just enough to make you see stars. it all feels too much yet not enough at the same time. logan's circles start to get sloppy as he approaches his high too.

"l-logan!" you squeal, heavy eyes trying to focus on his face. "wanna feel you..."

in a rush, logan picks up the pace, torturing your button with his thumb. a loud moan falls from your lips, trying to wiggle out of logan's grip as your orgasm washes over you with intense euphoria. logan growls in your neck from your tight fucking grip on his cock, pumping his load inside of your walls. some of it spilling out of you and drenching the sheets.

the two of you catch your breath in silence for a moment. your nails scratch his scalp softly while logan pulls you down to kiss him. after a second, you move back, smiling down at him in a way that makes him harden again.

"thought you were gonna show me how to ride?" you tease.

logan shoots you a cocky eyebrow raise before leaning back again, one hand on your hip and the other returning to his cigar on the night stand.

"alright, baby..." he chuckles, re-lighting the cigar and paying little attention to the roll of your hips. "let me see what you got."

[oh-no-its-bird]

Special edition Christmas fic where genin aged team 7 decide hatch their newest plot to see Kakashi's face: using mistletoe

Because if they trap him under it with someone, he'll surely have to take his mask off to give them a kiss! ...Right?

(Sasuke thinks this is fucking stupid)

The entire thing is just a fucking slapstick comedy as Kakashi goes "what's the funniest way I can go along with this." And decides he will in fact lower his mask and give a kiss to everyone the kids corner him with. But only when they look away / blink / their view is obstructed

The kids are chasing him around with a string on a stick w mistletoe tied to the end of it, and every time they miss seeing the kiss (and his face) hey scream even louder

Reactions range from "???!?????!?!??????" (Iruka) to straight up passing out (Gai) to laughing hysterically with a bright red face (Kurenai) to just sort of freezing up like a deer in headlights (Asuma)

Kakashi, having way too much fun, makes a shadow clone to pull the Sukea thing again. And the kids get "Sukea" on board, thinking he can take a photo the second Kakashi pulls his mask down for a smooch. Kakashi has WAY too much fun, essentially role-playing with himself and swooning dramatically. Then, at the end, Sukea goes, "Oh no the camera's memory card is gone, Kakashi must have stolen it :((" and the kids all scream in agony

They try to get him to describe Kakashi's face and Sukea gets all coy and goes "umm... its kind of... indescribable?"

(They get another person to try to snap a photo of him but they turn out to be a freezer so they don't take the picture. When the kids harass them ab it they just giggle a little maniacally ab his face)

This does escalate to doing this shit w enemy nin btw. Funniest option is obviously Tobi but I'm also raising u a really freaked the fuck out Itachi looking like an angry, surprised cat after Kakashi gives him a peck on the cheek (Sasuke is gonna fucking KILL HIMSELF)

Obito gets the full makeout session bc its funniest.

He shows up looking for a dramatic fight but like halfway through his villain speech, team 7 dangles the mistletoe over him, and he's so thrown off guard he just kinda "???? excuse me I'm kind of in the middle of—"

Kakashi, who is a) in too deep to stop the bit now, and b) recognizes a good way to throw off an enemy, fucking launches himself at him, pushes Tobi's mask up just enough to kiss, and starts to make out w him

His back is turned to the kids and they're all scrambling to try to catch a single glimpse, but he keeps his back to them as they scream and run around (thus prolonging the kiss)

Kakashi is totally checked out of the actual kiss, this is all fun and games to him. Obito is having a fucking religious experience wrapped in a manic episode flavored internal breakdown topped off with a very loud high pitched kettle noise that may or may not be confined to his brain

This lasts for like a solid minute before Kakashi releases him and readjust his mask, pats him on the shoulder and goes "sorry about that teehee"

Obito just kinda 🧍‍♀️ and they stare at eachother for another solid minute as team 7 screams and cries and throws up in the bg

Kakashi, seeing the opportunity to leave and avoid what was for sure going to be a potentially devistating fight: "cool. So, anyways. Bye lmao." And runs for it w his students

Obito is left tanding still as a statue in the middle of the clearing. After like 20 seconds alone he starts hyperventilating.

Merry Christmas everybody 👍

[daimus]

people have done this before, but not us

You’ve known Oliver since you were best friends with his little sister in elementary school. Somehow, it never occurred to you that he’s also just a man with desires. 

wc — 4.9k

tags — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, dry humping, grinding, Oliver Aiku sex tutor lol, childhood friends, inexperienced reader to the point of disbelief, best friend’s older brother but it’s less relevant than I thought it was going to be bc I didn’t feel like making up a whole new character for his sister, title from during the impossible age of everyone by Ada Limon (sorry for using it like this)

“He said you’re off limits,” Bachira says. 

“How did you get in my room?” 

Bachira’s laying on his stomach on the edge of your bed, his legs dangling off the edge. He’s kicking them like a toddler, cute almost, but his eyes are shrewd. 

“Oli said that his friend is coming to watch, but we can’t talk to her, and normally he doesn’t mind sharing, so I was like huh, she must be special to him. So I had to come see you for myself, right?”

“Uh huh,” you say, not really keeping up. There’s a tinge of annoyance building in you too, for more reasons than one. 

“So I thought about it! And the only place they would’ve kept you is-“ 

“Help!” You scream at the top of your lungs. “There’s a strange guy in my room! Help me!” 

Bachira bolts up, reaching for you, but you squirm away. “Stop,” he hisses, alarmed, but it’s too late. 

The door flies open, revealing Oliver, completely unamused. 

“Your friend is stuck up,” Bachira whines, but he doesn’t really seem angry, just mildly inconvenienced that his plan didn’t work. 

“I told you not to even look at her,” Oliver scolds. “You Blue Lock boys couldn’t listen to directions if it killed you.” 

“If it killed me-“

“Just go,” Oliver groans. “Now.” 

When it’s just the two of you, Oliver looks different. The transformation happens in seconds, so quick you wouldn’t know it was there unless you knew to look for it. It’s nothing so obvious as an expression, just the slightest shift in the line of his lips, a certain ease to the heft of his shoulders. 

He comes and sits next to you on your bed, where you’re blotting at the wet spot you think Bachira might’ve drooled into it. How long was he in here? Enough to take a nap? 

“I’m sorry.” 

You sniff with an air of haughtiness, but really you’re only mildly annoyed. You just want him to pay attention to you, and he will if he thinks you’re upset. He always does. “I thought Blue Lock would have better security.” 

“We don’t have any security, actually.” 

“What? But you guys are famous now.” 

He shrugs. “Ego rented out the whole hotel for Blue Lock and friends and family. There’s security outside to keep people from getting in. But inside? Nothing. I think he’s insane, personally. No telling what those boys will get up to. I was a teenager once, I would know.” 

“Talking like a grandpa already,” you say with a laugh. 

“You little-“ He pushes you down into the sheets, messing with your hair. “I’ll show you a grandpa.” 

“I think he drooled on my bed,” you frown. “Where am I going to sleep tonight?”

“We can share my room,” he says easily, casually. “Like we used to.” 

But we used to was over ten years ago. 

Oliver is gone when you wake up, which he warned you he was going to be. He offered to make breakfast, but you told him it was impossible to wake up at the same time as his insane footballer schedule, so instead you trickle into the cafeteria with the other aforementioned friends and family. No Blue Lock boys - they’ve been ready for hours. 

When you try to unlock the stadium doors with your priority pass, you find you can’t. The light flashes red over and over again - you’re beginning to feel embarrassed. 

“Fucking - work, goddamnit,” you hiss under your breath as the lock emits a loud buzzing noise for what feels like the twentieth time. 

“Here.” He’s your age, white and green hair, sleepy eyes. “Let me.” 

He introduces himself to you as Otoya. It’s a very memorable experience, since he also gives you his phone number, his Instagram, and his room number. Just in case, you know. 

You can practically hear Oliver’s voice in your head, telling you to stay away from him, except it’s not in your head, and he’s walking up, warning Ootoya not to mess with you. 

“Are you following me?” 

This feels like a reasonable assumption to make, but he rolls his eyes at you. Then he says, “Of course I’m following you, you idiot. Did you listen to anything I said last night? This is a facility full of hormonal teenage boys - my sister would kill me if I let anything happen to you.” 

His sister. Right. 

Otoya looks between the two of you. “Sorry, Oliver. Didn’t know she was yours.” 

You want to jump in with a protestation because first of all, you’re not, and secondly, that feels demeaning, but Oliver pulls you into his side in a way that makes it clear you’re under his protection. He just tucks you into the space beneath his arm like a mother hen, folding you away until you’re barely visible behind him.

“Well, she is,” Oliver says. 

It does something funny to you, hearing him call you his. 

It’s almost a pity that Oliver invited you, because you don’t really care about football. At this point, you can’t even really be bothered to pretend to care either, except for the really important matches, the ones where Oliver’s eyes sparkle and you can tell he’s actually invested in who he’s up against. Otherwise, football is a job like any other. People don’t get it. They’re always begging you for tickets to games, but you’ve been friends for so long that, well, it’s like being excited about a big project at your friend’s company. Yay! Profit! 

As far as you can tell, the match goes smoothly. It’s the after party that you have to worry about. 

Otoya makes a beeline for you as soon as you slip through the door, which really shows the amount of authority that Oliver has in here. 

“Fancy seeing you again,” he says cheerfully. 

“I think everyone’s here,” your response is dry. Oliver did tell you to be careful around him, after all - although he said the same thing about every other man in here that isn’t him. Overprotective much? 

Your standoffishness doesn’t bother Otoya. 

“Come on, don’t be like that. I don’t know what Oliver’s told you, but I’m not a bad guy.” 

“Right,” you don’t even look up from your phone. This is awkward. You don’t know anyone here. 

“Oliver’s worse, I would say.” Your head snaps up. “Oh, that got your attention.” 

You can’t resist it. Oliver’s your favorite thing to talk about. “How so?” 

“Let’s just say that if you like Oliver-“ 

“I don’t-“

“You should stay away from him for tonight. For your own good. He has a bad habit he has to indulge with a different girl every night. Just hang out with me instead,” he says with a rakish smile. 

“You’re just trying to get me to spend time with you.” 

“I mean yeah, but it’s true. Oliver’s…Oliver. You know?”

“No?” 

“No,” says Oliver. “She doesn’t. Because she doesn’t believe whatever ridiculous ideas you’re putting in her head.” 

“Oliver!” You brighten up and snuggle into him. He wraps a warm arm around your shoulders, radiating heat all the way through your body. 

“I’m ridiculous? You’re a stalker, man - how many times have you interrupted us already?”

“Only twice, and there won’t be a third time. Go find some other girl to bother. I mean it, Otoya.” He squeezes your shoulders. “This one’s mine.” 

The second time, it doesn’t feel as nice. He only says it when he wants people to leave you alone. He doesn’t mean to condescend, but the way he acts sometimes makes you wonder if he ever really understood that you grew up with him, or if he always sees the little girl from his childhood when he looks at you. He only claims you to make other people leave you alone. 

He sighs with relief when Otoya finally slips past the two of you, grumbling under his breath. 

“What were you talking about?” 

“You mean, what did he say about you?”

He breaks into a crooked smile and hands you a glass of water off a nearby table. “Caught me.” 

“He just implied that you’re a flirt.”

“Just? Or did he make it sound like I’ve been slutting it up in the NEL?”

“I hate the way people talk about you.”

He softens. “It’s not…it’s not wrong.” 

You turn to him, grabbing his face in your hands. “It is,” you insist fervently. “I know you’re not like that. You’re good, Oliver.”

You’re both liars, but it’s a game you like to play. You like to believe that he’s good and he likes to pretend he’s good for you. 

He’s always loved the way you grew up worshipping him. 

“Want to get out of here?”

You nod. 

You’re his little sister’s best friend. You used to idolize him. He was your knight in shining armor, your schoolyard savior. He walked you home after late club meetings and bought you ice cream at the convenience store when you thought $5 was a fortune. 

You love him, but you can’t tell if you love the idea of him or the man himself more. Oliver doesn’t seem to mind himself. In fact, he feeds into your fantasies. 

You know you’re the only girl he won’t fuck. 

On the tiny couch in his room, only slightly more furnished than everyone else’s due to his coveted title as captain, Oliver settles in next to you, momentarily bending down to sweep your legs into his lap. It’s so casual and so fast you don’t even register it. His thumb swoops comforting circles over the jut of your ankle, but his hand feels almost like a brace with the way it’s positioned, locking you down. 

You squirm a little to see how much give your makeshift anklet will allow you, but he playfully smacks your calf and says, low and throaty, with the rasp of a growl underneath his tone, “Settle down.” 

You stiffen like a log. He laughs and runs a hand up and down over your leg, smoothing imaginary wrinkles in the fabric. “Not like that, idiot.” 

Cute like a little sister. Cute like a kid. For Oliver, you’re all the warmth of home and domesticity. You could never bear to take that away from him, no matter how corrupted you’ve become, like every other greedy adult, sin burning like coals in your stomach and loins. You want to let him think you don’t know desire. 

You fall asleep on the couch like that, his warmth bleeding into you everywhere. 

The morning after, he makes you instant coffee as he tidies up his suitcase. You’ll be leaving together. He’s taking you home. He insisted. 

“Oliver,” you start. He hums to show you he’s listening. “Why do you fuck?”

He chokes. “Excuse me?”

“Is it like a medical condition? Like your dick will fall off if you don’t sleep with someone every night?” 

He walks over and kisses the top of your head. “You’re so cute,” he says fondly. “And ridiculous. And naïve. Don’t ask anyone else that, okay?”

“I’m not stupid.” 

“I do it because I want to. And it’s not every night, it’s just when I want to feel good.” 

“How good?”

He flicks your cheek. “This is some bold questioning, young lady.” 

Your cheeks are warm. Despite the fact that Oliver is obviously a sexual person, to the point where all his teammates know, he’s a curiously desexualized person in your head. You’ve just never thought of him that way, always separated the warm, sheltering bordering on smothering presence in your life from that. 

But now you go home with your face on fire, trying too hard not to think about what he looks like when he’s fucking into a tight little hole. What he sounds like when he’s close. 

Stop avoiding me. 

Shame burns through you at the text a few days later. You know he knows, because how could he not catch on? You’ve always been latched on to his every word, running to your phone when you get the tell tale notification, and now you lets hours pass between replies. 

You better be coming to dinner with us later. 

Dinner with the Aikus is always an affair, more so now that his little sister has gone off to college in another country. It’s in their blood, the itch to start over, be someone new in someplace new. You’d grown apart by then, but you still cried seeing her off. Oliver let you bury your face in his shoulder and soak his shirt wet with tears. 

Years ago, you’d never imagined, even in your wildest dreams, that you’d be closer to him than her, but some things change. 

And some things don’t. 

The Aiku family car is still always stuffed with random things, momentous from childhood, Oliver’s old soccer ball, some miscellaneous donations left over from cleaning out his sister’s room. They’re apologetic that there’s no space for you to sit, but you can just sit on Oliver’s lap, can’t you? Just like the old days, Mr. and Mrs. Aiku laugh to themselves in the front, reminiscing while you press your legs together and try very hard not to pant disgustingly lewdly into Oliver’s ear. 

He has a hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. Is it just you or does this feel- the car hits a bump and Oliver’s grip tightens, steadying you. 

It’s just you. A wave of shame washes over you at how obscene you are, lusting after Oliver when he’s just trying to keep you safe. 

“Comfortable?” He murmurs, pressing his cheek against your shoulder briefly. He’s a tactile person, always soothing with a touch or a kiss. 

You can’t say no, so you settle for a strangled ‘mm-hm,’ but you can’t get settled. You keep shifting on his lap, trying not to give away how bothered you are. Every time your mind drifts, you think about Oliver’s hand creeping up your leg and- 

You wriggle again. 

“Stop that,” he says. His voice is stern. “Don’t make me hold you down.” 

“Sorry,” you squeak. He sounds weird. Strangled. 

You feel something hard pressing against the underside of your leg and try to adjust again. Oliver hisses and pulls you against him, his arms like a straitjacket. 

“I said stop,” he hisses in your ear. 

The realization dawns on you like ice down your back. 

He’s hard. 

You can feel it through his pants. 

When you get to the restaurant, you practically jump off of him. He discreetly adjusts his cock in his trousers and runs off to the bathroom. By the time he returns, Mrs. Aiku has given up on waiting and already ordered for him. 

They’re a close family. She knows him. And, she says fondly, a hand over yours, she knows you. 

It’s nice to be loved like that. 

You’re sitting on the steps outside their house, waiting for Oliver to grab his coat to drive you home, when he sits down next to you. “Just give me a second,” he says. “Let’s not go yet.” 

You lean his head on his shoulder. It’s surprisingly easy to act like nothing ever happened in the car. Your body naturally relaxes around him. 

But even with all your defenses down, Oliver doesn’t take advantage of them, when you know for a fact that he would pounce on some other girl. 

Does he think you’re ugly? Or too inexperienced? 

Well, one of those you can fix. 

“You don’t know how to kiss, do you?” Says the stranger. His lips pull in a smile and you’re aware that he’s laughing at you. 

You don’t know why you ever thought you could do this without Oliver, not when he’s spoiled you your whole life. You’re too used to being pampered to strike out on your own. 

In his apartment, a mug of hot tea warms your palms. You’re not going to drink it, it’s just nice to have. You trace the contours of a cartoon face, some gift you brought back from it when you visited his sister abroad, and let him scold you. 

You deserve it, you think, for being such an idiot about this. But Oliver always reduces you into stupidity.

“Why,” Oliver looks exasperated, “did you let some random guy you don’t even like kiss you?” 

You didn’t cry when you were at the cafe and the guy you met on some dating app was publicly laughing at your inexperience, your sloppy way of kissing, but for some reason, Oliver’s sharp tone makes tears well up in your eyes. It’s not like you expected him to be on your side - you knew he was going to tease you at the very least - but you’ve had a bad day and it hurts. 

You don’t want to be chastised right now, you want to be cuddled.  

“I’m sorry,” he softens. “I’m not being fair. I’m sorry, baby, I’m not blaming you, don’t cry. It’s not your fault.” 

Your lip trembles as you try uselessly to stay composed. You want him to hold you and tell you everything will be alright. 

He does something similar, but not quite. 

“Could’ve just asked me,” he jokes. Then he reaches over and grips your chin, tugging your head around a little. “Pay attention. I see your expression. I’m being serious, you should’ve asked me. I would’ve treated you right, not some random guy.” 

“Right,” you roll your eyes. Oliver has never been interested in you, which is why you had to find someone else in the first place. 

He forces you to look at him again by his hold on your face, not letting you hide from him. Your face burns with embarrassment, staring dead into his eyes. He looks horribly sincere and it cuts through you like a knife. 

“When have I ever lied to you?” His voice is soft in a way it only gets for you. “Come on, baby. I’ll show you how to kiss. I’d rather it be me than some random.” 

“Really?”

“Just think about it like practice, okay?” 

He guides you to his couch, familiar for your platonic movie nights and cuddles, but this time, he tugs you down into his lap. You collapse onto him with a startled ‘oof,’ as he wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles into your hair. 

“Just practice, okay?” He reiterates, as if he needs you to confirm. 

“Uh-huh,” your voice shakes. He’s so close, and so warm, and he smells incredible, woody and spicy and masculine. He laughs under his breath, laughing more when you kick him. 

“Stop,” you plead, “I don’t know how! Don’t make fun of me…” 

He rests his cheek against yours as your voice tapers off. “I’m not laughing at you, honey,” he coos, “don’t be upset with me. You’re just so cute.” 

You hit him again. 

“So-“ He grabs your chin between two fingers and jerks you around a little, watching the way you struggle to keep up with him. “Eager. Like a puppy. You don’t know how to clean up your own messes yet, right, baby?” 

He kisses your pout away. “Ah-ah,” he murmurs. “There you go again. Match my pace.” 

But you want more and you let him know it, trying to slip your way into his mouth so you can suck on his tongue again. It feels good in a way that makes you a little ashamed of yourself, wet in your panties from a little kissing. You can imagine how you look from his perspective, drooling into his mouth, panting and messy with saliva smeared across your lips. 

You know you shouldn’t be acting like this, but this sloppy kissing only makes you burn hotter. The back of your neck is flushed with desire. You almost feel scalded by wanting, feeling the hardness of his body pressed up against yours, the strength of his thighs underneath your legs, the iron grip of his fingers, toying at first with the edge of your shirt, brushing against your skin in fleeting butterfly kisses, before finally giving in and branding you, digging into your soft skin. 

Losing control like this is something you’re not used to, but you’re so desperate you can’t help yourself. You’re scared he can hear the sticky slide of your thighs against each other even though you know it’s just your imagination. Even if logically you understand this to be an impossibility, feeling so good you can’t control yourself has you throbbing. Your cunt feels like a second pulse between your legs, drooling pitifully with want. 

He pulls back again to your discontent. You can practically visualize steam rising off your heated body with the way you melt against him, more of a vessel for desire than a real girl. 

“Slow down,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste, close mouthed kiss to your lips against your cries for more. His hands skim your sides lightly, fleeting touches that disappear and reappear. “It’ll feel better if you let it build.” 

But you’re so feverish you can’t think, reduced to nothing but exposed nerve endings that need touch, need him. He moans into your mouth, finally letting you suck on his tongue again. His free hand comes up to wipe at the drool that’s dripping out of one corner of your lips, popping his thumb into his mouth to lap it away. 

You can’t help your teary eyed face or the sniffles, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He angles his head so he can kiss you harder. You hate to admit it, but he’s right. Letting it slowly build makes this so much hotter, his hands in your hair, lightly scratching your scalp as he kisses you like he’s starving. You suck in air through your nose desperately, still feeling short of breath and almost high as he presses your body into his like he could eat you alive. 

It doesn’t feel like kissing anymore. It feels like he’s trying to erase what makes you you and him him, to break down everything the two of you are until you can become one full being. 

You so distracted you don’t even notice what you’re doing until he bounces his leg a little, helping you grind against him. 

That sends shock jolting down your spine like an ice bath. He wraps his arm around you, locking you down in what might as well be a steel cage for how helpless you are against him, preventing you from clambering off his lap. 

“It’s okay,” he coos. “Aw, baby, my baby, don’t look so upset, nothing’s wrong. You’re just a little excited, that’s all,” and he drags you back down so he can bounce his leg for you again, watching the way you gasp and droop against his arm for support. He’s practically holding you up, his arm stiff behind your back as he lets you grind almost mindlessly against his thigh. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, “don’t stop, it’s okay.” 

His voice is syrupy sweet, almost condescending - no, definitely condescending, like he can get you off better than you can. 

And you believe it, trying to stop yourself, even though it feels so good that you can’t keep yourself from humping his leg even as your brain tries to scream at you to stop, that this is too far past ‘just practice.’ 

He lets you grind on his thigh like that for a while before you notice, too focused on chasing your own pleasure to be fully aware of anything else. You can feel him hard under you, accentuated by the fact that he’s obviously trying to subtly shift your weight off his dick directly so you don’t notice. You settle in, watching him with wide, innocent eyes. He exhales softly, trying to control the rasp in his voice as he politely asks you to get off him. He knows he’s caught. 

“Who’s excited now?” You laugh softly. A thought strikes you. He shivers as you blow cool air into his ear, his head tipped back, throat exposed. You can see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. 

“You minx,” he mutters against you, a complaint accentuated by nipping your lower lip. “I didn’t make fun of you.” 

“Your loss,” you shrug. “It’s so fun,” and you bear your weight down against him again until he whines, straining up against you. That feels good enough that you have to grip his shoulder again for purchase, feeling his heat press up against the sticky mess of your panties. 

“Stop, you have to get off,” he chokes out. “I’m not going to- Please, I’m going to-“ 

“Why?” You frown. “I want to.” 

“Come on baby,” he says. “You’re going to make me cum in my pants. Get off.” 

You roll your hips down against him again and again, shuddering as you feel yourself leak more. He jolts against you, straining against his jeans. You can see a wet spot where you’ve pressed against him. 

“Yes-s-s,” your voice is staccato in delivery. “Please.” 

He grips your waist so hard you can’t move. You can feel your skin bruising under his fingers, surprising yourself with how much you want it. 

“Don’t do this,” he says softly. “I’ll take advantage of you.” 

“You’re killing the mood,” you snap back. “If you don’t, I’ll find someone who-“ 

It’s an empty threat, but his eyes narrow. He says nothing, just dips his head to your neck. The first graze of his tongue across your skin makes you jerk with surprise, but then it’s warm and wet and pleasurable and a little painful. Each brush of his lips brings an electric shock with it that feels heady. 

He’s trying to distract you. It’s working. 

“Inside,” you whimper. “Please? Please?” 

You sound pathetic. You sound desperate. You can’t help it, can’t even make a more convincing argument with all the blood in your brain migrating somewhere else. 

“No,” he groans. “Fine, just stay- just like this.” 

His hands move your hips until you’re grinding with him, rocking down into each thrust upwards. It builds and builds, a pressurized heat in your stomach that feels almost like fear, until you swear your whole body is thrumming with a force that you can’t explain. 

Oliver’s relentless, each thrust matching the way he drags you down until your clit hits the fly of his jeans, the friction sweet. “F-fuck,” he grunts. “You feel so good, you’re so pretty, so good for me.” 

You nod helplessly, riding the motion of his arms and legs, letting him do all the work. He shows you how to do it. He’s always led the way you for you, let you hide in his shadow as he was brave. 

He smells so good. You don’t know why this, of all things, is the only coherent thought in your head. 

You can’t speak, can barely breathe, robbed of anything but this steady, building pressure inside of you, beautiful and thorned and dangerous. You don’t know what’s going to happen when it breaks, but you your blood feels like it’s been spiked. 

He makes it first, yelping as his hips stutter against you, then falter. You can feel his cock twitching under you, but he doesn’t move.  

“Oliver?” Your voice is too loud in the silence. You’re almost annoyed by the interruption - you were so close. Your brain wants to go back to pleasurable mush, that fuzzy, colorful, sparking world of satisfaction. 

“Give me a second,” he gasps. “I think I just came in my pants.”

You tilt your head in a way you know he’ll find cute and grind experimentally down. 

He grabs your waist immediately. “You little brat,” he says, more amused than angry. “Stop that, I’m sensitive.” 

You pout. “What about me?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he says. “Of course I’ll take care of you.” 

Your panties are translucent, outlining the contours of your pussy. Oliver groans and presses his fingers up against the wet fabric, playing with you through it until you squeal and snap your thighs shut around his hand. He runs a soothing hand over the soft flesh of your outer thigh, shifts the soaked gusset aside so he can press in deeper, and keeps going until you’re whining and sobbing and making all sorts of noises that sound more at home from an animal than a person, but he doesn’t seem disgusted. If anything, it spurs him on, trying to coax you into completely breaking down. 

You slump forward against him, spent, and he turns his head a little so he can brush your hair over one shoulder and press a brief, soft kiss against your neck. His fingers toy idly with the hem of your now destroyed panties, occasionally brushing against your clit in a way that sends a painfully pleasurable zing up your spine. 

“Should I give you a taste of your own medicine?” 

You shiver and shake your head, still wondering even as you deny it if you can take more, but he laughs against you, husky and low. 

“I know baby, I know. No more.” 

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday requests

i wouldn't mind more royal consort if you're willing to write it

just sent a request for royal consort as anon

There was panic all around the room, but Danny couldn't focus on anything for too long with all his senses so overwhelmed. He was suspended in the air, power rolling through and over him in busts of electricity. He can feel himself being ripped apart, rearranged, and placed back in the same way he had been when he was fourteen, but this time, the feeling is prolonged.

The portal does so again and again and again until Danny can't tell what he is anymore. Oddly enough, it's relatively peaceful. There had been no ripping pain when his necklace and portal transmitter had connected, but there had been an overwhelming sense of cold.

It was as if Danny had been plunged into iced water, spreading across his body like a tidal wave. Danny would have almost relaxed into the portal's form if it wasn't for the pins and needles that followed each wave.

Maybe it was worse for Jaz, who was fully human when they did this to her, but Danny had Phantom to fall back on. In more ways than one, given the army his future self has summoned and the insane amount of killing intent that Phantom was broadcasting.

If he could pick up on it from within this ball of semi-consciousness, he bet everyone else was likely drowning in Phantom's rage.

The dead knights fling themselves towards the portal with gusto, slamming their swords and bodies against the force field. Each strict flung Danny further from reality, drawing them back into the welcoming void of numbness, only to be ripped back by another cold wave.

"Danny, focus!" Phantom voice boomed. "You have become the key! Close the damn portal!"

Danny blinks slowly, trying to comprehend what the words mean, until a bolt of lightning zaps out of his fingertips, twisting into the outer layer of the portal. It's then he knows the horrible truth.

The world's end is coming, and Danny is the cause of it. The portal makes a strange zapping sound before it starts stabilizing and expanding. The first large ship was passing through, leaning in like a bizarre docking ship.

"Danny!" Phantom yells, more than a bit desperate. His call reminds him of the future and what will come if he doesn't stop the monsters now. He curls his hands, grabbing the power that made him King, and yanks his arms together. His forearms shake from the effort, but he holds on, willing everything to return.

The air goes boom as the portal starts dragging things inwards instead of out, as he commands the thing to call back the aliens. The ships and the few foot soldiers- lizard-looking men- are yanked right out of the air and thrown back into a new white portal.

It takes Danny a moment to realize the animalistic screaming is coming from him as the portal slowly retracts all the energy it has thrown out. He wills the portal's power to retreat into his chest, overflowing his core with energy that spins and whirls in a tornado.

He instinctively curls up, wanting to escape the pain when he feels the cracks take shape in his core. The breaking apart of the center of his soul echoes through his skull, drowning out all other noise.

"No!" Phantom's horrified screech exploded into a ghostly Wail, ripping around the mother ship, attempting to push past. Since Danny yanked the edge inwards, it pushed beside Danny instead of through him. It had turned on its primary thrusters. The rockets burn against the strain of escaping Dany's gravitation pull and force their way through the small gap in the top left of the portal.

On the deck, more lizard-looking poachers are ripped to spreads. Their screams let Danny know Phantom had wanted them to die and die painfully. The Ghostly wail was a sonic attack, but it didn't skin enemies unless Phantom purposely rolled his tongue like that.

In a sense, Phantom had turned his wailing vibrations into whip lashes at a speed that only the Flash or Superman could outrun. The aliens had no chance.

Danny peeks through one pain-filled eye, watching as Phantom's lips curl, even as the poachers are scrambling to collect their dead. He knew that his future self hated these creatures, and they had ruined Earth in two short years, but he had not realized the amount of hate that burned in those glowing green eyes.

Hate enough that when Phantom started throwing glowing punches, the ground shook. The few people the Waynes hadn't been able to evaluate shouted as the King turned off the gravity. Everything started flouting, and Danny could even spot some cars outside lifting into the air.

Phantom didn't seem to notice as his features started melting into something inhuman, sharper, colder, and green glow expanding from his pupils across his entire eyes as punch after punch hit the force field.

A few scouter ships broke away from the portal, but they were quickly swarmed by the flouting undead soldiers who aggressively sliced the smaller vessels with their blades. Danny knew why his future self hated them, not the skeleton soldiers. Maybe they just like to fight.

A loud crack echoes through the room over ghostly wails, blowing wind, screams, and metal clacks. The sound is similar to breaking glass, shattering as Danny's core falls apart.

Danny's back arches as a scream that tears at his vocal cords is ripped from his throat. The portal around them crumbles, closing at the tip of the mother ship, tearing it apart. Just as it vanishes from sight, everyone floating around the Consort can see it slowly burst into flames on the other side.

The portal slams shut just as Phantom's fist shatters the force field. "NO!"

His head feels heavy, much too heavy for his neck, as he flouts up toward the torn-up ceiling. Gravity is still missing as Phantom swims towards him; his features melt back into more human ones as he wraps his arms around him. "You little idiot. Do you have any idea of what you just did?"

"Saved...Jazz," He manages to grunt out, smiling through the pain. Phantom's arms spam around him.

"You didn't just change the future. You rewrote our fate." As if on cue, Clockwork's amulet turns into dust. Phantom's timeline was gone.

He would have also turned to dust were he still in it, but since he was outside the timeline, Phantom would now live in this one as a permanent member.

Phantom's eyes soften. "You saved more than just Jazz. I'll send our armies to kill them off now that I saw which galaxy the rats were hiding in."

Danny's shaky smile wobbles as the numbness in his body starts to retreat. It leaves licks of burning, aching pain, and he whimpers, leaning his head against his counterpart's chest. "It hurts...."

"You shattered your core." Phantom whispers, almost as if he knows the loud noises hurt Danny's head. It thumped in time with his heartbeat, sending little shockwaves of agony through his bones. "We'll have to take you to FrostBite. But I can't take you without knowing who had the portal key. We can't risk them calling the army before our men finish them off. Pandora is leading the charge against them right now."

"Okay....it was the Wayne Butler who had the key. He needs help."

Phantom's arms tighten as furry rippled under his skin. "He's a dead man."

"No." Danny attempts to shake his head, but the motion is too much for his poor shot nerves. He thinks his fingertips are smoking when he curls one hand in Phantom's cape. "He was in the containment unit. An alien took his place. I think it was pretending to be him."

Phantom hums. "That was one of their favorite tactics. I chased them across the cosmos. I saw them collect other aliens on some protected planets, so they resorted to luring people away by using familiar faces."

Danny makes the same sound, half awake. "They stripped him naked. Covered him in triangles."

"Fuck. What color were the tringles?"

"Blue."

"They weren't going to sell him as a pet. They planned on marketing him a breeding bull or an expensive meat plater for aliens that like exotic animals. Likely due to the poor guy's age." Phantom hisses, pushing a floating table away from them. "What happened to the alien that was pretending to be him?"

"Killed him"

"Good job." Phantom pats his back. "Rest now. I'll handle the rest."

"Okay." Danny is releasing the few strands of consciousness when he hears Tim Drake's desperate call from Phantom's left. It's much closer than it should be, considering they were still flouting near where the once grand chandelier had hung.

"Your majesty! Please turn the gravity back on! The surrounding fifty miles radius is in a panic, and people are flouting away!"

Phantom sighs, his cape flaring dramatically as he adjusts Danny to snap his fingers. There are clacks and crashes as gravity yanks everything back to the floor. Phantom doesn't pay them any mind as a new green portal blooms in front of him, the swirling green like a calm lake surface, a welcoming difference to the zapping one of the enemy.

Phantom steps through, ignoring the cries of the humans. The portal closes on Tim's desperate "Please allow us to help the Consort!"

Strange, Thinks the injured Halfa. He shouldn't sound so close anymore. He should be on the ground somewhere.

Danny just knows they will be panicking about him being hurt. Didn't wars start because of similar situations whenever a royal visits a different country? Danny isn't too sure. His mind is fuzzy, and he's only awake because he hasn't been surrounded by darkness yet, but he's flouting near it."

Frostbite jumps to his feet with a slack jaw. He bends in a bow, stumbling around his desk's stacked scrolls and research papers.

"My King!" He cries, his eyes swinging back and forth between the two Dannies. The yeti bows again, a little more hesitant as he mutters, "And my other..... King? What is happening?"

"We need your help," Phantom tells him. "His soul core got shattered. I think he's dying."

Danny whimpers, only half aware of how serious this is. He doesn't want to die. Not like this. Please. Everyone still thinks he's married to himself. He'll forever be remembered as Phantom's Consort instead of all his other talents.

Like making one mean salsa.

Frostbite makes a sad, choking whine, but Phantom doesn't pay it any mind. He presses Danny closer, and the human can feel the vibrations of his voice on his chest as he demands. "Prepare your operation chambers. I'm giving him my core."

"But, My King, that would mean you....."

"I don't care. I didn't return to Earth expecting to live. This is a command from your King. Do it"

Danny fades away into the darkness, unable to protest Phantom's request. He goes limb in the strong arms of his future self, aching for the version of himself that saw his world destroyed and would not be able to see the peace their actions brought.

Frostbite's grim voice echoes in the darkness. "This is another way, my King, but we need a human sacrifice."

"I'll do it." A third, unexpected voice cuts in, and Danny identifies it as Tim Drake before he knows no more.

[raekensluver]

green sweater

masterlist | main masterlist

description: a party, a familiar flat, and the boy in the sweater you bought him. the breakup felt final. seeing him again makes you question everything.

pairing: ex!arthur frederick x fem!reader

contains: angst, fluff, platonic!chris md x fem!reader, platonic!harry lewis x fem!reader, drinking.

song rec: the cut that always bleeds by conan gray- "but even though you're killing me, i need you like the air i breathe."

w.c: 1.7k

you didn’t expect your stomach to drop the moment you stepped into the party. but there it was—the air thick with music, sweat, and the kind of memories you’ve tried your best to forget.

harry’s flat is buzzing, packed wall to wall with familiar faces from old nights and youtube screens. someone’s yelling about a game in the living room, bass from the speaker rattling half-empty bottles on the counter. it smells like cheap beer, perfume, and someone’s cologne that tugs at something in your chest before you can stop it.

you should’ve turned around the second you walked in.

but then harry spots you from across the room, grinning like he’s genuinely surprised. he’s a little flushed from drinking and heat, hoodie sleeves pushed up, holding a nearly empty pint glass. “no way,” he says, pulling you into a quick hug. “you came!”

“hey,” you say, laughing lightly. “thought i’d crash for a bit.”

“i thought you were still living it up across the globe. didn’t know you were back in town.”

“just got in last week,” you say, scanning the room like it might settle the nerves crawling up your spine. “still getting used to the jet lag.”

“well, you’ve been missed,” he says sincerely. “beer’s in the kitchen. go grab one before chris drinks the rest.”

you nod, muttering a thanks before weaving through the crowd. it’s easier not to think when you’re moving, easier to pretend this is just another night out with old friends. you head for the fridge and grab a drink, your hand barely around the cold can when you hear someone shift behind you.

you turn—and freeze.

arthur.

he’s standing just a few feet away, red cup in hand, leaned casually against the counter like it doesn’t cost him anything to be here. his hair is longer than it used to be, curling slightly at the ends like it always does when he forgets to get it cut. and then there’s the sweater. the green knitted sweater. the one you bought him for your first anniversary.

your heart lurches in your chest. it’s a little stretched now, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the yarn softer from a hundred washes—but it’s unmistakably the same. seeing him in it feels like getting the wind knocked out of you. he kept it. he’s wearing it. tonight, of all nights.

he sees you. and for a second—just one brief, unbearable second—neither of you says a word.

“hey,” he says finally, voice low and stiff around the edges.

you blink, your breath catching. “hey.”

the awkwardness hangs there, thick as fog. you glance around, pretending to be more interested in the condensation on your drink than the way his eyes linger a little too long on your face.

“you look… good,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod slowly. “so do you.”

there’s a pause.

too many people around to pretend this is private, but somehow, in the middle of the noise, it still feels like a spotlight’s been thrown right on the two of you. like everyone else faded into the background the second you locked eyes.

you hadn’t prepared for this. for him. for how just seeing arthur again makes your lungs forget how to work properly.

“how’ve you been?” he asks eventually.

you take a sip to delay answering. “alright. just getting settled again.”

“you’re back, then?”

“yeah,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “for good.”

he nods. you think you see something shift in his expression—surprise, maybe. or hope. but it’s gone before you can hold on to it.

chris appears like some sort of guardian angel, stepping beside you with a comforting grin. “there you are,” he says. then, seeing arthur: “hey, mate.”

arthur gives a small nod. “hey.”

chris senses the tension, obviously, but doesn’t comment on it. he’s always been good at reading the room. instead, he turns to you. “you alright?”

you nod, smile a little too tightly. “yeah. just… didn’t expect to see him here.”

chris follows your gaze back toward arthur, who’s now turned slightly, talking to someone else but not really looking at them. his fingers tap restlessly against the rim of his cup.

“ah,” chris says.

he gets it. they all do, really. you and arthur were a thing—the kind people saw and said, they’ll last. he was the calm to your chaos, the softness in your sarcasm. he used to say you made everything feel slower in the best way. like time paused when you were with him.

“looks good,” you murmur, bitterness tucked just behind your teeth.

chris nods, soft. “he’s been trying. been a bit quiet since you left. keeps busy with work and filming, but…” he trails off. “i think he’s still figuring it out.”

you look down at your drink, watching the bubbles pop at the surface.

“he said he understood when i left,” you say, voice low. “said he supported it. but the look on his face…”

“yeah,” chris says. “sometimes the right thing still breaks you.”

you blink fast, swallowing around the lump rising in your throat. “it wasn’t easy for me either.”

“i know,” chris says gently. “he knows too. deep down. but that pride, you know? gets in the way. especially with someone you loved like that.”

“loved.” past tense.

it tastes wrong.

chris is pulled into a game of beer pong shortly after, and you’re left standing on the edges of the party, pretending to scroll your phone, pretending not to notice arthur looking your way again.

except you always notice.

you feel him in your peripheral vision like a pull. and when your eyes meet for the third time that night, it’s like gravity. he looks away first. you take another sip.

an hour passes. maybe two. you don’t remember half the conversations you’ve had. don’t remember the names of the people you’ve smiled at, the things they said. you only remember that arthur’s still here. that he hasn’t left. that every time he laughs across the room, something aches deep in your chest.

it’s late when the crowd starts thinning. the music lowers. people leave in pairs or threes, jackets tugged on, rides called. you’re standing near the hallway, coat draped over your arm, ready to go—emotionally drained and emotionally full all at once—when you feel it.

that presence again.

you don’t hear him approach until he’s there. close. too close.

“hey,” he says.

you turn, heart in your throat. “hey.”

he looks older now. not in a bad way—just… different. his eyes are a little sadder, jaw a little tighter. but it’s the sweater again that breaks you.

you can’t stop staring at it. and he notices.

“i didn’t think you’d remember this,” he says, his voice barely audible over the soft music.

“of course i do,” you whisper. “i bought it.”

he exhales, like that meant more than he’s willing to admit. like it cracked something in him too.

“i didn’t know you’d be here,” he says.

“wasn’t planning on it,” you say. “kind of just… showed up.”

he nods. there’s something in the way he looks at you now, like he’s trying to piece together everything he can’t ask.

you hesitate, then decide to tell him. because maybe it matters. maybe he deserves to know.

“i quit my job.”

his eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across his face. but he doesn’t say anything. just waits.

“i’m moving back to london,” you say. “been here a week. staying with a friend while i look at flats.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

you nod.

the silence that follows is heavier than it should be. not tense—just full of all the things left unsaid.

“what happened?” he asks quietly.

you breathe in, slow. “it wasn’t what i thought it’d be. it was exciting. busy. fast-paced. everything i thought i wanted.”

he doesn’t say anything.

“but i was tired all the time,” you admit. “lonely. and i realized i didn’t love it enough to keep losing pieces of myself over it.”

your eyes find his. “so i came home.”

that word—home—hits him. you see it in the way his lips part slightly. in the way his grip on his cup tightens. like he’s trying to stay still when everything in him wants to move.

“i don’t really know what i’m doing next,” you say. “just… figuring it out as i go.”

your eyes drift over his face, drinking him in like a memory you’ve missed too much. his hair. his eyes. the familiarity of him that settles in your bones. god, you missed him. more than you ever let yourself say.

seeing your ex at a party hurts in a way you weren’t prepared for. not because you want to cry or scream. but because he’s still him. still the boy you loved. still the man you might still love. and pretending you could ever go back to being just friends feels like a cruel joke.

“does it feel weird being back?” arthur asks softly.

“everything feels weird,” you admit with a quiet laugh. “but this? talking to you like this? i don’t know. it kind of feels like i can breathe again.”

his eyes flicker—just for a moment. and you see it. the crack in his armor. the part of him that still feels everything you’re trying not to say.

“you really are here,” he murmurs, more to himself.

“i really am.” and you don’t say it, but it echoes in your head anyway: i think i came back for more than just the city.

arthur nods slowly, like he’s making a choice in real time. “do you wanna… go somewhere quieter? talk, maybe?” he asks. “just us?”

you look at him, heart thudding like it might burst out of your chest. not from nerves—but from hope. timid, fragile hope. “yeah,” you whisper. “i’d like that.”

he doesn’t smile big. he just nods again, like he’s afraid a bigger reaction might break whatever spell this moment is holding over you both. but his eyes—they say everything.

and for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel like you’re standing in the ruins of something.

you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re standing at the beginning of whatever comes next.

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter ten, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, reunion with kie and jj, erm KIE DIES sorry, pack mutts, blood, death, me giving the characters no time to process anything LOL no time to waste, me also showing jj and kie’s relationship a bit more, rafe lowk likes y/n

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you and rafe move slowly through the forest. you’re not talking much, just walking, listening. when you do talk, it’s something you usually laugh at. you’re not sure if you’re looking for food or people. maybe both.

“we fought pretty well together, yesterday,” rafe says suddenly like he’s just now thinking it.

you glance over at him. his face is still bruised and he’s walking with a bit of a limp, but he’s got that same confident tilt to his head, like he’s pretending none of it hurts anymore.

you tug a leaf off your jacket sleeve and mutter, “could’ve been better.”

“could’ve been worse,” he counters, stepping over a thick root. “i mean, we’re still alive.”

you shrug, but there’s the hint of a smile on your face. “you took most of the hits.”

rafe huffs, dramatic. “don’t remind me.”

you laugh under your breath as you duck under a low branch. the painkillers helped, at least for a while. they dulled the edge enough that you could sleep without flinching every time you moved. it was a small kind of mercy.

“we just . . . went too hard too fast,” he says. “should’ve had a plan.”

you sigh. “you mean i should’ve had a plan. you were too busy getting kicked in the ribs.”

he snorts, but then he glances at you more seriously. “you were good, though. you were quick. it worked.”

you feel your mouth twitch. “maybe we need something smarter.”

“right,” rafe mutters, nodding. “like maybe this time, you should be the one getting everyone’s attention, and i can be the surprise.”

you glance at him again. “what, like bait?”

“like a distraction.” he shrugs, teasing, still walking. “you’re pretty. they’ll look at you first.”

you laugh once, but then you stop walking.

rafe notices a few steps ahead, turning around. “or—”

“no, that could work,” you say, thoughtful now. your eyes drift to the side as you think aloud. “if i make noise or show up first, they’ll come to me. if they’re cocky, they’ll think it’s an easy takedown. but then you’re waiting.”

rafe stares at you. “. . . i was kidding.”

you look up at him. “but it’s smart.”

he frowns, almost defensive. “you want to be the one people target?”

“i already am sometimes,” you say. “i’m shorter, younger. people either think i’m fragile or stupid or both. that’s what they see first. that’s the trap.”

you see the way he stares at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“you literally got an eleven in the private sessions. no one’s targeting you.”

you step forward, bumping his shoulder. “what? you don’t like that plan?”

“no, i just . . .” rafe sighs, runs a hand down his face. “you’re right. it is smart. i just don’t like the part where someone tries to fucking kill you.”

“then be faster than them,” you say, grinning. “plus, i can handle myself? how do you think i got that eleven, anyway?”

rafe looks at you, and then he shakes his head. “you’re an idiot, we can try that out though.”

you’re about to say something else, maybe joke again about your new role as tribute bait, when you see it. it’s faint at first. just a wisp, a thin trail of gray curling up through the canopy. it’s smoke.

you stop in your tracks. rafe halts beside you. you both stare. it’s not much yet but it’s too defined to be fog, too slow and rising to be steam. it’s unmistakably fire smoke.

you look up at the sun, still climbing the sky. not even noon. “who the hell lights a fire this early in the day?” you murmur.

rafe doesn’t answer. his eyes stay on the smoke, squinting slightly. you can’t really see what’s burning. it’s stupid, reckless. it screams trap, but it could also scream something else: someone got comfortable.

you glance at him to see what he’s thinking, but he’s already looking down at you. his lips twitch like he’s trying to fight off a grin.

“what?” you ask.

he shrugs, then nods toward the smoke. “you wanna go play bait?”

you huff out a breath, but your heart’s already beating faster, “do you wanna run into an axe again?”

his smile grows. “not really.” you laugh.

you take off first, but rafe follows close, matching your pace. your blood’s humming. the smoke gets darker the closer you get, and there’s something about how bold it is, how careless, that makes your skin itch, and then there’s laughter—yours first, then his.

it’s a terrible sound.

it’s not joyful, not even amused. it’s manic, feral, the kind of laughter that slips through when you’ve been pushed too far and the edge starts to feel like the most stable place to stand. it might be adrenaline, or grief, or both.

you dodge a low branch, leap over a fallen trunk. rafe nearly slips on a slope of wet dirt and laughs even harder.

then your steps slow. instinct kicks in. you hold up a hand, and rafe mirrors you, falling into step right behind as you crouch and creep forward. the flames come into view first. it’s a weak fire, barely controlled. it’s not going to last long.

but that’s not what stops you in your tracks. it’s the voices.

“holy shit, kie!”

jj’s voice is frantic. you hear the slap of palm against fabric. a rapid-fire patting, followed by dying embers.

you freeze behind a tree. rafe’s body is close behind yours, one hand gripping the trunk just above your shoulder. he leans forward slightly, head tilted so he can see too, and you both stare.

it’s not a trap. it’s them.

jj is half crouched, stomping out the last edge of the fire he clearly didn’t mean to make that big. his face is scraped, his hair wild, but he’s alive.

and kie’s standing not far off, but even saying that she’s standing is being generous. she’s barely upright, one leg shaking, face pale as hell.

you don’t even glance at rafe. you just move. you’re gone from behind the tree before you consciously think to run. “are you guys fucking insane?” you hiss under your breath as you break through the smoke.

jj jumps so hard he nearly trips over the smoldering fire. kie gasps, hands going up before she even registers it’s you. relief hits them so fast it’s like someone dumps water over their heads.

“y/n,” kie breathes.

“holy shit,” jj echoes, again, though this time it sounds more like praise than panic. he’s panting, eyes wide, the dirt on his face streaked with sweat. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“you scared us!” you snap, but your hands are already on kie’s arm, gently lowering her onto a flat rock nearby. “what the hell were you thinking lighting a fire this high in the day? are you fucking stupid?”

kie groans softly. “i couldn’t— i can’t walk well. we needed heat. we didn’t think it’d spread like that.”

“clearly.” you glance at her knee and flinch. it’s swollen and red, dried blood crusted on the edge of the pants she tore open. you rip open your pack without thinking. “you’re lucky no one else found you.”

“uh,” jj says behind you. rafe’s standing directly in front of him, just looking at him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. like he’s trying to decide if he should punch him, hug him, or both. “what?” jj raises his hands slightly. “you gonna say something or just stand there judgin’ me?”

“you look like shit,” rafe says flatly.

jj scoffs, offended. “thanks.”

“not a compliment.”

you lean forward with your elbows on your knees, eyes scanning the woods, though your ears are locked in on them now. jj and kie are sitting just a few feet across from you and rafe.

you start to hint toward his death when topper’s mentioned in a brief moment, “so, did you guys . . .”

“we saw topper’s picture the night it happened,” kie says first, voice quiet like it still hurts to say aloud. “was it with you guys?”

you nod. “we were running from a mutt. it got him.”

rafe doesn’t add anything. he’s quiet beside you, one leg stretched out in front of him, the other bent with an arm slung over it. the bruises on his jaw still peek out under his jacket collar when he shifts. he’s healing, but not fast enough.

“what kind of mutt?” jj asks, cautious. he needs to see if you guys saw the same thing.

you look over at rafe, meet his eyes for a second, then say, “big, looked like a komodo dragon, but . . . wrong? its skin was patchy, like someone stitched it together. it had too many eyes and legs that didn’t even match the body. like . . .” you pause, jaw flexing. “human limbs. twisted. didn’t move like anything that should be alive. and it was fast. nearly got me if rafe hadn’t been there.”

jj swallows. kie looks like she’s holding back bile.

“and it made this clicking noise,” you add, your voice quieter. “like bone against bone.”

“we haven’t seen that,” jj mutters. “thank god.”

“but we’ve seen something different,” kie cuts in, leaning forward slightly. her hand hovers near her thigh like it’s instinct to protect it. “smaller. not as showy, but there were more of them. they hunted in a group.”

“they kinda looked like coyotes,” jj adds, nodding slowly, like he’s trying to piece it together again as he speaks. “but all their limbs were too long. like they were stretched out. and their fur was, i don’t know, patchy. and oily. smelled like wet iron.”

“and their jaws don’t shut all the way,” kie says, lifting her hand now to mimic the way they moved. “it’s like their mouths are permanently open. but instead of barking or growling, they whistle. i started thinking that that’s how they communicate.”

your skin crawls just imagining it. rafe exhales beside you and mutters something under his breath about the gamemakers losing their minds.

“they got kie pretty good,” jj says next, eyes narrowing a bit. “ripped open some of her old wounds.”

kie sighs like she hates having attention on it, but still shifts her leg to the side, carefully unwrapping a piece of gauze that’s already half-stuck to her skin with blood. it’s the gash from the ambush a few days ago. it doesn’t look fresh, but the edges are pink and raw, and the bandaging is stained rusty. it’s not nothing.

you flinch slightly. “yikes.”

“it’s not that bad,” kie says, but her voice is thin. “i got a sponsor right after it opened up again. like bam, there it was. some ointment for infection and healing. it came down fast, almost like they felt bad for me or something.”

there’s something strange about how she says it, awe and bitterness twisted together.

“it’s amazing what they can do,” she continues, her fingers smoothing the clean part of the gauze before she starts to rewrap. “how quick they are when they want to be.”

you glance at rafe and catch the faintest twitch of a smile on his face. and you smirk quietly too because yeah, you both know the feeling.

“this is great and all, but remember that there should only be three others left, guys,” rafe says. he’s crouched down now, back straight, eyes focused somewhere over jj’s shoulder, like he’s drawing a mental map of the arena in his head. “aside from us. seven total. four of us, three of them.”

you glance at him, brows pinched.

“we don’t know who they are,” rafe goes on. “and that means we have to assume the worst. they could be a team. they could be tracking us right now. hell, they could’ve been watching you two light the fire earlier.”

he doesn’t look at kie when he says it, not directly. but it’s there. in the pause. in the slant of his eyes. in the way his shoulders stiffen just slightly as he says, “we can’t afford to be sloppy again.”

kie shifts, jaw tightening. you can see the way her mouth twitches, how fast the reaction wants to come out yet how fast she bites it back.

“are you trying to say something?” she finally asks, blinking. “or what?”

rafe turns his head just slightly. “you’re limping, kie,” he says. “and jj’s the only reason you’re still walking, which means he’s watching your back more than his own. it’s practically two of us against three of them. n’ if they’re smart? they know we’re already down a number.”

she folds her arms tight over her chest, like they’re the only thing keeping her from exploding. “so what, i’m just dead weight to you?”

rafe blinks. there’s not even a hint of apology in his face. “i’m saying you’re hurt. and if you weren’t so caught up in being offended, you’d realize that means we have to play smarter. either jj sticks with you, or—”

“or what?” she cuts in, voice rising. “you ditch me?”

he exhales through his nose, not even flinching. “or we go down because you slowed us all up.”

you’re looking between them now, jaw locked, hands clenched into fists at your sides. jj’s silent, but you can feel the frustration radiating off him. he’s not defending kie, not because he doesn’t want to, but because deep down, he knows rafe’s technically right.

with the fire, there was the noise and the panic. if you and rafe hadn’t been the ones to find them . . .

“jj’s leg was on fire, kie,” he says. “whether you guys meant to or not, you think the others wouldn’t have heard the yelling? seen the smoke? they’ll come looking. if it wasn’t us, you’d be dead already.”

kie just glares, arms crossed so tight they’re nearly shaking. her mouth opens once, twice, but nothing comes out.

“we didn’t ask you to save us,” she spits finally. “we would’ve figured it out.”

“would you have?”

silence again.

you try to be the one to be there to step in between in case you need to, but it doesn’t seem like he’s going to push harder. he said what he had to say. and now he’s just watching.

kie doesn’t back down, but she doesn’t argue more either. she just stares at him like she wants to.

jj finally breaks his silence, muttering low, “we’ll keep up. don’t worry.”

you nod once, quiet. you believe him, but the worry’s already there. rafe was right—it looks like a two and a half against three at this point.

jj scoots closer toward kie, muttering something under his breath, trying to settle her down, but she doesn’t look away from rafe.

rafe doesn’t say anything else. he just gets up. he doesn’t make a show of it either, doesn’t huff or roll his eyes or even glance back. he bends slightly to grab one of their water containers, checks the cap with a flick of his thumb, then starts walking toward a slope a few yards away where a low creek snakes through the undergrowth.

your gaze is somewhere far off, unfocused. your mind is too. you rub the back of your neck, the skin hot, then let your fingers drag down your face. and then you’re on your feet too. you follow him.

rafe doesn’t turn around, but he hears you. he slows a little without making it obvious to let you catch up. you fall into step beside him and peek at his face. his mouth is set, jaw tight. not angry, just braced. like he knew the blowback would come and decided to lean into it anyway.

“you didn’t have to say it like that,” you say gently.

he lifts a brow, doesn’t look at you. “say what?”

“you know what.”

there’s a pause. he exhales slowly, shifting the canteen in his hand. “but i’m not wrong.”

“no,” you agree. “you’re not.”

another pause. the creek’s close now, and you can hear it trickling just ahead.

“she’s probably just pissed because . . .” you trail, “you made it sound like she’s dragging us all down instead of being part of this.”

“she is part of this,” rafe says, sharper this time, finally glancing at you. “but pretending like she’s not hurt doesn’t help anyone. if someone’s gonna get killed because she can’t keep up, i’d rather we talk about it now than deal with it when it’s too late.”

you hold his gaze. there’s something hardened in his eyes, yeah, but there’s worry under it too.

you sigh. “i know. i do too. i’m not saying you were wrong. just . . .” you shrug. “maybe we don’t have to set her on fire the same day she nearly actually caught on fire, you know?”

that gets the faintest twitch of a smile from him. it’s barely there but still. “right,” he murmurs.

you both slow as you reach the creek. rafe crouches down, unscrews the cap, dips the container into the water. you crouch beside him.

“i think they’ll be okay,” you say softly. “jj’s still got it in him. and kie’s not like . . . i don’t know, she’s not useless. she just needs to feel like she matters right now. like she’s not just a liability.”

rafe doesn’t answer right away. he watches the water rise in the canteen, then caps it and shakes off the excess droplets.

“i don’t care if she hates me,” he says after a moment. “i care if she gets you killed.”

your chest aches a little at that. not because it hurts, but because it means something. you don’t say anything. just nudge his arm with your elbow gently, enough to say i know.

he looks at you again. and this time, the edge is gone. there’s just understanding. you can tell he’s tired, but there’s a hint of something almost tender.

“c’mon,” you whisper, standing up. the two of you start walking again. “so there’s seven people left,” you say, mostly to yourself, but rafe hears it anyway.

your boots crunch over the dried leaves as you move through the trees. it’s warmer than it was this morning. the sky’s so bright it almost doesn’t feel real.

he doesn’t say anything right away, one hand loosely resting near the knife at his hip.

you exhale, slow. “i knew i could get this far,” you admit, “but actually being here . . . i don’t know. it’s weird.”

rafe glances at you sideways. “yeah?”

you nod, rubbing your hands together to keep them busy. “it’s like, surreal, knowing that you’re one of the last people left. it messes with your head. i’m like, excited, nervous, anxious. i’m probably feeling it all too early and then i’m gonna fuck it all up.”

he lets out a quiet hum of agreement.

you kick a rock with the toe of your boot. “i wonder what my parents are thinking right now. if they’re watching every second or if they have to look away when it’s me on the screen. do you think about that?”

rafe’s quiet for a beat.

“mine are definitely watching,” he says finally, voice flat. “they’re probably arguing about it, rose telling my dad to shut up and stop pacing. my dad would probably gonna get mad if people didn’t bet more on me.”

you look over at him. he doesn’t meet your eyes, just squints into the distance.

“do you think the capitol likes us?” you ask softly.

he shrugs. “we’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“yeah, but,” you trail off. “that’s not the same.”

he sighs, running a hand over the back of his neck. “i think they like you,” he says eventually.

your brows lift. “me?”

rafe looks at you now, really looks at you. “yeah. you’ve got that hero edit shit going for you.”

you snort. “hero edit?”

he grins a little, crooked. “yeah. you look good when you’re bleeding and killing people. makes for good tv.”

you laugh under your breath, brushing a branch out of your way. “what about you?”

he shrugs again, but this one’s more casual. “they like me enough. probably made me the stoic or something. the one that no one’s sure about.”

“that’s not a bad thing.”

“no,” he agrees. “but it’s not always good either.”

you walk in silence for a few steps. birds rustle somewhere high above, wings flapping.

“we’re really down to seven,” you whisper again.

he nods. “soon to be four.”

you glance at him, and even though he’s staring ahead you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. soon to be four. you, him, kie, and jj unless someone fucks it up.

you swallow hard. your hand brushes his as you walk. neither of you pulls away.

“you think we can actually do this?” you ask, quieter now.

he doesn’t hesitate. “yeah,” rafe says. “we can.”

and somehow, you believe him.

our fingers loop a piece of thin cord through a split branch, while kie tugs on a nearby root to use as tension.

“after we split, we found this hollowed-out ravine. took cover there for the night,” she’d been telling you. “we didn’t stop for long though. those mutts came back. the, uh . . . pack i was telling you about.” she mutters the last part like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “not even an hour of peace before they were swarming again.”

you glance at her, but she doesn’t look back.

“we ran. again.” she gives a half-hearted shrug. “they scratched jj up pretty bad. and my leg, well, you saw that.” she shifts her weight onto her good foot and grimaces slightly, but doesn’t stop working. “still surprised we made it out without worse.”

you nod slowly, biting down on the inside of your cheek. “at least you did.”

“barely,” she scoffs, and wipes her hands on her pants. “you see anything new out there? anything else we should be watching for?”

you pause. your hands are halfway through tying two sharpened sticks into a hinge for the trap, but your mind shifts back. your eyes flick up for a second, then drop back to your work as you answer.

“yeah,” you say, a little hesitant. “roses, i guess.”

kie blinks. “what?”

you nod slowly, tightening the knot. “i didn’t think much of it at first. just thought they were weird but,” you glance up briefly, then back down, “me and rafe, yesterday, we caught a rabbit for lunch. but it wasn’t moving right. it wasn’t scared of us, didn’t even flinch when we stepped near it. just laid there.”

kie furrows her brow.

“it was in this part of the woods nearby where a bunch of roses were just laid out here and there like decoration,” you continue, “and then later we found this girl, like another tribute. i checked the back of her neck where a few of them were just lodged in her skin, and . . . she couldn’t move. barely blinked. i dont know, i’ll show you tomorrow.”

you finish the knot, pull it taut.

“i think it’s a paralytic or something. whatever’s in those roses.” your voice drops quieter. “i don’t know how it works exactly, if it’s when you touch it or if it just builds up. but it’s real.”

kie whistles low. “sick bastards,” she mutters, then rubs her forehead. “great. add ‘don’t sniff flowers’ to the survival checklist.”

you huff a laugh, even if it’s short-lived. the tension hasn’t gone anywhere. and neither have the boys.

kie sighs as she straightens up, brushing dust from her hands and scanning the trees. “how long does it take to catch a damn squirrel?”

you glance toward the direction they left from too, lips twitching. “think they’re hunting or avoiding us?”

“if it’s both, they better come back with two squirrels.” she grumbles and shakes her head. “unbelievable. we’re out here saving everyone’s lives, and they get to play with weapons.”

you snort and crouch back down to prep the next trap. in a way you’re quietly grateful for the company, for the small moments, for the rare laugh. because even though this isn’t over, not by a long shot, there’s still something about sitting in the woods with kie, bruised and blistered but alive, that makes surviving feel just a little more bearable.

you lean back on your heels as the second snare tightens, wood creaking just slightly as it locks into place. you test the pressure. you tug once, then again, and nod, satisfied. when you glance over, kie’s checking the first trap again, brows drawn together like it’s a test she has to ace. there’s something rhythmic about the way she moves, like she’s done it a thousand times before.

you tilt your head and ask, “so have you always been good at this?”

she flicks her eyes up at you, one brow lifting.

“traps and stuff, i mean,” you clarify, pulling your hands into your lap. “were you a fisher? ‘cause you’re from four, right?”

“born and raised,” she says, relaxing a little, her voice softening. “and yeah. pretty much grew up on the water. my parents taught me everything with fishing, tying lines, mending nets, baiting traps. i was practically rigging snares before i could write my own name.”

you smile at that. it fits her, somehow.

“they were both fishers?”

“yeah. some days we’d be out before the sunrise.” her eyes flick to the sky for a second like she can still see it. “it’s hard work, but i loved it. still do. if i win, i’d still keep doin’ that with ‘em.”

you don’t miss the fond curve of her mouth, the way her shoulders ease just slightly.

“they must be watching,” you say, voice quieter now. “bet they’re proud.”

kie nods. “i think about that a lot,” she admits. “like, if they’re screaming at the screen or covering their eyes. if my mom’s crying. if my dad’s yelling at the tv at home like that’s gonna change anything.” she laughs a little under her breath. “they’re definitely rooting for me, though. i know that.”

you smile softly, then look down at your hands before asking, “and you and jj knew each other before the reaping?”

“kind of,” she says, brushing some dirt from her palms. “we met in school. had mutual friends, same classes, that kind of thing. we weren’t close or anything. but he was loud. and he was always, always joking.”

“sounds familiar,” you say with a small smirk.

kie snorts. “yeah, but we didn’t really start talking until we got stuck in here. and now?” she glances over her shoulder, toward where jj and rafe had wandered off. “i’ve got his back, he’s got mine.”

you nod once, absorbing it. “you’re lucky,” you say.

“yeah,” she replies. “i know.”

kie stretches her legs out in front of her and leans back on her hands, giving you a small, pointed glance. “okay, but what about you and rafe?” she asks, all casual curiosity with the slightest grin tugging at her mouth. “you guys seem really close.”

you pause, fingers reaching to tighten the knot on the last snare just to keep your hands busy. your hands slow, and you glance down at the thread of bark in your grip. “i mean,” you start, “i’ve known of him. not really him, though. does that make sense?”

kie hums like she’s waiting for you to say more, so you do.

“like we’re both from two, but we live on opposite sides. it’s kind of a split district. different zones, you know? i don’t think i ever even saw him at the academy when we were younger.”

kie raises a brow. “so is it, like, tradition for all district two kids to be training that early?”

you shrug. “mostly everyone in two does, whether they want to or not. some are let off, most go because they want to.” you look up briefly, meeting her eyes. “before the games he told me his dad’s a high-ranking officer though. one of the top ones. it kind of made sense.”

kie whistles low, eyebrows lifting. “that explains a lot.”

you smile faintly but don’t deny it. then there’s a pause. you shift back from the trap, brushing your hands off on your pants. “but i think he knew who i was.”

kie turns to face you, curious.

“like, at the reaping, he didn’t need an introduction. it was like he already recognized me. so maybe he’s seen me around more than i thought. or maybe he doesn’t know me at all and he’s just good at hiding it. i don’t really know.”

kie’s silent for a moment, then shrugs. “you could always ask.”

you huff a small laugh. “i could.”

but you don’t sound too sure you will.

“the guys are gonna get back soon.”

you’re on your feet before you fully register kie asking, like something about kindling, or maybe the flint she buried earlier by the log. you hum in response and rise, already halfway turned toward the tree line where you think she left it.

“gotta get that fire going,” you murmur to yourself as you crunch over fallen twigs and loose leaves.

but then there’s a yell that cracks through the quiet. it’s distant, but not that distant. you freeze. completely still.

your breath catches in your throat as the noise fractures the silence, followed by a rush of sound. there’s something barreling through the forest. it’s heavy, too fast to just be a person. it’s not like when jj trips through the woods and curses about it. this sounds like thunder, like hooves and claws and bones cracking under pressure, leaves shaking loose from branches.

your eyes shoot west.

it’s too dark to see anything clearly, just the suggestion of movement in the gaps between the trees. something brushing hard past bark. and it’s not one direction either. it’s . . . everywhere, like the forest itself is coming undone. like something that far is playing tricks in your head about where it’s really coming from.

“no,” you whisper, voice trembling as your hand slowly reaches behind you, searching for kie’s arm without breaking your gaze. “no, no, no, no.”

kie goes stiff behind you. you feel her straighten, catch her sharp inhale. she doesn’t speak, probably because the sound is getting louder, and it’s impossible to tell how far away it is. like now it feels close. it feels like something’s hunting and not trying very hard to be quiet about it.

you know kie can’t run, not well. not with her leg like this. the thought alone turns your stomach into a pit of nerves.

your hand hovers near your belt, fingers finding the familiar curve of your dagger’s hilt. you grip it even as you keep the rest of you still, breathing shallow. you don’t want to make a sound. don’t want to—

to your left.

you yelp, stumbling back a step as your head whips toward the noise. before you can even draw the dagger, a figure barrels out of the dark.

you don’t see a face, at least not at first. all you see is motion, like limbs flailing, arms pumping, a look of blind panic etched into whatever blur of expression this guy has as he slams into you, hard. the impact sends you both flying backward, your back slamming into the dirt and sliding with the force, dry leaves scraping against your skin and getting tangled in your hair.

you hit the ground so fast you don’t even have time to scream. you just feel it. your shoulder knocks against something solid, your dagger ripped from your grip before you could even raise it.

you’re still spinning when you hear kie shout your name in panic, “y/n!”

you try to react, like try to throw your arm up, block whatever’s coming, but it’s a mess of tangled limbs and your attacker’s weight is keeping you pinned. he’s not trying to hurt you, you realize that fast. he’s terrified, panting hard like he’s been running for a while.

you blink, your head snapping back against the ground again as you struggle to get your bearings. the guy’s on top of you, breathing in gasps, shaking so badly it vibrates into your own bones.

that sound hasn’t stopped. it’s still coming.

your fight instinct kicks in like it always does. you twist hard and roll the guy off you with a grunt, your hand flying to your belt, fingers fumbling for your dagger. your heart is pounding in your ears, like it’s trying to drown out the sounds behind you. but it can’t. it can’t mute the noise. but you need to kill him and get to kie.

you don’t even have time to get a full look at him. he’s bloody, barely conscious, his chest heaving as you straddle him. he doesn’t fight you. he’s too exhausted. it’s like he’s already given up.

but you haven’t, especially because you can hear her. you can hear kie.

her voice cracks through the trees like a whip: “jj!!“

your head snaps toward her. but then comes the noise. it’s these awful, guttural, teeth-tearing sounds. there’s another kind after. bones are being crushed. something screaming. someone’s screaming.

is that—?

no.

your gut sinks like a stone as your body freezes. it hits you all at once. kie’s practically left out in the open because this guy tackled you, and now she’s paying the price.

you hear it before you see it. paws pound the ground like hammers. your head snaps toward the sound just in time to see one of them charging at you like a bullet with teeth. you don’t think, you just react.

you grab the guy’s shoulders and shove him to the side with all the force your body can give, rolling the both of you, repositioning until your body hits the ground and his is on top, and then it hits.

the mutt’s jaws clamp down on him first.

there’s no scream at first, just a brutal crunch, then a howl’s yanked from the guys throat as the mutt drags him back. you see the blood spray across the ground like it’s nothing, a slick of it across your arm as you stare, numb, horrified, breath caught in your lungs.

you don’t argue with fate.

you scramble up the second he’s gone, your feet sliding on the dirt as you shove yourself to your feet, and your legs move before your mind does. you’re sprinting away, but your eyes flick toward camp, or what's left of it.

kie is screaming. no, was screaming. now it’s just gurgled cries, half-swallowed. you catch one glimpse of her. she’s blood-slick, reaching, her mouth open but soundless as something claws at her back, another already dragging her leg. you don’t see rafe or jj anywhere. your stomach turns.

you should go to her. you should. but it’s already too late. you can’t die here, and you won’t.

you keep running and you don’t look back because you know exactly what you’d see.

“kie!” jj’s voice eventually cuts through.

you’re already moving the second you hear him. you push past branches, try not to trip on roots, try to keep your head above the fear that’s dragging you under. you don’t even realize how far you've gone until someone grabs you.

“y/n,” rafe breathes, his hands gripping your arms to steady you, eyes wide and scanning your face like he’s trying to piece something together from it.

you barely process it, just that it's him. you’re not alone anymore. jj’s right behind him, pausing just long enough to look around you, looking for her probably. he’s looking for kie. his brows twist the second he realizes you're alone.

“where is she?” he asks, but he's not really asking. he already knows. he turns, about to run.

“no— wait, jj,” you say quickly, spinning around and catching his arm before he can take off. your fingers dig into his sleeve, heart beating so hard you can feel it in your mouth. “please, you can’t—“

“i can’t what, y/n?” jj snaps. he jerks forward, dragging you a step with him, not caring. “i can’t go to her? she could be dying and you want me to just— what? hide?”

he steps closer, jaw clenched so tight his whole body is shaking with it. “i can’t what?”

“she’s dead,” your voice gives out like you don’t want to admit it, but it rips out of your throat before you can stop it. you try to reach for him again as he pulls away. “she’s dead, jj.”

you’re looking at jj but can’t help but notice the way rafe’s face drops beside you. he must feel awful. one of their last conversations was heated, you’re sure he didn’t want to end it like that. jj looks more mad than anything though. he probably doesn’t want to believe you. a part of you even thinks for a second that he’s about to kill you just for saying that kie’s dead, even if it’s true.

the forest is silent for just half a second before the whistles start. your stomach twists. those must be the ones kie and jj talked about, the ones that the mutts use to communicate. you barely turn your head before rafe’s already grabbing you, one arm locking around your waist, the other reaching out for jj as you do the same, clutching him by the back of his jacket.

you all freeze. you don’t move. you don’t even breathe.

you can’t see anything in the dark, but you hear it. it’s fucking awful. can they smell your fear?

it feels like a lifetime before rafe whispers, “come on.” he’s tugging both of you with him. you don’t hesitate. none of you do.

you run behind him, duck low, weave through the trees, staying close but quiet. everything aches. it hurts so bad you want to scream, but you can’t. you just keep moving until rafe slows, his hand up, signaling for you to drop low behind a thicket.

you all pile into a cramp of brush, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder, and you curl in on yourself as rafe stays near the edge, watching. your hands shake as they clutch your knees, and eventually you bury your head between them, trying to block out the sound of breathing that isn’t yours.

you don’t even look at jj, but you can hear him. he’s muttering curses under his breath, biting down on something loud and ugly that’s begging to claw its way out of his chest. you can hear him pacing a little, shuffling, then slamming his fist against the ground before quickly pulling it back with a hiss.

there’s nothing you can say.

because she’s gone now too.

and you couldn’t save her.

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[pomefioredove]

I LOVED the stim headcanons sm! it scratched my autistic brain in a good way :333

I was wondering if you could possibly do headcanons with the rest of Diasomnia, Pomefiore, and Heartslabyul with the same premise (the stimming thing)? I can see Trey being very accommodating for the reader :3

Thank you! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

hi anon I was in therapy yesterday for the first time in a while and when I got out I realized I had been stimming the ENTIRE time

dorm leaders + jamil

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ reader who stims!

type of post: headcanons characters: ace, deuce, trey, cater, epel, rook, sebek, silver, lilia additional info: romantic or platonic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

now, I don't think Ace makes fun of it, but he definitely...

"you're doing that thing again,"

listen, it's not that it bothers him, or distracts him. it's not even weird!

he just... finds you really... interesting?

will say you're an "interesting critter fr bro" and leave it

Deuce is the complete opposite

he will never ever say anything about your stims

won't even ask

he just really doesn't want to be rude. he's not that guy anymore!

(you don't know how to tell him that he stims without realizing it)

he's like your knight in shining armor... kind of

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

guys I hate to say it but Cater has 100% armchair diagnosed most of the people he knows

and like... he's right... but come on!

at least he usually keeps it to himself. so when he picks up on your stimming he just... doesn't say anything

it's just another nice little tidbit of information on you :) of which he has many

for normal reasons

of course

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now, Trey is a sweetie, as always

but he's also a liar

he is not, in fact, "this nice to everyone"

he actually does the bare minimum he needs to do to get by

the guy is spoiling you

making sure you're fed and warm and comfortable the moment you step over the threshold

stimming is no problem

if you like the feeling of dough, or the sound of eggs cracking, he'll have you in the kitchen with him :)

he rather likes you, and your stims

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

I know Rook's autistic self isn't about to say anything

but, really, he already stims. subtly, but constantly

and seeing you mirror his own behaviors...

he is smitten

as if he couldn't grow any fonder of you...

now, unless it becomes upsetting or harmful, he sees no reason to stop you. he rather likes watching your every little move

and Epel is a loyal little thing

once you're his, that's it, it's over, you could literally kill someone and he'd show up with bleach and a mop like "where's the body"

so, yeah

some humming or tapping or clicking isn't going to bother him

honestly half the time he doesn't even notice

bro is too busy fighting his sensory issues with his uniform

(the sensory issues are winning)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Sebek scolds you for distracting him

he can already hardly think straight when his eyes are always drawn to you!!! >:(

now you're moving, too?!

he can't help but stare, which just upsets him more

it's not until Lilia takes your side that he calms down

the aforementioned having his own... quirks

(and much louder ones, too)

this is all background noise for Silver

is he just used to it? is he currently half-asleep and wouldn't notice if a bomb went off behind him?

who's to say!

he's passing out on your shoulder while you repeat the same word over and over either way

[vandme12]

Gosh, I just want to say I really love your works 🥺💚💚 Can I request for a Ronin x reader, but when Ronin thought that the reader was only a writer, turn out she was a retired serial killer that decide to just disappear without any track

TW : Blood, Gore!

Being a serial killer is boring.

Not in the way people think—blood, gore, the messy art of it. That part’s fine. Fun, even, if you're in the mood. But the rest? The routine. The predictability. The way everyone thinks they're special, right up until they bleed like the rest.

It’s the people that ruin it. Always talking. Always begging. As if their lives are a unique little miracle and not just meat wearing memories. And the killers? Worse. Self-important, self-obsessed, desperate to be legends when all they are is noise. You got tired of the noise.

So you left.

No goodbye notes. No calling cards. No poetic monologue to stroke your ego. You disappeared, clean as a ghost. Let the world breathe easier without you. Let the cops think they won. You quit while you were ahead—because it wasn’t worth the headache.

And now? Now, you’re just a writer. A curious little writer asking all the wrong questions on all the wrong forums. Boring. Harmless. At least, that’s what they think.

A reporter by day, a wannabe writer by night.

Daylight’s for lies—polished stories wrapped in neat little headlines. You smile, you nod, you write what they want to read. Crime scenes scrubbed clean with words like tragedy and justice. You ask questions, but never the ones that matter. Not really.

Night’s different. At night, you ask the real questions. The ugly ones. How much pressure does it take to crush a windpipe? How deep do you cut to hit the carotid without a mess? Can you drown someone quietly?

Research, you tell yourself. Research for the book.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s all it is. Or maybe—maybe you’re just wondering how much of yourself you left behind when you walked away from the knife.

Either way, you push too far. Ask too much. And that’s when he finds you

A thousand bodies.

Give or take. You stopped counting after the first few hundred—what’s the point? Numbers blur. Faces fade. Only the methods stick. And you? You got creative.

Guns are lazy. Quick, sure—but cold. Too clean. Anyone can pull a trigger. You did it anyway. Execution-style, drive-bys, a whisper of a silencer pressed against a temple. Sometimes you missed the mess. Sometimes you didn’t.

Poison? Elegant. Cruel. Slow if you want it to be. Arsenic in their coffee. Cyanide under the tongue. A little aconite when you’re feeling poetic. You liked to watch them choke. Let them wonder who hated them enough to make it personal.

Blades were intimate. Knives, scalpels, box cutters—anything sharp enough to split skin. You liked the feel of it, once. Warm blood over cold steel. Different blades for different moods. A fillet knife when you wanted precision. A rusted machete when you didn’t.

Blunt objects were… cathartic. Crowbars, hammers, tire irons. There’s a certain honesty in breaking someone with your hands. In feeling the crack of bone vibrate through metal. Some people deserve that kind of violence.

Arson? That was a phase. Fire eats evidence. Fire doesn’t talk back. Whole families reduced to ash because you got bored and wanted to watch the sky burn. You liked the smell. You don’t admit that part. You hated them.

You’ve killed with ropes, with wires, with your bare hands. Pushed people off bridges. Crashed cars. Drowned them. Some slow. Some fast. Some still haunt you. Most don’t.

It wasn’t about the method—it was the act. The promise that anyone could die, and you were the one to prove it.

And you were better at it than anyone else.

But it got old. The thrill dulled. Even chaos starts to feel like a routine. So you quit. Disappeared. Became a ghost.

SO YOU'RE A SERIAL KILLER. SUPPOSEDLY.

A reporter by day, an aspiring writer by night—you tell yourself it’s just research. Writers ask weird questions all the time. That’s normal, right?

Like: – How deep do you bury a body to avoid detection? – How many pounds of pressure does it take to snap a human neck? – What’s the best way to dissolve evidence without setting off chemical alarms?

Totally normal. For a crime novel.

Until one night, your screen flickers. A message pops up.

ERROR! UNKNOWN: "don't be so obvious smh You're Gonna Get Caught."

…What the fuck?

Before you can blink, a new window opens—dark, minimal, the kind of place where bad ideas bloom. A chatroom. And not just any chatroom.

A serial killer chatroom.

You may be slightly fucked.

And at the center of it? Some guy with the username "goreboy." Annoying. Flirty. Dangerous. The kind of person who makes murder sound like a joke—until you realize he’s not joking.

"Goreboy."

The name alone makes you roll your eyes. What is this—2005? But he’s… interesting. In the way a car crash is interesting. Loud, cocky, all teeth and bad jokes. He types like he’s flirting with everyone and threatening them at the same time. A mess.

You tell yourself you’re only sticking around because he’ll make a great character. A little chaos for your novel. That’s all.

And he is chaotic—annoyingly so. Constantly cracking jokes like murder is just a Saturday hobby. But the more you watch, the more obvious it becomes:

He’s an amateur.

Oh, sure, he’s got the attitude down. Talks big. Acts bigger. And to his credit? He’s good—scary good—at covering his tracks. You’ll give him that. No digital footprint. No sloppy evidence. He knows how to vanish when it counts.

But the actual killing? Sloppy.

Messy crime scenes. Overkill for no reason. He’s all instinct, no finesse. Blood everywhere because he likes the aesthetic—amateur hour. Once, he bragged about botching a clean hit because he got "bored halfway through." You almost closed the tab right then.

And yet… you keep watching.

Because for all his flaws, there’s something addictive about him. He talks like he’s untouchable. Like the world’s a toy, and he’s the only one smart enough to break it right.

A stupid little punk with too much charm and not enough caution.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

You don’t know how it got to this point—playing truth or dare with a guy named Goreboy in a serial killer chatroom. It’s stupid. Juvenile. And yet, here you are, fingers hovering over your keyboard, heart thudding in your chest.

“I thought we’d get on with our game,” he says, his words lazy, drawn-out—like he’s been waiting for you. Like he’s already decided you’re his favorite toy. "I like you, darlin'. I wanna hear those interesting things pinging around in that pretty little head of yours."

Cocky bastard.

“You want to do it now?” you type back, knowing full well you shouldn’t be entertaining this.

"Heh. Why not? You got somethin' better to do?"

You don’t. And maybe that’s the problem.

“…No.”

"Didn't think so." His reply is instant, smooth—like he already knew your answer. "Alright then, let's hear it. Truth or dare?"

You hesitate. You could pick dare, let him spin something ridiculous, let the game stay light. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?

"Truth," you type, pulse quickening.

A beat. And then—

"What's your body count?"

The words slam into you. "How many have died by your hand? C'mon, don’t be shy."

You pause. He thinks you’re a writer—some curious little reporter playing pretend. But that question? It cuts too close. He has no idea who he’s playing with.

"Enough to call me a serial killer," you say, because it’s true—and you’re not in the mood to lie.

Ronin whistles low through the screen, all teeth and trouble. "You love bein’ so fucking cryptic, huh. You sure you’re not a cryptid?"

You blink. Give the screen a look like it’s grown a second head. What?

"I did say it."

You could leave it there—let him chase the question in circles, let him wonder. But you’re feeling generous. So you tip your hand, just a little.

"It’s more than you."

Silence. Or as much silence as a chatroom allows. You imagine him on the other side—grinning that lazy, shit-eating grin, probably leaning back like nothing ever touches him. Like you didn’t just twist the knife.

"Yeah?" He doesn’t let it go. Of course he doesn’t. "You wanna spit it out, and we can do a li’l comparison?"

And then—because he can’t resist—

"’Cause hey, I might jus’ add an extra body to the count if you keep actin’ like this."

Threat. Flirtation. A dare wrapped in velvet. He’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

You lean back in your chair, lips curling into a smug little smile. The silence on the line is thick—waiting. You can picture him, wherever he is, sprawled out like he owns the world. Like nothing touches him. But you know better. You can hear the edge in his breathing, just under the surface.

“I doubt you could hit that rate easily, Goreboy.” Your voice is sweet, saccharine—a blade dipped in honey. “Devil’s butcher… Ronin, right?”

You giggle—soft, teasing, just enough to hook him deeper. You shouldn’t be doing this, poking the beast for fun, but he makes it too easy. Too fun.

“You want numbers?” you purr. “I’ve got a whole record, babe.”

His laugh cracks through the call—low, rough, the sound of a man who thinks the world’s a joke, and he’s the punchline. “A record, huh? What, you keep a scrapbook?”

You hum, light and playful. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I would. So spill, princess. You got me curious.”

He thinks you’re bluffing—cute. You stretch the moment, let him squirm a little. Then, soft as a secret, you say:

“A thousand.”

Silence. Then—

A sharp, manic laugh tears out of him, wild and raw like he can’t quite believe you. “Darlin’—what a lie.”

You tilt your head, smiling like the devil’s favorite little tease. And then, because you can’t help yourself, you switch to that syrupy, baby-soft voice that you just know will get under his skin:

“Awwh… didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?” You giggle, bright and wicked. “You should. It’s a good habit, y’know.”

Ronin’s laugh is still buzzing in your ears—low, rough, all jagged edges and bad intentions. He leans into the call like he’s got all the time in the world, voice dripping with the kind of arrogance only a man who’s never truly been outmatched can pull off.

“A thousand, huh?” His words curl around the edges of his grin, smooth and syrupy. “Darlin’, you really expect me to buy that?”

You don’t answer immediately. You let the silence hang, heavy and sweet—make him sit in it. Toy with the moment the same way he’s been toying with you. And then, just because you know it’ll get to him, you giggle. Light. Careless. Like none of this really matters to you.

“Aw, poor baby.” You drag the words out, soft and mocking. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?”

His laugh snaps sharp and manic—too loud, too sudden, like he can’t quite control it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, you know that?” He pauses, but you hear the way his breath catches—just a hitch. Just enough to tell you that you’ve sunk your claws in. “You should’ve led with that. Hell, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet.”

You smile—a wicked little curve of your lips he can’t see, but you know he feels it. “What can I say? I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

“Scare me?” He barks out another laugh, and you can practically see the glint in his eye. “Darlin’, I don’t scare easy. ‘Sides…” His voice dips, lower, rougher, crawling under your skin. “I’d love to see you try.”

He’s cocky—of course he is. The Devil’s Butcher, the monster under everyone’s bed. He’s used to being the one with blood on his hands, the one pulling the strings. But you can hear it—feel it. That itch, that heat curling at the edges of his words. He’s curious. He’s hooked.

And you? You’re not done yet.

“I doubt you could hit that rate,” you purr, leaning into every syllable. “Even if you tried.”

That gets him. Oh, he doesn’t say it—but the line goes quiet for a beat too long, and you know you’ve struck something raw. When he speaks again, his voice is smooth, easy—but there’s an edge beneath it now. Something sharp, something real.

“Big talk, princess.” His tone is all lazy challenge, like this is nothing more than a game. But you know better. You always know better. “Y’gonna back it up? Or you just blowin’ smoke?”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re actually thinking about it. Let him stew in the silence a little longer. “What do you think?”

“I think—” and here, his voice shifts—dropping to something darker, deeper. “I think you’re real good at playin’ pretend.”

You giggle again, light and cruel. “Awh… someone’s cranky.”

Another pause—just a flicker of quiet, but you hear the breath he drags in. The way his composure frays at the edges. And then, so soft you almost miss it—

“You’re up, Goreboy,” you purr, voice dripping with sweet venom. “Truth. What’s your poison?”

Ronin chuckles low in his throat—a dark, syrupy sound that sticks to your ribs. “That’s a good one. Heh.” There’s a pause, a deliberate stretch of silence before he leans in, all teeth and bad ideas. “Alright, darlin’. What’cha gonna give me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What do you like to do… outside of killing people?”

Another laugh—this one rougher, dirtier. Like he can’t quite believe you’d ask something so tame. “What d’ya think a guy like me gets up to?” He drawls it out, lazy and thick. “I work. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Think about death ‘n dreamin’—and then I do it all over again. Same shit, different body count.”

It’s the answer you expected. Still, you play along, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “That can’t be all there is to you.”

“What if it is?” His voice sharpens—still playful, still easy, but there’s a hook buried somewhere beneath it. “Would’ja still be here? Or are you just lookin’ for somethin’ to fix?”

Oh, he wants you to bite. Wants you to flinch. But instead, you let the silence stretch—sweet, syrup-thick—before you lean in, matching his darkness with your own.

“What if I wanted someone to get worse with?”

Ronin’s laugh slithers through the call—low and slow, like he’s savoring every delicious syllable you feed him. "Music to my fuckin’ ears," he drawls, voice slick with danger, with promise. "Most people?" He scoffs, dripping venom. "They wanna clean me up. Make me nice. Sweet. Boring." He spits the word out like it leaves a bad taste. "But you?" His voice dips lower, curling around the edges of something darker. "Nah. You’re smarter than that. You wanna roll around in the dirt with me."

You hum—soft, teasing, the sound curling like smoke. "What’s the fun in fixing something that’s already perfect?" You make sure he hears the wicked edge to your smile, the sharpness beneath the sugar. "Besides…" A pause—long enough to make him hang on your every breath. "I’m not looking for some big, sentimental fairytale." Another beat, just to keep him waiting. Wondering. "Though…" and you drag the word out, slow and sweet, like you know exactly how far you can push him—"it’d be nice to settle down. With the right person."

His breath hitches—barely, but enough. You’ve hooked him deep, and you both know it.

"Settle down, huh?" His tone twists—half-mocking, half-starved, like he’s not sure whether to laugh or take you apart. "I gotta warn ya, darlin’—I ain’t the white-picket-fence kinda guy."

You giggle—dark and dangerous, the sound laced with just enough cruelty to make his blood run hotter. "Good." Your smile sharpens. "I’d probably burn the fence down anyway."

His laugh drips through the call again—sickly sweet and razor-sharp. You can practically see the grin on his face, cocky and too damn pleased with himself. "Burn it down, huh? Ain’t you just a little firestarter," he purrs. "Keep talkin’, darlin’. I’m hangin’ on every word."

And oh, you know he is.

"Your methods…" You draw the words out, tasting them, letting your voice curl around the edges of your smile. "They're good. Messy, loud—definitely leaves a mark. But…" You pause just long enough to let the disappointment sink in. "You’re missing a little something. Y’know—if you’re really going for the whole ‘Devil’s Butcher’ vibe."

He clicks his tongue. "Tch. Bold of you to critique, sugar. You think you can do better?"

You laugh softly, dark and syrupy, like you’ve already thought about it. "I know I can." The words slide out, sweet and cruel. "Crowbars? Classic. Brutal. But predictable. I mean, ‘Antichrist’—nice aesthetic, I’ll give you that—but where’s the spectacle?" Your voice dips lower, mockingly sweet. "Where’s the art, Ronin?"

He makes a low, thoughtful sound, like maybe—just maybe—you’ve got his attention in a way no one else has. "Go on," he says, voice rougher now. Hungrier. "I’m listenin’."

"If you really want to earn the title," you continue, slow and deliberate, like you’re peeling back layers just for him, "you gotta lean into it. Meat hooks, maybe. Something that tears. Skin’s fragile, baby—play with it. Or—" and you giggle, sharp and bright, like you’re already imagining the blood—"—why not a bone saw? Nothing says ‘commitment’ like cutting down to the marrow."

His breath stutters—just a little—and you swear you hear the faintest groan under his breath. "You really got a mind for this, huh?"

"Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes," you tease, then lean back with a sigh that’s just this side of disappointed. "But hey—maybe you don’t need my advice, cutie." You let the pet name slide from your tongue like silk, knowing it’ll dig under his skin in all the right ways. "You’ve done fine on your own so far."

"Cute, huh?" His voice drops lower, almost a growl. "You keep talkin’ like that, sweetheart, an’ I might just take you up on all those suggestions."

"Who said I didn’t want you to?" You smile—wicked, daring—because if there’s one thing you’re learning about Ronin, it’s that he’ll chase anything that teases the edge of danger. And you? You’re dangling right over it.

"Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you drawl, already tasting the weight of the question he’s about to throw at you.

His voice hums low through the call, lazy but sharp around the edges. "Best kill you've ever had."

Your smile twists—dangerous. "There was this guy… by the coast."

Ronin hums again, waiting.

"He was laughing at me," you continue, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something mean. "Like I couldn’t do it. So, I did. I watched him drown—slow. He wasn’t laughing when the water hit his lungs."

A beat of silence. Then—"Creative," he says, but there’s a lilt to his voice. Doubt. "I don’t buy it."

Your head tilts, and you give the screen a cold, strange look—like you’re deciding whether to laugh or rip him apart. And maybe both. "What?" The question is sweet, threatening—like a blade hidden in silk.

"What do you mean, ‘you don’t buy it’?" A breathy little laugh slips out, all teeth. "I get it, gorebaby… You thought I was some cute little writer just lookin’ for creative ways to kill ‘cause, hey, it’s all ‘for the book,’ right?" Your voice drips mockery, sharp and saccharine. "Did you invite me here to see how I play, or just to keep yourself entertained?"

He doesn’t answer immediately—but you hear it. The low, rough chuckle, curling dark and sweet through the static. He knows. And worse—he likes it.

"What the fuck d’you think?" His tone is smooth, but there’s something simmering beneath—interest. Curiosity. Hunger.

His smile deepens, wicked and knowing. "It’s not your turn yet, cutie." He lean closer, voice dropping low and silky. "Shouldn’t you be tellin’ me a believable kill, darlin’? Or are you just stalling?"

You stretch out the silence, letting it hang heavy between you both—just long enough to make him impatient. Then, with a sweet, venomous lilt, you break it.

"Alright, gorebaby," you purr, "since you’re so curious… Let’s play."

You start simple. A man in a parking garage—cold concrete, colder steel. "He begged," you muse, dragging the memory back like it’s a bedtime story. "Didn’t think I’d do it. But once the knife went in… well, it’s amazing how fast people stop laughing."

Ronin makes a sound—low and thoughtful. "Knives," he muses. "Classic. Personal. But c’mon, darlin’—you can do better."

"Better?" Your voice dips into something darker. "Alright."

The next one’s messier. A sleazebag who liked to corner women in alleys. You describe how easy it was to lure him—how stupid men are when they think they’ve already won. "He didn’t see the crowbar ‘til it was too late," you murmur, each word laced with syrupy amusement. "Bones crack real easy if you know where to aim. And once he stopped moving? Well, let’s just say I got curious about what’s underneath."

He exhales—sharp, quiet. Interested. You can almost picture him—head tilted, eyes gleaming like he’s savoring every word.

"Still with me, Devil?" You tease, voice sugar-sweet.

"Barely," he drawls, and you catch it—just the faintest hitch when you mention the break, the blood. He’s hooked.

So, you push deeper.

"Then there was this preacher," you continue, tapping your fingers against your desk like you’re counting bodies. "One of those real righteous types. Thought he was legit" You laugh—sharp, wicked. "I let him pray, y’know. Hands folded and everything. Guess the Devil answered first."

There’s a pause—just long enough to hear the way Ronin’s breath stirs against his mic.

"You’re makin’ it hard to focus, darlin," he admits, his voice rougher, lower. "Keep talkin’."

So, you do.

A drowning—slow and deliberate. "It’s fascinating," you muse, "how long the body fights when it wants to live. But the eyes… that’s the best part. Watching the light fade—knowing you did that? Feels better than any high."

His laugh slips out—dark and jagged. "You’re twisted," he says, and there’s a heat to it—a little more breath in his voice than before. "I like that about you."

You lean closer, voice curling sweet and deadly. "Funny," you hum. "I thought you wanted someone to be worse with, not just keep up."

He breathes out a soft, breathy curse, and you know you’ve got him. "Careful, darlin'," he warns, but there’s no threat in his voice—just that delicious, dangerous edge of wanting. "I might fall for you if you keep talkin’ like that."

"Aw, poor baby," you mock softly, then giggle—cruel and sweet. "And here I thought you were the Devil. Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with fire?"

"Took you long enough," you purr, fingers dancing across the keyboard like you’ve got all the time in the world. "I’m [Insert Name]—if you wanna see my work, just turn on the news."

And he doesn’t disappoint.

"No shit?" His voice hums through the call, low and velvet-smooth. "Didn’t peg you for a hands-on kinda girl. Thought you were just here to take notes."

You giggle—light, cruel, and just for him. "Awh, what’s the matter, Devil?" you tease, leaning closer to the mic. "Did it hurt your ego to find out I’m not just some cute little writer?"

A beat. Then, that wicked laugh of his spills out—slow, sharp, and laced with something dangerous.

"Cute?" he drawls. "Baby, I ain’t ever thought you were innocent."

You tilt your head, lips curling into a smile. Time to twist the knife.

"Still," you muse, dragging the words out like honey, "I gotta admit—when I hit my thousandth, it was kinda .."

He goes quiet. You let it linger. Let it burn.

"After all," He sigh, fake-pouting, "you were my inspiration. Kinda sad you quit…"

His breath catches—just barely—but you hear it.

You giggle again—soft, sweet, but there’s something off about it. Something wrong. Then, just as quickly, your smile fades.

"Although…" Your voice drops, quieter—almost thoughtful. "That thousandth kill?" You let out a sigh, hollow and cold. "Didn’t know it’d be the last one. Turns out…" You tilt your head, as if considering your own words. "It wasn’t fun anymore."

Ronin doesn’t speak. He’s listening. Hanging on every word like you’ve wrapped a noose around his curiosity and pulled it tight.

"I hated it," you confess, and your tone twists—half-bitter, half-bored. "Killing didn’t feel good after a while. It was boring." You scoff, like the very thought annoys you. "So, I quit. Just like that."

A beat of silence. Then, you laugh—sharp and bright and dripping with malice. "And here I thought you’d get it, Gorebaby. Guess not."

His breath crackles softly through the mic, but he’s still silent. You lean in, voice honeyed and cruel.

"I killed because I liked it," you continue, dragging each word out like you’re savoring it. "The blood. The mess. The way people break when they realize no one’s coming to save them." You hum, nostalgic, like you’re reminiscing about a favorite vacation. "No moral code. No fancy rituals. I didn’t need a reason—I was just… there."

You giggle again—high, light, and absolutely unhinged. "And I loved it, Ronin." The way you say his name—like it’s something fragile you could break—makes his breath hitch just slightly.

"HAHAHAHA!" Your laughter rings out, wild and unchecked, like you’re reliving the thrill of it. "But hey, it’s fine. I’m retired now, right? Outta the game. Mostly."

You drawl the last word like a promise you might break.

"Still…" Your voice softens, but there’s a razor edge underneath. "If you ever need some tips, Devil, just ask." You smile, sharp and sweet. "I’d be so happy to help."

Ronin snorts, low and mocking. "No shit." His voice drips with that signature arrogance—sweet like poison, sharp like broken glass. "What makes ya think I need pointers from Missy Bitchy herself?"

The way he spits the words—like you’re nothing but a joke—should annoy you. Should. But you know better.

You laugh, slow and syrupy. "Aw, Gorebaby…" You drag the nickname out, teasing like he’s just another plaything. "Did I hurt your fragile little pride?"

"Fragile?" He scoffs, but there’s heat under it, something twitching and raw. "Darlin’, I’ve been paintin’ these streets red since you were still playin’ pretend."

You hum, tilting your head. "Cute. But you and I both know…" You let your voice drop to a purr, soft and deadly. "I don’t play pretend. I finish what I start."

That earns you a low, wicked chuckle. "Is that right?" He leans in, voice dropping to something darker—something dangerous. "Then maybe you oughta prove it."

You giggle again—sweet, cruel, promising things no sane person would ever want. "Careful what you wish for, Devil…" Your smile sharpens. "I might just make you beg for it."

"It’s gonna be fun," you purr, voice dripping with wicked promise. "These next six months… let’s see if we self-destruct or fall in love."

You stretch back in your chair, knowing damn well how dangerous you sound—how dangerous you are. And judging by the silence on the line, Ronin knows it too.

He doesn’t speak right away. For once, you’ve left him quiet—left him thinking. But when he finally does respond, his voice is lower, rougher—like he’s already too far gone.

"Darlin’…" His laughter is soft and slow, like he’s savoring the taste of your words. "With a mouth like that, even Satan’d be on his knees."

You giggle—soft, sweet, and utterly sadistic. "Who says he isn’t already?"

[thistlerock]

Collection of headcanons not elaborate enough for own word vomit post:

- I don't think Kristen can swim. She has the vibes of someone who never learned as a kid and now it's too late to bring up without being embarrassed. (Also I thought about what would happen if she fell in water — mechanically she's wearing heavy armor, would Brennan just let her swim since she's in universe only in a tracksuit or would she sink without a sufficient strength check? Idk, but that's how I got to the no swimming conclusion.)

- insanely weird hc to have but i think Fabian shaves his arm hair. Also like legs and arm pits i guess but the way more unusual and therefore notable thing is arms. This guy kills any body and facial hair on sight. Like no one has ever seen him with as much as stubble outside of Cathilda or the Bad Kids when they were sleeping over. Why? Idk he just prefers that, no deeper reason. I do think elves generally have less body hair but here his human genes come through so he has to shave. Or get it lasered away I guess. You can do that right?? He's rich. Maybe he'd do it.

- also Fabian's depth perception is dog shit. Using his crossbow is less impressive because Fandrangor is simply a better weapon and his flourishes and manoeuvres rely on melee combat, I know, but to me it's also just that he's better at hitting things real close to him.

- Riz is the kinda guy to have chronic migraines and think it's fine. "Everyone has headaches sometimes and I do sleep a lot less than I should ahaha" (the amount of coffee he drinks is barely saving him from the horrors.)

- Adaine also gets a lot of migraines in what I think are more. Passive non specific visions? Like a gut feeling that's always correct and also makes her body hate her. The proper visions are comparable to absence seizures I think? Like I don't wanna say it's that because it's magic but the process is kind of the same in the sense that she's out for like ten to thirty seconds and it can really suck

- I also think Adaine has synaesthesia! I can't really put this into words well so I'm not even gonna try, but she perceives certain sounds and/or colours at times where there shouldn't be sounds and/or colours. I think those associations also to an extend help in drawing connections between less specific visions and real life.

- we know Gorgug has a drumset in his room I think it's electronic. But like not in a normal way like we have them irl it's some insane artificer shit that would justify so much more noise complaints than a regular one and also could probably have its own pyrotechnics idfk. It's fully a safety hazard but it doesn't even rank on the top 10 of worst things to have in your house that is a TREE that the Thistlesprings casually own.

- I think either Fig or Kristen would be the shortest medium creature type Bad Kid. Like obviously Riz is four feet tall max but he's in a whole different category lmao

- Fig sometimes puts little braids in Jawbone's fur and he happily lets her. He only properly adopted Adaine and Fig has more than enough dads, but he does still act as sort of a paternal figure to her (and every other kid ((which in this case includes Ragh but maybe not Aelwyn)) in mordred manor because he's just a caring guy and it's hard not to grow attached) so that's their pseudo daddy-daughter bonding

- Fabian doesn't like, hate Gilear as much as he used to? Like he still has his moments but overall he thinks he's a good guy and absolutely has the "well I can shit on him but I'm gonna kill this other guy who did. How dare you make fun of my Mama's beloved??" mindset. But uhm he tries to make Gilear work out with him so he can "stop being death fodder". Gilear is a commoner and everyone else in Seacaster Manor absolutely is not and like he likes it and he loves these people but he does kind of live in hell. His wife? Could kill him. His step son? Could kill him. The maid? Could kill him. The dog slash motor cycle?? Could kill him. One hit. Also the entire current Seacaster household are dexterity based fighters they're all so graceful and skilled he's fully just a guy that spills every drink ever on himself

- I think the Hangman loves Cathilda because she gives good chin scritchies (hound form obviously lol) Generally he tends to mirror Fabian's attitude towards people anyway so he's always liked her, but once he started being a hound more she started petting him and giving him treats and he is smitten

- Gorgug (and sometimes Ragh or Ayda) play extreme fetch with the Hangman. Like I need to stress that he's not just a big dog he's large enough to be a mount, which means he'd have to be the size of a horse. Maybe a small horse sure but that's still a horse-sized dog. I think his mini looks fairly big but in my heart he's bigger. So yeah fetch with him (which they mainly do because they want him to feel comfortable in both forms because he's so good) is really big sticks. Like not logs or anything but sticks the average person can't huck all that far. Fabian casts enhance ability on himself so he can also do it, lol. The wonders of multiclassing into bard.

- I think the only Bad Kids who never use makeup are Riz and Kristen. Gorgug doesn't do it every day and not that much but he uses eyeliner sometimes. Fig's makeup is the most noticeable and usually very fun.

- Gorgug has kissed Ragh at least twice. So at least one time after the prom thing. I don't mean this in a ship way I mean this in I look at Gorgug and then I look at Ragh and I go yeah these guys have shared at least one tender bro kiss. I mean I think Gorgug is the kinda guy that would kiss all of his friends if they wanted to because it's not that big of a deal to him and he loves them but not everyone is comfortable w/ that lol. He and Kristen kiss each other on the cheek though, I think (this does not mean he wants to see her naked in public please put your clothes back on Kristen??)

[moonstruckme]

i think that last fic you wrote for me is my new favorite thing to reread on here! could i request a pt two where they’re all just having a chill day/ night and then they all get ready for bed together and lay down for cuddles plz? the way you write for poly!marauders is just so perfect! tysm again for reading my requests!! -🌶️

Awww that makes me so happy, I'm so glad you liked it! And of course you can my love <3

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 981 words

Though James typically prefers you with no clothes on, he does think you look pretty cute in his big t-shirt. He bunches the fabric in his hands as he comes up behind you, setting his head on your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” you ask, smiling at him through a mouthful of toothpaste. 

He gazes at you in the mirror. “Just admiring the view.” 

“Oi,” Sirius elbows him, hands wet with whatever product in his billion-step skincare routine he’s currently rubbing into his face. His hair is scraped back into a bun to keep it out of the way. (James loves it when he wears it like that.) “Quit stealing my lines, Potter.” 

James doesn’t even need to speak; he knows the best way to rile Sirius right now doesn’t involve words. He grabs his dark-haired boyfriend by the chin, landing a smacker right on his cheek. 

Sirius shouts just as James pulls back, grimacing. 

“Fuck, Pads, what’s in that shit?” he wipes his mouth on his sleeve, getting rid of any remaining product from Sirius’ face. “Have you poisoned me?”

“Serves you right,” Sirius shoots back. “Everyone else knows better than to mess with my routine. I hope you are poisoned for contaminating my skin like that.” 

James looks about for support, but you only roll your eyes, spitting into the sink. 

“Don’t wish poisoning upon people, love,” Remus says mildly from the bedroom, and it’s not much, but James seizes upon it. He sends Sirius a triumphant look. 

“I only wanted kisses, Moons,” he whines, padding into the bedroom and laying himself pitifully across Remus’ lap. “You get it, don’t you?”

Remus smiles, bending to press his lips to James’. “Merlin, Sirius,” he says teasingly, “you really don’t know what you’re missing.” 

James chases him for more, propping himself up on his elbow and keeping Remus close with a hand at the nape of his neck. 

It doesn’t take long before Sirius is rushing out, his skincare routine apparently finished for the night as he chases you into the bedroom. James and Remus both stop to watch the spectacle as he grabs you around the waist, dipping you low and kissing you passionately. You make a sound of muffled surprise against his lips, breaking away after a second. 

“Sirius!” You laugh, flustered. “You cannot just attack me because you’re jealous! I won’t be a pawn in your game.” 

Sirius puts on a show of hurt, straightening you but keeping his hands steadfastly around your waist. “You’re not a pawn, baby. You’re the best piece on the board.” 

You let out a loud, barking laugh at that, extricating yourself from his hold. “That’s really awful,” you tell him, stepping backwards towards the bed. “If you think James is stealing your lines, you need to come up with some better material.” 

Sirius’ mouth drops open, and James snickers. 

You sit down on the bed and launch into your nightly routine of demolishing your joints, twisting around to coax painful-sounding cracking noises from your back, and Remus moves away from James to begin his nightly routine of trying to foil you, taking your shoulders in his hands before you can rotate your spine in the other direction. 

“Quit that,” he says, looking at you severely. 

You nod, but no sooner does Remus remove his hands from you than you’re contorting your back again, eliciting a series of popping noises that makes James wonder whether you might���ve broken something. 

Remus shakes his head at you, disappointed but not necessarily surprised. “I’m going to kill you,” he promises.

You grin. “You’re all talk.” 

You’re nearly as bad as Sirius when you get like this, but Remus knows just how to handle you, wrestling you flat onto the bed and laying down atop you. He toys with your hair lazily, a little smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Are you ready to wind down?” he asks you placidly. 

You’re laughing, squirming feebly underneath his weight, and James can’t help but chuckle, grabbing one of your hands by the wrist when you try to pinch at Remus’ side. 

“Traitor,” you say to him. 

“I take no sides,” he replies easily. “Sorry, angel.”

“Darling,” Remus hums lazily, getting your attention again. “Are you ready to go to sleep?” 

You roll your eyes and sigh greatly, but nod. Remus doesn’t let you off that easily this time, though, passing you immediately to Sirius, who tugs you tight to his front, your nose squishing into his cheek as he peppers your face with kisses. 

“Oh, I see,” James says, getting into the opposite side of the bed. “So they can touch your face, but I can’t, huh?” 

“Anyone can, once the product has dried,” Sirius says cooly, settling down with one final kiss to the tip of your nose. “Your mistake was jumping the gun, Potter.” 

“Can we be done with this?” you ask. “Remus is tired.” 

“Don’t use him as your scapegoat,” Sirius says, but peers over you to see Remus anyway, a tiny bit of worry in the squint of his eyes. “You’re not tired, are you Moons?”

“Only the normal amount,” Remus says, eyes already closed. 

James coos, touching his lips to the high point of Remus’ cheekbone, just beside a jagged scar. 

“Poor boy, we’re tormenting him,” he says lightly, and Sirius rolls his eyes but quiets down. 

For a good, long while, it’s silent. James watches the light in the room change as cars drive past, their headlights filtering through the curtains. The breathing around him becomes slower, more even. His own body relaxes into the mattress, eyelids drooping as he starts to give into that sweet, soft heaviness that waits just past the threshold of sleep. 

He hears a quiet rustling of sheets, and then a loud cracking sound comes from your side of the bed. 

A low voice. “Don’t make me come over there.”

[wikiangela]

wanna end all my days with talking to you

rating: G words: 1.8k

[also on Ao3]

Buck’s about to get in the engine with his team to ride back to the station, change, and get home to hopefully pass out for the next ten hours – when he thinks he hears a familiar voice among the usual noise of the scene, chatter, yelling, trucks slowly starting to drive away. He stops with one leg on the step and looks around. 

“Evan!” He hears again, this time more clearly, and feels the heavy knot in his chest that’s been there the whole day unfold, a wave of relief and calm crashing over him as he sees the face to match the voice. Tommy walks from the crowd, and maybe Buck’s really tired, but he swears his boyfriend glows among everyone else, getting his attention right away. He’s in his turnouts, hair tousled, a worried look on his face mixed with relief. He’s such a sight for sore eyes, Buck wants to drown in his arms right now. “Hey,” Tommy adds as he gets closer, eyes roaming over Buck’s body. “Just wanted to catch you before you left. You okay?” He asks, and Buck finally turns around, both legs back on the ground. 

“Hi, Tommy!” He hears Chimney say as he passes them to get on the truck, before Buck can even open his mouth.

“Hey, Howie.” Tommy responds, eyes not leaving Buck. Chim disappears, taking his place with Eddie and Hen who are already waiting inside, ready to leave. Buck thinks they can spare a couple minutes, though.

“Tommy.” Buck whispers, taking a step towards his boyfriend. Tommy’s hands immediately reach for him. “What are you doing here? I thought this was your day off?” He asks, arms wrapping around Tommy’s waist, not caring that they’re technically still at work. He’s had a day, he almost killed his current Captain, they almost lost Athena, he was almost run over by multiple cars- it’s been a day. 

“Got called in. I don’t know if you heard but we had a pretty wild all-hands-on-deck situation on the freeway.” He says with a teasing smirk, hands settling on Buck’s waist. Their warmth is so nice and grounding, and Buck leans a little further into him. 

“Hm, it rings a bell. A plane landing, right?” He continues, feeling a little silly and a lot giddy, like any time he’s with Tommy. He just makes him feel so carefree, even after a stressful day like today, before even having time to decompress. 

“Yeah, that one. Crazy, right? I hear my boyfriend was very involved. Had to see it with my own eyes. And make sure he’s alright.” His eyes scan over Buck’s face. “You alright?”

“I’m fine, baby.” Buck smiles pulling Tommy a little closer to himself. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I wasn’t the one right here at the forefront of everything.” Tommy raises an eyebrow, one of his hands coming up to cup Buck’s face. He leans into the touch, not able to keep in a content sigh. All he can think about is getting home, cuddling up next to Tommy in bed, and soaking up his warmth as he falls asleep. 

“How did you know I was? It could’ve been anyone from any station.” Buck says, since it wasn’t public knowledge who exactly was flying the plane, but they both know the answer.

“Who else but the 118 would have this much bad luck.” He shakes his head, and his tone goes for joking, but it does crack a little, worry seeping through. 

“Technically, it was Athena. Again.” Buck points out, silently begging the universe to please let Bobby and Athena have a break now, after the cruiseship and now this, they really deserve to rest and not worry about each other’s lives. “We just came to help.” 

“You were still heavily involved, weren’t you?” Tommy asks and Buck nods. “So, my point stands.”

“Bobby and I stole a truck.” Buck blurts out. He knows now is not the time, but he just wants to tell Tommy every single thing that happened, and every single thought in his head. 

“You what?” Tommy eyebrows shoot up.

“Well, we borrowed it- Actually I have a lot to tell you. It’s been a crazy day. Even before all this,” he gestures towards the plane. Tommy frowns, curiosity etched in his face. 

“I can’t wait to hear all about it.” He says with a smile, and then from a distance they vaguely hear someone call his last name. Tommy glances back towards the 217 trucks, probably waiting on him now. Before he can say that he has to go, though, Buck speaks up again.

“Oh, and I rode a motorcycle!” He says excitedly and grins, and sees Tommy’s expression turn into something fond but still confused, probably wondering how it all connects, and maybe where Buck got a motorcycle in the first place. Buck can’t wait to tell him everything that happened today. He’s avoiding mentioning this morning, back at the station, leaving it for later, he doesn’t want to bring it up, bring him up just yet. Not when they’re all still on the high from the airplane landing being very successful, considering their chances. Unpleasant stuff – like Buck’s guilt and confusion about what his intent was – can wait for later, when they’re home, and they have time for him to spiral and confide in his man.

“You’re so adorable.” Tommy just says, and glances to the sides for a second, before leaning in to chastely press his lips against Buck’s, and it’s over way too quickly, Buck pulling him back in, deepening the kiss. He feels Tommy smile and then he’s kissing him just as eagerly. Before he knows it, he’s being pressed against the cold metal of the engine behind him, his boyfriend’s big, warm body right against his, and for a few seconds they just get lost in each other. What pulls him out is his team – some teasing cheers and whooping and even whistling, and a couple joking comments about being inappropriate in the workplace (he thinks it’s Chim who said that, but it’s all a blur – besides, technically they’re on the freeway, so, not really the workplace, so Buck will kiss his boyfriend if he wants to). 

He hears himself whining in protest when Tommy starts pulling away, and gets a chuckle in response that he feels in his own chest. 

“I’m sorry, but I gotta go now. My team’s waiting.” Tommy sounds regretful, at least. Buck still pouts. But now he can hear Tommy’s co-workers yell his name, and some barely audible jokes and teasing, likely having seen them make out. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Tommy asks, thumb caressing Buck’s cheekbone. Buck doesn’t want to let him go. He wants to continue their making out, and he wants to talk to Tommy, tell him all about his crazy day, and of course he wants to hear about Tommy’s day, what he was doing before he got called in, and everything that happened after, too. Lately those conversations have become some of Buck’s favorites. He loves talking to Tommy, he loves that he always listens, so attentive and engaged, and visibly enjoying Buck’s rambling. And he loves listening to Tommy, too, his gorgeous voice, and those dry jokes Buck fell in love with that first night they met. They could talk about anything, their days, the weather, some deep personal stuff, Buck loves it all. 

“Tonight.” He decides, not sure if he can handle not seeing Tommy as soon as possible. He knows it’s late, and after the day they had, they’re both probably ready to get in bed and crash, but he just doesn’t want to be without Tommy right now. It sounds silly even just in his own head, but he misses him so much every second they’re apart. He guesses it’s that honeymoon period, but maybe it’s also the fact that in the short time they’ve been dating, Tommy has become a safe space for him, a shoulder to lean on, always there, strong and sturdy, to support him whenever and however he needs. He hopes he’s the same for Tommy. He tries his best, at least. “I’ll get my stuff at the station and come over. If that’s okay?” He asks to make sure, just in case, a seed of doubt seeping in. He doesn't want to overstep or assume. But he should’ve known better, Tommy never says no to seeing him.

“Of course it’s okay.” He smiles, leaning back in for one more sweet kiss. “In the meantime, please don’t get into any more trouble tonight. Especially the life-or-death kind,” he half-jokes, and Buck kind of wants to remind him that it wasn’t his life that was in danger this time, but then again, it was Athena, which means Bobby, which means Buck and the entire 118 ready to follow them into any trouble. So, yeah, he gets Tommy’s worry.

“Can’t really promise that. Don’t wanna tempt the universe,” he shrugs. Tommy chuckles lightly. “But I’ll try.”

“Just get to me in one piece,” he shakes his head, taking a step away. It takes everything in Buck not to follow and squeeze himself into a 217 truck just to be with Tommy for a while more. But he’ll see him soon. Around an hour if they leave now. Maybe a little more with the traffic, the freeway being closed now probably causing some issues. But tonight.

“I will. I’ll see you soon.” He answers, and not for the first time the three little words he desperately wants to say try to force themselves onto his tongue. On one hand, there’s no time to waste, life is short, and especially with their profession, and his luck. But on the other hand, he doesn’t want them to come out like this, while he’s still buzzing with adrenaline, and it might be easy to think it’s a heat of the moment thing. He wants to say it in a quiet moment, at home, just the two of them, putting all the feelings and intention behind it, really letting Tommy know how serious and genuine he is about it. 

Tommy is his person. The one he wants to go home to at the end of the day – whether an uneventful one, or full of chaos and danger, like tonight. He’s the one Buck wants to talk to for hours and hours, about everything and nothing, spill his every thought. The one he wants to wake up to and fall asleep with. The one he wants to love for the rest of his life. 

He can’t stop smiling as he takes a second to watch as Tommy walks away, turns around to flash Buck one more adorable smile, before disappearing in the sea of people. Then, with a shout to hurry up from Eddie, Buck finally turns back to the truck and climbs in. He’s so ready for this day to be over. And what better way to end it than in the arms of his love, while telling him about his crazy day? They definitely need to hurry up and get back to the station, Buck has places to be. Or, one place specifically, the one he already secretly calls home. 

[also on Ao3]

[oimitocat]

CROSS MY HEART | OS

yang jungwon x m!reader

yandere!reader + obsessive behavior + jealousy + breeding kink + unprotected sex + overstimulation + size kink + romanticized toxicity (because that’s what it is lmao) + biting + crying

a/n: tried my best with the yandere thing.

jungwon knew you had… tendencies. if you could put it that way.

“they’re keeping you away from me,” you say, venom laced in every word.

he stares at you with a frown, “n/n, they aren’t doing anything. they’re just my friends!”

you scowl, looking away. your leg bounces up and down, if you were a cat your tail would be swaying as an act of anger. he thinks it’s cute sometimes, other times he does worry. still, nothing could make him stay away from you. he had tried, but he at your insistence, he couldn’t help but be drawn to you.

“what will make you feel better?” he asks, gently placing a hand on your knee.

your leg stops bouncing and your eyes flit to his big doe ones. “killing them.”

his fingers twitch on your knee but his face remains the same. “ah, honey, they’re dear to me.”

you frown, looking at him like he doesn’t know you don’t give a damn. “i already tolerate the members.”

“and you should tolerate the rest. you already have me.” he elaborates.

with a swift movement, you pin him down on the bed. he’s taken aback, inhaling sharply as his aide eyes look back at you. he can’t help but for a moment think you would hurt him.

“maybe marking you up for everyone to see will help.” while one arm is caging him, your other hand feels his side.

it would normally feel ticklish, but right now his skin is crawling.

“doing that will help, yes,” you talk to yourself, like he has no voice or thought. “don’t you think?”

again, he can’t find his words. your hand feeling him down until massaging his soft dick through his shorts makes his mind ho haywire.

“baby i asked you a question,” you grab his face and force him to look at you, “if you know what’s good for you, you better answer me.”

he lets out a small noise, a gasp quick to escape when you lean down and lick his lips. he trembles when you bite his bottom lip, closing his eyes to focus on finding some sort of bliss in your brute affection. you kiss down his neck, nipping at his skin and eliciting a whine from him now and then. his body flinches when you bite down on a spot between his collarbone and shoulder.

you don’t stop. your teeth sink into his skin and a hand comes up to play with his nipple, twisting his hardened bud and tugging it every once in a while. the pleasured pain turns him into a mess in a matter of seconds. he knows you’re mixing hickeys with the bites, working to show both things in an arranged matter. as if he were a canvas.

you pin his hips down as you kiss down his chest. his semi-hard member bulging through his shorts now. he clearly doesn’t need that, you need to keep working on your masterpiece. after discarding his clothes, ignoring his weak protests, you discard your own.

excitement and hunger burn in your eyes, his teary ones catching on to your huge dick pressing against his inner thighs as you handle him around. he clenches the sheets with his fists, looking at you with hesitance.

“what is it baby?” you asks, grinning as you open his legs a little wider.

your grip on his muscle are bound to leave a sort of mark. you tease your shaft along his hole and between his cheeks. your tip catching onto his puckered hole as you tease. he swallows, his own desire visible when your eyes captivate the sight of pre-cum trickling on his tip.

you have the decency to pour a bit of lube for the access. when you push in, it’s not hard. you slide in with little to no effort, sighing out of content. still, pressing yourself all the way in, in one swift motion makes him throw his head back and bite back a groan. he doesn’t think he’ll ever adjust to your big size spreading his apart like this.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever match your stamina.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to you tearing him down. you always work to send him over the edge, not in just one way but in many ways.

sucking and biting his nipples.

teasing his shaft and tip while thrusting agonizingly slow.

flipping him over and putting him in so many positions he can’t bear to stand after a certain point.

“ngh,” he sobs, chocking on a scream like moan when he orgasms a fourth time.

“there,” you say, smiling.

he’s panting hard, covered in sweat and bite marks. your dick pulsing inside him as you come a second time. you don’t pull out, always liking the thought of your cum painting deep in his walls.

“and don’t hide my bite marks,” you whisper dangerously into his ear as he comes down from his high. “if you do, i’ll have to do something more obvious.”

and he meekly nods with whatever strength he has left.

[aurorasgate]

the corel incident

sephiroth x reader | 7.1k+ words

warnings: my little twist on what happens in corel, angst with a happy ending, gn!reader, graphic depictions of violence (towards the reader and others), drowning, protective seph my beloved - would and does kill for you, as usual with me sane!seph. please let me know if i missed anything!

dust kicks up under your feet with each step you take, the blaring sun beating down on your skin, the heat of it seeping into your hair and scalp, lingering on your clothes. the air is nearly as warm, almost hard to breathe in at the peak of the day's heat, and the smell of coal was just as prominent. it’s different from mako but the same kind of suffocating that could make one sick if you weren’t used to it and were more accustomed to cleaner air.

corel is different than you had expected. you knew of the economic decline for the need of coal with shinra building more mako reactors but there’s a quaint peacefulness to the town and a happy hopefulness to the people, though it doesn’t hide the signs of how badly off they have been. with the construction of the mako reactor however, a ‘promise of prosperity’, there was a reason to think things were truly going to turn around.

and of course shinra had pulled out the full stops to show them as much by bringing in water and supplies, public security, urban planners, and soldiers to clear out the monsters along with the construction crew. the project is nearly finished now, the reactor building shiny and silver, standing out against the brown dusty hues that paint the town, now in your line of sight and is your current destination. 

you had joined sephiroth on this mission to corel hoping to help the townspeople however you might be able to but shinra seemed intent on putting on a show, the whole reason you assumed they had sent sephiroth to deal with monsters that could have been handled by a few 2nd class, and when you arrived you were quickly ordered to ‘enjoy the town’ and plan to attend the tour of the reactor. nothing more.

in no place to disobey, here you are, walking up the metal steps, the first few already blanketed in a thin layer of loose dirt, and joining the citizens already at the threshold of the reactor waiting for the tour to begin. you take a quiet place at the back of the group, thankful for the cooler air coming from inside that soothes your heated skin as you wait.

after a few minutes someone walks towards the front of the group dressed in a more casual dark blue suit, wearing a shinra hard hat and a smile that looks almost too excited. you don’t recognize the shinra employee who introduces themselves to the group as jaden, your tour guide for the day. not that you could say you know many employees outside of soldier.

based on his looks from the front to the back of the group, someone else has taken a place behind you and you feel a shiver run up your spine when you register their presence at your back. you hadn’t heard them approach or their steps as the group shuffled forward to meet the person conducting the tour and even as the tour starts with some bullshit introduction about the ‘wonders of shinra technology’, they don’t make any noise.

rolling your shoulders, you let the odd feeling slide down your spine and fall to the floor, finding your thoughts wandering to something, someone, else so easily. 

what kind of monster might sephiroth be facing right now? or was shinra perhaps trying to force him in front of the camera? was he okay? realistically, you know that he’s unscathed but it wouldn’t stop you from worrying about your beloved until he was at your side again. it had only been a few hours since you had to part ways, so little time compared to how often you had to be apart at times, but it was enough to make you miss him already.

jaden continues to lead everyone down wide hallways and a series of doors that are all open for construction workers to get in and out of easily. a few of them pass by you carrying different tools and materials in their arms and over their shoulders without sparing anyone in the tour group a glance.

“these men have been working tirelessly to finish the reactor quickly and efficiently so it can be up and running as soon as possible for your town. soon, the prosperity of shinra and the miracle of mako energy will be shared with all of you,” your tour guide explains excitedly.

a few of the townspeople in front whisper among themselves, some of them not looking particularly sold on the words that they would likely hear a dozen more times in one form or another by the end of this tour. would they be sold on them by the end of it? was it really going to help as much as shinra promised?

“what do you think about the reactors?” the person behind you asks. her voice is so close, hushed yet gentle, and you nearly knock back into her as you startle. she doesn’t seem to pay any mind to it, doesn’t flinch or step back, she only waits expectantly for your answer.

“oh- i’m sorry!” you’re quick to apologize and had almost forgotten what she asked you in the slow moments it takes your heart to settle as you take in her kind looking features; light brown hair and dark hazel eyes with black lashes that could perhaps rival sephiroths in length and fullness. “i, um - i don’t know,” you finally answer, quiet and guilty like you shouldn’t be caught saying such things. jadens voice comes over the group, hopefully hiding the rest of your truthful answer, and you shuffle forward with the rest of them, tearing your eyes away from her. “i can’t say i agree with how wonderful they try to make them out to be.”

“hm,” she doesn’t seem totally pleased with your answer by the gruffness of her tone but doesn’t comment more on it and your tour continues with your mind floating between sephiroth and the familiar yet new things in front of you.

a place you had never been but a reactor nonetheless, hardly any different from the ones surrounding midgar or nestled in other cities and towns like this one. but really where you would rather be is with sephiroth, in midgar or far away from it. it hardly mattered as long as he was there with you.

you wish he was here with you right now, walking by your side, your hands brushing as you walk and observe the new reactor together. though you’re certain the people would be ogling him rather than the reactor if that were the case. most of them had likely never seen a reactor but just as so, they’d never seen him either and, like everyone in midgar, they’d fawn over the untouchable war hero without a care in the world.

what would it be like, you wonder, if both of you got to be here as normal people with a normal life. would you be holding hands like the couple in front of you, pointing things out to one another and whispering in each other's ears with a smile as you step just a bit closer into an embrace for lovers? would either of you have even supported the building of a reactor?

in your dreams of a life you and sephiroth would have together in another, kinder, life there was no mako or shinra and you had never been happier. is it possible these people would feel the same at some point?

perhaps. but there was nothing anyone could do about it now. 

is it too late for you and seph to have a normal life without any of this too?

your thoughts are quickly cut off the moment you step into a spacious access room and feel the cold press of the metal to your side and an arm snake around your middle, capturing you against an unfamiliar chest. the room is lined with shinra boxes and big plastic blue tubs on one wall, a large window and open door leading into a small control room on the other side, devoid of anyone besides your tour group.

you’re quick to register just what is pressed to your side, to swallow the lump in your throat that’s keeping you from breathing and try to slow your heart that’s beating so rapidly inside your rib cage as you take in the situation. the huge metal doors leading to the next area are closed off, the people in front of you none the wiser to what’s about to happen and as soon as you look down to confirm that yes that is a handgun nestled to your side, the doors you entered through begin to close.

you’re all trapped.

“play nice, okay?” the woman who was behind you speaks in your ear lowly before addressing the entire room, pressing the muzzle of her gun deeper into your side until it’s digging into your skin uncomfortably through your shirt. “now listen here everyone,” she kicks your feet forward and you see everyone's gaze fall to you, quickly dropping into horror. “i’ll be taking over the rest of this tour.” 

------------✧♡✧-------------

you stare at your phone as if continuing to watch it will make the gray and white blurs of the screen disappear and give you the chance to call or text sephiroth. it doesn’t and it’s hardly a distraction from the terrified aura that’s suffocating the room. it’s so palpable you swear you can grasp it with your hands and feel it stain your skin.

based on the fact everyone else with a phone was in a similar state and the very real lack of alarms going off, you can only assume whoever your captors are have done everything they could to prepare for this and compared to what was going on somewhere else in the reactor, the people watching over you were on the equivalent of babysitting duty.

the shinra employee jaden and the couple you had seen being affectionate towards each other earlier take the duty of trying to calm everyone down. they had from the moment your group was locked in the much too small control room, you being shoved in last, and though there was something uncomfortable, scared, sitting at the bottom of your belly too, you were more restless than anything. you needed to do something, anything.

you’ve sat here for too long but couldn’t afford to be careless. you needed to know more before taking action. you didn’t want anyone to die or to put these innocent people in any more danger than they were already in. did anyone outside know of what was happening? 

what the fuck even is happening? where’s sephiroth?

you’d heard of the terrorist group avalanche before, had known they’d been a bit of a thorn in shinra sides. would they resort to trying to stop the completion of the reactor by.. what? holding random people hostage till shinra compiled seemed as stupid idea as any. shinra would never give into that. 

moving along the back of the group with unhurried steps, you come to stand next to the bolted door and as though you might need to feel the coolness of it to ease your nausea, you wrap your arms around your stomach and lean against it with your head down, your ear pressed to the small crack between the door itself and the doorframe. what you wouldn’t give from some of that soldier hearing now, you think to yourself, letting the thought of sephiroth keep you calm. the voice in your head telling you he would be here soon is his own, deep and soothing, a most sacred promise.

the world outside is muffled and hushed compared to the worried words and cries inside the control room but you do your best to listen and gather what you can coming from the walkie talkies being used to communicate between the woman and the two others that had since joined her and those working with them elsewhere. 

“but sir-,” the woman from before speaks.

the radio comes louder than her voice had. “a few casualties are sometimes necessary for change. do as you are told. team b is nearly finished and team a has successfully captured the target. we’ll continue as planned.”

silence follows.

“they said the explosion shouldn’t destroy more than core,” a man voices, one of the ones who had joined her armed with much bigger guns, chimes in almost soothingly. “if the building comes down that’s shinras own damn fault but we’ll get out of here.”

you hear the woman mumble something you can’t make out and then in a choked out cry, “they weren’t supposed to be here!” her voice rises at the end but you can tell she tries to swallow it.

another pause.

“we can’t save everyone eve,” the man speaks softer than before and had it not been for the words he was saying, you might have felt like you were intruding on an intimate conversation. “some people are just at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

you don’t listen to the rest of their conversation and slowly make your way to the back of the group once more but this time you take your time observing the room in its entirety. the double doors closed tight leading into another sealed off room at the very back, the control panels shiny new buttons, the large vent on the left wall above one of the control panels and how it sits compared to the window, showing you the three people guarding this room.

with everyone complying without incident, albeit scared out of their minds, you wonder how often they had looked back to check on the group. as of now, the woman - eve, was tucked in close to a much taller man's embrace, their backs facing the window and the other man you could hardly see from where you stood but you can make out his shoulder near the door leading deeper into the reactor.

“you’re shinra too, right?” jaden breaks your concentration, his voice with a hopelessness to it. though you don’t love the identity of only shinra when addressing you. “you came with soldier?”

“i did.” you reply and try to quickly decide how much would be right to share with him from what you had eavesdropped. you aren’t even sure you’ve processed it fully. you couldn’t begin to wrap your head around who they might have been after and successfully captured. you didn’t want to think about a reactor being blown up, let alone with people inside of it. you wouldn’t imagine if you were to die here and leave sephiroth.. no. it wasn’t going to happen. you and everyone were going to get out of here if you had something to do with it. for now you decide the less he knows the better, probably. “would you help me get into that vent?” you point towards it. “and maybe try to talk to some of the more rational others so you can come up with a plan if.. if anything happens?”

he takes a breath before he answers. “are we going to die here?”

“not if i can help it. just do your best to keep everyone in here safe.”

jaden proves to be incredibly useful, keeping everyone as they had been, acting as though you weren’t standing on your tiptoes to reach the screw of the vent with the small tool one of the locals had given you that was barely enough to undo the screws holding it in place. jaden stood watch and took everything you handed him, delicately placing the items behind the control panel so they wouldn’t make a sound or be seen.

when you’re ready, with your heart still set to an unsteady rhythm, you lean down to give him the tool and whisper in his ear, quickly and quietly telling him what you heard your captors talking about so he could tell whoever arrived first to save them. “please keep that to yourself until the right time.” and then, as quietly as you could, you hop into the vent without daring to look back.

you thought you might lose your nerves if you saw any of their faces praying that you were going to get help. it was certainly an option but you were much closer to the core than anywhere else in the reactor and if anyone outside already knew that the reactor had been taken over, help was surely on the way and would reach them before the reactor core. you just hoped you could get to the core in time and be enough to hold whoever these people were off until help, sephiroth, arrived.

------------✧♡✧-------------

sephiroth was thankful for the quiet of fighting alone, even if it was stiflingly hot and the monsters prove to be no real fight at all. scarlet had insisted on a photo op that lasted much too long for his liking and then reporters swarmed him with questions and cameras to capture this historical moment for corel but he had been able to get out most of the questions in order to start his mission and begin to clear out a few monster nests lingering on the outskirts of town.

he was nearly finished, standing among the dust blowing in the wind, ready to come back to town to find you and whisk you back home or somewhere away from shinras gaze if but for a night, when his phone rings, a number he doesn’t recognize, and he begins to feel a heavy sensation in his chest before answering it, his feet already instinctively making their way to the last place you were supposed to be.

“soldier first class sephiroth,” comes the voice on the other end of the phone.

“what is it?”

“come quickly. the reactor has been taken over by avalanche terrorists and they’ve captured vice president rufus shinra.”

it’s mere minutes of running as fast as he possibly came before he’s back in town, trying your phone over and over the entire way but none of his calls go through. he immediately starts to make his way towards the reactor when an uneasy security officer stops him in his tracks, nearly petrified at the look sephiroth gives him when all he can think about is getting to you. 

i’m coming. please be okay.

the officer stutters and all but pleads with sephiroth to follow him to scarlet. “w-we’re trying to get the - the c-cameras back up sir. they’ve shut down all e-electronic signals,” the words tumble out of his mouth almost too quickly to catch. “please sir.”

sephiroth follows for his own reasons, a chance to find where you are quickly instead of rushing in and slaughtering anyone who keeps him from finding you, but instead of leading him to the reactor he’s taken to another shinra building, shiny and new and full of people running around in a panic. the air is so much cooler inside than the mid days heat outside but it does nothing to ease the tightness in his chest and the impatience to get to you that’s already boiling over.

“this way, sir.” the officer says, leading them down a bustling hall and into a room that was in a different kind of panic.

the fuzzy screens of the monitors lining nearly floor to ceiling drowns the room in grays and flashing whites but unlike the rest of the building, the room was quiet, as if it was on bated breath, until scarlet's loud voice cut through the air, her voice sounding as if she had lost her calm long ago.

“i don’t care what you have to do! get the camera back on now so we can locate the vice president and plan an immediate extraction. and we need to find what the hell they’re doing inside the reactor! now!”

“y-yes ma’am,” it’s only thanks to sephiroths soldier hearing that the words of the small hunched over man in front of the screens working away furiously even meet his ears. 

not an uncommon reaction to the woman scarlet is.

sephiroth steps are nearly silent across the room but his presence takes over the whole space in an instant. everyone, aside from scarlet and the man in front of the computer, turning to look at him and acting as though the world paused as he makes his way past them but none dare to meet his eyes.  

not that he was focused on any of them anyways. every passing second he wasn’t any closer to being with you once more he was preparing for plan b; to leave here and start slashing through the entire reactor until you were in his arms. until then, his only focus was the screens in front of him and where you might be among them once they’re back on.

“good, you’re here,” scarlet says by way of greeting him as if he were a petulant child who hadn’t adhered to their curfew too many times to scold anymore. “once these fools get the cameras back up,” she speaks louder to ensure whoever ‘they’ were would hear very clearly, “and we locate rufus shinra we will be sending you to retrieve him. do stay put until then.”

“what’s going on inside the reactor?” sephiroth asks pointedly, coldly.

“another team is being sent to deal with that. your orders are to retrieve the vice-”

“i’m in!” the man in front of the computer exclaims in the same moment the screens start to clear from blurred lines to a live feed all around the reactor in a green hue.

sephiroth steps closer, his eyes trying to take in so much all at once, any sign of you anywhere, his pupils going so thin at the mix of bright and dark lights between the different screens reflecting back at him. he isn’t breathing as he searches, feeling like he’s losing a bit more of his sanity everywhere he looks and you’re nowhere to be seen. 

this is where you were supposed to be. and while it would be an unbelievable relief if you found your way elsewhere, somewhere safe, something in his chest, his unanswered calls, told him that was not the case.

the screens change and the first security camera his eyes focus on is an access room, the control room behind it stuffed with people.

“this one,” sephiroth demands, pointing at the screen and without needing to be told twice the man enlarges the view.

mako eyes dart back and forth, studying everyone, every corner of the room and the leather gloved hands at his side clench tightly when he yet again does not see you. he can’t let himself think about if they might have taken you elsewhere, hurt you-

“the public tour group,” scarlet notes, studying the security view without any kind of hurry and hardly any interest but then, as if finding something amusing, her voice peaks up. “ah, that’s right. hojo said you’d grown fond of that little beast. they were supposed to be a part of the tour, no?”

ignoring her and the name hojo usually referred to you in, sephiroth takes in his first breath in what felt like so long. he looks down at the man sitting in the chair, noting how small and afraid he looks from sephiroths angle well above him. he tries to hold back his slipping rage that he usually keeps such a well and tight leash on.

“please show me more.”

“your orders do not change soldier,” scarlet says through clenched teeth, not even trying to control her own anger. “you are to locate and retrieve the vice president.”

sephiroth says nothing as the security view of the access room minimizes and he’s back to searching among the dozens of screen tiles with his heart in his throat and his body screaming to run and fight until he finds you. the screens change again a few moments later and before he can look at more than a couple, all of them without you, the man controlling the computer speaks quietly again.

“oh my god.”

sephiroth immediately finds what the man is looking at and in the next second the view takes over every inch of the floor to ceiling screens; an overhead view of the reactor's core room. it might look unassuming, nearly ready to be turned on, if not for the lone masked man standing in the middle of it and the cylindrical packages of explosives he strategically places all around. the red cylinders stand out, bright among the water below that’s already sparkling with mako and sephiroth recognizes the avalanche attire as the man moves.

he would have demanded going back to the other cameras had something, someone, not caught his eye in the corner of the screen. almost a blur compared to the main focus that everyone else watched and with scarlets demanding voice somewhere in the room behind him, there you were, holding tightly onto the long ladder leading to the platform, sliding down rather than taking them step by step.

when your feet hit the platform, followed by your quick steps forward, the avalanche man turns towards you and reaching for the gun at his side -

“get back here soldier!” scarlet's voice barely follows after sephiroth at how quickly he’s out of the room, out the building, holding masamune tightly in his left hand and running faster than he ever had before towards the reactor in the near distance.

------------✧♡✧-------------

you don’t know what you were thinking running straight for the enemy with no solid plan and no weapon. as if the heart on your sleeve that would plead for the lives of everyone here, including the terrorists own, would be enough or as sharp, convincing, as a blade. 

but you meant what you said before. you didn’t want anyone to die if you could help it. you didn’t want to kill anyone. you didn’t want to be killed. you didn’t want to do nothing when maybe, just maybe, you could be enough.

your momentum hasn't stopped from the moment you kicked your way out of the vents and were able to sneak past one of avalanches look outs to a maintenance door leading right into the core. your feet carry you through the door and down the ladder so quickly, you hardly stop to confirm what is happening below before you’re sliding down the ladder and turning towards the danger with your blood pumping and pieces of hair sticking to your face and neck.

“wait! please!” you scream out, grabbing the attention of the only man who seems to be inside the room. the metal grated floor sounds loudly under your hurried steps, thundering alongside your heart beat.

the masked man turns on you so quickly, grabbing his gun with one hand, holding a stick of explosives in the other. your steps halt as he points the barrel of his gun right at you and though you can’t see most of his face, you can make out the surprise in his eyes.

“have you come to beg for your precious reactor?” he spits at you with venom, his voice rough and full of hatred.

“no,” you answer honestly, shaking your head and holding up your hands to show him you have nothing on you. “no. but i do want to stop you.”

“tch.”

he cocks his gun, the click of it joining the sounds of sloshing water below you. it’d be an almost calming sound if you weren’t in such a situation. 

keep trying.

you take a tentative step forward that he doesn’t react to, your eyes locked on one another. “what about everyone that lives here? the innocent people that are in the building right now?” your voice cracks with emotion but you can’t let it stop you. you have to keep going. have to hold on. another step and this time he tenses and you will your heart not to drop to your stomach, to not let any of your fear show. “even if everyone survives the reactor being destroyed, what do you think shinra will do to this town when it’s nothing but a loss? what do you think they’ll do to you if you get caught? it's not too late to stop this and run!”

“will you be helping deal their punishment? shinra dog?” 

“i don’t want anyone to get hurt. you included.”

“how can you say such things when you’re fine with hurting the planet?!” his emotions slip and you can hear how much this means to him in his voice.

“don’t send this town or your friends to their deaths - there has to be another way!” you can’t control the few tears that roll down your cheeks, the way your heart threatens to waiver with the loss.

“that’s enough from you,” his voice is eerie, unsettling, but it’s drowned out by another voice in your head, that of your beloved.

stay strong. i will always find you.

with all the strength you could muster, some you swore was lended by sephiroth, you launch yourself at the avalanche man, feeling more than hearing the ringing in your ears from the gun going off too close to your head. the bullet cuts through the grated flooring and into the water below behind you and the crashing of your bodies follows against the cold and hard platform, making it groan under your joined weight.

it was by sheer surprise you were able to take him down, you realize now with your much smaller body trying to keep him to the ground as you fight to get the gun out of his hands. he fights back with all his might, doing everything he can to keep hold of it and finish his job. ungentle fingers of his free hand find their way into your hair and pull with a tight fist, forcing you off of him enough for him to maneuver his body a bit and point the gun towards the bundle of explosives sitting on the core's control panel.

you swallow down the aching pain in your skull along with your fear and worry and use the adrenaline it gives you hold onto his arm, your nails digging through his shirt and into his skin so you can swing your legs up as you’re pulled off of him, the bottom of the guns handle hitting against the bridge of your foot just as the trigger clicks.

the reverberation of the shot kicks back on your foot but the following explosion is what sends the gun skidding all the way across the platform, out of reach near the main entrance door and both of you along with it. the bullet having hit another explosive that causes the whole reactor to tremble as it blows a hole in the side of it.

the air is so hot, full of smoke and dust and shards of metal that cut into your skin as you continue to tumble along the floor with the avalanche mans grip on you and yours on him. it’s hard to breathe, even harder to move with his crushing weight now on top of you.

sunlight coming through thick black clouds shines in your eyes from behind you, blinding the man when it comes through the bundles of smoke making its way out into the open air and you take the chance to gain the upper hand. using all the strength you can muster, you shove him off of you, almost tumbling right into the waters below, and you don’t hesitate to try to get on your feet as quickly as you can.

but he proves to be faster, long arms reaching out for you even as he struggles to get up himself and grabbing at your ankle unforgivingly, bringing you back down to the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of you. it’s not without a hell of a struggle that he hauls you over the edge of the platform but he doesn’t relent no matter how hard you kick or fight against and scratch at the hands plunge you into the sparkling mako waters, holding you below the surface. 

it feels like chaos incarnate at first, the water sloshing and obscuring your vision, burning your eyes and ready to flood your lungs when you can’t fight it off any longer but moment by passing moment you feel the serenity of the water begin to wash over you. 

it’s warmer than you had expected it to be, quiet and peaceful in your ears. the gentle sway helps to coax your muscles from fighting as your strength starts to leave you quickly. your head feels so very light, drifting from fear to searching for comfort while your lungs fill with water and your hands can no longer hold on.

it hurts at first, painful as your chest constricts and your lungs squeeze only to bring in more water than before. all you want is sephiroth. to cry in his arms like a child and apologize for leaving him. it adds to the pain in your chest but like most of your body, it numbs the longer you stay under the water and as you feel the hands holding you let go, so does your consciousness.

------------✧♡✧-------------

at the sound of the explosion, sephiroth runs faster than he ever has before. nothing more than a blur of silver and black kicking up dust and the embers of his powerful aura sparking in the air in his wake, ready to alight the whole planet in his fury if he were to lose you here and now.

smoke bellows into the sky on the opposite side of the reactor that he’s facing, the scent of it quickly invading his senses and like a beacon, he follows in directly to you. sephiroth doesn’t bother to enter the building by any normal means, choosing the fastest way to get to you, made possible by strength only few possess.

his heart is pounding, every breath he takes in only fueling the inferno kinding inside of him and the hand holding onto masamune is strong enough to have snapped the leather cords wrapped around her hilt had they been made of normal materials. still, they groan under his grip as he slashes through the outer siding of the reactor that he climbs to in the blink of an eye.

sephiroth can feel the steel ripping in two like aluminum underneath the edge of his blade that slash a clean x through the metal. the screeching sound of metal cutting metal doesn’t breach his ears, not when all he can hear is his own heart beating, searching for your own, and how it’s tearing through his chest and rib cage to get to you. 

under the pressure of his boot, the bottom most part of the siding folds in and he forces the other panels away with his hands, tearing them away with adrenaline fueled otherwordly strength, allowing him to make a massive hole to step inside. the bright sun shines from behind him, a golden halo backdrop against the black of his coat and the shining in the silver of his hair.

it’s as if the world has stopped as he takes in the scene before him, a split moment that lasts minutes in sephiroths gaze that immediately finds you in the chaos of the room. your hands losing their strength to fight back as you’re being held under the mako waters by the same figure he had seen on the security camera. the blood dripping down arms that hold you there, bleeding and bruised from the fight you had put up in your attempt to stop this.

a choice that fills sephiroth with so many emotions he can’t and won’t begin to process them now. not until you’re safe in his arms.

like an angel, or perhaps more accurately to the dangerous expression on his face - a monster, sephiroth launches from his spot, the readying stance he moves masamune into cutting through the air as his broad figure consumes the light around the avalanche man. in the next millisecond the space around him is splattered in deep crimson red, droplets of blood trickling into and diluting among the water before the man's head has a chance to hit the grate under sephiroths feet.

without care and with more strength than was likely needed, sephiroth grabs ahold of the back of the man's jacket and throws him to the side, hard enough that as he pulls you from the waters with an unrelenting and yet gentle grip around your arms, the sound of the man's body hitting the metal door leading into the rest of the reactor echos in the space.

sephiroth handles you like porcelain, feeling himself breaking at the sight of your features losing color and your body completely limp, lifeless, in his arms. he can’t hear your heart beating. can’t feel any warmth from your body that’s only growing colder in his grasp. there’s no response to the urgent way he calls your name despite how his voice doesn’t reach his own ears either. his body works on muscle memory alone to give you first aid and it’s as if his eyes are watching someone else's hands give you cpr, trying to force you to breathe. water spills from your mouth and with each passing moment that you remain cold and unmoving, he feels his world crumbling around him. 

“please..” with more force than he intended, he pulls your body into his. cradling the back of your skull with one hand while the other holds you completely and securely against him, he pleads into your wet hair. “don’t leave me..”

like in his nightmares where he’s coated in your blood and you lay against him like you are now, he feels frozen. in fear. in anger. in power that electrifies the particulars of the air that surrounds you both, ready to devour the world, and yet was not enough to save you. so unlike his bad dreams though, your warm palm was not there to smooth against his cheek, ready to hold the weight of his suffering like it was your own. your voice wasn’t there to tell him it’s all right and pull him back to reality. to help lull him to better dreams he hadn’t dared to entertain or give hope to until he met you. dreams that were now slipping through his grasp no matter how tightly he held onto them.

no matter how tightly he holds onto you or the remaining bits that would be left of him after losing you. jagged and bloodied shards that genesis nor angeal could -

*ba-dum* 

a sound so tiny and small. enough to stop every movement of his body and light the darkness that was over taking him.

the first breath you’re able to take in is so painful. your lungs burn as you choke and fight for  air and you can feel each aching beat of your heart, like it was sapping every last bit of strength from your muscles to pump and the echo of it riverates back tenfold throughout your entire body but trying to get your bearings through it all only proves to make it worse.

it’s so cold.. so hard to breathe. i’m still in danger, corel is still in danger - c’mon body you need to move.. everything hurts.. i can’t -

“it’s okay angel. you’re safe now.” sephiroth's voice. undeniably rough and wrought with overwhelming relief, it’s a soothing balm to the anxiety and pain coursing through you faster than your heart can keep up, that was keeping you from feeling his arms holding so tightly onto you and the warmth that always seemed to accompany him. “i’ve got you.”

you can feel all of him now, the shake of his hands that hold onto you like you might slip through his fingers, nothing more than a mirage. the wicked rate at which his heart beats. the deep irregular breaths he takes. the heat of him mingling with the chilling wetness of your clothes.

looking up at him, tears prick your eyes stinging and hot, you can’t help but smile. he made it. everyone was going to be okay. through your blurry vision, it’s hard to make out anything other than the curtain of silver hair that drapes over you both and the emerald of his eyes that stare back at you but you swear the air is alive with a mixture of his relief and pain.

the hands holding onto you tighten, his gloved fingers at your back flexing and the ones holding your head tangling further into your hair as he leans in to rest his forehead gently against yours and whispers your name softly, reverently, as though it was a prayer to the goddess; a secret spell that was meant to make everything right.

your muscles scream in protest when you bring your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, his head a comforting weight against your own, smelling of sweet flora and warmth; home. 

“seph..” you murmur, an answering call to his prayer; proof that he hadn’t been too late, that he wasn’t without you. through the soreness of your lungs and throat, through your tears and the way your body trembles you cling to him with what little strength you have but knowing you were alive and with him made it worth every bit of tiring effort.

footsteps begin to sound in the distance, echoing yells from the shinra army having finally made their way into the reactor. sephiroths hold on you doesn’t waver in the slightest as he begins to stand, his footing sure and steady, his strength immeasurable and unyielding in the way it swore to protect you from any further harm and the regret he feels for not having been in time to stop any harm from coming to you. 

you always feel small in sephiroth arms, something precious - treasured - and looking down at you curdled into him now, soaking wet and calming a bit more each passing second, breathing easier, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to let you out of his hold again. 

the reactor core door swings open, the room quickly swarming with familiar uniforms sephiroth walks past without sparing another glance. if they try to talk to him, he doesn’t know or care. with you safely in his arms, he passes by them all, steps over the headless body near the door and makes his way into the chaos outside the reactor where it might as well have been only the two of you in the streets of corel as everyone parts for sephiroth while you remain in the safety of his arms and chest, where he intends to keep you for as long as possible.

[luxaofhesperides]

puddle

Your writing is amazing btw

Danny is usually fine with the cold. He's got an ice core, he's practically made for the cold. But Gotham autumn cold is another monster, especially when it comes with so much rain.

The city is constantly damp and dreary, switching between sprinkling on and off to a heavy deluge of rain.

Listen, he can handle the cold but not the cold and wet. That's just asking for too much.

He says as much to Duke over the phone, peering out from under the awning of the theater he's trapped at, hoping the rain will let up soon. It hadn't been raining when he left the apartment earlier to watch a movie, killing time until Jazz got back from her internship with Gotham's social services, so Danny had been caught totally unprepared when he stepped outside and got hit with a spray of rain as a bus drove past.

Duke laughs at him, his voice carrying a little static over the phone, and Danny pouts. No point in hiding it when no one's around to see it.

"How have you not learned to always carry an umbrella with you by now?" Duke asks, amusement coloring his voice. "Hasn't it already been a year since you moved here?"

Danny pouts and stares out into the heavy sheets of rain coming down just a few feet in front of him. "I was running late to the showing so I didn't check the weather! And it was almost nice out earlier so I thought it would be fine."

"Alright, new question: how have you not learned to stop trusting Gotham's weather? If it's good, then it'll get worse. If it's bad, it'll stay bad. That's how it is."

"This city is out to get me," Danny complains. "If I get sick because of this rain, just leave me to die."

"You're so dramatic," Duke says fondly.

"You would be too, if you were stuck out here." He takes a step to stand just beneath the edge of the awning and peers up at the sky. Heavy gray clouds hang above the city, hiding the sky from horizon to horizon. The wind isn't strong today, which means the clouds are barely moving. No doubt the lower streets have already begun to flood, water rising as storm drains struggle to keep up with the heavy rain. He sighs and reaches back to draw his hood up to cover his head. "I think I'm just gonna have to make a run for it."

Noise erupts from Duke's end of the call; rustling, doors slamming, metal moving. "Wait, stay where you are! You're at Harbor Theater, right?"

"Yeah."

"Give me like ten minutes. Don't move!" And then the call ends without another word, leaving Danny to blink out at the rain, confused. He pulls his phone away from his ear, stares down at the screen where "Call ended" stares back up at him, and shrugs.

Sure. Okay. This might as well happen.

He retreats back to the door, more protected from the rain, and leans against the brick wall of the building to wait. It's only ten minutes, and he's not in a rush to do anything else today, so he can wait. As long as he stays mostly dry, he'll be fine.

Despite his many complaints about the rain, Danny does enjoy Gotham storms. They're quiet and steady, with only the really big storms carrying thunder into the city. The storms in Amity Park were always loud, with howling winds and earthshaking thunder, lightning flashing nonstop until it was over. Compared to that, Gotham rain is peaceful; the steady patter of raindrops against windows is soothing and has made him fall asleep more than once. As long as he's safe and warm inside, he likes the rain.

As it is, when he's outside and stuck hiding beneath an awning, he very much does not like the rain.

The street is mostly empty as everyone with common sense is inside where it's dry. A few cars pass by, driving fast despite how hard it must be to see, and send water splashing towards him. He's just outside the splash zone, thankfully, but that doesn't stop him from glaring and muttering curses to those drivers.

Danny sighs again and closes his eyes, hoping to make the time pass by faster if he makes his mind drift.

It doesn't feel like it's been ten minutes when he hears Duke call his name. It barely even feels like five. Danny opens his eyes and pushes off the wall, looking down the street where he can see a bright yellow umbrella moving up and down as Duke runs through the rain to meet him. Did he really run all this way, just to get Danny an umbrella? That's really sweet. Danny bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too much like some kind of lovesick fool.

Which he is, to be fair, but he doesn't need to show that.

"Dude," he says when Duke reaches him, stumbling to a stop under the awning to catch his breath. "Did you seriously run from your place to here? Don't you live on the other side of Gotham?"

Duke shakes his head and takes a moment to catch his breath. "I was nearby," he says, gesturing vaguely behind him, "Don't worry about it. You heading back home?"

"That was the plan, yeah."

"I'll walk you then. C'mon."

Duke offers his elbow as though escorting Danny to the ball. Danny takes it, stepping beneath the umbrella, so cheerfully yellow it almost feels aggressive. "My hero," he teases. "My knight under yellow umbrella."

"Listen, it was the only one I had that wasn't broken and it was a joke gift from a friend."

"A joke gift?"

"It's a Signal umbrella. Look at the handle."

Danny looks. The curve of the handle ends in a bat symbol. "That's amazing," he says, biting back a laugh as they step out into the rain. The umbrella protects them, but he can see that both their shoulders are getting wet; it's hard to fit two bodies beneath one umbrella. He pulls at Duke's arm, tugging him closer, so they can both fit more securely under the umbrella, walking arm in arm down the street.

It would have been nearly perfect if it wasn't for the fact that the streets were full of rainwater and a step into a puddle too big to avoid leaves his shoes and socks wet.

"Aw, man," he groans, frowning at his shoes. "I just can't win today."

"You used up all your good luck calling me," Duke jokes.

"Worth it, if it gets me you," Danny says without thinking. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and regrets because flirting with Duke has become a habit when they became friends, and it's a dangerous habit know that Danny's figured out his massive crush on Duke.

"Sweet talker," Duke retaliates. He's unfazed, carrying on normally, so Danny relaxes. As long as he can keep his crush quiet alongside his many other secrets, he's fine.

Leaning into him a little more, Danny ducks his head to hide a smile as they keep walking. Under one umbrella, together under the sheets of rain, it feels like there's no one else in the world but them.

Maybe there is something to enjoy about rainy autumn days.

Even if it ends with him walking home in waterlogged socks.