#maybe they do hurt and I’m just too tired

[notlongtolove]

the fox and her hound

“a fox?” he repeated, and you nodded. “a vixen.” spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. so you show him. not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

content: a love story told through the allegory of a fox and a hound, mentions of metaphorical wounds

word count: 2k

note: no linked poem bc idk just thought of this and wanted to write it. mayhaps im taking this nature trope a tad too far lol but anyways i will probably come back to edit this.

a line: They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes.

On your first date with Spencer, you’d asked him what animal he’d be. He had paused, tilting his head just slightly. He’s never understood why people ask questions like these. What animal? What color? What season? Animals are animals, colors are colors. It would be impossible to pick one to embody his entire being. Such separate realms of nature, totally different worlds, he thinks.

But you’re sitting across from him, head tilted, eyes glinting under dim light. Pretty. So pretty. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, doesn’t want you to think he’s boring or stiff or unfun. He wants to answer correctly, even though he knows there’s no “correct” answer to this.

“Maybe a golden retriever,” he said, trying to keep casual, “or a beagle. Something friendly.”

Something safe, he thinks. Something pretty girls statistically like.

You had smiled then, slow and soft, lifting the glass of whiskey to your lips, you said with all the certainty in the world:

“I’m a fox.”

“A fox?” he repeated, and you nodded.

“A vixen.” 

You didn’t explain it, just swirled your glass like you were swirling the word on your tongue. You loved the taste of it, loved the way it warmed your chest on the way down. Foxes are well-adapted to stay warm. Their thick winter coats, their long, bushy tails. They don’t need anyone to hold them when the frost bites or when the wind howls through the trees.

Spencer doesn’t understand why you call yourself a fox, not really. The dog stays close to the house. He doesn’t stray far, never been anywhere else. He doesn’t know. So you show him. Not all at once, but in pieces, small glimpses of your world that you let him catch—if he can keep up. The forest is dense, you see, the paths are winding and uneven. The shrubbery is thick, sharp branches clawing at the skin. There are logs in the way and the dog stumbles over them sometimes. You wonder if he’s getting tired, if your hidden path is too hard for him to navigate. If the spiders that weave their webs in his face and the fire ants that bite at his ankles are too painful to endure.

So, sometimes, you stop. You sit together on the forest floor, catching your breath. You wag your tails lazily and just talk.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he asks one evening.

The fox doesn’t answer right away. Her ears twitch, and her eyes flicker toward the trees.

“I don’t like the word never,” she says finally, “It feels like an impossible standard.”

The dog thinks about this, his brow furrowing. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she replies, her voice soft.

But the fox knows her way through the forest. She knows every twist and turn, every trap hidden beneath the leaves. You tell the dog he’d never catch up, sometimes hiding, sometimes running faster—just to see if he’ll try. Spencer doesn’t tell you how he sees that every time you disappear into the trees, you always turn back. Always looking over your shoulder, always checking to see if he’s still behind you. 

Eventually, you reach your den. Your fur coat is scratched and bruised from the branches and the logs, the forest leaving its marks on you like it always does. But you’re here. He’s here.

Silently, you wonder how many more times you’ll have to make this journey. You don’t think you can endure another. But you don’t say it.

Instead, you take him inside.

Your den is small, cobbled together from dirt and leaves, from twigs and scraps you’ve gathered over the years. You show him your dirt mantle, how you’d packed it tight with earth and how you’d lined with relics of your life. You show him the first flower you ever found, or what’s left of it—a brittle stem, its petals long gone. You tell him the story of the hound who crushed it. 

There’s a feather on the wall, light and fragile, from the first bird you ever caught. You smile as you tell him the story of the chase, how fun it had been to run and run with your foxes until the world blurred around you. Until you were the only one left. In the corner, something glints: A metal buckle, tarnished but unmistakable. From the shoe of the first hunter who’d ever caught you.

You trace your fur with your fingers, telling Spencer your adventures and stories of the traps and the teeth, of the hunters who came with rifles and ropes. The dog sits, listening, understanding. You show him how the edges of your den are marked, too. The walls are carved with notches—five, ten, fifteen. Each one a hunter or hound you’d escaped from. You’re proud, you say, even as you run your hand over the rough lines. They’re proof you survived, that you’ve outwitted them time and time again. Not unwounded, not unbroken, but alive. 

You tell him you’re very proud of yourself.

The dog tilts his head, watching you carefully. He sees the way your voice falters when you recount the stories of cages and leashes, how your tail twitches when you mention the hunters. Spencer thinks the fox is lying.

So, the dog tries to teach the fox his ways.

He clears out your mantle first. He takes down the brittle flower stem, the feather, the tarnished buckle. Then, he takes your paw and shows you how to sniff out the bright pretty toadstools, the ones that make the forest less dark. He shows you the rain puddles, not just for drinking, but for jumping in, for splashing until your laughter scares off the birds.

Together, you fill your den with new relics. Ticket stubs from the village fair, postcards you write but never send, laughter tucked away in secret corners. Kisses, soft and warm, planted like seeds that grow slowly into something that feels like home.

Spencer rubs off the old notches on your walls with the pads of his paws, the dust of their memory falling to the floor. In their place, you make new marks. Not notches, but drawings. A fox curled in the safety of her den. A dog lying beside her, his muzzle resting on his paws.

Night after night, you curl up beneath your mantle, snouts touching, tails tucked beneath you. 

And then winter comes. Now, your walls feel too big for just a lone fox.

You see, the dog always listens to his master. He sits, he fetches, he stays. But always under command, always under the whistle’s call. And when his master calls, he has to go. Tail wagging or tucked low, he goes. 

“You’re hardly ever here anymore,” your voice cuts sharper than you meant it to. 

“Can we please not do this now,” he says almost pleadingly, his jaw tight.

For the first time, in the quiet of your den, the fox feels the cold.

The dog goes. The fox doesn’t follow. She can’t. She doesn’t belong where the dog goes—to places of shiny badges and polished shoes, of clean, carpeted floors and voices that echo off tall, glass walls. So she waits in her den, her fur bristling against the chill, her paws worn from pacing the same patch of dirt.

You try to remind yourself of who you are. A fox, sly, swift, clever. A fox, who doesn’t need to wait for anyone. 

But still, when the forest quiets, you glance toward the trees. You press your ear to the ground, hoping to catch the faintest echo of his steps, the rustle of leaves under his paws. The fox runs her fingers over the edges of the drawings, tracing the uneven lines, patching the spaces in her den where the light and the wind get in with twigs and leaves. She roams the fields, trying to race the clouds again. But she doesn’t think she runs quite as fast without Spencer beside her. She chases her tail like he taught her, spinning in quick circles, but it’s not as fun when she’s alone. She doesn’t try to catch the birds anymore. It doesn’t feel the same.

When Spencer comes back, his coat bruised and worn from his time away, the fox licks his wounds. The scrapes and the scratches, soft and slow, patching his paws with the leaves she’s saved. ​​He carries something in his teeth—a token, a peace offering, a sign that he thought of you while he was away. 

A flower. 

He’d found it near the river, petals still dewy, fragile and bright. He hopes you like it. You do.

You take it from him with careful paws, eyes tracing its delicate form before placing it on your mantle, next to the postcards and ticket stubs, next to the daffodils, peonies, dahlias, irises and all the other flowers he’s found for you over time. You think back to the brittle and dead stem you once kept and wonder if there’s any way to hold onto something that beautiful forever.

Because sometimes even beautiful flowers die.

And when it comes to fight or flight, the fox always runs. They say it’s in her blood, in her very nature to flee. So she bolts. She runs away from the den, away from the mantle and the flowers he’d collected. The fox doesn’t know if she can find flowers quite as beautiful as the ones Spencer has given her.

You don’t need the flowers, you tell yourself. You’ll find a new den, find new birds to catch, rebuild your mantle from scratch, carve new notches in your walls once more. You always do.

But the hound finds you. Bred for hunting. Tracking. Scenting. For knowing where to look and how to catch. Bred for the hunt, he always finds you. Your crouched back, tail down, ready to pounce or bolt if you have to. Every instinct telling you to run, to vanish into the underbrush before he can catch you. 

“Open the door,” a voice calls, low and insistent.

The fox is curled in the corner of this den. It doesn’t hold the warmth of the last.

“I know you’re home.”

She shuts her eyes and digs deeper into the wall.

“Open the door,” he says, voice softening, pleading. "Please."

The fox exhales, and with a shudder that shakes through her, she reaches out and opens the door. She misses her flowers.

It’s not the chase you expect. No barking, no growling. You bare your teeth. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even flinch. 

“What do you want?” she asks, claws sharp.

“I want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Then I’ll stay here until you do.”

And so the fox and the dog sit. They wait and wait then talk and talk. By the time the first rays of the sun creep above the treetops, the fox is laughing again. It’s a sound that is warm and bright, something that makes Spencer’s heart feel a little fuller, a little lighter. He thinks he understands now. 

They don’t see it, do they? The way the fox rolls in the field when she thinks no one’s looking, laughing under her breath as she goes. The way she finds the sunniest patch to lay in and closes her eyes, tail swishing in contentment. They only see the scars and the snarls. They don’t ever see the joy.

“Why don’t you trust me?” he asks, his voice gentle but steady, the kind of tone that makes it clear he already knows the answer.

“I do,” you say quickly, instinctively.

He doesn’t push. He waits.

“I know you don’t,” he says finally, not accusing, just truthful.

You look away, fidgeting with your tail between your legs. “I’m trying,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says again, softer this time, his tail brushing lightly against your side.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: you’re here that’s the thing by beabadoobee tsunami by niki

[kr-starz]

Timebomb but I don’t think of smut or making out while they’re alone in Jinx’s room. I think of soft touches while they’re down there. The small way that Ekko uses the back of his finger to remove any of her runny makeup. Tracing his fingers along her cheek and cupping her face. Jinx looks at him with half lidded eyes, her hand on his wrist and she just pushes into it a little. She can feel herself getting more tired as the seconds pass, yet she wants to feel this just for another minute, maybe eternity. Being held so gently like she’s something worth protecting.

I think that after Ekko’s fixed Jinx up, they take a long nap. Ekko doesn’t feel it but he’s tired too, Jinx is wrapped up just about to sleep while Ekko claims he has something to do and she just mumbles the quietest “don’t leave me.” And he swears he feels his heart drop. He sits down next to her, and for a moment he contemplates laying down next to her just to look over her resting face. But he doesn’t, instead he sits down next to her, close enough for her to see and touch him. She reaches out for him, “there’s enough room for two people” Ekko’s not even sure what facial expression she had when she said that since he just felt all the heat rush to his head when she said it. He’s tempted to mumble an excuse, but he doesn’t. Instead he repositions himself, they’re facing eachother and she’s in his arms. They’re tired and battered, losing everything except each other. And everything feels like a blur to Ekko, the girl in his arms doesn’t feel real, she seems like she’s going to slip away from him if he blinks, he feels like this moment is going to be lost to him if he closes his eyes. He holds her tight. Her heads pressed against his chest and this is the most closure she’s gotten in months. She doesn’t want him to ever let go.

I don’t think they kiss, I think Ekko tells Jinx about how they were in love in another universe, one where the world is kinder. He tells her how different she is, and Jinx feels like it’s impossible, yet there’s this strange yearning in his eyes when he speaks that makes it real for her. Ekko asks if she would’ve stayed in a universe where everything was better, everyone was alive and happy. (Mostly) and Jinx would shake her head, she wouldn’t trade the moments and people she’s loved here for the world, especially if Isha isn’t seemingly in it, which draws the conversation to Jinx and this little girl who was her world.

“You would’ve loved her y’know? She would’ve loved you.” She says softly, the ache in her tone when she speaks hurts. And Ekko can feel it.

“I bet I would’ve, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” He rests as hand on her back.

“It’s not your fault, you’re here now and that’s something right?” Jinx tries to reassure him, and Ekko smiles back.

“And I don’t plan to leave.” He says softly, not like last time.

[beuxwhoyouare]

Ready to Go

I always thought I would die young. I just don’t forsee a long life ahead for me. It’s not like sad or anything I just think I’ve done all I wanted to. There’s never been like a dream job or goal I’ve ever foresaw in my future. It’s not depression or anything, if anything I think more people should be honest with themselves about being useless and just tapping out of a long life of nothingness.

See. You’ve read this long and didn’t even notice I haven’t mentioned my name. That’s because like my life, my name is equally inconsequential.

I was pondering about ways to easily tap out of life while I sat at the bus stop waiting. Eventually I got on the bus at my usual stop to take me to my usual destination when an older white man slowly waved his hand in front of my wandering gaze.

“What’s out there?” he feebly asked in a weak voice.

I’ve never been asked something on my route before. I kinda just zone out into my own mind like this and-

“Hey kid. You keep zoning out are you okay?” he interrupted my internal thought.

It’s like he knew I was talking to myself but how?

“I’m just in my own head. Sorry did you want the window seat?” I finally replied audibly.

“No. Just making sure you’re okay. Was worried you were one of those druggies or something. Whole life ahead of you and you youngins just throw it all away.”

What a presumptive thought. He really believes that young people can’t have a complex and existential inner dialogue. I think older people don’t give us enough credit. I’m complex, I think.

*hehe*

What’s he laughing at. Wait maybe he is listening to my inner dialogue? Let’s see. Lemme think of something and see how he responds. I don’t want to die, I just want to peacefully tap out of the game of existence.

Damn nothing? He isn’t going to say anything? I’m losing my mind.

“Where do you want to go in life kid?”

HE HEARD ME I KNEW IT!

“I mean let’s say you manifested it enough. Maybe I’m here to help you move on. The worst thing you can do is live a life unfulfilled. It seems like that’s how you’re living.”

“You can’t be serious…What can you do?”

“It’s not really me, more like a pact to the deities that rule existence. It’s the law of the land. Everything in this world is all about balance. Even our lives, if one aspect is out of balance it could throw the whole world out of whack.”

“So what’s out of balance? Just because I’m tired of being aimless in life? It’s not like I’m the only aimless one right?”

“Maybe you’re not the only one, but you’re the only aimless one put in my life. I have so much I wanted to do but spent too much time wasted. I wanted kids, I wanted love, I wanted it all but got sick and spent years withering away in a hospital bed.”

….why is he telling me all this? What can I do about the law of the land? If I could help him I would but he’s talking about myths and hocus pocus.

The bus made an abrupt stop next to a big park near a historical reserve in town. The old man grabbed my arm and dragged me with him off the bus, across the street to the park.

“Dude your boney arm is hurting me. I’ll follow you just let me go”

“We’re here anyway. I can feel one of the deity’s presence around us. All you have to do is say your true hearts desire out loud for it to become true. You can’t move on and I can get a chance to fix my life’s shortcomings.”

My true hearts desire? Doesn’t he get it my problem is I don’t have a desire. There’s nothing fueling me.

“That! Say that out loud.”

“I KNEW YOU COULD HEAR ME! But how?”

“Your inner dialogue was calling to me like a siren. I’m telling you I was meant to hear it. To run into you! This moment was meant to happen.”

Honestly resisting the occult is too much work anyway. I don’t know why I’m even poking and prodding into his story. What is it going to do for me in the end? He’s offering me a way out.

“I don’t have desire. I don’t have a goal. I’m not sad, I’ve lived an okay life but I’m done.”

“I want a real chance to live life. I payed my dues. Please all I ask for is a real chance.”

If felt like all the sounds of nature stopped. The sun suddenly disappeared and it felt like a spotlight appeared above us. All I could see was the old man when he disappeared in front of me. It all disappeared in front of me. Then silence. Well everything was silent from then on. My request to tap out was granted.

“Keven. I like that name, I definitely look like a Keven now. This is a good place to start I think?”

I feel bad that a young person could fall out of love with existing. There’s so much young people have to live for and he just wanted to die? I’ll live the best live for the both of us.

I’m quite the looker now too so that should probably help on the having kids and starting a family front. Although he’s a little short for my liking. You know what no I’m going to be grateful for this new life I’ve been given. There’s still some memories in my head that belong to him. I think he might be gay….well I never got to explore those things in my time but it doesn’t help the kids dream.

Whatever I think starting today I’m going to be Bi. I’m gonna search through these memories and continue working out. Seems like it has a positive impact on people’s outlook and morale. Maybe that’s where the kid went wrong. He didn’t seek ways to be happy. I’m choosing happiness and choosing to be fulfilled.

Let’s start by jerking this thick beer can growing under my shorts though…and maybe seeing if this hot couple in the gym might want a newly confident Latino twunk third.

[jaggedamethyst]

…look for the light

joel miller x f!reader | 2.7k

pairing: joel miller (tlou) x fem reader

content: you're tired of hearing that old slogan from the fireflies...but maybe you should give it a chance.

notes: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut for the girlies (smfh + side eye) also unprotected in the heat of the moment unfortunately…dont be like them! angst because it's my specialty, mental health depictions (illusions to death, depression, etc. do not read if that's a serious trigger) this takes place in the time jump between tlou 1 and tlou 2…tons of existential crisis otw, grief, everything unfortunately…and i still don’t believe in proofreading

also this is the longest i've written so far...of course it involves joel too...hashtag need that.

 ࿐ ࿔*:·ﾟ🍂🌿༄。°          ° 。༄🌿🍂·ﾟ*࿔ ࿐

You hadn’t arrived in Jackson on your own. At the time, you were one of a family of four. As time passed, the number dwindled along with your will to live. Back when everything was normal--or as normal as it could’ve been in a world that corrupt, you saw a therapist. You knew it was in their career description to listen. It helped sometimes, others it didn’t. Overall, though, you’d say they’d done a shit job if at the first sign of loss, you wanted to cease to exist. 

When you weren’t overthinking, you found yourself on patrol. It became ironic that you rejoiced at the sight of a fresh dead body. Knowing that the person before you had made a mistake you could now avoid lit a small fire in you. The flame didn’t last long though, quickly blown out every day with a speed just as fast as its ignition. 

To be candid, there was this guy. Well, this man. You couldn’t do him the injustice of calling him anything but a man. You saw him often--sometimes to himself, others with this girl. No matter the circumstance, though, he rarely spoke. You liked that. Something about people who acknowledged their capability to not speak made you extremely happy. Silence is a valid option. 

As an observer, you learned his name was Joel, the girl Ellie. They’d arrived about the same time as you, which explained the lack of interaction. This was, of course, aside from glances, the fake half-ass smiles you exchanged, and your time on patrol together. 

Unfortunately, he was the worst. It absolutely burned you up. That, and the fact that even when he annoyed you, you wanted to have extremely private time with him. 

The first time you actually spoke, he’d found you by a stream. You didn’t know he was showing the girl, Ellie, something that day. But as you lay with your eyes closed, taking in the sunlight--a shadow cascaded over you. 

You opened one eye to see who’d stepped in the way. Before you could get a word out, he spoke, “You from Jackson?”

“Who’s asking?” You created a sort of visor over your eyes with your hand. 

He huffed, “someone from Jackson.” 

Resuming your position on the ground, you spoke, “You some sort of Jackson cop? You seem like the cop type.” 

He scoffed. You realized he did that a lot, not speaking, making annoyed sounds. Not answering questions directly. 

“You should get back.” 

With a quirked brow, you replied, “I’m good, thanks.” 

“Wasn’t really a question.”

“Didn’t say it was.” 

By this point you’d opened your eyes again, surveying the man. You kind of felt bad for being snippy but honestly, he interrupted your “alone with my thoughts” time. Some people can cope without thinking of the same incidents in a constant loop. Not you--you liked the hurt. It reminded you to be safe. To not trust people. 

Even in that position, though, you observed the man. He looked rough, but in a way that motioned toward experience. There were hints of gray in his hair, yet he didn’t look old. His shirt was slightly opened, tattered. The sheen of sweat covering him made him all the more alluring in the sunlight. 

“Are you gonna get the hell up and get a move on or what?” 

You didn’t know him at the time, or that he was trying to surprise Ellie on her birthday. Even worse, that on this day, he’d thought of his daughter. He was coping. Anyone or anything out of place was shattering the amazing plan he had made to go a day without feeling like a disappointment. 

He didn’t know that your “alone with my thoughts” time often consisted of thinking of your family. You’d willed yourself to shut your eyes tight, picturing those you lost; it was the only time you could see them. If you got lucky, you could dream of them. If you were unlucky, you’d see images of their mangled bodies. 

It seemed that even awake, your luck was the fucking worst. 

With swift and silent movements, you stood and turned to leave. Avoiding eye contact was the only way to hide the tears prickling in your eyes. 

“Dude,” a young voice called out, “you hurt her feelings!”

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to, Ellie!” 

Like you said, he was the worst. But you definitely took it to the next level at every opportunity. 

That’s how you found yourself on patrol with Joel giving him the silent treatment. It was customary at this point. If you two went alone, he would bark out orders, you’d follow if you felt like it. If someone else happened to be there, you two would rely on an unspoken rule to only speak to them and not one another. It worked…until today. 

Entrapment wasn’t a new feeling for you. Often on patrol specifically, you would have to maneuver your way out of dangerous positions to return. But the realization of there being nobody to return to hit you today. So even when Joel and Jesse said to stay back, you proceeded. It was a miracle none of you three were bitten or worse. Your reckless act left the trek back to Jackson completely silent. 

When you reached the gate safely, Jesse spoke first. It was obvious he was shaken up but even more annoyed with you. “Kinda fucked up you did that. Did you even consider that you would put me and Joel in danger?” 

“Nobody told you to follow me, to be honest.” 

“I don’t give a fuck! When we leave, we work together… or we don’t go.” 

Joel shook his head silently, observing the way Jesse continued to rip into you. You continued the back and forth until Jesse hit extremely low. 

“Look, I know you lost people…I remember them-”

You spoke over him, a finger out in warning, “Don’t-” 

“And just because you feel like there is no worth left in your sorry ass life, doesn’t mean I wanna die right now. Not for you. Not on a stupid patrol mission.” 

It felt like he punched you. Square in the face. The way your breath left you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Not since the day you realized your entire family was gone. As a result of that day, you grew accustomed to silent walks back to your house. You got used to the sounds your house made between the silence. 

You didn’t hear Joel’s faint footsteps and persistent calls to you as he followed behind. It wasn’t until the unusual sound of your door not immediately closing behind you that you turned around to see him there. 

“You didn’t even stop him, you just stood there like you always do!”

His signature sigh and no response. Just a sort of expectant look on his face. 

“Get. Out. Please.” 

You begged him to leave, your voice breaking. It was somewhere in the midst of you slowly falling toward the floor that he reached you. He knew what you were experiencing right now. The dull panging in your body, a faint scream at you, and a feeling that of anyone it should’ve been you to go, not your family. 

He didn’t want to admit that he recognized the bubble of sadness around you, as he’d be forced to acknowledge his own. The least he could do was to comfort you in a way he had yearned for when he lost Sarah. When he lost Tess. When he thought Tommy was gone. But he failed, as he always did, crying with you. 

He urged you to quiet your sobs, “It’s okay, shhh.” 

His attempts at soothing you were a sort of reassurance to himself--that it was okay. It could be okay. He eventually grasped your face, too, forcing you to look at him. He wanted you to believe him, despite the lack of conviction in his voice. The eye contact shocked you both. You had never seen the man cry let alone been this close to him. From a distance, it's easy to think that any dark-colored eye is just black but his…

“Brown…” You mumbled incoherently. 

“What?”

“Your eyes. I’ve never really looked at ‘em.” 

He was confused, “yeah, brown.” 

“It's just that, it's easy to overlook things…” when you’re so stuck in the past, you wanted to say. But you left it. You had a feeling he understood. 

It was hard to not lean into his touch, even harder to not want to be near him. He noticed you staring, but there was still so much left unsaid. Thinking about it, he never really allowed himself to carry out a conversation with you. But there was an unspoken attraction between you. It was easy to minimize said attraction to one where you needed each other. It was suffice to say that it was more tantamount to the way particles were reliant on one another. Even more, the way symbiosis occurred. Despite the urge to push one another away, you knew that you did, in fact, need each other. 

If not for a long time, at least for now. 

Without a word, you pushed up a bit, meeting your lips with his. He was obviously taken aback; there was so much behind the kiss…but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You pulled at his shirt, that damned shirt he always liked to wear. Always opened slightly, but never enough to give you what you needed.

“Can I?” You broke the kiss and motioned toward the buttons, breaking eye contact for a second. 

Joel let out a characteristic sound, affirming you, “Mhm, yeah…” 

You moved your hands lower, stopping at the close of his top. “Are you sure?” 

The man understood you. The shirt acted as a sort of metaphorical barrier between the two of you. As much as it scared the both of you to cross that line, there was an unspoken respect for one another. 

He noticed your apprehension, bearing the task of taking down that wall for you both. 

Joel unbuttoned his shirt, slowly, intentional in his action. 

He watched you shiver, “I haven’t…I want…I mean-” 

That same alluring stare maintained its gaze at you, Joel allowing you the time to process and say what you wanted to. 

“I want to feel…be close to you. Not because I want to use you or something…I just,” You searched for words that seemed to escape you. 

His words interrupted your thought process, a gentle but calloused hand returning to your face. 

“You don’t have to have a reason. Use me.” 

That was enough to make you attack him full force. You’d thought of each other so long that there was an urgency. There wasn’t time for niceties or the pleasantries of preparing yourself for him. You just wanted each other immediately. 

The trail of clothing that led to your room was something out of one of those old movies you watched. Before everything went to shit. You allowed yourself a smirk at the thought--Joel hot on your trail. 

Joel observed how clean your place was. He was one to keep tidy, too. Not for the thought of expecting someone, but for lack of people except him. There were few things he held near and dear, so a large space like his home was often unused save for his bed and couch. It seemed you echoed this thought, and that made him even more eager. Knowing you had so much in common made him insatiable.

You found yourselves kissing again, seeking comfort in each other. It was sweet and slow. You couldn’t handle it, the lack of him. 

“Joel, please,” you backed towards the bed. Now fully available for him. With you demanding everything be so structured to protect yourself these days, you were willing to let go for once. 

He didn’t say anything, he never did. But the way he hovered over you, maintained eye contact and pushed into you said enough. 

His pace was somewhere between painfully slow and slower. He felt your wetness, the way you were ready for him already, and it made him harder. He knew he wouldn’t last long if he went any faster. 

You reached up, pushing the hair out of his face. It was a distraction from how good it felt, even the purposely slow pressure, but you wanted more. 

You bucked up into him. He hissed and grunted in your ear, that’s new. 

The southern drawl was even more apparent on the man. “Shit. I’m tryin’ to…make it last,” his head met your shoulder, breath against your skin. “Cant.” 

“Don’t.” 

You couldn’t see his face, but you figured a look of surprise flashed there. It only took a second for him to pick up the pace. Those grunts filled the room; his wordless communication was now music to your ears. 

You continued that way for not much longer--but the high was unlike any other. He reached down to rub between you, making sure you’d finish. The thought of him caring about you in that way and the pointed pressure of his strong hands doing so was enough to make your body pulse against him. 

He pushed you back down, keeping you still, “Don’t move, baby.” 

It was a lot. 

His movements became even more erratic, but it felt so damn good. 

“Where should I?” 

You arched a brow, “You want a little Joel running around here somewhere?” 

He chuckled, so sweetly, too. Fuck. 

“Wow, even full like this you still got a mouth on ya. I’m gonna work on that.” 

He pulled out suddenly, and before you could even complain, latched his mouth onto you until he finished and your voice went dry from calling out his name. 

Okay…

The usual urge to freshen up never came. The smell of Joel was all over you, and you liked it that way. You breathed in and out, processing what happened, fighting to stay awake. The sound of the man’s snores was enough to keep you awake in itself. 

It wasn’t until you heard the snores stop and Joel stirring that you spoke again.

“I’m sorry.” 

Joel turned his head toward you, clearly still half asleep, “For?” 

“For that day, in the woods, when we first met. I was mean.” 

“I understand. A random guy shows up asking questions. You get defensive. It happens to the best of ‘em.” 

There was silence. One long enough that Joel sat up to get out of bed--you stopped him when you spoke. 

“I was thinking of my family,” a pause, and with it, your eyes burned a bit. “I don’t know why I act the way I do. I don’t know why I’m… harsh. Part of me thinks it's because they are always looking at who I have become and are so disappointed. The other part of me thinks that they don’t see me at all…or that they can’t…that there’s nothing more after this. I dunno which feels worse but I know it drives me fucking crazy.” 

He silently reached for your hand, deliberate in his response. “I like to think that the big moments we share with the people we lose are more important than anything after.” He nodded, assuring himself before continuing. “Good or bad, their memory only survives as long as we are thinking of them.” He paused to look toward his wrist, almost out of muscle memory. “Our families may not be here, but even mentioning them proves that they were real. I know my baby girl was real, I can’t fail her by going on like she wasn’t.” He inched closer to you, “If it takes me being sad to know that there was someone I loved here before, I’ll stomach it any day.” 

You nodded slightly. 

“Thanks.” 

A hum resonated from him, and he made his way out of your house. He was elusive as always, and definitely just as attractive..if not more so now. But his words stuck with you. 

That stupid catchphrase from the Fireflies…you’d heard it often. The aftershocks of the group persisted even after they’d slowly dwindled in numbers. When you’re lost in the darkness…

Wiping your eyes, you pulled the covers back a bit more. A lot of time had passed, but for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel like it was ripped from you. 

After a few minutes, the Sun started to rise, heat emanating from your window. You felt the warmth slowly reach your face--closing your eyes. 

For once, you’d look forward to sleep, and even more, the possibility of dreaming.

[bandsofmarv]

Venomous hearts

Mattheo and Theo have both set their sights on you igniting a rivalry.

I might make this a series.

No warnings.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the emerald glow from the fireplace casting an eerie shimmer over the cold, stone walls. You sat in your usual spot by the window, attempting to focus on the Potions essay Snape had assigned, but the atmosphere in the room was far too tense for concentration.

Mattheo Riddle lounged across the couch, his dark eyes locked on you like a predator watching prey. He twirled his wand lazily, but his jaw was clenched, betraying the storm raging beneath his cool exterior. Across the room, Theodore Nott leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His icy blue eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, his expression unreadable yet charged with unspoken challenge.

The tension between them had been brewing for weeks, and you, the unwilling centerpiece of their silent war, were caught in the crossfire.

“Is the essay really that interesting, love?” Mattheo drawled, his voice dripping with a mixture of arrogance and irritation.

You glanced up, trying to ignore the way his lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes held a sharper edge. “Unlike some people, Mattheo, I prefer to pass my classes.”

Theo let out a soft scoff from across the room, drawing both your and Mattheo’s attention. “Maybe she just prefers spending her time with people who don’t treat everything like a game,” he said coolly, his tone a deliberate jab.

Mattheo sat up, his smirk vanishing. “Careful, Theo,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Theo pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. He looked calm, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides. “What are you going to do, Mattheo? Hex me because she’s tired of your theatrics?”

“Guys—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by Mattheo’s sudden rise to his feet.

“You don’t get to talk about theatrics, Nott,” Mattheo snarled, his wand now pointed at Theo. “You’ve been circling her like a bloody vulture for months. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Theo didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, his lips curling into a taunting smile. “And what about you? Acting like you own her, like she’s some prize to be won. That’s not affection, Riddle; that’s obsession.”

Your heart pounded as you stood, placing yourself between them before things escalated further. “Enough! Both of you!”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to you, softening slightly, but his grip on his wand didn’t loosen. Theo, however, stepped back, though his gaze lingered on you.

“You’re not some pawn in their game, Y/N,” Theo said quietly, his voice laced with an unexpected vulnerability. “You deserve someone who sees you, not someone who uses you to stroke their ego.”

Mattheo scoffed, but you caught the flash of hurt in his expression. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of hero, Theo. We all know you’re no better than me.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension and unsaid words. You looked between them, your heart aching at the pain they both carried, the pain they were now projecting onto you.

“I’m not a prize,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “And I won’t let either of you turn this into a competition. Figure out your own issues before dragging me into them.”

With that, you grabbed your essay and stormed out of the common room, leaving them both behind.

As the door slammed shut, neither Mattheo nor Theo moved. For the first time, they were forced to confront the truth: their feelings for you weren’t just a game, but the scars they’d leave might be too deep to repair.

[vanillarosekiss]

To the beautiful person who left me this anon ask:

hi ria! I know you normally write femreader as girly or with a more feminine energy. But wdyt of John Price whose s/o is self conscious because she’s not as girly as the ladies who undoubtedly always surround him and maybe have made her he can do better than her ((totally not projecting lolz))

i’m so sorry i accidentally deleted your ask, but luckily I managed to copy it before! I really hope this finds you angel..♡

warnings: self depreciation, afab!reader x John Price, this one’s actually kinda sad guys sorry (happy ending though, i promise!!).

John Price had always been the kind of man who carried himself with a quiet confidence, commanding respect in every room he walked into. It wasn’t just his rugged good looks or the way he carried the weight of his responsibilities with ease — it was his unwavering calm, the type of presence that made you feel like the world could crumble, but he’d hold it together for you. He’d do anything for you.

You didn’t feel like you belonged in his orbit. You didn’t even feel like you belonged in the same room.

Not when he could have his pick of anyone. And not when the effortlessly gorgeous women you saw at his work functions or in photographs seemed to orbit him naturally.

They didn’t mean to make you feel small of course, but sometimes, they didn’t need to. Backhanded comments like, “Oh, she’s not quite what I expected for John,” or those lingering glances they shared when they thought you weren’t looking, planted seeds of doubt that grew roots in your chest. It hurt you more than you liked to admit.

You weren’t as polished, as composed, as these women. It wasn’t that you didn’t try… no, you just didn’t feel like you when you did. Dresses made you feel exposed. Heels left your feet aching. Even makeup was a practice you rarely indulged in because it didn’t feel worth the time or effort considering the little time you actually spent out.

And yet, John had still chosen you.

You were sitting on the couch with your knees pulled up, thumbing through your phone absentmindedly when John walked in. His heavy boots on the hardwood floor were a sound you’d grown to love, a comfort of such.

“Alright, love?” he asked, his voice low.

You nodded quickly, plastering on a smile. “Yeah, fine.”

But John was too observant for his own good. He was extremely perceptive, his time in the force had made him a great reader of expressions. He tilted his head, scanning your face as he set his keys on the counter.

“Hmm,” he hummed, his tone laced with doubt.

You looked away, shrugging. “Just tired, s’all.”

“Not buying it.” He waited intently on your reply.

You hesitated. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Darlin’.” That single word was a command. You knew he was being serious.

You sighed, your voice wavering, threatening to crack despite your attempt to sound indifferent. “Do you ever… I dunno. Do you ever wish I were more like the women you’re surrounded by?”

His brow furrowed. “What women?”

“The ones at those events,” you muttered, gesturing vaguely. “They’re all so put together, and I’m-” You laughed bitterly. “Not.”

John leaned back slightly, his hand finding your thigh and gently resting there. He regarded you for a long moment, his eyes steady. “Who’s been telling you all this?”

“No one,” you said quickly. “I just… I feel like they’re right sometimes. You could do better than me.”

The silence that followed felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. John’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly before he pulled you into his side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Do you know why I chose you?” he asked quietly.

Your throat tightened painfully. “Because I was there?”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Because you’re real. Because you’re you. Because I don’t need anything like those women you were talking about, don’t want them, either.”

“But- ”

“No ‘buts’.” His tone was firm now, the kind that silenced any argument before it began. “I don’t care about anyone else. Those women you’re talkin’ about? All worthless, the lot of ‘em.”

You felt the unavoidable prick of tears in your eyes. “You really mean that?”

John turned slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. “You think I’d lie to you about something like that?” He kissed your lips gently, lingering there for a while.

“You’re enough for me, angel. More than enough.”

For the first time in what felt like months, you finally believed him.

I really hope this finds the right person. What a gorgeous request! Give me sweet John Price immediately. ˖⋆࿐໋

[unboundprompts]

hurt/comfort but they're both subborn? Like teasing stubborn and more stricter stubborn,,, /nf!! I'd prefer if the teasing one was the one having a breakdown but just have fun w it man!!! Go wild!!!

Hurt/Comfort (Teasing x Stubborn)

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

He was slumped against the wall, arms crossed as he forced a casual smirk, even though his eyes were red-rimmed and tired. "Look at you, all serious. What, worried about me?" he teased, raising an eyebrow.

She huffed, crossing her own arms and stepping closer. "You’re not fooling me," she said, her voice steady but soft. "You look like you’re about to collapse."

"I’m fine," he insisted, but his voice cracked, betraying him. She just shook her head, closing the distance, and slid her arms around him without asking. For a moment, he went stiff, still holding onto his forced smile. But eventually, with a shuddered breath, he let his weight fall into her, the smirk fading.

---

"I don’t need a lecture," she muttered, forcing a chuckle that sounded hollow even to her own ears. "I’m fine."

"Fine? Sure, because people who are ‘fine’ definitely laugh to cover up that they’re hurting," they countered, their tone as steady as hers was evasive.

She raised her chin, a hint of defiance in her eyes. "Maybe I’m just good at hiding it, then."

"Not from me." They reached out, tugging her close, and even as she tried to keep up the pretense, her resolve cracked. Slowly, she let her head fall to their shoulder, clinging to them as their arms wrapped around her in silence.

---

He let out a weak laugh, rubbing at his eyes. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"Clearly," she replied dryly, though there was warmth in her gaze. "You’re really doing a great job."

His mouth quirked up, a forced attempt at humor. "Oh, come on, am I that bad off?"

"You are," she said, her tone softening. She reached for his hand, and this time, he didn’t pull away. "And if you’re so set on acting like you don’t need help, fine—just let me sit here with you, okay?" He finally gave in, squeezing her hand tightly, his teasing fading as he leaned into her support.

---

"Really, you’re fussing for nothing," they said, their voice tense but trying to sound lighthearted. "I’m just having an off day."

"An off day? You look like you haven’t slept in a week," he replied, his voice gentle but firm.

They chuckled, waving him off. "Guess you’re just seeing things."

"Right. And I suppose the fact that you’re about to fall over is all in my head, too?" He stepped closer, holding out his arms, and after a long moment, they sighed, letting him pull them into an embrace. They tried to laugh it off, but their voice wavered, and he just held them tighter, refusing to let them brush it away this time.

[wherethewaterstarts-andyouend]

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[spacemancharisma]

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[laughinglynx]

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[babyfairy]

i hate that i can’t even ride the high from my concert because my life is so consistently depressing and hellish lmao 🙃 it’s depressing to come back down to reality after such a good day. like it really makes me realize how joyless my life has become. everything just blurs together

[hellfireeddiemunson]

sick of making plans with a specific friend only for her to not reach out abt actually hanging out until the afternoon after i’ve waited all day to hear back from her or for her to just cancel last minute entirely after i’ve again waited all day to hear back from her

[milo-is-rambling]

Chronic pain really got me going to bed before it’s even dark out (also my little pink unicorn lights Millie got me look so cool in the second pic)

[kat-ryn]

My tummy hurts

[starlooove]

I love thinking of next gens or whatever but like. I KNOW I was a rio defender but to be fair I hadn’t rewatched in a while and rn I’m not even done I’m just remembering I completely blocked out that rio was THAT jealous??! Especially while cheating but anyways he seems like the type of guy to have a child with Jerrica and try to name them jem 😭

[weirdlittlefish]

bough