#that's how it reads to me. he finally gives himself the satisfaction. and maybe that's supposed to be the catalyst for the hoffmanator in 3d

[visceravalentines]

hey you're the only person who's ever been right about anything actually and I just needed these tags on my blog. tysm

i like saw 3D if i’m in the right headspace to disassociate it from the prior 6 movies but aside from lawrence’s rightfully bemoaned character assassination hoffman’s personality shift is also more than a little upsetting

[seduzist]

marriage lesson

alicent hightower x rhaenyra’s daughter! reader

cw. totally based on this drabble, but can be read individually. pseudo-incest smut but mentions of real incest (uncle-niece by arranged marriage), age gap (alicent is old enough to be reader’s mother), can be interpreted as being taken advantage of but it’s consensual so i will add dubcon just to be safe.

as not only a princess, but a targaryen, you knew you had your duties with the throne, doesn’t matter how much you tried to run and hide from it, it was useless, and the time finally came, viserys, the king himself, decided that a marriage between you, the loved daughter of rhaenyra targaryen, and aemond, his middle child, would seal the peace between his children and wife when he’s gone. you had no choice but do it, aemond wasn’t that bad, he always treated you with respect, respect he didn’t have for your bastard brothers and you resented him for it, but decided to ignore since you would have to marry him. you didn’t think many things would change between you after your marriage except for the fact that you would have to have his heir, to lay with him. and that’s exactly what made you nervous.

the anxiety running through your veins on the night before the marriage made you unable to sleep, so you thought that walk around the garden would help to calm your nerves, maybe even fully accept your undeniable future. you ordered your sworn sword to ignore your midnight walk, with the promise that you wouldn’t leave the castle. your steps silently echoed through the dark halls of the red fortress, trying to find anything that could take your mind off the day followed, until you saw the queen at the garden, sitting on a bench next to the middle tree.

“princess.” her soft voice reached your ears before you could think about going back to your bedroom, scared that she might be mad about your late night walks, but she seemed nothing more than pleased at the sight of you, she looked beautiful with her long hair down in curls falling over her back with her white nightgown exposing her arms and shoulders.

“your grace… i couldn’t sleep.” you said, taking a step closer to her, explaining yourself without any hesitation.

“it’s fine, it’s normal to be nervous before your marriage.” she scoffed, suggesting you to sit by her side with a hand gesture. you obeyed, feeling much more comfortable to be on her side, maybe comfortable enough to voice some of your thoughts.

“it’s not the marriage that bothers me… it’s the consumption of it.” you refused to look at her face, preferring to face the garden instead, but you were sure that she was smiling.

“what are you scared of?”

“my mother said it hurts the first time.” the queen let out a little chuckle at your response and you felt like an idiot for a second, before she speaks again, in a much lower tone, something different in her voice.

“indeed, it’s much easier for the man gain the pleasure in the first time than for the woman, perhaps… there’s something you can do that may ease the pain, and give you just as much satisfaction.” that’s when you face her, curiosity in your eyes while doing so.

“what that would be, my queen?”

she seemed very pleased by your question “we should not talk about such things here.” that’s what you remembered before end up in her chambers, almost begging her to teach you how to not feel pain during the act, her answer would be the relief of all the agony you felt the last days, you said, and the merciful queen couldn’t help but give in to your pleads.

“lay down on the bed, i’m gonna show you.” you obeyed immediately, waiting for her next instruction, but that didn’t come, instead, she sits by your side, looking at you for a minute or two, almost like she was in a intern battle, about to do something she could regret later, but soon enough her hand rest upon your leg, going up and hiking up your silk nightgown till your thighs, your entire body shivered at her touch, and she seemed just as much as affected as you. when her hand reached under your core, she stopped, breathing heavily, almost telling herself that was her last chance to stop, she didn’t.

“he’s gonna be on top of you, like this.” she opened your legs slowly and gently, positioning herself between them, but not laying down on top of you, unable to do such a thing, one of her hand held her body up and the other hand was touching you, watching carefully your expressions, mixed in shyness and nervousness, but she could tell you were aroused as her fingers pulled your underwear to the side, finally contacting your warm core. “oh gods…” she paused, whispering those words to herself, still unbelieving she was really doing it, but the whine you let out at the contact made her smile. “when he enters you… that’s when it hurts.” her voice was just above a whisper, if you were just a few more inches away, you couldn’t hear her, the whole atmosphere felt like a secret. “but then, if you touch yourself right here…” her middle finger made contact with your clit and your body had a entire reaction, you put your hand on her shoulder, by reflection, your mouth opened in a loud, surprised sigh, the queen’s smiled grew as she saw your reaction, she could feel her own excitement start to create a discomfort between her legs, but she ignored it.

her fingers started to rub your, once untouched, pussy, playing with your clit, rolling under her fingers in circle motions, you lets out moans under her, as a thin layer of sweat started to form on your skin, your reactions seemed to please the queen.

“see? how good it is? you can ease the pain, you can pleasure yourself.” her words were sincere but you wasn’t the one pleasuring yourself, no, it was her, your queen, right on top of you, her experienced fingers playing with your most sensitive part in the best way on the night before your marriage with her son. you could be naive, but not dumb, in someway, this was wrong, a sin, could be the reason why you were even more eager for it.

“feels really good, your grace.” the title slipped of your lips as a reminder of her place, of your place, but she couldn’t help herself at this point, she was dripping wet and your needy voice whispering those words felt intoxicating, a encouragement for her to continue, she approached her face of yours, and your immediate reaction was leaning in to kiss her, but you couldn’t reach, so you tried again, free from any shame, looking like a adorable desperate mess for her eyes, that’s when she gives in, not just kissing you, but claiming your lips, you were inexperienced, but learned quickly her pace as her tongue entered your mouth, exploring eagerly, you tasted like candy for her, the sweetest of the candies with a pinch of forbidden.

“gods, you’re gonna be the ruin of me.” she finally lets herself fall on top of you, whispering those words before kissing you again, your skins in much more contact, warm and sweaty, eager and hot, she was all over you, her fingers worked so well, her presence intoxicating all your senses, all you could feel was her, the pleasure she was giving you, the pleasure she felt just by touching you, you called the gods name, lost in your pleasure, but that was in vain, not even the gods could help you now, she would be the ruin of you.

[vivvangel]

fantasize | sim jake (extended ver.)

synopsis: nerd jake who's known to be quite self reserved, but he cannot seem to get you and your skirt out of his mind. › pairings & contents: nerd!jake x classmate reader, dom!jake x sub!afab!reader. smut with plot ✧ warnings: kissing and teasing!! - perverted thoughts, jealousy, fist-fucking (jake), blowjob, doggy position, guided mastrubation, jake has a thing for skirts, heavy degradation.

can be read by itself, however, reading the headcannons is advised !

wc: 1.5k

ever since he jerked off to the imagination of fucking you in that pretty skirt — jake thinks he's lost his mind. jerking off so often, getting horny so often, that wasn't his thing before, but you absolutely ruined his brain wearing that skirt.

"ah, fuck" he hisses, rubbing his tip. every time he closes his eyes and strokes his cock just a little faster, jake can't help but fantasize about the ways you probably would swallow all of his cum, maybe even whimper his name,, how your pussy would be throbbing, dripping wet for him only. he didn't even know he could crave someone so much, so desperately, so fucking desperately.

with his swift hip movements, jake continues to thrust his cock into his tight fist, in desperate hopes of recreating the sweet tightness of your perfect cunt. he was mentally cursing at myself for fucking his fist so many times at just the mere sight of you, but nonetheless, he tightens his grasp around his cock to mimic the tightness of your, what he imagined to be your perfect pussy, his head falls against the bed's headboard of his bed, as literal shocks of warm satisfaction blurred his peripheral vision — "f-fuck", jake grunts, letting his eyes roll back.

this can't be this way. he has to have you, one way or another. he scoffs, thinking to himself that this is completely ridiculous. why would someone like you even look at someone like ... him? he brushes his thoughts off, and goes to his desk to finish some assignments off.

the day after went as bad as it could. he was sitting in his usual place, a row or two behind you, and what does he see? he glares at the guy next to you, with his arm around your shoulder. he wants to approach the guy in question, and do something he would regret. he groans to himself, and as the lecture continues, he grows more and more restless, and if it was even possible, even more jealous. once the lecture finally ends, he's the first to get out of the room, and to his other class. that night, jake didn't get off to you, resulting in him being extremely, ungodly, horny the next day.

he can't bring himself to approach you, knowing you might have a boyfriend, but he gets over his nervousness and goes up to you — and holy shit, you're wearing a short skirt again. "hey, uh y/n -- do you have-" he pauses, his eyes travelling down to your legs and thighs, but he looks back at you. "uh, yesterday's notes?", you tilt your head, as a smirk spreads on your lips, but you play dumb to his sudden question, you nod. "you could've just texted me, jake", you softly say, taking out your notebook out of your bag. he has no idea how he's keeping his cool, but you know his name? oh fucking hell. "u-uh, i could've but, i don't have your number" he awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, making you chuckle. "give me your phone, i'll put it in if you need me next time" you smile, giving him your notebook. jake almost hurriedly takes his phone out, motioning it to you and letting out a dry chuckle, "t-thanks" god, he felt fucking stupid. how did you have him stumbling over his words? little did he know, you thought he was so fucking cute.

you grab his phone from him, putting your number in, saving the contact as "y/n baby💋" and when jake reads that, his eyes widen. "y/n baby?" he hesitantly asks, "yes?" you respond, the smirk never left your face, and his jaw drops. "no, i meant --" he's unsure of what to say, he's literally flabbergasted. you let out a chuckle, "i'm messing with you, i get it" — "don't you have a boyfriend, though?" he abruptly asks, his tone almost coming off as protective. "me? what?, no" you tell him, completely confused as to how he came to that conclusion. "the guy, yesterday, arm around your shoulder and all-"

"you were watching me yesterday, too?"

"that's not what i asked"

"so, you were watching me yesterday, too"

"for god's sake, y/n — wait, what do you mean 'too'"

you stand up, crossing your arms. "do you think i don't see you staring at me, jakey?" you smirk, and he's trying to form a coherent sentence. "i'm not-- 'm not staring, just.." he trails off, unsure how to end that sentence. you break the silence, "jake, i have another class in a bit, i'll see you later today? i'll text you! bye?" you wave, rushing out of the room to get to your class. all while jake stood there, dumbfounded.

jake has no idea how he was in deep inside you and you on the other hand, had no idea how someone that cute could be this hot. you felt almost stupid for thinking he'd be the submissive type. boy, were you so so wrong. you didn't know that that a mere skirt, and some teasing was all it took jake to smash his lips onto yours, and pulling you onto his lap — in his dorm, may i add. you were flustered, how could someone who looked so innocent be so . . . sexy?

and what exactly followed afterwards?

his hands explored your body under your crop-top, and you couldn't help but let out a moan into his mouth, in the heat of the moment, riling him up further. he pulls out of the kiss, slapping your thigh, making you whimper. "what a fucking slut, do you just let anyone touch you, huh?" you shake your head, signalling a no — you expected him to be nicer with your response, but you earn another slap on your exposed thigh. (you think to yourself, "maybe wearing a skirt is useful after al"l)

"wear skirts these days intentionally, don't you? you like the attention you get? what a desperate slut" he scoffs, resulting in you biting your lip. how was he degrading you so bad, but you liked it? "j-jakey.. please do something, anything" you breathe out, and he lets out a dry, almost dark, chuckle. "anything? mhm, you'll take anything i give you like the good girl you are, right baby?" you nod your head, feeling your panties drenching by the second. "hmm, 'm not gonna let you off so easily, earn it, slut" — your eyes widen,, "are you okay with this, pretty?" he asks, his tone coming off more kind and soft, it's almost like a whisper. "treat me like the slut i am, jakey" — "is that so?"

you don't understand why, but his voice makes your core keep tingling. you choke over your own words, making jake smirk. "on your knees, pretty girl" he demands, and you reciprocate immediately, getting on your knees on the floor, as jake slouches on the couch, you can see his raging boner under his sweatpants — and holy shit. your hands hurried pull down his pants, quietly gasping at his length, making him smirk. "too big for your pretty little mouth, mhm? too bad, baby". you wrap your hand around his cock, jake's own hand enveloping yours, "fuck slut, cmon, it's all yours" he uses your hand to stroke himself up and down, jerking himself off while you look up at him with glazed eyes. "f-fuck baby, your hand feels so good, mind letting me how your pretty mouth feels?"

you would never ever deny, wrapping your lips around his cock, your tongue eagerly licking and teasing his cock, making him grunt. "d-don't tease, baby". jake suddenly felt your lips sliding up and down the head of his length, feeling his cock hit the back of your neck. jake groans when you take him deeper, and deeper into your mouth. he brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his hands then going to the back of your head, holding you as he starts thrusting his hips unintentionally. you almost gag, but you control it. as jake pushes his dick down your throat for one last time, he lets go. his cum filling your mouth, and dripping down your chin, "fucking hell, baby. you look so pretty my baby" he says, picking you up. you'd think as a nerd, jake wouldn't have time to work out, but you were so wrong. he was rather . . . strong, to your surprise.

taking you to his bedroom, he wastes no time. "i'm asking just to be sure, though you're clearly more than ready, but-- can i do this, baby? fill your cunt to the brim, baby?" he asks softly, putting you down on his bed. "please, jakey, please..." is all you could say, and that's all it took him to undress you, not taking your skirt off, you tug at your skirt, but he puts your hand away. "what?"

"want the skirt on" he simply answers,

"you have a thing for skirts?"

"just on you, i guess" he awkwardly chuckles.

"should wear them more often"

"that-- that, you should"

he kisses you, "day dreamt about this, baby, got off to the thought of you so many times" he whispers in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "on your stomach for me, please, pretty?"

what can he say? he can't get over the thought of fucking you in a skirt

and, let's just say, assignment completed !

viv's note 💌: thank you for waiting so patiently for this, lovies. hope yall like it. and before u complain about the ending!!! i wanna give you guys a separate smut drabble of that instead of having it here! hope you all aren't disappointed:/ love u guys sm<3

taglist: @strayy-kidz @raelyaa @myspamera @spabrin @ikaw-at-ikaw @kenzory @yaatrickyaaa @nakedsim @heelvsted @isa-2007 @keepingupwithjaeyun @jellyporo @woooooya @sussyjake @jaeyunology @maryismad @maoyueze tagged some of my moots too ♡

[familyfriendlydilfartist]

Bedtime (Short)

Synopsis; you can’t fall asleep so you seek comfort.

Warnings; None

One thing everyone in camp knew was Astarion enjoyed reading. They would always catch him with his nose in a book, crimson eyes taking in every word moving slowly from the top to the bottom of the page. Astarion often held onto the books he found when looting crates and shelves during your adventures.

It was midnight and everyone was getting ready to settle down for the night. Shadowheart sat In her tent unbraiding her hair and then running a brush through her raven strands before finally heading to bed. Lae’zel sharpened the last of her weapons, a ritual she refuses to neglect. Gale lay in his tent attempting to fall asleep as he used magic to mimic rainfall white noise. Everyone else slept soundly in their tent, or so you assumed.

Well, everyone except yourself. Tonight you lacked the capacity of falling into a deep slumber.

You were kind of like Scratch. At times Scratch couldn’t sleep, too hyper to even lie down. Halsin calls this zoomies so maybe you had zoomies as well.

You lie in your own tent staring at the roof. Gods how you wish dawn would arrive sooner. You huffed sitting up, you couldn’t lie in this uncomfortable tent for much longer, it was driving you crazy. You carefully peer out from the flaps of your tent. You observed the outside. Everyone was asleep, except for one. Astarion. A warm light illuminated his red tent, outlining his shadow. He lay in his tent, with what you could tell was a heavy book.

Astarion and you shared...well could you even call it a relationship? You slept together once or twice and Astarion enjoyed flirting with you but it didn’t seem like he wanted anything more. Whenever you slept together it seemed like he wasn’t entirely there. The only time he truly took satisfaction in the act is if he was allowed a bite from your neck. You it saddened you, to say the least. You really liked Astarion, not just for his stunning look but for his charming character as a whole. However, if all he wanted was to have a fling then so be it. That wouldn’t stop you from being his good friend though.

You slowly crawled from your tent and then tiptoed over to Astarion’s tent. You weren’t hoping to surprise Astarion; his heightened senses wouldn’t allow you the luxury. Your quietness was in favor of Shadowheart and Lae’zel, two people who would stir awake at the slightest snore. Astarion had his eyes on you already, waiting for you to call out to him first.

“Astarion,” you whisper, “It’s me.”

“I could tell.” He states matter of factly, turing the page of his novel. “Whatever is the matter?”

You lower yourself to the tent opening, pushing a flap aside. “I can’t sleep, could I hang out with you?” Astarion stares at you with an unimpressed look. “Please?” you pester.

“I guess so, besides who am I to deny you the pleasure.” Astarion sighs like a bothered mother giving in to her child’s request. You grin and immediately crawl inside. You sit beside him with a silly smile on your lips. There's a silence for a moment, you trying to gain the courage to ask him questions while he read to himself.

“Whatever you want to ask go ahead, the more eager you grow to ask, the more it’ll bother me.” Astarion lowers his novel. The slightly bothered expression he wears provokes an uneasiness in the pit of your stomach. You shyly mess with your nails. “Oh, well, I was just wondering what you were reading.”

“A novel about a boy venturing into vampire territory and what he has learned about my species. His assumptions are quite laughable.” Astarion’s pale pink lips quirk into a brief smile and a small laugh falls from them. “Here he states,” Astarion changes his voice into a mocking one, “One of the known weaknesses to a Vampire is garlic. Garlic will frighten a vampire, so always wear some on your neck to scare them away.”

You giggle too, “I’ve heard that one before. To be honest, I assumed you’d be scared of garlic as well because all the other tales of vampire’s weaknesses were debunked as true by you.”

Astarion shakes his head, “No, darling. It is simply the scent. Truly odorous. And if garlic were truly a weakness of vampires then Gale’s breath after dinner would be my demise.”

You both share a laugh then the silence returns.

“...Could you read to me?” you ask out of the blue. After the moment shared between the two of you before, you had hoped the question wouldn’t be answered too harshly. “-I mean, I like stories too but my mind often drifts from the pages. I prefer being read to than reading it myself and you have the perfect voice.”

Astarion contemplates for a second, observing you as he does. He taps his bed, “Fine.” You do as instructed, tugging the blanket until you’re all warm and cozy. Once you’re settled in Astarion starts on the page he stopped on. His voice is soft and relaxing. As the night goes on you finally fall into a deep slumber.

[blackleatherjacketz]

First

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Summary: After finding out that Santi has been texting you behind his back, Frankie wants to make sure he gets to have you before his best friend does.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Explicit Smut, Kissing, Biting, Marking, Hair-Pulling, Nipple Play, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex, Cream Pie, Choking, Slight Breeding Kink, Jealousy, Stalking, Reunions, Secret Trysts, Hints of Infidelity, Competition, Territorial Frankie, A Missed Phone Call From Santi

Word Count: 1.7k+

Prequel to FAVORITE

Tags: @bullet-prooflove @likedovesinthewnd @letsby @skittle479

Read more of my work HERE!

“So, Pope’s trying to keep you all to himself again, huh?” You can hear the bitter tinge of jealousy in Frankie’s voice as he kisses his way down your throat and clavicle, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin on your neck as he nuzzles his question into it. Instead of waiting for an answer, he continues kissing a sloppy trail of desire down your chest before recklessly pulling your shirt off over your head.

“Maybe,” you tease, almost forgetting how carelessly hungry his affection for you always is. Your eyes slowly adjust to the image of him on top of you in the pale moonlight as he grins up at you in sheer satisfaction, his eager mouth sending a pattern of gooseflesh up and down your torso as your toes curl preemptively. “Is that all it takes to get your attention, Frankie? A healthy sense of competition?”

“Maybe,” he mocks you with a raised eyebrow, tossing your shirt behind him and pulling your bra down to expose your breasts. “Is there a reason I had to find out you were single again by spying on his fucking texts?”

“Hey, he texted me first.” You hiss as he licks his way down to your nipple, encircling it with his tongue before finally biting down hard, those beautiful brown eyes of his shooting back up to capture your reaction. Your back arches instinctively, pushing yourself into his mouth as he hums a triumphant little laugh against your skin, exciting every nerve in your body.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be interested,” you confess in a breathy whisper.

“Oh, I’m always interested,” he winks. “You should know that by now.” He takes your other nipple between his fingers, twisting it as he bites down one more time to deliver that quick jolt of pain he knows will drive you crazy.

His brash and blatant nature always sparked something primal in you that no one else was able to draw out so quickly, igniting a need deep within you that only he could satisfy; and he knew it. Only he could make all those years seem to disappear like it was only yesterday that you collided together amidst the sweltering heat of the war-torn desert. Only he could show up on your doorstep unannounced and expect you to hold the door open as he waltzed back into your life. Only he could make you feel this way.

“Okay,” you smile as your hands graze over his neck and shoulders until your fingers find their way between his messy curls, tugging on them as you moan in delight. You let your body rock into him at a slow, rhythmic pace as an all too familiar knot forms in your stomach, tensing your muscles as your arousal begins to collect between your legs. You hear him moan back in response as he torments that thin, delicate layer of your skin, each surge of pain followed by a languid lick of his tongue as your groans grow louder than his.

BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ

Your phone vibrates on your bedside table, an old picture of Santi popping up on the screen as his call goes unanswered.

Frankie stops his suckling and drags his teeth across your nipple, pulling it taut with an audible pop before it bounces back into place, giving you a knowing look. He hovers over you for a moment before deciding to pull back and stare at your phone, his Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he looks at the picture of his partner, of his best friend, of your ex.

“Is he still coming over here tomorrow?” He pushes his hands and knees into the mattress to stand up at the foot of the bed.

“Who?” You attempt to play stupid, unsure of just how much of your conversation with Santi he actually read.

“Pope,” he starts to unbuckle his belt, eyes fixated on you as he casually nods toward your phone. “And don’t act so fucking innocent, we both know he wants to see you again.”

“Then what are you doing here?” You challenge as the buzzing of your phone finally stops and your screen falls dark.

Instead of giving you a direct answer, he tilts his head to look at you, his salacious glare more than enough to tie that knot right back into your stomach. He continues unfastening his jeans in silence, pushing them down past his thighs and calves along with his boxers before stepping out of them completely.

“I wanted to make sure I got you first.” The honest desperation in his voice drops it an octave, making you want him even more as he gratuitously strokes himself before climbing back into bed with you, kissing his way up your belly.

“Really?”

“I want him to smell me on you the second he walks through that door.” He crawls up your body with his confession, his words making your complicated past with both of them seem trivial as he unfastens the button on your jeans. He makes quick work of pulling your pants down, nearly ripping them off your ankles as he adds them to the crumpled pile of laundry on the floor behind him.

“Yeah?” You encourage, spreading your legs just to feel his bare body against yours for the first time in years as he kisses your arms and shoulders, nipping at your clavicle before finally sucking a tantalizing bruise into your neck.

“Yeah,” he presses a kiss into the wet, reddened flesh where he’d just marked you, knowing good and well that Santi will see it on you tomorrow as he moves his lips up to your face.

Wasting no time in kissing your lips, he grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes as he brushes the tip of his dick against your soaking wet folds. He tastes just like he did the very first time in that dive bar so many years ago, whiskey and Coke coating his tongue as it hurriedly brushes against yours. You relish that unique flavor of his saliva mixing in with the alcohol as his facial hair scratches at your chin, his kiss only deepenening with a melodic hum against your lips.

“I want him to taste my come when he goes down on you tomorrow night.” He whispers as he glides the head of his cock over your clit a few times just to watch your face change, a gleeful grin wrinkling the skin around his eyes.

“Frankie!” You gasp, his brash statement shocking you just as much as the tiny sparks of bliss he’s building with the movement of his hips. You’d forgotten how big he was, the sight of him alone not doing him enough justice as he teases your entrance over and over again with the promise of penetration before finally pushing inside your slick, velvety walls.

“Fuck, you feel good.” He whispers as if it’s a sin to say out loud, his stifled breath wisping away the stray hairs on your forehead as he carefully stretches you out.

“Oh, my god.” You whine into his mouth as he kisses you again, those little sparks of pleasure now catching fire with each pulsating thrust he delivers, bottoming out against your thighs each and every time he fans the flames of your euphoria.

“I forgot how fucking tight you are,” he nearly stutters, grabbing hold of both your thighs and pushing them up toward your head for a more delicious angle as the sweat drips down his face.

“I forgot how fucking big you are,” you praise in return, feeling that fire stoke inside you as he picks up the pace, that aching pleasure burning it’s way through you as he grinds against your muscles.

“Yeah?” He leans down and wraps his hand around your throat, pulling you slightly toward him as he gently massages your carotid with his thumb. “You gonna be a good girl and come for me, then?”

Jesus Fucking Christ. After all these years, he still knows exactly what to say to practically push you over the edge.

“Uh-huh,” you nod, swallowing against his palm as you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, every nerve in your body beginning to tingle from his valiant efforts.

“Good,” he smirks. “Then do it.”

It’s almost too much for you to handle, his girth stretching you out far beyond the size of your last lover as his head continually glides across that internal bundle of nerves he always knows how to find. It sends surge after surge of warm, delectable rapture up into your core, forcing your eyes to roll back into your head as you allow that feeling to take over entirely. Your greedy sex has no other choice but to envelop him completely, legs wrapped around his back to hold him near as he continues chasing his own pleasure in the depths of your desire.

Your grip on his shoulders loosens only to fall down to the center of his chest, the tips of your fingernails marking him in your own way as those flames finally combust in an all encompassing inferno. You can’t help but scream his name as that incendiary flash blazes up through your spine, short circuiting every synapse in your body until it singes every inch of your skin in a deafening torrent of ecstasy. The sensation nearly puts you out, incinerating your very lips, fingers and toes to the point of leaving you unrecognizable as you turn and wither beneath his hips.

A feral growl brews in his chest as he somehow quickens his pace, straining your burnt-out muscles by feeding his own cum deeper into your well spent heat. He grunts and groans as he fills you to capacity, the sweat from his brow evaporating onto your skin mere seconds after dripping down onto you. Thrust after thrust keeps that fire stoked until his fluid starts spilling out of you and down your inner thigh.

“You’re gonna feel me dripping out of you all day tomorrow.” He whispers into your ear before releasing his grip on your throat, feathering his fingertips over your neck and chest before letting go completely. “It’ll be like we’re both inside you at the same time.”

BZZZ BZZZ BZZZ

Santi’s picture pops up on your screen again as Frankie sighs in exhaustion, falling onto his side before laying down next to you.

“You should answer it.”

[jujutsukgojo]

The Fourth Leg chapter 2

Summary: How it began.

tw: yandere, stalking, kidnapping, death, adult scenes/implied, violence, flashback scenes (a lot but that just happens), angst

an: this took me so long to edit omg.

Chapter one

------

       THEN

 Chrollo stands with his friends, his comrades in this endeavor for a safer Meteor City. The first one to arrive at the meeting is Uvogin, of course, then Phinks. Phinks combs his hair and yawns. “What’d ya plan this time, boss?”

  He’s decided to create a plan to steal a map. It’s going to be dangerous. However, he knows they can handle it. They are thieves and take what they please, especially if he commands it. Besides, they owe him. He hasn’t forgotten their stupid plan all those years ago and how innocent blood is splattered on everyone’s hands. Well, except for Phinks, he assumes.

  Even if all of these people argue with him about it, nothing can take away his satisfaction. Yesterday, he had the time of his life. Finally, after years of adoring and pining, he’s claimed you. Not as a friend whose heart already knew who it belonged to, but as a man and your boss. He’ll never forget it. He read so much on how to please and did it just for you. 

  It meant everything to get you to join and for you to submit to him. He, Chrollo Lucilfer, tamed you. Without violence or black mail. Just pure delight and passion. He’s taken your virginity that you so willingly gave to him in the house of mirrors, and greedily took all he could afford. Seeing your tears from your orgasms, how you tried to cling onto everything you could as he ravaged you, how amazing you felt, is something he’ll never forget. Such sweet cries and moans left you so tired. 

And God, how you taste is more addicting than any wine. More satisfying than any substance imagined. You will never deny him of that. Of all of this. He’s mapped you out and is determined to feel you clench around him again. How could he not? You were his the moment he met you. Everyone knew it except for you. He took you under his wing and protected you. Catered to your every whim and was patient beyond belief. 

  Now, he’s proven himself to you as a man. One that can hit the deepest part of you and make you shake and have your eyes roll. As your boss, one that you submit to, and only him. No worries, he’ll always treat you like a treasure that a dragon would cherish. After all this time he has wanted you. He has always been completely besotted with you. There is not a power or ant in the world to make him let you go. 

  You took him wonderfully and made him see heaven. A place he didn’t think he’d step foot in. Maybe you’re the way there. Every look you give, noise you make, your touch, the dreams you have, and your glorious taste, lets him know it's true. 

 He takes a deep breath to calm himself down at the memory of last night. The remaining bits of the Phantom Troupe come into the broken-down building. Some sit on debris, the others stand with their arms crossed. Recently, a new recruit has entered the fray, number eight. It’s a man of average height, thick wavy hair, and pure green eyes. He decided he was done with not fitting in with the world and joined. 

  Chrollo doesn’t know his nen ability. From the looks of things, he might be an emitter. He’ll give him one thing: number eight is smart by not telling him what his nen ability is. 

Chrollo hears the crunching and ruffling of a bag. He looks towards the noise and sees you come in. He can’t help but feel a smidge of pride when he sees your slight limp. No one knows what transpired between the two of you. So, maybe your dignity will be spared. 

   He can see their disappointment at your arrival. He shoots it down quickly. "Enough, she's part of the Spider now." His eyes never leave you. Machi asks how you're useful. You stick out your tongue and refuse to share your chips. Phinks groans at that and crosses his arms.

 “She’s the fourth leg.” He declares, clearing away the disappointment they have, especially when it's revealed that you're an exorcist. You look up at him with such pretty eyes. Do you know how beautiful you are? How cute you look right now, crunching on a bag of chips? Not to mention, you sat down next to him without complaint. You just automatically did it. Finally, you’ve realized you belong to him. His thoughts are interrupted by number eight. 

“Very nice.” Chrollo’s eyes flick over to him. The bastard’s head is cocked to the side and his fingers are on his chin, like he’s appraising you. Pakunoda nudges him and tells him to stop. The damage is already done. Chrollo will not tolerate this. 

  In due time, he’ll make an example of him. Not in front of you, of course. Chrollo would hate to scare you. So, he’ll wait. He has always been patient. 

________________

A few years later, Chrollo has once again come up with a plan. It all started with Sheila telling one of the members about the Kurta. As he is told, they are responsible for Sarasa’s death. Not only that, but they hold scarlet eyes which are one of the wonders of the world. You only heard the last part. You completely skipped over their alleged part of everyone’s dear friend’s demise. 

  Her name still causes soreness. Especially with you. Although you understand and have accepted that she is gone, it still hurts you. It was unexpected for Sarasa to end up the way she did. 

  Now is not the time to think about that. Especially when he welcomed you into his place after planning on making your favorites. Once, he had read that a date could be something simple, like cooking together. That was the plan. Dinner and a movie maybe trade the movie in with him reading to you. You always loved to hear him read.

    The two of you get your stomach full of mediocre food. The plainness of the dish was mainly because of Chrollo, he’d say. He’s studied up on cooking before and watched all of those channels but still cannot hold a candle to you. The two of you settled on a couch he stole a while back. You had sat on it one day and demanded to have it. Of course, he did as you wished. However, he put it in his house as an excuse for you to come over more often. It worked, surprisingly.

After getting cleaned up and a few more kisses, he tells you only a little about his gift. “Our next heist is going to give you something beautiful. Something you will really love. Are you excited?”

   You sleepily nod. He leans back, letting you snuggle to his chest. He wraps his arms around you like a lover would. No, he is your lover as you are his. Lately, the two of you have been doing things together a lot more. Just like a couple would.

  He rubs your back and speaks in a soft voice, “In order for it to succeed, I need your absolute cooperation, understand?” You nod. He can’t help but give you kisses wherever he can. He swears he hears you purr when you hug him back. He’s so happy. 

  The next day, the Spider leaves to find the Kurta. Everyone thinks it is the Scarlet Eyes he’s looking for, and while that is partially true, what he really wants is the Dark Sonata that the clan holds. It’s cursed, so you’ll need to purify it. Your gift will be beautiful and done masterfully. While Feitan’s beloved fancies odd gifts like flesh or appreciates whatever he finds, Chrollo doesn’t think you would like a random toe for a gift.

  To perform the most legendary music for you…the smile you’d have would be picture worthy. Something to belong in only the highest museum. 

   He’d have the Troupe play it since everyone has been told to take up an instrument. He told them that it’d help with their nen. In reality, they’ll play it for you. Your very own orchestra. Besides, they owe him. Forever, and always. He loves them dearly. They are his friends. 

  The elder meets him at the center of their settlement. The Kurta stands around, encircling them. Most are close to their homes, tents with blue fabric with Kurta clan symbols on it or the few buildings around with the same fabric draped on the stone.

They look nervously at the thirteen guests. 

Chrollo gives him a dazzling smile and kind eyes. He speaks to the elder calmly. The Kurta’s eyes widen with horror etched onto their faces. Chrollo knows you can’t hear what is being said since you are a bit farther away. You can’t tell that he is demanding their eyes and next will be something magnificent. The Head leans in and whispers to the elder, “Where is the Dark Sonata?”

“I’ll never say.” The elder shakily, and stubbornly, states. Chrollo hums and decides to perform. He loudly asks, “And why did you commit such a sin against Meteor City?”

  The members of the Troupe subtly look relieved. Had he been anyone else, it wouldn’t have been caught. Alas, he is a connoisseur of observing people. He loves to study them. Plus, he is familiar with his friends.

  “Boss, you really want those eyes, huh?” Nobunaga asks. Chrollo smiles. “Hm, among other things. Let us revel in their glory. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?”

  “Chrollie…what are you talking about?” Your nervous and sweet voice, asks. “This is the job, darling. You have your role, and you’ll get to play. As long as the eyes shine bright.”

  You gasp in horror, your beautiful eyes round. “This is insane! Stop this right now!” Right when he thinks you’ve learned your place you retreat back into that attitude of yours. He takes a deep breath. “Enough! Just do your job.”

   The elder looks at you. Chrollo hates it. He cannot stand the compassion, the care, you have for this nobody. Why are your pretty eyes looking at this worm like that? He’s doing this for you. Getting the eyes for you to see and for the city to benefit from. Digging for the Dark Sonata for you to hear safely.

  The elder is about to speak when Chrollo interrupts. “Uvo.”

 Suddenly, Uvogin strikes one of the Kurta’s legs and reveals a woman’s red eyes from across them. She doesn’t hesitate to go to the fallen woman who cries for her missing legs. Right then, Uvogin gouges the Scarlet Eyes out. Number eight uses his nen to preserve them and places them in a jar. With a flick of his wrist, the rest of the members go on the attack. He turns his head slightly only to see you horrified and disgusted. You run to him, pulling on his arm, demanding him to stop this. Him, the Head, your boss, your lover. 

He jerks his arm out of your pleading hold. “Do as you are told.” 

  “You-thi-this is wrong! They haven’t done anything to us!” You see Machi begin to use her nen. “No!” You call out to her. You tug on him again and again. “Tell them to stop! This is evil, disgusting!”

  Irritation continues to grow heavier by the second.

  “Go and do your fucking job.” He points to a small group that is being guarded by two scared adults. The few children behind them don’t go unnoticed. “Don’t be this way, Chrollie. You're my friend. You can’t be this way.”

Friend.  Friend? After everything he’s done for you. Provided, protected, cared, loved? You let him make love to you and fuck your brains out when needed. You had him lavish you with everything you wished for. Reading to you in the dead of night when you couldn’t sleep. You let him vent with his head on your lap and listen to his ideas, just like he listens to yours. 

He gave himself to you. And he’s your friend? After the sin he committed and can’t forgive himself for, and done it for you?

  Darkness clouds his mind. He pushes you off of him. You land harshly on the dirt ground. He points to the exit of their little village. “Go and catch stragglers. Miss one, and you won’t get a head start.”

  You gasp and run. He remembers being this angry only twice. When you wanted to leave, and when Sarasa died. The only bright thing of that day was that number eight died and Chrollo let it happen. He couldn’t do it himself since the rule he placed for you. Members are not allowed to fight each other.

 The Phantom Troupe watched as number eight begged for help from a Kurta warrior, knowing better than to help him. 

  He admits that he began to get callous. Numb to the pain and had lessened his caring hold of you. He pinned a lot of responsibility on you now. Everyone was surprised at this new behavior. You took it in stride, though. Even as the two of you withdrew from each other, he wouldn’t let you get far. Him doing this was to discipline you. To let you have a taste of what he does for you. For you to once again trust him like you are supposed to. 

   Not long after, the two of you came across Silva Zoldyck. He knew you weren’t equipped to handle someone of this caliber, but he pushed anyway. He thought you trusted him enough to rely on him, to let him be the offense and you the defense. Then, the unthinkable happened. Stupidly, you ran right to Silva and attacked. 

  Chrollo held your dying form in his arms. He cried apologies and prayed every prayer in the good book. Nothing was working. He expected something to snap or crush. He has read that his heart should break and it to be literally felt. He expected a part of him to go with you. Instead, he started to feel whole. And he hates it. He feels the true burden of himself, something he assumes he split with you. There is no heated desire for vengeance or even death. 

  He feels…lost. There is no plan or even an identity, he thinks. Did it die with you? Did the compass of himself leave with you? The name you gave him, did you take it with you. That’s fine with him. His name is yours; he is yours. 

 He kisses you with tears streaming down his face, some landing on his lips and blending with yours. 

I love you, I love you. It was real, my love. No book in the world could ever describe it. Is this what it’s like for a soul to leave a body? To be a hollow shell for anything to fill in it, even the darkest of monsters. Or could this be what I was the whole time? 

Who gives a damn about the monsters even if they share his face? None of that matters now that you’re gone…you’re gone. You died. 

He squeezes you tighter, closer to him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck while your chest is pressed against his. If he was insane, he'd swear he could still feel your heartbeat. 

The members rushed to him and were shocked at your departure. He thought he’d hear their cheers or see smiles. Never would he have thought they would actually be saddened to a degree. Some more so than others. 

  Like a strike of lightning, a giant bright light brings its force. It’s a smaller version of what took you, he sees. It comes down and in a moment of reflex, Franklin yanks him away from your body. There is a rumble underneath their feet. Dust flies up and around the strike that makes a perfect, deep circle. It was aimed directly at the Troupe. Chrollo had looked at it and your body was gone. 

 He couldn’t even bury you. 

It was this event that completely changed Chrollo. Rather than the group staying together, they go their separate ways until he calls them, disappearing completely. Little do they know, he would frequent the places you loved most. That cottage that you and Chrollo would spend calm days, the meadow, Meteor City's library, and the church that the both of you grew up in. They are sacred places that he isn’t worthy of going to. They are practically holy, a place to cleanse a sinner such as himself.

--------

PRESENT

Here you are, sleeping like you didn’t run away from him. Your toes twitch and curl. You stretch your legs and yawn, slowly blinking awake. Chrollo sat in front of you, studying intently. After your betrayal, he’ll never admit to how you look like a cute cat. No, that’d only lead you to believe that you have a hold on him. And that, you will never have again. 

  The more he studies your face, the more he tries not to laugh at the situation. The whole thing is absurd. To think, he only discovered that you were alive is because of that Zoldyck kid. The little menace was teasing them about letting a spider slip. No one could figure out what he meant until Chrollo was abducted. He didn't have a plan and didn't inform the rest of them why they were rampaging that quaint village. He was just focused on the truth and the possibility of your existence. 

   Your eyes flutter open and focus on him. “C-Chrollo?”

It only takes a few seconds for you to understand the situation. His intentions, beliefs, and your place. You were right before. Number four is taken. As well as eight. Now, the other numbers of the members lost are filled as well. Have you figured out that there is no room for you? That this cushy bed is temporary?

  Do you remember the hours before you fainted? He does. That and all of the memories he has of you. 

  You take a few deep breaths. “What’s going to happen to me?” He stands and looks down at you. Your eyes remain on the ground. He hates that. Worst of all, he hates that

------

THEN

   He walks in the church with another basket of flowers. He hears Father Rizole talk to a nun around the corner. Before he can even make out what they’re saying, he sees a little girl stand next to the priest. Fists balled, eyes red, and surprisingly, in decent clothes. You can’t be from here. Not when you have name brand shoes that fit perfectly, and a hair that looks properly taken care of. Plus, you have a healthy structure. 

  With you in front of the window, the sun shines behind you, creating a halo. He can’t help but stare. Is this how the outside looks? Like angels? You have to be a little younger than him. But is it possible that someone young can be a wrathful angel? There’s no way you’re not one. Not with how fires burn in your eyes and the glow of your skin looking heavenly.

  Unable to stop, Chrollo walks towards you with sweaty palms. His basket suddenly feels heavier the closer he gets. He gulps as he stands right in front of you. Your eyes remain low, like you don’t even register him. 

  “My name is Chrollo. What’s yours?” His voice is shaky. You don’t answer much to his dislike. Father Rizole speaks. “This is (Y/n) (L/n), a new resident. (Y/n) has only been here for a few days. I haven’t gotten around to giving a tour. Actually, Chrollo, will you watch (Y/n) for a moment? Maybe look around the church.” 

  Chrollo’s eyes light up at the proposition even though he wonders if the priest is lying about something. “I’d love to! Leave it to me!” Father Rizole presses his hand on your upper back and gives you a slight push to Chrollo. “Here, look around. Meet some friends. You know what? I bet you can use a snack. How about that?”

  “I’ll take (Y/n) to the kitchen!” He’s excited. Not only can he hang out with you but you can share a snack. “Sarasa made some cookies with Sister Mary. Find her and have fun!”

  Father Rizole asks to speak to the nun in private. She hurries away with one last slightly scared look at you. They leave you to Chrollo’s charge. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, okay? I’ll show you everything.” He tries to grab your hand but you yank it away. He doesn’t like that at all. His eye twitches a little. Especially since you still won’t look at him. 

  The two of you still haven’t found Sarasa with the cookies. Truly, Chrollo is starting to feel a little embarrassed. Here he is saying you can have cookies and he can’t provide them. “H-hey, I’ll show you one of my favorite spots. It’s safe so don’t worry.”

  He guides you to a meadow of the same wild flowers he carries in his basket. Your eyes are still to the ground, not taking in its beauty. He’s twitching again. 

  “Why won’t you look? Can you not see?” His voice raises when he doesn’t mean too. Before he can say anything else, you plop to the ground. He gasps and tends to you. “Are you okay?” 

  There’s a heaviness in the pit of his stomach and a fear of you being hurt. “I-I’ll get a grown up!” 

You sniffle. He waits to see what you’ll do next. Again, you sniffle and start to shake. “Y-you’re crying…are you okay?”

“I’m not crying! I don’t cry!” You yell as you shed tears. You finally look at him. “I don’t cry. I don’t care! I’m not…not…” You struggle to speak. Your eyes widen in surprise when you touch your face.  You throw yourself on Chrollo, with your head on his chest. He instinctively wraps his arms around you as you wail. “I-I don’t know!” 

You struggle with articulating your feelings, opting to scream, cry, and smack his chest instead. He knows you aren’t meaning to hurt him which is why they don’t. 

  He pets your hair that is decorated with barrettes. You smell and feel nice. “It’ll be okay. I’ll protect you. We’ll have lots of fun too.” He pats your back. After a bit, you calm down and are back to sniffling and heavy breaths. He takes some flowers and puts them in the hair between the barrettes. 

“Am I pretty?” You touch the flowers in your hair gently. The look on your face is so innocent and vulnerable. He wants to cradle and protect it forever. He gives you a warm smile and with pure honesty, he confesses, “The mostest. Nothing compares.”

  Sarasa appears with a plate of cookies. “Father Rizole said you were looking for me?” 

-----

   PRESENT

“Get that fake look off your face.” He cuts through with a tongue as sharp as a knife. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

Reluctantly, you do. “Do you understand your place?”

  You close your eyes for a second. “Not in the Spider. It’s filled.” He hums in affirmation. “So, where do you go?”

“The grave?” You sound too hopeful for his liking. He gets up from the chair and grabs your face. His eye twitches slightly, a dead giveaway of his anger. “That’s too sweet, isn’t it? Too poetic.” 

  “Chrollo, please let me go. It’s time, Chrollo.” He is a master at masking his emotions. Someone who had lost himself enough to fit any puzzle piece needed for a mission. For Neon, he just needed a mask that barely required effort. It was a person who he created for someone as naive as Neon. Over time, he has been able to handle so many personalities. He’s trained to keep emotions inside. Ha, leave it to you to rip that away.

   He starts to shake in anger at the audacity of not only you and your question, but his reaction. His heart had hurt at the thought of you leaving again. Images of the day he lost you do nothing but run wild. The day he met you to the last, to the present, all rush before him. 

   When your body disappeared, he thought of where he’d put your memory. It didn’t take long to think of the meadow. Where he put flowers in your hair, calmed you down, the place where you first hugged him and cried into his chest and was unable to fully articulate your emotions about your asshole parent. He went to the meadow and created a small shrine in your honor, right where you first hugged him. 

  It was the right thing to do. The perfect place, one that no one has visited in a while. He regretted that immensely. 

   He lets your face go. With a low voice he declared, “Darling, you will never leave me again.” 

  You begin to sink at his words, fists balling against the bare mattress. 

-------

THEN

“Chrollo, I have to go sometime.” He doesn’t like this. Lately, you’ve grown into that phase of wanting to explore. Talking of how life is outside, away from the city. You remember some of it and long for its familiarity. Years ago, Chrollo had been fascinated by it. It was one of the reasons he was so drawn to you. 

  “Not alone.” He says with finality. His words cause you to glare at him. “You don’t tell me what to do. I’ll go as I please. I’m practically an adult!”

  You're fourteen, the same age he was when he created the Spider. He clenches his fist. “You’re fourteen! That’s a child.”

“Oh, look at you! You murdered countless people since you were eleven and created your little clique when you were fourteen. All I want is to go home!” 

  He slams his fist down on the table. Clearly, you force yourself not to jump. “That’s different! And this is your home!” 

He can tell you didn’t like that one bit. You point around the area. “I am not from this God forsaken place. This is not my home or my people.” 

  “This is your home. You are staying!” He shouts. He’s never raised his voice at you before.  Your eyes widen for a split second then fill with determination. 

  “No, I’m not. You can’t tell me what to do. You're making it seem like a bad thing. Whi le I just want to go home, you and your posse run havoc and ruin everything! What’s so wrong with me going home?”

  The Phantom Troupe is his sensitive spot, and you know it. Yet you deliberately push it every single time just to hurt him. Chrollo is weak for you, he admits it and everyone knows it. Despite his love, there is an anger that brews inside him wanting to lash out. Degrading the spider is not allowed, you leaving is definitely off the table. Finally, he lets a tiny bit of that venom out for you to feel.

He leans in close to you, not breaking eye contact. 

“Do you expect them to just open their arms to you? That doesn’t happen! You’ll die out there. And you think you’re ready for them, ha! You look for validation and throw a tantrum when it’s not given. How far do you think that will get you, huh? No one will care.”

He’s breathing heavy, panicking at the image of your back turned, leaving the city limits. He sees you live a life of poverty again or worse, a life without him. Marrying someone, having children, a cat and dog, and living in a house. He doesn’t see himself in these scenarios. It’s driving him mad with rage. 

Look at him. Look at him! Stop looking down!

 Your body starts to shake. Your head hasn’t lifted to face him since he spoke. When it does, he immediately regrets his wish. 

  Filled with hurt, you strike back. “At least I know what things are without having to read about it! Experience them without stalking people! I know who I am and don’t depend on a book to find the answer,” You rub your eyes. “But I have a name! I’m not staying here and wasting it anymore.” 

  You run away from Chrollo who stands stiff. He didn’t mean to make you cry. He was just mad that you thought of leaving. Your words hurt a lot, but nothing compared to the knowledge that he made you cry. 

   Much to his dismay, you don’t talk to him. In fact, you avoid him all together. 

At least that thought of you leaving left your mind. 

Over the course of a few years, you avoided him and didn’t talk to him. He had to watch you from the sidelines, growing and learning. He wanted to help you read and do math. Proving him wrong every time you did it. Chrollo, thankfully, got a nen ability that allowed him to be invisible. He’d watch you closely, seeing how much you followed Father Rizole and his studies. 

  You even took up various weaponry since you still had pent up aggression. Father Rizole was hesitant at first lest you aim at someone who annoyed you. Chrollo supported your hobby wholly. He went directly to Father Rizole and encouraged the priest to allow it. Chrollo even provided the equipment, unbeknownst to you.

  The old priest wondered how he knew but Chrollo managed to convince him that he had heard through the grapevine and that people marveled at your talent. Upon hearing this, the caring priest caved. Despite everything, the children of Meteor city were like his own, including the Troupe and you. 

  After your training and studies, you go to your room and throw yourself on the bed. Chrollo managed to sneak in just in time. Suddenly, the most shocking thing happened. 

  You’re touching yourself. Your hands slip under your shirt. He sees your hands move and massage your chest. By the expression on your face, something soft and curious, you’re beginning to like it. Who did this to you? A rageful red is all he can see now. 

Right before you can explore further, you gasp at the knock at the door. 

The same day, he heads to the books, trying to calm himself down. Remaining on the sidelines and respecting your space was not the right move. Or perhaps it was, and he just let it go on for too long. Not when someone is latching on to you, making you feel things you shouldn't. As angry as that thought makes him, he couldn't just go up and demand for you to return to him. So, he figured it was best to look in a book for some kind of answer. 

The book had an excellent plot with a sweet side of romance. He studies it closely. He’s seen it in movies and plays, but books just explain it better. None of the characters share similarities with you. He can become and act like any of these people. You, however, are an immovable force of nature. They do not compare to you. 

  Book after book after book, shows nothing that you’d accept. What’s he going to do? After looking at the sky, Chrollo remembers what you had said.

“At least I know what things are without having to read about it! Experience them without stalking people! I know who I am and don’t depend on a book to find the answer,”

That’s right. He can’t go to a book for this. Getting you can’t be written unless in the stars. However, he’s experienced this before. Knowing who you are and what love is.  He perks his head up. The meadow. How he put flowers in your hair after comforting you. He closes whatever book that was and puts it with the twenty others he was reading to study.

  He asks Father Rizole your whereabouts. “Last I know, she was talking to Ray.” 

  Is that the one who made you desperate? On your bed, touching places you wished were caressed by someone else? Schooled in controlling his expressions, Father Rizole doesn’t know any different. Chrollo excuses himself and gives a lame excuse of why he asked. 

 Once he leaves, he sets out to find Ray. From what he remembers, Ray was an average looking boy who, in Chrollo’s opinion, was annoying. He chewed and slurped too loud, his laugh was obnoxious and for some reason, felt the need to always be right even when wrong. Chrollo distinctly remembers how Ray talked to you when you were younger. He was always flirtatious and tried to get close to you. So, in a dubbing performance when Chrollo played a villain, he looked directly at Ray through it all. Apparently, Chrollo was terrifying at that moment.

   By luck, he spots Ray blushing. The boy doesn’t notice the predator yet. The one who's eying every move Ray makes, waiting to strike.

“Chrollo? Is that you?”

He smiles and walks towards Ray, whose eyes are big. The Troupe has a reputation that has reached many ears. No doubt that is the reason for Ray’s nervous behavior. 

  “How have you been?” The boy nervously laughs. “Uh, good. Y-you? Y’know, besides the killing and stuff.” 

  “I’ve been fine. Actually, I need your help.” 

Ray squeaks and backs away. “No, Ray. Not like that. It’s for more personal matters. Man to man.”

   He visibly starts to relax around Chrollo the more the latter talks. “So, do you think white flowers will do?”

  “Hm, I like red better.” Chrollo nods his head, taking in this information. “And your beloved?”

“I-I, uh, don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ray’s cheeks are red. Chrollo chuckles, “Come on, I’ve heard some things. Tell me about it. It’ll make me feel more comfortable making my move.”

  “Oh, well, I haven’t asked (Y/n) out yet.” Chrollo pats Ray on the back a little too harshly. “Why don’t you? I mean, she’s here, right?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know…”

“Go for it. You helped me a lot.” 

“Alright, I will! If she says yes…where would I even take her? It’s not like Meteor City has a lot to offer.” Chrollo has his arm around Ray’s shoulders. 

“Where else? There’s a meadow not too far from here. There are lots of flowers there. Just tell her you’ll meet her there. She’ll love it.”

  “Thanks, Chrollo!” He practically skips away, heading to you. 

“Tell me how it goes!” Chrollo calls out and gives him a thumbs up. Now, all he has to do is wait. Chrollo leans against the wall with his arms crossed. No one is around in the halls. He cracks his neck and sighs, taking in the few rays of the sun that peek through the windows. Ray soon runs back to him with a wide smile on his face. 

  “She said yes! She’ll be there this afternoon. I couldn’t have done it without you, Chrollo.” 

  “No, no. You did this yourself. Just needed a little push. Hey, do you know where the meadow is exactly?”

  “Um, it’s-”

“Towards the forest. Just go west, a few feet in. It’ll be paradise.” 

This scene feels so familiar. 

Chrollo sits in the meadow, taking in the scent of the wildflowers. He hears footsteps and already knows who it is. He calms his heartbeat and looks to the source of the noise.  You say nothing. Even though it eats at him, he takes you acknowledging his existence as a win. 

Play it cool, play it cool. 

   “Hi, (Y/n).” His voice gives a slight crack. Dear God, he must sound lame.

   “Hello, Lucilfer.” Your voice is as sweet as honey though your tone is slightly bitter. Your use of his last name stings a little but is softened when he remembers that you’re the one who gave him that name years ago.

“How have you been?” His legs lay long and unbothered, and he rests on his hands. He hopes he looks calm, maybe even suave. He’s matured in these few years despite his voice cracking a few seconds ago. 

“You can’t be here. I have a date.” You continue to stare down at him with indifference. 

“A date? With whom?” Your face remains the same. “With Ray. Leave.” Chrollo in the nick of time, stops his facade of nonchalance from cracking. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll leave.”

  Your eyebrows raise at his willingness.

The moon has come out and the sun is gone. There are no stars above, just clouds. Lightning bugs float around to make up for those lost twinkles in the sky. Chrollo then makes his move. “How’d it go?”

“Shut up, Lucilfer.” 

“Damn…that badly? What happened? Did he do something?” Chrollo’s voice raises in concern despite the fact he knew good and damn well nothing happened. 

  You mumble something incoherent. “What?” Chrollo walks a little closer. When you fall to your knees, he’s next to you in an instant. “No! What’s wro-”

“He didn’t show up!” You yell with tears running down your face, illuminated by the moonlight. “So, there! Laugh it up! You were right.”

  Chrollo’s is now confused and worried. He doesn’t like you crying. He hates to see you sad. 

“You said no one would care and you were right. So, laugh! I know you want to!” He’s genuinely taken back. He didn’t remember saying that at all. His shoulders drop. So, this is what’s wrong...

  “I care about you. I want you. He might not see you, but I do. Do you understand? I want you.” Your lip wobbles just before you throw yourself on him, cuddling to his chest, just like the first time. This time, he feels more capable. 

   He lets you cry it out. He decides to apologize. “I’m sorry for saying that. I’m just a big dummy.”

You cry for several minutes. Finally, you settle for sniffles. “Here, these will make you happy.”  Chrollo puts wildflowers in your hair. He doesn’t go near the red ones. 

  You gently touch them, tears drying on your face. “Does it look good?”

“Gorgeous.”  You’re not leaving him again. 

----

  PRESENT

Much to your reluctance, he drags you out of the room. Your bare feet skid along the wooden floor, trying to resist his pull. This only makes him tug harder. You wince and lessen your fight.  

  Chrollo sees you look around, taking it all in. He has a more modern taste that is complete with an extensive library. You were always one to throw in some kind of weird decoration for it to not look so ‘bland’. That’s what you wanted. He preferred to have simplicity and elegance. 

 You say nothing as he continues to lead you out of a bedroom and land in the foyer. “Where are we going?” 

   “Down memory lane.” He opens a green portal from his book. It rotates like a flipping coin.

  “Do you remember this?” He’s holding your hand, guiding you through the carnival. It looks the same as it did last time. Even the night sky looks similar. The stars still shine and twinkle as they did before. The cotton candy vendor is different, but it’s made the same way. The elephant ears are still bigger than a human’s head. Laughing families are still joyous and oblivious to the monster with a book.

 “What about this?” He brings you to that damn roller coaster. He notices how your legs rub together ever so slightly. You probably don't even realize that you did it. “I’ve seen better.” 

  He clutches your hand tighter. “How about here? Have you seen better?” He guides you into the house of mirrors. The place where you lost your virginity. The blue striped building still looks the same and is still barely used. Back then, he made sure to make the experience special for you even if it happened in the heat of the moment. Not just because of the pact that was cemented, but because it was you. 

His tone is bitter after the memory of your legs wrapped around him and the understanding he had. At the time, he could feel the promise of him being your only. Until he found out that you gave yourself to another. Like it all meant nothing. As if you giving him a name meant nothing. As if he meant nothing. 

You gave him his last name. Before that, he didn’t have one. Here you came into his bleak life and lightened it up with an identity. A compass on the open ocean and a light in the darkest of tunnels. Apparently to you none of it matters.

  Chrollo wears a smile. “I haven’t been here in years. You?” 

“I haven’t either, Lucilfer.” Although you named him, it stung that you don’t address him properly. A nickname he never wanted to stop hearing. 

   “You sure? You didn’t fuck anyone else in here?” You gasp a little. “No. Even if I did, it’s none of your business.”

  He clutches your hand tighter. “Let us reminisce then, dearest.” 

  The two of you waltz in the house of mirrors. The glass is confusing, and the lighting gives an eerie feel. It’s brighter than last time. “What’re we doing in here anyway?”

  “Showing you what you left. Do you remember the fun we had over the years? The passion?”

“I remem-” You stop talking when you hear rattling. “Keep your voice down, someone else is here.” You warn.

  “Are you scared, my darling?” He notices that you hold his hand closer to you. “No! I can take care of myself just fine. I’m embarrassed. Here you are talking about old shit and someone can hear!”

  “Old shit…” He whispers. You nod. Suddenly, the noise gets closer until you see a familiar blond head. “Kurapika!” 

  Your eyes light up when you see him, the red eyed killer. His eyes are the purest form of the color. Filled with rage and wrath in them, they glow. Before you can even take a step forward, Kurapika launches his attack. Brutal chains race towards you with the intent to kill and scare. You don’t even realize it, Chrollo notes. 

  “(Y/n)!” He grabs you one handedly to dodge it. You are in his right arm, shocked and heartbroken. “Pika…”

   The boy you took care of shouts obscene things at you. Chrollo growls and puts you behind him protectively. “(Y/n), run away!”

  “No! Are you joking? I’m not leaving.” You shout back. Kurapika runs towards you, ready to attack again. “Kurapika, kid, please just list-”

  Chrollo once again picks you up and takes you out of the house. The beach is calm and void of people. He puts you down far enough to where he thinks you’ll be safe. “Stay here!”

  “Chrollo, please, don’t kill him!” You sit on the cool sand illuminated by the moonlight. You grab his hand and plead. 

  “After this? After Paku and Uvo?” You nod. “Please, that…that’s my boy.” Your body is shaking not from fear, but from disorientation as the killer runs out of the building and spots you. Your lip wobbles and Chrollo leans down and touches your cheek. 

 “I’ll try to avoid it. But love, if it can’t be helped, please forgive me.”

   A tear slides down your cheek. He wipes it away and faces the furious Kurapika who has yet to address you with manners. That alone is reason enough for death. Chrollo opens his book, pretending not to notice your flinch. He flips through the pages, dodging every chain the boy sends. 

   It’s a fight that rivals the Zoldyck’s. The one where he thought of you when Silva launched his nen ability directly at him and Silva’s father, Zeno. Chrollo at the time had wondered what you were thinking when it happened to you. How funny is it that you were alive and well the whole time?

  None of the boy’s chains touch him. He gets closer and closer to the blond. Every kick and twist the boy sends is futile. Chrollo has years of experience on him. 

  Sand lifts up from one of the kid’s kicks. The sand blocks the view momentarily then shows the boy on the ground once it settles. Chrollo’s book flips the page when the scarlet eyes try to raise up again. 

  “Chrollo, no!” You scream. The fight was happening so fast, and you were so confused that you didn’t act or even process it. You run towards them to separate it. “Please, please, he’s just a kid! He’s mad and scared-”

  You finally realize why the boy is on the ground. There is a big gash on his side. A wound so deep that allows blood to soak the earth. “N-no…” 

  You try to touch him but you’re panicking. Chrollo can see your eyes widen and your pupils dilate. Never has he seen you so scared, delirious even. It breaks his heart. 

   “Love, breathe, breathe.” He calmly encourages. You take little breaths. “W-why? How could you?”

“I’ll fix it. Tell me how. I need to know.”

“I can do it!” You try to push his hand away. He sighs and shakes his head no. “You can’t stop shaking. Please, let me help you.”

  You explain it the best you can. Chrollo watches as you stutter and stumble over your words. It isn’t much but it’ll do. “I don’t understand fully. Show me!”

 "Stop fucki-stop screaming!" Your eyes flick over the boy's body repeatedly. Chrollo can see it in your eyes that you are drifting as you make eye contact with the boy's scarlet eyes.

Chrollo's eye twitches. "(Y/n)!" 

  There’s an urgency in his voice once the blond kid’s breathing becomes ragged. "I’m a-an exorcist not a healer. Oh God, what if I can’t-” 

“Try your best, my love.” He kisses the side of your head and rubs your back. Your eyes are still fearful and shocked despite his efforts. Finally, your hand is out, and you whisper words that only the chanter and nen itself can understand. A symbol displays itself on the ground, surrounding the bloody young man on the ground. 

Then it immediately stops. All of it does. Not only does your technique leave you, but the image of the teen disappears. There is no blood, no death before you. Only Chrollo Lucilfer and a guy with an undercut. 

  “Kurapika? Kurapika!” You search the sand in the spot he was laying on. You mutter his name repeatedly. You look up and study the guy before you.

  He can see you recognize him: Milluka Zoldyck. With a handy ability to give illusions. It’s an odd choice for a Zoldyck, especially one that never leaves the house. The young man laughs at you and your devastation. There's a flame in Chrollo's chest that is too familiar as he watches you be laughed at. 

   “Thank you for your service.” Chrollo says. Milluka doesn't have time to respond when a gun conjures in Chrollo’s hand. He fires without hesitancy or remorse. The guy falls down with a look of betrayal. Although Milluka had a handy technique, he wasn't worth anything. 

   Chrollo turns around to look at you. To his surprise, you are on your back with your arm over your eyes, weeping. You were so caught up in the scarlet eye boy that you didn’t notice anything off. You couldn’t even control yourself from meeting his conditions. Him questioning it and your answer, then having to witness your nen ability. That went according to plan, but the kicker is that you touched his book on accident. You were so distressed that you didn't realize your hand landed directly on it when you went to the boy's side. 

  Distracted and careless is what you are. He taught you better than that. “(Y/n), get up.” His voice is colder now, more commanding than it had been seconds ago. 

You don’t get up or even look at him. Your arm is still over your eyes, only letting tears flow. “Let me go.”

  He grabs the sides of your face, pulling you up. “I did what I had to do. The house of mirrors was just to remind you.”

   “Of what?” You whisper. He can see the despair in your eyes. 

   “Of us. Of the lengths I will go for it. Your nen means nothing to me. That boy is nothing. You my love, my dear,” 

  He places a kiss with each word. “My heart,”

“My compass,” He presses his forehead to yours, his hands still holding on. “My very soul. You are everything to me and I will not lose you again.”

 You sob. “You’re insane…where’s the boy I once knew? How did you end up this way?” You try to separate yourself from him. His hands shake your head a little.

 With a hiss, Chrollo clears, “I was always this way.”   

[just-some-random-blogger]

hey gorgeous! it's me! thank you so much for writing it! tbh, it's not what i expected but AGWHWHWG bc soft!daemon? i LOVE it!! such a cutie!! i still do need him to suffer more, though... what do you think about maybe a part 2? where he's the one who (finally) gets teased and gets the taste of his own medicine (reader flirting with HM ser stong?). so the demanded apology with tears on the knees (not nsfw) because this pretty prick deserves it :) again, thank u so much for writing it! sorry if it's too much, never wanted to make you uncomfortable! take care!

Since You Asked So Nicely

Daemon Targaryen x Reader + Harwin Strong x Reader

Summary: Your feud with your husband was about to meet a swift and strong end.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: mentions/descriptions of violence, daemon's still such a man, fem!reader, wife!reader, i love strong puns XD, married couple quarrels, harwin daddy, jealous!daemon, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: the title of this fic is my reaction to you nonnie. honestly i kinda felt both bad that my fic wasn't enough T_T LIKE PLEASE I TRIED then annoyed like HOW DARE YOU NOT LIKE IT THEN MAKE ME WRITE SMTH ELSE HADhASLHDA HAHAHAH nah but then you asked me so nicely so i thought ok fine i'll give it another wack i hope that i'll finally be enough for you T_T i guess our theme for today is petty 🥰 WIAT GURL THESE GIFS SIDE BY SIDE TOGETHER FUCK THAT SHIT IM DEAD BYE Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony Part 1 (which I think you should read) "It Takes Two"

We had not spoken since our struggle last night. In the flames of my anger, I woke up before him and made no effort to alert him of my errands or duties for the day. That of course, also meant, he was certainly riveting in annoyance and betrayal having woken up alone after pleading mercy to me until he and I both fell asleep.

In all his pride and morose wailing, still, he did not find it in himself to ask for pardon. He instead wasted his breath in trying to convince me he did it as a game, and that I should not have thought much of it, that he would happily get on his knees but for the exact opposite thing I truly want him to do.

And even now, the man is as insufferable as he can get. Since it seems it was nary clear that I did not enjoy the sight of him divulging his attentions to other ladies at court, he did, what? Yes of course, the very exact thing.

Each ear of his had a young lady giggling bashfully into it. I had gone a great many lengths to ignore it, but then it began to be unbearable when I finally noticed the lords and ladies turn from my husband to me, muttering and laughing under their breath.

Normally, I wouldn't even bat an eye over the opinions the pricks had of me or my husband. Here and now however, it was hard not to feel like a dunce, when I was the princess, yet I was standing alone, and my prince had ladies fawning over him left and right.

Enough.

I will not grant him the satisfaction of humiliating me any more than he has. I'm leaving.

Daemon watches, perking at the sight of the exit. He steps forward, away from the irritating voices, smirk falling, for it was never truly genuine in the first place.

His face hardens when there is an interception.

"My princess," a deep voice speaks, as a large man blocks me.

I lift my gaze and stop before we collide. Immediately, my spirits are lifted at the sight of the dark man's hair and beard, "Harwin."

His lips curve at the familiarity of my addressing.

"I thought you were off, doing gods-know-what again?"

Harwin chuckles, shaking his head, "the gods have allowed me to accomplish my tasks swiftly.

He raises a brow and places his hands behind him, "you're not leaving when the festivities have not even commenced yet, are you?"

I scoff, crossing my arms, "festivities are naught this eve, ser Strong."

"That is because," he steps forward, taking my hand slowly, "you and I have not yet shared a dance."

I roll my eyes at him, "you're a poor partner."

"And that is precisely why the festivities will commence."

I snort, smiling up at him, as he smiles back down. He takes my expression as wordless agreement. Harwin spins me once before leading me to the dancefloor. I chuckle at his theatrics. Poor he may be in dancing, he's always been good at making me smile.

I press slightly against him as his hand falls to my back, the other clutching my arm delicately.

"Tell me, Winne," I grip his firm shoulder as we glide with the music.

He snorts at my archaic pet name for him, rolling his eyes as he licks his teeth in amusement.

I am amused by his reaction, pleased to know that the name still held him tightly in annoyance, exactly like how it did when we were younger. I chuckle before deflating, "do men normally think it a game to toy with their wives' feelings?"

Harwin's amused expression fades. He grunts and spins me around, using the opportunity to eye Daemon, who was undoubtedly already looking at us.

When his eyes dart back to me, he purses his lips, "indeed this night is not at all festive to you, little doe."

I turn away from him, aimlessly looking at his collar to avert my glare elsewhere. He did not mean to trigger my anger, what he said was his pet name for me as children, but it had been since overshadowed by my husband's musing of the name; he called me his little doe in times he came to me as a predator and I appeared to him like prey.

My gut groans in annoyance.

Harwin notices my discomfort and does me the courtesy of changing the subject, "tis unfortunate for me to announce a tonne of men believe riling wives a thrilling sport."

I turn back to him; the darkness in my face melts when I catch the concern in his. I purse my lips tightly, pushing a stray curl away from his face, "and do you hold the same regard, Strong?"

"Hmm," he looks away to think, "my princess would be pleased to learn that as a child, I had a terrible playmate," Harwin turns back to me, raising his brows, "she was the most entitled little girl I ever met, was so viscous and strong."

I snort.

He mimics, "though perhaps not as strong as me. Still, I am aghast to ever think of crossing or treating a woman poorly, not even because I think it descent, but merely for I fear the rage of she."

I cannot help the fond smile that spreads on my lips. I tilt my head as we circle the room, continuing our movements, "I suppose it is the gods irony that the Strong boy fears a strong girl."

Harwin laughs, twirling me around once more. I break into a chuckle as he does so, a bit dizzy when he pulls me back close to him. I am heaving slightly when he pulls me close.

"I suppose it is, princess," he tilts his head.

In that moment, the song ends and each dance partner parts, clapping as they did, us included.

"Care for another dance, Winnie?" I ask, extending my hand to him.

"Actually," he leads me to the side, "I was wondering if you wanted a change of pace," Harwin brings us by a column, "I feel that, in all his pettiness, the prince has not yet told you that the flowers he requested for you have recently just been planted in the gardens."

"What?"

Harwin huffs, "I had the same reaction when I heard of it. Your husband is a fu-"

Instantaneously, I am pulled aside and a string of, what I knew to be High Valyrian curses, were muttered tightly. Daemon seethes, gripping me with his iron hand, "and what of her husband, Strong?"

Harwin is unfazed by the glare Daemon throws.

I wince at how rough his grip is on me, "unhand me!" I bark, shoving Daemon off me. He does not budge and tightens his grip further. It is clear to me Daemon is too blinded by his rage to realize he is hurting me.

It is because of this, Harwin finally steps in. He barks, yanking Daemon off me, stepping between us, "you're hurting your wife, prince!"

Of course the action only caused further injury to me, Daemon's nails grazed my skin, and yet I am thankful for Harwin's interception.

The vein on Daemon's neck flares as he presses forward, closer to his opponent, "you have no right to tell me what I do with my wife!"

The area of my arm that Daemon grabbed throbs in pain. Tears fog my eyes as I watch the two of them squabble.

"I have every right to protect the princess," Harwin flares, "especially from the likes of you."

"From the likes of me?!" Daemon narrows his eyes.

The crowd breaks into a shocked gasp when the prince lunges and grabs Harwin by the collar, muttering something in High Valyrian, then threatening, "I best kill you. Who the fuck do think you are to tell me anything, vermin?!"

"Daemon!" I quip, prying him off Harwin, "unhand him!"

"YOU KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!" Daemon seethes, hands digging deeper into Harwin's clothing.

"KEEP YOUR ATTENTIONS ON HER THEN!" Harwin barks back, overpowering him, twisting Daemon's hands off him and shoving him away.

The next instant, the attentions of the entire room is upon us. I feel my blood pump as my head spins, unsure of what to do next. I still manage to act swiftly before anything else can happen.

I walk over to Harwin, calling out to him. "that's enough, please just-"

"Why are you going to hi-" Daemon starts, grabbing me again. He cuts himself back and recoils when I whine and draw back at the contact he makes at my sore arm, the arm he most definitely bruised.

I snap at him, throwing him a hot glare. He looks bewildered. He looks guilty. He doesn't even meet my eyes and instead is staring at my arm. I point a finger at him, "I'll deal with you later."

I turn back to Harwin, placing my hands on his chest, pushing him away, "go home, Winnie."

Daemon's head cocks, his lips twitches in an unpleasant manner, "Winnie?"

Harwin gently takes my arm, leaning in, "he hurt you."

I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I fight them off as I whimper, "please, just go."

Harwin brushes his calloused hand on my injured arm before walking back and storming off.

When I turn back to Daemon, he is looking at me with a stoic expression. I grit my teeth and grab him, dragging him away with me as we leave this damned hall.

I take him all the way to our shared chambers, but I stop just outside the door. I finally release him and begin to berate him, "are you satisfied?"

Daemon stiffens at the sound of my shrill voice.

I heave, "not only did you ruin my night, you ruined everyone else's!"

His eyes evade me. His lips part when he sees my arm. He reaches out to me and I recoil, "don't you dare fucking touch me."

"I didn't mean-"

"YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO DO ANYTHING BUT YOU STILL DID THEM!" I scream. I poke his chest in anger, "you claim it's all a game to you, and yet you're the only one that ever enjoys it!"

"It's all that cunt, St-"

"IT'S YOU, DAEMON!" I flare, "It's always you!"

Daemon's face contorts. His breath hitches. He walks closer, "my love, please-"

"You hurt me, Daemon!" I word carefully, wanting it to finally get through his thick skull, "not just tonight, but for the past weeks!"

He calls out my name but I raise a hand to silence him.

"You're either sleeping on the floor or sleeping elsewhere."

He gulps, ready to plead his case again. I cut him off before he can even open his mouth.

"Speak a word in protest over my generosity and I will chose a far crueler fate for you," I coldly spit, walking toward the door, pushing it open. I look over my shoulder as I walk in the room, "what's it going to be, prince?"

Daemon cringes at the call, brows tightening along with his fists. He deflates and mutters under his breath, "floor."

I turn to him, eyes narrowing, "you were so loud a while ago, where did your fire go, dragon?"

"Floor," he utters walking in the room, stopping once he is in front of me. Daemon's expression is grave as he mutters again, "I'd much rather sleep on the floor, wife."

I pull away from him before he can even attempt to touch me. I walk towards our bed, grabbing a pillow, haphazardly throwing over to him. I glare darkly, "if you are cold, sleep by the fire, dragon."

Daemon calls out my name, wanting to begin his pleas again, but then he stiffens when he watches me walk toward the door, "where are you going?"

I scoff, "how cruel of you to think I'd sleep with a throbbing arm."

"I'll come-"

I turn to him, tears finally running down my cheeks. Daemon freezes in his spot. I huff, looking away from him, "do not show your face to me until I've calmed."

Daemon frowns.

"I mean it."

At last, he finally has the brain to no longer push the matter further.

[cinnamooniee]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬 [part 2]

Characters : college student jungkook x college student fem reader

Genre : Angst but comfort later on, fluff??

Warnings : Mentions of alcohol.

read part one <3

The sight of his name, even in that small font, made your stomach twist all over again. You hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to answer, to hear what he had to say, to let him try to explain himself—or maybe even apologize. But the other part of you, the part that was exhausted, that was hurting, didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

With a shaky breath, you silenced the call, letting it ring out as you stared out of the window. The quiet hum of the car and the rhythmic flicker of streetlights through the window felt soothing, like a balm over the jagged edges of your heartache.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text.

Jungkook: Y/N, please pick up. We need to talk.

You felt a fresh wave of frustration as you read his message. The nerve he had to act like he cared now, after all those hurtful things he’d said. All you’d wanted was to understand, to find some kind of way back to the closeness you once shared. But instead, he’d pushed you away, dismissed your feelings, and thrown blame at you as if you were the one at fault.

Another text buzzed through, then another.

Jungkook: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say those things.

Jungkook: Can we just talk? I need to explain.

Your phone continued buzzing, message after message lighting up the screen. Each one made you grip your seatbelt a little tighter, fighting the urge to respond. You couldn’t—at least not right now. The words wouldn’t come, not when everything felt so tangled and raw inside.

Finally, there was a pause, a minute or two of silence. You exhaled, trying to ground yourself in that temporary calm. But the quiet didn’t last long.

Maybe you’re asleep already… I’m sorry for bothering you so late.

A pang hit you as you read that line. Did he really think you could just sleep after everything? He knew you better than that—at least, you thought he did. But maybe you’d been wrong all along.

Another text followed, slower, like he was second-guessing himself.

I just hope you got home safe.

You swallowed, feeling an ache settle in. He was probably picturing you curled up in bed, phone on silent, dozing off without a second thought. But here you were, staring at his words in the dim glow of your screen, unable to find peace in any of it.

Ok. I’ll check in tomorrow then, sleep well, Y/N.

The last message hung there, a final thread connecting the two of you, but it felt frayed—worn thin by all the words left unsaid, all the pieces you didn’t know how to put back together.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The next morning, you roll over to see your phone blinking with unread messages. You try to ignore it, but a knot of guilt tightens in your chest, knowing exactly who it’s from.

You can’t keep avoiding him forever. The thought pops up, uninvited, with a mix of dread and determination. It feels like every time you ignore him, it only makes things worse.

With a sigh, you open the texts. His messages are there, unreadable yet loud on the screen—probably asking if you got home safely, wondering why you didn’t reply. A wave of conflicted emotions rolls over you; you want to explain, but part of you is also tempted to stay hidden.

After a long minute of hesitation, you finally type a reply:

"I was tired last night."

Then you erase it.

"I got home fine, thanks."

Delete.

"Thanks for checking in on me."

Another delete.

With a frustrated sigh, you run a hand through your hair, feeling ridiculous for spending so long trying to find the perfect words. You don’t owe him an explanation; there’s no need to apologize or over-explain.

Finally, you settle on a message:

"I got home safe."

Plain, simple. It’s just enough to let him know you’re okay without giving away too much. You hit send before you can change your mind, then set your phone down, wondering if this will finally ease the tension… or make things even harder.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The morning drags on, and you keep glancing at your phone, half-expecting a response from Jungkook. But the silence only amplifies your nerves. Just as you’re about to drown yourself in the endless sea of homework, your phone buzzes, and it’s him.

"Hey, can I come over?"

Your heart races at the thought of him showing up, and you hesitate, staring at the screen. You want to tell him no, to reinforce the distance, but the words just won’t come. Instead, you let it go unanswered, hoping he’ll take the hint and change his mind.

Two hours pass, and just as you start to relax, a sudden knock on your door jolts you from your thoughts. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice comes through, slightly muffled but unmistakable. “I brought you something.”

Your stomach sinks, surprised that he actually came over. You take a deep breath and make your way to the door, opening it just a crack. Jungkook stands there, looking a bit disheveled, holding a small bouquet of flowers that looks like it came from the local convenience store—a few wilted blooms tied together with a fraying ribbon.

“I, uh… I got these for you,” he says, awkwardly holding them out like a peace offering. “I didn’t want to come empty-handed. Can I come in?”

A wave of frustration crashes over you. He really thinks this is okay? After last night, he just shows up with cheap flowers? “Why do you think that’s going to change anything?” you snap, your anger bubbling to the surface. “You yelled at me and acted like it was no big deal . What do you mean? We had a fight and you dumped me--maybe?! And now you're just...

You don't even have the words to explain your frustration right now.

His eyes widen in surprise, and you can see the realization dawning on him, but you don’t give him a chance to respond. “Oh, and let’s not forget how you flirted with that girl right in front of me! And that you went right back to it after we fought."

He looks taken aback, mouth opening slightly as if to respond, but you cut him off once more. “I don’t even know what you want from me! You show up here like nothing happened. Do you think some wilting flowers are going to fix this?”

His expression shifts from surprise to guilt, and you can see he’s struggling for the right words. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way, Y/N. I just wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” You scoff, arms crossed tightly over your chest. “What’s there to talk about? You decided to bail when things got tough, and now you’re here with a lame excuse for an apology?”

“I didn’t bail! I just…” He runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. “I thought maybe if I came over, we could sort things out. I’m sorry for how I acted. I care about you, okay? I just didn’t know how to handle it.”

You roll your eyes, your heart racing with anger. “Care? If you really cared, you wouldn’t have treated me like that. You think I can just forget that?”

Jungkook’s shoulders slump, and he looks down at the flowers in his hands, the weight of your words clearly hitting him. “I know I messed up. I just thought—”

“Thought what? That this would all be okay just because you showed up with stupid flowers? You’re delusional,” you cut in. “I can’t keep avoiding you, but I’m not just going to pretend like everything’s fine!”

He looks hurt, his eyes searching yours for some sign of understanding. “I just wanted to fix things. I thought you’d want to talk about it too.”

You take a step back, feeling overwhelmed by everything—your anger, your confusion, the weight of his gaze. “I’m busy, Jungkook. Just… just go.”

Please,” he finally says, his voice quiet but firm. “I just want to talk to you. I’m not leaving until we sort this out.”

“What do you want me to say?” you shoot back, your frustration boiling over. “You come here with flowers like that fixes everything, and you expect me to just let you in? You really think I’m going to be okay after last night?”

“I know I messed up!” he replies, his frustration matching yours. “But I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t realize how it would come across, and I want to explain myself. Can we at least talk about what happened?”

You stare at him, the determination in his eyes making it hard to look away. As much as you want to slam the door in his face, a part of you is curious—maybe even hopeful. But that hope is buried deep under layers of anger and confusion.

“I’m not interested in hearing excuses,” you finally say, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’ve already made it clear how you feel.”

“I know,” he admits, his voice dropping. “And I get why you’re angry. But please, just give me a chance to explain. I don’t want to lose you over this.”

You feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you—anger, hurt, and a hint of the connection you’ve had with him. You want to scream at him, to tell him to leave, but another part of you just wants to hear what he has to say.

“Fine,” you say finally, your voice low. “But you better not waste my time.”

As you step back and open the door wider, Jungkook enters, his gaze focused on you as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. He looks around your room, a hint of nervousness in his posture.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, his voice softer now. “I just… I messed up, and I’m trying to fix it. I didn’t mean to flirt with that girl; it was stupid, and I didn’t think about how it would affect you. I get that it made you feel uncomfortable, and I should have been more aware. You’re the only one I want to be with.”

You hold his gaze, searching for sincerity in his eyes. “You don’t get to just play around with my feelings, Jungkook. You can’t expect me to just forget everything because you’re suddenly apologetic.”

“I know, I know,” he replies, desperation creeping into his voice. “But I’m here now. I want to make things right. Just tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything.”

You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to soften. “You don’t get it. It’s not about flowers or grand gestures. It’s about respect and understanding. If you want to be with me, you need to start acting like it.”

“I will. I promise,” he says, leaning forward, his sincerity palpable. “I care about you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that.”

You stare at him, the walls around your heart feeling like they’re starting to crack just a little. But the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “Just know that I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he replies, a small smile breaking through the tension. “Just let me try.”

You give him a reluctant look, still wary, maybe—just maybe—this could be a step toward something better..? Maybe he meant it. Maybe he truly was sorry.

As the tension hangs heavy in the air, Jungkook shifts slightly, a mixture of determination and vulnerability in his expression. You can see the sincerity in his eyes, and it stirs something within you—an urge to let go of the anger, if only for a moment.

He leans closer, and without thinking, you hold your breath, your heart racing as he reaches out. His fingers graze your arm softly, and it sends a jolt of electricity through you. Then, in a surprising yet gentle motion, he cups your face, tilting it toward him.

“I’m really sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely above a murmur. “For everything. Last night was a mess, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

Before you can respond, his lips brush against yours—soft and hesitant at first, as if he’s testing the waters. The kiss is sweet, laced with an apology that goes deeper than words. You can feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a fleeting moment, the anger dissipates, replaced by a wave of emotions you thought were buried.

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, breathing heavily. “I swear, nothing happened with that girl. It was all just… nothing. I don’t want anyone else but you, Y/N. You mean too much to me.”

Your heart flutters at his words, and he continues, his voice earnest. “You’re amazing. You’re smart, beautiful, and so much more than I deserve. I take back every single thing I said last night. I was an idiot. I was half drunk, and we had been fighting for weeks before that- and I just didn’t know how to handle it."

You look into his eyes, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all you see is raw honesty. “I messed up,” he admits, his expression vulnerable. “But I want to make it right. I want to show you that I care.”

The sincerity in his voice tugs at your heart, and you find yourself softening. “It’s just hard for me to trust you right now,” you confess, your voice wavering slightly.

“I get it,” he replies, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “But I’ll prove it to you. I’m here, and I want to be with you. Just give me a chance.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. In that moment, everything else fades away, and it’s just the two of you—raw, real, and vulnerable. You nod slowly, your heart racing as the anger you held onto begins to melt away, replaced by something warm and hopeful.

“Okay,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… show me.”

Jungkook’s expression brightens, relief washing over him as he leans in once more, capturing your lips with his in another soft kiss. This time, it feels different—deeper, more meaningful, as if it’s sealing a promise between you.

As you pull away, you can’t help but smile a little, the tension easing between you. “You better keep that promise,” you tease lightly, though your heart still flutters at the warmth of his presence.

“I will,” he assures you, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and sincerity. "I love you Y/N, I really do"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

tags<3 : @thelittlecatonthecake

[nogenderbee]

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕧𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕞 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ anon request: Hello Bee! I was wondering if you could write Rui with a flirty reader? i think it would be fun considering hes very teasing :3

Thanks for reading <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Hi there!! Omg yeah absolutely!! I swear I love the idea sm!! They'd be so chaotic and HWSODUSY

Just see! Hope you like it <3

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

Affiliation with @virtualbookstore

✧ Rui is a flirt himself, in fact, he could probably fluster anyone in the blink of an eye if he tries!

✧ bur something curious about him is that when he meets someone as flirt as him, or even more... he easily becomes flustered himself~

✧ comebacks don't work on him that well since he kinda expects them, but if you began flirting with him out of the blue first, his face will most likely immidietly heat up

✧ and then you get to see this rare sight~ of Kamishiro being at loss for words, not even being able to move an inch

"Oh~ Seems someone's been missing me~"

"You don't even know how much! I mean... how could I not miss that pretty face of yours and those sweet kisses~?"

"Ah-"

"Seems like someone's speechless for the first time~"

"I-It's nothing... Let's just.. Let me walk you to your next class..."

✧ sometimes, he does come with comeback tho! If your flirting isn't too intense...

✧ if you do it in front of WxS, they're all gonna be between surprised that Rui could get red like that (except for Nene) and look of satisfaction ad he finally gets what he gives!

✧ but if a bit more time passes.. he'd most likely get a little bit used to your flirting and it'll be easier for him to maintain his composure and maybe even flirt back~?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

@bleachtheidiot @akitosheart @yulikesminori @toyaswif3y @bl4cktourmaline @r4wrclwz @superstar-ethereal @stellas-starry-stove13 @alicewinterway18 - come get your crazy inventor~

[pugh-bug]

No.42 Chapter 7

Art Donaldson x reader slow burn

If you’re still reading this series I appreciate you so much 🫶🏻 this is a pretty angsty chapter - vague implications of an eating disorder.

Part 6

——————————————————————

You had twelve texts, mostly from Liam, with the most recent being:

11:49am - Text from Liam

Thanks for coming you looked great haha

get home safe ok ;)

The wink you barely registered in your exhausted morning state, instead you rolled over to see Art asleep on your floor. He was in last nights clothes, as were you, and curled up in the foetus position. The temperature outside had finally dropped enough degrees to let a light breeze through your open window, brushing Art’s curls off his cheek. He looked angelic.

‘He might need you more.’

What did he need you for? He had Art for friendship, Liam for rivalry, his family for financial stability and himself setting his future aspirational lifestyle in motion. All of these thoughts swam in your head like hunting gators as you listened to Art’s peaceful breathing. What was he dreaming about? You hoped something good, your recent dreams had caused you nothing but high blood pressure.

CLANG!

Ah…Patrick. Morning coffee time.

‘Hmmm?’ Art mumbled, opening his eyes slowly. The poor boy must have the worst hangover of anyone’s life (you’d say of his but it was likely Art’s first real one). ‘How are we feeling?’ You cooed, sitting cross legged on your bed staring down at him. For a moment you received no response other than groaning, as Art clambered to a seating position. His eyes were still foggy when he cleared his throat to ask what time it was.

‘It’s 12.’

Another groan. ‘Shit…where are my - I’m sorry why am I in your room?’ He looked around frantically for his phone or water, so you gestured to your nightstand which stocked both. You smiled slightly at Art’s sleepy, confused voice. ‘You tell me,’ you shrugged, trying to remember. ‘We probably got out the Uber and just collapsed in here instead of your room cos it’s closer…Pat’s slept on the couch maybe?’

Art ran his fingers through his hair, straining his neck up with wide but distant eyes. He looked, for a moment, like he’d stopped breathing. Like he’d severed the oxygen to his brain and he was going to sit and wait to crack. His nails were even starting to dig in on his own arm.

‘Art.’ You snapped your fingers in his face and he seemed to come back from wherever he’d been. ‘Are you okay?’ Art solemnly took in your concerned frown for a moment before standing up and saying ‘Thanks for looking after me.’ on his way out.

——————————————————————

Art had been too exhausted to go to practise but not too exhausted, apparently, to do press ups in the kitchen. You walked in, after your shower, expecting to find the two of them watching tv not working out - well Patrick wasn’t. ‘I know I know, you try telling him.’ Was all Patrick offered in response to your look of total disbelief.

‘Twenty six…twenty seven…twenty eight…’

Any other day you might have been impressed but this? This was ridiculous.

‘Art, what are you doing?’

‘Twenty nine…thirty…thirty one…’

He was sweating, not as much as when he played tennis but he’d need a shower. His lips, in between counts, were trembling ever so slightly from the effort as he pushed and pushed to fight against sleep. It was a sad sight, one you wished to dissolve one way or another.

‘Art, this is fucking ridiculous. You’ve barely slept you’re hungover you just need one lazy day.‘

No response.

‘This isn’t normal.’

Patrick gave you one last look of defeat before going for his shower, clearly desperate to leave the room. You hesitated before kneeling on the floor beside Art’s head.

‘Thirty seven…thirty eight…’

His body was giving up on him - just screaming at him to let it rest.

‘Thirty…nine…’

When he got to forty you hoped you’d see a flicker of satisfaction on his face, followed by a prompt end but no. No, he just kept going.

‘Forty two…forty thr’

‘Fucking stop!’ You yelled and he did. Finally. Art dusted off his hands and sat up, staring at you in complete silence. He looked almost horrified at the intrusion.

‘I’m not your Mum but you need to look after yourself, you’re never going to win matches if you turn up to them half dead because you refuse to relax.’ You sighed, heavily, waiting for the lengthy disagreement Art would throw at you. The defensiveness. It never came.

‘I know.’ He pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the poorly woven carpet, looking lost. ‘I just…I can’t afford to take days off I’m not Patrick. I have to work and work and work at it constantly. If I get into the habit of taking days off whenever I feel a bit shitty what will that get me? It won’t get me into Challengers, it won’t make me win any Opens. I won’t win Wimbledon Y/N,’ Art looked up at you, his eyes glassy. ‘What will it have all been for if…if after everything I’m just average?’

‘You’re telling me you can’t win Wimbledon if when you’re hungover you watch tv instead of working out?’ You rubbed your face, studying his for any negative reaction. ‘Sometimes one small set back is all it takes.’ He looked utterly defeated, you’d never seen someone look so low. It was hard for you to understand the tennis obsession but of course, like most things, you knew it wasn’t as simple as it seemed.

‘Have you eaten yet?’

He shook his head.

‘Well, you really should - actually you will. There should be leftovers.’

You managed to convince Art to eat and drink plenty of water before he resisted. ‘Maybe go back to bed?’ Was your advice - which he did not take. Patrick was half gaming half texting girls and only chimed in to make the odd sarcastic comment. He didn’t hear what Art said next.

‘Y/N,’ When you took your eyes away from your coffee you saw Art’s hand trailing closer to yours, his eyes apologetic. ‘I think you’re kinder than anyone I’ve ever met.’ Before you could say anything he was coughing, interrupting himself before he could share further. It took a while for his diaphragm to ease up but by then the moment had passed. His hand had returned to his side of the table.

Chapter 8

Masterlist

Taglist: @gatorgirl007 @imblushingrn @soy-garbage @blahhucantmakeme

[redsummermoon]

Hello! I love your writing, to start. I know you said you only like to write for Charlie, buuuut sense you also asked for ideas, I thought I’d mention this one I had! So I’m the odd man out and actually have a fascination with Richard Cameron. I know, don’t hurt me. But I was thinking of a scenario with a female reader and a sort of “enemies to lovers” fic with Cameron? Basically where they’re complete opposites. Maybe the reader is popular and rebellious, and of course Cameron is himself. They’ve got nothing in common except the poetry meetings they like to go to, and they really just make snarky comments back and forth the whole time. Then finally (sense it’s fall) they end up going to a Halloween party. (Perhaps there’s drinking involved?) And Cameron ends up seeing the reader in her costume, that by 50’s standards might be a little risqué, and he’s like “how tacky, girls shouldn’t dress like that”, but secretly he ends up like … 👀❤️ And then smooch

Anyways, that’s my idea. Feel free to ignore. Thanks, love 💗

Of course my first request is cameron😒 (IM KIDDING) 

Thanks for requesting!! I hope I did your fascination justice❤️

Something More

Richard Cameron x reader CW: use of Y/N, female reader, blonde hair reader, underage drinking, making fun of nervous stuttering [2.9k words] 

Cameron had never understood Y/N.

Sure, she was smart. Probably too smart for someone who spent most of her time breaking rules with Charlie Dalton or getting involved in Neil Perry’s theatrical antics. Cameron could almost tolerate Charlie’s rebellious streak. After all, they were roommates, and you had to pick your battles. But Y/N… there was something about her that made it impossible for him to simply look the other way.

It wasn’t that he hated her. At least, Cameron didn’t think it was hatred. Maybe it was the way she always seemed to one-up him. Like when she managed to sweet-talk her way out of trouble for sneaking into the theater building late at night, or when she got away with challenging the headmaster’s every word without consequence. Charlie thought she was brilliant, and Neil seemed to gravitate toward her, especially during their impromptu play rehearsals. But to Cameron, Y/N was the embodiment of everything he wasn’t. Free-spirited, fearless, and… reckless.

He sighed, adjusting his tie in the reflection of the small dorm mirror. "Rivals," he muttered under his breath. That was what he’d settled on. They were rivals. Even if he didn’t quite understand why it bothered him so much.

Cameron knew he was no rebel. He liked rules, structure, and order. It was what made him who he was. But then came Neil’s ridiculous idea of reviving the Dead Poets Society. Neil had made it sound poetic and adventurous, a hidden escape from the suffocating walls of Welton. It was, of course, the exact sort of thing Charlie and Y/N would love.

Naturally, Cameron wanted no part of it. Sneaking out after curfew, wandering into the woods, all for the sake of reading poetry in secret? It was a direct violation of school policy, and Cameron wasn’t about to jeopardize his future over some poetry club. At least, that’s what he had been planning to say when Neil invited him.

But then, of course, he overheard Neil mentioning Y/N would be there.

He had no idea why that changed things, but suddenly, Cameron felt a knot tighten in his stomach. She’d be there, laughing, breaking the rules, and Cameron knew exactly how it would play out. She’d have that smug look on her face, as if she’d won some unspoken battle between them. She’d act as if she was braver, bolder, and once again, she’d leave Cameron in her dust.

"Fine," Cameron said to Neil, trying to hide the nervous edge in his voice. "I’ll go."

He hated the way his palms started sweating the moment he agreed, and the anxiety that knotted in his chest only tightened as the hours passed. Sneaking out wasn’t his thing. But he couldn’t let Y/N have this. Not this time. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of thinking she was more daring than him.

Later that night, as Cameron made his way through the shadows of Welton’s halls, he tried to calm the rising tide of his nerves. His heart pounded in his chest, each footstep feeling heavier than the last. This was wrong. Everything about it was wrong. He shouldn’t be sneaking out to the woods, shouldn’t be joining some secret society that defied everything Welton stood for.

But when he thought of Y/N, laughing and teasing him about being too scared to join them, he gritted his teeth and pressed forward.

The night was heavy with silence, the kind that pressed against Cameron's ears, heightening his anxiety as they made their way into the woods. Neil and Charlie led the group, their low murmurs and laughter breaking the stillness every now and then. Cameron lagged behind, mentally cataloging every risk, every infraction, every possible way this could go horribly wrong.

Then there was Y/N.

She darted ahead of the group, her footsteps loud as she ran through the leaves, laughing as she threw her arms out wide. “This is it, boys! The start of our revolution!” she shouted into the night air.

Cameron winced. “Shut up,” he hissed, jogging up to catch her. “We’re still too close to the school!”

Y/N only grinned, glancing over her shoulder at him with a playful glint in her eyes. “Relax, Cameron. No one’s going to hear us out here.”

“They will if you keep yelling like that.” He grabbed her arm, tugging her back toward the group. “Do you ever think? We’re supposed to be sneaky, and you’re—”

Before he could finish, Y/N spun around, eyes wide in mock innocence. “Me? You think I’m the problem?”

“Yes!” Cameron’s voice cracked slightly, his frustration rising. “You’re always so loud—”

Y/N leaned in closer, yelling, “Am I?”

He groaned, placing his hand over her mouth to stop whatever retort she had coming. “Just... quiet.”

For a moment, Y/N’s eyes locked onto his. They glimmered with mischief as Cameron rambled on about the consequences if they got caught. She wasn’t even listening. She never listened. Then, without warning, she licked his hand.

“Ugh!” Cameron pulled back, wiping his hand on his blazer.

Y/N smirked. “Thanks for the taste, Cameron!” She winked, then darted ahead, disappearing into the trees.

Cameron stood there for a moment, seething as her laughter echoed back at him. “That damn girl,” he muttered under his breath, before hurrying to catch up with the others.

• • • • • ☽ ☼ ☾ • • • • •

A few weeks later, they’d settled into their usual spot in the woods, the group began their poetry readings. Neil always read with confidence, Charlie with charm, and even Knox, when not obsessing over some girl, could manage to stumble through his lines.

Then there was Cameron, who dreaded his turn.

“I-I think I’ll go next,” Cameron announced, clearing his throat as he stood up, gripping the poetry book a little too tightly.

Y/N leaned over to Neil, whispering loud enough for Cameron to hear, “Brace yourselves, boys. Here comes another thrilling performance from Mr. Perfection himself.”

Cameron’s face burned. He shot her a look, but Y/N just smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes in mock innocence. He started to read, his voice wavering on the first line.

“Wh-Whose woods these are I think-I think I know. H-His-his house is in the-the village though.”

Y/N leaned in closer, whispering to Charlie. Cameron figured she would be making fun of his stuttering.

Cameron shot her another glare, stumbling on his next line. “H-He will not see m-me stopping he-here.”

Charlie snorted under his breath, but Neil shot Y/N a warning look. She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms and leaning back against a rock. Still, the damage was done, and Cameron barely made it through the rest of the poem without losing his nerve.

Later, when Knox started talking (again) about his girl troubles, Y/N took it as her cue to play matchmaker. “You just need to be bolder, Knox! Girls love confidence. You’ve gotta show her you’re the one!”

Cameron sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/N, can you not? We’re trying to read poetry, not solve Knox’s love life.”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong, Cameron? Jealous? I can help you with your stuttering and your girl problems.”

He scoffed. “I don’t have girl problems.”

“Oh, really? Then why is your face red every time I’m around?” Y/N shot back.

• • • • • ☽ ☼ ☾ • • • • •

Lately, Y/N has been… different. She’d still tease him, but it wasn’t with the same sharpness, the same eagerness to provoke a reaction. Her jokes seemed half-hearted, like she was holding something back.

One evening, after Cameron had finished reading his poem, without stuttering for once, he looked up to see Y/N staring at him. Not smirking or rolling her eyes, but actually staring. For a second, Cameron thought he might’ve imagined it, but when he caught her gaze, she quickly looked away, focusing on the ground.

What was that about?

“Hey, Y/N,” Cameron asked after the meeting had ended, the others already making their way back toward the school. She stopped, turning to face him, the moonlight casting soft shadows over her face. “You… didn’t make fun of me tonight.”

She blinked, a slow smile creeping onto her lips. “Would you rather I had?”

Cameron shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. “No, I just… I noticed.”

“Maybe I’m getting soft. Or maybe you’re getting better,” Y/N shrugged. “See you at the Halloween party tomorrow.”

Before Cameron could reply, she brushed past him, her arm grazing his as she walked by. He stood there for a moment, confused, flustered, and less irritated than he usually was after one of their encounters.

That damn girl.

• • • • • ☽ ☼ ☾ • • • • •

Cameron adjusted his soldier's uniform for the tenth time, nervously scanning the cafeteria. The decorations were tacky but festive, with paper bats hanging from the ceiling and pumpkins lining the tables. People had gone all out with their costumes, and the music blaring from the speakers set the perfect atmosphere for the Halloween party at Chris’s high school.

Cameron wasn’t usually one for these kinds of things, but tonight, he was trying to make an effort. His friends were really excited and that kind of energy was contagious. He spotted Knox and Chris almost immediately. Knox was beaming, dressed as Batman, and Chris, right beside him in a Batwoman costume, clung to his arm like they were in their own little world.

Knox caught Cameron’s eye and waved him over. “Cameron! You made it!”

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it,” Cameron said, though his eyes were still darting around the room. “You guys seen Charlie or Y/N?”

Chris and Knox exchanged a look before laughing.

Cameron frowned. “What?”

Knox shrugged, grinning. “You don’t want to know.”

Cameron’s confusion only deepened. “What do you mean by that?”

Neil strolled up at that moment, wearing a Dracula costume that, somehow, actually suited him. His cape billowed dramatically as he greeted them. Cameron wasted no time.

“Neil, where’s Charlie and Y/N? They said they’d be here.”

Neil shook his head, chuckling softly. “Trust me, Cameron, you don’t want to know.”

Before Cameron could press further, the doors swung open, and Charlie made his grand entrance. Dressed as a pirate, complete with an eyepatch, a fake sword strapped to his waist, and a slightly tipsy grin, Charlie swaggered into the cafeteria.

“There he is,” Knox said, laughing as Charlie made his way over.

“Cameron!” Charlie greeted him loudly, saluting to his friend. “Good to see ya, soldier boy!”

Cameron’s nose crinkled. “You’ve been drinking already?”

“Sir yes, sir!” Charlie smirked, holding up a cup of punch. He shoved the cup into Cameron’s hand. “Here, have some. Courtesy of me and Y/N.”

Cameron eyed the cup warily but took a sip. His throat burned slightly from the spike of alcohol, and he shot Charlie a look. “You spiked the punch?”

Charlie wiggled his eyebrows. “Of course. It’s a party, Cam! Loosen up!”

Cameron sighed, lowering the cup. “Speaking of Y/N... where is she?”

Charlie’s eyes lit up with mischief, and he let out a low whistle. “Oh, just wait until you see her. She’s… well, you’ll see.”

The noise of the party seemed to dull as the doors swung open again, and in walked Y/N, dressed as Marilyn Monroe. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as she moved through, her heels clicking against the floor, and every head, boy and girl alike, turned to stare.

Y/N wore a tight, black dress that shimmered under the dim lights, with a plunging neckline that left little to the imagination. The back was almost entirely see-through, revealing glimpses of her skin with every step. The dress ended high on her thighs, adorned with frills that swayed as she walked. A long strand of pearls hung from her neck, falling gracefully down from her ruby-red lips as she held a pearl between them. Her hair was perfectly styled in soft, platinum blonde curls, pinned in a way that mimicked the iconic Marilyn Monroe look.

Cameron could only stare. His breath caught in his throat, and he felt his cheeks burning. He should’ve known from Charlie’s reaction that Y/N would come dressed to impress, but this… this was something else.

“Holy...,” he muttered under his breath. “Girls shouldn’t dress like that.”

Charlie elbowed him with a grin. “Come on, man. Just enjoy it.”

But Cameron couldn’t. Or rather, he couldn’t stop himself from looking. As Y/N made her way through the crowd, it was as if the entire room was drawn to her. She moved with confidence, a playful smirk on her lips as people whispered and gawked at her.

Charlie nudged Cameron again, this time a bit harder. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I…” Cameron stammered, quickly downing the rest of the punch in his cup. The alcohol did nothing to calm his nerves.

And then, she was there. Right in front of them.

Y/N smiled, looking between Charlie and Cameron. “Hey, boys.”

Charlie gave her a whistle again. “Y/N, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Y/N gave a little twirl, the frills of her dress bouncing playfully. “You like it?” Her eyes landed on Cameron, and her smile grew wider. “What about you, Cameron?”

Cameron swallowed hard. “I, uh... well...”

Before he could gather his thoughts, Charlie cut in, laughing. “Cameron’s jaw was on the floor the second you walked in. Couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she turned her full attention to Cameron. “Really?” Her voice was teasing, but there was a warmth in her expression that made Cameron’s face heat up even more.

“I-I wasn’t—” Cameron started to protest, but he felt his cheeks growing even redder, and he knew there was no denying it.

Y/N’s smile widened, clearly pleased. “Well, I’m glad you approve.” She reached out and lightly touched his arm. “I think your costume is great too, by the way. Very handsome.”

Cameron opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He nodded quickly, feeling more flustered than ever, and Charlie burst out laughing at the sight of him. Cameron couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or the heat rising in his cheeks, but either way, he was in over his head.

As Charlie walked away, giving Cameron a playful wink before disappearing into the crowd, Y/N stayed by Cameron’s side. The music had shifted to something slower, softer, and the energy in the room had mellowed. Y/N turned to Cameron, her smile softening as she caught his gaze.

“So,” she began, taking a small step closer, “what do you say? Want to dance with me?”

Cameron blinked, taken aback. “Dance? With… me?”

Y/N laughed, nodding. “Yes, you. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Still confused, Cameron hesitated. “Why are you being so… nice to me?” He glanced down, feeling the weight of her attention more than ever. “I mean, we’re not exactly… friends.”

Y/N’s smile faded slightly, but there was a tenderness in her expression. “I guess something’s changed,” she said, shrugging lightly. “I don’t want to be rivals anymore. I don’t think we need to be.”

Cameron’s brow furrowed. “You don’t?”

“No,” Y/N said simply. She looked him in the eyes, her expression sincere. “I don’t want to argue with you all the time. It’s exhausting. I think we could be something else. What do you think, Cameron? Is that okay with you?”

Cameron felt his heart race. She was being so open, so honest. He hadn’t expected this. “I... yeah. That’s okay with me.”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled as she took another step closer, her voice dropping to a soft, almost teasing tone. “Good. So... what do you think we should be, then?”

Cameron swallowed nervously, unsure of how to answer. “I... I don’t know. What do you want to be?”

Y/N’s smile grew wider, playful but warm. “Well,” she said, her fingers lightly brushing against his arm, “maybe this can be our first date. You know, to figure out if we should just be friends... or something more.”

Cameron’s mind went blank for a second, but deep down, he knew what he wanted. He had always been drawn to her, even through their bickering, even when he told himself it was just rivalry. The truth was, it had always been something more.

“I think…” he began, his voice a little shaky but determined. “I think I’d like to be something more.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up, her smile becoming something softer, more genuine. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Prove it.”

Without thinking, Cameron closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, tentative kiss. The world seemed to disappear for a moment. The party, the music, the people; everything faded into the background. It was just them, standing in the middle of the dance floor, sharing something neither of them had expected.

When they pulled apart, Y/N was smiling, her cheeks flushed. “Well, that’s a good start.”

Cameron smiled back, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. “So... does that mean we’re not rivals anymore?”

Y/N laughed, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the center of the dance floor. “Nope. From now on, we’re on the same team.”

As they began to dance, moving in time with the soft music, Cameron couldn’t help but feel like this was the best first date he could’ve imagined. Y/N, with all her teasing and fire, was someone he’d always admired, and now, she was something more.

(Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening By Robert Frost included (one of my fav poems))

[jgys-hat]

Now I've rewatched The Untamed having now read MDZS, here are some thoughts (in no particular order):

I found myself liking Jin Zixuan a lot more this time around - the first time I watched I found him kind of boring, but this time I really appreciated him for seemingly trying to be kind and fair despite being posh and privileged. I also found his awkwardness endearing... Oh, and Wei Wuxian is a total dick to him on several occasions, to be honest.

I also liked Su She a lot more this time.

I liked Wangxian a more in CQL than in the novel. I think this is because in the novel, WWX can't read LWJ very well, so sometimes I felt that novel!LWJ came off as somewhat of a flat character, whereas in the show the acting gives a better sense of what he might be thinking and feeling at any given moment.

The flashback episode scenes at Cloud Recesses where they're all young, alive and more or less happy are Painful to watch knowing what's coming next...

I really intensely dislike CQL's inclusion of the second flautist plot point. I think the story is more interesting and tragic if WWX really did just overextend himself and lose control.

On a similar note, I preferred that in the novel the curse put on Jin Zixuan was nothing to do with WWX at all - I think something that's got nothing to do with him being pinned on him anyway adds an extra level of tragedy to the story and adds to the themes the story is trying to put across.

I much preferred the greater level of moral ambiguity that the novel had - it made me really sad that WWX does some really awful things but eventually gets to live happily ever after having had a chance to redeem himself, whereas JGY never gets that chance and just dies horribly :(((

I really enjoyed the extra development that CQL gave to the female supporting characters! I feel like CQL gives a much better sense of how Wen Qing is as a person than the novel does.

JIN GUANGYAO THE CHARACTER EVER... Everything I could possibly say about him has already been said by people who are much smarter and better at writing than me, but I love his character so much... He does do some pretty awful things, BUT he gets put in a lot of impossible situations where he would have been absolutely pilloried no matter what he did, poor guy. "JGY did some awful things" and "JGY was genuinely badly treated by a lot of people" are statements that can and should coexist.

The other thing that I find really sad is that JGY meets his end because of the person he (at least in the novel) killed in self-defence and was genuinely afraid of, and not because of anything actually evil he did, like having his dad's pet serial killer murder twenty women... It's really not justice at all, but I think that's likely the point the story is trying to make.

Listen, I'm just so sad about A-Yao... Maybe people should have been nice to him and he wouldn't have committed crimes :)))

He lived so much of his life in fear of one kind or another and then dies humiliated :))) I'm fine this is fine :)))

I am continually astonished that the censors decided "no zombies for you" but something as gross and horrible as the way Jin Guangshan was bumped off is A-OK.

I think that given how different the structure of the drama is from that of the novel, introducing the Yi City trio earlier on was an understandable and sensible change to make.

I think I may need to scream forever about Nie Huaisang's character arc... The fact that by using LXC to kill JGY he's become as manipulative as the person he hated, and has also forced Jin Ling into becoming sect leader at a very young age, just like NHS himself was by the death of his brother, makes me Feel Things...

...As does the fact that his face as he leaves the Guanyin Temple in CQL is not the face of a happy man - it comes across to me as though he's realised that getting revenge hasn't really given him any sense of satisfaction at all. He must know that his peers are unlikely to really trust him again. I love how in his final scene he's dropped the buffoonish act totally, because now his plan has come to fruition he can outwardly be the person he has been inside for a very long time.

NHS is clearly just as capable of Rage as his brother once was, he just expresses it very differently.

Also, the fact that by the end of the story NHS is likely older than his brother ever got to be :)))

I wish CQL had had some way of working in the scene from the novel where NMJ had NHS' things burned - I think it was nice on getting some background on the brothers and on NHS' relationship with JGY.

JGY and NHS were clearly close once, so watching this happen to their relationship is so interesting to me... The betrayal on both sides is just *chef's kiss*... I actually think they're both quite similar in a lot of ways, but that's probably a topic for a separate post!!!

They are both such cool and interesting characters and I love them both!!

[annepsilvaauthor]

You Belong With Me - Jamie Dutton

Pairing: Jamie Dutton x OC (Ava North)

Summary: Ava only wanted one thing: to be a horse tamer. And when she had the chance, she took it. Ava became the new horse tamer of Yellowstone, a totally different ranch from the others she met, either because of its immensity or because of family problems. Ava thought her problems were big, but when she met the Dutton family that thought dies. However, there is a Dutton who is a point out of the curve, a lawyer mistreated by the problems and by his own family. Meeting Jamie Dutton may not have been the work of chance, after all one broken understands the other.

Warnings: Subtle sexual innuendos, brief language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, fluffy.

Author's note: Can someone tell me how I put the "read more" by app? Please, help me!

Part III

Someone I can't have

The days went by and Ava became more and more connected with the cowboys and especially with the foreman. They didn't have another moment as intimate as that, since Ava no longer showed any interest beyond the conversations and Lee seemed to understand this. She respected him and liked to see that he respected her equally. This fact alone could have made him even more attractive, but something got in the way. He was kind, capable and kissed very well, he was a man. Why didn't she feel attracted to him?

One day the Duttons invented to have a family reunion on top of the horses. She could see Lee, Jamie and another brother she later discovered was Kayce, John's youngest son. There was a boy with him and from the way John looked at that boy, he was his grandson. But there was no sign of Kayce's wife, if he had any. Ava knew there were more children, a woman, but she didn't leave the House much and she certainly wouldn't share that moment with them.

Ava rode on one of the horses and joined the other cowboys, waiting for the Duttons to gather on the horses. Lee was the first and stood next to her at a distance considered far enough not to cause suspicion, but close enough to take care of her. Ava can observe Rip's look on himself, curious and mocking. She knew he understood what was happening between them, but had let her bear her own decisions. And she would thank him for that.

Jamie was the second to climb the horse. That stallion was one of the most docile and calm in the stable, which made it clear how far Jamie was from the farm and the routine of the cowboys. He certainly wasn't a landowner. At least, Jamie didn't get out of balance and managed to guide his horse to where Lee was, keeping his eyes fit, of course, on John Dutton. He helped his grandson to climb on his horse with satisfaction and love, with a look that she had not yet seen launch even to Lee, let alone Jamie.

Jamie, at a rare moment, looked away from John to Ava. It was a quick moment, maybe milliseconds, but she can glimpse a look of sadness. He fixed his gaze on Kayce, calling him to ride, but Ava kept watching him. Once again he had dressed differently from the suit and tie, wore boots, jeans, a white shirt and a cream jacket. However, as much as he dressed like a cowboy, he wasn't one. The well-aligned hair was certainly not from a cowboy. Jamie represented everything that Ava never managed to stay close to, that she never saw in that small town. He represented a class very far from her. Still, her body kept burning whenever she saw him.

Kayce finally joined the rest of the family and everyone headed to the countryside, where they guided the immense buffaloes from one valley to another. They did that from time to time to give the land time to recover while the buffaloes fed on the other part. The land trembled with the noise of the strong footsteps of the animals, both buffaloes and horses and Ava admired the beautiful and raw landscape of Yellowstone. The clean air, green and blue of the sky enchanted her every day as if it were the first time.

"I'll get him going for you." Kayce informed Lee with a playful smile.

"Race you!" Lee took the challenge and rode next to his brother, pairing the speeds in the middle of the herd.

"Men." She laughed alone when she watched the two brothers increase their speed more and more and the buffaloes follow them downhill.

"Think they should hold here." Jamie announced to his father, who ignored him for a few minutes.

"Kayce might be the only man who can outride him." John replied calmly as he watched the two sons ride through his land and then walked away from Jamie taking Tate with him.

The cowboys continued with their work and followed John, but Ava took a few seconds to watch Jamie. He stood there after hearing that from his father, with a sad and disappointed expression. John had said with all the letters that Jamie was not good enough to defeat Lee. And that statement didn't seem to be just about the race. Jamie was destined to be just the family's lawyer forever, at least according to John Dutton.

Before following the same direction as the others, Ava noticed a mucca on the back loins of Jamie's horse and rode to him. Jamie received her with a question mark on his face, after all, their last meeting had not been so friendly for her to want to approach him again.

"There's a mucca on your horse, sir. Don't move. I'm going to remove it." Ava informed respectfully when she got close enough to him. Jamie was reluctant for a moment, as if he didn't believe she was helping him, but gave in with a nod. If that mucca stung the horse, God knew how far he would take Jamie.

"Be quick." Jamie ordered by observing that the herd and the cowboys were distancing themselves. Ava rolled her eyes without him noticing and stretched towards Jamie's horse, pushing the mucca away with the thick gloves.

"Quick enough?" She didn't contain the sarcastic comment. "Oh, sorry...sir."

Jamie shook his head in front of her comment and left towards the others without looking back.

"Thank you, Ava. You were very kind." She replied to herself and rode quickly in the direction of the other cowboys.

After they guided the herd to valley nine, the Duttons took a different turn on the way back. They took a turn and rode towards the river. Ava and some cowboys remained at the top of the hill, waiting for the bosses to fish in the river. They prepared the baits and hoisted them over the water while still riding the horses. They seemed to be having fun and for a moment Ava wished she wasn't a cowgirl and could just had fun in that river.

Lee was the first to catch a fish and handed the fishing rod to Kayce, who gave it to Tate. John Dutton had gone up with the other cowboys to solve landowner problems and left his grandson with his father. Tate was an adorable boy who didn't seem to have much contact with nature, at least not like that.

"I got a fish!" Tate exclaimed excitedly to his father.

Ava observed that Jamie had positioned himself in the center of the river and after a few minutes he hooked a fish as well. Then Jamie got off the horse in a cumsy jump and wrapped the nylon thread of the fishing rod.

"Lee, get my horse. Whoo!" Jamie exulted when he could catch that fish as if he were a child, almost as excited as Tate. "Little late in the year for that!"

"Do they have the habit of coming here?" Ava asked Ryan, one of the cowboys who had been left behind.

"Not in recent years." He responded by watching the family downstairs. "Only Lee still shows up here from time to time."

"You can tell that."

Ava watched Jamie lift his huge fish from the river with a smile of satisfaction. He seemed very proud of his feat, it almost seemed that he had never done something so good that he deserved to be proud of or that someone had never given him due recognition. One thing or another, the fact was that Jamie seemed happy. It was the first time Ava saw him smile, most of the time Jamie was frowing, sad or worried. She could almost see every line of expression of his no longer so young face from above. He raised the fish so high that she thought he wanted to show her his big fish too. She laughed without warning.

"Oh, she's so beautiful." Jamie admired the dead fish in his hands.

The Dutton brothers lit a small bonfire by the river and roasted the two fish they had caught. They were more comfortable at that moment, taking off their jackets and sitting on small tree trunks. The moment seemed so intimate that Ava felt bad for having to watch them. She, more than anyone, knew the value of privacy and they deserved it.

"You're gonna raise him on a reservation?" Lee asked his brother about Tate while eating some of the roasted fish.

"People do it every day." He responded in disdain while taking care of his son's fish.

"Cause they have no choice, Kayce." Jamie entered the conversation after eating another piece of the fish, carrying a small knife between his big hands.

"Yeah, looks like you're ready to eat." Kayce ignored the brothers' comments to pay attention only to her son.

"It's a good day." Tate sentenced by finally tasting his fish.

"Every day, just like this." Jamie reported excitedly, but Kayce didn't buy that.

"Who are you kidding? Bet you haven't fished here in years."

"Only thing we haven't done in years is seeing you, Kayce." Jamie replied looking for another piece of fish meat.

"Well, he told me to leave."

"He told us all to leave." Lee recalled with the most serious voice. "You were just the only one who did."

"It's different. You know that."

"So you're gonna raise him in that meth-filled desert to prove a point." Lee continued to debate with his brother.

"What I'm proving you'll never understand." Kayce explained and the brothers laughed.

"Shit, I miss being young. You wake up in the morning and you just keep right on dreaming, huh?" Lee mocked his younger brother.

"You're a 38-year-old bachelor living in your father's house, working 100-hour week for a nibble of his approval." Kayce countered directly in a heavy argument. "Is that the dream, Lee? Sure as shit it ain't mine."

Ava could see the brothers talking from afar without being able to hear them, but she could notice a certain repulsion and anger in Lee's always cheerful expression. She wonder what they were talking about? Suddenly, Lee caught a pebble and threw it in the direction of Kayce, who deviated before the piece hit his face.

"Hey! Don't throw things at my dad!" Tate screamed anrily and got up to throw, with all his childish strength, the fish he had caught on Lee. The brother fell back more scared than by the force of the object. "Fucker!"

The brothers laughed because of the boy's behavior and verbiate. Even Ava laughed from up there. It was something so unexpected that she couldn't hold back her own laugh even if she didn't know what it was all about. Lee was hit by a little boy. She would definitely make fun of him later.

And there it was again, his smile. It was more surprised than happy, but it was still a beautiful smile. Jamie had big and wide teeth, but crooked. She was sure he could have left them straight if he wanted to, he had money for it. Ava didn't understand why someone who apparently cared so much about appearance didn't care about their own teeth. However, she had to admit that it matched him. A sign of imperfection on that plastic mountain. She liked that, it was fucking charming.

The brothers remained talking for a long time until Tate seemed tired and they decided to return home. The Duttons reunited again with the cowboys and they rode back. Jamie didn't ride as fast as his brothers, not even the cowboys, so he always ended up behind the crowd. And this distance allowed him to see a red handkerchief stuck in one of the branches of the trees. Jamie recognized it and approached to pick it up, keeping it in his jacket pocket.

Upon arriving at the stables, the cowboys collected the Duttons' horses to feed them inside the barn and they all entered the house, at least that's what Ava thought. She took care of the last horse in the stable, combing the mane while he fed, when she saw boots appear at the door. Ava raised her head to contemplate Jamie Dutton.

"Is there a problem, sir?" She asked with a frown, since he had never entered there since she had taken over the job.

"My father cares about his men as much as about animals and the land, Ava. He gives you everything you need to take care of what is his." He began his report by crossing his arms over his chest and staring at her with disdain.

"We are grateful for that, sir."

"Is it really? It doesn't look like it. Where's your handkerchief, Ava?"

She continued to frown at his question and looked for the piece on her neck, but did not find it. Ava widened her eyes and looked under her jacket, in her pockets and even in the cabin, but she couldn't find it. Holy shit! She sighed strongly and closed her eyes for a second trying to remember where she could have left it. Damn, the wind was so strong that day that it could have fallen anywhere.

"I lost it, sir." Ava responded after realizing that lying would not be the best option.

"Good. You were honest." Jamie let out a mini smile and rummaged through his jacket pocket, removing the red scarf. Ava opened her mouth slightly in surprise and closed it immediately. "It was near the river. It looks like you got distracted."

"This is not going to happen again, sir."

Jamie didn't answer by just studying her entirely with those huge and bright blue eyes. She had never been so close to him as to see them like that. They were beautiful, although a little sad. Jamie extended the handkerchief towards her and Ava picked it up, but not before she felt a remnant of his warm skin between her fingers. Sparks exploded from that touch.

"I feel like I know you from somewhere." Jamie resumed talking after the brief shock.

"I don't think so, sir. I would remember, for sure."

"You would?" Jamie asked almost choking and Ava felt a little powerful for making him disassemble like that.

"We are from completely different worlds, sir. If I'm in a place where you are, or that place is poorly frequented or it's from high society." Ava acquired a seductive tone that she had no intention of having. Jamie swallowed it dry over and over again. "I would definitely remember someone like you."

"Someone like me..."

"Yes, someone I can't have."

Ava didn't understand why she did that, in fact, she knew well, she just didn't understand why she couldn't contain herself. He was her boss, just like Lee. If she continued like that, she would lose the respect of cowboys and bosses. But she couldn't help but like everything that Jamie threw at her at that moment, in complete shock, as if he had never heard something like that from someone, especially from a woman. Ava saw him as an imposing man, smart enough to rid the ranch of many problems, but she realized that Jamie didn't seem to have many experiences with women. He seemed naive, disconcerted and fucking surprised. Probably, Jamie had never been desired by a woman before, at least, not one as attractive as Ava.

"IIII, I need to go." He stuttered and swallowed dry several times.

"OK, sir. Thank you for returning the handkerchief to me." Ava maintained the malicious tone and opened an irresistible smile, which Jamie almost disassembled in front of her. "Have a good day, Mr. Dutton."

"Likewise, Ava."

Jamie squeezed the step away from the stable and if she wasn't looking maybe he would have run out of there. Once alone, Ava allowed herself to laugh at the situation and bit her lower lip.

"Did you see that, Leon?" She talked to the horse that squeamed.

[penncilkid]

Alright since @angelicaether continues to enable me, welcome to:

Nick (the Neko) Headcanons

Because PK started getting too fixated on fleshing him out /lh

First off: He's fleshed out solely because I'm shipping him with Milo. This is the ONLY Nick rarepair I plan on doing, alright /lh

He's about 5 years younger than Milo

He's taller than Milo (no specific height headcanon yet but for context, my Milo is 5'5")

He's Mexican! (Because I'm not making him a white twink)

He's the only freelancer in a family full of coyote shifters (Yep, you read that right. Not cat shifters, coyote shifters)

He's also the child of an affair (Ssssssh don't worry about that /j)

He's studying at DAMN! The loose idea is he's studying shifter magic and/or healing magic as it pertains to shifters

I have a whole typed up explanation of how him and Milo first meet but the condensed sequence of events is Milo overhears him out on a date inching closer and closer to breaking covert, follows him and his date outside, narrowly avoids letting date see the neko bullshit, then puts the fear of God into Nick to ensure he's not gonna pull this shit again

Now, I can hear someone out there: "PK, what about Matt?" So glad you asked! I'm making Matt transphobic /lh

I decided that I wanted the cat shifter stuff to have a deeper meaning, some of which is gender affirming. So when I say Matt's transphobic, I'm saying it in a way where he swears up and down that he's not because he affirms binary trans people, but as soon as Nick half jokingly brings up that maybe the neko stuff could be more serious to him, suddenly he's too much and ridiculous and— (You catch my drift?)

Despite it being a brief fling, Nick takes it *really* hard. Milo ends up coming across the guy while he's out, puffy eyed with tear stained cheeks. Seeing as Milo hasn't heard of Nick pulling any stunts I thr time between these meetings, he offers to sit and talk with him for a bit. This is the catalyst for how they become friends.

At some point, Milo would invite Nick to a pack function as a friend (seeing as they're not dating yet) not only because he thinks Nick could use some more friends but because he also does wanna give him a chance (I also definitely see people going up to Milo and asking where the two of them stand because they're nosy)

And thus begins their slow burn arc!

There you have it. Far too many headcanons about what I fundamentally understand is nothing more than April Fool's joke character (/lh). I thought all this through yesterday and honestly, I really don't hate it (/pos). It's fun thinking about Nick in a more serious light and giving him all this backstory. So if you read this far, I hope you enjoyed it /lh /pos

(Bonus Headcanon Under The Cut)

Whatever you do, don't think about Nick finally figuring how to shift into a coyote form and looking at himself in the mirror and feeling *none* of the satisfaction he had hoped

:D! /lh

[takemebythehand-andsetmefree]

Here is a real quick projection onto Buck’s current live life. (And what I want from season 8????)

Quick background on myself, I am bisexual polyamorous, and non-binary. About two years ago I decided to finally step out of my comfort zone and start dating/hooking up with people for really the first time. I opened myself up to couples, other poly people, and basically anyone who would’ve be a fucking creep, but there is one situation I found myself in a few times that really stood out to me- being a third for a couple.

Now a lot of people DO NOT want to be a third/unicorn but I honestly really enjoyed it. I liked joining in on an existing dynamic, whatever that entailed. It also taught me how to read couples better.

Being a third (FOR SEX) is hard because you have to have some acceptance of the fact that you are essentially being used by the couple for their own satisfaction (if it’s a relationship dynamic you’re looking for it’s WAY different).

The reason I bring this up is because Im getting STRONG vibes that Tommy could be putting himself in the “third” situation right now. I feel like he’s been around Eddie enough to recognize the repression and compulsory heterosexuality (coming from Gerard’s 118, and the army) and then he recognized the longing for love in Buck.

I THINK that MAYBE if ABC is willing to go down this path, we could get a conversation with Buck and Tommy along the lines of “I know that you don’t love me that way. I know you’re working through shit, but Im going to Love You Anyway.” “I care about you enough as a person to help you through this journey, and while I might not be your endgame, Im what you are ready for right now, what you need right now, and Im okay being that.”

The idea that a relationship isn’t endgame isn’t something that most people are comfortable with, and I do know that Gay men characters are used for plot progression often, but I don’t think we see a lot of characters that are aware that this is their purpose, and OKAY with it.

I would love to see Tommy having seen both sides of Buddie, know that they are BOTH not ready, and deciding that maybe it’s okay. He can give Buck what he needs- his first boyfriend, someone to show him that love exists in a non toxic way, and someone to talk to, while getting what he needs in return- a boyfriend, a pseudo family at the 118, and someone to talk to.

And Eddie just needs a goddamn break and ALOT of therapy. So like, he isn’t ready for endgame either.

[footprintsinthesxnd]

Chapter 12: New Normal

Gale Cleven × Hope Armstrong (ofc)

Series Masterlist

This story is based on on the fictional portrayal of these men from the MOTA to series.

Summary: Gale finds himself arriving at Stalag Luft, finding Hope not quite as he left her. As the girls try to find a new normal within Stalag Luft, Hope struggles with her insomnia and pushes her friends away.

Collab: A Pair of Silver Wings by @major-mads

October 9th, 1943, Dulag Luft

Gale tapped his leg rhythmically against the wooden, the anxiety buzzing inside him. He felt as though he was on a high and at any moment he’d leap out of his chair and start wrecking the office. He wondered if this was how his father felt after having too much to drink. Gale had never been a violent man, choosing to talk things out rather than use his fists but after the events of the last few weeks, he felt like killing every Kraut that walked through that door with his bare hands.

He shouldn’t be here, in some dowdy German interrogation room. He should have been back in England with Hope, using the four days leave they had obtained after their wedding. They should have been in London, in the obnoxiously posh hotel John had booked for them, making use of the four-poster bed. They had the whole thing planned out, they weren’t even going to leave their room, instead choosing to spend those four days in their little bubble of wedded bliss, laying in bed until noon.

Gale had planned to read a book that Hugh had recommended to him a while ago, and Hope was excited that she could spend a whole ninety-six hours with him, it was the longest amount of time they would have ever spent together.

The large wooden door swung opened and a tall Luftwaffe Lieutenant strolled in, whistling a tune as he went. He barely looked at Gale, shuffling through the folders on his desk until he pulled one free, thumbing through the pages with a satisfied smile.

“Hmm,” he sat down on the opposite side of the desk, a vile smirk on his lips. “So you are the infamous Major Gale Cleven. It is good to finally meet you, Major. I am Lieutenant Haussmann.”

Gale glared at him, his bright blue eyes boring into the other man’s chest, refusing to meet his gaze and give him the satisfaction of his attention.

“So Major Cleven, do you care to tell me about yourself?” Haussmann sat down opposite, thumbing his way through a folder absentmindedly. Gale wondered what he was looking for. What information could they possible have on him?

“Major Gale Winston Cleven. Serial number 0-399782,” Gale replied plainly, ignoring the frustrated look on the Lieutenant’s face. Gale could only imagine that he’d been receiving the same reply from all of his crew, not to mention from the other crews that had gone down with them. There’s only so many times you can hear names and serial numbers before the task becomes tedious.

“Now Major, you know I know that information already,” Haussmann tutted, “Is there nothing of interest you would like to share? We could have a quid pro quo. You help me and maybe I can help you in the future. Sounds good?”

“Major Gale Winston Cleven. Serial number 0-399782,” Gale repeated, his gaze never once faltering. He could keep this up all day, all night too if he had too.

“Alright then, let’s have a look,” Haussmann began turning the pages of the file that Gale could only assume was about him. He mumbled to himself, Gale picked up the odd words like the State of his birth, his date of birth, his unit, until Haussmann sighed.

“I remember why I know you now,” he pulled free the picture of Hope that Gale had tucked into his jacket pocket when he’d jumped. It was from the night of Dye’s party. It was the picture of Hope, Meatball and himself that the photographer had taken for them. Hope was smiling brightly, tucked close into his arms while Meatball sat at their feet. Hope was in her Class A uniform, her dark locks curls and her lips painted bright red, just how Gale liked them.

“You are Lieutenant Armstrong's fiancé, yes? Yes, I do remember you now. She also had a picture of you,” Hausmann recalled.

Wait, how did he know Hope? Was Hope here? Had she been captured too? Was she still alive?

Haussmann continued talking, rambling about something but Gale had spaced out the moment he’d heard Hope’s name. She was alive after all.

Haussman seemed suddenly interested in something tucked into an envelope within the file, pulling free the two gold wedding bands and the dainty gold necklace that Gale had along with it. He’d bought it for Hope’s birthday but she’d gone down a few days before he’d had the chance to give it to her. He’d planned a little surprise party for her on base but everything had quickly gone hushed and no one mentioned it after news that the girls plane had crashed.

The moment he had heard that the girls had gone down, Gale’s heart had stopped beating, frozen in time. It had turned to stone and he feared that he would never be able to love anyone like she had loved Hope. In this damp and dreary office his heart started to beat again, slowly at first until it resumed its normal pace, pounding in his chest as the idea of a reunion with Hope filled him with joy.

“You are thinking of her? Yes, I can see it in your eyes,” Haussmann sneered, leaning across the desk, “Do not get your hopes up. I fear women will not survive long in a place like this. They are not as strong.”

“You’ve never met my girl Hope,” Gale mumbled under his breath but Haussmann’s ears perked up.

“We will see,” he snapped, rising from his desk, “You may take your possession, Major. As I told Lieutenant Armstrong, I have no use for your rings. You are no use to me if you tell me nothing.” He hurried out of the room, allowing the guards in who grabbed Gale harshly, but not before he’d grabbed the wedding bands, pulling him from the chair and leading him back towards the cell he had frequented before his brief interrogation.

The cell was damp and cold, the cot uncomfortable and unforgiving, but none of that mattered now. All that mattered was that Hope was alive and she was here.

Gale slumped down on a bed, the breath that he’d been holding since the tragic news finally being released in a long, relieved sigh.

His girl was here and Gale was damned if he didn’t intend to find her.

He thumbed her dainty, gold wedding band between his fingers, pushing it back and forth along the gold chain he’d purchased for it. It held a small locket on it, embossed with delicate little flowers and held a picture of himself inside. He pressed his lips against the cool metal, a silent tear slipping down his cheek.

“I promise I’ll find you, Hope. I promise.”

October 14th, 1943 - Stalag Luft III 04:00

Two weeks they had been at Stalag Luft III. Two weeks in the hell hole, but to Hope it felt like two years. Sleep didn’t come easy for her. The first few nights she spent on high alert, her eyes watching every movement outside the hut. She was convinced they’d be moved again and after losing her friends in Dulag Luft she wasn’t going to let the same happen again. Ruth tried to reassure her that they weren’t going to be split up again, but even she was unsure of what was planned for them. She had tried to stay up with Hope for several nights, but sleep eventually overtook her and she slipped into a dreamless slumber.

After several nights without sleep, Hope grew irritated, snapping at any minor inconvenience, but she’d been forced to bite her tongue when the guards barked orders during their morning and night appells. The stern glare Frank sent her told her now was not the time to put up a fight.

She hadn’t meant to be so short tempered but as she’d watched Ruth and Frank sleep, she’d resented them for resting easy. Her mind spun twenty four hours of the day, constantly on alert, constantly in overdrive. Frank had joined Ruth is staying up with Hope, taking it in shifts to try and distract her from her constant worry.

“Do you know what happened to her in Dulag Luft?” Ruth whispered to Frank one night whilst Hope paced up and down the corridor.

Frank shook his head, surprising a yawn, “She won’t tell me what happened. When I found her, Ruth, I…” Frank shook his head, blinking away a few tears, “Well, she wasn’t the same Hope I used to know.”

After Hope rejoined them, her pacing finally ceased and she sank down onto her cot, her eyes finally growing heavy, and as the guards patrols seemed less frequent tonight, they had gradually slipped closed. Her body slouched against the end of their cot, not the most comfortable positions lead against the wooden beam but exhaustion had taken over.

Her mind swam over the events of the last few weeks, coming to a halt on the day of the crash. Images flashed behind her eyes, pulling her deeper into the abyss. Flak shook the plane around her, spinning into a nosedive. Ruth’s voice was close by but she couldn’t see her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest but she wasn’t frightened, not really. She was worried for Ruth, and Frank, they didn’t deserve this end.

It was strange really, the feeling of falling, watching as the world flashed passed you in a blur. The descent from the sky that should have terrified her but instead comforted her in some way as she plummeted.

Over the last few weeks she grew to realise she wasn’t as strong as she thought she was. She didn’t look after her friends when it mattered most, so maybe she did deserve this end.

Hope knew it would all be okay in the end. Despite the height the C47 was plummeting from, she could see Gale waiting below her. His smiling face and open arms at the bottom of her long fall was a welcome sight. Would he catch her? What did it matter? He either would or he wouldn’t, either way at least it would all be over.

She spread her arms, allowing the wind to take her like a bird, sending her in whichever direction it pleased. She could hear a faint voice in the distance, calling out to her. It sounded like Ruth, a voice that had grown so familiar to her over the last year.

She reached towards the voice, seeing Ruth’s face beaming back at her, her own hand outstretched. But what about Gale? He was waiting for her and…

“Hope!” Ruth shook her violently, her voice stricken with worry as her friend finally came to, lurching forward off the end of her bunk and nearly knocking herself out on the bunk above her. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Hope stared back at her, dark eyes wide and full of tears, sweat trickled down her forehead and her chest heaved against her overalls. It took her a moment to realise what was going on as Frank’s worried face appeared beside the blonde’s. Ruth reached forward, trying to brush away the hair that had fallen across Hope’s forehead, but Hope caught her wrist, squeezing it painfully.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, pushing herself quickly off the cot and marching towards the door of the hut, not once looking back at her friends. Since didn’t care if they hadn’t had the 6am roll call yet, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt her way along the darkened corridor and out into the compound, ignoring Ruth’s desperate pleas. Her heart hammered violently in her chest as her shoulders shook, tears running freely as she gasped for air, choking on her own emotions.

Stumbling blindly through the dark she felt herself falling, landing with a thump. She crawled around in the mud, feeling for her way. The rest of the compound was lit with bright, white searchlights, but behind the hut was pitch black.

She managed to haul herself to her feet, ignoring the way her right knee ached or the grazes on her hands trickled with fresh blood.

Maybe this was what she deserved after all.

Hope wasn’t sure how long she’d spent outside but Frank found her shortly before roll call, hauling her to her feet. Neither of them mentioned their previous interaction and Hope was grateful for that.

She followed him to where Ruth was waiting on their block’s steps, her brow creased in worry. When she saw them approaching, a sympathetic but worried smile tugged at her lips. Hope forced a smile in return, linking her hand through Ruth’s and squeezing it gently. Ruth was pleased to see even the faintest smile on Hope’s face. She’d been so withdrawn since their arrival at the Stalag that Ruth began to worry that she was slowly slipping away before her eyes.

The trio made their way over to the mess hut. They each collected their modest breakfast of black bread, which according to a few of the old timers, was filled with sawdust.

“I miss the breakfast back at base,” Frank whined as he chewed through the tough, brown slice. He was thankful he had always had good teeth, otherwise you risked losing a few just at breakfast.

The girls nodded in agreement, their mouths watering at the thought of powdered eggs, toast, maybe even some bacon and hot coffee. They were thankful for the Red Cross parcels that, although few and far between, helped supplement their diet a little.

Ruth still kept a vivid memory of the man by the gate when they arrived, just skin and bone. Hope had seen a man similar in the infirmary where she was helping out and told Ruth that the man was still in good spirits, which he was, but that didn’t help the fear that grew inside Ruth’s chest.

Would she end up just like him?

Hope was thankful for a job in the infirmary working alongside a few of the camp's doctors. She’d been given a sense of purpose which had been taken from her, and despite the lack of sleep and the ache in her chest, she managed to pull herself out of bed each day for that purpose. Ruth was happy for her. Hope was born to be a nurse, it was her calling and seeing her helping people again gave them all a little hope.

Ruth found her own purpose in the camp by teaching some of her fellow POWs how to read. Many of them were just boys when the depression hit and were forced to drop out of school to work the fields to keep their families afloat. So every morning after breakfast and their morning appell, Frank walked her to the Kriegie school, nicknamed Kriegie University, and she taught a few classes throughout the day. Some were basic reading classes, and others were literature studies like the ones she taught back in the states. If there was one thing Stalag Luft III had an overabundance of, it was books. The south compound’s extensive library was a popular spot, and it gave Ruth the perfect material to use in her classroom.

Frank had taken up working in one of the camp’s gardens. The girls had encouraged him to take up a study he might have been interested in but he seemed happy in the garden. “You girls know I’m better with my hands, that’s why I fly the plane.”

He supplemented his time between garden and playing football which seemed to bring some of the old Frank back. Watching him play reminded the girls of the fun loving young man he actually was. The war had aged them all and they sometimes forgot that Frank wasn’t really that much older than them.

After breakfast and the 6am appell, they went their separate ways. Hope tried to push the events of the morning away as she strolled towards the infirmary, a spring in her step. The dark purple bags under her eyes told a different story but she ignored them.

She reached the infirmary door, her eyes falling upon ‘Lazaret’ inscribed on the door. It seemed that the Germans liked to make their presences known wherever they went. Pushing open the infirmary door, she winced as it swung back loudly on its hinges.

The infirmary was a long room with a bench down one side, and cupboards underneath and a washing sink. The examination table and stool sat in the middle of the room, and the basic lab facilities of a microscope and hand driven centrifuge sat on a bench on the other side.

The rest of the ward contained a room, which was a dormitory for 10 -12 men in double bunks; this was where Hope spent most of her time. At present her patients consisted of a young RAF pilot with a compound fracture to his thigh, another British pilot with broken ribs, a young American bombardier with a head injury and a Czech pilot with a broken arm.

Hope had enjoyed being back on the ward, it had been so long since she’d done hospital rounds that it bought memories back from her training.

She’d been working alongside an English doctor from London, Edmund, and an Australian medical student, Robbie. Hope found both men easy to get along with, and there were even moments when she managed to forget she was a POW. The infirmary was her escape. Edmund had been her first friend at the camp. Despite his upper class upbringing and well spoken English, he was down to Earth. Robbie was very bouncy and full of life despite their current situation. He had been a Hampden pilot and still talked enthusiastically about his flying days.

“Good morning, Hope,” Edmund called from the examination table where he was plastering another young man’s arm. “I’m afraid I’m adding to your ward, you’ve got another fractured arm.”

Hope smiled cheerfully at the young man, who returned the gesture with a pained grin, “Not to worry, Doctor, I’m sure one more won’t hurt.” There was a running joke between the medical staff that whenever they managed to discharge one patient they gained three more.

Robbie greeted her as she strolled into the ward, tying an apron around her middle. He cocked his head to one side, “What happened to you?” He motioned to the dry mud smeared across Hope’s knees and hands.

“Oh, I slipped,” she replied, moving over to the wash basin and cleaning herself up. She winced as she ran the rough cloth over her grazed hands. She could see now why Frank and Ruth had looked so worried this morning, she must have looked quite the state.

Robbie shrugged, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “Could ya help me with this one bloke?”

Hope nodded, carefully manouvering between the beds until she came alongside the young man with the head injury. He’d been unconscious the whole time he’d been at Stalag Luft and Hope worried he may never wake up.

She carefully helped Robbie roll the young man onto his side, gasping at the sight before her. Robbie glanced over, his face pained, “Bloody hell! Poor bastards. Hows’t keep happening?”

He gestured to the blood marks on the young man’s back, indicating pressure sores.

“I don’t know, Robbie,” Hope replied sadly, carefully cleaning the wounds before she could apply fresh dressings. “We keep turning him, there’s not much else we can do. Just keep them clean and keep roaring him. If we can keep him off his back to give them a chance to heal that would definitely help.”

The young man nodded, following Hope’s instructions. Hope wasn’t sure what else to suggest. If the young man had been in a proper hospital then they may have been able to see the extent of his head injury, but here, there was much choice but to make him comfortable and wait it out.

The morning flew by quickly with ward rounds, changing sheets, redressing wounds and feeding all the patients. By lunchtime, Hope’s stomach growled loudly and she was ready for whatever measle meal had been prepared.

She caught up with Ruth and Frank just before they got in line for lunch. They were deep in conversation about something but they became silent when they noticed Hope.

“Everything alright?” She asked, falling into step beside Ruth who gave her a reassuring nod.

“Yes, I was just telling Frank about my morning, I’ve been so busy with classes that I almost missed lunch.”

Hope was pleased to see the way Ruth’s eyes lit up as she spoke about her teaching. She would have loved to have known her before the war, before they each had a part of themselves ripped away, but seeing her now reminded Hope that they might be able to find their old selves again one day.

Lunch consisted of thin, runny potato soup with a few vegetables from the camp garden. Frank beamed as he pointed out his effort in helping prepare the vegetables for their meal.

“Who knew Frank was so green fingered,” Ruth chuckled, slurping the soup from her spoon.

“Well they way he used to hug those hedges back in Norfolk,” Hope jested, “It’s a wonder ‘The Angel��� never ended up in one.”

Frank rolled his eyes dramatically at the girls' antics, pleased to see they could still laugh about something. He wasn’t sure how they kept him smiling but they always managed it. He worried of course, between Hope closing herself off from them and Ruth’s endless worry he wondered how they smiled at all. There were moments when it felt like they were back in Berkshire sitting around the mess hall telling stories from their childhoods.

“Well, I always said you should have got your pilot wings, Hope. I wouldn’t have minded you as a co-pilot.”

Hope gave him a faint smile. Thinking of perusing a different career seemed so far away from where they were.

“She’d have given you a run for your money, Frank,” Ruth giggled again, finishing up her soup. She glanced over at Hope who just sent her a small smile again. There were moments when she saw the old Hope again rather than the closed-off shell of the woman she had become. She wasn’t sure what to do, but she could only tiptoe around on eggshells for so long before someone cracked.

“I should be getting back to my classroom,” Ruth declared, pushing back her rickety, wooden chair and stepping back. “I’ll see you both later.”

“Be careful, Ruth. Do you want me to walk with you?” Frank asked, half pushing his chair back but she waved him away.

“It’s not far, Frank. I’ll be fine,” she smiled at Frank but nudged her head towards Hope, trying to prompt Frank to follow through on their earlier conversation.

Frank nodded.

“Bye Rue,” Hope’s quiet voice could barely be heard above the noises around them but Ruth did. She sent her friend a small smile. It felt like that’s all they did now, keep smiling at each other.

As Ruth disappeared, Frank turned to Hope, his face suddenly set in a concerned look. His eyebrows drew tightly together and his lips set in a thin line.

“What are we doing, Hope? You can’t close us out…”

“I’m not,” Hope interrupted, placing her spoon down into her bowl. “I’m just getting on with my day. There’s not much else I can do here, so I just have to get on with it.”

“But you don’t have to do this alone, Hope. We’re all here for you, but I need you to open up to us. Please don’t shut us out, especially Ruth. She was really upset this morning…”

Hope but her lip, recalling her outburst from earlier, she hadn’t meant to snap but she also couldn’t sit and talk about how she felt. She felt so much and it was too much for one person to bare, but it was also too much to share. She couldn’t share it, not with anyone. Certainly not poor Ruth, she had already gone through so much.

“I’m sorry,” was all she could mumble, scraping her chair back from the table, “I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you all.”

“Hope, you’re not a burden…”

“I need to get back.” Hope didn’t look back to see Frank’s broken face as she left him alone at the table. She couldn’t help it, she just couldn’t . She hated seeing the hurt in her friends eyes all the time, she was a nurse she was meant to help them not hurt them.

Pushing the conversation from her mind she made her way back to the infirmary, it was the one place she could be useful, be herself. She knew what she was doing wasn’t healthy but how could she burden her friends with her own problems. She had to be the strong one, always the strong one.

October 22nd, 1943, Stalag Luft III

Hope stared blankly at the prisoners that walked by, ignoring the shouts and calls from others. She wasn’t sure why she’d gone to the gates, there wouldn’t be anyone there for her. Hope supposed that maybe she came to the gate as a nurse, to help anyone injured that might need her, maybe it was to renew her sense of purpose. She could use some of that right about now. Or maybe it was the subconscious hope that maybe there would be someone she knew, someone who knew Gale and Hugh, someone who could bring her comfort.

Her fingers gripped absentmindedly around the cool wire of the compound, leaning against the fence for support. She could feel her knees growing weak, as if each passing man somehow drained the life from her and…

“Hope?”

Hope raised her head at the sound of her name being called, the rest of the voices around her seeming to vanish as…

“HOPE!”

Her vision seemed to blur as her dark eyes raced over the faces of the incoming prisoners. She couldn’t find him, she couldn’t find him and…

A warm hand wrapped around hers, a familiar warmth that made her heart stop and leap simultaneously. The warmth spread through her, embracing her in the golden light that she had longed for.

“Oh Hope,” his voice sounded weak, broken as it fell from his lips, but it was him. He was alive and he was here.

“Gale?” She whispered, weaving her hand through the fence further to grip hold of his jacket, feeling the rough leather beneath her fingers. “Gale?”

“It’s me. I’m here,” he reassured her, pulling her as close as he could through the fence. Despite the awkward angle, their lips met briefly. The faintest of kisses and yet the one that had conveyed the most love, more love than any of their kisses before.

“I can’t believe I found you.” Large tears rolled down his dirty cheeks, his blue eyes shining and a loving smile cracked across his lips. “I found you, just like I promised.”

Before Hope could reply a guard appeared, shoving Gale away from the fence and raising his weapon. Hope opened her mouth to scream but nothing came out, not even a whimper.

Gale’s hands flew up, he backed further away but his eyes stayed on Hope’s. “I’ll find you, Hope. I promise I’ll find you,” he called as he was pushed further from her.

Hope’s legs carried her along the fence line, following Gale’s every move until she couldn’t any longer. She watched as he disappeared into the crowd, his worried expression the last thing he saw.

She gripped the fence, screaming his name as her heart shattered. How could this pain be so much worse? She’d already lost him once but to lose him again would kill her.

She sank into the mud, ignoring the way it seeped through her clothes, wetting her skin and causing her to shiver. The wind was harsh, blowing painfully against the skin on her face, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t. The only thing she could see was Gale’s face disappearing into the crowd.

Hope wasn’t sure what happened next, but a warm hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present. She noticed it was growing dark now, the night drawing in quicker than she had realised. Looking up, her eyes met a wide-eyed pair that she remembered well from Thorpe Abbotts. Crank.

They thought she was dead.

Hope glanced behind him and noticed Frank Murphy and Glenn Graham. All men that Gale had introduced her to. Frank was behind them, a sympathetic smile on his lips as he looked down at her.

“Frank,” she croaked, not realising how thirsty she was, “It’s Gale. He’s here, Frank.” The tears began to flow freely again and Hope didn’t know how she had any left to cry.

Frank was beside her in an instant, clutching her close as he lifted her up into his arms, her tiny, frozen body pressing against him, “I know, Hope. I know he is.”

Hope felt Frank’s warm lips press against her forehead as her eyes slid closed. Finally, her body relaxed in his arms.

Frank shared a worried glance with the other airmen. None of them had ever seen Hope look so broken, but knowing Gale, he’d do everything in his power to get to his girl. In the meantime, they had all made a promise to Gale that they would look out for Hope and Ruth. They knew all too well the hell John raised after losing Gale, too, and the least they could do was to look out for his girl.

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