#that is like wishing you had a brain to make a wish

[aemrsy]

𝐍𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐠𝐢𝐚

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𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 (𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟑𝟎) 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞.

𝐓𝐖: 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

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You don't think you've ever been in a room this quiet before. It almost felt like the silence that would surround you underwater, no it was worse, quieter. You looked down at the white shoes they'd put you in. They definitely weren't white anymore. Did they do that on purpose? To torment you? As if the smell of it constantly wasn't enough, now it was on your shoes and clothes.

You desperately tried to wipe yourself clean of the red stains, "please, please." the words repeated over and over again like a mantra in your brain. Your eyes burned and your vision blurred up with tears. This was it, you could feel a sob bubbling up in your chest. You needed to get out.

Your bottom lip quivered making a slight opening enough for your sob to escape through and break the silence, but before that could happen you heard a loud alarm it made your ears ring it was almost painful. You jumped, not having heard anything since the last game.. god could you even call it that?.. This was horrible.

You felt a hand touch your shoulder, since the first game your body had been on high alert so naturally your head snapped up your body pulling itself back a little in defense.

Your body relaxed a little once you saw him, Choi su-bong. He was the center of your world when you two were younger there wasn't a day that went by without him, he was practically family. His parents weren't always the best so you could recall times when he would spend months at your place your parents would've done anything to protect him,

but like every childhood friendship you two fell out. it's hard to say when but you two hadn't talked since the early years of middle school.

Seeing him here was a shock, you couldn't muster up the courage to talk to him at all yet. There was nothing to say. Not in your current situation.

"You need to eat.." He said softly, looking at you as if you'd break if his gaze was any less gentler. He sat down next to you keeping a small distance between the two of you.

You almost scoffed at that. "Eat?.. You can't be serious su-bong." Needless to say you didn't have an appetite. You looked over at the line forming infront of the guards that were handing out trays of food.

He smiled looking down and then back up at you "Come on.. you need to keep your strength up for the next game." He reached over, moving slowly and tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear, a habit he'd picked up from when you were kids. You didn't like your hair getting in your face at all, he knew that.

Subconsciously you moved a little closer to him. There was so much that you wanted to say to him so when you started opening your mouth you weren't really sure what was about to come out.

"I miss you" of course.. you're quite literally in a life and death situation but that's the first thing your brain decided on.

he looked into your eyes and when you looked into his for a second you could see the younger version of him that you loved so deeply. A version of him without the purple hair and all the firey attitude. You saw him for who he was and you wished that everyone in here could see the same pure boy that you did.

You thought that maybe he saw something similar in your own eyes because he didn't say anything back instead he pulled you in and you found yourself pressed up against his chest.

You grabbed fistfuls of the back of his tracksuit jacket closing your eyes and as sick as it may sound you felt safe. In this god awful place you thought you'd never feel that way.

"What are you doing here?.." You said looking up at him with worried eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing.." He fired back. You didn't like his tone but you answered anyway.

"I'm not good at managing my money.. After i got fired from the only job that would hire me.. i couldn't find another one, and everything that i had saved.. Gone in a few weeks."

He nodded along as you spoke pursing his lips together.

"No but seriously, what are you doing here?.. from what i've seen, your life is going great.. 'Thanos'.."

He shook his head a bitter smile forming on his face.

"Fame doesn't always equal money.. i'm in debt."

The way he kept his answer so short made you wonder if there's more that he didn't want to tell you but you didn't push.

He looked down at your face gently rubbing your arm as he spoke.

"i miss you too.. alot, i'm sorry i didn't reach out.. i just didn't know what to say you know?.. i didn't know where to start.."

You nodded you knew that feeling all to well.

"I know.. i felt the same way."

He squeezed your arm a little. When he looked over at the line he'd realized it had gotten alot shorter so he excused himself before going over and grabbing his tray, he wasn't very hungry himself but he needed to get you to eat something.

He made his way back over and set the tray down infront of you.

"Come on.. just a couple bites."

With him around you felt a little more comfortable eating he was a great distraction from everything going on around you.

You ate in silence and he ate some too, he wanted to encourage you.

"So, should i start calling you thanos too?"

He furrowed his eyebrows chuckling but the look you gave him said it was a genuine question.

"No way, It sounds so weird coming from you.. you can stick to my real name.." He handed you the milk gesturing for you to drink up.

"Actually it's nice that you still call me by my real name.. you're different from them y'know?, the best parts of my childhood are tied to you.. i owe it all to you.. Seriously, you mean so much to me, i want you to know that okay?.. we'll stick together in here"

You nodded setting the milk down on the tray. You did think it was nice that you could call him something that seprated you from everone else.

The way he worded that last part though made you a little anxious, 'we'll stick together in here' What about when you're out of here?.. No, you couldn't lose him again.

"Hey, we're gonna be okay, we'll make it out, and as soon as we pay off our debts we'll go somewhere nice.. like we talked about when we were younger remember?.."

As kids you two had always dreamt about traveling, you'd watch the planes go by during recess and talk about where you think it's headed and where you'd want to go, back then everything seemed possible.

"i'm scared.." you whispered, he put his hand on your cheek. You had doubts that you'd even make it out of here to see if he'd stick to his word.

"I'm here.. we'll get through it together, you're safe with me.. you're safe."

his thumb stroked your cheek and you closed your eyes putting your hand on his and pressing it a little further into your cheek, craving the warmth of his palm on your skin.

"i love you.."

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

"i love you too.. always."

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[nmakii]

“what’re you doing? you’re being pretty quiet” nagi mumbles from his end of the call. the two of you always called whenever you were doing menial things such as doing your homework or gaming. it was your relationship’s weird way of spending time together.

“logging. something for my club…” you vaguely explain, not exactly making nagi any more knowledgeable on what you’re doing.

you’re really tired— your eyebags have been drooping much more this week, you can never seem to wake up in time for school, and you have so much work you haven’t finished yet, you’re considering doing an all-nighter…

“ugh…” you groan, “i think my brain’s gonna explode…” your eyes finally blink after staying open for what seems like an hour straight.

“you should take a break, babe. hop on call of duty with me?” nagi offers. you had called him at 6 PM; it’s 12 AM, and haven’t said anything since the call started. nagi was starting to get needy.

“can’t, seishi… i really have a ton to do…” you mumble, head in your hands. there was way too much, you felt as if you were gonna break down. “babe…” nagi pouts, grumbling. “please? just one round?”

he tries negotiating, but he receives no response. “…babe?” he asks,

“hellooo..?” he calls out.

“did you fall asleep..?”

“…”

he sighs. you actually managed to work yourself to sleep. you didn’t turn on your camera, so he couldn’t actually see the position you fell asleep in. he could only hope it was a comfortable one that wouldn’t have you complaining that your back hurts in the morning.

“sleep well, babe…” he wishes. but now, what does he do..? he doesn’t quite want to leave you alone sleeping, so he decides to let you sleep on the call while he plays his games.

when you wake up in the morning, red marks are all over your forearms, your hair is flying in your face, and theres a pool of drool on your desk.

shit, you fell asleep— what time was it..?

you look to your overheating PC— it’s 4 AM. you turn to your other monitor, and see that you’re still on call with nagi, who you can only assume fell asleep on call with you, so you wouldn’t be lonely.

‘10:58:38’

‘i should stay on call with him’, you think to yourself.

cause, what if he gets lonely?

[hederasgarden]

Hiya! David!clark with prompt 2 from your list pretty please w the juiciest cherry on top! SMOOCHES TO YOUUU

Smooches to you as well, anon!! This was such a cute drabble request!

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x F!Reader Word Count: 532 Rating: Gen. This is pure fluff with the prompt, Wait a minute. Are you jealous? A/N: Thank you to @ryebecca for looking this over! Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Masterlist ♡ David Corenswet Characters Masterlist

“And, anyway,” Clark continues, fumbling with the stack of papers in his hands. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea to meet him alone. Someone should come with you. Just for safety, you know? You can never be too careful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “It’s a date, Clark. Not some shady source for a story. You’re acting like I’m meeting a criminal kingpin.”

He frowns, pushing his glasses back up his nose in a familiar gesture you’ve seen him do a hundred times. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m just saying, you don’t know this guy. He could be anyone. He could be an axe murderer, for all we know.”

It’s only the worried crease between his brow and the genuine concern you see in his eyes that keep you from laughing at how seriously he’s taking this.

“He’s friends with Jimmy,” you remind him, giving his very firm, muscly shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“How well does Jimmy actually know this guy?” Clark questions. “Are they actual friends, or more like ‘a friend of a friend’ kind of situation?”

“I think they play pickleball together?” you say, though you can’t fully remember. Jimmy tended to ramble a lot and well, truth be told, sometimes you tuned him out. “Or maybe it was D&D? I’m not sure which one it is, but he’s definitely not some random weirdo. Just a nerd.”

“I should talk to Jimmy,” Clark says with a nod like he hasn’t even heard you. 

Before he can walk past, you stop him with a firm hand on his chest, your fingertips grazing the crisp, starchy white shirt he’s wearing. 

“Wait a minute. What’s going on?” You question. 

Clark may have had the reputation of the office big brother, always looking out for everyone, but this was something else. It felt different. It felt like he liked you.

No.

That couldn’t be right. He was so wildly out of your league and that thought sounded insane, even to your own ears. But as you study his face, you catch the way his eyes flick away from yours for just a beat too long, the briefest hesitation, and how his hand tightens around the stack of papers, his knuckles whitening.

“Are you jealous?” The words slip out before you can stop them. You wince, wishing you could swallow them back up when you see the tips of Clark’s ears turn red. He opens his mouth, then closes it, before tugging on his collar. 

“Oh,” you whisper. 

“Is that a good oh?” Clark asks you, looking almost nervous. 

“Oh,” you say again like an idiot as your brain tries to catch up with the sharp left turn this conversation has taken. Clark Kent liked you. Like actually liked you. 

"I do," Clark murmurs, and it takes a second to realize you must have said that last part out loud.

“Well, I should probably cancel that date then,” you tell him.

“And I should probably ask you out,” he replies, glancing around the bullpen before stepping closer. 

“Yeah,” you agree, getting a little lost in how blue his eyes are. 

“Will you -”

“Yes,” you interrupt.

He laughs and you grin.

Send me a request

[sylver-star]

⭑.ᐟ

You unlock the door with your spare key, the one he had given you just for emergency. It struck you the wrong way to come to his apartment unannounced at first, but you had your reasons. Loneliness should count as an emergency, right? The door clicks open and you walk in, immediately you're hit with a luxurious smell of something floral that you can't quite place - but it's refreshing nevertheless.

After putting your shoes away on the welcome mat, you finally put your feet on the shiny wooden floors. You can't help but to compare his apartment to yours, which hasn't been this clean since you first got it.

"Minghao?" you call out, but not loud enough so as to accidentally wake him if he happens to be asleep.

There's no answer, so you shrug off your coat and hang it beside his. You carefully smooth out your skirt and look at yourself in the mirror. He might not be home. It wouldn't be strange if he wasn't, he was probably out at a fancy bar somewhere with some important client. Your brain kind of turns off when he starts talking about his work, and you think he's started to notice from the way that he always pauses and smiles before asking about your day. It's not that you don't care, you want to see him happy and well off, but at times the way that he talks about his work just sounds like the grown-ups in the Peanuts cartoons.

You walk into the kitchen, which is just as clean as the rest of the house. Except, there's a pot soaking in the sink. It's been there for long enough to not be able to guess what's been in there. You roll up your sleeves and start washing up. It should feel weird to do his dishes, but you can't help but to feel a little giddy. It feels so domestic. Coming home from a long days work, making dinner for each other while the other one does the dishes. He hasn't actually made dinner for you, but you let yourself daydream.

You shift to stand on one leg, letting the other foot lightly kick up before balancing it on your toe - a flustered tick. With the hot water running, and the scrubbing sounding out loud, you don't hear the soft footsteps coming up behind you. It's only when you feel Minghao's arms wrap around you that you realize that he's there.

"Are you doing my dishes, honey?" he asks in a gentle yet teasing tone.

"You're home!" You turn your chin to look at him over his shoulder.

From what you can see, he has his glasses on and his hair's a mess. It's not what you were expecting, but the look is greatly appreciated. You lean into his warmth, and his arms squeeze your waist.

"This is my apartment," he says.

"I thought you were out on business..." You sigh and turn off the sink to lean further into him. "Are you always this warm?"

He chuckles, and it vibrates through his chest. "You're just cold, honey."

Minghao grabs your hands in his, not caring that they're still wet. His hands are warm and soft, making you smile at the touch. He lets go of you with one hand, spinning you around slowly to face him with the other. You notice he's already in his pajamas. Both of his hands encapsulate yours again.

"I was going to take care of that in the morning." His gaze is focused on your hands as he tries to cover them with his.

"You ate at home tonight?"

"Well, you said you had other plans." He looks at you up and down with a fond look in his eyes. "It certainly looks like you had other plans. Hope you didn't skip them for me, pretty."

"I didn't. I went... I just wanted to see you. Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on your day off." You try to take your hands away but he won't let you.

"You didn't. I'm glad you're here." He pulls you in for a hug, and it's your turn to wrap your arms around his waist. "I wish you would've notified me... I'd give you the other half of my ramyun, you know?"

You let out a soft giggle, the way you only did when your walls are down - when you're with him. "Missed opportunity."

Minghao hums and presses a kiss to the side of your neck. It's chaste. Sweet. And you feel a wave of the domesticity you felt before. Your hands cling tighter to his shirt as he starts rubbing your back in slow circles.

"Come to bed with me?" he asks, as if there's any other answer than yes.

You hum and nod against his chest. While you want to stay like this forever, Minghao seems eager to go back to bed. He loosens his arms around you, bringing one hand to the small of your back to lead you to his bedroom. And it's all worth it when you're laying down in his bed, newly showered and in the comfy pajamas he bought for you, as his arms are wrapped around you once again. To think that your friends had made fun of you for wanting to leave the party early to go back to "your old man", when this is the most blissful you've been all day.

[featherandferns]

like him (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired from this scene and this scene, this request/message, and this incredible, heartbreaking song

content warning: anxiety and panic; mild v!olence; non-specific references to child abus3

word count: 6.6k. (not yet proofread so apologies for spelling/grammar errors)

blurb: at the town meeting for the Maybank property, everything that's happened to JJ in the past forty-eight hours comes to a head. In his internal turmoil, you're the only guiding light back to safety.

Energy can’t be destroyed. JJ wasn’t much of a smart ass at school but he managed to understand that much. He remembers the lesson for some reason: maybe it was the muggy classroom, the hottest day of summer, or maybe it was because he was sat next to you and nearly every memory that has you in it is etched into his brain with permanent marker. But JJ remembers physics class enough to recall that law. Newton’s, was it? Who knows. 

Energy can neither be created or destroyed - only converted from one form of energy to another. 

Maybe JJ understood that law so well because he’d seen it play out more times than he could count. Practical things like that always had a way of welding themselves into JJ’s intelligence; he was better at hands-on learning. He’d seen it in the ocean, riding on waves, journeying from the power of the currents. He’d seen it when fixing up cars, when fishing on the docks, when lighting up a bonfire. But the time he remembers best is when you burnt yourself. 

It was a silly thing, really. You’d been craving mac and cheese and had tried to fix a pan of it up. You’d used the wrong type of lid and placed it overtop of a near to overflowing pan of water. The bubbles pushed and prodded at the glass and the steam simmered up and up. Always one to talk, you weren’t much paying attention. You were leaning on the counter, a hand beside the stove, and gazing up at JJ like he was something special. He wasn’t sure why you looked at him like that, all he knew was that he never wanted it to go away. JJ can recall the moment that the lid of the pan came tumbling off. Water overflowed from the lip and trickled down the sides. The bubbles popped and splashed and a hefty droplet of water landed perfectly on the back of your hand. Your eyes were pink from the tears as JJ held your hand under running water, trying to sooth the burn, ease the injury before it could worsen. His lips had pressed to your forehead in a tender way that he always wished his dad would kiss his after a fall or a scrape. Your voice was stuffy and thick when you cursed water and pans and, sadly, mac and cheese. 

Glancing to his left, he spots the faint scar on your hand that remained from the incident over a year ago. It’s a distraction from the legal babble that fills the city hall. His eyes trace the curve of your arm, following it like roads on a map, guiding him to your shoulders and your collarbones and your neck and your face. The jut of your chin and the slope of your nose; the shining of your eyes in the bright light as you stare intently ahead at whatever was unfolding. He didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to hear. Your lips are being brutalised; gnawed on anxiously as you track the conversation between lawyers and councilmen. You were always the clever one. JJ would have you explain things to him in physics knowing damn well that he barely understood. It was an excuse to hear your voice and to make you laugh when he made crude jokes. “Kinetic energy, huh? Think I know a thing or two about that.” Maybe, if there were different circumstances, he’d have you translate the jargon being tossed around in the room to him. Put it into layman’s terms, spell it out in the way only you could that avoided being condescending. Only caring. 

But JJ can hardly hear over the sound of his own ringing ears. He can hardly think over the buzzing of his thoughts as if his mind had been infested with cicadas. He can hardly breathe through the thick, musty air of the room. His throat feels tight like he’s having an allergic reaction. His heart is aching and pounding all at once in that awful, annoying way it likes to do when things feel like they’re out of control. And, boy, did things feel like they were out of control. 

You wince as your teeth pull on a loose piece of skin of your lower lip. It draws blood. Not much, enough to be gone in a swipe of your tongue. JJ remembers his previous line of thoughts. How natural for his mind’s path to be derailed by you. 

Energy. The pan. The pressure. JJ felt pressure. He felt like that pan. Inside of him, it was building. The bubbles and the steam, pushing its ways up, churning through his stomach, pressing against his chest, fighting up his throat. It was invading his head. Shrinking his thoughts, clouding his mind, blurring his vision. It was squeezing him, suffocating him. He’d been on the heat for too long. Too many things, not enough time. Too many thoughts. Too many curveballs. If this was a baseball game, it would have had people’s heads spinning. JJ’s head was spinning. There was too much, too little, too big. He didn’t like big. No, he liked small. He liked simple. He liked the house and the garden and the shop and you. He liked his life. But it wasn’t his life. Nothing was his life now. It was building - the pressure. Building and building and building and–

–And any second now, he was going to explode. 

Lid on the stove. Water over the edges. Burn on the hand. 

Your hand is on his leg. You’re looking at him. It takes him a moment to register. He feels miles away from his body. Eyes slanted with concern, you’re frowning at him. 

“Are you okay?” you whisper. Never condescending; only caring. JJ gives a stiff nod and, purely because he can’t stand to see you look at him like that, like he’s something good, he turn his attention back to the front of the room.  

“We are scheduled to hear from some of the members of the community,” boldly-locks in the glasses announces into the microphone. “Beginning with a representative from the occupants of the Roger’s Point property, which used to be the Maybank property.”

It’s funny how Maybank has been JJ’s last name his whole life, but hearing it this time, out loud, it doesn’t feel like he knows it anymore. He props an arm up on the stall’s edge, running his fingers over his lips. A representative, huh?

“Anybody feeling brave?” Kiara asks in a hushed tone. 

Energy. JJ’s pushing up onto his feet. “I am. I got this.”

Your hand latches onto his arm before he’s fully risen.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” John B murmurs in alarm. JJ looks down at John B, then at you. You’re half-apologetic as you shake your head ‘no’. 

“Sit down, okay?” Pope demands in a hiss. 

“Not me, then. All right.”

When JJ reunites with the seat, it feels as though the pressure doubles. Your hand reaches for his; fingers intertwined with his. JJ lets your hold linger for a second, enough for you to know he isn’t angry at you, and then he lets you go. He’s too fidgety. Too clammy. Too much, too fast, too little time. You whisper with the others as you try and decide on a voice for the group and, soon enough, John B is volunteered forward. As he stands, JJ claps proudly. That’s his brother. 

“Please state your name for the record.”

“I am John Booker Routledge.”

“Damn right,” JJ affirms. In his peripheral vision, he sees you nodding. Susciently, soundly, somewhat calmly, John B fights the Pogue’s corner. He asks the questions that all of you had been asking since this new curveball was fired. JJ felt like he used to be good at dodging things. His dad’s bunches; homework and detentions at school; juvenile and prison and consequence. But now, here, in this room, things are feeling less manageable. Things are feeling more real. 

The lid. The stove. The pressure, building. 

“Myself and Sarah…We both lost our fathers last year…”

JJ’s eyes squeeze shut. Like whiplash, images flash through his mind. Pictures. Words. ‘I’m not your real dad’. Something that feels like bile creeps up his throat but he forces it down. Your hand reaches out and clenches his knee reassuringly. Pressure. Energy. JJ’s foot taps anxiously against the tiled floor of the building. It’s building. 

A kook stands up. Not any Kook. The kook. The prison master in this sick, twisted game that Figure Eight was playing with JJ’s life. He’s perfectly presentable in his black suit, grey hair combed without a single strand out of place, glasses perched innocently on his lightly wrinkled face as if he was destined to age like a fine wine. It’s easy to do that when you don’t know stress. When you don’t know fear. 

“Excuse me. May I speak?” he oh-so-politely asks. 

“Absolutely.”

“Thank you, Mayor. There seems to be a misunderstanding. Okay? And I think I can clarify.”

“Oh my God,” JJ mutters. 

“What an asshole,” you murmur. 

With John B’s permission, Mr Zeasy shuffles him out of place and takes over. He talks as though he was born on a soapbox, preaching down the sinners of The Cut, sneering at their poverty, scoffing at their struggle. 

“So what the, uh, current occupants of the land don’t seem to understand is that there is an injunction to invalidate the most recent sale.”

JJ’s brows furrow. You shake your head. 

“Wh–What does that mean? JJ, what does he mean?” you mumble, glancing at him. 

“There was a pre-existing promissory note from the original owner that was in the process of benign finalised when the land auction took place.”

“What the fuck?” you whisper harshly. “Is that even legal? How is that legal?” 

JJ can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t speak. 

Stove. Pan. Lid. Water. Pressure. 

“The bank wasn’t legally allowed to go to auction.”

“Bullshit,” JJ mutters. All of it. Everything. Everything was bullshit. 

“We have a promissory note right here from the original owner, signed before the auction, and finalised  by Judge Holden.”

The applause that follows the announcement feels like a thousand pinpricks into JJ’s eyes. 

“That means our sale was invalid,” Pope tells Sarah. 

The buzzing is back in JJ’s head. It’s louder now. Deafening. Overwhelming. He has to fight to hear the discourse occurring at the front of the room. His chest feels tight. His throat is closing up. His lungs can’t take in air. They’re shrinking. It’s too little, too much, not enough. Building. Building. 

“And where is the original owner and can he validate the authenticity of this document?”

“Yes, he can. He’s right here.”

Mr Zeasy gestures down the aisle. JJ can’t bring himself to move. He’s stuck in place. Until he isn’t, and he’s turning, looking over his shoulder as the room heckles and hollers. There he is. Sitting then standing, taking off some dusty cap. He lingers like a fucking idiot. JJ’s vision blurs. Stove. Pan. Water. Tears. Pressure. Building. 

Everything else fades away as Luke locks eyes with JJ. It’s hard to believe there’s any sincerity when he speaks. 

“I’m sorry, J.”

It’s hilarious, actually. Everything that’s happened in the past forty-eight hours: what was he sorry for this time? Scratch that, not the past forty-eight hours. His whole life. His whole miserable, bitter existence. His life spent in poverty and in fear and in self-deprecating shadows. Because of Luke. Because of a man who might not even be his father. So, tell me dad, what are you sorry for this time? 

JJ can’t take another moment staring at him. He turns back towards the front, bowing his head. His eyes are downcast to the floor. His shoes are dirty. They always are. You always offer to clean them for him but he never accepts. There’s no point, he’d say. JJ was never good at keeping clean. 

“Isn’t it obvious? He signs the promissory note and in exchange, he gets amnesty.” 

JJ’s jaw clicks. The townspeople are in uproar, hollering out, yelling for justice, frowning upon the inequality of the island. You’re on your feet too. Tossing your arm, yelling out in anger, the pain thick in your voice. Somewhere behind him, somewhere amongst the chaos, is the man JJ thought was his future. The man he thought he was destined to grow into. Why wouldn’t he? They look the same, talk the same, act the same. The hair, the mannerisms, the self-righteousness, the selfishness, the idiocy, the blinding, brimming anger that was always right there on the surface. The man who was JJ’s sign for a deadend - a deadend he was bound to find himself at too, with time. The man who pulled the rug out beneath him merely moments ago. 

His head is buzzing. His chest is tight. His throat is dry. His heart is racing. His foot is tapping. His jaw is clenching. His rage is boiling. The pressure, building, building, building. Stove. Pan. Tears. Burn. Too much, too little, too fast. The buzzing is loud, deafening, like a migraine on steroids, and he can’t find a thought, can’t find anything to ground him. You’re not there. There’s no thought of you to invade in and to bring him peace. 

It’s building, it’s building, it’s building. 

Stove. Pan. Lid. Pressure. 

Energy. 

It feels like a dream when he pushes onto his feet. His body screams out for relief, for satisfaction, for something. The world lags around him, time dragging like molasses, and JJ feels as though he moves in slow motion as he walks down the aisle of the hall. In the blurring of his vision, there is a clear point of focus, like a road illuminated by headlights in the pitch black of night. Luke comes into view. His father. His dad. His abuser. JJ breezes past him. Makes a right. 

Energy can’t be created or destroyed. 

His hands grab onto a stray chair. His knuckles whitening with his tight grip on the wooden arms. It feels light as paper when he lifts it from the floor. 

Energy can only be transferred. 

The glass shatters in a beautiful array of shards as the chair pummels through the window. Daylight floods the room. A breeze brushes over his face as if saying thanks. The fresh air is a relief. 

JJ can finally begin to breathe again. 

An arm hooks around his neck and JJ’s flailing and throwing himself into action. He grunts and fights and elbows until the grip finally loosens. Another cop is approaching in the pin-point vision and JJ hurls his legs out, leaning back against his aggressor, and kicks the man away. An arm comes loose and JJ uses it to grab at the cop, and then he’s lurching himself forward, tossing the cop over him and onto the floor. Energy. He is full of energy. The first punch lands square on his cheek. The second just skims his jaw. His uniform is scratchy in JJ’s grasp as he holds his down. The man’s face is indistinguishable in the mist of his messy head. It’s Luke. It’s Groff. It’s Mr Zeasy. 

The pain of the nightstick is numb when it collides with his back. JJ stumbles forward, grunting. He staggers up onto his feet, disorientated, confused. His vision becomes to sharpen and the room comes back into sight. It’s a cop on the floor. A bloody, bleeding cop. 

Oh fuck. 

Oh, fuck. 

He wobbles back a few steps as his mind tries to catch up with the moment. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. 

Your hands grab at the lapels of his jacket. Your face is almost unrecognisable from the panic. But JJ can hear your voice loud and clear as you yell at him. 

“Go! Get out of here! Go!”

You give him a push. Energy. 

A cop is coming at him, fast. JJ runs out of the room, through the doors, and he grunts as the officer makes a grab for him near the main exit. The two fly out onto the porch and down the stairs. The pain is lessened from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It’s pure survival instincts as he feels cops surround him, grabbing at him body, holding at his limbs, pushing him against a cop car’s bonnet. The metal is cool against the boiling hot skin of his face. He manages to wrangle an arm free and rams it into the cops face. He imagines it’s Luke’s. The hold on his other arm loosens and he manages to break free, wrestling against the forces.

“Get off me! Get off me, man!”

He’s shoved into the back of a cop car, head first. He grunts as he collides with soft cushions of the seats. But then there’s people at the window, slamming at the glass, yelling at him. No, no this is bad. This is really fucking bad. This is worse than the time JJ spilt wine on your favourite dress. It’s worse than when he accidentally hurt you whilst fooling around. It’s worse than when he thought you’d drowned on t he boat. It’s worse than when you burnt your hand at the stove. JJ looks around frantically but he’s surrounded by people. Everywhere. 

What the fuck is going on? 

It’s a reflex when he shields his face from the glass of the back window. Squinting, he sees a trainered foot kicking through it. He recognises those trainers. It’s you. 

“Back up! Back up!” he yells out the window. It’s you. Pope’s by your side. JJ kicks out his leg and knocks out more glass, clearing a space. You’re there with the others, grabbing at his arms, trying to pull him out as he wriggles his way through the clearing, over the seats. His legs feel like jelly when he gets to his feet. 

He stares blankly at John B and Pope, staggering backwards as they drive him away. Then you’re pushing through the two of them, grabbing at his face, simultaneously encouraging him away from you. 

“Go! Run, JJ! Go!” you shout. 

Never condescending; only caring. 

JJ nods. 

Energy. 

JJ starts to run. 

His feet pound rhythmically on the concrete. It’s endless, the energy pounding in his body. He could never be exhausted. For the first time in what feels like his whole life, JJ feels free. And as JJ runs through the abandoned streets of Kildare County, he feels like he’s chasing down the ghost of his father. 

Who is he?

JJ had always thought he knew that answer. JJ Maybank: delinquent, future tax-evader, loyal friend, son of a lowlife. A Pogue. A grifter, a grinder. Despite all his ailments in his life, he had never needed to question where he came from. It was plain as day, clear as light, who JJ was. Who his father was. Who JJ would wind up being. Luke had told him so, with every hit he landed on his puppy-fat cheeks, with every slap swiping across his youthful face. Any blood drawn came with the assertion that this was what he deserved. This was who he was. A good for nothin’, low-life just like his father. A waste of space. A high school dropout. 

He turns onto a side road and realises he’s heading for Main Street. It’s weird, seeing the town so hollow, nothing but a shell of its buildings. It unsettles him further. He could never run out of energy. JJ keeps running. In the distance, that figment never becomes clearer, never becomes closer. But he follows it anyway. 

Luke looked like JJ. The blonde hair, now faded into shades of grey. The lips and the nose and the eyes. It was more than that; it was the temperament too. The frustration and the short fuse, passed down through genetics like an Olympic torch. At least, he thought. So, what did that mean? It was never inherited? Was JJ just fucked up from the start? What was that theory you were trying to teach him about - back when he had tried to win your affection, offering up study dates to help try and pick up his grades. Any excuse to be in your orbit. It’s nature versus nurture, JJ, you’d said, smiling sweetly. Your fingernails were rounded and painted pink, chipping at the tips, as you point at the diagrams. But JJ was watching you, he wasn’t paying much mind to the image. Look! Come on, you have to focus! He’d said something then, something to make you laugh, something that had you all flustered and blushing and him smirking. But then he’d looked. He’d listened. Some traits can be inherited from genes - nature - but some come from upbringing and environment - nurture. 

Was that what this was? Nurture? Had all the years spent wrapped up in the daily missteppings of his father moulded JJ into some tormented, tainted failure. Had his soul been pure before and his future been clean and bright, and Luke had used his grubby hands to reshape it into something ugly as if JJ was nothing more than a scrap piece of clay. A scrap that could be thrown away. 

He was thrown away, though. Wasn’t he? Groff didn’t want him. Groff didn’t care for him, not like Luke did. He didn’t feed him, didn’t bathe him, didn’t teach him how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to roll a cigarette. He didn’t care for him. He wasn’t a father. But Luke wasn’t either. 

Luke wasn’t his father but he hit him like there was the same amount of honour ladened into every punch. 

What did Groff look like? JJ can hardly picture his face in the dimming brightness of the streets. The streetlamps were coming on now. The hours were ticking away. Nobody around, time seemed to stand still. His steps ease up just slightly. He isn’t tired though. He just needs to concentrate more on what Groff looked like. But he can’t seem to formulate the picture in his mind. It’s blurs and snippets of shapes and colours. Blonde and white and shifty. Rich. Kook. No, fuck that, JJ wasn’t any Kook. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. But still, for some reason, JJ finds himself obsessed. 

Do I look like him? 

Somewhere in the midst, JJ swiped a baseball bat. The whole journey is a daydream. A fever dream, really. It doesn't make sense. There’s no chronological order to it; just flashes of moments like a busted old film reel. You’re the star. You always were in JJ’s life. The brightness, untouched and untarnished, beaming bright on him. The thing he wished on and the thing he planned his life around. He can remember the break in your voice as you yell at him to run. He should run. JJ keeps running. 

Something makes him stop. Crickets chirp. He’s panting but not nearly as much as he should be, right? Why isn’t he tired? You’d know. You know everything - maybe even more than Pope. Sirens wail in the distance like a warning. They’re coming. He pushes those thoughts away to the back of his mind. He tries to push that other thought away too, but it won’t budge. Instead, it stands front and centre like the banquet of a movie theatre. Do I look like him? 

JJ realises he’s staring at the window of a shop. A jewellery shop. The lights are on because these Kooks can afford to keep the electricity running after hours. They’d never understand what it’s like to go without. To feel so hungry you think your stomach might start to digest itself. JJ knows that feeling - knows it well. JJ isn’t a Kook. A smile presses onto his face. It feels like breathing. 

Energy. 

He yields the bat and takes a swing. Bam! The glass shatters musically. It’s so beautiful the way it cracks and splinters. He swings the bat, licking at his lips, and saunters along the pavement. The alarm is like an accompaniment to his symphony of vandalism. The door’s window break is a little tougher; JJ grunts. Glancing inside, his eyes latch onto one of the displays. The silver ring glints temptingly in the fluorescents like it’s from Lord of the Rings. You flash through his mind. The images of you that he saved in that corner he hardly liked to go in, too scared of the world in which it might not come true. Images of you and him, married, happy, you round-bellied, a house and a dog and a life with him. With a nobody like him because JJ was not a Kook. 

But, do I look like him? 

He’s delicate as he removes it from the mannequins hand. He studies it closer and feels settled on his choice. This’ll look good on your hand. You deserve nice things. 

“Thank you,” he says, pocketing it. JJ staggers back onto the road. His eyes glance down the empty street and he’s relieved to find the ghost has faded away. Sirens whir like a doomsday call. 

“Oh, here they come,” he grins. “Okay. So, y’all wanted one island, huh?”

He approaches a car. He’s never owned a car. Never been gifted one for his eighteenth; never thought that he’d manage to afford anything nice, either. Just a banged-up, second-hander. That’s the life of a Pogue. JJ wasn’t a Kook. 

“I’ll give you it,” he grunt, hurling his bat at the vehicle. “Over here, fellas! Y’all wouldn’t want to miss the game.”

Every hit he takes feels like a stone lifted off his shoulders. 

The fuse box causes a magnificent explosion, akin to a supernova on earth, and JJ flinches as sparks crackle out. Energy can’t be destroyed. Rooky error. 

“Let’s play ball.”

The trashcan clatters as if falls to the floor. Trash spews out onto the street. JJ digs about in his pocket, muttering, and procures his lighter. It’s the one you got him for his sixteenth. The flame flickers. 

“Let’s really light it up.” 

The fire catches quick. He remembers that from when the chateau burnt down. There’s fun in the chaos, JJ finds, singing under breath and taking swings at windows and doors like they’re nothing more than targets on a fairground game. Every splint of glass is like resolution for JJ. Every hit is like catharsis. 

“Oh, that felt good.”

The mannequins are undeterred by his violence. It reminds him of you. You never once budged whenever he’d spiral. Would you budge now, after this? 

“Where are my manners?” JJ wonders jovially. His hand cups at the plastic dolls and he guides his lips down to the back of it. The same hand that you had the burn on. His teasing continues on with every toss of the bat. His eyes glance over the male mannequin. The blonde wig and the uppity suit. Did Groff wear suits? What was he wearing when JJ met him? 

Do I look like him? 

He doesn’t want to think about that right now. No, no, he can’t. It’s too little, too much, too fast. He was just starting to feel in control again. He grabs for the bar stool and builds up some power before tossing it through the window a cafe. Energy. JJ is pure energy. He’s chaos reincarnated. Babylon humanified. 

He admires his work like an emperor surveying his kingdom. Just how he imagined the Kooks to do so once they capture his land, his home, his life. 

But was it ever his? What is his life, if more than half of it is a lie? What does that amount to then? What does that leave? What’s left of him if he doesn’t have himself - his identity? 

Who is he? 

JJ takes off running again. This time, he feels like he’s being chased. The figment, the ghost, whoever the hell it is, is behind him now. Haunting him. Hasn’t he always felt haunted? By his mother, by his father. By his future. JJ runs faster. The sirens are like lines of cocaine, propelling his legs ahead. He glacnes frantically left and right and takes a sudden turn. 

The streetlamps cast the streets in an eerie orange glow. The trees look like figures looming by the roadside. The houses and buildings lights are mostly off. Dogs bark, sirens echo. A sign comes into sight as if he was guided to it by some divine force. Zeast Realtors. JJ smiles knowingly at his new best friend. 

“Light her up.”

The stairs don’t creak as he makes his way up the building. His stairs always creaked. They were rotten. Mice lived under his house as a kid. His family house that no longer holds any significance in his life, just the way his name doesn’t. JJ is without a name. 

The alarm fires off the moment the glass shatters on the door. It’s embarrassingly easy to get inside. Within the office are plans laid out like a villainous layer. Plots and plans for:

“A new figure Eight.”

JJ loses it. Whatever remaining grasp of control he had on his inhibition is wiped away like his childhood. Glasses and picture frames and ornaments and business cards: nothing is safe from his bat. 

“What’s fair is fair! Huh?”

But it isn’t helping like it was before. He doesn’t feel lighter. He feels like he’s sinking, down and down. Why isn’t it helping? JJ batters more things, hoping for it to change, hoping for everything to change. He wants to wake up now. He wants to wake up in his bed, beside you, and have you hold him and kiss him and ask him about what had him moving so much in the night. He wants you to make a joke on how it was keeping you up. He wants his life back. 

A framed photograph of Mr Zeasy sits pretty on the mantle. JJ studies it for a moment. Scans over the pressed suit and the quiffed hair and the stagnant smile. The falseness that lies in the act of being proper. His reflection catches in the light. JJ’s face twists in disgust. 

“No way am I a kook.”

The sirens are suddenly very loud. Shit. JJ ducks down out of sight from the windows. His back presses tightly against the cabinets. It grounds him. Shit. His head hangs and his lips purse and his mind reels. This is it. Luke was right. He was a lowlife, a delinquent, a failure. He’ll spend his life in prison. Fuck, he can’t think of how many charges he’s racked up by now. It might be a new record. Maybe for ocne his dad would be proud of him. That’s all he ever wanted. 

“This is what I was talking about, son!” Shoupe hollers out. 

Son. Son to who? 

Who is he? 

“You’ve gone too far and we’ve got a serious situation.”

He isn’t Luke.

“I told you this shit would happen and here we are.”

He isn’t Groff. 

“I need you to put down any and all weapons you may have, or you will get shot.”

JJ rises to his feet. 

“I don’t want that, so just come on out with your hands up.”

He isn’t anybody, anymore. 

“JJ, listens up, son-”

“No, you listen up Shoupe!” JJ hollers. “I’m not just gonna come out there so you can take what's ours and let them win again. It was ours, fair and square. So I have a right to fight for what’s mine.”

“JJ! Can you hear me?”

It’s Kiara. 

“Just, please, do what they say! This is getting dangerous!”

“No!” JJ shouts. His anger twists. “I’m done kissing the feet of people who’ve taken from me my entire life!”

His voice cracks. Tears sting at his eyelids and he wills them away. It’s not fair. None of this is fair. He was happy: truly, really happy. Maybe he’s cursed. Maybe he isn’t meant to be happy. Maybe that’s who he is. 

“Y’all might have given up,” JJ shouts. He swallows. Everything hurts. To himself, he makes a stand. “But I’m not done fighting.”

“So, Shoupe. You want me, you’re gonna have to come get me.”

He starts quickly down the hallway. The beckonings from the cops sounds like the devil trying to lure Eve in to bite from the apple. The sound of whistling and crackling has him ducking for cover. Bullets. 

“Jesus Christ.”

No, not bullets. Fireworks. He looks up to find a microwave. His mind works fast. What would you do? Something smart. Think, JJ, Goddamnit. Think! 

‘Metals are conductors’, you explain as you stir the mixture in the beaker. JJ’s toying with the bunsen burner, mesmerised by the flames in a way that has you joking he’s an arsonist. ‘Fun fact about it is that if you put it in a microwave it starts sparking and shit. It can even start fires. Something about it reflects the microwaves. It acts like a mirror. Pretty cool, huh?’ 

JJ scrambles in the kitchen for cutlery. He comes up with a handful of forks and crams them into the microwave. He starts it up and smacks it farewell. Thank God for you and your wonderful mind. There’s no time to waste; JJ races up the staircase of the building. There’s chaos outside. People yelling. He can hear Sarah and Kie’s screams. They’ll be fine. He can’t help them, for once in his life. Maybe he never could. He opens the window and steps out onto the roof. He closes it behind him. Leave no trace, just like his childhood. 

He teeters on the edge of the roof and looks down. Shit, that’s a hell of a drop. They’ll be behind him, though, hot on his trail. There’s no time. Sucking in a breath, JJ prepares himself for the landing before jumping off the roof. The metal of the car smacks against his skin and side. JJ’s knee shifts uncomfortably when he makes contact and he grunts. Rolling off onto the grass, he takes a second to check that he’s really alive. 

“JJ.”

He blinks and looks up. It’s you. 

“Oh my God, JJ,” you mutter, dropping to your knees. 

“What–Where–”

“It’s just me, I slipped away from the others, they don’t know I’m here,” you hurry out. You’re hands on his body, helping him up. JJ grunts and registers a dull ache in his leg. The adrenaline works well as pain relief. “We gotta go. Now.”

“No, no, I can’t drag you into this,” JJ panics, trying to shake you off him. 

There’s a humour in your eyes as you tell him, “I was already in this. Come on.”

There’s no time to be wasted in arguing. JJ complies and the two of you take off running down the street. You’re guiding the way. JJ doesn't question it. He trusts you. Hell, you might be the last person on earth that he trusts truly and deeply. The limp in his leg slows him down so he lingers behind by a few steps. Your hair is swaying as you race down the street. The streetlamps bask you in an ethereal glow. There’s small cuts on your legs from where you broke the glass of the cop car to break him out. JJ can’t believe you’re here. 

“Come on, through here. I know somewhere we can lay low and think,” you tell him. JJ doesn’t ask any questions. The two of you pant as you run down the road. Soon enough, you come to what looks like an abandoned barn. You guide the two of you around the back and push back some metal siding. It reveals a hole big enough to crawl through. You go first and JJ follows, careful to secure the siding back once the two of you are inside. There’s blind patting around before you let out a sigh of relief, and JJ can hear the rattle of something in a box. When you light a flame, he realises it’s a box of matches. Your face comes into view in the faint light and you look around for something. A candlestick that sits in an old-timey holder is balanced on an old piece of machinery. You take it and light it, and place it back. There’s enough light to make out JJ’s face and his yours. 

For a moment, the two of you just stare at one another. Then you’re hurling your arms around his shoulders and pulling him against you. 

“Oh my God, JJ, I was so worried about you,” you tell him into his shoulder. JJ slowly coils his arms around your body. The warmth of your skin through your dress is like medicine. He tugs you tight against him and suddenly can’t think of anything worse than letting you go. His face buries into your neck and he breathes in the smell of you. It sends him back through time; through adventures and restless nights and sleepless mornings and peaceful evenings and joyful afternoons and mornings spent in Physics class together. 

His mind clears enough from the imminent panic of survival that it can make space for that one damning thought. 

Do I look like him? 

JJ isn’t aware that he’s crying until your running a hand up and down his back soothingly. You shush him gently, almost swaying him, and JJ can’t help but cry more and more. His fingers grapple desperately at your dress and he tries to pull you impossibly closer. He can’t lose you too. He’s lost everything he knows: his dad, his mother, his house, his life, his freedom. He can’t lose you too. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Lemme see you,” you worry, unfortunately pulling away from him. Your hands are soft as they brush over the skin of his face, sweeping hair off his forehead, swiping tears off his cheeks. Your smile is sweet and tender when he looks at you through wet eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Do…” JJ can’t find his breathe. Your brows tug together slightly. 

“Does something hurt?” 

Everything. 

“Do I…” JJ gasps for air and clenches his eyes shut. He knows how it will sound. Like a petulant, pathetic child asking his dad what ‘JJ’ stands for. Like an idiotic, dreaming infant asking his dad where his mother is. Like a useless, stupid teenager asking his girlfriend: “do I look like him?”

When he opens his eyes, you’re studying him, confused and concerned. He thinks you might not have heard him. 

“Do I look like him?”

You lick your lips. “Do you…Are you meaning Groff?”

JJ almost winces. He sniffs and nods, trying to steel himself. His shoulders square. He stares at you and waits. Your mouth moves as if to form words but nothing comes out. Sighing, you study him - really look at him - and then you give a half-smile. It’s solemn and sombre. 

“No, JJ. I don’t think you look like him. Not really.”

JJ’s eyes press shut. A sob wracks up his throat. He suddenly realises that he wasn’t sure which answer he wanted to hear. Which answer would hurt the least? 

I don’t look like him. 

“What’re you thinking right now?” you whisper. 

JJ swallows thickly. He wipes roughly at his cheeks with the back of his sleeves. You’re expression breaks his heart when he meets your gaze. Your hand cups his cheek, thumb sweeping over his skin like a mother soothing her child in their sleep. JJ wonders if his mother ever did that to him. 

He doesn’t know who he is anymore, but he can try and find out. There’s only one way to do that. 

“I need to go see Groff.”

Your eyes flicker with withheld surprise. But you’re good at saving face. Smiling, nodding, you back him like you did since day one, sat side by side in physics class due to the fates of a seating plan. From strangers to classmates to lab partners to friends to lovers. And the love you had for him, the love JJ had for you; that was the most powerful energy he'd ever known. An energy that could never be destroyed.  

“Okay,” you say quietly, nodding. “Let’s get you to Groff’s.” 

[blushsturns]

perv! matt x innocent! reader ♡

part 4 ❤︎ wet dreams

hcs - 1 - 2 - 3

❤︎ description: matt wakes up from a wet dream and starts to text you about it, but you invite him over instead. (in matt’s pov)

❤︎ warnings: pure smut, explicit content, f! receiving oral

❤︎ w/c: 4834

❤︎ matt’s texts are in blue!

matt woke up in agonizing pain. it hurt, badly. if he didn’t get some kind of release sometime soon, he would probably lose it. he was going insane.

his first ever wet dream about you. in between your thighs; kissing you, licking you, tasting you. in his dreams, you tasted fucking phenomenal. you gripped on his hair tightly and fucked his face as he devoured your sweet cunt.

in his dream, he was in absolute heaven, but it was just a dream.

so, when matt woke up with the biggest hard on he’s had in his entire life and a huge wet patch against the front of his boxers, he wasn’t sure what to do. he groaned in pain, throwing his head back against the pillow as he moved his hand to push his hardened bulge down repeatedly to try and stop the intense sensation.

thank god he slept alone because this was truly embarrassing. he thought he was done with this shit. he’s had wet dreams before when he was younger, but that was self explanatory. he had no excuse for this one.

well, maybe he does. you were on his mind every second of every day. ever since the moment you two shared in the closet at nick’s party, it was all he could think about. your lips against his neck, sucking on his skin and leaving behind the most beautiful bruise he wished would’ve stayed longer. he had that reminder left on his skin of you making him feel fucking amazing and when it faded, he kept it imprinted in his brain.

he let out a soft groan out of frustration. it was no use. nothing was helping. he thought to himself maybe now that they’ve had some interactions, he would actually have the courage to be vocal about what he wanted and needed.

matt moved his hand over to grab his phone off the nightstand. maybe he should just stop being so scared and actually say what he wanted for once.

truth is, he’s wanted you for so long. ever since he laid his eyes on you, he’s been hooked. infatuated. obsessed. the obsession with you happened very quickly and has only progressed rapidly over the years. he was one of your best friends, but he always knew it was more than that. at least for him, anyway. he looked out for you, was there for you if you needed him. it was like he wanted you to come to him for comfort and support so he can show you how a man should treat you. he hated seeing you hurt and just wanted to protect you from it all.

he was so obsessed with you to the point that you were all he could think about. it was driving him fucking insane. he wanted you and every part of you.

it became so unbearably hard because he knew he couldn’t have you. you never seemed to feel the same way because you were always so independent and carefree and even when you had dates with other boys, he still wanted you. it devastated him to see you get your heart broken, wishing he could pick up the pieces and put your mended heart back together.

he always assumed you’d never feel the same way , not until recently. ever since you noticed your panties in his back pocket the night you all watched a movie together, he felt as if maybe you were finally noticing him and who he truly was, rather than just the awkwardness in his personality. maybe you were starting to actually notice him. he did tell you how much he’s always wanted you. he was vocal about that for once.

matt let out a groan, the uncomfortable hardness not going away any time soon as he opened up his phone and immediately tapped on your name.

i had a dream about you last night and i can’t stop thinking about it.

matt’s heart quickened as he sent the message. within seconds, bubbles started to appear on the screen.

oh you did? what was it about?

it’s kind of embarassing..

come over and tell me about it. i’m making breakfast, you can have some while you rant.

give me 10.

matt immediately got out of bed and threw on a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt, trying to push his hard on away so it wasn’t completely evident when he went over to your house. he knew just telling you about it and standing right in front of you would only make his cock even more excited, so he decided to just say fuck it and try to hurry as fast as he can. he needed to see you.

after brushing his teeth and trying his best to look decent, he scurried his way out of his house. thank god you only lived next door and not across town. nick and chris were still asleep so at least he didn’t have to explain to his brothers where he was going so early in the morning with a fucking hard on in his pants.

he knocked only twice before coming face to face with you. he couldn’t help but scan you up and down, taking in your beautiful appearance. your hair was up in a messy bun with strands of hair falling onto the sides of your face, your oversized t-shirt covered your entire upper body but showed off your amazing toned legs. all you had on was a pair of lacy panties underneath. usually you didn’t want anyone seeing you like this, but it was matt. he’d stare at you like this no matter what you looked like.

“um, hey.” he said kind of awkwardly, his hand immediately falling into his tousled brown locks. “thanks for letting me stop by.” he could still feel the lingering hard on that was throbbing in his pants and it wasn’t helping that he was now face to face with the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on.

he tried desperately not to stare at your body as you stood there, a smile widening on your face. the wafting aroma of pancakes lingered in the air and filled his nostrils. he knew you loved to cook, no matter what kind of food it was. you always liked to try different recipes and have your loved ones try them. it was like one of your many love languages. “hi matt! of course! as soon as i knew you were stopping by, i put more on the pan.”

you bounced on your heels, your smile only widening as you shut the door behind him once he steps inside. fuck, were you so fucking addictive. your personality in itself is so damn contagious and he wanted to be around you all the damn time.

“oh, thank you. aren’t you a sweetheart?” hell yeah you were.

his eyes scan over the room before averting his eyes to your ass as you turn around and motion for him to follow you into the kitchen. you looked fucking amazing even in just a big t-shirt. he ended up envisioning you wearing only his shirt and lounging around the house and that thought was not helping his still evident hard on that you obviously noticed the second you opened the door for him. he got lost in his thoughts and snapping out of them immediately once he heard your voice.

“come on! they’re almost done.” you called out to him as you stood at the stove, your hips swaying as you flip the pancake in the pan.

matt gulped slowly, suddenly feeling nervous as he walks into the kitchen to join you and leans against the kitchen island as he watches you intently. even when you’re in your element, you looked effortlessly beautiful. how come everything you did made him fall for you ten times harder?

“they smell amazing. you didn’t have to make me any.”

you turned around to raise your eyebrow at him with a stern look on your face. “nope. you’re having as many as you want. i wanted to.” you finished off the rest of the pancake mix, letting it sit in the pan to form before turning to look back over at him. he looked nervous and on edge standing there; like he so badly wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to.

your eyes glared down to the hardened bulge that outlined the center of his sweatpants. how was he hard already? you fought the urge to bite down on your bottom lip, your cheeks already growing warm as you immediately averted your eyes back to his.

he caught on to your subtle staring, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as well. “thanks. i’ll have some, then.”

you came back to your senses, flashing him a wide grin before turning your attention back to the pancakes that were now done and cooling off. as you waited for them to cool off, you moved over next to him and hopped up onto the chair at the kitchen island. “so, tell me about this dream you had of me.” you wiggled your eyebrows up at him playfully, a light giggle emitting from your lips.

his cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as he immediately averted his eyes down at the marbled surface before back up at you. “well, it wasn’t just an ordinary dream. the dream had me waking up like, really fucking hard actually.” his cheeks flushed even more, his eyes moving back down and not being able to hold eye contact with you as he says this. “in the dream, it felt so real though. like fuck, i wanted it to be real.” he let out a nervous laugh, his knee beginning to bounce which was one of his nervous habits.

it’s not that he was nervous of you or being around you. he fucking loved being around you and tried to find any excuse to do so. it’s the idea of you knowing he’s capable of having these thoughts about you even if he’s already voiced it before. having dreams about you though? he’s never had one like it before.

this piqued your interest as you kept your eyes focused on him. “what happened in it, matt? you can tell me.” your voice was soft and reassuring. you wanted to make sure he knew that you weren’t judging him. you were also intrigued since the moment he texted you. you just had to know what the dream was about, especially since it involved you.

“well, it’s kind of something i’ve been wantin’ to do for awhile and maybe that’s why i dreamt of it but it got me really goin’-“ he stopped his words, feeling absolutely flustered, his cheeks reddening by the second. his eyes moved over to yours once again, your eyes now locked together in an intense gaze. you weren’t able to read him. all you could tell was that he was completely flustered and when you looked down at the center of his sweatpants, you could visibly see he was harder than he was before he stepped foot into your house.

“matt..” you spoke immediately, moving off your chair to move over next to him, your hand now resting against his shoulder, your eyes still locked together. the poor thing was a nervous wreck. you thought it was fucking adorable. he was so flustered, unable to speak. “it’s okay. instead of explaining to me what happened, why don’t you show me? actions speak louder than words don’t they?” you flashed him a sly smirk, your fingertips running down his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before slowly moving your hand up to his hair and running your fingers through his tousled locks and gave his hair a slight tug. “it’s okay, sweetheart. show me.”

something switched in matt after you spoke. his eyes began to darken with lust and desire as he stared up at you from the chair he was sitting on. you could swear you heard matt whine from you tugging on his hair. you stood there next to him, your fingers wrapped up in his locks as you kept your gaze focused on him.

without any hesitation, matt immediately moved his hands over to the back of thighs and down to your ass to lift you up against him with your legs immediately wrapping around his waist as he walks you over to the counter and sets you down onto it. a soft, surprised gasp emits from your lips at his sudden movements. you loved seeing matt like this. he was usually so cautious and embarrassed easily, but when he lost control which wasn’t often, it was incredibly hot and so attractive.

fuck. the boy really does want you, doesn’t he? you spent countless hours throughout the last couple weeks wondering his true feelings and if you reciprocated those feelings for him. when matt does things to surprise you like this, it turns you on and leaves you wanting more. you didn’t realize matt was capable of being this way and you were slowly becoming obsessed with seeing him lose control.

your eyes lock together in an intense gaze, your hands resting onto his shoulders now. “show me, matt. please.” you pleaded, your own eyes filling with desire. your legs wrapped around his waist tighter to pull him closer to you, your hand moving up to run through his brunette locks. you were becoming addicted to the feeling of his hair between your fingers. adrenaline ran throughout your body from your head to your toes. “you don’t have to hold back.” you whispered out, giving his hair another slight tug which drawled out a soft whine from matt’s lips. okay yeah, you fucking loved this.

the words that fell from your lips were all it took for matt to finally break away any shyness and flustered feelings he had before. seeing you like this; pleading him not to hold back, to have him show you what his dream was and giving him the permission to make that dream a reality. he needed this. he needed you. he immediately placed his hands onto your bare thighs, your oversized shirt already rising up from where you sat on the counter. he moved one hand up your bare thigh underneath your shirt against your side, your fingertips drumming against the hem of your lacy panties “oh fuck.” he breathed out, already seeming breathless just by the touch of the lace covering the most intimate part of you. the part he needed to touch, kiss, taste in this very moment.

your body immediately jolted forward at his touch against your skin and teasingly pulling on your panties. his other hand moved up to place his index and middle finger underneath your chin to allow your eyes to lock together in an intense gaze. his blue eyes turned darker than usual. you could tell how much he needed you in this moment. as if he was an animal that was malnourished and needed to be fed. he needed to taste you. now.

you lifted your hips up slightly to allow him to remove your panties down your legs. you watched his every move as his fingers tugged your panties down, his eyes not being able to take his eyes off your pretty lace panties that were once covered by your pretty pussy that he needed so much. you were already soaking wet and it was evident with a small amount of your arousal coating them before allowing them to fall down onto the kitchen floor. this very moment felt so intimate, so fucking right and your cheeks were fucking burning from how much you were blushing.

you never thought this would ever happen, but you weren’t complaining. he spread both of your legs immediately with both of his palms, the pad of his thumbs caressing the inside of your thighs in smooth, slow circles. your breath hitched as you stared down at him, watching his every move. his hardened cock was pressing against his tightened sweatpants, begging to be free, but he didn’t seem phased by it one bit. all he could focus on was that he finally had you in the palm of his hand and he was savoring every fucking second of it.

“god, your skin is so smooth. feeling s’good against my fingertips.” he whispered this in a sultry tone, so unlike his usual voice. it was so fucking hot you felt like you might combust right then and there. you knew he could feel the heat radiating from your core as his hand inched up higher, closer to your sweet cunt.

he moved his hand to your bare hip, your shirt riding up everytime his hand moved. you melted against his touch. your breathing getting hitched in your throat. you didn’t know what to say, if you even could speak. all you could do was watch him lose and take control and have you at his mercy. his fingers caressed your inner thighs underneath your shirt in a teasing manner and it made you want to scream, needing him to touch you where you wanted it the most.

you had to be patient though. he’s wanted you for so long, you knew he wouldn’t just walk out without showing you exactly what he dreamt about.

“spread your legs f’me. need you. now.” he spoke this is a dominant, rough tone through gritted teeth. it was almost as if he was about to combust from how much he’s needed you for so damn long and he was finally getting to have a taste of you.

you did as you were told, spreading your legs wider against the countertop. fuck, this was so dirty and so hot and your head was spinning, your mind clouded with dirty thoughts and consumed of nothing but matt and how he’s wanted this for so long. maybe you have, too.

your shirt rose up completely now and you took the initiative to place your shirt directly at your hips and hoped it would stay there and not get in the way. your breath felt like it was caught in your throat at this point as you stared at him. his eyes were hungry, needy, and full built up lust and want. “been wantin’ this for so long. so fuckin’ long, sweet girl.” he used his fingers to cup underneath your chin in a rough manner , your eyes staying locked together firmly.

“a little taste won’t hurt.” you breathed out, already shaking with anticipation and adrenaline that rushed through you. your spread legs and bent your knees as you sat on the edge of the counter as he bent down onto his knees and suddenly he was face to face with your sweet, pretty pussy.

“holy shit.” he breathed out, a soft groan already emitting from his lips at the sight of your glistening arousal. your core was throbbing already, desperate and needing matt any way he was willing to give you. “fuck. you truly are beautiful, every single fuckin’ inch of you.” he caressed your inner thighs with his hands, your skin feeling like butter against his fingertips.

your cheeks were bright red at this point as he continued to stare at your sweet pussy, practically drooling at the sight. he had wanted this for so long and so many times he had imagined what you looked like when he’d take your underwear just to put them around his cock as he pumped it in his hand, cumming all over the lacy fabric with your name falling from his lips. now he gets to have you, inches close to tasting you.

his finger ran across your glistening folds, admiring your pretty pussy and how wet you were for him. your cheeks were bright red as he continued to stare longingly at you, not being able to quite take his eyes off you as his finger slowly rubbed your swollen nub.

his hot and hot heavy breath lingered against your center, feeling yourself growing more soaked by the second. he looked up at you from the position he was in on his knees in front of you, his eyes full of lust and need. “such a beautiful fuckin’ pussy, sweetheart. god, look at you.”

before you could even reply to his words, he immediately leaned forward and dove his head in between your thighs, his tongue running up and down against your glistening folds causing your body to jolt forward against the feeling of his tongue finally against you. your hand insrantly found his hair again and ran your fingers throughout his hair, a soft moan leaving your lips. fuck, his tongue felt so good against you.

he dreamt of this for so long. the taste of your arousal coated his tongue as he began to lap his tongue against your glistening folds, swirling his tongue around in several directions as he hummed against you to send vibrations down your core. you were throbbing immensely and the feeling of his tongue finally against you was so damn rewarding. you couldn’t believe this was happening and you didn’t want it to stop.

his tongue plunges into your core repeatedly, lapping up your sweet juices as they coat his tongue. your fingers wrap around his hair tighter and pull onto his head to dive his head more into your center. you wrap your legs around his face which causes a groan to erupt from his throat and send vibrations down to your core. you throw your head back against the kitchen cabinet. you refuse to close your eyes, wanting to savor this moment as long as possible.

watching him eat you out was the hottest fucking thing. you didn’t want it to end. fire coursed throughout your veins, sending shockwaves down to your body at the feeling his tongue rolling along your glistening folds before he began to suck onto your swollen clit and taking it between his lips. he sucked onto it hungrily, lapping his tongue against it each and every time he’d let it go. he devoured your pussy hungrily, not being able to stop. “o-oh fuck. matt. that’s feels.. so nice.” you moan out your words, your fingers tangling in his hair and tugging hard.

he looked up at you as he continued to devour you, running his tongue up and down your glistening wet folds, moaning against your center as he opens up his eyes to look up at you. he’s mesmerized by how your face looks when you throw your head back in absolute ecstasy. fuck, he’s been dreaming about this for so long and now he’s finally getting a taste of you.

he pulled away just for a second to breathe, licking over his lips hungrily like he was already having withdrawals. you pulled one hand away from his hair to place against your own chest, massaging your breast through the fabric of your shirt. you looked down at him, your arousal glistening against his lips. the loss of his tongue made you whine, but you locked your eyes with him, already looking fucked out. “fuck, sweet girl. you taste so divine. got me addicted to this pussy.” he spoke in a sultry tone, licking over his own lips once more.

“can’t stop.” was all he said breathlessly, flashing you a sly smirk before diving back in between your thighs. his hands moved to your inner thighs to hold you still as he ran his tongue up and down your glistening cunt. he waited for so long to be able to taste you and he couldn’t believe this was actually fucking happening.

he sucked onto your swollen clit, lapping his tongue against it repeatedly as your legs begin to shake from the pleasure filling inside of you. “f-fuck!” you shouted out, gripping onto his hair to keep his head in place so he wouldn’t move away from your center, not that he’d want to. he could tell you were getting closer to your orgasm. he didn’t stop, continuing to roll his tongue along your glistening pussy, moaning against you with the taste of you driving him absolutely fucking insane.

you were so close to your orgasm. your body began to shake and tremble with fire coursing throughout your veins. you didn’t want this to end, but you didn’t know how much longer you could hold on. you continued to grip onto his hair to hold his face in place as you watched him devour your pussy like a starved man, addicted to your taste. addicted to you. “oh, fuck matt! i’m s-s-so close!” you stuttered your words as you moaned loudly, profanities falling from your lips as your heart raced rapidly in your chest.

god, he looked so fucking good between your legs. you wished you had your phone to take a picture for later, you’d already keep it engraved in your brain anyway. he gripped harder on your thighs to hold you still as you tried to rock your hips up into him, in an attempt to fuck his face as he sucked onto your clit feverishly. he pulled away just for a moment to look back up at you, his lips curving into a devious smirk as he licked over his lips hungrily. “cum for me, sweet girl. been needin’ to taste you for so long. cum on my tongue and let me taste you. wanna see you when you cum f’me. keep your eyes open, alright ma? don’t be shy now.”

he immediately went back to licking your swollen bud repeatedly, sucking onto it and moaning against you, your eyes locked together. you made sure to keep your eyes opened the entire time just like he demanded. hearing his dirty words and watching him fucking devour you is what caused you to get sent over the edge. you didn’t realize how badly you needed this until you saw him between your thighs, eating you out like his life depended on it.

suddenly, your body began to shake as your orgasm rushed through you, your fingers tugging onto his head harshly as you pushed your hips into his face, your orgasm sending shockwaves throughout your entire body as you cum on his tongue, moaning out in ecstasy, his name falling from your lips. he watched you the entire time, your eyes locking together in an intense gaze, moans falling from your lips. he couldn’t take his eyes off you. he couldn’t fucking believe this was happening after all this time.

he lapped up your juices as you allowed your orgasm to rush through you, your arousal coating his tongue as he moaned against your pussy. your heart beat rapidly in your chest, sweat glistening against your forehead. you look incredibly fucked out and hazed, your fingers lazily running through his messy locks. even in your post orgasm haze, he believed you were the most beautiful girl in the world. fucking magnificent. he used a tongue to lick your now overly sensitive clit to get one more taste before pulling away from your thighs. he used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth that was covered in your juices, a now shy smile appearing onto his lips as he stared up at you.

he got back onto his feet to stand before you, your legs now closed and you pull your shirt back down as you try to find the strength in them to jump off the counter, but your legs felt like jello. your eyes moved from his lips and back up into his eyes. you didn’t know what this meant moving forward, but you couldn’t fucking believe this happened.

“a fuckin dream come true. literally. thank you, sweet girl.” his own breathing was labored as he licked over his lips and stared at you with his cheeks reddened tremendously. he’s back to his usual shy self. “been wantin’ that for awhile.”

your chest heaved up and down, your head resting against the kitchen cabinet. your eyes move down to the evident hardened bulge in his pants, a wet spot forming against the fabric. he was incredibly turned on just from tasting you. you didn’t know if he wanted you to return the favor or not, but the sight of him completely hard for you was such a turn on.

he caught your eyes, moving his eyes down to his own hardened cock before back up into your eyes. he had come here because of this same problem, but this time he wouldn’t be leaving in complete agony. at least he finally got to taste you. he bent down to grab your damp lacy panties that were still on the ground and immediately places them in his pocket, flashing you a small smirk.

“enjoy your breakfast, sweetheart. i sure as hell enjoyed mine.”

taglist-

@sturnshood @strangelife122 @jessie-essie @giveheavensomehell @rina3476 @chrissturnioloslvt @sturnslutz @forgottxen @matthewsturnsgf @christmastreecake @rinahasspots @222wall876 @chris-hallelujah @izzylovesmatt @strniloslvts @oopsiedaisydeer @sophand4n4 @sturniololuv08 @xclusivedesires

a/n- thank you to @sturnshood for helping me with the idea! i wouldn’t of been able to write this without you. thank you thank you, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me i love you!

thank you to everyone who’s read this au and has supported me! i want to continue it for as long as i can, so if you have any ideas, questions for me or just wanna talk in general please don’t hesitate to send a message in my inbox!

i love you guys! :)

-nessa ღ

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes

Do you ever have thoughts that are absolute bangers, then realize “man I wish I was a better writer.” Anywho, brain worms, back again, Price is fighting self doubt about decisions in the field. Reader is fighting self doubts of ability and also a head ouchie. This was the compulsory preface my brain forces me to write before I can write the cool sex stuff. Metaphorical dinner before dessert. Big inspired by @beloveds-embrace , particularly the designationless!reader.

—

The blood today was excessive, to say the least. Bad intel, having to navigate this lab in the middle of nowhere Russia by foot in real time. Casualties. Thankfully the other side took more. And thankfully, none on the team, although the injuries were plenty. You were all very cognizant of the mental load needed to be a soldier but some days were easier than others. This one was the worst in a while.

Price and you were clearing a section of the building, warehouse by the looks of it. Doors locked leading to it, just to be met with rockets having eaten away at the walls like rats on the other side. Basically just outside, you thought to yourself, looking at the edges of concrete leading to treeline. Already beating yourself up about things outside of your control, Price sensed a distance in you. He felt it before you did half the time, although you’d never tell him that. “Head in the game, sergeant.” He pushed out.

You were a “great addition” to the 141, so sayeth official mission reports and calls to Laswell. Focused, fast, malleable in the field. But distant sometimes when out of the field. Not quite reclusive, like your lieutenant, but just distant. You were funny, sometimes even extroverted when you wanted to be. But something pulled you back, like a hand down a long hallway, snatching you into a dark room. Locked away and the key long gone.

Prices bite in his voice brought you back momentarily. “Hey, I said get in the fucking—“ A door blasts open and enemies filter through, a large man grabbing you amidst the motion, bringing you close to the edge of the floor that fell away to empty space, a few floors of nothing and the Siberian wilderness. Patting yourself down for a knife with one hand, and defending from being choked out with another, you start half in, half out mentally. Fighting should have been your priority, but the disappointment in Prices voice had you a little fractured. “I’m fucking this up, they won’t want me anymore, please don’t get rid of me, you’re the only—“

Price fighting through the rest of them, took cover as he saw you struggle. If you weren’t so distracted this would be one of the moments you’d love to watch him in. “A real flow state” Gaz called it once, as he moved as fluid as the wind. No wasted motion, a knife here, a bullet there. Propelled purely by the sake of making sure his team was okay. But you had his heart pounding. More than usual anyways. A half dozen men down, you stab at your assailants neck as Price makes it to you.

A double misfire in decision making, you think. As you stab at the man’s carotid arteries, Price heard more footsteps approaching. You just heard blood rushing and doubts. You just saw Prices angry face push you back into the void, hoping to god the snow and dead body behind you would break your fall. Your eyes would haunt him for a while. A broken “No” laying on his ears as he turned back.

—

Soap stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on his captain. Price was tearing through the now silent building, kicking doors in and scanning everything. Price reached them in a sorry state, covered in other people’s blood and moving as if he stopped he would die. “Lost ‘er in the east wing, need to get ‘er.” The rest of the team a little shaken by his lack of composure.

“Why the hell would she still be there?” Ghost fussed, making his way through hallways with the rest of the team.

“This part of the building was locked down tight. Seemed like they were protecting something, before Marakov damn near tore the fucking place down from the outside.” Gaz relayed. “She’s either there or in the woods shooting bears.”

Reaching the door to the wing, Price crowbarred it so fast, Ghost thought he threw his shoulder out. Wind and snow blasted down the corridor, as they filtered into the… room? Floor level hallway straight to the outdoors? Broken racking and file cabinets littered the floor, alongside snow and other detritus. Gaz noticed the bullet holes and gashes in the steel door. Someone tried to leave, but was unsuccessful. Sweeping the area they moved with purpose, until Price heard you first. Sniffling and singing, voice shaky. Coming around a corner to the view from the lower level this time, he saw you two. A large Russian, face down and bloodied in the snow. A missing jacket. A trail of various pieces of gear, and lastly you, curled up in a corner. Blood coming down your face from your hairline.

Their collective hearts broke at the sight, but only Ghost noticed his captains hands shaking. You were humming and singing a tune to yourself, rocking and rubbing your own chest, eyes unfocused watching the treeline.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take

My sunshine away”

Without a word, your team got to work. Gaz and Soap called for evac, thanking god there was enough flat ground for the heli to land next to the building. Ghost went back to secure the door to other visitors, giving Price some privacy to approach you.

He put a hand on your shoulder, as you jumped. A secret he held close to his heart was how much he enjoyed looking in your eyes. Like those fancy pictures the satellites take. Dark at first glance but always more to see the longer you look. Like stars were born in them. But all he could see now was the dark. No lights present in the deep space. A concussion very present however. And, confusion. Then hurt. Whatever knife he didn’t know he had in his chest twisted as you spoke. “You threw me away, I’m—“ A gasp of air as you fought to navigate the fractured thoughts. His eyebrows twisted as he tried to understand. “It’s not like last time, like home. I belong here, with you all. I… I’m. I earned it this time. Please don’t leave me here.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t, no tears sweetheart. What are you talking about, who’s throwing you away?” He choked out as he snatched you into his chest, fingers gingerly holding your scalp and his lips whispering into your hairline, fighting tears of his own. “I would never throw you away, love. I’m so sorry, I needed you safe. I… I needed you safe.”

The other three approached slowly, wind preventing them from hearing the interaction. Price saw you shift to look behind him as he composed himself. Standing up slowly he turned to the team. “Evac in 10. How is she?” Soap asked kneeling next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Concussion from the fall, cuts and bruises. Fighting hypothermia.” He replied, voice rougher than usual. “Take it easy, not sure she knows where she is right now.”

As the heli landed, hands grabbed and led you gently, a seatbelt around your waist and pats comforting you. Most eyes were closed on the ride back, trying to get some rest after a nightmare of a day. John’s eyes stayed on the horizon.

[lesbianherald]

hiii I’m curious : what’s your process for creating your stories? like character development, plotting, creating arcs, etc?

thank you for asking !!! i'm going to get way longer and more thorough about this than necessary I feel it in my bones so I'm going to read more this now (I included a few tidbits from my miro board for carry the blade :) )

it's such a mixed bag ! part of this is my adhd lmao, and part of it is because, genuinely, I think each story needs something different.

almost ALWAYS (with one rare exception of a sci/fi fantasy world I've been building for years) I start with character, especially in original work. Because character is everything it's who we're following it's what the audience/readership will grab onto. Usually I have a basic premise and setting already there, but I don't build on it until I get to know who we're dealing with in the story. And then after building up the premise, setting, and plot I do even more character work after.

sometimes.... sometimes I get really impatient to start and start writing half way through the planning process. But anyways.

so I come up with character. do the basics. think about what their deal is. What is the journey they need to have, the lesson they need to learn, what themes and emotions do I want to explore with this character? Why is she important to me? Why will she be important to others?

I also think a lot about relationships

i just wrote a coming of age dramatic comedy for instance, and for that one, I broke up the story into my protagonists relationships. Wrote out the arc/story of each relationship and then combined each of these arcs into the key points that made up the film. Each relationship I wanted to be relevant to her grieving process, as she had just lost her mother. IDK if that makes sense. I wish I could show you but unfortunately I cannot.

for fic its honestly similar, but we already know character, so I usually ask what about this character/these characters am I most excited to explore.

that being said, coming home came to me in the idea for what they'd be like in modern day, and then a single idea for a single scene - their first kiss in the lab. I wrote that first, then asked myself what the context I wanted to give it was. Of course, I changed it a little once I actually got to writing and fleshing out chapter eight.

but this fantasy fic i'm writing is a fun example. I'm building out a lot. I'm building out characters, the world, the themes. - using visuals to help me kind of guide myself.

but because I have adhd and get impatient. I am outlining throughout this process to keep myself entertained. perhaps ideally you'd figure out everything first then outline then write but my brain just doesn't work that way.

in fics, especially, the relationship is so important that I really like to see how the obstacles they face, both due to their own psychology and internal pressures, can reflect the themes, create tension, etc.

but i also like to reflect on side characters too - their motivations and desires. So they don't just become like - flat little reflections of the central love story.

Finally, and this i learned from acting theory mostly - but I love it - is in each scene I like to think of what each character wants, what they are going to do to try and get that, and why they want it. In this fic, wants are something I also look at from a chapter by chapter basis.

side note - and i'm only saying this this far down so hopefully not too may people will see it - but I do have a secret subplot going on throughout the first half of this story that the audience doesn't know about.

in order to make this work I've been mapping out everything going on behind the scenes, and making sure they pair up well with events that people reading will see. it helps me plant little hints and seeds while hopefully not giving too much away (secret subplot in blue, actual story in red)

sorry i know this is such a ramble I just took my meds and had a double shot of expresso so I am buzzing right now lmao! Obviously I'm not the expert and there's not only one way. And also it really is so different for me every time. It's important to think about what the story actually calls for !

[protectorcraft]

mutual liked the gripe post which reminded me to write it. okay hi im pyxis and im gonna talk about a trope the isat community falls back on a lot in writing that bugs me okay thanks

this is gonna be long and probably annoying so im putting it under a cut. open at ur own risk. heavy spoiler warning thanks.

okay. how do i start this. a thing ive seen in quite a few fics and theories, and its that the islanders are directly- and purposefully- responsible for their own disappearance. usually i see it framed as "the islanders made themselves disappear/attempted to wish away knowledge of wishcraft because it was dangerous" and like. hm! i dont think so.

take this with a grain of salt as ur local cracker but considering the framing of the island's disappearance- abrupt, sudden, disastrous- something everyone was talking about- the disappearance definitely falls more in line with the metaphor of some sort of disaster or, as is a significant theme in the game, colonialism/imperialism and the subjugation of cultures.

this was- 100%- not the islander's faults, and blaming them completely misses the point of the matter.

while people can say wishcraft is dangerous- and really, it is, there's no getting around it- it also seems like it was an important piece of the Island's culture and based off the few islanders we meet, probably used fairly regularly in day to day life. siffrin, for example, literally uses it on the regular without even realizing it. the knowledge of how to do it properly is probably pretty ingrained into the average Islander's brain. to them, it's just a fact of life! i mean, literally all the scriptures we see on wishcraft (and astronomy) ingame are written in the Islander language. they were The Experts on this stuff. (not to mention that this proves the knowledge was in the general public's grasp, even if it required knowledge of their language to learn about)

so it just doesnt make sense that they'd wish something so important to them away like that- sure there was probably discourse amongst them about the dangers of these practices, but they would know enough to know attempt something as risky as, say, wishing away all knowledge of their country or any one big thing. not to mention wishcraft is weird- technically speaking, siffrin's wish probably wouldve had a lot less effect if all the energy of the failed wishes hadnt culminated into their successful one.

and before you bring up how op the kings wish is- remember that a good 75% of the game is exposing all the ways the other characters foil siffrin, including the king. the king, who supposedly made a wish to freeze vaugarde- but did he?

a lot of the king's dialogue, when he isnt gushing about vaugarde and how much he loves it, is about his grief surrounding the loss of his own country. when given the chance, he'll grasp at any opportunity to remember anything about it, even if its putting trust in the hands of a stranger who is literally here to kill him for help. its pretty clear to anyone with a brain that he's not being ingenuine about this.

and, see, siffrin's true wish was masked over by their other wish. its one of the game's big red herrings. yadda yadda yadda how do we know that the king's true wish was really the "preserve" vaugarde, huh?

"where are you going with this we've gotten wildly off track" no we havent! get fucked! i think the kings true wish was the remember his country- and, yknow, there's probably a fair few islanders remaining. probably yearning to grasp even a fragment of their lost culture, hoping and dreaming and wishing for answers. not unlike the king, perhaps? perhaps a culmination of half baked wishes being fueled by one, fully formed wish?

yeah, you get where im going with this.

so perhaps wishcraft isnt quite as strong as we assume it is? that the soul intent of one person isn't necessarily going to give you godlike power in most cases- mind we're not quite grasping the full scope due to loops. Whole Situation. but that's not why we're here.

if the Islanders had enough faith in the rest of the world to provide them with their wishcraft knowledge- then i doubt they wouldve wished themselves or their knowledge away. nobody would do that.

and if the rest of the world did, indeed, have access to that knowledge, then there's a fair chance some other group could be responsible. a group who doesnt even recall their own responsibility because it's been wiped from their memories.

like, idk.... a more on the nose version how colonizer countries bury their own history of misdeeds from the general populace?

idk man. idk. just feels weird to me that so many people seem to have immediately gone towards the Cultural Suicide route for some reason. you have to be willing to acknowledge that the isat universe is definitely not the perfect, pristine world you think it is. and maybe folks just need to be willing to acknowledge the actual brutality the metaphor is alluding to.

after all, an entire island- all of its peoples and cultures- disappeared.

[thefirstknife]

I wasn't aware of the discussions around Eramis being that rancid, personally (although I tend not to look at online discussion around media in general, thanks to how skin-deep at best much of it tends to be).

But the way you've talked about it makes me wonder how much of the people complaining about Eramis's character development are coming at it from a dislike of the idea of that redemption being a thing at all- the perspective that Doing Bad Things makes someone A Bad Person who can no longer be A Good Person, essentially. Seems like that mentality has grown... if not more common, at least louder, over time.

(Although your comment about not seeing why they'd 'pull a shocking twist for the sake of pulling a shocking twist to spite the audience' is a little funny in a sad way, considering how many people seem to think "outwit the audience and surprise them" is more important than "tell a coherent story as well as possible", even changing things if a twist is leaked, even if whatever they change it to makes no damn sense.)

It's really bad out there and it's strange for the exact reason you listed, because the same communities have previously entertained redemption ideas about characters like Calus and even Clovis; characters who have never expressed any wish to change or any beliefs that they may be in the wrong, no regrets and no remorse for what they've done.

So I can't even figure out if this with Eramis is about not wanting redemption stories. I think it's more about Eramis herself; not only is she a female character, but she's very largely and easily misunderstood. A lot of people's interaction with Beyond Light was... not entirely invested (a lot of the community was at the time mad about vaulting and hated everything new on principle), and her other storylines are in seasonal content that's gone now and that was almost universally hated; she was brought back in Plunder and then reappeared briefly in Defiance. A lot of people approached her from the get-go as "just some villain we will kill in the campaign" and then that didn't happen and these people were confused because they never paid any attention to her story. And then by the end of it, it just kinda slipped them by.

I don't know honestly. I may be overthinking it, but I definitely think that a lack of understanding of her story plays a huge role. Whether that's because they missed her story or just didn't pay attention to it or just had no interest in it - and nobody online they interact with offered any insight into her character (lore youtube) - they just don't get what's the fuss and they don't care about her. Some might say this is because the game didn't make people want to care, but I simply disagree. While I enjoy Eliksni stories, they're by far not at the top of my list of favourite things in Destiny so I don't have any special attachment to Eliksni characters, I didn't know Eramis before BL and I was never a diehard fan of her, but I understood her story and what they wanted to do with her for the past 4 years.

And I was happy that she got her character arc completed as was intended. I saw where it was going and this solution is the only one that made sense to me. So I don't think the whole "the game didn't make me care enough because it was badly set up" really holds water. The game can't put thoughts into your brain, sometimes you have to actually think about characters for yourself. Like, we shouldn't have to be spoon-fed that hard. Her arc and the setup was clear and it was written into the game's story, a lot of it even outside of lore books ("It was just in the lore books!" is a major complaint a lot of the time, and one I personally find baffling. You're in the Lore Books The Game. If you don't like lore being in lore books, you're in the wrong place).

We could honestly discuss this to no end, and everyone who dislikes Eramis or the conclusion to her story would probably have a different reason for it, or there would at least be a couple of them, not wanting redemption included. Could also be a combination - not understanding her story will lead a lot of people to think that her being redeemed makes no sense and that it wasn't supposed to happen.

I think it's also a case of people having a really hard time understanding that a character can be our ally while still hating our guts. I've seen plenty of comments from people saying they're annoyed about Eramis constantly being antagonistic towards us. This is baffling to me, because again, it makes sense that she doesn't like us. And it would be bizarre if all Eliksni were now suddenly fans of humanity like a hivemind. Some will never like us. This is good. They will still help us because there's bigger fish to fry, but they don't have to like us.

Eramis was a delight this episode to me and she was a really interesting character. She wasn't a huge deal overall and some of her story was fairly on the sidelines, but she was a very unique "villain" and antagonist to us since she was introduced and I think that her character arc was very well done all things considered. This amount of resistance and dislike for her from the wider community is something I simply can't see as anything other than a lack of understanding of the story (personal reasons and stuff like "I get it, I just don't really care that much" not included).

[frankenfran]

the thing about araragi monogatari is that she is, deeply and unfortunately, a fucking egg. i know girls exactly like this. transition does in fact not fix her but it makes her worse. more annoying and bold with a newfound sense of confidence despite being a needy insufferable bottom who probably doesn't care much about her partner's needs.

lalalagi is a pain in the ass who coasts on her cuteness. you can distinctly remember the exact moment when you realised ararararagi was a girl and how your heart sank knowing you had to help her despite desperately wishing you could pulp her insufferable head. you thought aryayagi was bad constantly calling you for advice on some girl pre-transition but never being there for you or realising you had feelings for her well. awawagi is now doing that at pacific rim endgame kaiju speeds. you can't even sit on the fucking swings for one minute anymore without her goofy ass calling you to fix her stupid life for her. every day you contemplate grabbing her by her ankles and doing an olympic hammer throw technique on her twiggy little ass until maybe she's brain damaged enough that it her personality loops back around to being normal.

[barsformars]

jealousy

//

g - angst, comfort

p - seonghwa x reader

w.c - 929

t.w - reader is insecure and experiences some retroactive jealousy

a.n - it is tough, and ive been there, but insecurity really hurts both parties so! i try to keep that in mind

//

seonghwa notices the way your gaze on him changes through the few weeks you've been together. you used to look at him in awe, adoration and love but by the next week, the adoration have dimmed and by the following week, the awe have turned into envy. and the envy turned into furrowed eyebrows and heavy eyelids. seonghwa was afraid if he looked any further down he would see the corner of your lips twitch in displeasure. do you not love him anymore? has he become ugly in your eyes already?

"love?"

"yeah?" you replied half-heartedly as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, making a mental note of every flaw you had. worse still, you secretly compared yourself to his exes. it consumed every inch of you and haunted you every waking moment, compelling you to go onto their social media pages, zooming into every detail of them. what made their eyes so beautiful that seonghwa fell in love with them? what made their nose so cute that he wanted his kids to have it too? what made their lips so captivating that he wanted to make them smile all the time?

and why then, you? anyone close to seonghwa knows he has a type. it is one thing to be the ghost of someone else, but it is another to be the complete opposite of what he loves.

seonghwa waits for you to turn around but you don't, still too preoccupied with your thoughts to even give him a second of your time.

“love,” he said it louder this time, snapping you out of your self-hating mind, “can i have your attention please?”

you turn to look at your partner who was already under the blanket, skin all glowy from his night time routine, hair perfectly framing his chiseled face. how effortless. you were so consumed by his appearance that you don’t notice how sadness was gnawing at him.

seonghwa tries hard to phrase the words correctly in his head, because he doesn't want you to start detesting his heart too. but the silence in the room becomes too unbearable and the question escapes him before he could think twice.

"why do you look at me with so much disgust nowadays?"

your eyes widened in surprise. you didn’t realise you were being that transparent.

“i’m sorry, i-i love you…it’s just,” you blurted before quickly stopping. how do you explain yourself without sounding immature and nonsensical?

dejection has completely taken over your lover’s face as he tries to comprehend what you are going through. it’s hard to feel loved when you have turned so cold but as he is, there is always a small matchstick in seonghwa’s heart to keep it warm enough for others. he beckons you over to join him in bed, his arms wide open for you.

maybe it’s the guilt or ego that has you frozen in place, eyes glued to the floor as your brain tries to scramble possible ways to say it without sounding confrontational. but as they say, birds of a feather flock together and you speak your mind as seonghwa did.

“you wish i look like your exes, don’t you?”

seonghwa’s jaw is left agape at your question.

“i know, i know you love me because i’m smart and kind and funny all that yada yada yada,” you quickly followed up with an elaboration with the adjectives he usually described you with, “but my appearance is subpar, right?” you concluded on your own.

seonghwa don’t know who planted these seeds in your head because never once has any of those thoughts crossed his mind. sure, you did look pretty different from his past partners, but that was purely coincidence.

“love, just because my exes look kind of the same does not mean i only appreciate those physical traits,” seonghwa explained.

“of course you would say that,” you retorted, “and besides, you think im way below your league, right?”

seonghwa shook his head immediately, “if i truly thought that, why would i be with you?” at this point, he was already slowly making his way towards you, his indoor slippers shuffling against the wooden floor.

“i don’t know, and i’m perpl-“ as he stood in front of you, seonghwa reached out to cup your face in his slender hands, hushing you. his heart shatters when you shun him, intentionally or not, but he catches you nevertheless. gently lifting your head up to look at you, his shattered heart crumbles even more when a teardrop rolls down your cheek.

“love,” seonghwa calls out to you firmly this time. “why do you have such thoughts? how can i make you feel more loved?” even at moments like this, when you are accusing him on hurtful things, he could let slide and shift the focus on you. and you realise how stupid your thoughts have been.

the tears start gushing down and they don’t stop. “i’m sorry, i love you seonghwa…” he pulls you into his chest and pats your head lovingly. he heaved a sigh as he tries to patch up his own heart too. it really does hurt him to see you like this.

“my love, we all know that there are plenty of very attractive people out there in the world,” seonghwa said when you cooled down a little.

“however, there is a reason why you chose to be with me, and i chose to be with you. it’s not wrong to want to look better, and i appreciate it, but don’t ever doubt my feelings towards and for you.”

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 27

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

NOAH

God, if You truly love me, make this woman shut up — I thought, as Scarlet chattered non-stop beside me throughout the entire ride to the hotel.

The headache that had been a mild annoyance was now a relentless hammering inside my skull. As soon as I crossed the threshold, a wave of dizziness nearly knocked me off balance.

"Would you mind leaving me alone?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady, but Scarlet remained planted on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, her irritation practically radiating from her.

I moved deeper into the room, leaning on the table with my head bowed into my hands, breathing in slow, deliberate gulps to fight off the mounting pressure.

"Where were you last night?" she demanded suddenly.

I glanced at her over my shoulder. Scarlet was a complete mess — disheveled hair, face streaked with dried blood. The crew had offered to help her, but she refused, insisting on sticking with me until I sorted it out.

I tossed a small first-aid kit onto the counter. She caught it mid-air.

"I went out for air," I replied, flatly.

"I was worried about you! We had plans to have dinner together, and you never showed! You didn’t answer your phone, missed soundcheck, and even the guys couldn’t find you. Then you just appear like nothing happened!" She spoke like she was trying to snap me back into reality, but my mind was still far away.

I wished her away, hoping my headache would vanish with her.

"Can you at least help me with this?" She shook the medical supplies at me, breaking my reverie.

"We had dinner plans?" I blinked a few times, my brain slow to piece together her words. There was no memory of the previous night — just a frustrating, empty blur.

"You don’t remember?" Her eyes narrowed with growing concern.

I hesitated, then shook my head. Scarlet exhaled sharply and soaked a cotton ball with antiseptic, her actions brisk and sharp. She gestured for me to come closer. I sat on the edge of the bed, examining the raw scrapes on her face. Her cheekbone was so swollen and bruised that I had to look away to keep from gagging.

Unlike Scarlet, the she-devil had walked out of the dressing room unscathed. The thought made me snort bitterly every time it replayed in my mind.

"What’s funny?" Scarlet’s eyes narrowed.

Only then did I realize the grin tugging at my lips. I wiped it away instantly, pressing the cotton ball harder than necessary onto her wound. She winced, her nose scrunching from the sting.

"Noah, the doctor said your mind is so overloaded it can barely retain recent memories. He said it’s common under extreme stress. Your episodes have been getting worse..." Her hand caught my wrist, stopping my movements. "That’s why you’re so disoriented."

Her touch, though gentle, felt like needles raking my skin. I pulled away abruptly, avoiding her empathetic gaze.

"Just stress. I’ve been working too hard," I muttered, brushing off the discomfort.

"I know you can handle yourself, but the signs are the same as two years ago, Noah... You broke down when you two ended things, and you’ve never been the same since." Her voice softened, a poisonous lull. "She’s dragging you down to keep herself afloat. Look at how much you’ve regressed with the band since she came back into your life. She’s using your dependence on her to blind you..."

My head swirled, thoughts tangled in endless loops. Anger bubbled beneath the confusion. I clenched her wrist hard, pushing her away as my cold gaze locked on hers.

"I don’t care about your opinions or the stories you spin to fuel gossip sites. The only reason I tolerate you is for professional formality. But my memory is perfectly clear when it comes to how you loved to stir up absurd rumors about my relationship back then," I growled, watching her squirm under my grip. "I won’t say it again: mind your own damn business!"

"Look at what she’s done to me, Noah! She’s still the same disaster — uncontrollably wasted, out of control! She hasn’t changed. What do you expect? She’ll never be able to handle you!"

"You couldn’t handle me if you tried..." I shot back with cold, menacing calm. I let her go with a sharp release.

Her eyelid twitched — a crack in her facade of confidence. She rubbed the red mark on her wrist with her free hand, trying to recover her composure, but failing.

"You’re only defending her because you still don’t see the plan, do you?" she pressed, her voice cutting through the air as I stopped just steps from the door.

I stiffened, muscles tight with the effort to keep my composure.

"The sicker and more unstable you become, the further you’ll drift from the band. They already see you as weak, Noah, and she’s no different. When was the last time you contributed anything? When were you strong enough to write even one song? — You think she’s here to help? She’s just waiting for the right moment to call you incompetent. But look at you... clinging to the delusion of reconciliation while she quietly sabotages you at every step."

"ENOUGH!" I roared, my voice booming like thunder, the force of it pounding in my temples until a sharp, agonizing ringing filled my ears, like nails scraping a chalkboard. "ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH!"

"She’s using you!"

Scarlet didn’t back down. Instead, she stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with something cruel and triumphant.

"Isn’t that how it’s always been, Noah?" Her voice was softer now, a venomous whisper. "All she needed was an opening — one chance to corrupt your mind, to drive you insane bit by bit."

She moved closer, her words stabbing deeper.

"Until you were so dependent on her you couldn’t even think without her being your eyes. That’s why she’s still in the band. She knows you can’t go anywhere without her..."

Her tone shifted, mock concern laced with malice.

"But be careful, Noah... Don’t forget when she disappeared and left you to clean up her mess — all alone."

I walked out of the room with heavy steps, feeling the air pressing against me from all sides. The pain in my head was like a fist crushing my skull from the inside out. Everything around me was blurred—walls, lights, sounds—a smear of nothingness.

And then her voice came.

Scarlet.

She wasn’t talking to me anymore. She invaded my thoughts, cutting through them like a razor slicing every attempt at coherence.

“Hasn’t it always been this way, Noah?”

Her words echoed as if carried through a tunnel, distorting, repeating. No matter how much I wanted to push the sound away, it was trapped inside my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to recall the previous night, but only scattered, disjointed flashes came to mind.

And the pain worsened.

My eyes burned. The weight of her words... maybe they were true. Maybe I deserved my own game turning against me after everything I’d done.

I left her alone, didn’t I? I didn’t defend her. I wanted her gone, and she left.

She was right.

I had wanted her out of the band, too, and hadn’t I made that clear enough times?

My insides felt like they were collapsing, as if I were falling inward with nothing solid beneath me. Just emptiness. And her voice.

“To the point where you’ve become so dependent that you can’t even think without her being your eyes.”

My chest tightened. That was it. That was always it.

The hotel corridors stretched endlessly, a shapeless landscape. Everything was white, a blinding light that illuminated nothing. I stumbled, almost fell. I couldn’t see clearly; tears and sweat blurred my vision.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that none of it made sense.

But what if it did? What if it was all my fault?

The pain hit an unbearable peak. My body doubled over, knees giving way, hands pressing against my face as if I could rip out whatever was crushing me.

And then I felt it.

A hand.

Warm. Steady.

On my shoulder.

“You okay, man?” Ruffilo’s voice cut through the haze, a calming force against the storm that made my chest heave with panic. I let go of the hair tangled between my fingers and turned just enough to meet his concerned gaze.

“Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

“NO!” My voice burst out, loud and sharp, as I shoved his arm away. My eyes, wide with terror, mirrored the panic within. “I’m not going back there.”

Breathing more steadily but with trembling hands, I studied Ruffilo again. He looked confused, his eyes scanning not just my face but the air around me, as if trying to piece together a puzzle of invisible shards.

“All right, all right,” he said gently, raising his hands in surrender. “We can go somewhere else...”

“I’d rather be alone. I’m fine.” I straightened up, forcing a steadier tone, though my gaze darted between him and the empty corridor.

“But—” He began, his hand reaching toward my arm like an anchor.

Wary as a cornered cat, I trusted no one—not even my own shadow. Nobody wanted to help, nobody cared what I felt; they just wanted to stay in the loop. I didn’t know what side my friends stood on, didn’t know my own side or why I even needed one. Everything crushed my mind at once, and I wanted to shut it off by slamming it into a wall. I couldn’t take thinking anymore.

“We’ve got a show later, and I just want to focus until then, if you don’t mind.”

“If that’s what you want… fine.” Ruffilo’s voice fell to a resigned whisper before he turned and left me alone.

The moment he disappeared down the hall, I slid down the cold wall, trying to hold back the weight that crushed my chest. Loneliness, no matter how unbearable, felt like the only relief I had left.

A few hours later, I dragged myself to the stage in near silence. My friends joked and buzzed with excitement for another night on tour. I remained still, cold sweat trickling down my back. She stood only steps away from me, and every attempt to make small talk dissolved under the weight of my aloofness.

I didn’t want to believe she could do this to me. But it was hard not to when I looked at myself from outside my own body and couldn’t see who I was anymore.

Tracing the timeline of our story, it wasn’t unfair to think she wanted to destroy me. She could have a plan with Gerard to push me out of the band. He knew my weaknesses well enough to suggest a truce through her.

She could’ve made a trade, and with my declining contributions, he would have agreed. That’s why he betrayed me when selling the singles.

It’s all a setup to betray me.

A sharp pain shot through my temple, forcing a curse between clenched teeth.

“Noah?” Her voice reached out, light and curious, her smile faltering as she noticed my grimace. She touched my arm with the tip of her finger. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I snapped immediately, my suspicion seeping into my tone. I saw her eyebrows lift in surprise, her eyes flickering with concern.

“What the hell’s gotten into you?”

“What the hell’s gotten into you!” I fired back, louder than I intended, taking a step back to create distance. “If you’re trying to stir up a fight to throw me off before the show, you’ve wasted your time. Now leave me alone!”

The words cut like knives, each one slashing into my chest as if I’d carved them out myself.

For a moment, our eyes locked, a silent battleground in the dark sea of hers. She stared at me, stunned, her dark eyes swimming with shock. The contrast between my tone now and the person I’d seemed to be earlier was too stark.

And me? I was furious. Not just with her—mostly with myself. With my inability to think clearly, to find balance.

Before either of us could speak again, the intro began to boom through the speakers, the cue to step onto the stage.

Without another word, I turned toward the blinding lights and the pounding sound, carrying the weight of that exchange like a burden I had no idea how to put down.

Jolly and Ruffilo led the sequence, Folio followed on drums, and I forced my throat to push out the first words of the song.

The sound came out—hoarse, but it came.

For a moment, she carried me when she noticed my voice faltering, like a lifeboat in a stormy sea. I didn’t cling to her or her help, trying to forget the weight on my shoulders, the echo of Scarlet’s words still crawling in my mind. I kept trying to push through, as if it were just another normal day.

But then I looked at the audience.

Hundreds of eyes. Thousands, maybe. All fixed on me. Judging me.

Waiting for me.

My throat closed.

The words vanished.

The guitar riff continued, the drums kept the beat, but I was silent. It was as if the song had disappeared from my mind.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

The people in the front row began exchanging glances. Murmurs arose—low, but every sound seemed amplified, a buzzing that grew in my ears. From the corner of my eye, I saw my partner finish leading the song while interacting with the crowd.

My vision blurred. Sweat poured down my forehead, dripping onto the microphone. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the lyrics, the next note, anything that could pull me out of this abyss.

Nothing.

My mind was empty.

The silence between one beat and the next stretched endlessly. My chest tightened as if I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t afford to fail.

But I already had.

If I were smart, I’d avoid every media outlet in the coming days, knowing full well the headline would be about my second blackout on stage. That’s all I remembered from that moment—forgetting the words to a song I had written and needing my friends to finish the show for me. My phone buzzed nonstop with Gerard’s calls; he was probably having a heart attack over another potential cancellation.

We hadn’t even been back at the hotel long before I was on the street again. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. A few questions at the front desk and I found a car rental service. It seemed like the only way to clear my head for a while.

A light rain traced patterns down the windshield as I rested my forehead on the steering wheel, trying to control my breathing. Then the slam of a car door jarred me from my thoughts, and an overwhelmingly sweet perfume filled the air.

She flung herself into the passenger seat like an avalanche, her eyes burning with rage.

"Are you going to ignore me now, too?" Her voice sliced through the silence.

I raised my head but couldn’t speak.

"After everything that’s happened, after what that girl did to me, after everything I said this morning, you’re just going to do nothing?" She pressed forward, her words rapid, loaded.

"Get out…" My voice was low, drained. "Please, Scarlet."

"It’s crystal clear to me that you’re letting her get away with this because you’re too spineless to confront her!" she snapped, raising her voice. "But I won’t let her turn me into a punching bag while you make me look like a fool, Noah!"

Pain throbbed behind my eyes. I stared at the rain streaking down the glass, avoiding her gaze.

"Do whatever you want," I said firmly, side-eyeing her, "but I’m going to say it one more time: Get out of the car."

For a moment, she was silent, her eyes locked on mine as if trying to decipher something—or maybe waiting for me to back down. But I wouldn’t.

"You think you can just send me away like that?" she finally said, incredulous, a hint of challenge in her voice.

"Yes, I do." My reply was cold, final. I was past my limit, with no space for games or bargaining.

She let out a harsh, humorless laugh.

Then she pulled something from her pocket—something she had kept hidden until now. A piece of paper, crumpled like an opened envelope. Tension coiled up my spine when I recognized it instantly.

"Then maybe you’d rather I tell her about this." She held the letter out toward me.

My stomach dropped. There was no mistaking that paper. The letter from prison, informing me of Crystal’s whereabouts and her wish to see her daughter. The letter I’d hidden after intercepting it among countless pieces of mail.

"How did you…"

"Does it matter?" she cut me off, her eyes flashing with triumph and fury. "The question is what I’m going to do with it, Noah."

The rain drumming against the windshield was a distant echo in the storm inside my head. Scarlet’s hand trembled slightly as she gripped the letter—a weapon poised to strike.

"Someone’s going to be so upset to learn she’s been lied to about her dear mommy not looking for her. You, the master manipulator, kept it from her all this time…" Her voice dripped with scorn and glee, each word slicing like a blade.

My chest clenched, guilt tangling with the pain already pounding in my skull.

"I did it to protect her!" My voice cracked with desperation, not strong enough to drown out her laugh—louder now, almost deafening.

"And you think she’ll believe that?" she sneered, her eyes glittering with triumph as she watched me unravel.

Something snapped inside me, and my gaze shot to the dashboard. I turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life as I slammed my foot on the gas.

I wasn’t going anywhere in particular—I just needed to move. Pain blazed through my head, making my vision swim. The sound of cars fell behind as I sped past, ignoring every sign and signal.

My chest burned like fire, and I gripped the steering wheel so hard my fingers ached.

"What are you doing, Noah?" Her voice, now tinged with genuine fear, cut through the storm of my thoughts.

"You don’t know when to stop, do you?" I growled through clenched teeth, my voice low, dangerous.

The car hurtled down the road, the speedometer climbing higher. Scarlet clutched her seatbelt, her eyes wide with terror.

“Noah, stop it!” she screamed, her voice losing its arrogance as she gripped the passenger door handle tighter.

“Why should I? Isn’t this what you wanted? You wanted chaos, didn’t you? You wanted to see me lose control?” I shouted back, my own voice blending with the roar of the engine and the patter of rain. “I TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM ME!”

“Noah, for God’s sake, slow down!” Her plea was filled with genuine panic, but I was already beyond hearing. “Stop now! I want to get out!”

The pain in my head was unbearable, a constant pressure threatening to explode, amplified by her words, by the sound of her laughter still echoing in my mind.

“If you want to get out, you’ll have to open the door and jump into the road.” My hands clenched the steering wheel, my knuckles white as I pressed harder on the accelerator. “I don’t understand why you’re panicking. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? We’re together now, darling!”

The empty road was a blur of darkness, lit only by the headlights.

“Noah, stop! You’re going to kill us!” she screamed, her voice now a near-hysterical shriek.

But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop.

Then came the crash.

The impact was brutal—an earsplitting sound of metal twisting as the car slammed into the pole ahead. Chaos erupted: shattered glass, the dull thud of the airbag deploying, breath caught in my chest. For a moment, there was silence. Only the faint sound of rain, now mixed with the muffled ringing in my ears. I blinked several times to clear the colored spots clouding my vision until the world came back into focus.

I was motionless, strapped to my seat, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. Scarlet lay beside me, her face streaked with blood, unmoving, unconscious.

And for the first time in hours, the silence was worse than the noise.

“Sir?”

Her voice was calm but carried a subtle edge of concern as I sat on the back of the ambulance, my eyes fixed on the frantic movement of people around me. I held a makeshift bandage to my forehead, feeling the relentless throb of pain.

“Can you tell us how the accident happened?”

I lifted my head slowly, meeting the EMT’s steady gaze. Her neatly tied ponytail left her face bare, but her expression was unreadable. My eyes drifted to the other side of the road. Paramedics wrestled with the twisted wreckage, finally freeing the body of the red-haired girl from the driver’s seat. They placed her onto a stretcher with care, but the gesture was cold, clinical.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. I turned back to the EMT, realizing she was still waiting for my response.

“She’d been showing signs of instability for days,” I began, my voice hoarse, each word weighed down with regret. “She assaulted my gir… my ex-girlfriend. She was getting more agitated, confused, and constantly threatening me.”

My throat tightened, forcing me to pause as I glanced away.

“Today, she diverted us from the route to a commitment with my band—she works as our photographer,” I continued, my voice thick with emotion. “We started arguing... I got scared when she lost control and started speeding faster and faster.”

The EMT didn’t move, her hands still resting on her hips, her face unchanged. She waited, her patience unwavering.

“Did she have any reason to crash the car into the pole at that speed?” The question was neutral, asked without judgment, but the sound of it twisted my stomach into knots.

“Because she wanted to kill me.”

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby

[inlovewithmyhyperfixations]

Breakdown. Microfic- words: 599 Breath. Breath. Breath. That’s all James could tell himself as he sat on the floor, the bathroom as cold as he felt. His thoughts were going too fast and his sobs were getting louder, but he couldn’t let anyone hear. He wouldn’t.  He balled up his hand and bit it, just so his sobs wouldn’t be heard. He squeezed his eyes shut, his head starting to throb, but he couldn’t seem to stop crying.  Stop it. You’re supposed to be strong. You have to help everyone else. His brain was loud. So so so loud. That voice in the back of his head, that stupid, sickening little voice. It told him he couldn’t be doing this. It told him he was useless. It told him if he didn’t help his friends, that he didn’t matter. It told him that if he couldn’t help, he might as well not be alive.  Another sob escaped his lips, and he buried his face in his hands, his hands grabbing at his hair, at anything to let himself know he was alive.  “James..?” Shit.  Shit shit shit shit shit. It was Regulus. James wiped his eyes and stood up just as he heard footsteps enter the room. “Hi Reggie.” — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — (Regulus’ pov) James was smiling..his face looked happy, but his eyes..Regulus knew from the moment he looked at James’ eyes that something was wrong.  “Are you..are you ok?” He asked, and there it was; as soon as that question escaped his lips, James’ eyes looked broken.  “Of course I’m fine Reg, why wouldn’t I be?” He replied, his eyes only looking dimmer as he spoke.  He was trying to hide it, and Regulus could tell. He wouldn’t let him do this to himself. James was allowed to not be ok. He was just as much allowed as anybody, and he would make sure he knew that.  He walked towards him and slowly sat him down, looking at him intently. “James..please don’t lie to me..ok?” Regulus spoke gently, and he had never heard his voice be this soft for..anyone, really. But this was James, if anyone needed this, it was him. James opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t. His eyes filled with tears and his breath caught in his throat and it seemed like words wouldn’t work.  Regulus just looked at him, cupping his face in his hands, and as soon as his hands touched his face, the most gut wrenching sob escaped his lips.  The noise, the mere thought of James crying hurt so so much, and Regulus knew he would do anything to help him.  He hugged James tight, stroking his hair while his face was buried in his neck. “It’s ok..you’ll be ok..I promise..” Regulus said in James’ ear. But James just shook his head. “Reggie, I- I don’t want to-” Another sob cut off what he was saying, but Regulus understood, and he just held James closer. James was hurting, and Regulus would make sure he would let in as much light for him as he did for Regulus. “I can’t..it’s too mu-much..” He said, his voice muffled. Regulus wished he could take it all away, all his pain, all his stress. James didn’t deserve to feel like this, no one did. “It’s ok James..I’m here for you, ok?”  James just nodded, and Reglus continued to hold him; he would stay with James, no matter how long it took for his pain to go away, Regulus would help him no matter what. 

(hahaha totally didn't self-project while writing James' pov ahahaha what I would never-)

(I don't rlly like this one :/)

[osakanone]

I've been getting into gunpla and i'd like a rec since you know mecha. Are there any gunpla you recommend? I'd appreciate one that doesn't look like a dude as much as possible.

The closest i've gotten to that idea so far is a guarda/rever nova build from the 30 minute missions line because of the two scorpian arms.

May I suggest the Wodom Pod?

Its fairly simple to build, very cheap and readily available.

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If you want to straddle the "a guy thing" in your mentality and challenge it a little, also good is the Aegis specifically its transformation mode as its primary mode (like all humanoid MS) is intended for generalized combat and front-line logistical work (hence the hands).

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If not, Hildolfr is a fun one. He bridges the space between early mobilesuits in minovsky signals displacement warfare and was used by a starship cannon pilot, requiring a lot of manual skill to aim well!

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The Xamel is also really good though only provided you've got skills to bring the best out of the kit with scribing and painting. He's a heavy launch platform hovercraft designed for opening vollies with a high powered mortar grenade system via coordinates coming from other units, with legs designed for hit and run skirmishes so he can make his get-away after providing the opening strikes and fire-support during the mop-up phase of an attack.

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Not gunpla, and a bit more advanced is Variable Infinity's Armored Core Aaliyah. You're probably gonna need some glue for this as smaller parts fall off. Its extremely detailed, and very "not a guy" despite being humanoid.

It uses a spherical particle field of highly radioactive and toxicparticles to protect and cool itself, and is capable of absurd mobility.

Quite a pain in the ass to work with, the design itself is utterly sublime and a spectacle to look at and I fell in love with it circa 2007 with Armored Core 4. Sadly, it isn't anywhere near as posable as most Gunpla due to how "un-guy-like" its body design is. These are the concessions we make cool appearances like this.

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A substantially easier build (and much closer to Gunpla) is bandai's 30 minute mission 30MM Armored CORE Ⅵ Fires of Rubicon - BALAM Industries BD-011 MELANDER Liger Tail

I'm a huge sucker for 4-legged mecha since they're about as far from "an guy" as you can get. They're also super affordable right now if you can find a stockist who isn't a scalper.

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Also while not Gunpla, if you have advanced skills, Gunhed is also very good though it requires a lot of extra work since the plastic provided with this kit is more of a raw material you need to do work to, to achieve the look and hide the seams akin to more traditional model kits. Gunhed's role is to invade gigantic sprawling synthetic superstructures and wipe out unmanned weapons.

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Though likely not to your tastes, my own personal favourite of the year has actually been the Lfrith Ur. I don't usually go for chunkier designs but it has that delightful "chubby girl in a swimsuit" energy despite being a very intense and scary weapon that scratches some strange itch in my brain that I find deeply pleasing.

It is likewise, also very cheap -- and if you get two of them, its very easy to mod them together into a single 4-legged machine with double loadout (very cool, and probably bringing it more in like with your preference -- I wish I still had photos: I'm currently out of the country and my "big database of cool research files" is at home and wouldn't search well from two continents away)

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Also Zowort heavy from the same line if you do the same quad-leg/tetrapod adaption looks amazing. I have a huge soft-spot for unusual legs, if its not clear.

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I hope this provides some food for thought. If you have a clearer idea of the kind of kit you want, or what your needs are, let me know and I can provide more suggestions if you'd like.

Happy modelling!!

[bibi-e]

Anything Grayson. like a quick one shot 💌

a/n: thank you anon for this request my brain was filled with Grayson thoughts and I admit that was hard to write just one of them lol. Thank you and I hope you like it!!

summary: wife! reader makes a special night for Grayson but urgent matters come and she gets late. R! is also pent up, and horny on main and only Grayson can fulfill that

warnings: established relationship, wife!r, scent kink (using Grayson's smell to get off), use of toys -dildo, reader is horny on main for this woman and so am I.

Grayson was late again.

You weren’t worried or chewing your fingers to the bone. She had called you to explain that an urgent demand coming from the Council had come by the end of her shift, and since Grayson would never leave work to do at home, she decided to stay some extra hours, promising that as soon as she finished she would be in your arms.

However, you were left frustrated. Earlier that day you decided to spoil your wife once she was back from sheriff duties, noticing how stressed she looked these past days and how little time you two had spent together. You understood it without doubts and were sportful towards her, your love never failing in those unconventional moments. However, most of all, you were getting pent up from this.

You couldn't blame yourself, for having Grayson as a partner and act normal when she’s waking up by your side with messy hair, sleepy eyes and her voice going on a lower tone when she wishes good morning. Seeing her stepping out of the bathroom with only a towel around her body or even fully naked due to your intimacy and trying not to eat her with your eyes as she puts on that royal blue uniform gives her physic a boost. Her rough and yet gentle manners of handling you in the bedroom, made you scream in pleasure and cry wanting more of her. You tried to get off many times but none was able to satisfy as she does, using the same motions on your toys, riding the same way you did with her, fucking yourself countless times to reach your high and try to ease this burning desire during her absence. Yet, none fulfilled it, it was her presence and authority that pursued the space inside of you and extinguished that uncontrolled lust.

Furrowing at the layed table with crystal glasses and perfectly folded napkins, the smell of the dinner you had made still lingered in the air waiting for her to come home so you two could have a romantic night remembering the time you had done it weekly. You sat on the chair and waited, left with no options other than that. But the frustration did nothing to calm the fire consuming you.

Pacing to your bedroom with a jacket of hers, you entered and crashed into her side of the bed hugging her pillow and pressing your face into it inhaling her scent, crisp green apple and warm amber notes intoxicating your body as you start to grind your hips down the soft mattress searching for a form of relief as your heart ached without her with you.

Memories from that same smell on her neck when you buried your face on it whilst her blanketing your form with her larger frame, you were a mess trying to plant with wet kisses and suck on her neck with her avenging your doings by diving her strap on you. Grayson had pride in her physique, she might not have the same muscles and strength as she was younger but her stamina qualified to leave you drained and without walking properly for some time – when both of you were feeling inspired –. You reached for the drawer close to your side and grabbed the grey dildo there taking off your clothes along with your panties and began to smear your wetness around the tip of the toy, it didn’t take much for you to press it against your hole and bottoming it inside of you. Coming to grab the pillow against your face again, you sniffed the soft cover as you worked yourself around the toy, her aroma intoxicated your senses again and you worked the toy faster on you growing sopping wet with each precise trust against that good spot, thinking it was her doing it, with her experienced hand and her voice guiding you towards your climax. But that didn’t happen.

Once again you came, gripping the jacket and pressing on your nose but it did little to satisfy you like it was just a matter of seconds to have your core aching again for more. You slowed your hand moves, trying to ride out your orgasm and building up another until a click was heard that startled you, eyes flew open to search the origin of the nose across the room.

Grayson was standing by your now-closed bedroom door (that you probably forgot to close) with her jacket in one hand and unbuttoning her white button shirt with another, pairing with lustful eyes darting to you. “Good evening my darling. I can see you had anticipated your plans for tonight.” She reached out the dildo, cupping your hand that rested there, and proceeded with your motions watching how it disappeared inside of you and the squelching noise our cunt was making by her arrival. “I’m sorry I made you wait, not only for tonight but previously too. However, I believe that my formal apologies will have to wait until I’m done with you here.” her gravelly voice rocked your ears, her true scent overfilled your nostrils and made your brain dizzy, and lust burned stronger on your body from finally having her with you. Feeling her hand around yours and dragging the toy against your walls and hitting that spot over and over, quickly building a breathtaking orgasm that had your legs shaking and eyes rolling back.

The night was long, Grayson had to make up for you and drain your energies for the week.