#hurricane heartbeat

[khantipode]

Hey, guys. It's been a while. Antipode isn't dead, but obviously I haven't touched it in a while. To make a long story short, I'm just kinda burned out. I got up to the end of Neverland remastered for the first fic and outlined Hollow Bastion's remasters but then I got really into Persona again after playing Persona 5 royal and growing to adore Akechi, thereby starting a Persona longfic as just a way to refresh and start something new. Now, this doesn't mean I'll never come back to Antipode. However, time away's made me realize that a big problem as things currently stand is... ambition. I had considered making another set of fics after All That's Left. Upon further evaluation, I think I may genuinely need to rework my plans for Act 3 to serve as a conclusion, at least in the event that I don't have any motivation to make another saga. Then there's Hurricane Heartbeat, which despite promising a sequel years ago, still hasn't come to pass. My co-writer at the time had done a lot of brainstorming and spitballing to try and help me work up the motivation. At some point, I should really go over those notes and figure out what I wanna do. Now's just not the right time. Maybe KH4 or Missing Link will rekindle that spark. Right now, my head's just not in the best place. But Antipode has gone on long breaks before. I'm sure I'll eventually sort this out.

[megaderping]

Do you still plan on writing hurricane heartbeat vol 2? I read all of it and that cliffhanger was so good!

I do want to get back to Hurricane at some point! I've just kinda been struggling w/ motivation for my KH fics for a bit. That, and Hurricane was co-written with someone who is no longer in a healthy enough mental state to contribute in the same capacity, so I'm basically gonna have to a) reread the original fic, b) revisit the old ideas and refine them.

I do feel bad because it's been a really long time, though. Part of it was me wanting to finish Arendelle's arc in Antipode, and then there were other things I wanted to do with that fic. Then the remasters of the first Antipode fic came up, and I got up to the end of Neverland and needed a break, and then the Persona brainrot kicked in. Juggling multiple projects is hard! I do plan to return to both Hurricane and Antipode, I just dunno when just yet. When Inverted Fate wraps, it should be easier, though.

[euesworld]

"You breathe into me a hurricane of butterfly wings, as softly as can be my heart rapidly beats.."

And as it rapidly beats, I feel as if there is an army of honey bees inside of me - eUë

[bchan95]

Sincerely, Me (Bang Chan x Reader)

Chan dedicates a song to you publicly to announce your relationship.

You shuffled into the aisle right behind the V.I.P. section. As you sat down, you looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. The blaring overhead light slightly tinted in your big sunglasses, and your arms crossed your chest, holding yourself into place as yelling fans filtered in on both sides of you.

Seeing Chan live was always a hassle. He wanted you to be protected, to have bodyguards around you in the crowd to keep you safe, but since your relationship was still a bit more on the low, you didn't want to appear too out of place in a sea of his biggest admirers. The two of you settled for a guard strategically placed with you in sight and his stylist on speed dial.

"Baby, call me when you get to the car after the show okay?" Your boyfriend said hastily as he downed another glass of water while waiting for his turn in the makeup chair.

"Chan, I always call you. I'll remember," You said with a giggle, letting your hand fall into his as he rubbed small circles onto the top of it.

"I know baby, but... just make sure you do okay?" His smile beamed up at you, a flight of pearly white.

You nodded, leaning in and kissing his forehead and then his lips before letting go of his hand and walking out of the dressing room. You were quickly whisked into a side door and dropped right past security. You slyly flashed them your badge in your pocket before walking down the stairs to the floor seat your boyfriend purchased.

Even though you'd seen this show twice already this run, your nerves were through the roof. Suddenly you were taken back to the moments in your teens, waiting for your favorite celebrity to jump on stage. You felt your heartbeat quicken as the music boomed through the speakers, mixtures of squeals and singing ringing through the rows as the fans hyped themselves up for the upcoming performance.

You admired the rows of bracelets that lined their wrists, the way they linked arms and sang at the top of their lungs together, crying tears of joy as they waited for the boys you know so fondly moved around the stage in a hurricane of speed and sound.

You felt oddly comfortable in this moment. Able to blend in so seamlessly with everyone else. You knew better than to think it would always be this easy. You knew that if you and Chan lasted as long as you hoped you would that eventually he'd have to tell everyone.

Part of you yearned for public acknowledgment. The thought of being able to hang on his arm in clubs, at awards shows, and even on vacations without the fear of being seen was tempting.

Another part of you worried about what would come with confirmation. Your boyfriend gave up his whole life for this career, and you didn't want to be the one to tear it apart. You wanted him to be successful, to continue to be able to produce songs he loved with the people he cared about the most.

You must have been lost in thought for a while, as the only thing to bring your eyes back to center stage was the sudden dimming of the lights and the loud screams tearing through your eardrums. Your breath caught in your chest as you rose out of your seat and joined them in their screams.

The booming sounds of the song rang through the speakers and you heard the familiar howl of your boyfriend. You giggled, clapping with everyone as they cheered them on. Chan found his place in the center of the stage to greet the crowd.

"What's going on Sydneyyy?" He smiled as they met him with a big smile. He nodded at them, throwing up a thumbs up to show how impressed he was.

Your eyes met for a second and you swore he winked at you. You shook your head, thinking that he wouldn't be that careless tonight. Still, your heart warmed at the thought of his risk and you yelled out their names in time with the rest of the crowd.

The set moved quickly, and as they ran through their solo sets you could feel your feet wearing on you. You sat down as the stage flipped over to black for a moment. You cursed the moment you decided to quickly throw on your Converse instead of your Docs, feeling your toes throb through the thin material of the shoe. You rolled your ankle back and forth, pressing your thumb to the side to release some pressure. Your efforts were put on pause as you heard a voice from above.

"Ma'am, follow me."

You looked up to see the smile of a bodyguard that you know well. You looked up at him in confusion, a furrow in your brow. He didn't say anything more but just stretched out his hand to you. You took his hand hesitantly and let him guide you out of the aisle. You watched as fans eyed you down as you moved closer and closer to the stage. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat as you followed his lead to the front row in a center seat next to his parents.

Chan's mom smiled at you as you moved closer to her. You nodded and smiled back at her. Why were you moved to the front so suddenly? Surely fans took videos of this girl being taken directly by Stray Kids security to the front of VIP. Chan's dad's giggle shook you back to the present, him chuckling over your shell-shocked reaction.

You opened your mouth to speak, but you were quickly drowned out by screams as someone reentered the stage. You heard a familiar accent yell out to the crowd again.

"Ahhh so it's time for my solo stage..."

You looked up and watched your boyfriend take the center once again. He looked over at you with a wide smile, clear as day in the summer sun. You felt shivers take over your whole body as he maintained eye contact as he spoke.

"I have a special song that I wrote..."

The crowd screamed again and you could feel his parents' eyes on you. You could have sworn you felt the flash of his mom's camera on your cheek but you were too focused on his dark brown eyes to fully notice anything else anymore.

"I wrote it with someone special in mind," his eyes comb through the crowd before landing on yours again. He winked in your direction.

"This one's for my baby."

You could have sworn you felt your heart leap out of your chest as gasps and screams took over the crowd before the base kicked in. Your boyfriend places on his big sunglasses, a big smirk stretched across his lips. You felt frozen as you watched a performance you've seen several times before with a new perspective.

A song you thought your flirt of a boyfriend wrote just to make his fans go crazy, was about you? You caught him giggling on Bubble, and bringing the fantasy to life with fans every night... why wouldn't he tell you?

Despite your racing thoughts, you managed to bring a small smile to your face, clapping along to the familiar beat. Chan continued to put on his same charming choreography as he sang so sweetly. He pointed out in the crowd to several random fans before returning over to your side of the stage, beaming ear to ear.

"Baby I'll show that you’re the one," he sang, almost giggling through the lyrics. "Like a diamond ring such a pretty little thing you’re blinding everyone."

You felt yourself blushing as he winked at you before quickly moving back across the stage. Your nerves were swapped for a swelling amount of warmth in your chest as you sang along. You finally looked over at Chan's mom, her phone in hand as she filmed you. Your cheeks burn red as you shake your head and return your gaze to the stage.

Watching your rockstar of a boyfriend was always a treat, but something more bubbled to the surface when you knew he was singing directly to you. You have a lot of things you want to say, but you aren't really sure where to start. Ignoring the flight of what-ifs, you just allow yourself to enjoy the rest of the set.

As Chan ended his song, you quickly heard the sounds of disgust coming from the members reentering the stage. Filled with "oohs" and "ewws," they relentlessly teased Chan, shoving him back and forth like a ping pong ball.

Finally, they let him go, moving on to the next song with ease. You let yourself settle back onto your feet and simply just enjoyed the rest of the show. You sang with his mom, danced around with Hannah, and giggled at his dad's failed attempt at singing as you celebrated the boys.

As the final song ended the boys came back to the center of the stage to do their ments. You held back tears for everyone until it came to Chan. He came to the side of the stage and stood right in front of his family.

"...And I want to thank the ones I love the most for coming to the show tonight. Mom, Dad, Hannah... and my baby you know I love you. Thank you for making tonight even more special to me in one of my favorite places in the world," Your eyes widened as he continued. "I truly couldn't do it without you all."

He bit down on his lip as you stared at him. He had just done it. So casually in front of thousands of fans. He did what you never thought might not happen until you had announced an engagement. If even then. This acknowledgment brought tears to your eyes, as you smiled into the pink sky.

The set went dark and you hurried to grab your belongings and follow his family out of the venue doors and into the hallway below the stage. You finally let yourself fully take in the moment when away from all of the people and the cameras. Hannah's arm wrapped around you as you quietly wiped tears from your eyes. You look over at her to find her smiling.

"You guys are so sappy..." She joked, leaning into you as you two walked.

The family followed security to their car and you made your way to the tiny black car Chan called for you. As you felt the air conditioning hit your face, you brought the phone up to meet your gaze. You typed in the number you knew as well as your own and pressed it to your ear. It rang twice before you heard a familiar laugh.

"Baby, so what did you think?"

[won4ver]

✈︎a poet’s draft

↳ teaser

You were convinced that Sunghoon was incapable of loving, and he was prepared to sacrifice everything to prove you wrong.

pairing : streetracer!sunghoon x singer!afab!reader

warnings + genre : readers kinda mean. exes to ??. [warnings will be added to the main fic]

teaser wc : 1.1k | fic wc : ~10-15k

release date : ??

a/n : listened to vroom vroom by weeekly on repeat while writing the teaser… been so excited about putting this one out, it’s been brewing in my drafts for a few days. i’m almost done the full fic so it’s coming very soon

playlist [updated frequently]

“You know, I was in love with you” As the words tumbled from your mouth in a wisp of blue, it travelled throughout his bones drawing red where your words cut. His head snapped to you as his cuts cried, the familiar numbing pain crawling up his throat as it burned, swallowing itself as he attempted to speak. 

“I even thought we were going to get married” His heart raced like an invisible clock, ticking away in his mind as your love grew purple.

Purple, his favourite colour was now nothing more than the venom dripping from the teeth of the serpent wrapped around his fresh wounds, mocking him for his unfulfilled love. The purple streaks that once coloured your hair in the plethora of his love, were now dyed over with a striking blonde.

“You were my everything, Sunghoon”

His absence created a separation like water and oil, the reds and blues pulling apart as he broke your heart in a quick decision. He was red, of course, he took your favourite colour with him.

The comforting red that you once blushed across his cheeks was now staining his firsts as they dripped with blood, the comforting red was nothing but a distraction. You once loved red, but now you hated it more than anything.

“But then I saw that I was nothing to you”

You were red until Sunghoon touched you, until he made you fall in love with him by whispering sweet nothing in your ears under the morning dew beneath the pale blue sky. You were stained purple until the red dripped out like a faucet. 

The path left by your shed tears was an abstract of delusion, Sunghoon didn’t know how to love. He proved the point when he left without a word, the tears now dried upon your cheeks.

“And I foolishly believed that you responded with equally returned love” His mouth filled with the taste of copper, the red landing on his tongue as he bit his lip. The invisible clock froze, his body numbed as your words repeated in a record of self-doubt. 

“But then I realized, you don’t know how to love Sunghoon. I’ve always struggled with forcing myself to believe in a lie.” You turned your head towards him, eyes leaving the beautiful sunset to stare into the void of Sunghoon, his hypnotising eyes blurred with faux tears.

You let yourself scoff, shaking your head as you stared at the man beside you, his palms shaking as they twiddled with each other. “You're nothing more than a poet's draft, your rhythm fell out of touch with the one of the world.”

The invisible clock chimed as the red flames licked at it, unfrozen as Sunghoon’s tears raced down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe, his chest filled with smoke as the fire of the clock burned him. “N- no that's not true, I loved you more than anything” He stuttered, shaking his head as the salty tears landed like lava on his hands.

“I love you like the wind-” You cut him off, “No you didn’t Sunghoon, you became the wind.” He shook his head back and forth, his lips trembling as his head began pounding, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

“You destroy everything in your path, like a hurricane tearing through my heart. You took everything I had, leaving me with nothing but your destruction.” You looked away from the man who left you in the wake of his timeless parallel of ruining everything he’s ever touched. Sunghoon wasn’t made to love but to be loved.

He found love in you, at one point in time he truly believed that you were the only type of love he’d ever experience, up until he fell into the blinding headlights of his soon to be downfall. He should've known he couldn't have both you and the races. 

Once upon a time, Sunghoon would've chosen you over anything, but now he had his entire career to lose. He lost you as he sped towards the finish line, his black visors blocking the blue waves washing off of him. He was rendered colourblind the moment he no longer had you, his permanent red-coloured glasses staining his vision.

Sunghoon needed you back, but would he risk everything he has now to get you back? He once built you a castle made of cards, long before he was consumed with the storm whistling inside of him. He wasn't always the wind, he was once a delicate flower being held in your palms. But things were different now, your shared clock ticking in your ears as the rest of your castle slowly tumbled down. The cards were scattered, ready for Sunghoon to collect them once again.

But as he looked down he could only see one card, the back side laid against the grass beside his feet. The jack of hearts. A smile rose on his lips as the haunting red colour shone brighter than ever.

“Hey, I have a race in about half an hour” Sunghoon looked up at you from beneath his lashes, a nervous smirk on his face, “can you, uh, come?'' The deadpan stare you sported on your face made Sunghoon sheepishly raise his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“I mean- it would mean the world to me if you showed up” He picked at the grass in the exact same spot where the card was laid out, the long shards ticking his fingers as he held his breath.

“Are you going to win?” You ignored his question, your head tilting to the side as you watched him in a narrowed gaze. A teasing smile kissing your lips as you watched him excitedly nod his head.

“I’ve always won for you.” And Sunghoon did. Every single race you were the only thing on his mind, his scenarios raising with the speed of his car. He would imagine you waiting for him at the end, your arms wrapping around him as soon as his door opened. The loud cheers coming up as nothing as he was cradled in your embrace.

In his mind he would hold you, your soft encouragements softening his batted mind. In his mind he built a life around your absence, creating his own version of you in replacement of his loneliness. 

In his mind he never had to choose between you or his career, he wouldn’t have left you in the middle of the night because he knew he wouldn’t be able to go with your pretty eyes staring back at him.

“Today won’t be any different” But it would be different, Sunghoon knew it would change everything. You would no longer but just a fragment of his delusions, but you would actually be standing there- for him. 

“I’ll have to see if I can make the time” And for the first time ever, you lied to his face.

[cute-sucker]

irregular heartbeat

[31.3.2024]

note: erm, so i wrote this. idk how i feel about it...(if u find the taylor swift reference u will forever have my love) words: 1.8k warnings: drinking, swearing, heavy angst, slightly dark!rafe, toxic relationship

dating rafe cameron in secret was supposed to be fine.

it was supposed to be easy. you never passed his way on the island, and when you did he was his gang.

the kooks.

each one had a rich family and shit ton of daddy issues. kelce, a cold fish, topper, the charming one and rafe…the deadly one. the one that you were supposed to stay away from.

you were independent even out of school. your parents had needed help with two younger siblings. you went you fended for yourself, taking your sister to soccer practice and coming to your brother's plays. you had a one-track mindset. that was staying clear of trouble.

oh boy, but when rafe came in. a smirk on his face, sunglasses glinting in the sun, and a groggy voice that made you want to rethink all of your decisions.

some said trouble followed him, while others disagreed calling him the root of all the problems.

you never expected to fall into his clutches. your family had been dirt poor and you were on a scholarship to kook academy, passing with flying colors. you were ready now to graduate with your hands closing on the degree, and finally run away from figure eight forever.

yet it wasn't school where you met him.

it was when you had been dropping off your sister when he set his eyes on you. you were supposed to start a new life, but somehow you liked the way he offered you a new breath of air.

you liked the danger, and the intrigue surrounding him, and you liked doing something dangerous. you had always been reliable, you had always been the one to hang around your friends telling them it was time for you to go home.

you'd always been the straight a' student, good girl, and now you smiled back at him and that smirk spread on his face you left excited.

it was almost as if he understood you. it was the way he liked your sweet smile, always giving you time. he understood your hardships and shared some of his own - telling you about his difficult relationship with his father, running to get your coffee, and at one point holding you so tightly during the times you were like you were going to fall apart.

then he had asked you out. you felt like you were living the dream, retracing his freckles at night, and feeling the way he smiled at you. he was everything at you. you would never admit it, but even your sister had caught on.

her 10-year-old mind saw you lingering on rafe cameron, and she gave you a sly smile, telling you that you deserved it.

you liked that.

you liked the sweetness and the venerability that he brought out in you. you liked the way his arms could fold you, and the way you felt so safe. you liked the way he smiled at you in the morning after you stayed. this sweetness in the venerable laziness with his arms spread out and you could feel the steady beat of his heart.

dependable.

trustworthy.

lovable.

he was like a nightmare dressed like a daydream.

rafe cameron was a whirl of emotions. an unpredictable hurricane that came quietly and viciously. you hated the clear lies you heard in his voice and the way he drank to death. the bottle was attached to him, and his eyes were harsh, with his words even harsher.

no longer could you see the race that you loved.

you felt abandoned. all of sudden, it felt like everything was falling apart, as you tried to take care of everyone forgetting about yourself.

you'd cry and cry like you had never had before. your knees held up to your chest, and this fear, this constant fear followed you everywhere because you loved him. god, you loved him, desperately to the point of damming everything you had.

and you swore you had lost everything until he'd let you curl into your lap and he'd whisper sweet nothings in your ear. then you'd believe everything was going to be okay.

but here you were again, beer bottle tilted drinking every drop, while you aimlessly swayed to the beat as the party music blared. you felt weightless, died yet so alive at the same time. you were supposed to be placed.

yet you were dwindling to nothing because of rafe cameron.

he had told you were his love, his one and only, and yet he had just ignored you, pretending not to know you.

you wanted to scream.

in all honestly you always felt like crying, and then telling his friends what was going on. you were fucking 17 years old, and you were supposed to be out of this phase. out of this phase where you craved being a teenage dirtbag.

no, now you felt like a dirty secret as if he didn't want people to know that he was dating a filthy pogue on the other side of the island. he was ashamed of you.

these thoughts swirled in your head with no stop, and you felt more your hands shake and eyes blur with tears, as you tipped a bottle to your mouth. the more you thought about the situation, the more beer you drowned.

and all of a sudden you danced, your body in sync with the music, and you were next to the bonfire, too close, so warm. maybe you should take something off, it was way too warm, as you stumbled to get your top off.

suddenly you felt someone helping you.

topper.

"hey, are you okay?" he asked, drawing you away from the fire. you squirmed away from him, as your cup fell to the ground.

"'m fine, why?" you gulped down your drink with enthusiasm, "you know you should tell your friend to fuck off. he's an asshole." you sputtered out, trying to sit down only to lose your footing completely.

topper caught you in time.

"maybe you should stop-" he muttered, gently guiding your cup away from you. you felt like you shouldn't let him take your cup yet your hands wandered aimlessly in his direction.

"i'm a complete loser," you hiccouped, as you sat on the ground. "i'm in love with him. i'm in love with rafe fucking cameron."

topper raised an eyebrow, nodding silently as if he had heard this before.

then you found yourself sniffing sadly, and felt more confused. "why are you even listening to me babble? you don't even know me."

your tight minidress was slipping up your thighs, and you saw him glance before catching himself.

he laughed at your comment, almost as if he was surprised himself. "i don't know. all i know is that you seem familiar," he confessed, cracking a confused smile. you couldn't help but laugh just a little.

he was nice.

"seriously top, seducing a pogue? couldn't find other good fucks?" a dark voice drawled.

you turned to face the half-obscured face in the darkness. it was rafe, hat turned backwards, anger flickering in his eyes, an eerie expression on his face.

"shut up rafe," topper shot back, rolling his eyes. he looked amused almost as if he was enjoying this exchange of words.

you glared at rafe, placing your hands on your thighs. "maybe i should go fuck someone. i feel like it, y'know?"

rafe snapped to look at you.

you got up, sudden bravado in your heart. "you know what? i'd rather fuck anyone here then-"

his eyes.

that was what stopped you in your tracks. it was the fact that there was something so murderous, and you could tell that he was warning. yet you didn't want to stop. you wished he could drown in the ocean, or just leave you.

he let out a mirthless laugh, and then stepped closer to you, "let's talk.''

it wasn't a request, but you stepped closer to him, watching the way his breath hitched, and the way his hand itched to pull down the short dress you had on.

you stepped so close, it looked as if you were going to kiss him. you found yourself feeling cruel.

"stay away from me, rafe.," you whispered, and then walked away from him. but you knew that he wouldn't let you go without a fight, as he relentlessly followed you across the bonfire.

"talk to me," and then before you knew it topper was gone, and the two of you were shoved into a dark corner. you saw other couples making out, but none of them could care less about your presence.

his eyes searched for something in yours. he was so close, his heat rubbed off you and you waited for him to say anything.

"what the fuck is wrong with you?" he hissed, "what happened right there," he whispered, and he looked so concerned you wanted to break right there in front of him.

"you. you're what happened. you're breaking me." you breathed out, hot tears streaming down your face, and his grip on your arm got even tighter.

you gasped at the pain, and he quickly let go of your hand. he had hurt you, and he was-

"i-" he murmured, and then tried to draw you closer to his chest, "i love you. you know i would never hurt you."

you shook your head, as you sobbed. yet when he opened his arms you flew into them. he stroked your hair and buried his head in his chest.

"somethings wrong," you mumbled and he gently tilted your head to get a good look at you. you could barely understand the look on his face. he was so unpredictable.

"you've had too much to drink, darling."

then he kissed your forehead so gently, that a tear escaped your face. he was kissing all of your bruises and you would let him do anything to you.

"i missed you, you're gone all the time," you told him, latching onto his arm.

"i'm right here," he assured you, and you shook your head.

"no, no."

he wouldn't get it.

you closed your eyes, his ache in his heart growing. you could hear his heartbeat, and no longer did he sound steady. instead, it was irregular. you wanted to believe he was the same rafe cameron you fell in love with, but sometimes. . .

sometimes you couldn't even recognise him.

[atlabeth]

price of dreaming

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x daughter of poseidon!reader

summary: luke's spiral and the part you play in it.

a/n: this is so sad i'm sorry. like it's just a couple thousand words of luke being sad with a cute little flashback and a percy mention to make it all more sad. i don't know what's wrong with me why did i start writing this series

wc: 4.1k

warning(s): pretty severe angst bc this takes place after hurricane's death and goes up to mid tlt. death ideation, minor descriptions of injuries, luke isn't the best person, just a whole lot of sadness.

Luke returns to camp two weeks after your death, nothing more than a shell of himself.                      

Half of his time was spent sitting in an interrogation room in a Boston police station, mumbling his way through questions he doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not every day that a teenage girl is found nearly ripped apart in the middle of a city with her boyfriend completely broken next to her. Two EMTs had to literally drag him away from you—at least, that’s what they tell Luke. Everything after your heartbeat stopped is a blur for him. He doesn’t really even know how he got to the station.

And that’s how it is for a while. He talks to detectives who don’t believe him, he stares at the wall and wishes you were here, he goes home with your mom. She’s being asked just as many questions, and she refuses to leave him out on the street or take him back to camp. She doesn’t understand that Luke’s done it all before. 

Eventually, the officers settle on a freak animal attack. It didn’t make sense for an animal capable of doing that to be in the city, but mortals see what they want to see. Luke is just thankful to be out of it. 

But he doesn’t know what to do next. There’s a huge gaping hole in his chest and in his life without you, and he doesn’t know how to live without you. Every time Luke closes his eyes he sees your face, and he hasn’t been able to sleep through the night since it happened. He only really manages to stay out when his body practically shuts down from exhaustion. 

Your mom treats Luke like a second son while he’s living with her, and it pains him more than anything. She asks him if he wants to stay with her, try and finish out the semester. He was surprised she still wanted anything to do with him. 

Luke declined. He loved your mom, but being in that apartment without you—walking past your room and knowing you would never be there again, seeing a space you carved out for yourself knowing the most integral part was missing—was just too much for him. The full reality of you being gone still hadn’t sunk in yet. 

He’s soured on the city of Boston as a whole. He’s felt your blood on his hands since the moment it stained his fingers, and for as long as Luke lives he will never forget the look on your mother’s face when she showed up at the police station. 

Your mom offers to drive him back to camp, and though he wants to say no to that as well, he doesn’t. Luke can tell that she needs a distraction, and he doesn’t really know how else he’s gonna get back to camp. They don’t talk very much on the way there, but neither of them burst into tears, so he considers it a victory. 

She parks at the bottom of the hill and hugs him so tightly he can’t breathe, but he welcomes any kind of feeling. 

“Stay safe, Luke,” she says, her hands on his shoulders. “And if you ever need a place to stay—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “And I’ll try.”

She nods a few times, and she blinks back tears as she looks up at him. “Thank you for everything you did for my daughter. For all those years that you kept her safe.”

It clearly wasn’t enough, Luke wants to say. If it was, he wouldn’t have lost you back then, and he wouldn’t have lost you now. But that wouldn’t help anyone, so he nods. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his throat still dry as a desert. 

“Always.”  

“I know how much you meant to each other,” she says softly. “I’m so sorry, Luke.” 

He holds back his emotions. “So am I.” 

Your mom nods again and they say their goodbyes once more, hugging one last time. When Luke reaches the top of the hill, he looks back to see her still standing there. He wishes he could do something to ease the pain, but he doesn’t even know how to deal with his own. 

Luke stops at Thalia’s tree, and he already feels that lump in his throat. 

“I hope you’re together in Elysium,” he murmurs. “I always thought you would like each other.” 

The beginnings of tears prick the back of his eyes and he clears his throat, shaking his head like it’ll help silence the millions of thoughts scattered around his brain. If Thalia lives on like this, he hopes your spirit is still around somewhere.

“I love you,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry I failed both of you.”

Nobody at camp knows. How could they? 

Luke wasn’t expected back until the summer, though, so his presence at the top of the hill is telling in of itself. Especially alone. 

He ignores everyone that tries to talk to him and gets to the Big House to break the news to Chiron. Thankfully, when he dissolves into tears, it’s behind closed doors. Chiron takes it in a saddened stride, and Luke wonders how many heroes have died in his lifetime. 

You have no siblings to make a burial shroud, so the Athena cabin takes up the responsibility. Annabeth invites him to take part, but he can hardly stomach the thought. 

It’s beautiful. They emulate the ocean through embroidery and Annabeth even gets a little Red Sox patch in. They let Luke burn it, and he’s amazed he even makes it through the ceremony. But the entire camp shows up, and there isn’t a single dry eye. He hopes you at least know how many people care about you. 

Chris takes over as counselor for the indefinite future, which is probably a good thing when Luke can barely muster the strength to get out of bed most days. He picks at his food when he’s able to make it to meals, and his prayers to Hermes have never felt emptier. He used to do one for Poseidon every so often, especially when you were at school, but the thought makes him sick. His eyes never stop trailing over to Cabin Three’s table. 

The Poseidon cabin is empty again. 

Luke doesn’t fully realize the path he’s taken until he’s standing in the doorway and the scent of salty air hits him. He’s so used to hanging out with you after dinner that he just went there automatically. 

It feels unfinished. It is unfinished. You had a whole box of things back in Boston that you wanted to bring back to camp to decorate. 

Your posters still hang on the walls—Blondie, Pearl Jam, Alanis Morisette. Fairy lights are falling down in the corner, and they’re unplugged. Luke had to remind you to unplug them before you left for the school year. 

You should be standing next to him, smiling and laughing and dragging him in behind you as you rant about capture the flag or the canoe race you definitely didn’t cheat in. He blinks away the tears building in his eyes and he takes a step back. 

You should be here. You’re not. 

(How many more times is he going to end up here chasing ghosts?) 

There are some things a person just can’t get over. 

And that’s how his days go. He barely manages to get out of bed, picks at meals that taste like sand, musters what little strength he has to lead sword lessons, endures pitiful looks and sympathetic speeches. 

Luke gets lost in the past more than he should, oftentimes sitting on the beach talking to you as he watches the waves roll in or sneaking out to the dock in the middle of the night to be in the company of the only person he can stand. 

By the time summer comes back around, Luke is sure of three things. 

He isn’t ever going to be the same again. 

You should still be alive. 

He won’t rest until he’s torn Olympus down brick by brick. 

-

“It’s quiet here,” Luke said.

“That’s what happens when you don’t have any siblings,” you murmured. 

His eyes trailed over to the door and you nudged him with your shoulder. “What do you keep looking over there for? Scared someone’s gonna catch us?” 

He shrugged. “We’re technically not allowed to be in here together.” 

“They can’t say anything,” you said. “We’re both counselors. And no one’s in this place anyways. Besides,” you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips, “we’ve earned all the time in the world.” 

Luke smiled and snaked an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “You think so?” 

“We lost two years together,” you said, laying your head on his chest. “Far as I’m concerned, no one can say a damn thing to us.” 

“It always feels like we talk about the past,” he said. “What about the future?” 

“All I know is I want you in it,” you mused. You always loved resting on his chest because you could hear his heartbeat, could feel the slight rise and fall from his breathing. It meant he was alive, and after what you’d been through, that was more valuable than anything. 

“Obviously,” Luke said coyly. “I want you in mine too. But what about the details?” 

“We gotta finish high school first,” you said. “Have you thought about what I said?” 

“...Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s just been a while since I’ve left camp. Going back to school seems rough for someone who hasn’t been in classes since elementary school.” 

You shook your head. “Which is exactly why my school would be perfect for you. We left at the same age, remember?” You took his hand and began to trace the lines of his palm. “It took some getting used to, but I made it. If I can, so can you—and I’ll help you every step of the way.” 

Luke chuckled softly. “I’m a little worried about leaving Annabeth.” 

“Annabeth of all people would support you going for your education,” you said. “And it’s not like she’ll be on her own—everyone likes her here.” 

“...Talk me through it,” Luke decided. “Say we both go back for the school year. What does a sophomore year for the two of us back in Boston look like?” 

“Well, we’d be living together. We have an extra room in our apartment, and I’m sure I can convince my mom to let you take it.” You let out a sigh as you shifted, moving closer into Luke’s side. “We’d take the T together to school, but you don’t have to worry because I can show you around everywhere.” 

He chuckled. "I could use a refresher on Boston. Don't have the fondest memories there."

"We'll just make some new ones," you promised. “I’m on the soccer team, too. I was JV this year, but I’m gonna make varsity next fall—mark my words.” 

Luke rubbed your shoulder as he hummed. “And I’d come to every game.” 

“You better.” You glanced up at him with a smile. “You could try out for something too. I think you’d make a killing in basketball.” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Do you not remember all those pick-up games we played when we were younger and bored? I was gods-awful.” 

“This’ll be different,” you insisted. “You’ll actually be sleeping on a bed every night, and eating consistently. I think that makes you a better athlete. Plus, you’re not three feet tall anymore.” 

Luke laughed as he intertwined your fingers together. “The star soccer player and the mediocre basketball player. We make quite a couple.” 

“You’d be better than mediocre,” you said. “Anyways—we’d play our sports and kill it, I’d introduce you to all the friends I made last year, I’d show you all around Boston, and I’d get you hooked on the Red Sox.” 

He leaned back against the headboard with a chuckle. “You’re really never gonna let this go, are you?” 

“It’s my sovereign duty to put you onto the Red Sox,” you said, “especially surrounded by all these Yankees. I’m gonna get you to a game one of these days. And after we kill sophomore year, we’ll kill junior and senior year.” You tapped on his chest for each year with your free hand, and his smile grew. “Then we’ll graduate high school together. With honors, and monster-free.” 

“You have such high standards,” Luke said wryly. “I’ve always thought I’d be lucky to pass with C’s.” 

“You haven’t always had me,” you mused. “And when we’re together, we can’t lose.” 

Luke smiled as he looked at your intertwined hands. “Y’know, I think your plan sounds pretty good. I’m pretty sure I could put up with school if it meant more time with you.” 

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. Luke moved his hand to keep you there, and when you pulled away, a delicate blush painted his cheeks and pure love danced in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. 

You were the luckiest girl in the world. 

“Thank you,” you said. 

Luke offered a sideways grin. “For what?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

“Thank you, then,” he said. 

“For what?” 

“For sticking with me,” Luke said. “Through everything.” 

“I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else,” you murmured. 

-

The second year isn’t any easier. 

Luke is back to being year-round. There’s no point in going home—not when Connecticut hasn’t welcomed him in years. Not when he would just be another problem for your mother in the midst of her grief. 

So he stays at camp. Endures the pitiful looks from everyone, lies his way through attempted therapy with Chiron, trains more than ever before. No one seems to know how to treat him, because he goes from completely alone to swarmed with sympathy to completely alone again. It takes two months before his friends are acting like he’s a normal person again, and even then it still feels like they’re walking on glass. 

Luke can’t find enough inside of him to care. 

He practices with his sword until he feels like his arms might fall off, only narrowly avoiding the harpies each night. His siblings ask how he does it, why he does it, and he just says he wants to get better. 

But Luke refuses to let it happen again—not when his surrogate sister is all he has left. Not when he sees you every time he closes his eyes. 

His birthday comes and goes, but seventeen is empty without you. He replays your past conversations in his head, about traveling together and graduating together and maybe even going to college together. Demigods aren’t meant to think about the future, but he dared to dream with you. 

And the worst part was that you were right. You made varsity. You were in the middle of killing sophomore year, despite Luke struggling his way through with C’s and the occasional D—you had always been smarter than him. You got him out to a Red Sox game, and gods forbid, he actually enjoyed it. 

You were living the life you deserved, a life of happiness and success and with Luke, and you didn’t even make it past sophomore year. You were meant for so much more, and every day he questions why it was taken from you. Every day, he questions why you’re gone and he’s not. 

The year chugs on in all its misery, and for the first time since he all but rejected him as his son, Hermes appears to Luke. 

His father gives him a quest, and he takes it despite the inherent insult of it. Maybe some part of him hopes he’ll die out there and finally get to see you again. 

(Another part wonders if he’s even worth Elysium. Luke lost you once, then he lost Thalia, and now he’s lost you again. Some kind of hero he is.) 

He goes it alone. It takes him back to the first couple of months before he met you, and when the thought hits him, it almost overwhelms him. Everything makes Luke think of you, but it makes sense. He’s only living half a life—he’s missing the other half of his soul. 

Luke fails his quest. He manages to get a claw and he manages to nearly lose an eye. There’s no glory in a repeated quest, but there might be even less glory in this. 

And once more, Luke staggers back to camp as a victim rather than a hero. Someone only worthy of pity, someone so weak that Chiron bans quests unless they’re absolutely necessary. It takes weeks for the scars on his body to heal, and the mark on his face even longer. He becomes well-acquainted with the cycle of Apollo kids that take shifts in the infirmary.  

He feels nothing but disgust every time he looks in the mirror. After all, the claw marks ripping their way through his body match yours. Sometimes he wishes Ladon finished the job. 

It doesn’t make sense why, after everything, he’s still here. 

Luke can hardly stand to be at camp, but he’s got nowhere else to go. He gets better at hiding his emotions, better at acting like he’s gotten through it. New demigods show up and he’s not the bereaved counselor anymore—he’s not introduced with his grief. He hides it away.  

No one wants to deal with all the problems he’s racked up. His mom, his dad, Thalia, you.    He’s a demigod. Demigods are resilient. So he plays the part—he’s been through a lot, but he’s past it. He promises he’s not a burden anymore. He’s just a normal kid. 

And for a while, Luke is almost able to believe it himself. He’s never going to be over you, but he starts feeling like a person again rather than a ghost of one. He’s fully taken over the mantle of counselor again, and he’s actually present during sword-fighting lessons. He even manages to get a six-month-long capture the flag winning streak going on. 

And then Kronos appears in his dreams. 

Luke knows Greek mythology. It’s hard not to pick up a couple things when you’re fighting stuff from the history books, but they teach some lessons at camp. It’s nice to know what you’re up against before you die a brutal death. 

Kronos killed his father. He ate his children. Every wicked deed was done for power, and power is what he offers Luke. 

And maybe there’s something wrong with him, because it’s the first time he’s felt hope since he left Boston. 

Luke finally has an answer to something. He’s been silently cursing the gods for years, trying to figure out a way to tear everything down without getting himself immediately killed, and he’s got one. 

Kronos speaks to him most nights. He remembers the dreams you shared with him in your final year, all the restless hours spent sitting together on the fire escape as he soothed you. You thought Kronos was the reason for it, but he couldn’t have been. His dreams were nothing like yours. 

But still, Luke wonders every day what you would say if you were here, if you knew the treacherous path he’d embarked on. Kronos promised power, freedom, an end to Olympus and the reign of the gods. 

He doesn’t care about power. He just wants to hold you again. He wants to hear your laugh again. He wants to see your smile in more than pictures. 

But he can’t. And he wants to destroy everyone responsible for it. 

So he does everything the Titan Lord asks of him. He hones his skills even further, he lays low, and when the time is right, he steals Zeus’s bolt and Hades’ helm. Luke even nearly beats Ares when he’s caught, but Kronos doesn’t lead him astray—he speaks of divine war, and he gets out of it. 

He continues to see you. Kronos doesn’t lead him astray, but he punishes him for such a close call. Luke wakes in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving with labored breaths, and he feels your blood on his hands all over again. He sees you die over and over again and he can do nothing to stop it.  

You always told each other about your nightmares. 

That’s the hardest part of it all. You’ve always been so closely intertwined with Luke’s life since the moment he saved you in that aquarium years ago, and he can’t see any way to let go of you. He can’t—even though you’re gone, you’re still a part of him. His first instinct in any situation is to tell you, and it kills him that he can’t. 

And maybe things would have turned out different for Luke if you were still around. He’s never going to forgive himself for your death, and he’s certainly never going to forgive the gods. Thalia pushed him to the edge, but you were the breaking point. Luke is only nineteen and he’s loved and lost more than most.

Maybe things would be different if you were here. But you’re not, and they aren’t. So when a new demigod shows up, covered in monster dust and nearly dead on camp’s doorstep with Grover in tow, Luke doesn’t hesitate. 

He killed the Minotaur, and his mom is dead. Skilled enough to take on a quest, desperate enough to ignore a couple warning signs. Percy Jackson is the boy Kronos told him about. 

So Luke takes him under his wing. Shows him around camp, welcomes him to the Hermes cabin, trains with him one-on-one. 

Something about his spirit reminds him of you. It’s the grit, he thinks. The determination. The refusal to back down even when it’s the smartest option. When he asks about you that night in the Hermes cabin, Luke’s heart stutters. The kid is too sharp for his liking. 

It doesn’t take long before Luke manages to cement himself as one of his friends, maybe only third to Annabeth and Grover. He’s a lost kid that’s been thrust into a world he doesn’t understand, and Luke is the closest thing to a rock most campers have got. 

It’s supposed to just be a guise, but sometimes, he forgets himself. He likes Percy too much—he just feels too much like a younger brother, and that’s not really good for the already growing guilt in his chest. 

Maybe it’s because Luke sees himself in Percy. Someone playing a part he’s not aware of, an unfortunate pawn with no choice in the matter. Luke tries to push it away. Kronos wouldn’t lead him astray—this was the path he had to take if he wanted anything to change. 

But it’s not like that makes it easier. Because gods, Percy has never looked more like a kid than when he’s suited up in armor for capture the flag. It almost makes Luke regret the plan he has to enact. 

Almost. 

Annabeth has a plan as usual, and thankfully Percy plays the part of bait. Luke tunes out of everything else and lets his battle senses take over—things have already been set into play, and now all Luke can do is hide in plain sight. Soon enough he’s got the red team’s flag past the boundary line, and he’s hoisted up onto his teammates shoulders. Luke is almost able to forget what he’s done. 

…Almost. 

A howl rips through the forest, and the hellhound Luke summoned after the start of the game launches itself at Percy. He’s on the ground before he knows it, the flag forgotten in his hand as he rushes over with the rest of the campers. 

For some ungodly reason, Annabeth tries to step in front of him, but she’s thankfully too slow. The monster swipes at Percy and its claws shred through his armor. For a split second, Luke is back in Boston and his chest stills.

Chiron solves the problem with a cluster of arrows, but the camp is in immediate disarray. Clarisse instantly accuses Percy, Annabeth is trying to make sure Percy doesn’t die, and Luke just hopes his shock is believable enough to hide his annoyance. He’s just a scrawny kid—how the hell is he still alive? But then the unthinkable happens.

Annabeth tells Percy to step back in the lake. The instant he’s in the water, what should have been a fatal wound starts to heal. 

And then a glowing blue trident appears above Percy Jackson’s head. 

Luke feels sick as he lowers himself to one knee with the rest of camp. As the hellhound he summoned melts into the shadows, as he stares at the sacrificial lamb of a demigod meant to unknowingly enact his plan. 

“Poseidon,” Chiron says. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

Your brother. 

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

How To Adapt To Fire (III)

AU MASTERLIST || THE FINAL PART

PAIRING: Fireman!John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Journalist!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Fire(s), intended harm, death/gore, murder, crime, corruption, arsonist mystery plot, protective!Johnny, flirting, intense banter, attempted murder, burns, needles, injuries, one dirty joke, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Running, the wind whips past your face with the force of a hurricane. 

The screams echoed over the abandoned neighborhood, leaking and rising as the illumination of a burning body sent slashing shadows along the remnants of houses. Flailing arms and sizzling flesh. It followed you as your feet slapped the concrete, satchel still at your side and your breath echoing in your ears. 

You don’t know where Duncan is—and you dare not look behind you as you dart into someone’s lawn, bee-lining away from Kurt’s now-silent inferno of burnt hair and cooking meat. Grass that grows up to your knees is shoved aside, broken down to the earth as your panting breath is too loud in your ears. It’s all you can hear now, which may be the worst part.

“Holy fuck,” your hiss under your breath, sweat dripping down your neck. Your hands were skinned in your little fall off the steps, but the sting as you slap your palm to the side of one of the houses is lost to you—pain doesn’t matter when adrenaline takes over. “Holy fuck.”

Your fingers drip crimson along the siding, but you’re gone again with ragged inhales, snapping eyes wide. You need to try and circle back for the car, you tell yourself. Patting your pockets for the hard pressure of your keys, you dash past a trash can and sigh when you feel them still there. 

And then you hear the whistling. 

It’s over the air, and in a skid of shoes, you halt and listen intently—a bird in the eyes of a fox. Lungs heaving, your head jerks around as a tune wafts up and pierces your ears. The sound echoes over the houses, flying across fallen roofs and peeling paint. You’re frozen, night corralling you in. 

“Who does this dude think he is?” You ask, a deep fear in your heart and an eerie feeling up your spine. 

It was getting closer. 

Heart stuttering, your legs take you up the back steps of a house to your left, hand snapping to the rusted handle and shoulder ramming into it. It gives way on the second shove, slamming into the far wall before you hit the ground and push on once more, the air gone from your body.

If Duncan can murder his own cousin in the way he had…what could he do to you?

Feet shuffling, your head moves quickly, taking in the decaying living room and joint kitchen—falling stairs that you instantly choose to run up, hands burning. 

Your only hope was the car; you needed to get to a vantage point, find out where Duncan was, and try to avoid him. It wasn’t any different than what you’d seen on TV…right? 

The wooden floor creaks like brittle bones, and you move across it while the scent of fire is still in your nose—gasoline and dead eyes. Your eyes go from one open door to another, beds covered with moth-eaten sheets. From outside of a broken window, you see shadows along the street; whistling. 

You choose a room at random and slink inside, hands already jerking into your satchel and pushing aside the active recorder—reaching for your phone. 

Looking between the window and the device, your dripping fingers slash through contacts until you can find the only one you think to call immediately. 

Smashing down on the green button, your phone is right at your ear as your heartbeat pulses like a drum. As it sits there, you gaze outside, panting with blood smearing along your flesh. You can’t stop thinking about Kurt—how you’d seen a man get burnt alive in front of you as if it were nothing. You’d heard and witnessed a lot of things and had been in more courtrooms than you can count…but nothing would ever top seeing the whites of a man’s eyes as his body erupted into flames. 

“Okay, okay,” the phone quivers, clothes ruffled. You hiss softly, not willing to make more noise than you have to. “C’mon, MacTavish.”

A long shadow looms in the streetlight and you drop to the floor swiftly, knees slamming the wood, just as the click on the line pushes through.

“Dearie,” the Scot’s teasing voice is a godsend. “Didn’t expect you to call so soon. Not that I—”

“I fucked up,” you breathe, and the fireman’s audible snapping of his mouth would have been comedic in any other situation. “I really fucked up, and I think I need a little intervention here before I literally go up in the flames of my ambition.”

You’re talking so fast you doubt he can even understand you, but you continue as your forehead peaks above the window frame. 

Duncan is at the house next to where you’re hiding. Standing out front with a gas can in his hand and a matchbox in the other. You watch with horrified eyes as he walks to the front porch, pours the accelerant, and steps back to light a match. 

“Oh,” you growl through a hurried gasp. “So now he decides to change M.O.”

The neighbor's home alights. 

He’s trying to corner you.

Johnny’s panicked voice wafts through. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Listen,” you watch the fire spread, hands spasming. “I was going to wait for you, alright. J-just then I decided to not do that and I—”

“What the fuck!” There’s fast movement on the other side of the line, seemingly paper and pencils hitting the floor as fast feet slam the ground. 

“It’s not my fault I’m a stubborn bitch!” You snap, moving your free hand to the back of your neck and rubbing along the sweat there, smearing crimson. “I can’t get back to the car right now and Duncan is lighting the entire neighborhood on fire to try and catch me. I have all of it on the recorder, and I can’t lose the evidence for the inevitable court case.”

Johnny’s voice is so serious and hard, you know you’ve never seen a side like this from him before. It’s nearly a growl. “I don’t give a shit about fucking evidence. Where are you?”

You rattle off Kurt’s address from memory, face streaked with light from the fire. It was going to spread to this house. The wood is like free food just waiting for it willingly; you have to move before it catches. With the condition of the home, it would only be kindling for a larger blaze ready to overtake the street. 

Johnny’s voice is heavy. “Stay where you are and—”

Your laugh is grim, and you move out of the room rapidly as the boom of falling wood makes the ground shake. Breath nothing more than a shaky jump in your nose, you push out, “Not an option.”

“What do you mean ‘not an option’ what the hell is going on over there?! I swear, I told you not to go without me!” 

“Bring the fire trucks! All of them!” You shout and hang up swiftly as Johnny’s loud call of your name is silenced. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when the back door you’d previously busted through creaks on its hinges. 

Above fire, above the pattering of your pulse, your eyes are stuck-still. Stationary. Stiff. 

Duncan stares at you—and you stare at him. 

It’s like time utterly stops, hit in the face by a metal pipe before its teeth get knocked to the ground in a clatter of white enamel. Shell-shocked. 

Your phone rings again—Johnny, no doubt, but when it does, Duncan pounces.

He tosses the gas canister to the ground, followed by a quick match as you curse and race back upstairs. The whoosh of flames bursts into existence as hard boots follow after you, hot on your heels. 

“Shit!” You yell, calling out a firm and fearful, “Duncan!” 

A hand swipes at your shirt collar before you duck and pivot, shifting to brace your feet and ram your shoulder backward. The man takes the force right to the chest and shouts, tilting on the steps with a flailing arm, fingers that card through the air. 

But you’re not quick enough in the rabid getaway. 

A hand latches onto your wrist, and then you’re being yanked down with him into the awaiting arms of the burning fire.

—

Johnny’s whole heart is more active than when he and you were stuck in the sheets together—arousal is nothing compared to the fear he feels. 

The man’s legs carry him quickly into the engine room, grabbing gear and sending out the alarm. Already calls were coming in from dispatch, worried civilians who had said they’d seen what appeared to be twin fires off into the more abandoned parts of the left-to-rot suburbs. 

His panic extends to the next country it’s so far-reaching. Your call—your voice—the things you’d told him and, worse, what you hadn’t. 

Why did you have to be so stubborn?

He needs to get to you, and he can’t breathe properly until he does.

It doesn’t take the firemen long to get into the trucks—the red demons rocketing out of the station with every blaring alarm at their disposal, and at every bump, Johnny’s stiff eyes glare openly at his lap. The others dare not say anything to him; they all know that look.

A man on the edge of a fraying line. Stuck on the knife—waiting for the final twist. 

With all of the gear, MacTavish could be compared to someone heading straight into war, and with the following wail of police sirens, maybe war was where he was always meant to be. Johnny fidgets, his fingers clenching and unclenching above the meat of his thighs, helmet on his head nothing but a weight of reminder. He was there to stop fires—he was there to put them out. 

But even God knew that the second his boots hit the ground, and the rest of the firemen were grabbing the hoses, he would be running into that inferno without a second glance backward. 

Johnny was born and bred from fire, and at the very end of it, the flames would take him back.  

Not yet, he’d say. Not until she’s safe. 

The Scot grabs the face-piece at his feet, fixes it over his visage, and listens to his own rabid breath echo back to him. It was louder than any other sound he’d ever heard.

The shaking of his fingers is a traitorous beast.

—

Dragging an arm over the ground, the first thing you do is cough through black smoke. 

Mind delirious, you blink rapidly, stinging eyes unwilling to stay open for long simply due to the spike of irritation—instinctual tears blurring the few moments of clarity to be offered.

You choke on nothing and burn through all of it. 

Flopping, you force your body up onto its hands and knees, the world tilting even then as palms drag and fingers dig. The second your tears slap your knuckles, a leg to your ribs is kicking you back down. 

Yelling in pain, you sprawl to your spine, body bouncing as the sound of fire eating away drywall and dead wood sizzle in your eardrums. Your skin is sweltering, and you can’t stop the flood of sweat dripping off your flesh—it nearly hurts.

Head shaking, wet hands grasp at your wrists forcing them back. 

“You could have left,” Duncan hisses above the waves of spreading fire. If you wanted to live, you had to get out now. The very bones of this house are threatening to buckle like the spine of an old man—visible rafters beginning to cave. Splintering wood. Creaking. “You could have stayed out of it!”

You yell, legs kicking out with the strength you can muster above the carbon monoxide coursing through your blood. Your muscles need oxygen. You need to breathe.

Your lungs are too tight.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cursing, your body lashes, Duncan and yourself battling along the burning ground as the roof across the room caves in, sending ashes and a large tsunami of orange rolling ever upwards and a shockwave that gives a sliver of an opportunity. 

The both of you hiss, arms moving up to protect your faces. 

Your clothes are ruined—ripped; torn. You don’t even care about any of it. There’s a ferality to you now, a bleeding fear that far drowns even the blood of your skinned hands. As you’re trying to stand again, Duncan tries to barrel into you. 

“I warned you to stop looking into it!” He rages. “Look what you made me do! I killed Kurt because of you!”

You grapple for your satchel, his shadow nearly on top of you before your arms flex and spring like the trigger of a pistol. Swinging the bag back, you send it in an arch with your hands gripping the tough material. The heavy thump and grunt resonates quickly as you hack again, sirens just beginning in the distance totally lost to you. 

“Maybe,” you speak on smoke-tight airways—a heavy wheeze as the fire licks your arms. You shout, almost dropping your bag. “You shouldn't fucking kill people!” 

Your hands grasp the satchel once more, lifting and striking down as Duncan yowls, finally grabbing it and tearing it out of your hands. He wraps his arms around your waist and sends you both directly into the heart of the blaze with an animalistic shove.

Crashing, the immediate flush of fire is so hot that it’s cold—like you’re plunged into ice, even as you feel your skin sizzle. Yet, the resounding scream is nothing compared to the roar of rage as an axe is taken to the last standing wall of the house. 

You fight with Duncan all the while the heat overtakes you, clawing and yelling; nothing more than a banshee of snapping teeth and hatred. The man forces you down, the warmth cooking the skin of your back one patch of flesh and fabric at a time. 

Fingers curl your throat as you dig your thumbs into your aggressor's eyes, choking; wheezing. Black begins to settle in front of your hazy vision, seconds leaning into longer glimpses of moving shadows and growing pain—a pain that adrenaline can only do so much against. And then, just before Duncan’s blood can drip down to your face, his eyes leaking and red, he’s ripped off in a flurry of fast hands and muffled calls. 

An oxygen mask flashes across your dying field of view, and a helmet—a fireproof jacket. Wide, panicked cobalt eyes. And yelling…so much yelling. All of it is stuck behind material that makes it sound like there are voices hidden underwater. 

Hands skimming your shoulders, dragging you out quickly as your bloody fingers grasp in dying panic—fading senses. There are others too, three inside of this house all frantically moving. Ducan is being restrained as well as he’s able to be, dragged back with two sets of hands—one on his shoulders the other on his legs like a child. 

You, on the contrary, get taken up in a fast set of arms more bulky than they are not, shoving you into a heavy chest until your face is hidden into a neck protected by a high collar. 

“Pencils!” Your body burns, and your face contorts as your focus can finally bleed into it. 

Shaking—quivering, your ears are ringing and the rushing feet below you jostle your form. 

Finally making it outside, it’s not a moment later that the entire house falls into itself, a tomb of fire and near death—lost to all but ash. Sirens are suddenly louder; shrill voices. 

Johnny’s hurried voice, and the sound of a mask being ripped off of his face. “Medic!” 

You pant, mouth opening but no words coming out beyond a sharp gasp for fresh air. Something is fitted over your face before you’re lying down on a cot, and your fingers reach but meet air. Head craning up, you blink just in time to see it as the EMTs begin jogging over to their ambulance. Johnny moves and grabs his helmet and throws it to the ground, barking something so loud that you’re broken mind can pick it up.

“Give the fucker to me!” The accent makes it all the more violent, and as your oxygen mask is strapped to your head, you stare owlishly, visage awash with blood and tears. You don’t even want to look down at yourself, and in this haze, you’re not even sure you’d be able to. 

But you can see the rabid events unfolding like your very own TV show. 

Firemen try to grapple Johnny back, but it’s useless to try and stop a brick wall. The Scot shoves one away before his gloved fingers snatch a restrained Duncan, and throws him up on his charred legs.

Senselessly, the arsonist smiles—it’s a distant, psychotic thing. 

“You know the journalist—” A fist is sent hurtling into his face.

Falling back, Duncan cries out as his nose breaks in multiple places; shattering like glass under the force of a steel hammer. 

“Get over ‘ere.” Johnny’s voice is raspy; guttural. You cough and the EMTs connect an IV to your arm, quickly nearing the ambulance as they try to coax you to lay back down. “Bastard! I’ll fucking kill you!”

Bending above Duncan’s body, MacTavish gets in two more sharp blows before he’s torn away with yells and orders—shoved with appeasing pats to his arms and desperate pleas to hold out. 

The police rush over, restraining Duncan and forcing his unconscious body to the side. Blood stains the ground, and the fires continue to blaze—others in the background trying to push it back. 

Chest heaving, your throat is raw, but even so, as the EMTs can’t stop you from weakly peeling back the oxygen mask, you call hoarsely, “Johnny!”

You’re loaded into the ambulance just as his eyes snap over, his chest rising and flailing through all of that gear still visible. Calming words find your ears as the medics move the oxygen back over your nose and mouth, holding it so you can’t take it off again. 

The back door is about to be slammed shut before the familiar square face bullies itself in. 

“Sir, you can’t—!”

“Drive,” the fireman shuffles into the seat directly across from you as large, damp, rags are set over your flesh in quick succession as you hiss, eyes flinching shut. Johnny grunts at the EMT who blinks quickly before he twitches at the sound of your pain; jaw clenching. “...Before I get into that seat myself.” 

The engine rumbles to life, and Johnny’s the one who takes your hand into his and drops his tone—moving closer. It takes a moment for his worry to be shoved behind a lens of surety, not for himself, but for you. 

The uncertainty in your eyes made him want to storm backward and show Duncan what fists can do when that’s all you have to rely on instead of cowardice. Fire was a tool of a weakling, and no man was weaker than one who tried to murder someone like you and your bright intellect. But there was no use thinking about it now.

“Oh, Hen,” Johnny’s voice cracks, eyes glancing you up and down quickly as the EMTs do their work. You wouldn’t be awake much longer—if you managed to fight the pain, they’d put you to sleep for your own safety. 

The burns were…they weren’t good.

“Hey, now,” the fireman eases, forcing a small smile and capturing your ash-smeared cheek. He doesn’t care about the state of his gear—the heavy oxygen tank on his back—all he needs is to hold you; even as little as this. “You just let those boys do their jobs, yeah? They’ll have you back up in no time at all, Pencils. Breathe for me, Dearie.” 

Your fast breaths stutter and the scrape of your vocal cords makes Johnny flinch, his eyelids pulling in as a grimace shifts the lines of his face. 

The man fights with himself to snap at the others and make them tell the driver to push the gas harder. He knows they’re going as fast as they’re able.

You try to speak, but Johnny shuts it down with a firm shake of his head. Seeing the packages of sterile bandages being unpacked with rapid hands, knowing the sting that will follow as they’re placed on leaking skin, the Scot moves closer and lightly shields your vision of it.

“No, c’mon now, don’t speak.” An unsteady smirk. “I know I take your breath away, but let's just wait until you’re at the hospital for all of that, eh?”

At the jerky glare coming off of you, a sliver of his panic leaves him.

Johnny tries a weak chuckle before it falls flat. 

Your eyes pick up on the agony before the black at the sides of your vision sweeps in—taking you away as the first press of wrappings along your back make themselves known. His hand stays firm at your cheek; thumb moving over the skin until that’s all you can focus on anymore. 

His touch. Not the fire’s—not Duncan’s. His. The same man that held you close and watched your back. Who had run into a burning house for your safety even if that was his job to do so. 

Johnny seems to be thinking the same because before your head goes limp against the cot, the familiar drawl sings you to sleep.

“…I would have searched that house for you until it fucking took me with it.”

—

The voice recordings from your charred satchel were in police custody, just as Duncan was. 

Along with the thick bindings that had taken home along your back and the upper part of your shoulders, there were others. Your voice was still a crackling mess—as if the fire had left behind a remnant of itself there, an ever-bending and shifting shard directly in your throat. Not even water could get rid of the itch, but you’d been told it would get better. 

All things considered, it could have been worse. 

There was a shit load to do—to explain. Duncan's involvement as well as the deceased Kurts, whose face still haunts you even now; it probably always will. 

Johnny’s shadow flashes in front of yours and you blink quickly, clearing your head. A pause emanates, and the man’s brows tighten. 

“What?” You try to clear your throat and grimace, the hospital bed uncomfortable for you. You’d much rather prefer Johnny’s. 

“I asked you if you’d want any more blankets, Bonnie,” the Scot’s head tilts. He hums. “More medicine? Feeling alright?” 

“So doting,” you huff, fingers rubbing at your neck before Soap sighs and stands from the side chair he’d been in. “No, I’m…fine.”

“My job.” Johnny grunts and his hand pushes away your own, fingers finding the spot that itches internally and carefully massaging until you’re like putty in his hands. In fact, you nearly purr before you sag into him, eyelids drooping. There’s a smug glance tossed your way. “And I don’t mean to brag, but I think I’m doin’ pretty good.”

Your lips pull, vision slipping upward. “Careful, people will think I got married over the span of three days.”

Johnny blinks, “Didn’t we?”

Your face burns. “No, MacTavish we did not. Hot-head. All the fumes go straight to your head, I swear.” All the talking was only aggravating your voice, but for the life of you, you can’t stop. 

Johnny rolls his eyes, skull tilting. A bead of serious talk leeks in as his fingers shift from your throat to your head, tips stimulating your scalp which you hum approvingly to. “What’s the plan?”

You think for a moment, letting the man come and lay a firm kiss on your temple. Your heart knows he intends to stay with you through all of this—already he’d been out on paid leave about the whole ‘attacking a restrained man’ fiasco. The bastard deserved it, Johnny had growled to you yesterday as he helped you drink water. You had to agree. 

“Sleep,” your answer is soft and simple. There was no use fretting about the whims of a far-off tomorrow. The future is a fickle creature, ever changing shape to fit the image it wants to play with like a doll at the nearest moment—there was never a pen in your pocket that was trying to jot down its profile; to understand it. Johnny was here, the bed was warm, and his hands were kind. 

That was all you needed.

Cobalt eyes stare for a moment at your response, before the Scot chuckles. “...Well, I can’t fight you there.”

Your hand lightly snares his wrist, and you pull him to you, letting his body melt back onto the bed until you can rest your temple on his shoulder and sigh out your tension. Johnny’s arm curls carefully to rest on your lower back, as delicate as glass. 

It’s a while before he speaks again. 

“You really did worry me,” he whispers, staring into the ceiling and trying to make images out of the shadows on the ceiling. “If I hadn’t gotten there…”

“You did,” you utter, eyes half-closed and fingers rubbing at his stomach. He shivers. “One-way road, Johnny. Stop that.”

“Doesn't make me feel any better when you’re stuck in here for two more weeks.” A smile pulls your face and he glances down, feeling it against his shirt. “...What are you smiling about?”

You hide it into his chest and he shakes his head in exasperation, scoffing.

“I swear, I’m the only one who cares about your safety and then I get mocked for it.”

“M’not mocking you,” your muffled voice grumbles out. “You’re just pouting.”

Johnny grunts, rolling his eyes. “Course.”

“Proving my point.”

“Next time I leave,” Soap’s lips are atop your head, muttering. “I’ll be tying you to the bed and watching you through the camera.”

A thin trail of jumpy laughter echoes out into the halls of the hospital, and your response is just as quick as it always is—as it always would be through Hell and high water. This wasn’t an ideal situation, and there would be more trials to come both literally and metaphorically, but Johnny made for a good rock through all of it. 

He certainly was a better informant than you intended him to be. 

“Ooo, Mr. MacTavish,” a loud groan, laced with a fond, almost worshiped, adoration. “I didn’t know you could be so risqué.” 

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[whorediaries-09]

abditory;

"forgive us now for what we've done."

☆ EVENTS ☆

'tis the damn season (closed)

you can meet me at the hotel; (closed) [kinkotober masterlist]

put your life out on the line" (closed)

got the wine for you; (closed) [false god (masterlist)]

maybe it's a blessing in disguise; (closed)

✧ ONE-SHOTS ✧

Peppers Sirius Black X Reader. Fuck buddies to lovers. Modern AU!. 18+ content

Delicate Sirius Black X Reader. Friends to lovers. TW- Self harm, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Night We Met Sirius Black X Reader Set During Order of The Phoenix. Mention of major character death(s).

New Year's Day Sirius Black X Reader Set during Order of The Phoenix. Fluff and low humor.

Cardigan; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort.

Sure Thing; Sirius Black X Shy!Reader Fluff.

Oh Children; Sirius Black X Reader Angst.

Million Dollar Man; Sirius Black x Camgirl!reader 18+ content, drinking.

Daylight Flowerist!Sirius Black X Barista!reader Fluff.

Consume; Dark!Sirius Black X Muggle!reader. 18+ content, cemeteries, dark themes.

Born to die Cult!leader Sirius Black X Reader. Mentions of murder, gore, dark themes.

Afterglow; Felix Catton x Reader Hurt/Comfort.

Dancing with our hands tied; Sirius Black X Reader. Hurt/Comfort, injuries, blood. (potential part two)

Maneater; Neighbor!James Potter X Reader 18+ content, stalker behavior, darkish themes.

She just hit my heart; James Potter X Reader Fluff.

Don't blame me; Priest!Remus Lupin X Reader Alludes to sex, dark themes.

ψ SERIES ψ

The Seven Lives; Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter. Status- On going (PAUSED)

No Time To Die (Status- On going)

he hurricane with my name on it. Please read chapter warnings on top of each chapter. COMPLETED. SEQUEL COMING UP SOON.

⨴MOODBOARDS⨵

Poison Ivy From my fall event (close)

Heartbeat; From 'the seven lives' series.

§ ASKED AND ANSWERED §

Call It What You Want Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Touch sensitivity.

Indentation in the shape of you Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. Fluff, bad humor.

Now I'm Covered in You Sirius Black X Reader. Post Azkaban Sirius. 18+ Content. From my fall event (close)

Trying To Keep The Water Warm James Potter X Reader. Professor James AU! Fluff. From my fall event (close)

Dark Red James Potter X Reader Set during the Marauders era. 18+ content.

Womanizer Sirius Black x Reader Set During the Marauders era. Angst, 18+ content, drinking, hints at sexual assault.

Meddle About; West Coast; FDad!James Potter X Reader. 18+ content, mentions of alcohol, age gap.

Maroon Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, drinking, alludes to sexual assault, hurt/comfort.

The great war; Sirius Black X Reader ex to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort. Part two to Maroon.

Do I wanna know? Rockstar!Sirius Black X Reader. 18+ content.

Dusk till dawn Sirius Black X Lestrange!Reader Hurt/Comfort, dialogue heavy.

Smoke on my clothes; Rockstar!Sirius Black X Popstar!Reader Fluff, 18+ content, use of y/n.

Into You; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, porn without plot.

Wherever I go; Remus Lupin X Reader. Making out, suggestive, fluff.

Blue Jeans; Professor!Harry Potter X Reader 18+ content.

Getaway car; Sirius Black X Desi!Reader 18+ content, sexual tension, substances.

I think he knows; Ron Weasley X Reader 18+ content, mentions of war, fluff.

Gorgeous; James Potter X Reader 18+ content.

House of balloons/glass table girls; Sirius Black X Reader 18+ content.

You're in love Policeman!James Potter X Baker!Reader Fluff.

Can't you see, you're meant for me? Bsf!Dad!James Potter X Reader Suggestive content, fluff.

❁ ODE TO FANFICTION ❁

Hall of morals;

I'm running back home to you;

[revasserium]

could we get a protective zoro pretty please! maybe reader gets kidnapped again and zoro comes to find her but we get the actual fighting and zoro being protective? i’ll take anything you write <3

here are monsters

zoro; 1,737 words; fluff, opla!zoro, shockingly introspective zoro, straw hat!reader, fem!reader, vague gore (but not rly even), just zoro slicin' ppl, established relationship

summary: prequel to this fic right here

a/n: *makes vague uncertain hand gestures at opla!zoro*

he’s always known of the monster inside him — always. he’s always known of the hurricane that spins just beneath the cage of his ribs, the thunderstorm brewing beyond the horizon-line of his heartbeat.

when he sees you bloodied, bruises blooming at the edge of your mouth, something inside him snaps like a tideline, ripped apart by the rage of the ocean slamming against the back of his teeth. there’s a jagged bloodlust curdling in his throat as he narrows his eyes, pulls out his swords and swings.

the shing of metal through air shouldn’t sound like music, the dull thunk of bodies hitting the ground, no baseline beat — the bitten-off screams of men as their throats are cut should not sound like the familiar tune to a life-long melody but zoro can’t help the grin that spreads, savage, across his lips as he leans into the rhythm of the fight and lets his body sing.

it would not be remiss to call him monster, so he thinks as he digs the hilt of his swords into the side of an oncoming thug and hears the sharp crack of shattering ribs. he doesn’t wince at the warm splatter of blood as it paints his cheeks. a wide, manic smile pulls at his lips as he swings both swords around in a wide circle to slice through three oncoming bodies, before bringing them down in an arc to bisect another thug from torso to legs.

by the time he turns back around, most of the so-called pirates have already scattered, but one (the leader of the whole sorry lot) still stands, a blade pressed to the smooth expanse of your throat as he snarls, backing away from zoro, nose twitching like a frightened rabbit.

“d-don’t come any closer! or — or else i’ll slit her throat!”

zoro’s lip twitches, his eyes hardening as he stares at the shaking heap of leathers and furs, too much talk and not enough backbone. it’s people like this, zoro thinks, that give pirates a bad rep.

“i’d like to see you try,” zoro’s voice is iron-hard and steel-sharp, a dull throbbing cresting through his temples at the thought of any more harm coming to you even as he catches your eyes. they’re wide and dark and pleading.

don’t do anything stupid.

he almost scoffs. too late.

and then, almost by second nature, the thought comes to him — well, you started it.

the corner of his eye twitches as he sighs, making a show of relaxing his stance, of standing up straight to slip his swords back into their sheathes. he watches as the last thug visibly relaxes — licking his lips as his own grip on your neck loosens.

“t-there see? that wasn’t so hard, was it? n-now — now hand over all the gold you have and i might —”

thwack.

you feel the man’s grip on you slacken completely as you glance up to find the wadou ichimonji impaled through the thug’s head, right in between his eyes, the blade and hilt still vibrating from the force of the hit, nailing the man to the basement wall. you let out a sigh as you jerk yourself out from underneath the dead man’s arms, making a face as zoro reaches down to pull his sword out with a wet schluck.

“tch. just cleaned it yesterday.”

it makes a soft whoomph as he shakes off the worst of the blood dripping from it’s blade.

“sorry… i’ll — i’ll clean it after we get back —” you push yourself to your feet, dusting of your skirt, but a sharp pain in your side makes you stumble, and a second later, zoro’s arm hooks around your middle to keep you from falling.

the metallic tang of blood and the cold scent of steel arrests your senses. the world spins, the floor beneath you swaying like the deck of a ship even as darkness starts to eat at the edges of your vision. you hear zoro calling your name as if through a long, echoing tunnel and you frown, uncertain why he sounds so frantic all of a sudden.

“don’t… don’t forget… the apples…”

zoro stares, aghast as you go limp in his arms. there’s a wild thundering inside his chest as he looks around, his mind racing to catch up to what you’d just said — apples? what the —

he spots them, discarded in a corner by the entrance of the basement hideout — a rough burlap satchel sagging against the wall, filled with waxy red apples, round as the autumn moon and nearly just as big. he stares at them for a full minute before his eyes slowly slide back to you, still lying inert in his arms, though your breathing has evened out and your cheeks are flushed just the slightest shade of pink.

you’re in no immediate danger, he knows, but there’s an unpleasant darkness seeping into the material of your shirt along your ribs and the thing in his chest stutters, the strange pressure threatening to calcify into something very much like panic.

so he takes a deep breath, because master swordsmen don’t panic. those of a calm mind… or what the fuck ever.

he takes another breath and hoists you onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around the backs of your thighs as he stands up and makes for the exit, reaching down to snag the bag of apples, grimacing as he hooks them onto his free shoulder. they’re heavier than he’d expected.

he’s halfway to the docks before you start to stir and he slows his pace ever so slightly, careful not to dig his shoulder into your still-open wound.

“have a good nap?”

you groan, and he almost grins as he feels you trying to wiggle out of his grasp. he doesn’t break his stride even as he adjusts you on his shoulder and keeps on walking.

“l-let me down — i can walk —”

“nope. don’t feel like it.”

“i’m sorry, okay?”

you sigh, the tension once again leaving your body and for a second zoro worries that you’d passed out again, but the next second, he feels your fists thumping lightly against his waist.

“hm. don’t remember asking you to apologize.”

but he does slow his step. he steps onto the bustling boardwalk, ignoring the strange, lingering looks of passersby as he hauls you bodily towards where the going merry is docked.

“doesn’t mean i shouldn’t.”

he pauses then, bending down slightly to let you slip from his shoulders, keeping his arm wrapped around you even as you slide down the length of his torso to land on your feet. your palms are pressed to his chest as you look up at him, and for a moment, as zoro searches the depths of your eyes, he isn’t sure if he wants to kiss you for being alright or scream at you for putting yourself in danger in the first place.

like this, he can feel all of you pressing against all of him, and the thing inside his chest still feels like something of a monster but at least it’s no longer tearing him apart from the inside out. it beats, uncoordinated, against his sternum, thumping up till he can feel it at the base of his throat.

he lets himself look at you, lets his eyes roam the planes of your face, lingering on the bruise kissing the corner of your mouth. he licks his lips and looks away.

“what the hell were you doing buying so many apples anyway?”

at this, you purse your lips, your lashes fluttering hummingbird quick as you look away.

“uhm… i — i can’t tell you.”

zoro rolls his eyes as he bends down, and in one swift motion, tosses you back over his shoulder. you yelp in surprise as he starts to make his way towards the ship again, seemingly deaf to your protests as you kick our your legs and thump your fists against his back.

“really, warn me, the next time you plan on getting kidnapped for ransom, would’ya?”

but he can’t help the slight smile that twitches at the edge of his lips even as he carries you onto the merry’s deck, kicking open the kitchen door to set you on the long wooden prep table.

because you’re still here, warm and breathing beside him, a bit banged up and bloodied, sure, but alive nonetheless. he’d gotten to you in time.

the creature inside his chest purrs in contentment even as he schools his expression back into a suitable scowl as you pout at him from the kitchen table, saying something about not planning on getting kidnapped, and he quips back something about all this being a bad idea from get.

he allows himself a secret, relieved sigh as he starts to rummage around for the first aid kit he knows is there somewhere, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of your summer sun laughter, watching as you wince and clutch at your wounded side.

how’s he to tell you that with you, the monster inside him starts to feel like much less monster and much more man? and that the day he met you, he stopped thinking of himself as a natural disaster -- only that he might be naturally a disaster sometimes, but something else in all the moments in between.

so he settles for dressing your wounds instead, pressing his palm to the soft expanse of your skin, holding still the shivers that threaten to shake him to his very bones when his fingertips graze against the ridges of your ribs, his other hand resting on the soft plush of your hip.

he settles for kissing you quiet when you start to ramble, because he can’t let himself think of the other things he might want to do to you if you’d let him. he settles, as the monster in him settles as well.

because with you, he knows he is both monster and man, and he knows — judging by the way you smile at him as he pulls back from your kiss — that you wouldn’t have him any other way.

opla!zoro reqs open!

[kkomsed]

The Harbinger and The Dragon (full comic)

tumblr gets the compiled version, hello hello, hope y’all like (somewhat) resolved angst.

full poem 💥:

In the eye of a hurricane, silence reigns.

For just a moment, a steady heartbeat.

And a question is whispered, but still heard clear:

“Oh, my old friend….

How did we get here?”

[moon-child-goddess]

When we say goodbye Pt 1

Pairings:  Druig X LightBender!Eternal!Reader (Fem) 

Summary: Druig and readers time together before he leaves the group. The beginning of her descent into darkness. 

Warnings: MCU Violence, Blood, Fighting, I used Fem pronouns, some fluff and angst. Time Jumps

Author's note: I watched Saltburn and then Eternals, got an Idea so here we are my first ever thingy thing. This is part one. I got carried away…. I hope you all enjoy it! 

Part Two Part Three

Intricate gold patterns trailed up Y/Ns arms as she used the sunlight around her to create a massive hawk. It took off, sinking its glowing talons into the deviant’s eyes. The creature let out a strangled shriek before biting the bird. The golden creature dissolved in its jaws. Y/N pulled more light together, throwing it at the ugly monster. The ground rumbled under her feet as it fell over.  It held the force of a mini earthquake. She used all the strength in her legs to keep from toppling over. Usually, Y/N had to have help from Thena or one of the other Eternals help her take the deviants down. She could wound them but hardly ever executed. 

A deviant that was hidden in the tree line focused on the Y/H/C-haired girl. She stood over its friend, a  wide victorious smile on her face. And did a small dance, proud of herself. It huffed out before taking off toward her. The creature now behind Y/N raised a clawed hand, slashing it through the air with the force of hurricane winds. An ear-splitting scream passed her lips while the deviant’s razor-sharp nails ripped through her flesh. Cutting right through her like a perfectly done steak. A searing heat of pain ran through her body. 

"Y/N!" Druig cried out. Within a heartbeat, he took off running to her. Leaving Kingo and Thena to fend for themselves. He knew they were more than capable of handling their situation.  After all, Thena could take three deviants down in the blink of an eye. 

Gilgamesh neutralized the deviant attacking the girl, effectively preventing it from killing Y/N. More deviants came out of the trees to defend their fallen, pulling him back to Thenas side. There were more of the creatures in this area than anywhere the group had been before. They were multiplying like bunnies in the spring.  

Druig knelt in Y/N's blood as it soaked in to the forest's floor and carefully pulled her head to his lap. His eyes flitted over the crimson wounds, muttering a sorry when a whimper escaped her. Through the blurry haze of pain, she could make out a deviant coming toward the two of them. No one besides Y/N seemed to notice the thing. Without another thought, she used the small patch of sunlight by her fingers directing the stream of light to blind the monster. Cerci took care of the rest.

"Saved my ass again, my sunshine." He smiled that breathtaking smile, pushing her hair out of her face. Druig took a deep breath wiping any emotions he showed off his face. He didn't want to worry his friend. 

"I think we are even now," she spoke, inhaling sharp breaths with each word.

Ajak got down by the two, placing her hands on Y/N. A numb, tingling feeling ran through her. It felt like her limbs were waking up after sleeping on them wrong. Even with how many times Ajak has used her abilities on her, it was a sensation she would never get used to. Once Ajak was finished,  Y/N thanked her.  Honestly, the group would have been dead if Arishem hadn't given them Ajak.  

Y/N got up to her knees and faced the black-haired menace she called her best friend. She bit her lip, not finding the words she wanted to say. ‘Thank you…I love you.’ Instead, she hugged him.  Druig buried his face in her neck, inhaling in her smell overwhelmed his senses.  A reminder she was still there.

“You’re still here,” he murmured against her neck, causing chills to run down her spine.

“You would miss me if I was gone. Who would accidentally hurt Ikaris for you." Y/N joked, pulling away to look into his beautiful blue eyes.

"You don't even know." He responded. Ruffling her hair before helping her up. 

---------

Thena dodged at Y/N. They were training in a secluded  area of a beach. The girl side stepped out of the way effectively blocking the blonde warrior. Thena tried a right hook and Y/N used her arm to block the hit. That was the fourth time in a row. Which was a major improvement. 

“See I can fight” Y/N giggled as Thena threw another punch at her. 

“You have some things to work on, for your safety.”  Thena responded. She was doing this for Y/N, but Druig had begged her to help. He never asked for anything so she gladly complied. 

Y/N managed to hook her leg over Thena’s. Effectively pulling  her down on the sand. She straddled the warrior with a victory smile. Sounds of claps met her ears from a distance. Looking up it was Makkari cheering her on. Thena used the distraction to flip over and pin Y/N down. She wore the victory smirk now. 

“You cheated” 

“You lost focus.” Thena pulled her up.  

“Did you want me to kill you?” Y/N asked exasperated. 

“No, but let's go again. This time I won't go easy”  

“Easy?” That was outrageous.

 Y/N made the first move this round of sparing. Thena effortlessly dodged the attack knocking Y/N down. She glared up at the women, more determined to win. She got up and tried again only to be knocked on her ass once again. Grains of sand fell into her clothes, and stuck  to her sweat. Her hair was all over the place too she knew she had to have looked crazy. Her chest heaved as she began to catch her breath. 

Thena put an arm out to help her up but dropped her halfway up. The blonde woman smiled down at her. Y/N  heard a laugh this time. She knew that laugh like it was the air she needed to breathe. He must have made his way over with Makkari. Those two were attached at the hip lately. 

“Shut up Dru.”  she called out to her dark haired friend, and bit down on her lip. 

Thena helped Y/N back up and got her to her feet this time. Nodding at the girl to go again. There was a moment of hesitation before she lunged back at her screaming. This time she grazed Thena with her fingers, and escaped the movement the warrior made to grab her. There was at least 7 feet between them now. They both waited for the other to make a move. Thena started to go for Y/N’s right but swerved for the left taking the girl for surprise and once again putting her on the sandy floor. 

Y/N huffed out, defeated and done for the day. She covered her face with her aching arms. This hit was going to bruise. Druig laughed again. 

“Once again, shut up Dru.” He apologized but his tone was joking. She knew he was too amused to mean it.  

“You are doing well. In another week you will be able to defend yourself flawlessly.” She pulled Y/N back up to her feet. Signing to Makkari to join her in the city. 

Druig was distracted by the sweat glinting off Y/N’s body as she made her way to sit next to him. She dug her bare feet into the warm sand resting her head on her knees. He rubbed her back watching the ocean's waves roll on to the shore. 

“You are improving sunshine.” She grunted at his words. 

‘Lies’ she thought leaning in to him. Her body hurt all over. 

---------

Y/N ran through the crowded town square knocking into some people. She ignored the glares thrown her way, too focussed on finding her friend. She wanted to show him something exciting. He was going to love it. It thrilled her to know she was going to see that soft smile of his.  

“Druig!” Y/N yelled when his head of hair came into view.  As soon as he heard her voice, he dropped what was in his hands, looking for her.  A small smile fought its way onto his face as she ran towards him. She quickly closed the remaining distance between them before he could even step forward.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

"Yes, my sunshine?" His smile widened as he watched her bounce on the balls of her feet. Obviously excited about something. 

"Come with me. I want to show you something." Y/N grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together. She whisked him off toward the forest. He didn't have the opportunity to say no. Not that he would have denied her anything. He would have walked across hot coals if she so much as asked.

They came to a halt in the middle of a clearing of varying purple colored flowers. Y/N stood, so she was right in front of him, stealing his attention. He used their joined hands to pull her closer. A sparkle crossed his eyes as he rested his forehead against hers. He glanced down at her soft lips. Their lips were a breath away from what they both wanted, but they were too stubborn to do anything. 

"Ok, close your eyes, no peeking." she bit down on the inside of her cheek, untangled their fingers, and took a step back. Druig frowned. And reached out to her. She shook her head.  

"I swear, Y/N,  if this is a trick. I will not talk to you ever again." That was a lie. Even if it wasn't, she would wear him down. She knew all the right buttons to push to get his attention. A soft musical laugh escaped her before she responded. He yearned to bottle that sound up for a cloudy day. 

"Dru, it's not. Now place your hands over your eyes, and no using your powers." He poked her in the side, straightening up before complying with her demands. It earned him another laugh. 

Druig could sense her tongue sticking out. Y/N had always done that when she was concentrating. He knew her better than he knew himself. He paid attention to every detail for centuries and stored them in his memory. Druig could read her like an open book. Sometimes he wondered if she knew all her little quirks. How she tousled her hair when she was stressed or when her nose twitched when she wanted to yell.

After a couple minutes, Druig's hands were tugged away from his face. He kept his eyes closed, waiting for her to be truly ready. Afraid to ruin her surprise. Y/N once again laced their fingers together. Druig squeezed her palms, rubbing his thumb across her soft skin.  He could stay like this forever, just the two of them. Although, he would prefer to actually see her. 

"Open." It felt like an eternity before he did as she asked. 

The scene in front of him was ethereal. Thousands of gold butterflies fluttered around them. Y/N watched as Druigs sapphire blue eyes followed the movements of her creations. There was a lone black one that flew past his face. It looked more like a moth than a butterfly. It landed on a rock before vanishing. 

Druig’s whole body was relaxed for the first time in a while. He stared at the spectacle in front of him in utter disbelief. With an extended finger, he coaxed a butterfly to land on it. It spread its wings out as he pulled it up closer to examine. There were delicate patterns on the wings. They looked like any regular butterfly, just dipped in liquid gold. 

Druig set the thing on Y/Ns nose and dragged the finger past her lips pulling at her bottom lip and rested on her chin. Her nose scrunched up as the insect walked across her cheek. An affectionate smile took over his face, and his eyes dilated. His finger lingered on her chin a second longer, watching as the butterfly disappeared.  

She had butterflies; anytime he touched her or simply looked her way. With that look, he reserved for her alone. It was softer than he ever looked at Makkari. Butterflies were there at the thought of him.

"How is this possible? You can usually only create one thing at a time."  Druig pulled them both down. He sat on the cold ground and her on his lap. He snaked an arm around her waist, holding her close. He rested his chin on her soft hair, keeping his gaze on the moment playing out before him. 

"I'm not sure I was playing around, and bam. Butterflies." Y/N paused, making an exploding gesture with her hands. She looked like a kid on their birthday, giddy.

“Not the most frightening thing. But hey, I did it."

"This is wonderful. My beautiful, beautiful sunshine." Y/N leaned her head on his shoulder, watching the glittering butterflies disappear with the sunset. Druig played with her hair absentmindedly, placing a soft kiss on her temple.

----

Y/N stood in the forest with everyone listening to Ajak lecture Druig about controlling the humans. Thena began to twitch and mumble inaudible things next to her. Y/N truly thought it was another insult toward Druig, but she couldn't hear anything as Phastos began yelling. Thena  started to speak a little louder this time. 

“Thena?” Sersi said, turning to us looking concerned. “Are you ok?” 

“Everyone is going to die” Thenas eyes went a foggy white, and she summoned a polearm ready to attack. 

“Sersi!” Y/N cried out trying to get in front of her before Thena could attack. Makkari reacted instantly before the rest of the group knew what was happening, and pulled Sersi out of the warrior's way. Druig focused on Y/N’s cries. 

Chaos broke out instantly. The golden weapon managed to hit Phastos. Y/N tried to summon something but there was no light available to pull from. The darkness moved slightly casting shadowy lines on the ground, but she couldn't gain control of them.  Druig yanked her out of the way as Makkari took off with Thena.  

Before Druig could even try to stop her, she went running after them.She ran as fast as she could trying to have half the speed Makkari had. He called out to stop her, but she was too far gone, trying to protect those she cared about.  

Makkari was hurt on the forest floor. Thena waved her weapon around frantically, nicking the girl in front of her. Drawing blood. Y/N let out a hiss. Was it dumb to run after someone when she can't fight? Absolutely, but she wanted to protect her family.  Thena was about to make a fatal blow, but Ajak stopped it with her hand. She showed no emotion as she stared the warrior down.  It was chilling.

 Y/N used the distractions as her opportunity to get to her friend who was laying still. She put pressure on Makkari’s wound to slow the blood loss.Throwing her whole weight on it, which caused the girl under her to flinch. 

“It's ok. We will fix this.”  Y/N spoke, trying to keep calm while waiting for Ajak to come. Hoping Makkari would understand her. 

Druig knelt next to her putting his hands on top of A/N’s. A worried look flashing through him as he caught sight of the cut on her arm. Ajak was over in no time working on healing them. Gilgamesh stood by looking absolutely guilty for what he had done to Thena. 

Druig pulled Y/N to a river washing her hands in the cool water. It was slowly grounding the girl back to reality. He murmured gentle affirmations to her as he scrubbed at her skin. 

--

Once again, Druig and Ajak were arguing about the humans. They were all in the confines of a pyramid now. Ikaris involved himself always acting as if he was the one incharge. He threatened Druig. They frequently fought about something stupid and made empty threats. Normally Y/N would defend him. But she was overwhelmed with the dry blood that remained under her nails and Thena laying in front of her. Y/N had found it easy to tune them out through the centuries, turning them into background noise. Her second favorite person was hurting, and she couldn't fix it. This wasn't fair, she thought. Ajak couldn't even truly fix it. Her powers had limits, just like the rest of the group.

Intense words continued to be traded amongst the group. A malicious tone was hidden behind every spoken thought.  Ajak stayed calm; she was the only one with a level head. Y/N stood stark still in a corner, keeping quiet. She tried to become one with the wall behind her. Her eyes were glued to the colorful walls, begging internally for them to calm down and stop. 

Eventually,  a stark silence took over the room. Cries of the innocent outside seemed to disappear through the walls. Y/N glanced up,  examining the small space. Druig was rushing out. No one moved from their place to stop him. They just watched. 

Y/N began to hyperventilate; the air was thinning out. Dru wasn't going to say goodbye? Was our friendship a lie? Did he only put up with me for entertainment?  Poisonous thoughts raced through her head. Her feet had their own mind and made her take off after him.

"Druig!" Y/N Shouted, bolting down the stairs. She wanted to beg him to stop… to come back and say it was all a sick joke. She yearned for him to tell her he would never leave her behind. 

‘Stay with me, please.’ She begged him subconsciously.  Her thoughts were so loud that she was half convinced he could hear them when he flinched. Y/N knew it was selfish, but she needed him

A choked sob escaped her as her feet hit the flat ground. It felt as if her heart was making its way to her throat. The thing beat rapidly against her ribs like a stampede of gazelles being chased as prey. It was almost painful.

"Dru, please." He didn't respond, only walked at a faster pace. Y/N yelled out again. One last desperate attempt to get his attention. 

This time, he stopped surrounded by the people under his control. Y/N blinked back the tears, threatening to fall. She placed a hand over her mouth, smothering a sob. Druig’s hands clenched into tight fists. He watched the people in front of him, all unmoving not even a blink. 

 "Please- Please don't leave me."  Y/N’s voice cracked. Deep inside her soul, she knew this was goodbye. He turned to face her, eyes dilated. Instead of sapphire blue, she was met with black pools of obsidian. She stepped forward. The people were already on the defense with her movements towards the Eternal. Druig stopped them immediately she was no threat, and no harm would come to her at his hand. 

"My beautiful, beautiful sunshine. I have to go. Arishems plan is not for me.” Druig cautiously wiped away a stray tear from her cheek. He never wanted to be the reason for those tears, but this was what was best for her. She would regret leaving with him, and he couldn't ask her to leave the people she loved so much. Y/N closed her eyes. Tipping her head up to the starry sky, she let out a depleted laugh. 

“You are going to do wonderful things." He mumbled. Before he could stop it, he pulled her in for a hug. Druig held on tighter than usual. She wrapped herself around his frame, taking in the comfort of his hold. He buried his face in her neck. They fit together perfectly. As if they were sculpted for each other. They were two pieces of a puzzle meant to be lost. He pulled away slowly and tucked loose strands of Y/N's hair behind her ears. Then placed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose before resting his forehead against hers.

"Please." she choked on her tears, reaching out to cup his face. She held on to him like one would hold an injured bird. Druigs eyes flashed through emotions before going blank.  Oh how he wanted to be selfish, but he couldn't ask her to leave. He wiped away another tear, yearning to stop her pain. Their lips were mere inches apart. He could take the one thing he's wanted since he met her on that ship.  But he couldn't do that to her. He was a selfish man, just not when it came to her. 

"You need them, and they need you." He took a step back and locked his jaw. It took everything in his soul to not reach out and grab her. He forced himself to walk away. 

"No." She whispered as she watched him retreat through the flaming city. Her heart shattered with each step he took with his new followers. A darkness began to fill in the cracks.

"I-I need you." she whispered to the air once he was gone.  

[lottiecrabie]

I also cannot explain how much I need this including everything you said in the tags hahaha consider this my blurb request!!!!! (ps linecook 2 was insane and so unexpected like what a gift u are ily xx)

Would you rather me camp with a tutor au sign or a linecook v word roleplay sign 🪻

on a weird smut streak dhmu

it starts off as a joke, or at least that’s what you assume. you’re recounting your first time story like a stand-up, treating the awkward fumblings and condom slippings and bloody sheets and the pain as punchlines to your story. matty doesn’t laugh much, but you entertain yourself, tipsy on amaretto sours and the warmth of his hand on your thigh. you get to the dead-fish look just above your eyes before the tell-tale groan and rollover when matty can’t take it anymore.

and it goes like it usually does, dirty speeches about how it wouldn’t have gone like that if your first time had been with him. and, sure, it’s a truth and a fact and a promise, but it doesn’t stop you from mocking him a little for the grandiose sermons.

then he says it. ‘i can show you.’

‘what,’ you say, laughing. ‘you’re gonna stitch me back up and take my virginity again?’

matty doesn’t even crack a smile. he’s taking the subject much more seriously than you would think, especially considering how silly it all is. ‘we can pretend. make it what it should have been.’

you’re taken aback. your fingertip rolls around the rim of the glass, chewing on your lip. ‘you’re seriously suggesting a virginity roleplay?’ matty shrugs. your heart races in your chest, but you aim for another joke. ‘are you never scared of being such a cliche?’

matty grins. ‘no. never.’

so he takes you home, though pushes your hands away when you try to unbutton his pants, blinking up at him in your best virginal doe eyes. he kneels before you instead, claims it’s all about getting used to the feeling. it’s where he stays the whole night, drawing screams and tears out of you until you’re dripping and drooling on the mattress, then kisses your forehead and wishes you a goodnight.

he teases you more and more, never giving you what you want, what you need. you know the trick; get her desperate and cockdrunk before you slide in, and it seems matty reserves a particularly delicious torture for ‘first times’. he croons sweet promises in your ear, fingering you and praising the way your cunt stretches for him, gets used to him, how he can’t wait to be inside of you, how well you’ll take him soon. by the end of it, you’re so pent-up about the idea, you almost forget it’s not actually your first time.

you’re making out on his bed when you grasp his hand, tightening it and blinking up at him. ‘matty. i’m ready.’

he plays it casually, smiling at you, but you sense his heartbeat quicken under your palm. ‘yeah? want me inside of you?’

you pout, moaning, ‘fucking need it.’

he hums. ‘oh, baby. alright. take your shirt off for me.’

you’re undressed in a matter of seconds, kicking off your shorts before he even asks. you wear white lingerie; much better than the nude cotton underwear you had on your first time. it seems you, too, want to rewrite history.

matty grins at you, danger in the spike of his teeth. ‘like a little lamb.’ you shiver as his mouth dances down your body, kissing your skin, and buries between your thighs.

he gets you off like that for a while, of course, because it’s matty. stays until you’re pushing his head away, the bed spinning around you. matty wipes his mouth as he crawls back up, already tugging off his shirt.

it’s when you’re both naked and panting in each other’s mouths that it starts feeling too real. your heart races, apprehension and anxiety and nerves spinning in that hurricane head. you feel exactly like you did the first time, unsure and overwhelmed and excited.

you opt for another joke to crack the tension. fluttering your eyelashes at him, you say, ‘i don’t know if it’s gonna fit.’

‘we’ll go slow.’

you wrap your hand around his hard cock, stroking gently. ‘i’ve never done this before.’ your thumb swipes his tip. ‘it’s so big.’

matty halts your hand with his own, prying it away and crossing both your fingers together beside your head. ‘i won’t hurt you,’ he says, gentle. your throat closes up. he doesn’t want to joke.

you dig your nails into his shoulder as his tip teases your entrance. you hold your breath, nervous, as though readying for a pain that you know won’t come. you blink up at the ceiling.

‘look at me,’ matty whispers. you lock eyes with him, with the reassuring gaze. velvety, sugary. his hand grasps yours firmer. he slides in.

and, no, of course it doesn’t hurt. but you gasp anyway, like an inherent mental reaction. he goes slowly, inch by inch. you moan, throbbing around his length.

he lays there, kissing your face, immobile. you take several breaths, adjusting to him, to the emotion building in your throat. ‘you ready, sweet girl?’

‘yeah,’ you whisper. ‘you can move.’

he slides out and it’s meteoric, rippling pleasure through your sweaty body. you moan his name, digging your hands in every inch of his skin you can find.

‘you’re fucking perfect,’ he moans in your ear. ‘taking me so well. fuckin’ squeezing me.’ as if on cue, you clench around him, a wave of pleasure swallowing you as he hits deep and true.

‘do you feel good, princess?’ you nod, too hazy to form words. his hand sneaks between your bodies, rubbing at your clit. you gasp his name. ‘better?’

‘yes.’

‘i’m gonna make you feel good. you’ll see.’ he kisses your shoulder, licking up your collarbone. ‘this is sex.’

you throb around him, closing your eyes and seeing stars. ‘fuck,’ you cry. ‘matty, i need more.’

he coos at you, kissing your neck. ‘it’s okay, baby. trust me.’ he speeds his thumb, but doesn’t slam into you like you’re silently begging for. ‘don’t want to hurt you. we need to go slow.’

‘i won’t break.’

‘i know better.’ you huff, rolling your head back, letting yourself be washed by the ecstasy he does masterfully pull out of you.

it’s a slow, gentle fuck like you never do. you bury your hand into his hair and tug him to your face, kissing him until you’re out of air. until you’re drowning in him.

matty only breaks the kiss to whisper-pant, ‘they wish they could have you.’ he licks into your mouth, starved. ‘they all fucking think about you. but they won’t get it.’ he kisses your chin, your jaw, your cheek. ‘won’t have you. only me.’

you nod. ‘only ever you.’ his thumb speeds at your bundle of nerves. deep strokes hit you, burying and burying.

‘i’m the only one who’s ever gonna know you like this. i’m the only one who’s ever gonna fuck you.’

‘yes!’ you scream, delirious. pleasure pulls at you, pressing and insistent. you tremble under him, tighten your hand around his in warning.

‘don’t need others when i treat you this well.’

and you don’t like the weird emotion building in your chest, your throat, your head. instead, you plead, ‘make me come.’

‘oh, don’t you fucking worry.’

he rubs and fucks and kisses until you’re melting into his arm, the loose letters of his name falling down your chin. he gets you there, right there, and then makes you look him in the eyes as you fall apart for him.

the sight gets him crazed. he fucks you harder, ready and greedy. ‘fucking love this cunt.’ he kisses you. ‘love it. love you. fuck—‘ he comes with a shake and spills into you.

you lay there, heart racing, mouths panting. you gently stroke his hair. there’s a strange peace in the room. time suspends, still unreal, still pretending.

it’s the best first time you’ve ever had.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ Take my soul (need control) ❞

slashers dating slasher reader | erratic!slasher!male!reader | fluff, smut | graphic description of violence, brief mention of animal cruelty in Brahms H. section, mentions of nsfw things |

Amanda Young | Brahms Heelshire | Corey Cunningham | OG!Michael Myers | RZ!Michael Myers | poly!Ghostface (Stu Macher, Billy Loomis) | Sinclair brothers

as a preface, (Y/N) is implied to be erratic and unhinged as a slasher. their s/o's are the only ones who can calm them.

Amanda Young (Saw) -

You didn't fit in her future.

At least, that's what Amanda's initials thoughts are when you two stared down each other from across the parking lot, panting as you held your weapons.

She's heard of you through the news. The infamous (slasher name), the monster that lurks in the shadows and savagely crushes anyone who had the misfortune of wounding up as their victim.

Your methods were unlike hers. Not calculated, not planned, not meticulous - completely erratic, like a hurricane.

But she needs the man that one of you has knocked out in your scuffle. While you? You just saw him walking past you while he was making his way to his car and decided he'd die tonight. She stiffens and reaches back for the gun she brings for emergencies as you straighten up but finds herself bewildered as you begin laughing maniacally.

"Have 'im, Ms Piggy" She sees your grip loosen on your weapon and her fingers uncurl from the handle of the gun. "Ya' clearly need 'im more than I do" and just like that, you're gone. The only thing she hears is her own breathing and her racing heartbeat.

Amanda is feverish about finding you. She reads everything she can and scours wannabe psychos and sociopaths' blogs dedicated to your crimes. (slasher name) becomes an obsession.

When you meet again, you find 'Miss Piggy' eyeing the interiors of your home. She's unsure of what she feels as she imagines you moving about the space but she smiles when you begin chuckling like a hyena and reach for the knife you had on you.

"I need your help, (Y/N)"

"Will it be fun?"

Amanda's smiling under her mask. She's seen your research of her work. The newspaper clippings, paint (or blood) of your theories on the wall (among other 'deranged' scribbles) you were familiar with her.

"Wouldn't have asked if it wasn't".

Fun was an understatement. You were a wildcard, someone that could cost her this entire game but the carnage you spread was so beautiful...she wasn't sure if any device or game she sets up could compare.

You two end up working with each other more and more. Your unpredictability makes the FBI tear their hairs out - you were, ironically, the balance she needed in her scales.

When you two confess to each other, you're soaked in someone else's blood. She approaches you from behind, watching your shoulders and chest rise and fall.

You lick the blood from your lips, your smile stretching over your cheeks looking almost uncomfortable.

Her eyes flick to your lips then up to your eyes.

"Come 'ere, Miss Piggy" she leans in and you meet her halfway.

Most would argue that you would be the worst guy to be in a relationship with.

They're wrong.

Amanda knows the ins and outs of your twisted heart because you bare it to her as it beats for her in your palm.

She doesn't take advantage of it. Tests it? Sure, just to feel more secure, but never to the point where you doubt her love for her.

Amanda thinks your ingenuity and creative mind is her favourite part of you (among other things).

You've jokingly told her she could split your skull open to get those ideas fresh - she giggles and you gather her in your arms.

Amanda leaves the window of your bathroom unlocked. Just for you. She knows you need to 'hunt' sometimes and doesn't discourage it (though she makes sure you know her targets so you don't end up killing them). When you crawl back home, you make sure to shower first before you shuffle back into bed.

She tends to your wounds, scolding you only if she knows you could've avoided it in the first place. "More fun that way, 'Manda" she huffs "So you'd leave me forever just for more fun?"

She knows you're pretty screwed up in that brain box of yours, she's not above manipulating you to bend to her whims but she only ever does it out of love, (Y/N)!

She's highly protective of you. She'll ensure your identity is safe if there are any loose ends during your 'hunts'.

She can't lose you. You can't lose her. Both of you are monsters. Both of you belong together - can't live without the other.

If a victim manages to get an upper hand on either of you God help them.

The second one of you is in danger, the other only sees red.

You've literally taken several bullets for Amanda.

She was so gentle with you that night. Her kisses silent apologies. Seeing her cry as she looks down at you makes you move to sit - despite the pain and her protests. Her breath hitched as your tongue slithers in, Amanda's lips warmed by yours.

"You're hurt, (Y/N)" "Don't care, need you"

"You're hurt because of me!" her yell makes you tilt your head "I should've been more careful!" she continues.

"I want you, Amanda" you whine, cupping her weeping face in your hands. "I'll want you even if you hurt me, even if it kills me. Don't say no to me, Piggy?"

The nickname wins her over.

By the way, she calls you Froggy or Kermit (Kermy too!). It's cute.

(She buys green and pink items because they remind her of the two of you and you've gifted her two hearts that you'd cut in half, coloured pink and green and sowed together. She placed the gift on the desk she works on, it's displayed in a dome glass case and she fights back a smile every time she lays eyes on it)

The satisfaction she gets when victims scream as they spot you in the same room as them. Just so fucking proud of her killing machine.

When you go overboard, if the emotions get too overwhelming for you and you only think of how to get rid of the pain - Amanda grips the nape of your neck and pushes you onto your knees.

You bow because it's her. You breathe because it's her.

"(slasher name)" Your eye twitches, gaze still floating around the room but she knows she has your attention.

"You all there, Kermy?"

"I'm right here, Piggy".

Brahms Heelshire (The Boy) -

Initially, you'd taken the babysitting job as a cover to lay low. Things were getting heated in (insert wherever you're from) and this secluded manor was perfect.

The sight of the doll didn't make you falter. Hey, you got a few screws loose yourself so you didn't judge the Heelshires for how they cope.

Brahms was intrigued by you from the second he laid his eyes on you. The way you instantly gathered the doll in your arms without an ounce of judgement makes butterflies flutter.

He is elated to know that there's a chance you won't freak out if you see him.

He quickly finds out you're not exactly the Average Joe.

You brought the rat traps inside, he inches closer to the hole in the wall when you suddenly froze. The rat squeaks furiously and your non-dominant hand idly reaches for the drawers. Brahms did not expect you to pull out a meat tenderizer.

There's a mix of emotions in the boy as he skitters to his room. He laid awake that night, a part of him wondering if you were just like him and the other feeling guilt at the excitement.

His parents tried their best to nurture him into a decent man. Even if it didn't work, their voices still linger in his head but when he sees the tender way you cradle the porcelain extension of himself the next morning? Your voice sickly sweet, lips pressing into the cold temple of the doll?

Brahms craves you.

Malcolm, poor, stupid, Malcolm.

Brahms wasn't the only one that wanted him gone. The only reason you reciprocated his advances was to fulfil a different type of lust.

(Malcolm wasn't your type anyways.)

Brahms's nails nearly break as he digs them in the wood of the walls, breath labouring as anger consumes him. Malcolm was on top of you, unworthy hands gripping at you like you were some common whore.

He's moved from behind the walls to the closet when you're on top of him. The grip of the 'missing' meat tenderizer was so tight his hand was trembling.

Malcolm yells in pain and Brahm pauses as he watches you laugh in pure delight as you dig your thumbs inside Malcolm's eye sockets.

You turn to him, smile still etched on your features and Brahms gulps as you bring your thumb to your mouth to suck the blood and gore clean.

"Cute mask"

The kitchen utensil drops with a comical 'THUD!' while you two stare at each other.

Your relationship falls into a steady, domestic, pace much quicker than both of you anticipated. How could they not? The secluded land was beautiful when the weather wasn't so dreary. Even if it was, the grand fireplaces were extremely nice to cosy up next to. It's hard NOT to fall deeper and deeper into each other when everything was so romantic.

Malcolm's death was covered up thanks to the wild animals on the land. Brahms watches from the window as you whistle, beckoning the scavengers as you spread a few of Malcolm's innards around.

You tell him everything about your kills. Effectively burying his parent's voice in his head as you sink him deeper and deeper into your hell.

"You're beautiful just like this, Brahmsy" he pants from beneath the mask and you place a kiss on those cold lips. "They won't understand like I do, we're meant to be like this so we can find each other" his pupils are so blown out as he stares up at you.

"You're my good boy, Brahms, forever and always. Okay?"

"Okay, (Y/N)". Your smile was sculpted by the king of hell himself and Brahm's eyes roll back as you move your hips.

Brahms feels vindicated and free. For once, guilt doesn't whisper accusingly in his shadow. Instead, there's you.

Your routines overlap his. Your hands pull him from the darkness. Your voice haunts him every second of every day.

The bodies pile up in the woods. The rats are scarce with the sudden spike of scavengers drawn to the Heelshire manor.

You love spoiling him with victims, love watching him release his creativity and curiosity. He's so good with his hands and all that raw strength? It's not an odd sight for you to make love in the showers after 'play time' was done.

He loves helping you freak the shit out of your victims, pretending to be the ghost in the walls and making them so paranoid they think they've gone crazy.

When they're dealt with, Brahms often makes snacks for the both of you.

Oh! He makes a mask for you. To show his love and for you to wear when you need it.

He doesn't like that you leave the manor. It causes BIG arguments. Vintage vases flying to the wall kind of arguments. But you were a bloodthirsty hound, you needed to stretch your legs.

He'll be sullen but he gets over it. This routine annoys the shit out of both of you though but over time, he learns you need it just as much as he needs his quiet times.

He welcomes you when you get home, lifting his mask to kiss you and you giggle as your hands slide up his wifebeater.

"Miss me, big boy?"

"Always" he pouts.

Corey Cunningham (Halloween Ends) -

Corey knew before you did.

You were just like him. The darkness spills from your eyes as you tell him how the front of your car got wrecked.

"A deer scared you?" he wipes his hands on the front of his uniform, turning to you as you nod and stroke the large dents and scratches on your hood. "Swerved into the woods, didn't hit a tree head-on - Thank God, right?" Corey nods.

He pretends not to see the splatter of blood and hoses down the hair and chunks of flesh from your tires.

Guessed you missed a spot, hm?

He's good at being undetected. People...people avoid him nowadays.

You don't have to ask around much to learn about the cute, outcasted, mechanic's past. You find it all a bit pathetic. These people were really that terrified of him over what sounded like an honest mistake?

Corey wonders why you've gone to Allen's family's abandoned house during his nightly routine of stalking you.

He watches you from the windows, knife in hand though with no real intent of using it...on you anyways. Blood had already stained the blade.

You pause at the sight of dried blood and gaze up the spiralling staircase. Much to his chagrin, you lay down and place your head right on the bloodstain.

Your laughter makes blood pool under the skin of his cheeks. Your hands splay out to your side and you're laughing so hard your sides hurt, Corey finds himself pressing a hand to the window and wishes he was right beside you.

The next day, Corey's parked right out of the supermarket just as you come out. He grins boyishly and you ask if he needs anything. He holds himself back from saying "you" and instead asks if you're free tonight.

You don't expect him to be so forward but you're intrigued. So you ask if he'll be the one to pick you up (considering your car is still in his garage) and Corey pretends to be interested as you write down your address as he imprints the sight of your semi-focused expression. He already knows where you live but you don't have to worry about that, (Y/N).

The night was perfect from the get-go. Your warmth pressed against his back as he drove the two of you to a bar that was further away than usual but was the only one he could go to without people whispering — you don't mind.

Then drinks got involved and suddenly you're dancing with him, some shitty pop song playing over shitty speakers but neither of you cared.

Then reality came crashing in. Someone had loudly — drunkenly — mentioned Corey's past. Everyone gives him looks and although he could care less he pretends to by pulling you out of the bar.

"Corey, wait" he's too drunk to drive and his hands are itching to feel blood so he pauses as you chuckle the command out. "Stay here, baby" The nickname makes his heart flutter and he nods as he leans against his bike. When you disappear back into the bar — probably left something, he thought — he curses and tries his hardest not to storm in and strangle the life out of that asshole who ruined his date and the closest bar he could go to without reproachful glares.

He contemplates the thought of moving away from Haddonfield with you when his phone rings. It's you. For a second, he thinks you're in trouble but when he answers you're breathless pants of glee tells him otherwise.

"Come to the back, Corey".

The sight that greets him is the asshole with a bleeding mouth and a broken nose. The burst veins in his eyes and the wooden plank that you held loosely in your arm paint a clear picture.

"Night's still young, baby" you muse as you make a faux swing that makes the man whimper from where he was sprawled on the ground. "I know you wanna" Your purr makes Corey shudder.

The Cheshire grin on your face is absolutely maniacal as Corey sheds his jacket and pulls out the pocket knife he kept in his back pocket.

The same one you'd felt against your thighs when you were riding his bike.

Haddonfield was lucky the two of you decided to spread your chaos elsewhere because the two of you were insatiable.

The fact that neither of you stayed in one city for too long also didn't help. You were basically doing an American-wide murder spree.

And Corey would not have it any other way.

You were just like him — wilder, sure, but you understood him in ways no one else had ever done.

"Fuck, baby" Corey has you on the bed of some engineer whose blood was currently being used as lube. The man's body was somewhere in the room but Corey barely gave a shit when you're looking down at him with that toothy grin that makes your eyes twinkle with bloodlust. "Mm, you feel so fuckin' good, Corey".

Somehow you two decide to settle down in a quiet town. Corey going under a different name as he works at a garage. Everybody around you thinks you guys are the sweetest couple — cooing at how young you are and sighing about young love.

They don't know that your weekend trips are spent with blood, guts, and sex. Two maniacs completely enamoured with one another.

"Baby, look" Corey eyes the silver band on your finger. Then the other one is on your palm as you extend it to him. You drop the chopped-off hand of the man the both of you had just killed and inched closer and closer.

"Pretty, hm?" he nods "Till death do us part" At that, he scoffs and pulls you in closer.

"Not even Death can keep us apart, (Y/N) (L/N)" he brushes the tip of your noses together and plants a bloody kiss but your giggle cuts it short.

"Don't you mean, (Y/N) Cunningham-(L/N)?" Corey's grin is nothing short of loving and he claims your lips again.

OG!Michael Myers (Halloween (1978 - 1982)) -

To be completely honest, the way you two met was a blur. Before you met Michael Myers your life had little to no meaning.

When he decided to break into your family home one night, he jump-starts everything. He had you pinned on the dining table, his mask already coated with the blood of your kin. Your feeble attempts at escaping his inhumanely strong grip leave you gasping for breath and you're sure that the building pressure in your head isn't a good sign.

But when you stare into Michael's eyes a sudden force tugs your lips apart into a bloody smile. Your laughter is nothing but strained gasps and squeaks and it makes Michael's grip falter enough for you to finally grasp the make-shift stake beside you (from the chair he'd thrown your way) and drive it into his shoulder.

Michael staggers and without missing a beat, you're lunging at him again. No fear, no hesitation, and frankly, no thoughts behind such a brash action.

The force of your body slamming into him throws his momentum off but he feels something in his chest suddenly beat as your shrill laughter fills his ears.

You, with your wild hair and wilder eyes...

Michael craved you.

He knocks you out.

Then, he watches you. From your recovery in the hospital to the 'safehouse' you were placed in. The detectives thought this could be their chance — to finally catch Michael Myers as he 'finishes you off'.

Michael knows you're done with your kill just from the shift in the air. He enters the safehouse and stares at the splatters of blood and bullet holes in the drywall. He follows the sounds of your laughter and finds you in the dining room in a familiar pose.

You have the detective pinned under you, fingers crushing his larynx as he weakly fights back against you. Michael waits politely, when you're done he moves to the back door and you wordlessly follow.

Eating rats was new but strangely enough the act of catching them was a great bonding activity. Your jokes about meeting the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles — and eating them — fly over Michael's head but his amused silence tells you he doesn't mind your babbles.

He learns fairly quickly that, unlike his silent, effortlessly, intimidating self, you're erratic, loud and pumped with energy when you're hunting.

He doesn't dislike it but it takes some getting used to.

You don't always go on hunts together but when you do he appreciates your gore-y creativity.

The Shape of Haddonfield now has Hellhound by his side — isn't that a cute nickname for yourself, (Y/N)?

While victims shit themselves at the sight of Michael, his stony demeanour is what makes him all the more Boogeyman-worthy. He feels inhuman. That both terrifies and comforts some — but you?

You're entirely too human. Your glee, your rambles as you stab your victims, you're laughter full of excitement.

"Mikey" he glances your way as your fingers stroke up the neck of his mask. Here you were, sprawled all over Michael Myer's lap like a goddamn kitten. You lean up and kiss his rubbery lips, he hums as your tongue licks his mask and pushes you back just enough to lift his mask above his nose.

"Thank you, Mikey" you chuckle, letting him taste the romantic spaghetti dinner you two had helped yourselves to after murdering the old couple.

Their home was isolated enough, that both of you could enjoy living above ground for a few days.

"You taste so good, Mikey" The grip on your waist makes that addictively sweet laughter bubble in your throat.

RZ!Michael Myers (Halloween (2007 - 2009))-

You were the only good thing in his god-forsaken life.

The mental institution had made a big mistake in housing two monsters — especially when those monsters were always so drawn towards each other.

No matter what punishments they inflicted on either of you for sharing glances. It did little to stop this undeniable, instinctual, need to be close to one another.

Initially, the doctors had thought Michael's curiosity was a good sign. A sign that he was showing interest in making friends. Even if you were less than ideal in terms of 'fixing' him considering your own streak of homicide (that landed you in this shithole in the first place) but they were desperate.

So, they allowed controlled meetings. Michael's stare terrified others but you seemed to thrive under his attention.

Guards had reached out to pull you back as you climbed the table and got right up in Michael's face but he is as still as a statue as you carefully brush his long locks of blonde hair back.

"There you are, pretty boy" and with those words and your eyes that reflect back his darkened soul right back at him — Michael is smitten.

When he escapes, he finds you.

When he enacts his revenge, you're the shadow that devours any sacrificial lambs that managed to stray from his grasp.

Oh, he's all yours.

Michael swears that if you're not near him the air feels thinner.

He relishes in the way you mercilessly slaughter anyone in your way — he doesn't ask why you kill but knows that whatever the answer he'll support his batshit insane boyfriend.

"Is this for me?" he nods, showing you the new mask he'd created. You smile warmly, sitting across from him as you carefully place the mask on your face.

"How do I look, pretty boy?"

He places his large hand on your thighs and begins tapping. You encourage him with careful strokes to his bicep.

.--. .-. . - - -.--

Your grin makes his heart flutter. "Thank you, baby" and you reward your darling lover with a kiss which makes him grunt at the mask that blocks him from properly kissing you.

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher (Scream (1996)) -

They had an inkling you were just like them.

Billy says it's the way your eyes become devoid of any light when you're angry. While Stu tells you it's the way you lick the blood from your split lip and smile as you lunge at the opposing team's captain.

(Y/N) (L/N), an athlete of their school.

Meanwhile, to his boyfriends, he's an absolutely merciless murderer.

Everyone sort of avoids you. Even your coach rarely gets in your face to yell at you the way he does at everyone else. It baffles people that Billy and Stu are your lovers.

For them though? It's the perfect match.

You're not Ghostface, however, (slasher name) is always spotted with Ghostface.

A maniac with brute strength that takes hits and stabs and even bullets without going down.

Those who did live to tell the tale of an encounter with (slasher name) and Ghostface mutter that hurting Ghostface? Was a big fucking mistake if (slasher name) is there to witness it.

You're the kind of guy to body slam someone out a second-storey window and just walk it off while the victim who cushioned your fall is wheezing their last breath.

Billy reprimands your unnecessary displays of brutality while Stu simply gushes about how cool it was. They both tend to your wounds, kissing and massaging anything that hurts.

Ghostface is equally as protective of you, make no mistake, even if they're not throwing a chair at a victim they will ensure you don't actually get yourself killed in your bloodlust.

Stu has pulled a gun and shot someone in the face when they threatened to do the same to you.

Billy rushes to the two of you upon hearing gunshots but groans in relief as he sees you making out with Stu mere inches away from the body.

"Hey! Earth to perverts! Time to scram!" Billy is pulled into the make-out session by you and he all but melts under your hold.

"Want you. Now" Stu laughs at your huffy tone but eagerly circles his hands around your waist while you pull Billy closer to your front.

Beauregard 'Bo' Sinclair (House of Wax) -

A new victim of Ambrose? That's what you are, right?

Wrong.

You'd been a solo traveller that coincidentally got grouped up with another group of travellers. You seemed normal enough, Bo thinks as he spots you making your way to his garage.

Cute and handsome, a darn shame you'd have to die but at least Vincent will immortalize your beauty.

He notices that you're not close with the others. When he asks, you explain your vehicles had broken down near each other so Lester rounded up all of you together.

You lean on the hood of the car he was clearly working on, jutting your hips and looking impressed. He shamelessly takes in the curve of your butt before putting on a charming Southern smile when you glance back at him.

"Good with your hands, hm?" Bo feels blood travel south but he just chuckles. The conversation is cut short by the others clearing their throats.

When he kills the group one by one, he immediately notices that you seem excited at the violence he spreads. You don't scream or yelp but you're helping him.

At first, he thinks you're just saving your ass from getting sliced down when you push someone in front of you. But while the others run, you're moaning as he's thrusting the blade repeatedly into the man's body.

He pants as you two make eye contact, gulping he pulls the blade out and offers it to you.

"Fuckin' finally" you coo, pressing a bloody kiss on his cheek before you slip to hunt the others down.

His brothers are definitely confused by his decision to let you stay as a real residence of Ambrose but after another group rolls in you prove your worth to them.

Between heated moments under the sheets and lip-locking with Bo, you confess that the reason you ended up at Ambrose was that the police were hot on your tail.

"It's fate," you say as you trace circles on his chest. "We were meant to meet, to be family" he would usually scoff at such a notion but the way you fit into his deranged life so easily...

"It's something", he gruffs out, watching as you take the lighter from his hand to light the cigarette between his lips. "Whatever it is, it brought you to me so"

"Aww, Bo, you gettin' sappy on me?" your teasing makes him threaten to shove the cigarette in your mouth but you just laugh it off.

"Love ya', Bo" he averts his eyes but mumbles.

"Love you too..."

Vincent Sinclair (House of Wax) -

Instead of catching Bo's eyes, it's Vincent's heart that you grasp.

A solo traveller that somehow got roped in with another group, a victim of circumstance is what Vincent would have called you.

But instead, you've ruthlessly wormed your way inside his heart.

While the others ran like headless chickens when Bo started killing, you were dragged by another girl to hide in the Sinclairs' house. Stupid move on her end really, but you were curious about their headquarters of sorts. So you follow, breathing raggedly to sell this whole 'helpless victim' façade.

You find the basement. Despite the chills that run down your spine from the scent of death (and wax) you convince her it'd be a good place to hide.

Vincent hears her as she shakily steps into his lair. He thinks she's the only one but finds it odd that she looks desperately over his shoulder as he slices her head off with a pair of garden shears.

Until he feels a blade pressed right at the base of his spine.

"You're pretty strong" Your eyes twinkle from the corner of his and he goes rigid as you dig the tip of the blade deeper. You reach to brush locks of his hair behind his ear, a growl raises from his throat but you shush him.

Your lips brush on the shell of his ear.

"I'll bring more of them here, I want to watch while you turn them into pieces of art".

Bo is feeling an inkling of worry at the sudden lack of victims. He rushes to see if they've decided to overwhelm Vincent and finds you swinging your feet while Vincent is organizing the bodies of the group.

Bo is distrustful. He thinks you've seduced his twin and while that is true, you've no bad intentions like he thinks you do.

Vincent is painfully awkward compared to your nonchalant energy. But it works, the two of you just work.

He scolds you when you get new wounds from the victims fighting back but it's a bit hypocritical when he does the same.

Though he prefers wax figures, he did dabble in oil paints again as he attempts to recreate the scene he sees of you demolishing victims.

A watcher, a stalker; an artist.

Vincent usually stays in the basement but ever since you came? When the hunt is on, he's watching you. Imprinting the image of your body shaking with muffled laughter as you pull your jaws away from the bleeding neck of a victim, spitting out their vocal cords with a satisfied hum.

"Vinnie" your coo makes him flinch but he walks out from the shadows as you beckon him with your hand. Your boyfriend stands in front of you, reaching to wipe some blood away from your cheek but really the only thing he does is move it around.

"Was that pretty, Vinnie?" he huffs through his nose and lifts your chin up so you stain his waxy lips with warm blood.

He pulls away to sign, 'Always beautifull'.

Lester Sinclair (House of Wax) -

You rode with him on the way to Ambrose.

He's taken by your looks and feels a sense of pity and regrets that you'd be dead soon. Especially since you were the only one among the others that weren't a complete asshole to him.

"Ambrose, huh" he nods, tapping his steering wheel as his eyes flit between the road and you. "Must be pretty secluded, haven't even heard of it", he laughs and tells you it's because you aren't from around here.

"See ya'" he waves at you but you scan him from head to toe in a way that's not scrutinizing but lustful. He feels his cheeks warm, you nod to him as a goodbye before you turn to walk into the death trap that is Ambrose.

He's surprised to find you covered in blood and right outside his shack later that night. Jonesy growls near his heel but you were just sitting there on his porch, casually testing the weight of the hilt of a hatchet in your hands.

"Your brothers should use you more than a glorified Ferryman" he is confused but tense. His muscles are rigid like a snake coiling to bite.

Blood drips from the ends of your hair and nose, you place the hatchet down and crouch, beckoning Jonesy' with a sweet baby voice that has the poor pup confused between staying by Lester's side or sniffing you.

"I like Ambrose," you tell him, your eyes squished into an adorable crescent shape.

"Can I stay, Lester?"

His brothers aren't aware of you until at least a week. They were extremely distrustful of you, their baby brother was someone that they did not want to be harmed. Hence why he stays out of the nitty-gritty of it all.

When you show that you're just as protective of Lester, they approve of your relationship. Not that you would let their approval get in the way of your love for him anyways.

Your boyfriend has to get used to your sudden disappearances and reappearances.

And he has to learn how to stitch you up as well. He doesn't scold you though reminds you to be more careful but drinks up your stories of the victims being crushed under your foot.

Whoever manages to stray far enough from Ambrose to find Lester's shack will find themselves in an entirely different but just as torturous hell.

Jonesy enjoys the raw feed though.

"I gotta go" Lester laughs as you whine and drag him back to your side. "I gotta check if anyone's 'lost'" he reminds but you stubbornly shake your head.

"Can't leave me, I'm hurt and defenceless"

Yeah, Lester's seen you shove the end of a rake down someone's throat with a broken arm and a concussion all while laughing. You could protect yourself with the scrapes and boo-boos from the night before just fine.

Feeling yourself lose this battle, you press a kiss to the nape of his neck as he sits and it makes his breath hitch.

Your hands circle his waist and his head hangs low as you slip your fingers down the band of his underwear.

"Stay" you plead.

"Jesus H. Christ" he turns and you grin triumphantly as he kisses you.

[inoreuct]

a study of bruises, care, and potatoes. 

Zoro’s boots scrape dully as he skids across the deck, bending his knees to drop his centre of gravity, shoulders sinking as he presses a slow breath through his teeth. 

“Is that all you’ve got?” 

He scoffs as Sanji’s stupid fancy shoes come into view, the steel-capped toes he got the cook for his birthday dripping with the same red that’s flowing from his split brow and blurring one half of his vision to shit. Squinting upwards into the light, he finds the midday sun crowning Sanji like a halo, lighting his hair up gold. Beautiful. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe, if you win,” Sanji laughs, easy as anything as he backs away. 

Shusui and Kitetsu sing in his hands as he grounds his stance and spins them around, and he hasn’t unsheathed Wado. Yet. But with the way Sanji’s pushing him back— Zoro grits his teeth and allows a heel to crack across his jaw, letting the momentum turn his body sideways as he ducks low and rams his shoulder into Sanji’s ribs. The cook gasps, managing to drive a knee between them before Zoro shoves it out of the way, spitting out a curse as the swordsman hooks the flat of one sword behind his calf and yanks his leg out from under him, and they hit the ground hard.

Zoro’s laugh rides on his exhale, heartbeat pounding fiercely in his ears, one fist slamming into the ground above Sanji’s head when the cook wraps unfairly long legs around his middle and throws him upwards. It unbalances him just enough for him to go nose-to-plank, just enough for Sanji to flip them and yank Zoro’s wrists down to trap them under his thighs, and just like that—

“Caught you,” Sanji breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat-damp bangs sticking to his flushed cheek, and Zoro doesn’t fight the grin that bares his teeth. 

“Looks like it,” he says evenly, feeling hardwood press against his skull as he stops resisting. “Come here.”

A blue eye narrows sharply. “Why?”

“Just come here.” His heart lurches when Sanji leans down, suspicious, hair falling over them both like a flaxen curtain. It’s getting long, Zoro notes. Long enough that he could braid it if Sanji wanted. He makes a mental note to bring it up to the cook, waits until a barely-trembling mouth grazes his— 

And cranes his neck back to slam his forehead into Sanji’s nose. 

The cook lurches away with an enraged cry, hands flying to his face as Zoro uses his wrists to lift Sanji by the knees and flip them over again. “You fucking bastard! That’s foul play, you piece of shit—”

Zoro just grins wider, heart pumping hard and body buzzing like a livewire. Sanji looks hot like this with iron dripping off his chin, pooling in his cupid’s bow, staining his mouth rose-rust-ruby even as he smears the heel of his palm over his lower lip, and Zoro isn’t afraid to admit it. 

He watches. Watches Sanji’s eyes drag languidly from the blood on his hand to Zoro’s face, watches him tilt his head, lazy and unhurried, and suck the red off his teeth with that piercing gaze pinning him in place. He tightens his grip on Shusui’s hilt and digs his knuckles into Sanji’s shin as something tightens in his gut. “Never said we had to play fair.”

He watches Sanji’s smile sharpen into something downright predatory seconds before a foot is stomping sole-first into his chest, vicious and just off-centre, kicking the air right out of his damn lungs as he flies back. Fuck, that’s gonna bruise. The pain switches something in him into high gear and Wado’s out of her sheath, a familiar weight in his jaw even as he scrambles to get his bearings, and barely half a breath later Sanji’s on him like a fucking hurricane. 

Another signature roundhouse kick lands on his temple and re-opens the split in his brow, and he would have eaten shit if not for the palm he slams to the deck, pivoting to pop up behind Sanji and swing two swords parallel into his middle. The cook dodges and slips away, driving his heel into Zoro’s hip, and Zoro backs up to give himself space to breathe. 

The sun is blinding even when he isn’t looking up. His breath echoes in his ears, tight as he tries to slow it down, shirt stretching with the heave of his shoulders, pulse a war drum in his veins and his arms nearly trembling with adrenaline and there is blood on his face, in his mouth, sweet and metallic; he spits it in a red splatter onto the ground and sweat nearly steams off his skin. 

Up ahead, Sanji leans back against the taffrail almost leisurely, looking far more composed than he probably feels. He rolls his head back, elbows over the railing as he bares his throat almost arrogantly, and the smug look he tilts to Zoro as he tosses his hair out of his face is a challenge in and of itself.

Zoro crosses the space between them in three great strides and swings. 

He twists and drops low as Sanji slides beneath his sword, and the cook snarls as Wado grazes over his side just deep enough for it to sting. Sanji’s leg comes down over his head and he throws up a forearm, digs his heels in as he braces for the impact, shoving forward as soon as it connects. A knee jams into the same side as before and Zoro wheezes, core spasming, backing Sanji into the railing with a wide arc of his blade before the cook gets that glint in his eye— 

And Zoro gets an inkling feeling that he’s just lost himself this fight. 

Sanji spins to spring off the railing in a tight flip that brings his heel down directly between Zoro’s shoulder blades, and Zoro sacrifices his balance and Kitetsu in one last bid for victory. He reaches one hand over his head and grapples for a handful of fabric, yanking as hard as he can, biting down into Wado’s hilt as his knees slam into the planks.

Muffling his pained hiss into leather, Zoro manages to flip Shusui in his grip before his wrist is pinned beneath Sanji’s hip. Fuck. His free arm is grabbed and wrenched back, a sole pressed to his throat and forcing him into a kneeling backbend. Sanji slowly pulls harder and forces his upper body back as he thrashes, a subtle threat; it’s a futile effort, anyway. The cook’s out of Wado’s reach with the severity of the lean he’s in, neck tense, chin pushed up as cold, blunt steel digs into his jugular. Zoro’s arm strains in its socket, and as much as he is prideful— He knows when to admit he’s been bested. 

“Yield,” he grits, chest heaving as Sanji puts more pressure on his trachea and his lower back strains with the weight of holding himself up. “I yield.”

“…For today.” Sanji slowly lets go, and Zoro groans as he slumps to the deck. “You’ll beat me tomorrow.”

He spits his sword to the side and unfolds his aching legs from under him, starfishes out, tries to catch his breath. The sky is a brilliant, cloudless, familiar shade of blue. Zoro finds himself smiling and throws an arm over his face to hide it. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me.”

“When do I ever?” Sanji scoffs, tapping the back of his heel against the swordsman’s thigh for good measure as he gets up. “Come on, marimo. Before the sun turns you into a dried cactus.”

*

He’d been right about the bruising. Purple and yellow blooms vivid across the right side of his ribcage, a deceptively pretty splotch that still makes him bite down a groan when he presses into it with cloth-wrapped ice.

“Let me.” Sanji gently takes the bundle from him, nudging him back until Zoro gets the hint and hauls himself up to sit on the table with a grunt. He lets the cook prod at the edges of the bruise with a frown pulling at his swirly brows, carefully rolling the ice pack back over the area, and he grunts as his ribs shift. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d strained a couple of intercostal muscles.

The urge to scrub a fist over the blood crusting in his eye is tempting but he resists, knowing that Sanji would probably scream at him if he did— However. His lashes really are starting to stick together. 

Sanji notices, because of course he does. “Hold,” he mutters, pulling one of Zoro’s hands over the ice and stretching to wet a clean cloth by the sink. It’s blessedly cool as he sets it to Zoro’s skin, letting it soak for a few seconds before he starts scrubbing away at dried gore and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You’re all messed up.”

“And whose fault is that?” Zoro asks dryly. “You kick like a fucking donkey. And twice in one spot? Really?” He ducks his head with a laugh when Sanji moves to yank his earrings.

“You’re infuriating,” the cook scowls, at odds with the slow, meticulous way he rubs the cloth over Zoro’s lashline. “And you were distracted today. What’s going on?”

Zoro closes his other eyes and recalls a fierce grin, blood-slick, golden hair and steel toes and a flawless kick slamming into his jaw. “Dunno. Maybe I just love you.”

Sanji stills, and Zoro clocks his soft, quick inhale before he hears the cook shift and opens his eye. “…I’m still not used to that,” Sanji murmurs, more to the floor than anything else, and Zoro tilts his chin up with two fingers tucked beneath.

“I know.” He feels his own shoulders slouching, sinking as he curves toward Sanji like a planet in orbit. He’s tentative when he cups the cook’s jaw steady and lets go of the ice pack to bring his thumb to Sanji’s bloodied nose, but he twitches back when Sanji hisses. “Shit, sorry, curls. Is it broken?”

“Nah,” Sanji chuckles airily, relaxing into Zoro’s touch and letting his eyes slide shut with a sigh as the swordsman prods at his bridge. “Just tender.”

Zoro hums, unsatisfied. “Pass me another cloth.” He wraps the offered fabric around his index finger and wipes away the blood congealed on Sanji’s lip, turning the cook’s face this way and that to make sure he gets everything as lithe hands press the ice back to his torso. 

His own face’s mostly clean now, but his brow still feels a little stiff when he raises it just to make Sanji laugh. No big deal, though; he expects he’ll scrub down before dinner and drag Sanji with him, because otherwise the cook would stay in the galley all night. Zoro loses his train of thought when blue, blue eyes flick up to his, and his breath catches in his chest.

“What?” Sanji murmurs, his jaw nestled in Zoro’s palm, gaze travelling over his face, and suddenly Zoro doesn’t know what to do with himself.

He’s not a man of words. He never has been, really, but he thinks he could try, for Sanji. The man standing between his knees is a prince, for fuck’s sake, in everything else if not in name. Sanji, with skin the colour of white sand under the sunset, eyes like pools of sapphire crystal, slender fingers and gold-spun hair and kindness in spades, given to everyone with a generous hand, even when life had tried to beat it out of him with a stick. He’s regal. Something out of one of those fairytales that Zoro had never believed in.

He’s regal, and sometimes Zoro worries that he’s too rough around the edges for them to fit. 

And then Sanji cusses him out with a sharp tongue and kicks his head back on straight, and he remembers exactly who he’s dealing with. Who he’d fallen in love with. 

Sanji makes a questioning noise but doesn’t shift back when Zoro pulls him closer, gently carding his hair out of the way to press a kiss to the space between his brows. The strands are soft between his fingers, sweet with the lingering scent of Sanji’s conditioner, and Zoro lets himself bury his nose in Sanji’s crown and just… breathe, for a second. 

Arms slide around his waist, and Sanji’s weight leans into his chest. “Are you alright, chéri?”

“I— Yeah.” He shifts a palm to Sanji’s nape and squeezes, mainly to ground himself. “I’m good, cook.” Up this close, it would be difficult to miss the cook’s slight inhale as he draws back, and he frowns. “Your side.”

“S’fine,” Sanji dismisses, shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Lemme see.” 

“Honestly, it’s just a scratch!”

“Let me see.” The cook huffs and rolls his eyes, stepping back to pull his shirt up over his side and Zoro hunches down, finding a clean corner of the cloth as he scrutinises the thin slice on Sanji’s skin. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he says, cleaning it up even as Sanji mutters an “I told you so” under his breath. It didn’t matter how bad it was. He wouldn’t take it any less seriously. 

Sanji drops his hem back down and slips in close again to rest his cheek on Zoro’s shoulder, hands locking at the small of Zoro’s back, and Zoro smooths his palm over the soft cotton of Sanji’s dress shirt. It’s a texture he knows against his skin. He knows all of it; silky hair and a sharp jaw and a smart mouth, white teeth and strong hands and cotton shirts and wayward kicks to the shin and familiar weight against him as they fall asleep. “What’s for dinner?”

Sanji hums, nuzzling into the crook of Zoro’s neck before he pulls away, reluctant. “Potatoes au Gratin and spinach pesto linguine.” He moves over to the sink, pulling a huge bowl of washed spuds from somewhere, sliding it across the table as he tosses Zoro a paring knife and a pointed look. “Chop chop.”

The swordsman scoffs, leaning back on his hands. “Chop chop, he says. No please, no thank you, no nothing—”

“Oh, come on.”

“No appreciation!” he continues, grabbing a potato and sighing at it sadly. “Or financial compensation, mind you, this is unpaid labour—” 

“Marimo,” Sanji begins, pinching his nose bridge but failing to hide his smile. “Darling. My heart. L’amour de ma vie. Will you please peel the damn potatoes, thank you.” 

Zoro sniffs, but picks up the knife.

“You know, one day I’m gonna tell the whole crew what a drama queen you are,” Sanji says lightly, pulling a cabinet open to grab a box of pasta and grabbing a pot from the shelves below. 

“They’ll never believe you.” Zoro shrugs, a what can you do sort of thing, and points the potato at the cook. “And this is still unpaid labour.” 

“You’ll survive. It’s a labour of love.” 

“Don’t recall ever saying I love peeling root vegetables.”

Sanji throws a teaspoon, and it bounces off Zoro’s forehead. “Not the potatoes, moron, me.”

Zoro can’t find a retort to that, so he shuts up and peels. It’s… good. He doesn’t recall ever smiling this much before everything. Before bloody scrapping and the gentle hands after and peeling vegetables in the easy quiet of the galley while Sanji watches the pasta boil. The cook pushes him, stretches his limits and helps him break down barriers that he would’ve been loathe to tackle alone. Helps him to dress wounds he can’t reach. Sanji holds him with a care that Zoro has never bothered with for himself, and it’s good. 

He's listened to Sanji enough to know that these are baby potatoes, finicky to peel because of their thinner skin, and still terribly tender. Sweet. The one he's working on fits nicely in his palm as he guides the knife, angling the edge the way Sanji taught him. The skin spirals over his thumb as he works his way around and he crosses his ankles when he breathes out.

“Marimo.”

“Hm?”

Sanji’s facing away from him, but the cook turns his head just enough for Zoro to see the shrewd look in his eye. “Depending on your performance in helping with the rest of dinner prep, I may be amenable to discussion about… other kinds of compensation.”

Zoro pauses, blinks, and shakes his head with a chuckle. “You always speak real fancy when you want something, curls.” 

“I didn’t say anything!” Sanji sing-songs, wiggling his shoulders as he stirs the pot. “No guarantees, mosshead. Peel!”

A laugh slips from Zoro’s throat, rich and real. Sanji’s steel-tipped shoes tap on the ground as he moves around the galley, comfortable in his element, and Zoro watches him with a fondness that warms his chest. Their cuts will heal. His bruises will fade from green to yellow before they disappear like they were never there, before Sanji paints new ones under his skin, and he’ll peel potatoes while Sanji boils pasta and they’ll curl into bed together knowing that they’ll wake up and do it all over again.

Zoro slips his knife beneath the last strip of peel and places his potato back into the bowl, pale and sweet and tender.

It’s good. 

[piplup335]

Subspace and reader who got yeeted into Phighting!

This took too long…second fic, requested by @subspacekisser1! Enjoy, and thanks for taking a week’s worth of my time! :D

-

It was supposed to be a generic bug in your favourite game. One that you wanted to check out. A small portion of Crossroads bugged out, and you wanted to check it out.

Just for laughs, you joined a small group of players by Crossroads' edge and jumped into the water. Like the good times, of course, when life and death didn’t matter and everything was just a game.

As you watched the other players jump off the border of Crossroads and into the sea, phasing through the floor, you followed suit.

One jump and you were falling…falling towards the water, through the ground and into the endless void…

All of a sudden, your eyes started to ache.

Perhaps the beautiful sight of the void was getting too much for you to handle? The eternal blue was quite saturated, after all...

You watched as your main, Subspace, fell into the void, with no end point in sight, falling…wondering when it would end…

Your eyes grew tired, and they started aching. You closed your eyes to let them rest…and the relief from that washed over you like a gentle breeze.

Only now, that gentle breeze felt like an entire hurricane.

Opening your eyes again to see the source of the strong winds, you see the blue void again…but it’s much closer up than you remember.

Deciding to turn your head away from the screen and rest your eyes, you turn left.

The sight of the endless void greets you, almost as if sneering in your face.

The winds that rushed past you? That’s because you were falling into the void.

It’s almost as if the void was trying to convey a message…

“Welcome to the void, (Y/n),” the winds seemed to whisper to you, “this is where your journey starts, and also where it’ll end.”

How pathetic, having your new life in an unfamiliar universe end minutes after it started? All because of a video game…

A cyan frame of radiant light surrounded you. Abruptly, the winds stopped, the void was silenced and, for the first time in the entire incident…you felt alone. No one was there to whisper condescending words in your ear…nothing was there to give you the sense that you weren’t alone in this final journey.

“This is where it all ends, huh? This is where I’ll die…”

The light pulsed slowly like the faint heartbeat of a dying soul calling out for help.

It gradually sped up, and you felt light...as if you were ascending.

You glanced up.

Oh. You were ascending.

The base of Crossroads seemed to get closer and closer, and you realised that you were about to crash headfirst into the bottom of the concrete pavement in Crossroads.

"Wait, stop, stop! I'm gonna get hit!"

Momentary panic set in as you steadily approached the only plane of ground present seen in the void, protesting to whoever or whatever would respond to your helpless pleas. Just as you came into contact with the undersurface of the concrete, however, the frame pulsed one final time, illuminating the surface above you. A blinding flash of light- and you were gone, like the endless whispers in the void.

All you saw was a bright flash of light. One moment you saw the endless void looming ominously below you, promising an eternity of solitude and suffering...and the next, you feel a rush of wind against your face. It wasn't the eternal cold of the void- instead, it felt like a cooling breeze. A temporary rush of adrenaline coursed through your veins- you felt...energised.

Taking a glance at the new, unfamiliar environment, the adrenaline quickly died down as you took in the now-familiar sight.

Individuals in monochromatic shirts strolled around aimlessly...monochromatic horns protruding from both sides of their heads.

Another glance to your right. You saw a familiar grey van with a familiar one-armed individual...wait, where was half the sunlight? Why's it filtered?

Looking up, a dizzying sight met you. The Crossroads tower...where a certain individual would regularly jump from the top, blaring out a particular tune from a boombox...

Your suspicions were confirmed. You were definitely in Crossroads...

Deciding to explore your surroundings further, you paced on...but didn't expect to crash into someone after just a few steps.

"Ouch!! Watch it!!" the individual screeched.

Rubbing your head, you hissed in pain. You were swiftly silenced, however, as you glanced up at the person you crashed into.

It was Blackrock's greatest scientist.

Subspace.

His pink irises glinted in what little light filtered through Crossroads’ tower.

“Hey, watch your step, will ya- what the hell?? Where’s your horns??”

Reaching up to feel the top of your head, you came into contact with nothing but thin air.

It was then you realised that you may have had some basic knowledge of this world but you came here, but you wouldn’t be provided with one thing.

The traits of the Inpherno’s residents.

"Uhhhhh..."

You trailed off. What were you gonna tell him, you got thrown into the void from some other dimension where the Inpherno was nothing but the starting point for a video game.

Subspace didn't even bother listening to whatever you had to say if you even had anything at all. he immediately began inspecting you, brushing apart strands of your hair to check for whatever stumps of horns may be there, but of course- there was nothing.

"The hell- even Hyperlaser has more signs of horns than you, and all he has left are little stumps beneath his helmet!!"

At that point, you were fairly annoyed, perplexed and stunned. One moment you were playing a video game, and five seconds later you ended up in the game's world itself, as well as the very character you always played as having a most one-sided conversation with you

Feeling annoyed by the lack of information, you groaned to get his attention.

"Dude- the reason I don't have any horns wasn't because they got pulled out or something- I just wasn't born with them."

Finally stopping his endless inspections, Subspace finally paused to stare you in the eye, his gaze boring a hole deep into your soul.

"WHAT?! How could you not have been born with horns?? Every resident in the Inpherno has them, I- what?? HOW?!"

Guess it was time to come clean already...

"Well, uhhhh...I'm not from this world. This dimension, specifically."

At your words, Subspace froze. Not from this world? Wasn't the Inpherno one of the only habitable places for demons? Then how did you get here? What even were you?

"Then...where are you from??" he asked, with a panicked expression. "Are you immortal, since you don't have horns that can be pulled out??"

"Hornless demon- or whatever you are..."

"...you aren't gonna hurt me, are you??"

You were quite shocked by what he said. This was Subspace- him not being his high-and-mighty was something new, contrary to his in-game dialogue.

"I...literally cannot," you say, exasperated, "because I don't have a gear, like you guys."

"WHAT?? You don't have horns to pull out, and yet- you're calling yourself weaker than us?!"

"Yeah, but it's not like-"

"I must get back to the lab to analyse you at once!!"

You stood there, shocked. Follow Subspace back to his lab? You weren't even sure if you would survive his experiments- they were either typical experiments and tests a generic scientist would carry out, or grotesque and unorthodox like a mad scientist. But then again...you were quite interested in the life of your video game main. This was something you had always been curious about- what was Subspace's life like? Weighing your options, you made a decision. You would probably be stuck in the Inpherno for a long time, and this was your only shot at shelter, openly presenting itself to you as if the universe, regardless of how much it wanted to screw you over, still wanted to make your life slightly more bearable in some way.

"Fine...I guess."

"Excellent!! This research will prove useful for my inventions!! Ah, I got too caught up, I forgot to ask!! What's your name??"

At this point, you had nothing to lose."

"...(Y/n)."

"...so yeah, that's how I ended up here..."

You were talking to Subspace on the way back to his lab in Blackrock. The eternal winter from that region was already lingering in the atmosphere- you hadn't even reached Blackrock but were already starting to feel cold.

"So...you're saying that your survival does not primarily depend on a set of horns, but depends on your health condition and age?? Interesting...I do hope that-“

He was cut off by a sneeze from you.

“Sorry, Subspace…too cold.”

Without saying a word, Subspace took off his coat and passed it to you.

“Here, take this…I’m not sure what I need to take into consideration when researching your species…but I hope I can assist with your needs!!”

You held the coat in your arms. The fabric felt soft...and smelt of lavender. Putting on the coat, it felt very comfortable and warm...

You had a feeling that your new life probably wouldn't be so bad after all.

-

and that’s it! sorry if it’s out of character, I’m still new to this ;-;

reqs are open, just go to the pinned msg!

thanks for reading! :D