#it really is just all about his strength of will!

[surielstea]

Solstice Special

(NSFW version)

Pairing: ACoTaR makes x Fem!Reader (separately)

Summary: A compilation of drabbles with a theme of Winter Solstice, just an excuse to write smut really.

Warnings: SMUT. 18+ ONLY. pwp, cunninglus, breeding kink (cassian), humiliation kink (azriel), thigh riding, biting kink and mention of blood (Lucien), creampie, p in v, likely a lot of other nasty things.

7.9k words.

Rhys - Sauna

Rhysand had won the snowball fight. Naturally, this victory imbued him with a misplaced sense of entitlement for the rest of the day. He'd declared himself sovereign of all things—including the sauna. Alone.

His decree had prompted groans of protest from the other two winged males, both grumbling about "tradition" and "selfishness" as they trudged back toward the cabin through knee-deep snow. Rhys had merely smirked, unbothered, and turned to me with an outstretched hand.

"Come, darling," he'd said, his tone a silky promise I couldn't resist.

The air inside the sauna was thick and heady, filled with the tang of cedar and the deep, humid heat that wrapped around me like a second skin. Clad in nothing but a towel and a sheen of sweat, I reclined on one of the wooden benches, my head tipped back against the wall, eyes fluttered closed. Each breath filled my lungs with the intoxicating warmth, soothing every tense muscle as it seeped into my very bones.

Across from me, Rhys sat sprawled in his usual languid grace, his own towel draped low on his hips. The steam rose in lazy tendrils around him, blurring the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the wicked curve of his smirk as he watched me. Always watching.

"Comfortable?" he purred, his voice like velvet, dark and inviting.

I hummed in response, too relaxed to bother with words.

His chuckle rolled through the small space, low and decadent as if he'd already won some game I hadn't realized we were playing. "Good. Because I'm not sharing this sauna—or you—with anyone else today."

The heat of the sauna was nothing compared to the heat in Rhysand's gaze. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel it—an unrelenting weight, heavy and deliberate as it traveled the length of my body.

"Are you going to keep staring, or are you going to say what's on your mind?" I murmured, my voice lazy, teasing.

A dark chuckle came in response, sending a ripple of awareness through me. "And ruin the view? Not a chance, darling."

I opened my eyes, the steam blurring his form for just a moment before my gaze sharpened on him. Rhys sat sprawled, his towel barely clinging to his hips, droplets of sweat tracing a maddening path down the carved planes of his chest. His wings were draped behind him, dark and sleek, adding to the languid power that radiated from him.

"Do you enjoy torturing yourself, or is this just for my benefit?" I asked, arching a brow as I stretched, the movement deliberately slow.

His smirk deepened, wicked and knowing. "Who says I'm the one being tortured?"

He moved then, fluid and precise, crossing the short distance between us in a single stride. His towel slipped just a fraction lower, and I swallowed hard, my resolve slipping as he knelt before me, his large hands bracketing my thighs. The warmth of his palms seared through the thin towel that clung to my body, his thumbs stroking soft circles against my bare skin.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. "If you keep teasing me, I might decide to retaliate."

"Maybe I want you to," I whispered, the words barely audible over the sound of my own heartbeat.

His pupils flared, and the smirk faded, replaced by something darker, hungrier. "You shouldn't have said that, darling."

Before I could respond, his hands gripped my thighs, pulling me closer to the edge of the bench. His body pressed against mine, all heat and strength, as his mouth captured mine in a kiss that stole every ounce of air from my lungs. It wasn't soft or teasing—it was a claiming, pure and unrelenting.

I moaned against him, my hands finding his shoulders, digging into the slick heat of his skin as he devoured me. His tongue swept into my mouth, coaxing and demanding all at once, while his hands roamed, tugging the towel free from my body and leaving me bare beneath him.

The steam wrapped around us, a cocoon of heat and desire as Rhys pulled back just enough to gaze down at me. His eyes were molten, his breathing ragged. "You're beautiful," he murmured, the words reverent, though his hands betrayed the restraint in his voice as they gripped my hips. "And you're mine."

My response was a breathless gasp as he lowered his mouth to my neck, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin before soothing the bite with his tongue. His hands were everywhere, exploring, worshipping, as his kisses trailed lower, leaving a scorching path in their wake.

I arched into him, my body entirely at his mercy, and Rhys, ever the opportunist, took full advantage. His name fell from my lips like a prayer as he settled between my thighs, his touch igniting a fire that threatened to consume us both.

"Relax, darling," he murmured, his voice thick with promise. "Let me take care of you."

Rhysand's words hung in the humid air, melting into the heat that already had me trembling beneath his touch. His hands—strong, calloused, utterly sure of themselves—caressed the bare skin of my thighs, slowly coaxing them apart as he knelt fully between them. The smirk that played on his lips was as wicked as it was breathtaking, and when he glanced up at me, his violet eyes smoldered with unrelenting intensity.

"Beautiful," he murmured again, his voice a velvet rasp. His hands slid higher, thumbs stroking over sensitive skin, his touch both reverent and maddeningly teasing.

I let my head fall back, a shuddering exhale escaping me as I fought to keep from unraveling too soon. The combination of his gaze, his touch, and the heat of the sauna was overwhelming, a heady mixture that left me utterly at his mercy.

"You're too quiet, darling," Rhys teased, his voice laced with amusement and dark intent. "I want to hear you. Every gasp, every moan. Every single sound you make when I touch you."

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words never made it past my lips. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me flush against him, and then his mouth descended—kisses and bites trailing down my abdomen, each one setting my nerves alight. When his lips finally found the apex of my thighs, I gasped, my hands flying to his dark, sweat-dampened hair.

"Rhys—"

He hummed against me, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight through me. His tongue flicked out, teasing, testing before he gave me everything, his name falling from my lips like a chant. His grip on my hips tightened, holding me steady as he worked me over with infuriating precision like he was savoring every moment, every reaction.

The steam curled around us, the humid air thickening as my body tensed beneath his ministrations. My fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, and the groan that rumbled from him in response only spurred me closer to the edge.

"Good girl," he murmured against me, his voice dark and filled with satisfaction. "So perfect for me."

I could barely process his words, too consumed by the pleasure building inside me, the heat threatening to shatter me entirely. His name spilled from my lips again, broken and desperate, as he pushed me higher and higher, his tongue and fingers working in perfect, devastating harmony.

"Let go," he whispered, his voice low and commanding. "Give it to me."

And I did. The tension coiled within me snapped, pleasure crashing through me like a tidal wave. I cried out his name, my body trembling, my back arching as Rhys held me through every pulse, every wave, his mouth and hands relentless as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from me.

When I finally came down, gasping for breath, he pressed one last lingering kiss to my thigh before rising to his full height. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his lips curved in that familiar, wicked smile.

"Attagirl," he murmured, his voice rough and impossibly dark.

And then his hands were on me again, pulling me up against him, his towel dropping to the floor as he claimed my mouth with a ferocity that promised he wasn't nearly finished.

Az - Party

The River House was alive with celebration. Laughter echoed off the high ceilings, mingling with the cheerful notes of a string quartet in the corner. Snow swirled gently outside the windows, the night blanketed in frost and light.

I stood near the refreshments table, sipping a glass of wine, trying my best to focus on the festivities. My brother Cassian's booming laughter carried from somewhere in the room, no doubt entertaining a small crowd with one of his outlandish stories. Mor twirled a glass of mulled wine in hand, her golden gown catching the flicker of candlelight as she chatted with Elain and Feyre.

It was all so... warm. Inviting. But my attention kept drifting to the shadows pooling in the corner of the room. Or, more accurately, to him.

Azriel leaned against the far wall, nursing a glass of something amber-colored. He was dressed in all black, as usual, the tailored jacket and crisp shirt doing sinful things to his broad shoulders. His gaze, sharp and unreadable, was fixed firmly on me.

I knew that look.

I tried not to squirm under the weight of it, but my body betrayed me, heat prickling my skin. I sipped my wine and looked away, pretending to listen to Amren who was telling a story to others. My heart betrayed me too, thudding against my ribs.

A quiet voice, rough with amusement, broke through my thoughts. "You're terrible at pretending I'm not here."

I turned to find Azriel standing just behind me, his shadows coiling lazily around his shoulders. His dark eyes gleamed with a heat that made my breath hitch.

"Can you blame me?" I said softly, tilting my head in challenge. "You've been staring at me all night."

"Because you've been avoiding me all night," he replied, stepping closer.

I glanced around the room, acutely aware of how close he was. If Cassian—or anyone—saw us like this.

"We agreed to keep this quiet," I reminded him, though my voice lacked conviction.

Azriel smirked, his lips quirking in that infuriatingly attractive way that made my knees weak. "You're not making it easy."

"Not here," I ignore his words, my heart racing as his hand brushed against mine, hidden from view.

"Come with me then," he murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver down my spine.

I barely had time to think before Azriel tightened his grip on my hand, guiding me out of the crowded room. We slipped through the hallways of the River House, the sound of the party fading with every step. My pulse quickened—not from fear of being caught, but from the sheer intensity of his presence.

He stopped in a secluded alcove, moonlight streaming through a frosted window. The silver light cast shadows across his sharp cheekbones, and when he turned to face me, I couldn't look away.

"Az," I whispered, but whatever I meant to say dissolved when he stepped closer, caging me against the wall.

His hand came up, bracing against the wall beside my head. "Do you have any idea how hard it's been to stay away from you tonight?" His voice was rough, and low, sending a bolt of heat straight through me.

"I could say the same," I admitted, my voice soft but steady.

His eyes darkened, his free hand brushing my cheek. "Say the word, and I'll stop."

I didn't hesitate. "Don't."

His lips crashed against mine, and the world fell away.

Azriel kissed like a man starved. His lips were soft but demanding, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me against him. I tangled my fingers in his hair, gasping as he deepened the kiss.

His tongue found its way into my mouth, pressing me harder into the wall behind me as he explored every inch of me. He couldn't get enough, his shadows were tightening around my thighs, swirling greedily below my dress, up my waist.

He kicked my legs apart, and then his knee was pressed to my pulsing heat and there was nothing I could do then except moan his name and I was grateful for the music playing in the other room otherwise I surely would've been heard.

"As much as I love to hear you moaning my name, I need you to stay quiet," He breathed into my open mouth. "Can you do that for me, love?" He tilted his head slightly.

I nod shakily. "Mm," I whimper.

He flashed a wolfish grin. "That's my girl," He praises, then dips down to put his lips on my neck.

He lifted me effortlessly, positioning me to settle on his thigh, straddling it as his lips trailed down my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear.

"Someone's going to catch us," I managed to say, though I didn't sound the least bit convincing.

"Let them." His voice was a growl, his shadows curling around us like a protective cocoon. "Or maybe I'll just make you beg me to stop."

"Not a chance," I shot back, pulling him closer.

His hands tightened on my hips, and when he guided me to grind down, I couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped. Azriel swallowed the sound with a kiss, his lips, and hands leaving me utterly undone.

His hands gripped my hips with bruising strength, steadying me as I rocked against him. His thigh, solid and unyielding, pressed into the place where I ached most, sending sparks of pleasure curling through me. But it wasn't enough—not yet.

"That's it," Azriel murmured, his voice a low rasp against my ear. "Getting off on my thigh. Such a needy girl."

Heat flared across my cheeks, humiliation sinking deep, but it didn't stop me. I couldn't stop. I rolled my hips again, chasing the friction I so desperately craved.

Azriel's hands slid up, one brushing the bare skin of my thigh beneath my dress, the other reaching to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear. The gesture was almost tender, a stark contrast to his taunting words.

"Look at you," he continued, his tone darkly amused. "So desperate for it. You'd let anyone walk in right now and see, wouldn't you?"

"No," I gasped, shaking my head, though my body betrayed me, grinding harder against him.

"No?" he echoed, his lips brushing my jaw. "You sure about that, love? Because you haven't stopped." His teeth grazed my earlobe, a sharp nip that made me shudder.

I buried my face in his neck, trying to hide from the weight of his gaze, but he wouldn't allow it.

"Uh-uh," he growled, one hand gripping my chin and tilting my face back up to him. "Eyes on me. I want to see how much you need this."

A whimper escaped my lips, and he chuckled darkly, his thumb brushing over my flushed cheek. "That's my good girl," he praised, dragging the words out slowly, savoring each one.

The praise, the shame, the molten heat pooling low in my belly—it all coalesced into something heady and all-consuming. My nails dug into his shoulders, and I tried to grind faster, harder, desperate to push myself over the edge.

But Azriel had other plans. His grip tightened on my hips, forcing me to slow.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice a silken command. "You don't come until I say you can."

I let out a frustrated cry, my forehead dropping against his chest. "Azriel," I pleaded, my voice breathless, needy.

He hummed in mock sympathy, the sound vibrating through his chest. "What's the matter, love? You were doing so well." His thigh flexed beneath me, sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through my veins. "Don't tell me you're already close. From just this?"

My face burned, the humiliation sharp and thrilling. I refused to answer, but my silence only made him laugh softly, his shadows curling tighter around us.

"That's what I thought," he said, his tone laced with smug satisfaction. "So desperate. So pretty when you're like this."

"Please," I whispered, the word tumbling from my lips before I could stop it.

His eyes darkened, his smirk growing. "Please, what?"

I hesitated, the words catching in my throat.

"Say it," he urged, his voice dropping to a low, commanding growl. "Tell me what you want, love. Beg for it."

"Please, Az," I whispered again, my voice trembling. "I need—"

"You need what?" he interrupted, making me fumble for words further. His shadows brushed over my legs, teasing the sensitive skin there. "Say it."

"I need to come," I finally admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush.

He let out a low hum, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. "That's better."

A soft whine escaped me as he guided my hips again but did not tell me I could allow that sweet release to flood me, slow and deliberate, dragging out every second. My thighs burned with effort, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.

"That's it," Azriel murmured, his lips ghosting over my ear. "Keep going. Show me how much you want it."

I rolled my hips again, the friction unbearable, every movement sending me spiraling closer to the edge. But he wouldn't let me fall, his hands controlling every moment, every sensation.

"Good girl," he said, his voice velvet-soft. "You're so close, aren't you?"

"Yes," I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Please, Azriel—"

"Not yet," he said again, his smirk widening. "Just a little longer, love. I had to wait all night, it's only fair."

Tears pricked my eyes from the effort of holding back, my body taut with need. "Azriel, please," I begged, my voice cracking.

He smiled at the sound, lips finding their place on my neck, sucking and licking where he knew was my most sensitive spot. I whimpered his name, needy and desperate, clawing down his back, bucking my hips against his flexing thigh pathetically, trying to keep the friction while simultaneously holding it at bay.

"Azriel," I cried. "Please, I'll beg? Is that what you want?" I mumbled, teary-eyed, staring up at him through my lashes.

A soft smile cracked his lips, and then he finally relented, his hand sliding beneath my dress to grip my bare thigh. "That's okay love," he murmured, his lips brushing mine. "Let go for me."

I shattered. The release hit me like a tidal wave, pleasure rippling through every nerve as my body tensed, and then melted against him. His name fell from my lips in a broken cry, muffled as he captured my mouth in a searing kiss.

When I finally stilled, trembling in his arms, he pressed his forehead to mine, his breath warm against my skin.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his voice filled with something softer now, more tender.

I smiled weakly, my heart still racing. "You're insufferable."

His laugh was low and quiet, his shadows brushing over my skin in a gentle caress. "And yet, you love me."

I rolled my eyes but didn't argue.

As footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway, Azriel set me back on my feet, smoothing out my dress with careful hands.

I wobbled slightly on my feet, catching my balance despite the ache in my shaky legs.

"You should go back first," he said, his lips quirking into a small smile. "Before someone notices you're missing."

"And what about you?"

He leaned in, pressing a loving kiss to my temple. "I'll go in a few minutes after you, don't want to raise awareness." He smiled crookedly. "And mask your smell," He advises.

I flush deeply, but do as he says, before leaving him in the hall. Looking back only once to see the dark promise in his eyes. Next time it wasn't only going to be his thigh.

Cassian - Unwrap

Cassian toyed with the tassel on my silk robe as I lounged on our bed, my head resting comfortably in his lap while I read. His calloused hand had been stroking lazy patterns along my side, his touch so soothing it made it hard to focus on the words in my book. But then, the silk tassel caught his attention, his fingers snagging the string and giving it a gentle tug.

"You know," he said, his voice low and casual—too casual, which I knew meant trouble. "I never did get a Solstice present from you."

I looked up at him, meeting his hazel gaze. Mischief danced in his eyes, that boyish grin tugging at his lips. Closing my book with a soft thud, I sat up, brushing my hair over my shoulder. "I am your present," I said with a playful smile.

His grin widened, his head tilting in that teasing, infuriating way that made me want to kiss him senseless—and smack him—at the same time. "C'mon, you can't be that lazy."

My lips twitched as I fought a grin, deciding then and there to wipe that smug expression off his face. Without a word, I swung one leg over his lap, settling myself atop him. His large hands instinctively landed on my hips, his thumbs brushing against the silk of my robe.

"No, Cass," I said, leaning closer until my lips ghosted over his. "I am your present."

I watched the shift in his expression as the words sank in, his teasing smirk giving way to something darker, hungrier. Slowly, I dragged my fingers up the column of his neck, tracing the edge of his jaw before guiding one of his hands to the tie of my robe. His breath hitched as he pulled at the silk, the knot unraveling easily under his practiced fingers.

The gray robe slipped open, revealing delicate lace that clung to my skin—a new set of lingerie he'd never seen before. It was a deep, rich red, the exact shade of his siphons, a color I knew drove the possessive side of him wild.

"Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, his voice thick as his eyes roamed over me. His pupils darkened, swallowing the hazel of his irises. I let the robe fall from my shoulders entirely, the fabric pooling around my waist as I leaned back slightly, giving him an unimpeded view.

His gaze devoured me, his hands tightening on my hips as though he needed to anchor himself. "You been hiding this from me all day?" he murmured, his voice strained with the effort it took to hold himself back.

"Maybe," I teased, my fingers weaving into his dark hair, tugging lightly as I leaned down to whisper against his ear, "Go on, Cass. Unwrap your gift."

Cassian didn't need to be told twice. His hands were already moving, sliding up my sides, the heat of his touch searing through the lace as he explored every inch of me. His lips found the sensitive spot at my neck, just beneath my ear, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my skin that made my breath hitch.

"Whatever you want," I sigh softly. "You can do whatever you want to me." I run a hand through his dark hair.

Cassian let out a deep, guttural growl at my words, his lips pausing against the tender skin of my neck. "Don't say things like that unless you mean them, sweetheart," he warned, his voice dark and hoarse, the edge of restraint barely clinging to it.

I arched against him, my fingers threading deeper into his hair. "I mean every word, Cass," I whispered, my voice breathy as I rolled my hips, feeling him hard and ready against me. "You know I do."

His control snapped. One large hand slid up to cup the back of my neck, holding me in place as his mouth captured mine in a kiss that was wild and consuming. His other hand skimmed down my body, calloused fingers tracing over the lace that clung to my skin. The roughness of his touch was a delicious contrast to the soft fabric, and I moaned into his mouth, my body already strung tight with anticipation.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with desire. His fingers slipped under the band of my panties, tearing them off with one swift motion and tossing the ruined lace to the floor. This is what he enjoyed, what I knew he enjoyed. To ravage and take what belonged to him.

I gasped as the cool air hit my heated skin, but Cassian didn't give me time to recover. His lips left mine, trailing down my throat, over the swell of my breasts, before pausing to take one taut peak into his mouth. His tongue swirled around it, his teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt of pleasure straight to my core.

"Cassian," I breathed, my nails digging into his shoulders as his hand slid lower, his fingers dipping between my thighs. He groaned as he found me slick and ready for him, his touch slow and deliberate as he explored every inch of me.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he muttered, his lips moving back up, kissing and nipping a path to my collarbone. As he did so he aligned the leaking head of his cock up with my wet entrance, he paused, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. The intensity of his gaze stole my breath, his hazel eyes dark with hunger.

"Tell me what you want, sweetheart," he said, his voice rough and commanding.

"You," I managed, my voice trembling. "I want you, Cass. Please."

His mouth curved into a wicked smile against my skin. "Good girl."

He pushed into me slowly, stretching me in a way that made my head fall back, a moan escaping my lips. Cassian groaned, his hands gripping my hips as he sank into me fully, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.

"You feel so fucking good," he rasped, his breath coming in ragged pants as he began to move, his hips rolling in a rhythm that had me seeing stars all over again.

The room was filled with the sounds of our pleasure—moans, gasps, the slap of skin against skin. Cassian's name fell from my lips like a prayer, his own curses and praises spilling into the air as he drove us both closer to the edge.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice rough as his hand gripped my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

My eyes locked with his, and the intensity of his expression—possessive, reverent, utterly consumed. "Whatever I want, right?"

I nod shakily, nails digging into his skin.

He smiles, the sight sinful, eyes blown with just. "Good, I'm g'na come inside you," He purred just below my ear. "You stopped takin' that birth tonic a few weeks ago, yeah?" He asks and I nod again, heat blooming across my face.

"Sweet girl," He coos. "I'm g'na stuff you full, get you pregnant," He rasped huskily. My cunt pulsed with the promise, dripping on his cock as a natural lubricant. "You like that, don't you? Squeezin' me so tight," He muttered, voice hitching as I clenched around him eagerly.

"Yes, yes, please. Fill me up."

Cassian's sinful smile only deepened, his breath hot against my ear as he thrust into me with a new intensity. The bed creaked beneath us, his hips snapping forward in a way that had me crying out his name.

"Yeah, that's it," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly. His lips brushed over the shell of my ear, his words punctuated by the rhythmic slap of his body against mine. "Gonna fill you so full, sweetheart. Make you mine in every way."

I could feel the heat pooling low in my stomach, the way my body responded to his every word, his every touch. "Cass," I gasped, my nails raking down his broad back as he pinned me beneath him, a knot already forming. "Please."

"Please what?" he murmured, his forehead dropping to rest against mine as his thrusts grew harder, deeper.

"Please," My voice failed me, words coming out in a pitiful whimper. "More."

"Yeah? Begging for more?" He smiled, leaning down and capturing my needy noises with his mouth, his tongue already finding its way inside, exploring every inch of me.

He pulled away after a moment, sensing I needed to breathe. "You're taking me so well, squeezing me so tight. You were made for me, weren't you?"

"Yes," I cried, the overwhelming pleasure forcing my back to arch off the mattress. "Only for you, Cassian."

His groan was pure sin, his pace relentless as his hand slid down my body, his thumb circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between my thighs. The added stimulation sent me over the edge, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. My vision blurred as I clenched around him, my cries filling the room as my body trembled beneath his.

"That's my girl," Cassian growled, his voice thick with pride and possession. He didn't stop, his hips driving into me with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. "You're so perfect like this. Wrecked for me."

I felt him twitch inside me, the telltale sign that he was close. His thrusts became erratic, his breathing ragged as he buried himself deep, groaning my name like a prayer.

"Gonna give you all of it," he rasped, his voice strained as his release hit him, hot and thick, filling me completely. "Gonna make sure it takes." He grunted, fucking it deep into me, his tip brushing against my cervix.

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, the idea of him claiming me in such an intimate way only adding to the bliss coursing through my body. Cassian made no move of pulling out, seeming content to keep his seed deep inside of me.

"You're mine," he murmured, his lips brushing over my temple as he held me close. "Always."

I smiled, my fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. "Always," I echoed, content to let the world fall away as I stayed wrapped in his arms, knowing the night was far from over.

Lucien - Stockings

Lucien had stripped me down to my socks. Literally. The delicate thigh-high stockings I wore remained on as I wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. His clothed cock was hard, the heat of him brushing against my soaked, bare folds in a tormenting tease. I whined pitifully, bucking my hips in desperation for more. For him.

"Patience, fawn," he chided, a wicked grin tugging at his lips as his warm, calloused hands pinned my hips down to the bed. His amber eye glinted in the candlelight, a smoldering ember against his freckled skin. The other, his metal eye, whirred faintly, locking onto every twitch of my body, every subtle plea I made for him.

"Lucien," I whimpered, voice breathless, needy. My head fell back into the plush pillows as his mouth began its sinful descent, trailing slow, heated kisses down the curve of my neck. His lips were deliberate, slow, savoring every inch of skin as though he had all the time in the world to ruin me.

"You're gorgeous like this," he murmured against my skin, his voice thick and dripping with lust. "All laid out for me, helpless, begging." One of his hands slipped from my hip to glide along the underside of my thigh, his thumb brushing over the lace bow at the top of my stocking. His touch was reverent as if worshiping me were second nature.

When he'd first seen me in these stockings, I barely managed to speak before he had me bare beneath him, as if the mere sight of me was enough to drive him feral. Now, as his mouth moved lower, his teeth grazed the swell of my breast. His tongue flicked over a hardened nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp from me.

"Lucien," I cried, arching into him as he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth. His tongue swirled in tight, maddening circles, leaving me trembling beneath him. He released me with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting his lips to my skin as he continued his journey downward.

He gathered my thighs like I was melting in his hands, draping them over his broad, muscular shoulders. His head dipped, fiery hair spilling across my skin as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to the delicate flesh of my inner thighs. I felt his teeth tugging at the top of one stocking, pulling it down in slow, deliberate movements until it was folded in the crease of my knee.

"You drive me mad," he growled, his voice rough, raw with hunger. "Your body, your taste." He kissed closer, dangerously close to where I wanted him most. I was quivering beneath him, my body a live wire, every nerve ending alight as he teased me mercilessly.

And then he bit.

Sharp canines sank into the tender flesh of my inner thigh. Pain and pleasure collided, white-hot and electric, and I screamed, my back arching off the bed. My hands shot to his hair, tangling in the silken strands, pulling as I cried out his name. "Lucien." The sound was a broken plea, my brows creasing as I felt warm liquid trickle down my thigh.

He groaned at the taste, his tongue swiping over the wound to catch every drop. The flat of his tongue soothed the sting, leaving me trembling in his hold. Deep enough to scar, a mark of him burned into my flesh. A claim. The thought alone had me clenching around nothing, my eyes fluttering shut as heat coiled low in my belly.

"You're mine," he rumbled, his lips brushing the fresh mark. "No one will ever touch you like this, and if they do..." He smirked. "They'll see this mark, mine."

And then his mouth descended to where I needed him most.

The first drag of his tongue along my slick heat was devastating. I cried out, my fingers tightening in his hair as he licked into me, slow and deliberate, savoring every taste. His nose nudged against my sensitive clit, drawing another desperate moan from my lips.

"Lucien," I whimpered, my thighs trembling on his shoulders. He growled against me, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure rippling through my body.

"You're so sweet, fawn," he murmured, his voice muffled by the slick heat of me. "Every part of you, perfect."

He wrapped his arms around my thighs, pulling me closer as his tongue worked me over with an intensity that left me breathless. Every stroke, every swirl, every scrape of his teeth against my swollen clit unraveled me further. He feasted on me like a man starved, drinking in every sound I made, every shiver of my body beneath him.

Lucien's name spilled from my lips like a prayer, over and over, each syllable broken by gasps and whimpers. My body was no longer my own; it was his, entirely, completely. He had me unraveling, falling apart with every skilled flick of his tongue and every deep, guttural growl rumbling through him as he consumed me.

"Such a pretty girl, being so loud for me," He purrs against my heat.

I shuddered at his words, my fingers clawing at the sheets, at his hair, at anything that could anchor me as he drew me higher and higher. His teeth grazed my clit, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain that had me crying out, my hips bucking against his face. He laughed softly, the sound smug and intoxicating.

"You're close, aren't you?" he teased, the heat of his breath fanning against my slick core. "I can feel you trembling for me, fawn. Feel how badly your body wants to give in."

"Yes," I gasped, barely able to form the word. "Lucien, please."

"Please, what?" His tone was all wicked amusement as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive bundle of nerves, so light it was almost maddening. "Use your words."

I whimpered, my thighs quivering as he kissed me again, harder this time, his tongue swirling around the swollen bud. "Please make me come," I begged, my voice desperate, raw. "Lucien, please—"

He didn't make me wait. With one last growl, he sucked hard, his tongue relentless as he pushed me over the edge. My climax hit me like a storm, violent and all-consuming, every nerve in my body alight with fire. I cried out his name, the sound echoing in the room as waves of pleasure crashed over me, leaving me shaking and boneless beneath him.

Lucien didn't stop, didn't let up as he worked me through every pulse, every aftershock. Only when I was a trembling mess did he finally pull away, his lips glistening with my release, his amber eye blazing with pride and hunger. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking as he crawled up my body.

"You're beautiful like this," he murmured, his voice low, reverent, as he cupped my flushed cheek. "Ruined for anyone else."

I barely had time to catch my breath before I felt the heavy press of his cock against my entrance. My eyes fluttered open, meeting his as he leaned down to kiss me, slow and deep, letting me taste myself on his lips.

"Lucien," I whispered against his mouth, the word half a plea, half a surrender.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his metal eye whirring softly as he studied my face. "Say it, fawn," he said, his voice a rough rasp. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," I breathed, the truth of it settling deep in my chest. "Only yours."

His lips curved into a feral grin, satisfaction and possession flickering across his features. "Good girl."

And then he pushed into me, slow and unyielding, stretching me inch by inch until I was utterly filled, utterly his.

Eris - Cold

"You're so warm," I sigh contentedly, nuzzling into my mate's neck. The blizzard that swept through Autumn had knocked out the house's heating system days ago, leaving the usually cozy manor cloaked in an unfamiliar chill.

I wasn't used to the cold, not while hailing from the Summer Court, where warmth was as constant as the tide. Last night, I'd curled up by the hearth, shivering until Eris found me, gently scolding me for not coming to bed. Part of me suspected he could've fixed the heating system with a flick of his wrist, yet he hadn't. He wanted me close, pressed against him, and I couldn't deny him.

Now, wrapped in his arms, my thin nightgown felt like a poor barrier against the fire that pulsed through his veins. His shirtless torso radiated the kind of heat I craved, but even that wasn't enough. Not for the bone-deep chill that still lingered. Not for the ache I felt blooming low in my stomach. I needed that warmth to be a part of me, inside of me.

I burrowed closer, letting out a soft sigh. "Eris," I breathed, tightening my hold around his chest.

He hummed, half awake, his chin resting atop my head. His voice was rough with sleep when he murmured, "Hmm?"

"I'm still cold," I huffed, a pout tugging at my lips.

He shifted slightly, his fingers trailing lazy patterns down my back. "Well, we can't really get much closer," he mumbled.

A flicker of frustration bubbled in my chest. "Can you..." I hesitated, unsure how to ask for what I wanted. My cheeks burned as I clung to him, the words caught in my throat.

"If you want me to fuck you, just say so, my love," he said bluntly, his tone a soft, teasing drawl that sent heat rushing to my face.

I tilted my head up to meet his gaze, my breath hitching as his amber eyes glinted with unspoken promises. Lifting slightly, I pressed my lips to his, the kiss tender yet brimming with unspoken need. Warmth bloomed in my cheeks as his hands moved to my waist, guiding me onto his lap.

I straddled him, my knees bracketing his hips as he pulled me closer, his heat seeping into my skin. His lips left mine to trail desperate, frantic kisses down my jaw, and I let out a soft whimper at the sensation.

"I want you to fuck me," I confessed, my voice trembling with need.

His groan was low and guttural, vibrating through his chest. "That wasn't so hard, was it sweetheart?"

Eris's hands slid up my thighs, gathering the fabric of my nightgown until it bunched around my hips. His touch was fire itself, scorching in its intensity as he ran his fingers over my bare skin. I shivered, not from the cold, but from the delicious contrast of heat and chill that had my body alight.

"You're freezing," he murmured, his brows furrowing as his hands moved to grip my hips. "Let's warm you up, yeah?"

Before I could answer, his lips captured mine again, more demanding this time. His tongue swept into my mouth, coaxing soft moans from me as he rolled his hips against mine. The friction sent sparks of pleasure coursing through me, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.

"Eris," I gasped, breaking the kiss to look at him. "Please."

His lips curved into a wicked smile. "Patience, my love," he purred, his hands sliding to cup my ass as he pulled me flush against him. "I'm going to warm every inch of you."

I let out a breathless laugh. "You're taking too long."

He raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Is that so?"

Before I could respond, one of his hands dipped between us, his fingers brushing over my soaked core. I let out a strangled gasp, my head falling back as he teased me through the thin fabric of my panties.

"Already so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with pride and desire. "So desperate."

I bit my lip, grinding against his hand in search of more friction. "Eris," I whined, my voice breaking as his fingers pushed the fabric aside. "Need more."

He pulled his fingers from me, and I let out a noise of protest, but it quickly turned into a gasp as he flipped us effortlessly. I was on my back now, with him looming over me, his firey hair tousled and his eyes blazing with heat.

"You'll have me, love," he promised, his voice thick with need. "Every inch of me."

Eris shifted, freeing himself from the confines of his pants. My eyes dropped to him, my breath catching at the sight of his length, hard and ready for me. He smirked, clearly enjoying my reaction, before leaning down to capture my lips again.

His body pressed against mine, his heat wrapping around me like a cocoon. As he positioned himself at my entrance, I braced myself, my body already trembling with anticipation.

"Such a needy girl," He tuts beside my ear, kissing my jaw. "You need this so bad, huh?" he whispered, his voice a molten caress.

"Yes, yes Eris," I breathe, and his smile against my skin makes my stomach churn.

And without another word, he thrust into me, filling me completely until I was engulfed in the flames of our desire.

Eris groaned low in his throat as he sank fully into me, his warmth spreading through every inch of my body. My breath hitched, my hands clutching at his shoulders as he stilled for a moment, letting me adjust to the fullness. His lips brushed against my jawline, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down my neck.

"You take me so well," he murmured, his voice rough, a low rumble of molten heat that seemed to pool low in my stomach. "So perfect for me."

I moaned softly, rolling my hips to encourage him to move. He didn't make me wait long. His first thrust was slow and deliberate, dragging against every sensitive part of me, and I cried out, arching beneath him.

"That's it, my love," he groaned, his hand slipping beneath my thigh to hitch it higher around his waist. His fiery magic flared where his skin met mine, a warm pulse that sent shivers racing through me despite the heat.

But Eris wasn't satisfied with just that. A faint glow sparked at his fingertips, and the fire coiled around my leg, pinning it higher against his side. The sensation was incredible—hot but never painful, as if his flame had become an extension of him. The warmth radiated through me, loosening every muscle, chasing away the last vestiges of the chill that had settled in my bones.

"Can you feel it?" he rasped, his thrusts deep and unrelenting now, filling me over and over with a pace that left me gasping. "You feel me fucking the heat back into you, baby?"

"Yes," I whimpered, my hands clawing at his back, desperate to anchor myself as the pleasure built, as his fire seemed to seep deeper, consuming me whole.

The glow of his magic reflected in his amber eyes, which burned with a feral intensity. His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my skin as his lips claimed mine again. The kiss was searing, just like the rest of him, leaving me breathless.

"You're mine," he growled against my lips, his voice deep and possessive. "All mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped, my voice trembling with the force of my desire. "All yours, Eris."

The way his body tensed told me he was close, and I was right there with him, the pleasure coiling tighter with each thrust, each pulse of heat that spread from his magic.

"Come for me, love," he demanded, his hand slipping between us to find that sensitive bundle of nerves. His touch sent me hurtling over the edge, and I cried out his name as the release shattered through me. My body tightened around him, drawing a deep groan from his throat.

His rhythm faltered as he followed, his fire flaring bright as he spilled inside me. The heat was intoxicating, a rush that spread through my entire body, filling me with a warmth so profound it felt like I might melt. He buried his face in my neck, his breaths heavy and uneven as he rode out his climax.

When he finally stilled, the only sound in the room was the mingling of our ragged breaths. He pressed a lingering kiss to my collarbone, his hands stroking soothing patterns over my sides.

"Warm enough now?" he murmured, a teasing lilt in his voice.

I let out a breathless laugh, still basking in the afterglow. "More than enough."

Eris chuckled, the sound low and satisfied, as he pulled from me—and I immediately missed the warmth, watching as he propped himself up on one elbow to look down at me. His amber eyes still glowed faintly with the remnants of his magic.

"Autumn males really do have fire in their veins," I murmured, my voice soft, I reached up and placed a hand on his cheek, swiping my thumb over the teasing smirk forming on his lips.

"That we do, my love," he said, leaning down to kiss me again. "And it's all yours."

SFW version here -> link

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-angst @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb @lorosette @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tothestarsandwhateverend @ahaha0246 @mellowmusings @mythicalcookie

[noxcorvorum]

First of all, I LOVE the way you've depicted John, with how tall he is and also that he's kindof just a cloak encompassing Arthur, the slight way he's wrapped around him is SO GOOD and the way the fabric drapes from his head over Arthur's is incredible, this is HIS HUMAN GODDAMNIT!!!

And that John is easily the brightest thing in the picture, he is part of a god that isn't supposed to be here and he Sticks Out

I also love the marks on the wall behind them, with the black tendrils behind John, the glowing eyes and crown by Jon, and the muted fog behind Martin

And imagine being Jon in this situation: he almost looks like he's stuck here on this makeshift altar playing at apocalypse google; he's got short sleeves and long hair and no shoes and Martin can leave all he wants, can come and go freely but chooses over and over to come back to him, to sit at his back as both a facade of protection, pointlessly watching the back of a man who sees all, and a supportive strength, lending warmth as his boyfriend converses with the scraggly man with a strange glint of gold in his eyes.

He Knows when Arthur is brought here, of course he does, this is his job now, his purpose is to Know and See everything that goes on in this world. He Watches them walk up, and when the scraggly man reaches about twice as far away as a normal human could see, Jon Sees a nauseating shimmer of yellow around him and eyes that are taken over by gold and black.

By the time they reach the door, Jon has been looking upon the visage of a foreign god for quite a while now.

He closes his eyes. More blink open across his skin. He is Argus, hundred-eyed, ever-watchful, bound in service to a god.

Arthur Lester enters, muttering to hi- well. Muttering to the god in his head and wrapped around his bones. The yellow-cloaked figure dogging his steps responds in a voice that tugs at Jon's mind.

He catches his own name in the whispers, and the Eye informs him the piece of the King has named himself John Doe. What irony.

He curls up, reaching a hand back to Martin's leg as if for reassurance, and Arthur leans on the altar before him. He is scarred, heavily so, but the Eye will not look between the shifting robes to tell him whether his marks number more than Jon's. Even the little bit he can see of the figure beneath the swirling yellow twists at him.

Martin sips his tea. Jon Knows he can't see just how strange the man before them really is.

Arthur wants to know how to leave. Jon does too.

something, something, Arthur and John got teleported to the eyepocalypse and was asking around to find a way back when they were recommended to visit the local ‘google’(whatever that means) guy and his plus one.

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 705, part 2: The Moonberry Surprise.

It's true, the Moonberry Surprise moment, it is my fault

I hope you can forgive me for my sins. Hahahaha.

Ok, let's talk about this little sequence. But first, some... context?

Ok, so, Dragon Prince was my first job as Storyboard Artist, before coming to DPR I was working as a Storyboard Revisionist in Lego NinjaGo Crystalized. So I applied to Dragon Prince with not hopes that they will hire me, and when the offered my the job I was in awe.

So basically, I arrived to work in season 4 as a Junior Storyboard Artist. They gave me little sequences during season 4 (I was mostly helping my unit director with revisions) they gave me more during season 5 and 6, working on my strengths, emotional moments, long talking sequences and some combat. You know what was not there? comedy, because it was not one of the things I knew well how to do. But after a year and a half working in the show, I was seasoned enough to be a proper Storyboard Artist, not a rookie anymore. So they finally assigned me a comedy sequence.

I was terrified. Today after years in the industry, I can say that I am not scared of comedy anymore. But when I read the script and I realized that they were expecting a big comedy moment from me , I knew I was in trouble. But as they say, "you fake it until you make it" I took a deep breath and smile to my unit director like "Of course I can do this!"

But ok, lets talk about the sequence. We start nice, with the moon fam enjoying some time together. Was an opportunity to work with Runaan and Ethari, and that is always cool! I love how Ethari is just happy of everyone being there, and Runaan just wants to kill Callum (in an affectionate way, like he is just a protective dad, you know, a no nonsense dude)

So yeah, they talk a little and Rayla handles Callum a slice of Moonberry Surprise. Is like this almost mythical dessert that is said tastes like nothing else in all Xadia. And Callum is so excited to try it!

So, the script did not call for anything you saw in that sequence. The script instructed to reveal the Moonberry Surprise like something out of this world, and then have Callum almost having an epiphany when he tries it. My first idea was to have Calum almost levitating on his seat while eating it, while the rest of the moon fam looked at them in confusion. But during the launch of the episode (this is the stage where directors and in the case of DPR writers, tell SB artist what they want for every sequence we will board, we pitch ideas, and so on) was more clear to me that they were expecting something more of an "out of this world experience". Like the "I love books" moment that Callum had on season 5, episode 2, but on steroids.

So I was ok, lets make it as trippy as possible. So we have this fast zoom in into Callums face, that lead us into this "dimension of flavor" he is being transported to.

And he opens his eyes and he is floating in this space of color and flavor, his spirit being lifted by this experience.

He is experiencing all this flavors, eating this huge blue berries (this was my Unit director idea, Thanks Katherine!!), when something catches his eye. A figure, looking to him from the above, almost like a god.

And Callums looks up, revealing... this:

So, I have a really particular sense of humor (not unique, because I feel a lot of people share it, particular because really specific things make me laugh a lot). I was born late 80's grew up on the 90's with all the weird cartoons and anime of that time. For me adding muscular arms to things is the best joke ever.

This is peak humor to me:

So I was like, what if, Callum does the Titanic spinning thing, with a muscular slice of pie? So I did that... And I was SURE they will reject it.

So I finished my roughs, and I sent them to my Unit Director. She was "this is so stupid" (in the best way) so, she added some placeholder music, and send it for review from the directors, while both of us were expecting to have it rejected.

A couple of days after, our Storyboards Supervisor was like "WHO DID THE MOONBERRY SURPRISE SEQUENCE??" And I was like "me?", and he was like "Aaron LOVED IT!" and I was like "?????" so, yeah, was approved.

So yeah, that is my legacy, I guess. I am Runaan in this shot:

So well, those are all my sequences in episode 705.

Sorry again for being responsible for the birth of that thing. But that is my son now, and I kinda love him, even if he looks like that....

Next post will be my last! So yeah, stay tunned for my last post about my boards in The Dragon Prince, episode 708!

[bunnwich]

Why Leona Gave Himself The Bad Ending

Leona Kingscholar Analysis

Usual disclaimer to say that these are just my thoughts and you don’t have to feel pressured to agree. This was my thought process as I played through the parts of Chapter 7 Parts 212-226, featuring Leona’s dream triggered by Malleus’s magic.

--

I wanna start off by saying that I believe all the dreams are a mixture of Malleus’s magic and the dreamers themselves. 

Idia theorized that Malleus is sort of “setting up the parameters” in a way, then each of the dreamers' personalities and imaginations affect the dream in different ways. The emphasis of this has been brought by Idia several times that it’s the strength of imagination that determines how complex dreams are. Which is maybe why in the first years dreams seem so basic? They’re young, their magical abilities are still new, and their magic is no match for Malleus’s magic. That and, to be fair, most of the first years don’t have the same amount of angst and turmoil as some of the other second years and third years have.

With that being said, I believe that because of his high intelligence, magical prowess, and his hyper-vigilance, that is the main reason Leona’s dream was so…different than the others.

But let's get into it!

There are a lot of Lion King references in this dream, and it’s very clear the writers wanted to play around and show this off. I feel like they did a good job of integrating the themes of the movie into Leona's dream. It does give me a little validation as I feel Leona’s struggles and personality are closely linked to his great Seven Counterpart, Scar. More so than any of the other overblotters. When I analyze Leona I sometimes I do use Scar as a starting point to understand his intentions.

This is how I came to the conclusion long ago that being king would never make Leona happy because it's not what he truly wants.

We start with the dream back in the Sunset Savanna. It’s VERY interesting to see that there is hyena prejudice right off the bat as a woman flees from Ruggie while he attempts to buy food. 

Right off, everyone can tell something is…off about the city. Especially coming fresh from Ruggie’s dream where everything was idyllic and happy for hyenas BECAUSE of Leona.

Grim hits us with the: “I laugh in the face of danger!” line. We even get the three hyenas referenced and the “love for you to stick around for dinner” line. The once proud lioness-dominated palace guard has been taken over by hyena “ruffians” (interesting choice to portray a disenfranchised group being given jobs as the new guard as a negative thing, but moving on.)

The first interesting thing we get is that the palace is somewhat rundown and empty? The group makes comments of how dark and dreary it is, and how few people are around. Is there an implication that the servants fled at some point after Leona became King or did he replace them? This further shows me that Leona for whatever reason has chosen to isolate himself. To me, it's most likely that he already feels isolated by his country and those in the palace.

From the looks of it “Malleus’s magic” has given Leona the one thing he has always wanted, but has he? Leona seems less than thrilled and genuinely upset by the fact his whole family is...gone. As I mentioned in my Leona relationships post, I think that he holds a complex relationship with his family, and while he resents them, in no way can I see him wanting them to be dead. 

It’s now I started to think that Leona’s magic was overriding the simple “let them eat cake” logic of all of the happier dreams. This dream feels TOO real, dark, dreary, and…sad. Could it be Leona’s intelligence or cynicism, ruining what’s supposed to be an idyllic scenario?

Why is even in his WILDEST dreams Leona is still miserable?

Hmm.

A lot of people have talked about Kifaji and their thoughts on his presence. It’s strange to see people praise him as “a loving parental figure” as if he’s really there trying to help Leona. But, Kifaji is not there. This Kifaji is a manifestation of Leona’s mind and I’ll get to why that’s interesting and what I think he represents. Remember, that often in other dreams we’ve seen of loved ones or rivals and they can act normal, out of character, or even cruel. Vil and Neigie come to mind and Neige turned out to be the blot keeping Vil asleep.

Kifaji is a bit different. He actively tries to help the group wake Leona as opposed to encouraging the twisted dream logic. For this reason, to me, Kifaji represents Leona’s conscious and the Dream!Leona we see represents his shadow self, like the dark side of the moon. AKA, the Leona we meet in Chapter 2. In fact, this whole dream feels like a rehash of Chapter 2.

We get the outdated Leona that dumbs himself down and settles for less, cloaking himself in his pride and believing that everyone is below him. An idle king while he lets others do his dirty work. (Scar basically.)

Leona asks Kifaji to sing (another Lion King reference) and it plays out how you would think. Leona tells Kifaji that he is the only competent person in the kingdom. And he argues that the kingdom is in shambles, not because of his choices as King, but because everyone else sucks basically.

Hmm. 

Kifaji reminds Leona that while he is clever and his plans are grand, that he can not treat people like human chess pieces. (Can I just say I love when chess is brought up to us because I find that when people analyze Leona or his thoughts they often forget how much he uses chess to process his thoughts. We saw that plenty in the Tamashina Mina event!) I think it helps him sort his thoughts and emotions which he can have a hard time doing.

I think Kifaji represents Leona’s mindset post Chapter 2 and because Kifaji in his real life is one of the only people who probably stands up to Leona, he has placed him in this antagonist role in his mind. (but not really) Plus, it’s not far off from Kifaji’s actual treatment of Leona in the Tamashina Mina event.

So yeah, Leona acts more like he does in Chapter 2—he's the player or the king even and everyone else around is just lowly pieces.

Just like the scene from The Lion King, Scar and Leona are not happy. Even though they are supposedly getting their deepest desire, they remain bitter and…alone. 

When I first began to read into Leona it was quite obvious to me that the whole “I’ll never be king" thing was just a front for something else. What I think Leona truly craves is approval and acceptance.

Being king, especially of a broken kingdom that despises him, will never make him happy. But, why do the people not love him? This is supposed to be a fantasy right?

There is this interesting layer of how he became king too. Instead of Cheka or Falena simply not existing, like I thought it might be, they are dead. That is…so much more tragic than it needed to be. As if deep down Leona believes the only way he can become king (his dreams to come true) is if tragedy happens. This reminds me of his bitter view/the symbolism of his unique magic. That he can only bring misery wherever he goes—everything he touches turns to sand. 

I also think that Leona is afraid of failing and much of this dream is his anxieties and insecurities that linger from all his past failures.

Though interestingly enough, I sense that in the dream, as implied later by Idia, Leona has implemented an “over-exaggeration” of his policies and plans for the kingdom. It was almost like he purposely ran his resources dry and gave up trying to compromise with anyone for the sake of “progress.”

Why, though?

It’s very masochistic in a way. It’s almost like he wanted to prove himself right. Everything he touches will turn to sand eventually and his grand plans will fail even if he claims they are “perfect.”

That’s why this dream is probably the most masochistic and self-deprecating we have seen. I think what initially began to draw me to Leona’s character is because of the hidden pain he holds. He is by far one of the most easygoing, and lackadaisical acting of the cast, but…he cares, he cares so, so much about how he is perceived and his haunted by his hopelessness about his future and the failures of his past.

I think the pain of never feeling good enough, causes his mind to be unable to “play nice” with Malleus’s dream magic to even manifest any sort of positive future. One where he holds a position he wants AND is loved and respected. it’s just impossible that he could ever have that, even in his wildest dreams. 

He’s too much of a “realist.”

Side tangent, but a frustrating take is to see was the: “Oh yeah, see? He would have sucked as king.” tinged comments after this came out.

 I think it’s more complicated than that. 

This isn’t me trying to defend him necessarily, but to be fair, all dreams tend to be over exaggerations by the dreamer. Plus, I think the fact that Ruggie HATES Leona in this dream and is suddenly in favor of Falena, is a sign right there we can not trust Leona’s interpretation of the people he knows in his dream. He is sort of an unreliable narrator that way. 

Besides, like in The Lion King, why would all the water dry up, just because the hyenas over-hunted? 

A big theme in Lion King and even The Lion Guard TV show is "the balance of nature." The blight upon the Pridelands when Scar takes over feels more like symbolism of the “unbalance of nature” caused by the tragedy of Mufasa’s death. Which makes me again, connect that Leona feels the only way he can succeed is by inflicting misery on others. Like his magic, perhaps a part of him believes he is a curse. 

I theorized in my Tamashina Mina review, that maybe Leona feels like an outcast himself, and the separation he feels from his country is showcased in how he blames the citizens for the decline of the kingdom, rather than his plans. He feels isolated from them.

By this point, I was having flashbacks to Chapter 2, where he got a whiff of his plan failing and he still pushed through even though he knew it would fail. At first, he may have started doing okay as king, but maybe when he came upon too many obstacles or pushback, He just gave up. Because he was not instantly loved by the people, who probably already feared him, he’d rather not even try. Suddenly, they are “not worth his time”, and he can’t help them because they suck.

Leona’s problem has always been his pride. I think he has to put it aside to genuinely help people reach their potential and learn to collaborate with others more. Part of how this dream plays out, is him realizing that maybe some criticisms Kifaji had about his pride all along may be true. Leona refuses to play nice with others. 

That’s why I think Kifaji represents a more sensible and lucid Leona. He is in a sense, talking to his past self, and trying to shake himself from the dream and his outdated ideals.

Ortho even points out that Ruggie is not really the Ruggie we know but rather a part of Leona’s imagination. Again, which puts emphasis on how the characters in his dream are more indicative of his mindset as opposed to being “in character”. Maybe Ruggie hating him in his dream is his inner anxieties about him and Ruggie post Chapter 2 fallout. He feels like Ruggie could never forgive him for what he did. He let him down. And Leona being bad with people and feelings, doesn’t know the proper way to apologize.

Kifaji (woke Leona) says that the state of the kingdom is a result of him “pursuing efficiency over all things and disregarding other people's feelings.” It really feels like he is calling himself out here. Does he REALLY wanna help people? Or is it just Leona’s selfish pride who wants attention for just being smart?

Dream!Leona complains about the protesters interrupting his nap which is another sign for me of the exaggeration of the scenario of Leona being the king. Like...did he not criticize Falena for having the same carefree and laid-back attitude? And yet here he is...complacent in the same behavior he once criticized Falena of. 

Interesting.

Ortho mentions that Leona’s dream is clearly a more complex situation than the other dreams.

I think there is a key implication we are missing here too, that I haven’t seen many mention. There is a throwaway line that Jack mentions that Leona has not attended school and is king instead. And he doesn't seem to know Dream!Ruggie either. Nor Ruggie him.

There is no doubt his time at NRC has shaped him to be the Leona we know now. Someone who has at least somewhat benefited with the connections he made at school. It does seem like this Dream!Leona is regressed. And because he never attended school, he is a much colder person who has no regard for others' feelings at all. He is even more socially inept.

I feel like this is a common theme to show us that despite the independent nature of most of the students at NRC, that it can still be “the friends we made along the way.” trope.  These connections do matter and especially to Leona. He mentions this in his post-overblot monologue in the light novel. He found his pack at NRC.  This time with his dorm members affected his personality for the better. It's kinda sweet when you think about it!

Ortho mentions Dream!Leona appears DEEPLY absorbed in the delusions of his dream. This means that even though he has the lucid failsafe of Kifaji, Leona’s self-deprecation, despair, and pain are still overtaking his logic. That's what's crafted this nightmare. (And he later references it as such.) 

Everyone acknowledges that he can’t possibly be happy and looks EVEN MORE miserable than at school. It can't be a silly happy fantasy, but a grim dark reality of what he thinks of himself. 

That's why he gave himself the bad ending.

I love the double entendre of Idia saying Leona is building his dream like a “sandbox” game. Lots of Minecraft references. (Leona Minecrafter confirmed? Or hear me out…Leona playing King Crusaders or Civilization V FGHJ)

Anyways, Idia or Ortho, (I forget) suggests that perhaps he has run out of ”simulations” for his dream playthrough. And being an intelligent person his mind tends to overthink naturally and this caused his dream to have a more realistic tone. Plus, I theorize that because Leona is powerful and his intelligent, his magic and imagination was almost able to overwrite Malleus's, a standard happy dream formula.

Ortho suggests Leona chose a more “realistic mode “on purpose.” Perhaps like I theorized earlier, it is almost a masochistic test to see if he could have everything he wanted? Leona is a very analytical person who enjoys games. It makes sense, the way he often plays chess alone to practice “strategies.” But as I mentioned before, I think he just genuinely believes it's not possible. Ortho mentions he thinks Leona’s the type to understand that an “aggressive urban development” would come with risks.

Jack asks “If Leona knew this was a bad plan then why would he make the citizens suffer and be hated?”  (Sheesh, now we know Leona really is the type to play pretend and get a lil too real with it.)

Ruggie adds that Leona may be “doing something he knows he shouldn't be on purpose.” Like maybe he did it to be dastardly and maybe he just wanted to “feel the rush” of being a ruthless and hated king.

When Azul asks Ruggie if he thinks Leona takes pleasure in immoral things he says that he can't say for sure, only that he is a prince that no doubt can take pleasure in “bad things”.

To me, however, it feels like a masochistic move to prove to himself his happiness is unattainable. 

Then Sebek chimes in: “How could he go so far to kill his family only to abandon his responsibilities as a king and become a horrible one?"

No one seems to know for sure. Everyone in the group has their theories but the consensus in the group is that - nobody fuckin’ knows why this guy intricately carved himself such a miserable fantasy for himself. Very masochistic for a guy who appears to be so proud huh?

Idia continues to mention that Leona’s imagination is so vast compared to everyone else's. It fills out a whole “world” completely and the mechanics of this world must make sense. He's playing on hard mode. In Leona’s brain this seemed to manifest as if he is to “get what he wants” it can't be serendipitous or through triumph, IT MUST be through tragedy.

Can we lighten up a little?

Again, he may have started to do “good work” but quickly realized that keeping up with all to create a perfect kingdom was waaaay over his head. Maybe he was afraid to give it his all, because he knew everyone would still hate him anyway.

Another reason I think Leona thrives better as a “big fish in a small pond” so to speak. Like his dorm leader role where he can interact directly with his cute (this man used this word a lot for some reason) froshes, make tangible make things better for a small group or community. 

But as we saw, even with his dorm Leona began to feel overwhelmed with the pretty promises he made to his underclassmen in Chapter 2 about the Spelldrive tournament. He like…wants to be wanted but he’s terrified of people actually relying on him, because trying your best and then failing anyways is the most painful thing to him. His instinct when he gets too frustrated with something is to act like he never cared about it in the first place or anyone. AKA “I did everything right and it's THE REST OF YOU who are incompetent.”

That’s why I personally think that in the future Leona working within a small community might be a better fit for him, using his skills to see potential in others as a way to connect with them and teach them how to thrive. 

So yeah, needless to say the group is stumped on analyzing Leona’s intentions and Azul hilariously notes that Leona is just…a complicated person. 

What an understatement.

The group hatches a silly plan to have Ruggie puppet a Cheka hologram and yeah obviously it didn’t work.

This is where it started to get interesting again.

Dream!Kifaji said he’s been “waiting for the day Leona would wake up from his bad dream” and joins the fight against him to wake him. It’s like Leona telling himself that it's time to let his original dream go.

Ortho is surprised Kifaji is on their side, that he should be the darkness pulling Leona back in, but like I mentioned I think Kifaji is actually a “fail safe” Leona created to stay lucid or...maybe the little bit of hope he has fostered now that he has grown from Chapters 2’s events.

Since Kifaji is the one to normally call him out, maybe he's Leona’s way of processing his relationship with him. And that maybe…sometimes as annoying as Kifaji is, he has a point. Kifaji is the one who is implied to have raised him after all, so it's no surprise Leona sees him in a father-like role more than his own father.

“No one understands me, it's not my fault.”  Leona laments running away, running away from himself.

Reminds me a lot of Chapter 2 Leona where he began to feel sorry for himself instead of actually trying to fix things. It's clear that no matter how smart and mature Leona is…is that he still has a lot of growing to do. And that his relationship with his family and country are complex. There is not a black and white or good and bad with this situation and I feel like this is important when talking about him and his relationships with his family.

He was very much ostracized and probably neglected to some extent by his real parents but at a certain point, Leona decided to give up on improving himself just because he didn't achieve the results he wanted to. It's one of his biggest flaw.

His complacency is what drags him further into the darkness. Not Kifaji.

Sitting and stewing in his despair and how unfair his life has been instead of reaching out. Rehashing all thise chess strategies alone on his chess board until his brain hurts. Making grandiose plans instead of actually working hard toward a realistic goal. 

The idle king. A king with naught. (Nothing.)

I am now realizing that in a way (because Ruggie and Leona are so similar) Jack is Leona’s foil; he is the determined and earnest one who admires Leona at his best. He still holds the innocence and the idealism of working hard.

The group jumped through the darkness with Leona and we are replaying the events of Chapter 2 once again.

Ruggie and Jack watch it go down in dismay. Ruggie addresses that he once did think Leona’s way of thinking/plan was good and it’s cool to see he clearly regrets it now too.

They watch the drama play out as if Leona’s plan in Chapter 2 actually succeeded and see that he craves more. More ways for Savanaclaw to get ahead by unsavory means.

Jack says even if Leona becomes king there will be no end to his dissatisfaction. BOOM, there it is.

That is why Chapter 2 is so mind boggling.  Leona’s whole speech was about being king and second. But it’s clear now, it's not what he truly wants. I think Leona is afraid to admit what he really wants. Because that takes vulnerability and then comes the possibility of being rejected.

Jack also notes that, despite Leona getting “everything he wanted” he seems more grumpier and dissatisfied than usual.

“Leona is not your King, hes’ our Dorm Leader,” Jack growls. They fight and we get a nice callback to Lion King here. “Remember who you are.”

As Leona wakes up from his dreams he straight up says, yeah the scheme from Chapter 2 was…stupid. (Nice.)

Oh and we finally get some acknowledgement that Ruggie feels like Leona abandoned him in Chapter 2 which SHEEEEEEEESH. This is a deep cut for me, considering Ruggie’s real dad abandoned him. And it really confirms the fact he sees Leona as a father/big brother figure.

But, Leona doesn't, he sacrifices himself for Ruggie as the whole group tries to escape the crumbling dream. And while Ruggie cries out for Leona, Leona goes down smirking not knowing what will happen to him.

It’s time for him to face himself, his blot monster.

Blot!Leona wants them dead, all of them. Cheka, Falena, everyone. The real Leona finds it kind of pathetic. Because, in reality, I don't think Leona hates Cheka or Falena and he doesn't want to be alone anymore.

Leona admits to his blot that yeah, no he can’t do the job. He can’t be king. And instead of it being a negative it’s more a relief? Maybe he is incompetent too. He is addressing himself and his previous grandiose illusions. He hasn’t done anything worthy of being king.

However, he will not give up. He’s finally living up to Savanaclaw’s motto of perseverance (which he sorta laughed off in Chapter 2?)

This next part is what struck me the most because. He just lays it out so simply, finally saying it out loud.

Self awareness!! Like he finally said it!! (And I felt very vindicated in this moment, NGL) 

What he desires most is the approval of others.

Ah, and Blot!Leona responds with the fact he can't earnestly try, it's too painful to think of failing. Props for Leona acknowledging his flaws! Just like with the other overblotters. But I'm especially floored here because of how PRIDEFUL he is all the time.

In order to have better relationships with people, he has to leave that whole “they all hated me” shit behind. Because in reality, there are people who care for him despite his flaws. There are those who look up to him and admire him, for him.

But, the idea of that I think is so…crazy to him that he tends to deny its very existence. Then when he is genuinely complimented on his leadership or whatever skills he brushes it off.

He calls himself disgusting which feels kinda sad but it’s proof he has moved on from his previous way of things. What did I say earlier? Leona is afraid of failure. 

Giving being a king a earnest optimistic go is too painful for him because ultimately he is afraid of failing. Like he was happier to play the role of tyrannical king than to bother to build relations with the citizens of his kingdom.

As his blot self withers away it’s almost…sad compared to the previous blot monster showdowns we’ve seen. It mentions something about “his friends” (A reference to Scar’s final words.) like he’s reaching out for Leona so it's not alone anymore. And Leona almost embraces his monster? It’s clear he feels pity for this thing…him. His pain, his depression, his loneliness. Maybe a step in the way of self-love? He acknowledges (almost as to soothe it) that it will always be with him, clawing from inside. Except now, he won’t give up.

He vows that he will get what he wants one day, for both of them. He’ll have his “own throne and pride” instead of wanting for someone else’s. He’ll find his place to belong through his own merit.

It reminds me of that expression “find your own tribe” which is an expression that those who are not close to heirt families understand all too well.  He wants to find satisfaction outside his desire to rule and maybe because we know he prefers NRC to home, this confirms his fondness for his dorm life. (Savanaclaw found a family dorm.)

When he returns to his original dream of being king Kifaji is there as they look on at Pride Rock. The fact that it is raining is telling that hope has returned. (Just like at the end of Lion King) and that by accepting that “being king” is not what he really wants now “all things are balanced again”.

They have a nice moment here. Leona acknowledging that he has been given the tools to do good things by Kifaji’s training is a big mature moment for him. (Especially how they acted toward one another in the Tamashina Mina event)  And Kifaji praising him, since this a dream, could be a testament to what he wishes would happen between them.

AKA Leona finally feels more, “at peace” with himself.

As Leona destroys this false kingdom with his sand he seems reserved, it’s almost bittersweet as it all settles over him, his new found aspirations, letting the old ones go. He's letting the past go. A big theme in Lion King. (I really feel the writers must be fans of the movies.) 

Kifaji says: “Go to the place you really belong.”

This line kinda got me. Because the implication is that Night Raven College and his dorm is where he really belongs. Leona is confirming that his experiences at NRC have shaped who he is SO MUCH. 

For years he accepted his life as it was, a cage, and now he is acknowledging that he has the power to break that cage and do whatever he wants. It’s a great callback to the advice he gave Jamil in Chapter 6.

This is quite refreshing as he mentioned before that it was too “late for him”. Now, he realizes it isn’t.

Back with the gang, Ruggie admits his fear that Leona will abandon him again. Leona denies it, and says somewhat casually that he is in fact a true friend of his. This feels like a clever inversion of the line that Scar says to the hyenas about being his “friends.” 

But, we know now that Leona does mean it now. And this shows Leona’s desire to finally stray from the “path”  of his Great Seven counterpart and actually like…have friends?

The reunion of the Savanaclaw trio is actually really sweet. For a dorm full of cocky jocks with strong personalities they seem to be so genuinely happy to be reunited.

Jack bursting out into tears and crying got me tearing up. Like Ruggie and Leona clearly are bit more reserved in their emotions but we see Savanaclaw really are close, despite their disagreements. They care for one another as a dysfunctional little family. 

As a dorm that doesn't get much mainstream attention compared to others it was so nice to have this little moment. It's hard to tell, but I’m 99% sure there was a group hug based on how the sprites moved and the sound effects. At least a nice back pat from Leona. (Thanks, dad.) 

All in all, I really...enjoyed his dream section. As someone who is pretty hyper-critical, for the most part, it satisfied most of the things I wanted to feel. I even got emotional at a few points! Yes, it would have been nicer to spend more time with “king” Leona and dive into it more. Or get more lore about his family. But, he admitted it FINALLY, everything I have clocked about him all those years ago. It’s very satisfying to see his growth in a tangible straightforward way, instead of just me reading between the lines.

I hope we will continue to see even more growth with his character (Like we did in the Halloween event)  and I’m excited to see the role he will play in the rest of Chapter 7, even if it’s just him being a cranky old man. (What do you expect he was raised by one?)

I'd like to end this with some positivity. As someone who deep dives into character stuff a lot I know it's really comforting to see part of yourself reflected back in your favorite characters.

To anyone reading who feels they have things in common with Leona or his despair, the truth is that you should keep going, even if it's just to spite the world itself.

Your vision and presence in this world are valid all on their own and that failing is not indicative of your value as a person. It never will be.

Keep fighting to find your place, your pack and never forget who you are.💚

--

Thanks for reading!! This one took quite a bit to edit and think through so if you like my Leona analyses, I’d appreciate a reblog or even just if you wanna share it with your friends! Shoutout to the youtuber ガスマスクゲーマー whose video I pulled these screenshots from. Thank you!

[beenbaanbuun]

guard dog pt.3 w/ jeong yunho

merry christmas!!!!

now, you understand that yunho is big; much bigger than yourself, in fact

what, with his obnoxious height, shoulders as broad as the amazon, and thick fluffy tail that sticks out like a rod behind him, he basically dwarfs you!

that doesn’t mean he should have access to your whole fucking bed though

you can feel the lip of the mattress digging into your thigh, a warning that if you shift even just an inch to the right, you’ll end up on the hardwood floor instead

but with a firm chest of a sleeping hybrid pressed up to your spine, it’s hardly like you have the space to move

it’s been like this for a whole week now, since the first day he barged into your life at the not-so-helpful hands of mingi, and sleep has been more than difficult to come by

so much so that your mood has taken a significant hit

it’s not like you were exactly happy about your new situation anyway, but right now, as you face down another sleepless night, you’re practically livid

although even that word doesn’t feel right to describe the emotion that sits deep in your chest

something big that churns in your heart, fluttering and stuttering each and every time you see his annoyingly handsome face

every time his sleep-filled breaths flutter against your ears

every time he drags you impossibly close to his body with the strong arm he has draped over your waist…

fuck, you hate him

and you hate how he makes you feel

“shift,” you grumble as you unhook his hand from where it sits on the flesh of your stomach for the umpteenth time tonight, “get on your side of the bed.”

there’s silence as you push at the solid mass of flesh behind you

he really is an unmovable object

“yunho, i swear i’m going to-”

you squirm, wriggling carefully in place until you’re able to flip your body over

until yunho’s warm breath is fluttering against your face instead of the back of your head

and his warm brown eyes are staring into your own

of course the fucker is awake

“why are you tossing and turning, pup?” god, you wish you could swipe that smirk off of his face

it’s as annoying as it is handsome, and you despise the way it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach

butterflies of hatred… obviously…

“shove it, mutt,” you growl as your fist pushes against his chest

it’s solid, like you’re pushing against a brick wall, and it moves your body more than it moves his

a gasp leaves your lips as you feel the mattress disappear from beneath you, but yunho’s wandering hands seem to work quicker than the gravity that pulls you down

they scoop you back up and into his chest, returning you to exactly the same position you were in not moments before

only this time, you can smell the warmth of the cinnamon his skin seems to radiate, and it takes all the strength you have not to melt into it

not for any reason other than the fact he smells nice, of course; homely, like fresh cookies on a cold winter’s morning

it’s a cold winter morning right now, the sick temptress that lives inside your brain whispers to you, and yunho smells so good

not to mention the warmth that radiates from him in soft waves

if it weren’t for that cocky smile, perhaps you’d give in to the strange desire to be close to him, but as it stands, you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction

“get on your side of the bed before i—”

he cuts you off with a sly chuckle that sends a shiver right down your spine

“before you what, pup?”

there’s a certain gruffness to his voice that’s only really noticeable when he’s first woken up

a low growl that reminds you of a dog getting his ear scratched in a way that makes his eyes fall closed and his back leg flutter

it’s cute, in a strange way

insufferably hot too

“before i force you over there, shithead!”

but you’ve already tried that once, and all that happened was this; you, held to yunho’s chest like you’re every bit the pup he claims you are

“and end up on the floor?” he hums, “i won’t catch you a second time, y’know? if you want to be away from me that badly, who am i to stop you?”

piece. of. shit

you scowl at him with as much mirth as you can muster

eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, an angry little pout on your plush lips

you hardly feel intimidating, but it’s all you can muster in your sleepy state

hopefully it’s enough to put him in his place…

“what’s that?” he chuckles, cocky smile turning into a bright grin

it illuminates his face in a way that you haven’t seen before, the corners of his eyes crinkling in genuine joy

it’s a stark contrast from the regular nonchalance or disinterest he wears between the flashes of irritating mockery

you hate how much more handsome it makes him look, if that’s even possible

“what’s what?” your scowl deepens

“that!” he nods his head to you, as though gesturing to your face, “your expression! it’s cute~”

“it’s intimidating,” you argue, and he laughs so hard that his head tips back

“if that’s what you call intimidating, then you need me more than i thought possible.”

then he says your name

your real name

and you haven’t heard it from his lips since the first day you met him, when he showed up at your door unannounced and uninvited

it’s funny; you’re sure it didn’t sound this sweet when he first said it

it’s almost like there’s affection hidden somewhere in there

although it’s not so much hidden as it is right there in plain sight, written on the walls, illuminated by the moonlight that shines through the crack in your curtains

“i don’t need you,” it sounds like a lie, although you’re sure it’s not

you‘ve never needed him before, and you certainly don’t now

it doesn’t matter that those kids in the stairwell don’t even look in your direction when yunho is there too, towering over you

or that the pervy cashier that you’ve caught staring at your cleavage more than once daren’t even look you in the eyes with that stupid mutt carrying your basket for you

you don’t need him to carry your basket either; you’re not as weak as you might seem

“uh-huh,” his laughter slowly comes to a stop, and his smile slowly slips away, “but you want me, don’t you?”

no

absolutely not

want him?

you could laugh at just the idea of it

and yet you don’t

the sound gets caught in your throat and your tongue feels like lead in your mouth

you swallow in a desperate attempt to get rid of the lump that seems to be blocking your words, and it works

well… kind of

it works in the sense that it disperses that uncomfortable feeling a little, but instead of denial, all that slips from your mouth is a whine

the sound is as quiet as it is pathetic, but in the silence of night, it might as well have been an ear splitting, wall shaking moan

it’s humiliating, is what it is, but for some reason, yunho acts like he never even heard it

and it’s unlike him, to not take the opportunity to tease you and make you squirm under his unwavering gaze

but in the same vein, as you stare into his uncharacteristically soft irises, it’s the realest you’ve ever seen him

there’s no false bravado shielding his true feelings from you, just like there’s no smarmy, shit-eating smile on his lips making you feel like you’re the pet, not him

this is yunho

and so you say his name in the softest voice you can muster

a sweet little “yunho,” into the cold winter air

but you disregard that, because in here, with yunho’s arms keeping you pressed tightly to his heater of a torso, the chill is the last thing in your mind

“you know,” he whispers back, “those eye bags of yours are getting quite bad, pup.”

it’s back to pup, but for some reason the nickname sounds so much sweeter this time around

“i can’t sleep,” you respond

he hums in acknowledgment as he tightens his grip

“try tonight, okay?” you nod and he smiles, “good girl. i’ll be right here, okay?”

and for the first time, that idea doesn’t seem so bad

in fact, as your heart rate picks up and the butterflies of hatred—well, perhaps not hatred—begin to flutter again, you realise that maybe you don’t quite mind his presence

“i’ll try.”

[yoru-no-seiiki]

“Lie to me, cheat on me, I don’t care. Just do your job and all’s fair.”

— yandere! rent-a-boyfriend x apathetic! reader

tw/cw: no smut, but this account needs a revive so… reader is gender neutral but i hc them as a dommy mommy. more headcannony than a proper story.

You met him after he managed to con one of your friends at work. Posing as this suave, nice guy, who happened to lack the money to support himself. The one time your friend finally put trust in someone else, that was the time it was completely broken. Turned to ash and bones.

You remember the night your friend came to you, eyes red-rimmed and voice trembling as they recounted the whole ordeal. How he’d slipped into their life so seamlessly, with that charming smile and easy laugh, only to hollow them out from the inside. Every word he’d said was carefully crafted, every gesture perfectly calculated to lure them into a false sense of security. And when they finally realized the truth—when the money was gone and so was he—it wasn’t just their savings he’d taken. It was their ability to trust, to hope, to believe in people again.

And so you decided to take him for yourself.

You remember the look of relief, and then recognition before it settled into confusion with the slight hint of derision.

He was perfect.

“If you managed to fool them, then you’ll do a good job fooling my own parents.”

You needed him. He needed you. It was the perfect agreement. His confidence was alluring as it was powerful. The way he turned heads just by being in the room. And the sex? Simply amazing. I mean, if he managed to make your prude of a friend to buckle then it must’ve counted for something.

Sure, the look in their eyes when you brought him to work one day was horrific. But they’ll get over it you think.

After all, you’d made your choice, and you weren’t about to apologize for it. Maybe it was reckless, maybe even cruel, but there was something about him that kept you hooked. The way he carried himself, all charm and sharp edges, like he knew exactly how far he could push before breaking someone. It wasn’t love, not really, but it was magnetic, intoxicating. Besides, your friend would move on eventually—people always did— it was the natural course of things. You told yourself it wasn’t your responsibility to mend what he’d shattered, even if the shame clawed at you every time their gaze lingered, silent and accusing. You shrugged it off.

But then suddenly he began to act nice? You could feel the gradual loss of his impassivity. How he suddenly became interested in what you were doing, saying and most importantly disinterested in the money you gave him.

“Don’t you get it—? I - I can’t believe I’m even saying this myself - but I love you. I fell for you. And I don’t even know why—“

“Stop.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. A puff of moisture blows through the air as seasons passed and winter has arrived. Frustrated that the one thing you had over him was now seen as no longer valuable. But then realized . . . , “You know what? S’long as it makes the job easier for you.”

With the last smoke from your cigar, you press the tip of it to his nose. Ash, skin and snow collide.

You thought it was better for the both of you. He could have the so called love of his life, and you could spend a bit less trying to keep him tied to you as long as he was useful. However, what you needed from him wasn’t just love, it was strength, not this blubbering piece of mess that kept stuttering the moment you two were left alone.

He was turning weak. Pathetic. Something you didn’t need nor want in a partner.

Too bad he knew you too well. He knew that you were going to leave him behind. He knew that he only had moments to waste before all of this would be over.

So on Christmas Eve, he plans it all out. The meal, the lighting, the music.

He did what he always did best—he made those moments count. His words were sharp, like knives carefully aimed to slice through your resolve, each one designed to remind you why you’d stayed this long. He painted pictures of what you’d lose, of how lonely it would be without him, and how no one else could ever understand you the way he did. His smile was bittersweet, a mask for the desperation lurking underneath.

And it ends with a cheer,

all of this so that he could drug you.

And at last, with a kiss to your lips he mouthed, “Happy Holidays.”

[Author’s Note] Reader definitely comes from a Mafia family of sorts.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

helloooo, can we have shadow x a reader who tends to get sick a lot maybe?

A/n: I really wanted to make this angsty, but then I remember I'm really bad at writing angst 💔💔

Shadow x reader who gets sick often

"Hmph, you ahould take better care of yourself"

Shadows voice rang as he turned the corner with medicine and water in hand. You got sick often. Today you were immobilized in bed from how sick you were.

"I try to." Was all you could say before going into another coughing fit and sighing.

He set the water down, opening the medicine and shaking some out onto his hand.

"Take this"

He handed them to you, shakily you took it with one hand, grabbing the glass of water and taking a sip as you swallowed the pills, before slumping back on the bed.

He gave you a short glance before turning away, muttering under his breath.

Not that he would ever admit it, but he really did hate how you seemed to always be sick. Sure he cares enough to help you out but it irritates him.

It reminds him too much of her. Maria.

Don't get it wrong, he doesnt view you as her, but he cant help but note how similar you are to her in those ways. Small comparisons here and there.

Its not even you getting sick so much that truely bothers him, its how nonchalant you are about it that irks him. Thats the real similarity he makes internally alot.

When your sick, wether or not its on the more serious flus, or just a common cold, youre always insisting your fine, waving off any and all questions, or concerns unless you cant get out of bed. It really irritates him.

He knows. He knows that not a single time your sick will amount to how serious marias illness was, but he still finds a bit of comfort in being able to take care of you when your like this. Being able to help you get better, something he couldn't do for Maria.

Shadow sat down on the chair beside your bed, arms crossed and his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He wasn’t one for lingering, but he wouldntvoeave, not yet at least. The sound of your heavy breathing filled the room, and despite how many times he’d heard it before, it still made something in his chest tighten uncomfortably.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. You were stubborn, yes, and entirely too casual about your health, but you’d get better. You always did. He was here to ensure tthat though in the back of his mind he saw Maria there in that bed, just for a moment.

It was Maria all over again. The way she’d insist she was fine. The way she’d laugh, even as her hands trembled. The way her light was slowly extinguished while he could do nothing but stand by and watch.

His fists clenched.

"Shadow?"

Your voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. He looked up, startled, and immediately schooled his features into something neutral. You were watching him with a tired expression, your head tilted slightly.

"You’re zoning out," you murmured, pulling the blanket up higher as a shiver ran through you. "What’s on your mind?"

"Nothing," he replied curtly, his tone sharper than he intended. "Just… rest."

You didn’t argue, though your brows furrowed in concern. Closing your eyes, you nestled further into the covers, your breathing steadying as exhaustion overtook you.

Shadow watched you for a moment longer before standing abruptly. He needed air.

The hallways were quiet, the faint patter of rain against the windows the only sound accompanying him as he paced. His mind raced, memories he’d long since buried clawing their way to the surface.

"Shadow, it’s okay! I’m fine, really.”l"

Maria’s voice echoed in his ears, so vibrant, so full of life despite the context. He remembered the way she’d beam at him, even when confined to the cold, sterile walls of the ARK. Her insistence that she was "okay" had been both infuriating and inspiring, her strength something he admired and resented in equal measure.

He knows your not maria. But seeing you in bed sick and unmoving...

He couldn’t let the past repeat itself.

[kittyfrisk9]

The soup - Idea DpxDc

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

Dead On Main - Danny having an eating disorder, and Jason being a cute boyfriend.

---

He's breathing deeply, trying to forget the fever that torments his body. Heat and discomfort do their thing, and Danny writhes on the couch that serves as his replacement for a bed. He has no energy to go to his room, nor does he want to move. His head pounds, each pain makes him dizzy, and the burning sensation on his skin doesn't stop. The fever consumes him, and with it, the helplessness of not being able to use his powers to relieve himself.

He grips the blanket tightly, that piece of cheap fabric he bought at a third-rate store, so thin that it barely keeps him warm. He curls up in it, but the warmth of the fabric doesn't manage to take away the pain that runs through his body, nor the emptiness that hurts in his stomach. Each shiver makes him feel weaker, more disconnected from himself. His gaze slides toward the kitchen, toward the plastic bag of instant food he bought a few hours ago.

“Maybe I should eat…” he thinks, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. Just looking at that food disgusts him. At some point in his teenage years, food started to taste bad, like every bite turned into a tasteless mass that he couldn’t swallow. He suspects it’s some psychological shit, some trauma that his parents are responsible for, but he doesn’t want to think about it now. He doesn’t have the strength to face it.

With a sigh, he turns around, determined to at least get rid of that annoying headache. He reaches for the small table next to the couch, where he left the bottle of painkillers, but stops when he notices something strange. Why is he so light? He frowns, sure he bought it yesterday. He shakes his head, exhausted. It doesn’t matter, he just needs something to relieve himself.

Without thinking much, he takes a couple of pills and drinks from the bottle of water he left nearby. He barely feels the pills go down his throat, a disgusting taste filling his mouth, as bitter as the food he can no longer stomach. He grimaces in disgust, but then… something is wrong.

A stabbing pain shoots through his stomach, like an invisible blade is ripping him apart from the inside. He instinctively doubles over, his hands gripping his abdomen tightly as he feels the tremors. His stomach makes low but intense sounds. Panic mixes with discomfort, and when he feels the liquid rise up his throat, he knows it’s too late.

He leans forward, covering his mouth with one hand as the contents of his stomach rush out. It’s not much, just bile and water, but the burning in his throat and the smell make him shudder. The vomit hits the floor, a mess that only adds more weight to his exhaustion.

Danny stands there, panting, cold sweat sticking to his forehead. The nausea persists, but something else worries him. His eyes focus on the empty bottle that had at some point fallen to the floor.

"How many pills did I take?"

The realization hits him like a brick, followed by a deep sigh filled with frustration. Shit. He's going to have to clean this up. It's not like he has the energy, but there's no one else to do it.

Oh, he's crying, he wants Jason by his side

...

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Extremely wrong.

Jason couldn't ignore it, that nagging uneasiness that made his stomach turn. He'd had a rough few weeks, he knew. More work than usual, more chaos in his territory. The appearance of a new drug—powerful, dangerous, and all too easy to get—had forced him to be everywhere at once. His body was exhausted, and his mind, even more so.

But that wasn't what was keeping him on his toes. No, what really had him worried was Danny.

His boyfriend. That word always brought a small smile to his face, even now, when everything inside him told him something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to focus on something else, but worry was a tight knot in his chest.

He looks up at the sky as he walks across the rooftops. The night in Gotham is especially ugly: thick clouds cover the moon, and the lack of stars makes everything seem even more oppressive. A bad sign.

Yesterday, Danny had been mugged. He could still hear the casual tone Danny told him in, like it hadn't been a big deal. But to Jason, it was something. He'd dealt with the guy, sure, but now he wished he'd hit him harder. He should have been there sooner, should have protected him. And now, Danny hadn't gotten in touch all day. Not one call, not one text. That wasn't normal.

Jason clenches his fists, frustration and fear mixing like an explosive cocktail. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't ignore it either. Something inside him told him he had to move, that he couldn't just stand there waiting for answers.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but instead he makes a decision. With a quick movement, he throws out his grappling hook and begins to jump from one roof to another, faster than usual.

"Patrol can wait." His voice, barely a whisper, is laden with determination. First, he had to make sure Danny was okay. Everything else could wait.

Before long, Jason was outside Danny's apartment. The building was quiet, and the apartment windows were dark, not a single light on. Danny might be sleeping, but Jason didn't trust it. He needed to see him, to make sure with his own eyes that everything was okay.

Without hesitation, he slipped through the window, moving with the ease and stealth that came with years of practice. But what he saw upon entering left him cold.

Danny was on the floor, kneeling, wiping something down with a rag. His body was shaking slightly, and Jason immediately noticed how pale he was. Too pale. The fever was evident on his face, in the sweat that glistened in the dim light coming in from outside. But what caught his attention the most was the smell.

Jason looked away, and what he found made his hands clench into fists automatically. There was vomit on the floor. The acrid smell hit him hard, but it was the sight of Danny, weak and barely able to stand as he tried to clean up, that really ignited his fury.

Why the hell didn’t you call me? he wanted to scream at him, but the words were caught in his throat, choked by a mix of worry and rage. The reminder that he was Red Hodd right now and not Jason Todd hit him hard.

Danny stopped suddenly, noticing the presence of someone else in the room. He slowly turned his head, and his bright eyes—probably from the fever—fixated on Jason. There was confusion on his face.

“Hood?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Hey,” Hood greeted as he approached him, his voice deep and distorted by the helmet.

Danny let out a small laugh, though it was weak, and turned his head toward him, noticing his presence at last. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still clouded by fever and disorientation.

“I was just passing by and came to take a look,” Jason replied with a smile hidden beneath his mask. He crouched down beside him, effortlessly taking the rag from Danny’s hand. “Why are you doing this?”

Danny, with no strength to fight, simply shrugged, the dizziness almost impossible to ignore. “The smell is disgusting.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but he watched as Danny offered no resistance, his condition evidently more serious than he was trying to let on.

“Thanks for yesterday, by the way… you saved me, haha,” Danny said, forcing a tired smile. Danny’s laughter, even though he could barely stand upright, gave Jason’s stomach an uncomfortable twist. Danny’s eyes, disoriented and slightly glassy, ​​didn’t help matters.

Jason frowned as he noticed a purplish bruise beneath his eye. The mark was horrible, much worse than Danny was trying to let on. Anger grew in his chest, even more so as he saw how his boyfriend looked so… fragile. Why the hell didn’t I protect him better? He thought, gritting his teeth. Anger burned within him. To hell with hitting the guy harder, he should have killed him.

“Go get some rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Danny laughed softly, but it was more of a tired exhale than anything else. “I have to clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Jason replied firmly. Danny’s response was a low snort, a trace of humor that seemed to fade quickly.

“Will you?” Danny laughed again, though harder this time, exhaustion still fighting to dampen his mood. “If your rogues knew I had you cleaning up my vomit, you’d be the laughing stock of Gotham.”

Jason gave him a steady look, not losing his composure. “It’s a reasonable price to pay for your rest.”

“I’m flattered,” Danny replied with a tired smile, and walked over to the couch, slumping down onto the cushion as if his body was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, trying to rest, but the pain coursing through him wouldn’t let him find relief. Every muscle in his body seemed to protest, and every time he moved, the pain intensified.

He groaned silently, gritting his teeth.

Jason watched him from the corner of his eye, still crouched in front of him. The concern did not disappear from his face, and his gaze remained fixed on Danny. It was obvious that something was not right.

“Why are you like this?” he asked again, this time with a more serious tone.

Danny did not open his eyes immediately, but his lips formed a slight grimace. “What?” he said, barely able to comprehend the question.

“Don’t you have anyone to take care of you?” Jason continued, the question laden with a hint of frustration. “If you’re that bad, you should have called someone.” Me, for example.

He thought about the last part silently.

Danny blinked twice and, after a while, opened his eyes to look at him. The doubt was palpable in his expression, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how much that simple look hurt him.

“I don’t have anyone…” Danny muttered, and for a moment, the sadness in his voice was all too evident. Then, as if trying to make the matter less serious, he corrected himself, “Well, I have my boyfriend, but he’s really busy with his job lately. I don’t want to bother him.”

Guilt hit Jason. “If you think that, he seems like a bad boyfriend,” he said, ducking his head, Danny’s words really getting to him.

Danny, barely lifting his leg, gave it a light smack. “Don’t say that about my boyfriend,” he said, somewhat annoyed, but with a weak smile on his face. “He works really hard at… whatever it is he works at.” He muttered, as if trying to defend him, but then added, more to himself than to Jason: “Old guys, his boss must be exploiting him.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile guiltily. Even in this state, Danny was still defending him, no matter how bad he felt. It was a sweet gesture, but it also made his chest tight to know that Danny was going through this alone.

Without thinking, he stood up suddenly, and with a quick, fluid movement, he lifted Danny into his arms princess-style. Danny, obviously surprised, let out a small cry of surprise.

“Hey!” Danny whined, as if he was about to protest, but Red Hood already had him well in hand.

“I’m going to take you to your room. You need to rest,” Hood said, not hesitating for a second. When Danny tried to protest, a strange sound, a rumbling from his stomach, interrupted them. Jason heard it clearly, and his face softened in understanding. “I’ll make you something light first. And you better eat it.”

Danny looked at him, a little confused but resigned. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Nope,” Red Hood replied firmly, his tone almost amused now, as if it were a matter of fact.

...

Having a crime lord as a personal servant was not something Danny had expected for that night, but if he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that it made him feel better. In an awkward and embarrassing way, Red Hood helped him change his clothes, brought him his phone, and even gave him water. Danny was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Hood would have insisted on giving him a bath and even changing the sheets on his bed.

All this time, Danny tried to find the right moment to tell him something important: he couldn't stand eating other people's food. However, he didn't find the opportunity, and now he found himself in an even more awkward situation.

Red Hood, of course, was in his kitchen, making soup. Danny watched from the doorway, frowning.

Ah, what a waste, he thought, watching Hood move confidently around the kitchen. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, his usual little eating problem was still a pain in the neck.

And then he remembered the anti-hero's words: “You should have called someone.” Danny let out a small laugh, true enough. In retrospect, even if Jason was busy, he would have come running if Danny had asked him for help.

Because Jason loves him. Maybe it's because his ghost half makes him more sensitive, but Danny can really feel it. Not just in his words, but in every action, every gesture. He knows that Jason loves him in a way that is deep and sincere, and that's why he can only eat what he prepares for him. Because he trusts him, more than anyone, and he knows that Jason would never hurt him. Unlike his parents.

Lying on his bed, Danny let out a low laugh and reached for his phone. What a fool I am, he thought as he began to type.

Danny: Are you busy? Please come. I'm kind of sick here and I really will turn into a ghost.

Just as he pressed "send," he saw Red Hood walk in, holding a tray with what looked like a bowl of soup and a hot lemonade. Danny frowned, curious. Where had he found the ingredients to make all that?

A smile appeared on his face as he looked at the tray. He figured it was too late to say anything now. He might as well eat some, pretend to like it, and thank him.

"I didn't expect the great crime lord, Red Hood, to know how to cook," Danny commented, smiling as he sat on the bed, looking at the tray curiously.

"I have some hidden talents," Hood replied, placing the tray carefully on Danny's legs.

Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Like sneaking into other people's apartments and spying?"

"Aside from that," Red Hood said without losing his composure, as if the insinuation didn't affect him in the slightest. "I've been your Prince Charming twice, you should be grateful." He shook his head slightly, motioning for Danny to eat.

Danny looked at the plate, mentally prepared to pretend to like it. "Eh, I'm grateful, your majesty, but sadly this young lady already has a prince." He played along as he brought the spoon of soup to his mouth.

Red Hood laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I understand, I guess this gentleman's heart has been broken," he said in a dramatic tone, feigning sadness. He expected Danny to continue playing along, but Danny stood completely still. "Danny?" He asked, now visibly worried.

Danny was in shock. This taste… He took another spoonful of soup, then another, and another. Without thinking, he grabbed the plate and drank it all, then did the same with the lemonade. This taste, this delicious taste. It couldn't be anyone else but…

"Dan—" But he was interrupted.

"Jason, when were you going to tell me you were Red Hood?" Danny looked straight at him, not angry, but shocked.

His eating problem, that little big problem he'd had since his teens, instantly recognized that this taste could only belong to Jason.

Jason, on the other hand, wondered how his boyfriend recognized him.

---

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

They are two men in love, your honor.

[silentsamlikesham]

Cat Got Your Tongue? - Zosan Temp!Mute Fic

Thank you to @gingeralejasminetea for the following prompt "sanji or zoro somehow becomes temporarily mute and the other just *happens* to be the only one on the crew that’s able to completely accurately interpret their facial expressions/gestures, leading them to be their translator until their voice comes back" I'm not going to lie I did STRUGGLE with having only one of these idiots being able to speak. I made the brave decision to have Sanji lose the ability to talk and like- Zoro is a man of few words :'D. I'm not fully satisified with the ending to this fic, so maybe someday (not soon) I mayyy write a part 2, we'll see. OKAY ENJOY!! **Not Beta Read. Please excuse any and all mistakes**

Words: 4,350

--------------------------------------------------

Sanji tugged at his red checkered scarf, glaring at the faux grass on the Sunny’s deck as he listened to their tiny doctor finish his explanation to the crew. Chopper had gathered the crew to the deck after finishing his check-up on Sanji after the crew’s last fight. The air was tense from the fury radiating from the chef and he couldn’t bring himself to look at either of the crew’s two fabulous ladies to cheer him up, lest he’s met with eyes of pity.  

It was a burst of laughter that broke the silence, the sound reddening Sanji’s face as he turned to glare at the source. Of course, it was the mosshead doubled over the railing, tears streaming down his face as he laughed at Sanji’s expense.  

“Zoro!” Chopper chastised, as Nami slapped the swordsman on the arm.  

Luffy also began to chuckle from where he was perched under the ship’s mast, Sanji slowly dragged his gaze from Zoro to his captain.  

“Sanji, you can still cook meat, right?” Luffy smiled, wide and unapologetic.  

The chef nodded his head slowly, confused by the question before he had an armful of his captain to catch as Luffy catapulted himself straight into him. His stretching arms wrapping tightly around Sanji, but careful not to wring around his neck.  

“Then let’s have a barbeque!” Luffy decided, the crew laughing and cheering as the mood on the ship changed back to its usual chaotic state. 

“Luffy! Don’t squeeze his chest, coughing will be just as bad as talking for his throat.” Chopper wailed, pulling at his Captains foot until Luffy let go of Sanji, unraveling until he snapped back onto the deck.  

“Sorry Chopper.” Luffy smiled, not looking the least bit apologetic.  

“Does that mean dart-brows can’t smoke, Chopper? I bet that would really slow down the healing process.” Zoro grins, reveling in the look of horror creeping across the cook’s face, slowly twisting into rage as he began marching towards Zoro, his foot already smoking.  

The swordsman grinned, his hand going to his nearest hilt as Chopper dived between them.  

“NO!” The little reindeer cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he looked between the two of them, knowing the danger of getting in front of either of them when they were about to spar.  

  “No fighting!” Chopper did his best to keep a wobble out of his voice, relaxing a bit as the two, unwillingly, relaxed their fighting stances. “-and, no smoking.” 

Sanji waved his hands around in frustration, pleading with the tiny doctor with his eyes before running a finger across his neck at Zoro to let him know that the swordsman is dead as soon as he recovers.  

“Sanji, your throat is really swollen...there’s nothing I can do but tell you to rest it.” Chopper bites his lower lip as it trembles, his voice cracking like he’s about to cry. “Please, just a few days, no smoking, no talking, and-” The small doctor turns to meet Zoro’s eye as he finishes “-no fighting. Okay?” 

Sanji looks briefly to the sky, searching the clouds for some strength before he nods at Chopper.  

“Whatever.” Zoro yawns, over the whole thing as he realises there’s no more fun to be had. “Not like Curly-brows ever has much to say anyways.” 

Sanji’s hands curl into fists as Zoro walks by him, flashing him a shit-eating grin as he knows Sanji can’t bite back with his usual banter and shitty nickname.  

“You’ll heal fast, Sanji.” The cook looks down at where Chopper had stopped beside him, looking up at him with his wide eyes and child-like face. “And I’ll check on you every day, so you’ll know when it’s over!” 

Sanji lets out a small sigh through his nose, wanting so badly to comfort the little doctor and tell him ‘I know Chopper, you’ve done all you can.’ Instead, all he can do is pat Chopper’s hat and motion for him to follow Sanji into the kitchen. He can’t comfort the doctor with words, but he can give him some chocolate instead.  

----------------------------------------------------------------- 

Sanji was doing his usual lunch time rounds, dropping drinks and nibbles in front of his different crew mates. He spun out of the kitchen with his customary enthusiasm and excitement. At the last island they’d stocked up on, he’d managed to pick up some local honey and he had spent the afternoon making sweet protein balls out of it, mixing the honey with oats and some with chocolate.  

He skipped over to the ladies first. Robin hiding beneath the cover of an umbrella while Nami lay out in the sun, tanning beneath the relentless rays, her skin sparkling from the sunscreen she’d lathered on her skin.  

Sanji was swooning from the sight alone. His throat was aching, twitching as he blew a heavy breath from his lungs, longing to serenade the ladies with an onslaught of compliments and small talk.  

Instead, as he approached the ladies with his usual twirling and dancing, he could hear the familiar sounds of sniggering and noticed Usopp, Luffy and Chopper hiding nearby. 

“Ooooh Nami-Swannn your skin is as radiant as the sun, let me refresh you with the coolest of drinks and the most divine snacks the new world has ever seen.” Usopp did a terrible impression of Sanji, pretending to hold a cigarette in his fingers as he spoke.  

The impression had Luffy and Chopper cackling and rolling on the floor as Sanji sent daggers through his eyes at them. Robin chuckled at the sight, leaving Sanji deflated and flustered as he left her drink and nibbles in front of her. She smiled up at him though, thanking him with a warm look in her eyes. It was enough to easily snap Sanji back from his mood and had him twirling around Nami again.  

He managed to make his way over to Usopp while the sharpshooter had his back to him, continuing his poor imitation. Sanji felt marginally better as he got to kick the sniper in the back of the head, sending Luffy and Chopper running in fear and leaving Usopp groaning and overreacting on the ground.  

He didn’t even kick him that hard, but still Usopp cried up at him and clung to his leg, begging him to stop.  

Sanji tried to shake him off, anxiously glancing at the tray of food and drink as Usopp unbalanced him, dragging him left and right. Sanji didn’t easily drop a tray, and Usopp wasn’t that strong, but fear made the sniper erratic, and Sanji would probably cry in frustration if his shitty situation with his throat led to any food waste. 

“Oi, Usopp, knock it off. Curly’s gonna kill you if he drops that tray.”  

Sanji froze at the words, startled that he was hearing his thoughts spoken aloud.  

He glanced over to the swordsman leaning against the mast, he’d been convinced Zoro had been asleep in the shade. But now the mosshead was watching the pair through his one eye, the gaze feeling more intense and violating than usual. 

Usopp squeaked in response, throwing himself off Sanji and scampering several feet back from him. Sanji frowned, glaring at Zoro who held his gaze for a mere second before he shut his eye again. Sanji wasn’t used to losing Zoro’s attention so quickly, usually the pair would be foot to blade by now. Even if Zoro had just helped him out, he would have told the Mossball to shut it and keep out of his business and they’d be several bruises deep into an argument by now. 

Instead, Sanji had to swallow the comeback he couldn’t speak and continue upon his deliveries. He handed Usopp his drink with a cold glare, earning himself an apology and flurry of excuses before Usopp insisted on helping him hand the rest out.  

He served Zoro last, as usual, and the idiot must have been using his haki because he didn’t wait for a kick to the head to wake him up. His eye opened as Sanji got close, the distance at which Sanji would have usually insulted him and called him a name to get his attention. Zoro put a hand out for his drink without being asked and accepted his plate of blander, unsweetened protein balls without a word. 

Sanji stared at him, resisting the urge to bite his lower lip in thought as Zoro eventually gave him another glance.  

“What, Curly? Cat got your tongue?” 

Sanji’s frown deepened, his brows knitting together before he let out a tsk and stomped towards the galley. Once inside, he fiddled with the scarf around his neck, loosening it and letting the fabric fall into a long loop. He looked at the dark line of bruises in the reflection of a hanging pan above the stove, willing the purple and blue skin to heal.  

-------------------------------------------- 

It was day three of Sanji’s induced muteness and he felt like he was really starting to lose his mind. He’d never appreciated how often he used his words to convey things, to join in on the fun around the ship and to stand up for himself.  

The last three days had felt like a comical silent movie, chasing Luffy around the ship when he snuck into the galley, rolling his eyes at his ship mates annoying antics and last night, having to throw Usopp from his bed to wake him up to dispose of a spider in the bunk room.  

It was infuriating, it was tiring, and Sanji could feel a headache pulsing behind his eyes from the toll it was all taking. On top of the muteness his sore throat was making it difficult to drink, to sleep, to eat. Pain, Sanji could tolerate, but the hunger pangs he was feeling in his stomach were unnerving.  

Needless to say, Sanji was on edge. In fact, he was beyond the edge. He was clinging onto his sanity by his fingernails and right now, his current predicament might just be the final straw.  

If Sanji cries in the galley because he can’t find the knife Zeff gave him, the one he uses every day, the one that is basically an extension of his hands, then he might just throw himself off the side of the ship.  

He was staring at the kitchen island like he was going mad. His hands moving over the cold marble and brushing over the vegetables that were waiting there to be chopped. 

He’d just had it. How could a knife grow legs and walk away? He started lifting any plates and tea towels around him, sure he must have thrown them on top of it by mistake.  

A hand curled into his fringe, pulling slightly as Sanji let out a huff of pain. He needed a smoke, he needed a cigarette so badly, but he refused to make the healing process go any slower. There was no way he was going through this for more than a few days.  

Right as he was about to bang his head off the marble, someone spoke up from the corner of the room. Sanji flushed red as he jumped, he’d been so engrossed in his search and his poor mood that he hadn’t noticed the Mossball slide onto the couch the far side of the dining table. 

“It’s by the sink, Cook.” Zoro scoffed, folding his arms and tucking his chin against his chest, clearly about to nod off for a nap. He doesn’t usually do so in the galley but one glance at the falling mist of rain outside, and it made sense.  

Sanji stared dumbly at Zoro for a moment. What was the idiot talking about? Beside the sink? He turned his head, his eyes catching the glint of steel as his knife lay just beside the drying rack. He must have left it there when he threw the pans into the sink to soak.  

He looked back to Zoro with a raised brow and a wide eye. How the fuck did he know he was looking for his knife?  

But Sanji couldn’t ask and from the soft snores filling the galley, Zoro wouldn’t have replied anyways.  

Sanji picked up his knife, spinning it gently in his hand as he fiddled with the handle. He chopped up the vegetables in his usual rhythmic routine, but every time he scooped his prep into a bowl, he snuck a glance at the swordsman.  

Since when was Zoro a mind reader? 

------------------------------------- 

By the fifth day, Sanji felt like he was really going insane. No longer because he still couldn’t speak or smoke, but because Zoro was creeping him out. Every time they were in the same room Zoro was making small jabs and comments to Sanji that were almost perfectly in line with the running monologue in Sanji’s head. 

It was unnerving to see the Mosshead so aware of someone else. Usually, Zoro brooded in the corner, unmoving in his preference to exclude himself from most shenanigans and conversations on the ship. Now, Sanji was starting to realise the Mosshead was completely aware of what was happening around him and of his crewmate’s thoughts. At least, he seemed to know exactly what was going on in Sanji’s head. The cook was used to feeling that connection with the Mosshead in battle but for the day-to-day stuff, it was startling. 

The weirdest thing to happen so far, had happened today. The crew had docked at a small island, inhabited by a group that lived in a village on the southern side of the island.  

The log pose was going to take over a day to reset so Luffy had decided they should spend the evening partying on the island and spend a night at a local inn. It hadn’t been an easy thing to arrange with the lovely Nami worried about their budget, but there was no arguing with the captain when he wanted to party, and the rest of the crew were happy to get black out drunk and pass out in a bed that didn’t sway with the ocean.  

They’d gone to the nicest restaurant on the island, mainly because Zoro pointed out that Sanji had his eyes on the building from the moment they found the center of the island. 

That had been strange enough, that Zoro was actively pushing for something Sanji wanted. But the weirdest part was when they had to order. Usually, Sanji would order for most of the crew. He was easily able to tell what each of them would want most from whatever limited menu they had to order from. Tonight, Zoro hadn’t even paused after his order when he added- 

“The curly-brows wants the spicy seafood dish, and a glass of whatever wine will go with it.” 

It wasn’t as refined an answer as Sanji would have given the waitress, but it was close enough to the mark that Sanji’s jaw had unlatched as he stared dumbfounded at the brute. 

“What?” Zoro scoffed when the waitress disappeared into the kitchen, and he noticed the cook’s eyes on him.  

Sanji looked even more pissed off then, wishing more than he had this entire week that he could speak and ask the Swordsman what the fuck was going on.  

Instead, the crew interrupted them with their own chatter and chaos and Sanji was forced to sit back in silence for the following hours.  

It was only when everyone was heading towards the inn that Sanji had a moment to confront the mosshead. He fell into step with him at the back of the group as they all made their way to the inn. Zoro barely even glanced at him as they walked, and Sanji could feel the tick of annoyance on the back of his head as Zoro stayed silent for nearly the entire stroll.  

As they arrived at the inn, Sanji grabbed Zoro’s arm and physically held him back from following the crew through the main entrance,  

“What?” Zoro groaned, glancing longingly at where a bed was waiting for him. “What do you want, Cook? Not like you have anything to say.” 

Sanji continued to glare at him, his gaze hardening at the callous words.  

Zoro eventually glared back, letting out a frustrated tsk as the silence stretched on and Sanji did nothing more than angrily huff at him.  

“Look, are we going to fight and not tell Chopper or are you going to let me go the fuck to sleep?” 

Sanji’s frown deepened. Surprisingly, he hadn’t been thinking of kicking the moron. He looked away, almost embarrassed by his persistence when he knew he couldn’t voice his frustration. But eventually his glare returned to the Marimo. 

He crossed his arms across his chest and tapped his foot insistently, giving Zoro an unamused look. The Mossball just raised his brows in response, like he was egging Sanji to try speak his mind.  

“What? What do you want Cook? I’m not a mind reader.” 

Sanji groaned angrily at this, waving his arms at Zoro, trying to convey this is exactly what Sanji was trying to speak to him about.  

“What? You think I’m a mind reader?” 

Sanji just glared in silence now, pursing his lips further.  

“Is this about dinner? I should have known you’d be fucking weird about it. You order for me all the time, what’s your problem, did you not like your food?” 

Sanji sighed, running a hand through his hair and now deciding it was easier not to look at the Mosshead. He stared stubbornly at one of the lamps hanging off the wall of the inn as he tried to come up with a way to respond.  

“That’s not it...” Zoro grumbled, earning Sanji’s attention again as the Cook whipped around to look at him.  

Zoro studied him properly then, his one good eye analyzing Sanji’s body language from his feet to his face. It was intimidating, almost embarrassing to have Zoro’s eyes so intensely focused on him, inspecting every shift in Sanji’s stance and ever bounce of his brow. 

“Curly, I don’t fucking know what you’re so annoyed about. It’s not my fault you can’t speak.” Zoro sighed, looking tired all of a sudden.  

The first mate’s eyes went to Sanji’s scarf. It wasn’t an item of clothing that was remotely needed given the climate of the island, but Sanji had refused to take it off. He didn’t want his cremates staring at the dark reminder of the bruising around his crushed throat. That part, Zoro could understand. Not wanting to show a clear weakness to a crew that often relied on you. He didn’t know why the Cook was bothering him specially though, forcing him into an awkward standstill outside the inn.  

At this stage, the pair will be forced to room together, something both of them actively avoided and argued against. By now, the rest of the crew would be buried deep beneath rented duvets as they drifted off to sleep. No one would be willing to swap or listen to Zoro complain.  

Sanji sighed loudly in response, looking at Zoro with what he hoped was an exasperated expression. Then, it came to him, the one thing he never needs words for when dealing with Zoro.  

He motioned for Zoro to stand still and then made his way around the oaf. He stopped behind Zoro, facing away from the brute and leaning his back against the others. 

He can feel the muscles in Zoro’s back tense as he leans his weight against him, can hear the sharp intake of breath the Mossball draws in. Sanji raises his leg gently, the same way he would in a fight and on instinct Zoro’s hand goes to his hilts. As Sanji changes his stance and turns slightly to the right, Zoro automatically reacts, dropping a foot back to cover the left side Sanji opens. 

They continue this strange waltz for almost a minute, Sanji almost losing himself in the rhythm as he practices his fight style for the first time since the crews fight several days ago. He pushed himself with a wide arcing kick and as he drew his knee up, he rattles his lungs, forcing an unexpected haggard cough from his throat and ruining his balance as he flinched from the pain of it.   

He sways dangerously to the side, his shoulder slipping off Zoro’s and for the first time since he was a kid he feels himself falling from his stance. Before he can crumble to the ground, Zoro shifts behind him, twisting half around until a large hand wraps around Sanji’s bicep, steadying him and stopping his fall.  

Sanji blinks owlishly up at the swordsman, holding his breath as he meets a curious but annoyed stare. His face heats up and Sanji hopes the lamp light hides whatever colour is dusting his cheeks. 

Sanji doesn’t rush to fix his stance, instead he lets himself hang by Zoro’s grip and brings a finger up to poke pointedly at Zoro’s chest. This is what I’m talking about, shitty Swordsman. He tries to convey the thought in his eyes, in the way he let himself hang there, unfazed if Zoro was going to drop him. It wouldn’t be out of character for the Mosshead, but he knew Zoro would understand the significance of the moment and wouldn’t do it.  

He was proven right by Zoro grunting and averting his gaze, a faint blush on his cheeks now complimenting Sanji’s own. He tugged at Sanji’s arm and eventually pulled the Cook to stand upright again, dropping his arm like it burned.  

“Cook.” Zoro sighed tiredly, wiping a hand over his face and pushing his knuckles against his eyelids in the hope of focusing his mind a bit. “Are you freaking out because I can read you like an open book?” 

Sanji snorted at the phrase, crossing his arms tightly across his chest in distress. Zoro could not read him like a book, Sanji was not that straight forward a man. Zoro clearly was just...just...fuck, what was Zoro doing? 

“Curly, you’re not fucking subtle. You express every little emotion in that frantic head of yours the second you think or feel anything.” 

Sanji scoffs in disagreement, his eyes narrowing at Zoro’s words as he fiddles uncomfortably with a thread on his suit’s sleeve. The Swordsman was talking nonsense. 

“Like right now, you act like you don’t believe a word I’m saying but you’re ripping your sleeve apart because you know I’m right and that makes you freak out and fidget with the nearest thing possible.” 

Zoro takes a step closer to Sanji then. His words force Sanji to drop his sleeve and rest his hands by his side, his fingers twitching at the loss. He glares up at the ever so slightly taller man and meet’s his eye without hesitation. Their chests are almost touching, their foreheads inches from one another and Sanji is swallowing every bit of panic swelling in his chest because if he backs down from Zoro now, then it’s going to seem like Zoro is right. 

Which he’s not. He’s not freaking out over what Zoro is saying. There’s no way it’s true, Sanji may have his heart on his sleeve for the ladies but otherwise he’s a secretive guy. He’s hidden his upbringing from the crew, hiding his surname from the entire world, fooling even those who print the bounty posters. He’d lied effortlessly in the past, getting the crew out of some tough spots. Sanji was clever, he could be sly, secretive, a mystery.  

No one knew what was going on in his head. They might think they do but no one could guess what he was really thinking most of the time. Except apparently, Zoro could. Zoro who hated Sanji most days and who he had thought only understood him when Sanji’s shoe was buried in the side of his head.  

“You can deny it all you’d like, Sanji.” Sanji choked on his own spit, coughing brutally as Zoro just grinned, leaning in closer as he reveled in catching the Cook further off guard. 

“But I see you. I see right through the bullshit.”  

With that, Zoro flashed him a chesire grin, ruffled a hand through Sanji’s hair and brushed past the red-faced cook without another glance.  

“Don’t wake me up when you come into the room, or I’ll skewer you.” 

The sound of the inn door opening and closing echoed through the empty street. Sanji stayed standing in the center of the cobblestone lane, trying to catch his breath after his mini coughing fit and doing his best to will the flush from his face.  

Maybe he could blame that part on the alcohol.  

I see you.  

Sanji groaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair as he doubled over on the street. What the fuck did that mean? Also, using his real name like that? The bastard had to have known that would get to him.  

What an asshole. There’s no way Zoro was intelligent enough to understand a fraction of how Sanji felt or thought about things. He was just getting lucky and using the coincidence to rile the cook up. You can deny it all you’d like- That fucking smug- Sanji wished he could scream at the twinkling stars above. 

Sanji spent far too long loitering in the street before he could force himself to march into the inn and face sharing a room with the guy. Hopefully, he was asleep by now, and Sanji knew for a fact he’d be gone long before the oaf woke up in the morning.  

He decided the next time he was willing to face the Swordsman, was when he could speak again. Then he could give the asshole a piece of his mind, put the brute in his place and let him know just how wrong he was about everything.  

That, or he could just smother him in his sleep.  

That would be easier than admitting to himself that his entire perception of the brute had been flipped on its head tonight.  

[olvxva]

unspoken flames | joost klein x f!reader

part II

✦ wc: 2.7 k

✦ warnings: angst, friends to not really lovers, smoking, mentions of drinking, rpf

✦ an: got a request about friends to lovers, but ofc i had to make this as angsty as possible hehe. i'm thinking about writing a second part so let me know if i should do it ;)

pushing your way through the crowd, you dreamed of nothing more than getting outside as quickly as possible. chaos surrounded you from all sides – the intense smell of sweat and alcohol mingled with the pounding bass of music that seemed to seep into your very bones. the lights cast surreal shadows on sweaty faces, adding to the overwhelming atmosphere. every step was a challenge, and every accidental brush with another body only heightened your urge to escape.

your gaze darted desperately until you finally spotted the much-desired metal door. its surface gleamed under the club's flashing lights. you fixed your full attention on it, ignoring everything else around you. with all your strength, you pushed it open, as if that single motion held the promise of freedom.

outside, everything felt different. the cold night wind wrapped around your overheated skin, soothing its burning sensation. the air smelled of dampness and the city, each breath filling you with a sense of renewed energy. you closed your eyes for a moment, leaning your back against the rough concrete wall. its cool surface seeped through the thin fabric of your clothing.

the wind played with your hair, lifting it gently, and you felt as though time had slowed. the chaos that had surrounded you moments ago now seemed like an unreal memory. the music still echoed in your ears, but it was muffled and distant. at last, you felt the tension go away, replaced by a calmness that filled every corner of your body.

you reached into your bag, feeling an abrupt need to deliver nicotine to your brain, desperate for relief. your fingers plunged into its depths, brushing against everything except what you were searching for.

“shit” you muttered under your breath, rummaging further into the abyss of your small, red bag. its contents seemed infinite, as if all the frustration built up in your body had found an outlet in this attempt to locate a cigarette. finally, your fingers brushed against the cool, metallic shape of your lighter, and soon after, you found the familiar pack of cigarettes.

you pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it between your lips, the red lipstick marking the tip. your fingers trembled slightly as you brought the lighter closer to your face, focusing on the spark wheel. but instead of the expected flame, you only heard the dry click of it failing.

"are you kidding me?" you whispered desperately, trying to ignite a tiny flame, as if your determination could somehow bring that damn lighter back to life.

"really? right now?"

the wind toyed with the unlit cigarette in your mouth, and you began to wonder whether you should go back inside for a new lighter or just give up entirely.

you lifted your gaze, hoping someone might rescue you from this unfortunate situation. turning your head to the right, you heard voices and laughter coming from that direction. without thinking too much, you adjusted your coat on your shoulders, trying to look more composed than you felt, and headed toward them.

"uhm, hey, sorry to bother you…" you cleared your throat uncertainly as you approached.

three pairs of eyes immediately turned toward you, one pair in particular catching your attention. his eyes, shining in the streetlight, held something hypnotic that threw you off balance for a moment.

"i just wanted to ask if you might have a lighter to borrow?" you replied with a slightly tipsy smile, trying to mask your shyness. you noticed the corner of his lips lift in a nearly imperceptible grin before he reached into his pocket.

"anything for a beautiful lady" said the blonde, handing you the small metal object that gleamed in the lamplight.

you twirled the lighter in your fingers, examining its smooth surface as if you wanted to memorize this small but saving gesture. you looked up at the blonde and flashed him the widest smile you could manage at that moment.

"thank you" you said, your voice carrying sincere gratitude.

the blonde returned your smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"no problem. if I can help in a crisis, why not?" he joked, and the rest of the group smiled in amusement as well.

you pressed the lighter to your cigarette, finally letting the small flame catch the end. you inhaled deeply, feeling the nicotine spread through your body. as you exhaled the smoke, you glanced at the blonde once more.

"you’re saving my life," you said half-jokingly, fully aware of how ironic it sounded.

and that’s how you met Joost. something in the air changed that evening, and from that moment on, everything was different. you weren’t sure if it was his warm smile or the effortless jokes he threw around, but something made you feel different. anyway, whatever began that night, on the cold sidewalk outside the club, was bound to develop into the most wonderful friendship you had ever experienced.

it didn’t take long for you to get to know his friends and each one of them loved you as much as you loved them. you felt like you had fallen into a big, loving family you never knew you were missing, though you never admitted it. they were there when you needed support – whether during a wild night full of laughter and alcohol, or in quiet conversations at three in the morning, when the world seemed heavier than usual.

still, it was joost who was the first thought that crossed your mind when you opened your eyes every morning, and the one who lingered in your thoughts as you drifted to sleep. your friendship was perfectly normal, at least on the surface. conversations flowed effortlessly, from casual jokes to deep discussions that lasted for hours. he was someone who knew how to make you forget everything that weighed you down. he could listen when words failed you.

there was nothing extraordinary about you two, yet you felt that every little gesture – the way he’d fix your hair after you made a joke too stupid not to laugh at, or how he could read the exhaustion in your voice before you even mentioned it – meant more than you were willing to admit.

in his presence, the world became simpler. sometimes it felt like you could tell him everything, and other times, silence was enough because you understood each other without words. at some point, he became a constant in your life, a part of your everyday routine.

that’s why, when you saw him that evening, talking to some girl at the bar, something inside you froze. his smile – the same one you knew so well – was directed only at her. you felt a kind of tightness in your stomach, somewhere between irritation and sadness, something you couldn’t name. your heart started to beat faster, and every second of watching them seemed like unnecessary cruelty.

“damn it” you muttered under your breath, turning away, but the image of the two of them had already burned itself into your memory.

for a moment, you tried to rationalize – after all, nothing had ever happened between you, right? just friendship, only friendship. that was how it was meant to be, how it should be. but the tightness in your stomach, the pang you felt each time he glanced toward someone else, told a completely different story.

you knew you were screwed. it wasn’t that you wanted something to change. it was the unwanted, painful realization that Joost had never been "just a friend" to you.

you returned to the group of your mutual friends, still trying to suppress the emotions that clouded your mind. your face felt as pale as a wall. not looking ahead, you bumped into Apson. he looked at you with slight concern, raising an eyebrow in worry, though his lips still wore a gentle smile.

“hey, y/n, where are you rushing off to? everything okay? you look like you've seen a ghost” he joked, trying to ease the tension that was clearly hanging in the air.

“i'm fine” you quickly replied, trying to sound convincing, though even to yourself, you sounded weak “i think i’m just feeling a little off.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to read something more from your face, but before he could say anything, you already looked away, ready to leave. everything inside you was screaming for escape – from this place, these people, and most of all, from the thought that had started to take root in your mind that evening.

you grabbed your coat and, throwing a quick “bye, everyone” over your shoulder, left the club. deep down, you were thankful Joost hadn’t been part of all this. you wouldn’t have been able to look him in the eye that evening.

his smile, which had always made you feel good, now seemed like something you couldn’t bear. besides, what were you supposed to say to him? “you know, Joost, i think i’m starting to feel something for you, but i don’t know what to do about it”? it would be ridiculous. instead, you’d rather just disappear, give yourself a moment to calm down, to understand what exactly had just happened. for now, you didn’t want to think about what awaited you when you’d see him again.

lost in deep thought, you didn’t even notice when you found yourself at the door to your apartment. you turned the key with trembling hands, eager to get inside as quickly as possible. you shut the door behind you, and the tension in your body eased slightly, though the unease still clung to you. you needed nothing more right now than a shower and some sleep. you tossed your coat onto the chair, slipped off your shoes, and thought of nothing but a brief escape from your thoughts.

you stepped under the stream of hot water, feeling the tension finally start to ease. yet, despite everything, deep in your mind, you could still hear his laughter, see her gaze. you felt like you had come to a standstill, trapped in a circle that you yourself had created.

for a moment, you closed your eyes, trying to escape it all, but something inside told you that the night wasn’t over yet. the feeling of unease crushed you from the inside.

you stepped out of the warm shower, feeling a little better. your body craved sleep more than ever before. dressed in the first t-shirt and sweatpants you found, you looked more like a shadow of yourself than someone ready for bed. hurriedly, you entered your bedroom, closing the door behind you. your body was ready to forget about everything, even if just for a while.

you lay down on the bed, closing your eyes and immediately feeling the weight of your eyelids. it seemed that sleep would finally be your escape. suddenly, amidst the silence, a loud sound of the doorbell rang out.

you paused for a moment, as if the sound had pulled you out of your stupor. your heart began to race, and an unsettling thought crossed your mind – someone unexpectedly appeared at this hour. you slowly got out of bed, feeling every part of your body begging for rest, but you knew you had to check who it was.

before you could make it to the hallway, the sound repeated, louder, more insistent. only one person came to mind who could possibly show up at this hour. you cautiously opened the door, and before you could react, the tall blond with a mustache barged into your apartment. you closed the door behind him and turned toward the living room, where he now stood. he looked at you, his face tense. he was angry, very angry.

"it's nice to see you too" you blurted out suddenly, fed up with the strange tension hanging in the air. this was not how you wanted to spend your night.

"what the hell, y/n, what's going on with you?" he replied after a moment. his voice was full of frustration, and his eyes held not just anger, but fear "you walk out of the club without a word, don't answer your phone. i thought something happened to you, damn it!"

his words hit you like a cold shower and the mix of anger and fear made you feel like you were guilty of something you didn't fully understand yet. you paused, trying to calm down, but you couldn't explain why you had disappeared so suddenly. and you had really forgotten to charge the damn phone right when you got back.

"sorry," you muttered softly, though it didn't sound like a real apology "i just… needed to get away."

you couldn't tell him everything. you couldn't reveal your feelings, because you were afraid it would ruin everything. you couldn't lose him.

"you needed to get away?" Joost almost shouted "from what exactly, that you had to disappear without anyone knowing where you were?"

his voice echoed in your apartment, and you felt the tension inside you grow. Joost's words were like blades, hitting straight at your heart. you knew he was right, that you had run away without explaining, but you couldn’t find the right words to explain why. how could you tell him that seeing him with that girl made you want to disappear?

"Joost, i…" you started, but your voice cracked. you took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself "i just… felt stuffy. i needed some air."

his gaze became even more intense. there was something in it that made you want to both hide from him and scream everything that had been weighing on your heart.

"stuffy? really, y/n? you think i’m going to believe it’s just about some damn need for air? i’ve known you long enough to know when something’s off!"

you didn’t know how to respond. the truth hung on the tip of your tongue, ready to spill out, but you held it back at the last moment. could you risk everything you had by telling him what was really going on?

"Joost, drop it. it doesn't matter. as you can see, i'm alive, i'm fine, and i just want to go to bed already" you replied evasively.

he looked at you with raised eyebrows. he wasn’t buying your words. in his eyes, there was still a mixture of frustration and concern that made you feel even more trapped.

"don’t try to feed me such bullshit" he said in a lowered voice, but his tone didn't lose any of its intensity "i know you better, y/n. i’m not an idiot. something’s wrong, and you’re pushing me away as if that’s going to change anything."

you opened your mouth to say something, but no words came. Joost stood in front of you, still looking at you with determination, making you feel like you were backed into a corner.

"i’m not letting go" he added, taking a step toward you "so either you tell me what's going on, or i’ll stand here all night."

"great, well, i wish you a good night then" you threw back, wanting to end this conversation before it completely got out of control. you tried to walk past him toward the bedroom, but Joost was faster.

he grabbed your arm, turning you toward him. his gaze drilled into you, intense and full of emotions that seemed too complicated to read.

"we're not done" he said quietly but firmly "you can’t just brush me off like that. not after you left me in the club without a word."

he was so close now that you felt all the emotions you'd been suppressing throughout the evening rise to the surface with double the force.

"Joost…" you began, but he quickly interrupted you.

"i want to know. why did you run away? what happened?" his voice was no longer angry, but rather full of desperation, which gripped you harder than his hand on your shoulder.

Joost looked at you, and his words echoed in your mind like a mantra. there was something in them that broke down all the walls you had so carefully built. feeling like you couldn’t run away anymore, you gathered the courage to look him straight in the eye.

"why?!" you asked almost screaming "what would you do if i told you i couldn’t stay there because… because seeing you with her, at that damn bar, made me want to disappear?!"

his face froze, and his hand slowly lowered from your shoulder, as if each of your words pierced him deeper than he could have predicted. the room fell silent, but in your head, it was loud.

"what do you mean by that?" he asked finally, his voice a shadow of the anger he had earlier, replaced now by something more delicate, more fragile.

you took a deep breath, feeling like there was no turning back.

"that seeing you…" you started, but your words broke "seeing you with someone else makes me feel like someone is ripping my heart out. because, damn it, Joost, i think about you every day, every night, and what i saw today just made me realize i'm alone in all of this!"

the air between you thickened to the point where you felt like you could barely breathe. Joost stood still, and his eyes were filled with something that made you regret your words for a moment. at the same time, you knew you had to say it, even if it meant everything might change.

Joost looked at you with such an expression that for a moment, you hoped what you said would change something. but then his lips twitched, and a mix of regret and uncertainty appeared in his eyes, effectively crushing that hope.

"y/n…" he started, his voice soft, almost breaking. "i- i don't know what to say."

he took a step back, as if he needed space, and his hand rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

"you’re one of the most important people in my life," he continued, each word feeling like another sting "but… i just don’t see us that way..."

those words pierced you like a knife. you felt your heart contract with pain, and the world around you seemed to blur.

"i don’t want to lose you" he added quickly, as if afraid that every glance from you meant the end of your relationship "but what you feel… i can’t give you that."

you didn’t know what to say. every word seemed inadequate and the silence between you was heavier than anything you’d ever experienced.

"i’m sorry..." he said finally, his voice trembling, but he couldn’t look you in the eye.

and before you could speak, before you could react in any way, Joost turned and left, closing the door behind him. you were left alone in your apartment, surrounded by a silence that sounded louder than any sound.

[otomiyaa]

Day 11: Snow

Sylus x Reader | 12 days of tickles🎄

Word Count: 600

The alcohol still felt warm in your stomach. Your entire body felt light and tingling, and not because you were drunk from those two glasses. But because you were enjoying your Christmas date with Sylus so much.

First a romantic dinner, now a walk home through the snow. Who would have thought the Onychinus leader could be such a romantic sweetheart.

"Are you cold, sweetie?" Sylus asked. He was the sweetie. You giggled and shook your head.

"Are you?" you asked.

Sylus hummed, then he shook his head. "I am fine. I'm never cold."

Oh? Your gloved hand that held his hand squeezed softly. "Never?" you asked.

"No," Sylus purred proudly. You nodded and eyed the snow on the ground.

"Really..." You let go of his hand and bent down. Sylus also stopped and turned around to see what you were up to, but before he could properly see, you threw some snow into his face.

"Then how about now?" you asked, and you immediately cackled at the sight of his dumbfounded expression. As if to confirm, he touched his head and wiped the cold snow out. A visible shiver could be seen when some of the snow touched his neck.

"Kitten, really now?" he asked. You giggled in anticpation when he approached you.

"W-what? You said you never felt cold so - thought I'd help aahhhh!" You spun around and ran, not even sure what he was about to do. Drop twice the amount of snow on your head? Tackle you down and bury you in the snow? Or...

"Sylus- wawawait nohoho!" you squealed when he caught you in a hug and wriggled his hands underneath your coat. Your eyes widened when you felt his fingers skilfully figure their way under your clothes, and the feeling of his cold fingertips against your skin made you shudder.

"Y-your hands are dehefinitely cold," you giggled, squirming against him.

"Are they? Hmm, good." He then started to tickle. He really could've done anything to punish you, but a tickle attack, right here in the middle of the streets, felt rather embarrassing.

"Sylus ahahaha why do you hahave to - eeeheee!" you squealed, struggling in his arms. You blushed when he nuzzled the back of your head. Despite your warm sweater and coat, your bare skin wasn't safe from his merciless tickles, and you slowly felt how your legs lost strength.

"Plehehease I'm sohohorry!" you apologized quickly. You did tease him first after all. Still, it wasn't enough to stop him, and Sylus loosened his grip on you, allowing you to slide down into the snow. Then when you lay curled up, he tickled your sides, ribs and even your underarms until you were howling like an animal.

Then when he finally stopped, he pinned you down in the cold snow and smiled fondly.

"I still don't feel cold. How can I, when I have my personal heater right here with me?" He poked your tummy and made you giggle.

"Your laugh warms me up anytime, kitten."

Oh. You blushed and let out a weird noise. "S-Sylus," you whined. He was too toothrotting sweet after wrecking you like that! You reached up for him like a greedy child, and he understood the assignment and leaned in to kiss you.

And even though you were lying in the cold snow, and the temperatures outside were below zero, just like Sylus you didn't feel cold either.

Even though it was mostly through ruthless tickles and a couple of sweet kisses - you discovered that you had a personal heater of your own as well...

[yan-lorkai]

Hey Lorkai,

Can I request a phoenix Yuu/Reader with a yandere malleus or Lillia. With a bit of angst where a phoenix is basically indistinguishable from a human until they die for the first time.

Btw I really love your writing, it’s amazing

(can I be 🐦‍⬛anon?)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟa/n: awww thank you, darling, I'm glad you like my works 🥺. And yes, you can be 🐦‍⬛ anon!!!!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟLilia’s fascination with you begins innocently enough — your humor, your warmth, and the strange way you seem to carry yourself as if you've lived for centuries, as if day counted more than the last. But that fascination twists into obsession when he discovers the truth. The first time you die, he’s devastated, grief-stricken to the point of madness, only to witness you rise again, glowing with an otherworldly fire, same face, so soft to the touch, same smile, so innocent and awkward because how do you explain that you are a phoenix?

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟHis relief turns to possessive adoration; you’re not just special — you’re eternal, his eternal little bird. He becomes utterly consumed by the idea that no one else deserves to witness your rebirth, to even know what you are. The thought of you dying again, even temporarily, fills him with dread and rage, and he swears to protect you at all costs. Yet, there’s a part of him that fears: what if one day, after rising from the ashes, you decide not to return to him? What if you forget all about him? So many what ifs...

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟHis doting nature becomes suffocating, his tender words laced with the underlying threat of what he might do to keep you by his side. He marvels at your strength but refuses to see you as anything other than fragile, mortal in all the ways that matter to him. He hovers close, constantly watching, endlessly reminding you that no one else could ever cherish your true self as he does. And though you try to assert your independence, his gaze — heavy with love and an unspoken warning — always pulls you back. After all, what’s one lifetime of freedom to a phoenix when eternity waits for you in his arms? Maybe both of you were meant to be.

[overrboarrd]

CRACKS IN THE PAINT [ from scratch series pt. i ]

a/n: been sitting in this for a day or so, decided to go ahead and post it instead of sulking. this is a really short series that’s based off of my IDR one shot from a while ago. feel free to read that if you’d like, but I’m probably gonna rework it and incorporate it into one of the parts of this series. anywho, i missed y'all, and i hope you enjoy reading <3.

“I know that we got some problems, I’m done trying fix them all

I’m sorry that it hurts sometimes and I’m sorry that we hit this wall”

The roar of the crowd reverberated through the packed arena, a wall of sound that should have fueled Joe’s adrenaline, but instead, it was background noise to the sharp, nagging ache in his shoulder. He pulled himself to his feet, his chest heaving as he glared across the ring at his opponent.

Carmelo Hayes was good. Younger, quicker, hungry for a win against someone like Joe—or Roman—an established name, a veteran. The kind of win that could launch his career.

The match had been a battle of strength versus agility, with Joe trying to ground the younger man while Melo darted around the ring, countering holds and springing off the ropes with relentless energy.

The injury had happened in the first ten minutes. A suplex—a move Joe could execute in his sleep—went wrong. Carmelo had been slippery, and Joe’s grip slipped just slightly, throwing off the balance. When they both hit the mat, Joe’s left shoulder took the brunt of the impact.

Pain flared instantly, hot and sharp, but he grit his teeth and powered through. Quitting wasn’t an option, not with a title defense in a few weeks. Joe wasn’t just fighting his opponent—he was fighting his own body, his reputation, the creeping whispers that maybe he wasn’t as invincible as he used to be.

As the minutes dragged on, the pain gnawed at him. Every time he rolled his shoulder to prepare for a move, it bit back, slowing him down. Melo noticed, capitalizing on the weakness with a series of armbars and submission attempts that had the crowd on the edge of their seats.

But Joe was a strategist, and his experience came through in the end. He caught the younger wrestler mid-flight as he attempted a diving crossbody, slamming him down with a thunderous spinebuster that shook the ring. The three-count followed seconds later.

The referee raised Joe’s hand in victory, and the crowd erupted, their chants echoing in the rafters. Joe barely registered the noise. His shoulder throbbed with every pulse of his heartbeat, and the rush of adrenaline that had carried him through the match was already beginning to fade.

He rolled his shoulder experimentally as he stepped out of the ring, wincing as the pain flared again. He hated injuries—not just for the inconvenience, but for the reminder that his body wasn’t infallible.

Back in the locker room, Joe sat heavily on a bench, the weight of exhaustion settling over him, the ache in his shoulder a dull roar now that the crowd noise was gone.

He stretched tentatively, testing his range of motion, and hissed through clenched teeth.

“Damn,” he muttered, the word sharp in the empty room.

His phone buzzed on the bench beside him, and he picked it up, squinting at the message on the screen. It was from his trainer, Ron.

“Saw that suplex tonight, dawg. I already know something’s wrong with your shoulder. I’m out for the next two weeks, but I got someone who can cover. Personal referral—I see her myself. Her name’s Camille. She’ll be at Architect tomorrow at 10.”

Joe’s brow furrowed as he reread the message. The name hit him like a slap. His grip tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white.

Camille.

It couldn’t be her.

It was a common name—there had to be hundreds of trainers named Camille. But the uneasy knot forming in his stomach said otherwise. He didn’t even need to see her last name to know.

The memories hit him like a freight train: the sound of her laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved, the weight of the engagement ring he’d once slipped onto her finger.

And then, the hollowness of silence. The unanswered calls. The empty space in his bed, in his life.

Joe tossed the phone onto the bench, running a hand down his face. He shouldn’t care. It had been years—enough time to move on. To forget. And mostly, he had. His life was full of noise, routines, and victories in and out of the ring.

But Camille had been the one person who had broken through his walls, made him feel something more than stoic responsibility and relentless ambition. She’d made him want things he never thought he’d want.

Then she left.

Shaking his head, he stood and grabbed his bag, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder.

There was no way it was her. But even if it was, he wasn’t the same man she’d ghosted all those years ago.

And he wasn’t about to let her back in.

┄┄┄┄┄

The air in the fitness clinic was filled with the rhythmic hum of treadmills and the faint melodies of therapeutic music. Joe stepped through the glass doors, his presence immediately commanding attention. At 6’3, his broad shoulders and carved frame made him impossible to miss, even in a crowd of recovering professional athletes.

The front desk attendant glanced up with wide eyes. "Mr. Anoa’i, welcome. You’re scheduled for a session in studio two."

He nodded curtly, muttering a quick thanks before heading down the polished floor toward the private training studio. His left shoulder throbbed with every step, a constant reminder of why he was here.

Inside studio two, the setup was professional but intimate. A padded floor, resistance bands, free weights, and a mirrored wall gave the space a focused energy. Joe barely had a moment to take it in before the door swung open.

Dark curls framed her face, falling right above her shoulders, and even from a short distance, Joe recognized the confident stance. His stomach knotted as his steps faltered.

It’s her.

Camille looked up, her deep brown eyes locking onto his. For a second, her confident demeanor flickered. She blinked, caught off guard, before quickly composing herself.

“Joe.” Her voice was steady, but the way her grip tightened on the clipboard betrayed her nerves.

Joe froze, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. The air between them seemed to shift, charged with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” he responded flatly, his tone edged with disbelief. His eyes narrowed, studying her like she was a ghost. 

Camille shifted her weight, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Ron didn’t mention I’d be covering for him?”

“Ron mentioned a Camille,” Joe said, dropping his bag to the floor with more force than necessary. “But I didn’t think he meant you.”

She straightened her shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “Well, here I am.”

The silence between them grew heavier with each passing second. Joe’s jaw clenched, his expression a carefully constructed wall, but beneath it, a tide of frustration and hurt threatened to break through, emotions he’d worked hard to bury and now struggled to contain.

Camille broke first, her voice softening as she tried to explain. “Look, I didn’t know it was you until I saw your file this morning. If I had—”

“What?” Joe cut her off, his voice a low growl that carried the weight of barely restrained anger. “You wouldn’t have taken the job?”

She faltered, the words dying on her lips. “I—”

“Save it,” he snapped, turning sharply away and gripping the edge of the treatment table so hard his knuckles turned white. His shoulders tensed, the strain evident even in his injured arm.

Camille’s jaw tightened, her voice firm despite the crackling tension. “I’m here to do my job, Joe. Whether you like it or not, your shoulder needs attention, and I’m the one qualified to help you right now.”

Joe’s laugh was cold and humorless as he turned his head just enough to glance at her. “Yeah? Shame you weren’t this dedicated when it came to anything else.”

The jab was as sharp as a blade, and Camille’s breath hitched, but her resolve didn’t waver. “I’m not here to rehash the past. You need a trainer, and I need to do my job. That’s it.”

Their gazes locked, the air between them heavy with tension. Joe’s eyes bore into hers, sharp and unforgiving, as if daring her to break under the weight of his words. The silence stretched, loaded with the things neither dared to say.

Joe’s jaw worked as he stared past her, a muscle ticking in his temple. He wanted to argue, to throw another barb, but the sharp throb in his shoulder had grown impossible to ignore. Pride battled practicality in his mind, and practicality begrudgingly won.

Finally, he exhaled sharply. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice tight. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Shrugging off his jacket with a grimace, he sat on the padded bench. Camille approached slowly, her movements precise, but there was a slight hesitation in her step, like she was bracing herself for another verbal jab. When she stopped in front of him, her smaller frame seemed even more diminutive against his broad shoulders, but her presence was anything but timid.

She reached for his injured arm, her hands brushing his skin as she lifted it carefully. Warm. Steady. Joe tensed on instinct, his muscles coiled tight.

“How bad is the pain?” she asked, her tone even, professional.

“Manageable,” he replied curtly.

Camille’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she rolled her eyes faintly, though her touch remained gentle. “Let me know if this hurts,” she murmured, as though the earlier tension hadn’t existed.

Her fingers moved with practiced care, probing the joint. Joe felt the warmth of her hands against his skin, soft but firm, and something about it threw him off balance in a way the injury never could. He clenched his jaw, refusing to flinch as she tested his range of motion.

“This is as far as it goes,” he said gruffly, halting her midway.

Camille paused, glancing up. Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t push. Instead, she gently rotated his shoulder, her touch light but unrelenting.

“It’s definitely inflamed,” she murmured, more to herself than to him. “You’re lucky it’s not dislocated. When did this happen?”

“Last night. Bad landing on a suplex,” he muttered.

Her hands stilled for a moment, and she sighed. “You should’ve iced it immediately. Adrenaline or not, you know better than to let it go untreated.”

Joe’s eyes flicked to hers, narrowing slightly. “I’ve managed worse.”

Camille didn’t rise to the bait this time. Instead, she set her jaw and resumed her examination, her fingers moving with measured care along the taut lines of his shoulder. “You don’t have to prove anything by pushing through injuries,” she said softly, her voice a touch gentler now.

The words hit deeper than Joe wanted to admit, scraping against something raw, something he’d locked away the day she walked out of his life.  His eyes darkened, and his mouth opened as if to retort, but he stopped himself. Instead, he shook his head, his tone clipped. “Just do what you need to do.”

She studied him for a moment longer, her gaze unreadable, before giving a small nod. As she guided him through a few light stretches, her focus didn’t waver. Her hands were precise, her instructions clear.

And despite himself, Joe couldn’t help but notice the way her touch lingered just long enough to reassure but not overstep, the way her voice softened slightly when she asked if the stretch was too much.

The frustration simmered just beneath the surface, but it wasn’t directed solely at her. It was at the entire situation—at how her presence felt both an irritation and a strange kind of balm.

He hated that he noticed.

When the session ended, Camille stepped back, folding her arms as she regarded him. “You’ll need a few weeks of rehab if you want to avoid a tear. No wrestling until you’re clear-.”

He snorted, the sound bitter. “Not an option.”

Camille frowned. “Then you’re risking permanent damage.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he countered dryly, shrugging his jacket back on with a wince he tried to hide. 

She hesitated, then crossed the room to block his path, her voice softening. “Joe, I mean it. I know you think you’re invincible, but you’re not. You have to take care of yourself.”

He stared down at her, the weight of her gaze pressing into him like a challenge he wasn’t ready to face. Every shift of her eyes, every trace of concern in her voice, cut deeper than the pain in his shoulder. It was a reminder of everything they’d lost—and everything he’d buried.

The air between them crackled, thick with the unspoken. He could feel the tension radiating off him like heat, but still, he stepped around her, his movements sharp.

“Same time tomorrow?” His voice was strained, betraying none of the turmoil swirling beneath the surface.

“Yeah. Tomorrow,” she replied, her voice steady, though it held a thread of something else—something he wasn’t sure he wanted to untangle.

Joe didn’t wait for her to say more. Turning quickly, he headed for the door, his hand gripping the handle as if it could steady him.

The cool air hit him as he stepped outside, but it did little to calm the fire in his chest. His car loomed in the parking lot, a refuge of silence. He slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar scent of leather and stale air offering no comfort this time.

Seeing her again was like reopening an old wound, the pain sharp and immediate. But it wasn’t just the hurt that clawed at him. Beneath the anger and betrayal, there was something else—something he hated himself for still feeling.

She’d ghosted him, left him standing in the wreckage of what could’ve been. He’d told himself he was done, that he didn’t care anymore. And yet, the sound of her voice, the stubborn set of her jaw, the way she said his name—all of it brought the past rushing back.

As he slid into the driver’s seat, his hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He’d survived heartbreak before. He’d survived injuries, grueling matches, and setbacks. But this? This felt like a different kind of test.

“Tomorrow,” he muttered to no one, the word tasting bitter in his mouth as he started the engine. His jaw clenched as he pulled out of the parking lot, the flicker of something he refused to name burning low in his chest.

Something that scared him more than any injury ever could.

[demigod-shenanigans]

Hey! I saw your recent Grace Siblings angst post and I really enjoyed it. I was also wondering if you had anything else on them? It could be happy or sad headcanons

Ask and you shall receive! Most of these are at least kind of sad (not all though) so I feel like I now owe y’all a happy Grace siblings hc post at some point in the future

-Jason’s first word was “Lia” (because baby Jason couldn’t pronounce Thalia yet). Thalia never got over that.

-His second word was “no”. Beryl was “no” basically exclusively for three months. That made Thalia almost prouder than his first word did lmao

-When Beryl left him at the Wolf House, Jason wasn’t super alarmed at first. His mom leaving him somewhere and walking away/not being around isn’t super unusual. He only started freaking out after some time passed and he realized Thalia wasn’t coming to get him. (Absolutely crushing fic that my friend wrote which features a related concept can be found here, if you’d like to be even more sad :))

-Luke was the only person Thalia ever told about Jason. It did not help his general opinion of the gods. 

-There’s a canonical short story where Thalia is given a prophecy that she’ll be reunited with her family (and, specifically, that this doesn’t mean her mom). Her and Luke meet Annabeth right after, and I’m pretty sure Thalia thought she was Jason at first glance. She’s almost the right age, and they look similar.

-When Thalia was dying (before Zeus turned her into a tree), she assumed the being reunited with her family-prophecy meant she’d get to see her brother again in Elysium.

-Thalia definitely struggles to think of the two year old brother she lost and the fifteen year old brother she gets back as the same person. (This is made infinitely worse by the fact that their age difference is only two years now, instead of the seven it’s supposed to be.) Thalia knows that they are, objectively, the same person, but the Jason she remembers was small and fragile and needed her help to do basically everything. Seeing him now as a teenager who learned not to need her at all… it brings her a lot of joy because she thought she’d never get that, but she definitely also struggles with it a lot.

-For the above reason, I feel like she’s wildly overprotective of him. Jason, who was raised to succeed and fail on his own strength, does not know how to handle this. It’s bizarre in the same way that the concept of Leo and Piper trying to protect him is, so this isn’t an isolated Thalia issue.

-Jason gets anxious when people are mad at him. This should be a terrible combination with Thalia’s short fuse, but it isn’t. The reason for that is the fact that Jason’s anxiety surrounding people’s anger is rooted in his fundamental belief that love is a thing that needs to be earned and will be taken away from him if he isn’t perfect. He can’t explain why, but it’s never felt that way with Thalia. He just knows instinctually that she still loves him, even when she’s mad at him.

-Thalia was the first person Jason cried in front of in years. This just feels right to me.

-They’re not sure which one of them feels weirder when Jason turns sixteen and is now technically sort of older than her. Thalia ruffles his hair and tells him she’s always going to be his big sister, regardless of whether she’s physically older.

[lightdancingwords]

Come Find Me - Part Eight

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader

Series Summary: You are a new arrival to Big Sky, Montana, and found gainful employment with the local insurance department next door to the sheriff’s department. A whole new life with your past haunting you, while Beau is still dealing with the entanglements with his ex-wife. Can either of you succeed in overcoming your ghosts?

Word Count: 3,369

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, mentions domestic violence/intimate partner violence, mentions police work, a little bit of angst, communication problems, profanity, discussion of teen sex (18+ character)

A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! Please see this post regarding future story posts.

Divider: credit to @tsunami-of-tears

Chapter Eight: A Bump In The Road

It had been almost a week since you and Beau went on your official ‘first’ date. Life complications kept interfering and being a sheriff meant Beau was busy, especially when he was coordinating calls about cars sliding off the road and citizens needing help.

You absolutely understood and had no problems waiting… because now you knew something was happening with him. Every time you flashed back to that kiss, to that restaurant, you felt your heart swell with love and adoration.

Doris caught you that Monday morning with the goofiest smile on the planet and keyed right in. “Well, it’s about damned time!”

You blinked at her, startled. “About time..?”

“Oh don’t get me started with your innocent look,” she said with a fond scoff. “Beau’s been walking about with the same silly smile.”

You couldn’t help it, you grinned. “Really?”

Doris rolled her eyes and smiled. “Yes, really. He isn’t on Cloud Nine. I think he’s in Cloud Heaven.”

Your smile warmed and widened. “We kissed,” you confessed. “He took me to Ciao Bella and oh, Doris… it was wonderful.”

“I’m glad,” she said, and there was a firmness to her tone that spoke volumes. “You two deserved some happiness.”

You paused, then admitted, “I didn’t think I could trust again, Doris. But every step of the way, Beau proved I could, even when I didn’t ask him to.”

“He’s a rare man,” she said with a nod. “Stubborn, Lord yes, but a good man.”

“I’m scared.”

Doris studied you for a long moment, then said, “It’s okay to be scared. Even when I knew it was going to happen, I was scared of facing this life alone without my Stan. I loved that son of a bitch and I also hated him. When he was gone and I was free, Adam snatching me up terrified me.”

“How… how did you get over it?” You dreaded asking that question. Doris seemed so strong, you envied her strength of character. You hated how you constantly felt weak.

“I did it anyway. That fear only works if it wins in holding you in place. So do it scared.”

You thought back to how you finally confronted Beau. It worked, because it gave him the kick he needed… and where your relationship was now.

“Do it scared,” you mused.

“Exactly.”

You thought about that all day as you fielded phone calls from clients who needed their insurance because they apparently forgot how to drive in snow. Just as you were grabbing paper from the printer, you heard the door chime. “Hi, I’ll be right with you,” you said absently, and then turned around.

With a start, you saw it was Emily! With a smile, you got up and greeted her. “Emily, hey! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

“Hey Y/N,” she said with a shaky smile.

That cued you into realizing something was up. “Is everything okay?”

“Um… can I talk to you? A-and you won’t tell my dad?”

Your brows swooped up. Carefully, you sat back down and regarded this young woman. You recalled Beau telling you Emily had just turned eighteen, so legally, she was an adult. But she was also just a kid….

“I can’t make that promise, Emily,” you said gently.

“It’s nothing bad! I just… I can’t ask my mom because she’s my mom, but I also need to talk to a woman.”

Baffled, you stared at Emily. Alarmingly, you worried if it was because maybe she was pregnant and wanted a ride to an abortion clinic. “I… um…”

“C-can I just… tell you?”

You nodded, praying you wouldn’t be caught in a situation where you’d have to help someone in a difficult situation.

“So… I’ve been with this guy, Tyler, for a few months now. He… I guess he’s my boyfriend—”

“You guess?” you asked in disbelief.

“We never really made it official,” Emily said defensively. “He said he wasn’t ready and I didn’t want to be one of those girls who pressured the guy, you know?”

Oh God. You had an inkling where the conversation was going, and prayed you were wrong. “Yeah, I’ve… been there. Go on, Emily.”

“Well, Tyler wants to take me on this really romantic date and… I think he wants us to do it.” The way she fidgeted made you think of Beau, and you wondered if he was ever an awkward teenager.

“‘It’?”

She blushed, and looked away skittishly. “You know… it.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper despite no one else was in the office with you. “Sex.”

You found yourself wishing a giant sink hole would form and swallow you up. You actually waited several seconds, before deciding you weren’t so lucky.

“Emily… are you a virgin?”

Her face turned redder and she ducked her head. “Oh God,” she said, rubbing her face. “I… y-yeah. I really want it to be great and I really like Tyler. I just… don’t know what to do!”

“Emily, this is really something you should talk to your parents about—”

“No, I can’t!” She let out a breath. “Dad would turn all red and stutter and mom… when she gave me the ‘talk’, she kept harping on how love is really special and…”

“You felt patronized and shamed at even thinking about sex without love,” you hazarded. For some reason, Carla gave you that impression. Emily confirmed it a moment later.

“Yes! And I just… oh God, this is so embarrassing!”

She had no idea. You took a breath and decided to do your best. “Emily,… I was in college before I slept with a guy. We were both rather drunk and it was so embarrassing, I ended up being single for a year after that.”

Her eyes widened at your bluntness. She leaned forward, listening.

“Sex… can be really great. Exciting, even, especially if it’s with someone you have great chemistry with… but you shouldn’t rush into it.” You tried to articulate your thoughts. “You shouldn’t have sex just to get it over with or think it’ll make the guy love you. You should have sex when you feel ready for it. Whether it’s a one night stand or the beginning of a relationship, you need to be the one who decides to take that step for the right reason.”

Emily pondered that, biting her lower lip just like the way Beau did when he was lost in thought. “Does it ever get easier?”

“Relationships?”

“Yeah. Like… it’ll get easier… right?”

“I wish,” you said with a rueful smile.

“Ugh. Great.” She fixed a curious look on you. “Is it getting easier with my dad?”

“It is, actually,” you admitted. It was so weird having this conversation with Emily. She was your—God, did you dare call Beau your boyfriend?—she was Beau’s daughter.

“Can I ask how did it change?”

You thought of a random text message that you boldly sent, of the way you confronted him after he began avoiding you. Of how he gave you the space you so desperately needed, that when it finally happened, it was perfect.

“I found my voice and I used it,” you said. “I took that bold step, put my heart on the line, and I got so lucky.”

“Wasn’t it scary doing that?”

“God, yes,” you admitted with a breathless chuckle. “Your father could’ve ignored me, turned me away, but he didn’t, because we were actually wanting the same thing. A relationship works when the two in that situation feel the same way.”

In that moment, you caught a glimpse of the person she might turn into. Wise, intelligent, with enough sense of humor to balance her out. “Thanks, Y/N… I really needed this.”

“You’re welcome,” you said kindly. “I hope your decision is, whatever it turns out to be, makes you happy.”

“Thanks.”

—

“God, darlin’,” Beau grumbled over the phone as you drove home Friday night. “It was supposed to be our third date and instead I have to cancel, again. I’m about to go mad.”

You chuckled. Beau sounded so frustrated, because even as he grumbled, he’ll do his job. He wouldn’t leave people without help. Oh, he could have assigned his deputies to it, and he was, but he was one of the rare specimens of leadership where he actively participated as well as ordered. He refused to sit in his warm trailer while people were out in the cold.

Montana had the rare bout of snow every night and chilly days that left slick patches of ice everywhere. Friday night was the first night in a week that didn’t have snow. However, there were issues with black ice and a particularly bad accident on a bridge led to numerous calls to redirect, assist, or otherwise manage.

“Well, TGIF? You can always stop by afterwards and we can at least see each other,” you suggested as you carefully turned a corner.

“Careful there, darlin’,” he said, and a trace of flirtatious energy came through. “I just might use that invitation to neck you all night.”

The mental image of your neck covered in hickeys had a flash of heat through your core. “That actually sounds like fun. I’ll pencil you in up until midnight.”

He groaned through the phone. “Christ, darlin’. Just midnight? I was thinkin’ at least ‘til dawn.”

“Someone’s ambitious,” you replied, your voice rich with humor.

“Someone has a gorgeous neck that I wanna—Jesus Christ, Pop!” You heard him cuss a blue streak, the phone held away. “Just five minutes, darlin’,” he sighed when he returned to the phone. “Just five goddamned minutes with my girlfriend. That’s all I ask. The universe is conspirin’ against me.”

Your breath hitched at being called his girlfriend, and smiled shyly. “No matter how late it is tonight,” you decided then and there, “I want you to come knock my door.”

“Yeah?” He sounded so hopeful, it warmed your heart.

“Yeah. Knock on my door, Beau.”

“And what will I get when I do?”

“The best kiss this side of the Mississippi,” you offered, pulling into your driveway.

“Now that, darlin’, will make putting up with this insanity worth it,” he declared. “Best prepare those lips of yours. I’m claimin’ them tonight.”

You grinned. “I look forward to it.”

“I gotta go, darlin’, but…” He paused and you wondered at the hesitation. “I’ll see ya tonight.”

—

It was supposed to be a quiet night. Some tea, maybe a book to read. A chance to spend a minute with Beau. Everything positively domestic, peaceful, something you needed after the weeks of heightened anxiety and the mess with Mark. Instead, you got a call.

From Emily.

Seeing her name pop up on the Caller ID surprised you. For a moment, you couldn’t recall why she’d be bothering you late on a Friday evening. Then you remembered it, her visit to your office.

“Hello,” you answered.

The sudden crash of sobbing and a partially hysterical Emily was not what you expected.

“Emily?” You sat up straighter in your easy chair. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“C-can you come get me?” she asked, hiccuping as she swallowed air to calm herself down.

Dread flooded your being. What if she’d been—You couldn’t even finish that thought out of dread. “Of course I can,” you said instantly. “Where are you?”

She rattled off an address. “I… I got into a fight with Tyler,” she said sobbing. “I’m at the gas station. He refused to take me home.”

Anger boiled in your belly. Tyler was definitely rapidly going down the list of men you disliked. “I’ll be right there,” you said firmly, getting out of your easy chair. “Just hold on, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, sniffling in the background.

You hung up and quickly grabbed your winter boots and coat. You barely paused to snatch up your car keys and headed out the door, the sound of her crying echoing in your mind. You should call Beau, you knew that, but he was busy and Emily… she needed a friend more than a parent.

It took you longer than you liked to get to the gas station due to the black ice. Your car barely crawled across the ice and you didn’t want to be added to the list of people needing help. When you got there, you saw her outside, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. At first glance she looked okay, but you had to make sure.

“Emily,” you said, getting out of the car.

She let out a sob and nearly bowled you over in a desperate hug. “I’m so sorry, I just didn’t know who else to call and if I told my dad he’d kill Tyler and—”

“It’s okay,” you said soothingly, cutting her off. You wrapped your arms around her and rubbed her back. “Just tell me: are you okay? He didn’t… he didn’t force himself or anything?”

“No,” she said with a firm shake of her head. You felt the knot of fear in you loosen. Thank God. It would not have been a conversation you’d want with Beau. “He just…. C-can we talk about it in your car?”

“Of course. Come on, honey,” you said gently, leading her to the car. Once she was in the passenger seat, you went to the driver’s side and sat down. You turned on the car for the heat, and faced her. “What happened?”

Emily sniffled, wiped her eyes. “We… we were at this party. He took me to one of the rooms, locked the door, and was all ‘I’m so glad you decided to do this, baby’,” she said in an approximate male voice, then screwed her face in disgust. “I actually felt like he… like…” She made a sound of frustration.

“Like you were a prize to claim?” you suggested, watching her.

“Yeah! It was like that! I felt so gross. I told him I changed my mind and he… he was mad, asking if I didn’t love him, and—and I just told him I wanted to go home,” she said, the distress leaving and anger took its place. “He said that because I wasn’t going to be a loving girlfriend that I should just leave. So I said fine! I’ll leave!”

You smiled, feeling a spark of pride for her. “That was very brave of you.”

“I just… y-you said that it should feel right. And it didn’t.” Emily looked at you beseechingly, seeking reassurance.

“Hey… if you weren’t ready, you weren’t ready. I’m not the one who gets to decide that, Emily, you are. Not Tyler, you.” You placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “That Tyler didn’t respect that is unfortunate. But you did the right thing by leaving and calling someone.”

She swallowed hard and rubbed her face. “I don’t know what to do, Y/N.”

“Tell you what… why don’t I take you back home with me, get you some tea, and then I can take you home?”

“Yeah…. Yeah, please?”

You nodded, started the car, and drove her back to your home. She rode the way quietly, calming down. At one point she looked at her phone, rolled her eyes, and turned it off. She said nothing, and you decided not to press the point.

However, when you got home, you saw Beau’s truck. He was outside your door and turned when he heard you pull into your driveway. “Darlin’, hey, there you—Emily?”

Beau froze at seeing his daughter come out of your car. He glanced at you, then at her, more than a little confused and uncertain. “Em, everythin’ all right?”

“Hey dad. Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. She was quite the sight, red-rimmed eyes and puffy.

He frowned and walked over to her. He put one hand on her shoulder and pulled her into a hug. “I’m here for you, honey,” he murmured.

Your heart ached at seeing the worry on Beau’s face. Maybe you should’ve made her call Beau, but you wanted her settled and feeling safe first. This kind of conversation would be a difficult one at any age, for any parent or child.

Beau gently pulled Emily away, and you heard them speaking in low, indistinct voices. You stood there, uncertain, and decided to just wait. Yes, it was cold, but you’d be okay. Right now, Beau having this conversation with Emily was more important. He was important to you, and by extension, so was Emily.

“He what?!”

You looked up, saw the fury on Beau’s face. Emily was desperately trying to calm him down.

“That son of a bitch—”

“Dad, stop!” Emily grabbed a hold of Beau’s arm.

“Beau,” you said his name gently. “Listen to your daughter.”

He closed his eyes, and mustered up his composure, his calm. He took a few breaths, let them out slow, misting in the cold air. “You’re right, darlin’.” He turned back to Emily, gave her a weak smile. “I’m sorry, Em. Just… God, I’m sorry ya went through that.”

Beau pulled his daughter into another hug, planted his lips in her hair. “I just want to protect ya, honey. I know there are some bad people out there.”

“I know, dad,” she said, clinging to him for a long moment. It broke your heart at how tender the sight was before you. “But… nothing bad happened. I left, I called Y/N….”

“Em, why didn’t you call me? Or your mom?” Beau asked, his puzzlement clear.

“I just…” Emily looked down and mumbled, “I was afraid you would get mad.”

“God, no, Emily, never,” Beau insisted, pulled her into another hug. “Mad at him, God yes. But never you. I promise, never you.”

Emily burrowed into her father’s arms, clung to him. You watched, absurdly feeling like an outsider in a family moment. Maybe Beau picked up on that, because he glanced over at you, and fixed an intense look of adoration on you.

“Thank you, darlin’,” he said quietly. “Thank you for being there for my Em.”

You smiled slowly, warmth blooming in your heart. “You’re welcome, Beau.”

He took Emily into his truck, planning to take her back to Carla’s home before he headed home. Once she was settled in the passenger seat, he came right over to you. Without a word, he pulled you into a passionate kiss that took you by surprise. Then you let out a soft sigh and melted, returning the kiss with fervor. He lingered, savoring the moment, cherishing you. When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours.

“So much for neckin’,” he whispered to you with a smile.

You let out a small laugh, your heart racing. “That’s okay. Maybe tomorrow.”

He met your gaze, pulled back enough to brush his hand across your cheek. Something flickered in his eyes and your breath hitched, wondering what it could have been. “Tomorrow, darlin’. Maybe lunch?”

You smiled, leaning into his touch. “Absolutely.”

He kissed you again, a quick peck this time. “Good night, darlin’.”

You watched them pull out from the curb. Emily waved at you from the passenger window, and you waved back with a smile. It made your heart ache to watch Beau leave. How did he become so wrapped up in your life that just him leaving made you miss him that much?

He called you his girlfriend. The thought still made your heart flip and swell. He was just so… you couldn’t even find the words. You smiled to yourself; the first throes of a relationship were always jittery, exciting, and full of energy that made you bounce everywhere. You definitely couldn’t get enough of him. It was different now than it was when you just went over to sleep outside his trailer.

You took a deep breath and went back inside your warm home, your heart full, even as you missed him. Just as the door shut and locked behind you, your cellphone pinged with a text message. Curious, you looked and your smile widened.

It was from Beau.

It read: I miss you already.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2, @foxyjwls007

[212-apricity]

siren songs and stolen kisses, the runaway

ssask masterlist main masterlist

again guys, im really sorry if this ones a bit shit, i really didnt know what to write for this but i tried my best, hopefully the next ones a bit better💖🙏🗣️‼️

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The humid air hung heavy over the yard of the Chateau as the four of us sat around, waiting for something—anything—to happen. Kiara and Pope were testing the winch to pull up the gold, Kiara carefully being lowered to test its strength, while JJ lounged on the side of the hot tub. I leaned against the Twinkie, arms crossed as I watched them, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, none of them good.

"What do you think he’s up to?" Kiara called up, her voice breaking the relative silence.

"John B pulling a Houdini," JJ replied, his tone casual as he smirked.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at him. "Disappearing without a word and causing us all to stress? Sounds about right."

JJ turned to me, his grin widening. "Well, Princess, you’d know best. Houdini’s probably got nothing on you Cameron kids."

I shot him a mock glare, but my lips twitched in betrayal. JJ always had a way of making me smile, no matter how dire the situation felt. His hair glinted gold in the late afternoon sun, and his confidence was almost contagious. Before I could retort, John B appeared from nowhere, trudging into the Chateau without so much as a glance in our direction.

"What the…?" Kiara said, looking up in confusion as the winch brought her back to ground level.

"John B! Where have you been?" Pope shouted, jogging to follow him. JJ and I exchanged looks before we trailed behind, my stomach sinking at the determined yet furious look in John B’s eyes. Something was seriously wrong.

Inside the Chateau, John B began tearing through the place, smashing things as he searched for something. I winced as a glass shattered under his foot.

"Dude, what are you doing?" JJ asked, his voice tinged with both concern and irritation. His hands rested on his hips as he tried to make sense of the chaos unfolding before us.

John B didn’t answer, ignoring everyone as he stormed into the guest room which had been for years JJ’s (and now my) room at the Chateau. My heart dropped as he reached under JJ’s pillow and pulled out the gun.

"Whoa, whoa, John B, what the hell?" JJ moved forward, his hands raised in a calming gesture, but John B shoved him hard onto the bed. JJ’s hat fell off as he tumbled backward, and I instinctively ran to his side, helping him up.

"Are you okay?" I whispered, gripping his bicep tightly as he shook his head in disbelief. I could see the anger rising in him, his jaw tightening.

"I’m fine, baby," he muttered, brushing himself off. But his eyes stayed locked on John B, who was now storming toward the door. Pope tried to block him, but John B shoved him aside with surprising force, sending him into a table. Kiara rushed to help Pope up, and JJ grabbed my hand as we followed John B outside.

"Where are you going John B? What is going on?" I called out. John B didn’t answer until he reached JJ’s bike, turning to face us all with fire in his eyes.

"Ward knows about the gold," he spat, his voice trembling with rage.

The words hit me like a punch to the stomach, but it was what he said next that left me frozen in place.

"He killed my dad."

Silence fell over the yard. The weight of his words suffocated me, my brain struggling to process. Ward… my dad? JJ’s grip on my hand tightened as John B sped off on the bike, his anger trailing behind him like a storm. The others started running after him, but I couldn’t move, my feet rooted to the ground.

"Y/n, baby," JJ’s voice brought me back, his arms wrapping around me as I trembled. "It’s okay. It’s okay, I’ve got you."

"Dad… he wouldn’t. He couldn’t," I stammered, but my voice betrayed my uncertainty. JJ didn’t say anything, just held me tighter as Pope and Kiara came back, panting and confused.

"What the hell just happened?" Pope asked, running a hand over his face.

"We need to find him," Kiara said, her tone firm despite the chaos.

Inside the Chateau, we gathered around to brainstorm. Every possible location John B might go was thrown out and dismissed until one option stuck—Tannyhill. My family’s estate.

"Y/n…" he started, but I cut him off, shaking my head.

"Let’s just go," I said firmly, ignoring the way my stomach churned.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

We took the HMS Pogue and sailed toward Tannyhill under the cover of night. The moonlit water reflected our shared anxiety. JJ tried to lighten the mood with a sarcastic suggestion about knocking on the front door and asking for John B, but even his humor felt strained.

"Yeah, that’ll work great," I said dryly, earning a smile from him. He reached out to touch my shoulder briefly before turning his attention back to the shoreline.

Pope peered through binoculars, spotting movement at Tannyhill. "Hey, I see Ward," he said, his voice heavy with implications. He passed the binoculars to me, and I froze, my chest tightening as I saw my father alive and well.

"Doesn’t look dead to me," Pope muttered, packing up. "Let’s go home."

"Wait," JJ interjected, his jaw clenched.

"What?" Kiara snapped. Pope looked at her incredulously.

"We can’t just leave John B," I argued, but the tension between Kiara and Pope reached a boiling point.

"Hey, I have the biggest interview of my life in six hours," Pope said, his voice rising.

"And our friend is in trouble," Kiara shot back, her tone cutting.

Pope threw up his hands. "Why is it always about John B?"

"It’s not," Kiara retorted. "It would be any of you in this situation."

"Oh, bullshit!" Pope yelled, frustration clear in his voice.

"This is about friendship!" Kiara shouted, stepping closer.

"Stop with the moral high ground shit, Kiara!" Pope countered, his voice sharp.

"Hey!" JJ yelled, pulling me closer as the shouting got louder. "Guys, not now!"

Kiara turned away, muttering angrily. Pope’s voice softened but stayed firm. "This is my life. Everything I’ve worked for."

Kiara scoffed, her frustration evident. "That’s your priority?"

JJ and I stood together at the back of the boat, the fight between Kiara and Pope escalating before us. His hand never left mine, his thumb tracing soothing circles over my knuckles, but the tension between them was impossible to ignore.

"Yes, Kiara, yes it is! Look, you weren’t there for John B! You weren’t there for any of us!" Pope shouted, his voice cracking with the strain of his emotions. He glared at Kiara, who was visibly holding back tears. “Y/n basically left her family when she found us seven years ago. But remember your kook year, Kiara?”

“Pope, stop,” I interjected softly, but my words barely reached him through his anger.

Kiara looked to the sky, swallowing hard and shoving Pope away “Give me a break.”

“Hey!” Pope shouted back. “You need a break? Move!” He shoved her, frustration boiling over, and Kiara retaliated with equal force, pushing him right back as they both kept shouting at one another.

JJ stepped forward immediately, yanking Pope back with one arm. “Hey, yo, yo, yo! Cut it out, alright?” he snapped, his voice rough and commanding. “This isn’t the time for this shit!”

I caught Kiara’s arm as she stepped forward again, her jaw set in defiance. “Kiara, stop,” I said firmly, my grip tightening. She froze under my touch, looking between me and JJ as if trying to decide whether to keep fighting or let it go.

“Listen,” JJ said, his tone sharper now. “If Y/n and I are the ones mediating, we’ve hit rock bottom.”

Pope glared but bit back whatever retort was on his tongue. JJ jabbed a finger toward the bow of the boat. “Bow. Now. Go.”

Pope finally stepped back, muttering under his breath, and I gently guided Kiara to sit down. My hands were shaking slightly, my nerves frayed, but JJ’s presence at my side kept me grounded.

JJ leaned over to me, his voice low and soft. “You okay, Princess?” His hand brushed my hair back from my face.

I nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah… I will be.”

He smiled faintly, his blue eyes searching mine. “You’re stronger than you think, baby.”

I felt a pang of gratitude for him, for always knowing what to say when the world felt like it was falling apart. As the tension on the boat lingered, Pope eventually started the engine, and we sailed toward his house in silence.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

We dropped Pope off first, his parting words curt and strained, then Kiara insisted on walking home. I offered to drop her off instead, but she waved me off, clearly needing space to cool down.

That left just JJ and me on the water, the gentle rocking of the boat and the hum of the engine filling the quiet. The stars above seemed to mock the chaos of the night, shining as though nothing had happened. Wind gusted around us as JJ sailed and I pulled the sleeves of JJ’s my grey sweater that he was wearing earlier.

“What about you, Princess?” JJ asked after a while, his tone teasing but tentative. “Want me to drop you off too?”

I gave him a side-eye glare, though a small smile tugged at my lips. “Not funny, J.”

He raised one hand hand in surrender, the other on the steering wheel, “Too soon?”

“Just a little.” I squinted, holding my thumb and forefinger close together, and he mirrored the gesture, mock-serious.

“Okay, okay, noted,” he said, his grin breaking through. “You’re stuck with me then.”

I sighed dramatically, walking up behind him and wrapping my arms around his torso. “Guess I’ve survived worse.”

JJ chuckled, his laughter low and soothing, and he reached back to pull me closer. “Of course you have. You’re a Cameron, remember? Toughest princess in the game.”

I rolled my eyes, pressing my forehead against his back. “Thanks for earlier… for everything.”

JJ turned to face me, his hands resting on my shoulders. “Always, baby. You don’t have to thank me for taking care of you.” His lips pressed to my forehead, lingering there as if to seal the promise.

I tilted my face up, our eyes locking, and in a moment of unspoken understanding, he kissed me. His lips were soft and warm, and my hand slid under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin as I tangled my other hand in his hair.

When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, his breathing uneven. “We’ll figure it out, Princess.”

I nodded, my hands still clinging to him.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The salty breeze carried the faint sound of waves lapping against the dock, a soothing rhythm that contrasted sharply with the restlessness in the air. We were sprawled across the wooden planks of the Chateau’s dock, the sun casting its last golden rays over the marsh. JJ’s arm was slung lazily over his knee, the cigarette dangling between his fingers as he exhaled a puff of smoke.

“Princess,” JJ drawled, his blue eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint I’d come to love. “You’re real good at this,”

I raised a brow, pretending to be unimpressed, though a small smirk tugged at my lips. Taking the cigarette from his hand, I exhaled a plume of smoke that disappeared into the sunset. “Didn’t think the great JJ Maybank could admit someone else is better at something.”

“Better? Who said anything about better?” JJ shot back, leaning in closer until our noses nearly touched. His voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “I’m just saying you’re good, baby. Real good.” I smirked before blowing the puff of smoke I was holding into his face, making him move away in surprise, almost falling off his seat on the wooden plank.

“Ugh get a room, you two,” John B muttered from a few feet away, his tone edged with annoyance as he fiddled with the edge of his cast.

“Or at least let the rest of us enjoy the view without your PDA,” Kiara chimed in, sitting cross-legged with an exasperated look.

I laughed, leaning back against JJ’s shoulder as he pressed a quick kiss to my temple. “You’re just jealous,” I teased, my voice light as I handed the blunt back to JJ.

Kiara groaned, while John B rolled his eyes and continued picking at his cast.

“John B, seriously,” I said, straightening up as my tone turned more serious. “Stop messing with that thing. You’re going to make it worse.”

“It’s fine,” he replied dismissively, the stubborn set of his jaw making it clear he wasn’t going to listen. “It’s just a hairline fracture.”

“It’s a fracture and a cast, dumbass,” Kiara cut in, her voice sharper now. “You’re supposed to keep it on. And you’re supposed to care about your body,”

John B groaned, clearly irritated. “I can’t do anything with it on!” he snapped.

“Maybe if you stopped breaking things—” Kiara shot back, and just like that, the two of them were bickering again, their voices rising in frustration.

Their argument brewed quickly, Kiara’s frustrations bubbling over as John B tried to defend his recklessness. JJ and I exchanged a knowing look, his smirk widening as he shook his head.

"Think they’ll ever stop?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Not a chance," JJ replied, handing me the cigarette. "But hey, I’ve got front-row seats, and the company ain’t bad."

I rolled my eyes, my lips twitching with amusement. The comfort between us felt easy, like we were in our own bubble while the world around us spiraled.

The argument (unfortunately) was cut short by the sound of footsteps pounding toward us. We all turned to see Pope charging down the path, his shirt soaked with sweat and his breathing ragged.

“Pope?” I called out, concern lacing my voice as I stood up. “What’s wrong?”

He bent over, hands on his knees, as he struggled to catch his breath. “I—” he gasped, raising a finger to stall us. “I ran… all the way here.”

JJ leaned back on his elbows, his expression calm despite the urgency in Pope’s demeanor. “How was the interview, dude?” he asked casually.

“Don’t… ask,” Pope managed to say, waving JJ off as he straightened up.

JJ grinned, clearly enjoying Pope’s frustration. “Noted.”

Pope’s face shifted into something more serious, and he looked between us with wide, urgent eyes. “Listen, we don’t have much time,” he said, his voice firm now. “Before the interview, my dad told me he had to clear the private airstrip to cut palms for Cameron’s plane. Said it was too heavy and needed a longer runway to take off.”

I froze at the mention of my father’s name, my stomach tightening. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Pope continued, ignoring my question. “While I was sitting there in the interview, I couldn’t stop thinking—hm, why would Ward need a longer airstrip?”

We all fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Slowly, realization dawned on us.

“Gold,” JJ said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, but his eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and determination.

Pope pointed at him, practically shouting. “Yes! Exactly! The gold. This is it—this is our chance to get it back!”

My heart was racing now, a mix of adrenaline and dread coursing through me. Ward had the gold. Of course he did. But if Pope was right, that also meant we had a chance to take it from him.

Kiara shot to her feet, her face set with resolve. “We have to go.”

JJ stood too, pulling me up with him. “Alright, Captain,” he said, turning to John B with a grin. “What’s the plan?”

John B looked around at all of us, his determination shining through his frustration. “We’re gonna steal our shit back.”

The energy shifted instantly. We moved as one, pulling together in a way that only the Pogues could. Kiara grabbed my hand as we started running toward the Chateau to gather supplies, John B, Pope and JJ’s laughter trailing behind us.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

The Twinkie rumbled along the bumpy dirt road as we approached the airstrip. Pope held the binoculars, scanning the scene. "They’re loading up the gold," he said, his voice hushed but urgent.

John B leaned forward, snatching the binoculars from him. "There’s Ward," he muttered, his jaw tightening.

The familiar pang hit me square in the chest at the mention of my father. "Let me see," I said, taking the binoculars.

Through the lenses, I spotted Ward, his commanding presence impossible to miss as he barked orders near the plane. But then my breath caught. "Sarah," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"What?" John B and JJ turned to me, their surprise matching my own.

"She’s with him," I said, my heart sinking as I watched my sister struggle against Ward’s grip. He dragged her toward the plane, his hold rough and unrelenting. Security guards hovered nearby, their stances making it clear she had no escape.

"She’s arguing with him," I said, my voice breaking. My chest tightened as panic threatened to overtake me.

JJ’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "Baby," he murmured, his voice soft and steady. He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, grounding me in the moment.

"He’s hurting her," John B growled, his anger spilling over. Before anyone could stop him, he was off, sprinting toward the Twinkie.

The air was electric with tension, every one of us frozen as we watched John B and the Twinkie barrel down the dirt path toward the airstrip fence.

“John B! Stop! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Kiara shouted, her voice cracking with desperation.

Pope scrambled forward, waving his arms as if it would somehow make John B see sense. “What the hell is he doing?” Pope’s voice was frantic, and his panic was palpable.

Beside me, JJ cursed under his breath, his grip tightening around my waist as he tried to physically anchor me—and himself—through the chaos. “He’s gonna ram it,” JJ muttered, his tone somewhere between disbelief and reluctant admiration.

“Ram it? He wouldn’t,” I whispered, my voice shaking. But even as I said it, I knew John B well enough to know that he absolutely would.

“John B!” Kiara screamed again as the Twinkie tore through the wired fence, the sound of metal crunching and snapping filling the air.

Pope and Kiara dove out of the way just in time, their bodies hitting the ground hard. I barely had time to process what was happening before JJ yanked me backward, his arm wrapping protectively around me as we stumbled. We fell into the dirt together, JJ shielding me with his body as the Twinkie sped past, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris.

My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest. “Oh my God,” I breathed, trying to push myself up.

JJ stayed close, his arm still around my waist. “You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

I nodded shakily, looking into his wide, worried eyes. “Yeah. Are you?”

“Fine,” he said quickly, helping me to my feet.

We turned back toward the airstrip, watching as the Twinkie screeched to a halt directly in front of the plane. The plane racing at full speed towards him.

“He’s not actually—” Pope started, but he cut himself off, his mouth agape as he watched John B stationary in the path of the oncoming plane.

Kiara’s breath hitched beside me. “He’s going to get himself killed,” she said, her voice breaking. Her hands flew to her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I grabbed her hand instinctively, holding tight as I tried to process what was happening. “Kiara, he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay,” I said, my voice trembling.

But even as I said it, I wasn’t sure I believed it. The sight of John B standing there, a lone figure against the massive plane, was almost too much to bear.

Then, the sound of sirens cut through the night.

The flashing red and blue lights appeared on the horizon, growing closer with every passing second.

“Oh no,” Pope groaned, his hands flying to his head. “No, no, no, no, no, I can’t get arrested. My parents will kill me.”

“Your parents?!” Kiara cried, her voice rising in panic. “What about John B? What about Sarah?”

JJ cursed again, louder this time. “I’m on probation,” he said, his voice sharp and full of dread. “I can’t go to jail, guys.”

I looked up at him, seeing the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists. I knew what it would mean for JJ if he got caught—for him, jail wasn’t just a slap on the wrist. It was juvie on the mainland. Isolation. Months—maybe years—away from all of us. Away from me.

“J,” I said softly, reaching for his hand. He didn’t flinch away, his grip tightening around mine as if it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Listen, we have to go,” I said firmly, suppressing the ache in my chest and tears in my eyes for John B and Sarah. “We’re no use to them if we’re in jail.”

Pope nodded quickly, already backing away from the sirens. “She’s right. We have to leave. Now.”

Kiara hesitated, her eyes darting between the approaching cops and the airstrip, where John B was still standing his ground. “But—”

“Kiara,” I said, cutting her off. “We’ll figure out how to help them, but we can’t do it if we’re locked up.”

JJ grabbed his hat and gun off the ground, his movements quick and deliberate. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low and urgent.

I tugged on Kiara’s arm, and finally, she relented, tears still streaming down her face. We ran together, my heart breaking with every step as the sirens grew louder behind us.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

It was past 4 a.m. when we finally collapsed in bed, JJ’s head resting on my chest as he drifted off to sleep. I ran my fingers through his hair absentmindedly, my mind racing.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, my heart sinking when I saw it wasn’t from Sarah or John B. Instead, it was a text from Rafe: "I’m sorry."

I frowned, confusion swirling in my chest. I texted back, "Sorry for what? Are you okay?" but no response came.

Careful not to wake JJ, I slipped out of bed and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

I sat on the porch, the weight of my thoughts growing heavier by the minute. The distant hum of crickets and the faint rustling of leaves were the only sounds accompanying me in the darkness. My phone screen glowed faintly as I stared at Rafe’s message, the single line burning into my brain. "I’m sorry."

I felt like I’d been dropped into some alternate reality where my family and friends were drifting further and further out of reach. My fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling through my unanswered texts to Sarah and John B. They were still aired, and I couldn’t shake the dread curling in my stomach.

My mind wandered back to Rafe. He wasn’t perfect—not even close. But he was still my big brother, the one who used to sneak me chocolates when Rose was on one of her strict “no sugar” kicks. He was the one who held my hair back the first time I drank too much at a Kook party and smuggled me into the house without our parents noticing. Despite everything, Rafe had always been there for me, protective and reckless in equal measure.

The distance between us now stung like salt in an open wound. I thought about telling him about JJ—how happy he made me, how he made the world feel lighter even when it was crumbling. But I could already picture Rafe’s reaction: anger, confusion, maybe even outright fury. JJ and Rafe were like gasoline and a lit match—one wrong move, and it would all explode.

Still, I wanted to tell him. To share this part of my life with the brother I used to trust with everything.

The creak of the screen door behind me snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced over my shoulder to see JJ standing there, his hair mussed from sleep and his t-shirt hanging slightly off one shoulder. He rubbed at his eyes, squinting at me in the dim light.

“Baby,” he said softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “What are you doin’ out here?”

“J,” I whispered, my chest tightening with guilt. “I’m so sorry. Did I wake you up? You should be asleep.”

He padded over to me, barefoot and rumpled, and dropped down to sit on the step beside me. “You didn’t wake me,” he murmured, laying his head on my shoulder and closing his eyes. “But you’re gonna have to tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, or I’m not gonna get any sleep either.”

I sighed, leaning into him and letting his warmth ground me. “It’s Rafe,” I admitted. “He texted me just now—just one message: ‘I’m sorry.’ And I don’t know why, but it’s messing with me.”

JJ was quiet for a moment, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm. “What d’you think he’s sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice cracking slightly. “We used to be so close, J. He was the one person in my family who I thought really saw me. And now… I don’t even know who he is anymore.”

JJ tilted his head, his blue eyes searching mine as he encouraged me to carry on.

“I wanna share things in my life with him again, I want to skip school and go to the mainland and shop with Ward’s credit card and piss him off with Rafe and Sarah, I wanna tell him about us, J. I know he’s…different now, and I know what his mentality is towards Pogues” I rolled my eyes at the word as JJ smiled softly, “But he’s still my big brother and I just…I don’t know, J, I just want him back. I mean, he’d probably kill you when he’d find out we were together though.”

JJ chuckled, his grin boyish and crooked. “Small price to pay for you, Princess,” he teased, but there was a softness in his voice that made my chest ache.

I swatted his arm lightly, rolling my eyes despite the knot of emotion in my throat. “I’m serious, JJ. He’s… he’s not in a good place right now. I should be there for him but…I don’t know.”

JJ’s smile faded slightly, and he turned serious, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Hey,” he said softly. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Rafe might be a mess, but he’s still your brother. He loves you—even if he’s got a shitty way of showing it sometimes.”

I nodded, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. “I just… I miss him. I miss Sarah, too. And John B. And I hate that I can’t fix any of it.”

JJ pressed a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You don’t have to fix everything, baby. You’re not alone in this.”

The weight on my chest eased slightly as I leaned into him, letting his presence steady me. For a while, we just sat there in the quiet, the night wrapping around us like a cocoon.

Eventually, JJ stood, holding out his hand to me. “Come on, Princess. Let’s get you back to bed. I’m not letting you spiral out here all night.”

I let him pull me to my feet, his grip warm and firm. As we headed back inside, I glanced down at my phone one last time, my unanswered texts glowing faintly in the dark.

Tomorrow, I’d figure out what to do about Rafe, about Sarah, about everything. But tonight, I let myself lean on JJ, his steady presence reminding me that even in the chaos, I wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔: 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔

part eight done!!

im really hungry and i love jj

remember, taglist is open!! feel free to send me a dm or comment on literally anything💞💞

taglist: @harryssideboobz @onelonelybitch @jeyramarie @snowtargaryen @agnxstic