#nothing like getting halfway through a sentence and then being like ''wait. where was i going with that again''

[juriyuna]

Is Yuu going to become a new fav among all the rest?

It's too early for me to say for sure quite yet- sometimes I get super into a character for a week or two, then hop back into my usual territory like nothing ever happened- but things are certainly pointing towards "yes" right now. :'D

She's just so cute!! I love her wide eyes and kuchisake-onna mouth, and how expressive her face is despite not having any eyebrows. She's such a sweetheart and a people-pleaser; I like that she's not malicious at all in spite of her line of work. And I'm always a sucker for characters with animal motifs (PB was my favorite faction before I even got to Arc 2 lol), so she's got that going for her as well, aha.

[jester089]

Gotta say, massive fan of the work you’ve pumped out, especially for TADC (it came out two weeks or so ago and there’s this much already what?!)

That said, could you write for the gang (separately, I’m sorry l know it’s a lot) who’s s/o resisted abstraction? Like, they were halfway through but turned back through sheer will? *Insert John Wick reference* This has been ping ponging in my head for a while. Thanks for listening! XO

Glitchy pain

I've written for something like this before. And I wasn't sure if you wanted angst or fluff. But since what I wrote before was angst I'm gonna just donna do my ideas on this one. Also to anyone else who feels like requesting don't be afraid to ask for a lot of characters. My max is like 10 and only because Tumblr doesn't like super long posts. I honestly don't think I would have a max if not for that. But really from like 7 pm to 4 am I got a lot of free time and the want to write. So ask to your hearts content. TADC crew x (kind of) abstracted reader

Caine

Caine was floating around when he heard what sounded like a pained and glitchy scream? He quickly floats over to where he heard it from only to find you clutching your head crumpled up into a ball on the floor. He was about to float down and ask you what happened before he noticed the random glitches, black spiky flesh, and randomly colored eye balls all appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. So he backed off, a little sad over the fact you were abstracting but life goes on. Until you let out another pained scream, it was almost like the abstraction reacted as the second you screamed it reverted a bit and slowed down. It continues like that for who knows how long. You in a mental and physical battle with abstraction. Caine just staring completely taken back by what he was witnessing. After enough time you vomit a nasty and seemingly living blob of black goo onto the floor and pass out. Caine stares at your motionless body for a few seconds before snapping out of it. He puts the weird goo blob into the cellar and takes you back to your room. He doesn't even know how to react, so he sits there at your bedside waiting for you to wake up. Once you do he is relived to find it's still you, speaking in full sentences and everything. Sure your voice and body have the occasional glitch but overall you're ok. So he leaves you be, mostly. He still needs to study your code for how you did that. But past that and him being a bit more "walking on egg shells" around you, but nothing really changes. And not wanting the others to think your a threat, you and Caine don't tell anyone.

Gangle

Gangle was wandering around looking for you. Her comedy mask broke again and you were the only one who knew how to fix it properly. She could patch it up sure but it never lasted long. Much like Caine she heard you scream out, only difference being she recognized your voice. She quickly changed from casual and aimless stroll to sprint with reason finding you leaned against a wall holding your stomach looking like your about to throw up. She runs up to you and places a hand(?) on each side of your head staring into your eyes. She in a panicked voice asks "Are you ok?! What happened?!" You half shove her away a garbled and messy version of your voice half screaming out that it isn't safe. You quickly regret taking the energy to speak and move as a giant surge of pain jolts up your digital spine forcing you onto your knees. You let out another pained groan/scream as black goo starts oozing out of your mouth. It's only then that Gangle realizes your glitching! She panics and tells you to stay calm while she gets Caine. Gangle sprints off with a mission luckily finding Caine rather quickly. She especially screams at him to help her/follow her. He listens and follows her. When she gets back to where she left you, your passed out. But you aren't glitching anymore. And your not fully abstracted. She carefully walks over to you and sets a gentle hand (ribbon) on your face feeling a whole lot of relief when you half swat at her hand in your sleep. She'll watch you while you sleep making sure you aren't disturbed but when you're awake and she's sure you're ok you are going to be getting a whole lot of cuddles from her. Her comedy mask can wait.

Zooble

Zooble was missing a leg and was hobbling/jumping her way towards your room to ask if you'd seen it. She knocked on your door only to receive no response. She knocks again. Nothing. So she unlocks it with the spare key you gave her. She is stunned by what she sees. Obsessive scribbles covering your walls. Wall paper torn and dirtied. She takes a few cautious steps before finally hearing you say in a horrible sounding voice "P̵̛̣̤̪̑̈́̄͆̚p̴̹͇̆̑̐͠ṕ̷͔̼͙̅̀͐̿͋͜͝P̵̢͚̩̱̮̭̉͜͠l̵͔̟̰̘̼̹̼̯͉͆ḛ̴̣͈̖͛̈́̏̏͌̕͜a̴̢͇̣̮̠͕̮͆̾s̸̡͉̣̺̯͚̾̈́͋̃̑͊͘s̵̼͛̃͛̄̏̊̊͜͠ͅs̷̨̯̬̯͊e̵̢̪̜̗͙̞͈̠͌̔͠s̸̢͔̝̳̞͈̭̲͂͆̇̄͛́́͗ͅͅ ̴̗̻̳̗̜̙̹̘͒̒̑̅̂̎̚͘w̴̰̘͂͊̌̒͘w̸̢̦̑̍̈́͊W̷̨̄̑̌̂̚͝W̵̦̙͇̝̲̪̝̫̜̰̄͑̚w̶̮͐̏̀͊͠h̴̬̤̠̩̰͋͗̾̓̈́̍̅ó̴͍̭͇̯͚̮͔̽̓̔̈́ ̶̥̑͋͒̿̀Ê̶̼͎͇͍̳̯͌͋͐̓̋v̸̢͓̩͗͜͝v̴͇͇̮̻͖̪͕̰̹̫̔̌̎̇̑́ë̷̪̤̫̪͌͂̓̕͘e̵̢̨̱̘̗͙̘̱̱̩̎̾̀v̸͍̄͠ë̶̡̙̠̣̰̠́͜r̸͇̰͖̍͑͌̆̌ ̷̯̼͕͍̭̭̲͙̰̽̈́͝y̷̪͉͓͗̿̀̐̈̃̆õ̷̢̜̮̬͒̈́͒̿̀̽̈́͂̈́ǘ̸̡̟̭̩̠̜̬͙̃ṵ̴̭̮̹̯̺̜̤̈͂̽u̸̬̠͉̺͍̰͉̦͌̋́̃͌̊͘͜ ̵̲͖̩̹̲̊̐͂͝͝a̵̰̩̻̗͕͎̮͈̥̫͂̂̌̆̆̎̑a̴̭͒͐̏̎́́͝à̶̛̘̮͍̟̻͕̰̽̍͛̽̈́̃͛͝r̴͎͚͇̻̞̬͑̂̅̿͋̅̂͊̔ą̴̛̱̱̗̔̈́̈́̔͒̆̌͘͠r̵̺̰̬̹̮̬̘̜̈́̊͗͛̅̌͌͘͜ę̸̛̺̞͚̹̘̱̥̲̒̍̏̔͛̌̚ȇ̴̩.̶̛̖̙̦̝̹̰͔̉͂̆̉̐̾̐͠͝ ̵̘̙͎̼̻̩̬͖͌̉̾̂̄͜J̵͐̏̇̈́̑̃͜͝͝j̶̛̠̬̟̓͗͗͆̆̀̈́̿̂͜j̴̢͍̦͉̯͑̍̓J̷̨̧̢̳̟̠̯͖͖͚̐̈̏̓̈͐̎̐͝j̶̫̞̬͖̯̯̹̺̩͆̾̽́̈́̄ͅJ̵͖̘̫̓u̷̡̧͔̥͇͕͔̞̠̇͛̈́̎͂̌͂͘̕ş̶͕̫̎ṫ̷͈͖̲̩͉͌̅̍̈́́̿ ̷̠͕͕̖̜̻̯̻̖̃̏̀͂͑́l̷̳̣̼̓̈́̊̈́̈̎̀́̋̚͜L̶̡̜̣͔͔̼̠̗̎̇̈́̕Ļ̴̞̟̱̹͓̹̪͖͚̂̐͐̑̂͆̐̓̚͠ḽ̶̢̧̙̺̯͖̰͓͐͗̽̈́̃̔̀̾̕l̴̢̢̳̜̣̦̎́́̔̕̚e̷͔̫͉̘͉̓̓͋͊̀̿̄̕͝ͅã̷̡̢̝̮͔̮̰̱͒͌̈͊̾͂͠ͅͅv̷̗̼͎̠̝̋̓͒͛̂͐͜͜è̶̪̟̲̘̃̓ ̴̺̊̉͑̉̽̅́̕̕m̸̧̦͔̙͍̘̭̲̄͂m̸̧̫͎͌̀̃͜ͅM̴͍͍̫͚̺͚̪̺̿́̒͋̂͐̿͗̚͘m̴̛̘̼͔͑̿̏̅͌̊̾̕e̴̩̟͈̙͑̏͐̆̓͆̏̚͠͝ ̵̳̤͉͉͙̬̥̉̓́̀̓̃̀̌̊͜ͅḁ̶̧̗͈͍͍̉͂̀͆͗̾̆́̚͜͝l̴̜͓͈̄͌̓̈́̉͊͊̍͝a̵̲͒̋̂͐́̊̕̚͝â̶̢͕̫̘̮͈̻͕͙̩͑̂ḹ̵̨̮̓̓̊̍̕̚͝o̵͖͔̥̳̊̐̀͠n̵̺̥̲͔͔̿͋̊ë̶̯̤̻́̌̎̎́̾͋̄̄̋.̵̪̑͆̀̎" (Please whoever you are. Just leave me alone.) She cautiously walks over to your bed and peaks over it. Your laying there curled up into a ball torn and broken items surrounding you. Y-your abstracting?! B-but... Zooble doesn't even really register the fact. She's in shock from seeing you like this. (I mean I would be too) You let out an ear piercing scream and claw at your own face with enough force to tear the skin, if you weren't digital at least. The glitching gets much much worse for a few seconds before just, stopping. No rhyme or reason that she can see. But you can bet your a&$ that after like 5 seconds pass and you stop showing signs of abstraction she's going to huddle near your spitting out so many questions. Mainly ones like "ARE YOU OK!?!" and "Your still with me right?! RIGHT!?!"

Kinger

Kinger would more likely then not be there when your first started glitching. And that might make him officially lose it. Your the second person in this hell (Queener) who he felt close too. And he outlived you too. Still you aren't abstracted yet. Maybe their's still a chance! So he sprints off screaming out for Caine in a voice that is loud enough to make you go deaf if you were too close to him. When he finds Caine. And he will find Caine he grabs him by the shoulders and sprints towards where he last saw you. He basically throws Caine at your glitching form and yells at him to fix you! In that second you stop glitching Caine did nothing and Kinger will basically tackle you. He'll pick you up and hold you over his head like a spear and sprint towards your rooms. Once there he will set up the comfiest coziest pillow fort possible then get you all comfy inside. Once he's sure your at least mostly safe and he's at least mostly calmed down he'll ask you about what happened. (Despite him being pretty crazy I really do feel like out of everyone he would be the best at communication in a friend or relationship. I mean he's that crazy and yet he still has manners and knowledge about a lot. Tbh he might become my fav. Idk it's possible.)

Ragatha

You were helping out Ragatha with a surprise she was making for everyone to lighten their moods when you said that you feel kind of sick so you were going to call it a night. She nods thanks you for the help you gave then gives you a quick peck to the lips as a send off. Not to much to her surprise you choose to lay in her bed instead of yours. Just something you do when you don't wanna be alone. She shrugs it off and keeps working actually quite grateful that you decided to not leave, not fully at least. She keeps working but stops when she hears some very concerning noises coming from your sleeping body. She turns around to see you tossing and turning an abnormal amount in your sleep, as well as making a lot of noises that sound like when someone is choking on their own blood. Concerned she carefully walks over to check on you only to recoil when she notices the glitching. She trips over her own foot and falls over onto her back. She quickly but clumsily gets up and gets back to you. She shakes you a bit trying to wake you up, but you don't only concerning her more. She yells calls out for Pomni who pokes her head through Ragatha's door a second later. Ragatha nearly screams at her to go get Caine. Pomni startled by Ragatha's tone turns heel and runs off to look for Caine while Ragatha stays with you. She keeps whispering things like "You're gonna be ok" and "Pomni's getting Caine just hang in there". Always keeping a hand on you not caring when it starts glitching out too. When Pomni returns with Caine, Ragatha full on yells at him to help you. He looks at you, then back at her, then with a apologetic tone says their isn't anything he can do as abstraction is one of those things he doesn't have control over. Ragatha breaks into tears. So she's gonna lose you, she was even there. BUT SHE CAN'T F@%#&$* HELP?! She holds onto you like you're her last tether to reality. And you seem to get better. Your at the very least don't seem to be in pain anymore! So she squeezes you, really f&$%@#* hard happier then should be possible that your improving.

Jax

Jax found you in his room voice glitching you huddled over in pain. At first he thought it was a revenge prank and acted accordingly. "Haha, very funny Y/N. Now get out of my room I need to do something." That is until you vomited up a ton of pitch black goo. Then he started taking it more seriously. He quickly crouches down and wraps an arm around you to try and provide some support. He freaks out and quickly pulls his arm back when you vomit up more goo and starts visibly glitching. He panics and quickly looks around his room locking onto a like 3 day old unopened water bottle. He opens it and hands it to you as well as a thing to squeeze that half yells to just hang in there he'll be right back. He sprints around not even knowing who to get. He sees Ragatha and half tackles her. He shouts directly into her face that you need help and that you in his room. He tosses her in the direction of his room then continues sprinting around not long after finding Caine. He grabs Caine ignoring his protests and runs back to his room where he fins Ragatha sitting next to his bed you tucked in. Your not vomiting anything and you aren't glitching. You're just shivering. He hears you mumble his name and literally kicks Ragatha and Caine out quickly getting to your side. After he feels he wont get hurt he quickly gets into bed holding you close "If you ever do that again I'm going to take back my vow to not tease you." He falls asleep with his chin resting on your head.

Pomni

At first when you started glitching Pomni didn't really know it was abstraction. She's never seen someone abstract after all, only seeing the finished product. But when you keep getting worse and worse she realizes that something is wrong. So she leaves you with a quick kiss then runs off to the communication thing Caine made after the whole Kaufmo incident. She calls him and when he picks up she screams into the phone that your glitching out. When Caine appears next to her she runs back over to where you are not even checking if Caine is following. When she gets back to you, you're still in really bad shape. She turns back to Caine and yells at him to help you. When he tells her that he can't she starts hyperventilating, then she sees him pick you up and the cellar hole open?! OH F&#$ NO! She basically punches Caine then clings to you protectively, ready to throw hands with Caine if she has to. Caine tries and pull her off when she starts glitching but she has the grip of a professional rock climber. So Caine has to keep curing her glitches at they appear. Cause in his mind your beyond help but she isn't. Then you start to improve. No more coughing and the glitching has slowed down! Pomni glares at Caine then turns back to you with a scared and tired smile on her face. Once your ok enough to talk you are going to get an earful. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL HER YOU WERE FEELING BAG ENOUGH TO ABSTRACT?!?!?! (Sorry this was so long. I got a little carried away. And surprisingly I'm pretty proud of this one. I hope you enjoyed it!)

xoxo, Jester

[freeuselandonorris]

I wish you’d write a fic where lando tries different antics to get oscar to lose his cool a bit (both in the bedroom and out ig)!

HELLO ANON thank you for this delicious prompt! i actually ended up going off in a slightly different direction to what you asked for because it sort of ran away with me, so i hope you still enjoy it ❤️

The first time he does it, it’s an accident, although Oscar doesn’t seem to think so. 

It’s a couple of minutes before the start of FP2 and the garage is a hive of activity. Ted Kravitz is stood about ten feet away, pointing energetically at something from the mouth of the garage. There are at least three cameras within shooting distance. So Lando doesn’t think much of it when he squeezes past Oscar, shifting him out of the way by the hips to get to his cubbyhole, because there’s no thought behind it other than Oscar is standing in the way and it’s too loud to say excuse me. When Lando’s hands make contact with his racesuit, Oscar jumps. Lando laughs, pats his back and carries on, thinking nothing more of it.

“Did you do that on purpose?” Oscar asks accusingly, after the session when they’re waiting to leave.

Lando squints, mystified. Racks his brains to figure out whether he’d accidentally cut Oscar up on track or blocked him on a fast lap. “Do what?”

“In the garage,” Oscar says. He’s watching Lando with a funny expression, eyes locked on his face. He wets his lips. “When you—” He stops, eyes snapping to his feet. 

“What?” Lando says. It’s funny — for all Oscar looks supremely unbothered by basically everything, reacting to stress and joy alike with little more than an eyebrow raise, he does have one tell. He blushes more easily than almost anyone Lando’s ever met, except maybe Morgan, who’s got the excuse of being ginger.

“Never mind,” Oscar says. He’s so red. “I just thought — when you came past me. I thought you were too close on purpose.”

Huh. Lando tilts his head, studying Oscar. “Nope. Sorry, mate. Won’t happen again.”

“No,” Oscar says hastily, before Lando’s even finished speaking. “It’s fine. It wasn’t — It’s fine.”

His face is scarlet now, the flush spreading right across his nose and cheeks. Even his ears are pink. 

Interesting. 

The second time he does it, they’re alone. In a lift, to be exact, which means Lando only has about fifteen seconds. By virtue of being in the executive suites, they’re both posted to the top floor, and the lift that had been full of various team personnel empties out suddenly on floor seven, leaving them leaning against the back handrail, alone. 

Lando leans over, tips his head onto Oscar’s shoulder and yawns exaggeratedly. “Wow,” he says airily. “I’m beat.”

Their heights don’t match up properly for this at all. Lando’s ear is squashed against Oscar’s shoulder. He feels Oscar go still for a few seconds, and then, abruptly, his shoulder drops. Like he’s listing deliberately to one side, lowering his shoulder for Lando’s head to fit.

Lando bites back a smile, nestles into the curve of Oscar’s throat. Twists his head so his breath gusts out against the soft skin. Breathes in deep. “Wow, Osc, you smell good. New cologne?” 

His head jiggles as Oscar swallows hard. “No. Nope. Same one as always.”

“Hmm,” Lando says, and presses his nose into Oscar’s shoulder, revelling in Oscar’s shuddery inhale. “Maybe I’ve just not been close enough to notice before.”

The third time, they’re being filmed. They’re in a conference room downstairs at the hotel, sun streaming through the windows, backing out onto some tennis courts Lando quite fancies getting onto later, if he gets chance. They’ve been positioned next to each other on an uncomfortable sofa, answering quickfire questions for some YouTube channel Lando’s never heard of. His back is killing him, or at least that’s the excuse he’ll use if anyone asks why he he swings his feet up off the floor and drops them into Oscar’s lap. 

Oscar stops halfway through a sentence, stammering to a halt. His hands hover in midair, awkward. 

Lando wriggles his feet, feeling the muscles in Oscar’s thighs. They’re so firm, even through the rubber of his soles.

“Sorry,” Oscar says to the interviewer, who’s looking at them bemusedly. He turns to Lando. “Really, mate?”

Lando shrugs, doesn’t move his feet. Smiles the smile that let him get away with being a little shit at school. After a moment, Oscar’s hands settle on top of his trainers, curled tentatively around his feet.

“Okay,” the interviewer says. “Let’s go again.”

Afterwards, Oscar stands up quickly, dislodging Lando’s feet so fast his trainers squeak on the polished floor when they land. He yanks his hoodie down over his hips, but not before Lando sees it. Hard not to, really, given that he’s still sat down at crotch height. The front of Oscar’s jeans, stretched out, just a bit. 

“Oh,” Lando says stupidly. 

“Shut up,” Oscar says tightly, out of the corner of his mouth. “Swear to God.”

Lando nods and struggles to his feet. Prays he hasn’t taken it too far. He’s half-expecting Oscar to make his excuses and disappear, but he sticks around to exchange pleasantries with the team. Makes jokes like nothing’s up, beckons Lando when they’re dismissed and strolls out alongside him, whistling between his teeth. Lando’s just starting to think that maybe he’d imagined the whole thing, when Oscar turns to him.

“Come to my room,” he says. Just like that, no preamble, no beating around the bush. 

Lando nods, falls into step alongside him.

Lando’s barely got the door shut before Oscar’s shoving him up against it. Pinning Lando back with his hands bracketed around Lando’s biceps, staring down at him. And then he stops. Uncertainty flickers across his face.

“What is this?” he says, quiet and tense. 

Lando blinks. “What do you—”

“No,” Oscar cuts him off. “Don’t bullshit me.”

He doesn’t look angry. His gaze flicks between Lando’s eyes and mouth. His lips part. Goosebumps break out all down Lando’s arms, starting at the point where Oscar’s warm hands wrap around him. 

“Do you like it?” Lando says, squirming against the doorway. Looking up into Oscar’s dark eyes. 

Oscar kisses him. Same way he’d asked: no fucking about. His teeth click against Lando’s with the force of it, tongue dipping inside Lando’s mouth and retreating, a maddening tease. 

Lando’s gasping for breath by the time they break apart. His skin burns, prickly like he’s starting with flu, only good. He grabs Oscar’s wrist, wrenches it away from his arm and shoves it under his hoodie. They both gasp when Oscar’s hand touches skin, Lando sucking in his belly involuntarily. 

“You’ve been driving me fucking mental,” Oscar says, a low growl. Lando shudders and lets his head thud back against the door. Oscar’s fingers curl into the soft space below his ribs. “You know that? Can barely think straight, sitting there wondering when you’re gonna do it again.”

“Hardly even done anything,” Lando mutters. 

Oscar scoffs, but his eyes are soft. He grips the bottom of Lando’s hoodie and the shirt underneath, pulling them up far enough to expose his stomach, and looks at the skin on display. Lando arches his back, squirming under the scrutiny.

Holding the fabric up, Oscar scrapes the nails of his other hand in one long line down Lando’s stomach, letting them snag in the waistband of his joggers at the end of the trail. His nails leave streaks of fire down Lando’s skin. He can’t help but imagine it, even though he can’t see past his clothes: pink lines, marks on his skin, put there by Oscar. 

Oscar ducks in again, kisses him for a few destabilising seconds. This time, when they separate, he stays close enough that Lando can see the tiny, distorted reflections of himself in Oscar’s dark eyes. He brings one hand up, cupping the back of Oscar’s neck, where the hair is short and soft. 

“Yeah,” Oscar breathes. Abruptly, Lando realises he’s trembling, his entire body shivering with desire. He might have wanted this for a lot longer than he’s let himself think about. “Yeah, I like it.”

[thelastofhyde]

ii. santorini.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. tensions are high as you and joel spend your first day together exploring the popular island of santorini. back on the boat, joel gets a glimpse at more than he bargained for. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. mild smut ( female masturbation, mentions of oral sex + piv sex ), bickering, alcohol, mild angst, so much cheese it'll turn you lactose intolerant!! btw joel hates santorini and he makes that known, but none of his opinions reflect my own ( please don't be mean to me over things characters say <33 ) word count. 7.9k hyde’s input. the majority of this chapter was written with a mixture of medicine flowing through my veins, it's a miracle it's even intelligible. apologies for the wait, the holidays and health issues got in the way <3 as always, i hope you enjoy, comments an dreblogs are always appreciated !! previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

It is a known fact that your name and late rarely exist within the same sentence.

The mere thought of being late fills you with a sickness you cannot cure. The extremes you’ll go to avoid it know no bounds. From arriving four hours before a flight, to waiting in your car a whole hour before entering a lecture hall, adulthood is a phase in which you’d sworn to repair the damage of a childhood worth of not arriving late.

Late to school, late to birthday parties, late to dentist appointments.

It wasn’t that you were a particularly difficult child, running rampant around the house as your mother tried to dress you, or your father tried to feed you. Quite the contrary, really. Often, it was little-you who chased around after them, and who waited by the door, school bag in hand, tapping your foot with every second that ticked by on the clock. You were too young and hadn’t the ability nor the empathy to understand that your parents were held up with sorting through things directly influenced by your existence, like cleaning up the messes you left at the breakfast table, or fixing the doorknob you and your sister broke in an intense game of hide and seek.

Nowadays, you can count on one hand the times you’ve been late.

First, you were late to your own surprise birthday party, but that was down to you getting stuck an extra hour at work. It was out of your control.

Then, there’d been your graduation ceremony. Your father missed an exit and ended up taking you on a mystery tour of the city, trying to find the next turn that led to your campus. Again, out of your control.

The third time is the one you remember panicking over the most, knee bouncing uncontrollably with nerves as you sat squeezed between two strangers on a plane. Your sister, barely halfway through her third trimester, had gone into labour, and where were you? Stumbling around drunk on a private beach in Cancún, mumbling along to the lyrics of some early 2000s classic you forget the name of. Your niece, all 4 and a half pounds of her, had decided now was her time to shine and there was nothing, not even the 4 weeks she had yet to grow in utero, that was going to stop her. By the time you arrived, mascara smudged eyes and with the stench of tequila still on your skin, she was laying peacefully in her incubator, the tiniest little fingers clenched into fists and a name tag around her wrist. This too was out of your control.

But the fourth time you’re late, as you stride urgently across the wooden decking of the ship, weaving in and out of lounge chairs and polo-neck wearing crew members, it’s completely within your control.

Yet, it’s not entirely your fault.

An alarm that never went off. A game of hide-and-seek with your purse. An unfortunate slip on bathroom tiles adding another bruise to your knees. An elevator that refused to travel faster than the speed of a snail. It’s as though Lady Luck had set out in favour of being against you, doing her utmost to ensure you arrive exactly seven minutes past your deadline. His deadline.

Best be on the deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’m dockin’ without ya.

Your head whips from one side to another, eyes finding a familiar figure amongst the few passengers meeting their own private guides. It’s the same man from yesterday, out on the balcony, the memory of him cheering his champagne and shooting a tipsy smile your way replaying. Only now he’s clad in plaid, with a frown etched into his forehead as he stares at his watch. There’s another man, hanging off his arm, fusing with the collar of his shirt.

“She’s late,” you overhear him say, voice firm and leaking with annoyance.

“Maybe she just slept in!” The man next to him is cheerier, tired eyes full of optimism, even as he turns his head and stifles a yawn. “Give her a few minutes.”

“What kind of shitty tour guide sleeps in?” Balcony-Man huffs, and you can’t help but think of your niece and her pouty face whenever she fails to get her own way. “Does she think I’d not rather be asleep too? Lazy c-”

“See? This is why I told you to eat that damn croissant before we left.” The taller of them seems to snap, rolling his eyes. “Brighten up, Bill, or so help me God you’ll be leaving this boat a divorcee.”

Trying to tune their voices out, as the guilt of prying crawls its way into your bones, your gaze points down at your feet. The very same heels you’d worn last night, pretty as they may leave you, have you cursing at the Sun and the Moon. If you’d have just worn your sneakers, maybe you could have ran up the stairs instead of taking the snail-evator.

Joel, tour guide, Signore Miller’s voice- though your imagination can’t quite reach his level of arrogance- rears its irritating head through your mind, recalling his words from last night. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. That had been enough to awaken that stubborn mule inside of you, hell-bent on proving him wrong.

But now, late, and with him nowhere in sight, your heels seem to have had the opposite effect. They’ve proved him right.

Which leaves you here, moping so pathetically you’re incapable of appreciating the shine of a rising sun over the horizon of aqua blue water.

Five minutes, you decide. That’s how long you’ll allow yourself to dwell in self-pity. Then, you’ll trek your way over to the Excelsior lounge, hit up the breakfast buffet, and await the general disembarking time.

Who knows, maybe you’ll get a call to say there’s a miraculous spot opened up on one of the tour groups.

If not, you’ll be fine! You’ve travelled alone before, you’ve got an all-inclusive data plan on your phone and you’re pretty well-acquainted with the less-than-accommodating features of Google Maps. You don’t need help, or a tour guide, much less one as blood-boiling, skin-prickling, irritating as Joel Mil-

“Wasn’t sure how ya like your coffee, but you look like a milk, two sugars kind of girl to me.”

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Or, in this case, think of him.

Turning a little too fast, you stumble a step or two back, and, sure enough, there he is. A tight fitting, dark grey t-shirt stretched over the swell of his biceps, a pair of washed-out denims, and two well-worn running shoes, one on each foot. Trailing up the swell of his tanned neck, you count the freckles up to his eyes, and find there’s bags under them. The growth of hair on his face is just as unkempt as yesterday, yet already it seems to have grown longer, making the litter of greys stand out more. The hair that sits atop his head is damp, and the strands that have managed to dry are being messed around by the morning air. He’s still got that ever-present frown stamped into his forehead, yet his mouth doesn’t seem to curl into a snarl as he calls your name.

You must stare a moment or two past his comfort level, for he clears his throat and nods down at his hand. Two to-go cups, the smallest streams of steam floating out the hole in each lid.

He’s extending one out- the one in his right hand- towards you. “If you’d rather black, you can take min-”

“No!” You snap back into your own body, all too quickly and all too volatile. Clear your throat, and then try again, this time with a little less of that im being held at gunpoint shake in your voice. “No… Thank you. It’s fine- Milk is fine.”

It’s more than fine.

In fact, he’s gotten it spot on. Down to the number of sugars you take.

But, still stubborn, you yearn to not give him the satisfaction of being right so early in the day, and instead settle for accepting the coffee out his hand. You welcome the golden warmth eagerly, eyes unable to resist slipping shut as you take your first sip. When they reopen, you find Joel watching you, intently. Purposefully, as though you’re something to be studied.

Clearing your throat, you glance to the side and spot Balcony-Man and his partner greeting an apologetic woman.

“Thanks for the, uh,” his stare is intimidating your nerves, setting you on edge of something you’re all to eager to jump off. “Coffee. Yeah. You didn’t have to… I mean, I actually thought you’d, you know, uh-”

“You thought I left without ya.” He states. All you can do is nod. “I could’ve. I did warn you not to be late.”

“You did.”

“I also told you to wear somethin’ other than them heels.”

“I know.”

“Yet here you are, late and in heels. You’re not very good at following orders.” He exhales something akin to a chuckle, as devoid of humour as it may be, and you swear he’s suddenly closer than you remember, knuckles brushing against your own as he bumps his paper cup against yours. “Just what am I gonna do with ya, huh?”

For a moment, you swear your heart has leaped from your chest and up to your throat, threatening to choke you with the beat of it. There’s no sense you can make of it, this reaction he rouses, a heat you can’t control creeping down your loins as you drag in a whiff of some manly cologne, the kind you’d usually turn your nose up at for being too overbearing. Yet, on him, it’s not. On him it’s just right, like he was born with pine soaked skin, and a tobacco stained kiss, and-

Before you can think of pulling in another breath, Joel’s stepped back, allowing a cool breeze to pass between you and get a hold of your senses.

“C’mon, we’re slotted in for the first tender that leaves for shore.”

“Oh my God.”

You’re half certain Joel’s growing sick of hearing those three words roll off your tongue. He’s likely felt this way since it first left your mouth, feet struggling to safely step out onto the dock as your mind became enchanted by the picturesque view in front of you. Only the burn of his hand meeting your lower back, nudging you ahead to make space for himself and the other passengers to step off the tender boat, was capable of dragging you back into your own body, the wanderlust that had gripped your soul yearning to be free to explore every building that sits carved into rock, every water-taxi that flows idly on cristaline water, every step that winds up and up and up the island’s cliff where, at the top, civilisation seems to lie.

The port you’ve docked on is rather small, with naught more than two docking strips and a walkway of shops and confection stands, with boats that find no space along the docking strips tying themselves to any safety they may find over the expanse of the walkway. It is no wonder the cruise floats safely out in deeper waters, alongside several other cruise lines, with no space for such large vessels. And, yet, the port is alive with something. The ground seems to pulse, like a beat of a heart, and the air, as fresh as the grass after heavy rainfall, almost dances its way down your lungs. Voices swim all around you, tourists scrambling past each other, fighting in a race towards something you’ve yet to identify.

“So this is Gialos, also known as the Old Port of Fira.” Somewhere, behind you perhaps, Joel’s voice pipes up, a speech so rehearsed and robotic, a part of your wonders how many times he’s recited it, how many people he’s recited it to. The other part of you, however, is much too fixated on the stairs ahead to pay him true attention, eyes following as two men and several donkeys descend. “That, up there, is Fira, the capital of Santorini. We’re going to need to take a cable- Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes!” You’re quick to react, a defensive rise in your voice. He meets it with a deadpan look and the crossing of his arms over his chest, which quickly becomes something you wish he wouldn’t do as you watch the tight fabric of his shirt stretch itself thin over the bulge of his arms. “No. Sorry, I’m just… Wow.”

You hope he appreciates the restraint you show towards repeating those three dreaded words again.

“You have all day to stare,” his words trip over his own irritated scoff, and you bite back a question of why he’s a guide if he seems to hate it so much, fearful he’s too honest to not tell you a truth that may hurt your fragile feelings. A truth where it is not so much his job he dislikes, but rather, your presence and all that it brings. “Right now, we need to move. Don’t wanna spend all day waitin’ in line now, do ya?”

This need for speed that hooks the other tourists seems to filter over into your guide, who’s forcing you forward, that heat of his palm now hovering inches away from your lower back. It’s enough to lead you where he pleases. As a pair, you weave in and out small clusters of people, till the space between you both and the large gathering crowd slowly diminishes. It is there where his once telepathic leading fails, with Joel turning left towards it as you stray right, over to the ascending pathway of stairs.

“Where are you going?” His tone is offended, almost, as he comes to a halt and watches you fail to do the same, to notice the space between you both and correct it like some puppy who’s been called to heel by its master.

“Where am I going?” The question, at first, is one you mistake as rhetorical. Staring back at him with an equaled confusion, you gesture to the stairway, as though it is the most obvious answer. Because, well, where else could you have been heading? He said so himself, that up there is Fira, the capital of Santorini, and you’ll be damned if you don’t get to see it. “Where are you going?”

“To the cable cars, that’ll take us up the island.”

Above the crowd of people, hanging over doors of small businesses, lay several signs. CABLE CARS - 6€ ! stands out, impossible to miss. Symbols you scarcely recognise sit beneath it, in smaller text, and you assume it’s Greek. In the distance, you spy the movement of the mobile boxes, people being carted up the length of the cliff at a speed that promises them a journey of mere minutes.

“Oh.” So, perhaps his option makes more sense than your own far longer, more tiring one. Still, stubborn as a mule, you double down on your decision to take the scenic route, inching closer towards the first step. Your guide, still in the face, refuses to move, daring eyes willing you to continue. “You want us to take the lazy man’s route? You go ahead, I’ll take the stairs and meet you at the top.”

You press one foot up onto the first step, weary of where you rest the point of your heel.

Glancing a few steps further up, there’s the unmistakable sight of a mound of brown substance, no doubt excreted out of one of the donkeys that walk ahead, tourists mounted on their poor backs.

“I don’t think you understand,” he finally inches closer, if only slightly, hands clenched at his side. “There’s five hundred and eighty-eight steps until you reach the top.”

The number is more daunting than you expect, and you pray he can’t read this on your face. “Only? I’ll be up in no time then!”

You feel more than see the way Joel’s eyes travel down the expanse of you, stuttering almost over the curvature of your chest, the dips at your hips, till they rest at your feet. The question hangs loose between you, unspoken yet evident.

In those heels?

“Listen, Joel,” taking a second, third, and fourth step, you aim for a literal higher ground, staring down below as he continues to drift closer and closer towards the stairway. “If you’re not fit for the task, or the climb’s no good for your knees, you can just say it, there’s no shame. Like I said, I’ll meet you at the top. Promise I won’t even report the fact my private guide abandoned me in favour of his own comfort.”

Defeat has never come easy.

Well, to phrase it better towards the truth, acceptance of defeat has never come easy.

There was always something more to be said, another excuse to be given for any of your shortcomings. When you’d been turned away from the school’s soccer team, you’d told yourself it was because you were a girl- ignoring the fact three girls in your year made the cut. When you’d lost an arduous game of Monopoly, you’d sworn you’d caught your sister sneaking notes out of the banker’s pile into her own. When you’d been beaten, round after round, by your own niece at Mario Kart, you’d stuck your tongue out at her and told her you let her win out of pity.

All that had been before, of course, back when you still roamed school hallways, when your sister sat across from you at the dining table, when your niece still laughed freely, wildly, celebrating her own victories with an over-the-top, uncoordinated dance around the living room.

As changed as things may be, defeat is still your foe.

It is that reason alone that you bite back a complaint.

You’d enjoyed the initial moments of your trek. Maybe it was the salty air in your lungs, or the beautiful views of your surroundings, or the idle grumbling coming from Joel, a few paces behind you, kicking up dirt under his feet with every step he travelled up. Whatever the reason, adrenaline had been flowing, into your heart and through your veins, covering every square inch of your body, a tingling of nerves from the tip of your toes to the top of your spine.

But, by the 10 minute mark, a dull ache forms in your feet. Each step of your heel feels more life threatening than the last, as the stairs grow slippier, dustier, and well-worn the further up you advanced. By stair who-knows-how-may, you take a near fatal tumble backwards, the crunch of crumbling rock threatening to be the last thing you hear. Till he appears behind you, fast as light, huffing out a breath as you smack down against his solid chest.

“Mind your step.” From anyone else, you would mistake it as a sign of care. From Joel, you know better than to think it’s anything beyond a humourless taunt.

You try to keep count of the steps, from then on, an effort to motivate yourself to move faster with each ten-pace you count. By 50, you lose your place and begin counting all over again.

The journey is difficult in other ways, too, with the constant passing of donkeys who obligate you to stand aside and make way for them. And the distant movement of cable cars, firing up and sliding down more times than you can keep track of.

When a particular step proves itself too steep, you can no longer hold back and, finally, a hiss slips out between your clenched teeth as pain shoots up your ankle, the leather of your shoe rubbing even harder into your brittle skin, threatening the promise of a blister yet to fully swell. Pushing the pain down, alongside a complaint, you take another step. Hiss. Then another, hiss. You can fight it no longer, bending at the waist to slip off your heel and examine the irritated skin.

Sure enough, it’s been rubbed raw, broken and spilling a small pool of blood.

Behind you comes an exasperated groan and, before you can straighten yourself to even register what’s happening, Joel barges past you and the figure of him up ahead slowly diminishes the faster he climbs up hill.

“Hey!” You call after him, hobbling to slip your shoe back on, but it’s to no avail.

He’s long gone, growing further and further out of your reach with each passing minute.

Cursing him under your breath, you decide to hell with the no complaints of his preferred regard for his own comfort. He’s abandoned you, injured and hobbling up the steps, all because he has the patience of a toddler who’s been waiting far too long to go potty.

“Wear somethin’ a little more sensible…” You’re bound to seem deranged to any passers by, half hopping up the steps, mumbling to yourself in a mockery of his deep voice “Yeah, right, how bout I shove somethin’ a little more sensible up your ass. Oh, what’s that? There’s no room up there with the massive stick you’re already carryin-”

“A local man warned me bout ya, on my way back down. Said there was some no-good girl casting out bad juju.” You freeze, foot stopped in mid-air. Shifting your gaze up ahead, you find Joel there, skipping a step every so often as he grows closer and closer. At his side, dangling from two fingers, sits a plastic bag. “Told him it ain’t no juju or curses you’re casting, just throwin’ a little tantrum.”

Like a fish out of water, all you can do is stare at him, wide eyes and mouth agape.

Joel pays your silence no mind, almost delighting in it. With a pop and a crack from his knees, he crouches down before you, holding out the palm of his hand.

“C’mon,” he mutters, pointing towards your injured foot. “Lemme see.”

You’re hesitant, at first, but ultimately lift it and let him curl his grip around it, holding you in place as the shoe slips off you. A tut meets your ears as his eyes meet the bloodied mess, and you watch how he contemplates, for a moment or two, before wetting his thumb with his tongue and swiping it over your broken skin.

It stings, like salt in a wound or a bee’s stinger through skin, and you try to flinch back, retract yourself from his hold. But Joel’s strong, resilient, nails biting at the flesh of your ankle to keep you in place. His free hand digs into the plastic bag he’d discarded at his side and pulls out a white box. Fiddling with it for a short period, he manages to open it at last and slips out a bandaid. He rips that open a lot quicker, using his teeth, and slips it over your open wound perfectly, thumb and pointer finger smoothing it around the curve of your heel.

“D’ya see now why I told you to not wear those things?” You feel like a child at his words, reprimanded like you once were for touching your mother’s curling iron. “And why I said we should take the cable car?”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you refuse to meet his eyes. But he just won’t let you be, craning his own neck to infiltrate the space you stare off into. There’s a pleased look on his face, smugness pulling at the right corner of his mouth. Alarmingly, you think of how it’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing him smile.

You continue your pursuit of silence, repeating a mantra of how you don’t care that he’d tried to look out for your comfort, or how he’d then tried to save you the effort of an uphill battle, or how his hand, big and warm and rough at the fingertips, is still holding your foot in place, absentmindedly rubbing your ankle in a circular motion.

“Look at ya, gone all quiet on me,” that corner of his lip curls higher. You register the rustling of the bag, his hand digging back inside it. “Ain’t one for bein’ put in your place, are you?”

Out comes his hand once more, though this time it’s not a box of bandaids. Now, resting firm in his grasp, sits a mixture of navy blue dyed cotton, stitched atop a flat, thick layer of a straw-like material. A slip-on canvas shoe. Joel doesn’t await permission, nor does he even ask for it. He simply takes charge, slipping it onto your foot, mindful as he straightens out the back to lay against your heel.

“Other foot, up.”

Switching feet, you stumble as your weight completely shifts onto your injured side. Your hands, reaching out to stabilise your swaying body, are quickly directed by his own to rest atop his head, curls of brown threading between your fingers. You contemplate asking what products he uses to achieve locks so smooth and shiny, then rethink it as soon as you imagine his reply of a disinterested grunt and a snarky ain’t use anythin’ but dirt water and a splash o’ whiskey.

“How’s it feel?”

Soft, you almost reply, then realise he’s asking about the shoe.

With a wiggle of your toes, you tell him it’s fine, and leave it at that. He doesn’t need to know they’re surprisingly comfortable.

Joel rises with a bit of a struggle, yet refuses the help you offer. Rough hands scoop up your discarded heels, tossing them into the bag, and then he straightens his back, lets out a noise of discomfort, before nodding up ahead.

“C’mon, only got a hundred or so to go. We’ll be up in no time.”

The sun sits high in the sky when you reach the city of Fira.

Crossing over that last step, 588 painted in white across it, you huff out a sigh, exhaustion aching you out of any enjoyment of your victory over the stairway from hell. Before you can even utter a word of your thirst, Joel is already reaching into his bag of wonders, unscrewing the lid off a bottle of water and passing it to you. Grateful, you take a sip, and lament the few drops that spill down your chin.

At least they don’t go to complete waste, cooling your skin ever so slightly.

It’s a shame to see Joel start moving again, moments before you’re even ready to gain back your breath, but you follow after him, nonetheless, mindful to not press your foot too hard down. Through streets he winds, past shopkeepers he walks. Eventually, after a few minutes, you ask him where you’re both heading.

“To catch a coach,” his hand moves quickly, tugging you closer as a bicycle shoots past behind you. Your own find themselves against his chest, and realise it is nothing like his hair. Solid, warm, wide. It’s almost a shame to lower them back down to your side. “Less you think you can walk from here to Oia, too.”

Truth be told, you don’t know where Oia is.

But you do know your walking for the day is over, happy to follow Joel onto the coach. You take the aisle seat, he’s by the window. Across from you both sits a couple, young and giggling into one another’s ears, as though the sounds of their joy is sacred to none but them. A pang of envy thumps your soul, and you quickly turn your face.

Only to find that Joel’s is grey.

Not the hair that lines it but, rather, his whole face, paled and blood-drained. It’s a sickly image, and one that’s quick to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay?” Any thought of keeping your composure becomes mute as you hear your own voice, a treacherous shake to it that gives your panic away. “You look…” There is no word kind enough for you to use to relay the image of him, so you lock your lips.

It takes a few seconds for you to get a reply, as your hand moves up to feel his forehead. It’s sweaty, warm, and you move to pull your hand back when he’s holding it firm in place, eyes slipping shut. “‘S cold. You’re cold,” seems to be his explanation. “I’m fine, it’s just- Carsick.”

“You get carsick, yet you work on a cruise.”

“Not the same. Ship’s big, somethin’ bout the size and my own visibility, ‘s what stops me getting seasick.”

You sit like that the rest of the coach, your hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes slipped shut.

“What’s your favourite stop on the cruise?”

As it turns out, Oia is exactly what you’d pictured Santorini to be.

White washed houses, deep blue domes for rooftops, turquoise waters, all for as far as the eye can see. Joel complains, more than tells you, of the rise in tourism over the years, of how it’s turned the beautiful village into a party-town for idiots abroad, disregarding the clean environment, shamelessly blocking paths to snap a frame-worthy shot, raising prices to the ceiling. When you ask him if he thinks he’s in part to blame, if people like him are to blame- running tours, bringing guests onto the island, earning a wage off the visiting of such a place- he grumbles out something about missing breakfast, needing lunch.

So you find a cafe. Or, more, Joel leads you to one. He greets the doorman, with a wave and a pat on the back, before sauntering his way through to a back terrace, overlooking the whole village, the water perfectly framing it. Stepping out and sitting down, the view robs the very breath out of your lungs.

It’s like sitting inside a postcard.

Joel asks if you like Greek food.

You tell him you’ve never had it.

He orders for you both, a mixture of different plates, and swears he’ll find something you’ll like.

It turns out you’re rather fond of baklava.

“Florence.” Joel’s taken his time to answer, staring at you like a deer caught in headlights. Disbelief more than fear in his eyes, you have to wonder if it’s the first time someone’s thought to ask him, in all his years as a guide. Naturally, this leads you to wondering how many years that is. “It’s a real site. Full of history, a real story to be told.” He tilts a ceramic dish your way, eyes glancing down in an offering. You follow them, and spot olives. Shake your head, no, then smile, thanks. He shrugs, more for me, and pops two into his mouth. “There’s this…” he pauses to chew. “This library.”

“A library?”

“‘S not just a library.” He slips out the olive’s pip and raises another into his mouth. You try not to think about how thick his fingers look, rolling the remaining briny green pebbles around in the pot. “There’s a cinema built inside it. Plays some classic films. I always- or, I try to go whenever we dock.”

It’s hard to picture Joel inside a cinema, something about the setting too busy, too loud to place his scowling face in. Would he be the kind to have a favourite seat, perfectly picked to optimise the sound quality? Does he speak animatedly, excited any time he recognises an actor? Or is he a shusher, the kind to roll his eyes when someone dares to even clear their throat?

A part of you wants to ask him if your tour involves a trip to this library.

Something tells you it’s not a place he likes to share, though. It’s his own little corner, safe to sneak a moment of selfish indulgence amidst a week of catering to another’s needs.

“A cinema inside a library?” A waiter interrupts you, asks if everything’s alright. Joel orders another serving of baklava. “Isn’t that a bit of an oxymoron?”

“Yeah.” For a moment, you think you see a smile creep across his lips. “Suppose it is.”

Another interruption comes in the form of your ringtone, rippling the water in your glass as your phone vibrates upon the table. You’re well aware of how Joel spots the word Mum displayed across your screen. Just like you’re aware he sees how you swipe down on your screen and switch on aeroplane mode.

Before he can ask any questions, or the sudden silence can become too deafening, you throw out another question. “And your least favourite?”

“Least favourite stop?” You nod, affirmative, and he needs no time to reply. “Here.”

“Here?! How come?”

The baklava arrives, as if on cue, and you point down at it, as though it is reason enough to be enamoured with the island. It seems to do little to convince him, his hand reaching out to push the plate closer to you, inviting you to indulge yourself.

“Compared to the other stops, Santorini’s bland.” He says it when your mouth is too occupied to protest, stuffed full with layer after layer of pastry. “Kind of like a diamond, y’know? Real pretty to look at, empties your wallet, and, at the end of the day, ain’t much you can do with it.”

“People propose with diamonds.” You point out, and cough as a flake of pastry hits the back of your throat.

Joel’s already passing you your glass of water before you even think to reach for it.

“People propose with rings. Diamonds are just custom, not a guarantee.”

Sunset arrives with no warning, a hue of fiery orange melting down into the calm waters on the horizon. It’s Joel who makes the call to head back, one glance at his watch enough to tell you the last chance to catch a coach is nigh. It’s only as you go to call for the bill that he tells you it’s covered and you realise his earlier trip to the bathroom had been a ruse to go pay.

The trip back is calmer, quieter, with the coach full of sunkissed and heat exhausted tourists.

Again, you take the aisle seat, and Joel, the window.

Keeping an eye on him is easy, switching your gaze towards the approaching darkness of the night sky calling upon the street lights anytime he meets your eyes. When you notice the increase in breaths and the paling of his skin, you wordlessly unscrew the cap off a bottle and slot it into his hand, inviting him to finish off the last sips of your water.

Skipping out on a trip down memory stairway, you quietly follow him into the cable car and, when you reach the Old Port, you try your best to block out his smug remark of how easy and fast the ride was. A feat which becomes easier as you stumble halfway up the dock and turn back.

Like hours before, as you first stepped off the tender, your mouth falls agape. Only, this time, wider. The view of the island lit up in all its glory is enough to leave you breathless, hands scrambling to fish out your phone, open the camera and-

“You gettin’ on or what?” Joel calls out from behind, and you find him waiting on board one of the tenders, hand held out towards you.

It’s a demand, more than it is an offer, to hurry up. The collective of other passengers are watching the interaction, and a feeling you’ve come to know all too well crawls its way into your veins.

A burden, holding them all up, that’s what you are.

The feeling follows you back, as you slip into a damp seat and watch as the boat carries you further and further from the island, it’s lights twinkling in a way that chokes you up, drains you out, eyes stinging from more than just the salty air. You’ll love it, I swear! The memory plays out in your head, those words gushed at you. Hands squeezing your cheeks, a smile blinding you under its brightness. Just wait till you see it at night, the lights shine over it like stars!

You blink.

A tear pools at the corner of your eye.

“Here, look,” something nudges you. It’s Joel, inching his phone into your view. Through blurred sight, you glance at it. And find yourself, centre frame, lit only by the moon. In the back lies the whole skyline of Santorini, lights reflecting down onto the waters below. “Best view you can get, the whole island in one shot.”

Afraid to hear your own voice, you smile.

He answers by pointing his phone back at you, snapping another photo.

Back on the cruise, the two of you part ways, with Joel telling you to meet him in the same bar, same time as the night before.

Dinner had been part of your plans. With a glance over the listed restaurants on board, the ache in your tired bones asks you to stay in bed and make use of the room service. You listen, order something light, easy. It arrives in under 10 minutes and your hunger is satisfied sitting out on the balcony, watching the dark waves roll past.

Phoning your mother is the next port o'call.

Unlike with your food, that takes longer than 10 minutes. Much longer, and involves you countlessly reassuring her that yes, you’re okay, and no, you don’t need her to fly out and meet you in Naples.

“I’m a big girl,” you even throw in a laugh, hoping it’ll ease the worry lines you can picture splayed over your mother’s face. “I think I can climb up a mountain without my mum’s help.”

“Honey, you know that’s not what why I’m worri-”

“Did you know you can get carsick but, at the same time, not seasick?”

You hang up shortly after, with a promise to try your best to answer when she calls tomorrow, instead of hours later, when she should be fast asleep.

The time on your phone tells you there’s still forty minutes until you need to meet Joel. The image of that grandiose bathtub flashes before your eyes and, in record timing, you’re sinking into scalding waters, a complimentary bath bomb dumped in and granting you the childish gift of bubbles.

You try to relax, at first.

There’s no need to wet your hair, so you indulge yourself. Lay your head back, close your eyes. Feel your muscles loosen with the warmth, ignore the sting of soap in your blistering heel. Your hands struggle to find a resting place, until they meet your thighs. They sit still, for a moment or two, before one slips down, inching into the crease of where your legs meet.

Something stirs in your core, comes alive as you think of how long it’s been since you last felt someone. A few months, it has to be. A fellow graduate, if you remember correctly, that stupid robe still on his shoulders as he let his mouth come down on you.

Your hand is soon on your core, before you really notice, mind on a mission to recall the hazy encounter. When you think of his tongue, messy yet eager, your finger’s already on your clit, pressing against it with a tease of pleasure. When you think of his cock, uncut and thicker than your ex, splitting you open on his bedroom floor, your hips cant up against yourself, chasing friction. When you rewind how soft Joel’s hair had been between your fingers, your free hand grips one of your breasts, fingers pinching at your nipple.

Your eyes snap open.

Joel’s hair.

Joel.

Something you should not be thinking of right now, hand buried between your thighs.

You wait a few seconds, remind yourself of the graduate’s face.

His blue eyes, your fingers roll over your nipple.

His blonde hair, your legs spread wider.

Joel’s solid chest, your fingers dip inside your cunt.

Your breath is shaky, Joel’s annoyed groan echoes.

The shame of it, of thinking of him, is almost as tantalising as touching yourself, fucking your own hole full with as much of your fingers the angle will allow. It’s a one time thing, you justify. You just need to get it out your system. One and done, cum and done. No more of Joel Miller between your thighs, this is the closest he’ll get.

Someone knocks at your door.

You nearly miss it over the sound of your breathing, the pounding of your heart.

“Who is it?” You don’t like how weak you sound, but it’s too late to take it back now.

Another knock.

“Can I come in?”

A hand still between your thighs, orgasm titering on the edge, body fully submerged in lukewarm water. “No!”

“Ain’t safe to leave your door unlocked. Anybody could walk in- Jesus!”

You’ve never screamed louder.

Joel takes up most of the bathroom doorway, same clothes save for the shirt that’s got two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms. You’re pressed right back into the bathtub, as physically far from him as you can get, knees pressed up to your chest, ankles crossed over.

In Joel’s defence, he’s quick to turn away, presenting you with a view of his back. A hand runs through his hair.

“Why are you in my room?!” You inch even further back, the water suddenly dropping several degrees.

“I asked to come in!”

“And I told you not to!”

“Well obviously I didn’t hear that!”

“Why are you in my room?” You’re back to your first question, eyeing up your towel.

It’s across the room, on the bathroom sink. No way for you to reach it without the risk of him seeing you reflected on something.

“You were late. Came to check if ya tripped on them heels and broke your neck.”

“I,” you’re not sure what time it is with your phone sitting by the bed, charging. That's now five times you've been late in adulthood. “Didn’t realise the time. I can meet you at the bar in ten minutes.”

He nods, and you watch him take a step, then immediately pause. “You know, I’ve heard a few things from passengers…” You may not see his face, but you swear there’s that half-smirk, smug look upon it. It’s practically dripping off his words. “The shower head, fourth setting. Seems to get the job done for most ladies on board.”

Grabbing the closest thing in reach- a bar of soap- you launch it and watch it bounce off his irritatingly wide shoulders. “Get OUT!”

You make it to the Tipsy Byson in 15 minutes.

Dressed more appropriately than the night before, your flared jeans and crop top garner less stares. It’s just as busy, if not busier, yet it’s not hard to spot Joel on a barstool, nursing a glass of something syrupy looking. Behind the bar is Luke, head thrown back at something Joel says.

They’re an interesting pair to observe, you realise as you make your way over. With Luke, so tall, so lanky, so bright-face, his energy warm and inviting, and Joel so- well, Joel.

“There she is,” Luke cheers, a little too loudly, calling attention to you as you slip into the stool next to Joel. “My new favourite customer.”

“Thought I was your favourite,” Joel’s yet to look at you, and it’s a relief. He’s looked at you enough for one day, one week, one lifetime.

“Sorry but she smells better than you, Joel,” the barman winks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “ Plus, she’s a hell of a lot nicer to look at.”

Joel scoffs, you giggle.

“Not sure about the whole smelling better thing,” your response comes minutes later, after Luke’s already served you a glass of wine and turned away your cash, telling you he’ll put it on Joel’s tab. “But thanks!”

Unprompted and uninvited, Luke bends over the bar and takes an exaggerated sniff. “I don’t know, smell alright to me.”

“Really? I’m not even wearing perfume, I forgot to pack any-.”

“Yeah! Go on Joel, give her a whiff, tell her she smells fine!” There’s resistance on his end, but Luke’s adamant, hand clamped on the back of Joel’s head, shoving him face first into your neck. Joel’s nose brushes against you. You hear him inhale. Exhale. Inhale again, then the urge to cross your thighs begins to nag at you. “Well?”

“Yeah, smells nice- Fine. Ya smell fine.”

“Be still my beating heart! Someone alert the press that Texas said something other than-”

Joel interrupts Luke’s dramatics, scowl on his face. “Don’t you have a job to be doin’?”

Only once the bartender is down the other end of the bar, engrossed in a heated discussion over what beer pulls a better head, does Joel speak again, sipping on his drink. Whiskey.

“So I noticed somethin’, when I was checking your bookin’ info.” You nod, urge him to continue, and take a sip of your own drink. Some country song plays over the speakers and you notice a sudden shake in Joel’s knee, his foot tapping to the beat. “Says there should be two of you in my guide team.”

“Oh,” the lump forming in your throat falls safely back into the pit of your stomach as you take another drink of wine. “Must be a printing error. You know how technology can be, always complicating things.”

“Hmm,” it’s easy to write off the awkward energy between you with the excuse of earlier events, and it’s the first bright-side you find to him walking in on your intimate bath. “Well, you know the drill for tomorrow. 7 am on that deck or I’m-”

“Docking without me, I know.”

You finish your drink first. When Joel orders himself another glass, you smile politely and turn it down. Yawn, then tell him you best head to bed.

Before you can slip out the entry, someone calls your last name. Loud enough to turn more than just your own head.

It’s Joel, approaching you, effortlessly parting crowds through the lively bar as though he is knife and, the people, butter. The loud music seems to ring louder in your ear, impeding you from hearing the words that leave his moving lips.

“What?” You call out, hands clasped over your mouth in an attempt to amplify the volume of your voice.

His response is to step closer, hands holding you in place by the waist as he leans down. A hot breath on your neck, the smell of whiskey on his breath, the soft brush of lips against your ear.

“It’s your turn to bring the coffees.”

series taglist. @auteurdelabre

[hydrngea]

ʀᴏᴄᴋꜱ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡɪɴᴅᴏᴡ

a/n : first jj fic! this is mostly unedited, so sorry in advance. this fic was totally not inspired by a nostalgic bridget mendler song hope you enjoy <3 requests are open

notes/summary : you’re grounded and stuck reading romeo and julliet when a certain visitor tries to get your attention from your window. | jj x f!reader, fluff, no spoilers for obx3

word count : 833

masterlist

being grounded was not supposed to be a part of your weekend plans.

well, to be fair, it wasn’t the most prudent decision-making on your part either; sneaking in late from a party at the beach, drunk. especially on a school night too.

not your proudest moment, being caught red-handed by your parents as you tried and miserably failed to sneak into your bedroom window.

which is why you are here now- confined to the comfort of your home for the next two weeks. oh, and no electronics either.

phone? gone. laptop? also gone. hell, they even found your spare ipod from middle school in one of your drawers, so even your last resort is poof-gone.

so instead of being out with the rest of the pogues on another great adventure, you’re stuck, sitting at your bed catching up on reading romeo and juliet of all books for your english project due on monday.

you have to admit, it’s not the worst play your english teacher could’ve assigned. even with all the odd old-timey lingo, you’re still somewhat interested; likely because of the fact you hardly have anything else to entertain you, but still.

halfway through romeo’s sappy romantic monologue, you hear a loud clunk against your window. your gaze shoots up from the book up to the glass, contemplating whether to let it slide or get up to investigate.

you choose the former, too comfortable on top of your freshly made bed to set the book down and drag yourself over just to find nothing.

with a sigh, you restart the sentence you left on just to be interrupted once again by another thump coming from your window.

probably the gutter you think, until you see a pebble make contact with the aperture.

you push yourself up and trudge across the room.

your forehead presses against the cool glass whilst you try to find the source of the stones before you recognize the vague outline of someone standing in your front yard.

sliding the latch open, you lean against the ledge and stick your head out.

“hey! what do you think you’re-“

your sentence fades as your eyes meet jj’s, a big grin spread across his face.

another pebble lands on top of your roof and ricochets back onto your driveway.

“you weren’t answering our texts!” he shrugs, “someone had to make sure you didn’t die.”

you roll your eyes, combing your fingers through your hair. “jeezus j! wait there.”

you quickly paddle down the stairs, simultaneously thanking all the gods that your parents were fast asleep at this time of night. you open the back door and gesture for jj to come in, bringing a finger up to your lips.

 “you could’ve woken my parents up,” you chastize while half whispering-half yelling at him as he strides in, chuckling.

“you had me worried, sweetheart.”

the use of your pet name makes your frustration dim slightly. you let out a small sigh-and even though you find it impulsive of him to be throwing literal rocks at your window in the middle of the night- you can’t help but be relieved to see him here.

you shut and lock the door to your bedroom  as jj collapses onto your mattress, landing right on top of your open copy of the play.

“ow fuck,” he exclaims, jumping into a sitting position. he rubs at his hip where there's surely to be a bruise tomorrow from the point of the book. “what was that?”

you roll your eyes again, relaxing back onto your bed  beside him with your cheek resting on your hand.

“shakespeare.”

jj snorts, picking up the book and placing it on your side table, “since when do you read shakespeare of all things.”

“since i got grounded and i have nothing else to do.”

“you could do-“ 

your palm shoves into his chest before he can finish his sentence. “nu, uh. what were you doing out there at two in the morning?” you question.

“i’m sorry, my lady.” he over-exaggerates an apology, grasping your hands in his. “ will thou ever forgive thee?” he enunciates with the emulation of a shitty british accent. 

you arch your brow, “for tossing rocks at my window or for that horrible accent?”

“both?”

“hmm…”

“please?” jj juts his bottom lip out, feigning a pout, looking at you with his beautiful blue orbs.

you let out a giggle, scooting towards him until your front is pressed up by his. you throw your leg over his torso- straddling him- and place your hands on the back of his neck, playing with some stray strands of his blonde locks.

“hmm…well considering it’s what romeo did to get julliets attention, i guess I can’t blame you for trying to be a romantic,” you respond, lips meeting the skin underneath his jawline.

jj’s hands run over your back, sliding up your flimsy pajama top suggestively.

“i thought that was just a thing gnomeo did in gnomeo and julliet, if i’m being honest.” 

you chuckle against his neck, pulling back slightly to lock your eyes with his, “you’re fucking insufferable, jj.”

he tilts his chin up, bringing his lips to brush under yours, “love you too, babe.”

-----

pls tell me you guys have watched gnomeo and juliet. hc- jj was obsessed both gnomeo and juliet and sherlock gnomes. 

taglist (lmk if you’d like to be added!) : @mrsstarkey1 @maybankslover 

check out my newest fic !!!

follow and reblog and i'll do the same for you! 

[morganski-19]

Robin takes the bag of frozen peas from Steve with a silent thank you. Wrapping it with a tea towel and resting it gently against her throat. Hoping that the swelling would go down and the bruise would fade fast, even though she knew that it wouldn't.

It could be worse. She could have broken bones like Max or torn skin like Steve and Eddie. She could have stopped being able to breathe for more than a few seconds. She could be dead.

Instead, here she is nursing her wounds, as they were, with her best friend who is severely worse than her looking after her. Not in a hospital, but in his house. Because her parents don't need to know this happened to her. The same way she hid the burns from the rope that bound her wrists in the bunker. She'll hide this from them too.

Steve has his own frozen bag of vegetables to his neck, leaning back on the couch to alleviate some of the pressure on his abdomen. Heavily bandaged abdomen. They probably should have gone to a hospital, seen if he needed stitches. But the stubborn asshole didn't want to go, so they didn't. Claimed he could take care of it himself. He always did.

"Is this what it's like?" Robin asks, voice raspy and weak. "Frozen vegetables and empty houses. No doctors hovering over you or government agents secretly experimenting on you."

Steve lets out a small grunt, shifting himself to look at her better. "Pretty much."

Robin snorts, wincing a bit when she does. "Now I know what the great Steve Harrington uses as a cure after battle. Frozen vegetables. What would the people say?"

"That I should go to a hospital, probably," he replies, exhausted.

"At least there's no concussion this time. Or black eye. Nothing messing up this pretty face," she pokes his cheek gently. "You should really see someone about the bites though. Make sure they're not infected."

Steve tries to swallow without wincing. "I know. Just needed a moment to breathe. Too many people at hospitals."

She knows what he means. After the past week, they needed a night before the craziness continued. Until life was forced to move without them wanting it to. Where the consequences came and reality sat in. Where people almost lost were slowly brought back, and they were forced to move on like nothing happened.

They had the scars to remind them. The nightmares. The anxieties that never went away. Their lives were changed. Things can't just revert back to the factory setting.

"How have you done this four times?" Robin asks without really wanting to know the answer. "I can barely wrap my head around doing it twice, let alone four."

"The first time didn't really count," he mumbles. "I just came in at the end. As for the others, you just get used to it. Weird shit shows up, you hit it with something, and it goes away. Until it doesn't."

Robin lets out a long breath. "Sounds like shit."

"It is." His eyes fight to stay open, head halfway fallen onto her shoulder.

"I'll take first watch, you need your sleep." She'll probably crash right after him, but he didn't need to know that. She could be the strong one for a second if it meant he could rest.

Steve takes a deep breath. "You sure."

Robin grabs his wrist, absentmindedly feeling for his pulse. Half relieved when it still thumps under her fingers at a normal rhythm. "Yeah. Get some sleep, you deserve it."

"Thanks. Wake me up if anything happens." He barely finishes the last sentence, eyes finally closing and breaths slowing to a soft, even pace. Robin still able to feel the thumping of his veins through her fingers.

For a brief moment, she can pretend that this is all normal. That this was just a normal night where she and her best friend fell asleep on the couch after watching a movie. After a totally normal night of fun, that didn't risk their lives.

Where there wasn't a bat full of nails resting against the coffee table. Or an ax somewhere in the kitchen waiting to be cleaned. Where she isn't counting the seconds between his breaths or making sure his heart is still pumping. Making sure he's still alive.

Where she'd be able to fall asleep and not risk waking up screaming. Covered in sweat and barely able to breathe. Her wrists wouldn't hurt and her throat wouldn't burn with every breath.

The now warm bag of peas falls off her neck as she leans back. She takes it off and places it to the side, along with Steve's. Pulls him a little closer so he knows that he's not alone. And she does too.

Then finally, she falls asleep. Hoping tomorrow the sun will rise on a better day than today. Time will move on and people will get better. And she'll never have to go through this again.

[peppered-moths]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

Martyn is humming something behind him, a jaunty, cheerful tune that contrasts sharply with the fact that Scott knows he's sharpening his sword. He can hear that too, the soft scrrrape of metal on stone that makes his nerves stand on end involuntarily. He shakes his head, letting the sounds fade into the background of the waves, and returns to organizing the chests.

It's... nice, actually. To just be here in the moment, with Martyn only a few feet away. To simply exist in each other's space. They get this time every week, of course, six days of it, but six days doesn't seem like all that much when death is waiting on the horizon.

And they have to be careful. Attachments are dangerous. On Fridays, they are allies, nothing more. Today, they are more, but they can't give anyone even the slightest hint, for fear of that being used against them.

Scott blinks, realizing his hands have stopped moving, no longer at the monotonous task of sorting wood. Martyn has stopped humming. The small fins behind his ears twitch in confusion.

"Martyn?" He turns, peering through the slats of the walls. The Coral Isles are silent and empty, just grass waving in the wind.

Scott's not worried. Martyn can handle himself, and he can certainly hold down the fort. He just wishes- why didn't Martyn say anything? Where had he gone? He's not worried.

Okay, fine. He's a little worried. It's not like his partner to walk off without saying anything at all. Scott can't go looking for him- the Isles can't be left undefended, especially with tensions at an all-time high. There's nothing he can do but wait for Martyn to come back (what if he doesn't? what if he's decided you're too much of a concern and left to preserve his own life-) and he will come back, Scott's sure of it. He'll just ask then. The sun is high in the sky; Martyn will be back by the time it sets.

He can keep himself busy until then.

----

It is midnight when Scott hears a splash. He's lying on the floor of the beach house, staring up at the sky. No, he hasn't been crying. The sound makes him bolt upright, one hand reaching for the leather-wrapped hilt of his sword.

Martyn stops halfway up the stairs, hands held up in surrender. His eyes are wide and washed out in the pale moonlight. He has no armor on.

Scott moves faster than he ever thought he could. His blade is pointed at Martyn's chest in an instant. He knows- he knows he's being irrational. He doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what else to do.

"Where," he rasps, trying not to let his voice wobble, "have you been?"

"Hey, Scott." Martyn laughs breathlessly, eyes fixed on the sword wavering in front of him. "Um."

"Answer. The. Question," he grits. He searches Martyn's face for anything, anything that betrays even a hint of deceit. Nothing. (Well, he's always been a good liar, hasn't he?)

"I was talking to the Bad Boys. Time got away from me." Martyn shrugs, eerily calm, even as the blade shivers closer to his throat. Scott stares at him, mind spinning. He could be lying.

"Prove it."

Martyn moves slowly, telegraphing his movements to Scott as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out- a pair of sunglasses.

"I stole these from Timmy before I left. It'll be hours before he notices they're gone." He smiles carefully, cautiously, like he's scared. Of Scott. Scared. Of him.

The sword clatters to the ground, and he crumples in on himself, ashamed and furious and guilty all at once. Of course. Scott was- he's overreacting, he couldn't even trust his own partner.

"Oh- hey, hey, hey. Scott. Scott." Martyn steps forwards, hands settling lightly on his shoulders. Scott stares at the ground. I would have killed him. I would have-

"I'm sorry, oh god, no, I'm so sorry, I didn't-" He can't finish a sentence, stumbling over himself. He scrapes at the scales on his face, a nervous habit he's picked up recently that is coming back to bite him.

Martyn grabs his wrists. "Scott. Listen to me." He swallows. Looks up into Martyn's eyes, red, red, red.

"Can you breathe for me?" Scott does his best, but it feels like he's just run a race. That's hyperventilating, he remembers distantly. Eventually, his heart slows to a more normal pace, and he can hear Martyn more clearly through the ringing in his ears.

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. Everything's fine, see?" Martyn's humming, Scott realizes. It's soothing, as it always is.

"I'm sorry," he manages, because he has to say it. He has to, even if Martyn decides to leave. He has to know.

"I know, anemone. It's okay. We're okay."

"How is this okay?" Scott cries. He backs away. His hands are shaking. "I just- I just threatened you, Martyn. I can't-"

"Scott." He stops, stares at the blond man. He doesn't look angry. Scott doesn't understand.

"I forgive you," Martyn continues, softly. "Like you forgave me when I killed you-"

"I asked you to!"

"-and I know," he continues determinedly, "I know. You're scared. I'm sorry. For not telling you where I was going." Scott shakes his head. No. Martyn shouldn't be apologizing. This is Scott's fault. He takes a step closer.

"I- don't..." His voice fails. He stands there, mute.

Martyn approaches, carefully, as if not to startle him. He cradles Scott's face in his hands, gently forcing him to look into his eyes.

"I don't think you would ever hurt me," he says simply. Like he hasn't sent the world tumbling down around Scott's shoulders. Like he's not a damn fool.

"You're an idiot." Scott's crying again. He buries his head in Martyn's shoulder, and the other man pulls him closer. "Why are you so sappy? We're supposed to be fighting!"

Martyn chuckles. "Guess I didn't get the memo."

They stand there in silence for a moment. Scott thinks, vaguely, that he should pick up his sword, put it away. He doesn't want to move.

Finally, he lifts his head to look Martyn in the eyes again. He raises an eyebrow. Scott has to tell him. He has to get it all out, before he gives up or chickens out.

"I don't want to miss you before we die." Scott takes a deep breath. "I don't want- I don't want to waste the time we have left." The time I have left. He doesn't intend to let Martyn die first. At any cost.

"Never." Martyn promises immediately. It sounds like a vow in his mouth. Til death do us part.

"I love you," Scott says. There's no sense of immediate regret (which is good, at least he means it), but he still can't stop shaking. He leans farther into Martyn, who's still with shock.

Finally, he laughs, a strained, incredulous thing. "You really do pick the worst times to say things."

"Say it back," Scott mumbles. Martyn relaxes into him, hands curling into his shirt.

"I love you too, Scott."

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Could you maybe do a rowan x reader request where maybe he has an asthma attack during class and the reader offers to take him to the infirmary, and they get to talking while there and they realize that they like each other? no worries if not, Ty! <3

You have no idea how much I enjoed writing this. Rowan is such a sweetheart and I love him. Thank you for the request anon and I hope you like it<3

A trip to the infirmary

pairing: Rowan Laslow x gn!reader

synopsis: You volunteer to take Rowan to the infirmary after he has an asthma attack and the two of you get to talk a bit.

warnings: none I think (?)

word count: 0.9k

“And that´s how…”, you are barely paying attention to what the teacher is saying. 

Too busy looking at the boy sitting at the table to your left. The way he looked so pretty when concentrating on what was happening on the front of the classroom. The way he wore his uniform and hair so neatly, his glasses the only thing getting out of place every once in a while, by slipping down his nose only to be pushed back up again. You had never talked to him outside of class assignments, but he was just really nice to look at. Directing your gaze to the front of the room before you get caught your attention gets called back in an instant, as you hear heavy coughs and wheezing on your left side. It takes a while for Rowan to find his inhaler, but even after using it numerous times, he´s still coughing rigorously. 

“Could someone accompany Mr. Laslow to the infirmary, please? “, your teacher asks. 

There are a few students mumbling to the person sitting next to them. Giggling can be heard all throughout the classroom, but no one raises a hand. You didn’t know Rowan well, but you knew about how he was treated by the greater part of Nevermores student body. It took a very severe case of wilful ignorance not to see it or hear the rumours that were spread. And you also knew there was nothing funny about an asthma attack. 

“I will do it.“, you say already standing up. 

There’s more giggling and whispers.   

“Are you okay to walk? “, you ask him quietly as he stand on slightly shaky legs. He only nods as an answer, but you keep an arm close to him just in case.

It takes a while to get to the infirmary, due to the location of the room you were taught in, which makes you all the more glad to see the nurse tending to Rowan as his condition improves gradually. 

“You can go back to class if you want, you know? I´ll… I´ll be fine.”, he is the first to break your silence as he rolled down the sleeve of his shirt. 

“What? Don´t be silly. Of course I´m gonna wait here with you.”, the smile that grazes your lips is shy but for some reason it warms his heart a little. “I´m actually kinda glad for every second I don´t have to spend with our… lovely classmates.” 

“Yeah? How come?”, he raises and eyebrow. 

“You know, just something about being an outcast among outcasts. They don´t really like me. A requited sentiment to be fair, but yeah...”, the moment your smile turns bitter for a second he relaxes a bit. “Are you really okay? That looked like a pretty bad attack…” 

“Yeah, I´m alright. They used to be a lot worse actually, so…”, he let the sentence trail off. 

You seemed so genuine in your worry. Before he could give it another thought or either of you get the chance to say anything to keep the conversation going though one of the nurses walks back in to kick you out. You quickly stand up to put your jacket on, but it is too fast to grab and so instead the clothe falls to the ground. Cursing under your breath, you bend down to pick it up, but freeze halfway through coming back up. Rowan had followed you suit and bent down to pick the blazer up as well, which left you to look into his deep brown eyes.

It was as if he had put you under a spell, standing there for what could have been hours as well as seconds. The only thing that ultimately kicked the two you out of the stupor, the voice of the caregiver trying to shoo you out once more. One quick glance tells you it is time for lunch anyway. 

“Hey, you wanna grab something to eat?”, you ask in hopes to be able to spend some more time with him. 

“Uh… sure.” 

Together you find your favorite corner in the library, giving you the perfect place to talk, hidden away from the other students. It takes a while for him to relax into the conversation entirely, which who are you to hold that against him, but by the time lunch break nears its end he had even cracked a couple of jokes. Finding yourself unable to stop smiling as you talk about literally anything that comes to mind. You didn´t understand why people picked on him so much before today already, but now you understood it even less. Rowan, aside from being very pretty, was kind, genuinely interesting, smart and it was so easy to get lost in his sweet chocolate-colored eyes.

It feels too soon, when you have to go back to separate classes.  

“I really enjoyed spending this break with you, Rowan.”, you say as you stand on top of the stairs. 

The silence settling between the two of you, the nervousness in the pit of your stomach, the last traces of his smile slowly fading at the thought of having to go back out there and the rosy tint coloring his cheeks… You know what you are gonna say next before you can even open your mouth to do so. 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

He looks at you long and carefully before he gives you an answer. Under his gaze your nervousness turns to slight nausea to bubbling excitement when he finally speaks the words you hoped to hear. 

“I´d actually really like that.”

[waterless-witch]

Of Knights and Demons

Chapter 7

TW: Talk of prostitution, dark themes, violence, forced marriage and swearing MINORS DNI OR I WILL BLOCK YOU

This is my first ever fic so please be nice to me, I’ve also got it posted on A03 and Wattpad under the same name in case anybody would like to read it there.

Previous Chapter

Grimmjow's hand on your hip is warm, so much so that you feel the heat through the layers of your dress. His hand moves slowly, trailing along your hip and holding it firmly for a moment before he roughly spins you around to face him. You gasp and look up at him, he presses just a bit closer and you make a flustered squeaky sound and try to keep some sort of distance but there is none, your back hits the door, he’s just inches from your face and he towers over you looking down with an animalistic smirk.

You try to think of something to say, something to smooth this over. He doesn’t seem all that angry, if anything he’s laughing at you. Nothing comes to mind so you opt to just tell him the truth, “I’m leaving.” You tell him with as much confidence as you can muster, which isn’t as much as you’d like and you sound way more unsure than you’d meant to.

Grimmjow laughs, in the most condescending way you’d ever heard. You want to push him away, he’s too close and you’re a nervous wreck, you can’t help but think that maybe you had him pegged wrong. What if he’d just been fucking with you all this time and he was really loyal to Aizen, what if he was still playing that stupid game of cat and mouse and you’d played perfectly into it. He stops laughing and looks down at you, “No you’re not.” He tells you sternly. The smile slips from his face, “You’ll never make it out there princess, especially not in your pretty little dress. Even if you did manage to make it anywhere, someone would pick you up and do far worse than what your husband does to you. Now,” he says with a pause and brings his mouth right next to your ear to whisper, “If you keep your pretty little mouth shut I’ll take you back to your room and we can pretend nothing happened.” You weigh his words for a second but ultimately decide against it.

You shake your head, “No,” you start to tell him and he scoffs and interrupts you as he pulls back to look in your eyes again, he’s getting annoyed with you but you don’t care, you want out and you can’t keep waiting forever.

“How can you be so well read and so fucking stupid?” Grimmjow asks with venom laced thick in his voice, “You think things are bad now? How about when he has to hunt you down a second time, he’ll kill anyone who helped you, think you can deal with that princess?” He sneers at you.

You start to argue back that you don’t want any help but before you can get halfway through the sentence his hard wraps around your throat. He’s not squeezing but there’s enough pressure that you stop talking and look up at him with wide fearful eyes, “You have no idea what’s out there, you know how to hunt? You know how to forage? Do you even know where the hell you’re going? Don’t be stupid, don’t fucking make me drag you back up there.” Your hands come up and you wrap them around his wrist and you wince, he loosened his grip a bit but doesn’t pull his hand away, you have a sudden realization that he’s clearly not trying to hurt you, just intimidate you.

You look at him for a long while, behind all the anger in his eyes there’s worry. Even though he’s being rough and manhandling you he’s still trying to keep you out of trouble, he’d told you once that he wouldn’t hurt you and you believe him still. Even now he wasn’t hurting you, not really, he was trying to scare you sure but he wasn’t trying to hurt you. You swallow before talking, your voice comes out much quicker and weaker sounding than you’d like, “You can’t keep me here forever. You said it yourself, you can’t guard me all the time. If you take me back there will just be another day, I’ll find another chance and if I can’t I’ll throw myself from the roof. I won’t stay here, I won’t be this.” You argue.

His eyes narrow and he opens his mouth to speak but snaps it shut, his head darts to the side and you try to see what he’s looking at but you can’t see anything past him. Everything’s silent behind him for just a moment before you hear it. It’s distant but you hear the light tap of someone’s shoes hitting the stone. The sound slowly draws closer and you start to panic, someone’s going to see the two of you and they’ll report it back to Aizen, your escape will be squashed before you even make it out of the manor, you knew things would be bad if he had to hunt you a second time but what about this, what would he do about you just trying to leave?

The hand that Grimmjow had braced on the door falls and pulls the handle. You’re stumbling backwards out the door before you know what’s happening. Grimmjow wraps his arm around your waist and redirects you. Your back comes in contact with the cold wall outside the door and you make another squeak sound before Grimmjow's hard comes up to cover your mouth, his body is completely pressed to your own and you can’t help the blush that breaks out across your skin, you’re so close and you can’t help but think of all the dreams you’d had about him even though you didn’t want to be thinking like that right now. Your eyes dart up to his face but he’s not looking at you, his head is turned towards the now closed door and he watches and listens for any sign of the person you’d heard. He keeps his eyes on the door but brings his mouth to your ear again. “Not a sound princess.” He hisses in a whisper still keeping his hand over your mouth.

You nod your head as much as his hold on you allows, his eyes dart to you for a second, he takes in your wide eyed stare for a moment before you hear light noises from inside the room making you stiffen in fear of being caught. You can’t tell what they’re doing but the sounds disappear after a few minutes. It takes Grimmjow another few moments of silence before he removes his hand and takes a few steps back. You take in a shaky breath and look at him. He’s watching you, his jaw is locked and he doesn’t say anything. You stare into his eyes as the cold air nips at you.

An idea pops into your head and your head and you're voicing it before you can think twice about it, “Come with me.” You offer without hesitation. His eyebrows shoot so high you think they’d almost fly off his brow. He stares at you for a long time before he clicks his tongue.

“Excuse me?” He asks in disbelief, “You cannot be serious. What makes you think that I’ll-” He starts to say but you cut him off.

“You hate it here too!” You argue a bit too loudly and he hisses at you to be quiet, “Sorry,” you apologize in a whisper, “But I’m not wrong. You don’t want to be here. You hate him, I don’t know how you ended up here but you want out too. You wanted me to kill him, you hate him. Come with me and we can both get away from him.” You try to reason with him.

He chuckles at you, it’s not the same condescending laugh from earlier, it’s more of a disbelieving laugh but it still makes you feel awkward. “Yeah princess?” He asks, letting a small smirk return to his face, “I’m not one of your little knights, what makes you think I’d drag you across a kingdom for nothing in return. You think I work for your husband out of the goodness of my heart? You got a way to pay me if you’re gonna use me as a sell sword?” He asks.

You refuse to back down from him, “I’m sure my father would pay you when-” you start to say but he cuts you off with yet another barking laugh. Your brows furrow at him and you want to call him a number of unkind names but hold your tongue.

His laughter tapers off and he sighs, “You don’t even know where he is,” he starts, “I have an idea where he might be but it’s no guarantee and even then you have no way of getting there. Which just leads you back to the first problem, you have no way of paying me or anyone else.” He says with emphasis. He considers something for a moment before he speaks again, “Well, you do have one way of payment but I highly doubt you’d…” he tries for a moment to find the right word before continuing. “Lower yourself to that level.” His words confuse you and your brows knit together as you think.

He chuckles and takes another step towards you. Grimmjow had always been one to push your boundaries but today he was really pushing, your personal space was nonexistent and you can’t help but be nervous. “We’ve talked about this,” He says and you shake your head, you hadn’t and had no idea what he’s talking about. Grimmjow smirks at you again, predatory and animalistic, you can’t help but think that he looks handsome, it wasn’t the first time you’d thought it but it was definitely the strangest scenario that you’d thought about it in. “Yes we have, I’ve told you what men would do for you if you offered.” Your eyes widen in understanding at what he’s implying. “So unless you’re willing to spread those pretty little legs or fall to your knees and wrap those delicate lips around my cock you need to get back in your room and behave yourself.” You scowl at him, face flushed and he laughs again but doesn’t say anything.

You think about his words for a long while. You’re so flushed and embarrassed that you don’t even feel the cold air against you. If you went back to your room with him Aizen would just force you to do all things Grimmjow had said and more, you don’t necessarily like the idea of what Grimmjow had said but if he was serious you could at least try to argue for more of it to be on your terms. The idea of doing such things with him makes you feel strange, you’re not necessarily scared but you are nervous and worried that he doesn’t actually mean it. Grimmjow makes another step towards you and reaches for you, you take a step of your own to the side dodging him and making him roll his eyes at you. “Come on princess I don’t have all day, let's get you back inside and be done with this shit. Don’t make me hurt you.” He says in irritation. You know he’s bluffing, if he was gonna do it he would have done so already, he had countless opportunities especially now, especially today when his hand had been around your throat and he’d had you pinned to the door.

“No. And you’re not going to hurt me.” You tell him firmly, calling him on his bluff. You’re not going back, at least you think, if you let him do what he wants you actually get somewhere. If the act is the same regardless at least with Grimmjow you’re closer to being away from Aizen and back with your father. “I’ll do whatever it takes but I won’t go back to him again. So either come with me or let me leave to find someone else to help me, like you said all I have to do is offer.” You tell him in a sneer, you’re not serious about making an offer like that to someone else. You know it’s probably not wise to try and prod at him but you can’t stop yourself, he’s been messing with you this whole time why can’t you do the same?

Grimmjow's jaw locks in anger as his eyes flash with a kind of rage you’ve never seen from him and he lets an angry breath out. “You’re not serious,” He says in anger and you start to argue back but he stops you. “You really expect me to believe that you’re going to whore yourself out to me or anyone else?” He takes a step towards you again and you try to side step him again but he catches you easily and forces you back to the wall with his hand around your throat again. You swallow thickly and he continues, “You’re really gonna let me crawl between your legs and fuck you?” He asks as he slots one of his legs between your own, you gasp and the hand around your throat twitches minimally. “You don’t even like when your husband fucks you, what makes you think I’d treat you any kinder? Are you gonna let me fuck you like a whore or will you insist that I treat you like a lady?” He asks, pushing himself closer to you. “You gonna ride my cock whenever I please? Fall to your knees and suck me off whenever I tell you to?” He growls deeply, you’re staring at him with wide eyes, you don’t know what to say to any of what he’s said but his words have you feeling strange. You’re light headed but not from his hold on your throat but instead his words.

Your hands come up to try and pry his hand off your neck and he growls deeply at you before grabbing your hands and pinning them above you, your breath catches as he pulls back a few inches to look at you. His eyes trail over you slowly before rising back up to your face, he shifts his leg between yours causing your core to press against him more firmly. You breathe in a shaky breath and his eyes widen just a tiny bit. You open your mouth to say something and his eyes fall to watch your lips move, stopping you briefly. The wall on your back is ice cold but between his hands on you and his body pressed against your own, you're hot and flushed. “Grimmjow, please let g-” your voice comes out weak and whispered, you’re going to tell him to let you go but never get it out.

Grimmjow's hand tightens around your caught wrists and pushes them back into the wall harder, forcing a pained yelp from you as his nails dig into your skin. His eyes snap up towards your eyes and his grip on both your wrists and your neck loosens. He presses just an inch closer and his eyes fall back to your lips. You’re sure he’s about to kiss you and for some reason it makes your heart skip a beat as you look up at him, you can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not but you don’t think about it long before he starts speaking again. “You gonna cry the whole time or are you going to make pretty little sounds like the last time I heard you?” His voice comes out in a growl.

The leg slotted between your own rises a bit, forcing you to the very tips of your toes and making you gasp and completely go red and look away from his eyes. You’re completely embarrassed, not only by his actions but by his words, he’s just admitted to having heard Aizen have his way with you and while you’d known it was more than likely that he’d heard you didn’t want to think about it. He pressed closer yet again, face just inches from your own, his thumb rose from your neck and pushed your chin up to look at him, “I bet you’d make the prettiest sounds for me princess.” You can feel his words as he whispers them against your lips and you can’t help but feel a twinge of arousal course through you. You’re confused by your own reaction and look at him wide eyed, you don’t know what you want. You can’t tell if you want him to press closer and just kiss you or if you want him to let you go and pull away.

You take a shuddering breath as his words make you shiver a bit, you’d blame it on the cold but you know it’s not true. “Grimmjow…” you try to say his name again in warning but it comes out much more breathy and small than ideal. He’s back to watching you and you wish he’d do anything at this point, move or kiss you or hurt you or something, anything. Hell you’d even take him dragging you back to your room at this point, just anything other than the maddening conflicting feelings he’s dragging out of you.

You try to shift in his hold a bit, only causing your core to press further into him and making you breathe a bit deeper against him. Your legs are straining and your arms are stretched thin, you watch as he looks over your face. Grimmjow sighs in defeat and drops his forehead against your shoulder, making you go ridgid. He's so warm against you but you're still shivering lightly, your heart beats against your chest so hard you’re sure it’s going to rip you apart and you have to focus on your breathing. “Fuck princess…” you can feel your breath against your collarbone and you cut off a choked whine. If he hadn’t had your hands pinned you might have wrapped your arms around him but you can’t and you don’t even know why you felt like you should. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you? I can’t fucking stand you.” You can’t tell if he’s insulting you or not, his words definitely are but the way he speaks them, in a quiet whisper, almost like he doesn’t want you to hear them makes you think otherwise. You don’t know what to say so you opt to say nothing hoping that your silence doesn’t upset him further.

He takes a minute before moving or saying anything. The time feels dreadfully long, you can’t see his face but you can feel every exhale he breathes against you, you’re about to say something to him, your brain is short circuiting and nothing comes to mind. After a minute or two he pulls back completely, he releases your wrists and pulls his body away from yours fully. He runs his fingers through his electric blue hair and paces a few steps in frustration. “You’re serious? About all of it?” He asks sternly. There’s no way you’d be able to answer him so you just nod your head, you’d agree to whatever he wanted if it meant getting back to your father and being away from Aizen. He thinks on it for a long moment, the gears in his head clearly spinning. “I need some assurances from you.” He scowls at you.

A feeling of dread rises in you, he could ask for any manner of things and you really don’t have much to bargain with, besides yourself and you’d already agreed to give him that. You narrowed your eyes a bit at him, “What kind of assurances?” You ask in a weary tone.

Grimmjow shrugs, “I need to know that after I drag you across a kingdom your lord father isn’t going to kill me on sight. I also need to know that I’m not going to be imprisoned or questioned or whatever. Once I take you there I get to leave, I’m not one of your little knights, I’m not sticking around or getting involved in whatever happens after I take you back. Understand?” He asks the question harshly.

His ask isn’t unreasonable, it's a more than fair ask and you nod, “I can try to convince him of-” You start to say before getting cut off.

“No trying, you will convince him. I can guarantee you I can cut through you faster than they can kill me. Got it?” Grimmjow tells you harshly. You agree and reach out to shake his hand in agreement. Instead of shaking your hand he drags you off in the direction of the forest that Renji had tried to take you through. He leads you through the brush and fallen leaves much faster than Renji and it’s a struggle not to fall over your own feet, you nearly trip on a tree root and Grimmjow whirls around to catch you quickly. Your eyes meet his azure eyes as he pulls you back up. He mumbles out an apology before he starts dragging you deeper into the forest, he pulls you much slower this time through, making sure you have time to keep your footing and pace steady.

The two of you keep a steady pace for about ten minutes before he slows to a complete stop and lets your hand slip from his. He turns to face you and starts taking off his jacket. Your skin breaks out in a sweat, you know you agreed to let him have you whenever he wanted but you didn’t expect him to take you here, a few short minutes from the manor and outside in the cold. You look away nervously and breathe a shaky breath in as you hear him stalk closer. He reaches out and grabs your wrist roughly, you flinch not quite knowing what he’s going to do. Out of all the scenarios you mind comes up with, his actions actually shock you, he shoves his jacket into your hand and lets you go. You look up at him in confusion, “Put that on and stay here, got it?” Grimmjow asks in a snarl before moving past you back the way you came.

You turn sharply, “Wait!” You call out and he whirls as he roughly slams his hand back over your mouth. You can’t stop the small gasp or the half step you take backwards at his action. You’re panicked, not wanting to be left alone out here, you wouldn’t stand a chance if someone found you out here right now.

“We’re not that far away don’t fucking yell.” He snarls at you, “You want every guard Aizen’s got out here because they heard you yell?” He asks and you shake your head in denial as much as you can with his hold on your face. “I’m not ditching you or anything, I’ll be right back, if you don’t want to die in the next few days, we’ll need supplies, money and a horse so stay here, put that on it’s cold.” He explains as he removes his hand from your mouth and steps back. Grimmjow waits for you to slip on his jacket before he turns to leave.

Once he's out of sight you rest your back against a nearby tree and let yourself sink to the ground. Now that he’s gone and all the adrenaline has left your body you notice how cold it really is. You pull Grimmjow's jacket tighter around you, you’re thankful that he’d left it but feel a bit bad that he’s out without it. You realize how absurd your plan had actually been, it was much colder now than when you’d tried to escape with Renji. You had no supplies and you would have surely frozen to death if you hadn’t been found. Grimmjow deciding to come with you had definitely saved your life and you’re still more than shocked that he’d actually agreed. While he’d always made lewd comments at you and his looks had been less than innocent, this was a lot to agree to just to sleep with you for the duration of the trip.

One thought led into another and soon you were thinking about your dreams of him. You wondered if when he had you if he’d truly be like that, you thought about the groaned out words and taunts that your mind had conjured up. In your dreams you always seemed to be enjoying yourself much more than you ever did with your husband and you wonder if you actually would with him.

You’re still thinking improper thoughts about him more than an hour later when you hear hoof beats on the ground. You shoot up from your position on the ground as Grimmjow slows the horse to a stop and dismounts. He throws a small burlap bag at you, you catch it and open it. Inside is a black shirt like his own, as well as pants and boots all of which look too big for you. You look back up at him and raise a single eyebrow in question.

“Change clothes. Now.” He demands while crossing his arms, “I can’t take you anywhere dressed like that.” He starts, gesturing towards your dress. “Assuming you're not picked up and sold to a pleasure house, you’d be recognized in an instant. A lot of your high class families have fallen in line out of fear and that last thing you need is for someone to tell him about how they saw you in a pretty little dress in some shit hole.” He explains, his eyes still on you. “Now change.” He growls at you.

You wait for him to turn around to give you privacy or something but he doesn’t. He just watches you lazily. You fluster under his gaze as he clearly intends to watch you strip, “Can you turn around or something?” You ask out embarrassed.

He rolls his eyes at you but does what you ask, “So you’ll offer to let me fuck you however I want but I can’t watch you change clothes? Seems a bit backwards don’t you think?” He asks sarcastically but with no real bite to it.

You wait a second before starting to remove your clothing. You strip off his jacket first, letting it rest gently on the ground followed by your dress before putting on the shirt from inside the bag. It’s big on you and you're sure if someone stood over you they would be able to see your chest down the small v-neck of it. “It would be improper.” You argue back as you pull the matching black pants up your legs and tie them as tight as they’ll go.

Grimmjow huffs a small laugh, “Yeah? And letting a demon fuck you to get what you want isn’t?” You roll your eyes but don’t answer, you slip your feet into the boots and just like you thought they were much too big for you, you tie them tightly hoping that it'll help you not to stumble over them. You pick up his jacket and dust it off from being on the ground.

You’re fully dressed in the clothes that Grimmjow had brought you and while they were much warmer than the deep cut v-neck dress you had been wearing but it’s still cold outside. “I’m finished,” you say timidly, not really knowing what to say. He turns and looks at you and you extend your arm to give him his jacket back, his eyes travel down your form and you're unsure of why, it’s not like he can see much of you in your baggy clothes, especially when compared to the dresses that Aizen had kept you dressed in.

He simply shakes his head at your outstretched arm, “Keep it, you’ll get more use out of it then I will.” He tells you. You thank him kindly and mean it, for so much more than just the jacket itself. You let your eyes fall to the horse behind him, it’s not one of the ones from your stables, they were larger than average with longer hair around their lower legs. This one was simple, just a dark brown body with a black mane and tail, you figured it helped to have a more plain horse than one of the fancier ones from your home. Attached to the saddle where a few small burlap bags as well as a quiver filled with arrows, Grimmjow wears the matching bow slung over his shoulder as well as his signature sword at his hip. “Come on, don’t wanna waste our head start do we?” He sighs out.

While making your way to him you slip the jacket back on, it's warm and comforting in a way that you don’t have the energy to put thought into. Once in front of him he helps you onto the horse before placing himself behind you and taking hold of the reins, trapping you against him in the same way he had the first night you’d meet him. Except this time you’re not afraid of him, you still don’t know what lies ahead of you but you’re certain it's better than what lies behind you.

The two of you set off and you ride for around an hour and a half in silence before you break it, “How long before they come after us?” You ask as you come across the clearing you’d almost made it to. It felt strange to be here, the last time it had taken you all day to make it here. You felt exposed without the coverage of trees, anyone could see you but Grimmjow didn’t seem to be worried about it, perhaps you were just being paranoid.

“Not until tomorrow morning at least.” Grimmjow says but that seems too far away to you, maybe he’s lying to try and calm you down, you can’t tell. He gives a small sigh, clearly able to tell that you’re still upset. “Once Loly realizes you're gone she’ll try to find you herself, she won’t check on you until she has to, to bring you food. She’ll panic and look everywhere she can think of.” He begins to explain and you nod along as you listen. “When she can’t find you she’ll eventually break down and go to Ulquiorra, he’ll take her to Tousen and then they’ll start searching. First around the manor and then they’ll fan out. It’ll be late tonight before anyone realizes how far you’ve actually made it.” He explains firmly.

You’re quiet for a few more minutes just thinking. He was probably right but you were still nervous, one wrong move or misstep and you’d be back where you started. You doubted you’d calm down until you were back with your father. You wondered how Aizen would react to the news, as much as you disliked Loly you did not wish for her to die and hoped that he didn’t kill her for your escape. “And what of Aizen?” You ask quietly.

Behind you, Grimmjow shrugs, “Word will get sent to him tonight, he’ll probably leave immediately to come back and try to find you, his whole plan to take the north hinges on the fact that your father won’t fight him as long as you're in his custody.” None of what he’d said made you feel any better but he continued. “He’ll try to keep the news of your escape on a need to know basis,” he tells you, causing your brow to furrow in confusion.

“Wouldn’t he want as many people out looking as possible?” You ask as you ride back into the tree line, following a dirt path, leaving the clearing behind you.

Grimmjow chuckles a bit, “No he won't. He doesn’t need word to reach your father or anyone else of your escape. Aizens too cocky to believe that you’d make it. He’ll keep the search low for a while before he realizes that he needs to put more of an effort and by that point we should hopefully be far enough ahead for it to not matter.” You nod in agreement but you're still a bit unconvinced. “I swear it princess, I haven’t lied to you have I?” He asks, he’s right, he hasn’t.

If anyone knew what they were talking about in regards to all of this was him. You decide its better to trust him than to drive yourself insane with worry trying to figure out every little possibility of every action and you try your best to let it go.

~~~

The two of you ride the rest of the day in silence, eventually Grimmjow brings the horse to a stop in order to make camp. You try to offer to stay awake for him the same way you did for Renji but he refuses. He tells you that you’ll be coming across a small town at midday and that you’ll get a room at the inn and he’ll sleep there. You swallow thickly but agree. Grimmjow builds a small fire and gives you a strip of dried meat as well as some bread. You thank him and eat in silence, watching the fire crackle and burn.

You wait, a bit on edge but Grimmjow makes no move to sleep with you. You blame it on the cold and know that tomorrow when you make it to the inn he’ll more than likely have you there. The thought makes you nervous but not in the same way that you had been when faced with the same act from Aizen. Perhaps the task was not so daunting because Aizen had already stripped you of your innocence or perhaps because even if it’s for selfish reasons Grimmjow was helping you. You’re still thinking about it when the sunsets and Grimmjow tells you to sleep.

It takes a very long time for you to fall asleep, you’ve never spent a night in the elements like this. To make matters worse every few minutes you could practically feel Grimmjow watching you. It’s cold even with the fire burning and you can’t help but wonder how Grimmjow manages to do this on a regular basis. Though it seemed that you would be finding out. Your mind keeps conjuring all manner of terrifying possibilities making sleep all that much harder to find. It’s hours before your eyes finally drift closed and your breathing evens out enough to let you slip into unconsciousness.

You wake early from Grimmjow shaking you awake. You wake with a fright and he has to grab you firmly to stop you from smashing your head into his own. You look at him wide-eyed, you’re afraid that he’s going to tell you that someone has found you but he doesn’t. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” He starts, the sun has just begun to peak over the horizon and the forest floor was still dark, “We should get moving, keep distance between us and them.” He tells you, you nod and pick yourself up. You dust yourself off and try to smooth down your hair as much as you can without a brush. Your body is sore from sleeping on the hard ground but you don’t comment on it.

Grimmjow again helps you on the horse before taking his seat behind you. Yet again the two of you rode in silence, which is fine with you, it felt as if you’d only been asleep a few short minutes before you’d been woken up. Eventually a small town comes into sight in the distance. “While we are here you need to do exactly as I say and stay close. No wandering away, no talking to anyone you don’t need to, no nonsense. Understand princess?” He rasps against your ear as a man riding in a horse drawn cart rolls past. The man smiles and nods towards the two of you and you do the same, Grimmjow doesn’t move behind you, choosing instead to follow the man with his eyes as he passes.

“I understand.” You respond to him and he nods before straightening out behind you. The town is nothing special; you take note as you ride though it. The roads are wet with mud and you wonder if it ever dried. A few people watched as you rode by but nobody stopped or said anything, you kept your eyes ahead and tried not to look as nervous as you were. Most of the buildings were made from old and cracking stone and a few of the houses even had broken and boarded windows. Few people were out and about, most huddled inside the buildings but you could see a few peeking at you through windows or standing in doorways of public spaces.

Eventually you came to a stop in front of what you assumed was the inn. The building's stone was cracking matching with the rest of the town and the side of the building was adorned with the most rickety looking wooden stairs you’d ever seen leading to multiple sets of doors which you assumed held the rooms. Grimmjow dismounted and tied the horse to the hitching post outside the main set of doors. He offers you a hand and you take it gingerly as you step down into the mud. “Stay close.” He reminds you before leading you inside the building.

The inside looks just as run down as the outside, the floorboards are peeling upwards and the desk is made from rotting and chipping wood. The inside is dimly lit by a few windows and a few candles scattered along the wall. Once Grimmjow pushes the heavy wooden door open you see a woman behind the desk, she’s older, white hair and wrinkled skin, she doesn’t look at Grimmjow at all and instead focuses on you with a puzzled look. The woman doesn’t move from her spot over a book as Grimmjow approaches the desk, you stay a few steps behind him but close enough.

A man of the same age appears from a room behind the desk and smiles brightly towards the two of you. “Lookin’ for a room.” He asks in a kind tone. The woman still stares at you and you can’t help but fidget, your picking at the skin on your hand as all manner of negative thoughts rush through your head. Does she recognize you? Does she know something’s wrong? You can’t help the anxiety that rises in you under her gaze and you wish she’d just look away.

“Why else would we be here?” Grimmjow bites back with an annoyed tone. The man just gives him another bright smile and flips through a handwritten book.

The man reads what’s on the pages before looking at the two of you. “I’ve got a nice room with our most comfortable double bed and-” the man began but Grimmjow cut him off.

“Two beds.” Grimmjow interjects and demands in a harsh tone. The woman looks at him in surprise and you do too. You don’t say anything, he already seems annoyed and you’d like to not make it worse. You’d assumed he’d just get one bed and take you there but you guessed not. You didn’t let yourself believe that he’d leave you alone though, you didn’t want to risk the disappointment, but still it was an interesting turn of events, you’d at least get your own space when he was done with you hopefully.

The man looks between the two of you, “Are you sure? We’re not in the business of judging round here?” The man asks as he cocks his head at you specifically. You highly doubt that. The woman looked like she’d enjoy nothing more than passing judgment and later gossiping with whoever would listen the second your backs were turned.

Grimmjow just scoffs and slams a few to many coins on the counter, the man's eyes widen a small bit at the overpayment and his eyes dart to Grimmjow, “Two beds and no more fucking small talk.” He growls out, anger clear in his voice.

The man simply nods and retrieves a small brass key, “Second floor, third door.” Grimmjow swipes the key quickly and turns on his heel, he storms past you and catches your wrist, dragging you along behind him. You let out a small squeak sound at the treatment but Grimmjow pays you no mind and just keeps dragging you on. He leads you back outside and you stumble a bit on the rickety stairs. He lets your wrist fall from his grip as he unlocks the door and holds it open gesturing for you to enter. You walk through the door and look around the small room.

Like the lower floor the wood on the floor is peeling upwards and cracked at strange angles. There is a small bed on either side of the room, pressed against the wall with plain white sheets and a small blanket on each. There’s a window evenly between each bed and underneath is a small tattered chest meant to hold personal belongings. Above each bed is a small shelf, each shelf holds a candle and a few books that look like they haven’t been touched in years. Opposite of the beds there’s a small door leading into a tiny bathroom which surprises you.

Grimmjow slams the door behind the two of you and throws the few bags you have on the furthest bed. He’s clearly angry and you’re not fully sure why, yeah the couple downstairs had been annoying but you didn’t think it was that bad. “I’m going out to get some stuff,” He starts and you look to him, “I’ll lock the door behind me, don’t let anyone in and stay the fuck away from the window, got it?” He growls out and you nod. You thought he wanted to sleep but you don’t voice your concern, not wanting to anger him further or turn his anger toward you.

Left alone again you’re unsure of what to do with yourself, you look around the room and decide to look at the books on the shelf. You pick up a fiction novel about a pirate and dust it off before curling up with your back to the wall on the bed that Grimmjow hadn’t claimed. You don’t get much reading done, in fact you don’t make it off the first page. Your mind is too occupied thinking about everything that could go wrong.

What if Grimmjow had been wrong? What if you didn’t have the time he thought you did? Perhaps Aizen would find you and kill you just to be done with the trouble, he could always claim that he’d brought you back and that you were staying in your room again. What if someone else killed you, or if someone recognized you and turned you in? What if the woman downstairs already had? What if you both were wrong about your father’s whereabouts? What if when you got to the northern mountains there’s nothing there? What if Aizen sends men out to kill your father and everybody else on the mountain? What if Nnoitra found you and Grimmjow wasn’t around? A thousand thoughts rush through your head and its work to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

You can’t stop yourself from overthinking. You pull your knees up to your chest and try to breathe and stop your own thoughts but you can't. Your mind just spins on and on, endlessly tormenting you and making you suffer. An unknown amount of time passes before Grimmjow returns, you're still in the same position but you lift your head as you hear the door unlock and open.

Grimmjow’s blue eyes fall to you immediately, “What happened? Are you alright?” He asks instantly, eyes darting around the room, you’re unsure what he’s looking for but his eyes fall back to yours as he waits for an answer.

“I’m alright, nothing happened.” You tell him, nothing technically had happened to you, you were just freaking yourself over nothing. Grimmjow's eyes narrow at you, for some reason his hair looks more wild than normal. In fact a lot of him looks more wild than normal, his clothes are wrinkled and as you look him over you see a swipe of blood on his wrist. Your eyes widen at the sight, “What happened?” You ask, letting your legs fall back to the bed and moving closer, you stop yourself before getting too close, figuring he wouldn’t want you to actually touch him.

His brows knit in confusion and his eyes fall to where you’re looking, he moves his wrist to look at it better and laughs a bit, “Not my blood, don’t worry about it princess.” He says as he walks further into the room.

“If it’s not yours then who’s blood is it?” You ask in a wary tone, he seemed in a bit of a better mood but if he had to go out and kill to achieve it you didn’t want that and didn’t know how safe you felt with him if that were the case.

He steps into the small bathroom to grab a rag and quickly wipes the blood from his arm, “You really want the answer to that?” Grimmjow asks in an amused tone, his eyes fall to you again as he sits on the mattress across from yours. You nod your head slowly, you don’t know that you necessarily want the answer but you need it. He smirks at you which doesn’t help the uneasy feeling that’s begun to rise in you, “Well princess, you’ve been a panicked little mess so I went out and made sure no one was following us.” He says casually.

You nod in understanding, the blood on his arm clearly indicated that he’d found someone and you can’t help but wonder how many people were out looking for you. “How many did you find?” You ask, trying to calm your nerves and failing as per usual.

“Just two, they’d almost made it to the clearing.” he begins, as he makes his way back into the room. “It’ll take them a few days to figure out they're gone, so can you calm down now?” He says before throwing himself on the mattress. You wonder if he’s done this to make you feel better or because he likes to fight, perhaps it's both but you're unsure. He looks to you and waits for you to say something, you don’t know what to say, while you do feel a bit better that no one who was looking for you was close by it still seemed like an unnecessary burden for him to take on.

“Why go through the trouble?” You ask, you realize that you might sound unappreciative but you don’t really care all that much. You can’t help but notice his attitude change either, this is the longest he’s gone without making some kind of lewd comment or trying to get a rise out of you, it was odd, especially considering he technically now had the right to do such things. You’d given him full permission and he’d stayed tame which made you feel strange. “I thought you’d only agreed because of…” You stumble for the right words for a second, “Because of the offer I made you. Why go through the trouble of any of this if not for that? Especially if you’re going to go out of your way for me? I don’t understand.” You tell him a bit shyly, not really looking at him.

Grimmjow stares at you for a minute before answering, in fact he doesn’t say anything until your eyes flick back to his own. He sighs deeply before flipping onto his side and holding his head up with his hand, “Do you want me to fuck you princess?” He asks bluntly.

Your entire body flushes and you gape at him for a second before you try to answer. His body language screams casual and collected but his eyes look completely different, almost predatory. “N-no!” You stutter out with embarrassment at his improper question.

With a shrug Grimmjow flops back to his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Well, there you go. Now drop it.” He bites out, he’s irritated but not near the amount he normally is. He still hasn’t answered your question which is annoying. With a sigh you pick the novel back up and decide to try to read again figuring he’s going to finally sleep for a bit.

Everything’s silent for a few minutes, you don’t get much reading done but you still manage more than your previous attempts. You wonder if your whole trip will continue in this manner, if he’ll stay irritated and angry the whole time, if he’ll keep you at arm’s length. After a while you hear Grimmjow shift and in your peripheral vision you can see that he’s looking at you for a second before again looking back to the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, “You remind me of my mother and sister.” He confesses in a calm and almost gentle voice. Your eyes widen and shot to him at the confession but he’s not looking at you.

[rhodesrider]

I’m Right Here…

Rhea Ripley x little!black fem reader

SFW 18+, Panic Attacks, Fluff, Affirmation names, Praise, Reassurance, little space, hyperventilation, Acrophobia -Fear of Heights-

Word Count: ngl Long asf.

You have been Rhea’s Gal for a while. Probably for 2 years. Rhea paid attention to every detail. Every fear you have and if she can, helps you live through them. Your social anxiety was getting healed slowly to where you don’t need your emergency headphones so you can just escape. Your public fear of dressing rooms where you get terrified when something wouldn’t fit or something is too big, rhea would be there to assure you that she’s not going anywhere. But there’s one fear you would never think you had to face would come to the front door.

Heights.

Rhea bit her lip nervous as she was on the phone with the other Dominants making preparations for a ‘fun’ day out, indoor rock climbing. She glanced at her little watching her favorite show and was worried. She didn’t wanna make this a surprise because this is something that might end bad. Damian and Finn were coming with their subs as well. Dominik couldn’t make it because of training. Rhea read the group chat still thinking about it.

Demigod: Guys I’m not sure about this. Y/N is terrified of heights…

ThePriest: but we already reserved the space and we did say the little ones needed to be out more besides sitting on their phones and watching tv all the time..

DemonBalar: Yea, they just need a bit of a experience. I feel like they would like a change in something

Rhea groaned a bit and went upstairs to the master bedroom, halfway there she heard a voice calling her. “Mama? Where you going?” Y/N asked holding her plushie pouting, she was previously waiting for her to come back and watch tv. “Hold on baby mamas’ gotta handle something with ya uncles.” Y/N nodded and turned back to the tv smiling at the screen. Y/N was mentally 8 when she crossed with her little space. Of course this was a coping mechanism and nothing sexual and Rhea loved taking care of her. Damian’s and Finn’s littles were 10-12. So this will be a bit of a challenge for Y/N. Even if she tried not to slip into her space, she could still get a panic attack. It would hurt Rhea. She called the group and sat on the bed.

The guys answered, one cooking and the other was reading to their little. “Oh yours slipped too?” She asked Damian as he nodded, his little getting in the camera. “Hi auntie!” Rhea smiled waving back. “You being a little goblin huh?” The little girl hid in Damian giggling. “She’s getting ready for bed so she can have a fun day tomorrow. Right cutie?” The little nodded pouting some getting under the covers. “Mine is gonna eat first since she didn’t eat anything all day.” Finn scaled his little as they sat at the table writing sentences angry at their punishment. “She’s still going don’t worry.” He smiled. Damien, a sweet soft cg to his hyper little that’s a bit much sometimes, but surprisingly he handles it very well. Finn and Rhea are strict caregivers but Rhea has a very shy little, Finn is the one with the Brat.

“Mama!!” Rhea looked up seeing a pouting Y/N and sighed giggling. “Mamas talking sweetie.” Y/N came in the room anyway and got under rhea laying on her. She just smiled, that’s all she could do. “You ready for tomorrow’s adventure babygirl?” Y/N nodded looking up at rhea, receiving a kiss on the forehead. Worry soon was shown on Rhea’s face, Finn cleared his throat. “Rhea you have nothing to worry about ok?” He reassured. Rhea always thought she was gonna screw up on this mommy caregiver ideal but her family assured that she’s doing a wonderful job. She told them goodnight and she went ahead to tuck in Y/N putting her hair in a bun so it doesn’t hurt. She had fresh braids in her head and her scalp was still healing. “Ok munchkin, what color?” She waved the bonnets in her babies face and she quickly grabbed the pretty pink one. “Hey hey no snatching meanie..” Rhea put on a sad face play crying and Y/N quickly said sorry. “I’m ok baby. Mama knows your sorry.” She giggled and kissed her face all over laying her down. “Lemme finish up downstairs and I’ll join you.” Rhea turned on the Tv to SpongeBob and went back down to clean up.

The Next Morning

The cars parked and the girls got out to hug each other and show the bags that they brought along. Y/N was the last one out the car and waved at the other littles. But soon all of that changed due to Finns’ Brat. “Omg! Daddy we’re going climbing!” She giggled excited. Y/N looked up seeing the Rock Climbing Place and her heart sunk. “Demi?” Y/N barley saids her name unless it’s bad. Rhea was afraid of this. She sighed and got to her side. “Baby please? It’s gonna be fun, I promice-“ “No.” Y/N face was still and fear in her eyes. Rhea sighed nodding. “We can go home if you want-“ “Are you serious? You gonna leave over some rocks?” Finns’ Brat smirked and Y/N whipped her look at them. Brats messing with the goodie two shoes are a must. Her evil grin made it worst, Y/N felt embarrassed. Her face hot as Damians’ little giggled. “Both of you enough.” Finn spoke and they were quiet. “No. It’s ok.” Rhea looked at Y/N who sighed out. “It’s gonna be fun.” Y/N smiled up at rhea.

They walked in and Finn went to the Registration Counter. They gave out bands and the gear, boots and gloves. Y/N looked around putting on the gear slow, trying to avoid looking up and the very high wall. Finns’ Brat walked by smirking at her with her gear on and headed in with her CG. “ Baby.” Y/N looked at Rhea quickly, she sighed going to her. “I can handle it.” Y/N stated, Rhea nodded kissing her and helping her with the rest of her gear. Y/N peeked passed the rope and saw that Finn and his brat were half way up the climb, she was showing off some and he praised her. Y/N wants that, she wants Rhea to be proud that she can conquer her fears by her self. “Mama I can do it.” Rhea looked up at her smiling and nodded kissing her cheek. “You want me to climb with you?” She asked as she hooked y/n in and made sure she was strapped. Y/n didn’t hear her and started to climb, rhea blinked and got one of the assistants to make sure she was strapped well. Y/N kept going using her upper body strength, hearing a faded slow down from Rhea. But she wanted to show her she can do it, she can do this stupid climb, she passed Damian and he decided to stay close just in case.

She didn’t dare see how much she’s gone up. “Well well look at you.” But she had to be near Finn’s brat. She peaked seeing her above and smirking. “You might not wanna look down.” And continued climbing. Y/N started to shake looking up, the ceiling looked close. She didn’t know she froze, keeping her eyes closed. “Oh no…” Damian noticed and whistled to Finn, Rhea looked and started to climb. “Fuck..” she mumbled. Y/N still frozen, she didn’t even think of waiting for Rhea. “Mama…” she whimpered. Finn’s brat made it to the top proud of herself and waited for Finn. She looked down a bit and frowned seeing her CG climb down some to get to Y/N.

“Hey Munchkin.” Y/N looked to the left tears falling seeing Finn. “No I can do it just ignore me!” She insisted and looked away. “Hey hey I know. But your scared honey. And mamas’ worried about you.” Y/N was trying hard not to slip. “You want me to wait here with you?” Finn asked. Damian and his little starting coming. “Baby girl go beat daddy to the top.” His little nodded and continued having fun climbing up. “Hey hey what’s wrong honey pie?” Y/N just shut her eyes again embarrassed. “Guys please…” Finn and Damian saw Rhea coming. “She’s coming honey don’t worry. She can help you-“ “NO.” Y/N yelled and started to cry soon feeling short of breath. “Hey calm down munchkin. I know your scared-“ “Mama help me..” Y/N started to sob and Damien moved over so Rhea could get to her. “Baby, baby your ok. Look it’s me.” Y/N peeked and started to sob more. “Hey hey honey it’s ok. I’m right here. I didn’t want you to get ahead. I wanted you near me the whole time.” “Mama I wanted to s-show you I could do it…” Y/N trying to keep herself together. “I saw, and I’m so proud of you. And that why I’m here. Your such a big girl. But this is a bit dangerous and mama needs you around her doing this.” Y/N sniffles nodding listening and rubbing her eyes on her sleeves. “Mama would have been so hurt, what if something happened?” Y/N felt bad, she was just tired of being scared all the time. Y/N soon made a mistake and looked down. She screamed to the top of her lungs starting to cry again and hold on to the rocks closing her eyes. Finn and Rhea were trying to calm her down, the littles that were already down the wall laughed a bit. Little did they know Damien took note of that, whispering in their ears about their behavior and assured them they were not getting any treats when they finished here. They tried to argue but no use.

Rhea got Y/N down finally. She hid in her chest crying. “It’s ok baby I’m not going anywhere.” Y/N sniffles and wrapped her legs around her waist. “Damn death cling.” Rhea laughed and rubbed her back. “Princess I’m so sorry.” Rhea sighed mad at herself, holding you on the ground. “I’m so proud of you. I understand if you wanna wait to conquer this scary stuff.” Rhea smiled and kissed her forehead. Y/N looked up at her and returned the kiss. “Thank you for saving me.” Rhea’s heart warmed. “I have to save my princess. What kind of knight would I be?” Y/N was soon being tickled, she squealed and cried out trying to fight back laughing hard. Y/N soon saw the girls walking up wiping tears, both Finn and Damian got in their asses. “We are sorry Y/N.” They said in unison upset. “And?” Finn said in a stern voice making his brat jump some. “You can pick the ice cream place…” They mumbled. “Good start girls.” Rhea said as Finn sighed. Y/N giggled accepting the apology.

As they returned the gear and walked out, Y/N tapped on Rhea’s waist. “Mama…can we try again one day?” Rhea’s eyes brightened and nodded . “Yes we can baby girl.”

[svfttachi]

can i get a genma x f reader where genma loves reader but reader doesn’t think she’s gemma’s type at all since he pulls a lot of females who are just different from reader (ex: body, height, style, etc) but he wants to make it clear to her that he loves her for herself and wants to be with reader 👉🏽👈🏽

we need more of genma plz😩

TYPE: Fem!reader, Fluff

WARNING(S): Insecurity Talk

WC: 1071

NOTES: This was a good idea and very easy to accomplish, but I hope everybody reading this understands that nothing anybody says to you should bring you down. We are all pretty and beautiful in our own ways, and nobody should be able to let you forget that. With that in mind, hope you enjoy reading this!

INSECURITIES occur in every shape, way, and form in almost everybody walking on the planet. Relationships are one of the ways that insecurities come up and prevail the most. At least, that was the case for you. It has been a year since the night that Shiranui Genma confessed to you with a bouquet of flowers, a candlelit picnic, and a shiny night sky. That night was the most romantic night you have ever experienced, but it also began the string of hatred that has followed behind you ever since.

Day by day, just walking in the village was enough to trigger your emotions because of the looks you get. Women younger and older than you judged you for being with the one and only Shiranui Genma, who was notorious for going out with half of the village’s population. When it comes to looks, he takes the gold star, and when it comes to romantic gestures, he takes the whole cake. You, on the other hand, did not feel like you could step up to the level of every girl he has ever gone out with, especially since people continued to look at you differently.

Frankly, you wondered what kept you in the spotlight in Genma’s eyes. When you were walking in the village gaining those staring eyes, you couldn’t understand what exactly Genma saw in you. You were just an average girl in your own eyes, and to some of those other girls, you were a little less.

“Hey, hon, are you ready for—”

Currently, you are sitting in front of the big floor mirror in your shared bedroom, staring at your reflection. As you prodded at your lips, eyes, nose, and cheeks, you were completely oblivious to the gentle and calming tone of Genma’s voice entering the room and cutting himself off halfway through his sentence. He stood at the door frame, watching as you viewed yourself in the mirror. “Y/N?” Genma called out to you, knocking lightly on the wall.

You snapped out of the craze you were in and turned your torso to look at the source of the knocking. His hazel eyes bore into your own E/C orbs, and it was clear that he knew something was wrong. “Is… there a reason why you’re sitting on the cold, hardwood floor, staring at the mirror?” Genma questioned with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Um… I—I was making sure there was no lint in my hair,” you muttered, immediately getting off of the floor, “It must have blown right off by the fan.”

A nervous giggle escaped your mouth as you began to avoid eyeing Genma. The highly experienced jonin wasn’t pleased with the answer you gave him, so he walked up to you. The toothpick stuck in between his lips shot out of his mouth and directly into the trashcan next to the mirror. You were caught off guard by the sudden action, but the hands that pressed onto your shoulders were enough to bring your focus back on Genma. Now, the eye contact was inevitable, and you can clearly see the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Y/N, you can tell me anything, you know?” Genma whispered quietly, waiting for a response from you.

No verbal or physical response was given to the man, yet there was a small signal that showed you were suffering on the inside. A tear escaped from the corner of your eye and began to roll down the side of your nose. It wasn’t long before you were comfortably in the strong arms of Genma with a hand placed on the back of your head. You brought your own arms up to wrap around his torso as the tears began to fall faster thanks to gravity.

“Why do you like me so much, Gen?” you asked, words somewhat muffled against the soft material of his t-shirt. Genma furrowed his brows at your peculiar question and started to pull away so he could get a good look at your face. He could see the seriousness displayed on your face, but he didn’t know why you would ask such a question. “What do you mean, Y/N? Are people looking at you weirdly in the village again? If so, I’m going to have a word with anyone who looks at you differently than I do,” Genma spoke with tenderness in his tone.

“It’s gotten worse, Gen… sometimes I would just be getting the groceries, and someone would whisper about you and why you chose me out of all the pretty girls around here. And I keep thinking that it has to be my physical appearance that sets me away from everyone else in the village… and it hurts to look at myself in the mirror looking for the reason behind the gossip,” you said, mumbling some of your words through your sad tone.

Genma sighed and brought the hem of his shirt up to rub away the tears still protruding from your face, taking in the appearance of your red eyes. He was aware of the talks that go around, especially when he walks around the village as well. It always centered around Genma’s type and who he finds attractive, and everytime he overheard someone talking about it, he could only wish to talk some sense into those people either physically or verbally. But your face comes into his mind whenever he does hear these people talking about his relationship with you, and it would be enough for him to calm down. He just didn’t think it would get to you this badly, and it never has been this bad for you.

“Y/N, you’re the only girl I would ever want to be with. You’re the prettiest, beautiful, and sparkling ray of sunshine that has ever made its way in my path, and I am so grateful that we went official one year ago. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t get to wake up next to you every morning or eat lunch and dinner together everyday. Honestly… I’d probably go insane because there is this amazing girl that I could never imagine with anyone but me. And anyone who has anything to say about that can come say it to my face directly,” Genma said, beginning to caress your cheeks, “I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you, too.”

[nirikeehan]

beep boop happy friday might i ask for some thalia/cullen and “Where do you think you’re going?” from the smutty/intimate sentence starters? :3c

HI JAY HAPPY FRIDAY. Okay so. This is not exactly smutty but you know, there's definitely, uh, tension. 👀

A direct continuation of this, because apparently I can't get enough of Temperance and Templars au tonight.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 718

---

“Where do you think you’re going?” Cullen demanded. 

Lady Thalia halted as she was about to hoist herself over the fence and into a neighboring field. She stared at him, eyes widening. In fear, he thought, until she tilted her head and said, “What happened to your face?”

“Never mind that.” He had been searching for her beyond the Trevelyan’s property line for the better part of the afternoon. The golden light from the sinking sun cast a dreamy quality on the surrounding land: glades of overgrown trees, meadows dotted with wildflowers, ponds and streams that stretched away from the cliffside manor. Cullen had been unable to enjoy the splendor. Since fleeing the Trevelyan estate, his thoughts had been swirling, escalating into a frenzy that threatened to ignite at the sight of her. “You need to get back here right now.” 

“Why?” Thalia asked sullenly.

Cullen leaned against the trunk of a gnarled oak. Ever since his encounter with Laela, he felt shaky and on high alert, even though there was no conceivable danger. His patience hung by a thread. “You’ve forgotten, then, that your father said I was not to let you out of my sight?”

“Well, now I’m in your sight.” Thalia straightened, smoothing her skirts. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal? Lady Thalia, have you any idea what I’ve gone through to find you?” Of course not, Cullen thought, seething. These nobles think of nothing but themselves. What’s the point in trying to reason with them? 

Thalia shrugged, only confirming his suspicion. Worse, she seemed to think baiting him was some sort of game. He waited as she eyed him with darting, shrewd glances. He imagined she was weighing her options, wondering how far she might be able to push. 

Just like her sister. 

“Don’t run,” Cullen warned. 

“Why not?” A smirk curled Thalia’s lips. “Are you afraid you wouldn’t be able to catch me?” 

In his current state, probably not. His swollen lip pulsed with pain, and despite the nervous energy that had fueled him, he felt deeply fatigued beneath it all. Using the Voice on Lady Laela had drained him, as had the accompanying guilt. The last thing he wanted to contend with right now was a rambunctious mage hoping for a round of hide and seek. 

Before he could articulate any of this, Thalia sprung into action. She was a quick, spritely girl, and despite her tight bodice and long skirts, she scrambled up the wooden fence with ease. 

Cullen clung to the tree trunk and summoned the Voice. “Stop.” 

Despite the open field, the distorted tone echoed around them. Halfway over the fence, Thalia jerked to a standstill. She stayed suspended in midair, her muscles trembling as she fought the command’s grip. 

Cullen felt nauseous, watching her hang there like a marionette. He broke into a sweat, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “Turn around and come to me.” 

Slowly, Thalia climbed down the way she had gone up. She jumped into the tall grass, and ambled toward him in short, halting steps. Cullen watched her stumble, the fear bright in her eyes. He knew he ought to feel triumphant, but the closer she came, the harder it became to breathe.

“Release me, you knave,” Thalia hissed. 

She had stronger mental fortitude than Laela, who had been befuddled by the experience, he noted  — but then, mages had the capacity for such things. 

“I grow tired of being defied, Lady Thalia,” Cullen said softly. “You may choose to disrespect me, but you will obey, one way or another.” 

He could no longer sustain the command. He relieved his mental hold on her, and Thalia dropped to all fours at his feet. Cullen felt the psychic chains rebounding after being pulled taut, and his knees buckled without warning. He sat down hard in the earth beside her, fighting a wave of dizziness. 

“Well, I hope you’re happy, Ser Cullen,” Thalia snapped as she tried to catch her breath. “Of all the things you could do, this has to be the most— Ser Cullen?” 

She looked at him with a furrowed brow, but her face was going blurry. Cullen gasped for air and reached for the tree trunk to steady him, but he was already falling too far — too fast — into all-encompassing darkness. 

[serenailith]

yesterday’s gone (we’ll make it through)—xvi

on ao3 here

previous |next

“We need to talk.”

Dream stares at Hob with the fork between his lips. Hob stifles a smile at the sight—hair sticking up in all directions, bleary eyes though he’s been awake for nearly an hour now, and now pouty lips wrapped around the utensil. That last one sends a small shiver down Hob’s spine. He shakes it off and raises a brow as Dream removes the fork and slowly chews his bite of pancake.

Time to atone for your sins, Gadling. You’re good at this.

“I. . . I made a mistake, summoning Death. Especially since I never told you I was doing it or that I had done it.” Hob sighs and runs a finger along the rim of his mug. The tea has long since cooled, but he takes a sip anyway. “I wanted to help.”

Dream exhales slowly and sets his fork on the table. “I know.”

“I had to do something. Or, well, I felt I did. Because I care about you, and this? You being cut off from your realm? It isn’t feasible in the long term. There has to be catastrophic damage done the longer you’re away.”

Dream’s lashes flutter against his cheekbones, and when he looks at Hob again, his eyes are a watery grey, rimmed in red. “I am aware of this. I do not need reminded.”

“So. . .” Hob steels himself for the fallout of his next question: “Will you please consider asking your sister for help?”

Dream doesn’t answer. Hob sighs, slumping in his chair. The lack of response is better than the alternative, he supposes, but he’d really like to get through one conversation with his Friend where they both participate. Unfortunately, that wish doesn’t seem to be coming true today.

He isn’t sure why he’d ever be surprised by that.

He’s just grateful that Dream hasn’t stormed away again.

Over the next few hours, Hob catches himself watching Dream more closely than he has in weeks. The man does little more than read and drink tea that he’s learnt how to make properly, while Hob readies himself for his sole class of the day. It’s quiet in the flat, peaceful, but he wants to shatter it with questions. With demands that Dream acquiesce and talk to Death. With declarations of love and ‘doing this for your own good’.

So into his thoughts is Hob that he doesn’t realise he’s done it until he’s already halfway to work. His hand still tickles from running through dark silken hair; he can still feel the softness of warm skin under his lips. Over the scents of the city, he can smell the earthiness of his body wash—the same wash he used on Dream last night.

Oh, God above, he’s just kissed his Friend. Sure, it was only on the forehead, but still! Blokes don’t kiss their friends, even if there’s love involved.

Hob lets his head fall back against the seat and squeezes his eyes closed. Dream hadn’t said a word when Hob was walking out the door, but that doesn’t mean he will still be at the flat when Hob comes home. Accusations of loneliness, going behind his back and summoning Death, and now mindlessly kissing his forehead. . . Hob really has a skill at putting his foot in it.

He ends the lecture thirty minutes early. By then, it’s become painfully obvious that the last thing Hob cares about is the class. He’s stuttered over his words, started and stopped and restarted sentences dozens of times. He has even lost the focus of his thoughts too many times to count. His assistant tries helping, but there’s only so much Dot can do.

So he lets them go early and waits until everyone has filed out before gathering up his bag. No one stops him as he hurries across the campus, and he’s thankful for that. A heavy tightness settles in behind his breastbone. His feet feel heavy, plodding along the concrete. His fingers, his hands, tingle where he’s got them clenched into fists.

Hob forces himself to slow down, to take a deep breath, and relax. If Dream isn’t in the flat when Hob gets there, then, well, there’s really nothing Hob can do about it, is there? He doesn’t even know where Dream disappeared to while he was gone. Searching for him had done Hob no good.

But damn it, Hob wants Dream to be curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book, while the stereo plays something soft. He wants to walk through the door and see that small smile that he’s unknowingly loved since he first saw it. He wants to fall asleep with Dream in his arms as he has been, as he’s grown accustomed to.

Hob thinks he really should have realised it was more than mere friendship long before now.

Dream isn’t in the living room. The blanket is folded neatly, placed over the back of the couch, and all the books are on the shelves instead of being strewn about. The flat is quiet. Hob sets his bag on the floor and swallows harshly. His stomach churns, and he blinks rapidly to clear away the burning in his eyes.

He moves to sit on the couch, dropping to sit with a groan. His head drops of its own accord into the cradle of his hands. He closes his eyes against the sight of loneliness, but he can never forget the bitter cold truth of being alone again.

Letting his hands fall, he blows out a breath and pushes to his feet. Dream may be gone, but that doesn’t mean Hob can let his life fall apart around him. He did that when he lost Eleanor and the baby, when he lost Robyn. They were his greatest loves, weren’t they? They gave his life meaning when all he had was eternity. It made sense to lose control of himself when he no longer had them.

But he’s existed for over six hundred years without more of his Stranger, his Friend, than a handful of visits during which he talked over drinks. Hob will be just fine going on without—

The door swings open, and he stills as Dream spills into the flat. Balanced on one arm is a serving tray bearing two plates of food; his free hand carries a bottle of wine. One of the more expensive ones, if Hob recognises the label properly. He doesn’t say a word as Dream carefully makes his way into the kitchen to deposit his burdens on the counter.

When he finally turns toward the living room, Dream jolts. His eyes widen, lips parting, and he reaches for the edge of the counter. Hob rushes through an apology, one he barely hears himself say—he’s too focused on the fact that Dream is still here. Dream hasn’t vanished into the city once more. He’s here.

And he’s evidently brought dinner.

“Where did you get this?” he asks instead of thanking every god in every pantheon that Dream didn’t leave.

“I. . . I have never cooked a meal before, so I went downstairs to ask them to prepare something for us. You have spoken of the food quite highly.”

Hob pauses as his brain skids to a halt. What comes out is: “How did you pay for it?”

“That is a good question,” Dream says slowly, as if choosing his words wisely.

According to him, while he was gone for those almost-three days, a woman had assumed he was homeless and gave him some money for food. Her generosity is welcome, Hob is certainly thankful that a stranger cared enough, but he doubts that she gave Dream enough to cover the cost of the food and the bottle of wine. Dream explains it easily away: He’d asked the lady behind the bar what fare Hob normally requests. When he made that particular inquiry, Jasmine had rushed to assure him that the meal was covered.

“If it’s for Mister G, no cost.” She had beamed, Dream says, as if thrilled to do something nice for Hob.

“And the wine?”

Dream pauses, stares at the bottle for a moment, then shrugs. “She said it paired well with the meal.”

Interestingly, pink tints his cheeks. A curious sight, to be certain. However, all Hob can focus on is the fact Dream had ventured into the public on his own. It was only downstairs, not across the city, but he talked to a complete stranger.

For Hob.

He clearly wanted to do something nice even after Hob mucked things up by kissing his forehead this afternoon.

Before Hob can fall too deep into his thoughts, Dream moves the plates from the tray to the dining table. Hob shakes himself into action: He grabs silverware from the drawer and two wineglasses from the rack. The smile Dream gives him could stop the world.

It’s still a small thing, but there’s something different about it. It holds no amusement, no smug superiority, but something much more fragile. Beautiful.

Hope.

Hob can only marvel at it.

They don’t speak as they eat, but he hasn’t expected them to. Dream is a quiet person—has always been quiet and contemplative—and that hasn’t changed just because he’s near-mortal.

Hob ushers Dream from the kitchen when their plates are clear. “You grabbed dinner, it’s only fair I clean up.”

To his surprise, Dream doesn’t argue. He only smiles again and takes the wine to the living room. Hob blows out a breath meant to steady himself but does nothing of the sort. His thoughts are winding around themselves, no starts and no ends, no discernible path. Dream—is this—angry—confused—kiss—soft skin—Dream.

He somehow manages to finish washing the dishes and putting them away with no incidents. After drying his hands, Hob turns out the light and pads quietly into the other room where Dream sits on the couch. His knees are held to his chest with one arm, and he stares down at his bare toes. He hates socks, they’ve found. Etta James sings quietly on the stereo.

He looks up when Hob takes a seat at the empty end of the couch. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Hob swallows thickly and struggles to find words. “Thanks. For dinner, I mean.”

“Of course. You have fed me many times over the course of my being here. It was only fair to return the generosity.”

Oh.

“Friendship isn’t a tit-for-tat kind of thing, Dream,” Hob counters with a huff of laughter; the words he truly wants to utter stay locked behind his teeth.

“It was also my wish to care for you as you’ve cared for me. I know. . . I know it hasn’t been easy, for either of us, to adjust to my being powerless. I worry it has taken too much of your time and energy.”

What can Hob say to that? The truth could scare Dream away—they’ve only just become friends, after all. This is the most time they have ever spent in each other’s company. It has been fraught with tension and pain, worries and fears. Hell, Dream left for nearly three days because he was angry at something Hob did.

“I would rather go blind, boy,” Etta warbles, “than to see you walk away from me.”

“‘C’est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui fait ta rose si importante’,” Hob whispers hoarsely after a long moment, barely able to maintain eye contact. He manages it through pure will—the desire to never take his gaze off the man before him. He needs Dream to know.

The truth has been centuries in the making, and Hob doesn’t want to hide it. If Dream leaves for this. . . Then at least Hob had any amount of time being honest.

Dream blinks slowly once, twice, then leans forward. It’s the subtlest shift, and his eyes are alit with something like hope. His lips part; Hob watches them form beautiful words: “Voudrais-tu m’avoir en tant que ta rose?”

There is nothing else Hob can say besides “Pour toujours.”

___________

C’est le temps que tu as perdu pour ta rose qui fait ta rose si importante = It's the time you wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important (from "The Little Prince")

Voudrais-tu m’avoir en tant que ta rose? = Would you have me as your rose?

Pour toujours = Forever

[llycaons]

I saw les mis live today (special treat). I’ve seen the show in high school and read the book a few times, but not recently

it’s such a gut punch to think that the social issues the books addresses are still a massive problem. idk about france but at least here in the us

I haven’t been listening to any music recently so when they started singing I was like “oh shit! this is great! cool how they do that!’

I didn’t cry, but at the beginning and at the end I got very close. ‘look down’ is such a fucking visceral song series

I forgot they have a live orchestra so halfway through I noticed the conductor and went ohhhh yeah there’s people down there playing instruments. sweet

my first les mis experience was the 2012(?) movie, which may have been bad musically speaking (didn’t love the valjean) but I have a lot of fondness for javert’s nasally voice and samantha barks’s eponine

I always had a crush on eponine when I was younger because barks was that beautiful, and in the books the ways she was described really appealed to me because I was 15 and didn’t think about how tragic her life was and sad it was that she’s been hardened by her experiences at such a young age. but I also think I connected with her loneliness a lot...leave marius and I’ll treat you right etc.

the theater songs are slightly differently delivered than in the movie, which I found sounded unnatural. they really have to sing fast, wow

live theater is really cool!! I haven’t been able to see any in years, and the lighting, effects, design, etc. are all so different from film and tv, they have so many more limitations but also unique opportunities that tv doesn’t. and I really loved to see how they put together each set right there on stage and how nothing looked *realistic* but the performance has its own character because of it

les mis has some of my favorite theater songs of all time, but also some of the most boring :/ ‘bring him home’ and ‘drink with me’ barely have real melodies. also im sorry but all the lyrics to ‘I dreamed a dream” are very juvenile. I get that fantine is young but those lyrics just sound ridiculous

but I really loved master of the house and lovely ladies, those are SUCH fun songs. I think the thernardiers were some of the first villains I saw onscreen who were just really fun with it

so fucked up that they killed gavroche. SO fucked up. I think his death scenes, in both the movie and the theater, were just gutting. I get why they did it! it was a good choice! but wow

I like how the movie had javert give gavroche that medal in recognition of his courage, but why did they actually have rain during ‘a little fall of rain’? the point was that eponine was so soaked in her own blood she just thought it was raining

the movie is the most pared-down version of the story that can still be comprehensible. it’s impressive how condensed they made events. the theater had several scenes I remember from the book that couldn’t fit into the movie

watching made me want to read the book again, it had so much detail that i really enjoyed when I had energy to get through it

god, anyone remember the les mis fandom ca. 2012? naturally people would flock to the shippable college students with one-sentence personalities and repeat the catchy songs and make memes rather than actually consider the social messages in the book or talk about the actual main character

speaking of messages, this is the only story where I watch it and feel I kind of get people being into catholicism to which

even so something that drove me crazy about valjean was in the books he would just not enjoy himself or let himself be happy. catholics will love to suffer. catholics will present suffering as a noble thing to do in life so you get rewarded in heaven. drove me up a wall. in the book he literally had no reason not to be with cosette he just felt unworthy of her or something and would just stop visiting her even though they missed each other so bad

oh wait it’s because he told marius about him being a convict but not about anything else in his life and it made marius cut him off because he thought he was evil or smt even though valjean later revealed that his wealth was from an honest idea he had and they reconcile just before he dies. so what was the fucking point, anyway? be as miserable and noble as you can die and then get to heaven because you were Good (tm) ugh

also, why didn’t valjean just tell marius who he was? he knew cosette loved marius back, what need was there for him to do this elaborate sewer crawl after marius was injured? what if marius had been shot dead, huh? like I know the character reasons for his determination to do everything in the most secret way possible but it would have made things so much easier

don’t love how women and sex workers are treated about by any of the versions or how cosette is treated by valjean or marius like she can’t handle the truth but for 1860s, not as bad as it could have been?

but the themes of just...kindness and second chances and forgiveness and sympathy for the most oppressed and mistreated members of society and doing right by others and loving them is so fucking good anyway

[rocketsagan-blog]

The Innkeeper Chronicles, by Ilona Andrews - A Review

or, the literary equivalent of my new favorite brand of potato chips, thank youuuuu!

NO SPOILERS - I finished the first installment of this series over the holidays, and I'm about halfway through number two, Sweep in Peace, when I just had to pause and announce -

THIS SERIES IS FUN

There is nothing wrong with being just flipping fun - but I wanted to use this as a parable that fun can be found behind deceiving displays. From my inclinations, the covers are boring, and the series titles are just too... bleh?? and not even really punny? NOTHING about the presentation of this book or the series really tickled my interests. The only thing that dragged me in and got me reading was the positive reviews on Hoopla - the number of consistent five stars was rather powerful for a library app where people will dump on literary classics for no reason. If you ever want to stare into the face of madness, look up your favorite haute-contour novel on any library app and weep at the number of dump reviews a perfectly good book will get.

When book one, sentence one, started with a dead dog, I nearly returned the loan right then. It wasn't gruesome, and it was over quickly and handled well, I'm just the kind of sensitive lil-gremlin-person who gets sad at the idea of a fictional creature being dead. BUT SO MANY GOOD REVIEWS! SOMETHING MUST BE HERE. I WILL KEEP ON! (and also, I only get so many loans on Hoopla - I wasn't going to give up until I was thoroughly sure this book wasn't working for me.)

So I kept reading. And reading. And then the book's hook set into my little brain, and I couldn't really stop. And then I needed to wait until the next month for my loans to refresh so I could get the next book in the series.

The way the world building works here just got me. The combo of fantasy and weird-science had me puzzling and imagining what lay just off the page, one of my favorite world-building things of all time. I kept going back to my partner to tell them little tidbits of what was happening until I was banned from rambling about the book because I was just spoiling the whole thing at a certain point, hahaha.

Now, to be clear, this book is light and fun - it has certain things that stick out which kind of showcase the playfulness and 'read in bed whilst swilling wine' about the story:

Does the book have a tall-hot-boy problem? Is every dude at least six feet tall, 'corded in muscle', and mysterious? Yes.

But also, there's an old rich lady with evil-sass, and I can read all her lines out loud in my most waspy-rich-lady voice, and it brings me cackling joy.

Is every room just a liiiiiitle bit over-described, even if we may never see that room again, or the details won't really matter if we do go back? Yes.

But also, the book is set in Texas, and the authors (Ilona Andrews is a penname for a couple that writes together) CLEARLY have been to Texas and care about its plants and environs, which feels so genuine and nice to an Texas ex-pat like me.

So - in essence, this is the literary equivalent of potato chips to me, and dang it, I like indulging in some good chips sometime. This is like the perfectly spiced chip to me, one I can pour into a bowl and enjoy while hanging out with my partner, chuckling at random times, as we watch a little silly video together.

If these books are at your library, go get in this! Maybe this series is just a me-thing, but the positive reviews seems like this isn't a one-person catnip thing.

[lacunasbalustrade]

for the word game! "home", "treasure", "epiphany" (u can find synonyms! epiphany might be a little tough hehe)

Thank you~ for yours, I’ll send “stay”, “blinked”, and “redemption”!!! Synonyms also ^^

- home

[bury me with your regrets]

He smoothed up the crumpled paper with its dog-eared edges and slipped it in on his way home.

Miwa left a note of regrets neatly pressed in his neighbour's mailbox after an economics lecture. Actually, this line is fun to think about, plucked out from the rest of the paper. "Smoothed up the crumpled paper", he's a caring and meticulous person. Maybe a little too focused on his public appearance. "Dog-eared edges", he's a messy person and perhaps fidgets with his writing paper for comfort (like me hehe), or perhaps dog-eared is a reference to his nature. Perhaps he's making an effort to be less warm and inviting, like a dog, to depersonify the piece of himself that he trusted to his neighbour, like a last line of defence to make it all seem more humourous.

On his way home. But where is home? Miwa doesn't really have a home. The apartment is empty and no one he knows lives there. He moved out of his family place. It's ironic that I meant the opposite of what I said.

[bury me with your regrets]

But against his will his meddlesome feet take over and drag him to his mailbox. His traitorous (or perhaps wise) fingers squeeze out one sentence. "I can't do this anymore." Then he runs back to his home and buries himself in a stack of documents he needs to get filed. Paperwork, mostly old certificates and things like that. Invitations he should have thrown away by now but instead has lugged from place to place like a weary despair. Halfway through he realises he's throwing everything into the 'Recycle' pile.

Do I only use 'home' ironically? More like cave of regrets and unwashed uncleaned stuff.

[k & co]

You scrub at them like you're possessed; the brand new turquoise toothbrush you threw out because you used it when you were Reversed, the contents of your leftover budget beef stew made in New York with extra caramelised onions after a day spent Reversing fighters downtown, the rain shower at home that you sprayed with Dettol until you were coughing from the stench, until you came to Card Capital smelling of the disinfectant.

In this one, Kai Toshiki tries to alienate all traces of himself from a time that he regretted. He had accepted a dark power, and it was such a source of humiliation for him that he tried to clean himself away from his own home, until it literally became toxic for him. Until actual physiological effects took place. He succeeded in making a familiar environment reject him, and still came back to it every day, perhaps in order to harm himself.

[the suffering breaths we draw through chains]

They are stained a light, golden brown impervious to water; made of some sort of newfangled scratch-proof cellulose acetate overlay you use to cover up rotten, misplaced or maybe unappealing planks (Sofia reads way too many home renovation magazines) - but they still squeak, and in the gaps of those acetate planks I can hear the testament of how incomplete your life here is, Hyoryu.

This one is a little affectionate, and gives me some hope for the dastardly pessimism of my writing. Rouga works always are.

[k & co]

You are just a friend, just a friend, just a friend, and that comes without any baggage, you'll never feel like you owe something to me, I can be the one you're comfortable around, someone you can find waiting for you at home.

(I gave up on formatting the lines back to normal here lol)

This one is marginally better. Miwa Taishi is denying that there are any expectations of each other in his friendship with Toshiki Kai in an attempt to pretend that nothing has changed in their dynamic and that he's merely a convenient fixture, when Kai in actuality feels deep gratitude to him and wants to repay it. Uncomfortable with the feeling of being appreciated, he tries to keep everything the same; and Kai distracted.

- treasure (includes synonyms)

[open wide]

Miguel is her present, in more ways than one, a gift whose heart cannot be given because it already belongs to their lord, but whom has given her everything he can take without incurring debt.

Small mercies, that he cannot break his own heart.

what is wrong with me why is this so horribly sarcastic.

[progressively worse is all we've got]

But I continue to recall these reasons in the glaring blood of the dying sun and continue to trail behind you as you still wait for me instead of walking beside, instead of leading.

What for?

You could never be a regret, but I want so much more than that for you; someone who has been holding my cowardice as a treasure for such a long, painful time.

This is basically grief ok?

[the suffering breaths we draw through chains]

You can't just throw away the years I treasured for you when I threw away every opportunity other people gave me because I saved it all for you. Kyoya you can't just lie to me and then treat me like a dirty rag you were keeping around out of pity, I thought we were equals!

The idea of grief again.

[what can’t hurt you] There are occasionally wild herbs the army chef Kai finds and hoards like a dragon, but he can be persuaded with a little pleading to share some of his bounty. He wraps these in little notes and has them posted back to the country house. Every herb will help with the bills. 

this at least doesn’t seem to have any negative connotation (who am I kidding this character DIES)

- epiphany

[reminder of a safe return]

It's a full two years before Rouga takes a glance in the mirror with Eagle on his shoulder and realises the extent of Kyoya's obsession with imagery.

Or well perhaps that’s me and not Rouga.